May 2011

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The other night I caught the last ten minutes of “Extreme Couponing.” The producers ended the show by scanning through numerous stocked pantries. Boxes and boxes of crackers sat next to row after row of Gatorade. More than one family could possibly eat in a life-time, and these women were proud of their stock pile. They were proud that their pantries were stuffed to the brim with more food than they could eat, while millions starve daily.

It’s easy to become a hoarder. Maybe not to the extreme of those coupon-clipping ladies, but we all like to have our safety nets. Our nest eggs. Our guarantees. We lived in Louisiana when Katrina hit. Although we lived far enough away from the storm to stay safe, the entire state experienced heartache as Katrina victims flooded our towns, churches, and made-shift shelters. Seeing such devastation led to a lot of “what-iffing” and soon the local stores were stripped bare. Why? Because everyone stocked their pantries with water and staples in case another storm hit.

But does God want us to stock pile? Does God want us focused on ourselves? The other day my sister shared a story with me that illustrated the truth presented in the biblical account of manna. To recap, the Israelites were wandering through the desert, not knowing where they would sleep each night nor what lay ahead. And what normally happens when we face the unknown? We spiral in fear. We stock pile. We spin safety nets. God promised to provide for their needs, but a few of the Israelites grew anxious. What if God forgot a day, or changed his mind? So they gathered more manna than they needed, only it didn’t do them any good. In fact, their manna rotted, creating quite a stench!

The other day my sister shared a modern-day manna story. After the recent economic downturn, stock market crash, upheaval in other countries, sky-rocketing gas prices and political unrest in America, she and her husband decided to prepare for the “what-ifs”. They stocked their basement shelves with numerous food items, including vacuum sealed potatoes. A few months later, a nasty stench emanated from their basement. At first they thought perhaps their sewage system had backed up. Yep, it was that bad.

But nope, it wasn’t sewage. Their “manna” had rotted. After searching their basement, they found their bag of potatoes, ballooned by the gases formed during decomposition. To my sister, this was a vivid reminder not to hoard and stock pile but instead, to trust in God.

I wrote an article about this for the Christian Pulse and it will go live on June 14th. I’ll try to link to it, although I’ll be in El Salvador and potentially without internet access, so no promises.

Before I leave, think back over the account of the New Testament church. Find any hoarders? Nope. What we see are men and women so madly in love with Jesus they do whatever it takes to see His church expanded and His love made known. God doesn’t want us to self-preserve. He wants us to lay it all on the alter, daily.

Are you doing that? If not, what area of your life do you need to release?

Mark 8:34-35 Then he called the crowd to him along with his disciples and said: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me and for the gospel will save it.  (NIV)

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Perhaps I’m eating my words today. A while back I wrote a post about how the teen years didn’t need to be painful. Still true, (sort of) but today that truth is colored by an emerging revelation: I’m annoying. And smothering. Yep, somehow overnight I’ve gone from humorous to teeth-gritting irritating.

Now, I know this is a phase, and likely a normal one as our daughter moves from dependency to indepence, but it still hurts. And if I’m not careful, I’ll allow my heart to lead, turning into her friend rather than her parent. Only that would not be an act of love. That would be an act of selfishness. Love takes the hard route, does the hard things, says the hard things, regardless how the other person will respond.

This is especially true in parenting.  Oh, how we long to have special, giggly moments with her our children. How we long to be their friends. But we’re not. We’ve got a God-given responsibility to raise them with diligence and excellence. And at times, that may make us look like the enemy. But love looks past the present and the emotions involved. Love looks for the good of others and does whatever it takes to see that person succeed and grow closer to their Savior.

I found today’s story almost comical. It’s a snapshot into a father’s life where this friendship thing is taken to the extreme, but hopefully the humorous extreme will encourage us to evaluate our parenting. Are we doing everything we know to do to see our children grow, or are we seeking the path of least resistance?

Excerpt taken from Tales of the Dim Knight by Andrea and Adam Graham

Superman fell from the sky, collided with a skyscraper, and bounced off as it toppled. The action figure crashed into a green stegosaurus grazing at the foot of the sky blue leather sofa.

Mild-mannered janitor Dave Johnson set the cardboard skyscraper upright again in the model city erected on his steel gray living room carpet.

He tugged down his Spider-Man pajama top and sent a scolding glance at his dimpled nine-year-old. “Derrick, you shouldn’t have dropped him like that.”

Derrick scratched his head. “But, Dad, you said Superman got hit with a missile.”

When would his son ever learn?

At least Derrick still cared, unlike Dave’s eldest. “A missile isn’t going to knock Superman out of the sky, son. He’s invulnerable. He might be fazed, but he’d pop right back up.”

Derrick nodded. “That makes sense.”

“All right, so get him back in the sky.”

Derrick lifted Superman back above the cardboard model of Metropolis.

Naomi called from the kitchen, “Dinner!”

Derrick wrinkled his nose. “Aw, Mom—”

“—now, son.” Dave wagged a finger. “We’ve talked about this. You need to eat.”

“But what’s going to happen to Lois Lane?”

Dave mussed Derrick’s bushy hair, black like his own. “We’ll find out tomorrow, Champ.”

He glanced to their chipped oak entertainment center. The DVD player’s clock read 4:37 p.m. Time to get ready for work. He jogged into the master bedroom, stripped off his vintage Spider-Man PJ’s, and changed into the stone gray coveralls Naomi had laid out for him on her girly yellow comforter, which covered their Queen Anne style bed.

Where was his government-issued, navy blue baseball cap? He usually left it on the stack of red milk crates filled with the newer additions to his comic book collection. He spotted it atop his collection of every superhero DVD box set known to man. Grinning, he snatched the hat up. Aha. No lowly work accessory could outsmart Mild-Mannered Janitor Dave Johnson.

He set the cap askew on his head, patted his breast pocket, and hit thin plastic. Good. Not only would it be embarrassing if he lost his security pass a third time this month, he’d incur another $25 fine, and Naomi wouldn’t let him buy the Wonder Woman action figure he needed to complete his Justice League collection.

The door flung open. Naomi stood outside it in a perfectly pressed navy pants suit, her sharp, side-parted ebony bob curling a bit under her chin. Trouble brewed in eyes the same color as her favorite Starbucks brew: a half-caf, non-fat grande latte with sugar-free chocolate syrup and exactly four packets of Splenda. “Dave, we need to talk.”

Oh no. Mount Naomi was about to blow. “What about?”

She folded her arms. “How about our life and supposed marriage?”

Dave brushed past her into the living room. “I don’t have time for this.”

“You never have time!” She stomped up alongside him. “You get up after I leave for work. And you leave a few minutes after I get home.”

“Wait up for me, and we’ll talk when I get in.”

“At two a.m?”

“That’s as good a time as any.” Dave fled to the kitchen and sighed at the dining nook’s empty claw-foot pedestal table. Naomi had the boys eating dinner in their room again? Funny how that always coincided with the flow of lava. He grabbed his X-Men lunchbox from the stainless steel side-by-side refrigerator. He headed for the door to the attached two-car garage.

Naomi ran ahead and blocked his getaway. “We talk now.”

He looked at his silver bat signal watch. She was making him late. “Fine, two minutes.”

“I’m concerned about the kids.”

Dave stiffened. “What? You don’t think I’m a good father?”

“You’ve been great teaching them to be little boys, but you can’t play Superman with them forever. They need someone who can help them through difficult times. Someone who can show them how to be men.”

 “And why can’t I?”

“Look at yourself, Dave! You make me pack your dinner in the same lunchbox James used in kindergarten! You don’t buy all that superhero stuff for the kids.”

Dave crossed his arms. “I work hard for this family!”

Naomi flicked her index finger at Dave. “You’ve been at the same job a decade. You’re not twenty-three anymore. You need to grow up for the kids’ sake—and for me.”

“And for you?”

“Yes, and for me! Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve been together? Nine months. It’s like, all you wanted were James and Derrick, and, as soon as you got them, you forgot all about me.”

“I’m the same man you married. You’re the one who’s changed.” He glanced at her pink polished nails. A sandy-haired Mary Jane met him at the altar twelve years ago. So how did he end up married to Lois Lane?

“What’s happened to you?”

“I grew up, Dave.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She took the hint and moved out of his way. “This isn’t over!”

Dave slammed the door behind him. Why couldn’t she understand? Superheroes did things he could only dream of. He wasn’t playing silly games; he was sharing his dreams with the kids. It wasn’t like his hobby kept him from working. He always brought home his paycheck, and he never complained about the tight hold Lois—er, Naomi—kept on the purse strings.

He climbed in his pick-up truck and backed out into traffic. He glanced at the empty seat. “You don’t want to talk.” He returned his gaze to the road. “You want to scream at me until I change into some boring Ken Doll in a suit who golfs and does all the things the big bosses do at your work. You say I don’t listen, but at least I let you talk. The only time I can talk to you is when you’re not here. When you’re here, I can hear you, but—”

Dave swallowed. He’d rather be beaten up by a tag team of the Rhino and Doctor Octopus. It’d be less painful.

A freckled little boy on a bike darted out in front of him. Dave slammed his brakes hard.

The truck stopped inches from the kid. Dave lowered his head onto the steering column. The boy cursed and rode away.

Calm down, or you’ll kill somebody.

“This looks like a job for Superman.” Dave pressed the play button on his CD player. The old time radio crackled over his truck’s speakers. From a crowd in Metropolis, a woman shouted, “Look, up in the sky!” 

By the time the narrator said, “And now for our story,” the pain had eased.

Order your copy of Tales of the Dim Knight now!

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About a decade ago, the church we attended experienced a split. I don’t need to go into details, but before long, the entire congregation was a buzz of negativity and polarization. Lines were drawn that never should have been drawn and the cancer became contagious. What started as a difference in opinion between two leaders opened the door for criticism in every area of ministry. And for a moment, I grew confused. I wondered if perhaps God was calling my husband and I out of the church. Were we to join all the others following pastor B? As I took it to God in prayer, He helped me see the bigger issue and the root cause of our church’s disunity. Satan had wiggled his foot in and was working to throw the door wide open. How would Satan destroy the church? How would he weaken our witness? By getting us to lash out at one another.

I’ve written about this before, but it appears, it’s worth writing about again. Lately I’ve been bombarded by barbs hurled by Christians at other Christians and I’m reminded of Jesus’ words in Matthew 12:25, …”Every kingdom divided against itself is destroyed, and every city or household divided against itself will not stand.” (NIV)

Now granted, I’m taking this verse out of context, but the principle applies just the same. In our home, the moment I start to bash my husband, I invite division. My heart turns against him, bitterness simmers, and my daughter is left to choose sides. And on my husband’s end, his effectiveness is hindered by turmoil and distrust. Not the ingredients for a happy household. But even worse is what it looks like to the onlooker.

We’ve all heard 1 Corinthians 13. This passage is so popular, it’s often quoted in secular media, and when witnessing to others, Christians use it to explain the love of God. Yet, sadly, we rarely live it out.

 1 If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

 4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Oh, we love our family. We love our friends. But that church down the street? We spew nasty comments so fast our tongues get whiplash. Then we justify our actions by thinking that’s not our family. Our family attends Holy Trinity.

Funny, I don’t think God has the same view of family. Nor do I think we understand the role of the body of Christ. Our family extends far beyond our church walls. As a writer for an international ministry, I’m often aware of my dependency and responsibility to the WHOLE body of Christ. Our pastor may give a sermon that influences my writing which in turn influences a believer in India who in turn influences another believer.

So when I bash another believer or their ministry, whether part of my immediate church family or the far-reaching body of Christ, I’m rebelling against 1 Corinthians 13 and proving myself a liar.

Perhaps you’d agree with what I’m saying, to a point…. But what happens when you disagree with someone else’s methods? Not message, mind you, but methods. There is a difference. And here’s the sad truth: we spend way too much time debating methods and way too little time sharing the message. What kind of music should we have? What kind of novels should Christians write? How should pastors lead their youth group?

That’s not to say there won’t be times to help initiate change. We live in a rapidly changing culture and therefore must continually adapt. However, a rule of thumb I’ve always followed: Don’t complain unless you a) have a solution to offer and b) are willing and ready to be part of the solution. Otherwise, you’re just part of the problem.

Before I go, I’m going to leave y’all with one more passage. Chew on it for a moment, and commit to honor God with your mouth. Commit to support your brothers and sisters in Christ throughout the world, looking beyond the pew in front or behind you. Commit to being the body–one body, one church, ruled by one Savior who died for us all.

James 3:9-12

9 With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God’s likeness. 10 Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be. 11 Can both fresh water and salt water flow from the same spring? 12 My brothers and sisters, can a fig tree bear olives, or a grapevine bear figs? Neither can a salt spring produce fresh water. (NIV)

Here’s my parting question: Is your witness, verbal and behavioral, contagious or cancerous? The next time you’re tempted to bash another believer or their ministry, remember what’s at stake. We’re Christ’s ambassadors, entrusted with His soul-saving gospel. With so many people living in darkness, is there time to hurl insults at one another? Our time would be much better spent clamping our jaws shut and getting busy on those things that make an eternal difference.

(You may want to re-read a similar post published last December entitled A Venomous Tongue.)

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Today a dear friend and sister in Christ is here to share a devotional from her book, Morning Rendezvous.

Blessings from the Top of the Tree by Delia Latham

Pro. 10:6a (KJV)
Blessings are upon the head of the just;

It was a humdinger of a windstorm—unusually rough for California, where we lived at the time. Not anything approaching tornado severity, but enough to knock down a few trees, tear off a bunch of roof tiles and stir up some pretty nasty allergies.

Given my husband’s severe lung problems, high winds have become something to dread. They often blow in a ton of allergens, bringing on a week or so of severe discomfort. Needless to say, we were more than a bit unhappy about the storm.

A couple of days later, Aunt Vera dropped by our place, her arms piled high with three plastic grocery bags. All of them were stuffed full of pecans from her trees.

“They were all over my yard, after that wind the other night,” she announced. “I had to do something with them, and I know how Johnny loves pecan pies.”

All of the nuts within her reach had been harvested prior to the storm. These nuts came from the upper branches, the ones she couldn’t get to. “I guess they would have stayed up there until they rotted without that storm,” she said, with a wry little shake of her head.

After our sweet visitor left, I looked at those three bags of snacking nuts—three bags stuffed full of potential pies and other delectable desserts—and I saw them differently. They were the fruits of the storm—blessings from the top of the tree. Good things beyond our reach.

And God has a way of shaking them loose and raining them down all around us!

Since then, I try to remember to look at the storms of life through less jaded eyes, as well. During the blizzard, it’s hard to see anything but toppled trees and destruction to property. It’s difficult to look past the blowing garbage and allergic reactions.

While the wind blows, it’s almost impossible to remember that after the storm, God always sends a rainbow. After the winds, we reap the sweet-smelling, clean air and sunshine.

After He tries us, He showers us with good things…things previously out of our grasp.

We must learn to hold tight to God and just survive the storm. Because when it’s over, we get the blessings from the top of the tree!

Oh, God, how many times have You blessed me, and I failed to recognize the blessing? Please forgive my blindness and open my eyes to Your wondrous gifts. I want to see You…not only in the blessings that come after, but in the storm itself. Open my spiritual eyes to the things I should see. And Lord, thank You for all those good things You rain down on me from the top of the tree! Amen

 Morning Rendezvous is not strictly a book of devotion. It’s devotions and random inspirational thoughts and musings. It’s made up of my devotions and inspirational posts that are scattered all over the internet. I gathered up my favorites and put them into book format because I know so many people who never touch a computer, but I hope they’d be blessed by some of the thoughts God blessed me with.~Delia
 

Delia was born and raised in a place called Weedpatch, Delia Latham moved from California to Oklahoma in 2008, making her a self-proclaimed California Okie. She loves to read and write in her simple country home, and gets a kick out of watching her husband play Farmer John. The author enjoys multiple roles as Christian wife, mother, grandmother, sister and friend, but especially loves being a princess daughter to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. She loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her through her website or send an e-mail to delia AT delialatham DOT net.

Find out more about this author at www.delialatham.net.

Blog:  www.my-book-bag.blogspot.com

Newsletter:  www.bookshelfnewsletter.blogspot.com

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Throughout the Bible, the elderly are portrayed as wise, honorable, invaluable members of society. Gray hair is viewed as a crown of wisdom and the young are instructed to treat them with respect. When addressing Timothy, Paul says to see to it no one looks down on him for being young–implying that others would have a tendency to do so.

Wow, have we flipped this! In America, the young are treated with great honor and the elderly viewed with contempt. And our elderly feel it. At a time when they should be reaping the rewards of a life well-lived, they are often shoved aside and overlooked. They are stripped of their dignity, and that, my friend, is a very hard pill to swallow.

As a teen, I worked in a nursing home and my heart often ached at the blatant disrespect I saw shown to numerous residents–because they were reduced to numbers, a task on a long to-do list. I also saw a pattern. Whenever a once independent resident fell and broke their hip, placing them in a position of dependency, this resident rarely recovered. Once their independence was taken, so was their will to live. We can’t prevent broken hips or degenerated muscles, but we can treat our elderly with the honor and respect they’re due. We can refuse to rob them of their dignity and self-respect. We can build them up, showing them by our words and actions that they are valuable and useful.

And most importantly, diligently teach your children to do the same by:

1) Teaching them to be respectful to all adults–and holding them accountable when they’re not.

2) Demonstrating respect daily. (Do you get frustrated by an elderly driver and verbally complain? If so, you’re teaching lack of respect.)

3) Visit a nursing home occasionally and encourage/allow your child to see the heart and struggles of others.

4) Use this verse often as you train your children: Leviticus 19:32 Rise in the presence of the aged, show respect for the elderly and revere your God. I am the LORD. (NIV)

As you read today’s story, stop and think of someone you know…an elderly woman in Bible study, bent forward with osteoporosis and shriveled with age. The countless men and women living in nursing homes throughout the country. Those isolated in low-rent apartments. Each time you encounter one of society’s wise and honorable, pause and think of a tangible way to show them respect.

Sunday Shoes by Jo Huddleston

The old man lives alone now, since his Ginnie passed away in her sleep six years ago. His two grown children live up north and visit only two or three times a year.

He still does his own cooking, foods he likes. He cleans house, when and where he thinks it needs to be cleaned. I come in every Friday to do his laundry. That’s the only day my husband has off from the plant and can stay home with the children.

Sometimes while I’m at his small house I straighten things up a bit.  Most times he fusses when I do, but I believe he really doesn’t mind all that much.

One thing he does mind, though. They won’t let him drive his car anymore.

I was there that day the two young deputies came to the house. Jacob knew they were coming. The doctor’s office had called to let him know they’d contacted the sheriff. After Jacob had the small stroke a while back, the doctor told Jacob he shouldn’t drive anymore. But Jacob went right on driving to the bank to deposit his Social Security check and around to the courthouse to sit with his friends on the shaded benches.

“I believe I should be able to drive if I want to.” He looked up from his rocking chair when he answered the deputy.

“Mr. Whitley, please give me your driver’s license. We don’t want you driving anymore.”

“I don’t think that’s right, you telling me I can’t drive my own car,” he softly protested.

“How old are you, Mr. Whitley?”

“Eighty-three.” The words added to his indictment.

“Sir, please, let me have your driver’s license.”

Outnumbered and obviously discouraged, Jacob took his thin wallet from his back pocket and slid the license from beneath is clouded window. His wrinkled hand trembled ever so slightly as he surrendered the precious possession.

Still he pleaded, “I need to drive my car. You ought not do this to me.”

Taking the license and making some notes on his clipboard, the deputy informed Jacob that his driving privileges were now revoked and he no longer had permission to drive his car. Although kind to Jacob, the two young deputies couldn’t understand Jacob’s high value of independence.

“It’s not right. I’d sooner lose my right arm than not be able to drive myself around.”

But the deputies had left the porch and only the breeze and I heard Jacob’s appeal.

Since that day his step is slower and more shuffled, his daytime naps longer; his eyes look beyond me when we talk. When I come by to take him to the bank or to church on Sunday, he’s uncomfortable. But he has resigned himself to sit in the car’s passenger seat. He nurses a silent rebellion.

Today, I decided, I’ll spruce the house up a bit more, make it a little brighter for Jacob. I glanced out the window. Rooted as usual in his wooden rocking chair, Jacob moved only to swat an occasional fly with his rolled-up newspaper.

I’d just finished with his bedroom when Jacob appeared in the doorway.

“Eleanor, what are you doing? Where’s all my clothes?”

“Oh, Jacob, you startled me. I thought you were on the porch.”

“I was. Where are all my things I had there in that chair?”

“Jacob, I wanted it to be a nice surprise for you. I’ve rearranged things so it will look a little better in here. See, I’ve set your Sunday shoes in the bottom of the closet and hung up all those clothes. I’ve even put this big picture over the bed, so you’ll enjoy it more.” I was proud of myself for being so helpful to Jacob.

“I didn’t want any of those things moved!” He’d never raised his voice to me before.

“Jacob, look how nice and roomy everything is now. I’m sure you’ll like it once you get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it! Do I come to your house and move the pictures around and put your clothes where you don’t want them?”

His words yanked me from my assignment.

“Of course I don’t?” he answered his own question. “You wouldn’t like it any more than I’m liking it, either. Why are all you people treating me like this?” His eyes glistened with tears he could barely hold back. He slumped heavily into the empty, overstuffed chair, his dignity stripped away.

His frustration found its voice. “First my Ginnie goes and it’s never going to be the same. Then the doctor says I’m liable to have a big stroke anytime and tells me to quit my cigars. Next the police come and take away my driver’s license. And now, you. I didn’t think you’d turn on me too. I don’t have any living left.”

What had I done? He looked up at me as if he were the child and I the scolding parent.

Without a word, I went to the closet. I removed the several shirts and pants I’d just hung up and flung them carelessly over the chair, some falling across his lap.  Jacob watched quietly.

Finally, I picked up his Sunday shoes from the closet floor and tossed them—first one and then the other—toward the middle of the room.

I smiled at Jacob, understanding that the scattered clothes helped him to regain a measure of his treasured independence. The tight corners of his mouth slipped slightly upward and his chin rose noticeably. The Sunday shoes would hold their place in the middle of the floor, right where Jacob wanted them.

*      *       *

Jo Huddleston is a multi-published author of books, articles, and short stories and teaches at writers’ conferences. Visit with her at her website http://www.johuddleston.com or at her blog http://johuddleston.blogspot.com

If you have a short-story, kiss from God story, an overcomers story, or a word of encouragement you’d like to share, shoot me an email at jenniferaslattery(at)gmail.com.

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 There have been so many times I’ve stressed over something that never happened. I am frequently reminded of God’s admonishing to lean not on our own understanding, to walk by faith and not by sight, and not to worry about what might happen tomorrow. I believe this is not merely excellent mental health advice. More often than not, God’s already got it covered, so don’t sweat it. Wait with peace and confidence for God to show up.

Michele Mangus’ story reveals the omniscience of God and His ever tender care in our lives. I believe God works behind the scenes much more frequently than we realize, but every once in a while, we catch a glimpse of His Sovereign, protective hand.

Sam’s Story by Michele Mangus

Eight years ago, money was tight and health insurance was not an option.  Our youngest son, Sam, suffered from what seemed like a typical childhood cold. My husband, a trucker, was out of town. At first I didn’t worry about it, but several days had passed without improvements. 

     “Hi honey, I think Sam needs to see his doctor,” I said to Nathan late Monday night via cell phone.

     “Is his cold getting worse?”

     “His fever is higher. His appetite is gone and he’s not drinking enough. I think he should see the doctor tomorrow, but we don‘t have the money for it.”

     “Make the appointment. We’ll find the money somehow.”

          Tuesday morning I called the doctor and made the thirty mile trek into the big city. Ten minutes with the doctor and a fifty dollar bill later they said it was most likely a virus. It would have to run its course and  I should keep pushing fluids on him.

     “Hello, how’s Sammy doing tonight?” Nathan, calling from a all night truck stop diner.

     “Not good, the Motrin is not working. His fever is one hundred and two even with the medicine. It’s a real struggle to get him to take liquids. I’m worried.”

     “Should you take him into the ER?”

     “Yea, I should, but that cost money we don’t have.”

     “Take the boy in, Michele. His health is more important.”

        To make a long story short, we got nowhere in the ER. More of the same old, “he just has a virus.” So home we went at five in the morning, instructed to alternate Tylenol with Motrin to help with the fever.

     Twenty-four hours later Sam started to have febrile seizures and no tears when he cried. That was it! Something had to be done. I loaded a lethargic baby into our car at midnight and called my mother to come stay with the other children while Sam and I headed to the big city ER.

     This time he was admitted him for further testing, x-rays for pneumonia, and was given IVs. The hours dragged by with no improvement for my sick baby. Just before dawn Sam and I were wheeled to children’s ward.

     I called my husband in tears.

     “We are in isolation on the children’s floor. Everyone is required to wear a gown and mask to come in here. I’m scared he’s going to die. Where are you? I need you!” I swiped at the tears dripping down my cheeks.

     “Michele, you don’t know he is going to die, he is in God’s hands. Don’t fall apart now.”

    I sat in Sam’s bed holding him, rocking him and praying to God. Please, Lord, don’t take my baby, I’m not ready to give him to you. He is so young. Lord give the doctors the wisdom they need to help him.

     Looking up, I saw a young doctor standing beside Sam‘s bed. “I’m concerned about the lack of tears and the decreased urinary output. Does he normally lie around?” The doctor warmed the stethoscope against his palm. 

     “No, he is two and very active.”

     “Mrs. Mangus, we need to run some more tests on Sam. I’m not sure what is wrong with him. I would like to do a spinal tap. There is a possibility that he may have Spinal Meningitis”

     You want to do what? Stick a needle in my baby’s back? Oh Lord I need strength and wisdom to make this decision.

     “We don’t have insurance. There is no way we can pay for this.”

     “Don’y worry about that right now. The hospital and the state  have programs to help. You need to think of what has to be done to help Sam get well.”

     Dull thumps on the glass window drew my attention. There stood the cavalry from our small church, led by our dear friend and Brother in Christ, Jason Shults. Relief poured through my veins. I knew instantly that it would be all right. God had surrounded me with believers. I could lean on them.

          The doctor left, taking the herd of doctors with him. But the room was not empty long, for several members of our church had given up their day at a moment’s notice to come to my aid. All of them dressed in the disposable garb, we waited for the long minutes to pass before Sam’s procedure.

     An orderly wheeled Sam and I down the hall. Behind him the somber group followed. What a sight that must have been. I remember feeling scared for Sam, but at the same time surrounded by God’s love.

     Carefully placing my baby on the table with only his favorite blanket for comfort was very hard to do, but I knew my church family’s strength waited for me in the hall.   A nurse escorted me out the door quickly so Sam wouldn’t be alarmed. 

     Joining my church family, we formed a circle and joined hands. The men prayed over Sam. Tears flowed freely. I cried so hard that I couldn’t tell you exactly what was said by these men, but I know it was beautiful! 

     I was soon reunited with our son and returned to his room to rest and wait for the test results. Slowly Saturday moved into Sunday. Exhaustion seeped in, but I kept up my vigil over Sam. Mid-morning on Sunday Nathan appeared at our bedside. Sam mustered enough energy to raise his arms for his father to pick him up.

     Test results came back Monday. Thankfully Sam didn’t have Spinal Meningitis, but he had bilateral ear infections, double pneumonia, and RSV. After a few more days in the hospital to build up his strength, we were allowed to go home.

     We were grateful Sam was well, but medical bills started to come in and it was easy to lose sight of that blessing. I filled out form after form and made copies of all of our financial records i.

     Worry and sadness started to control my life when no forward progress was made.  We were denied financial assistance by the hospital and state. They said we made too much money. The hospital sent out a nasty collection notice.  What could we do?  We didn’t have the money to pay, but they seemed to think we did.

    I soon found out why.

     “Michele, I called the bank this morning,”  Nathan said. “The teller made an inquiry into my checking account, there seems to be an error.”

     “What do you mean error?”

     “The bank records show there is money in the account. Almost ten thousand dollars.  I stopped at an ATM to do an inquiry to make sure the bank was right.  Sure enough the receipt says the same thing as the bank.”

     Turned out, my husband had fallen behind in balancing the checkbook.

     “I simply haven’t had time. With each week’s settlement I just made sure we didn’t spend all of it. I really have no idea what is in there.”

            When Nathan returned, while he entertained the children, I poured over his bank statements to balance the trucking company’s books. With my final tally added up, I called Nathan into our bedroom/office to show him my findings.  He stood gapped mouth at the results. The money was truly there, no wonder we were denied help.

      Nathan and I, with our children in tow, joyfully entered the Lord’s house the next morning. I remember how brightly the sun showed through the windows as Nathan told how our Lord provided. “Amen” and “Praise the Lord” filled the air.

      To this day I believe God put that money there just when we needed it. I promise you if we had known it was there before Sam got sick we would have spent it. 

     This story reminds me of Jesus’ words in Matthew 6:30-34:

 30-33“If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers—most of which are never even seen—don’t you think he’ll attend to you, take pride in you, do his best for you? What I’m trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God’s giving. People who don’t know God and the way he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how he works. Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met.

 34“Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes.

Michele Mangus is a homeschooling mother of three and a trucker’s wife. They live in central Illinois on “Mangus Ranch” their American Dream. She is a member of ACFW and a critique partner in a small group. “Sam’s Story” is her debut. She is currently working on a historical romance MS based in Elmwood, Illinois, in the late 1850’s involving the strong abolitionist ties in the community.

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We live in a striving, performing, achieving culture and it’s easy to adopt an achievment oriented attitude. When meeting new people, often the first thing they’ll ask is, “What do you do?” For women, our most frequently voiced question is, “What sports do your kids participate in?” We’ve come to define ourselves by the roles we play, but as Christians, aren’t we meant for more?

Notice how Paul identifies himself in Romans 1:1: “Paul a servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle and set apart for the gospel of God.” (NIV)

 He was a servant of Christ, called to be an apostle, set apart for the gospel of God.

Paul’s identity centered on who he was in Christ and what Christ called him to do.

What about us? Can we say the same thing?

Often we get this flipped, although we’d never admit it verbally, but our actions and how we spend our time reveal our true convictions.

Lord, help me to be your servant. Remind me of my calling to share your love and truth with a hurting world. Set me apart for the things of You, removing in me everything that gets in Your way. May I live out my convictions today, using each moment in a way that glorifies You.

What’s one thing you can do today to demonstrate a commitment to your calling? How can you put feet to your convictions today?

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One summer we went on a joint vacation. A large number of the people who joined us were unsaved and honestly, I found it quite frustrating and uncomfortable. Our daughter was young at the time, at that tender age where you want to saturate them with goodness and shield them from all evil and harm. Only every time I turned around, provocative television shows blasted, adults swore, talked of things that made me blush, let alone our daughter, and downed one beer bottle after another. It wasn’t long before the Momma-Bear in me raged! My first reaction? I wanted to leave, and take our impressionable daughter with me.

Then we went to church and God opened my eyes, allowing me to see their blindness. This didn’t lessen my desire to protect our daughter, but it did deepen my compassion for the blind around me.

The sermon was on Revelations 3:14-21

14“To the angel of the church in Laodicea write:

   These are the words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the ruler of God’s creation. 15 I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! 16 So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. 17 You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. 18I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see.

   19 Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest and repent. 20Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.

   21 To the one who is victorious, I will give the right to sit with me on my throne, just as I was victorious and sat down with my Father on his throne. 22 Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches.” (NIV)

Laodicea was a wealthy city and home to a medical school that produced a highly sought-after powder used to treat eye disease, but they themselves remained blind. God told them to put salve on their eyes so they could see–to view the world through an eternal perspective. They’d become blinded by their wealth, their life of ease and their comfort.

I believe God is saying the same thing to us–open your eyes to the blind all around you.

When we see others with physical disabilities we feel compassion and we long to help. When we see others with spiritual disabilities–spiritual blindness–we grow angry and uncomfortable and try to pull away. Even worse, we expect them to see things through our eyes, forgetting they are blind. What they need is an ever-present, compassionate guide who continually points them to the light.

As you read Shellie Neumeier’s excerpt, taken from an Interactive Spring Story highlighted on her website, ask God to open your eyes to all those running around deaf and blind, enslaved to sin. You hold the key to freedom. Will you share it with them?

Blinded

by Shellie Neumeier

Dear Diary,

The day before yesterday should have been the best day of my life. And it had been until…

“Harper, come out here.”

…the sun flare. Mom’s pretty freaked. Can’t blame her. I’m not freaking…

“What are you doing in there?”

I’m hiding. Who wants to face this world? It’d be different if we were at home.  Josie’d tell me to relax and enjoy ‘cause all the schools will have to shut down. I’d even be nice to Alex if he would shut up long enough for me to get a word in. But that won’t happen now. Not when we’re stranded two hundred and forty-three miles from home. Some college visit, huh?

“Did you hear that, Harper? The news guy said it’s worldwide. Can you imagine? Everyone within view of the sun’s flare is…is…blind.”

We were lucky. Arrived in Madison about an hour before the big flare. When it hit, white light flashed and left total darkness in its wake. After the flash there was nothing but silence. Seconds later the sounds turned horrific. Cars crashing, planes rushing the ground, and screaming mothers everywhere—mine included.

“Channel four says a handful of folks still have their sight. The sighters, as he’s calling them, were the ones inside and away from the windows.”

I’m never coming out of the bathroom, again.

I laid my pencil beside the hotel notepad and leaned my palms against the bathroom vanity. It felt cool to the touch, calming in a way. Mom’s feet shuffled across the worn carpet and stopped outside the bathroom door.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Harper, please come out. We need to talk.”

We needed more than talk. I faced the mirror and stared at nothing. For a moment I wondered if I’d ever see the note I just wrote. At least I’d never have to worry about Mom reading it.

“Harper?” Mom’s voice lowered to a hushed whisper as if she thought she might scare me. Too late.

I sucked in a deep breath and felt my way to the door knob. Of course I knocked over the make-up bag left on the vanity and listened to the sound of my lip gloss rolling across the counter. Something clattered to the floor, but I left it there. What good would make-up be to a blind girl in a sightless world?

I cracked the door and hesitated. Where was she? “Mom?”

Her hands grasped my forearms and she pulled me into the room. When the side of my knee hit the bed she let go. The mattress groaned when I sat down and tipped when she did.

“Somehow we have to get back to your dad and Alex.” She pulled the comforter taut between us.

“You gonna drive? Or shall I?”

A breathy grunt sounded more than a little upset. “No need to get waspish, Harper. We’re going to have to work together if this is going to work.”

“If what’s going to work?”

“I’m going to hire one of those sighters to drive us home.”

I turned toward her voice. “What? Seriously? You’re going to hire a total stranger. To drive our car. All the way home?”

“Yes.” One word, that’s all she said. She’d made up her mind. With a pat of her hand on mine I imagined the motherly smile she always gave at moments like this.

I gripped her fingers with mine. “Then let me find the driver.”

She pulled her fingers free. “Absolutely not. It’s one thing to have you leave to get us food, but I won’t have you traipsing around out there. Not…like this.” Her side of the bed rose and her footprints padded across the room.

“Like what? Blind? Say it Mom.” I stood and tried to follow her, but my foot caught on the bed’s post sending a bolt of pain up my leg. I bit back the scream that ached to press through my clenched teeth. For the first time, I was grateful my mother couldn’t see my face.

[This is an excerpt from the Interactive Spring Story highlighted on my website. Every Thursday, readers choose between plot options and move the story along according to their design. Check it out: http://shellieneumeier.com/2011/04/blinded-our-spring-interactive-story/]

Married for almost 20 years, Shellie and her husband have four wonderful kiddos and two goofy greyhounds.   After receiving her undergraduate degree from the UW-Madison, she acquired an early childhood education certificate and served in youth, children’s, special needs and family ministries.  

She enjoys teaching her teens how to drive and chauffeuring her preteens across Wisconsin.  Once in a while, she gets to read big people books (the kind without pictures) and loves it.

Shellie writes because it keeps her away from her husband’s power tools and because every now and then, she doesn’t have the choice, it just takes over.

Find out more about Shellie and her writing at http://shellieneumeier.com
And for all our young, aspiring writers out there, visit Shellie’s online writing conference for authors under 20:

http://NextGenWriters.com

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The following story is a modern day Velveteen Rabbit story saturated by grace. I’ve heard it said, the closer you grow to God, the more aware you are of your sin. This is certainly true in my case. Some days, my past swirls ceaselessly through my head, each harshly spoken word, each selfish act, rising to the surface until all I can do is say, “Help me, my Savior and King. Overcome everything unrighteous in me!” And that is where our hope is found, broken, resting in the Savior’s hands.

On those days when I feel as if I’ll never change, never do better or be better, I cling to God’s promise in Philippians 1:6 “being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (NIV)

It is then that I remember that I will be better, but it won’t come from my determined effort. It will come from my full surrender, allowing God to do what needs to be done in me until I am more like His Son.

*     *     *

Here’s Raine’s story:

The other day, one of my co-workers told about a weekend shopping trip with his nine-year old daughter.  She had been saving up her allowance money for some time now and had decided it was time to buy a new doll.  So off they went, hand in hand to the local mall here in Yorktown, Virginia. They visited several stores, and eventually when she did not find what she wanted, they moved on to a few anchor stores down the street.  Still, after a few hours of searching, she did not find the doll she was looking for.

On his way home he stopped by the local Goodwill store.  He headed off to his section and she wandered (under his watchful eye) over to the toy section.  About 5 minutes later he was ready to go so he stopped to get her.  She held a badly damaged Barbie doll, gently stroking what little hair remained.

“This one,” she said.  “This is the doll I want.”

My friend did not want to hurt her feelings but gently reminded her of the beautiful dolls that they had just left in the mall.  Though they cost more, he reasoned, she would probably like one of them better.  But she was emphatic, and after standing her ground he took her to the register and let her pay for it.

On the way home he watched as she held up the broken doll and talked to it.  “You’ll be better in no time,” she said.  An eye was missing, and the left leg did not seem original.  The clothes were shabby and a few of the fingers on one hand had been chewed off.  What a broken piece of junk, he thought.

As he told me this I could not help but picture my storied relationship with Jesus.  Every day I look into the mirror I realize that I am broken.  Every day a part of my sinful nature shows itself, and I get a fleeting glimpse of my own shame and sinfulness.  And then I remember what Jesus has done for me, and I am suddenly filled with hope.  I am wounded by my brokenness, but overjoyed that I have the honor of being called a Christian.

I think this is not true of me only, but all of you as well.  We are all broken in one way or another; often unable to rise to our calling.  But in the midst of this brokenness, there is a hand that reaches for us.  A savior who values us deeply. In the end, we sink or swim, rise or fall to a gracious God who loves us in a way we will never really understand.  You and I are the apples of His eye.  In the end, we dance to an audience of one.

I am learning to walk in this grace that sees my faults through the lens of the death and resurrection of His son.  I am learning that my brokenness, profound at times, will over time be mended by the One who plucked me off the shelf, looked at me and said, “This One!”

*     *     *

Raine Sommersett is a retired Army Officer, though I still work for the Department of Defense.  I have published numerous articles in professional venues, and have often contributed to newspapers in my local community.  I have been writing towards publication for 10 years, and have completed 3 full length novels (all Young Adult), numerous short stories and volumes of poetry.  My first novel, Willford Creek, won first place in the juvenile category of the Pacific Northwest Writer’s Conference Literary Contest.  I love to write prose, and believe strongly that the foundation for good writing is built on prose and reading other great writing.  I live with my family in Yorktown, Virginia, and will soon move to the Seattle area.