Losing My Jewels

My case is hopeless. I have no reward waiting for me in heaven. None.

I’ve spent it all here on earth. I tried not to. I’ve tried to save them for heaven, but no matter how hard I try, I always get back more than I give. Only a few samples of my attempted generosity will prove my impoverished state. (Please note, I am not bragging about my generosity. I do want something in heaven).

I’ll start with “Gloria,” a friend prone to blood clots. Once again she was hospitalized, so I decided to brighten her day with a visit. Besides, one of my husband’s congregants was also in the hospital, so I could double my rewards with very little effort.

I’m a woman with a mission, thus, as usual, I rushed my husband along. As we headed to the front doors of the hospital, I nearly fell over a poor woman in a wheel chair.

“Excuse me,” I said. I do have manners even if I’m spiritually bankrupt.

“Carol?”

I actually looked at the woman. “Gloria! I was on my way to see you.”

“It was a beautiful day, so I came outside.”

I looked around, noted the truth of her statement. My husband didn’t know Gloria, as we just recently married, so I sent him off and stayed to enjoy the sunshine with my friend.

“I’m sorry about another clot. You have to be discouraged,” I said.

“It’s not bad. I have chance to relax, catch up on my Bible study and have extra time with the Lord.”

“But isn’t this a painful way to do it?” (My ‘Eyore’ side always predominates.)

“No. God is in control. That’s enough for me.”

I bent over, hugged her and we chatted about Jesus and families and church until her husband took her back to her room.

Gloria revived my faith. Her words and actions reassured me of her love for me as well as God’s love. I left to find my husband and knew I got more from my visitation than Gloria.

Another case is “Flora” whom I met on a missionary trip to Romania. She’s a gypsy, a group who faces a great deal of discrimination. She can’t find a job because she’s “dark.” Lack of finances keeps her on the verge of eviction from sub-standard housing. On those occasions I get a plea for help.

Which of course I send. (Still hoping for that jewel).

I’ll send about $100 which translates into lots more in Romania. She stays in her home, gets medical help and a little extra. Then all I hear from her is good news: her growth in God or gratitude for my love. The occasional money doesn’t make a big dent in my budget; God more than adequately pays my bills. I know my small service to Flora is just that: small.

In truth, I never do what I do to be applauded. I take Matthew 6:1 seriously. “Be careful not to do your acts of righteousness before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.” But somehow, others see. Others give back much more
than I give. And the gratitude I receive, toots my good deeds like a trumpet from the rooftops.

My only hope is to keep trying. Someday someone won’t notice. Someday I won’t get more than I give. But I doubt it.

My Joseph’s Coat

Sometimes I imagine myself in heaven pulling up a fluffy cloud, rolling up the sleeves of my hand knit, cashmere saint’s robe and having a heart to heart with an angel. In this scenario she will tell me all the times that Jesus intervened in my life, times I knew nothing about. I wonder how much of eternity that would take?

Not being dead yet, I usually prefer to pour myself a cup of coffee (fair trade), sit in my gazebo, admire the flowers in bloom and metaphorically knit my blessings like a coat of many colors.

Knit one: Long before I ever knew Jesus, He showed me His love. Married out of His will with no job and a new baby, I substitute taught. Being somewhat schooled in languages, I noted on all my resumes I understood Spanish and French. Then one day, one year after Sarah was born, a school offered me a year’s job teaching Spanish. It understood my teaching certificate expired and it had been in English education. As an unsaved woman, I knew God had gotten me this job. I worked hard, finished my graduate work and moved on to my permanent employer. Thirty years later, I retired from a field that couldn’t reward a woman more.

Purl two: As my job stabilized my finances, my friends Marge and Al soothed my soul. My marriage died and I sought hope. My neighbors became my refuge. I’d ride my bike to their home, my daughter strapped in her bike seat. As I entered, the peace that passes all understanding settled over me. While Sarah watched Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, we drank coffee and chatted about life and God and farming and family. The love of these friends and their complete acceptance of me just as I was led me to Christ.

Cable stitch: My faith grew in richness and complexity. God planted me in a church near my new job. Here I met believers, learned the Scriptures, followed the example of others as they fasted and prayed and went from house to house to fellowship. The intricacy of my life developed. Work intrigued me. Church fed me. Friends fulfilled my life. My interests branched out to running and painting and writing. New communities of friends welcomed me. These kinships keep me anchored and content.

Yarn over: God taught me to seek Him in the little things. I’d run my miles, and robins would play leap frog with me. In a butterfly house, one beautiful butterfly landed on my shirt and stayed with me the whole time—a living pin more beautiful than any man could make. If I needed God, I only had to ask, and then look—a cloud or goldfinch or spider web would catch my eye and I’d understand God loved me.

Two together: Finally Jesus brought me Neil. The kindness of this man and the humility of his spirit still astonish me. He makes me understand how God’s mercies can be new every morning, how His patience is infinite, and His wisdom not like our own.

Binding off: Through the years, Jesus knit my life like a variegated cloth composed of miracles both magnificent and miniscule. He’s comforted me in grief and rejoiced with me in grandchildren. He’s clothed me in a garment of praise. I love my Joseph’s coat and would love to hear about yours. Tell me. Your blessings encourage me.

Snared By the Words of Our Mouths

When I first met him, some friends said, “Haven’t you noticed, talking with him is like talking with Jesus.” Those words colored my image of my new friend. Everything he did seemed good and kind and Christ like. Recently he’s shown his human side—sadly we all sin, all have flaws. However, those first words still color my perception. I know this man is good.

On the other hand, a new man joined our church. He has considerable talents, but very quickly someone told me some unsavory details from his past. I can no longer see beyond his past to the redeemed man he has become. One day, as he was about to minister in the church, he had his hat on. I bristled. Take your hat off. You’re in church. (No one’s ever accused me of being divine and non-judgmental.) Someone must have whispered my thoughts to him, as his hat came off quite quickly.

A dear friend, who served in the same capacity also kept his hat on. To my chagrin, no words of condemnation flitted through my mind. I knew the goodness of my friend.

How powerful are our words. The tongue, according to James 3:6 is “a fire, a world of iniquity…and sets on fire the course of nature; and is set on fire by hell.” Whether we malign a human or complain about our jobs, what our tongues speak, our mind believes. Truly it snares us.

Pocket full of Dandy-Lions

Dandelions! They bespeckle our lawns, and before we can gather up the Round-Up, they’ve gone to seed and multiplied. They’ve created a duplication process that rivals any sci-fi movie—I can see it now: The Attack of the Dandelions. In the inimitable words of Snoopy, “Arrrgh.”
Walking to the park with my grandchildren though, they delighted in picking the bright yellow “dandy-lions.” I oohed and aahed and stuck them in my coat pocket. While David and Caroline swung and slid and squealed with laughter at the playground, I stuck my hand in my pocket and fingered the satiny heads of my dandelions.
Where did I put my eyes of a child? When did bright, pretty flowers become anathema? When did I stop seeing the beauty in little things? While my grandkids visited I tried to think of things to do, exciting things like boating and kayaking and shopping for lots of gifts. In doing so I overlooked the truly pleasurable things of skipping along the road, rolling down a grassy hill, finding animals in clouds.
God gave us a delightful world. To see His kingdom we truly do need the eyes of a child, eyes free of cynicism, of surfeit, of brainwashed thinking.
On the way home, Caroline found a huge dandelion puff ball. Of course she blew it. God bless a lawn filled with dandelions.