My friend watched her young daughter sprint gracefully across the finish line with surprising energy and speed after running a distance of over one kilometer. The girl’s cheeks glowed as she received her participation medal—she had completed her first race!
Her daughter slurped the juice and welcomed the snacks with open palms. She held it all up to her mom, hooking the ribbon of her medal with her pinky finger to include this prize in the photo.
“This is the best part!” the five-year-old laughed.
My friend’s face mirrored her daughter’s pride. All the practice runs had been done in the cool of the evening after dinner. But the race had occurred in the hot sun of early afternoon. Yet the girl had persevered, and Mom was happily amazed by the lack of complaints about the heat or length of the course.
She snapped more photos while looking forward to an easy bedtime routine with a tired “little pumpkin.”
Back at home, she proudly shared photos of the runner with friends and family through social media. Meanwhile, her daughter bounced from one thing to the next, like an evening with no long run.
Impressive, she thought.
Her phone dinged to notify her of incoming photos. Another mom had taken some action shots during the race. My friend’s mouth dropped open. There was her little girl captured in living color, riding piggyback on her older friend’s back, waving at the camera!
“That little cheater!” she laughed, shaking her head, “I did teach her to be resourceful!”
The Christian race is not meant to be run alone, either. Whenever we can use a supportive lift or a strong hand clasp, we should take it.
Hebrews 10:24-25 says:
And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.
How can we stir each other up to love and good works? How can we encourage each other?
Are you an encourager? Do you meet with other believers, whether virtually or in person?
I challenge you to take a moment to call someone or send an encouraging message to a fellow Christ-follower. Their race might be challenging right now as they run it alone. Maybe you could bolster them up and make their day sunnier and their travels less taxing.
Father, use me to support my brothers and sisters in their walk with You. Help me to humbly take another’s hand when they extend it to support me! As we serve You in unity, we demonstrate the effectiveness of good teamwork! Amen.
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The second part of Ruth’s story is lengthy, but if you like a good romance, this fictionalized version reads like a fairy tale. Except in this story, the mother-in-law is not a wicked villain but is instrumental in arranging a special marriage. In fact, the new couple’s names appear in the lineage of Jesus!
If you haven’t read Part 1, why don’t you start there?
Our journey was difficult and long. But when we walked into the city of Bethlehem, I noticed my companion’s shoulders lift slightly.
The women at the town well chattered through our dreary entrance as we passed. “Is this Naomi? Where has she been? Why does she look so old and battered by life? Who is that with her? Where is Elimelech?”
Naomi held her head high through most of the gossip. When an old friend grabbed her hand and pulled her into an embrace, she shed silent tears behind the woman’s back.
“What has happened, Naomi?”
She shook her head, still not ready to talk about her grief. “Don’t even call me that anymore,” she croaked. “Call me Mara—bitter. Because that’s what I am, my dear friend: bitter. God has knocked me down. My life was full when I left here, and now I return with nothing.”
I shook my head but said nothing. I doubted that her God had anything to do with her troubles. I silently asked Him, yet again, for comfort, strength, and blessings for Naomi. The peace I felt as I prayed seemed like an answer. He would provide. We would be okay.
We settled into Elimelech’s old house, but looters had taken everything of value. It broke my heart to watch Naomi look around when we arrived.
“We will fix it up and make a beautiful home here,” I whispered.
She gave a quick nod and set about doing just that.
Naomi’s old friends and neighbors brought us food and household items to help us settle in. I worried about how we would cope when the hospitality came to an end. Where would we get food? Would we have to beg for it? I couldn’t bear the thought of defiling Mahlon’s memory by selling my body in order to survive. If it came to that, I would know that this decision to follow my mother-in-law to her homeland was a mistake.
I found myself in Naomi’s prayer pose on my knees, asking her God to provide for us. Use my life, Lord, but spare me from having to compromise my integrity.
When I arose, I spied the last of the barley bread brought to us by a friend. I recalled Naomi telling me that we had arrived in Canaan during the barley harvest. An idea began to form in my mind. It wasn’t quite as degrading as begging, and might still put myself in danger as a single, unprotected woman, but I accredited the plan to Naomi’s God once again.
I asked for her approval before I left in the morning. The worry lines on her forehead relaxed somewhat when she agreed to my actions. My face heated with her pleasure, and I fought back tears in her embrace.
It seemed foolish to walk by the first field and give up the convenience of working closer to home, but something didn’t feel right. The sour faces on some of the harvesters did not inspire confidence in my endeavor. I felt differently when I came to the next field. I heard singing. The workers seemed to be happy here.
I sent another prayer heavenward for good favor and fell in behind the harvesters. If I could just pick up the grains left behind on the ground, Naomi and I would live to see another day. So, I began to gather; a head here, a stalk there. I hummed along with the singing in the field ahead of me, thanking God for His mercy.
One of the workers, a young girl, dropped back to where I was. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Are you new here? You need to keep up with us to get the most grain.”
I shook my head. “I am not employed here. My mother-in-law and I have just moved from Moab, and we have no husbands to provide for us. I’m just picking up these scraps, hoping the master of the field will be generous to me.”
She smiled warmly. “You are Naomi’s daughter then. My mother grew up with her. Boaz is a kind man. He will not mind you doing this.” She touched my arm before turning to catch up with the other workers. “God be with you,” she called.
No one had ever said that to me before. It was almost like a blessing. I liked it. I liked the thought that God might be with me, that He cared about where I went and what I did.
My back tired as the sun steadily rose in the sky. When I stretched up, I saw a bearded man sitting tall on a horse. He rode toward the field where we worked from the road that led to the city. Even from a distance, I could tell he was older than me by a few years, but his strong jawline and warm eyes were very pleasing. I immediately looked away as I felt ashamed for thinking such traitorous thoughts. My husband had not been dead for more than a couple of months.
As he rode into the field, he called to his workers, “The Lord be with you!”
The harvesters stopped their work and responded with waves and smiling replies of, “The Lord bless you!” They seemed genuinely happy to see him, and their work ethic remained unchanged with their master overseeing them. Many workers whistled or laughed together as they harvested the barley.
I took another peek at this tall man who must be Boaz, the owner of the field. He was even better looking close up, with his distinguishing feature being his sparkling eyes that showed laugh lines when he talked. He spoke briefly to the foreman, glancing over at me twice while they conversed. Was he asking about me? Would he tell me to leave?
When I looked up from my work again, he had dismounted and was strolling toward me. My heart pounded unnaturally in my chest.
He greeted me with the greeting that was rapidly becoming familiar, “The Lord be with you, daughter!” I nodded at him. Daughter? I wasn’t that much younger than him. My stomach clenched unexpectedly with what felt like disappointment.
“I wish for you to stay here in my field when you gather grain. Don’t go to any other fields. Look for the young women workers when you arrive and follow behind them as they harvest. I’ve spoken to the young men and they’ve promised to treat you respectfully. Let me know if you have need of anything or if someone does not show you kindness.”
He pointed to the middle of the field. “When you are thirsty, do not be shy to help yourself to the water they have brought with them.”
I could not meet his eyes but instead knelt before him staring at his sandaled toes. “Thank you, master. I’ve done nothing to deserve such kindness. I’m just a foreigner living in your land.”
“No.”
The one-word answer was resolute and followed by silence. I dared to look up.
“You are not just a foreigner. I know that you love my relative Naomi and that you selflessly accompanied her here after the passing of your husband.”
The mention of Mahlon caused my face to heat up. I lowered my head again. I loved you, Mahlon. Truly.
“I’ve heard of everything you’ve done for her. May the Lord reward you for that. But may I also help you in this way? Stay.”
I spoke to his dusty feet. “Thank you, my Lord. You have comforted me with your kindness. Naomi will be happy to hear of this too.”
I continued to work until the harvesters stopped for lunch. I made to throw the barley onto my shoulder to go home when I heard Boaz call out to me.
“Ruth, daughter. Come and eat with us. Dip your bread in the sour wine. There is plenty.”
I whispered a thank you again as I sat with the young women and ate. They insisted I take the leftovers to bring home to my mother-in-law. Boaz had eaten with the men, chatting and laughing with them all the while.
When we went back to work, there was noticeably more barley left on the ground for me. I suspected Boaz had given the harvesters orders to be kind to me in this way also.
Naomi’s face glowed as I told my tale and showed her all the barley and the roasted grain left from lunch. She remembered Boaz with fondness. “May the Lord bless him for this kindness. He is one of our closest relatives and one of our family redeemers. You were lucky to have chosen his field today.”
I didn’t tell her that there was no luck involved. It was her God who had led me there. I was convinced of that.
I returned day after day until the barley harvest was over. Boaz then invited me to join the workers for the wheat harvest in another field. He went out of his way to speak to me every time he visited the harvesters. I missed him when he didn’t drop by. His almond-shaped eyes and laugh lines made my heart flutter each time he smiled at me. I apologized to Mahlon every time.
Naomi and I had settled into a comfortable lifestyle in Bethlehem. My mother-in-law smiled more, even laughing sometimes; her friends had revived her spirit. We also became good friends.
But one day Naomi caught me off guard when she said, “My daughter, it’s time that I found a secure place for you. You are too young to be alone. I will not rest until I know you are provided for.”
I laughed, in spite of the odd feeling moving across my middle. “What did you have in mind, Mother? Are you expecting a son for me to wed in twenty years from now?”
She smiled. “I was actually thinking of Boaz.”
My heart skipped a beat as she continued. “He is a close relative of ours, and he’s been very kind to you. Do you think he might be ready to take a wife?”
My heated face was answer enough.
“Yes, I see that you might like that idea,” she chuckled.
She laid a gnarled hand on my arm. “Now, do as I tell you. Boaz will be at the threshing floor tonight winnowing the barley. Go bathe and put on your sweetest perfume. Wash your hair and dress in your nicest clothes.”
My face grew even hotter. “You wish for me to seduce him?” I asked. “That is not something I could do.”
“Listen to me, daughter. Go to the threshing floor, but don’t let Boaz see you until after his evening meal. Pay attention to where he lies down. Then go and uncover his feet and lie down there. That is it. He will tell you what to do after that.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, Naomi. What if he thinks I’m too forward? I don’t want him to think ill of me.”
“When have I led you astray, Ruth? Do as I say.”
I bit back more arguments. Naomi was my elder, my family. My thoughts turned instead to Boaz. Would he want me as a wife?
So, I followed her instructions, laying at his feet after he had filled his belly with food and wine and was in good spirits. Around midnight, he stirred, and I knew he was awake. My heart pounded erratically. Would he throw me out? My heart was invested in this. I had more to lose than Naomi could know.
“Who lies there?” he asked.
“It is your servant Ruth.” I trembled as I spoke, but my voice sounded sure and steady. “You are my family redeemer. I was hoping you might cover me with the corner of your blanket.”
Boaz sat up and reassured me with his warm smile. “The Lord bless you, my daughter! You continue to show family loyalty to Naomi by coming here. Don’t worry, I will do what is right by you.”
As he adjusted the blanket over me, he said, “The truth is, while the thought of making you my wife pleases me greatly, there is another man who is a closer relative to you. I will speak to him in the morning and find out if he intends to be responsible for you. If he refuses your hand, I will gladly do so. Lie down and stay the night. You are safe with me.”
For once, I didn’t speak to my dead husband. It was time to move on. I felt Mahlon would approve.
I stayed at Boaz’s feet until morning, but sleep did not come. My pulse raced as I realized this man might become my new husband.
While it was still dark, with the sun ready to light the morning, Boaz whispered, “It’s time to go, my daughter. No one can know you were here overnight. Come, spread your cloak over here before you go.”
He filled my cloak with six scoops of barley and placed it on my back. “I pray that God blesses me with your hand,” he said as he bid farewell.
I whispered a similar prayer as I crept into the dawn light, back to Naomi. The next few hours would be torturous as my future remained unknown.
The old woman’s eyes lit up as I described what happened. She clapped her hands and embraced me. “Be patient, Ruth. He will work things out for you.”
I wasn’t sure if she meant Boaz or God, but I hoped she was right.
I didn’t go into the field that morning. Tired and restless, I prayed that God would work things out for His will, but secretly hoped I needn’t become a stranger’s wife instead because of traditions that were foreign to me.
Naomi reminded me several times to stop biting my nails. I did it without thinking as I cleaned the entire house from top to bottom. When everything was spotless, I paced.
Naomi finally had enough. “Go for a walk, daughter. You’re making me mad with your energy.”
I apologized and headed outside. I walked down to the field out of habit. Some of the female workers called out a friendly greeting. I smiled and waved, repeating back the words of blessing. Their happiness was a direct reflection of what kind of man Boaz was. He treated his workers with respect and genuinely cared about them. He knew each of them by name, even though there were hundreds of them.
I noted the goofy smile on my face as I walked along. Every time I thought of Boaz, my mouth stretched into that grin. I almost walked into a goat that wandered into my path as my mind imagined a future with Boaz. My nervous energy was quickly turning to frustration. My future lay in the hands of a stranger.
I whispered another prayer to Naomi’s God. Did He care about such things?
When I opened my eyes, I saw a lone rider heading toward me. As he got closer, I recognized his posture on the animal’s back. His greying hair blew in the wind as he rode. I searched his face for the smile I had grown to love. He looked happy. Would he smile so if he had bad news?
His twinkling eyes didn’t leave mine as he dismounted. “The Lord be with you,” he said, his smile broad and teasing.
I gave him a look that said these were not the words I’d been waiting to hear, yet was secretly relieved he had stopped calling me Daughter.
“How do you feel about marrying an old man like me and spending the rest of your life with him?”
My lips stretched into a smile so big I couldn’t form words with them. As my future husband told me of his dealings at the gate, my mind prayed, “Thank you, God. You do care about me!”
I watch Boaz pick up his son to comfort him. Obed is very blessed to have a father who loves him so much. That makes three of us, for my mother-in-law Naomi continues to be a part of our family.
I thank God every day for Naomi, not only for orchestrating my marriage with Boaz but also for introducing me to her God. What an awesome God He is!
“You are faithful, God. The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning.”
Lamentations 3:22-23
This is a story about faithfulness. Ruth was faithful to her mother-in-law. Naomi was faithful in helping provide for Ruth’s future. Boaz was faithful to fulfil his role as kinsman redeemer. And God was faithful to them all.
Isn’t it amazing that God so freely forgives us when we are unfaithful to Him?
Think of the past couple of days. What things have you prioritized above God? Pray and ask for His forgiveness and His assistance with your spiritual growth in the area of faithfulness.
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Both books in my Tickle Me with a Crowbar! series are now available on Amazon in Kindle or paperback formats or as E-books at Kobo.com! Order yours today to get two months of jokes and Christian encouragement.
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My heart swells with pride as I watch my mother-in-law hold my newborn son, Obed. Her gnarled, wrinkled fingers caress his soft cheek with adoration. His quiet mewling sounds voice his appreciation of her touch.
The old women of the community gather around her exclaiming, “Praise be to God, Naomi has a son!” For they know, as well as I, how many years Naomi has suffered and how long it has been since we’ve seen her smile.
She’d had such a beautiful smile. When I first married Mahlon, his mother Naomi was one of the happiest women I knew. My father-in-law Elimelech doted on her and praised her as a great example of a godly wife and mother. They had been living in Moab, my homeland but not theirs. Driven from Bethlehem by a famine that threatened to kill them all, Naomi had moved there with her husband and two sons. She welcomed Orpah and me into her home with open arms.
“I’m so happy to finally have daughters!” she exclaimed. She touched my arm and said softly so others couldn’t hear, “I honestly wasn’t sure a Moabite woman would be good enough for my son, but you please me very much. You make my son happy.”
I felt a heated blush move up my neck to my face. I knew it hadn’t been easy for Naomi to live so far from her home. She had left behind her friends, extended family, and her Temple to live with foreigners. I made it my goal to help her feel loved and cherished in Moab, so they would stay.
“Promise me that you won’t make me leave my home like that,” I often said to my husband after seeing the homesickness in Naomi’s eyes.
He would stroke my hair and whisper, “Never, my love. This is our home now.”
My throat fills up with unshed tears whenever I allow my mind to drift there. Mahlon. My husband; my first love.
Naomi’s face always lit up when her sons were around. She wore her pride in her warm smile. She waved worried goodbyes as they journeyed for business, calling long after they were out of earshot, “God be with you and protect you, my sons.” It was for them that she lived so far from home; for their security.
I only dreamt of being such a good mother. Mahlon and I had been married for almost ten years and no child had been conceived. I knew Naomi was disappointed that neither I nor Orpah had made her a grandmother yet. I hoped and prayed that this would change soon.
But my god Chemosh wasn’t listening. I envied Naomi’s faith in her God. While she worried about her sons, she would kneel after they left and place them in her God’s care. Then she would go about her business believing that He would protect them. Meanwhile, I bit my nails and watched the horizon for Mahlon’s silhouette the whole while he was gone. I didn’t have the same trust in my god.
When tragedy struck and the rider galloped to the door with the devastating news of death, it wasn’t Naomi’s sons who weren’t returning. It was Elimelech. Her wail of grief pierced my soul. For weeks I tended to a mother-in-law that I didn’t recognize. She was a shell of her former self. She barely ate, and barely slept. Orpah and I did our own work and hers too.
I rubbed her back and hummed soothing tunes from my childhood as she lay on her side, her tear ducts empty and her heart in pieces. “Call on your God, Naomi. He will comfort you, right?”
We all encouraged her in our own ways. Mahlon and Kilion tried to make her laugh. Orpah cooked her favorite meals. I prayed to Chemosh, and secretly to Naomi’s God too. I suspected He was the more powerful of the two. And finally, she began to shuffle around and to resume her daily routine. I missed her smile and her cheerful disposition. Her name, Naomi, meant sweetness. I wondered if we’d see that side of her anymore.
Soon Mahlon and Kilion had to leave again. They both took extra time to say goodbye to their mother, recognizing her frailty. I tried not to feel jealous of my husband’s attention to her. Our relations had been strained lately while our house mourned his father. I missed my husband.
When I heard the horse’s feet pound toward our house for the second time, an intense fear gripped my chest. My hands shook as I opened the door to the lone rider. His words knocked me to the ground. The animalistic sound that tore through my throat brought Orpah running to the door.
“Ruth, what is the news?” She crouched beside me and wrapped her arms around my trembling body. Her warmth seeped into my pores but brought me no comfort. It was my responsibility to break her heart as well.
“They’re gone, Orpah. They’re both gone.”
Her face went white. “Gone? What do you mean?”
I nearly choked on the word as it hitched on a sob. “Dead. They’re both dead, sister.” I held her tight and cried until my throat was sore. She did the same.
“We have to tell Naomi,” Orpah whispered.
This would crush her. I wasn’t sure she had the strength to bear it. I found myself praying again to her God.
She tore her clothes and fell, laying as dead on the floor for long minutes. We bathed her forehead with cool cloths to try and rouse her.
Needless to say, the next weeks were horrendous. Naomi grew thin and frail in front of our eyes. But this time, Orpah and I had no comfort to give. We mourned too. Villagers stayed away from the house of death, believing it to be cursed. I believed it too.
Then one morning I awoke with surprise to the sound of Naomi moving about. She was packing all of her belongings.
“What are you doing?” I asked sleepily.
She didn’t stop making piles as she emptied the contents of the house onto the floor. “There is nothing here for me now, Ruth. I’m going home.”
“Home? To Bethlehem? Is the famine over? Is it safe to go back?” There was a mad look in her eye that concerned me.
“Yes, of course.” She waved her hand in the air, indicating that this response was to all my questions. “God has punished me for coming here. What more will He take from me? I cannot stay one moment more.”
I began to help her with her things. Then I started packing my own.
“Where will we live? Do you still have a home there?”
She froze. Turning her head slowly to look at me for the first time in weeks, she said, “Ruth, go back to your father’s house.”
Orpah drifted into the room then, rubbing her eyes. They widened as she took in the scene and its implications.
Naomi grasped one of my hands and one of Orpah’s. The squeeze was bony but strong.
“May the Lord show kindness to you both as you have shown to me and my sons. You will always be my beloved daughters, but I have nothing more to offer you. Go home. It’s time.”
She kissed us both on the cheek and wiped our tears with her fingers. “You are young enough to marry again. Go find new husbands and have their children. You both deserve that.”
Our response was unanimous. “No!”
“We will go with you to Bethlehem,” I said, with Orpah nodding her agreement vigorously.
But she shook her head. “No, go home. I have no more sons to give you as husbands. I have no husband, no sons, no money; I have nothing. God has turned His back on me. It is as the people here whisper about me: I am cursed. I will return home alone and broken. You have been wonderful daughters to me. I will forever be grateful.”
We all cried as we held each other, although our tears should have run out long ago. Orpah kissed us both and went back to her family.
I looked at my heartbroken, fragile mother-in-law and knew I couldn’t leave her. She really had no one. Just me. I would not desert her.
“I will not go,” I said stubbornly. “I am your daughter. You cannot send me away.”
Naomi sighed and shook her head as if I was the mad one. She pointed in the direction that Orpah had gone. “Look, your sister-in-law has some sense. She’s gone back to her people and her gods. You do the same.”
I stared her in the eyes. “I respectfully decline your offer, Mother. I will follow you wherever you go and live where you live. Your people will be my people and your God, my God. I will die where you die, and I will be buried there. Only death will part us now. Let us make haste and speak of this no longer.”
My face burned and my heart raced. I’d never stood up to Naomi before, and her eyes did not reveal her emotions.
A single tear rolled down her cheek. “A more faithful daughter is not to be found. We will do this together then. Be prepared for hardship. With no husband or kinsman-redeemer, life will not be easy. We will have to fight to survive.”
I smiled. “Then you’re going to have to start eating more, Mother. You couldn’t fight a flea like that.”
The corner of her mouth twitched, but smiling was still beyond her capability.
Stay tuned for the riveting end to Ruth’s story of faithfulness. Although the beginning paragraphs are a spoiler to how the tale ends!
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Both books in my Tickle Me with a Crowbar! series are now available on Amazon in Kindle or paperback formats or as E-books at Kobo.com! Order yours today to get two months of jokes and Christian encouragement.
If you live in Ottawa, email me at valda.goudie@gmail.com to order an autographed copy or purchase books at Indigo Orleans or Chapters Gloucester!
When the mob sentenced the accused man to death by crucifixion, Pontius Pilate washed his hands of the whole Jesus Christ trial. As a centurion, it was my responsibility to oversee the whole affair.
My soldiers were especially cruel, as they were prone to be in treason/blasphemy cases. After they flogged him with a lead-tip whip, they dressed Christ in a purple robe and completed the outfit with a crown of thorns to mock and humiliate him.
“Hail! King of the Jews!” they taunted, bowing before him as they laughed and ridiculed him.
I watched his silent acceptance, and a heavy weight settled in my gut. Something wasn’t right here. He did not defend himself or argue. He didn’t even struggle against their abuse.
His silence only incited the men to more torturous methods. They struck him on the head with a reed stick, spit on him, and rained down profanities of the lowest kind. I cringed in embarrassment. I’d never seen them so amped up.
I gave the orders for a standard crucifixion for the three accused. Christ would be flanked on either side by two known criminals.
The others were raised long before the middle cross. There was a flurry of activity as the soldiers continued their abuse. I shook my head as I realized they had divided his clothes and were throwing dice to decide who would get each item. Had he not suffered enough humiliation at their hands?
My eyes widened when the cross was finally raised. A sign affixed to the top read, “The King of the Jews.” Much later, I learned Pilate had commissioned this sign with the words written in Hebrew, Latin, and Greek.
Still, despite his pain and debasement, Jesus Christ remained silent and accepted his fate without argument. I can’t say the same for the two miscreants on either side of him.
As the hours passed, my men weren’t the only ones to throw insults at Jesus. Passersby mocked him. Despite his reputation as a religious man, the leading priests and teachers of religious law mocked Jesus. Even his fellow cross-mates joined in the jeering.
Only a small group of observers quietly sobbed as they witnessed his torture. Likely family members, I thought.
At noon, after the third hour of execution, suddenly, the sky went dark as if the sun had been deleted from the sky. Fear washed over the faces of all who drew near.
It remained dark as midnight until three o’clock. At that moment, Jesus broke his silence and called out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”
A chill ran down my spine. Some in the crowd misunderstood Christ’s message, thinking he called out to Elijah. But I knew better. He spoke the language of my ancestors, and he beseeched God like he was family.
I watched one of the bystanders run and fill a sponge with sour wine, and I gestured to my men to allow the compassion. He held it up on a reed stick so Jesus could drink.
Then, as if he saw the Angel of Death coming, Jesus shouted, “It is finished!” and he released his spirit. His head fell as the life energy departed.
Suddenly, the earth shook, and I saw huge rocks split apart. I took off my helmet and held it to my chest. My heart hammered against the chainmail as I bowed my head.
“This man truly was the Son of God!” I whispered.
One of my men within earshot looked at me with wide eyes. It was too late for remorse. Not many had witnessed the conversation between Jesus and the repentant criminal next to him when Christ assured him that he would join him in paradise that very day. But I did.
I raised an eyebrow at the soldier and nodded my silent reprimand. We had killed an innocent man: quite likely the son of God.
My heart silently repeated the criminal’s request: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your Kingdom.”
What became of that centurion? Did he seek Jesus’ disciples to find out more about him? Did he witness the resurrection or wonder as he heard about it?
We don’t know. However, we have the advantage of reading the full story in the four gospels in our Bibles and celebrating as we learn of God’s plan of salvation.
What is your response to this story? Is it just a familiar story told from another point of view, or does it affect you more deeply?
This weekend is a time for reflection. Jesus died. He rose again. He invites us to accept His atonement for sin and welcome Him into our lives.
The rest is up to us.
Father, thank You for Your grace and love, enabling You to watch Your son die on the cross for us. Thank You, Jesus, for going through the suffering and humiliation of the crucifixion. I accept Your invitation to live in my heart and lead my life. Thank You for the assurance of eternal life with You when my time on earth is done. Take my hand, Lord. I look forward to all You have in store for me. Amen.
If you haven’t joined my mailing list, I encourage you to sign up below. I will send my TUESDAY TICKLE and FRIDAY FUNNY posts from Instagram directly to your inbox, as well as keep you up to date with my writing initiatives.
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If you live in Ottawa, email me at valda.goudie@gmail.com to order an autographed copy or purchase books at Indigo Orleans or Chapters Gloucester!
No one complains about the weather more than Canadians after March 20. The calendar says it’s SPRING. And the weather does too, but we seem to forget that spring in our part of the country is a transition season involving a variety of weather patterns. One day, we go outside in t-shirts and bask in the sun. The next, we bundle up in the same down-filled jackets we wore in February. We check our weather apps several times a day and never consider leaving our homes without asking someone for the wind chill or “real feel” report, so we know how many layers to put on.
I look forward to someday flying away south with the snowbirds and only returning in April, on the summer side of spring! These first few weeks are more tortuous than hope-filled.
Our expectation for spring is that the temperature will warm up and the ground will thaw. Tiny green sprouts will burst from the soil, and the trees will yawn, stretch, and grow leaves. We will launder and pack away our hats and mitts and stick our winter boots into the far back corner of our closet. We have lost patience with winter by the middle of March and want to trade our snow shovels for rakes.
Why do we act so surprised? This happens every year!
But it never comes soon enough.
Of course, while we complain, we forget our neighbors who live further north or closer to the Atlantic Ocean. They get to endure more wintery conditions much longer than we do here in Canada’s capital.
What do people in tropical countries talk about? “It’s hot. Again. Just like the past 365 days.” I bet no one is checking the wind chill report before going outside.
Often, we are disappointed when our expectations do not match our reality. It could be attending school, getting married, raising children, owning a home, starting a job, retiring, or any other circumstances life brings. If we have unrealistic notions of what those things will look like, we might be in for a letdown.
On the flip side, if we never had things to look forward to, we would live without hope for the future. And on our worst days, we could allow the greyness to swallow us and steal our joy.
One of the things I love about being a follower of Jesus is that I have a lot to look forward to. I especially like to read about our final destination in God’s Word. We get a little glimpse in Revelation 21:
I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, “Look, God’s home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”
Revelation 21:3-4
Note that it doesn’t mention no more snow or cold or shoveling… Yet, I can’t picture Heaven without palm trees and sunshine. Are those realistic expectations?
If you love winter, your picture of Heaven may look different.
Whatever our final home is like, with no death, sorrow, crying, or pain, I expect there will also be no complaining. Don’t quote me on this, but this leads me to conclude that there will be no SPRING in Heaven!
What is your favorite season? Does winter or early spring bring your energy level and demeanor down?
It might be time to start a gratitude journal. If our biggest complaints are about the weather, we have much to be grateful for.
I challenge you to write down 10 things you are thankful for. If you are a child of God, include “salvation” and “hope of eternity living with Him” on your list.
Father, forgive me for allowing simple things like the outdoor temperature to steal my joy. Remind me of all the blessings You have given me and the promises You made in the Bible. Thank You for offering me the opportunity to do life with You and giving me the expectation of a joy-filled eternity with You. Use my life to grow Your kingdom. Amen.
If you haven’t joined my mailing list, I encourage you to sign up below. I will send my TUESDAY TICKLE and FRIDAY FUNNY posts from Instagram directly to your inbox, as well as keep you up to date with my writing initiatives.
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If you live in Ottawa, email me at valda.goudie@gmail.com to order an autographed copy or purchase books at Indigo Orleans or Chapters Gloucester!
It may look different for everyone, but we all need to take a break occasionally.
As teachers, March Break is a much looked-forward-to week. Winters in Ontario can seem cold and long, and by the time March roars or baas in (lion or lamb?), we are fully prepared to lock the classroom door behind us and sprint out of the building.
Some of us head to tropical destinations where we enjoy beaches, palm trees, and all-inclusive pampering. Tired educators pack cruise ships and resorts, desiring to relax and delete the word “do” from their vocabulary unless it’s in sentences like, “Do read a book” or “Do put your feet up.”
Not all teachers have the financial comforts to head south for such luxurious accommodations. These colleagues may embrace spending more quality time with their families in ways they don’t have time for during the busy school year. They might lace up skates or put on skis to enjoy the activities winter allows.
This year, my husband and I chose to travel AND spend time with family. Rather than run away to burn under the hot sun nearer to the equator, we flew to another part of Canada, known for colder temperatures than our Ottawa home. Spending time with our son and his wife was a bigger priority than escaping winter.
The destination is not the point, though. It’s the break.
We are not built to go, go, go without rest and recharge. And that can be done anywhere, as long as we intentionally set our mind to do it.
So, I painted my nails in bright yellows and oranges, got a palm tree tattoo, and flew to “Winter-peg” (Winnipeg, Manitoba)! And on the first full day of our visit, we saw palm trees, flowers, butterflies, and even a lizard in a warm, humid biodome called The Leaf. Life is good!
When was the last time you took a break? What might that look like for you?
Wait, rest, relax, and breathe. Be fully present, using our five senses to experience life. When we do this, we are reminded that God is good! (Even when life sometimes takes sour turns.)
Father, You created us to balance our work with rest. Help me to follow Your instruction to take a weekly Sabbath and to make the most of these work breaks. Thank You for all the good things You have given us. You are so good! Amen.
If you haven’t joined my mailing list, I encourage you to sign up below. I will send my TUESDAY TICKLE and FRIDAY FUNNY posts from Instagram directly to your inbox, as well as keep you up to date with my writing initiatives.
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Hot water bubbled around us, and the jets massaged our backs as my friend and I sat in the hot tub, catching up. An upbeat tune on my Bluetooth speaker contributed to the beautiful haven of relaxation.
Midsentence, my friend’s face scrunched into a grimace as her arm shot up out of the tub. “Ugh!” she exclaimed, raising her hand to display the Catch of the Day.
A clump of long, black hair hung off her fingers, reminding us that condo amenities were shared with many others even when, at the moment, it seemed a private retreat. Fortunately, these two strawberry blonds didn’t let the discovery ruin our evening.
The following afternoon, my Bluetooth speaker kept me company again as I cleaned my son’s bathroom at his apartment. I think that’s what all mothers do while puppy-sitting, right?
I swept the small room and then vacuumed. Yet, every stroke of my washcloth left black puppy hairs on the white tile. My takeaway from this frustrating exercise was that shower tile perfection cannot be achieved with puppies in residence!
This is not the first time hair has been featured on Val’s Stage (See Sweet, Hairy Lies from January 2023). This speaks to my ongoing issues with hair. I’m not a fan.
I’m sure God had good reasons why He put hair in the places He did on our bodies. Yet, if He had consulted me, I might have presented some arguments. The only body hair I gladly embrace is eyebrow and eyelash hair. In fact, I intentionally supplement these areas by penciling in strands or adding extensions. Don’t get me started about my fine, soft head of hair. While I’m grateful for what I have and the enjoyment I get shocking people with my changing colors, I’d have picked out a flowing mane of waves if given the option to choose.
But it’s not the hair ON the body that I’m focusing on here. It’s the hair that falls off the body. Hair in the tub, in the sink, on the floor, stuck to cushions, in your food… My friend said it best: “Ugh!” Those single strands (or worse, clumps) ruin the purity of the place where they have landed. While those white tiles were clean and sparkly, a single dark hair spoiled the image of perfection I had longed for.
They are like sins. When God looks at my life, He sees a creature He made in His image. But He never sees perfection. While He provided salvation from my sin, I wander off sometimes like my son’s black-haired puppy, chasing something interesting. Each time I ask God to forgive me for my sin, He brushes those dark hairs from my life and makes me clean again. But, just like with puppies, perfection cannot be achieved with humans in residence!
When I finished cleaning that bathroom, I didn’t scold my sweet grandpuppy for shedding hair. I sat next to him, stroking that dark fur and showing my affection. God loves us with unconditional love that sees beyond our mess. He longs to clean us up and spend time with us, lavishing his affection on His children.
Aren’t you glad God doesn’t turn His back on us and the messes we sometimes create? The Master Mr. Clean waits for us to ask for His help to cleanse our hearts. And for a split second, He’ll get rid of every stray hair that mars our perfection.
Father, forgive me for the things I do, words I say, or thoughts I think that do not honor You. Each time I follow my own will instead of Yours, I become less pure. Cleanse my heart and draw me close to You. Thank You for loving me through my messes. Amen.
If you haven’t joined my mailing list, I encourage you to sign up below. I will send my TUESDAY TICKLE and FRIDAY FUNNY posts from Instagram directly to your inbox, as well as keep you up to date with my writing initiatives.
I also have a FREE gift for you when you sign up! Your welcome email will include a link to the PDF file of my e-book, Tickle Me with a Crowbar! It’s a 30-day illustrated joke book and devotional just for you.
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If you live in Ottawa, email me at valda.goudie@gmail.com to order an autographed copy or purchase books at Indigo Orleans or Chapters Gloucester!
Long before I was old enough to drive a car, I drove our family’s snowmobile, a decent Skidoo with ample speed and a seat that fit two. I loved the freedom, the speed, and the feeling of trust that came as my dad handed me the key. I even loved the smell of gasoline as I squeezed the throttle and heard the responding roar of the engine. Driving the Skidoo was one of the few benefits of the long winters we endured in rural Newfoundland. As much as I loved school (yes, I was one of those…), on afternoons when it was my turn to have the snowmobile, I couldn’t wait to hear that final bell.
On one such day when I was in the eighth grade, I rushed home and suited up with the appropriate riding gear: snowsuit, warm woolen socks inside winter boots, mittens that had a good grip, and a heavy helmet; just in case. I left our backyard and joined one of the trails which snaked through the trees, leading eventually to the more open spaces, where I would fly over ponds and feel that thrill of speed.
With my ears tucked inside the heavy helmet, I couldn’t hear much over the engine’s noise. It was important to be alert, depending solely on my sight for noticing other drivers on the trail. On the winding one-way track through the trees, this was especially important.
I hadn’t gone far from home that day when I zipped around a sharp turn to come face-to-face with another driver. His snowmobile was bigger and fancier than mine, and in my memory, he drove it like he owned the trail and would run over anything in his path. Skidoos are hard to run over, however, so when he rounded that corner, it wasn’t OVER he went, but THROUGH. His wide skis pierced my bonnet like a hot knife through butter. While I was unharmed, my stomach felt like that block of butter as I looked in horror at the front of our machines, which were now joined together, each engine still running, waiting to be directed. Shards of thick plastic littered the snow on the side of the track. I stared at them in horror before registering the angry words flowing out of the other rider’s helmet. He clearly felt I was at fault. The only fault, however, was in the timing. Leaving my house a few seconds earlier or later, squeezing the throttle a millimeter more or less, these were the only ways this collision could have been avoided. It was a blind turn, on a single track, with two machines going in opposite directions. The crash was inevitable.
Lucky for me, the other driver’s snowmobile had the capability of driving in reverse. When I needed to turn my Skidoo around, I had to get off and lift the back end in the necessary arc. With a flick of a button and a loud roar, he smoothly detached our machines by withdrawing his skis from my hood, causing more broken pieces to fall next to the path, each black fragment standing out in stark contrast on the white snow. Unlike a car crash, there was no exchange of names or insurance information. The man inspected the front of his snowmobile with mutters and curses, used that nifty reverse option to turn his machine around, and zipped away in the direction he had come from. He left thirteen-year-old me and my rapidly pounding heart standing next to my broken Skidoo.
I picked up all the pieces from the ground and threw them in the storage compartment under the seat. Afraid of staying in such a vulnerable parking spot for long, I lifted and dragged the back end until the machine was facing the way home and motored back, my speed reduced and my spirit broken.
My dad took it all in stride. When you trust a teenager with your snowmobile, you can’t be upset if she has an accident. Repairs to the bonnet were needed, but the damage was cosmetic; the motor still ran okay, and nothing else seemed to be affected.
In fact, my younger brother still took his turn after school the following day. After all, while it didn’t look pretty, the thrill of the ride hadn’t changed. I can’t remember, but can imagine, the look on Dad’s face when his son returned home to admit that he bumped into a telephone pole!
“At least the thing I ran into was moving!” I exclaimed.
The Skidoo’s adventures that week ended two days later when my dad, himself, went through the ice, and the crippled machine ended up in the river. Some weeks are like that.
Bumping into things is rarely ever on purpose or desirable. It’s not difficult to imagine that Jesus was likely bumped and jostled as He taught huge groups of people and made His way through the crowds. Like any celebrity, though, fans may have actually TRIED bumping into Him, desiring to touch the Messiah or His clothing, no matter how brief the contact.
For one such woman, touching Jesus was her last hope. An outcast for twelve long years, she’d almost forgotten what it felt like to touch someone. This poor woman was considered unclean, her uterus sending out a steady flow of blood for all that time. Ask any woman who’s had a period lasting more than seven days how fun that is! After spending her last penny on doctors and healers, she left her home that day, defying the ‘unclean’ restrictions that confined her there indefinitely, and set her feet on a path that led to Jesus. Many of her neighbors had seen His miracles and recounted the stories excitedly just outside her door. Did she dare hope? Was the slim chance of healing worth the shame and reproach she’d face by joining the crowd? Considering that tampons weren’t introduced for another 1900 years, I can understand the risk she took.
When she reached the throng of people vying to see the Messiah for themselves, her hope must have grown dim. They were two people in a crowd. How would she ever get His attention? But it wasn’t His attention she wanted. She just needed to touch Him. If this man was the Great Healer that everyone talked about, maybe reaching out her hand in faith—just a tiny, unnoticeable contact, was all that was required.
People likely bumped Jesus here and there: an elbow to the side—“Oops, sorry!” A toe stomped—”Oh, pardon me!” But bumping into Jesus didn’t heal anyone that we know of. This woman touched Him on purpose, believing that this act would heal her. Her FAITH in Jesus’ power to heal was necessary for results, not just the touch.
The happy ending to this story is that the woman was healed instantly with the act of reaching for the Healer, demonstrating her belief in God’s Son. And Jesus knew the instant it happened that the touch He felt was not an accidental bump. He didn’t let her slip quietly away without testifying of His healing power. When she verbally acknowledged what she had done and its miraculous outcome, Jesus touched her heart as well, saying:
“Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace.”
Luke 8:48
We can bump into Jesus by casually reading the Bible or going to church, whether online or in person. But, unless we reach out in faith and activate our spirituality, we will not see results, whether we look for healing or for Jesus to meet other needs. Calling ourselves Christians without real relationships with Him just won’t work. He desires our whole hearts, our trust, and our submission.
Reach out and touch Jesus with PURPOSE. Grab onto His robe and don’t let go until He looks at you and calls you Daughter (or Son). Accept His healing and His peace. That takes FAITH.
Do you have a relationship with Jesus or do you bump into Him occasionally when you have a need? God doesn’t dole out miracles like a fairy godmother. He wants to be your Father—your highest priority.
It’s often in our busiest seasons of life that we realize we’ve pushed Him off that place of honor. The good news is that He forgives us of our neglect if we ask Him. He will restore our communion and welcome us back into His arms. What a loving God He is!
Spend some time with Him today, and work on making that relationship your number one priority. He waits for you to invite Him in.
Lord, I want more than a shallow relationship with You. I intentionally reach out in faith and receive all that You have for me. Thank You for Your gift of salvation and Your promises to me as Your child. Every good and perfect thing comes from You. I claim healing in Your name. Amen.
Today’s post is one of my favorite devotionals from my third book which will be coming soon:
Tickle Me with a Crowbar 3! Your Morning Chuckle & Faith Challenge.
If you haven’t joined my mailing list, I encourage you to sign up below. I will send my TUESDAY TICKLE and FRIDAY FUNNY posts from Instagram directly to your inbox, as well as keep you up to date with my writing initiatives.
I also have a FREE gift for you when you sign up! Your welcome email will include a link to the PDF file of my e-book, Tickle Me with a Crowbar! It’s a 30-day illustrated joke book and devotional just for you.
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“I have bad news,” my friend announced on our weekend walk.
“Oh, no! What’s going on?” I held my breath as possibilities flashed through my mind.
“My landlord called, and I have to move.”
Relief was my first emotion. I’d heard too many acquaintances and family members share cancer diagnoses recently, and I silently thanked God for her health.
I listened quietly to her story and the plans she had made in the days between her phone call and her confession to me. She had time to process the news and had begun to take charge of the situation, planning her best response to a disappointing circumstance. When I applauded her acceptance and courage to move forward, she admitted to suffering through sleepless nights and anxiety-induced health consequences before taking the bull by the horns.
I didn’t have the same time to explore my emotions. So, after my initial response that the news could have been worse, I felt sadness. We’ve been friends for a long time, first having met over fifteen years ago when we taught at the same school. Teachers and mothers, we discovered we also both enjoyed brisk walks. And by “brisk,” I mean there were few people who could keep up with us as we pounded the sidewalk on our lunch breaks!
When I switched schools, our friendship changed. We only saw each other when our girlfriends got together for baby showers or cottage weekends. It was challenging to maintain a close relationship without daily interaction.
However, several years later, we became neighbors when my husband and I bought a condo in the building where my friend lived! We were excited to walk again and ride our bikes together, too.
During the pandemic, our bond strengthened even more. Every day, after finishing our school hours online, we walked and debriefed. It was nice to have a friend who lived a similar experience of teaching young children from a computer screen.
We still walk as often as we can, sharing our lives, always in constant chatter. Following this latest news bomb, we talk about continuing our regular treks, but will we?
Friendships often ebb and flow, evolving as our lives change. We become close for a while and then later drift apart. Our affection doesn’t usually diminish, but circumstances are the culprits that drive wedges between us. Busy lives or geographical distances prevent us from staying close.
I’ve always envied people who maintain friendships since childhood. My family moved every couple of years, so I learned to prevent my roots from going too deeply into the friendship soil. What was the point when I would leave again in what felt like a few months?
When I look back on my adult friendships, I see a rollercoaster social life in blocks of years where I was close to one individual at a time. These special friendships often occurred when one of us really needed the other; they were tied to traumatic life events. We sheltered in place together to survive those storms. Then, when the strong winds ended, the gentle breeze blew us in different directions—still friends, but friends from a distance.
The Bible mentions friendship often. I especially like that Jesus tells us in John 15:12-15 that He is our friend. When we accept Him into our hearts and show His love to others, we become besties with Jesus! This is an unbreakable bond unless we walk away and intentionally sabotage our intimacy.
While human friendships evolve and sometimes fade away, Jesus will remain.
Do you have a close friendship with Jesus? Unlike some human relationships, this Friend will love you unconditionally, and He will never break your confidence or stab you in the back. And as tight-knit as those childhood friendships can be, this relationship is more desirable.
Jesus said, “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13). And that’s what He did when He died on the cross for us. That’s the action of a committed friend!
What’s more, the supernatural nature of Jesus means that He can be best friends with each one of us!
Jesus, thank You for earthy friendships. It is a blessing to share our lives with others. I especially thank You for being my friend—one who is always loyal, sticks closer than a brother, and picks me up when I fall. I did nothing to earn Your devotion, but I gladly accept Your hand to walk this life together. Amen.
If you haven’t joined my mailing list, I encourage you to sign up below. I will send my TUESDAY TICKLE and FRIDAY FUNNY posts from Instagram directly to your inbox, as well as keep you up to date with my writing initiatives.
I also have a FREE gift for you when you sign up! Your welcome email will include a link to the PDF file of my e-book, Tickle Me with a Crowbar! It’s a 30-day illustrated joke book and devotional just for you.
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If you live in Ottawa, email me at valda.goudie@gmail.com to order an autographed copy or purchase books at Indigo Orleans or Chapters Gloucester!
“You show the green ball when he is doing well and the red ball when his behavior is unacceptable.”
I nodded and tried to seem interested, but my attention was not fully focused.
The young man had good intentions, and his ideas for helping the student in our class were ponderable, but he offered his suggestions on the last day of school before the Christmas Break.
My teaching partner and I smiled at each other in silent agreement. When our little friend returns after being home for two weeks would be the more appropriate time to introduce new approaches to improving his school behavior. It would be a fresh start for all of us.
We often approach January 1 with the idea of “a fresh start” in our minds. “I will eat better,” “I will exercise more,” or “I will give up a bad habit” are some of the resolutions made as the number changes on the calendar. It’s too bad our willpower and our lofty goals don’t become friends.
For many people, the start is strong, but they tire as the race continues. When they stumble, they lose stamina. When they fall, they don’t have the strength to get up. They feel like there’s no way to win the race anymore, so they might as well give up trying. Maybe next year will be a more successful fresh start.
I’m happy that God doesn’t see my failures as insurmountable hurdles like we seem to do. Lamentations 3:22-23 describe God’s mercy towards us:
EACH morning! His mercy extends to me with a fresh start every morning, not just at the beginning of a new year. So, when I stumble in my walk with Him and exhibit less-than-godly behavior, He waits with His arms open wide for me to go to Him to receive His love and forgiveness.
The start of this race began the day I began a relationship with the Heavenly Father: the day I asked Jesus to be my running partner in this life. Some days I might not feel fit enough to run, but that doesn’t mean I’ll give up. God’s mercy is fresh, and His strength is available if I ask for it.
All along the sides of the track, there is fresh water held out to me in the form of His Word (the Bible) and fellow believers who cheer me on with encouragement and prayers. I need to take advantage of these to stay focused and connected to the race. How easy it would be for my mind to wander, which could lead to a faltered step.
There’s nothing wrong with fresh starts, but journeys that end with failure because of lofty goals or a weak resolve often make us feel terrible about ourselves. At that point, we wish we’d never started the race.
Today, as we reflect on the year that has passed with gratitude and maybe some regrets, we turn our face toward tomorrow morning’s mercies—God’s mercies. Yes, eating healthier, exercising more, and chasing our dreams can be part of our race, but, ultimately, if our New Year’s resolution is a closer walk with God, those other things can be achieved through His strength. And when we do give in to our taste buds (when there are salt and vinegar chips served with a bowl of delectable chocolate-covered almonds), His mercies are new every morning, and we can start fresh again the next day. Our prayers in the grocery store might prevent a few of those treats from sneaking into our carts.
Let’s fall into step with the writer of Hebrews in our spiritual race:
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith. Because of the joy awaiting him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame. Now he is seated in the place of honor beside God’s throne. Think of all the hostility he endured from sinful people; then you won’t become weary and give up.
hebrews 12:1-3 (NLT)
Do you make New Year’s resolutions? Do you follow through with them? Don’t feel too bad if you don’t—you’ve got company. According to Happy Habits.com, only 9-12% of people make it through the year without dropping their resolve.
Why don’t you join me in asking God for a closer walk with Him in the new year? Then we will resolve to pray more, keeping our Father in the loop and asking for His advice and guidance in our decisions. We will create or cultivate daily habits of reading the Bible and learning more about Him. Attending a church where we will join other believers in praise and fellowship can finish the list of resolutions. When we care for ourselves spiritually, we may find our goals to improve our physical health are much easier to chase.
Tie up those runners and jump onto the track—the race with God as your running partner is the only one worth joining. Whatever hurdles you face this year, He will be there to hold your hand and keep you upright.
Wake up to a fresh start—not only on New Year’s Day but every morning after that!
Father, as I reflect on the past 365 days, I thank You for all Your blessings and small miracles. Thank You for Your love and faithfulness to me that provided mercy when I stumbled in my race and for the strength and courage You gave me to face my more challenging moments.
I invite You to join me in the race again this year—I don’t even want to know what trying to participate without You would feel like. With a fresh start every morning and You by my side, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me (Philippians 4:13)! Amen.
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I looked at the sleeping child I had carried in my body for nine months, now cradled in a manger. My breath caught with the realization that I beheld the face of God—that I had birthed the son of God!
When I touched his soft, warm cheek, he opened his eyes.
“Joseph,” I whispered. “He’s awake.”
“Does he have enough swaddling cloths, Mary? I found more in the back.”
“Yes. Come here, my love,” I called again.
When he was at my side, I slipped my fingers into his, weaving our hands together. “Stop fussing. He is fine. We are both fine.”
The crease hadn’t left the young man’s brow since the last innkeeper’s apologetic refusal.
“This wasn’t at all what I had planned. I’m so sorry, Mary. Maybe if we had left Nazareth sooner? I should have gone ahead to secure a room.” He bit his lip, a gesture I recognized as self-doubt.
His eyes filled with tears as he gazed at the child. “Are you sure he’s okay?”
I laughed. “Joseph, he is more than okay. He is perfect. This was God’s plan all along, and there was nothing you could have done to change it.”
I touched the cloth covering his tiny toes with my free hand. “Our little boy is wrapped up tight and cozy. Can’t you see how happy he is?”
The baby made a small mewing sound that made me laugh again. “Listen! He agrees!”
Joseph’s face finally relaxed then as he smiled.
“Look, Jesus, you just performed your first miracle!” I giggled. “You made your earthly daddy forget his troubles for a moment.”
A blush crept over Joseph’s face as he shook his head silently.
I rested my head on his shoulder. “You’re going to make a wonderful father, my love. I don’t know why God chose us to parent His son, but He did. As long as we put our trust in Him, we don’t need to worry because He will guide us. It’s incredible, but we are part of His perfect plan.”
I barely heard the words my husband whispered as he raised his head, but they formed a promise of trust and dedication to the Mighty One.
Jesus scrunched up his beautiful face at that moment and began to wail.
With the loud cry, uncertainty briefly flashed in Joseph’s eyes again.
“I got this one, Dad. The boy is hungry!” I laughed as I scooped the baby up to feed him.
But my brave words suggested more confidence than I felt. Even this small, motherly task was foreign to me. It was my turn to pray for guidance as I nestled the child’s face towards my chest. The one thing I did know for sure was that I would be communicating often with this child’s all-knowing Father.
Children don’t come with instruction manuals unless you count the sometimes-conflicting advice of your mother and mother-in-law. When new parents gaze at their infant for the first time, I doubt that any feel confident in their abilities to parent their little one. I can only imagine how the parents of twins or triplets must feel!
Not only was Jesus Mary’s first child, but he was also God’s Son, the expected Messiah! Now, that was a heavy responsibility. While the scenario above is fictional, I don’t think it’s a stretch to believe that Mary and Joseph were nervous about this undertaking.
As the mother of three grown boys, I sometimes reflect and question various parenting strategies I used while they were young. But it is what it is now. Without a time machine or some large magic stones at the entry of a time portal, I’m left with the one thing I can still do for my children that can positively impact their future: pray for them.
Just like the Mary in my retelling knew that she would need to consult God regularly during her child-rearing, I know I need to communicate with Him often about my sons, too. And then I have to trust God and believe that He’s got them in His hand.
Have you ever considered how daunting Mary’s role as the mother of Jesus was? I believe God purposely chose a young girl who would not feel confident in her position, so she would depend on Him more.
God has chosen you, too. His plan for you might involve a parenting role, or it may not. Either way, He extends His hand to you as your Father and invites you to share your life with Him. Bring Him your regrets and ask forgiveness for your sins. Then ask Him to use you to share His love with others.
Father, thank You for sending Jesus into this world in such a humble way. Thank You for choosing an ordinary woman to be the Messiah’s earthly mother, proving that You can use ordinary people like me to do big things for You. Guide me in my day-to-day tasks and show me how I can bless others this Christmas season. Amen.
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“Alexa, turn on Christmas!” I commanded, without a please or thank you.
The beautiful white lights on my Christmas tree and mantle lit up the darkness, resembling a magical fairy kingdom. Arriving home after sundown was worth the thrill of saying the special words and watching the results.
That was last year.
As I attempted to replicate this experience ten months later, the setup repeatedly failed, eating up hours of my day. My frustration grew more rapidly with the memories of previous successes and the ease of setup. And, no, recognizing this as the “first-world problem” it was, did not ease my irritation. The SMART outlets were not living up to their name as they forgot how to connect to the Wi-Fi.
I was willing to admit it might be a user error. What was I doing wrong? Since our undecorating last Christmas (a sad day of tree-mourning for me), two things had changed: our internet provider and my cellphone. The problem had to be linked to one or the other. Or I’d have to accept that I’d lost brain cells since last year.
I grumbled to anyone who would listen (my husband being the only other person in the condo) as I paused and resumed the project several times throughout the day. After all, life goes on, with or without twinkly Christmas lights.
The Wi-Fi in our condo was accessible and operational. The power to control the lights and make them bow to my commands was within my reach. I just had to connect the giver and the receiver.
Similarly, as believers, when we fail to connect with God (our power source), our lights refuse to work, too. The people around us do not see Jesus reflected in our words and actions. They might notice a grumbling, frustrated individual instead.
“Knowing Jesus doesn’t make her any different than me,” they might think.
While being a daughter of God doesn’t guarantee me a trouble-free life, it should influence how I respond to frustrations. I don’t have to deal with every challenge on my own. Yet, I often need reminders of this fact.
Before I went to bed, admitting technological defeat, the memory of our pastor’s encouraging words in church that morning flashed through my mind.
“Pray about EVERYTHING,” he said. “Every little thing. Don’t think that God doesn’t want to be bothered with the small things. He loves you, so He cares about all of your requests.”
In all of my troubleshooting, I did not consider prayer to be an approach to solving my problem.
“Forgive me for my impatience and grumbling today, Father. Please help me figure this out,” I prayed, connecting to my Power Source.
Within minutes, the lights were functioning on my demand.
Now, you can believe what you will about miracles and God taking the time to help me with such a relatively insignificant thing when the world is in turmoil, but all I know is, I spent all day trying to figure something out on my own, and when I asked God for His help, I finally solved the problem. The verse our pastor quoted was Philippians 4:6:
When you have a problem, it always feels better to vent to someone, even if it’s just to blow off steam. Why not vent to God instead? Pray about everything. Maybe, we won’t need to grumble and complain to anyone else. Our spiritual lights will continue to glow because God eases our malcontent.
Do you pray about everything? Do you believe God loves you enough to patiently listen to your problems? To care about the little things?
Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are?
Matthew 6:26
God takes the time to feed the birds. He’s got your back. Talk to Him.
Father, help me to make prayer such a regular habit that I make it my first go-to in times of struggle. I believe that You loved me enough to sacrifice Your son for me. So, I also accept that You care about the things that upset me. Guide me today in my words and actions. I love You and want to share every part of my life with You.
Amen.
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Aaron lay on the floor outside the classroom door, his face to the ceiling. All the other students had entered the room and were following the morning routines. Aaron had arrived seeking attention disguised as defiance.
I’d been around this block a time or two.
“Hey, Aaron!” Expecting a reprimand or an order, he was surprised by my next words. “Get up and tell me what you did yesterday when your dad picked you up from school.”
Aaron’s dad doesn’t pick him up every day, so when he does, it’s special.
The little boy forgot his defiant act, and his face brightened with a grin.
“We played Candyland!” he said, getting up and allowing me to help him slip off his shoes.
“Is that a game on the iPad or a board game?” I asked, effortlessly guiding him through the classroom door.
“It’s a board game!”
I close the door behind him, happy to have all my little chicks inside the coop. A battle of wills would have set a much different tone for the day.
The power of distraction can be an effective strategy in the Kindergarten classroom and beneficial in our own lives, too.
Sometimes we live in challenging circumstances that hold us in their grasp and threaten to choke us. We can’t see past our bubble of pain, and dark thoughts hold us captive. A distraction may not change our circumstances, but it could help us rediscover the joy of the Lord. In a secular sense, even continuing to go to work can give us something new to focus on.
Do you know the best way to redirect your attention away from your own plight? Serve others. Ask a church leader if they could use some help behind the scenes in one of their programs. Serve in a soup kitchen or food bank. Look for ways to improve someone else’s day, and it will likely brighten yours at the same time.
When God invites you to hand over your worries to Him, He doesn’t mean for you to continue focusing on the darkness. While that is a very understandable and human thing to do, it communicates a lack of trust that God’s got you covered.
My good friend Carolyn Cheer wrote a book called Do You Believe I Am God or Not? Anchoring our Hope in God’s Promises. (Check it out on Amazon!) While the question calls us out, the subtitle gives us the answer we need to have confidence in our heavenly Father. If we truly believe in a mighty God who created the universe and shows His love to humanity by saving, healing, and guiding us, it’s not a big stretch to think that He cares about our situation. We can anchor our hope in His promises.
In John 16:33, Jesus said to His disciples (and to us):
Jesus has overcome the world. God the Father reigns. He’s got you.
Of course, distraction can sidetrack us sometimes, too. In school, my students can be distracted during our whole group learning times by their peers, a toy, a stomach ache, or a daydream.
You may not have a strenuous situation that occupies your thoughts today. You may be on the other side of the fence where distraction prevents you from having a close relationship with God. Read the following list with your full attention, and note the things that might get too much of your focus.
Distractions might include:
Success Appearance Perfection Health Relationships Homes Comfort Social Media Busyness Entertainment
Without expanding on this list, I think you can see how the pursuit of any of these things can easily shift your focus off God’s will for your life as your priorities shift. In moderation, none of these things are sinful. But when one replaces God as a priority, you move into dangerous territory.
When He made the commandment about not having other gods, the big G God wasn’t necessarily talking about statues or mythical beings. He more likely referred to anything that replaces Him in our lives. What is your go-to after a hard day? Who do you speak to when you have a decision to make? Where do you go first to share good news?
The lyrics of a song we used to sing in Sunday School were an acronym for “joy.” The simple statements are also a perfect summary of the Bible and the Gospel:
J-O-Y This is what it means: Jesus first, Yourself last, and Others in between.
We need constant reminders because our natural inclination is to focus on ourselves with our emotions and desire for comfort. Doesn’t joy sound like a great distraction, though?!
Jesus replied, “‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. A second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ The entire law and all the demands of the prophets are based on these two commandments.”
matthew 22:37-40 NLT
Do you need more distraction in your life by serving others or less distraction by leaning closer to God?
Either way, these verses are a great life principle. What will be your first step toward JOY?
Jesus. Others. Yourself. JOY.
Father, forgive me for often putting other things before my relationship with you. I’m setting you back up as my Number One Priority. When I go through hardships that give me tunnel vision, help me to get out there and help others so your light still shines through me and I experience your joy despite my circumstances. Thank You for the opportunity to choose JOY when I need comfort. Thank You for loving me with such a big love! Amen
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I sat for a long time today with my cursor flashing, the page before me empty. A glimpse from the white screen toward the window revealed a sudden contrast of color. It’s my favorite time of year for a stunning view of autumn, well worth the chill to step out onto the balcony to take another photo to add to the collection. I dream of someday enjoying the view from a balcony in Mexico, but I will never see a similar glorious landscape of nature in transition from there.
I’ve taken the photo on sunny days, in the rain, in the early dawn with the sunrise’s red glow, and after dark when the landscape is peppered with streetlights. Each photo is different, even though I’ve not used a filter or adjusted any settings. The lens through which I view the colored leaves depends on the time of day and the weather conditions. Sometimes the leaves look brighter than others.
Since the photos were taken within a few days, the leaves themselves have not changed much. They cling to branches with a hold that is slowly slipping, but for now, they display their fall wardrobe in this spectacular fashion show.
Life is colorful, too. I am grateful for all the things that make life worth living, and the autumn view is only a tiny part of that list. Family, friends, delicious food, music, good books, fun movies, pets, travel, sports, poolside moments, babies, nice shoes, air conditioning and heating as required, comfortable mattresses, ottomans, and a relationship with Jesus are a few of life’s perks. Your list might look different, but everyone can make one, even if some parts of your life are less colorful because of the shadows.
My recent writing has focused on the pain of loss, and I hoped to move out of that dark shadow to view the vibrant colors again. And then, this morning, the phone rang.
A friend called to tell me she had received horrific news. Test results following a doctor’s visit for leg pain revealed the worst. She has stage four cancer with tumors too numerous to treat by operation. The treatments they suggest for her have extended the lives of other patients up to six years. She now has a concrete deadline for her life.
“I will live out the rest of my life with cancer,” she said. “It will be cancer that kills me.” My heart broke for her.
With this news, my friend could view her colorful life through a lens of anger or grief that would darken the vibrancy of her final years. Or she could fight to put on the lens of gratefulness that the cancer has been found and the treatments promised will give her a fairly normal life for the next few years.
“I’m not ready to go yet. My grandchildren and children need me. My husband needs me. I’m going to fight this and have the best life I can.”
I cheered her on for her courage and promised to pray for her, recognizing she will need prayers during the darker days that will come.
Our lives are all finite, and we know this. Yet, sometimes we live like we don’t. We allow emotions to cloud our vision and dull the colors in our lives.
What would you do differently if you knew you only had six more years to live? What would you change? When you’ve answered that question, consider why you haven’t done that already.
We don’t know the day or hour we might leave this earth. It may not be a disease that slowly takes us. It might be an accident or a natural disaster that takes us in a flash. What would living each day like it’s your last look like for you? Would you more visibly express your love for others? Would you spend more time doing things you enjoy? Would you savor moments? Would you be adventurous and try new things? Would you prepare for your afterlife by inviting God to be a bigger part of your life?
Death isn’t something we like to think about. As those leaves prepare to fall and die on the ground, they make a vibrant display of God’s glory. Don’t you think we should, too?
Before we look Death in the face, let’s live our lives in their fullest colorful experience, allowing God’s love to shine through us. When we have Jesus in our hearts, we know that life here on earth is just the beginning.
Our earthly bodies are planted in the ground when we die, but they will be raised to live forever. Our bodies are buried in brokenness, but they will be raised in glory. They are buried in weakness, but they will be raised in strength. They are buried as natural human bodies, but they will be raised as spiritual bodies. For just as there are natural bodies, there are also spiritual bodies.
1 Corinthians 15:42b-44
While we don’t look forward to death, as believers, we don’t have to fear it. Jesus has given us victory over the grave. Our new and improved life will begin. Until then, we’ll appreciate the colorful one we have.
As you consider your responses to the questions above, are there things you could do now to make your life more colorful before getting a doctor’s terminal prognosis?
Have you asked Jesus to be your Savior? Not only does this give you hope for your future, but He will give you the right lens to see the colors in your dark days. He is Comfort. He is Strength. You don’t have to face the shadows alone.
Father, I pray for those who have been told their deaths will come sooner than they thought. Give them the courage to live colorful lives that include You in the center. Help me to appreciate the colors that surround me and live in gratitude for a vibrant life. Since I don’t know how many days or years I have left, I want to live my best for You, loving and serving those around me. May I be a vibrant display of Your glory. Amen.
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The wind barreled in from the ocean and ripped through the trees, looking for loose roof tiles or edges of siding on the little house. The family home had stood firmly on its legged foundation overlooking the bay for several generations. It witnessed births, parties, quiet dinners, and wakes for loved ones taken too soon. Its walls had thickened over the years due to layers of cheery wallpaper replaced every twenty years or so, covering the fingerprints and crayon drawings of the little ones once they had grown. The noisy creak in the second stair and the loose handrailing had never been repaired, but all the inhabitants knew where to place their foot and avoid leaning. Sliding down the banister had long been forbidden.
Another gust drove a branch of the one tree strong enough to grow this close to shore through the kitchen window, shattering the glass. Shards covered the countertop and filled the sink where cooks and dishwashers had stood each night at 5:28 to clean up from supper. Through that window, they had viewed magical sunsets and spied fishermen’s long liners and speedboats, crisscrossing the harbor and heading for the watery horizon. That window always needed cleaning as the view often blurred with the ocean spray’s salty residue.
No one heard the glass shatter. No one saw the jagged pieces litter the room, normally the busiest space in the house. The noisy inhabitants, known for their welcoming kitchen parties, had fled with their most prized possessions and photo albums, leaving the little house to stand alone to face the storm. One-eye blind, it wasn’t doing well.
On the other side of the broken pane, the surf, which already licked the bottom of the house, grew and reached higher with each pounding wave. While the hardy structure had faced many storms and bravely stood its ground, this time, the shore to which it gripped was rapidly disappearing beneath the roiling water.
Within an hour, the little house would be washed out to sea, floating for mere seconds as it attempted to keep its head above water. The remaining windows would shatter, allowing the water to pour in. As the angry ocean flooded the rooms, it would pull the house to the rocky bottom, where it would valiantly make one final attempt to fight by anchoring close to the shore.
2 Corinthians 4:18 says:
There’s a lot of trouble to focus on. These latest hurricanes destroyed numerous homes like the one described in the above scenario. Many fishermen lost their stages and boats, the tools of their livelihood. Some lost their lives.
A natural disaster can wipe out all of our earthly treasures in an instant. But Jesus tells us:
Don’t store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them, and where thieves break in and steal. Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal. Wherever your treasure is, there the desires of your heart will also be.
Matthew 6:19-21 NLT
It’s heartbreaking to see people lose their homes and possessions. Yet, these verses remind us that these things are temporary; they are earthly treasures. As we continue reading Matthew 6, we realize that God doesn’t want us to worry about our needs such as food, clothing, and shelter. He promises to take care of us. To claim that promise, we just need to invite Him in as the Lord of our lives and trust that He will do what He says.
As our friends and families rebuild in the aftermath of these violent storms, God’s promises will be fulfilled if they ask Him for support. He works things out for good for those who trust Him (Romans 8:28). And while we rebuild shelters to live in here on earth, God is building a home for us in Heaven. His Word guarantees there will be no moths, rust, or thieves to worry about. I’m guessing that hurricanes might be on Heaven’s no-worry list as well. Our eternal home will be just that. ETERNAL.
You may be suffering from loss too: A marriage, a job, the life of a loved one, your health, or even your home. I encourage you to invite Jesus into your heart and your situation. He sees you and knows what you need. Ask Him for help and then trust Him to fulfill His promise. As believers, while we experience the pain of loss that these situations bring, we can look to the future with hope because we know God loves us and will get us through.
My good friend Carolyn Cheer wrote a 21-day devotional entitled Do You Believe I am God or Not? Anchoring Your Hope in God’s Promises. If you need encouragement after facing loss, I highly recommend you read it.
God, You are my refuge and my strength, an ever-present help in times of trouble (Psalm 46:1). When the wind blows and the waters rise, leaving destruction in their wake, You are still in control. When my emotions would demand to know why this happened to me, help my spirit to ask about Your purposes instead. Use this situation to draw me closer to You. Thank You for being there to comfort me as I mourn my loss and for the strength to lean on You with trust and praise. Thank You for giving me hope. You haven’t failed me in the past, and You won’t fail me now. Amen.
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Have you ever stood in front of your closet and uttered this horrific lie: “I have nothing to wear!”? It usually comes out in a sing-songy whine.
Yet, unless you walked around naked yesterday, you have something to wear. They might be dirty or smelly, but you have clothes.
“But someone might notice I’m wearing the same thing I wore last Friday.”
Really? I worked with my teaching partner for almost four years before I realized she wore black pants and a black top to school every day. One of our more observant students asked her why she wore the same clothes each day. In response, she told the child that she has a shelf of “work clothes.” She has five outfits, all black, to choose from in the mornings before school. The complaint, “I have nothing to wear” has never passed over her lips.
In my defense for not noticing, I’d like to point out that she accessorizes her outfits. She throws on a flashy scarf, a colorful cardigan, or a bulky necklace and hair tie to break up the monotony of the black. Therefore, I didn’t recognize the five-day pattern.
I think I can speak for the average middle to upper-class Canadian woman when I say that we have more clothes than we need. There are only seven days in a week, but our closets are bursting at the seams. If we wore each item only once, it would take months to get through it all. Why do we need so much?
We seem to value variety. What stops us from having a seven-day wardrobe for each season with something fancy for special occasions and something to exercise in? We’d have much more space in our homes! Don’t get me started on shoes… Considering that we were naked when we arrived in this world, and we’ll leave naked when our spirits rise from our bodies, why do we need so much?
I’m feeling a little guilty today about my bending closet bars and heavy dresser drawers when many people struggle to make ends meet. I was lucky enough to be born into a family that lived comfortably, although not excessively, and I had opportunities for education and a successful career. Not everyone had the same start.
In 1 Timothy 6:6-8, Paul tells us if we have enough food and clothing, we should be content. He didn’t point out how easy it is to be content when we have more than we need.
I can still fall short of representing God well if I don’t look past my own contentment to see the needy people around me. Do you ever feel this way?
Jesus said it is more difficult for rich people to enter Heaven (Matthew 19:23). What makes a person rich, though? Is there a monetary value that defines “the rich?” Maybe, having more than seven seasonal outfits is the necessary qualifier…
There is also the danger of feeling so content that we don’t recognize our need for God. I think that is part of what Jesus was talking about. Who prays more—the Christian family who struggles to meet their basic needs or the one who needs nothing? In most cases, I’d suggest the needier mom would spend more time on her knees asking God for help.
Jesus tested the rich man’s desire to follow Him:
Is that what we are meant to do: sell everything and help the poor? Is that the condition we must meet to inherit eternal life in Heaven?
When I face spiritual questions such as these, I go back to the two commandments that Jesus highlighted for an expert in religious law: love God with your whole heart, and love your neighbor as yourself (Matthew 22:37-39). While I don’t think He meant I should sell all my worldly possessions, I do think He meant that I should be kind, generous, and loving at every opportunity. And sometimes that will mean creating opportunities and going out of my way to treat others, not only how I’d like to be treated, but how Jesus would have treated them. And that could, in fact, result in giving some of my excess clothing to someone who needs it.
Do you ever feel bad about having more than you need? How do you respond when you feel that way?
Open my eyes, Lord, and help me to see what people need from me. Let me be your hands and feet in this world. Amen.
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I stood with hundreds of sky watchers, balancing on my toes to get the best view. Bursts of red, green, blue, and white exploded over the river in kaleidoscope patterns, even some remarkable heart shapes I’d never witnessed before. No one appeared bored since all eyes were locked on the sky for a show that went on for an impressive duration. Some viewers were even taking photos or videos to capture the moments to enjoy again later or share with friends. Yet, the only sounds were the loud cracks, pops, and sizzles of the fireworks. The crowd was surprisingly silent as they watched this stunning display of light.
Then, in the last minute of a 25-minute show, as the grand finale lit up the whole downtown area with multiple fireworks exploding simultaneously in a lavishly expensive spectacle, voice boxes unlocked. I finally heard some Oooohs and Aaaaaaws. Awakening from their mesmerized stupor, the crowd began to cheer as the last few cracks and pops concluded their shattering of the calm night. Applause joined the verbal praise as the show ended, leaving trails of smoke where color had been.
As someone who doesn’t attend firework displays often, I enjoyed the 25 minutes from beginning to end. However, the finale I had just witnessed was the sixth similar show offered in our city in the past few weeks. I don’t know how many people in the crowd had been there one or more of the other nights. Maybe they were less impressed with the lead-up fireworks than I was. Was that what kept them silent for 24 minutes? The beauty of the colorful designs might have been old hat to them.
“We’ve been there already—seen it before. It takes more to impress us now,” I imagine them saying. “Now, that last minute? That was amazing!”
I wonder if we’ve done that with our image of God. Have we become so accustomed to the miracles around us that we fail to be impressed unless we see something spectacular?
The stars twinkled in the sky last night before and after the fireworks. They hung there without human assistance, putting on their own light display. Yet, did we look up and recognize them as God’s miracles? What about the moon? The sun? The trees and flowers? The birds? The people turning and retracing their steps back to their homes?
We see miracles every day. They are all around us! Yet, sometimes we wait for that extraordinary display—the stunning sunrise, the autumn leaves, or the frost patterns on our window—before we acknowledge God’s miracles. And even then, we might forget to speak up and praise Him for them.
I love that my local church encourages making noise to God. The first half of our service is called Worship Time. We sing and clap our hands; we sometimes pray aloud, shout, or dance. My friends and family will tell you I can be loud, so this suits me well!
But it’s not noise that is necessary for worship. It’s engagement. I can go to church every Sunday, sing the songs, and clap my hands to the beat without acknowledging God at all! I can also leave the service unchanged when I could have experienced something more.
I’m sure many fireworks watchers silently applauded the team who put the show together last night. They were in awe of the display but saw no need to verbalize their appreciation. We can praise God quietly, too, with no outward exhibition of worship. God sees our hearts and loves our adoration no matter how we package it. The sound volume is irrelevant, but the participation level is essential.
What kind of worship do you prefer? Are you quiet as you speak to God in your mind? Do you like to make a joyful noise? Most of us likely do both, depending on where we are.
What pops into your mind when I ask if you’ve seen a miracle? Look around, and add more of God’s amazing works or gifts to your miracle list. Take a moment to worship and thank Him for those miracles.
What a mighty God we serve!
Thank You, Father, for all the miracles I see around me: Your creations, Your gifts, and Your hand on my life. Forgive me for sometimes taking many of them for granted.
I praise You and thank You for loving me. You are awesome, God.
I pledge my loyalty to You.
Amen.
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I can’t say if the scream came first or the pounding heart, but they both seemed to have happened simultaneously. And with the bloodcurdling screech, I threw my body into reverse, despite my previous rapid forward motion. Had I been in my car, I’d have destroyed my transmission.
My walking partner jammed on her brakes in ignorant response to my behavior but quickly saw what had set me off. A small garter snake completed its slithery journey across our path, its tail disappearing into the long grass. I use the word “small” to describe it from her perspective. To me, it was A SNAKE! Stretched out, it was likely a foot and a half long and less than an inch in diameter, but it was A SNAKE! And I had almost stepped on it.
My heart raced for the next few seconds as if I had come face to face with a grizzly bear.
My friend admitted to a similar heart rate pattern in her own chest, but hers was more of a startled response, evidenced by her choice of expletive and her eye roll. She might have believed my scream was an over-the-top reaction to a harmless grass snake.
In an attempt to defend my behavior, I shared some pertinent information. “Did you know that there are poisonous snakes in Ontario?” I began. “Did you know there are even rattlesnakes in Ontario?”
“What? No,” she admitted.
We did an inquiry in my Kindergarten class on snakes this spring, and I learned just enough to make my mild fear of snakes transform into a full-on phobia: ophidiophobia, to be exact. She didn’t thank me for sharing my well-researched knowledge.
I believe her reply included the phrase, “Ignorance is bliss.”
According to Merriam Webster, a phobia is “an exaggerated usually inexplicable and illogical fear of a particular object, class of objects, or situation.” In my case, my phobias include snakes, height, and, to some extent, water. A survey of my entire friend group would likely discover that I am one of the few to experience these fears. (Although, I will credit my teaching partner for contributing to my ophidiophobia since hers was a well-known fact before we began our in-depth study of snakes with our class.)
Isn’t it strange how some of us have these fears and others don’t? The four- and five-year-olds in our class teased my partner mercilessly for being afraid of snakes. They often drew pictures of snakes to give her as presents. She was probably tempted to turn off all the lights during the next thunderstorm as revenge. Take that, you little imps! But her warm smile never faltered—except when she exaggerated her fearful response to their gifts.
According to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th edition (DSM-5), there are five general categories of phobias*:
• fears related to animals (spiders, dogs, insects, snakes) • fears related to the natural environment (heights, thunder, darkness) • fears related to blood, injury, or medical issues (injections, broken bones, falls) • fears related to specific situations (flying, riding an elevator, driving) • other (fear of choking, loud noises, drowning)
See? I’m not so special after all. There are enough fearful people in the world to warrant a list!
The question is, why do we have irrational fears at all? When we compare the size of a human adult to a spider, an insect, or a garter snake, we recognize that the human’s chances of winning a fight are high (except where poison or a weak heart are involved).
A Promise of Freedom from Fear
None of these fears are insurmountable when we trust in God’s promises. Our Father sits in His lifeguard station, watching everything, listening for cries for help from His children. King David admits to asking for assistance in Psalm 34:4:
What does that kind of freedom look like? At our request, He lifts the weight of our worry and anxiety and fills us with His peace. But, as long as we continue facing the scary ocean alone, claiming to be good swimmers in the stormy waves, our chances increase that a riptide will pull us under or a shark will attack. While our Lifeguard is there to protect us, He’s not going to run into the water to save us unless we call out to say we’re in trouble—that we need Him.
Jesus gives that invitation in the New Testament too. He promises freedom for His followers.
He offers freedom, comfort, hope, and strength. We just have to believe it and receive it. I once noticed a wall plaque that caught my attention:
Worry is a conversation you have with yourself about things you cannot change. Prayer is a conversation you have with God about things He can change.
(Author unknown)
When we voice a prayer for freedom from fears and phobias, we trust He will take care of all the “things” that scare us. He says to his children:
The writer of Ecclesiastes also gives us the following sound advice:
How do we “enjoy” our life when we live in fear? We can’t. We have to learn to trust God and believe:
He’s. Got. This.
What are you afraid of? Do you have any secret (or well-known) phobias? Have you tried releasing them to God and allowing Him to fill you with peace instead?
We have a nasty habit of falling back on our self-reliance when things are going well, and we reclaim our baggage from God. What we need to do, is give our anxieties to Him and leave them with Him. Determine to do that with your fears today.
I am placing my fear of snakes in His hands—I will walk that same snake-friendly trail another day. I gave Him my fear of heights when we moved into our 21st-floor condo, and I have many photos of vacations where I faced my fear of water to go snorkeling. I’m determined to enjoy my life, and when my heart begins to race again from an old fear, I’ll repeat these three words again:
He’s. Got. This.
Dear Father, not only are You bigger than my phobias, You are greater than any fears I could face. I put my trust in You and trade my fear for courage. In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, O Lord, will keep me safe. (Psalm 4:8)
Thank You for loving me and protecting me.
Amen.
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Five-year-old Olivia, dressed in stylish capris and a frilly maiden blouse, roars at her classmate as he runs past. Olivia makes an impressive dragon when she plays in the Kindergarten yard. One can almost see the leathery wings on her back. Yet, when she returns to the classroom, she can tuck those wings away and speak her first language (English) to her teacher.
Liam is a White Tiger. His fingers are curled, talons out when he approaches me. His face is scrunched, forehead wrinkled, nostrils flared, and he, too, communicates with a terrifying roar. He bounds through the jungle on four legs, claiming the territory as his own. When I call for him to line up at the end of our playtime, he adjusts quickly to his upright two-legged walking position and follows the line inside. Human speech is restored, and the tiger persona is left in the sandbox.
During indoor playtime, dog and cat play is a common theme. These characters appear every year with each new group of Kindergarten students. We have no reason to discourage their imaginative play, except when they create a leash around Puppy’s neck with our plastic chains—safe play is a priority. Again, when Clean-Up Time begins, the children transform back into humans and help tidy the room.
As teachers, we encourage imaginative play. We help them tape their paper tails to their backsides or their wings to their shoulder blades. The ability to put themselves in the body of an animal, a fairy, or a superhero demonstrates healthy brain development. Being able to return to their human bodies when playtime is over is assumed natural behavior. Imagine the challenge of meeting the needs of the dragon, tiger, cat, dog, fairy, mermaid, unicorn, and Spiderman as I try to teach them more human skills. Each would have unique challenges holding a pencil to draw or write or learning a new language!
Let’s go there for a magic minute. If Noah comes to school believing he is a dog, I might have to give him doggy treats for good behavior and provide a fire hydrant for his washroom needs (hoping he will do number TWO at home). For Maya, the cat, I may have to install a scratching post in the corner and add a box of kitty litter in the washroom (again, really hoping the bowel movements are done outside of school hours). Ryan, the fish, will need his desk to sit in a swimming pool. I will have to keep the cat out of the fish’s space and keep an eye on the dog when he’s near the cat. And I may have to research what dragons require… If this were to happen, I would self-identify as a river boulder and sit at the back of the room all day, watching my little creatures do their thing!
As farfetched as this may sound, this may not be so distant from our school’s doorstep. A teacher from one of our Canadian provinces recently introduced me to the newest self-identification category: FURRIES.
A child wakes up one day and decides she does not feel human. She believes she exhibits many behaviors that are more feline in nature. Therefore, she must be a cat! She begins crawling around the house on all fours, even though she has walked upright for years. She responds to her family with meows and purrs, leaving her ability to communicate in the side of her brain she’s now refusing to use. While potty-trained at two, she now begins to pee and poop on the floor. She licks her arms and claws at the furniture. Attempts to discipline her result in long scratches on her parents’ arms.
What can they do but agree that she must be a cat? They introduce a litter box to their home and suggest that her school do the same. And, in the vein of meeting everyone’s needs, the school purchases a litter box for the nongender washroom. Her teachers provide time for catnaps and try their best to interpret her meows.
If you’ve not heard of this before, your mouth is likely hanging open and your eyes, widening. This is happening in our world. Children are self-identifying as animals, and, as we scramble to accommodate them, we have labeled them “Furries.” I am not commenting on gender self-identification and the accompanying pronouns which our society works to normalize, but, you have to agree, Furries should not be a thing. My word processor underlines the word in red because it is not found in the software’s dictionary.
Let’s go back to the beginning. The first chapter of Genesis recounts that God created the heavens and the earth. There wasn’t much around before that: merely darkness and deep waters (verse 2). Skipping ahead to the fifth day of creation, God made sea creatures and birds (20-22), followed by the sixth day when He created every kind of animal (24-25). But after the animals, He created humans “in His own image” (27). God then gave these humans the authority to reign over His other creations: the fish, the birds, and all the animals (28). God did NOT create Furries.
So, why do we have litter boxes in some of our modern, “progressive” schools? How far do we go to avoid being accused of discrimination?
As adults, we should be able to explain to a young child that unless one or both of her parents were animals, she cannot possibly be an animal. Case closed. You can pretend to be a cat all day on the weekend at home, but when you go out in public, the expectation is that you behave like a human. Because you are human.
Our society needs prayer.
Jeremiah 17:9 says:
The human heart is the most deceitful of all things, and desperately wicked. Who really knows how bad it is?
Yet, it’s not the child’s heart that I pray for. When young, immature children make life-changing decisions such as identifying as an animal, the responsibility for discouraging or enabling this train of thought lies with the adults in their lives.
Let’s pray for parents. Let’s pray for leaders in our churches and in our governments. Let’s pray for our children.
Let’s pray.
What would you do if your child told you he was self-identifying as an animal? How would you respond if a friend shared that their son or daughter has become a furry?
Are there other things going on around us that make you shake your head in wonder? As you think about them, pray for the people involved. Every individual on our planet is a soul loved by God.
Our society needs your prayers.
Father, sometimes the state of people’s hearts and their resulting behavior must remind You of the individuals in the days of Noah or those from the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah before You destroyed them. I pray for our leaders that they might wake up and see how far our society has drifted from God. Draw them into Your loving embrace, and show them Your mercy. Give the adults who hold earthy power WISDOM that they might make decisions based on Your Word. I pray that the men and women in my country will recognize that the answer to their worries and pain cannot be found outside of You. Bring them into Your embrace. You are a God of miracles. Turn our society around, one heart at a time. Thank You for Your love and grace. Amen.
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Big clumps of hair fell from my head to the floor. It was too late to turn back now.
I’d been thinking of making a dramatic change to my hairstyle for two weeks before my appointment. After recent travel to hot, humid places with ocean breezes and a spring heatwave of our own, I’d become increasingly frustrated with my fine, limp hair. The two best options for such conditions seem to be longer hair swooped back into a ponytail or a short sassy style that just doesn’t care. Not only does my hair grow at the speed of molasses flowing uphill, my ponytails always require bobby pins to tuck in the shorter, broken hair on the sides and top. So, I considered option two and did some Google image research.
Of course, the hairstyles I liked the most were attached to the heads of gorgeous models much younger than myself, and I’d like to think they were Photoshopped just a bit. Could I pull that off? Was my hairdresser experienced enough to produce a similar look? I downloaded a couple apps on my phone which claimed to add a variety of hairstyles to a photo of my face: a great idea but a waste of time. I’m sure good ones have been created, but I failed to find one.
Allowing my stylist to use the scissors on my hair with such gusto took courage. I had to take a leap of faith that this would look okay. But there was no guarantee that it would. I was taking a risk with my appearance that involved trusting someone to give me a haircut that I could live with. If it didn’t work out, at least I had a healthy hat collection.
The good news is that I’ve had my new hairstyle for four days and I think I like it. Short hair is easier to manage, and it feels light and airy. Freedom was a byproduct of this choice. The wind will never blow hair into my face again, and the time it takes to get ready for work has decreased. I feel free from the shackles of trying to tame my hair since this style looks better messed up. Post-haircut, I am happy that I went through with my plan.
In the grand scheme of things, haircuts are not the most significant of our life choices. Hair grows (some faster than others!) and can be spruced up with accessories or color changes, or it can be covered with a hat. I did not feel the need to pray about this decision, to ask God’s will for my hair. But there are many crossroads in our lives where one path seems riskier than the other, decisions that require courage and trust. Those are the moments as we weigh the pros and cons where we stop to pray. According to Jeremiah 29:11, God has a plan for each of us.
If I’m going to trust anyone to plan my life, it would be my Heavenly Father. Unlike me, He knows what the future will bring and how to prepare me for it.
Isn’t it fantastic that the Master Creator who placed the stars in the sky loves us and cares about every aspect of our lives? I quote this verse often on Val’s Stage because it’s one of my favorite promises:
When we know He has a plan and purpose for us, it is easier to trust God and surrender our will to Him. When we stand at that fork in the road, He will show us which choice to make—if we ask Him to. That requires courage and trust, and it also brings freedom. Allowing God to lead us takes the pressure off us for making the wrong choice. Instead, we move forward in faith that our Father knows best, and He will work things out according to His plan.
Have you surrendered your life to God? Facing all life’s choices without Him is risky. You can’t see the future. You don’t know what lies at the end of each path. How do you know which one to take?
God loves you, and He wants to lead you according to His plan. If you haven’t accepted Him into your heart, He waits for your invitation to have a personal relationship with Him. Revelation 3:20 assures us of this.
Why would you ever want to do life alone? Unlike a hairstyle choice, this is one decision you will never regret making.
Father, thank You for all of the blessings You have given me. Thank You for loving me enough to have a good plan for my life. I surrender my will to You and give You control. When I face decisions, show me which path You want me to take and help me follow it in obedience, trusting that You know what is best for me. Forgive me for the times I’ve forged ahead and left You out of decisions. Cleanse my heart as I repent of my sins and make space for You. I choose You, acknowledging that Your way is better than mine. Amen.
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I stared at the cloak in my hand, the male scent of its owner still fresh in its weave, and I trembled with the myriad of emotions roiling through my body. Remembering the nosy servants, I straightened my back and pulled my own robe tighter over my chest.
The desire of my flesh had fled while I held fast to his garments. Who was he to say no to me? He is a servant in our house, an Israelite. My husband had given him all of his authoritative power and confidence. Where would he be without Potiphar’s love and trust? Nowhere. He’d be a servant in someone else’s house, tempting someone else’s wife.
Potiphar never stopped talking about Joseph, how efficient and organized he was. He hadn’t been with us long before my husband turned over the reins of his business to the man. Joseph had a lucky aura about him that made people trip over themselves to elevate his status, to reward his loyalty. Maybe it was his Hebrew God blessing him, as he constantly claimed.
Having so much responsibility in our household, Joseph was always on our doorstep. He had almost become part of the family. But his good looks, his charm, and his intelligent mind outshone those of other family members, including my husband’s. Lately, every time that man walked into our house, I desired to be closer to him. I wondered what it would be like to be held in his strong arms.
Today, I finally gave into my urges, using my authority as his master’s wife to invite Joseph into my bedroom and into my heart. But his loyalty, one of his most attractive features, betrayed me. He cited his allegiance to both my husband and his God as reasons for his rejection, pulling away from my touch and breaking my heart.
The hurt had quickly turned to anger. How dare he insult me this way? I am an attractive woman. I wield power over the running of our household. I am ultimately responsible for Potiphar’s success as captain of the king’s guard. Behind every successful man is a strong, supportive woman. I could have been that support system for Joseph too. We would have made quite a team. But no. Joseph thought himself too good for me. Well, he would pay for this humiliation.
I held my breath and strained to listen to the voice in the next room. I’m sure it was my name on their lips, followed by laughter.
“Poor Zuleika, indeed!” was the response. “She ripped his cloak right off his body, and he still ran away!”
The giggles identified the women as some of our young servants. Their disrespect would be dealt with in time.
But my burning face was his fault, not theirs. Joseph would fall for this. Not only was Potiphar captain of the king’s guard, he was also chief executioner. Joseph humiliated the wrong man’s wife.
I called the silly girls into my room and threatened their heads if they didn’t collaborate my story. Then I began to scream. My performance was so convincing that even my two knowing handmaids looked concerned.
By the time the first of our male servants ran into the room, I had tears streaming down my face, adding to the scene.
I held the cloak up high, evidence of foul play. “Look! My husband gave this Hebrew slave all the power, and this is how he thanks us? He came in here to rape me! After I screamed in fear, he ran, leaving his cloak here.”
When I saw doubt cross the first man’s face, I hissed, “There will be a job opening when he’s gone! He must pay for this betrayal.”
The servants gathered around me then and tended to me appropriately. They could do nothing for my bruised ego, however.
When my husband arrived home, I blurted out the story with similar dramatic conviction. His response, on the surface to those watching, looked genuine. He raged and vowed that Joseph would pay dearly for this disloyalty. But I could see the hurt behind his eyes, the suspicion that all was not what it seemed. He knew Joseph well, and he also knew me.
“What have you done?” he hissed when no one was in earshot.
As such, Joseph ended up in prison, and I ended up with an angry husband. There were no winners in this situation.
Aw, but there was a winner! Joseph, the hero of this story, became the world’s most powerful prisoner and later ended up in the palace as the king’s righthand man.
God rewarded Joseph for resisting temptation and remaining faithful to Him. If Zuleika (who is not identified by name in the Bible but in the Koran) was truly trying to seduce Joseph, the scene would likely include sights and actions more lewd than I described here. Sexual temptation can be challenging for any heterosexual male.
However, God promises that we will never be tempted beyond what we can bear. But our hearts have to be committed to the Father, like Joseph’s. 1 Corinthians 10:13 explains:
There’s a lot of evil in the world, and there are many temptations. Satan knows which ones are the hardest for us to resist, and those are the ones he’ll throw at us.
The Lord’s Prayer includes the line “lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” While God never tempts us to sin, sometimes He allows us to be tested. But the verses above assure us that, with His strength, we can persevere and overcome such trials without giving in to temptations.
James suggests that we should be grateful for such tests and trials:
If you read the story of Joseph, you realize that he had a lot of growing to do before he reached spiritual maturity. That should give us hope that we will get there too!
Do you ever feel like the situations you face and their invitations to sin are beyond your capability? They may be beyond YOUR capability but not God’s. Put on the armor of God and team up with Him. That’s a force to be reckoned with!
If Joseph could run from temptation, you can do it too.
Father, I pray for Your strength and wisdom. Help me to recognize Satan’s temptations and to resist them. As I spend time with You and claim the promises in Your Word, my capacity to fight off the devil and his tactics grows. Thank You for loving me and watching over me. You are my refuge and strength. Amen.
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The music is too loud. The flashing lights hurt your eyes. The person sitting behind you can’t sing but doesn’t seem to realize it. The people on the platform dress like they’re at a barn-raising, including the preacher. You happen to know that the lady sitting in front of you lives with her boyfriend, and the greeter goes to his car for a smoke halfway through the service. I hate to break it to you, but going to church is not the solution to your heart’s longing for something spiritually fulfilling.
As a former pastor’s daughter who went to church at least six times per week, I can honestly tell you that the act of regular attendance is not going to fill that emptiness or give you hope for the future. But I’d like to share what can. I’ll swing back to the benefits of going to church afterward.
Let’s start at the beginning—the very beginning. God created humans in His image. We were meant to talk to God regularly and enjoy a personal relationship with Him. Adam and Eve’s paradise was not only a description of the garden where they lived. They literally walked and talked with God.
The story of God’s love for us is found in the Bible, a book that has lasted for thousands of years that many like to call God’s Word. It wasn’t long after God made those first humans that they gave into temptation and disobeyed Him, creating distance between man and God. There’s nothing like lying and cheating to cause strain on a relationship.
When we don’t make space for God in our lives, we sometimes feel an emptiness or a void (as Adam and Eve must have felt immediately). We might question the purpose of life or focus on all the bad things around us that cause us anxiety or pain. We were never meant to face those things alone, my friend. The One who formed you in your mother’s womb wants to give you strength, comfort, and hope.
Later, humans separated themselves from God so far that He could only find one family that still revered Him. The Creator decided to destroy everything and start over with Noah and his loved ones. But even then, God had a plan to create a way for us to find that intimacy with Him that Adam and Eve experienced. He wanted to set up the lineage in which He would insert His Son. Because God’s plan involved sending Jesus to be born and grow up as a human, to show the rest of us earth-walkers what God’s love looks like and sounds like. The plan also involved His death—an unjust, dishonorable execution.
The only perfect human to ever walk this earth knew His Father’s agenda. Jesus lived a life of love and servanthood, and then He bore the punishment for all of us for allowing sin to separate us from God.
The resurrection of Jesus showed the world that He was not merely a human but the Son of God. The Father’s plan was complete, and He called it salvation.
Salvation is the key that unlocks comfort and hope because this free gift is an intimate relationship with God. When we accept His plan, we invite Him into our hearts and ask Him to reign there. We submit our lives to Him, recognizing that He is the Almighty God and rejoicing that He still sees each of us and loves us no matter what we did in the past.
It is from that moment of salvation that praying, reading the Bible, and, yes, going to church become ways to strengthen our relationship with God. We talk to Him, get to know Him by reading about Him and hang out with others who have similarly met Him. When we go to church as “believers,” our purpose isn’t to look around and nitpick about the music, the dress, or the sinful nature of other attendees. We join together with people who also need His daily grace and mercy to worship Him in song and listen to theologically-educated people share from His Word. Going to church each Sunday helps us grow in our walk with Jesus.
Without a heart change, however, going through the rituals of religion will not save us. It will not bring us comfort and hope. Only God can do that.
Have you invited God into your heart to be LORD over your life? How could that simple receiving of salvation change the way you live? Could you use more love? A caring Heavenly Father? Comfort when your heart is breaking? Hope for an eternity with Him?
What’s the downside? Don’t look for the Church to fulfill you. Look to God.
God, I need You in my life. I’ve tried to do it on my own but it’s just not working. Forgive me for thinking I knew better than the One who made me. Thank You for loving me enough to offer the gift of salvation and the promise of comfort and hope. Cleanse my heart from sin, and help me to grow and become more like You. Amen.
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I clung to Mary Magdalene as a tremor of fear rippled through us both. The earth shook beneath our feet again, and the eerie silence of the early hour intensified our fearful response. Our hearts ached with Jesus’ death, robbing us of sleep over the past two nights, so we had agreed to visit the tomb together even as the sun was just peeking over the hillside.
The last time the earth shook like this, Jesus had taken his final breath, and unbelievable events had occurred. The temple curtain had ripped in half, and many of our dead had risen from their graves! Even as we mourned our teacher’s passing, we rejoiced to see dear friends who had followed him, whom we had buried, now walking and talking as if they’d never died. Why had God valued their lives more than that of his own son?
As the tremors ended, I focused my eyes on the entrance area of the tomb, where several Roman guards stood next to the large stone. Would they roll it aside for us to tend to the body? Neither of them looked approachable or amenable to acting on such a request from two ragged women. We should have waited until it was fully day.
As I approached the man closest to us, the tomb suddenly lit up with a brilliant light. We shielded our eyes with our hands at the blinding radiance.
Mary gave a little cry beside me as I realized the light shone out of a man-like figure standing between the guards and us. He was dressed in white from head to toe, and his face glowed like a suspended flash of lightning.
My jaw dropped as we both stood paralyzed with fear and watched him roll away the massive stone as if it were nothing. He then nimbly hopped up to sit on it.
My heart pounded against my chest as we watched the guards fall to the ground, one by one. Had they died? Would we be next? I gripped Mary’s arm so hard that I knew she’d have bruises there if we survived this. I could feel her trembling, but I couldn’t look away from the mystical creature that sat before us.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said.
The heavenly sound of his voice flowed into my soul, and I instantly felt lighter. Despite the shaking earth, the possibly-dead guards, and the appearance of this supernatural man sitting before us, my spirit obeyed, and I was no longer afraid. This was about Jesus. In my heart, I had known this couldn’t be the end. I leaned in to hear his words even though his voice was loud and strong.
“I know you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified.”
We both nodded mutely.
The angelic creature gestured to the open doorway to the tomb. “Your Messiah isn’t here! He is risen from the dead, just as he said would happen.”
Mary and I looked at each other then. She mirrored my wide eyes and open mouth. Jesus was alive?
The angel moved to the doorway of the tomb. “Come, see where his body was lying.”
I forced my feet into action and pulled Mary with me to the entrance to cautiously peek in. Empty—it was empty! There was no smell of death, no body wrapped in cloth. But we had watched Joseph lay him there! Where was he? How could this be?
Too scared to ask the glowing creature standing behind us, his grin stretching from ear to shining ear, I looked at my companion. “Where is he?” I hissed.
Mary’s eyes were still big and round. She lifted a shoulder in response and turned toward the stranger, taking me with her since our arms were tightly linked.
He spoke again with authority, “Now, go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and he is going ahead of you to Galilee. You will see him there.”
As the edges of his body seemed to shimmer and become transparent, he said, “Remember what I have told you.” And then he was gone.
Mary’s fingernails were now boring into my arm as she tried to order words into a sentence, but they came tumbling out in a heap. Words like: Jesus. Gone. Empty. The tomb. Questions including What? How? Where?
“We have to tell the others!” I cried. “They will never believe it, but we have to tell them—Jesus is alive!”
We joined hands and danced, leaping in the air with energy we shouldn’t have had after two sleepless nights.
“Come on!” Mary laughed, “Let’s tell everyone!”
Then her face grew serious as she looked to the rock where God’s messenger had sat and pointed beyond it to the guards as they rose slowly with fear and anger written on their faces.
“Trouble is not finished here. We must not delay sharing this amazing news!”
We hurried off to the shouts of the guards, demanding we return with an explanation. Our hearts pounded as we pushed our legs to run as fast as we could.
When we had put some distance between us and the tomb, we stopped to catch our breath. The guards had not pursued us.
Bent over as I was, the first thing I saw was his feet. They still bore the wounds from the nails that had secured him to the cross. My increased heartbeat was no longer due to exertion. I stood up so suddenly that I swayed.
“Jesus?”
Mary’s head snapped up.
“Don’t be afraid!” he said, his warm, familiar smile in place.
We both fell at his feet and worshiped him. The Messiah was alive, and he was there! There in front of us!
After a few minutes of fellowship, Jesus repeated the angel’s message to us: “Go tell my brothers to leave for Galilee, and they will see me there.”
“We will, Lord!” we both said at once, then looked at each other and laughed. But when we looked around, Jesus was gone.
We ran giggling and crying with joy toward town. God chose us! We saw Jesus first, and he chose US to be his messengers! Praise be to God; Jesus has risen! He is risen, indeed.
As we read the accounts of Jesus’s death and resurrection in the four Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, we read different details in each one. This retelling is based on the story told in Matthew 28. Were there more women present? Was Mary Magdalene actually alone? If we get hung up on these questions, we miss the main point of the story:
Jesus has risen!
God’s plan of salvation was complete. Jesus died as a punishment for our sins, and then He rose again to give us life. When we ask Him to become the Lord of our lives, repenting of our wrongdoings and selfish behavior, we become children of God—part of His family.
The Easter story is the pinnacle of our faith. We now have meaning and purpose in our lives because Jesus became a man and died for us. Because of the events in this story, we can have a personal relationship with a God who loves us and cares about everything we care about. We have hope for our future—eternal life with Him!
I thank You, Father, that Jesus’ resurrection brings us life. Move into my heart and resurrect it with a new awakening of Your love! Thank You for being the Way, the Truth, and the Life! Praise be to God; Jesus has risen! He is risen, indeed.
If you haven’t yet given your heart to Jesus, what better time than on Easter! He is ready to welcome you into the family.
I had no tears left. The Messiah hung on a cross, broken and bleeding, hardly different in appearance from the two criminals hanging on either side of him. Except Jesus wore that horrific crown made from thorns, a reminder of the treatment he received before they nailed him there. They mocked him, spit on him, and whipped him. Those were the things I witnessed with my own eyes; Father God only knows what they did behind closed doors. Angry shouts, jeering voices, and despairing cries filled the air.
But at noon, night fell as if someone had snatched the sun out of the sky. At a time of day when it shined its brightest, giving off the most heat, the sun disappeared completely, leaving us in a blackness that felt thick and heavy.
An eerie silence overtook the crowd, and Mary Magdalene and I linked hands as we moved closer. After the exclaims and cries of surprise at the unexplainable darkness faded, we stood quietly facing the gruesome scene, our eyes adjusting to the inky gloom. Standing with us were those who mocked him and wanted to see the end, those who loved him and wished to support him during his wrongful death, and those who were curious, who had heard of this Jesus of Nazareth but had not come to know him like Mary and me. Our tears silently washed our faces in the darkness. We knew who he was. We loved him.
My feet and legs ached from standing for hours, but I would not sit down. Jesus deserved my respect and adoration right to the end. His love had changed my life and the lives of so many others surrounding me. I only had to look into the eyes of the woman grasping my hand to see a soul he had rescued from the brink of Hell and saved from the torture of demons. How could they do this to a man who did nothing but love others and heal their minds and bodies? Fresh tears filled my eyes once more as I reflected on his goodness and gentleness, not only towards my friends and me but to everybody that he met. The poor, the sick, the broken: he touched them all. And now we stood, shoulder to shoulder, a vigil like no other, the darkness an appropriate backdrop.
A ripple of murmuring stirred me from my reverie. Jesus had lifted his head, and the crowd had noticed.
“My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” His voice echoed across the valley, cutting through the inky air.
My heart broke anew at that moment. How had he felt, hanging there as the life drained from him, compounded with his own Father’s refusal to intervene? God could have stopped this. If everything Jesus told us about Him was true, saving His son from this horrible death would be easy. He is a God of miracles, all-powerful. Why did He turn His back on Jesus now?
Voices called out from the crowd as they too questioned what was happening. Some misunderstood the words that Jesus cried out in his mother tongue, and they wondered why he called out to the prophet Elijah. The mockers resumed their jeering at him and scoffed that even God, who he had claimed was his Father, had left him to die. And those of us who loved him mourned with groans and cries of agony, reflecting his pain.
Someone offered him a drink of wine from a sponge at the end of a reed. After a quick sip, he raised his head again, quieting the crowd with another shout.
Suddenly, I heard a loud rumble and cracking sounds as though rocks were splitting apart, and I stumbled as the earth beneath our feet began to shake. Screams filled the air as the onlookers tried to keep their balance, fear overtaking them. As we tried to make sense of what was happening, shouts from those standing closest to the crosses confirmed that Jesus was dead.
Small groups of people broke off from the crowd and began making their way back to their homes or businesses. But one of the temple boys parted them as he raced towards the group of priests still standing off to one side.
“The curtain! The curtain! It ripped all by itself! It ripped right down the middle, from top to bottom!”
The crowd was still spreading this news about the temple’s heavy veil when another lad appeared with an incredible story of dead bodies rising from their graves and returning to the city. Fear and wonder rippled in waves through the congregation.
“This man truly was the Son of God!”
I craned my neck and squinted into the darkness to see who had shouted this. To my surprise, it was one of the Roman officers. It was a declaration that came much too late. Jesus was dead.
Mary and I stayed to see what they would do with his body. After the Sabbath, we would prepare it properly for burial.
One of the soldiers stabbed Jesus in the side to be sure he was gone, and a group of them removed his body from the cross. After a man named Joseph got permission to bury Jesus, we watched him wrap the body and place it in a cave, a new tomb he likely had for his family. We only headed home after a group of men rolled a heavy stone in front of the opening. We wondered at the reason for this—possibly to keep animals from going in to desecrate the remains?
The next day was the Sabbath. It would be another filled with mourning for this great man. The Messiah had come, and now the Messiah was dead. We went home with heavy hearts.
The day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday is often called Waiting Saturday. As I retell the story of Jesus’ death from the perspective of Mary (the mother of James and Joseph), I recognize that Jesus’ friends hadn’t understood any of the references He had made to His resurrection. In their minds, their beloved Jesus was dead, and all hope was lost. The day after His crucifixion was only a “waiting day” because the women had to wait until after the Sabbath to properly tend to the body. While the hours dragged by, they may have even questioned if He was the Messiah; for them, this was the end. Not only did they mourn a man they loved, but they mourned for humanity, for the loss of the One who was supposed to save the world. He now lay lifeless in a tomb.
The darkness may have fallen early on the day Jesus died, but the following day would have seemed even darker for His followers. Their leader was dead.
But this is not the end of the story, my friends. Let’s pick it up here later this weekend for an exciting plot twist!
As we acknowledge Good Friday and consider the crucifixion of Jesus, can you imagine yourself there, at the foot of the cross, watching Him die? How does that make you feel?
Take some time today to read one of the accounts of Jesus’ death (Matthew 27, Mark 15, Luke 23, John 19) and thank Him for His sacrifice. He suffered for you.
Thank You, Jesus, for going through with Your Father’s plan, for suffering a terrible death as a human so that I would not have to pay for my own sins this way. Your love is overwhelming. Father, Your sacrifice showed immeasurable grace and mercy for Your creation. Thank You for offering us this way out, this doorway to forgiveness, and a stairway to Heaven. We wait today, not with sadness but with expectation, because we know how this story ends. May God be praised.
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“Guess what, Aunt Valda. I have a boyfriend!” my niece looked at her dad as she giggled.
“Oh, really?” I hadn’t seen my niece for three months. This new development in her six-year-old social life was a shocker. “Who is your boyfriend?”
She stated his name. “He’s in my class at school.”
Her young face glowed. Were there animated hearts reflected in her eyes? As her head swiveled purposefully toward her father again, I quickly recognized that the love-glow on her face was not caused by a Grade One romance.
My brother-in-law responded predictably. “I don’t know what’s going on in that school!” He frowned at his daughter. “No one has a boyfriend here!”
“Yes, I do!” With another giggle, she twirled and ran off to find her favorite toy to show me.
I laughed and shared that I’d never seen so many romantic crushes in my Kindergarten class as I have this year. Was it the necessary masks causing a sense of intrigue?
We continued with our adult conversation, catching up on the family news. However, throughout the evening, the topic of my niece’s romance came up over and over again. She weaved the phrase “my boyfriend” into almost every interaction she had with her father, and each time, she punctuated her words with a pointed look and a huge grin. And my brother-in-law consistently rose to the occasion, responding with frustrated denial.
At his expense, it was quite entertaining to watch.
“Do you want to visit Park Omega to see the animals this weekend?” he asked her.
“No, I don’t have time. I’m getting married this weekend.” There was a pause. A head turn. A look. A grin. “To my boyfriend.”
She kept it up for hours—the merciless teasing. I was silently thanking God for giving me three boys.
“We’re in love!” she stated. “Me and my boyfriend.”
Indeed, there was love reflected in her eyes, but the real holder of her affection sat in the room with us. And he was no boy, but a grown man who loved her more than any six-year-old was capable of loving her.
Despite my brother-in-law’s reaction to his daughter’s boyfriend talk, he knows she is teasing him. He knows that she does it because she loves him.
Our heavenly Father loves us—His children—even more! I wonder how it makes Him feel when we tease Him with our other interests. I suspect it hurts Him much more than my niece’s innocent game.
Jesus summarizes the first four commandments of the Big Ten in Matthew 22:37:
Our heart is who we love. Do we truly love God more than anyone/anything else? Do we love Him more than our spouses? More than our children?
Some say your soul is your true nature. It consists of your thoughts and feelings and your resulting character. How often does our sinful nature affect what we think about and our emotional responses to people and situations?
Our mind is our control center. It rules our decision-making and our actions. Do we consult God before doing the things we do? Or do we often drive our lives without our GPS because we think we know where we’re going and how to get there?
David had it right when he wrote Psalm 103:1:
ALL that is within me …
Let’s strive to love and praise God with our ALL: heart, soul, and mind!
Are you in love with God? Do you make Him the highest priority in your life?
He shows His commitment to you by offering salvation and membership in His family. His love for you is unconditional.
What will you do today to show God that you love Him with your whole being?
Father, I love You. I truly do. I’m sorry for all of the times I unknowingly teased You with my commitment to other things or people. I choose to put You back on top as my One True Love. I surrender my whole being to You. Take my heart, soul, and mind and make them Yours. Lead me where You want me to go and use my life to lead others to You. Amen.
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My teaching partner and I stood at the back of the room, watching our students as they played.
“What is going on today?”
“What a gong show!”
It seemed like we had spent the day refereeing. Our students’ voices were elevated and accusatory, and we fielded numerous complaints of unkind behavior. Two children were going home with scratches on their faces. Another pair had bitten each other. I had to help a boy clean up after an intentional washroom accident (He wanted to go home, and at that moment, I did too).
There was no full moon to explain the behavior we were observing. I checked! They had gone outside during their regular time, so we couldn’t use “cabin fever” as an excuse. Our students’ poor conduct was unexplainable.
And ironic.
It was Pink Shirt Day. The children and staff all wore pretty shades of pink, some with frills and lace. We spent Circle Time talking about kindness and treating others with respect. THEY suggested ways they could be kind to each other during their play.
Yet, a couple hours later, they had forgotten their manners and were attacking each other with nails and teeth! Oh, the joys of Kindergarten!
In our bigger community, we finally saw the truck convoy depart from our city, leaving behind a massive debt and divided loyalties among friends. I still pass an occasional stranger carrying a cardboard sign speaking about FREEDOM, continuing their protest, but in a much more subdued way.
But before we finish the whoosh of breath resembling a sigh of relief, journalists turned the spotlight on the other side of the world. A protest about freedom in a country like Canada now seems trite compared to what people face in Ukraine today. The word WAR is being used in a context that infuses fear for their lives. And freedom is a fragile thing, involving human rights that might be stolen.
Once again, I feel like throwing my hands up and crying, “What is going on?”
Trials, tribulations, wars—they are not evidence of a God who doesn’t care or doesn’t exist at all. These are reminders that we need Him. They are reminders to pray.
What do we pray for? We pray that God’s will be done. We pray that Ukrainians all over the globe call out to a Heavenly Deity who wants to be their Father. We pray that the driving force behind this invasion, the one calling the shots, has a come-to-Jesus moment. What would happen if he accepted God’s love into his heart? God sent His Son to die for EVERYone. Even a communist leader. Let’s pray for his soul, my friend.
Do you wish you could do something to help our faraway neighbors?
My friend’s husband, who works in the medical field, suggested canceling their March Break trip and going to Poland instead, to help with the influx of Ukrainians crossing the border. What a selfless, benevolent idea! We can’t all consider such an extreme measure, however.
What can you do? You can pray. Never underestimate the power of prayer.
Father, no matter how out of control things seem to be, I know that You still have power over everything. Thank You for loving us all enough to provide salvation and offer a relationship with You. I pray for the people of Ukraine and for their families who live elsewhere. Reveal Your heart to them. Draw them close and help them know You better.
I pray also for the Russian people who will likely be ostracized for their government’s decisions. May they discover your love too.
And work a miracle in the hearts and minds of the leaders. They are misguided humans who also need You.
I submit my own will to You. Accept my prayers, and show me what else I can do to help.
Amen.
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It was Book Club Night on Thursday – our first get-together since October. It was guaranteed to be a fun evening with friends, including food, laughs, and some poignant moments, as well, as we remembered our dear member who passed away since our last meeting.
After a pitstop for gas, I picked up a friend so we could carpool together. The ride should last about twenty-five minutes. But these are not ordinary times in our city. As I merged onto the highway to head to our destination, my vehicle joined an unnatural stream of traffic. My SUV, which is not a small car, seemed to shrink as it suddenly became the filling in a truck sandwich. We unintentionally shared the highway with the truck convoy that continues its siege on our city. These truckers from across the country are here in our nation’s capital to protest the mandates the government has put in place in response to the pandemic. Three lanes of traffic that typically raced at a speed around 120 km/hr now crawled along like a toddler across the living room floor.
My friend messaged our group chat to let them know we would not be on time. We had not anticipated this delay, but there was no way out.
We arrived an hour late because of this unexpected situation, tired and frustrated, with less gas in the tank but otherwise unharmed.
Unexpected delays. Interruptions. Cancellations. Who among us likes any of those words? Don’t you wish we had no need for them to be a part of our vocabulary at all? We often respond with statements like, “It is what it is.” or “That’s life.” Neither of them makes us feel better.
This is where you people who always leave early for appointments and Sunday morning church services get the last laugh. “See? We prepare for the unexpected!” you might say. I’d high-five you (or elbow-bump these days) if we were in the same room, but it’s not likely to change my own leave-at-the-last-second-possible ways. I’m a busy girl, okay?
Arriving at Book Club an hour late is not a big deal. But what about when more significant life plans are altered by unexpected delays, interruptions, or cancellations? What then? How do we cope with those situations? Health problems, job loss, death of a loved one, car troubles, relationship issues, natural disasters, a political demonstration … There are so many things beyond our control.
And for us control freaks, these things drive us mad, don’t they? “It is what it is.” “That’s life.” These sentiments are far from helpful.
Except that’s a secular way of thinking. As Christ-followers, we believe that God has a plan and nothing deviates from that plan unless we turn our backs on Him. If we give our heart and our will to Jesus, our life becomes His to direct. The things that happen which seem like interruptions or delays are purposeful. They are part of His plan, which might not make sense to us at the moment (and might never make sense to us), but God is in control.
That doesn’t mean that believers won’t struggle or endure hardships. The promise God gives us is that He will give us strength to go through those hard times, and He will be there with us. That’s still a sweet deal: I pledge allegiance to the One who created me, and He adopts me into His family and takes care of me forever.
Letting God take charge is like having a manufacturer warranty. He created us, so He knows what is best for us. Our Manufacturer can fix us when we are broken (which often happens because we deviated from His plan and took back control). No matter how smart we think we are, God is the King of Wisdom; only He is omniscient (all-knowing).
Do you trust God with all of your plans? Do you submit your will to Him? Giving up control doesn’t have to mean losing control. It is a kind of freedom to pass everything over to Him. Not everyone will see it that way, though. Especially when you’re a control freak, and you like to see things done a certain way.
The next time you face something that seems to interrupt your life, why not whisper a prayer of thanks instead of responding in anger or disappointment? In God’s greater plan, He may have just spared you from something worse, or He may be putting someone in your path who needs your help. He might want to strengthen your faith. Thank Him for being in control.
Even if you are a truck sandwich, driving at 2 km/hr in the middle of a truck convoy …
Father, forgive me for wanting to be in charge and thinking I know what’s best. Your ways are higher than my ways, and Your thoughts are higher than my thoughts (Isaiah 55:9). I trust You in Your infinite wisdom, even when my life takes unexpected turns. I surrender the steering wheel to You. You are in control.
Amen.
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I have a sneak preview for you today; here’s one of the devotions from my manuscript,
Your Morning Chuckle & Faith Challenge!
Enjoy!
There are parts of the city I hate driving in, especially the busy downtown core with its buses, taxis, pedestrians, cyclists. With so much going on, I wish I had an extra set of eyes. Finding a parking spot can be an even bigger nightmare and might require me to use that skill I dreaded most while practicing for my driver’s test: parallel parking!
My downtown driving anxiety decreased exponentially when our vehicles became equipped with a Global Positioning System (GPS). I merely tell my car where I’m heading, and a lovely voice recommends the best route to get there. (She doesn’t help with parking, but my car has another miraculous feature to do that.) Even when I miss a turn or confuse her directions, my GPS friend patiently redirects me and gets me back on track. She has given me driving confidence. I depend on her to get me to my destination in a relatively good time. (She has no control over the fact that I never leave with enough travel time to get anywhere ON TIME!) My trust in the GPS gives me the perception that I will never get lost—she’s got my back.
Have you ever been to a city, however, where the buildings are so tall, your trusty device can’t communicate with her satellite which tells HER where to go? That old anxiety comes flooding back that I will get lost—I will never arrive at my typical five-minutes-past-the-hour-I’m-supposed-to-be-there fashion. I might be too late to beg forgiveness! I might have to pay a missed-appointment penalty. So far, in those instances, I have managed to stay on course until the GPS reconnects to her mainframe-in-the-sky and continues giving me informed advice and trustworthy instructions. I wipe the sweat off my brow and continue with my mission.
With ongoing road construction and city expansion, sometimes our GPS gets outdated. She no longer recognizes the terrain because the information about road construction is no longer current. Suddenly, there’s a new road where only a field appears in her map content. When I use the new road that seems more direct and time-efficient, the GPS screen shows my avatar off-roading over green spaces and bravely driving across rivers. She doesn’t sound afraid or panicked, but she is determined to get me back on the right path. Over and over, she gives me directions to reroute to the roads she knows. Eventually, she can recalculate that final time when the new route connects to something familiar to her. This can also be a scary ride since I’ve lost her confident guidance. I seem to be beating a trail through the wilderness, and I can only hope the new road is taking me where I want to go (in the shortest amount of time, of course, because, seriously, I shouldn’t be more than five minutes late—that would be ill-mannered!).
These are usually the only two situations where I lose faith in following the GPS. So, one day while traveling to my son’s new apartment for the first time, I was surprised to end up lost.
My GPS friend was trying her best to get me there. There were no skyscrapers, no new streets. She just seemed confused. The directions she was giving me were nonsensical. She told me to go down one-way streets the wrong way and make turns where there were no roads. Her projected arrival time was much later than it should have been. It didn’t seem possible to be lost with a GPS next to me!
I double-checked that I had entered the address correctly. Yes, everything matched my son’s information. I used the GPS in my phone that day, which was usually more accurate than the built-in one that came with my car. This app could tell if there was heavy traffic or road closures and would give me the fastest route in real-time. But on this occasion, she was letting me down.
I called my son in frustration. (Yes, I was desperate enough to use my phone to call someone!) He tried to figure out where I was as I spouted off the street names on the signs around me. He suggested I put the address in my car’s GPS instead. I pulled over and did that. The new confident voice directed me to my son’s apartment with no errors. The relief was instant. I hated the feeling of being lost. From the safety of my son’s couch, I opened my phone app again. What had gone wrong? It didn’t take me long to realize I had used the GPS while walking, not driving, the day before. The app still operated on the setting to walk to my destination! Her instructions all made sense if I had been on foot. WALKING on a one-way street in the wrong direction is perfectly acceptable. Some suggested turns were onto footpaths that crisscrossed the city, meant for pedestrians only. The problem was a user error. I could put my confidence back in the GPS for my next trip, and she would not likely let me down.
It’s not a good feeling to recognize that you’re lost. But, don’t we all feel a little lost sometimes? The expression we used in Newfoundland was, “I don’t know if I’m coming or going!”
One day while Jesus taught, He told three stories about lost things: a lost sheep, a lost coin, and a lost son (Luke 15:3–32). His main message for the first two was simple: just like the shepherd cares enough to leave behind ninety-nine of his sheep to hunt for one who has wandered off, and the lady sweeps her entire house to look for one coin, God actively goes after people who have wandered away from His love. When He finds the lost soul, and that person repents of their sin, all of Heaven rejoices and celebrates.
In the parable of the lost son, the young man didn’t deserve a merciful homecoming. He’d been foolish and greedy, taking his money and wasting it, shaming his family, and disrespecting his father. When he came crawling home, his dad could have made him squirm just a bit. But no, the elated man ran to meet his boy, hugged him and kissed his filthy face, and treated him like royalty, demanding of his servants, “Get the finest robe you can find, put a ring on his finger and some nice shoes. Let’s kill an animal and have a party!”
The son must have felt worse, hearing these requests, because he knew he wasn’t worthy of this welcome.
The point of all these stories is that God loves us all and welcomes us home, no matter how far we have wandered from Him. When His children show up with a repentant heart, He is ready to throw a party.
We have a GPS to guide us on the best route to our final destination: our home with Jesus in Heaven. That guide is our Bible. The voice that accompanies the written instructions is the Holy Spirit, which is the part of God that resides within us when we receive salvation.
This navigation system will only work if: we focus on our destination (desiring a Kingdom journey), we hear the voice of the Holy Spirit telling us where to go (praying and listening), and we follow the directions given to us (submitting our lives to Him).
There will be distractions along the route, road signs that will confuse us, and locations where the GPS’s volume is faint and difficult to hear. If we can’t use our navigation system to find our way, however, the fault is ours—we made an error. The Holy Spirit will never steer us wrong because our Father doesn’t want us to end up lost.
Push the Home button on your GPS. It’s time to make a U-turn and return to your predestined route.
When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. (Psalm 56:3 NIV)
“For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.” (Luke 19:10 NIV)
The grass withers and the flowers fade, but the word of our God stands forever. (Isaiah 40:8)
How confident are you in the life path on which you travel? Have you ever felt that you’ve taken a wrong turn and ended up lost?
Read your Bible and pray regularly. When you apply these spiritual disciplines, you can follow the Holy Spirit’s guidance with complete trust and confidence that you are in God’s will. He will lead you to your final destination via the very best route.
Take some time today to praise Him for His faithfulness and listen for His voice.
God, help me find my way back to You and the path You wish me to take. As I submit my heart and will to You and learn to listen, help me hear the Holy Spirit’s voice, directing me where to go. Every choice and decision I make in my life is a fork in the road where I can become lost if I take the wrong turn. I know that You can reroute me and guide me back if I get lost, but I will have wasted time and missed out on experiences that You wanted me to have along the way. Help me to put my trust in You as I follow Your directions.
Lead me home, Father.
Amen.
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The pretty princess uncoiled her mounds of braids and let them fall from the tower’s window to the ground where the prince stood. Her rescuer had finally arrived, and her happily ever after was right around the corner—well, a few yards below her, to be specific.
I wonder about that marriage, though. Can you imagine the prince’s surprise at finding one of her hairs in his morning cereal? How many plungers and plumber’s snakes will he require to keep the shower drain clear? Could he ever sit next to her on the couch or lie beside her in bed without having her yelp and tell him to get off her hair?
I’m not a fan of hair. When I find one on the floor or in the tub, I move it like it was a vile creature that had invaded our home. Ew. I need a pest control service to call for capturing and removing hair! The only reason I’m not bald is that my pride issue is worse than my hair issue.
Since dying my hair red, I’ve discovered more hair in my tub after showering. I wondered at first if I was losing my mane. Then I realized that the platinum blond strands had blended in with the white tub. The hair had still been present; it had just been camouflaging! I find that a tad deceitful.
This morning, while lathering my red locks (gently so as not to pull out any hair), I heard the words, “Tell me lies. Tell me sweet little lies.” It was a song from my playlist of upbeat 80s tunes, blasting from my Bluetooth speaker. Did the words go together: little and lies? My blond hair probably thought they did.
The words were familiar, and I could easily sing along with the chorus, but I couldn’t help questioning why the singer would want someone to lie to her. Why would she suggest this was desirable? What relationship built on lies ever succeeded? If one survived, it was after numerous heartaches and hard work.
We sometimes categorize lies according to their potential for harm. Have you heard of white lies? Those are the little ones we tell by omission or redirection to protect someone from getting hurt or ruining a surprise. Those are okay, right? Or those grey areas like claiming certain things on your taxes or parking in the space for moms with young children. Those aren’t really lying, are they? What about the stories we tell children about a jolly old elf, an egg-toting bunny, and a tooth-loving fairy? Okay, I may have gone too far.
When we question the rightness or wrongness of things, our best resource is God’s Word. What does the Bible say about lies?
Before we get to the end of the third chapter in the very first book, we read about a lie that caused the very first sin. The serpent deceived Eve with untruths that enticed her to disobey God and taste something she was forbidden to eat. The results of that lie were far-reaching. Centuries later, we suffer pain during childbirth, work hard to make ends meet (rather than lounging in a garden paradise), and face the death of our earthly bodies. On top of that, the serpent’s lie led to every one of us being born in sin and needing redemption—needing Jesus to die. One little lie.
The Bible is clear that lying is a sin. God showed His displeasure about lying by including it in The Ten Commandments given to Moses. The Living Bible translation states it plainly: “You must not lie” (Exodus 20:16). Period. There is no further explanation breaking down this “false witness” or “lie” concept. Unlike our modern-day interpretation, God does not sort lies into categories that range from Okay to Hell-worthy.
Here are just a few of the verses about lying found in His Word:
Who is the father of lies?
Is lying comparative to murder?
The truth will come out.
Like my platinum blond hairs, those white lies might blend into the background for a while, but they will eventually be discovered.
I wonder what color Rapunzel’s long tresses were …
Do you ever find yourself justifying a “little” untruth?
Reflecting on the verses above, I think we can agree that no lie is little. No lie is acceptable to God.
If our desire is to grow to become more like Jesus, there is no room for untruth in our character. Let’s aim for honesty with discretion in knowing when to zip our lips rather than hurt someone.
Jesus, You are the Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14:6). I pray that your Holy Spirit will guide me toward truthfulness in every situation. Help me to know when to speak and when to be silent. Speak to my conscience when I consider saying or doing something dishonest. Use my life to glorify You. Amen.
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As we open a new chapter with the page turn to 2022, like every year, many people will make New Year’s Resolutions and vocalize promises to themselves to make the future better in some way. For some, this means starting a new diet or an exercise plan. For others, the goal might be looking for a new job or vowing to repair a broken relationship. That relationship might even be with God.
Regardless of the type of goal one sets, following through with any resolution will require determination, perseverance, a support system, and the appropriate resources. I would like to take this opportunity on Val’s Stage to share a resource that will help you if your goal is to strengthen your personal relationship with God.
This afternoon, I was delighted to receive my own signed copy of my friend Carolyn Cheer’s book Do You Believe I Am God or Not? Anchoring Your Hope in God’s Promises. It was exciting to hold the product of months of Carolyn’s writing, revising, and editing with the accompanying prayers, sweat, and tears.
I opened the cover to see my name and a personal message of thanks in my friend’s handwriting. One more page turn revealed my name a second time, but in print, at the end of the review I wrote for this beautiful book that Carolyn co-created with God.
Adding the title of Author was a step of faith that my book will soon be published too!
My Review for
Do You Believe I Am God or Not?
Sometimes life can be challenging. When hardships come, we often try to navigate them on our own. The world around us encourages this self-sufficiency. However, “When the going gets tough, the tough get going” is not the way God intended us to face those stresses. Before even opening this book, Carolyn’s words challenge our faith: “Do you believe I am God or not?” There is another way outside of panic attacks and spirals into depression. It begins with believing in His promises. In these beautiful devotions, Carolyn reminds us of God’s promises for us today as well as those for our future so we can anchor our lives in Him. The storms may come, but our God is greater. This book is a testament to God’s grace as Carolyn faced her own battles to share her encouraging words with us. The journey to similar faith can begin in the next 21 days as you use this journaling devotional to spend time with an all-powerful God who loves you unconditionally.
Are You Up for the Challenge?
In January of each year, many churches encourage their congregations to join a 21-day journey together of prayer and fasting. I recommend following Carolyn’s 21 days of devotions and reflections as a guide during that focused spiritual time.
If you are not participating in an organized program like this, but you want to deepen your faith and understanding of God’s promises, you can do your own 21-day dive into His Word through Carolyn’s devotional.
I will not receive compensation from the sales of her book—except the knowledge that I shared a great resource with you!
One of my students’ favorite learning activities is called Read the Room. They walk around the classroom looking for words, letters, or numbers. Often, they must engage with the discovery in some way once they’ve found it. This might involve copying the text on their recording sheet, crossing off a match, drawing a picture, or coloring something.
This morning, I did a Read the Room in the main living area of my condo. I invite you to join me on my journey. My engagement this morning was expressing my gratitude to God for each discovery.
Thank You, God, for my family. For those who raised me in a home filled with love—theirs and Yours. Thank You for our three grown sons. We are very proud of the men they have become. I pray that they will get to know you more. Thank You for giving me a loving husband who spoils me daily.
Thank You for friends—those who are dear to me. I pray that they will feel Your love and comfort this Christmas as many lives are thrown into chaos with positive COVID tests and diagnoses even scarier.
I pray for those who may experience loneliness this year. May they draw nearer to You.
Thank You for our food and for meeting all of our basic needs. We lack for nothing. I pray for those who do not have a filled fridge. Show me how I can help.
Thank You for my morning coffee! I do enjoy that wake-me-up. Thank You for technology. When used correctly, this makes our lives better in so many ways. Help me to be tech-wise. Thank You for transportation—for a car that works and gets us where we need to go in comfort. Thank You for jobs that give us financial security.
Thank You for the seasons. They show that You are in control. Help me to appreciate winter a little more!
Thank You for the unique gifts and talents that You give us. Use my writing to encourage others.
So much here. Thank You for the joy, love, and peace You offer us when we believe in You. You are the provider of all things good.
Thank You for grace exemplified in Your salvation, for providing a way for us to have a close relationship with our Creator. Thank You for forgiving our sins and loving us unconditionally.
Thank You for Jesus. May we all keep our focus on Him during this celebratory season. You are the Reason.
Well… Thanks!
I challenge you to Read the Room in your home. Look for all the things you have to be grateful for and whisper a prayer of thanks.
I wish you a very Merry Christmas! Stay safe and warm.
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I hum a merry, seasonal tune while decorating the house. Friends and family will come for dinner tomorrow, and I want things to look festive. I make sure there are candles dispersed throughout. There’s something magical about candlelight, how it brings light and life to the room, in addition to the twinkling lights already strung about.
I’ve been planning and preparing the meal for days. Things that could be made ahead of time are done and tucked away, and I’ll do a grocery run tonight for the fresh items. I don’t know why we eat such a feast each year when it leaves us stuffed and sleepy, everyone looking for a couch to lie on when they get up from the table. But, that’s tradition, and we’ll carry on celebrating as our family always has. The dining table is already set with elegance for the multi-course meal.
A gift inventory is next. There must be something for each of my guests. The wrapping is just right; everything is clearly labelled for ease of distribution. The children especially look forward to the gifts I buy for them every year. I try to get something extravagant that their parents would be unlikely to purchase. Three nieces and two nephews—all taken care of.
That done, I check the closet to see if our festive outfits need steaming or ironing. Wrinkles will never do for such an important day. I might even dust off my special shoes, the ones my husband brought me back from his last business trip.
We get together with family far too little these days, and I can’t wait to see everyone. A celebration like this is the perfect excuse to spend time with our loved ones, and I’ve done my best to prepare for an extraordinary day. I only hope I’m not too tired to enjoy it myself…
With the timing of this post, you likely assume the celebration is Christmas. However, if it had been posted in November, a Mexican reader might think I’m referring to Dia de Los Muertos; an Indian reader might assume it’s Diwali; an American might think of Thanksgiving. In fact, the scenario above could represent many different celebrations recognized by people from backgrounds or ethnicities outside of our own. Customs including songs, decorations, lights, family gatherings, feasts, new clothing, and gift-giving are followed on many days throughout the year around the world. So, what makes Christmas special?
We all know the Christian reason for the season: the birth of the Christ Child. But, as we go through the preparations, do we really think of Him? There’s a lot to be done: many, many hours of planning, shopping, decorating, wrapping, and cooking—and, let’s not forget about cleaning! The busyness of the celebration can make it unrecognizable. Yet, the star of this day is Jesus!
What can we do this year to ensure that we do not overlook The Reason for the celebration? I’ve made a list of ten suggestions to help us focus on Jesus.
Every time you see a candle or coloured light, thank Him for being the Light of the World.
Before putting any Christmas treat near your lips (including chocolate!), say a genuine prayer of thanks for all of His provisions.
As you wrap gifts, ask God to use the spiritual gifts He’s given you to help others during this season. And, thank Him for all of His abundant blessings!
When you see a nativity scene, whisper a prayer, thanking your Maker for sending His Son for you.
Begin every morning with Him. Read the book of Luke, or pick up an Advent devotional. A writer friend of mine, Jennifer Elwood, has published a beautiful one called Counting Up to Christmas: Twenty-Four Gifts from the Gospel of Luke (available on Amazon). A few minutes each morning focussing on God will set your heart to remember Him throughout your busy day.
Serve birthday cake for dessert on Christmas Day. When our boys were young, this tradition involved writing “Happy Birthday, Jesus” on the cake and singing the birthday song before we cut it. It’s important to remind our children that Santa isn’t the central figure in this celebration.
Speaking of the gift-giving, jolly old elf, when you see Santa—in person or in print—thank GOD for all the good gifts He’s given to you. Every good gift comes from HIM (sorry, Santa) (James 1:17).
Turn those Christmas songs into anthems of praise. When you hear a carol, sing it from the heart. O come let us adore Him!
Attend church on Christmas Eve. My grown boys know that attending the night before the big day is non-negotiable. It’s always such a beautiful service and fun to see if this will be the year that someone catches their neighbour’s hair on fire with the candle!
Read the Christmas story aloud at some point during the day’s festivities. I recommend AFTER the gift opening. I remember waiting impatiently for my dad to read from his Bible while I gazed longingly at a pile of presents, trying hard not to resent this tradition!
Jesus, let us never forget that You are there inside that cyclone of busyness, and You bring peace. Help us to focus this Christmas on You—the ultimate gift to the world. No one is like You, God. You deserve our attention during this season and every day. Amen.
It might be cliché to say, but let’s keep Christ in Christmas.
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Sometimes busy times call for shortcuts. Forgive me for dusting off and polishing an old post for today…
The warm breeze caressed my face and bare arms as I pedaled. “Smooth” was not a word I’d have used to describe a ride on my old bike. But, hey! My old bike didn’t have shocks like these. Despite feeling like the seat had been adjusted too high for me (noticeable during scary stops at intersections), I was sailing. Smoothly.
I never knew biking could feel so good. My memories of riding a bike involved a sore butt and tingling fingers. It was never a pleasant experience. Oh, but now. Dreams of long bike rides for picnics and sightseeing danced inside my new merlot-colored helmet. This was a whole different cruise port!
I stopped to take a selfie. I posted it on Instagram with the caption: “Maiden voyage home on my new wheels!” My smile was big. I was the queen of the world!
Just outside my condo complex, I had to ride on the sidewalk leading up to the gate. An elderly gentleman piloted his walker ahead of me at more of an air balloon speed. I slowed and rode off the sidewalk onto the grass to go around him. His wife smiled and thanked me for respecting his space.
I went a meter or so ahead of him before reentering the sidewalk, not wanting to cut him off. I didn’t see the gap between the edge of the concrete and the ground, masked as it was with the green grass, until my tire wedged there, parallel to the sidewalk, and refused to go any further. If my seat had been a little lower, I might have caught myself. But this was not the case. We both went down—me and my brand-new bike. The concrete was far from cushiony, and my pride took a huge blow too.
Mr. Walker’s wife was now concerned as I popped up like a jack-in-the-box repeating a curious phrase: “I’m alright. I’m alright.” Curious, because I wasn’t sure if it was true.
I walked my bike the few meters to the gate, testing out my legs. Kids fall off their bikes all the time, right? Once inside the grounds, I got on and rode it into the garage. Everything seemed fine—both of us.
I locked my new bike on the wall in the bike room and looked for damage. I wiped each scuff off with a gentle brush of my fingers. I breathed a sigh of relief—no real damage done. Just a terribly embarrassing moment.
In the elevator, I decided not to tell anyone, unless the road burns and bruises became too noticeable to ignore. I went about my day, watching the bruises darken and feeling a strange pain in my arm when I moved it a certain way or lifted something heavy.
We weren’t finished bike shopping just yet, however. The sales guy at the store had informed Hubby that their other location might have the male version of my bike in stock—just one, of course, so speed was of the essence. The pandemic was great for bike sales in this city. I encouraged him to get the bike since the first shopping expedition had actually been a search for a bike for him. How did I end up coming home with one??
We plucked a few more leaves from the money tree and bought a new bike for Hubby too. What a day!
“Let’s plan a picnic!” I said excitedly. We set out with our backpacks bulging with food, drinks, a picnic blanket, and a deck of cards; all the picnic essentials.
The paths behind our condo go for miles along the Rideau River and are ideal for biking. And it was late enough in the evening for the foot and bike traffic to have thinned. I took the lead and sailed down the trail, happy that my earlier spill was a thing of the past, and my bike seat was now a couple inches lower.
Yes! This was the feeling I had just before my selfie. Just before my fall.
Behind me, however, Hubby recommended changing my gears to be even more comfortable. I was doing a little more coasting than necessary. To be honest, I’d only used about four of my 21 speeds on my old bike because I hadn’t really learned how to use it properly.
I suggested we pull off in the next clearing. I handed my bike to Hubby, asking him to change gears for me and then to show me how he did it. He rode a few meters away, the bike making unnatural grinding sounds as he worked the gears. There was an unhealthy SNAP! which threw everything into silence. Hubby’s face was the first clue that something was terribly wrong. The fact that he dismounted and lifted the back wheel off the ground while pushing the bike back to me was the second.
Not only was the chain dangling, but the whole gear mechanism hung off the bike. On closer inspection, we saw that a metal bolt had actually broken in half!
Shame hit me like a snapping bolt as I realized that he blamed himself for breaking my new bike. I confessed immediately, of course, admitting that I had had an accident earlier that day which likely caused this. Always loving and supportive, he tried to make me feel better by putting the fault elsewhere—the bike wasn’t made well, the parts were cheap, and/or he’d been too aggressive with the attempt to change gears. But deep down, I knew.
We pulled out the blanket and had our picnic in the clearing which, while not our original destination, had a lovely view of the river. I didn’t have much of an appetite, however, and playing a game of cards was no longer on the agenda.
Hubby rode home and drove the SUV back to meet me. He picked us up as the sun bid the day farewell, and we took my broken bike home in the back of the car.
At the bike shop the next morning, the service guy knew that it had been involved in a trauma. My fall had caused the break. He claimed he could fix it, but it took over a week before I got it back. I can’t help but feel like I’d been punished for hiding my crash.
My mom used to quote a verse to us when we were younger: “Be sure your sin will find you out!” (Numbers 32:23) I never knew what the context of that verse was, but what it meant in our house was that we couldn’t hide our wrongdoings for long. I was sure my mother had supernatural qualities that helped her know everything. Hiding was useless. And, since moms are always right, it was true in this case as well—not a sin, but a fall, a slip-up, a failure.
I’m also reminded of a story that I had on a children’s record, told by a lady named Aunt B. The little boy found a baby snake and, despite being told to get rid of it, he kept it in his family’s barn. He fed it and cared for it, in secret, until it was fully grown. Then one day, the snake attacked his little sister, and she nearly died.
When the mother realized he had disobeyed and kept the snake, she quoted James 1:14–16:
“But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death” (ESV).
As Christians, when we fall off our metaphorical bikes, we can’t torture ourselves too badly when gravity (our sinful nature) plays a big role in our crashes. We mess up. We don’t try to fail—we don’t set out to do that—but sometimes we fall. We get up, brush ourselves off, and insist that we’re okay. And on the outside, we might look okay.
Yet, like my bike, that action can weaken some important unseen parts and, if they’re not dealt with properly, a second stressful event could destroy me. Hidden sin can grow and become lethal. And, while my mother may not really have supernatural powers, my heavenly Father does, and He sees that first fall, whether I admit it to Him or not.
We’d also like to think that we can handle things on our own—sweep things under the rug, so we can deal with them independently. No one needs to know I messed up. While it looks like we’ve got it all together, we are not doing ourselves a favor to shut out our Father. He’s not going to be disappointed in us for falling—He’s going to be happy that we asked for His helping hand to pick us up.
Jesus came to save me from myself. I slip. I fall. I fail—well, I feel like a failure. I forget that I don’t have to be perfect to somehow earn acceptance from God. So, instead of hiding my sins and letting them grow into bigger problems, I quickly talk to my Dad. He loves me unconditionally, gently placing a band-aid on my boo-boos and holding me in his lap while I confess my slip-ups. He repairs my “bike” and encourages me to get back on.
Who wouldn’t want a Father like that?
“God is good, a hiding place in tough times. He recognizes and welcomes anyone looking for help, no matter how desperate the trouble.”
Nahum 1:7 (MSG)
“I’ve thrown myself headlong into your arms – I’m celebrating your rescue.”
Psalm 13:5 (MSG)
Do you ever try to hide things from God? Adam and Eve couldn’t do it, and neither can we.
Thank You, Father, for being there for me. You know just what I need, whether it’s comfort or forgiveness. Help me to remember that hiding from You is impossible. I confess my slip-ups and invite Your strength to change my ways. Amen.
“Who is that?” I stared at a face, the top covered by a colored paper mask with cut-out holes and the bottom hidden, as usual, by the COVID-protector one.
I was moving photos from the device I use in the classroom to capture all the learning and fun to online folders where their parents can access them. I had to move to the laptop with its bigger screen to recognize my little children whom I mother every day for six hours. It was an odd feeling.
As adults, we tend to wear masks too. We choose to whom we reveal ourselves as we build close relationships with others. To the casual acquaintance, when they ask, “How are you?”, we answer, “Good” or the one I hate most: “Not bad.” But, with a close friend, the answer is more detailed, more honest, and could take a while (and possibly a hot beverage, or a room-temperature one in a stemmed glass).
Our masks are not effective with God, however. He sees right through them immediately. He’s not squinting at a small screen, wondering if it’s us He’s viewing. Our Maker knows us intimately. We can say “I’m good”, but He sees our heart; He reads our minds; He hears our secret inner thoughts. And His heart breaks when we bottle it all inside. His arms are open wide, waiting for us to turn to Him; longing for us to give our pain, our worries, and our guilt to Him. He sent His son to die so we could do all that. How much more could He do to prove His unconditional love for us? What a slap in the face for us to continue pushing Him away and trying to cope on our own…
Lord, I take off my mask and open my whole being to You. Read me like a book and adjust the storyline. Thank You for Your love and Your acceptance of me, faults and selfishness included. I receive Your offer of an intimate relationship as I repent of my sins. Amen.
Are you being real with God, or are you hiding behind a mask? Why don’t you admit how you feel, and ask Him to rescue you? He won’t let you down.
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“Don’t come home with blue or green hair!” my husband called as I left to go to the hair salon. It was an odd warning, since I’d had the same platinum blonde hair for years (except for the COVID-roots, when the salons were closed).
Yet, as I sat in the waiting room and watched my hairdresser finish another client’s hair — the exact same platinum blonde as mine — I got an itch to change things up.
“Let’s do something different!” I suggested. “I’m feeling adventurous.”
When I walked into the condo, sporting my new dark purple hair, my husband’s jaw dropped. “I thought I said…”
“What? It’s not blue or green!”
It was fading to a lovely plum before he began to accept the new look.
The next day, I used a special rinse and turned it a spicy red…
Some people hate change of any kind. They get comfortable in a life of predictability. That life might not be great, but they know what’s coming; what to expect. There are no surprises to catch them off guard.
This isn’t a realistic way to live, however. Change sometimes forgets to ask our permission. It just sneaks in.
The world pandemic of 2020-21 changed everything. It ground the world to a stop as we faced a virus that had the potential to wipe us all out. We had to change the way we interacted with each other, where we could go, and what we could do. For a time, that meant shutting down and staying home. Our social lives happened through screens. And even at the “end” of the pandemic, I expect we will be left forever changed.
Other changes we embrace on our own. We change our hairstyles; our diets; our jobs; our addresses; or we might even change our mates (it happens). When we purposely make changes to our lives, they are usually prompted by unhappiness or some discontent with how things presently are. You might deny this, stating, “I just wanted a change”, but wanting is a desire, and desire usually comes from feeling a lack of something; wanting more; wanting better.
When Jesus walked this earth as a man, many who met Him were changed forever. Lepers, who were forced to live in isolation from their families, were suddenly healed of their disease and able to reunite with their loved ones. Men and women who couldn’t walk were suddenly jumping for joy. The blind could see; the deaf could hear; the demon-possessed were free. All of these people were changed from their personal encounters with the Messiah. They desired something more; they accepted His loving touch.
But not everyone walked away from Jesus changed. The religious leaders tested Him and watched Him closely, their suspicious minds inventing ways to trick Him into admitting He wasn’t who He said He was. Meeting Jesus didn’t change them, because pride controlled them. The rich young ruler who felt drawn to Jesus, recognizing that there was something about Him and His way of life that He desired, walked away unchanged, because greed ruled his heart.
Some people hear the gospel of Christ, and they dismiss it as something that they don’t need or desire. They don’t allow it to change them.
Those who acknowledge that they have need of a Savior, who repent of their sin and invite Him to be Lord of their life, invite change. A truly repentant heart will not remain the same. Jesus told the adulterous woman that He forgave her sins. But He didn’t just let her walk away to go back to that life. He told her, “Go and sin no more.” The New International Version says, “Go now and leave your life of sin.”
God expects change when we receive His forgiveness. We can’t carry on the way we were when we enter into a partnership with the Almighty God, when His Holy Spirit takes up residence in our hearts.
John the Baptist scolded his audience of believers, saying, “Prove by the way you live that you have repented of your sins and turned to God” (Matthew 3:8). The crowd asked him what they should do. He told them to give to the poor and share with the hungry. He told the tax collectors to stop taking more than their share — to be honest. He told the soldiers to stop extorting money and making false accusations. His message was one of change; of thinking less about themselves and more about treating others well.
Saying “I’m sorry” to a spouse, a child, a friend, or to God is just a waste of words unless a change accompanies them. Repentance is an action word — a change of mind and direction. As we grow spiritually, others will see that change in us. We become more and more like Jesus and less like the self-centered world. We love God first and others next. Our mindset is changed.
As we receive God’s transformation, He changes the direction of our life path from heading to death and hell to a guided journey to eternal life and heaven’s promises. That’s one rerouting that we should all desire.
Lord, don’t allow me to get comfortable in my sin. I confess to You that I need Your direction and Your wisdom, so I can change to be a child of God who reflects my Father’s image; one who lives a life that glorifies Your family name. Forgive me for making self-centered choices and leaving You out of many decisions. I invite You to take control, and be the Director of my life performance. Amen.
If you’ve asked Jesus into your heart, but your life hasn’t changed, ask yourself why. Do you desire to be more like Jesus? We do that by spending time with Him. We read God’s Word and talk to Him in prayer. We make Him part of every moment of our lives. We actually let Him lead us and direct our steps.
Make time for Jesus. Don’t shut Him out with the excuse that you’re too busy. God wants to be your priority. Accept His loving offer of relationship, and embrace change.
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It’s my birthday tomorrow. You don’t have to send me presents – it costs a lot to mail them. E-gift cards will do!
With each passing birthday, especially since tipping over the half-century mark, I wonder at what point does a person wake up and say, “I’m old!”? When we were kids, 30 seemed old to us. And, 50 was our grandparents, and they were ALWAYS ancient. As I pass each of those markers, I don’t see myself as old. YET. When will I adopt that viewpoint?
An article in The New York Times written by Emily Laber-Warren, called You’re Only as Old as You Feel, tackles the idea of ‘subjective’ age. She shares that, according to Dr. Yannick Stephan, an assistant professor of health and aging psychology at the University of Montpellier in France, 80 percent of people over 40 feel younger than their biological age. Their ‘subjective’ age of how they feel (most of the time) is 5 to 15 years younger. Not surprisingly, scientists are finding that these people are typically healthier and more psychologically resilient than those who feel older.
Why is this even an issue? Why do we say things like “Age is just a number” or “You’re only as old as you feel”? Why do we value youth so much? Gerontologists such as Dr. Tracey Gendron at Virginia Commonwealth University remind us that as we age, we tend to become generally happier and more satisfied. Would we really want to be still trying to figure out our career path, still searching for the right mate, still changing diapers and raising energetic children? Don’t we cringe when we hear of women over 50 getting pregnant? Why do we view this second half of life as less desirable than the first half?
In Laber-Warren’s article, she quotes David Weiss, a life span psychologist at the University of Leipzig, as saying, “If old age weren’t negatively valued, you wouldn’t have the need to say that you feel younger.” In his studies, he discovered that in cultures where elders are respected for their wisdom and experience, people don’t even understand the question ‘How old do you feel?’
Maybe there’s nothing wrong with being an elder. When we moved into our condo as a couple just turning 50, the average age in our building was 72. I joked that this was an excellent strategy to continue feeling young – surround yourself with people older than yourself! We have developed many friendships with people over the age of 80 since we’ve lived here. We play pickleball with a bunch of them! They have so many great stories to share of life experiences and adventures. They can give advice on the best places to shop for certain items, the best places to eat out, and the best flights to take when flying south for the winter. (The building does get a lot emptier in the colder months.)
When I read Titus 2:4-5 in my Bible, I wonder, is that me? Am I an older woman? Nah, I can’t be, right? But, I guess if there are any younger women in our lives who we can mentor or encourage, that makes us “older”. That makes me an ELDER! I’m tempted to say, “Ouch”, but what I should say is, “Wow! Look at the blessings I’ve enjoyed up to this point. I have wisdom gained from experiences too; I have stories to share. I’ve been studying the Bible for years and listening to good teachers, filling my mind with God’s goodness. What’s wrong with being elderly?”
When I wake up tomorrow, I’ll be older. Maybe, I won’t be OLD (?), but I’ll be older than many other people. I don’t need to live in denial of my biological age, insisting that I feel younger. I’m grateful for 52 years of life, and look forward to however many more God chooses to give me. I’m ready to embrace the responsibility of a Titus-woman:
These older women must train the younger women to love their husbands and their children, to live wisely and be pure, to work in their homes, to do good, and to be submissive to their husbands. Then they will not bring shame on the word of God.
TITUS 2:4-5
Lord, help me to avoid falling into the trap of our culture’s obsession with youth. Give me peace about my age, and open my eyes to see all that You have given me to enjoy the stage of life that I am in. Thank You for Your continued love, mercy and grace. Every year with You as my Father is a gift. Never let me lose sight of that. Amen.
Do you proudly announce your biological age or does the number make you wince? Most of the people in my building share their age with a smile. In the words of Mel Bernstein: Every day above ground is a good day.
Thank God today for a heart that still beats and breath in your lungs. You may be struggling through difficult circumstances, but as long as you still have life, you still have hope that God will answer your prayers and work things out for your good.
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“Where do we come from?” the five-year-old asks when I call on her.
I think I know what she’s asking, but I need further clarification. “Do you mean how are we born?” I ask.
“No, where did the world come from?”
She was asking one of the biggest and most debated questions: Where did life begin?
We were making a list, as we often do in the first week of Kindergarten; a list of things we want to learn about. This huge question is written in thick red marker on my chart paper, waiting for exploration.
I know what I want to say; what I believe to be true. But my role as an educator is to present all of the theories, rather than indoctrinating them with my own.
But, wait – another little boy has his hand up. “Did you know that we came from monkeys?” he asks, his eyes wide and innocent. Someone has already begun his education on the topic.
“That’s a theory,” I tell my class, using a word not many of them might have heard before. “A theory is something scientists tell us to explain something when it’s difficult to prove what really happened. Like with the extinction of the dinosaurs – no one was there to film it or write it all down. Scientists can only make educated guesses to explain what might have happened.”
I go back to my “Things We Want to Learn About” list and add “Unicorns” under “Pigs”. We can’t all be philosophers, asking the deep questions. Those bigger conversations will be left for another day.
It’s frustrating to be an educator in a public school system when children ask such questions. I will tell them about a book that was written over 2000 years ago which gives a clear explanation of creation. God created the heavens and the earth, and God created people. I wish I could stop there. Period. The end. Amen.
But, not everyone believes that, do they? The curiosity inside humans has lead us to question God’s Word and come up with our own theories about many topics – this being one of the largest.
It’s sad to think that children don’t know that God was our Creator. That means they also don’t know that Jesus loves them and wants to be there for them as they grow up. These innocent children are beginning a life without God.
In my Kindergarten class, I have hope. When we did our virtual intake meetings with each family, we asked parents if there were topics their child was really passionate about. One parent said, “God. He’s really into learning about God right now.” There may be a witness in the form of a peer who can sway his classmates to believe in God as our Creator, even if his teacher cannot push her own beliefs in the same way. I pray that, when our class conversation happens, God will use this little child as His spokesperson. Everyone should hear about God.
Lord, help us to find ways to spread the message of Your love and Your supremacy to others. When You ask us to love our neighbors, telling them about You is one of the ways You expect us to do that. Give us courage to speak up in a world filled with doubts and alternative theories. Use us to build Your Kingdom. Amen.
Christ is the visible image of the invisible God. He existed before anything was created and is supreme over all creation, for through him God created everything in the heavenly realms and on earth. He made the things we can see and the things we can’t see— such as thrones, kingdoms, rulers, and authorities in the unseen world. Everything was created through him and for him. He existed before anything else, and he holds all creation together.
(Colossians 1:15-17)
Do you have opportunities to share God’s story? How can you impact someone’s life this week by introducing them to our Creator?
Ask God to lead you as we spread His message of love to a broken world.
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Does stress ever give you a better product in the end? I used to say I worked better under pressure. Was that ever true?
Yesterday morning I painted in the hot sun, using a paint that had hardener in it, so the time I had to get it right was lessened. I snap-crackled-and-popped at anyone who spoke to me during this process, hoping they’d realize it wasn’t personal.
Before I started painting, we had sanded. And sanded. And sanded some more.
“The pursuit of perfection is a fool’s game,” I said to Hubby. “Valda 3:24.” Then I pursued perfection with the painting… (Insert eye roll here.)
Just because we can quote God’s Word (or other words of wisdom such as Valda 3:24 – and, yes, I might have only changed one word in that quote…), doesn’t mean we follow the instructions. Knowing isn’t doing.
As we read our Bible, let’s pray that we can actually turn the learning into actions. Otherwise, we treat God’s Word like any other book — a good read having no real impact on our lives. We put it back on the shelf and wonder if there will be a movie…
I don’t point this out to create guilt, but to remind us to be DOERS of the Word and not HEARERS only (James 1:22). I need that reminder every now and then, don’t you?
Do you sometimes pause in what you’re doing and realize your words or actions don’t align with God’s instructions to us as believers? How does that make you feel?
The Holy Spirit convicts us so that we will ask for God’s forgiveness. He knows when your apology is genuine and will wipe the slate clean. He loves you that much.
Pray with me:
Father, forgive me for giving into my sinful nature yet again. I know Your instructions, but I often fail to follow them. Help me to write Your words on my heart so I will not sin against You. Continue to nudge me, Holy Spirit, and remind me to hold more tightly to Your hand as I walk with You. My obedience is a sign of my love for You. And I do love You, Lord. Amen.
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I apologize to my Instagram followers for repeating my vacation story here, but I’m on vacation!
Last year our vehicle gave us a lot of grief and spent many weeks in the garage. If you’re a regular reader, you may recall a traumatic experience on the highway when our entire dash went black and the engine died.
Shook up, with little trust left in the car we loved, we went shopping. We test-drove many beautiful vehicles, all sporting the latest features and wafting that new-car smell. But, despite their gadgets and shininess, we couldn’t find one that we liked as much as the one that broke our hearts. As we continued to drive it about the city with no additional hiccups, however, little by little, it regained our trust.
Our confidence grew enough to plan a road trip; and, not just the 1500-kilometre straight path, but a meandering route with side excursions in each of the four provinces we drove through. The joy our vehicle had first given us five years ago had returned. The ride was comfortable, and the 6-cylinder engine responded immediately to a bit of foot-pressure.
On the ten-minute ride back to the hotel from visiting a friend last night, on Day 7 of our trip, we were dismayed to see the Check Engine light glowing on the display. A garage visit was not on our itinerary, but has been added. The light indicates that something is wrong, and we shouldn’t turn a blind eye to the warning.
Life throws us those curves. We are riding along, comfortable and feeling content, when something happens that attempts to derail us. Sometimes the problems that pop up in our lives are like that Check Engine light. God is warning us that there is something wrong in our souls and we need to stop and check it out. Sometimes it’s a gentle reminder that we still need Him. God desires relationship and, like any loved one, He likes us to spend time with Him and show Him that we love Him back.
This morning, I woke up grateful that our vehicle did not break down on the highway last night; that we made it safely to our hotel without further incident. I took the opportunity to thank my Father for watching over us and loving us. Even while on vacation, I will reserve time for Him. I will not ignore the Check Engine light of my soul.
Father, forgive us for getting comfortable and enjoying life too much to involve You in our plans. Help us to stay close to You, even while on vacation. Thank You for Your protectionand favor. Amen.
Do you ever notice that when things seem to be going really well, your prayer life gets a little more shallow? When you have needs, you are constantly asking for God’s help.
Is He looking for your attention today? Spend some time with Him. He likes to hang out with you.
Update
In case you were wondering, we were back on the road after a 40-minute garage visit. A slow leak of pressure in the EVAP system caused the warning light to come on. If you know anything about cars, that might make sense to you.
The good news is, they assured us we SHOULD be able to make it back to Ottawa…
Ten years ago, a scrawny 17-year-old struggled in his last year at Milliken Mills High School in Markham, Ontario. In addition to being in with the wrong crowd and dabbling in drugs, his low grades didn’t promise a bright future. While he was athletic and loved sports, enjoyment of his favorite had been stolen when his school cancelled its basketball program that fall. His final year of high school, if he was even able to graduate, was shaping up to be a disaster.
A couple of his friends were involved in a regional track and field meet, and with nothing better to do, he joined them. With no running experience or training, he came in second in the championship race. That’s when someone noticed this wayward teen and saw potential in him. Tony Sharpe, a former Olympian turned coach, saw Andre De Grasse run that day and knew he had discovered a winner. He invited the lad to join his track club, and a decade later, Andre De Grasse had earned the title of “Canada’s Fastest Man” and a gold medal at the Tokyo Olympics on August 4, 2021, recognizing him as one of the fastest in the world.
Following his gold-medal run, Andre said, “I’ve been waiting for this moment; I’ve been training hard for this moment.” He told another reporter, “I knew I had it in me.”
I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us.
(Philippians 3:12-14 NLT)
Unlike De Grasse’s competition, when Paul talked about pressing toward the goal for the prize in Philippians 3:14, he wasn’t referring to crossing the finishing line and getting a medal. The prize for Paul was the call itself: being able to run the race as God’s partner, doing the work of His kingdom. As believers, we are in this race too. What a privilege we have, like Paul, to be God’s feet in this world!
This is not the only New Testament book where Paul talks about our race. In 1 Corinthians 9:24-26, he says:
Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. So, I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air.
(ESV)
When Paul talks about self-control here, he is talking about training. Roman athletes had to train for at least ten months before they were allowed into the games. Paul tells us to run as athletes who really want to win. This involves effort: effort in training before the race and effort during the race.
During the pandemic, Andre De Grasse wasn’t eating chips and binge-watching Netflix. He told a CBC reporter that while his children napped, he trained. In addition to jogging around the block – “to the mailbox and back”, he said he was “basically just doing a lot of core: push ups, sit ups, pull ups – those types of things.” I love that he used the words “basically” and “just”, as if the rest of the world was daily doing those things too. That’s why he’s the one displaying the gold medal in his house and you and I are not!
When Andre ran, he set his eyes on the highest goal. He admitted to being “a little bit disappointed” in only earning the bronze medal in the 100-metre run in Tokyo. He knew he was capable of WINNING the race, not just coming in third place.
Paul tells us to do the same. Run to win! The difference is that our prize is an eternal one. An “imperishable” heavenly reward that will never pass away.
So, how do we train for THIS race? What sacrifice and commitment does God require of us? Jesus summed it up in two commands:
“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
(Matthew 22:36-40 ESV)
As we train in the area of LOVE—love for God and love for others – we prepare for God’s race. When we set our eyes on the highest goal and compete to win, it’s not only family and friends who stand on the sidelines. People who don’t know Jesus watch our race too and see the effort we put into it. They take note of our godly living. They hear our speech that reflects our Father. They see God’s joy when circumstances don’t seem to warrant it. As we run the race, we build His kingdom. That’s why Paul felt that the call to race was the prize. What an honor to be chosen to run!
Father, thank you for the privilege of running in Your race. Help us to train properly as we spend time with You, praying and studying Your Word. Use us to win the lost so they will join us in the race. We look forward to our eternal reward, but for now, we pray for Your strength and endurance to set our eyes on the prize of the call to run. Make us worthy. Amen.
Do you continue to train for God’s race? Each one of us has something that prevents us from being perfectly prepared. What is your stumbling block? Give it to Jesus.
If you follow me on Instagram (@valdagoudie), you may be familiar with my regular format there – I like to share a joke and then follow it up with a short blog-type post, always ending with a spiritual encouragement, exhortation or invitation. I am really enjoying this writing, and have even compiled a 21-day devotional following the same format. I’ll share news on that, as things progress toward publication.
Starting today, I’m going to share similar material here as well. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I love writing it!
I’m a bigger fan of salty foods than sweet, but there’s something wonderful about a fresh, fluffy pastry, isn’t there?
My friend and I started our Saturday morning with a walk. We often exercise together in this way, since we enjoy each other’s company, and we are able to keep the same pace (a very important factor in choosing a walking buddy!).
Today was special, however; we had a destination in mind – a beautiful stone church, converted into a restaurant and bakery, serving the most delicious pastries which could only be fittingly described as “heavenly”. The thirty-minute jaunt (one-way) was well worth the palette-gift.
My treat was a croissant, but it swirled like a cinnamon roll and was topped with a delightful drizzle of blueberry jam. It had just the right amount of crispiness on the outside and the perfect interior freshness when I pulled it apart. It disappeared far too quickly, leaving me with nothing but crumbs on the table and my memory of its exquisite flavor.
When I shared our discovery of this new business with a lady at the pool, she asked if I had brought any pastries home with me.
“No,” I said. “I have to earn each one of those!”
We often justify treats that way, don’t we? If I walk aggressively for an hour, I earn a delicious pastry. If I don’t do the walk, I don’t deserve it. I do keep treats in moderation when I follow that rule!
Do you know what is a great treat and I don’t have to earn it? God’s love! He gives it freely to anyone who believes in Him. Jesus even compares His love to the fulfillment we get from pastry:
“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry again.”
JOHN 6:35
What is it that we really hunger for as humans? Love, acceptance, relationship… God’s bread. That’s pastry worth craving!
Thank You, Father for offering Your love to us in the sacrifice of Your Son. Thank You for making Your gift free and not expecting me to earn it. I accept Your bread: Your unconditional love, Your acceptance of me into Your family, the relationship You offer to have with me. Amen.
“Will you be my friend?” An innocent invitation to join me in play; to share with me; to get to know me. If you become my friend, “I” will turn into WE and “me” into US. We will become a team.
I have heard these five powerful little words at the playground, at the beach, and in my Kindergarten classroom. While young children usually seem to do this quite naturally, as adults we are more apt to think of the possibility of rejection as a reason not to bother asking. Using the words, “Will you be my friend?” involves courage, as I show a vulnerable part of me that desires companionship, while offering a choice to the other person to accept my invitation or to turn me down.
I watch as she builds the most delightful sand castle and I really want to join her; to help; to ask why she put the drawbridge where she did; to suggest we build a moat together. While I could push past the nervous thudding in my chest, the fear of being turned down keeps me over here, watching from a distance and wishing I was braver.
The image seems quite silly as we picture two adults on the beach with one sidling over to whisper shyly, “Will you be my friend?” Yet, it’s hard to take this question out of the realm of childhood; hard to picture an adult using these words in an adult setting. Is it maturity that comes from experience and age that keeps us from giving this yes/no question? There’s a 50% chance I will be disappointed, if I ask this way. So, instead, when we meet someone new, a potential friend who seems to have some things in common with us, what do we do?
We often open up the lines of communication first. “Are you on Instagram?” we might ask. “Can I connect with you on Facebook?” Asking for a phone number to text or call might even seem too bold, too fast. Maybe this is easier for those still in the dating scene, but for those of us who have been married for decades, such interactions are rare.
I have to admit, I’m not usually the one to initiate a friendship moment. I allow the other person to show their interest first, as we naturally build a relationship through talking and laughing together. Coward. Yes.
I confessed in my Friday Funny Instagram post yesterday [@valdagoudie] that I broke up with a friend last year (not so funny). We had been building that friendship for two years, and, in my desire to have a close friend, I ignored a lot of red flags along the way. I embraced the good and ignored the parts that were dishonest and selfish. As with a romantic relationship, when I found the balance of positives and negatives becoming more slanted to the negative, I had to consider that the friendship had turned toxic. Spending time with her turned my mood sour and sucked the spirit out of me. We weren’t laughing together anymore. And, laughter is something I value in a friendship. When we stop laughing, this is a sign that we’re no longer enjoying each other’s company.
In my post yesterday, I asked the question, what do you believe is the most important quality in a close friendship? My newest friend, who has grown dear to my heart in a very short time, responded, “I love my friends who help bring out the best in me and allow me to bring out the best in them.” Do you see why she’s my friend?
The three things I value most can be summed up in honesty, balance, and trust. When I’m done explaining, I think you’ll agree that my friend and I are looking for the same thing.
If your friend only tells you want they think you want to hear, that’s not friendship. That’s a dishonest acquaintance. A true friend knows how to package a difficult conversation. How that sounds also depends on how long the friendship has lasted. You might be able to tell one friend that her hair looks like a birch broom in fits (which likely only a fellow Newfie will understand), while for the other, you may say, “I liked it better the other way, but I’m sure you’ll make it work as you get used to styling it.” Both messages say the same thing: you got ripped off at the hairdresser’s!
A real friend will go below the surface appearance of complimenting your hair or clothes, to complimenting your strengths and God-given qualities. That friend will “upbuild” you and help your self-esteem and confidence grow. They will bring out the best in you.
And, before your head swells up too large, you do the same for them. That’s where balance comes in.
However, not every conversation you have with a friend will be balanced. Sometimes one of you will be going through something that requires comfort and encouragement, and more time spent on that topic. But, overall, a friendship should involve a balance of listening and talking, giving comfort and getting it, praising and receiving, confessing and forgiving, exhorting and accepting encouragement. When the other person monopolizes every minute of your time together, venting their own frustrations and never asking about you, only one person is getting anything out of that relationship. Frankly, there are people who are paid to do that one-sided listening. That type of friendship will fail.
When you are hurting, a friend is someone who will be there for you and you can be certain they will be loyal to you and with the things you share. You can be honest with a friend and tell them many personal things, but you have to know you can trust them before you lay out your fragile heart. There’s nothing worse than a friend who picks sides and breaks your confidence, spilling your friend-secrets out to the other party, sharing your words that were meant to be just between the two of you, and causing a lot of damage in the process. I’ve been there. It hurts.
One of the best examples of friendship in the Bible was actually between two men: Jonathan and David. They knew from the first minute they met that they would be friends. It was friendship at first sight!
After David had finished talking with Saul, he met Jonathan, the king’s son. There was an immediate bond between them, for Jonathan loved David. From that day on Saul kept David with him and wouldn’t let him return home. And Jonathan made a solemn pact with David, because he loved him as he loved himself.
1 SAMUEL 18:1-3 NLT
The two men made a covenant that bound them together as friends who would support each other. Jonathan saw David’s great faith and his courage in defeating Goliath. And David saw godly characteristics in him, as well, and they were able to strengthen and encourage each other throughout their friendship. Jonathan showed loyalty, even when it meant putting his friend’s safety above his father’s wishes. There was honesty, balance, and trust between these two buddies.
I have had many good friendships throughout my life, but a friend’s belief in Jesus adds a new layer to the relationship. My new Christian friend and I have the same goals to use our talents and gifts for God and to grow to be more like Jesus. I feel so blessed to have found that friend. I can’t think of a better way to grow and thrive, than to do it together.
Thank You, Father for helping me find a friend who will upbuild me as I build her up. I pray for each of Your children who are still searching for that type of friendship. Bring them together, Lord, that they may strengthen and encourage each other.
If you have already found that special friend, take a moment and thank God for such a gift. If you are longing for this type of friendship, ask God to lead you to the right person. He’s the best Matchmaker ever!
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It’s Saturday. The day arrives at the end of every week, full of promise and precious hours which aren’t already booked up with work from my day job. But this Saturday is different. Today, it’s not just the 24 hours which make up this day that loom in front of me, waiting to see how I will fill them – housework, errands, a walk, a book – it’s so much more. Today, the whole summer is spread before me, an open calendar of many days, each one like a Saturday, sewn together like the squares in a patchwork quilt. There is a lightness in my chest that wasn’t there last Saturday. It feels like freedom.
After the pandemic school year we just navigated, it’s very likely that teachers are not the only people who woke up feeling this way today. Parents have been juggling working from home (those lucky enough to be able to do that) and their children’s online school for months, and looking in from the other end of that camera, I have seen their challenges. I can image the city rise off the ground just a little this morning with the collective sigh.
On the floor of my kitchen, next to the box of plants I finally brought home from my vacant classroom, is a pile of gifts given to me by my students and their parents. Beautiful store-bought cards and precious handmade ones with crayon drawings communicate words of gratefulness and appreciation. My love tank is full.
Some people have mixed feelings about giving teachers end-of-year gifts, believing that they merely did their jobs; jobs they were well paid for. But, when one of your love languages is receiving words of affirmation, those gifts and cards fill this teacher’s bucket to the brim. And this year, with its additional challenges, they mean even more.
We don’t all have the same love languages, though, do we? Some people don’t desire those words of affirmation in the same way, and they don’t need the gifts; those teachers tell the families to donate a book to the classroom instead, or ask that they not send gifts at all. I feel especially bad for those teachers whose strongest love language is touch. This was a year that receiving hugs from our young students was not recommended.
As we go about following Christ’s command to love and serve others, it’s important to acknowledge Gary Chapman’s love languages. We don’t all receive love the same way. In addition to words of affirmation, receiving gifts, and physical touch, there are people who especially appreciate acts of service or quality time. While these love languages were first introduced to build stronger intimate relationships, they can be generalized as we spread God’s love to the people around us.
One way to respond, as we acknowledge our differing love languages, is to build relationships with people – learn about them and what makes them feel loved, and then show God’s love to them on an individual basis. Another way, when the recipient is someone we don’t know as well, is to randomly try the different approaches and monitor the responses. This can be a challenge because people who don’t have the love language of physical touch don’t always feel comfortable giving love that way to others. It’s out of our comfort zone to offer a hug or just touch someone’s arm or shoulder to let them know we care.
As I sit here with my feet up, feeling loved and appreciated, (my belly full because my husband just made a delicious breakfast for me – an appreciated act of service), I believe God wants us to help others feel this way too.
Father, thank You for all Your blessings. Thank You for the rain that waters the grass, trees and flowers today. Thank You for the love that You showed by sending Your Son to sacrifice His life for us. Help me to spread Your love to others. Show me the best way to do this for each individual that You want me to love. Help me to overcome my discomfort when it’s an approach I don’t naturally take. Help me to fill love tanks today. Amen.
Whose love tank can you fill this weekend?
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