Tag Archives: God

In God We Trust-ed

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I have a friend that gave to me a new state quarter every time they were released. She also made me the recipient of a brand new shiny gold Washington dollar the year those were released by the U.S. Mint. It is a beautiful coin. Exquisite, really, if you collect coins. It’s quite similar to the Susan B. Anthony dollar.

The day I received those two coins – the newest state quarter and the Washington dollar, we were sitting in North Idaho, eating lunch. It was a beautiful day, full of sunshine and not a cloud in the sky as we sat by the lake right across from her work.

There were three of us there that day and she gave coins to the two of us who had met her for lunch. I looked at the coins in my hand. I was more drawn to the gold than the silver and noticed George on the face of the coin.

“Did you notice he isn’t smiling on the dollar coin?” I asked my two friends.

No, they hadn’t noticed.

They took another bite of lunch while I kept looking at George. Then I looked at George on the quarter. “He’s smiling on the quarter,” I said, bringing my ongoing investigation up to date. “It’s somewhat more of a mischievous smile, but it’s there.”

They hadn’t noticed that, either. I looked back at the gold coin.

“Did you notice they got rid of “In God We Trust” on the face of the coin?”, I asked.

One replied yes. The other, no.

“Get this,” said the friend who gave me the coin, “they’ve put it on the side.”

“That’s stupid,” I commented. “It’ll get rubbed off.”

I thought, ‘Just like we are rubbing God right out of our country.’

We take a little bit of Him out of this and we take a little bit of Him out of that and before we know it, He’ll be completely gone and when we are at the end of our ropes, we’ll cry out to Him – but why should He answer? We didn’t need Him then. We made that more than clear. Why then, should He want us now?

Some days we wake up and feel empty and alone and wonder why. The answer may be simple, really…

One day we chose to rub out our prayers before meals. Embarrassing when we go out to eat. Can’t have that. What will people think? And the next week we rubbed our quiet time out of our mornings. Gotta make this meeting, gotta make that luncheon, gotta do this, gotta do that. And it’s becoming quite easy to justify rubbing church off the calendar because of the songs they’re singing or the pastor’s preaching much too long, or no one says hi or… . Before we know it – we’ll have rubbed God completley out of our lives.

“In God We Trust.”

It’ll get rubbed right off of the sides of those dollars. Just wait and see.

A little here, a little there. To want Him off the coin, He had to have been void in our lives. Before we know it, we’ll have rubbed Him out of everything.

From my heart,

Easter Series, Part 9: Waiting for Christmas

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Remember that feeling you got as a little kid, knowing that Christmas was the next day? You could hardly sleep and every little noise made you think Santa was on his way. I wonder if anyone in Jesus’ circle of influence felt that was on Saturday, knowing that He had told them He would rise on the third day – tomorrow.

Do you suppose they were excited? Confused? Terrified? Skeptical? I think they were all that and more. Sure they saw Him perform endless miracles that they had witnessed first hand. But there was one difference – He was alive. How was He supposed to make himself alive again if he was dead? No one had seen a dead person perform a mircle.

There are no accounts of who was doing what on the day before the resurrection. What would they have been doing?

Waiting.   In anticipation of something greater. Something wonderful. A promise fulfilled. A hope unimaginable. A joy beyond measure. I think they were waiting, even in fear. Just like a child at Christmas and I think God was watching the faith, the hope, the joy of His children as they waited for Him to give the most wonderful gift… He was giving His Son back. For good.

I think that God was a bit excited, too – waiting to see the smile of His children when they saw their gift.

Easter Series, Part 3: Surely He Was the Son of God

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I have always wanted to prepare for Easter by taking the month leading up to that holiday and reflect on the events that make up what we call, Easter. I began that the other day with “When Jesus Says Your Name“. It was the story of Mary as she stands at the tomb, distraught over her Jesus being gone.

 

The second in the series, Bound For My Freedom, is the story of Asher, the young shepherd boy who sat next to Jesus in the stable, only to meet up with him again at the foot of the cross, as he assists his cousin Joseph in preparing Christ’s body with burial.

 

Today’s story, third in the series, is seen through the eyes of the centurion who saw the darkness of Good Friday turn to the light and hope of Easter. Enjoy!

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

“For God so love the world that He gave His one and only Son…”

For many, that verse has been heard a thousand times and it can mean next to nothing. For others, they have heard Jesus died on the cross, yet leave that fact hanging in mid-air where it stopped, so as not to allow it to pierce their heart. They, like I once did, have heard the story of the cross like this: “Jesus died on the cross for your sins.” That’s pretty plain. Pretty simple. But was that all there was to it, really? Just a plain and simple fact?

The last six hours in the life of Christ can show you, once again, (or for what may be the first time), that for Jesus to die on the cross, was not so plain nor was it so simple.

Jesus has been up all night with a great amount of anguish. After all, He is the Son of God and knows the Father’s thoughts. He knows what lies ahead. He had spent these precious hours on His knees, praying in the garden of Gethsemane. His prayers are powerful, intentional and pleading. So emotive that crimson drops of sweat drip from His pores. In the middle of His prayers, He is apprehended as if a criminal.

He is taken away, only to endure three legal, yet not so just, trials. He is flogged – a lashing done with the use of a whip made of rawhide.

In a flogging, the whip that is used contains steel like balls in the middle of the rawhide and at the end, pieces of bone that cut glass. The criminals in Jesus’ day were put on a pole and the authorities would then swing the whip. As it would swing around the criminals body, the balls would hit and cause major contusions to the organs as the pieces of bone cut into the flesh. When pulled out, it ripped away the flesh. Thirty-nine lashes was the legal limit, for few individuals ever lived beyond those 39 lashes.

That’s what Jesus gets.

When Christ lay, most likely almost dead, they strip him of his clothes. They spit on Him. They shove a twisted crown of thorns on his head. They strike Him on the head. They mock him as king.

Emotionally he is exhausted. Physically he is almost dead. Mentally he is drained. And yet, it doesn’t end there. In such a weakened condition, He isn’t able to carry the load of the cross – my cross. But he was the One chosen to bear it and He is led off to Golgotha – the hill on which he must die.

The nails are like spikes and he winces with each strike of the mallet that pounds each one into His hands and feet. Hanging there, they hurl insults at him and He does not retaliate; when he suffers, he makes no threats. Instead, he entrusts Himself to His heavenly Father, who judges justly.

A continual life of obedience, even in the face of humiliation. Obedience in the face of mockery. Obedience in the face of a death He had every power at hand to stop. Still, he endures. They aren’t finished with him yet.

They lift up sour wine for him to drink. They insult him, take his clothes and cast lots for them. It’s all a game to them. It’s all about taunting what appears to be the underdog. It’s all about obeying the rules of the mighty and twisting them to fit your pleasure.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son…”

He doesn’t use His words to bite back. He doesn’t say, “I’ll get you!” or, “Come on up here and say that to my face!” or, “Just wait until after the resurrection, buddy!” No, these statements were not found on the lips of Christ. Instead, He left the ways of judgment up to God and demanded no apology. Instead, he spoke in their defense.

“Father forgive them, for they don’t know what they’re doing!”

How Jesus, with a body wracked with pain, eyes blinded by his own blood, and lungs yearning for air could speak on behalf of some heartless thugs is beyond my comprehension.

Jesus didn’t die from loss of blood. He didn’t die of pain. He suffocated, for to die by means of a crucifixion is to die of suffocation. As His arms are nailed cross-ways above, soldiers bend his legs and put a nail between both ankles so that he is able to push up with his legs and pull himself up but as he hangs there, his arms quickly dislocate. As he tries to pull himself up, his organs begin to slide down and the pain of pulling himself up, is compensated by trying to get a breath and he suffocates.

“The reason my Father loves me is that I lay down my life …

No one takes my life from me…

I lay it down on my own accord.

I have the authority to lay it down or to take it up again…”

A centurion sits nearby. He watches the three men who are lined up on crosses – no respect, no cause for care or concern, no dignity – just pieces of meat. A conversation develops between the center man and the one to his left. The centurion can’t hear much but he definitely hears a proclamation by the man on the left that this man called Jesus is innocent. The rumble of voices quiet and the world grows freakishly silent.

As the centurion stands, he notices that the man in the middle is lifeless but out of somewhere, the lifeless body musters strength to lift its head upward and like a bolt of lightening and the roar of thunder he proclaims, “It is finished.”

The centurion takes three quick steps toward and falls at the foot of the cross of Christ. Not because he suddenly realizes just who this is that he has hung up to die, but because he loses his balance. The earth is shaking as the skies grow dark with anger.

He looks up into the face of this man, so near to death. Jesus looks down. His arms outstretched, hammered with nails the rugged post, He is unable to embrace this one who now understands. They lock eyes and in that instant, he falls under the grace of God and states a truth that will ring throughout history:

“Surely this was the Son of God.”

The faith of the centurion was born that day at the foot of the cross and forgiveness was poured down over him by the crimson blood of Christ. And, he weeps.

“Surely this man was innocent.”

Surely, He was.

 

 

 

Easter Series, Part 1: When Jesus Says Your Name

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dscn9827It’s Saturday – that day that comes between Good Friday and Easter and I can’t help but wonder whether I would have lost hope on that day – that one Saturday, so long ago.

I can be hopeful, however, because I know what happened that next day – the day that followed the dark clouds of doubt just two days prior. The day the tomb was empty. Sunday morning – Easter morning. The morning that Jesus could not be found.

What would it have been like to have been one of the three women walking to the tomb, in order to prepare Jesus’ body for burial? These three women – Mary and Martha and Mary – had been His close friends. The closest kind. After all, it isn’t just anyone, on just any old day, that would lavish their Master’s feet with the finest of oils. Oils worth their weight in gold, as some might say.  But – one of these three did. Mary did. And now she most likely took each step, with a million questions in her mind beginning with ‘why’, as she walked her path of sorrow.

Martha walked alongside. Did she have regrets? Did she wish she had put down the dishtowel and joined Mary at Jesus’ feet more often, instead of sighing and complaining that no one ever helped her? Did she yearn and ache to have Him back and have a do-over, showing her Lord that He really was more important than a clean sink?

And what about the other Mary? The first Mary – his mother? What was she going through? She knew what He was about. She knew it from the very beginning but was this the way it was supposed to be? If he was who she believed He was then why this? How was being dead going to save the world? She remembered hearing about the statement He had made about the ‘third day’. She knew God was a God of miracles – she knew that first hand and personally. But – death? How was that going to fix things? Loaned to her through arms of God, she watched a little baby boy become a man – a man who was going to save the world.  But how could that be? He didn’t even save himself when the time warranted it and everyone was waiting for a miracle. Instead, he took the insults, the beatings, the lies and didn’t stop a thing.

Approaching the tomb in silence, the women abruptly stopped short. The storm clouds from the days prior were now completely gone. The sun beat down upon them as they removed the veils from their heads, not that it enabled them to see clearer. The stone had still been moved – but how? It would take many men to push it away and there wasn’t one man around.  Not even the guards who were sworn to be standing beside the stone that was now moved from where it had been placed to seal the tomb.
Without a sound, without a word, they looked at each other in bewilderment, all three with thoughts racing through their minds of what the open tomb could mean. Was He still in there? Had someone taken Him? Was it a cruel joke? A few seconds seemed like hours as they stood, speculating in silence what the darkness before them held as they prepared to enter that tomb.

Within seconds of entering, the three women reappear from within the tomb and  bolt to where they know Peter is. Frantic, broken, distraught and out of breath, Mary rattles off what has happened.

“They have taken the Lord out of the tomb and we don’t know where they have put them.” She is beside herself with confusion.

Peter, watching her expressions, realizes that she isn’t joking around and he and John, without response follow Mary’s lead and all three are out the door and on their way to the tomb. John, always the renowned devoted one, beats Peter and reaches the tomb first. He and Peter look in the tomb, much the same way the three women had done not long before.

It was as Mary had told them. He was gone. All that was left was the cloth they had wrapped him in. They are beside themselves and rush back home. Fear? Bewilderment? Confusion? Hope?

Mary stays and is standing outside the tomb, crying. She came to the tomb for one reason and now her one reason is gone. And the ones she ran to for enlightenment have run back home. As she stands there weeping, she hears a noise. It causes her to stop and look. She looks around, but no one is there. She hears it again and realizes that it’s coming from inside. She peeks back into the tomb.

Did she gasp? Did she cover her mouth in surprise, covering a potential scream of fear? What was her reaction as she looked in and found two men sitting on the very place where Jesus should have been? The very place where the cloths he was wrapped in sat neatly folded next to these unknown men, evidence that Jesus had made His bed before he left. Martha would have rejoiced.

Her attention is given in full to the strangers when they ask her to verbalize the cause of her tears. They knew why, but they knew there was a God-sized hole in her heart that was aching right now to be filled by One she feared she had lost. However, they still  ask.  There is something freeing in being able to talk about your pain.

“They’ve taken my Lord away and I don’t know where they’ve put Him.”

My Lord. Her prince, her savior, her  friend. The only One who knew her to the depths of her being and in spite of it, loved her unconditionally and poured measures of grace over the stain of her sins.

A voice from behind startles her and she turns to find another man.

“Woman, why are you crying? Who are you looking for?”

It was just the gardener. Or so she thought. She is desperate. Where is her Lord?

“Sir, if you’ve taken my friend, tell me where he is and I’ll go get him.”

Poor Mary! Can’t you not feel her pain? The helplessness? The confusion? Her last opportunity to shower her Lord with love by preparing his body for burial and he’s missing.  And these men – they keep asking why she’s crying. Did they not know him? Had they not heard what kind of man he was? Did they not understand the difference he had made in so many lives?
And then Jesus, to save her from distraught, says her name.

“Mary.”

Can you imagine Jesus saying your name?

Weary from grief and overwhelmed with what to do in the situation that confronted her seconds earlier, she stops. The two angels that appeared as mere men hadn’t been able to help her. Who she thought was the gardener couldn’t help… until he said her name. All it took was to hear him say her name, as He had so many times before and she knew.

It was at that moment when Mary came undone and turned to Him and cried, “Teacher!”

I can just imagine that, at that very moment she was overflowing with excitement, relief, joy – all in one. She most likely did what anyone would do while standing face to face with the son of God – she fell at his feet.

He, seeing her joy return, probably gave a chuckle at her excitement and took a step back and  said, “Woah, Mary – hang on. Don’t hold on to me – I haven’t gone to my Father yet…”

Jesus knew this woman. He had given her grace when the rest of the world wanted to condemn her. He had given her his friendship when the rest of the world considered her trash. He had offered forgiveness when the rest of the world said she was unforgiveable. He gave her a new life and He loved her and had filled the God-sized hole in her heart.

“Mary.”

He knew what she needed at that moment, the same way He did when she stood next to him as he drew a line in the sand, attempting to separate the sinners from the self-proclaimed saints.

“Mary.”

As she listened to him call her by name, her hope was restored and her joy made full once again. And, once again, she ran off to tell the disciples the good news and instead of weeping, she was praising God.

Close your eyes and listen. Jesus is calling you by name. Do you hear it? Listen carefully. He is saying your name and offering to you all he offered to Mary – grace, joy, mercy, hope, unconditional love, forgiveness and more. Are you listening?

Being Justified

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Walking into the house the other day, there laid a pair of pants at the front door. I picked them up. Did I have a cheerful attitude? I hardly think so.

“I get so tired of picking up after everybody”, I mumbled within hearing distance of one who was in the next room. I should add this was not the owner of the dirty pants.

“I don’t like when you say that. You lump me in with everyone else and I don’t do that.”

I was instantly convicted. For leaving my stuff around. For having piles of this stuff or that stuff.  Stuff  I needed to deal with, all scattered around the house – here, there, and everywhere. The difference was (I justified), I don’t expect someone else to come behind me and clean up my mess.

And almost as soon as that thought entered my mind, another thought came as quickly… One day Someone did come behind me and clean up my mess. Ouch.

I went to a seminar a few years back where the term ‘justification’ was explained.  Two people stood at the front by the speaker, who is holding three different colored robes – one red, one white, and one black.

One team member stands as sinful man. The other stands as God. (That would be me, there on the left, as sinful man.) The speaker explains that man began on earth with a relationship with God – as God’s friend.  However, because of sin, man became separated from God. That’s when the black robe of sin is placed on the sinful man (one of the two volunteers). Meanwhile, God (the other volunteer) is wearing white, representing holiness/righteousness.

The speaker then explained that Jesus came to earth as man and yet He was still God and he took on the robe of red, representing death through the shedding of blood. We are taught in the Old Testament that without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins.  This was to be the final sacrifice – the sacrifice of God’s own son upon the cross.

So there they stand, the two volunteers.  One as a sinful man in his black robe, covered with sin, and the other as Jesus Christ in his red robe, having shed his blood for the sin of man.

We are told that Christ is crucified and buried and rose on the 3rd day, just as He said would, but before He takes His rightful place in heaven, He puts His robe on man. The robe of red. The robe that represents the shedding of blood for our sins. Now when God looks at man, He doesn’t see his sin because we no longer wear the black robe. We are miraculously clothed in WHITE– for we have been made clean – holy and righteous – through the blood of His son. Now He sees His son’s robe of righteousness – not the black of sin, but the white of purity because of the red of the blood.

That, the speaker explains, is being justified. That, I now saw, was Christ coming behind me and cleaning up my mess.

I sat in front of the window of my living room, humbled by that thought. I asked for forgiveness, then got up and picked up the pants that still lay on the floor. I’d like to say I did it with a cheerful attitude. Let’s just say, I did it and I’m working on the cheerful part.

Just Trust Me

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I used to think I knew what faith was. I know three women named Faith and one is a portrait of a very godly lady, but somehow when it comes to trusting what God can do, knowing people named Faith doesn’t tip the scales to your favor in the so-called faith department of belief.

Several years ago, when faced with a major decision, I stayed up all night searching verses on three closely related words: faith, trust, and belief. Several hours upon finishing my search, I felt as if my God could move mountains beyond my imagination and I was certain I knew what it felt to have “faith as a mustard seed”. That day, I had a faith such as I had never known before in my life. In fact, I had so much faith that I am sure if I had told the mountains to move that can I see from my window, they would have obeyed without the slightest hesitation.

So, what happened? Isn’t our faith supposed to grow and not diminish, like mine seemed to be doing lately? As I sat in my favorite chair during my quiet time, my mind was anything but peaceful, quiet, or serene. I was busy praying for God to provide for the smallest of needs and as fast as I could utter my request, I found my mind denouncing that He was even going to answer me.

‘My prayers are already defeated,’ I thought. I was sure the answer had already been given. In the lesson of faith, I had failed and my grade would be a big, red NO. You don’t believe, you don’t get.

When my children were smaller and were in want or need of something (which can be relative), they would sometimes assume that I was going to say no before they would even ask.  That would sometimes put me on the defensive and I would want to say ‘no’ just because they seemed to not have the faith to believe that perhaps the answer would be ‘yes’.

Sometimes I am like my children.  Before I even really ask God about a need, I tell myself He’s not going to do it merely because I’ve already convinced myself that it’s really not that important to be bothering the God of the universe over.

My husband lost his job a year and a half ago and since that time, I have felt as if I have been traveling around the countryside in a Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang type of automobile with God at the wheel. There have been days when we have been going around and around the mountains, trying to reach the top. Some days it has seemed that we will never arrive and the anticipation is overwhelming. Some days I feel peaceful and fall asleep, entrusting my Driver to get me to my destination safely. And then there were days when it is the same old trees and rocks along the road as we go around and around. Often we seem to make no progress at all on the steep but steady incline. It is like covering the same old lessons over and over and over again.

But then there are days when we do reach the mountain tops and we sit there together, just my God and me. We bask in the sun, enjoy the view from where we have come together, take pleasure in each other’s company and rejoice that we are finally at the top! Actually, I am jumping with joy to be there and He is amused at my craziness. To think I had doubts we’d ever make it to this beautiful place!

I sometimes believe that He is amused at our surprise when He comes through for us. Throughout history, He’s held the map of our lives, knowing what to expect and yet, we still fall into that old trap He warned us about – we borrowed trouble from our tomorrows and worry over that which we have no control over.

For now, He sits at the wheel, there is no condemnation while we enjoy the view, and I am happy as a clam.  Sometimes I wonder if He wants to say “I told you so”,  but I am certain that He is too kind to ever voice those words.

Eventually He bids me to get back in that old car and we begin another trek on this journey called life. We travel on top of the ridge for a while and enjoy a peaceful sunset filled with colors unimaginable and eventually the path takes a turn and begins to descend toward a valley that waits below. I have to admit, I don’t care much for these parts of my journey, because every once in a while I have this thought that the brakes are going to go out, my hat’s going to fly off or worse yet, He’s going to fall asleep at the wheel and then what will I do?

Honestly, there have been days that my hat has flown off with the wind as my Driver allows the car to coast as fast as He desires.  In the meantime, my faith flies right off with my hat, leaving my hope behind along with it. There have been times when I look over and want to ask, “What are you doing?  I don’t like this!” I want to remind Him that I get car sick and slowing this adventure down to a steady crawl would be much nicer for my queasy stomach.  I’d also be able to adjust to this adventure much more easily. I want to tell Him that I really don’t think I am up for this trip and can’t we just go back to the top and stay a while longer?  I want to ask, “Don’t you know I can’t handle life at this pace, especially with all of the bumps we’ve hit?”

You know what He says? He winks, takes my hand in His and says, “Trust me. “

“Trust me.” Doesn’t He know how hard that is?  Doesn’t He know it’s an easy request to voice, harder to submit to?

I was thinking about a friend of mine who has been trying to adopt a little girl for over two years now. I met with her the other day and she shared her discouragement over how it seems that perhaps this is not what God desires for her and her husband. She shared that she too felt like she had a lot of faith at one time and nowadays says she has no faith at all. I think she is also riding in the valley in that silly little car.

Just when I think I can’t go any further and things can’t get any worse, just then it will start to rain.  Just when I think I am turning at all the right places, making all the right choices, trusting the best that I know how, the valley seems to get darker and deeper. I look over to the driver’s side and I can’t even see the face of God. I can’t even hear Him whisper “Trust me”, because the rain pelts my head as if it were hail. But, I am trusting. I am choosing to trust. I am trusting that He is there.  Trusting that the car keeps moving ahead and the headlights keep me focused on what’s ahead of me and not what is behind or who is ready to jump out from the bushes. I am choosing to trust because I do have faith – even when it doesn‘t feel like it. I am choosing to trust because I know who my Driver is, and while my faith may not be as small as a mustard seed, it’s big enough to know that because He has been faithful in the past, He will be faithful now and forevermore.

Our faith is tested in the valleys of our lives and we learn to grow deeper in Him – if we choose to trust in the darkness and through the storms. He knows where we’re headed, how we’re going to get there, where the rest stops are, when we’ll reach our destination.  All we have to do?  Just trust Him.  That’s all.

Simply Incredible

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Father, it is hard for me to understand You.
The way You created the world.
Out of nothing.
It is incredible to me.
Simply…
Incredible.

The way You provided a sacrifice for Isaac.
At just the right moment.
Out of nowhere.
Miraculous.
And Abraham knew that you would!
Simply…
Miraculous!

The way You parted the Red Sea.
The way You allowed the Israelites to cross over the dry sea.
The way You brought the waters back down to the earth.
To protect Your people.
How merciful You are.
How mighty.
How just.

You allowed Joseph to undergo persecution from his own brothers!
You allowed him to be bent low in order to raise him up.
There is always something greater.
Always something better.
Always something someone will not understand.

It is hard for me to understand,
how you became a man.
Why you would choose to dwell down here with us on this earth,
among our dirt and our grime.

It is hard for me to understand,
why You would choose to sacrifice Your life for me.
I know who I am.
I know what I am.
You know even better.
And yet you love me –
That is hard for me to understand.

And yet, how grateful I am!
How deeply thankful that You don’t ask me to understand!
Just to believe.
Just to trust.
And that is,
simply…
incredible.

June 2005

Sherri Woodbridge

You Can Plant A Seed, but You Can’t Make It Grow

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DSC07895I plant pumpkins each year and give some away and others are left to sit around as fall decorations.  This  year, I had a two year old in tow when my one and only pumpkin was ripe for picking and so she and her ‘Boppa’ went outside to snip the big orange ball from the vine and returned to the house to gut it.  It was an experience.

At first, my granddaughter wanted nothing to do with the flesh hanging from the inside of the pumpkin and quickly folded her arms together and backed away, wanting nothing to do with it at first.  However, after I had pulled a few handfuls of gooey mess from inside of that beast, she realized there was nothing to fear and she eagerly helped clean out the inside.

After we finished, I looked through the pulp for seeds to save for next year and collected about two dozen.  I allowed them to dry and then put them in a plastic bag and sat them on the kitchen counter for the time being.  My son saw them sitting there and asked what I was going to do with them.

“I’m gonna plant them—all of them.”

“You can’t plant all of those,” he insisted.

“Yes—I can,” I insisted back.

“They won’t all grow,” he insisted again.

“Yes they will—every single one of them.  I’ll have 85 pumpkins,” I insisted more.

His final comment?

“Just because you plant all those seeds, doesn’t mean they will all grow.”

It was so matter-of-fact.  It irritated me.  And then I thought about it for a few days and you know—he’s right.

Not every seed I have planted has grown.  Some have stayed in the package past their prime planting dates and refuse to emerge.  In fact, I have a packet of foxglove seeds that my mother in-law gave me that are from 1939.  There is no way I would plant those and expect them to grow.

It got me thinking about the life of a Christian.  We may plant seeds of God’s truth in someone’s life and wonder why it hasn’t taken hold.  We’ve shared God’s love, extended his mercy, been evidence of His amazing grace, explained the plan of salvation, shown the need for repentance and… nothing.  Lots of seeds… but nothing.

One of the most important things you could ever do for a newly planted seed is give it water and a nice, warm, safe place to sit and soak up the sun.  It’s that simple.  But sometimes, no matter how right the conditions are, not every seed will grow.  For whatever reason, it will never see daylight.  It will never produce fruit or bloom.

The Christian life can be so similar.  We attempt to plant seeds in the lives of others and sometimes they take root and grow.  But there is another side–they just might refuse to grow.  No roots will form.  There will be no evidence of life above the ground.  It’s the case of… “Just because you plant the seed doesn’t mean it will grow.”

Ah yes.  Our job is to do the planting.  God knows what it takes to make those seeds grow – how much water, the best time to water, plenty of sunshine, and warmth.  We have been chosen to be the caretakers and gardeners of those ‘people’ seeds. To teach those in which they’ve been planted where to run and find shelter in the storms.  To teach them how to store up water in their roots for inevitable dry spells.  To show them how to apply nutrients from God’s word, making their lives richer and fuller.

I will plant all two dozen pumpkin seeds next year.  Some may not grow.  But I will do what I know I need to do in order for those that grow to produce the best fruit possible… water, allow for sunshine, and provide warmth.  I hope I do the same for those who have seeds lying dormant within their hearts.  Provide some water, lead them into the sunshine, and feed them from God’s word.  But there’s one truth I must remember that I have no control over…

I can plant the seed, but I can’t make it grow.

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What I Learned from A Sneetch and McMonkey

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sneetchesThe other day, I took my granddaughter to the bookstore and we sat in the back and I read a Dr. Seuss book to her.  Full of rhymes and odd looking characters, she loved it.  However, I think I walked away with a greater message from the story than she did.

The book was called The Sneetches.  One reviewer said, “The Sneetches is one of Dr Seuss’s most underrated stories and for some inexplicable reason it is not as widely known as many of his other books….”  Another said, “One of my favorite, if not my VERY favorite Dr. Seuss book!”

I had never heard of it before, but it caught my eye simply because of the name.  As I read it to Clara (my granddaughter), it caught her attention immediately and mine, as well.

The Sneetches is a story about a colony of crazy looking yellow birds.  Half the colony are known as ‘Plain-belly Sneetches’, while the other half are known as the ‘Star-belly Sneetches’.  To be in the ‘in crowd’, you must have a star on your belly or you were considered a nobody by the Star-bellies, as having a green star signified you were quite fashionable.

The Plain-bellies desire to be like the Star-bellies are downhearted as they want so much to be like the fashionable Star-bellies.  Along comes a con man who, for a reasonable amount of money, tells the Plain-bellies that he’s got a ‘Star-on’ machine that will put a green star on their bellies and then they’ll fit right in.  They go for it at just three dollars a Sneetch and it works.  The only problem is that now the Star-bellies are in a tizzy because they can’t tell the real Star-bellies from the Plain-bellies who they would discriminate against.  Enter… the con man—something or other McMonkey.  For just ten dollars a Sneetch, he can remove their green stars in his newer ‘Star-off’ machine.  The Star-bellies go for it.  Problem is – they are all Star-bellies now and McMonkey doesn’t discriminate as to who he allows in his machine.  He’s there to make money.  They all go through and realize that they still have the same problem – they can’t tell each other apart.  They are all running back and forth between machines—star on, star off, star on, star off—until they have depleted every penny they own (at which time McMonkey exits the story).  It is at this point the Sneetches realize they are all the same after all and they live peacefully ever after.

Clara didn’t have quite the response that I did, but I loved that book!  What a powerful story of how we are.  We’re either prancing around as if we are better than everyone else, showing off our green stars, our diamonds, our new cars, clothes, whatever or, we’re on the other side green with envy that we don’t have one of those green stars, exquisite diamonds, new car, fancy clothes, or whatever for ourselves.  Admit it… there’s always something to envy or something to desire.  We are such a discontent people.

Lately, I’ve been sizing down for several different reasons but it makes me realize, the less you have—the less you need.  The stuff of this world can throw us off course, bind us to materialism, mess up our priorities, magnify our problems, drain our pocketbooks.

‘Stuff’ requires maintenance.  Stuff requires attention.  Stuff can distract us from what’s important.  Stuff comes with a green star and often at great cost, should we find ourselves strutting about with our bellies popped out and showing off that shiny green star.  For those of us that don’t have a green star, we can find ourselves dreaming about how to get one of our own so that we are able to wear it proudly on our bellies for all to see.

Either way, it’s a trap—we’re boasting or we’re dealing with envy.  Either way, it’s not good.  Either way, we need the Lord to set us straight.

All we need is Him.  There is nothing in this world that will ever be worth sacrificing our relationship with Him and that’s what happens.  If we are caught in a web of envy, we are idolizing something other than Him.  If we are struttin’ our ‘stuff’, we are idolizing ourselves.  We are either consumed with what the world has to offer or we are consumed with ourselves.

I don’t want to be caught in either net.  I want to be without a green star, but not envying those who have one.  I want to be content with where I am now, not where I think I ought to be or wish I was.  I want to be thankful for what God has given me and not thinking I need more.

God made us all different, but we are really all the same.  However, if others see me with a green star on my belly, I hope that I am ‘fashionably’ humble and generous with what I’ve been given.  If I’ve been given a plain belly (and it really is just a matter of perspective—isn’t it?), it is my prayer that I am content and thankful with where I am at and what I have been given.

Whatever kind of Sneetch you are, just make sure the McMonkeys of this world don’t try to change you into a Sneetch God never intended for you to be.  He likes you just the way you are—green star or not.

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