Although I’m not one to make New Year resolutions per say, I do love the annual chance for self-evaluation and goal-setting. As a coach’s daughter, I live by goals. Daily, weekly, annually. For me, there is nothing more satisfying, motivating, than reaching a goal, except perhaps when I reach one I purposefully set just outside my comfort zone. But I have to be careful that amidst all my self-evaluation and goal setting, I’m not shooting for perfection. Occasionally, amidst my reaching, I need to stop and take stock. To look back at how far I’ve come and rejoice in what God has done.
Before you begin your New Year, with all that’s wrapped up in that, take a moment to look back. Through God’s eyes. I’ve heard it said the closer you are to God, the more apparent your sins are. This makes absolute sense! It’s like standing beneath floodlights dressed in white. Suddenly you notice the slight yellow to your shirt, every stain, every discoloration. Or more accurately, like going to the dentist for a crown, viewing all the shades of teeth, realizing yours are anything but white.
When we draw near to a holy God, we’ll begin to evaluate our lives through a holy lens as His Spirit reveals those blemishes He plans to change. Why? Because He’s in the process of refining us, molding us, transforming us to be more like Him. A glorious thing! An exciting thing! And an expression of His pure love.
But let’s go back to our teeth analogy. Have you ever stopped to look at those before and after shots in the dentist’s office? The ones that shock us most are those that started out the worst, with inflamed gums and crooked teeth.
The same is true in our spiritual walk, only we rarely take time to ponder the before and after. Instead, we compare ourselves to others, zero in on our shortcomings, and beat ourselves up over every failure.
But today, I want you to celebrate…who you are in Christ, what He’s done in you, what He plans to do.
On Tuesday (thanks to some nudging by Patty Wysong–waving) I’ll share a bit of my less-than-glorious holiday experiences. I’ll talk about a time when I was less than wifely, less than lovely, squelching the agape love of God with selfishness and pride. But this morning, as I look at that time of marital bickering, I realize even then I’d exhibited growth. As did my husband. We argued, and our pride rose up, but unlike our fights of fourteen years ago, we didn’t hurl hurtful words or bitter accusations. So, even in our moment of weakness, we demonstrated a sliver of strength–God’s grace, moving in us. And that was cause for celebration.
What about you? What has God done for you in 2011? Share it here, and write it down so that the next time you feel like a failure, you can pause and rejoice in how far you’ve come. Then, pull out your plotting, goal-setting, heart-evaluating pen and ask God to show you where He wants to take you in 2012. And start the new year with confidence, knowing He who called you is faithful and will perfect the plans He has for you. In fact, He’s got it all covered. All He asks is that you draw near, listen, and obey. He’ll take care of everything else. Because, as Philippians 1:6 says, “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.”
Let’s talk about this!
Join me at Living by Grace as we celebrate the grace-filled transformation God has brought in our hearts, our families, our marriages–our lives.
(Have an amazing grace story you believe would inspire, comfort, or challenge my readers? Shoot it to me in an email at jenniferaslattery(at)gmail.com.)
I’m selfish and discontent at my core. It’s easy for me to skim over the many blessings God’s provided, focusing instead on those things I don’t have. Like a spoiled two-year old. Counting my blessings helps, although even then, my prayers are often ego-centric. “Thank you Lord for….” But what if I didn’t have all those things? What happens when life gets tough? Will my praises and thanks dwindle?
Today Jodie Bailey challengs us to dive deeper in our praises. There’s a verse in Romans I love. It starts with, “In view of God’s mercy.” That’s a loaded phrase, but today I encourage you to take it even deeper. God’s grace is infathomable, but He’s more than what He does, and I believe our worship must extend beyond our “benefits.” We bow before Him because of who He is, the Creator of the universe, our Redeemer, Savior, closest friend.
(As you read the following post, I challenge you to honestly ponder something: Do you know God? I mean, really know Him, as He truly is? If not, ask Him to reveal Himself to you, and to remove whatever it is that gets in the way of you having an intimate relationship with Him. Because God doesn’t want to be our cosmic genie nor our distant observer. He longs to be our Abba daddy and our closest friend.)
Psalm 116:16-17–O Lord, surely I am Your servant, I am Your servant, the son of Your handmaid, You have loosed my bonds. To You I shall offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving, and call upon the name of the Lord.
If we had any idea at all what we owe God, don’t you think it would knock us backwards to consider it? If you really sat down and gave it some thought and started counting your blessings, you wouldn’t get far before you’d realize the debt is much bigger than you’ll ever be able to pay. I mean, God is worthy of praise and thanksgiving simply because HE EXISTS. (And by the way, that’s one of the reasons I love it when He calls Himself I AM. Gives me chills. He IS. That’s all He needs to be. Think about that for a while…) But He didn’t stop at existing. He didn’t stop at making us exist. He lavished us with grace and mercy and gifts beyond our wildest dreams, even some gifts we don’t realize He’s given us.
Consider salvation. Have you ever thought about what you’ve been delivered from? Not surface thought, but deep thought? Tell me that isn’t worthy of devoting every single second of your life to Him. Some of us have been healed of diseases. Some of us have been delivered from horrors we thought we’d have to face the rest of our lives. Some of us have been freed from sins that should have been our undoing. How much do we owe Him?
We owe Him everything. Our next breath. The works of our hands. The praises from our lips. But do we give Him that? If you’re like me, chances are, you don’t. And that’s a shame. In this new year, it’s one of the things I’m working on, seeing every bit of my life in relation to God. Realizing that every single thing I do should be for Him. Giving Him my all. It’s hard. It requires a complete reprogramming of my sinful human mind. But I want it. It’s what we all should want, to be God’s servant. Read the verse again. Boy, do we ever owe Him big time…
Jodie invites you to share your favorite verse from Psalm 107-127 in the comments, and I invite you to FB share, tweet, or “like” this post…if you’d like to see it in my top three of 2011.
Jodie Baileywas Playwright of the Year in Methodist University’s annual Hail! Dionysus competition and has written plays performed by the Monarch Playmakers. She has been published in Teen magazine and collaborated on PWOC International’s latest Bible study. She has a B.A. double major in English literature and writing, and an M.Ed. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers, the Christian Writers Guild, and Middle Tennessee Christian Writers. She lives in Tennessee with her husband and daughter.
Jodie is an avid reader, a life-long writer, and an aspiring beach bum. She is a stubborn child who resisted God’s calling for two decades until He hit her over the head with a Beth Moore Bible Study book, and she finally figured out He wanted her to be a writer. When not tapping away at the keyboard, she watches NCIS reruns, eats too many chocolate chip cookies, wishes she were at the beach, roughhouses with her daughter, and follows her Army husband around the country.
I get a kick out of watching my fourteen year old daughter hover between childhood and adulthood. As she matures, she experiments with clothing and hair styles, slang words, and all those other things inherent to the teenage years. We’ve had countless conversations about outfits, make-up, and jewelry, and have spent hours upon hours perusing clothing racks. Yes, her world revolves around clothes and hair right now.
Had I not spent so much time researching identity issues for a contemporary youth program I’m writing for Christ to the World Ministries, I may be tempted to think her behavior is selfish and shallow. Shouldn’t I be training her to look beyond those things? To focus on things more important? To an extent, perhaps, but I’ve learned to spend as much time trying to understand her heart as I do observing and trying to correct her behavior. Most often, there’s more going on than I first assume.
I’ve realized my daughter’s behavior really isn’t about clothes or hair. It’s about something much deeper. With every outfit, hair flip, and music choice, she’s trying to establish her identity. No easy trait considering how many changes she’s been through over the past three years. Puberty hits, and suddenly she finds herself staring at a stranger in the mirror. Friends change, and she needs to decide which group to “merge with”. She longs to belong but also needs to be unique, longs for closeness and security at home while fighting for independence.
Although most of us move past this developmental stage, I think we all struggle with our identity at times. As Donna Stone shared on Monday, sometimes we allow who we are to get tied up in what we do.
When that happens, it helps to remind ourselves of how God sees us. If you belong to Christ, He says:
You are dearly loved (Col. 3:12)
Redeemed (1 Cor 6:20)
A masterpiece (Eph. 2:10)
Christ’s friend (John 15:15)
God’s child (John 1:12)
Chosen and adopted (Eph 1:3-8)
Complete (Col. 2:9-10)
Secure (Rom. 8:11)
Are you feeling pulled in a million directions today? Like perhaps you don’t quite measure up? Spend a moment reflecting on these verses and ask God to show you how He sees you.
Join us at Living by Grace as we talk about what it means to rest in who we are in Christ.
Some days we feel ready to take on the world. Other days, we struggle to make it through. But God is with us through our highs and lows, and even when we feel like dirt, He looks at us and says, “You’re beautiful.”
Today’s post comes from author and speaker Marlo Scalesky:
I’ve been thinking about this verse from Psalm 103 (verse 14) today: “for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.” Dust doesn’t seem very beautiful or important or desirable. In fact, it just seems kinda, well, dirty. But God sees dust differently. He loves His dusty children. So, as I’ve been thinking about the verse, and pondering the attributes of dust, I remembered this story that grew out of a scene from my very first book, Cry Freedom. See what you think:
Twilight tossed its gray mantle across the sky and into my newly dusted living room. Shadows crept over the floor, darted into corners, and settled in my mind. Weariness whispered through me. Why did I have to clean, and scrub, and do all this work anyway? I wanted to read a good book, watch a movie, anything else but clean the living room for the Bible study group that would meet there that night. Why did I always have to be the one who did the work?
I threw my cleaning rag onto the coffee table and melted into the recliner. In a moment, the oven timer would buzz, and I would have to leap up and finish preparing the cake for the night’s study snack. Why couldn’t I just be free, free to spend my evening however I wanted? Free to do as I pleased?
A butterfly flitted outside the window. I watched it fly high, then low, before it paused on the rosebush just outside the pane. Eggshell wings fluttered in slow motion. Up and down. Up and down. Then, the creature dropped from the branch and flew into the sky. I followed it with my eyes until it became only a black speck against the clouds. Then, it disappeared.“Make me like the butterfly, Lord,” I whispered. “I want to be free to fly into the sky, rest on the roses, and drink in the beauty of your creation.” I leaned back my head and stared up at the window that shone from our second story. “Lord, give me wings.”
I waited. And sighed. And shifted in the chair. But I felt just as tired, just as earthbound as ever.
Then, something happened. A shaft of light, as bright as a blade, sliced through the upstairs window and illuminated a path the floor. And in the light, I saw them – a hundred, a thousand tiny motes of dust. They drifted in the light like bright bits of glimmering gold.
I grabbed my dust rag, and started to stand. But then, I sat back again. I had worked for hours to eradicate the dark bits of dust that marred my furniture, countertops, and television screen. But this dust was different. These tiny motes weren’t dark, weren’t dirty, or ugly. They were beautiful, shining like miniscule stars in the last rays of day.
I dropped my rag, settled back into the chair, and wondered at the splendor of the dust. How could something that was no more than dirt be so beautiful? After all, it was only dust. I watched a few motes drift lower, out of the shaft of light. They turned gray again, just ugly little specks that floated onto an end table. Only in the light were they lovely. Only there did they shimmer like jewels.
As I sat and pondered the secret of the dust, I remembered a verse from the Psalms: “As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.” (Psalm 103:13-14, NIV).
I am dust, I thought. Not some winged butterfly, not a creature that flies wherever it pleases, but dust. Dirty, ugly dust. But in God’s light, I too am transformed. “I am the light of the world,” Jesus said in John 8:12 (NIV). And like the dust, I am only beautiful when I am aloft by his power, illuminated by his love.
As pretty as the butterfly was, the dust that glimmered like sparkling gold was much more beautiful. It stayed, it shone, and as long as it remained in the light, it was stunning.
I had prayed for the ability to order my day as I pleased. But, God offers a freedom that’s more incredible, more real, and more wondrous.
In his light is the freedom to rest in his grace and love. That is the mystery, and the wonder, of true freedom. So now, I no longer pray for wings like the butterfly. Instead, I pray to stay within the light.
Marlo Schalesky is the award winning author of seven books, including her latest novel, Shades of Morning, which combines a love story with a surprise ending twist to create a new type of novel that she hopes will impact readers at their deepest levels.
Marlo’s other books include If Tomorrow Never Comes, Beyond the Night, Veil of Fire, a novel about finding hope in the fires of life, Empty Womb, Aching Heart– Hope and Help for Those Struggling with Infertility, and Cry Freedom.
She’s had over 600 articles published in various Christian magazines, including Focus on the Family, Today’s Christian Woman, Decision, Moody Magazine, and Discipleship Journal. She has contributed to Dr. Dobson’s Night Light Devotional for Couples, Tyndale’s Book of Devotions for Kids #3, and Discipleship Journal’s 101 Small Group Ideas.
She is a speaker and a regular columnist for Power for Living.
**If you loved today’s post and would like to see it make it to my top three of 2011, leave a comment, “like”” it, FB share it, or tweet it. And have a blessed day!
When our daughter was young, I was the “Mommy-and-Me-Jamboree” addict. I cherished every moment–every giggle, every storytime, every craft activity. And I loved to turn everything into a party. Why craft alone when I could invite the mom’s club to join us? Why play tea without making it a tea party? (That was the cutest event ever!) Birthday parties? Planned, themed, decorated to the hilt and packed with games. All to see my daughter’s face light up and her eyes squinch up behind a cheeky smile–priceless.
Then one day it hit me. What if I started throwing parties for God? Meaning, what if I found a way to do what I loved, organizing fun and creative events, to reach others and build up the body of Christ? A short time later, I launched a “Family Ministry”.
Our first event was a skating party. Next, a scavenger hunt at a local trail, followed a month later by a pizza pool party. Yep, it was a blast!
Last week I taught my Sunday school class what it means to do everything for the glory of God and I challenged them to think about those things they love to do. Often we think serving is something we have to do, and we don’t really think in terms of those things we love to do. But I believe God is glorified when we’re on fire, not burned out. When you’re doing what you love, no one has to nudge or guilt you into doing it. The act of service bubbles out of who you are.
Let me give an example. There’s a woman at our church who loves to bake and shop. Not unusual, I know, and upon first glance, we might assume these actions are trivial. But she found a way to flip them–to use them for God’s glory. Our church has formed a relationship with an orphanage in El Salvador and this year, we want to buy Christmas gifts for all the girls. (If you want to help donate to our ongoing orphan ministry, shoot me an email at jenniferaslattery(at)gmail(dot)com) So what did my dear sister in Christ do? She baked cinnamon roles and sold them to co-workers as a way to help fund this endeavor. Then, she perused the stores, using her $10 and 50% off coupons to stretch each dollar.
*As a side note–if you live in the Midwest and are looking for something romantic to do this Christmas, join us for a charity dinner at the Gladstone Community Center in Gladstone Missouri from 6-10pm on Dec. 17th and help bring hope to El Salvadoran orphans. Make a weekend of it and stay at the Plaza. Shoot me an email for more info.
I know another woman who loves to craft. Today, she runs Christ’s Kitchen, an organization that teaches homeless and impoverished women to make craft items and soup mixes, which sell in various stores throughout Washington State. Others who love to knit make scarves for the homeless and our service men. Some sew quilts. Others coach sports teams, host youth game nights, and women’s luncheons.
It really isn’t about what you do, but about using what you do–whatever you do–to bring glory to God.
1 Corinthians 10:31 “So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.” (NIV)
Love this song! (And the video’s hilarious!) Sweeping up Cheerios, flipping burgers, wiping snotty noses, speaking in front of an audience of 10,000–God sees it all the same as long as everything you do is done for God’s glory.
What about you? what do you love to do and how can you do what you love to bring God glory? Join us at Living by Grace as we talk about how to live the ultimate adventure by doing everything we do for God’s glory.
People seem to come in two main types–the happy and the miserable. This is true among the rich and poor, the healthy and the ill, the manual laborers and CEO’s. We like to think if only we had X, Y, and Z, then we would be content, but according to Paul, contentment is not a state of being but instead a learned state of mind:
Philippians 4:12 I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. (NIV)
A while back, I stumbled upon this blog post by Billy Coffey after reading an email from a woman who claimed to be miserable. When I compared the email writer’s life to that of the man from Billy’s story, it appeared Mark found happiness because he sought. My friend found misery for the same reason–she sought it. She spent her time zeroing in on storm clouds, ignoring (or perhaps failing to see) the rainbows streaked within them.
What Happiness Requires by Billy Coffey
Before I tell you about Mark, let me talk about trash. Or rather, let me talk about how much I hate to take out the trash.
In our house, that’s a blue chore (blue meaning a job for the guys, as opposed to, say, washing the clothes, which is a pink chore). Nothing irritates me more than hauling two bulging bags of garbage out to the cans. It’s done twice weekly and takes all of five minutes, but it’s an eternity to me. It stinks. Literally And it’s messy. Though far from a germaphobe and even though I often use gloves, I still wash my hands afterward. Usually twice. And then I’ll take a shower.
I know, I know. But deep down, we’re all weird in our own ways.
Mark, on the other hand, doesn’t mind trash. At least that’s what he says. I would imagine he would have to say that, given his job. He doesn’t have a choice. You see, Mark picks up our trash every week.
He’ll be the first to say his is not a career to which most aspire. Mark himself never expected to become a garbage man. But when your formal education stops just south of eleventh grade, your options are somewhat limited. It was either trash man or cashier down at the 7-11, and Mark says he’s never wanted to work with the public.
And besides, it isn’t all bad. Sure, some days are worse than others. He’ll say the weeks after Christmas are really bad, what with all those boxes and such. Halloween is no picnic, either.
Yet for the most part, the work is as enjoyable as it can be. He gets to ride around hanging from the back of a truck, which I admit I’ve always considered cool. And it’s outside work, which I admit is much better than being chained to a desk. Yes, it’s smelly. And many times it’s disgusting (I won’t tell you about what Mark has to go through during hunting season).
One would perhaps think that a man whose occupation revolves around the thing I hate to do most would be a man I’d pity. I will say I do not. Well, not anymore. I once pitied Mark as I pitied the downtrodden or the lame. He was the sort of person I’d look upon and wonder if God had somehow overlooked him. He was an example of the inherent unfairness of life.
But then I got to know him, and I discovered otherwise.
For instance, Mark is a family man. Has a wife and three kids. Mrs. Mark works at the Family Dollar and teaches Sunday school at a little church one town over. The kids, two boys and a baby girl, are the pride of his life. I’ve seen pictures that prove his pride is not the sinful sort. The clan lives in a single-wide trailer that backs up to the national forest. It’s a peaceful place, Mark says. The sort of place where a family can put some roots down.
Despite the perceived shamefulness of his job, Mark takes his work seriously. Someone has to clean up, he said to me, and it might as well be him. It’s a public service, and an important one. What kind of town would we have if no one picked up the trash?
So he works and his wife works, and together they spend what they have to and save what they can. Mark has big plans. So far his family has managed to squirrel away almost five thousand dollars to put toward a new double-wide, one that has a fireplace and even a Jacuzzi tub. He says his supervisor has noticed his hard work and attention to detail. A promotion may be in order in the coming years. He’s prayed for that and keeps his fingers crossed.
It’s difficult in this life to define happiness. Sometimes I think we attribute too much to it. We think we need money or education or fame to have it, but we don’t. I’d even be pressed to say such things often get in the way of happiness rather than provide it.
It’s not ironic then that the secret to happiness isn’t found in bound volumes of experts or esoteric writings of sages, but in the life of one single garbage man named Mark.
Because he’s happy, and I know why. Mark has the three things happiness requires.
Someone to love.
Something to do.
And something to hope for.
(I would add one more requirement–something to live for. Without a clear sense of purpose, we’re merely taking up space and buying time. The Bible tells us God has a plan for each one of us. He desires us to follow after that plan with everything we’ve got. That is the only way we’ll ever truly be fulfilled.)
Billy Coffey was born and raised in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, where as a child he learned how to hit a curveball, how to throw a tomahawk, and how to tell a story. All three skills continue to serve him well, though he now spends most of his time with the latter.
His books are largely set in the fictional town of Mattingly, Virginia, a place where time seems irrelevant and the impossible seems commonplace. Snow Day is his first novel. Paper Angelswill be published on November 9, 2011.
He lives with his wife and two children on a quiet country road at the foot of a mountain. He can often be found on his front porch watching the sunset. If you happen to pass by, give him a wave. He’ll wave back.
In 2009, our family moved from the west coast to the mid-west (after a short stint in the south) and our first year felt like a culture shock. Especially in the church. In Southern California, where we lived for seven years and plunged our roots, you expect diversity, struggle, change, and quite honestly, authenticity. It’s like everyone’s messed up, or from a family that’s messed up, so we’d come to expect Christians with baggage and hang-ups. This wasn’t a judgmental stance but instead an understanding of the fallen condition of humanity.
Then we moved to the mid-west and everyone appeared to be a multi-generational Christian, apparently without baggage and hang-ups.
But now that we’ve been here a while, and gotten to know other Christians on a deeper level, I’ve come to realize we’ve all got issues, past sins, regrets. Some of us just hide them better and bury them deeper.
But our past isn’t meant to hold us in bondage or keep us in shame. In fact, it’s a glorious marker of how far we’ve come! It’s an opportunity to demonstrate the transforming grace of God.
When we’re hiding and angsting, clinging to padlocked suitcases, it’s not God who’s holding us back. This one’s all on us. I think we need to drop the self-righteous piety–the Pharacitical tendency to pretend like everything’s a bowl of holy water, and move toward authenticity. When we do that, we free others to do the same and send a message that it’s not about us–what we’ve done or haven’t done, but instead, about Christ and His death on the cross.
This morning as I read through 1 Timothy chapter 1, I thought about Paul’s testimony and what a man like Paul might look like today.
12 I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who has given me strength, that he considered me trustworthy, appointing me to his service. 13 Even though I was once a blasphemer and a persecutor and a violent man, I was shown mercy because I acted in ignorance and unbelief. 14The grace of our Lord was poured out on me abundantly, along with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.
15 Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst. 16 But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display his immense patience as an example for those who would believe in him and receive eternal life. 17 Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory for ever and ever. Amen.
If you’ve read Acts, you know the story. Paul was a murderer who hated Christians with a homicidal rage. He was the Timothy McVeigh and Hitler of his day.
Stop and think about this for a moment. How might you respond if one Sunday morning Timothy McVeigh walked into your sanctuary and sat beside you.
That’d be tough! How could God save men embodying such evil? How could these men in turn live transformed lives?
Only it’s not about them, remember? It’s about a merciful, all-powerful, radically loving God who poured all that He was as a drink offering for you and I, bearing our sin and dying a sinner’s death (though He knew no sin) so that we could be transformed.
He did it with Paul and He longs to do it with us.
But we’ve got to grab hold of it. He’s already done the work. He’s paid our debt, set us free, and washed us clean. Our past is not an inciter of shame, but a reason to rejoice. May who we were serve as a continual reminder of the grace of the God who has made us who we are.
Love this verse:
Philippians 3:13 “Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead,”
I’ve heard it said, God’s not interested in where you came from so much as where you’re going.
Notice, Paul said he’s straining forward. Healing and growth is rarely easy, but it is possible for all things are possible with God.
What faulty thinking do you need to release, what wounds does God need to heal, what shame do you need God to wipe away, in order to fully embrace the abundant life God has for you?
Join us at Living by Grace as we talk about ways to unpack our suitcases, rejoice in our past, and in the God of our future.
Sweat stings Bertina’s eyes as she toils beneath the hot El Salvadoran sun. The rough bags, loaded with coffee beans, weigh heavy on her sixty pound frame. The muscles in her back and shoulders cramp. She looks first to her parents, then to her brothers and sisters, one of 100 familes trudging through the rows, workers ranging from nine to seventy-two. And for what? If she is lucky and moves quickly, her supervisor might add sixty-cents, maybe a dollar, to her parent’s daily wage. Since there are five of them all together, they may leave with nearly $4’s combined–enough to feed their family for yet another day.
* * *
Carlo’s dodges market shoppers making their way from stall to stall, clutching a shiny coin in his hand. The smells of fried plantains, beans, and rice draw him. He licks his lips, his stomach growling, as he surveys each stall in turn, stopping in front of a collection of cakes soaked in milk, inhaling the sweet scent of cinnamon. Although the moist desert would go down sweet, it would do little to satisfy his hunger. Tearing himself away, he continues on, relishing the feel of the coin in his hand.
After selecting a chunk of cheese, he continues down the street until he reaches a small strip of stores. He pauses outside the window to watch the customers sipping coffee from ceramic cups, and instinctively rubs his shoulder, remembering the weight of the coffee beans pressed down on his eight-year old spine. He glances to a sign posted on the far wall and reads the prices. For $1.00, more than an entire day’s wage, these people sip a single cup of coffee.
* * *
Heather moves aside to allow a woman with long gray hair pulled back in a loose braid grab a package of coffee. The woman turns the package over in her hand, reading the back, then returns it to the shelf. Heather sighs, planting her hands on her hips, as the woman does this again and again before selecting one with a Fair Trade label.
Nothing the price, Heather rolls her eyes. Who in their right mind would pay $10 for a small package of coffee? She sifts through the coupons in her purse, pulling out a clipping for a dollar off a 39 0z container of coffee. She scans the prices. $5.92. With her coupon, she’ll pay $4.92.
Her daughter, an eight-year-old with almond shaped eyes and rosy cheeks, yanks on Heather’s sleeve. “Momma, can we have cocoa? Please? Please? Please?”
“It’s too expensive. We’re on a budget, remember?”
“But look, this one’s on sale!” She grabs a canister of cocoa and brings it to her mom. “Only $3.50!”
She doesn’t buy cocoa often, and it is a good deal. “Fine. Throw it in the cart.”
* * *
For most of my life, I’ve been a Heather, always looking for the best deal, oblivious to why some products were so much cheaper than others. Never putting two-and-two together, realizing if something was dirt cheap, there probably was a reason.
Then we took a mission trip to El Salvador and I experienced poverty–not, we can’t pay our electric bill this month, but, there’s no electricity or water in the first place. In fact, many families in Central America must walk up to an hour to gather water each day. They work all day beneath the hot sun for what we spend on a newspaper. And according to the International Labor Organization, the total number of child workers around the world could well be in the hundred millions.
Guess who buys their products? Yep, we do. Dirt cheap.
We spend thousands sending our church members overseas to go on mission trips, popping in for a week to build a building, but haggle over an extra $2 at the grocery store.
I think largely due to ignorance. I had no idea the coffee and many other items I bought were produced by children enslaved to daily, hand-to-mouth labor.
But now I know and can take steps toward being part of the solution instead of part of the problem. Every time I go to the grocery store, I have a choice–support child labor by letting price dictate or help create positive change by buying items from companies that treat their workers with respect. Because at the end of the day, money talks and consumers hold all the power.
“Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?” (Isaiah 58:6)
Last Wednesday, at my church a seminary professor discussed the book of Amos. Nearly three thousand years ago, through Amos, God called the nation of Israel to quit oppressing the poor–to quit living in luxury while trampling on others. I believe God says the same thing to us today. Quit oppressing the poor by always looking for that best deal. Stop and think of the bent backs that brought those products to us.
Before you read this story, one that brings me tears even now, stop by Under the Cover of Prayer to read about another time when God showed me His tremendous love for His children. There is nothing He won’t do to show His love and to draw His children to Him.
The following is based on a true story, shared with me by a dear friend fighting brain cancer. (The actual account is provided at the end of the story, but I wanted to put it in story form so you could perhaps understand what a beautiful experience this was for her.)
Although I pray for miraculous healing, my greatest prayer is that this radiant daughter of Christ would know, moment-by-moment, God’s incomprehensible love for her. When she told me how God is demonstrating His love to her night after night, I was reminded of God’s tender mercies. There’s a song I love, it says, “With the strength of no other, and the heart of a Father.” Think about that phrase for a moment–God is all-powerful. He created every star in the heavens and each star blazes with an enourmous amount of energy. The source of all things is always greater than that which it created. But behind that power, or more accurately, coupled with it, is a heart that bleeds for His creation. That sees us when we are at our weakest moments and goes to the ends of the earth to show us we are not alone. He Himself has promised, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”
When God Lights Up the Sky
Terry pushed up from the dinner table, staggering as the plates blurred before her. She gripped the back of her chair until the dizziness subsided.
“Momma, are you okay?” Tiffany, her oldest, froze, tears brimming in her eyes.
Swallowing down a wave of nasuea that threatened to expel her recently eaten dinner, Terry forced a smile and pulled her daughter close. “I’m great, sweetie. Now, where’s that picture you wanted to show me? The one you drew in art class?”
Tiffany studied her mother for a moment longer before turning on her heels and dashing up the stairs. Terry glanced at the clock on the far wall. 7:15. She kneaded her temples as if doing so would fight off the fatigue. One more hour to connect with her children, to instill memories, to show them the depths of her love. Then she could collapse for eight hours, maybe nine, before doing it all again.
Lord, give me energy to be here for my kids–really here. Clear the fussiness in my head. Please. And give me one more day.
“Zzzzrrrrrreeeea!” Her youngest child, Dennis, a chubby-faced boy with sky blue eyes and dimples on both cheeks, swirled an airplane in the sky. “Wanna pway with me, Momma?” He held a Match Box car in his other hand. “You can be the cops and I’ll be the cimimals.”
Terry glanced into the living room where Legos scattered the floor and a handful of other vehicles lined the couch. Maybe sitting would ease her nausea and clear her head. The least she could do was give him ten minutes.
Less than a year ago she would’ve whisked her son in the air like an airplane, filling the house with his high-pitched giggles. Now it took all her energy to make it through the day. And yet, no matter how difficult, each day was precious. Priceless. Cherished.
She turned back to her son. “I’d love to.”
The phone rang. She cringed and her husband bolted to his feet. A moment later, he called out to her. “It’s Linda from church.”
The fifth call in the last hour.
“She wants to know if she can stop by later.”
“Zoooooomzzzzeeeeeerrrrr!” Her son crashed his plane into a wall of Legos. “Momma, you gotta awwest me. I bwoke the waw. I had an akkident.”
“Hold on, sweetie.” She ruffled his hair then called out to her husband. “Can you ask her if I can take a rain check?” Grabbing a police car with chipped paint, she wove it through the “streets” of carpet town, toward her son’s plane.
“Not like that! You need to make the siwen noises.”
A wave of nausea swept over her and she leaned against the couch, double images flashing before her. Her brain pulsated, swollen from radiation-saturation, and for a moment, she feared she’d pass out.
“Honey? Honey? Are you okay?” A hand touched her shoulder and an image of her husband blurred before her.
The room went silent and her son dropped his plane. “Momma no feel well?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. Lord, please give me Your strength made perfect in weakness. For my children and husband’s sake.
“How about I put in a movie?” Her husband poked their son in the ribs until he rolled on the floor with laughter, then he cupped his wife’s chin and lifted her face until their gaze met. “Love you.” He kissed her cheek, then her mouth.
***
Terry lingered in the door of her children’s bedroom, listening to the steady rhythm of their breathing. If only she could capture this moment. Her husband draped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her close, resting his chin on top of her head.
She closed her eyes and inhaled his citrus cologne, laying her cheek against his chest. The steady pounding of his heart soothed her and for a moment, peace washed over her.
But then the phone rang again. She sighed; her shoulders caving forward. Her husband tensed.
“I’ll get it. You go relax.”
She nodded and shuffled down the stairs, outside, and to the porch swing. A cool breeze swept over her, carrying with it the faint scent of freshly cut grass. A crescent moon blazed in a clear night sky, thousands of stars twinkling all around her. She searched the constellations, naming each one in turn. For years, she’d wanted to see a falling star. As a kid, she’d spent hours searching the night sky. She’s seen many things–air planes glistening in the night, Venus blazing bright. But not once a shooting star. But one day she’d be with the bright and morning star. Even as He stayed with her now.
She leaned her head back and inhaled the cool night air, a deep warmth filling her heart, as she turned to God in prayer.
A flash of light caught her attention and she sat aright. In that moment, her vision cleared and above her, a star fell like a miniature Fourth of July firecracker.
“Oh, Father! Oh, Holy Father.”
Tears flooded her cheeks and laughter bubbled in her chest as another star followed.
***
About two months ago, my friend started to sit on her back porch talking to God. Something about looking up at the sky, under the stars, brought her peace. One night as she poured out her heart to Him, she saw a shooting star. She was so excited but didn’t connect it to God- not that time. Since that night, she has seen at least 6 – 10 shooting stars, always when she’s talking to Him. Just typing this story to me overwhelmed her with emotion.
Her words: It’s a simple thing, but for me it reminds me of His love and how He delights in showing it- to ME. Just for me. Just because He wants me to know He’s with me and hears me.
When she told me the story, I, too, was overwhelmed with emotion. A song called Light up the Sky by the Afters is one of my favorites. I listen to it often and love the chorus, “Light, light, light up the sky to show me You are with me.” I never understood why I loved that phrase so much until my friend shared her story. I believe God drew me to that song so I would understand what He’d done for my dear friend, because the song rushed to my mind the minute she told me.
With the strength like no other and the heart of a Father, He lights up the sky to show us He is with us.
Pause and listen to this song and rest in the presence of your loving Father. (And to my dear, radiant, beautiful friend–you are dearly loved! And you shine brighter than those stars God uses to show you His love.)
