The Art of Receiving

It's been a week. I've been humbled and grateful by turn. What else is there to do but lift your hands to the sky when the rain comes in torrents, but differently than you expected. 

Tuesday night, the wife of one of the board members said they were there. Putting in a chair lift so that it would be easier for me to go up and down the stairs each day and avoid some pain and crutch-hopping. Inwardly I cringed, and then sat there with my emotions empty, completely unsure how to feel. I felt hollow; the very last strands of independence had somehow escaped my hands and melted into thin air. I was grateful; really, I was. Actually, deeply, profoundly grateful for such caring and compassionate people in my life. But, I had no idea how to receive it well. 

I asked God to teach me and this verse came to my mind, "By love serve one another..." It didn't take me more than a few seconds to realize that in order to serve, there must be someone on the receiving end. So, I determined that it must be my turn to be the receiver. I turned my gaze upward, and asked for help to be a gracious one. 

It is hard though. Our insides (at least in the case of some of us hard-headed independent ones) kick at the very thought of being cared for or given to. We like to be in charge, in control, and serving others. God knew I needed a reset and so He let my knee hurt for awhile. I knew all along that He was teaching me some lessons, but I certainly didn't realize how deeply they would cut, or how much of my identity they would completely revolutionize. So, I sit here receiving, again and again, day after day. 

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I live on verses from heaven. God gives me one each morning as I wake up; my daily manna. When I lie there writhing in pain, I replay songs of worship over and over and remember the mercy of my Creator who carries me with His peace and strength. As I watch my friend do my laundry and clean my room, I am sad she must do it but glad that she does. I receive lunches from mothers and thank them for chicken, rice, and beans. Perhaps the hidden gift in this is that I get to eat Russian Mennonite food. 

On mornings when things just don't go, my kind and gracious father stands at the kitchen counter trying to figure out how to fold a flimsy wrap with extra chicken and mayo on it (his necessary manly additions), or building a sandwich so big I can barely fit it into the box. I sit there on the same counter watching him and eating my easy-to-make peanut butter bread for the second or third morning in a row. I feel a little too much like the helpless 11 year old girl he carried in his arms when her boot got stuck in the creek. 

I let my students carry my purple chair in and out. They carefully set it up and take it back in. They move their toes to make room for my wheel chair, and wait patiently as my crutches tap their way to class. My song book, bible, and pitch pipe travel upstairs for devotions in their well-tanned hands. The older boys carefully set my keyboard up, and water the plants too high for the little ones to reach. They make sure the game starts while I am still slowly travelling to the playground. On pain days, they gently push my unreliable wheelchair over the bumpy ground while I hunch up in in it tiny and ant-like. I rely on them each day when I think it should be the other way around. 

As I go to church on Sunday, someone holds the door for me. I used to like holding the door for others, but I guess what goes around, comes around. People ask how I'm doing. How weird is that? I used to make sure everyone else was ok. I tell them to the best of my knowledge, unsure of how to make it accurate without asking for a pity party. They carry on and I leave knowing I'm loved. 

I visit the NAPA parts store for my father on a Saturday and feel like a fragile princess among a tribe of brawny males. As I enter the store, every single man behind the counter is at the immediate assistance of this poor disabled woman on her crutches. Doors are opened. The welding canister lifted. Tailgates shut. You name it. All for little me. I feel well cared for and humbled. 

So I am learning to receive. One act of kindness at a time. Each, a drop of rain falling upon the ground of my heart. Each grain of mercy a reminder of God's love and His people. 🤗 

Extravagant Love

I picture Him standing there with the weight of a rugged cross pressing into His torn, ragged flesh. The excruciating pain fills His mind with a haze and all He can do is turn heavenward. Pain does that sometimes; reminds us of what's important and where our help comes from. 

But there is something in His eyes that halts us. The mocking passerby won't see it. The terrified children might miss it. The soldiers pounding nails and throwing lots for his clothes gloss over it. Only the one looking closely, perhaps his closest disciples, will see it. His eyes hold a heavenly light. A light that points to something so endearing and so enduring that it causes our breath to gasp and our bodies to still. "There is a purpose here," we say. Something so vast and infinite that we cannot wrap our minds around it, much less grasp it with our hands. 

His eyes hold the light of love. True, piercing, redeeming love. It is the kind that stops a sinner in his tracks, the kind that holds a panicked child still in strong arms, the kind that makes a haughty spirit bow down in surrender, the kind that lifts the hopeless to his feet, and the kind that breaks through mountains of defeat and humanly-manufactured walls of defense. It cuts to the heart of the most carefully guarded and softens the most violent anger. 

I know no other force on earth that can work so intricately and so strongly as this. It has caused me to sit back and marvel. Why for me? Why for you?

I asked God one time, why He did all that? I'm not sure that I'll ever completely understand the entire answer but one thing I came away with is that I ought to share it. 

And I see it. God's true people are full of this love. They forgive when others press charges. They love when others walk away. They give second chances when the first is blown. They keep investing when the results are grim. They walk into the lives of those who are down and out. Why? Because they were loved first. Because they KNOW the absolute life-changing, life-giving result of love and they want others to have it. 

You are loved. More than you can ever grasp, more than your biggest failures or smallest secrets, more than your defects and flaws; you are loved IN SPITE of them all. In fact, Your redemption was paid for while you were still in the middle of it all. Accept it. Believe it. It is finished. ❤️

The Lady Who Bakes Cakes

I saw her status again. She had baked another one... for Brenda this time. A carefully decorated guitar with detailed fondant features and a beautifully glazed surface. Could I make a cake like that? Perhaps... with a lot of practise. I do enjoy art myself. However, I have not been called to be a cake decorator nor to spend much time in the kitchen. My sister, who grew up beside me making luscious cinnamon rolls at the age of 11 and working as a manager at a Mennonite restaurant by the age of 18, knows full well that I don't have the inclinations or giftings for such a role. But I love that some of my friends do. 

You see, cakes, cinnamon rolls, and buffets have blessed many people on many an occasion. I am utterly grateful that God uses different people in various ways to run this world and establish His kingdom. I do believe that any small thing such as making cookies, doing the laundry, cementing a walkway, or framing a house (ok, that one's not small) are perfectly holy things when done to the glory of our Creator. 

Please have a great weekend and keep doing dishes, running excavators, mowing lawns, hunting deer, sweeping floors, milking cows, cleaning bedrooms, fixing tires, teaching Sunday School, scrubbing grass stains, doing schoolwork, and making breakfast with Your eyes on the One who called You. 

Oh yes, and I should probably order the yearbooks. 🤔

He Won't Give Up

Psalm 62:1-2 "For Zion's sake will I not hold my peace, and for Jerusalem's sake I will not rest, until the righteousness thereof go forth as brightness, and thy salvation thereof as a lamp that burneth. And the Gentiles shall see thy righteousness, and all the kings thy glory: and thou shalt be called by a new name, which the mouth of the Lord shall name."

And here we sit, wounded, broken people. This morning I am going to talk to my students about bubbles. They don't know it yet, but they will at 9:10 a.m. when the singing is over. I am going to draw a large bubble on the blackboard with a person inside. We will add thoughts and feelings to that person's bubble and it will represent their inner world. You see we all have one. A world where there is pain and hard things and also joy and happiness. I want my students to remember that about everyone around them. We really should all have a "handle with care" sticker on us. Especially the toughest and strongest among us. They especially need people to love a little harder and listen a little more carefully. When it comes down to it, we all need a lot of loving, caring, healing, mending and delivering.

Many people come into our lives. Some are safe and loving while some are hurtful. Some stay awhile and some merely dance in and back out. Each serve a purpose I do believe. But what if there were more of the healing kind? The ones that love when it's the hardest and stay when it would be easier to walk out? What if they would hold on in prayer when they see your lamp is dim and praise you when they see you need some encouragement? The world has enough darkness of it's own without those of us who are Christians adding more. Yet we are all imperfect. We all make mistakes and we all hurt others. 

And we must fall back on the only One who doesn't. He will find you, when you are at the end of your rope. He will rescue you when no one else can. He will heal your heart when you think it's past deliverance. He will love you when you are unlovable. And He will make you new and call you by a new name.

Lift your head, morning is coming, there's more to the story. He's not finished yet. ❤️

"And they shall call them, The holy people, The redeemed of the Lord: and thou shalt be called, Sought out, A city not forsaken." Isaiah 62:12

Pink With a Purpose

I love the colour pink. In fact, if I wish to have a cheery day, a pink outfit will do wonders. I believe there are more souls traversing this earth that have certain colours that fit them specifically. A colour that appears in their wardrobe, on their cars, in their drawings, in their washcloths, and on their bedroom walls. 

Mine has limits. I simply refuse to drive a pink car with tacky flowers on its side, wear hot pink socks, don a blossoming pink jacket, or use a glitzy pink backpack. There is more to life than pink. 

As I think about favourite colours and how they colour our life, I also think about the topic of moderation. Too much of a good thing is too much! 

We all know that eating only sugar-laden, crispy, chocolate bars for an entire day would lead to a bad end. On the other hand, eating only nutritious, beautiful, round green peas would also lead to a bad end. Somewhere there must be moderation. 

I am still young (according to some people's standards) and old according to others. 😏 However, I have lived long enough to see a few patterns in this thing called life and the people that inherit it. 

We as humans tend to richochette to extremes. For example: "My mother was tight-fisted, I'm going to enjoy life. This person delves off into a new life and pretty soon there is a collection of expensive items accumulated in their house, show-casing their lavish life-style and quickly descending bank balance. Or someone may say, "I'm sick of people being apathetic around me, I want to make a difference." Off he or she goes to try a grand venture without any foresight or forethought and quickly ends in disaster. 

A friend of mine once commented that he believes we need to stop this extreme sway of one generation going far left and then the other one reacting and going far right. I have thought about this some and come to the conclusion, actually conviction, that the only way to stop this is if we become absolutely convinced that the Word is truth. I know this is an old and obvious statement, but if we would become more concerned with following the actual than correcting other people or doing a better job than our parents, I believe we would see a phenomenal shift in today's generation. Instead of confusion, there would be clarity. Instead of rebellion there would be wise questioning. Instead of uncertainty, there would be vision. We would become grounded and solid in truth instead of reactionary volcanoes!

Nobody can choose what they are handed, but everybody has a choice in how they will receive and work with it.

‭‭Colossians 1:9-12 ESV

[9] And so, from the day we heard, we have not ceased to pray for you, asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of his will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, [10] so as to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him: bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God; [11] being strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy; [12] giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light.

Passing on the Mantle

Last night we had our first parent teacher meeting of the year. To say I was blessed is an understatement. At the end of our meeting, the parents gathered around and prayed over us as staff. As I left the room, I bumped into my co-teacher and said, "We're spoiled teachers." She heartily agreed. 

To be part of an organization like a Christian school that resolutely seeks to impact and inspire the next generation for Christ, is one of my greatest joys in life. And I know we are in it together. Although it is hard at times, there is still a remnant on earth furthering the Kingdom of Christ as they wait for His return.

This morning I stumbled upon the chapter in 1 Chronicles where David is passing on instruction, vision, and blessing to his son Solomon. He begins by gathering all the princes, captains, and stewards of the kingdom together and then proceeds to explain that he himself had desired to build a house for the Lord. However, since he was a man of war, God was choosing his son Solomon instead. Then he turns to Solomon and begins speaking:

"And you, Solomon my son, know the God of your father and serve him with a whole heart and with a willing mind, for the Lord searches all hearts and understands every plan and thought. If you seek him, he will be found by you, but if you forsake him, he will cast you off forever. Be careful now, for the Lord has chosen you to build a house for the sanctuary; be strong and do it." (1 Chronicles 28:9-10)

As I read these words, I was deeply impressed and my heart leaped a little because I felt it. I felt the passion in David's heart as he passed on his last instructions to his son. I felt his deep desire to see Solomon faithfully move on in the Kingdom of God. And I realized that that is what I and all the parents at that meeting are living for. We pour out our hearts and souls so that the next generation can also know Jesus and what it means to live for him. We teach them Biblical tools and model godly responses. We give them principles and watch as they wrestle with good and evil. We pray again and again as we see them struggle between the Light and darkness. And ultimately we keep on. Why? Because the Kingdom is still moving and there are still men and women needed to join its forces. Souls are still dying without hope and the Gospel must be preached. The world is in dire need of humble, Holy Spirit- dependent individuals who will love the Lord with all their heart, soul, mind, and strength and carry His hope to the uttermost parts of the earth. 

And so we press on. Preparing for the next generation just like David did as he accumulated supplies for Solomon's use. We pray for the children in our care just like he did for his son to be faithful. And ultimately, we walk with the God who knows our children inside and out and has a special calling for each one. 

Wrestling With Pain

Lately I have been wrestling with the unfairness, the frustration, and the confusion of pain. Yesterday I went back to visit a blogpost that I had read before. It had been penned by a woman who lost her life to cancer when she was just past thirty. She titled it, "God is on the Bathroom Floor," and then dove into a beautiful piece of writing that wrapped desperation, humanity, and the deep love of God all into one. You can read it here if you feel so inclined. 

As I talked with God about pain and listened for His returning answers, something gradually and completely hit my soul. After a few days of one-sided dialogue on my end, God used a small clip from the movie called "The Hiding Place" to speak to me. It comes to life in Germany during the harsh Nazi regime of World War II. A couple minutes in, a scene unfolds of Jews lining up and going forward to receive their yellow star one by one. These stars would mark them as targets and subject them to a life of abuse, rejection, and often death. Suddenly, I spoke out loud. "Many people have it worse than me!" I knew it before but needed to be reminded.

Then I took it a step further. I thought of my Gr.6 teacher who lost her life to cancer. She was one of the best teachers I ever had, so why her? Then I contrasted the lot of the starving children who are born in refugee camps with children who have cellphones, bunk beds, and chips at their finger tips and I thought, why them? And I realized that I don't know.

We can easily throw the phrase out that God has a plan for everything and that pain has a purpose, but truth be told, half the time we have no idea at the present what that means or looks like. I highly doubt that all those Jews sent to death like a herd of swine had a clear view of the purpose. Perhaps it strengthened their faith and caused them to trust deeply. But it is clear they couldn't see the entire picture. But did they need to?  

Can we get to a place in our faith where we are willing to suffer without seeing the reason? Willing to trust God even when we don't understand? Willing to keep praising Him because of who He is even when we feel like sitting and pouting? 

Perhaps like Job we can say, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him." Perhaps life is bigger and more complex than we will ever understand or know. Yes, God has an ultimate purpose in mind. All is for His glory and His triumph. If it takes pain or ease to accomplish it, He will use it. And so in health, in sickness, in strength, in weakness, in rejection, and in praise, we rest in this - He is in control and He knows what He is doing. 

Besides, these words were written about God's Son himself:

I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint: My heart is like wax; It is melted in the midst of my bowels. My strength is dried up like a potsherd; And my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; And thou hast brought me into the dust of death. For dogs have compassed me: The assembly of the wicked have inclosed me: They pierced my hands and my feet. I may tell all my bones: They look and stare upon me. They part my garments among them, And cast lots upon my vesture. But be not thou far from me, O LORD: O my strength, haste thee to help me. 

Psalm 22:11-19 (bible.com)

When we think of how our salvation was won through the trouble portrayed above and remember that only God makes beauty out of unfathomable ashes, perhaps it is not too much to raise our hands to the sky in surrender and praise. He alone is worthy - always and every time. 

Link: Praise You In This Storm by Praise and Harmony