Saturday, December 15, 2012
Musings from a Servant's Heart: Dear Jesus
Musings from a Servant's Heart: Dear Jesus: Dear Jesus, I do not understand. Just babies Lord. Just little ones. I cry for the horror and senselessness. I cry for the parents w...
Dear Jesus
Dear Jesus,
I do not understand.
Just babies Lord. Just little
ones. I cry for the horror and
senselessness. I cry for the parents who
cannot be consoled. The horror of such evil defies description. The depth of such grief goes beyond words. Questions and screams of denial rage like
angry chimpanzees around in my mind. The
answerless questions demand victims for their rage: someone to blame, someone to punish. Some way, anyway to avenge, to gain some kind
of justice. Yet nothing will. I will
never understand any of this. No answers
will ever be enough. No words will heal
the gaping wounds in the hearts of the parents of those children.
So in all this darkness I run to You. Even as I wonder why You did not intervene, I
know You are our only consolation and hope.
Where else is there to go? You are the only hope and consolation that
will keep all of us from falling into a dark, pit of insanity because of this
evil. Thank You for the promise that You
my silent anguish and the parent’s anguished spirits of the parents cry out in
pain too deep for words (Romans 8:26).
So hear me Lord.
Please know I feel helpless.
Please know now that I struggle with fear for all the little ones that I
love. Please know I do not doubt you,
but then I cannot fathom how this has happened.
Please Jesus, show your grace and mercy to these parents, teachers, and
other surviving children. Please Lord
You said Your Holy Spirit is a comforter – how they (and we) need You in that
role now (John 14:26).
Even as I type I see the scene in the New Testament when You
gathered the little ones around You (Matthew 19:14). May those little ones be gathered around you
now. Please be holding them in your
lap. Please wipe all the horror and pain
from their beautiful souls. Please Lord
may their parents see each of them on Your knee and in Your arms.
As to the rest of it, well Lord may the world finally see
that more laws are not the answer.
Nothing but Your love and grace ever overcomes evil.
Thank You for listening and understanding.
Monday, December 3, 2012
My Grandma George made the most awesome biscuits in the world. A trip to her house in Kentucky, meant biscuits and something (sausage gravy, eggs, bacon, and/or sliced tomatoes) for breakfast. She could cook anything, but those biscuits! Every morning, Grandma sifted flour from an old Hoosier cabinet into a huge stoneware bowl. She dipped lard from a huge tin can with a big spoon and poured fresh milk into the mixture from a pail. She slid them into an old huge gas oven as bacon or sausage sizzled above in a cast iron skillet. Her beautiful strong hands turned out fluffy “melt in your mouth” treasures. My mouth waters from vivid memories of her kitchen.
Grandma taught me how to wash clothes in a ringer washer, sew on a treadle sewing machine, churn butter, and pluck a chicken among many other things. She could do anything on the farm and in the kitchen, but she could never teach me to make biscuits. No matter how hard she tried, no matter what tricks she showed me – my biscuits were always miserably tough and crunchy. But Grandma never gave up and so I didn’t either. No matter how bad my biscuits were, she set my lumpy efforts next to her works of art on the metal kitchen table as though they were worth something! We all knew the chickens got extra to pick at after breakfast – at least the appreciated my efforts!
Grandpa George had a gruff, no nonsense personality. His icy blue eyes felt like they could pierce straight through to your soul. His no nonsense Baptist faith suited his personality. He spoke loud and worked hard. He inspired fear and respect just by walking into a room. Grandma called him in to breakfast every morning from work he started at sun up. No one ate until he sat down and we thanked God for the hard earned feast in front of us. Every morning we visited he sat down, offered grace, looked around the table and asked “where are the biscuits that girl makes?” (I don’t remember him ever calling me by name. I was just “that girl.” From him, it was a term of endearment.) Every time Grandpa picked up one of my biscuits with his calloused hands and smiled at me. He ate them like they were manna from heaven. No one said anything else. I do not know if anyone else noticed or cared – but I did.
Grandpa and Grandma went to heaven more years ago than I care to count. Their farm is now an RV sales lot. The barn Grandpa built still stands as a silent testimony to years of hard labor. Many good memories are wrapped up in the weekends and vacations spent on their farm: digging to china in the red dirt, playing in the creek, digging potatoes, feeding orphaned piglets, running from chickens, snapping beans and so many more. I really do not recall either of them saying, “I love you” to me. But at every breakfast table, I knew acceptance and love because they treasured my simple offering.
There is a moment in the New Testament where a widow found the same kind of acceptance from God. Luke relates a story about Jesus watching people bring their offerings to the temple. The rich people gave large amounts out of their plenty. A widow brought all she had. Her offering looked pathetic in light of the larger gifts of the financially secure. Her two mites seemed worthless and hardly worth the effort. How could such a small offering make a difference? Probably not even enough to buy a cup of regular coffee at the gas station. But Jesus accepted hers, because she gave all that she had. He said nothing about the finer, more expensive offerings. In fact, He valued her offering above all else. Jesus said, “Truly I say to you, this widow has put in more than all. For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.” (Luke 21:3-4)
The lesson is this: do not ever let anyone say you are not enough or that your sincere efforts are worthless because they are too small or seemingly useless. Jesus accepts you and your offerings as you are – without comparison. He is looking for a heart that gives its all to Him. Whatever that all looks like, whatever talents you may or may not have. He loves you and accepts you. Bring your offerings to Him and find Him waiting to love and encourage you as only He can.
Grandma taught me how to wash clothes in a ringer washer, sew on a treadle sewing machine, churn butter, and pluck a chicken among many other things. She could do anything on the farm and in the kitchen, but she could never teach me to make biscuits. No matter how hard she tried, no matter what tricks she showed me – my biscuits were always miserably tough and crunchy. But Grandma never gave up and so I didn’t either. No matter how bad my biscuits were, she set my lumpy efforts next to her works of art on the metal kitchen table as though they were worth something! We all knew the chickens got extra to pick at after breakfast – at least the appreciated my efforts!
Grandpa George had a gruff, no nonsense personality. His icy blue eyes felt like they could pierce straight through to your soul. His no nonsense Baptist faith suited his personality. He spoke loud and worked hard. He inspired fear and respect just by walking into a room. Grandma called him in to breakfast every morning from work he started at sun up. No one ate until he sat down and we thanked God for the hard earned feast in front of us. Every morning we visited he sat down, offered grace, looked around the table and asked “where are the biscuits that girl makes?” (I don’t remember him ever calling me by name. I was just “that girl.” From him, it was a term of endearment.) Every time Grandpa picked up one of my biscuits with his calloused hands and smiled at me. He ate them like they were manna from heaven. No one said anything else. I do not know if anyone else noticed or cared – but I did.
Grandpa and Grandma went to heaven more years ago than I care to count. Their farm is now an RV sales lot. The barn Grandpa built still stands as a silent testimony to years of hard labor. Many good memories are wrapped up in the weekends and vacations spent on their farm: digging to china in the red dirt, playing in the creek, digging potatoes, feeding orphaned piglets, running from chickens, snapping beans and so many more. I really do not recall either of them saying, “I love you” to me. But at every breakfast table, I knew acceptance and love because they treasured my simple offering.
There is a moment in the New Testament where a widow found the same kind of acceptance from God. Luke relates a story about Jesus watching people bring their offerings to the temple. The rich people gave large amounts out of their plenty. A widow brought all she had. Her offering looked pathetic in light of the larger gifts of the financially secure. Her two mites seemed worthless and hardly worth the effort. How could such a small offering make a difference? Probably not even enough to buy a cup of regular coffee at the gas station. But Jesus accepted hers, because she gave all that she had. He said nothing about the finer, more expensive offerings. In fact, He valued her offering above all else. Jesus said, “Truly I say to you, this widow has put in more than all. For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.” (Luke 21:3-4)
The lesson is this: do not ever let anyone say you are not enough or that your sincere efforts are worthless because they are too small or seemingly useless. Jesus accepts you and your offerings as you are – without comparison. He is looking for a heart that gives its all to Him. Whatever that all looks like, whatever talents you may or may not have. He loves you and accepts you. Bring your offerings to Him and find Him waiting to love and encourage you as only He can.
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