Where Are Your Blessings?

This story is taken from my new book, The Stories of My Life, available at St. Andrews Baptist Church in Columbia, SC and "soon," I am promised, at Amazon.com.  I hope this story adds to the meaning of your Thanksgiving celebration.  

Where are Your Blessings?

(1 Peter 4:10-11) Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God. If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen.

           When I hear the word “Thanksgiving,” it opens a family album of memories.  In my growing up home, Thanksgiving Day was a holiday, almost a holy day, filled with many routines and rituals.  Amid those memories, I learned the true meaning of thanksgiving. 

Most of the Thanksgiving morning was spent in the front yard raking some of the ocean of leaves that fell from the oak tree that towers over my home place.  We raked those leaves partly to clean up the yard and partly to keep us out of the house so that more important and more delicious work could be done without interruption or unsolicited taste-testing. 

Before we were sent to the yard, however, there were several things that had to be done to prepare the way for the Thanksgiving meal.  Our home didn’t have a dining room as such, so on Thanksgiving Day we would pick up the table from the kitchen and carry it into the den, making it our banquet hall for the day.  Only on Thanksgiving, both leaves were added to the table to make room for lots of people and lots of food.  The table clothes would be put in place. 

And then, someone would be sent to the corner of the room to a lawyer’s bookcase with glass doors that my dad had found and refinished and given to mom as a kind of china cabinet.  On those shelves were the good dishes, the fine china, a set that my parents had received from friends to celebrate their 25^th wedding anniversary.  Thanksgiving Day was one of the very few days that bookcase was opened or even touched.  It was, in my house, a bit like the Ark of the Covenant.  Those who touched it without a high and holy calling might just end up dead.  There was something very special, something almost sacramental about bringing out those good plates for Thanksgiving dinner.  When everything was ready, the yard crew, myself included, would be called in, cleaned up, and invited to the table. 

When everyone was in place, Dad would say a special prayer.  His mealtime prayers were always good, but everyday meals often got everyday prayers that sounded a lot alike.  But this prayer was anything but routine.  This was a time to think and to thank.  I always listened to those prayers as though they were a State of the Family address. 

I remember my brother Barry’s strange and sad food choices.  With a feast before him, he would make a Thanksgiving meal of turnip greens (no vinegar), white rice (no gravy), and pickles (no food allowed to touch the others).  How he ended up in the food industry is a mystery to me!

And then there was mom’s dressing.  To paraphrase the old spiritual that says “take the whole world, just give me Jesus:” take the whole meal, just give me dressing. 

We ate.  We talked.  We laughed.  We teased.  We shared a great time over the good dishes on Thanksgiving Day.  But they weren’t with us for long.  As soon as the meal was over, we cleaned them carefully, washed and dried them by hand, stacked them neatly, and closed them up in the bookcase china cabinet.  There they stayed, untouched, unused, almost forgotten until the next Thanksgiving. 

Flip a few pages in that album of memories to another Thanksgiving Day at my home place.  In many ways it was the same as the others—the moving of the table, the adding of the table leaves, the dressing, the good dishes.  But this Thanksgiving was different too.  Someone was missing.  Dad wasn’t there.  When we sat down for the meal that day, we joined hands and waited in silence as though he would deliver the Thanksgiving blessing from heaven.  Barry, my brother, finally jumped in and blessed the food.  For once, the family preacher couldn’t find a word to say. 

After the meal and the cleanup and some family pictures, and sort of watching the football game on television, I left the rest of my family and went downstairs into the basement.  Halfway down the stairs, I sat down and looked around at what had been my father’s workshop. 

As a child, I’d seen him at work in that place and believed that he could do just about anything.  After a few years of adolescent blindness, I’d come to realize that I was just about right.  He made our first basketball goal in that workshop.  He made beautiful wooden cornices to go atop the windows in our den.  He often took an electric motor apart, replaced and refurbished parts and put it back together as good as new.  (I can still judge the health of an electric motor by hearing it run.)  He could take my wildest idea for a school project and bring it to life. 

Now, for the first time ever, his workshop was silent.  His tools were idle.  I could hardly stand it. Almost by reflex, I moved to the bottom of the stairs, across to the workbench and began piddling (as he called it) with one of the unfinished projects that sat there as though they were observing a time of mourning.  I picked up some of his tools.  I knew where most of them were.  I can’t say that I was accomplishing much of anything.  Still, it felt good.  It felt right.  Tools are meant to be used.  Tools are meant to work.  I liked hearing a little noise in the workshop again. 

As I worked a little in my Father’s workshop that Thanksgiving Day, something began to dawn in my heart.  There in the basement of the house where I grew up, surrounded by tools and parts and unfinished projects and memories, God taught me a lesson that forever changed my understanding of what living a thankful life is all about. 

God began to ask me, Where are your blessings?  Are they in your china cabinet or in my workshop?  That day I began to see that there are two very different ways of looking at life—two very different ways of understanding life’s blessings—two very different ways of living a thankful life. 

One is the way of the china cabinet.  In this way of living you see God’s blessings as precious gifts to be protected and preserved.  Like my parents’ good dishes, you bring your blessings out into the open on special days to see them, to name them, to count them, to give thanks for them.  But then you clean them up and put them back in that safe place unused, untouched, almost forgotten.

This way of living doesn’t work.  It leaves you as spiritually hungry as a thanksgiving dinner without mom’s dressing.  Something inside us knows that counting our blessings and then somehow safely storing them away is as wrong as counting your money in front of a person in need but not using any of it to help them.  I began to see that, for the Christian, thanksgiving doesn’t happen in a china cabinet. 

The more faithful way is the way of the workshop.  When you live a thankful life in a workshop kind of way, you see that God’s blessings are not so much treasures to be kept as they are tools to be used to love others and glorify Him.  Learning this lesson, 1 Peter 4:10 became my most faithful scriptural guide for living a truly thankful Christian life:

(1 Peter 4:10) Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms.

The truly Christian way to give thanks and to live a thankful life is not the china cabinet way, but the workshop way.  And once you know that, once you decide to live that, you never see God’s blessings in the same way. The workshop way to thank God that I can read is to teach a child to read for themselves or read to an older person who can no longer see the words.  The workshop way to thank God for my health is to respect my body as a temple of the Holy Spirit and use my strength to lift up those who are weak.  The workshop way to give thanks for this nation is to exalt it through righteous living and to use our freedoms not to indulge ourselves but to glorify God.  The workshop way to give thanks for my family is to open that circle enough to share with someone who doesn’t have a family.  The workshop way to give thanks for our church is to roll up our sleeves and work hard to keep it strong and see it grow. The workshop way to give thanks for my salvation is to tell the story of what Christ has done for me and to do all that I can to help someone else know Jesus.  The workshop way multiplies the blessings in your life because you not only have the gift; you have the smile of the Giver and the joy of changing the world. 

Where are your blessings? Are they counted, cherished, but safely, even selfishly stored away? Or are they tools in God’s workshop, serving others, and bringing glory to His name?  Lives will be changed, beginning with yours, when you get your blessings out of the china cabinet and into God’s workshop where they belong.  

That Tree's Not on Our Lot

This is one of the 225 stories from my soon-to-be-released book, The Stories of My Life.  I hope you enjoy it as you decide which trees are actually on the lot of your life!   RDV

That Tree’s Not on Our Lot

Linda and I bought a lot in a new subdivision as a step toward building our first home.  One of the first choices we faced was which trees we wanted to keep and which ones needed to be cut down.  So, covered in insect repellent and armed with orange plastic tape with which to mark the survivors, we trudged through the weeds and briers of our new lot, choosing our trees.  I came to one particular tree and couldn't decide.  At first, I thought that I should cut it down to give some other trees around more room and light to grow.  Then I thought that I should keep it to keep the woods around the edge of the lot fairly thick.  I couldn’t decide so I sought a second opinion.  I called Linda over to where I was and asked her what she thought we should do.  She looked up at the tree in a moment of deep thought.  She looked at everything around it, not wanting to make a ruling until she had the bigger picture clearly in her mind.  Then, she offered me her opinion.  She said, "Dee, I don't think you need to worry about that tree.” 

“Not worry about it?  We have to make a decision about every tree on our lot!” I shot back. 

“You don’t have to make a decision about this tree because it’s not on our lot.” 

She was right.  In the process of tree-shopping I had wandered beyond our property line and didn't even know it.  Until I saw the line between what was mine and what was not, I was worried about the wrong tree. 

Learning where the line is drawn can help you make better decisions in relationships too.  One of the most painful experiences we face is rejection.  Rejection is never easy, but we can walk away from rejection with a greater measure of peace if we will learn where the line of responsibility is drawn between us as we try to share our lives and faith with others, and those who may reject us. 

As Jesus prepared his disciples to go into the world to serve Him, He gave them and us this word of guidance,

(Matthew 10:12-13) As you enter the home, give it your greeting.  If the home is deserving, let your peace rest on it; if it is not, let your peace return to you.

Let me paraphrase those verses to make the meaning of these customs clearer to us. 

When you come into someone’s life, offer your love and blessing to them.  If they are receptive to that gift of yourself, then let that blessing rest on that life and make it better.  But, if that person rejects you, let your peace return to you.  Don’t let their rejection take away your happiness. 

In the words of Jesus, the only decision which others make about you is whether they will be "deserving," receptive toward you.  They decide whether they will receive the love you have to offer.  You have no power over their decision.  It is on their side of the line.  But what many of us fail to see is that there is another decision, one which is crucial to our finding release from rejection, which is on our side of the line. 

You decide to let your peace return to you.  If your heart is held captive by rejection, this is the freedom that Christ calls you to find.  We cannot, we must not, let our happiness be decided by anyone else, especially by those who reject us.  That choice is not on their side of the line.  Our happiness must be decided only by our trust in the God whose love doesn't change. 

No matter what others decide about you and the love you offer to them, there is still a decision on your side of the line, it remains "your peace."  Of all of the words of our Lord which we need to hear and believe, none cry out with a more urgent message for Christians who live in captivity to rejection,

Let your peace return to you. 

Leaving Neverland

Linda was the featured speaker for a Women's Ministry event at St. Andrews on March 31.  While this script can't capture her live presentation, I'm very proud of the life lessons she communicated so well.  

Leaving Never-land

    Recently, I was speaking to a member of our church and thanking him for taking on the challenge of serving St. Andrews and Christ through his volunteer work here.  He was so sweet and thanked me then asked, “Now who are you?”  I honestly dreaded telling him because I was afraid he would be embarrassed that he didn’t know me, but that experience reminded me that many people here don’t know me, or, if they know who I am, they don’t know much about me.  So when Jeanette and Kay asked me to speak this evening and said that they  wanted me to share some stories that would enable people to get to know me better, I was delighted.  It’s amazing that I would be here talking to you because, growing up, I never thought of myself as someone who people would care about knowing or who would be speaking to a group of church women.  But here I am!  Something I never thought would happen is happening.  God has often surprised me that way.   So that’s what I want to talk to you about tonight – the “I’ll nevers” in my life and the lessons that they have taught me about myself, others, and God.

First, “I’ll never be a teacher.”  I grew up in Gaffney SC one of five children.  In those days, there were no video games, computers, or round-the-clock television.  My brothers, sisters, and I made up our own games.  One of them was school.  Along with the neighborhood children, we took turns being the teacher and students and though I no longer remember the rules, we somehow managed to have a winner.  Although I played these games along with my siblings, I never thought that I could be a teacher.  Teachers, both at church and in school, were the smartest people I knew.  In my mind, I could never know enough to be a teacher.  When I went to Furman, I deliberately didn’t pursue an education degree, because I still didn’t believe that I could teach.  After graduation, Dee and I married, and he was called as the pastor of Carey Baptist Church in Henderson, NC.  One Saturday evening, a lovely senior adult Bible study teacher asked me to teach her class the next morning.  She was sick and just couldn’t be there.  Not knowing how to say “no” at the time, (I’ve since learned how to do that), I agreed and began work on the lesson.  I was terrified and didn’t know how my lesson would turn out.  Thanks to a group of very kind ladies, my first teaching experience went well, and I later agreed to teach our young couples Sunday School class.  Years later, with many Bible study classes under my belt, I found the courage to say “yes” to Greenville Technical College and began teaching GED students.  My first class was a mixture of men and women, old and young.  One of my students was a truck driver who introduced himself to the class by saying that he had five children and two ex-wives.  He was a very smart man, but just could not understand the reason he had to learn some of what I was teaching.  One day, in class, we had a discussion about the Pythagorean Theorem.  “Mrs. Vaughan, why do we have to learn this ‘pagorum theorem’? I’m never going to use it?”  Well John, even if you don’t use it, learning how to use it will help you learn to think.  It will stretch your brain.”  “I know, but that’s not enough of a reason.”  “Well, John, a lot of people do use the Pythagorean Theorem in their work.”  “How?”  “Builders, John, might have to use it in construction.” “I’m never going to be a builder.”  “Well, John, you have to learn it to pass the test.”  “Yeah, but it’s still stupid to make me learn it.”  “John, I’m going to give you the final reason that you have to learn the Pythagorean Theorem.  I call it the Mama reason.”  “Okay, what’s that, Mrs. Vaughan?”  “Because I said so!”  John learned the Pythagorean Theorem and a lot of other stuff; he earned his GED, finishing in the top five percent in the state.  When he brought his diploma and award to show me, he told me that he not only wanted that top 5 percent for himself, he wanted to do it for me.  This was humbling – I thanked God that day for sending Alice Newton to ask me to teach her class.  I learned from this “I never” that, if we will let him, God can use each one of us(even me) to help others and make a difference in this world.

Here’s a second never that happened to me.  “I’ll never date that wild man!”  The first time I saw Dee was in the Furman University dining hall.  My roommate had a crush on Dee’s roommate, and she decided that I needed to date Dee and that she would date his roommate.  Well, Dee was wearing white, bell-bottomed overalls that were out of date even then. He had a red beard, and curly blond hair.  He also had that strange “stand on his tiptoes” walk.  I took one look at Dee and told my friend, “I’ll never date that wild man.”  A few weeks later, Dee and I met for the first time, again in the Furman dining hall, and I learned that he was smart, and funny, and kind.  He loved God and he loved his family and pretty much came across as the perfect man.  Eventually, his good sense prevailed and he asked me out.  Thirty-one and a half years of marriage later, here we are.  I learned from this “I never” that first impressions aren’t always right, and sometimes, God wraps a jewel in bellbottoms.  I guess Dee led me into my next “never.”

“I’ll never be a pastor’s wife.”  My pastor’s wife when I was growing up was Beverly Morrow, wife of Bobby Morrow.  In my mind, Mrs. Morrow was kind, and smart, and she was very holy.  She would laugh really hard if she heard me say that, but I could never picture her losing her temper, telling even a little white lie, or not giving the perfect answer to struggling believers.  I could never be that kind of person.  I grew up in Gaffney (enough said), one of five children, and fighting was in my blood.  My brothers, sisters, and I fought over the TV, who was going to ride in the front seat, and who was going to get the last piece of dessert.  Even as a child, I realized that I struggled with my temper and knew that God was so disappointed with me.  I could never marry a minister.  What God has taught me over the years is that he uses imperfect people to accomplish his perfect will.  I do try to emulate Mrs. Morrow because I’ve realized that what she did so well was love people – I can do that.  I can’t achieve super holiness, I don’t always know the answer to difficult questions, and I still sometimes struggle with my temper.  But I can love people, and I try to do that as faithfully as I can.

As time went on, I became the mother to three “preacher’s kids” which knocked down another one of my “nevers.”  “I’ll never be one of those mothers who yell at her kids in public.”  We’ve all been in Wal Mart and heard a mother yelling at her kids to shut up or come here.  I bet we have all shaken our heads and said, “I can’t believe that woman is so mean to her children.  I would never treat my child that way.  There should be a law!”  I’m glad there’s not.  When Josh was in middle school, I took him to Old Navy to buy clothes.  The operative words here are “middle school.”  He was being particularly stubborn that day and uncooperative but he really needed clothes and I was determined we were going to find him something.  I had a stack of jeans, jogging pants, and shirts piled high in my arms trying to find something that would please him.  He absolutely refused to try on anything I found.  There we stood in the middle of the boy’s department of Old Navy, and I lost it.  That huge stack of clothes went flying at Josh – “fine, you put these clothes back on the racks.  We are going home!”  Just as the clothes went flying and the words flew out of my mouth, one of our church members walked by.  She taught me a big lesson that day.  She just shook her head, laughed, and said, “I have a middle school boy as well.  Good luck to you.”  What I learned that day was never to judge someone by their worst moment.  Most of us are never as good or as bad as others might think we are.  We are imperfect people just trying to navigate our way through this world as faithfully as we can.

Let me share one more “never” that life knocked down.  This is the most recent and the most personal.  “I’ll never go to church again.”  No, those words weren’t uttered by the ten-year-old me.  They were uttered by the fifty-year-old me.  Friends at church had hurt me desperately.  My mind and heart couldn’t wrap themselves around the pain, and I truly didn’t think I could ever walk through the doors of a church again.  Then, the phone rang.  A gentleman named David was calling to ask my husband if he could help their church during an interim.  Dee agreed to talk to him, and two weeks later I found myself walking through the doors of the Parisview Baptist Church in Greenville.  Inside those doors, I found kindhearted people who took it as their mission to love me, my husband, and our children and to remind us that God still had work for us to do, people for us to serve, people for us to love, and people to love us.  The retired pastor emeritus of that church told me one day that he knew how hurt Dee and I had been by all that transpired.  He then quoted the words Joseph spoke to his brothers who had sold him into slavery.  “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.”  He said to me, “We needed you and God sent you to us.  He has used you to bless our church.”  I experienced healing that day.  I was reminded of what I should have known – that God always wants to bring good things into our lives, He always has works of service for us to do if we will do them, and He always loves us.  Some months later, in God’s time, our phone rang again.  “Dee, this is Al Walker.  I am the chairman of the search committee at St. Andrews Baptist Church and we were wondering if you would be willing to have a conversation with us.”  God brought us here to St. Andrews, he gave us a place to serve Him, people with whom to serve him, people for us to love, and people to love us.  Dee and I thank God every day for you and pray that he will allow us to bless you just a fraction of how you have blessed us.  When God knocks down a never, a great blessing appears on the other side.  May that be true for you, as it has been for me.

You've Been Learning About Marriage All Along

What do you say to your son and his fiancee on the day of their marriage?  This is what I shared with Josh and Jen during their wedding on December 14, 2013.  

Josh and Jen, parents are famous for repetition.  In your growing up years, you heard some of the same parental admonitions a thousand times.  “Clean up your room.  Close the door, but don’t slam it.  Be nice to your sister.”  I confess that I’m worse than most when it comes to parental repetition.  I have a set of stories and comments that all three of my children can quote verbatim.  Still, as I’ve thought about what I wanted to say to you, Josh and Jen, on your wedding day, I’ve decided to tell you the same things that Linda and I have been telling Josh, and Ken and Louise have been telling Jen, your entire lives.  You haven’t outgrown them.  In fact, today they become truer than ever.  What you really need to know about marriage, you’ve been learning your entire lives. 

As you were growing up, we, your parents reminded you, thousands of times, to say “Thank you.”  As children, you may have said those words without feeling much gratitude.  We hoped your feelings would catch up to your speaking.  As adults, you’re in greater danger of feeling gratitude and not expressing it.  As you begin your marriage, I challenge you to put the thankfulness you feel into words.  Today, I’m sure that you can’t imagine taking each other for granted.  But as time goes by, you can learn to count on each other so completely that you forget to count each other as blessings.  Life can only be seen for the gift and miracle that it is by grateful hearts.  Say “thank you” for the little things you do for each other.  Never underestimate the power of a word of praise or a compliment.  Take time to say to each other, “I’m thankful for you.” 

How many times did we tell you to share?  Josh, we reminded you to share after you duked it out with another boy over a toy airplane in the church nursery.  Jen, your mom says that with three siblings, the commandment to share was often repeated.  Sharing was important then, but much more so now as you begin your marriage.  Daily, share your hearts with each other.  Talk about your dreams, your joys, your prayers, your goals.  Share your hurts with each other too.  You won’t protect each other by keeping secrets; you’ll only create distance and silence.  Share your family with others.  For a while, you’re right to focus on building your shared life, but remember that the abundant Christian life is always bigger than family ties.  Your greatest fulfillment will come as you reach out to a hurting world together and serve the cause of Christ.  In that kind of giving, you’ll receive a joy and sense of purpose you won’t find any other way.  Share. 

Ask for what you need.  You two are so much alike in so many ways.  You both love to go and do.  I’ve described you to others as a couple that says, “We have an hour before dinner, let’s go skydiving.” You think so much alike that you may often feel that you can read each other’s minds.  But remember that the health of your marriage depends upon asking each other for what you need.  Don’t criticize each other for not knowing what you haven’t been told.  Your marriage is too sacred to let it become a guessing game.  Ask for what you need.  Ask for time.  Ask for undivided attention.  Ask for help.  Ask for affection.  Ask for space.  Ask for prayer.  Asking requires courage.  Asking demands trust in each other that you’ll listen closely and respond lovingly.  Jesus says that the one who asks receives.  Put that truth to work in your marriage each day. 

Wipe your feet before you come in the house.  You were taught to do that so that you wouldn’t track the dirt of your day’s adventures all over the house.  Jen, when your parents installed new flooring in your home, clean feet and shoes left outside became the rule of the house.  Home needs to be kept clean, so, we said, wipe off all of the daily dirt before you come inside.  You still need to wipe your feet before you come home.  As you go through your working day, you can pick up the dust of unfinished business, the dirt of frustration, the mud of anger.  Do your best to deal with life’s dirt where it happens so you don’t bring it home.  But when you do, make the conscious decision to leave it outside.  Don’t track the dirt of the day through your marriage.  Keep your time together clean and beautiful.  

Say “I’m sorry.”  Josh and Jen, you are two great people, but even great people will hurt and disappoint each other.  You’ll say words you wish you could erase.  You’ll have an attitude you don’t understand.  And when you’ve done wrong toward each other, you’ll face the decision of what to do about it.  You can ignore it, but the hurt will grow.  Josh knows the story of the oak tree in front of my parents’ home that I once could put my hands around, but now has grown so large that three persons can’t reach around it joining hands.  Cut down your hurts while they’re small.  You’ll bless your marriage if you’ll have the courage and honesty to say “I’m sorry” and meet that confession with the sincere gift of grace “I forgive you.” 

Say your prayers.   Parents love to hear their children pray, because we get to overhear the worship of a heart so fresh from God.  Josh, you sometimes would sing your prayers, composing a spontaneous song of praise.  Jen, your family has always prayed together as you sat down to share a meal.  I challenge the two of you to say your prayers.  Pray together.  Pray for each other out loud by name each day.  Those prayers will remind you of what matters.  Those prayers will draw you closer to God and to each other.  And the closer you move toward the Giver, the more of the joy and beauty of this gift you will receive. 

Finally, keep your promises.  From childhood, you've been taught to do what you promise, not because keeping your word is always easy or fun, but because of who you are.  Other than your commitment to Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord, you’ve never had so big a promise to keep as this.  To keep it, you must turn a deaf ear to the values of this world.  To keep it, you must not only watch your actions, but also guard your hearts.  To keep it, you must give the best to the one you love even when he or she has nothing to give in return.  Keeping this promise will take your whole heart and the rest of your lives, but keeping it well will give you life in its fullness in return. 

I hope that you see that God has been preparing you for each other and for your marriage your entire lives.  If we who so love you have helped prepare you for a wonderful life together, then our joy today is even more complete. 

Every Gift is an Invitation to Know the Giver

 Since before Andrew was born, he has had a blanket.  Andrew’s blanket is a quilt with his name and birth date stitched at one end.  The birth date is wrong.  Andrew was to be born on November 30 by planned C-section.  Even then, he had his own plans.  Linda went into labor on the 28^th and Andrew arrived on the 29^th.  We didn't change the date to remind us that, from the very beginning, Andrew has done things his own way.  Practically every night of his life, Andrew has slept with that blanket.  For years, bedtime couldn't happen without it.  We've sent search parties to find it.  The blanket has always been a part of Andrew’s life, bringing him warmth and comfort and bringing us many good memories. 

When Andrew was a few years old, I returned to Woodruff to officiate the wedding of a young woman who grew up at First Baptist while I was pastor there.  At the reception was the woman who had made the blanket, a beautiful artistic lady named Lottie Caldwell.  I found Andrew, and brought him to her and said, Andrew, here is the lady who made your blanket.

I didn't know whether Andrew would run away or take the shoes off his feet.  But he stood there, looking up into Lottie’s face, listening to me tell the story of how she had made that blanket to welcome him into the world.  I don’t think that he’s ever looked upon that blanket quite the same way since that day, for now he not only knows the gift, he knows the giver of the gift. 

Christians are called to give thanks in all circumstances.  Answering that call begins with giving thanks for every good gift.  Why?  It’s wrong to take good things for granted.  It’s easy to forget how many good things are in our lives.  But there is a much better reason to give thanks for every good thing.  Every good gift is an opportunity to know the Giver, to know God, to know that we are not lucky or fortunate—we are loved by a Heavenly Father.  Knowing Him is the greatest blessing.  Knowing Him is what every good thing in your life and mine invites us to do. 

The love of every good friend is an invitation to know the One who is closer than a brother. Every meal that feeds our body is a time to remember the One who feeds us by His grace every moment of our lives.  Holding a baby in our arms, we can almost hear him say, “I love you like that.  You’re my child.” Give thanks for every gift is an invitation to know and love the Giver.  

This story will be included in a book, The Stories of My Life, that I hope to complete in 2014.  The book will share about 150 of my life experiences that have taught me about knowing, loving, and living for God.  Stay tuned...

Give Thanks Until You Feel It

 I keep a guitar near my desk at all times so that I can practice my own kind of music therapy.  I like to play on days when I feel on top of the world—my song flows out of my joy.  But I need to play on days when I feel down—sometimes your joy has to flow out of your song.  Some days the message and the melody are like a letter from home that reminds you of all of the good things and clears your eyes to see good and see God.  On good days, I play because I feel it.  On bad days, I play until I feel it. 

Giving thanks is like that.  On good days, a Christian can hardly keep from praising God.  Not doing so is like trying to stop the water from coming out of a garden hose with your thumb.  You can hold it for a moment, but then it just has to spew out. 

But on bad days, giving thanks is more like working a pump handle.  There’s no water when you start.  There’s no water for a while.  You give thanks though you don’t yet feel thankful.  But if you keep on giving thanks, taking action in spite of what you may feel, the waters of gratitude and joy will come.  Giving thanks is the action you take, believing that in time your feelings will follow. 

Give thanks because you feel it.

Give thanks until you feel it.

Either way, it is good to give thanks.  

God Can Turn Misery into Ministry

I saw a message from a Facebook friend that troubled me.  The message didn’t give any specifics, but I knew that something bad had happened to Aaron (name changed).  Twenty years ago, he had taken his first full-time ministry position out of seminary at the church I served as pastor.  He was, to me, a little bit like a coworker and a little bit like an adopted child. 

I called him and learned that he had fallen victim to some terrible church politics and his fifteen-year ministry at a church he’d help to grow from the ground up had wrongly come to an end.  Needless to say, hearing about his struggle brought back some memories.  I had often asked God to take away some of those memories, or at least the pain they brought, but now I saw that I had an opportunity to do something far more faithful with what I had endured.  I couldn't remove those experiences from my heart and mind, but I could, in helping my friend, redeem them for God’s glory.  I told him…

I've walked in this valley you’re in and, if you’ll let me, I want to help you get through it.  I want you to know that this journey will be hard, as hard as anything you've ever done, but there is another side.  You can’t see it yet.  You might not believe it exists right now, but I can tell you there is another side and I want to walk with you until you get there. 

We all suffer, but not all of us become faithful stewards of our suffering.  If you and I will place our pain on the altar of service, then we can become a part of a helping healing miracle.  Paul described that miracle when he wrote…

(2 Corinthians 1:3-4) Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.

When you are a faithful steward of your suffering, then God does a miraculous thing:  your greatest hurt becomes your greatest ministry.