The Bookmark
What good is a little bookmark? In the huge scheme of things, bookmarks do not play a very important role. They are fairly incidental – convenient but not essential. People often fuss about a mislaid book, but does anyone fuss about a mislaid bookmark? The bookmark’s exalted cousin, the book, is copyrighted, criticized, computerized, reviewed, reviled, revered, discussed, defamed, disputed, distributed, even sometimes black-marketed. It can even be burned or extinguished in a culture. But bookmarks? Who cares? Has anyone ever heard of a “burn the bookmarks” campaign? And what intrepid little battlers they are! They outlast any thumbed-over old volume. Decades after a book has drawn its last readable breath, its bookmark is as fresh as a daisy and as new as tomorrow. Did you know that a bookmark can suspend thought indefinitely? It will hold your mind at the full-stop where you stopped thinking. It can then take you back to the same moment a day, a week, a year, or even a decade later. So don’t mess with bookmarks, especially the ones that carry individually designed messages. Their one-liners can rock the foundations of belief. Usually they have an intriguing little picture at the top – just to get your attention – and below it they have their philosophy. They say things like, “You are not what you think you are, but what you think, you are.” That’s a conversation killer if ever there was one. You would never dare express your thoughts again with that sliding in and out of life’s pages. One of my bookmarks has the most potent screamer I have ever heard. I don’t know who the author is, but I do hope he got a Knighthood or a clap of thunder or something significant. He penned, “It doesn’t take much of a man to be a Christian, but it takes all there is of him.” Like I said, don’t mess with bookmarks. If you do, they will hound you for the rest of your life. They will travel in and out of every page of your personal history. Mine does. (With apologies to Proverbs 23:7 and Deuteronomy 6:5!) About the author: Elizabeth is a team writer for “Just a Minute” e-zine.
It’s All the Rage
Can you let go of your brick or do you still want to throw it? It appears to be all the rage these days. Rage, that is. It comes in countless varieties – road rage, grocery store rage, airline rage, youth sports rage, restaurant rage, standing-in-line rage, can’t-get-in-line rage, ad nauseum. There is no end to short tempers and bad manners on public display these days. Think about the sports pages of your newspaper. Poor sportsmanship and anger literally “beat out” scores and game highlights. The fiercest action is in the stands. A Texas mother slaps the mother of a girl on the winning basketball team at the end of the game. A Florida high school baseball coach breaks an umpire’s jaw after a disputed call. A father beats another father to death in an argument over rough play at their sons’ hockey practice. All sorts of explanations are offered for this epidemic of anger. Social scientists blame stress, high expectations, and multi-tasking. This isn’t merely a psychological problem. It’s a moral issue that reflects a lack of the virtue called self-control. It is a lack of respect for other people and reflects the childish sentiment some never outgrow that everything must happen my way. If Jesus taught his disciples to suffer persecution for the gospel without retaliating and to turn the other cheek to personal insults, what implications do you think his teachings have for getting cut off in traffic or a referee’s bad call? The late Henri Nouwen told the story of John and Sandy. “We’ve never had an argument,” said John. “Let’s have a squabble like other people have.” “But how do we start an argument?” asked Sandy. “It’s very simple,” replied John. “I take a brick and say, ‘It’s mine,’ and then you say, ‘No, it’s mine.’ And then we have an argument.” So they sat down to find out what quarreling was like, and John took a brick and said, “This brick is mine.” Sandy looked over at him gently and said, “Well, if it is yours, you take it.” Where did I get the idea that I am entitled to everything I want whenever I want it? Has our materialistic and narcissistic age so infected us all that no one can do without, wait her turn, or lose an athletic contest? Do others have rights? Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the sight of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone (Romans 12:17-18 TNIV). If you’re holding a brick of anger or resentment today, don’t let fly. Let go. About the author: Rubel Shelly preached for decades and served as a professor of medical ethics, Bible, and philosophy at multiple universities. He was a former president of Rochester College and Professor of Philosophy and Religion at Lipscomb University. He was the author of more than 30 books and hundreds of inspirational articles. His commitment to a non-sectarian presentation of the gospel touched countless lives.
Dibs
Where are you going to park in Chicago anyway? The land must not be sold permanently, because the land is mine and you reside in my land as foreigners and strangers (Leviticus 25:23). Chicago has a fascinating tradition that’s in some ways as much a part of its fabric as the Cubs and Sox, deep-dish pizza, windy winter days, and skyscrapers. It’s a tradition for snowy days during the winter months, when the combination of heavy snow, narrow residential streets, and lots of apartment buildings make parking a challenge. It’s the tradition of putting household items out on the curb to reserve parking places. It works like this. If you park on the street, when the snow plow comes through it pretty much buries your car. Armed with a shovel, you go out into the cold and dig your vehicle out, leaving a nice parking space carved out of the snow bank. The problem, of course, is that the shortest measurable length of time so far discovered by human beings is the time between the moment you pull out of that space and someone else pulls in. (Statisticians estimate that, at any given time, upwards of 20,000 people are driving around Chicago neighborhoods looking for parking. OK, I made that up; but I bet I’m not too far off.) So someone, sometime, came up with the idea of bringing out an old lawn chair to put in his spot until he got home. It’s actually fascinating to notice as you drive through Chicago neighborhoods just what people will use to reserve their spots. I’ve seen floor lamps, couches, bar stools, bookcases, and old tires. Some folks go the utilitarian route and use orange traffic cones. Quite a few use sawhorses with “no parking” signs hanging from them. I’ve seen chairs, coffee tables, and I read about a guy who scatters a couple of boxes of screws and roofing nails in his spot. (It takes him an hour or two to pick them all up – in which time, of course, he could drive around and find another place to park …) I’ve even seen an old toilet. Once, I drove by and saw a kid standing in a freshly dug-out space. I could only assume his parents didn’t have a spare lawn chair or an old toilet. Despite the fact that it isn’t legally possible to own a parking space on the street, no matter how much time you may have spent digging it out, to move someone’s space marker and park in “their” space is to ask for retaliation in the form of a broken windshield, slashed tires, or angry confrontations. And that’s just the elderly grandmother who lives down the street from me. People get possessive about those parking spaces they work hard to dig out – psychotically so. Remember when you were a kid and would call “dibs” on something? It’s like that, only more so. So I sometimes wonder what would happen if someone dug out a space in front of their neighbor’s house, and then reserved it for him. That would just be weird, wouldn’t it? Fly in the face of everything we assume in our world to be right. If you doubt that, try it sometime. I’m guessing that your neighbor won’t know what to say or how to respond. It’s just too strange, just too opposed to the popular notion that says “What’s mine is mine.” There are only so many places to park, after all. If you take “my” space, where will I put “my” car? You can be excused if you haven’t heard much about the Jubilee year in the Old Testament. The Law of Moses decreed that every fiftieth year was to be a year of general amnesty and redemption. Specifically, any sale of property made in the previous fifty years was nullified and the property returned to the family that originally owned it. The purchase price for property, in fact, was supposed to reflect the number of years left until Jubilee. Sounds pretty strange to us, doesn’t it? Keep in mind, property in Israel was assigned by tribe and family, so for there to be equity those tribal possessions needed to remain fairly constant. That was the practical reason for it, but the practical reason rested on the theological one: the land on which Israel lived didn’t belong to Israel at all. It was God’s land, given to them because of his generosity and grace. Every fifty years, they had no choice but to remember it. I can’t begin to imagine the economic implications of something similar to a Jubilee today – though maybe at this point we should be willing to try anything. And, hear me now, I’m not advising you to help yourself to your neighbor’s parking space this winter. Not everyone’s ready to celebrate a Jubilee, you understand. I do think, though, that as God’s people it would do us good to remember that what we own isn’t as much “ours” as we tend to think, and to try to mold our attitudes about “our” stuff accordingly. As the Jubilee laws of ownership remind us, our attitudes won’t be molded if our actions don’t change. As Jesus reminded us, “[W]here our treasure is, there our heart will be also.” If our habits in regard to collecting and keeping stuff look no different than the habits of those who don’t recognize that God is ultimately the owner and bestower of everything we have, then we shouldn’t be surprised when our attitudes begin to reflect theirs, too. In short, if you act like you have “dibs” and take special care to mark off “yours” from “theirs,” it won’t be long until you start to believe it, and God is out of the picture entirely. Maybe what we need, in this land of affluence and opportunity, the birthplace of the American Dream, is a good dose of Jubilee. We – yes, those of us who set such stock
The Viola Player
Can you find harmony in this diversity of sound? Fragments of intensified light burst on his every turn. His costume – made for the spotlight – took every advantage of the barrage. His song was well-chosen. It suited his voice and his look. The audience surged with his presentation. Clearly, the singer was magnificent. Yet, as impressive as his vocal performance, I found my attention drawn to the individuals silhouetted in the side lights. The outline of a string quartet emerged. A violin, a viola, a cello, and … a guitar. This is west Texas, after all. I spent little time considering the guitar player. He was seated further back and it was like he was pulled back into the darkness of a cavern. The notes from the Gibson were dark like him. An essential part of the sound picture, but subdued. Mid-lighted were the other three. I leveled the binoculars and spun the focus ring until the edge of the cello became clear. The cellist bent over his instrument, intent on the sheet music before him as his fingers pressed down on the neck and his bow sailed just above the bridge of the cello. A low tone traced his movements. Far to his left, sat the violinist. Her small, wooden soundbox was perched high between shoulder and chin. Her fingers arched gracefully. The high notes vibrating from her strings pushed through the others. Singular and clear, her music gave a loftiness to the whole experience. Alternately, I considered the cellist and the violinist. His eyes were penetrating and saw nothing beyond his music stand. He shifted in his chair only to bring yet another chime from his repertoire. She, on the other hand, was quite animated. Fingers moving nimbly, her bow energetic. As I watched, first one and then the other, I realized a certain oneness to their performance. While obviously diverse in the notes and instruments they played, their faces could have been interchanged. Brows furrowed in concentration, they plied their craft with little emotion. The throaty song of the viola slowly floated through the air. Tuned a fifth below the violin, the viola has always drawn me with the breadth of its voice. While obviously a harmonic support, tonight the smooth tones surfaced as a melody. I trained the lenses in on the viola player. And my gaze never left her until the lighting director plunged the entire coliseum into darkness. She was different from the others. While the violin and the cello moved splendidly and incessantly, the music from the viola seemed to breathe. And when that breath was taken, the viola player glanced to her left or her right, gaining confidence and inspiration from the music spilling around her. And she smiled. You’ve got to love that. Twenty feet from her, the singer belted his way through a magnificent number. Thirty feet away the sea that was the audience began. Ripples of response to the singer interrupted the surface of that ocean. To her right and left, the violin and the cello were locked into their craft. And the guitar player played from behind her in that cave. Only for me, the crescendos and climaxes of that concert were when she smiled. It was in those small moments that my spirit soared. I was lifted to see someone who drew great enjoyment from the efforts of those around her. The warmth of her smile and the flash of her eyes are still with me. It was as if she was offering her gratitude and congratulations to her colleagues as the measures of music moved on. Strangely, I don’t remember what she looks like. Nor can I picture the spotlighted singer. Or the song he sang. But I remember how the viola player seemed to bloom. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could, like her, celebrate the songs of others even when our own song is superb? Wouldn’t it be grand if we recognized the harmony in the diversity around us … and smiled? How wonderful it is, how pleasant, when brothers live together in harmony! (Psalm 133:1 NLT) About the author: Joey Cope (Dr. Joe L. Cope) is the executive director of the Center for Conflict Resolution at Abilene Christian University. He teaches graduate courses in advanced conflict management, negotiation and mediation. The work of the Center includes mediation/intervention services and educational offerings through seminars, conferences and special courses designed for businesses, non-profit organizations, and churches. Cope is an attorney and received his certificate in dispute resolution from Pepperdine University School of Law. Cope is an elder of the Highland Church of Christ in Abilene, Texas.
A Visit Over Coffee
Who was she really talking with? She stood behind me in line at the counter of our local coffee merchant – the one tucked into the corner of the neighborhood grocery. I had noticed her a few minutes before as she stood in line to buy a few groceries a couple dozen feet away. It could have been the smile on her face that caused me to notice. But more likely it was the scarf over her head. Picking a small booth at the window, I carefully placed my coffee to the right. I opened the spiral notebook and thumbed through the book. It’s the same book I’ve been reading in about this same spot for the last two weeks. At a rate of only 4 to 5 pages a day, progress is only gradual. The book is about running a small business. I’ve read it before and I have to tell you, it contains some of the best advice I’ve ever seen. And that was my opinion when I read it the first time. Yet, I never acted on it. Sure, I talked about it and I recommended the book to others. But nothing was ever done. As I sat and read and made notes this morning, I heard a voice from the next booth. A woman’s voice, I didn’t turn to see who it was. The conversation became quite lively at times. It was then that I noticed that there was only one voice. As I headed for a refill on my house-blend, I glanced in the neighboring booth. There was the woman with the scarf, her small bag of groceries on the seat across from her and a small cup of coffee resting on the table between her outstretched hands. Her eyes were focused on her groceries and she was vividly describing her plans for her day. From the corner of my eye, I noticed other coffee patrons beginning to pick up their cups and move to tables further away. As I passed by her table again, I looked for evidence of a cell phone. I saw nothing. Her conversation was continuing. As I slid back into my booth, I ignored my book for a while, sipped my coffee and concentrated on her voice. Eavesdropping? I suppose. Yet, she talked loudly and showed no intent for confidentiality. Within a minute, I discovered that the woman in the scarf was talking with her mother. And it seems that after she had gone over her calendar for the day that her mother had said something disagreeable. Thus, the argument. Of course, her mother wasn’t there. It wasn’t a one-sided argument, though. It was obvious when her mother began talking. The tone was different. Finally the woman in the scarf told her mother to mind her own business. And the conversation came to an end. I glanced at my watch, gathered my book and notebook, and stood to leave. I felt the need to speak to the woman in the scarf – to make sure that she had at least one more conversation today. But, when I turned, she was gone. Opportunity lost. Good intentions never acted on. A visit over coffee wasted. I encourage people to engage others. That’s what a community is all about. Sometime today, I truly plan to follow my own advice. Honor Christ and let him be the Lord of your life. Always be ready to give an answer when someone asks you about your hope (1 Peter 3:15 CEV). About the author: Joey Cope (Dr. Joe L. Cope) is the executive director of the Center for Conflict Resolution at Abilene Christian University. He teaches graduate courses in advanced conflict management, negotiation and mediation. The work of the Center includes mediation/intervention services and educational offerings through seminars, conferences and special courses designed for businesses, non-profit organizations, and churches. Cope is an attorney and received his certificate in dispute resolution from Pepperdine University School of Law. Cope is an elder of the Highland Church of Christ in Abilene, Texas.
Someday
What are you dreaming about these days? What a picture of blissfulness. In his car seat, he had turned his chubby cheeks to the window to let the sunshine warm him. With his favorite stuffed dolphin cushioning his head, and a baby-blue teddy bear in his arms, he sweetly slipped into a tranquil nap. In his sleep, however, from time to time, we heard tiny little giggles and when we looked back at him, we’d catch a glimpse of a smile for just a second, never opening his eyes. My husband and I laughed quietly as we watched our little boy in his slumber, completely unaware of anything but this peaceful dreamland that he had entered. We turned back around and sat quietly in our thoughts on this beautiful April drive through the country. Then my husband asked me, “What do you think he’s dreaming about?” We joked that he was dreaming about the next bottle of milk. The truth is I really began to ponder that question. What could an 8-month old little boy dream about? After all, he’s been in this world for less than a year. His world consists of cartoons in the morning, naps in the afternoon, and playing with his stuffed animals and toys. So far, that’s all. The spectrum of his thoughts is narrow. He’s very limited on what he could dream about based on what he knows. He’s yet to experience the crash of ocean waves and sand between his toes. He’s never seen a sunset through mountaintops in the west. He doesn’t know what it’s like to pick an apple straight from a tree and taste its pure sweetness. He’s never fallen in love with a beautiful girl or held a newborn puppy in his arms. But … I know he will someday. I felt a pure sense of peace at that moment and I realized that our Heavenly Father had just revealed something precious to me. When I dream at night, He smiles, knowing that there is so much that I haven’t experienced yet. But … He knows that I will someday. I’ll know things that I couldn’t possibly dream about today because my spectrum of thoughts is so very narrow on this earth. I can’t write about them because the words don’t exist yet. But they will. I’ll see all the glory that God has told us about. You’ll see all His glory. He promised. “No mere man has ever seen, heard or even imagined what wonderful things God has ready for those who love the Lord.” (1 Corinthians 2:9) –Kelly Breece Hendersonville, TN About the author: Kelly Breece lives in Hendersonville,Tn. with her husband, Michael, and their two children. She’s worked in television production in Nashville for over 14 years. To read more articles like this, visit Our Morning Cup.
The Prayer of an Angel
Would you come to the party and let him pray with you? My friend, Bill, told me that for centuries, Down’s Syndrome children were considered angels in many Scandinavian cultures. He understands. His son William is one such angel. Because of these angels, and others like them, we began Jesus Parties several years ago as part of our church life. A Jesus Party is simply a party for people that we believe Jesus would invite to a party today. Our Jesus parties are for mentally and physically challenged adults in the Abilene, Texas area. They’re mostly a time for these folks to visit, dance, have refreshments, and visit with friends. We have at least four per year. They are great fun. After a recent Jesus party, Donna and I were quite tired and decided we would stop by a coffee shop for a little quiet conversation with each other. We were out of our house for a week while some work was being done on the floors and were living with my folks. We just needed a little quiet time together just to visit. As we came into the coffee shop, a young Down’s Syndrome man came up to us and started visiting. I had met him before. His name is Eddie – not his real name, of course, but we’ll use it for the article. Eddie came up with a big smile on his face and reached out his hand to shake mine. “HI!” Eddie excitedly shouted. “How you doin’?” I asked Eddie, trying to remember his name and where I had met him before. Had it been another of the Jesus’ parties or somewhere else? “You’re the preacher!” Eddie said. “Church. Church. Southern Hills.” “Yes, I’m the preacher at Southern Hills Church,” I replied. Then I introduced Eddie to my wife. “Sign my book!” Eddie said, and shoved a little notebook with names and phone numbers in Donna’s face. She signed her name and mine. “Church. Church. I’m seeing you at church tomorrow.” Eddie continued. “Can I pray?” He asked. “Sure, during the Garden of Prayer, just come down to the front and we will pray together,” I answered. “No. Up front! Up front!” He insisted. I wasn’t sure if he would be there or which service he would be there and I sure wasn’t sure about turning him loose to pray in front of a big group of people on Sunday. But that was tomorrow morning and I didn’t need to worry about it because I wasn’t even sure he would make it. Donna, Eddie, and I visited for about forty-five minutes and then we left to go to my folks, offering Eddie a ride home. “Nope. Don’t need it.” Eddie said. We hugged each other goodbye and we headed to my folks place. Donna and I had gone into the coffee shop to have some alone time – to rest and relax from a busy week and a night filled with ministry. “We were visited by an angel tonight,” Donna said as we drove away. “Yeah, this has been a night with angels,” I replied. We were tired and sweaty and full of joy. Oh, and as our second service came to a close the next morning, Eddie joined me on the podium and prayed. I was a bit nervous, not sure how long he would pray. I didn’t want it to seem contrived or manipulative. But, we had just been talking about how fun the Jesus Party had been and Eddie walked to the front to pray. It was short, sweet, and a taste of heaven. We were sent home from church with the prayer of an angel. Over the years, I’ve gotten some ugly and snide cards from church folks who have visited our congregation and didn’t like this or that – don’t get me wrong, the vast majority are nice notes, but I have a tendency to remember the ugly ones. The one that hurt worst was one that said, “Jesus Party. How sacrilegious!” It didn’t hurt my feelings, but hurt me for the person who wrote it – how sad to think that they had missed Jesus completely, just like many of the religious folks in Jesus’ day missed him. How do we help our churches become more a place of joy for folks like Eddie and his family than a place of overly-critical complainers who rarely crack a smile? I’d love to hear your take on this on my blog! Let me know what you think! I’ll leave you with these words of Jesus:“How shall I describe this generation?” Jesus asked. “With what will I compare them? They are like a group of children playing a game in the public square. They complain to their friends, ‘We played wedding songs, and you weren’t happy, so we played funeral songs, but you weren’t sad.’ For John the Baptist didn’t drink wine and he often fasted, and you say, ‘He’s demon possessed.’ And I, the Son of Man, feast and drink, and you say, ‘He’s a glutton and a drunkard, and a friend of the worst sort of sinners!’ But wisdom is shown to be right by the lives of those who follow it.” (Luke 7:31-35 NLT) About the author: Phil Ware has authored 11 years of daily devotionals, including VerseoftheDay.com, read by 500,000 people a day. He works with churches in transition with Interim Ministry Partners and for the past 21+ years, he has been editor and president of HEARTLIGHT Magazine, author of VerseoftheDay.com, God’s Holy Fire (on the Holy Spirit), and aYearwithJesus.com. Phil has also authored four books, daily devotionals on each of the four gospels.
One Mule?
Are you as smart as a mule? Across the street from my office in Ft. Smith, Arkansas, nearly fifty years ago, there was a gas station, they did not call them “service stations” back then. It was run by an old German. He was one of the most efficient men I have ever known, but some days even he would get behind. You could tell that it really bothered him. He was not used to leaving anything undone at the close of the day. One day, when things were particularly out of order, I stopped in to get gas and to my surprise he called from the little shop attached to the station, “You vill haft to pump it you self!” (This was in the day when self-service was unheard of.) After I had finished pumping my gas I walked back to where Herman was and found him hanging half in and half out of the engine compartment of an old auto. He spoke apologetically, “This old car and me are juust alike, vorn out, but don’t know ven to qvit.” Then with the wisdom of more than eighty years of hard labor he said, “Do you know how much verk vone mule can do?” “No,” I confessed, “How much work can one mule do?” “All he can do,” he smiled, “Juust all he can do, no more.” Some days we all need to hear Herman again. We begin to think that we must do more than is possible and then feel guilty that we have not finished everything that seemed to be set before us. Just once in a while we may need to just shout from the work shop, “You vill haft to pump it you self!” After all we should at least be as smart as a mule! About the author: Bill is a long time minister in Nacogdoches, Texas who loves world missions. His passion for ministry has led him all over the world. In addition to his work as a minister, he is also a licensed professional counselor. Bill’s family is also involved in ministry and service to the world and community.
The Art of Kindergarten Identity
How special are you and why? One of the best things about kindergarten is the artwork. I love our daughter’s teacher this year. Every Monday she gives the students a blank sheet of paper to write what they did over the weekend and draw a picture. I treasure these and have kept each one. Last week, my daughter brought home one of these sheets with the header, “I am special because …” The kids each wrote why they are special and then drew a picture. I imagine her friend Lola just might have written something about her beauty queen trophies. Many probably wrote words about playing baseball, being a good singer, dancer or whatever else might pop into a 5-year-old’s mind. My daughter’s paper says, “I am special because … I AM MYSelf” (Caps hers). There is a picture of a sweet little girl with pink hair, pink lips, a pink triangle for a dress, and of course, pink pumps. I am very thankful that she knows she is special just being herself! I wonder what happens along the way that causes us to lose the carefree security of childhood. How many of us as adults would answer that we are valued “just because I’m me”? As parents, we treasure our children for the simple fact that they were born and placed into our lives through love. There is nothing they can do to make us care for them any more or any less – we just love them because they’re them! But in the “real world” of adults, things are different. We are a performance-based society. You’re either in or you’re out. You may be here today and gone tomorrow if your company stock prices drop, your team loses one too many games, or Simon Cowell just doesn’t like the way your hair looks today. We tend to value who we are based on what we do – and by how successful we are or we are not. Most of the time when we meet new people, one of the first things we ask each other is, “What do you do?” It is natural to ask these questions. Conversing about our careers can offer opportunities to find common ground. It is important, however, to distinguish what we do – and how successfully we do it – from who we are. We are God’s children with whom He desires to have an intimate relationship. He loves us just because we are His. Actually, He is crazy about us! He would have to be to give up His beloved Jesus to literally go through hell just so we can be together with Him in glory. Taking this a step further, I wonder what we tend to value about God. Do we love Him because of what He does for us or do we love Him just because of who He is? The difference is subtle, but also huge. God does so much for us. Salvation through Jesus is an unfathomable gift. And the list goes on of the blessings God pours over us. It is easy to love God the way we might have loved Santa Claus as a kid – to see Him as a larger-than-life, but rather distant figure that we can almost reach out and touch, but never really grasp. After all, there is something inside each of us that tells us we must do something to pay for all these lavish gifts. And deep down, we know we have nothing to offer that can even come close. Can it really be true that all He asks of us is our hearts? Does He really just want us to love Him because He’s Him? As we grow into deeper relationship with our Father and let Him steal our hearts, we begin to simply rest in who He is. And that is where we find our true identity. We abide in Him as He abides in us. And we come to realize that “I am special because … I’m with Him!” Not even a sparrow, worth only half a penny, can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to him than a whole flock of sparrows (Matthew 10:29-31 NLT). About the author: Amy Grant lives with her family in Lebanon, TN, where she serves with the College Hills Church of Christ. She is amazed by grace, and she hopes to extend the same kind of grace to others that has been lavished on her. Amy enjoys writing about this grace in her blog, Growing Closer.
What They See Is What You Really Love
What do you really love? I had been down with a really bad cold for a couple of days and our grandson came for a visit. I stayed in bed most of the time he was there and tried to stay away from him so as not to pass it on to him. Inevitably though, he would sneak into the bedroom when no one was watching and check up on his playmate (grandpa). Once he came in and put his hand on my forehead and said, “Grandpa, I think you have a temperature.” Several times during his stay he would just come in and pat me or hug my leg and leave, not saying anything because he was told not to disturb me. Now, of course, we think he is a special little guy; but you have to reflect on how he learned to show his concern in those ways. Of course he learned it through the example of his parents and other caring adults that surround him. The scripture speaks of bringing up our children in the way they should go and we tend to think of pointing that to the technical obedience to God’s laws. But, doesn’t it apply just as well to the social skills needed in life? Those things that might be termed the “one to another” side of our life – you know what that is, don’t you? It’s the everyday living with other people you touch in your life. One of the problems we see in the world around us is that far too many people try to separate “everyday life” from “Sunday life.” They want to separate their relationship with God from their relationship to others. Many folks have the whole relationship thing backwards. They think if they look real good “going to church” that will impress other people and they will want to go with them. Jesus said, “In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father.” (Matthew 5:16 NLT) If you want to show someone how much you love God, then first show them how much you love people. Sometimes all it takes is a pat on the back, maybe a little hug or a few kind words to show that you care for someone else. If I were going to make a real loose modern translation of Matthew 5:16, it would be something like this: “Be careful what you do around other people, because what they see tells them what you really love and how important God really is to you!” I have no doubts at all how much our grandson loves me! Not because he is continuously proclaiming “I love you,” but because he shows his love by his concern for me in his actions everyday. Stop and think about your life and ask yourself, “If I were someone else looking at me, what would I think I loved the most?” If God doesn’t show through, then just perhaps something is lacking in that one relationship that really matters. Could it be that you fall into the “Sunday only” relationship to God? About the author: Russ Lawson is a former missionary to Africa and minister in Ohio. He now works with World Christian Literature Outreach and writes a weekly email devotional, Messages from the Heart. For more information about Russ, click here.