Out of Balance

Val jumps out of bed on January 1 with zeal and determination. Her New Year’s Resolution to lose weight is shiny and new, just like the year. It’s a fresh start. Time to make positive changes.

“I can do this,” she says as she waits for the coffee machine to dispense her morning cup of wake-me-up.

She eyes the sweetener which has always given her cup that perfect balance of bitter and sweet. Today, it looks back at her with an evil grin. If she’s going to lose weight, she needs to cut all the sugar.

She wrinkles her nose at the first sip. Ugh. It’s bitter. “I’ll get used to it.” She suffers through this unpleasant liquid start to her day, while patting herself on the back for her resolve.

In the washroom, she slips out of her nightdress to swap the satiny sheath for more appropriate pandemic daytime pajamas. She makes herself look in the mirror before dressing. She hates what she sees. She sucks in her stomach and pulls the skin back from her waist to demonstrate the desirable outcome of her 2021 Resolution. She clenches her jaw. Enough is enough. It’s time to do something about this sagging, flabby mess.

She accidentally looks up. Her reflection glares at her, silently reminding her that her eyelashes are thinning, and eyelash extension businesses are not deemed essential. Says who? She’s going to look ridiculous as each beautiful lash falls out one by one.

Her skin is dry, but shiny. How is that possible?

Her dark roots peek out from the blond to mock her. Apparently, hair salons are not essential either.

The delicious scent of bacon drifts under the washroom door. Val finishes dressing and follows the smell to the kitchen where her husband is making breakfast.

“I’m making bagel sandwiches. Do you want one?” He cracks an egg into the pan and adds the cheese slice to the open bagel face in the toaster oven.

Her stomach growls.

“No, I’d better not,” she says, turning away from the temptation. She grabs an apple and heads to the bedroom to start her morning devotions.

She opens her Bible app on her iPad. The chosen reading plan blurs in front of her eyes. She reread that paragraph three times now, and she still didn’t know what it was about. The bacon smell had a hypnotic effect that wasn’t easily shaken off.

She lit a candle which soon filled the room with a pleasant cranberry scent. Funny how her favorite smells were food-inspired.

Her Christmas holidays were almost over. She had a list as long as her arm of things she wanted to get done. Maybe if she stayed up for the next 72 hours, she’d get everything accomplished. She put aside her iPad. She’d have to do this later.

The hours flew by. Val crossed things off her list as she got them done, knowing this should make her feel better; but she seemed to add more things than she crossed off. She still hadn’t made time to exercise and wasn’t sure where she could fit it in. She’d have to sacrifice a few items. She studied her list to choose which things left undone would bother her least.

Her stomach growled angrily. The salad she had for lunch had long since been digested. But she would hold out until dinnertime. She must.

A beam of sunshine lit up the room, and she peeked over the rim of her reading glasses to acknowledge it. As she did, she caught sight of her day’s trail of to-dos. The sewing machine sat on the table where she had started mending the duvet cover. Piles of laundry blocked the exit to her house where she had started sorting colors. Her iPad and journal still lay on the chair, reminding her that she hadn’t finished her morning reading. The jug of cleaner and a rag sat next to the bathroom door waiting for attention.

“It’s a beautiful day,” her husband says, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “Want to go for a drive?”

Val pushes him away snapping, “Who has time for a drive? It must be nice to have nothing to do.”

She tries not to notice his quiet retreat to the foyer. She tries not to feel bad as he slips out to the car alone.

She sighs as she surveys her unfinished tasks. Maybe some music would help. She turns the volume up to drown out her thoughts. What had she been doing? Oh yes, figuring out what tasks to leave until another day so she could squeeze in a workout. Pen in hand, she turned the paper over and started a grocery list. They were out of fresh fruit. What’s a diet without fresh fruit?

She finished sorting the laundry and popped the darks into the washer. A glance at the clock signaled it was already time to start dinner prep. A healthy meal would take longer to prepare. She looked longingly at her wine glass. A lovely glass of red always made cooking a more enjoyable experience. No. Empty calories was not the path to weight loss.

As she chopped up veggies, her phone screen lit up with a message from her mom. It had been a week or more since she touched base with her parents. She’d have to add that to her list.

Dinner was a beautiful success; the perfect balance of meat and vegetables in appropriate portions. Her husband even praised her efforts as he wolfed it down. She was nearly too tired to enjoy it, recognizing that she still had so much to do before bed.

While her kitchen elf cleaned up, she sat with her laptop to finish the email from her boss that she had started reading on her phone while brushing her teeth after lunch. The opening screen showed the files she still needed to edit for the community newspaper. The deadline for submission to the printer was in two days. Being Editor was a big job for a volunteer role, but it was interesting and she felt good about contributing to the community.

Words flashed in the Facebook tab. One of her sons had sent a message to their family group chat. Before she clicked to open the tab, her phone dinged on the couch beside her. The children’s pastor at her church had just sent the curriculum for Sunday’s Zoom call with the small group Val taught bi-weekly.

Val put down the laptop and filled a wine glass with water and cranberry juice in the hopes of tricking her body into thinking she was relaxing with a nice glass of red wine after dinner. Then she tackled all the tabs. Well, she got to two of them, and the dryer’s melody signaled that her laundry was done. She needed to unload the machine before everything wrinkled. Goodness knows she didn’t have time for ironing.

At midnight, Val closed her laptop and headed to bed. Her husband had tucked in hours ago. She detoured around a pile of whites that didn’t get washed tonight and turned the lights off in the dining room, but not before noticing the sewing machine still sitting on the table, guarding her duvet cover.

Ugh. Her husband must have grabbed a quilt from the linen closet since the duvet wasn’t fixed.

As she brushed her teeth, she lamented that she had not made time for exercise after all. A side view of her body in the mirror mocked her lack of resolve. But at least she had eaten well today. Everything that had gone into her body had been healthy. Tomorrow she would do better.

In her exhaustion, she fell into a deep sleep in the middle of her prayer, “Lord, give me strength to keep my resolution to –”

No, it’s not that bad. Truly. (But don’t ask Hubby to verify that.)

In fact, writing this little scenario caused my body stress. My word for 2020 was TIME. So, I’ve made some changes during this past year regarding the use of my time. I’ve stepped out of my Sunday School role, and I’ve put in my resignation as Editor of the local newspaper. I’m working on using my time wisely, which includes spending quality moments with others and resting too. I’ve been getting 7 hours of sleep most nights!

S-E-V-E-N! I used to function with 5.

Now it’s a new year. I need a New Resolution for 2021, right?

Nope. I don’t do Resolutions. When people make resolutions, it often comes from a place of discontent and guilt that they are not the person they think they should be. It sometimes reflects self-hatred even. They start the year with gusto – this will be the year that I lose that weight! (Likely the most common NYR.) Then, every treat or unhealthy choice comes with guilt. Every day they don’t make time for exercise makes them feel worse. After a few days of what they deem failure, they give up. They slip back into their old ways, chalking up another failed attempt as one more reason to dislike themselves.

And, seriously, a Resolution about weight loss wouldn’t fix all the issues in Val’s life that she needs to work on!

My word for 2021 is BALANCE. It is still related to TIME, since I’m still working on that, but it is so much more. I strive for balance in every area of my life. That includes healthy eating, exercise, rest, and relationship-building. It includes glorifying God and representing Him well as His daughter. It includes loving life and loving myself as His creation. This is not a Resolution which will cause me guilt or make me feel like a failure when I can’t meet my own expectations. It’s about achieving balance in all things. If I lose weight in that pursuit, that will be a happy bonus!

I’m claiming a chapter in the Bible as mine for 2021: Proverbs 4. I’m sure you’ll read insights here on Val’s Stage as I break it down. For now, I leave you with the verse that stood out right away:

I might only be walking at the first gleam of dawn in my path to righteousness, but I’ve captured some really amazing photos of sunrises over the past few months, and that gleam always grows into a burst of brilliant sunshine.

Are you ready to shine with me, Daughter of God?

How do you feel about resolutions? If you made one, I encourage you to pursue it in a healthy way. Balance your goals with the quest to enjoy your life as well.

Balance.

If you also have the habit of claiming a word for each new year, I’d love to hear your word for 2021. Drop me a line in the Comments below!

A Stepdad’s Nightmare

His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he searched the sea of faces for his son. Every tear staining his wife’s cheeks and each frantic call of his name from her lips pierced his soul. Had he been wrong to trust the boy to travel with the family without direct supervision?

No. For twelve years this child had been perfect. He was respectful, responsible and hardworking. His manners were impeccable and his kindness unmatched. Trusting him was easy. But now all these characteristics only made his father worry more. There were those who wanted to hurt him from the moment he was born, and the prophecies which hung over their heads daily, causing deep frown lines in his wife’s forehead, foretold of a violent death.

“Protect him, Father God,” he whispered to the heavens as he pushed his way through the crowd. Everyone was anxious to get home from their journey; to rest after the festivities of the Feast. He received more than a few glares and muttered oaths as he desperately knocked into luggage, elbowed soft flesh, and stepped on toes.

“Help me find my son!”

Some took the time to ask their own children if they had seen him. Others ignored his pleas, just wanting to end this trip quickly without interruption.

Sweat poured over his face nearly blinding him. He adjusted the band around his head, wishing now he had worn a more significant covering for the trip.

Mothers pulled their children closer and fathers looked at him with pity, and possibly judgement, as his voice rose to a higher pitch and squeaked like a pubescent boy on his son’s name.

“Jesus! Jesus! Are you here?”

Cousins and uncles helped with the search, causing the idle chatter in the group to turn to quiet murmuring in a wave of fear that flowed down the dirt road through the travellers. Mary’s child was missing.

More voices took up the call. “Jesus! Jesus! Where are you?”

Eyes turned away or looked down as he passed. With the news of his lost son came a loss of respect as a father. If Jesus had deliberately left the group, it was Joseph’s fault. Real men did not raise boys who were irresponsible or inconsiderate to their parents.

But Joseph knew that Jesus was none of those things. This was why his heart pounded with fear. Surely the boy was in trouble.

He caught up to Mary and grabbed her hand, stilling her in her tracks. When she turned her face into his chest, he wrapped his arms around his wife, her small body shaking his with her sobs.

“We’ll find him,” he told her, hoping his words were the truth.

He wiped her tears with the back of his hand.

“Let’s go. We’ll hurry back to Jerusalem. He must still be there.”

Mary pulled back from his embrace. “Jerusalem?! We’ve been travelling for three days! He was with his cousins when we left. How could he still be in Jerusalem?”

Joseph shook his head. He had no answer for her. But it was clear that their son was not here.

They made the trip back in half the time, arriving in Jerusalem tired and dusty, having eaten all their provisions and drained the last drop of their water. The city was relatively quiet with its visitors gone. Joseph held Mary’s hand tightly as they walked the streets, peering down alleys and asking residents if they had seen a twelve-year-old boy wandering around.

“There’s a lad in the temple.” The old man’s voice was gruff and muffled by his thick grey beard. “He’s been there for a couple days. Word has it that he’s giving the priests an earful. If he’s your son, you’d better get him out of there. You know how much those old guys like to be challenged about their views.”

Mary’s eyes met her husband’s then, and she nodded. Jesus was in the temple.

Joseph wordlessly thanked the old man before they raced toward the center of town. His fear was transforming to something hard around the edges. Did the boy stay here on purpose then? Had he callously caused his mother’s heartache?

As they burst into the temple, Joseph was vaguely aware of how inappropriate they must look, wearing the dirt and sweat of travel on their skin and clothing. But his mission was to find his son, and he knew the quest had ended when he saw the crowd of old men gathered around a smaller figure near the front of the room. Jesus was talking to the men like a peer, listening and asking questions, responding with eloquence; as if he were the elder imparting wisdom to them. He gestured with his hands while he spoke, his voice calm and confident, unaware of the panic he had caused.

Joseph felt a wave of anger move down his arms, curling his fingers into fists, opposing the relief flooding his chest. The shock of finding him here this way had stilled his feet. He knew that he should feel a sense of pride that his son could hold such an audience, but a new rush of heat moved over his face as he saw Jesus glance their way and continue with his teaching as if they weren’t there.

Mary had no qualms about disturbing the scene as she swooped into the center of the group and threw her arms around her son’s neck. While he returned her embrace with obvious affection, Joseph could see that the interruption was not welcome.

“Son,” his mother said to him, “why have you done this to us? Your father and I have been frantic, searching for you everywhere!”

Jesus’ eyes met his father’s briefly and then settled on the woman who gave him birth. They were filled with love, but his words, though spoken gently, cut Joseph’s heart more than they would hers.

“But why did you need to search?” he asked. “Didn’t you know that I must be in my Father’s house?”

Mary’s puzzled look spoke his initial reaction, but inside his chest Joseph’s heart anguished. The verbal reminder of his status in this family caused his jaw to clench as he fought back the tears. For years he was able to pretend that he was the boy’s real father. It was his beard the chubby hand had pulled with a toddler’s giggle; his face at whom the boy looked when he said “Dad”; his calloused fingers the young lad grasped when they walked together; his side at which the growing boy learned his carpentry trade.

As they retraced their steps to Nazareth, Joseph felt a sting of jealousy, followed swiftly by guilt. He knew this day would come; the day when Jesus would acknowledge his heavenly Father over his earthly one. He just wasn’t ready for it yet.

Mary touched his hand, and her warm look told him she knew. As his wife, she felt his heartbreak; she would help absorb the pain. They had taken on this mission together as a team. Their role as parents to the Messiah was not one they had entered into lightly.

Hands pushed them apart as their son squeezed between them. Joseph gladly covered the lad’s warm fingers with his as Jesus joined them into a family chain, something he hadn’t done for years. Joseph clutched those fingers more tightly as Jesus whispered a word of apology for causing them worry; sending up a prayer of repentance to the boy’s real Father for needing that apology. He asked for courage to complete his vocation as God’s servant for as many years as his Father saw fit to allow him to do it.

When he again looked into his son’s face, the lad’s mature, loving gaze caused a warmth to flow over him, erasing the other negative feelings.

The new awareness was peace.

Mary seems to play a leading role in the story of Christmas and later in accounts of His life and death as the mother of Jesus. However, I find myself wondering today about Joseph’s part in this story.

Joseph had no physical connection to creating the child. He was a stepfather of sorts. I’m sure he treated Jesus as if He were his own, but he would have always felt that degree of separation; that the boy would one day desire to know His real Father more than His earthly one. It had to have hurt.

It was Joseph’s acceptance of this parental role which fulfilled the prophecies that the Messiah would be born into David’s line. It wasn’t Mary’s ancestry that put Jesus in the correct genealogy; it was Joseph’s. He may not have been a part of the conception or carried the baby in his body, but his role in God’s plan was huge.

Sometimes we question our own role in God’s service. We can look at pastors and worship leaders and think that we don’t have the potential to make a difference in the world. But the underlying message of Val’s Stage is that we do.

When we love God with all of our hearts, our lives will reflect his love to others. They will desire what we have. We don’t need a Bible college degree or a physical stage in an auditorium to spread the message of Jesus. Our life performance does that. Our job is to love God and to love others.

“No one has ever seen God. But if we love each other, God lives in us, and his love is brought to full expression in us.”

1 JOHN 4:12

The Christmas story is about love: God’s love, Mary’s love, and Joseph’s love too. We are the continuation in that chain of love.

How can we show more love to others in this season and throughout the year?

“Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged.”

1 Corinthians 13:4-5

Away

A long, long time ago, in a land far, far away, supernatural angel-creatures appeared to people, giant new stars appeared in the night sky, and magical things happened. It’s quite a story.

A teenager gets pregnant. No big miracle there. Except she claims she’s never had sex. Okay, honey, we know you’re embarrassed about this little slip-up before your marriage ceremonies have gone ahead, but virgins don’t have babies. And, well, her Aunt Elizabeth, frankly, must have been miscounting birthdays, because 60-year-old women don’t have babies either. Clearly, this family can’t be trusted with their versions of events.

Yet, their story has lived on through the centuries. A story that seems more fantasy than reality. We have pinned our whole faith system on this story.

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed…

Away. Far away. This story seems to be so far removed from the reality of our lives, of our generation. Not only did it take place thousands of years ago, it happened on the other side of the world to strangers with whom we have trouble relating. And I don’t mean that in a cultural sense, although that’s certainly a factor.

Those of us in North America living in 2020 cannot relate to the young couple; the girl in her last month of pregnancy with no birth plan, having to travel 90 miles by donkey to be part of a census that would take five minutes using computer technology in our world. They didn’t even have the foresight to have booked a hotel room in advance of their journey. This results in frantic knocking on doors as Joseph tries to find a bed for his young pregnant wife who has to be scared out of her mind. The first pangs of labor were likely ripping into her before she made it to her birthing room.

Instead of a sterile room with a collection of nurses, resident doctors, and interns, she’s directed to lie down on the ground surrounded by animal sounds and the stench of their excrements. Each big breath she took as she birthed her son was far worse than spending a few minutes in an outhouse while camping. We can only hope that Joseph was able to at least wrangle up a bowl of water from the landowner so she could wash herself and her baby before a bunch of strangers showed up, claiming to have followed a mystical star, after speaking to a host of angels.

Away.

We couldn’t be further removed from this story. While current-day teens sometimes get pregnant, this always follows sexual activity. And the majority of people wait until they are nearly thirty before marrying and planning to have children. The births of these babies are planned to the hour, and Mommies are given drugs so they don’t have to feel the pain of labor. It’s no wonder we have trouble relating to these long-ago Bethlehem events!

We continue reading the story of this child. He grows up and becomes a missionary. He spends his adult-life wandering from village to village with a crowd of people following him wherever he goes. He talks about God, his true Father, and invites everyone to join his Kingdom. He heals people and forgives them for wrongdoings.

His mother watches in awe. She knew her baby was special, conceived and born in the way that he was, but to see her man-child perform must have taken her breath away. Talk about proud-Mama-moments.

As she witnesses the angry stirrings of the religious leaders, though, she realizes that her son’s life is in danger. And he doesn’t even seem to care. He continues with his preaching and telling his stories, even when he knows he’s goading them and making things worse. She must have lived with a permanent ache in her chest as she wondered how this would all end. It likely hurt a little that he was so independent, not needing her nearly as much as her other children. All she could do was watch and pray for him. But the fear in her heart only grew with each passing day. This was not going to end well.

A mother knows.

She was likely around my age (fiftyish) as she watched her firstborn son suffer and then die in the cruelest of deaths. No mother should have to lose their child, but this was the most heart-wrenching mother-pain in history. Can you even imagine the mourning? The agony of losing her baby this way? Watching the life drain out of him slowly, one torturous minute at a time.

And then the story takes another fantastical turn. Her son is suddenly alive again. The news is almost too good to believe. This emotional rollercoaster is exhausting. Her son was dead and now he lives again. How can this be? Yet, nothing about this story is normal. Many of the strange things he had said in his teachings were now making sense.

While her heart was flying again with joy and happiness, she must have felt a separation. She had still lost him. Like a mother who lives separately from her child’s dad, she had to accept that he was now spending more time with his Father and less time with her. The worst was behind her; the excruciating pain of loss. But she was losing him again. He would go live with his Father permanently, and she would not see him again, not even on weekends or holidays. And while in his teachings he promised to come again, she knew in her heart that this promise wasn’t for her. When he ascended into Heaven, her son would be only a presence in her heart.

As the days passed; after all these events were over and he was gone, Mary must have realized that her son lived on in many hearts. Her friends, her neighbors, strangers who had interacted with him; they all lived with hope and still worshipped and prayed to him, professing to love him. His followers continued to preach about him and encouraged others to believe in his saving grace.

I love thee, Lord Jesus. Look down from the sky.

Away.

The Savior of the world; the promised one is now in Heaven. Far away. Unreachable by human means. As we studied space in my Kindergarten class this fall, the vastness and wonder of our solar system and the recognition of other solar systems was mind-boggling. Yet, Jesus and his Father reign over all of that. But from away. Again, this part of the story can feel removed from our sphere of existence.

Be near me, Lord Jesus. I ask thee to stay. Close by me forever and love me, I pray.

How do we bridge this gap? How do we feel near to Jesus, to God, when they are so far removed from us? So far away?

That bridge is built with faith, hope and love.

We accept this story with faith, believing that Jesus is God’s Son. That God sent his son so that we would be forgiven for all the wrong things we’ve ever done, and we can have a personal relationship with him. That huge God who governs the universe cares about me. That requires faith; to believe in something I can’t see; something so ‘away’.

But in the implementation of the faith comes hope. I have hope in the day-to-day; that Jesus lives in my heart and loves me; that he guides my life and takes care of me. I have hope in the future; that when my life ends here on Earth, he will take me to another home, a Heavenly one.

And love? It’s the theme of this whole story. God sent his son in love. Mary loved her son. We love her son. He loves us.

Christmas is about love. We give in love. We receive in love. We spend time with those we love (even if it’s only virtually).

Let’s not lose sight of this part of the story during the Christmas season. Let love make this incredible story more real to you.

Bridge the gap and enter the story with faith, hope and love.

Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13:13

He’s Watching

His hair is white, like fresh snow on your front lawn. He sports a full white mustache and matching beard. I have to admit some of my “old man crushes” have had this combo (Sean Connery, Kenny Rogers – before plastic surgery). He has deep laugh lines around his eyes because laughing is his favourite thing to do, besides eating cookies. His shirt size hints at his love for sugar, but he doesn’t obsess about his weight. It’s a wonder he’s not much bigger, considering that sitting is his favourite pose.

He turned 1,750 years old this year, or so rumor has it. And yet COVID-19 can’t touch him, because, if his age alone didn’t give it away, he’s magical.

Born to human parents in Patara, near Myra in modern-day Turkey around 280 A.D., this boy grew into quite the gentleman. He was known for his kind heart, helpful hands, and generosity. He became a monk and traveled the countryside, helping the poor and sick. St. Nicholas became known as the protector of children and sailors. While his humanity ended on December 6, 343 A.D., his spirit lived on in a magical character known in this part of the world as Santa Claus.

Lucky for the children who sit on his knee, Santa has kept the appearance he had just before he died; a jolly old elf. (Seriously, though, he did look a tad old for 63, don’t you think?)

At this time of year, children all over the globe write letters to some version of this Saint, believing he will make their wishes come true on Christmas Day.

BUT…

You’d better watch out! You’d better not pout. He sees you when you’re sleeping and he knows when you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good, and if you’ve been naughty, you’re getting nuttin’ for Christmas – well, maybe a chunk of coal in your stocking.

Who hasn’t threatened their children (or students) with this consequence as December rolled around? As if we’d withhold presents from our kids…

Santa is the man. Children are encouraged to write “thank you” in their letters for their previous gift deliveries before they make their new wishes for the current year.


While parts of this tradition are fun and merry, how many children have been disappointed by Santa? He didn’t bring a gift that was too expensive for their parents to attain. He didn’t take them out of an abusive home. He didn’t heal their moms or bring their dads back home.

Why, Santa? Is your magic not strong enough to fulfill every wish? Why are some promises kept and others broken? Do you not love all the children of the world with the same compassion?

Maybe it’s because we have people dress up in red suits and hats to represent Santa that children have such faith in him. He’s tangible, physically present – kind of. Children see him at the mall, on the float in the Christmas parade, or at the very least, on TV. He’s pictured in books, and he stars in movies. His face is everywhere at this time of year. And I bet every child in North America has a name for him.

It saddens me that when I mentioned the birth of Jesus as the Christian reason for celebration at Christmas, one of my Kindergarten students asked, “Who is Jesus?”

The Son of God. That’s who Jesus is. He was born as a human baby to grow up and experience life as a human, to model a perfect life, and, yes, He too was known for His kind heart, helpful hands, and generosity. Not only did He help the sick; He healed them. But when He died, unlike St. Nicholas, He physically came back to life three days later. He walked the earth in person and was seen and touched by many after they watched Him die. He is much more than a Saint – He is the Father of Saints. And His spirit lives on too.

Rather than sitting on a representative’s knee, we bend our knees and posture ourselves to talk to Jesus and His Father, God. He delivers presents too, but not just at Christmas.

Whatever is good and perfect is a gift coming down to us from God our Father, who created all the lights in the heavens. He never changes or casts a shifting shadow.

James 1:17 (NLT)

Santa has no power. His magic is confined to the imaginations of children, storytellers, and Hollywood scriptwriters.

God knows the names of all the children in the world and He loves them all the same. He loves them so much, in fact, that He sent His Son as the best gift ever. Through believing in Jesus, God promises to take care of us; to hold our hands during rough times; to be there, not only at Christmas, but every single day of the year. He promises an eternal home in Heaven!

Santa can’t make any of those promises. Yet, we invite him into our homes and tell white lies to keep the magic and excitement alive for our children. As we all know, his magic only works for true believers.

I’d like to remind you today that God also sees you when you’re sleeping, and He knows when you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good, and if you’ve been naughty, the consequences are far worse than a lump of coal in your stocking. In the same book as the Christmas story, Luke pens the words of Jesus as He talked to hypocrites (those who say one thing but do another):

“But I’ll tell you whom to fear. Fear God, who has the power to kill you and then throw you into hell. Yes, he’s the one to fear.”

LUKE 12:5



Harsh words. God really doesn’t like pretenders.

But read on. His very next words are more comforting for those who are true believers:

“What is the price of five sparrows – two copper coins? Yet God does not forget a single one of them. And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.”

LUKE 12:6, 7

God values us. He loves us unconditionally.

I stand on Val’s Stage today as a daughter of God who is grateful to have Someone much worthier of my praise this Christmas than Santa. I worship the true Star of this celebration.

Information about St. Nicholas came from the following site: https://www.history.com/topics/christmas/santa-claus

The Best Gift

Our parents could only keep us in our rooms for so long. My brother, my sister and I were not delaying Christmas for one second longer. We burst into the small living room where we had left a beautiful tree glittering with colored lights and flashing tinsel just hours before; the floor below the bottom branches bare of presents.

We stood in the doorway with our mouths open and our eyes popping. In the colorful glow of the Christmas lights, we saw the pile of gift-wrapped packages nearly touching the ceiling!

Yet, there was to be no ripping into these surprises until AFTER the story.

It was a tradition in our house that we read the Christmas story from Luke chapter 2 before we opened any presents. Jesus was the most important gift of Christmas, so we gave the first few minutes of our morning to His story. Why we couldn’t do it after we’d opened our presents, I’ll never know. It wouldn’t have seemed nearly as never-ending as when we listened while staring at a mountain of goodies that required attention.

Even before my father became a preacher, we knew about Baby Jesus and the significance of His birth; our real reason for celebrating Christmas. Of course, we agreed that this was the greatest gift of all, bringing joy to the world, heaven and nature sing, and all that, but we were kids! I was 9, my brother was 5 and my sister had just turned 2.

Our hands were shaking with excitement as my father read about Mary and Joseph and their journey to Bethlehem. But, I admit it wasn’t the story that had our energy peaked; it was the gifts! So many gifts.

My father took pity on us and kept his follow-up prayer short.

We finally got the go-ahead to dive in. Paper flew in all directions as we attacked the patterned paper.

A pair of knitted mittens!

A pair of knitted socks!

A knitted scarf!

A crocheted blanket for my bed.

It’s not that I wasn’t grateful, but each soft, squishy package that was tossed my way killed a bit of my excitement. I’d certainly be warm this winter, but I’d have nothing to play with unless I turned my wool vamps into sock puppets!

New preachers often got placed in communities where there was a church building, but nobody who regularly visited the holy house. We were therefore labeled in the larger church association as a “pioneer church”; one where the salary was meagre, and there was no appreciative congregation to bless us with presents or even well wishes at Christmas. As such, we were recipients of homemade delights made by women’s groups in larger churches. The chances of getting something under that tree that wasn’t knitted, crocheted, sewn, embroidered, or cross-stitched were slim.

Just as my enthusiasm waned, however, my mom tossed me a package that felt different. It had some soft parts, but some hard parts too. This one had potential. I held it tightly for a few seconds, treasuring the anticipation.

I carefully opened the paper where it was taped, savouring the moment. The resulting hole exposed a chubby leg. My heart did a little somersault. I was done with careful and slow. I ripped the rest of the paper off to reveal a doll with a soft body and plastic head and limbs. The hair was made of wool, but the store-bought-hair kind, not the knitted kind. The mouth had the cutest set of lips painted around a small hole in the middle. I grabbed her hand to find, as I suspected, her fingers were curled into a fist with the thumb sticking out; a thumb which fitted perfectly into the hole in the mouth.

Adorable! I was in love. It was the best gift ever. I don’t know where that doll came from; whether a lady dropped all her stitches or spilled her coffee on the fabric she was sewing, but I was extremely grateful to her for this special surprise.

Well, I’m sure over the years I received bigger gifts and better gifts, but this one was definitely a memorable one.

As we begin this season, and I shop online for our loved ones, I find myself rifling through Christmas memories, wondering what I’d label my best gift ever.

Spiritual gifts and Baby Jesus aside, my favourite gift was not a Christmas gift. It was a wedding gift.

My hubby’s parents gave us a honeymoon in Mexico. These two kids who were barely twenty got on a plane in Deer Lake, Newfoundland and left our island home for the sticky heat of Mexico. We spent two weeks in a high-rise hotel on the beach in Acapulco, when Acapulco was still a desirable tourist spot.

The travel bug bit us both. Hard. We got a taste of what a real vacation could be like with the hot sun, the sand, the excursions on horseback, glass-bottom boats, and tour buses. This was a gift that would keep on giving, for it planted within us the desire to travel.

And travel we did, especially after our boys were grown. We especially enjoyed cruising, visiting four or five destinations in one week.

Then 2020 arrived. The world came to a standstill, and no one traveled. This did not take away from that gift given to us 29 years ago. The desire is still there. And we will travel again. Some day.

I circle back to that gift which was the subject of my father’s Christmas morning reading. Like my doll, it was a gift like no other. A baby; God’s Son sent as a human to heal the world. To be its Savior.

And, like our desire to travel, when that gift was stolen away when Jesus received a death sentence, the world still felt a desire for Him. His birth had been prophesied hundreds of years before; a King would be born; Messiah; Savior of mankind. He had to die to rise from the dead. He had to die to be the resurrected King.

Yeah, He wins. Jesus was my best gift ever. I can’t imagine my life without Him.

For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord

Romans 6:23 (NLT)

Don’t let anyone tell you that Christmas is not about the gifts! But this one won’t break the bank – in fact, it’s free!

I recently read that the Greek word for “salvation” is the same word used for “healing”. Our souls are healed as we accept Him into our lives. Our emotional health is restored.

Thank you for the gift of salvation, Father. Thank you for healing me. Thank you for the promise of eternal life with You.

Try taking time at the start of your day to spent a few minutes alone with God. During that precious silence, we hand over all our emotional baggage, so it doesn’t have to leak out onto our loved ones during the day. God will speak love over us as we spend time with Him. That’s when our souls find rest and freedom.

As His daughter, this quality time together feels like home.

Time for Love

That’s the word God gave me for 2020. I’ve never asked for a word before, and this one suited me so well with my busy life. I’m that type of person who takes a gift of time and fills it with responsibility. For example, I move from a four-bedroom house to a two-bedroom condo; trade my one-and-a-half-hour commute to work for a 12-minute one; and go from a family of five to being an empty nester – so, I volunteer to be the Editor of a community newspaper! I’ll have time, I promised Hubby (citing all the reasons just listed).

Over the course of the year, while teaching full time and filling the responsibilities as a Content Editor of a newspaper which prints over 7000 copies, I have attempted to realign my priorities and now use my ‘spare’ time more wisely. I wake up early and start my day with quiet devotion, I watch less TV and read less books which are fruitless, I try to spend more “quality” time with my husband, and I started this blog.

During the last couple of months, however, I have felt a distinct nudge to put more effort into my writing; less journalistic in nature, and more inspirational and encouraging; and for that I need TIME. I have enjoyed the editing, the opportunity to write articles, and the relationships I have made through my time with the paper. I have also learned a lot about journalism, and the role has pushed me out of my comfort zone in many ways. However, it is time for me to let go of some of the things that fill my time. I let my Board of Directors know that I was stepping down.

Anticipating the extra time I’ll gain when the position is filled, I have put renewed energy into fine-tuning a Christian Living manuscript that I have been working on for the past two years, have joined an online writers’ community, and have been participating in writing workshops and reading books about writing.

Stop time

Have you ever found yourself praying, “God, can you just stop time for 6 minutes so I can be on time for church this one morning?” That was me last Sunday. I get up two and a half hours before the service begins and my commute is 9 minutes. Nine. Yet, the number of times I have been in that seat before the service started… well, I can count them on one hand. Clearly, I need to readjust how I use that pre-church time.

The funny this is I do get to work on time each day. Hmmm.

Add time vs Prioritize time

Sometimes our prayer is not to stop time but to add some. If only I had a couple more hours in the day, I could… fill in the blank here. Most of us have things we could write in that blank.

In his book, The Relentless Elimination of Hurry, John Mark Comer points out that the solution to an over-busy life is not more time. It’s to slow down and simplify our lives around what really matters.

Time for others

And there’s the key, isn’t it? Identifying what really matters. As a daughter of God, what really matters is living a life of love. He wants me to use my time in a loving way.

Who and what do I love? I love God. I love my husband. I love my children. I love my parents, my siblings, my extended family, even my in-laws. I love my friends. People are what matters.

What motivates a lot of our time-consuming activities (those minutes outside of our jobs which help put food on the table and prevents the bank from taking our houses)? The love of money (greed), the love of accomplishment (pride), the love of entertainment (e.g. Netflix-bingeing), the love of pleasure… All those time-eaters steal my precious minutes where I could be showing love to the people on my list.

That nudge to write I mentioned above is not motivated by a desire to see my name on the cover of a best-selling book on a shelf at Indigo (although that would be pretty sweet!). That nudge is from God, my Father. I have a message in my heart that He wants me to share. Out of love. Love for people. Love that comes from Him.

Time for myself

Filling my time with busyness that is not motivated by love is just self-destructive. God wants his daughters to add another name to that list of people we love: ourselves. He tells us in Mark 12:31 to love our neighbour as ourselves. That means He wants us to love ourselves too. Rushing around and constantly being busy, putting off the things we know would be more beneficial in the long run (calling my mom, reading my Bible, volunteering at the food bank, preparing that book for publishing), is taking a toll on our health.

Sleep: A waste of time

I often find myself counting how many hours I feel is the minimum amount I need for sleeping to determine my bedtime. Listening to my body and going to bed when I’m tired is not a consideration. There’s just too much to do. Sleeping seems like a waste of time.

I read this week that before the invention of the lightbulb, most people slept 11 hours per day! They went to bed at sunset and got up at sunrise. Did the thought ever cross their minds that they were wasting at least five hours of their day when they could get other things done? We have scraped back those hours at a cost. Our bodies are tired.

If we truly loved ourselves as daughters of God, we would eat healthy, exercise, get plenty of rest, pamper ourselves occasionally, and prioritize the relationships that feed our soul.

Christmas time

The clock ticks quietly beside me as a reminder that time marches on. My condo is filled with boxes of Christmas decorations waiting for unpacking. But they can wait. I wanted to share my heart with my readers. Love for God and love for others – they are my priority right now.

As the busy Christmas season begins, let’s try extra hard to realign our priorities and spend time with those we love. Even if that means interacting with our loved ones through a computer screen. Virtual connections are still a gift of our attention and an expression of our love.

We don’t need more of it. We just need to use it better.

Walk in wisdom toward outsiders, making the best use of the time.

Colossians 4:5 (English Standard Version)

A Christmas Guest

I am delighted to welcome my first guest to Val’s Stage, the author of a beautiful, must-have Christmas advent devotional which I will begin reading again on December 1:

With the holiday season approaching, I thought I’d ask you a question:

How are you doing? I mean, really, how are you doing?

Honestly, I’m struggling emotionally. I’m tired of staying away from large gatherings and, with Christmas on its way, I’m having difficulty processing that.

If Santa braves the pandemic, he’ll be sending candy canes through a 6-foot shoot.

Many of the traditions we hold dear involve gathering in large groups with children shrieking in delight and racing from one room to another, giving the adults time to engage in meaningful conversation. We won’t have our packed-in, traditional family gathering of 30+ people. “Aunt Dori’s Cookies,” the star of our Christmas dinner table, will be enjoyed differently this year.

What I really want to do is curl up in my True Father’s lap—the safest place in the world, pour out my woes, and sip on a peppermint mocha topped with a fluffy dollop of whipped cream.

Thankfully, that is still possible! Our True Father, God himself, wants to delight in us this Christmas—no 6-foot separation necessary. That is certainly something to have hope in.

My new book Counting Up To Christmas: 24 Gifts from the Gospel of Luke is ready to help you cultivate hope and peace by opening a gift of Scripture from the book of Luke each day, from December 1st – 24th.

Available at Amazon

Our True Father is the gift opened upon reading Luke 3. The tone of family hems in this chapter with descriptions of relatives in ruling positions in Israel in the beginning and the genealogy of Jesus at the conclusion. However, we view that day’s gift by peeling through the layers of family in the middle.

The center of Luke 3 sets the stage for Jesus’ baptism. Scripture clarifies John’s purpose for his task: repentance for the forgiveness of sins. (Luke 3:3) We also witness John’s pronouncement of humility—someone more powerful is coming whose sandal straps he is not worthy to untie. (Luke 3:16)

When Jesus arrives on the bank of the Jordan River, the two cousins seem to disagree regarding John’s credentials to baptize Jesus. (I think we can all relate to family miscommunications, right?) If we look in Matthew 3, we are privy to their dialogue. Jesus’ clarification of John’s role becomes as clear as the water he is about to be baptized in.

“Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to John, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now, for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.” Then he consented.”

Matthew 3:13-15, ESV

Jesus’ response was flawless. His inauguration into public ministry wasn’t about repentance. “To fulfill all righteousness” (Luke 3:15, ESV) through baptism demonstrated approval from God—and His status as Emmanuel—God With Us. John understood the righteousness of Jesus and stepped forth in obedience.

Then, God, our True Father, breathed a gift in words over the flowing water of the Jordan River in the presence of His Son and the Holy Spirit descending like a dove. Perhaps you need to hear these words today, written especially for you?

“You are my daughter, and you bring me great joy.”

I long to hear words like these, particularly this year when my usual way enjoying holiday gatherings will be quite different. Our amazing Father God wants to drop these words in our hearts like a lilting dove descending from the heavens. Will we open up enough to receive them?

As we prepare for Christmas, let’s remember that time spent with our True Father fills us with contentment and enables us to process feelings of disappointment with grace. If we center our identity around this truth, we will have everything we need to celebrate the birth of Jesus filled with hope and peace no matter the circumstances.

If you are interested in this study, the book is available at Amazon.ca (and Amazon.com). Additionally, if you would like to participate in community, we will do this together in the Facebook group “Counting Up To Christmas: 24 Gifts from the Gospel of Luke” and on Instagram @peacocksojourning. Freebies are available, including an accompanying Recipe Book, at http://www.jenniferelwood.com.

To help add some cheer to the season, I’m sharing “Aunt Dori’s Cookies” recipe with you. Recently, while watching a baking competition I heard someone describe their progress with the words “it smells like a blessing.” For me, that perfectly describes these delicious cookies.

Here’s to a different, but deeply meaningful Christmas—may you find creative ways to enjoy your family and friends this year while snuggled in the embrace of your True Father.

Ingredients
For the cookies:
1 cup softened butter
2 cups sugar
1 cup sour cream
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp baking soda
4 tsp baking powder
4 1/2 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt

For the frosting:
1/3 cup softened butter
1/4 cup heavy whipping cream
1 tsp vanilla
1/4 tsp almond extract
1/4 tsp salt
4 cups powdered sugar
Milk to splash in if it gets too thick

Directions

  1. Preheat the oven to 350
  2. Cream the butter, sugar, sour cream, and vanilla.
  3. Add in the dry ingredients, save the flour for last and add one cup at a time.
  4. Refrigerate for half an hour. Then roll to your desired thickness. Cut out your shapes and place them on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.
  5. Set a timer for 12 minutes, but start watching them at 9 minutes. The secret is to pull them out the second any color appears on the edges. If you overdo it, the magical texture disappears.
  6. While the cookies cool, make the frosting. Mix the ingredients together and start with 2 cups of powdered sugar. Add more until you reach the desired consistency. If it gets too thick, have milk ready to splash in. Also, you will want to make sure the balance between the vanilla and almond extracts reaches perfection. If 1/4 tsp of almond is not enough, add one drop at a time until it tastes perfect. (Be careful, too much will ruin the flavor!) Color as desired and frost your cookies. You will want to let them sit and dry out a little if you plan to stack them between layers of wax paper. I hope you experience these treats “like a blessing!”

Jennifer Elwood resides in Yakima, Washington. She is a lover of Jesus, wife of Tom, mom of three, and bonus mom and grandma of many. She enjoys rich coffee, European chocolate, and the color orange. Going to Israel for the first time in 2015 sparked her desire to write and she has not stopped since. Counting Up to Christmas: Twenty-Four Gifts from the Gospel of Luke is her first book.

Stay up to date with her, download freebies, and receive the recipe book that accompanies Counting Up To Christmas, at http://www.jenniferelwood.com.

And He Shed his Skin Again

I woke up last Friday morning anticipating a regular Fun Friday with my Kindergarten class and the 4 o’clock sigh of release to start the weekend. My two days off were earmarked for writing report cards, with the hopes of Sunday functioning a little more like a Day of Rest.

I read my morning devotionals and listened to an uplifting podcast while getting ready for work.

That’s when my phone buzzed with the first text.

In the hour before I welcomed 22 little children aged 3-5 into my classroom, I received 15 heated texts dripping with sarcasm, insults, and disrespect. I prayed for wisdom before responding. The relationship required constant work, and it was important to use only the words that reflected God’s love and patient endurance. It wasn’t easy to deny an emotional reaction and to avoid replying in a similar state of agitation.

I prayed for her and her family as I biked to school. A person with the tendency to overreact, responding out of paranoia and misunderstanding, with no regard for how her words attack and belittle, must have a lot of turmoil in her heart. I prayed for her peace. I prayed for mine. It was an unsettling way to begin my day, but God honored my prayer.

Defeated, the serpent slithered off the bike path.

But in the tall grass, he shed his skin.

Off to a shaky start, Fun Friday with my little ones helped ease the negativity and achieve equilibrium, setting the morning’s nastiness behind me. I was grateful to my teaching partner and my students for a great day at school, despite the threads of negativity which showed up throughout the day like the fins of circling sharks in Facebook messages in our family chat. (Maybe my cell phone is the problem… it seems to be a common bearer of bad news here).

Our car was displaying unhappy messages, despite its overnight stay in its original home (a basic tire change and oil/filter). Hubby returned to the garage where they promptly replaced the battery with a shiny new one. Two hundred dollars poorer, he drove back home.

That evening after dinner, we picked up a prescription for our son who lives across town. Before getting on the highway, the dash was lit up with red symbols and warning messages again. The same words appeared on the screen, suggesting there was a battery issue. The radio stopped working to save battery life.

“I don’t think we should go on the highway like this,” I said. But a few seconds later, the warnings disappeared and everything appeared normal. We pulled onto the highway.

Minutes later, the warnings were back and the radio died one more time. Once again, Hubby began switching lanes to abandon the mission, but the alerts vanished before we reached the exit. Other than the radio periodically malfunctioning, the car seemed to be operating fine.

We delivered the package to our son, but didn’t stop to visit.

“I’ve lost the power steering,” Hubby said seconds into our return trip. I gritted my teeth.

All of a sudden, the engine light came on; then the hand brake symbol. I clenched my fists.

The entire dash of the car went black. We had no speedometer, no readings of any kind, and the signal lights weren’t working. I pushed the button repeatedly for the emergency flashers.

Nothing.

My heart raced.

Cars swished past us, going the common speed of 120 km/hr and we had no way of showing that we were in distress.

“I’m losing speed,” Hubby said while I pointed to an upcoming exit, willing us to make it. Our speed had dropped to 80 then 70, and we crippled down the exit ramp to stop just outside the busy intersection.

Luckily, the emergency flashers worked this time when I pushed the button, but the engine refused to start. This hunk of lifeless metal was less than 5 years old; its odometer reading only 60,000 km. How was this possible?

Seconds after we came to a stop, a police vehicle pulled up beside us. Quickly reading the situation, he parked behind us with his lights flashing and proceeded to direct traffic around us. He called a tow truck and delivered a measure of peace that everything would be okay.

It felt like a long time as we waited for the truck; long enough to reflect on how differently this could have ended.

As we thanked God for His protection from harm and the angel who’d arrived in uniform to help us, the serpent rode quietly to the garage on the flatbed.

But he slithered into the engine and shed his skin once again.

We communicated with the garage on Saturday morning, and Hubby left to get the promised loaner car. That solved, I prepared my tea and settled into my recliner with my laptop. Report card time, as planned.

I double clicked on the Google Doc file to continue where I had left off the day before when my partner and I finished making notes on the last couple of children. I noticed right away that our final notes weren’t in the file. I scrolled up to discover that those from the day before weren’t there either. What about the ten completed comments that I had worked on Wednesday night? Gone. My heart sank. Hours of work gone.

The serpent smiled as my panic drove out logic, and while I looked at the different saved versions listed, my brain didn’t connect that one of them might contain the missing words. As I waited for a second computer to boot up (as if a Windows system might magically fix the problem since my Mac was failing), I prayed for help. By the time my “dinosaur”, as I call it, booted up, God answered my prayer and allowed me to think a little more clearly. If there was an autosave on Friday afternoon which saved as a separate version, that file should have all my words.

And it did. I thanked my Father for getting me through with limited distress.

Like a batter after the umpire’s cry of “Strike three!”, the serpent sighed and slithered off to find someone else to torment.

Why did three potentially-traumatic events happen to me in rapid-fire during a 24-hour period?

I had made some decisions. Decisions that put me on a clearer path to following God’s plan for my life. Decisions that would create the time I need to devote to His purpose.

Our enemy, Satan, wasn’t too happy with my decisions. And in he slithered.

To his detriment, I recognized his attempts at derailing me, and stopped him in his tracks.

The Bible says if we humble ourselves before God, we can resist the devil, and he will flee from us. (James 4:7). I prayed to God each time the serpent approached, and three times he realized he was no match for the Almighty God.

The devil is real, my friends. But Jesus conquered him when he died and rose again. That old snake can’t hurt me. He can hiss all he wants. He can shed his skin and come after me in a new disguise. But I will not let him shake my faith. God takes care of His children when we call on Him. 2 Corinthians 2:10-11 tells us that with Christ’s authority, Satan won’t outsmart us, because we are familiar with his evil schemes.

Fellow Christian writers in my online community sent the following verses to encourage me. Quote them when you feel Satan slithering into your space.

Cast your cares on the LORD and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken.

Psalm 55:22 NIV

Be on guard. Stand firm in the faith. Be courageous. Be strong. And do everything with love.

1 Cor 16:13-14 NLT

Do not be afraid of them; the LORD your God himself will fight for you.

Deuteronomy 3:22 NIV

Put on all of God’s armor so that you will be able to stand firm against all strategies of the devil.

Ephesians 6:11 NLT

You might say, Valda, seriously these are not trials. No one died, you weren’t diagnosed with a terrifying disease, you didn’t lose your job, your husband didn’t walk out on you.

True.

But if YOU find yourself in a difficult situation, whether it’s minor or major, God cares about you. Give it to Him, claim these verses, and allow Him to take charge. Satan is just a fallen angel cast out of Heaven. He has no real power when God is in the room.

It’s Report Card Time

Technically, we call it Progress Report time. If you don’t work in the Education field, it’s still a report card. We just like to have our own little language… (insert eyeroll here).

The Progress Report is the teacher’s initial observations of your child’s progress so far, after two and half months of learning. Sometimes this one can be the most difficult to write because it is early in the school year, and we are still getting to know our students. And then there’s the added challenge of writing negative things in a positive way…

What the teacher wants to write:

Brian is showing talent in the area of stealing, cheating and lying. His leadership of the little gang-type posse of five-year-olds is impressive. He shows potential to become a masterful criminal and mob boss in a few years. Brian can be quite convincing with far-fetched tales; he might be headed into politics someday, if the life of overt crime doesn’t pan out!

What the teacher actually writes:

Brian understands that his words and actions can affect others. He gives compliments to his classmates and celebrates learning with them, and accepts positive messages as well. He demonstrated that well when we talked about filling each other’s buckets and clearly focussed on that for a while. He has strong convictions and will stand up for a friend or for something he believes in. He recognizes that he can use language to express his thoughts and opinions, but listens to differing points of view, understanding that we do not all think the same way. Brian is still learning to take responsibility for his actions, and to accept consequences when they are necessary. He shows leadership skills as he organizes games outside (e.g., soccer or tag) and leads activities such as making forts, caves, tunnels, or booby traps. He often leads the play indoors as well during imaginative play at the block area, where Brian’s creativity and ingenuity is most regularly demonstrated. He is learning to accept the ideas and opinions of others, sometimes integrating them into his play and allowing the direction of the play to change. Over the summer, if possible, having play dates with children his age will give him more opportunities to grow socially as well. (Taken from an actual report card with the name changed)

If you need help reading between the lines of your own child’s report card, ask a teacher. We are trained to put an upbeat spin on all the undesirable behaviour.

“He is learning to use his words to express his feelings” means “Your child hits, kicks, pushes and pulls hair.”

“She is learning to take turns and allow others to win sometimes when playing a game” means “Your child has a tantrum every time she doesn’t win a game.”

It’s an art. One they don’t even teach you in Teacher’s College.

My Progress Report

I wonder if the Great Teacher is penning a report to record how well I’m doing in this School of Life?

Am I learning to get along with others? Do I have perseverance to stick with difficult tasks? Am I a quick learner who applies newly acquired knowledge to my work? Do I show respect to my Teacher with my words and actions? Do I follow expectations?

I stand on Val’s Stage today, not as a teacher, but as a student: a student of Christ. What do I need to do to get that top grade that I will be proud to share with my loved ones?

“She is still learning to use her words to stick up for herself and to ask for strength from her Father” means “She runs from conflict.”

“She demonstrates a growing perseverance in her prayer life” means “She falls asleep on her prayers every night.”

“She is learning to take responsibility for incomplete or overdue assignments” means “She makes excuses for why she isn’t following God’s plan such as “I don’t have enough time right now.””

Studying the Christian Handbook

My textbook is the Word of God – the Bible. It tells me what I have to do to get a good grade. I can let it collect dust on a shelf, or I can study it and learn about God and His love.

“All Scripture is inspired by God and is useful to teach us what is true and to make us realize what is wrong in our lives. It corrects us when we are wrong and teaches us to do what is right. God uses it to prepare and equip his people to do every good work.”

2 Timothy 3:16-17

Motivation

How well we do in school depends on our motivation and initiative. I have to want to learn. I have to apply myself to the learning

Yes, God loves me unconditionally, whether I’m a Bible scholar or not, but He gave us His Word as a guide. I think He’d like us to use it. He provided it because He loves us. He wants us to know Him better and to walk in His ways.

His ways are what is best for me – He knows this because He created me.

Thank you, Lord, for Your Word. Help me to make time to study it and to apply its truths to my life. Help me to strive to be more like You, not for a high score, but to show my love for You.

Life-long Learning

If you feel like you wouldn’t get a very positive Progress Report right now, you likely have time to turn that around. The Gospel of John is a great place to start reading. John tells us how much God loved us and His plan that preceded our creation.

Any search engine will find free access to the Bible online in many, many translations. My favourite is the New Living Translation (or NLT for short). The YouVersion app is also free to download to your smartphone. It gives you numerous versions and even the option of having the text read aloud to you.

One F on a report card doesn’t mean we should quit school.

It means we have more to learn.

Teach me your ways, O LORD, that I may live according to your truth! Grant me purity of heart, so that I may honor you.

Psalm 86:11

I Slipped

Our Kindergarten room buzzed with loud voices and banging toys. I was the lone adult supervising our students; my teaching partner on a quick trip to the washroom. The children played happily; most of them gathered in little groups on the floor, shouting at each other through their masks. Two girls splashed in the water bin, stirring eyeballs and skeleton bones, cackling as they tricked others into ‘drinking’ their potion and then revealing that it was poisoned. Yes, Halloween was near, and spirits were elevated.

I tapped away on my keyboard. This email couldn’t wait, and my students didn’t need my undivided attention. A listening ear and a periodic scan of the room were all that was necessary with this group.

As I reread my words before hitting Send, I heard a disturbance in the corner where several children sat with an overturned bin of building blocks. While I didn’t catch the exact words, the message was unmistakable from the high-pitched caliber of the little voice. Someone was not playing nice.

I swooped in, not wanting the conflict to escalate, but also reining my instinct to intervene. Maybe there was a self-regulatory opportunity here; maybe a problem-solving moment.

With my full attention now, the little girl pointed her index finger and clarified the crisis: “James is being mean.”

James rolled his car that he’d built back and forth, back and forth, avoiding eye contact with both his accuser and the law enforcer.

I stepped closer to avoid disturbing other play or drawing in busybodies. Despite my presence, the accusation was repeated in a louder whine, “James is being mean.”

At this moment, James quietly studied his car; halo intact; no obvious meanness to be found.

“James, are you being kind and friendly with your classmates?” I kept my voice gentle, inviting him to give his side of the story, even though the boy was often on that end of the pointed finger.

“Well…” James finally spoke, still not looking at either of us. “I slipped.”

Both the challenge of deciphering his speech through a mask and the uniqueness of his response propelled me to ask for a repetition of this short statement.

He said it again, matter-of-factly in a monotone voice, “I slipped.”

I held back my giggle, preserving it for the retelling to my teaching partner.

“Well, James, we all slip sometimes. Try to play kindly with your friends, okay?”

James nodded; his playmate, happy with the swift resolution, had already returned her attention to her own blocks. The four-year-old’s admission of guilt, and wordless agreement to change his behavior, had restored equilibrium to the play area.

Banana Peel Slips or Mudslides

We can all learn from childlike simplicity, can’t we? We all slip in our relationships with others and in our relationship with God. Yet, as guilty as our actions make us feel, the solution can be as easy as confessing and promising to change our behavior.

It’s human to slip. It’s our nature. Romans 3:23 says that everyone has sinned [slipped]; we all fall short of God’s glorious standard. But every slip doesn’t have to be a major event. I’ve had students in the past whose faces turned up in angry scowls as they denied any wrongdoing at a similar accusation as the one above. Voices would grow in volume and intensity, requiring a much deeper investigation into the details of the situation.

Our response to our own sin impacts how big the problem becomes. We can blow things out of proportion too, but it really is as simple as my little James made it. We confess to our Maker that we slipped. We can go one step further and ask for His strength and resolve to resist making the same mistakes again and again, and then move on with determination, leaving the past slips in the past. It doesn’t matter if it is a banana peel slip or a mudslide, God is more than capable of wiping the slate clean.

“But if we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all wickedness.”

1 John 1:9

A Slippery Sorry

When others are involved, we also need to apologize. Upon reflection, I should have asked James to apologize to the young girl whose feelings had been hurt. Sometimes it’s hard to move on without a genuine “I’m sorry.”

Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and produces wonderful results.

James 5:16

In our communication with God, He sees our heart, and He knows if our confession comes from a place of repentance, because both are needed. When we confess our slips and tell Him we’re sorry, God picks us up, dusts us off, and sets us back on the right track on our quest to become more like Jesus.

So, if the Son sets you free, you are truly free.

John 8:36

Stabilizing After a Slip

Have you slipped recently? Do you need to have a conversation with a friend, your spouse, your child, a colleague? Do you need to confess your slip and ask for forgiveness? Banana peel or mudslide; the size of the slip is not important. Your Heavenly Father is loving and forgiving. He wants to restore you; repair your relationship with both your loved ones and with Him. All you have to do is ask.

There is forgiveness of sins for all who repent.

Luke 24:47b

We know how much God loves us, and we have put our trust in his love. God is love, and all who live in love live in God, and God lives in them.

1 John 4:16

God wants to live in you! The power of His grace is yours, if you accept it. Does that mean you’ll never slip? No. Even the wisest man alive, King Solomon, slipped. He worshipped idols for a while after God gave him this amazing gift (and having 700 wives has got to be a sin!). His father, David, God’s chosen king, slipped and committed adultery and even murder! The Bible is full of fallible humans who messed up and looked to God for His mercy. One of King David’s prayers of repentance can be found in Psalm 51:

Have mercy on me, O God,

because of your unfailing love.

Because of your great compassion,

blot out the stain of my sin

wash me clean from my guilt.

Psalm 51: 1-2

When you slip, and you will (because you are human too), you can pray a prayer like David’s, and you can have confidence in His promise to hear your genuine confession, to forgive you, and stabilize you, setting you back on the path to righteousness. Isn’t it great to be His child?

See how very much our Father loves us, for he calls us his children, and that is what we are!

1 John 3:1a