Color Blindness

 This was first written for a C.E. earlier this year. For the record, I don't personally know anyone who has tried out Enchroma glasses, and I understand the results vary. My interest in color blindness stems from the reality of a very dear family member that has this condition. As the turbulent year of 2020 comes to a close, it seems the approaching new year calls for a renewal of vision and courage.

    One in every twelve men and one in every two hundred women is affected by color blindness. There are different degrees of the issue, with some having only slight problems with a certain color, to being completely color blind, where most objects just seem to be a varying shade of the same dull color. In 2010, the company Enchroma introduced, for the first time, glasses to help the color blind see color. Their reactions were incredible.
    “So that’s purple?”
    “Wait. That’s red? I think that’s my new favorite color!”
    “You have this crazy blue lining around your eye.”
    “You mean you see all this all the time?”
    “But I never knew…”
  For many, the experience of putting on a pair of Enchroma glasses was akin to being born. They gazed about, open-mouthed, at the world around them. They felt, with child-like wonder, the grass, the leaves, the petals of the flowers. There were tears of wonder, of joy, of being overwhelmed and thankful for this chance to finally see things as the rest of the world saw them.
    We live in a color blind world. A world that is dull to the glories of God and his creation. A world that doesn’t recognize the gifts He showers on us every day. A world that does not understand the beauty of His love.
    As Christians, we are handed the glasses of God’s grace and mercy. We see with new clarity the joys of taking the path of self-denial He leads us down. We are amazed at the depth of His love evident on Calvary, and His might and power as witnessed by the empty tomb.
    Although we share with the world around us similar experiences, how we see things is completely different. When others fear, we can feel security in God. When they cry out as all the familiar things in life crash into a jumbled heap at their feet, we can see that God’s hand is in it all. While some wonder if there can even be a meaning to life, we stand open-mouthed, worshipping God, incredulous at the power of a resurrected Christ.
    Some may scoff at the glasses and call them an illusion. After all, if they are taken off, one’s eyesight returns to what it was before. They are not a cure for being color blind. But here’s the beauty of it: If we will wear those glasses, if we will continue to walk in the grace and mercy of God, there will come a day, the Bible promises, when we will see a new heaven and a new earth. Someday, we will cast aside the cares of this life. We will no longer be cumbered with glasses, and we will have vision that is completely and perfectly healed. Just as Jesus did not make a partial recovery from death, we will not make a partial recovery from sin. We will become heirs together in Heaven, cured completely from the besetting sins and pride that plague us here in this world.
    Today take a moment to look at the world around you. Realize that you are experiencing a beauty unique to a Christian, who views all through the grace of God, and rejoice in it. Little are we able to understand how much we really have to be thankful for.

For Such a Time as This

    Airports make me nervous, although I'm not sure why. I had flown very little when I set out to catch an international flight to Africa. According to the plan, I was supposed to meet up with a group of other teachers in a major airport and we would continue our journey together. As things happened, I arrived at the gate with a couple of hours to spare. I had no telephone numbers to contact the other girls. I did not know the time their flight was due in. I did not even know their names. 

    My anxiety about this trip into the unknown was compounded by a panicky feeling that perhaps I had the wrong gate. What if I somehow missed the others? What if their flight was delayed? What would I do if my flight was ready to leave and the girls had never put in an appearance? With nothing to do but worry, my nerves were stretched nearly to the breaking point. I started to pray. "God, please let somebody show up soon! I can't handle this much longer. I need someone, God, anyone, and I need them now!" It wasn't much of a prayer, more a desperate plea. Of course, I meant one of the fabled girls I was supposed to be meeting, but God had other plans.

    I looked out at the broad corridor running past the waiting area. No one. I looked around at the other people waiting for their flights. None of them looked worried or even lonely. Most just looked bored. Then my eyes settled on a woman a few seats away. 

    She was slight of build, wearing black jeans and shirt. She was fifty-five at least, with short hair dyed what I suppose was meant to be chestnut. Her bags were on the floor around her, and she was just sitting there. She didn't look very happy. The wrinkles in her face weren't the kind that come from laughter. All at once I felt a little nudge: "Go talk to her."

    I was ready to try anything, but approaching complete strangers and striking up a conversation was definitely not in my comfort zone. Finally I gathered up my nerve and my luggage and moved to within a couple seats of the woman. 

    Slowly we fell into conversation. She had lived a very interesting life and was as willing to talk as I was to listen. I don't know how long we visited, but when I looked again at the time, minutes had passed much more swiftly than I realized. Eventually she excused herself. She returned with food from a nearby restaurant and resumed talking to me. Then she left again. I moved to a different spot, afraid of imposing on her. The next time she appeared, she was motioning to me, "I think your friends are here! They're just coming now." I thanked her and went to meet the other girls. What a relief!

    I didn't notice the woman much after that, although I bade her farewell as we parted ways. Today, I can't tell you any particular facial features or even what we talked about, but in my heart of hearts I will always look upon our brief acquaintance not as a chance occurrence, but as an answer to prayer. She was put into my life for such a time as I had need of a distraction. And who knows? Perhaps she needed someone to talk to as much as I did.

    "For such a time as this." That phrase is very impressive to me. Many times I wonder why I have been placed in this or that situation. It seems overwhelming to me, or as if someone else could fill the place better. Often, the thought of Esther comes stealing in. Just as I am sure she had many questions, so do I. I may not understand all the reasons, but it is I, not someone else, that God has chosen to fill this position. I may never know the impact I have on someone else's life. I may not realize the value of our interactions, but if God has placed me here, I must certainly trust Him enough to believe He has a good purpose and a divine plan. 

    Perhaps you have wondered with me why you were chosen to live in this time in history. Likely others have asked that question in the generations preceding us. But the unknown looms so large. Why me? Why 2020? Again comes the now familiar and comforting words: "...who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?" 

    God, the great designer of the Universe, certainly did not carelessly plan your existence. He sees a much larger picture than you or I, and He has a special place for each one of us to fill, even though you may never completely realize the part you are playing. Did the woman who spoke to me at the airport know she had been placed in my life for a purpose? It's doubtful. Let us each follow humbly whatever promptings we are given, whatever direction He may send, for it is sure that we have been placed here, not by accident, but to serve His purpose in such a time as this.

Why Go Where You Are Not Welcome?

     As one of the Little Rock Nine, Melba Pattillo Beals faced extreme cruelty as she attempted to help break the barrier that prevented African Americans from integrating into the public schools. She, along with the other eight African American students that were chosen to attend the Central High School in Little Rock, had to be guarded during their school days by the 101st Airborne Division of the US Army. Each day of school was one to be dreaded.

    As the awful taunts and bullying surrounded her, Melba was able to continue only because of her deep faith in God and His ability to protect her. She firmly believed that this was all within God's purpose for her life. After surviving a year that included name-calling, acid in her eyes, and other acts of torment, there was not a happy ending. Melba was eventually forced out of her home state when the Ku Klux Klan began posting flyers offering a $5,000 reward if she was delivered to them alive, and $10,000 if she was delivered dead. 

    What kept her grounded through such a trying time? She was only fifteen when the integration process began. One of the greatest sources of comfort to Melba was her grandmother. When others in her church began to ask her why she was so determined to go to the public school if she was not welcome there, her grandmother had the perfect response: "If you go only where you are welcome, that's where other people want you to go, not where you choose to go. You're limited by their vision— not living your own dreams."

    We are all in a quest, like Melba, to fulfill God's purpose for our lives. Satan makes it all too clear that we are not wanted there, within the will of our Heavenly Father. He tries every tactic in the book to get us to give up, to quit trying, to rebel against the small hardships we are forced to face. Sometimes there are mountains that seem too high for us, and rivers that seem too deep and cold. Why would we travel through such an unhospitable place, he asks us. Why go where we are unwelcome?

    We must not be limited by the things Satan throws in our path. Our vision must not be dimmed by days of doubt and times of disappointment. Our dreams are of a higher calling. Our purpose is chosen for us by Creator of the Universe when we submit ourselves to Him. The One who made us will not desert us when fiery darts are hurled our way. His hand is not shortened in the time of tragedy. His ability to protect us is never in question.

    The easy way to travel, the way where we are welcomed and cheered on by the multitudes, is not the path to purpose, but to disaster. As Melba walked the hostile halls of Central High, she often found solace in reciting the twenty-third Psalm. May each of us, also, carry the ever-faithful words in our hearts as well: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me...Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever."

The facts presented here are taken from the book I Will Not Fear by Melba Pattillo Beals. Within the pages of her life's story, you will meet a wonderful and courageous woman whose entire life has been spent building her faith, most of it while under fire. If you are interested in her experiences of integration, she tells more details of that ordeal in her book Warriors Don't Cry. Be prepared to be amazed at God's guidance and protection as Melba is thrust into the limelight during a time of national unrest and tension.

The Irish and the Choctaw

    During the Irish Potato Famine in the late 1840's, the Choctaw Indians sent $170 to people in Ireland in an effort to provide disaster relief. The Choctaw Nation knew well what starvation was. It was less than twenty years since they had walked the Trail of Tears, leaving behind many loved ones in shallow graves. Their experiences with the horrors of starvation gave them empathy toward the plight they heard was unfolding an ocean away. The difficult situation they had faced helped them to focus on the important things of life and reach out to others they saw struggling.

    This December, as Christmas day draws near, it seems that for many of us, our lives are steeped in uncertainty. Some are no longer able to depend on the normal family celebrations. For those of us who are teachers, a few may feel like a certain element of Christmas was cancelled along with our annual program. There may be youth groups who are unable to carry out their usual activities. All these things have the potential to start feeling like hardships. Perhaps we subconsciously imagine the "Merry" has disappeared from "Merry Christmas."

    For the heart that is turned toward Christ, all the disappointments of the season do not dim the true meaning of Christmas. In fact, just as hardships caused the Choctaw to value the things that matter most in life, we are learning to value the things that Christmas really stands for. A holiday spirit is not found only in carrying out our family, school, youth, and congregational traditions. We can also discover the meaning of the season in other ways as we concentrate more on the Christmas values of joy, love, and peace and less on the sometimes stressful traditions we are used to. 

    Do I miss the traditional Christmas activities? Absolutely. Yet I also feel this is a season in which we are being reminded once again of the futility of attaching ourselves too much to the things of this world. We have this chance to make sure our hearts are securely anchored in Heavenly things. It could be we also will find ourselves carrying these values into the New Year more than we have other years.

    The story of the Choctaw and Irish did not end with the $170 donation. In this year of 2020, as the Coronavirus pandemic has unfolded around the world, the Choctaw nation was particularly hard hit. In interest of paying back the kindness once bestowed upon their ancestors, Irish donors have reached out to give over $800,000 in relief funds to the tribe. 

    This story warms my heart. There are times when we feel certain it isn't worth the inconvenience of giving of ourselves to others. Sometimes we feel the responsibility to reach out belongs to someone else entirely. We excuse ourselves, saying we don't know the person well, or maybe not at all. The Choctaw forefathers were not acquainted with the Irish people who were suffering. They had no way of knowing their kindness would be repaid many years later. But none of that kept them from reaching out.

    When Christ came to earth that long ago Christmas night, he did not come only for those He met personally during his life. He did not plan redemption only for those who recognized His existence. He came for all. His grace extends to mankind the world over. The hearts of the faithful, too, are ready to extend the hand of love to all we see about us.

    Sometimes we wonder why we must live through unpleasant things. I am not here with all the answers, but I do believe instead of wallowing in self-pity, we can reach new realms of empathy, and rise, with God's help, to a secure joy in Him that will give us the ability to touch the hearts of those around us with the true spirit of Christmas as we discover new meaning in the story of a baby born in a manger one long ago night in the far away hills of Judea.

Christmas Projects

    Christmas. This single word brings to the mind of any teacher several others, among them words like "program practice", "gift shopping", and "parent projects." It is the last of these that jars a memory in my mind of one time when the Christmas project of one class affected the entire school. 
     Adam raised his right hand wildly, clutching his nose with the left and making gagging noises. Brittany wrinkled her nose and made a disgusted noise. 

    Miss Shaw answered Adam's hand, knowing even before she did so what he likely wanted. "Yes, Adam?"

    "What is that? It stinks!"

    "Yeah!" Sawyer chimed in, forgetting to raise his hand entirely. "I'm about to puke!"

    Les tumbled from his desk seat and sprawled motionless on the floor, in the typically dramatic way of middle grade boys. "Les," said Miss Shaw sternly, "get back in your desk.

    "But I fainted!" he protested, clambering to his feet.

    Andrea raised her hand. "What is it? I'm getting a headache!"

    Miss Shaw sighed. "It smells like my dad's shop when he's been staining cabinets. I suppose the upper graders are working on their Christmas projects. Now everybody get to work. You'll survive 'til recess, then you can go outside."

    Over in the first and second grade classroom, Miss Schmidt had hardly noticed the smell before she released her students for recess, but she did notice a ruckus by the boys' bathroom door. She rapped on the door, and David stuck his head out, peering at her over his glasses which had slid to the tip of his nose. In his hand he clutched a bottle of Goo Gone. Beyond him, she could see the floor littered with paper towels. 

    "How many boys are in there?" she asked suspiciously.

    "Three," he answered.

    "It's an emergency!" came another voice from within. "Teacher's orders!"

    Just then, Miss Kelley came striding from her classroom. "Yes," she responded to Miss Schmidt's questioning look, "it's necessary."

    Recess over, the first and second graders trooped back in. The smell had seeped through the air vents into their classroom now. Whatever it was, it was positively overpowering. After some pondering, Miss Schmidt finally had her class move to a little-used room where the smell had not yet penetrated. There they were able to continue with their lessons.

    Who would have guessed a smell could result in such drama? But it seems to be in our makeup to be dramatic about the turns our lives take. When I've  gone against my conscience, I sometimes feel like I am a complete failure anyhow so may as well stop trying. When two or three things don't go how I think they should, I start thinking the whole world is against me. When I spend too much time reading headlines, I begin to give in to a spirit of fear and hopelessness.

    Again and again I have to turn things over to God. I don't believe He intends for me to be so dramatic. Yes, bad things happen. Yes, things are sometimes sad and scary, but He has everything under control. As long as my trust is anchored in Him and not in the things of this world, there is no need for me to pulled to and fro by the spirits of doubt and dread that try to invade. In Him I can live and move and have my being, joyfully, hopefully, and in a place of praise to the Maker of all.

    I suppose you are wondering what caused all the drama that fateful day. The sixth, seventh, and eighth graders had been staining wooden clocks they were making for Christmas. Someone had left the can of stain open. Coby had been standing nearby when Nick got the bright idea to kick him. Naturally, Coby spun around to face him. In doing so, his elbow knocked the open can of stain. What happened next was, as one student put it, "A quick way to end Language!"

    Miss Kelley whirled around from the markerboard in time to see the disaster finish unfolding. Even her stern, "Boys!" died on her lips as her horrified gaze took in the stain, dripping from three pairs of blue jeans that had been within range, running down the covers of Nick's books, spreading over some binders that lay nearby, and soaking into the carpet.

    Sure, there was damage that day, some of it perhaps even irreparable, but life went on. Much of the stain was able to be wiped away in the end. Even the large spot on the carpet was able to be removed by professional carpet cleaners. 

    As we face the disasters in our lives, both the personal disappointments and those on a larger scale, let's not lose sight of God's might. Even things that seem hopeless to fix, like stain on carpets, can be remedied by His powerful touch. Our dramas that seem so big would look small if we could see them held in the palm of His hand.

    No, we don't always understand why things happen as they do. Neither can we see into the future, but I believe that my place as a Christian is to hand my dramas, large or small, over to God and realize that releasing them will bring me to a place of peaceful service. 

  

    

Charity Suffereth

Every year as Christmas approaches, we see more requests for charity. But what is real charity? This story is not original to me, although I do not remember where I first heard it. Following is my own version, along with some thoughts written for a C.E. a couple years ago. Is it charity to toss a handful of change in the Salvation Army bucket? It might be. But charity also may mean to give a part of yourself you've never thought of before. 

    There was once a woman, we’ll call her Marge, and her two daughters who lived along the main street of a small village. Marge and her daughters were well thought of and faithful church attendees. It was a beautiful Sabbath morning when one of Marge’s daughters looked out the window.     
    “Oh, look!” she called, “Look who’s headed to church!” Her sister hurried to see, and both girls began laughing.
    “Look, Mom, it’s Mrs. Wilson and all her daughters!”
    “And they’re all wearing aprons!” volunteered the first daughter.
    Marge looked out the window, too. Sure enough, there was Mrs. Wilson, the wife of the town drunk striding purposefully down the road with her three daughters following. Each was wearing a clean, though patched, apron. No one had ever heard of any of the Wilsons attending church. Indeed, the entire community had a way of steering clear of the Wilson family. They weren’t heartless toward them, exactly. Just avoided them.
    “Imagine! Wearing an apron to church!” giggled the second daughter.
    Marge didn’t say much as her daughters continued to scorn the spectacle. She just finished washing the last plate from breakfast.
    Soon it was time to leave for church. As her daughters opened the door to leave, Marge silently handed each of them an apron. The horror showed clearly on her daughters’ faces. “Mom! Do we have to wear them? Why?”
    Marge answered calmly, “Mrs. Wilson and her daughters have never been to church. They don’t know that we don’t usually wear aprons. We want them to feel comfortable and welcome to worship with us this morning.” With those words, Marge gave her daughters a gentle lesson on the true meaning of charity.
    We all know the verse well, “Charity suffereth long and is kind…” but how often do we really think of the first two words? Charity suffereth. Charity is not measured by how much money we give to a cause. It’s not graded according to how much time we spend volunteering with a fun group of friends. Those things may have a certain worth, but a heart of true charity will be willing to suffer.
    Charity that suffereth is born of humility. It is made up of unselfishness and self-denial. It has nothing to do with being a recognized volunteer, but it has everything to do with treating others, regardless of social status, with respect. Charity that suffereth has less to do with money that we give, but more to do with how we make the recipient feel.
    Charity is not the warm glow we get from seeing our name listed with other volunteers. Charity is hours of back breaking labor with no recognition. It is denying ourselves of something we want and sending a check to friend that is struggling to make ends meet. Charity is accepting an invitation from someone that struggles to feel accepted and putting your heart into enjoying the time you spend with them. And sometimes charity may mean wearing an apron to church.  

As this year draws to a close, I want to take a step forward in charity. I want to move from knowing to doing. I want to open my heart wide enough that I am willing not only to give, but to suffer. Will you join me in the journey?