I poked fun at my mom for her method of dividing food among her 7 children. It was never a handful of grapes; it was 8 grapes. Each child got two of every color of M&M's and you bet I felt the world had done me a great disservice when "they" did away with the tan ones. No, she did not compensate. It was years before blue came along. She did what she had to do to manage a household of hungry children whom were quick to shout, "Not fair!" at any imbalance. Now, though only half of my children can count, I find myself doing mental math at meals to make foods stretch and not leave one child empty-handed. So, yes, I count grapes... and strawberries... and slices of pear.
Raspberries are expensive. I purchase them on rare occasions when they are in-season. I have a rule that fruit must never cost more than $.33 a serving. It helps me make wise decisions in the grocery store when kids are requesting pricey produce and I'm at risk of making hasty decisions so I can just get out of the store with minimal sanity-loss. I bought raspberries one day when they met The Rule criteria. I washed them for lunch and put them on the table in their original container. While distracted, the raspberries were consumed in what I can only imagine was at the speed of starved piranhas, because they were gone in seconds, leaving a mommy and two other children wanting.
"What happened to the raspberries?" I asked somewhat rhetorically.
"I ate them," said Guilty Piranha.
"Did you consider that someone else might have wanted some?" I asked, calculating that now to even the scales I would be shelling out big bucks for today's fruit rations.
"Well, you put them in front of me so I just thought those were mine," said the child, a bit ashamed.
It was an honest mistake, I suppose. I suppose I can't expect a child to recognize that no one else had a box of raspberries at their seat, nor were there any other raspberries in sight. I suppose I can't expect a child to realize that I have never portioned raspberries at the rate of a pint per child. I suppose it was a fair assumption that what falls into the boundaries of your place setting becomes fair game.
I'm not trying to make a mountain out of raspberries. They were just raspberries. (Of course, try telling that to the kid that didn't get any.) What I see in this little anecdote is a reflection of my own ignorant greed that causes me to assume what God put before me, He intends for my pleasure only. I wonder how many times God has been frustrated- no, angered- at my greedy consumption. How often do I look like a child, licking her fingers clean of the signs of over-indulgence while hungry onlookers wonder what made me so lucky? I would be lying to myself if I said anything other than too often.
I know I painted this picture for you with food. At the forefront of my mind when picturing "those in need," I see hungry faces. But take a moment with humanity and you will find that "need" stretches beyond the tangible food and shelter. Not to detract from offering in these areas, but I write today because I believe that God has blessed each one of us differently with the purpose that we should use those blessings for the good of others. Financial inadequacy is no excuse for the absence of generosity. There are so many ways we can share the blessings that we have and be a reflection of Christ in the life of others.
I've had long hair most of my life. Shortly after my wedding eight-ish years ago, I decided it was time for a drastic cut and figured I might as well donate my hair if I planned to cut that much. It was a win-win situation. My hair seems to grow faster than average and I found myself in the same place of desiring a fresh look after the birth of my first child. It was then that I made a commitment to grow my hair out and donate it for as long as I was able. The timing has been such that I have an appropriate amount of hair for donating after 2 years of growth, which has worked out to be after the birth of each of my additional three children.
Only, I just didn't feel like it this time. Matthew is a year old now, and I knew I was shirking my commitment, but I danced around it. After all, it was MY hair and I like it long. And then it was winter and cold and that hair can be so, so warm. Long hair has a way of entangling itself around your identity. And for any of you that are in the camp of "But long hair is so much work," let me introduce you to my friend The Ponytail, which when done correctly, does not even require brushing. Short hair requires styling and fussing when it won't lay flat or flip in the right direction. Ponytails alleviate all worries (except the one about looking more than apathetic about your appearance).
But the voice that accompanied me at every shampooing and tangle-tackling, reminded me that not even the hair on my head is mine. I just don't believe that it is. And what is faith if you are not acting on what you believe? So the appointment was scheduled and the hair was shed and packaged in an envelope to be a blessing to someone who doesn't see it as just hair, because it doesn't grow for them. I am blessed to be able to say, "It's just hair. It'll grow back."
I feel lighter. Not just in the weight of hair, but in heart, because I held on to something that wasn't mine for the keeping. It's only hair, but it's a matter of the heart. I hold on to too much under the guise of it being mine, when God has only placed it in my care for His purposes. Money, food, shelter, talent, time, ability, knowledge, even the hair on my head- in all these things I can and must bring Him glory. It is why He gave them to me.
I have so much more to give than has been given; so much that I choose to use for my own glory, rather than His. Following Him is in the letting go.
Then Jesus said to his disciples, "I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God." When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished and asked, "Who then can be saved?" Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible."
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
A Message to Grandparents
It will most likely cost me a box of tissues to get through this blog post. When my maternal grandmother passed away in September, I began a post that I had to abandon due to the tears. Now with the loss of my paternal grandmother just days ago, I can't bear to not say a few things, especially with Christmas approaching.
I feel like I've cried buckets of tears over the last few days and they continue to come. Mixed with the obvious tears of sorrow are ones of pride, regret, and oddly enough, joy. I was incredibly blessed by the family God chose to place me in. I suppose I can't avoid sounding boastful of the blood that flows in these veins of mine, a mix of two incredible women that I share genes with. Comparing the two is like comparing your favorite dessert with your favorite entree- they are in different worlds, appreciated for different purposes, satisfying different needs.
My maternal grandmother was a farmer's wife and the mother of 8 children. She knew how to cook to feed an army of children and farm help, but cooked with heart and soul. She sacrificed her body to serve the needs of others, often neglecting her own needs. She lived "simply," except there was nothing simple or easy about her way of life. When she passed away, I was in the kitchen canning applesauce. It felt right to mourn that way- in the kitchen over a hot stove; it seemed the best place to honor her. So as I cried over peeling innumerable pounds of apples, I thought about how this was exactly what I carried away from her life and legacy- a little hard work and sacrifice now will lend to blessings later.
My father's mother provided for her family's needs by working in a time when most women were at home, but with large medical bills that needed to be paid, my grandmother told me simply, "It wouldn't have been right for me not to do what I could to pay for them." She worked as hard as my other grandmother, but her sacrifices were different. Grandma Seifferlein was a woman of great faith. She was a bold spirit whom did not leave things unsaid and was unwilling to settle for less than her expectations. Perhaps you can understand what consternation this might have caused me as a young woman, and what a great appreciation I have of it now.
When she passed away, I was working with my husband on a sewing project. It seemed right, because amongst her many talents, my grandmother was a crafter and sewed a number of creations for me. She taught me how to crochet and knit as well as sew. As I listened to the hum of the sewing machine, I thought about how this creating to bless others was a gift she had handed down to me.
This weekend, my siblings and cousins and I went through some of Grandma's things, choosing items of significance to cherish. It's funny- and by that I mean we actually laughed- about the items that we chose or hunted for. Overlooking items that likely had material value, we sought those treasures that said "Grandma." We carried away Dixie cups because as a small child, a Dixie cup dispenser in the bathroom was a luxurious experience of drinks of water at your demand. Worn ping pong paddles and poker chips spoke of hours of fun. We searched for the basket that held little single serve packets of jelly that was present at every breakfast you ever ate at Grandma's. I found a pair of knitting needles with the start of a scarf that I will take great comfort in finishing. These are the items that mean the most to us. And most valuable of all was a simple blue binder with a few of my grandma's handwritten memories.
I find it fitting to share this with you in the midst of this Christmas season, because we are so quick to purchase gifts with a momentary wow-factor that will light up young faces, when what we are really all truly seeking deep down inside is for something that matters. I don't remember many presents from either one of my grandmothers, except a few that were particularly meaningful, but what I remember most are stories that they shared, the lessons that they taught by the way they lived, and the memories that we made together. And what I wish I had more of now is that; an insight into how they became the women that I admired so much. Sadly, many of those memories have passed away with them.
As a grandchild now without grandparents this side of Heaven, can I encourage you? Even if you think your grandchildren won't appreciate it now, please, write down some of your history, especially fun stories about your childhood and pivotal moments of how you came to be who you are now. When everything else falls away- the toys are outdated and the trendy outfits are outgrown- this will really matter.
I feel like I've cried buckets of tears over the last few days and they continue to come. Mixed with the obvious tears of sorrow are ones of pride, regret, and oddly enough, joy. I was incredibly blessed by the family God chose to place me in. I suppose I can't avoid sounding boastful of the blood that flows in these veins of mine, a mix of two incredible women that I share genes with. Comparing the two is like comparing your favorite dessert with your favorite entree- they are in different worlds, appreciated for different purposes, satisfying different needs.
My maternal grandmother was a farmer's wife and the mother of 8 children. She knew how to cook to feed an army of children and farm help, but cooked with heart and soul. She sacrificed her body to serve the needs of others, often neglecting her own needs. She lived "simply," except there was nothing simple or easy about her way of life. When she passed away, I was in the kitchen canning applesauce. It felt right to mourn that way- in the kitchen over a hot stove; it seemed the best place to honor her. So as I cried over peeling innumerable pounds of apples, I thought about how this was exactly what I carried away from her life and legacy- a little hard work and sacrifice now will lend to blessings later.
My father's mother provided for her family's needs by working in a time when most women were at home, but with large medical bills that needed to be paid, my grandmother told me simply, "It wouldn't have been right for me not to do what I could to pay for them." She worked as hard as my other grandmother, but her sacrifices were different. Grandma Seifferlein was a woman of great faith. She was a bold spirit whom did not leave things unsaid and was unwilling to settle for less than her expectations. Perhaps you can understand what consternation this might have caused me as a young woman, and what a great appreciation I have of it now.
When she passed away, I was working with my husband on a sewing project. It seemed right, because amongst her many talents, my grandmother was a crafter and sewed a number of creations for me. She taught me how to crochet and knit as well as sew. As I listened to the hum of the sewing machine, I thought about how this creating to bless others was a gift she had handed down to me.
This weekend, my siblings and cousins and I went through some of Grandma's things, choosing items of significance to cherish. It's funny- and by that I mean we actually laughed- about the items that we chose or hunted for. Overlooking items that likely had material value, we sought those treasures that said "Grandma." We carried away Dixie cups because as a small child, a Dixie cup dispenser in the bathroom was a luxurious experience of drinks of water at your demand. Worn ping pong paddles and poker chips spoke of hours of fun. We searched for the basket that held little single serve packets of jelly that was present at every breakfast you ever ate at Grandma's. I found a pair of knitting needles with the start of a scarf that I will take great comfort in finishing. These are the items that mean the most to us. And most valuable of all was a simple blue binder with a few of my grandma's handwritten memories.
I find it fitting to share this with you in the midst of this Christmas season, because we are so quick to purchase gifts with a momentary wow-factor that will light up young faces, when what we are really all truly seeking deep down inside is for something that matters. I don't remember many presents from either one of my grandmothers, except a few that were particularly meaningful, but what I remember most are stories that they shared, the lessons that they taught by the way they lived, and the memories that we made together. And what I wish I had more of now is that; an insight into how they became the women that I admired so much. Sadly, many of those memories have passed away with them.
As a grandchild now without grandparents this side of Heaven, can I encourage you? Even if you think your grandchildren won't appreciate it now, please, write down some of your history, especially fun stories about your childhood and pivotal moments of how you came to be who you are now. When everything else falls away- the toys are outdated and the trendy outfits are outgrown- this will really matter.
Friday, November 8, 2013
Needs a Little Salt
I'm going to invite you on a journey. I have decided to put a spin on the age-old question, "What would you ask Jesus if He was right in front of you?" I think that one has been done enough and though it's fun to ponder, I thought a more challenging exploration would be to wonder what God might ask you or me. We don't often think about God asking the questions. What knowledge might the Creator of All Things need to obtain? What is hidden from His wisdom? But Jesus was known for asking questions, and particularly in response to being questioned, so I have committed to going through the Gospels and applying Jesus' questions to myself.
I suppose we could start all the way at the Beginning when God asks Adam where he ran off to after eating the fruit, but I felt drawn to exploring the gospels first so that's where I'm starting today. The first question I came upon was only five chapters into Matthew at verse 13, "You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men."
I can always tell when dinner misses the mark. My husband gets up and grabs the salt from the cupboard. I try not to feel deflated when it happens, but it's a gentle acknowledgement that something is missing. Salt can turn an entire dish from bland to flavorful. It draws the flavor out of other seasonings, but it's easily discerned from all other flavors. You can tell with one taste if it's missing, but it never takes much to do the job (unless you're like my dad...), so when Jesus addressed a mountainside of people who were seeking his wisdom, he used an analogy they would understand.
Salt has a purpose that is almost entirely dependent on its flavor, so much so that if it lost the property of the salty flavor, most of us would have little use for it. In the next couple of verses, Jesus sets up another analogy regarding light. "You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven." Like salt, light's purpose is attached to brightness and without the ability to brighten, it is not really light at all. Each thing is defined by its purpose.
So Jesus says you are salt and you are light. Your purpose is to sprinkle flavor into the bland or unsavory. You can turn a whole dish around. You are to brighten a darkened room. You are to bring clarity to things that are hidden. You are defined by your purpose. As a Christian, your purpose cannot be separated from your definition. Your purpose as a Christian is to let the light of Christ shine so that men might see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven. Your purpose is to point others to God. You are to give them a taste of the Lord. You invite them to "taste and see that the Lord is good." You are the flavor of God.
I saw a Facebook meme the other day that said, "You call yourself a 'christian' but Jesus wasn't a snob who judged people for their imperfections. You may wanna get out your Bible and check up on that." While I didn't feel all warm and fuzzy reading this and I might have felt my defenses come up, there is merit to this statement. When labeling ourself "Christian", we run the risk of being a dish with something obvious missing. A taste of our actions can cause others to wrinkle their nose and look for a discreet place to dispose of us. We need to be mindful of that, because as Jesus points out, we are like salt and light; we cannot be defined separate from our purpose and it is easy for others to tell when something is missing.
So Jesus asks, "But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?" When I first read this question I thought it was a rhetorical question. I'm not a chemist, but it would seem to me that if salt lost its flavor, it is likely it is impossible to restore it. But this question isn't for the salt I will use at dinner tonight, but for me, an ongoing sinner who loses her savoriness too often to be called a light in this world. What then? How does one return to a purpose she has lost sight of?
A Creator always defines the creation's purpose. When Thomas Edison invented the light bulb, his intention was to give light. The light bulb was not invented until it actually gave light. Our purpose is defined in the life we live for Christ. We can cease to be useful, like a burned out light bulb, or we can return to our Creator to be corrected and encouraged in His Work.
What areas of my life need to be sprinkled with salt? Who have I left with a bad taste in their mouth? Where have I contributed to the darkness rather than the light? These are the questions Jesus might ask, not because He doesn't know, but because He needs to bring me to awareness that I don't always live the flavorful life He has called me to.
I suppose we could start all the way at the Beginning when God asks Adam where he ran off to after eating the fruit, but I felt drawn to exploring the gospels first so that's where I'm starting today. The first question I came upon was only five chapters into Matthew at verse 13, "You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men."
I can always tell when dinner misses the mark. My husband gets up and grabs the salt from the cupboard. I try not to feel deflated when it happens, but it's a gentle acknowledgement that something is missing. Salt can turn an entire dish from bland to flavorful. It draws the flavor out of other seasonings, but it's easily discerned from all other flavors. You can tell with one taste if it's missing, but it never takes much to do the job (unless you're like my dad...), so when Jesus addressed a mountainside of people who were seeking his wisdom, he used an analogy they would understand.
Salt has a purpose that is almost entirely dependent on its flavor, so much so that if it lost the property of the salty flavor, most of us would have little use for it. In the next couple of verses, Jesus sets up another analogy regarding light. "You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven." Like salt, light's purpose is attached to brightness and without the ability to brighten, it is not really light at all. Each thing is defined by its purpose.
So Jesus says you are salt and you are light. Your purpose is to sprinkle flavor into the bland or unsavory. You can turn a whole dish around. You are to brighten a darkened room. You are to bring clarity to things that are hidden. You are defined by your purpose. As a Christian, your purpose cannot be separated from your definition. Your purpose as a Christian is to let the light of Christ shine so that men might see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven. Your purpose is to point others to God. You are to give them a taste of the Lord. You invite them to "taste and see that the Lord is good." You are the flavor of God.
I saw a Facebook meme the other day that said, "You call yourself a 'christian' but Jesus wasn't a snob who judged people for their imperfections. You may wanna get out your Bible and check up on that." While I didn't feel all warm and fuzzy reading this and I might have felt my defenses come up, there is merit to this statement. When labeling ourself "Christian", we run the risk of being a dish with something obvious missing. A taste of our actions can cause others to wrinkle their nose and look for a discreet place to dispose of us. We need to be mindful of that, because as Jesus points out, we are like salt and light; we cannot be defined separate from our purpose and it is easy for others to tell when something is missing.
So Jesus asks, "But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?" When I first read this question I thought it was a rhetorical question. I'm not a chemist, but it would seem to me that if salt lost its flavor, it is likely it is impossible to restore it. But this question isn't for the salt I will use at dinner tonight, but for me, an ongoing sinner who loses her savoriness too often to be called a light in this world. What then? How does one return to a purpose she has lost sight of?
A Creator always defines the creation's purpose. When Thomas Edison invented the light bulb, his intention was to give light. The light bulb was not invented until it actually gave light. Our purpose is defined in the life we live for Christ. We can cease to be useful, like a burned out light bulb, or we can return to our Creator to be corrected and encouraged in His Work.
What areas of my life need to be sprinkled with salt? Who have I left with a bad taste in their mouth? Where have I contributed to the darkness rather than the light? These are the questions Jesus might ask, not because He doesn't know, but because He needs to bring me to awareness that I don't always live the flavorful life He has called me to.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Because He Was Hungry
Like most stay-at-home moms, I crave the luxury of adult conversation. I don't even mind if the conversation is punctuated with side-whispers of "Get your finger out of your nose and find a tissue!" or, "You just had a snack and dinner will be ready in half an hour" or the all too often, "No I don't know where the other Polly Pocket shoe is. If you put your toys away where they belong, then you always know where to find them." What was I saying?
Oh, right. Conversation. Adult. It's sooo nice. I don't care if it's about the weather, the kids, or something intelligent; I just like to talk with other adults. So when Wednesday rolls around, I really look forward to the Wednesday night dinner at my Heart of the Shepherd, followed by service, because I get to sit with a few friends and kind of chat in between all of the Mom! MOM! Mooooooooom!-ing.
Yesterday we arrived early on the scene and as I approached the doors to the multi-purpose room where we would be eating, I could see a gentleman sitting at our usual table. This posed a dilemma for me. Now, I'm not all territorial and get huffy about someone sitting in my seat, but there are usually only one or two high chairs set out, which is why I sit at that table. There he was, sitting right next to the only highchair from what I could see.
I've seen him at church before. We've had one or two brief conversations. I couldn't tell you his name. So I was faced with a decision- intrude on his personal space and request to sit there with my four noisy children, or deliberately move the highchair to a different spot and look rude. But there was more to the decision than just that. I'm an extrovert only by practice. Given a choice, I would remain with a small circle of friends and not step out of my comfort zone to meet new people. Further, I find it challenging to start conversation with people who aren't in the same life journey (i.e. young kids) as me. It's always an easy conversation starter to ask how old your little cutie is or what their name is, but to approach a lone adult, I find very intimidating. What would I chat with him about? Certainly he wouldn't find my day to day activities of interest like my mommy friends.
And if I sat with him, I probably wouldn't be sitting with my mommy friends tonight. Bummer. It's selfish, I know, but I relish that time of chatting, because outside of my husband, it's one of the few times I get face-to-face time with another adult (unless you count the cashiers at Kroger who probably wonder why I'm so chatty as I go through their line).
All this decision-making turmoil took place in a matter of seconds as I approached the room. The honest truth is I didn't want to sit with him. I just wanted to sit with someone I know, who could hear all about my day and tell me about their similar struggles and we could laugh and reassure ourselves that we're doing an okay job at this whole mothering thing. But God told me to sit with him, even after I noticed that there was another highchair at an unoccupied table.
So I asked if we could join him, perhaps a little begrudgingly. He nodded. I asked how he was doing. "Fine," he said. Nothing more. Oh dear! This was going to be hard. I remembered he had once told me he worked as a caregiver for the elderly. I asked him if he was still doing that. "No," came the short reply.
"On to something else?" I asked.
"Yes."
I made small talk with Colette. Got up and got us drinks. Wondered if there was anything more I should say or if I should take his short answers as a hint that he wasn't really looking to chat. I made small talk with another mom who passed our table up for another one with more seating. And we sat in silence for a few minutes, while I searched my brain for something to say.
"This where they play men's basketball?" he suddenly asked.
"Yes!" I said, maybe a little too enthusiastically.
"You know what time that is?"
I offered what I knew and then he asked what time service was on Sundays. "There's a Bible Study on Sunday too, right?" he asked.
Now I was smiling. "There is," I said. "I teach one of them and we would love to have you join us!"
"Oh really? What are you studying?" He seemed all too happy to talk now.
I told him we were studying the book of Ecclesiastes and he inquired what "that one" was about. I told him it was written by Solomon and that experts suspect he might have struggled with depression. "It's sort of evident in the first couple of chapters," I said. "I suppose you could say it's Solomon's journey out of depression; his discovery of purpose." I told him how I relate to the book because I've had my struggles with depression, too. I've thirsted for meaning.
"Me too," he said. He said it sounded like just what he needed.
"Ecclesiastes, huh? Sunday? What about now? Let's do this now!" he laughed. "Because I'm hungry," he said a little more seriously, hungrily. He wasn't referencing the meal we were about to receive. "This," he said with a sweep of his hand, "Is the only thing I've found that fixes it."
We talked through dinner about Solomon's discoveries about the pursuits of life. We made some small talk. Then, he shared a recent medical diagnosis and there was evident uncertainty in how he should approach this new way of life. I encouraged him to see a nutritionist. I urged him to join us on Sunday. I found myself caring. I could have sat somewhere else and missed all of this, simply because I cared about my comfort and my desires.
I felt like the boy who offered up his fish and loaves to feed the five thousand and watched a miracle unfold. It was a meager offering- as if gracing someone with my presence at the dinner table can be considered an offering at all. I didn't even do it joyfully, just obediently, but God feeds the hungry. If it was up to me, well...
He calls us to sit with them. To break bread. To get personal, even when it's uncomfortable. To seek the hurt. Find the need. See the hunger. Because every single person in this world is hungry.
There's only One fix for that.
Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty." John 6:35
Oh, right. Conversation. Adult. It's sooo nice. I don't care if it's about the weather, the kids, or something intelligent; I just like to talk with other adults. So when Wednesday rolls around, I really look forward to the Wednesday night dinner at my Heart of the Shepherd, followed by service, because I get to sit with a few friends and kind of chat in between all of the Mom! MOM! Mooooooooom!-ing.
Yesterday we arrived early on the scene and as I approached the doors to the multi-purpose room where we would be eating, I could see a gentleman sitting at our usual table. This posed a dilemma for me. Now, I'm not all territorial and get huffy about someone sitting in my seat, but there are usually only one or two high chairs set out, which is why I sit at that table. There he was, sitting right next to the only highchair from what I could see.
I've seen him at church before. We've had one or two brief conversations. I couldn't tell you his name. So I was faced with a decision- intrude on his personal space and request to sit there with my four noisy children, or deliberately move the highchair to a different spot and look rude. But there was more to the decision than just that. I'm an extrovert only by practice. Given a choice, I would remain with a small circle of friends and not step out of my comfort zone to meet new people. Further, I find it challenging to start conversation with people who aren't in the same life journey (i.e. young kids) as me. It's always an easy conversation starter to ask how old your little cutie is or what their name is, but to approach a lone adult, I find very intimidating. What would I chat with him about? Certainly he wouldn't find my day to day activities of interest like my mommy friends.
And if I sat with him, I probably wouldn't be sitting with my mommy friends tonight. Bummer. It's selfish, I know, but I relish that time of chatting, because outside of my husband, it's one of the few times I get face-to-face time with another adult (unless you count the cashiers at Kroger who probably wonder why I'm so chatty as I go through their line).
All this decision-making turmoil took place in a matter of seconds as I approached the room. The honest truth is I didn't want to sit with him. I just wanted to sit with someone I know, who could hear all about my day and tell me about their similar struggles and we could laugh and reassure ourselves that we're doing an okay job at this whole mothering thing. But God told me to sit with him, even after I noticed that there was another highchair at an unoccupied table.
So I asked if we could join him, perhaps a little begrudgingly. He nodded. I asked how he was doing. "Fine," he said. Nothing more. Oh dear! This was going to be hard. I remembered he had once told me he worked as a caregiver for the elderly. I asked him if he was still doing that. "No," came the short reply.
"On to something else?" I asked.
"Yes."
I made small talk with Colette. Got up and got us drinks. Wondered if there was anything more I should say or if I should take his short answers as a hint that he wasn't really looking to chat. I made small talk with another mom who passed our table up for another one with more seating. And we sat in silence for a few minutes, while I searched my brain for something to say.
"This where they play men's basketball?" he suddenly asked.
"Yes!" I said, maybe a little too enthusiastically.
"You know what time that is?"
I offered what I knew and then he asked what time service was on Sundays. "There's a Bible Study on Sunday too, right?" he asked.
Now I was smiling. "There is," I said. "I teach one of them and we would love to have you join us!"
"Oh really? What are you studying?" He seemed all too happy to talk now.
I told him we were studying the book of Ecclesiastes and he inquired what "that one" was about. I told him it was written by Solomon and that experts suspect he might have struggled with depression. "It's sort of evident in the first couple of chapters," I said. "I suppose you could say it's Solomon's journey out of depression; his discovery of purpose." I told him how I relate to the book because I've had my struggles with depression, too. I've thirsted for meaning.
"Me too," he said. He said it sounded like just what he needed.
"Ecclesiastes, huh? Sunday? What about now? Let's do this now!" he laughed. "Because I'm hungry," he said a little more seriously, hungrily. He wasn't referencing the meal we were about to receive. "This," he said with a sweep of his hand, "Is the only thing I've found that fixes it."
We talked through dinner about Solomon's discoveries about the pursuits of life. We made some small talk. Then, he shared a recent medical diagnosis and there was evident uncertainty in how he should approach this new way of life. I encouraged him to see a nutritionist. I urged him to join us on Sunday. I found myself caring. I could have sat somewhere else and missed all of this, simply because I cared about my comfort and my desires.
I felt like the boy who offered up his fish and loaves to feed the five thousand and watched a miracle unfold. It was a meager offering- as if gracing someone with my presence at the dinner table can be considered an offering at all. I didn't even do it joyfully, just obediently, but God feeds the hungry. If it was up to me, well...
He calls us to sit with them. To break bread. To get personal, even when it's uncomfortable. To seek the hurt. Find the need. See the hunger. Because every single person in this world is hungry.
There's only One fix for that.
Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty." John 6:35
Monday, September 23, 2013
To Freely Give
Saturday started off with a chill, misting rains, and an overcast sky. I had set aside a few hours of the day to help at the free Dental Day at my Dr. Kellogg's office, Howell Dental Center. It has only taken Kristin Lewis, the volunteer coordinator for Heart of the Shepherd, about three years of asking for me to finally find a way to participate. As with any activity that pulls me out of my comfort zone- any unchartered territory with people I don't know- I felt an air of anxiety that beckoned me to turn the car around. I didn't. I'm so glad.
I was assigned the food station. Dozens of people had shown up early in the morning to be the firsts to sign up for dental care they would otherwise not be able to afford. Dr. Kellogg and his Dental Day crew (particularly Kristin Lewis, whom had been responsible for seeking donations this year) had arranged a free breakfast for all of the patients. Hot coffee was certainly the most popular item given the weather, but the donuts and bagels were also well received.
In the lull between breakfast and lunch, I took the opportunity to chat with some of the patients. There were a couple of kids there, so I had fun drawing with chalk while the weather allowed and getting to know a few cuties. There was a bounce house, crafts, and a petting zoo, all thoughtfully supplied for the long wait. Meanwhile, there were constant raffle drawings with a ton of prizes and a goal that no one walk away empty handed. I hope you are feeling the spirit of generosity that was among us Saturday. It was amazing!
For the first time ever, I seized the opportunity to pray with a complete stranger as a woman shared with me that she had just been diagnosed with lymphoma and needed four teeth pulled before she began chemotherapy. It was certainly a moment of growth for me, as I learn to be ready for the moments when God places people in front of me whom are in need of ministering.
Lunch came early at ten. There was plenty for everyone, but we couldn't serve the grilled hot dogs, chips, and cookies fast enough. Very early in the line, a giant of a man stepped up and it was clear one hot dog just wouldn't be sufficient for a gentleman who towered over me. We offered him two. "Could I? Thanks!" he said, graciously. I felt this incredible joy that I could so freely give because there was an abundant supply. I kept hearing everyone's gratitude. I was thanked over and over again, but I was offering nothing more than a helping hand. I was surrounded by incredible generosity and all I had done was show up. I suddenly felt so indescribably blessed and humbled to have been invited to be a part of it. There were so many who were offering financial support and their talents to make this day happen, and here I was being blessed by the grateful hearts receiving all of this goodness!
I had not purchased the food. I didn't prepare it. I was simply a vessel of providing another person's kindness to those in need. I realized in that moment that I was also receiving a gift that day, just to be a part of their generosity. That someone should thank me for being there felt incredibly odd, because I couldn't have been anymore grateful to have been invited to be a part of it. Then a thought suddenly occurred to me that I am invited every day to partake in God's generosity and bless it forward to others. What an amazing thought! Anything I am able to give is directly from the hand of God.
Jesus instructed his disciples: Freely you have received, freely give. How amazing it is that we have received freely from God the gifts of life, talents, and treasures, and we can freely give, because He offers a bountiful supply. What a wonderful example Dental Day was of the gift it is just to participate in His Abundant Love! Thank you, Dr. Kellogg and your staff for letting me be a part of it!
I was assigned the food station. Dozens of people had shown up early in the morning to be the firsts to sign up for dental care they would otherwise not be able to afford. Dr. Kellogg and his Dental Day crew (particularly Kristin Lewis, whom had been responsible for seeking donations this year) had arranged a free breakfast for all of the patients. Hot coffee was certainly the most popular item given the weather, but the donuts and bagels were also well received.
In the lull between breakfast and lunch, I took the opportunity to chat with some of the patients. There were a couple of kids there, so I had fun drawing with chalk while the weather allowed and getting to know a few cuties. There was a bounce house, crafts, and a petting zoo, all thoughtfully supplied for the long wait. Meanwhile, there were constant raffle drawings with a ton of prizes and a goal that no one walk away empty handed. I hope you are feeling the spirit of generosity that was among us Saturday. It was amazing!
For the first time ever, I seized the opportunity to pray with a complete stranger as a woman shared with me that she had just been diagnosed with lymphoma and needed four teeth pulled before she began chemotherapy. It was certainly a moment of growth for me, as I learn to be ready for the moments when God places people in front of me whom are in need of ministering.
Lunch came early at ten. There was plenty for everyone, but we couldn't serve the grilled hot dogs, chips, and cookies fast enough. Very early in the line, a giant of a man stepped up and it was clear one hot dog just wouldn't be sufficient for a gentleman who towered over me. We offered him two. "Could I? Thanks!" he said, graciously. I felt this incredible joy that I could so freely give because there was an abundant supply. I kept hearing everyone's gratitude. I was thanked over and over again, but I was offering nothing more than a helping hand. I was surrounded by incredible generosity and all I had done was show up. I suddenly felt so indescribably blessed and humbled to have been invited to be a part of it. There were so many who were offering financial support and their talents to make this day happen, and here I was being blessed by the grateful hearts receiving all of this goodness!
I had not purchased the food. I didn't prepare it. I was simply a vessel of providing another person's kindness to those in need. I realized in that moment that I was also receiving a gift that day, just to be a part of their generosity. That someone should thank me for being there felt incredibly odd, because I couldn't have been anymore grateful to have been invited to be a part of it. Then a thought suddenly occurred to me that I am invited every day to partake in God's generosity and bless it forward to others. What an amazing thought! Anything I am able to give is directly from the hand of God.
Jesus instructed his disciples: Freely you have received, freely give. How amazing it is that we have received freely from God the gifts of life, talents, and treasures, and we can freely give, because He offers a bountiful supply. What a wonderful example Dental Day was of the gift it is just to participate in His Abundant Love! Thank you, Dr. Kellogg and your staff for letting me be a part of it!
Thursday, August 29, 2013
What Can I Say?
Sometimes when I'm trying to maintain good humor over this whole parenting thing, I say, "Hello?! Can you hear me? Is this mic on?" I usually get these deadpan stares from my children, but it makes my husband smile. If he's really feeling it, he will cup a hand behind his ear and furrow his brow like he has no idea what I'm saying. At least he acknowledges that I'm trying to say something, because sometimes with the kids I wonder if I've entered a whole new realm- one where I have no physical presence and I have to do something extreme and poltergeist-ish to get their attention, like throw a book across a room.
Of course, when I wish they weren't listening, they're all ears. Mutter the word "stupid" as you struggle with the stupid Pack 'n' Play that requires more strength to collapse than any stupid jock has, and everybody comes running to hear your confession and plea for mercy because "we don't say stupid in this house." We don't. But I have. And I've even followed up with a justification like, "Well Mommy can say the word "stupid" because she knows the right way to use it and there is no other way of describing this stupid Pack 'n' Play, but by calling it stupid!"
Stupid.
I have stupid moments like that. I have whole days filled with stupid. I say stupid things and do stupid things and I hate my stupid self for them sometimes. And I wish someone would just hold up some cue cards and direct me through what I am supposed to say and when I am supposed to say it, because it all sounds so brilliant when you read it in one of those stupid parenting books, until you repeat it or forget to repeat it when the opportunity arises.
I know there is power in our words; in what we choose to say and how we say it. There are thousands of blogs and books and articles telling me what I should be saying and what I should never, EVER say: Be careful when speaking of appearances to your child; body images are precarious. Don't use negative self-talk about your own body in front of your child, but don't forget to tell her she's beautiful. Just don't tell her too much. Use your judgement on how often. When praising your child, be careful to use the right words so as not to imply that your love is contingent on the good behavior. Stay away from words with negative connotations. Don't be afraid to say, "No." When reprimanding your child, be certain to express your dislike for the behavior, while expressing love for the child. Never use the word stupid; even in describing the behavior, which may very well have been stupid- like giving your baby brother a Polly Pocket shoe to play with. Make explanations short and concise. Never say, "Because I told you so!" Children are growing in logic and understanding; their curiosity demands explanation. Don't feel like you have to explain yourself all the time; it undermines your authority as the parent who knows best.
Knows best?! I don't know what I'm doing!
Try as I may, I've said the wrong thing and I still don't know all of the right things to say and I'm certain I will say the wrong thing many more times and I'll even say what I think is the right thing only to find out years later in a tearful accusation that it was the wrong thing to say. I have fears of that. There are moments when I can't sleep because I wonder if today was the day that I permanently scarred my child. Maybe saying that she can't dress like a princess every day because she's "not actually a princess and I don't have a royal clothing budget so just put on some jeans for crying out loud!" wasn't the best way to encourage her to explore other wardrobe options.
Do these worries consume you other parents? I am specifically asking the parents that haven't written books confidently telling me that if I just said this my kid will turn out a normal, well-adjusted adult. I have to imagine that even those parents have said the wrong thing according to their own standards. The tongue is awfully hard to control even when I have rehearsed all of my lines. But if there is one message I plead with God that my children hear, it is the message that I so desperately need to hear too.
There is grace.
It's not pre-proportioned. You can't use it all up, but it's best not to test the limits. It's abundant and new with every morning. There is grace when I mess up and there is grace when you mess up too. We mess up. Mommies make mistakes. And kids make mistakes. And there is grace enough to cover over all of it. Sometimes we know it's a mistake and we do it anyway. There's grace for that too. There is grace for the days when we are not graceful or grace-filled or gracious. There is grace when we don't want it and grace when we think we don't need it. There is grace when we forget to ask for it.
I have been the baffled parent who finds herself tongue-tied in the midst of a tantrum. I have battled ugly words with ugly words. I have said too little. I have said too much. Haven't we all? There are thousands of words we can say to a child, but there is one message that we must get through. "For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God." Ephesians 2:8
I believe even when I have said the wrong words, the message of grace can prevail when I humble myself enough to say, "Forgive me." More importantly, I believe that even when I say the "right" words, it is still grace that saves. It is not my work, but His. And His grace is sufficient for me and all of my shortcomings, because His power is made perfect even in my moments of weakness. I have to remind myself of this when this world tells me that my words can save or sever my child's future. If I put too much weight on the words that I say, I will forget that there is only one Word that saves.
Grace. Undeserved. Inexplicable. Unequivocal. By the grace of God, we are saved.
Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. Hebrews 4:16
Of course, when I wish they weren't listening, they're all ears. Mutter the word "stupid" as you struggle with the stupid Pack 'n' Play that requires more strength to collapse than any stupid jock has, and everybody comes running to hear your confession and plea for mercy because "we don't say stupid in this house." We don't. But I have. And I've even followed up with a justification like, "Well Mommy can say the word "stupid" because she knows the right way to use it and there is no other way of describing this stupid Pack 'n' Play, but by calling it stupid!"
Stupid.
I have stupid moments like that. I have whole days filled with stupid. I say stupid things and do stupid things and I hate my stupid self for them sometimes. And I wish someone would just hold up some cue cards and direct me through what I am supposed to say and when I am supposed to say it, because it all sounds so brilliant when you read it in one of those stupid parenting books, until you repeat it or forget to repeat it when the opportunity arises.
I know there is power in our words; in what we choose to say and how we say it. There are thousands of blogs and books and articles telling me what I should be saying and what I should never, EVER say: Be careful when speaking of appearances to your child; body images are precarious. Don't use negative self-talk about your own body in front of your child, but don't forget to tell her she's beautiful. Just don't tell her too much. Use your judgement on how often. When praising your child, be careful to use the right words so as not to imply that your love is contingent on the good behavior. Stay away from words with negative connotations. Don't be afraid to say, "No." When reprimanding your child, be certain to express your dislike for the behavior, while expressing love for the child. Never use the word stupid; even in describing the behavior, which may very well have been stupid- like giving your baby brother a Polly Pocket shoe to play with. Make explanations short and concise. Never say, "Because I told you so!" Children are growing in logic and understanding; their curiosity demands explanation. Don't feel like you have to explain yourself all the time; it undermines your authority as the parent who knows best.
Knows best?! I don't know what I'm doing!
Try as I may, I've said the wrong thing and I still don't know all of the right things to say and I'm certain I will say the wrong thing many more times and I'll even say what I think is the right thing only to find out years later in a tearful accusation that it was the wrong thing to say. I have fears of that. There are moments when I can't sleep because I wonder if today was the day that I permanently scarred my child. Maybe saying that she can't dress like a princess every day because she's "not actually a princess and I don't have a royal clothing budget so just put on some jeans for crying out loud!" wasn't the best way to encourage her to explore other wardrobe options.
Do these worries consume you other parents? I am specifically asking the parents that haven't written books confidently telling me that if I just said this my kid will turn out a normal, well-adjusted adult. I have to imagine that even those parents have said the wrong thing according to their own standards. The tongue is awfully hard to control even when I have rehearsed all of my lines. But if there is one message I plead with God that my children hear, it is the message that I so desperately need to hear too.
There is grace.
It's not pre-proportioned. You can't use it all up, but it's best not to test the limits. It's abundant and new with every morning. There is grace when I mess up and there is grace when you mess up too. We mess up. Mommies make mistakes. And kids make mistakes. And there is grace enough to cover over all of it. Sometimes we know it's a mistake and we do it anyway. There's grace for that too. There is grace for the days when we are not graceful or grace-filled or gracious. There is grace when we don't want it and grace when we think we don't need it. There is grace when we forget to ask for it.
I have been the baffled parent who finds herself tongue-tied in the midst of a tantrum. I have battled ugly words with ugly words. I have said too little. I have said too much. Haven't we all? There are thousands of words we can say to a child, but there is one message that we must get through. "For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God." Ephesians 2:8
I believe even when I have said the wrong words, the message of grace can prevail when I humble myself enough to say, "Forgive me." More importantly, I believe that even when I say the "right" words, it is still grace that saves. It is not my work, but His. And His grace is sufficient for me and all of my shortcomings, because His power is made perfect even in my moments of weakness. I have to remind myself of this when this world tells me that my words can save or sever my child's future. If I put too much weight on the words that I say, I will forget that there is only one Word that saves.
Grace. Undeserved. Inexplicable. Unequivocal. By the grace of God, we are saved.
Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. Hebrews 4:16
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Make Me A Vessel
Yesterday was just one of those days. I haven't had one in awhile, so I suppose I was due. Matthew didn't nap, and every time there was a hint of hope that I might get a moment's peace, one of the girls would get rowdy and wake him before I could even get him in bed. I was frustrated and tired and not in the right mood to head to Family Adventure Camp at Heart of the Shepherd.
It was day 3 of our church's form of Vacation Bible School, a highly anticipated event for my children. It is fun for them, but it can be exhausting for me and the kids, so it was no surprise that they were bickering over crayons by the end of the night. All of the nudging that I felt to turn the moment into a teaching moment and to meet their crankiness with opportunity to show love and service to one another, I simply ignored. I was just. too. tired.
I excused myself from the table, letting my husband take the lead. Matthew and I slipped away to a quiet room where I plotted my retaliation. Should I tell them we are not going to tomorrow's activities? Should I make them give up the privilege of "buying" trinkets with the tickets they were earning throughout the day? All seemed fair enough. After all, we were supposed to be learning how to serve others with good attitudes and they certainly weren't bringing their part of the bargain to the table.
Neither are you. God spoke softly to my heart.
I tried to ignore it and indulge my sorrows some more. This summer has been ridiculously busy. I haven't had a moment to myself. The days are a whirlwind of activity and the nights never hold the rest I am promised. I was tired. Tired of serving, and coaching, and cheerleading, and disciplining, and thinking of ways to turn disastrous meltdowns into "teaching moments." I was tired of pulling out the good attitude when the bad one beckoned. So I grumbled to myself that if my children weren't learning the lesson of serving each other, we had no business being here. I certainly didn't need to be here to learn how to serve others. I do it enough. All. day. So forgive me, God, but I just want to sit hear and rest for a minute and not do my job. Don't You get that?!
I sent my husband home with all four of the children, swallowing down some guilt that he would likely have a baby crying for his Mama the whole time while he tried to get the additional three Cranky Pants in bed. "I'm going to help clean up," I said. It was a guise of needing to serve others so I could indulge in a different venue where kids weren't the background noise.
I don't think I was really needed there, but I needed to be there, because God reached out to me, like he often does when I'm throwing one of my temper tantrums. I had only been free of children for a few minutes, when Kelly (the wife of one of our pastors) told me her 2 year old daughter had something to tell me. I looked down at her sweet little cherub-like face and she proclaimed, "I said a prayer for you today!" It blessed me to no end.
And it convicted me. Why did little Vera pray for me? Certainly, she didn't sense that I needed it. If I had asked her, she probably could not have articulated any particular reason. But I know why she did, because the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to little ones such as her. Because she was an open vessel for God's love and when He pressed on her heart to pray for me, she didn't make excuses like, "I hardly know her," or, "She might think that's a little weird," or, "She doesn't really deserve it, because she's never really ever done anything for me." She just followed in child-like trust and obedience, because God had a purpose for her prayer.
As we grow older, we find all sorts of excuses not to do the things that God asks of us. We mistakenly call them "reasons." Last night I saw in a little child's simple demonstration, how following God's leading can greatly impact another, beyond what we may even be able to comprehend as we follow through with His request.
When we act in obedience and offer with the right attitude, it is then that God's love is revealed. Though my "offerings" this week may have appeared sacrificial and even obedient, my attitude was something entirely different. I harbored in my heart stress, selfish ambition, greed, and anger, but somehow expected it to breed love. I had prefaced each day with a warning that if my kids weren't willing to show me that they deserved to go to Family Adventure Camp, I wouldn't be taking them. I made it clear that it wasn't necessarily a priority on my list, but it was a service to them, and I expected them to show me how grateful they were for all the additional stress and work each day provided. I was pouring out an attitude that didn't speak of love and service. From where did I expect my kids to get the right attitude?
I keep thinking of little Vera, holding her mommy's hand, saying those sweet words to me, and I am humbled by God's grace to reach out to me through this little vessel filled with His love. I admire the work He can do with a willing attitude. I had accomplished little the entire week, but in a brief moment, God lifted my spirits and renewed my heart and attitude.
How much can He use me if I refuse to empty myself of sin? What partnership can His love have with a poor attitude? How easily I forget. How needful that I be reminded. How humbling that my messenger was two. How grateful I am to be emptied and filled all at once.
It was day 3 of our church's form of Vacation Bible School, a highly anticipated event for my children. It is fun for them, but it can be exhausting for me and the kids, so it was no surprise that they were bickering over crayons by the end of the night. All of the nudging that I felt to turn the moment into a teaching moment and to meet their crankiness with opportunity to show love and service to one another, I simply ignored. I was just. too. tired.
I excused myself from the table, letting my husband take the lead. Matthew and I slipped away to a quiet room where I plotted my retaliation. Should I tell them we are not going to tomorrow's activities? Should I make them give up the privilege of "buying" trinkets with the tickets they were earning throughout the day? All seemed fair enough. After all, we were supposed to be learning how to serve others with good attitudes and they certainly weren't bringing their part of the bargain to the table.
Neither are you. God spoke softly to my heart.
I tried to ignore it and indulge my sorrows some more. This summer has been ridiculously busy. I haven't had a moment to myself. The days are a whirlwind of activity and the nights never hold the rest I am promised. I was tired. Tired of serving, and coaching, and cheerleading, and disciplining, and thinking of ways to turn disastrous meltdowns into "teaching moments." I was tired of pulling out the good attitude when the bad one beckoned. So I grumbled to myself that if my children weren't learning the lesson of serving each other, we had no business being here. I certainly didn't need to be here to learn how to serve others. I do it enough. All. day. So forgive me, God, but I just want to sit hear and rest for a minute and not do my job. Don't You get that?!
I sent my husband home with all four of the children, swallowing down some guilt that he would likely have a baby crying for his Mama the whole time while he tried to get the additional three Cranky Pants in bed. "I'm going to help clean up," I said. It was a guise of needing to serve others so I could indulge in a different venue where kids weren't the background noise.
I don't think I was really needed there, but I needed to be there, because God reached out to me, like he often does when I'm throwing one of my temper tantrums. I had only been free of children for a few minutes, when Kelly (the wife of one of our pastors) told me her 2 year old daughter had something to tell me. I looked down at her sweet little cherub-like face and she proclaimed, "I said a prayer for you today!" It blessed me to no end.
And it convicted me. Why did little Vera pray for me? Certainly, she didn't sense that I needed it. If I had asked her, she probably could not have articulated any particular reason. But I know why she did, because the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to little ones such as her. Because she was an open vessel for God's love and when He pressed on her heart to pray for me, she didn't make excuses like, "I hardly know her," or, "She might think that's a little weird," or, "She doesn't really deserve it, because she's never really ever done anything for me." She just followed in child-like trust and obedience, because God had a purpose for her prayer.
As we grow older, we find all sorts of excuses not to do the things that God asks of us. We mistakenly call them "reasons." Last night I saw in a little child's simple demonstration, how following God's leading can greatly impact another, beyond what we may even be able to comprehend as we follow through with His request.
When we act in obedience and offer with the right attitude, it is then that God's love is revealed. Though my "offerings" this week may have appeared sacrificial and even obedient, my attitude was something entirely different. I harbored in my heart stress, selfish ambition, greed, and anger, but somehow expected it to breed love. I had prefaced each day with a warning that if my kids weren't willing to show me that they deserved to go to Family Adventure Camp, I wouldn't be taking them. I made it clear that it wasn't necessarily a priority on my list, but it was a service to them, and I expected them to show me how grateful they were for all the additional stress and work each day provided. I was pouring out an attitude that didn't speak of love and service. From where did I expect my kids to get the right attitude?
I keep thinking of little Vera, holding her mommy's hand, saying those sweet words to me, and I am humbled by God's grace to reach out to me through this little vessel filled with His love. I admire the work He can do with a willing attitude. I had accomplished little the entire week, but in a brief moment, God lifted my spirits and renewed my heart and attitude.
How much can He use me if I refuse to empty myself of sin? What partnership can His love have with a poor attitude? How easily I forget. How needful that I be reminded. How humbling that my messenger was two. How grateful I am to be emptied and filled all at once.
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