Callings and Dark Moments

 “And who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14)

We like this verse. We want to believe it. We’ll just trust God and everything will come out in the wash. Like Esther, we’ll reach out and touch the golden scepter. We’ll dine with the king. We’ll defeat the things that are wrong with a fell swoop of the justice. Like Esther, we, too, hope to become heroines of the faith.

 This is not a bad desire. In fact, it is born of a true heart with a longing for God. But how many of us have not begun to second guess His direction, allowed questions to linger in our minds, and let catastrophes to overtake our good intentions? It is then we began to doubt. We find it difficult to trust. We wonder if perhaps God hasn’t made a mistake.

 There is another Bible character who was also called to perform a work of God. In spite of God’s promises to bless, this character, in an oh-so-human way that we can still relate today, faltered and doubted. He came up with every excuse as to why he was not the man for the job. Finally, after signs and wonders that left no doubt in his mind, he was persuaded.

Let me introduce you to a side of Moses you may have forgotten about. After the miracle of the burning bush, he left the relative safety of the desert and exchanged a job herding sheep for a job leading people—people, may I add, who were not always easy to lead. God promised to bless him and make him as a god to Pharoah. Now maybe you’ve forgotten this, but the Egyptians were big into their gods. They had gods for everything. Pharaoh was believed to be from the lineage of the gods. To help add some weight to Moses’ words, God even provided him with a prophet, his brother, Aaron.

Finally, Moses was convinced the venture was for him. Together with Aaron, he traveled back to his homeland to rally the Israelite people with hopes and dreams of freedom. The two appeared before Pharaoh with a request. The Lord had spoken. This was truly the role they were to play.

And then everything fell apart. Their request was denied. Pharaoh added extra work to the Israelite slaves’ already painful burden. The very people Moses had been sent to lead out of bondage began to doubt whose side he was really on. Had he not been raised in luxury? Had things not only gotten worse since his return?

Moses began to question things himself. Had he mistaken the command of God somehow? It had all seemed so clear, there at the burning bush. He’d been afraid it wouldn’t work. Maybe he’d done something to mess it up—hadn’t said the right words, worn the right sandals, used the right tone. Or maybe… (the thought was too terrible to admit he was thinking it) maybe Pharaoh really was as all-powerful as he claimed to be, as powerful as much of the world believed him to be.

So Moses did the only thing he could. He cried out to the Lord. “Why is it that thou has sent me? For since I came to Pharaoh to speak in thy name, he hath done evil to this people; neither hast thou delivered thy people at all.” (Exodus 5:22-23) Is that a note of bitterness we hear in Moses’ voice? Is there a sense of betrayal? Of distrust? What has become of all the promises God made? Why are none of them materializing?

We’ve all been there. Sure in the moment that we understand the Lord’s direction we become willing for the task He has given us. Then, when all of our human understanding says we ought to be touching the golden scepter, ought to be seeing results for our labor, we find nothing. Or sometimes worse than nothing. Sometimes we discover the workload increased, the people we are trying to help doubting our intentions, questions turning over in our minds keeping us awake at night.

As much as we wish for them, there are not easy explanations. Sin ruined God’s beautiful and perfect plan many years ago in the garden of Eden and we still live with the results of those choices. Sometimes, we are told, He allows bad things to happen in order to bring about a better work. But those words, though true, fall on disillusioned ears. It’s a lovely sentiment, yet it’s so hard to live it.  

We want understanding instead. We would rather have a pat on the back, maybe a little pity, an easier road laid out for us. Because we were trying. We really were. And look how things have turned out! Still the truth has stood the test of time. No matter how much we groan to hear the same old message, it’s valid today. “But the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.” (1 Peter 5:10)

There is nothing in this verse to make us believe we can skip the suffering and the unpleasantness. I’m not going to promise you that everything will turn out exactly as you hoped, but you can grasp in full faith the fact that whatever pain you are going through can be used to the glory of God. The agony you are living through is part of a Heavenly design, working the gold of your heart on the forge of His love to perfection in His sight. It is here, in the midst of the discomfort that you are establishing and strengthening your convictions, your beliefs, your soul. It is now that you can learn what it really means to be led into a place of settled rest in the trust of the Father.

Let me clear one thing up. I’m not talking about huge callings where you are asked to lead thousands of people to safety or stand before a King pleading for the lives of a multitude. I’m talking about the callings that each of us face every day.

Those moments after school when you are hunched over your desk near tears because your students aren’t reaching the academic standard and you’ve lost your patience with their behaviors and you ask yourself if you were ever meant to be a teacher.

Those days when there’s mud on the floor, the baby is sick, you don’t know what to make for supper, and someone throws another responsibility on your shoulders and you question your ability to be a mother.

That lonely evening on the mission field when home seems far away and you want to cry and then you find out that someone you have learned to love is making poor choices and you question: “Is it me? Am I fit to be here? Was coming a mistake?”

The times you look around at the Church and question the path its on, see all the mistakes you've made and wonder if this is the place you belong, wonder if you are even meant to be a Christian.

Go back to the burning bush. Return to the conviction the Lord lay on your heart. Recollect the promise He gave you when He led you into this position. Maybe the promise wasn’t words—maybe it was a feeling of peace—but cling to it. Fight the discouragement and the fears, the despair and the sense of failure by proclaiming boldly that you trust the God who led you to this place. Write it on your bathroom mirror. Sing it in the car on the way to school. Pray it in a prayer of thankfulness. When you begin to doubt, you leave a place for the Evil One to squeeze in. Stay open to correction and pliable to the Spirit, but be very careful to discern the voices that you hear. Recognize that our God speaks in tones of light, not of despair.

Remember that Moses, too, had doubts and worries and questions. The beautiful and miraculous way God had for him was not a phenomenon reserved for a Bible story. It is a very real and living part of the same God we serve today.

Because you were put here on this earth for a purpose. A grand and beautiful purpose that we can’t completely grasp in our humanness. There may be times the golden scepter seems a distant thing, that the pressures mount on every side, the doubts creep in, but take time to know the God you serve. Because He knows you, and He has a perfect love and a perfect plan for the place where He has set you.

In the Moment

I was just at our district school meeting. One of the recurring themes of the meeting was building relationships, and an incident from a number of years ago came to my mind. I almost decided to wait until Christmas to share this, but then decided that it is applicable any time, so here it is.

Rachel was a little girl with a big heart. She loved everyone she met. And she especially loved to give gifts. The morning of the Christmas party she showed up in my classroom slightly before the rest of the children. She nearly bounced up to my desk. Her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “I brought you something!” she said.

I smiled at her. “Why, thank you, Rachel. You can put it over there by the other gifts,” I responded.

“Oh, Miss Schmidt,” she said, “I wanted you to open it now.”

“No, you’ll have to wait until I open the others,” I answered.

“But it’s just little,” Rachel pled, disappointment beginning to settle over her face, “it’s not from the class or anything. It’s just from me.”

But I stuck to my policy. Gifts were to be opened all at once. I didn’t want to deal with random requests to open gifts all morning. It was easier to deal with them all at once.

At last, the gift-opening ceremony arrived. The children went first, unwrapping bows and paper and doing a good job of remembering to say thank you. And then it was my turn.

I don’t remember what gift I received that year from my class. I don’t even remember exactly what was in Rachel’s small bag. I do recall that it was, as she said, a little gift. It was child’s gift, given from the heart. I remember opening the package and looking around for Rachel in time to see her slip to the back of the crowd, embarrassed of her little gift amongst the bigger ones on my desk. All the joy was gone from her face.

That image has haunted me for years—a little girl with a big heart, embarrassed and disappointed because a grown-up she loved hadn’t tuned in to what she was trying to say. I, in my ignorance and policies, had ruined what should have been a beautiful chance at connection. I didn’t take the opportunity to live the moment with her and missed out on a blessing.

 I’ve tried in the years since to not miss those moments. Those moments don’t just come from students—they come from anyone you wish to build a relationship with.

Those moments are the ones you choose to stop and listen to a child’s version of a bad day and take the time to remember what it’s like from his perspective. They are the moments you share with a friend who is struggling with singlehood or infertility, not giving advice, but sitting together and helping them bear the pain. They are the moments we rejoice over a friend’s good news, even though it reminds us of our own disappointments. They are the moments we drop our own judgements and opinions, pause to reflect, and be in the moment with someone we love.

Romans 12:15 tells us to “Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.” To effectively live this verse, we must lean into love and learn to take in the moment someone else is living. I’m not suggesting that we coddle someone going through a difficult journey and enable feelings of self-pity. I’m only reminding myself that it’s important not to belittle what someone else is going through.

“Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.” (Philippians 2:4). I don’t think it’s taking this verse out of context to say that here we are reminded that a Heavenly Love is invested in what others are facing, whether sorrows or joys.

Some of us are naturally more of a logical mind. Others react to situations more emotionally. I believe that living in the moment with someone else means reaching across these boundaries and seeking understanding. It will probably take you out of your comfort zone—maybe you’re not from a family that cries, and you don’t know exactly what to do. Maybe entering enthusiastic, friendly debates is new territory.

For me, of course, I get the most practice with my pupils. Sometimes that type of understanding means I am called upon to learn more about snakes than I ever wanted to know when I have a student that is fascinated with them. Sometimes it means going out after dark to hunt insects with a child who is captivated by the glowing eyes of spiders. Occasionally, it means going easy on a student who struggles to focus on math after their pet has been run over on the road.

And sometimes it means opening a little gift at a Christmas party, sharing a moment of joy.

Wishing you a beautiful week spent living in the moment with those you love!

Black, White, and Gray

One thing humans were not created with is balance.
 
Oh sure, we balance well enough to walk around (well, sometimes), but walking a slackline or tightrope is a skill that takes discipline to learn.
 
And don’t start on being mentally or emotionally balanced. Very few, if any, of us are all the time, and none of us are without God.
 
Balance as a topic has been in the back of my mind for several years. I even thought I’d choose it for my Word of the Year sometime, though that has never fallen into place. Recently, however, I was inspired again, and I'd like to share my thoughts with you.
 
We all like to think that we are balanced. If we thought we were in the ditch, after all, we’d make all haste to climb out. But the truth is that no one is perfectly balanced in every area. Each and every one of us has our own ditches.
 
One of the areas that’s been on my mind is how we think. Now I know some of this is purely subjective and due to different personalities. I’m not trying to be critical of that. Neither am I trying to disregard conviction.
 
But here’s what I’ve observed.
 
Most of us fall into one of two categories: we are either black and white thinkers, or we sort of like gray.
 
Let me explain.
 
Black and white thinkers see things very clearly. Maybe this could be traced back to our German ancestry, but it seems to be quite a prevalent mindset. Things are either wrong or right. There isn’t a lot of room for maneuvering or yielding to different points of view. Sometimes it’s easy for those of us who think like this to become judgmental. 
 
Gray thinkers are a lot more hesitant to define their opinion. They tend to give a lot of room for different perspectives. It can be hard for them to make judgment calls. They have a lot of questions. Often those of us who are gray thinkers will tend to take a hands-off approach to other people's lifestyles and beliefs, sort of a live and let live attitude.
 
Now both of these thinkers are important. Gray thinkers usually do well with being sensitive to other people’s needs. They tend to ere on the side of mercy. Black and white thinkers are so very important for setting boundaries and guidelines and providing structure.
 
But neither of these thinkers are balanced on their own.
 
In a flash of inspiration, a thought hit me the other evening right in the middle of a conversation with some friends. It occurred to me that when we are thinking gray thoughts or black and white thoughts, we are using our human minds. Now, there is nothing wrong with using our human minds. God gave them to us for a purpose. But sometimes they get in the way of the vision God wants to provide us with.
 
When we let go of our human ideas, our fixation on black and white or gray, I believe our thoughts will change completely. Our decisions will no longer be based on our faulty notions of color. A whole new spectrum will open up as we learn to let go of our unbalanced thoughts and learn to turn completely to God and His Spirit for guidance. Instead of struggling with being so judgmental or with guilt because we can’t seem to see anything but gray, we will find freedom in looking at things in His light. We will find ourselves transformed by the renewing of our minds, able to prove the will of God. (Romans 12:2)
 
Our path forward will gain color and it will be simple to follow the light that shines before us.
 
But it takes realizing our weaknesses. It takes letting go of our own ideas. It takes sincerely calling for help. It takes learning to walk circumspectly. (Ephesians 5:15) Most of all, it requires coming together as believers and learning to meld our different strong points into the beautiful vision God has for us.
 
In the current atmosphere of the world around us, there are never-ending divisive subjects that are made a topic of conversation. Sadly, it is easy for us to live in our ditches and let disapproval and doubts spring up between us. To navigate opinions, convictions, and decisions, we need to learn to look for the light—not our own ideas of black and white and gray.
 
Instead, we will “walk as children of light.” (Ephesians 5:8b)
 
We were never meant to live in a world of only three colors anyway.

Stepping Back

I painted a picture for my sister the other day. It was one she requested: strawberries and leaves and crisp wording. My perfectionist self was not happy with everything about the picture. I could point out a dozen different faults. But when we stopped painting and ate lunch, I realized that from across the room the painting was OK. Stepping back made the problems look smaller. I experimented a bit, taking steps backward and forward to find the optimal distance at which to view my creation. I discovered I needed to be a little more than an arm’s length away for the painting to look its best.

It wasn’t until a day or so later I started thinking about the greater implications of my painting discovery.

So many troublesome moments in life find me scrutinizing things painstakingly. I focus on every little detail, deeming them hopeless and ugly. What happens when I step away and step back? What happens when I take myself out of the picture and view it from afar? Well, with me out of the way, the picture improves dramatically. It may still not be perfect, but it begins to look more hopeful.

My ideas, my opinions, my way of doing things are so easily attached to the things I face in life that I often can’t look at something without seeing how those ideals are not being lived up to. Removing myself takes my eyes off the details and places focus on the over-arching theme. It’s easier to see how God is working, to understand there is more unity than I thought—or maybe even that I was the one causing the disunity.

The painting I was working on needed to be out of arm’s reach to look its best. Many times in life, we need to surrender things that we have controlled to God, step back, and let Him actually have them. Surrendering our painting doesn’t mean we still stand next to it and keep making suggestions about which brush to use or colors to mix. It means moving away and waiting on Him to make the next stroke with the brush. My son, give me thine heart, and let thine eyes observe my ways. (Proverbs 23:26)

This principle holds true for our views of those around us. It’s easy to hone in on the things we don’t like about others. It’s not hard to point a finger at something in their lives we don’t approve of. Within our close-knit communities, we stand so close to one another that it takes effort to step back and glimpse someone from a different perspective.

I’m not suggesting that we ignore blatant sin. I am talking about paying keen attention to the mote in someone else’s eye while overlooking the beam in my own. I’m looking at how God works in different areas of each of our lives, sanctifying our greatest needs in His time. Just because God has revealed to me the unbelief in my own life, for example, that doesn’t mean I suddenly have the expertise to diagnose the unbelief in the lives of those around me.

When I step back and gaze on my church family from afar, I don’t know that I have ever been disheartened. I see humans, yes, that stumble and make mistakes and need sanctification. But I also see a people with their hearts turned toward the Living God. A group of individuals with a united purpose, set on reaching Heaven. Of course everything isn’t perfect, but I’ve taken my own expectations out of the way. I’ve stepped back and surrendered the brush. I can finally observe the ways God is preparing His bride.

And it’s beautiful.

This, then, is what I want to practice in days to come: Letting go of my ideas, stepping back, taking me out of the picture, surrendering the brush. It’s not that I think this will be an easy thing to practice. I do believe it will help me not to get bogged down with unnecessary cares or overburdened with perceived negativities. It’s learning to step back and live in the pause that happens when someone faces a medical scare and you forget for a few moments all the reasons you struggled to love them. It’s keeping your opinions out of politics because you realize you don’t have to hold the brush in order for God to paint the picture. It’s understanding that the glaring mistakes are almost invisible when you remove your self—your own pride—from the story.

So here is to painting your life story. Here is to being willing to step back and let God hold the brush. Here is overlooking the little things that don’t matter in the long run. And finally, here is to doing it joyfully, watching in awe as our Father works out the details.

Faith, Obedience, and Knowing Yourself

Someone once said, “Obedience is faith in action.” In theory, I love that thought. In reality? Well, it’s hard on the flesh. Another wise person made this statement: “To deny yourself you must know yourself.”

Have you ever felt two thoughts collide in your mind and knew you were on the cusp of a larger understanding? That's what happened to me. So I did what I often do in this situation: I tried to work it out by writing it down. I know I don't understand everything yet. I'm not even sure I've gotten everything right. But I hope someone will let me know if what you read here doesn't line up with the Bible.

First of all, what does "knowing yourself" really mean? I think many of us grow up with the mistaken idea that we do know ourselves. Favorite color? Check. Favorite song? Check. Favorite food? Check.

I also know that I do not like Brussel sprouts, that I have dark hair, and I am curious about everything.

As the years pass, we become comfortable in who we think we are. I love everyone and have a big heart. I might say some critical things about people, but that’s not who I really am. I’m bad at sewing. People probably judge me for not doing my own, and it does make me feel like a bit of a failure. I’m not really into music. I mean, I might listen to a few songs, but doesn’t everybody?

Somehow, we start to rationalize our decisions and make exceptions for ourselves that we wouldn’t make for others. Our good intentions become our opinions of who we are, not the reality. We lose sight of the honesty that allows us a view of both the good in who we are and the bad. True humility, after all, sees both.

When I’ve again wasted too much time on my phone, I comfort myself that I’m not addicted. It’s not a good thing, probably, but I’m not that person, I tell myself. When I realize I’m letting fear control an area of my life, I continue to allow it, because it’s just one little thing. I’m not usually like that. When I’ve lost patience with a situation, I comfort myself by remembering all the times I’ve stayed calm. I don’t normally lose my cool. That’s just not me.

And before I know it, I’ve begun believing in an alternate version of myself and ignoring the truth that both are parts of who I am.

If I were to honestly know myself, I would have to recognize that some parts of me need to be denied. I can, by the power of God, deny myself of time on the phone, refuse fear a handhold in my heart, and keep my patience intact. I must be honest in order to allow myself to learn and grow.

Obedience may be faith in action, but obedience is also an act of self-denial. Obedience doesn’t come naturally. Obedience takes sacrifice. It takes humility. It takes letting go of my own wishes, of the attitudes I cling to, of the dreams I’ve cherished.

And that kind of obedience is where faith definitely comes in. Faith to follow when I can't see two steps ahead. Faith enough to take responsibility for choices I've made, and enough faith to trust in forgiveness. Faith to drop the question, "Why?" and submit to authority, whether I understand or not. Faith when answers to my problems aren't evident at all and I wonder if God is really going to come through for me this time.

This kind of faithful obedience defies the logic and understanding that we have come to believe we need. Sometimes the answer is simply, “Because I am a human in need of sanctification and a sinner in need of saving.”

And that, I believe, is the ultimate knowledge of oneself: an honesty that allows me to see myself devoid of my good intentions. To find a true understand my weakness, my utter helplessness as a creation of dust to such an extent that I am able to deny myself and obey the simple nudges of the Spirit. Not just in a head-knowledge way, but in a real heart and soul way. To catch a glimpse of who I really am without Him.

So this, then, is my conclusion. I must have enough faith in the God I have chosen to serve that I am able to obey Him as an act of denying the self that He shows me clearly when I am honest enough to ask. It’s not a pretty sight, this selfish, human me. As Isaiah 64:6 says, “But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags; and we all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away.”

Yet we need not feel hopeless. “For the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee.” (Isaiah 41:13) A search for the truth and knowledge of who we really are will not leave us forsaken. Rather, It will result in God holding my hand and leading me forward into a path of new growth and greater freedom.

Faith leads to obedience.

Obedience is an act of self-denial.
Self-denial is only possible when I have learned to know myself.

Knowing myself is only possible with honesty.
Honesty is a choice I make that ultimately leads towards faith.
 

Unashamed Action

Based on true accounts.

Don Evans turned to his wife. “We need to stop here,” he said.

His wife looked at him in confusion. “What for?” she questioned. They didn’t stop at the café often, and they had just eaten. She could think of no reason for stopping.

“I don’t know,” Don replied honestly, “but God wants me to stop.”

Together, they entered the little café. A few other customers were there, just getting up from their table to leave. Awkwardly, Don shuffled his dusty work boots and waited for them to leave. Finally, the last tinkle of the bell on the door died away and he approached the owner of the café.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Don said politely. “I know this is going to sound a little weird, but would it be OK if I had a prayer with you?”

Arlene Lewis paused in the midst of wiping the newly vacated table. She surveyed the man before her—a scraggly beard, faded blue jeans, a sun-browned face. “Sure,” she replied. “That would be fine.”

And so Don placed a hand on her shoulder and bowed his head. His wife bowed, too. Maybe the words were a little awkward—he didn’t know what to pray, exactly—but the sincerity was real. He asked God to bless the business and bless the people who ran it. He prayed that they could experience joy. And he thanked God for the day they had been given. That was all.

“Amen,” Don said.

Arlene looked up, tears glistening in her eyes. “Did you know?” she asked.

“Know what?” Don responded, confused.

And then Arlene told him. A dear family member had just passed away. She was feeling burdened, confused, in darkness. She had begun to wonder if God even cared.

And then, out of nowhere, a man she barely knew had stopped and prayed for her.

Don listened in amazement. He hadn’t known anything about the death. “God just told me to stop,” he replied, “and so I did.”

What a beautiful example for each of us. So many times we feel the Spirit prompting us to action, but we fail to act because of fear—fear of awkwardness, fear of what people will think, fear of not knowing what we will say, fear of the type of reception we may receive.

Another day, another faithful follower.

Sarah was leaving the Family Dollar when she saw a woman in a car near her own parking space. The car was of an ancient model with rust spots on the roof and hood. It was easy to see the woman was crying.

“Talk to her,” a voice whispered in Sarah’s heart. Sarah hesitated. What would she say? Would she want some random stranger to come try to talk to her if she was crying?

Sarah stowed her purchases in her own vehicle and slid into the driver’s seat. Curiously, she glanced again at the woman in the other car. Her forehead was leaned against the steering wheel and tears were streaming down her face. I don’t really want to get involved, Sarah thought. But the voice came again. “Talk to her.”

Hesitantly, Sarah got back out of her car and crossed the parking spots between the two cars. Gently, she knocked on the window of the rusty auto.

The woman inside, startled, lifted her head. Seeing Sarah, she rolled down her window. “Can I help you with something?” Sarah asked, a little uncertainly.

The woman tried to wipe her tears, smearing her already smudged eyeliner even further. “I… don’t know.” she said haltingly.

“Would you like to talk?” asked Sarah.

It turned out the woman did. A sordid story of disappointment, pain, betrayal, and fear tumbled out in a sudden rush. Sarah tried to absorb it all. Her heart ached for this woman and what she was going through, but she knew the problem was beyond her. There was only one thing Sarah could think of to offer. “Would it be OK if I prayed with you?” she asked.

Together, the two women, strangers, bowed their heads in a Family Dollar parking lot and called upon the God who had created them both. When they parted ways, the woman knew her problems were not fixed, but she knew God had seen her distress and sent someone to care.

Sarah left the parking lot in awe at how God had used her.

But to be used we must be willing. We must trust God so implicitly that we are willing to face our fears of being awkward. We have to face the fears of what other people will think and how they will react. We need to stand up, unashamed of the One we have chosen to serve—not only in word, but in Spirit, in truth, and in action.

In Jeremiah 1:9, we read God’s words to the prophet: Then the Lord put out his hand and touched m mouth. And the Lord said to me, “Behold, I have put my words in your mouth.” Psalm 32:8 promises: I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you. In Exodus 4 we read God’s promise to Moses to teach him what to speak.

In today’s world there are many souls crying, both those who know the Lord and those who do not. Are we willing to believe God’s promise to give us direction when we need it? Or will we hesitate to show compassion, giving in to the fears that so easily overwhelm the quiet voice that prompts us to action?

It’s not easy to trust that much. It’s not easy to squelch our human tendencies. It’s sometimes not even that easy to believe God would ask me to do a job for him—not I, who stumbles and falls and blunders along.

But in today’s world where there is a lack of true human interaction, where people get much of their social life from online forums, I believe one of the greatest witnesses of the love of God is the believer who is willing to reach out in flesh and blood compassion. Whether that care for others shows itself by answering a call to a mission field, praying with someone in a busy airport, or just squeezing the hand of the sister who has tears in her eyes next to you as you sing the closing hymn in Church.

Do not be fearful. Perfect love, as we know, casteth out fear. And it might take practice, (Trust me, I’m trying to practice myself—it hasn’t been exactly easy.) but it is worth it. And the blessing you receive in exchange for humble, heartfelt compassion? Well, it far exceeds the pain of gathering one’s courage and taking the plunge into awkward and unfamiliar places.

Because, when we reach out a hand to someone who is hurting, it is not our hand that is being extended, but the hand of God. His love working through us, our gratitude sharing His gift, and our own lives and burdens lightened by sharing the Light. 

May you each be blessed by being used of God!

Left on Read

It happened to me just the other morning. I received a WhatsApp message that I didn’t know how to respond to. While I was stressing about my answer, I also stressed that the other party would see the message had been read and make all sorts of assumptions about why I hadn’t answered.

Suddenly it hit me. So often I am that person. I throw my messages heavenward, pleading for help, begging for answers, just letting God know I’m struggling, and then return later that day to see those messages just sitting on read. No answers, no responses, and sometimes those checkmarks still look gray instead of switching to blue.
 
When I read the message this morning, I understood what had been said. I also knew the reasons. The power of the answer lay completely with me. The person on the other end didn’t  understand the process I was planning. They had no idea about the bigger picture. But I did.
 
And so does God.
 
When I am the person whose message is left on read, I sometimes imagine why the other person isn’t responding. Is it because the toddler just spilled a bag of flour on the floor? Were they in the middle of cleaning the shower? Maybe they needed to ask someone else a question in relation to their response. Often, though, my mind comes up with negative reasons as I sit, chewing my nails, waiting to see them start typing. I surmise they are trying to find the right words to say no, that they are frustrated, or that they misunderstood my intent.
 
So often it is tempting to believe the same of God. When we’re not getting answers, when we’re not even sure He’s seen the message, we start coming up with all sorts of negative ideas. “He doesn’t care,” “He doesn’t have a plan for this situation,” “He’s forgotten me.”
 
These kinds of thoughts are a tremendous tool of the devil, placing a wedge between me and the only source that truly offers help and consolation. We must start by believing that all our messages, sent in sincere honesty, get through and that He lovingly reads each one. And this is the confidence that we have in him, that, if we ask any thing according to his will, he heareth us. (1 John 5:14)
 
Maybe He doesn’t answer right away. Maybe He sees we have more to learn of trust, of patience, of longsuffering, of humility, of acceptance. Maybe He’s working on the problem from an angle we can’t see. But we have to believe that He’s present.
 
You’ve probably read messages on WhatsApp before without opening the app. Sometimes I don’t want to feel pressured into an answer, so I leave it looking like it hasn’t been seen while I ponder my response. God doesn’t need time to ponder. He knows His response before we even ask, but He does need to know we trust Him. But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him. (Hebrews 11:6)
 
When I keep opening the app and checking to see if anyone is typing, I’m not trusting the process or the response. When I keep calling on God to hurry up and help out, I’m not trusting Him, either.
 
Sometimes we need to lay the phone down and go on with our daily lives. When it comes to messages exchanged with Heaven, sometimes it’s time to do the same. Maybe, if we really can’t let it rest, it’s time to change what we’re saying. Perhaps we need to start looking for ways to praise Him. Even though we are distraught in soul, what action can I take that will honor God? Scrolling through my phone, trying to mask my nervous energy, or standing at the sink washing dishes and listing the things I am thankful for today?
 
These thoughts aren’t new. Neither are they answers. Maybe they’re just a reminder to myself. When I feel like I’ve been left on read, I need to move forward with positive trust. I need to let go of my own ideas and surrender to Mender of broken situations. Because of one thing I am certain: when I am in service to God, I will never be out of the area where He can service me.