Seeds...

I assist my good friend V in teaching a 5th and 6th grade Sunday School class. By the time they finish their assembly and music time, we only have about 30 minutes left to teach. The task before us is daunting...our job is to introduce a seed of biblical truth into their lives in such a way that they are able to draw from it and make some meaningful life application. Then we leave it to God to see that the message takes root in the fertile soil of their hearts...it's all about planting seeds.

The kids in the class last Sunday were, as usual, a thousand wiggles...they passed gum and candy to each other underneath the table edge with every confidence that we hadn't seen. They cracked jokes and talked among themselves, and it seemed that we were never going to gain control of the class. Every question V asked brought something else to mind, they each had to have a chance to tell about the week. We heard about the ballgames, the friends, the silly things that happened at school...it was all but impossible to get, much less keep, their attention.

The lesson today was the Old Testament promise of a Savior. We try to make the kids understand that throughout the entire Old Testament, the main characters in the stories we tell each week could only look forward to the Cross. They had no history to reinforce their understanding of the miraculous gift of salvation. They had only their faith and trust in a coming King. We tell them again, that only in New Testament times did people begin to have the benefit of hearing the stories of Christ passed down from one believer to another from the perspectives of those who witnessed His preaching, teaching, and ministering throughout the countryside of Judea and on the shores of Gallilee. Is that even a concept they can understand? Sometimes, I think they don't "get it" unless it concerns sports or video games or the Disney channel...but who am I to question the power of God to reach inside the minds and hearts of His little ones? Still…it’s about the seeds.

The bell rings and we try to keep them all in place around the table for a dismissal prayer. V petitions the Lord to care for them throughout the coming week, and then, almost before the “amen” is spoken, they’re scrambling out the door. We look at each other…another opportunity to reach those young hearts has zipped past at the speed of light. The only thing that concerns us is "have we watered the seeds?"

"Lord, we know that we hold the responsibility of caretaking your little ones. We know that one may plant, and another may water, but it is You who gives the increase. Only Your Spirit can cultivate the frail seeds that we plant here into the lush and vibrant lives that You desire for them. Help us to plant and water your garden diligently, with pure hearts and patient hands."

"Later..."

What a rare treat I had on Sunday! KP actually sat next to me at the early service! Most Sundays, when we enter the choir loft, I see him sitting with his friends in the balcony. Singing in the choir gives me a great vantage point…though I’m sure everyone in the congregation can see me raising my eyebrow at him (the old hairy eyeball trick) if I see him “visiting.” All in all, he’s a good kid…he’s been taught how to behave in church from the time he was a toddler.

All week long I watch him alternate between the raucous, rowdy sixth-grader who's too busy to sit and talk to mom, and the little boy who still wants to stretch out across my lap for a quick back scratch before bedtime. I have to confess that I miss my snuggly boy when he rushes thru homework and dinner to spend the last scraps of the afternoon outside, scootering up and down the street, visiting with his buddies around the corner for those few frantic moments between daylight and dark, negotiating for a few more minutes before the bedtime ritual of shower and toothbrushing. After he’s at long last given in to us and it’s time for “lights out,” he goes to his bedroom, and starts to turn on the TV, and every urging is met with the ever-present whine, "later...later..."

Although I find myself scolding my child for this, I see that we all spread ourselves so thin that we rarely take the time to just sit together and enjoy our family and our home. Then, if that's not bad enough, we seem to struggle in our “busy-ness” and give God only what's left at the end of our daylight, and at the end of our energy, and at the end of our consciousness...and generally, that's precious little. I can only imagine how God must feel when He sees us scurrying here and there, constantly negotiating for more time for our own pursuits, constantly replying, "later...later..."

“Father, You watch me and wait for me to come to You for rest, for strength, for help in my time of need. You are faithful…always there for me when I need You, and even when I think I don’t. Forgive me when I sometimes put You off. You know how I foolishly think I can invite You into my life whenever I have time for You, when You already hold my life in the hollow of Your hand. You patiently wait for me to realize that You’ve been drawing me close all along.”

Broken Pieces...

I remember it like it was yesterday…a beautiful white jewelry box given to me for my 8th birthday and I adored it! When the box was opened, two velvet-lined ring trays would swing out to either side, and a tiny ballerina with a pink tutu would spring up and twirl to the melody of “Beautiful Dreamer.” Over and over and over I watched her dance. In time, however, the ballerina began to lean ever more precariously to one side, and her once graceful dance became some awkward, thumping sideways rotation. Soon, the entire spring mechanism failed, and the poor little thing plunged straight to the bottom of the pink-lined box.

In tears, I laid my broken treasure before my dad, who was extremely talented in all things mechanical. His only downfall was his scientific mind…before he could put something back in order, he was compelled by some inner drive to take the thing completely apart—every nut, bolt, and spring. He had to see for himself how it worked! As the poor little ballerina now lay in the midst of dozens of little metal thing-a-ma-jigs in the middle of my mom’s kitchen table, I was certain that she was headed for the great junk pile in the sky! I simply could not envision my music box resurrected from this confusing pile of parts.

But, as he eyed every single piece and studied the tiny motor that made the whole thing work, he slowly and deliberately reassembled the mechanism, tightening every screw. I leaned hard against his shoulder as he worked...watching...waiting…and finally, there she was, atop her little perch, en pointe, and ready to dance.

To this day, when my life seems to be unraveling, and all the pieces seem to be in disarray, I think about that music box, bewildered as to how my fix-it dad could possibly make it whole again. Once again, I come to the point that I can do nothing else but bring the broken pieces of my life before my Heavenly Father. "Please fix it, Daddy," is my heart’s cry…

"Lord, you already know how all the pieces fit together. You are the Master Craftsman, the Maker of all things, who knit me together in my mother’s womb, who decided to give me the diamond-shaped birthmark in the small of my back and attached those funny little eyelashes right in the corners of my eyes. You decided the melodies that would play in my heart and throughout my life. I can do nothing without Your touch…only YOU can put everything back together and make it all work. I recognize that, and I lean hard against Your shoulder...watching...waiting…"

“My yoke is easy and my burden is light...”

I was walking in to work this morning, or hobbling in, as I do most mornings, from the parking deck to my office. I carry a huge purse (have you seen the preview from one of the new cable network shows, where one woman asks her friend, “Is that a purse or housing for a family of four?”)…I love that line…yeah, well you get the idea! Also, I carry a giant black tote bag. That’s my brain…one planner with the bills I owe, one planner with my 11-year old son’s schedule (school events, practices, games, etc.), and miscellaneous work stuff that I generally wag home to do at night, then wag back to work the next morning, ‘cause I never got around to it. Surely I’m not the only one who operates that way. Oh, and I forgot to mention my food…all my rice diet stuff…rice, veggies, fruit, diet sodas, etc. Surely my stuff weighs nearly as much as a yearling calf! Anyway, that’s the reason for the hobbling (struggling under the great weight of all the stuff that accompanies me to work and back each day).

As I’m thinking, “just a few more steps to the door…just a few more steps to the elevator…just a few more steps to my office…” it hits me! We get just as weighed down by our spiritual burdens as our physical ones, just like that tacky old black bag. I’m sure my worries weigh just as much as the stuff I carry in and out each day. And I always carry those concerns around like contingency plans...the ones that I just might need to think about tonight, or tomorrow morning, or next week.

I really NEED to leave some of that stuff behind. I just need to tell my Father that I need His help carrying things, then load Him up in prayer…and then let Him lift them from me. I think I’ll shoot for that…I’ll probably keep carrying my food, tho…

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Matthew 11:28-30

Falling in love again...

Last night, just about bedtime, KP was sitting in the "music room," plunking on his dad's acoustic guitar, and singing in his almost-changing 11-year-old voice. Some of the chords were a little iffy, and the lyrics were not a whole lot better. "Mom, come listen," came the call, and I went, awaiting my own personal preview of this ballad he'd been creating. He was just as proud as punch of his creation, which we together named, "The Chili Dog Blues." After my private concert, he called his dad in for a second show. Dad reminded him that he was late for bedtime, but dutifully listened.

I was busy in the kitchen, and trying to catch the last few minutes of my favorite TV show as well, but I have to admit I felt a little pride just knowing that he had called me first. He wasn't afraid to hit a few sour notes in front of me because he knew instinctively that mom's ears are a bit more forgiving and that she'll always give him encouragement and praise. I was glad that I stopped for that moment, even though I had a thousand things to do before my own bedtime. I knew that these moments between us are precious...he'll be grown before I know it, and I'll miss that little voice and those silly, made-up songs.

I've thought a lot about that lately...and I fall in love with him over and over again. I can still see in him the baby that we adopted, but I'm catching glimpses of the young man he's soon to become. I think of the future he dreams of, the future we plan for him, and the plans the Father has already made for him.

"Lord, watch over this beautiful boy...and help us to nourish and cultivate the seeds we've planted. Help us to be brave as we see him straining toward adulthood. Guard his heart as the world presses in upon him, and let us continue to fill him with the promise that we have through your Son, Jesus Christ."

Later,

MamaRan