WHO AM I?

So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.              Galatians 3:26,27 NIV

Ads for checking out genealogical sites. Ads for checking out who you are and where you came from. Yeah, my mind is so weird that I’m pretty sure there must have been some really interesting people back there somewhere in my ancestry.

I know a little. My folks are from England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales. At least that’s what I’ve been told; I wasn’t there yet. My Irish grandmother’s greatest source of pride was that she was born on Saint Patrick’s Day. Don’t know what I’d find way back to be proud of—or ashamed of. Was Florence Nightingale my great, great, great, great grandma? Was Abraham Lincoln my great, great, great, great granddaddy? Or maybe John Wilkes Booth or Benedict Arnold? I don’t look like the pictures of any of them.

Doesn’t matter. I don’t take other folks failures—or successes— personally, no matter who they are. I’m responsible for my own reputation, and nobody else’s.  

But I’m curious, and I’d like to check it out someday. Maybe. I hear there’s a downside to those sites. Privacy, discrimination from insurance companies if there’s a history of health problems, the chance of a devastating blow to your self-esteem, etc.

I’m way more interested in my spiritual ancestry. Who told the ones who told me? Who told those people, and who those, and who those? Does my lineage trace back through one of the great revivals? One of Billy Graham’s crusades? The 1904 revival in Wales? The First Great Awakening with Jonathan Edwards in 1727? One of Paul’s missionary journeys? Pentecost in AD 30?

Were my spiritual ancestors giants of the faith, or simple, saintly prayer warriors? Were their births easy or difficult? What were their struggles? What were their successes?

One day I’ll find out and get to thank them.

Avi, thank You for all those souls who were faithful to share Your truth with those who followed them. No matter the path, my lineage traces straight back to You. Now, that’s something to be proud of!

In Your Holy Name, Amen

PASSION

But be sure to fear the LORD and serve Him faithfully with all your heart; consider what great things He has done for you. I Samuel 12:24 NIV

Squirrels run wild in our yard, which doesn’t suit our terrier mixes. Or maybe it does. All three burn with passion to take them on—and when a squirrel hits the ground on the other side of a fence, major frustration.   

I know that feeling. When I’m hot on the trail, trying to capture a thought or insight or scene with pen and ink, but folks and circumstances interrupt and those words escape to hide and taunt me, I am lost. That frustration can burn holes in a soul, like in the Langston Hughes poem, A Raisin in the Sun.* 

  

What’s a passionate soul to do?

Wait on Jesus, because some of those interruptions are my work for that day. Sometimes the small things are that day’s large things, because those interruptions are part of my spiritual gift. I touch people, sometimes with my hands or a hug, sometimes just listening, sometimes with the words I write.

But still I count down the days of my life, wondering if I’ll ever get to publish my series, or even finish one book.

That’s His call.

All I have to do is stay close to Him and let Him choose each day’s assignment. Eventually He’ll make a way back to my God-given passion, will help me to finish what He’s given me to write. But whether He lets me publish in my lifetime or not, He will not waste these stories. Maybe He’ll use them after I’m gone. Maybe they’ll be left behind to shine His light for folks who’re still here after we’re raptured.

Little is much when God is in it.  

Avi, thank You. Thank You for the talent and stories You’ve given me, the desire to write them well. Thank You for the compassion You placed in me, for the awareness to see who needs You in me each day. Help me to be faithful. Help me to be patient. Most of all, thank You for doing the work through me, for I cannot.

In Your Holy Name, Amen.

                     

EULOGY

For am I now seeking the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.            Galatians 1:10 NIV

Saturday was a rare day for me. I don’t usually spend time comparing myself with others.

Crowded funeral. Eulogy for a modest 91-year-old saint, a longtime member of our congregation. Example after example of his Christ-like spirit and love for others, his hospitality, his generosity with time, energy and resources. Reflections on how he’s enjoying Heaven now in the company of friends and family gone on, conjecture about his rewards. 

I sat there listening, wondering what the preacher might one day have to say about me. My gift isn’t so visible. My labors aren’t so obvious and outward, especially to casual observers.   

But you never know who’s watching, or how hard they’re looking, or what they’re seeing, or what light they’re shining on you. Each person, no matter how open or insightful or intuitive, interprets what he/she is seeing in the light of his/her own ideas and life experience. Not something to fret about, unless you notice they’re missing out on something great by not really seeing what’s there.

What do I want folks to remember about me? Like Nehemiah, I’m a little more concerned about what my God remembers me for: “Remember me, O my God, for good.” Nehemiah 13:31

No matter how small my task seems to me or to other people, little is much when God is in it.

And Heaven, my rewards? Yeah, I want my new body and my new house and my white horse and a good job and lots of rewards—but no worries. He’ll be fair.

So the preacher can say whatever he wants. I hope by then our new preacher knows me well enough to get it right. But it’s OK if he doesn’t. Jesus, my very great reward, knows me all the way through.

Avi, like Abram, I cling to Your comfort and Your promise: “Do not be afraid, Abram. I am your shield, your very great reward.” You are enough, Avi, both now and forevermore. In Your Holy Name, Amen.    

Bottom of Form

GOOD DIRT

As (the farmer) was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants. Still other seed fell on good soil, where it produced a crop—a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown. Whoever has ears, let them hear.”           Matthew 13:4-9 NIV

We haven’t gotten many blueberries for the past couple of years. Besides birds stealing the fruit, too much rain caused the berries to split as they were ripening.

I was excited when my Jelly Bean blueberries came. Small enough to plant in one of my raised beds with a wire frame to keep the birds from stealing the fruit, with a plastic cover to keep out too much water when it rains too much. But that bed is the spot, no other, and the soil test was way off from what they need. Lots of work, but the soil is amended and the blueberries are in the ground, waiting for spring.

A question in Sunday School: Why does faith seem to come so much easier for some people than for others?

Some possible answers: Maybe it’s because the Master Gardener plowed their ground a little deeper. Maybe He moved most of the rocks out, worked that soil, fertilizing, composting, building it up to make it ready to accept and nourish the seed. Maybe He watered it just enough, gave it just the right balance of sun and shade, chose the right season for planting, chose the right mulch.

Soil preparation is important. And after all that preparation, even good soil needs tending. Weeds can grow there just as easily as good plants can. 

  

Soul preparation can be even more important. 

Some soul weeds, especially young ones, need only a gentle tug to dislodge them. But some—pride, selfishness, antipathy, indifference, greed, prosperity—send down deep roots so strong only the Master Gardener’s plow can remove every piece of living root and keep them from growing again.

What am I, Avi? Am I an orchard? Am I a tiny herb plot? Am I a broad, sun-kissed grain field, or shaded for more tender plants?

How am I to know? And what does it matter, anyway? I’m just the right size, just the right texture and pH, with just the right amount of sunlight and water for what You, the Master Gardener, have chosen to grow in me.

Grow my faith in You even deeper, Avi. Let Your word in me choke out the weeds. Take Your hoe to those that won’t choke and, for those still too large, bring on Your plow.

In Your Holy Name, Amen.