Take Care of Your Sheepdogs


My dog has an obsession with our kitten.  He just wants to play and he wants the kitten to play too.  Sully, my Bernese Mountain Dog mix, was very interested in Jack, the orphan kitten, when he came to live at our house.  You see, Jack’s mother had been killed in the road and Jack was still sitting right by her side when my daughter stopped and picked him up.  Jack came home as a 5 week old baby who needed special help.  Sully, who is usually a rambunctious, ball of energy, laid right down and calmly licked Jack from head to toe and then wouldn’t let Jack out of his sight.  For weeks, Sully didn’t want to play, he just wanted to make sure Jack was safe from the perils of under-the-couch or too-near-the-stairs.  Sully alerted us to Jack’s whereabouts repeatedly.  When Jack would be put in the bathroom for eating or sleeping, you could almost see Sully breathe a sigh of relief as he laid down and his shift was over for a spell.  As Jack has grown, Sully has gotten more comfortable with Jack scampering through the room or sliding across the kitchen floor.  Sully will even chase him now and plant a large paw on 6-month-old Jack to get him to stay still for brief period of time.  Sully takes his job as the kitten-herder very seriously.

A traveling pastor came to our church years ago and his sermon was about his role as a sheepdog.  He explained that it was his job to keep the flocks together and headed in the right direction and that the Shepherd counted on him to take his job very seriously.  It was this sermon that came to mind as I watched Jack and Sully in their growing relationship.  Sully certainly wasn’t counted on to keep Jack safe, but he took his self-imposed role to heart and worked at keeping his little tiny flock, (Can 1 animal be considered a flock?) headed in the right direction.  Just as Jack came into Sully’s care from heartache and loss, we are in our Shepherd’s care with heartache, loss, worry, fear, frustration, and longing.  He cares so much for us in our needs that He sends sheepdogs to chase after each and every one of us.  Matthew 18:12 “If a man has a hundred sheep and one of them wanders away, what will he do?  Won’t he leave the ninety-nine others on the hills and go out to search for the one that is lost?” 

I am so grateful for all of the sheepdogs that have played a part in my life.  There have been pastors and aunts and parents and friends as well as grandparents and cousins who herded me back to God’s path when I had strayed away.  We need to heed our sheepdogs in whatever form they take and know that our Shepherd is looking for us and loving us.

Paul felt this duty too as we read in 2 Corinthians 11:28-29 “Besides everything else, I face daily the pressure of my concern for all the churches.  Who is weak, and I do not feel weak?  Who is led into sin, and I do not inwardly burn?”

Take care of your sheepdogs.  Pray that they are fed and watered with spiritual food and drink that they may lead us to the path that Jesus has set for us.

Paige and Velma Save the Day


In a devotion yesterday morning, I read, “God turns to us and hears our cry.  He lifts us out of the darkness, gives us a safe place to stand, and fills our heart with a new song of praise.  And he uses people to do it all!  In fact, God delights in using people to reach out and minister to other people who are wounded or lost.”  (That One Lost Sheep by Mary Southerland in Girlfriends in God)  I didn’t know how that was going to factor into my life so profoundly, but let me explain.

I have a chronic illness and sometimes I hide it very well.  Sometimes, like this past week, it gets the better of me and I can’t just explain it away.  I also teach and last week was my first full week back to school.  There is no tired like beginning of the school year tired.  One last thing.  I also have gout.  For those of you who don’t know what that is, I pray you never do.  Let’s just say debilitating pain and swelling and leave it at that.  It was the perfect storm, the trifecta of problems.

Last night, driving home, I was beyond exhausted and trying to breathe away the pain.  I have about a 35 minute drive so I usually use that time to pray and ponder.  I started crying as soon as I left the school parking lot.  It was the ugly cry; red, runny nose, puffy eyes, mascara down the cheeks, the kind that makes you yawn in the middle from crying so hard.  I also started asking God to help me.  I threw out the fact that I was past my limit and I couldn’t bear this anymore.  The day had done me in.  My pain was too great.  All my issues had swarmed me, covered me, and taken control.  I didn’t know how I was going to make it through the rest of the evening.  I needed to make dinner and most importantly, I needed to give my 4-month-old puppy, Sully, some exercise.  I always say that he’s like a cranky toddler if he doesn’t get worn out before bed.

I got home to my empty house and heard my puppy begging to do something, anything.  Knowing that I couldn’t take him for any length of a walk, I decided on the next best thing.  I would take him to the dog park that was nearby.  I couldn’t run and play with him but he could run around off-leash and chase a ball or a stick or a butterfly or something.  He and I have been to the dog park on a few occasions and have never seen one other dog there.  We drove to the park, limped (I limped, he bounced) on over to the gate and in we went.  I rolled the soccer ball and he looked at me.  Usually he and I run after it and we run all over while he tries to get the ball from me.  I tried to explain that tonight he’d have to play on his own.  He just came and laid down next to the bench.  While I appreciated the love he was showing me, I knew he wouldn’t be so lovey dovey as the evening wore on if he didn’t get some wiggles out.  Then, God sent those other people that I mentioned in the devotion.  Well, it was one person, and her name was Paige (but I didn’t have the chance to ask her name until the end of our time together).  She calmly walked to the gate with her dog who she introduced as Velma and asked if it was okay for them to come in.  I assured her my dog was harmless and she said the same.  She marveled at the fact that she’d never been to this dog park before when there was someone there.  My Sully and her recently adopted Velma checked each other out and the chase was on.  They ran from one end of that dog park to the other and took turns being the chaser and the chasee.  They bumped into things, rolled over each other, and had a ball!  Paige and I got to talking about how Velma got a little cranky in the evenings and needed exercise (her exact words) and how glad she was that Sully and I were there when she came along.  She was glad to see us?  Seriously?  In the puffy, snotty state I was in, I couldn’t believe anyone could be glad to have come across me.  After 30 glorious minutes, Sully and Velma were both laying under separate trees with tongues hanging out.  I must admit; my weary soul was finally taking a breather too.  We leashed them up, introduced ourselves to each other and expressed our hope that we’d run into each other there again.

My puppy slept the whole way home and was subdued for the rest of the evening.  I was in tears again but these tears were ones of gratitude over the fact that God had sent Paige and Velma to reach out to me when I felt particularly lost and to make sure I had help.  He is good indeed!

Romans 12: 5  In Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. 

Worry Worry Worry

worry monster

I’ve come to the conclusion that someone, somewhere, at some time, told me I needed to be worried about things. I’ve always told people I’m a worrier.  People always say that about me.  Oh, that Heather, she’s a worrier.  I apparently come from a long line of worriers.  I just accepted that’s who I was and it’s what I did.  I’m a really good worrier.  I’m also not proud of that, at all.  In fact, it’s something I want to get un-good at.  I want to be uncertified.  I want out of the club.  But how?

I have two grandchildren.  My granddaughter is 4, turning 5 soon.  Kindergarten is on her horizon.  She is smart, outgoing, inquisitive, shy, and about as bubbly and shiny as one kid could ever be.  My grandson has just turned 3 and he is a bulldozer of a boy.  He wants to know how everything works, what happens if you take it apart, how hard can you hit it or jump on it before it breaks, and who will get in on the action with him.  He shares his sister’s brilliant and happy mind.  They are amazing children.  I have seen them be afraid of a temporary, now, situation.  Those reactions are completely understandable and they look to the people around them to calm, soothe, and fix.  However, it wasn’t until recently, that I noticed that they don’t have future worries.  They live in the moment.  They are happy or sad or mad or scared or frustrated by what is happening in their lives right now.  I do believe this is where we’ve gone wrong, fellow grown-ups.

For Christmas, my grandchildren received worry dolls.  They are stuffed monster-looking things that have zippers on their mouths.  The printed directions that came with them told the kids to write down what they were worried about and put them in the monster’s mouth.  The monster would “eat” their worries and there’d be nothing left to worry about.  As an adult, I thought this was a cute little thing that may help ease any fears.  But, as my granddaughter pondered this monster, I could see that this was a turning point.

She wanted to know what she was supposed to be worried about.  She wanted to know what kinds of things people wrote down.  I started to tell her some things I worried about and then shut my mouth.  Why?  Why would I put my worries on this child?  Why should we be using this stuffed monster toy to tell her she’s got to find something to worry about?  Her brother was on to bigger and better things and already devising a scheme to disassemble said monster.  He was safe.  But my granddaughter was now afraid of this toy.  She was starting to worry about not having something to worry about.  She was downright scared.  Her aunts and I took the toy quietly away and stashed it on top of my refrigerator.  We then spent the rest of the day trying to help her forget that she should be worried.  Mission accomplished.  By bedtime, she forgot that she should be worried and went right back to being her amazing self.

That cute little monster gathered dust on top of my refrigerator until this past weekend when I was getting around to cleaning up there.  Don’t judge!  When I found him, I decided to send him along to the trash so that he didn’t disturb any other children but I was left to wonder, when did someone first tell me I needed to worry about something?  I know it’s not as simple as all that and that my granddaughter will grow into some worries as she grows up but for now, let’s just breathe and let it go.

Matthew 19:14  But Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.”

Phillippians 4:6-7  Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Faith: The Loud and Soft Of It

Window 2

When I was growing up I discovered that there were two kinds of faith.  There was soft faith and loud faith.  People in my life practiced both types and I am so glad that I was exposed to both.  I think we all need a little faith change from time to time so that we are open to new ideas, new prayers, new promises, and new beauty.  Before I explain both types, please know that whatever form your faith takes is exactly right for you and perfect in God’s eyes.  As long as we have faith, He will hear us.

Up until I was 14 years old, I went to Lutheran and Episcopal churches.  At those churches, we prayed quietly.  The minister said all of the things that should be on our minds and then we softly said, “Hear our prayer, oh Lord.”  As near as I could tell, we didn’t talk about our faith or talk back in our faith, we just agreed and hoped God was hearing our quiet plea.  The beautiful thing was, He was hearing every thought, word, and deed.  I believe God hears our hearts when our mouths can’t find the words to say.  He also hears our actions loud and clear.  Whatever was coming up from all of us in that church or around our dinner table as we said Grace, or at bedtime as we said, “Now I lay me down to sleep…”, He was listening. After all, I figured those were the only times each day that people prayed.

What I was shown was that those quiet prayers were followed by beautiful and faith filled acts of service.  We lived on a busy street in a suburban neighborhood.  There were kids riding bikes and people walking dogs and families enjoying their yards.  One weekend afternoon, we had a knock at the door and there stood a girl who had been riding her bike.  She was in desperate need of a bathroom and back in those days and in that neighborhood, people didn’t need to be afraid that some harm would come to them if they stopped to ask for help from strangers.  My parents let her in and showed her to the bathroom.  You would have thought my brother and I had never had a houseguest before.  We were curiously thrilled to get a closer look as she came out.  She was so grateful and my parents didn’t think anything of having helped her.  We also gave a ride to the Charles Chips man when his van broke down.  Charles Chips was a home delivery company for cookies and chips and all sorts of goodies.  We were driving down a crowded thoroughfare and there he was.  The Charles Chips man.  Standing beside his disabled delivery van.  My parents stopped.  They recognized him.  He recognized them.  They invited him into the safety of our car and we took him to the nearest gas station where he could get help.  This was the norm in our family.  If someone needed help, you helped.  It was part of our faith.

The summer after I turned 14, my brother and I went to stay with our grandparents for 6 weeks or so.  It was there that I learned about loud faith.  My brother and I went to the Baptist church for the first time and I’m sure that my mouth was open and shock was registered on my face by the time that first service ended.  The minister was loud.  He walked around and shouted a little bit.  He called people by name.  He asked us what was in our hearts.  Then, a most unbelievable thing happened.  Someone in the congregation answered back.  It was a loud and hearty, “Amen!”  Out loud!  In church!  I kept looking around out of the corner of my eyes hoping to see who might be getting in trouble but it turned out to be more than one person.  What was going on there?  Then came the time to pray.  Our heads bowed and I waited for the cue to say, “Hear our prayer, oh Lord.”  It didn’t come.  That minster, the preacher as I was to be corrected later, asked us to pray.  All by ourselves.  I have to admit I was a little lost there at first.  Fortunately, Aunt Beverly was by my side that day and she prayed enough for the both of us.  I had never heard anyone pray like that, out loud.  She asked for help, she asked for forgiveness, she lifted up people I knew and people I didn’t know.  I felt confused but energized by the end of that time in church.  During the next week, my aunt talked to me about my faith.  She talked to me about church.  My grandfather sang some church songs for me that were in a language I understood.  They made faith come alive for me even outside of the church service.  That summer, my brother, my cousin, and I went to church camp.  What a shocker that was to be loud and bold about God all week, with other kids my age.   When that summer ended, I had a new outlook on my faith.  The foundation that my parents, Grandma Barbara, and Grandma Ruby, had laid for my love of the Lord was firm and true.  On that foundation, in the house of the Lord, Aunt Beverly, Grandpa Ken, and Grandma Lucy opened the windows so that God could hear our shouts and prayers.

I am blessed beyond measure that I have had the role models I’ve had and the warriors who have always pointed me towards God.  Whether it’s been a soft and gentle nudge or a loud and boisterous slap on the back, I was witness to their love and service.

Matthew 21:22  And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith.

Notice it doesn’t say what kind of prayer?  Pray loud, pray soft.  Pray in your own way, in your own heart, and in your own voice.  He will hear.  Have faith.

Who is Your Faith-filled Role Model?


Many of us today are frightened.  We are anxious.  We are needy.  We are weary.  I say ‘we’ because it makes me feel like I’m not alone.  I also happen to know a few people who fall into this category with me.  At times like these, we can try to find comfort in the wrong places, but where we really need to find our comfort and our strength is in Jesus.  We need to look past the things of this world sometimes, no matter how appealing the gadgets may seem.  Let’s find our faith-filled role models and look up.

My grandma, Barbara, was a gentle and humble woman and I loved her.  She was one of my faith-filled role models for everything that she did, everything that she stood for, and everything that she wasn’t.  Barbara wasn’t up on technology…of any kind.  Granted, there wasn’t the onslaught of devices and social media and the like but my grandmother, in 1985 still watched a black and white TV.  Some of you may not even know what that is.  I’ll give you a minute to go look in your picture app on your phone to see the black and white setting.  Now you understand.  Her belief was that everything looked just fine in “living black and white”.  Quote directly attributed to her.  I lived with Grandma Barbara for a short time between high school and college and we watched M*A*S*H* reruns every night as well as the 4, 5, and 6 o’clock news programs in said black and white.  Before living with her, I was blessed to get to have sleepovers with both her and my great grandmother and we watched The Love Boat and Fantasy Island on that awesome TV.  But, you know what?  My brain doesn’t remember anything being wrong with that grayscale.  It was perfect and every nuance and meaning was crystal clear.  Who needed high def and all the other bells and whistles?  She had no microwave and got her jiffy cooking done in the toaster oven.  Her phone was attached to the wall next to the red step stool chair and the kitchen table that had pen and paper in the just the right spot for doodling as you talked.

My point in pointing all of this out?  She didn’t need the latest and greatest to be one of the greatest.  She lived her life with what made her happy.  She was never trying to outdo or even keep with anyone.  She was comfortable, happy, and current on what truly mattered; apartheid in South Africa, the AIDS crisis, political agendas, people in need.  I remember a service at her church that was specifically for AIDS victims and where others shied away, my grandmother made sure to give a warm hug to those who needed it most.  She gave of herself and her time for the inner-city children who graced the doorstep of her church for the after-school food, warmth, care, and education.  I guess you could say she was on the cutting edge of love, respect, and service.

I am like her in many ways.  Recently my mother told me that I have Grandma Barbara’s hands.  What a compliment.  I boil my water in a whistling tea kettle on the stove.  Keurig be damned.  I watch VHS tapes and I listen to “programs” on the radio…the radio!  Thank goodness for A Prairie Home Companion.  I’m happy that I’m not on the front lines of technology or anything else but I am doing what feels right.  No apologies.  I will also put my energies and time and love into what matters most in this day and time.  There are many who need my help, your help, our help.  Let’s do it!

Matthew 11: 28-30  “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.  Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.” 

Tuesday School


When I was 3 going on 4 years old, my grandmother taught at Tuesday School.  This was an after school program that her church sponsored for school-aged kids in Washington D.C.  I loved going with her and seeing the big kids who got to go to that magical place called school.  I loved their backpacks, their school supplies, their stories, the sound of the bus that dropped them at the church, the smell of their school clothes.  All of this seemed so foreign but I knew that school was the place for me.  I wanted so much to be like these kids and go to school.  So, I set about doing what they did so I could go too.  I had supplies and played school all the time at home.  My poor brother suffered horribly through my home classroom and I think I did the poor guy in.  He probably looked at me and said, “Please make sure I’m not like her so I don’t have to go.”  I’m sorry, Jeff.  I ruined it for you.  But I had my role models and I was on a mission.

We had an aluminum storm door on the front of our house.  The bottom part was solid and had the mandatory barn-door X stamped into the metal.  The top held a screen in the summer and some filmy window in the winter.  When the main door was open, the light would shine through the top of the storm door and make a warm, perfect square on the carpet at the bottom of the stairs.  It was there I set about making sure I could go to school.  I laid my little body right down there on that carpet for as long as a kid could keep still.  My mother would walk by and ask me what I was doing.  “Getting ready to go to school,” was my standard answer.  My brother was glad to have me out of the classroom and out of commission so he didn’t say a word.  One night, before bed, I climbed up on the side of the tub, got one knee up on the sink, grabbed the medicine cabinet, and pulled myself fully up to the mirror.  What I saw was heartbreaking.  I still looked exactly the same.  I carefully jumped down, avoiding a collision with the toilet, and went to my parents in tears.  Through my little sobs, I told them I just wanted to go to school.  They responded by saying that soon I would be on my way.  I pointed out that I had been laying in the sun every day and my skin wasn’t getting any browner.  They were puzzled so I explained about the kids at Tuesday School and the fact that only kids with brown skin got to go to real school.  I had tried so hard to make my skin brown.  It just hadn’t worked.  I’m sure they laughed at me.  They may have taken turns talking to me while the other one giggled or maybe they waited until I had gone to bed but we had a talk about the fact that all kids could go to school.  My mother assured me that it didn’t matter what color anyone’s skin was, everyone could go to school.  That was an earth-shattering revelation to my little brain and I believe I was so happy I skipped right upstairs and started picking out something to wear for whenever I got to head off to my first day of school.

While I innocently thought that my appearance was the key to getting something I really wanted, I was to grow up in a world where that assumption was reinforced at every turn.  I had many more times during my life where I felt inferior because of things I couldn’t change.  I have felt like I was not good enough on many occasions.

We are told, by the media, that we need to be thinner, have silkier hair, wear this brand of clothing, drink a certain soda, drive that car, graduate from this college, all in the name of having what we want.  Many chase those dreams to the exclusion of their faith, their friends, their families, and their own happiness.  Instead of chasing after the things of this world, instead of feeling like we aren’t good enough, we should look to our Father who tells us that we are His.  No matter what color our skin, no matter what language we speak, no matter where we live, we are the children of the most high God.  He loves us and calls us redeemed.  I don’t have to look like you or think like you but you also don’t have to look like me or think like me.  We just have to love what makes us different and continue walking each other Home.

1 Peter 2:9  But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. 

Mrs. Forward Saves The Day


When I was 5 years old, I was in Mrs. Forward’s kindergarten class at Four Corners Elementary School.  I loved being in her class.  We had morning flag raising where some lucky kid would get to hold the small American flag while we all pledged our allegiance and then sang a patriotic song.  My favorite one to sing was You’re a Grand Old Flag.  I loved it because it was the favorite of the little boy who stood next to me.  His name was Mario.  Sigh…  Well, I also liked it because it was a toe-tapper, but that’s not my point.

Other than pledging and singing, we did some napping and a whole lot of learning.  In the fall, Mrs. Forward spent quite a bit of time teaching us about what happens to people, to animals, and to plants in this new and colorful season.  I absorbed every word she said and could hardly contain my excitement when she gave us homework.  HOME WORK!  That was what the big kids did.  I’d heard them talking on the bus.  Our homework was to find one sign of fall that we could bring in and share with the class.  I rode the bus home in a euphoric state, my mind racing with the possibilities.  As I walked up to our house, our huge, climb-able, red maple told me that she had the answer to all of my fall needs.  Jackpot!

The next morning, before school, my mother and I walked out to the beautiful tree and carefully picked 5 red leaves from the ground.  We put these in a plastic baggie and folded the top over to keep my leaves safely inside.  This was back in the day before the bags zipped shut and had the green stripe of proof.  Back then, we had to be trusting.

I carried my baggie to the bus stop where it caught the attention of Billy T.  He was my next-door neighbor.   He was in the third grade.  He was also a bully.  During my tenure as his fence neighbor, he made my life miserable at times.  On this particular day he waited until I walked to my usual spot and then came over to find out what I was carrying.  I explained the whole thing to him hoping that he would see the value in my mission and just leave me alone.  Unfortunately, he wasn’t of the same mindset.  Instead, he pulled the bag out of my hands, and assured me he would give it back once we got on the bus.  He gave it back alright, but only after he had crumbled up the leaves to where they resembled organic confetti.  I was crushed.  My heart was in about as many pieces as my leaves.  Now I would never be able to show my face in the homework arena.

I timidly entered my classroom and joined the other cuties on the carpet.  Mario, sigh, had saved a spot right next to him.  Mrs. Forward eagerly called each one of us up to her chair and proceeded to display what we brought and asked us to explain how this was a sign of fall.  When it came to be my turn, I blushed, I mumbled, I tried to melt into the numbered dots on our kindergarten counting carpet.  Finally, Mrs. Forward left no doubt that I was required to come up to stand next to her.  I gave her my bag and was waiting for the laughter or the banishment that I surely deserved.  After all, I had hadn’t done my homework.  But while I cringed and held back the tears, a miraculous thing happened.  There were sunbeams cascading down to the floor around my feet.   There was a heavenly choir singing.  There was, well, no there wasn’t.  But it sure felt like that.

Mrs. Forward said she was glad, yes glad, that I had these leaves because now she could show the class what happened to all the beautiful leaves as they got walked on by humans and animals and got made into special food for the soil and later the plants.  I had brought a fall science lesson.  Imagine my utter disbelief.  I cursed and thanked Billy T. for his plans meant for my demise and for those same plans that lifted me up.  I also thanked Mrs. Forward for giving me the go-ahead to dream of one day becoming a teacher so that I could rescue little kids like she did.

That time in my life still serves as a faith lesson for me.  There are always times, in all our lives, where people and enemies mean things for our downfall.  When someone talks behind our back, when someone steals the spotlight at our time to shine, or when plans fall apart, we must remember that God will take those times and use them for His glory.  We just need to let it go to Him.  When we do, we can feel as elated as my little kindergarten self and hold our heads high as we continue on our journey.

Genesis 50:20  You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good. 

Looking for Meena

meenaSo many things come along each day that cause me stress.  The pressure gets overwhelming at work.  My teenage daughter is calling from college wanting money.  The bank account has run out before the month has.  An appliance has stopped working.  The 14-year-old dog is sick.  He is sick all over the place for the past 3 days.  While none of these scenarios are terminal, they pile up and wear me down so I feel sad, weary, let down, lost.  I know that I’m not alone in this, but technically, I’m alone.  My oldest daughter is married with children, my middle daughter works her tail off between full time work and full time school, and my youngest is in her first year away at college.  So, the sick dog and I keep each other company.

Louie is a miniature pinscher mix who is 98 in people years.  That’s old.  Recently he has had a little trouble controlling his functions, if you know what I mean.  This thought plagues my drive home from work each day.  After dealing with my classroom full of first graders, I know that at the end of my drive I will have some cleaning up to do-doo.  A couple weeks ago, I stressed about this the whole way home to the point where I was actually mad at the poor little guy before I ever walked through the door.  As I reluctantly climbed the stairs and came in, I could tell it was going to be bad.  All I could do was yell out, “LOUIE!”  What came back, surprised me.  I heard someone singing, “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.  Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, mama.”  This response stopped me in my tracks and left me standing there with my mouth wide open.  What the…?

Now before you call the looney bin on me or assume I must be delusional, let me explain an earlier event.  I went with my grandchildren to see the movie, Sing.  We loved it.  My 3-year-old grandson loved those little bunnies and walked around singing their line repeatedly.  If you’ve seen the movie or even just the commercial, you know what song I’m talking about.  Not necessarily appropriate for all occasions.  After the movie, the kiddos wanted to stop by McDonalds for a Happy Meal with a toy that featured Meena from the movie.  Meena, the elephant, sang her song non-stop, all the way home and by the time we were there, she was played with until I was hearing “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing,” ringing in my ears.  Listen here if you’d like…https://youtu.be/t8tv38egpx8

The grandkids cleaned up to go home and I was relieved that Meena was going to get to entertain my daughter and son-in-law for the foreseeable future.  As it turned out, Meena never left my house.  She is somewhere in or under my couch and every loud noise or hard thump on the floor causes her to belt out her admonition to stop worrying.

This is what I heard as I yelled at Louie that day.  I looked for Meena briefly but stopped after I realized that her voice was just the reminder I needed to knock off the worry, to not sweat the small stuff.  Being home alone gives me more, although not needed, time inside my head, but Meena keeps me going.  I don’t know how long her little batteries will last but so far, she’s been right on time, every time, with her plea.  Her interjection catches me by surprise almost every time but it’s always exactly what I need to hear.

I believe that God slips these reminders into our lives in whatever ways He thinks we’ll pay attention.  He knows I need them frequently.  I hope we can be those reminders for one another as well.  Let’s all channel our inner Meena and stop worrying about the thing; the doctor’s report, the news about our parents, the stress of our jobs, etc…  Let’s begin to do something, no matter how small, to make a difference, to make it better, to help.  I’m willing.

Philippians 4:6-7  Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. 


There’s No Telling How Far

My pastor recently spoke the following words, “We can know how many seeds are in the pomegranate but only God knows how many pomegranates are in the seed.”

We must have a spirit of giving.  We have daily, abundant opportunities to give in some form or fashion.  Think of your own day.  My day started off with a visit from my grandkids and my grandson was interested in me giving him some attention by reading a book.  My dog wanted me to give her a little ball-throwing session in the backyard.  My daughter wanted me to loan her my laptop so she could finish some school work tonight.  As I left for church, my neighbor stopped to talk for a few minutes in the driveway.  On the way to church, the man at the intersection held the sign that read, “Please give.  Anything helps.”  In church, the collection plate was passed around and we were reminded of our missionaries and the debt-reduction that we are trying to achieve.   Stopping at the grocery store, the nice lady in aisle 3 needed some help getting something off of the top shelf.  Once I got home, my parents called and wondered if I had time for them to come visit.  Do you see all of these opportunities that were opened up for me to give of myself?  That’s only half of my day.  How many more times will I be called on?

In each of these instances, I can see and count the tangible gift.  I can see how my grandson liked hearing the story.  I can’t tell though, what good came from that later in his day.  Was he better-behaved for his mom later?  Did he learn a few new words that he couldn’t read before?  I can see how my daughter will take my laptop to but what will happen beyond that?   Could she also use it to apply for a job she’s found available?   The $10 that I gave to the guy on the street corner was just $10 but to him, it was a meal for himself and something for the dog laying next to him.  The offering at church was a set amount for me but where will the church use it?  Will is support a missionary and make something possible in a country I will never see?  Will it supply meals for the youth as they come to learn about God’s place in their life?  Will it be used in the community to create programs to draw people to the works of God in our church?  So many possibilities.

I think I can fully understand the gift of the time with my dog outside.  Because of that gift, I won’t have any gifts to clean up when I get home from church later.

I know what I have given.  I have counted those seeds.  But only God knows what those seeds will sow and how far and how wide they will be broadcast.  In all of those instances ask God to do His Will and with others’ giving, the results are limitless.  Give when you can, in whatever way you can.  We all have something to give.

Proverbs 11:24-25  One person gives freely, yet gains even more; another withholds unduly, but comes to want.  A generous person will prosper; whoever refreshes others will be refreshed.