“Summers! Summers!” somebody was yelling as we walked into the Heritage Homestead Fair near Waco, Texas. We were visiting an Amish-type farm and craft event with some of our kids the day after Thanksgiving. Who could be calling us? Turns out they were calling our son, Jamie’s family, who was staying with us and other family members in Waxahachie, Texas. It was their Houston best friends! Neither family knew the other would be there that day, but they were the first people we met! It’s a four hour drive from Houston, so what were the chances they would run into each other at that moment in a throng of hundreds of people?
We had met their friends on several occasions and were delighted to finally see the latest additions they had made to their family: two little girls from China, ages two and four, the youngest having arrived only a few months ago. An older girl of six or seven had been adopted from there a few years back, adding to their original family of four children. The Chinese children were startlingly beautiful, with their porcelain skin and jet black hair framing doll-like faces. Their own red-haired daughter says she is big sister to my titian-haired baby granddaughter, Maddie.
We had a wonderful day at the Fair, watching a demonstration of corn being ground by a horizontal propane engine into cornmeal (fine), grits (coarse), and chicken feed (rough chop). Then we toured a working water wheel grist mill and saw the grain ground by a mill stone. Of course, we had to buy products from there, including cookie mix made from milled oats and sorghum syrup from cane. We saw a farming demonstration of a pair of mules turning the soil with a plow guided by a farmer on a two-wheeled spring seat.
Mules later pulled a big hay wagon we rode on to tour the property, the high point of which was when we were allowed to dismount the wagon to view a scenic overlook high on a bluff. The bucolic scene below of neatly laid out fields and pastures with a cozy farmhouse tucked in one corner was enough to make one want to join the religious community.
In the crafts pavilion, we were fascinated to see the journey of flax and cotton through a carding process, curled into a spool that would be placed on a spinning wheel to be spun into thread. Then we could see the thread being woven on a loom into dish towels. The residents of the community made the everyday essentials that can be found in any home: dishes, brooms, baskets, furniture, clothing, linens, boots, and food products. They portrayed a simple, wholesome, if somewhat cloistered, Christian lifestyle. In their plain, modest clothes and cosmetic-free faces, everyone seemed peaceful and happy. So refreshing to us in our hurried outside world.
But Jesus didn’t call us to come out of the world, but to go into all the world and preach the gospel. Although the early church tried the communal lifestyle in the beginning, they were soon scattered by persecution, inadvertently spreading the gospel with their dispersion. Jesus said in Matthew 5:14-16, that we are the light of the world, and a city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. Preserving the old ways and living a simple life style are admirable, but we can be salt and light wherever we live, even bringing a bit of the mission field home with us, as in rescuing orphans from China. It is His world, and he has us sprinkled like salt all over it, sometimes bumping us into each other in the most unexpected places.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Button, Button, Who's Got the Button?
Oh, good, it’s not going to be cold tomorrow, I thought Saturday, when thinking about church clothes for Sunday. I could wear a transitional dress with a jacket I hadn’t worn since last fall. But when I got up Sunday morning, it was almost summer-like outside. A cotton-blend dress that I had would work better. I put it on, glad to have a chance to wear the stylish outfit I liked so much, a brown dress with a brown, three-quarter length jacket covered in big white polka dots with huge brown buttons down the front and on the cuffs of the sleeves.
We got into the car and headed for church. What’s this? I wondered, as I was settling into my seat and saw a strap flapping at my wrist. I tucked it into its loop and reached to button it. The button was gone! Oh, no! It was too late to go back home and change, so I hoped the loop would hold the strap and no one would notice that my cuffs didn’t match.
How long had the button been gone? Placed near the back of the cuff, it would have been hard to notice it missing. As soon as I got a chance today, I started looking for it. Maybe it had dropped onto the closet floor. Searching the floor and under a shoe rack with a flashlight, I noticed several things, but not the button. Here was a pretty top I hadn’t seen all summer slipped off it’s hanger and behind something. Seeing various shoes and hangers on the floor, I knew I had to clean it out. Organizing is my least favorite thing to do, but my husband’s favorite.
“Howard, would you help me with this closet?” I called, since he was home today and reading on the porch. In his own good time, he tackled the chore, getting bogged down in a carton of books stored since we’d moved here. But alas! No button. I looked in my button box and found one that was the right size, but it was blue. I searched the jewelry box and found a pair of buttons, one huge and one small, in a plastic packet that must have come attached to some new garment, but they were gray.
We usually don’t think of a necessary item like a button as a luxury, but I think they used to be considered as such. I remember reading in Tom Sawyer, how Aunt Polly used a needle and thread to fasten Tom’s shirt. And I used to hear my dad talk about when he was a boy, they “tacked” the opening of clothing together with a needle and thread--kind of sewing them into a garment! The Amish don’t always use buttons, instead using snaps or hooks and eyes, or even sewing or using pins as less showy fasteners. (When I was little, I would see my father make a simple lock, called a button, for a shed door--or even one in the old farm house--with a strip of wood nailed to the facing and twisted across the door to hold it secure. “Button that door!” was a common command from him back then.)
Well, buttons are certainly a necessity today, and a fashion ornamentation, as well. I didn’t find mine, but maybe by Spring, which will probably be as soon as I wear the outfit again, I’ll have found it, or at least a suitable replacement. We did fill a bag for charity with several purses, shoes and articles of rarely worn clothing. And, I have a clean closet, so all is not lost. Only the button!
We got into the car and headed for church. What’s this? I wondered, as I was settling into my seat and saw a strap flapping at my wrist. I tucked it into its loop and reached to button it. The button was gone! Oh, no! It was too late to go back home and change, so I hoped the loop would hold the strap and no one would notice that my cuffs didn’t match.
How long had the button been gone? Placed near the back of the cuff, it would have been hard to notice it missing. As soon as I got a chance today, I started looking for it. Maybe it had dropped onto the closet floor. Searching the floor and under a shoe rack with a flashlight, I noticed several things, but not the button. Here was a pretty top I hadn’t seen all summer slipped off it’s hanger and behind something. Seeing various shoes and hangers on the floor, I knew I had to clean it out. Organizing is my least favorite thing to do, but my husband’s favorite.
“Howard, would you help me with this closet?” I called, since he was home today and reading on the porch. In his own good time, he tackled the chore, getting bogged down in a carton of books stored since we’d moved here. But alas! No button. I looked in my button box and found one that was the right size, but it was blue. I searched the jewelry box and found a pair of buttons, one huge and one small, in a plastic packet that must have come attached to some new garment, but they were gray.
We usually don’t think of a necessary item like a button as a luxury, but I think they used to be considered as such. I remember reading in Tom Sawyer, how Aunt Polly used a needle and thread to fasten Tom’s shirt. And I used to hear my dad talk about when he was a boy, they “tacked” the opening of clothing together with a needle and thread--kind of sewing them into a garment! The Amish don’t always use buttons, instead using snaps or hooks and eyes, or even sewing or using pins as less showy fasteners. (When I was little, I would see my father make a simple lock, called a button, for a shed door--or even one in the old farm house--with a strip of wood nailed to the facing and twisted across the door to hold it secure. “Button that door!” was a common command from him back then.)
Well, buttons are certainly a necessity today, and a fashion ornamentation, as well. I didn’t find mine, but maybe by Spring, which will probably be as soon as I wear the outfit again, I’ll have found it, or at least a suitable replacement. We did fill a bag for charity with several purses, shoes and articles of rarely worn clothing. And, I have a clean closet, so all is not lost. Only the button!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
To Sow a Seed
How fascinating it is to realize that everything happens for a reason and that the smallest detail is important to God! I heard an amazing thing yesterday that happened several years ago, but has significant impact today. British Evangelist Nathan Morris, who is leading the great revival meeting in Mobile, Alabama, was asked in an interview about how he came to be a minister. He said that his parents were visiting the United States from England on a vacation some 15 years ago and were walking down the street of an American city. His father, a pastor and avid Christian, was wearing a t-shirt with “JESUS” emblazoned across the front. A passerby noticed it, stopped and said, “There’s a revival in Pensacola! You should go!”
They did go and discovered the mighty move of God that was going on at the Brownsville Church. On a return trip to the U.S., they brought their teen son, Nathan, to the revival. He had an encounter with God that would later propel him into the international ministry he has today! Now thousands, if not millions, are being impacted for Christ by this young man. All because of a t-shirt, you might say! We forget the effect that we have on others by the things we do or say, intentionally or unintentionally. We might think it a little thing just to hand out or leave a gospel tract on a table or in a public place.
During the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, an official from the American Bible Society visited our church in Gulfport, Mississippi, to interview my husband as a local pastor involved in hurricane outreach. Upon leaving, he left a sizable donation in appreciation of the work there. In a private moment, he confided to Howard that he at one time had been lost spiritually, living as a street person. A man in a park one day handed him a gospel tract, which he later read and accepted the message of Christ. This dignified and well-spoken black man was obviously a bright light for Jesus, as a result of being given a tract.
Praying a blessing over your food at a restaurant, routinely leaving your house for church carrying a Bible, honest dealings in business--all can be a witness for Christ. Someone once said, “You are not invisible.” Possibly we think we live in anonymity just because we may not know many people, but you are soon known by your smile, your attitude, your habits, or even your general demeanor. The Bible says, “Let us not be weary in well doing, for in due season we shall reap if we faint not,” Galatians 6:9. When is due season? Only God knows. It may take a short time, or a lifetime, but we may be sure that from tiny seeds, a harvest will come.
They did go and discovered the mighty move of God that was going on at the Brownsville Church. On a return trip to the U.S., they brought their teen son, Nathan, to the revival. He had an encounter with God that would later propel him into the international ministry he has today! Now thousands, if not millions, are being impacted for Christ by this young man. All because of a t-shirt, you might say! We forget the effect that we have on others by the things we do or say, intentionally or unintentionally. We might think it a little thing just to hand out or leave a gospel tract on a table or in a public place.
During the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, an official from the American Bible Society visited our church in Gulfport, Mississippi, to interview my husband as a local pastor involved in hurricane outreach. Upon leaving, he left a sizable donation in appreciation of the work there. In a private moment, he confided to Howard that he at one time had been lost spiritually, living as a street person. A man in a park one day handed him a gospel tract, which he later read and accepted the message of Christ. This dignified and well-spoken black man was obviously a bright light for Jesus, as a result of being given a tract.
Praying a blessing over your food at a restaurant, routinely leaving your house for church carrying a Bible, honest dealings in business--all can be a witness for Christ. Someone once said, “You are not invisible.” Possibly we think we live in anonymity just because we may not know many people, but you are soon known by your smile, your attitude, your habits, or even your general demeanor. The Bible says, “Let us not be weary in well doing, for in due season we shall reap if we faint not,” Galatians 6:9. When is due season? Only God knows. It may take a short time, or a lifetime, but we may be sure that from tiny seeds, a harvest will come.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Afterthought
“Oh, before you leave, I just wanted to tell you something,” the owner of the Christian bookstore we were in yesterday commented. “A customer was in here the other day, and he told me that your church had prayed for us when he was in service recently!” We have a custom of praying for a missionary and a local pastor and church or ministry every Sunday morning, and my husband had named the bookstore as he led in prayer that day. They have a regular prayer meeting and special speakers in a large room at the back of their store. “The man was so excited about that,” she went on, “and so touched that he had tears in his eyes.”
“That’s remarkable,” Howard responded, “Just yesterday someone told me something similar. I had met some people from another church at a function one night last week, and I mentioned their church in prayer on Sunday.” He went on, “I didn’t know some of them were present that morning visiting with family who attends, until I was told how pleased they were that we had prayed for them and their pastor.”
“You know just a few words of prayer or thoughtfulness go a long way,” our friend remarked, “you never know the effect of just a little seed that is planted and how it might affect someone.” She went on to explain that she makes it a practice to pray a blessing over each Bible that is sold in her store. She said that one day as she was doing that, a customer came in, but rather than quit praying, she went on, while the customer busied himself browsing through books. Later, he seemed a little stand-offish, and she wondered if she had offended him.
A few days later, a lady came in and bought a Bible. As she was thanked and handed the purchase and receipt, the woman hesitated and said, “Aren’t you going to pray? My friend was here the other day and said he heard you praying over a Bible.” The man had been paying attention, after all!
She told of another time when she had been working on bookkeeping upstairs when her employee called up to her that a person wanted a blessing prayed on the Bible she had just bought. Since the proprietor was recovering from a car accident injury and not wanting to go back down the stairs, she responded to the cashier, herself a devout Christian, “Well, I’m in the middle of something, so you go ahead and pray.” The customer quickly called out, “No! I want you to pray!” Turns out that several of her family had received her prayer-blessings on their Bibles, and she didn’t want to break the chain of continuity.
“Pastors are always being called upon to pray for others,” the bookstore owner reflected, “So it probably meant a lot for that pastor to hear that you had prayed for him the other day. I know it meant a lot to me,” she concluded.
We know from what Jesus said in the Bible that prayers don’t have to be long to be effective, Matthew 6:5-7. It is not our much speaking and vain repetitions that he desires. A simple prayer from the heart is worth more than all the flowery words, and a little does go a long way.
“That’s remarkable,” Howard responded, “Just yesterday someone told me something similar. I had met some people from another church at a function one night last week, and I mentioned their church in prayer on Sunday.” He went on, “I didn’t know some of them were present that morning visiting with family who attends, until I was told how pleased they were that we had prayed for them and their pastor.”
“You know just a few words of prayer or thoughtfulness go a long way,” our friend remarked, “you never know the effect of just a little seed that is planted and how it might affect someone.” She went on to explain that she makes it a practice to pray a blessing over each Bible that is sold in her store. She said that one day as she was doing that, a customer came in, but rather than quit praying, she went on, while the customer busied himself browsing through books. Later, he seemed a little stand-offish, and she wondered if she had offended him.
A few days later, a lady came in and bought a Bible. As she was thanked and handed the purchase and receipt, the woman hesitated and said, “Aren’t you going to pray? My friend was here the other day and said he heard you praying over a Bible.” The man had been paying attention, after all!
She told of another time when she had been working on bookkeeping upstairs when her employee called up to her that a person wanted a blessing prayed on the Bible she had just bought. Since the proprietor was recovering from a car accident injury and not wanting to go back down the stairs, she responded to the cashier, herself a devout Christian, “Well, I’m in the middle of something, so you go ahead and pray.” The customer quickly called out, “No! I want you to pray!” Turns out that several of her family had received her prayer-blessings on their Bibles, and she didn’t want to break the chain of continuity.
“Pastors are always being called upon to pray for others,” the bookstore owner reflected, “So it probably meant a lot for that pastor to hear that you had prayed for him the other day. I know it meant a lot to me,” she concluded.
We know from what Jesus said in the Bible that prayers don’t have to be long to be effective, Matthew 6:5-7. It is not our much speaking and vain repetitions that he desires. A simple prayer from the heart is worth more than all the flowery words, and a little does go a long way.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Skype! Yikes!
What a wonderful surprise I had yesterday! My son was fiddling with and manipulating my computer by remote, and he hooked me up with Skype! Suddenly I was in their living room seeing my 3-year-old granddaughter face-to-face and having a conversation with her! We talked about her 4th birthday coming up (“I’m having a Sweet Pea birthday cake, and my party is at the zoo!”), her playmates (“Gabe won’t marry me because he’s mad!”). Then she thrust her doll into view (“It’s Barbie, from Toy Story 3!”) Her enormous blue eyes lit up as she went on, “I want to tell you about my dream! I dreamed my friends were over, then I couldn’t find them!”
I asked her if she wanted to go to school, now that she was turning four. “Actually,” she said, “I do go to school at my church. We have praise and worship! And we have snacks!”
“Do you practice letters and numbers?” I asked her, to which her reply was, “Well, 3’s are kind of hard. They are…uh…different.”
I hadn’t seen their family much this summer, but briefly in Tennessee for a family wedding a couple of months ago. I don’t think I even had a conversation with her then, busy as she was dashing around with cousins. It’s amazing how fast kids change. Here she was, articulate, animated, dimpled smile flashing and blonde curls bouncing. Be still, my heart! If baby Maddie hadn’t been asleep, it would have been double the fun.
Later that evening when PaPa was home, we got on Skype again. This time 19-month-old Maddie was in on the fun, if escaping to distant corners of the room in pursuit of some elusive toy. At one point, they got on a battery-powered 4-wheeler and zipped around riding double. I remembered when Maddie had received that as a first-birthday present, and, standing beside it, she turned the ignition and hung on for dear life as it took off with her. She must have grown into it a bit by now.
“I forgot to tell you something about my dream,” Anne-Marie announced, coming into view, then, distracted, the moment was lost. We are looking forward to our trip to see them as we meet at our son, Trevor’s, house, for Thanksgiving. An outing to an Amish Homestead Fair is planned for Friday following the holiday. With the petting zoo, carriage rides, craft exhibitions, and musical performances, I’m sure it will be a wonderful excursion for one and all. Until then, I can see them on Skype, and maybe Anne-Marie will remember more of her dream. Meanwhile, she and her little sister will populate mine.
I asked her if she wanted to go to school, now that she was turning four. “Actually,” she said, “I do go to school at my church. We have praise and worship! And we have snacks!”
“Do you practice letters and numbers?” I asked her, to which her reply was, “Well, 3’s are kind of hard. They are…uh…different.”
I hadn’t seen their family much this summer, but briefly in Tennessee for a family wedding a couple of months ago. I don’t think I even had a conversation with her then, busy as she was dashing around with cousins. It’s amazing how fast kids change. Here she was, articulate, animated, dimpled smile flashing and blonde curls bouncing. Be still, my heart! If baby Maddie hadn’t been asleep, it would have been double the fun.
Later that evening when PaPa was home, we got on Skype again. This time 19-month-old Maddie was in on the fun, if escaping to distant corners of the room in pursuit of some elusive toy. At one point, they got on a battery-powered 4-wheeler and zipped around riding double. I remembered when Maddie had received that as a first-birthday present, and, standing beside it, she turned the ignition and hung on for dear life as it took off with her. She must have grown into it a bit by now.
“I forgot to tell you something about my dream,” Anne-Marie announced, coming into view, then, distracted, the moment was lost. We are looking forward to our trip to see them as we meet at our son, Trevor’s, house, for Thanksgiving. An outing to an Amish Homestead Fair is planned for Friday following the holiday. With the petting zoo, carriage rides, craft exhibitions, and musical performances, I’m sure it will be a wonderful excursion for one and all. Until then, I can see them on Skype, and maybe Anne-Marie will remember more of her dream. Meanwhile, she and her little sister will populate mine.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Do You Remember?
Now where were those pickles? Peering behind everything in the refrigerator, I couldn’t see them. I had made grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for lunch, and I remembered the dill slices we had bought. I could just imagine their crisp, salty flavor with the melted cheese of the sandwiches. “Howard,” I called to my husband as he sat on the porch swing waiting to eat, “did you put those pickles somewhere when we unpacked the groceries?”
I got a negative answer, and I mentally retraced my steps as we’d come in from the store the other day. I remembered my hands were full, and as I juggled loops of plastic bags in my hands, one slipped and I heard an ominous, dull thud on the sidewalk with the tinkle of broken glass. Looking down to see a greenish-yellow liquid seeping from the grocery bag, I realized I’d broken the jar of pickles--the only breakable thing in the bag! Like a revelation it had come back to me! This was the first time I’d thought of it! Well, we had sweet gherkins with our sandwiches, and they weren’t too bad.
A couple of days ago as we were pulling out from a place of business, someone pointed out that we had a low tire. The next morning we got up and it was flat. Turns out we would have to replace the tire. On the way to the tire center, Howard had me remove paperwork from the glove compartment with receipts and information on our tires’ history. When he presented them for warranty coverage, he found he had the right papers for three of the tires, but not for the one we needed. A further search at home revealed another record of tire replacement, but, alas, it was not the right one either.
On the way home after getting the new tire mounted , I asked Howard why he was so convinced it was covered by warranty. He said he remembered it wasn’t that long ago that he had bought it. He became irritated with my questioning, though, as I tried to make him retrace the circumstances of buying the tire. Then his face lit up. “I remember! It was when we were in Houston, and Jamie and I went to Sam’s Club and bought it!” Now he was glad I’d prompted his memory. Calling our son, Jamie, however, corrected this recollection. Jamie said they had indeed gone to Sam’s, but ended up buying it at Walmart.
Our memories are unpredictable and not infallible. Stress clouds our thoughts, and just when we need presence of mind most, we can become fuzzy in our thinking. Thankfully, God is the same, yesterday, today and forever, the great I AM. James 1:17 says that there is no shadow or variableness of turning with Him. He is our Constant. His Word says that if even our mother forgets us, He will not. We are inscribed on the palms of His hands, Isaiah 49:16. A beautiful picture of the scars of Jesus. May we never forget that!
I got a negative answer, and I mentally retraced my steps as we’d come in from the store the other day. I remembered my hands were full, and as I juggled loops of plastic bags in my hands, one slipped and I heard an ominous, dull thud on the sidewalk with the tinkle of broken glass. Looking down to see a greenish-yellow liquid seeping from the grocery bag, I realized I’d broken the jar of pickles--the only breakable thing in the bag! Like a revelation it had come back to me! This was the first time I’d thought of it! Well, we had sweet gherkins with our sandwiches, and they weren’t too bad.
A couple of days ago as we were pulling out from a place of business, someone pointed out that we had a low tire. The next morning we got up and it was flat. Turns out we would have to replace the tire. On the way to the tire center, Howard had me remove paperwork from the glove compartment with receipts and information on our tires’ history. When he presented them for warranty coverage, he found he had the right papers for three of the tires, but not for the one we needed. A further search at home revealed another record of tire replacement, but, alas, it was not the right one either.
On the way home after getting the new tire mounted , I asked Howard why he was so convinced it was covered by warranty. He said he remembered it wasn’t that long ago that he had bought it. He became irritated with my questioning, though, as I tried to make him retrace the circumstances of buying the tire. Then his face lit up. “I remember! It was when we were in Houston, and Jamie and I went to Sam’s Club and bought it!” Now he was glad I’d prompted his memory. Calling our son, Jamie, however, corrected this recollection. Jamie said they had indeed gone to Sam’s, but ended up buying it at Walmart.
Our memories are unpredictable and not infallible. Stress clouds our thoughts, and just when we need presence of mind most, we can become fuzzy in our thinking. Thankfully, God is the same, yesterday, today and forever, the great I AM. James 1:17 says that there is no shadow or variableness of turning with Him. He is our Constant. His Word says that if even our mother forgets us, He will not. We are inscribed on the palms of His hands, Isaiah 49:16. A beautiful picture of the scars of Jesus. May we never forget that!
Motivation?
“What are you doing?” I screeched at my husband. “You’re ruining the cake!” I had just put down the phone to realize he was carrying the three small bags of groceries with the cake we had bought for our church fellowship slipped sideways in the bag. I could see the layer was askew on the base, with frosting all over the inside of the plastic dome. Closer inspection showed it must have been upside down, since exactly half the frosting was peeled back, now stuck to the top of the container, and stripping bare that half of the cake top. “Just like a man,” I fumed. The phone had rung inside my purse just as we were loading the groceries, and I talked to my daughter until we’d come into the house.
We had stopped at the store to get cream cheese for a spread I was making with some special herbs we had at home to serve with crackers. I was pondering that it would be a skimpy snack contribution tonight, when I saw the beautiful single-layer bakery cakes with the luscious-looking chocolate frosting at a tiny price. I guessed we would have to keep the now-spoiled cake for ourselves, and I went to work on the cracker tray, using the grapes we had bought to fill it out a bit. I repaired the cake as best I could, shoving it in the fridge, and went to sit down and settle my nerves.
When it was time to go, I looked at the cake, now firmed up and looking better, and it occurred to me to slice it up and see how it looked. I got out a pretty cake stand, overlapping the wedges of cake on top, and it didn’t look half bad. The red swirls in the chocolate of the re-cycled icing were less evident with focus on the glistening dark cake. I couldn’t believe it when it was met with oohs and aahs as I uncovered it at church. I had already smoothed things out with my husband over my outburst, but now I was really ashamed as I remembered his crest-fallen look at my scolding. And over such a little thing, really.
During our round-table discussion at a kind of free-for-all where we were invited to ask questions prior to our lesson, our pastor’s wife brought up a question about our school supply giveaway we’d had during the summer. She had run into one of the volunteer beauticians who had helped with the free haircuts, and asked how she felt about the experience, remembering how she had built it up as such a rewarding thing to participate in such an event. The young woman told her she didn’t know if she would do it again, as she was turned off by the shabby treatment the hairdressers received from some of the recipients’ parents, and the sense of entitlement she noticed among them. Pastor’s wife wanted feedback from our workers of what they’d picked up, which was largely different from the haircutter’s report.
I thought about our motivation for doing things for others. Is it for self-gratification? If so, we are often disappointed. The Bible tells us that whatever we do, we are to do it as unto the Lord, Colossians 3:23. It is hard to expect nothing in return for our efforts, but even Jesus was, and still is, mostly rejected and unappreciated. Some day all of our works will be judged, and many will be burned up as worthless, depending upon whether they were built on the proper foundation, and perhaps, even on the motivation behind them. Food for thought.
We had stopped at the store to get cream cheese for a spread I was making with some special herbs we had at home to serve with crackers. I was pondering that it would be a skimpy snack contribution tonight, when I saw the beautiful single-layer bakery cakes with the luscious-looking chocolate frosting at a tiny price. I guessed we would have to keep the now-spoiled cake for ourselves, and I went to work on the cracker tray, using the grapes we had bought to fill it out a bit. I repaired the cake as best I could, shoving it in the fridge, and went to sit down and settle my nerves.
When it was time to go, I looked at the cake, now firmed up and looking better, and it occurred to me to slice it up and see how it looked. I got out a pretty cake stand, overlapping the wedges of cake on top, and it didn’t look half bad. The red swirls in the chocolate of the re-cycled icing were less evident with focus on the glistening dark cake. I couldn’t believe it when it was met with oohs and aahs as I uncovered it at church. I had already smoothed things out with my husband over my outburst, but now I was really ashamed as I remembered his crest-fallen look at my scolding. And over such a little thing, really.
During our round-table discussion at a kind of free-for-all where we were invited to ask questions prior to our lesson, our pastor’s wife brought up a question about our school supply giveaway we’d had during the summer. She had run into one of the volunteer beauticians who had helped with the free haircuts, and asked how she felt about the experience, remembering how she had built it up as such a rewarding thing to participate in such an event. The young woman told her she didn’t know if she would do it again, as she was turned off by the shabby treatment the hairdressers received from some of the recipients’ parents, and the sense of entitlement she noticed among them. Pastor’s wife wanted feedback from our workers of what they’d picked up, which was largely different from the haircutter’s report.
I thought about our motivation for doing things for others. Is it for self-gratification? If so, we are often disappointed. The Bible tells us that whatever we do, we are to do it as unto the Lord, Colossians 3:23. It is hard to expect nothing in return for our efforts, but even Jesus was, and still is, mostly rejected and unappreciated. Some day all of our works will be judged, and many will be burned up as worthless, depending upon whether they were built on the proper foundation, and perhaps, even on the motivation behind them. Food for thought.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)