Wednesday, September 2, 2009

poured out

Here's the question of the day:

How poured out is too much?

Not that I've emptied myself. I run out of patience, time, energy, compassion, focus. But I've never run out of desire to do more. So there's always been some left at the end of the day.

And not that I've made any part of God's creation too salty, either. I do what I can to represent Him in care, love, discipline, and joy, but I'm pretty sure no one's avoided me because I might smother them with scripture or something. So I do what I can, but not all that I can.

When you pour water out of a pitcher, what happens to it? It depends, doesn't it? If you pour it onto the ground, it immediately disappears. But if you pour it into another container, it takes on that new shape.

I need to pour myself out into anonymity. What I do is not to be done for my own recognition. I like compliments. And I like getting results. But I hope that never drives what I do. That needs to be the sprinkles on the cupcake - not the cake itself.

And I need to pour myself into His mold - who He wants me to be. I am to become more like Christ daily, and how can that happen if I don't pour myself into it wholeheartedly? Move - translate - reformat - live as the "new creation" Paul talks about in 2 Cor. 5.
I guess my nagging fear is that I might pour too much and be the empty container trying to get out of bed each morning and living a hollow life. But God didn't make me a salt shaker. He made me the salt.

What good is salt if it never leaves the shaker? That last little granule might be just what's needed to make something as tasty as it was meant to be. I've got to be used up.




...but not exactly like this (although some parallels could be made, I'm sure):

A Tale of the Late Bugaboo and Kickapoo Campaignby Edgar Allan Poe (1850)

Sunday, August 16, 2009

What if the whole Samaritan family had been traveling that road?

Wow. So many bad things happen. And not many have happened to me. I'm so blessed.

What should I do? How am I called to respond? More specifically, how do I mix my family's best interests and the interests of others?

My sweet brother just wrapped up a divorce. The kids and I have tried to help however we can, taking a trip down in February, and mostly just praying for him each night and repeating our offers to come down and help in any way he can think of.

My sweet friend's dad has been sick for a long, long time (7 years?), and now she's not only trying to wait patiently for God to give her her own heart's desires, but also she's taking care of her dad and aunt who's been near death and is 3 or so states away.

Our sweet violin teacher has had a very difficult summer, which is apparently culminating in a divorce from her husband of 28 years who will no longer speak to her and may have some psychological problems. Her mother is her only family and lives about 15 or so hours away.

All around us, people we know or know of die, are sick, lose jobs, lose time with their kids because of jobs, feel lonely, feel overwhelmed, feel lost, feel frustrated, feel unappreciated, are confused.

Pastor Bill talked today about true humility. It's considering others better than ourselves. That goes up against all the self-help advice of the day that tells us to be confident, self-assured, to hold our heads up, to believe in ourselves and our abilities. It flips it all around.


No, not like that.

Instead of thinking how important I am, how much I deserve a good life or my own free time or money or things, it's realizing that I am nothing without Christ. Nothing. All I'm entitled to is the punishment my sin rightly deserves.

Instead of looking down on others with a "bless her heart" attitude that, without the words, says that I'll never find myself in such a mess, like Paul, I need to see that I am no better than anyone, no matter how things appear, and I have the same desperate need for His saving grace.
God has made each of us, and no matter my personal situation, if I am to be more like Christ, I am to serve others - not myself. But only out of humility. All the kind words and selfless acts I can do add up to nothing if they're not rooted in Him - if they don't reflect my Creator - if they don't come from my love for others as His precious children, my brothers and sisters.

So how do I put it into action? I'm a doer. I'm Martha. Sitting at His feet to listen to Him doesn't come naturally to me. Maybe that's why I can't seem to hear what He's saying. I'm off in the kitchen chopping carrots for His dinner and can't hear His words of life over the sound of the knife hitting the counter. Hmm. Wonder if Martha served fried rice. It's a noisy meal to cook.

Back to the point. What do I do? How do I help? Because while I watch all these hurting people seem to crumble, I've got a family who needs me. Practically speaking, I've got a part-time job, a house to clean, 5 mouths to feed, naps to arrange, diapers to change, a husband to help, and, occasionally, a shower to take. But where's the line?

I want my kids to see my faith in relationships and in how I help others. Do I make choices that may sometimes be second best for the kids in terms of our budget or our schedules or our convenience because it helps a hurting friend? Or do I pray for the friend and just do what's best for the kids? Which is true humility? Going against my gut to serve my family or going against it to serve a hurting neighbor? (Because, honestly, my gut says to stay home on the couch.) What would the good samaritan have done if his kids had been strapped to the back of that mule?

What do you think?

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Maybe not such a good idea



We now have 3 kids, but before there were kids, there was Molly. All 50 pounds of her 4-legged, black-furried, long-tongued, slobbery doggness. She was our one and only.

When we moved to a new town and a small yard, Molly got a little rowdy. She barked a little too much. Okay, a lot too much. Okay, okay, we got a warning from the city that they’d fine us if she didn’t quit. So we got a bark collar.

J is such a great dad, and was then, too. He didn’t want to use the collar on Molly until he tested it to see if it worked and to decide if we should use it. Can I just stop the story here by saying it did and we didn’t?

Ouch.