Author: gabrielereplogle Page 3 of 4

My husband thinks most personality tests are a joke. Which to me is ironic because the man asks me to basically quote sources whenever I state something definitive. As a lover of science and facts, but also a true literalist, maybe he can’t appreciate how someone can be ‘like’ something in degrees but not in totality. Or he just thinks its akin to a horoscope or Chinese cookie where you find yourself in it no matter what. Either way, (despite my husband’s eyerolling) the Enneagram god’s would either classify me as a “7” with an 8 wing or an “8” with a 7 wing. In otherwords, I’m a little bit MUCH and I’ve always sought for new adventure and new experiences.

Perhaps it is my genetic wiring- my desire to see the world like my Aunt Miriam who enjoyed traveling solo to Southeast Asia & my grandma Katie always talking to strangers with a desire to see new perspectives (unlike my other side of my family who found at times found it difficult to converse with their own kin and a trip ‘into town’ felt like ‘too much’). I’m a rainbow chaser and it’s hard not to dream of that next pot of gold of adventure waiting on the end of a journey.

Fortunately (and unfortunately), I’ve been to the end of enough rainbows to find a mud patch rather than a hidden treasure. I’ve traveled to both coasts solo and lived there several years. I’ve been to other countries, traveled across the US by train, I’ve hiked and climbed, and sea kayaked and sought a new experience whenever I could find it. And I know that for most of them, it’s the journey that makes the end worth it and not the other way around. Rarely is the ‘treasure’ at the end truly satisfying but rather it’s the messy middle. Often the people you are with that make an adventure worth it or deeply meaningful. Sometimes the best company is yourself on the journey. Other times your solo trip feels like a lonely island or a protective bubble keeping you from entering in to the ‘good life’.

I just got to watch the Wizard of OZ live last month. Man those tunes are in my bones. I’ve been a cast member, a pit member, and an audience member. I’ve read the kids book, watched the movie and even have a music box that plays ‘Somewhere, Over the Rainbow.’ I get that deep down feeling, that longing that somewhere things gotta be better, they’ve got to be brighter, there’s gotta be some place to live where your identity can shimmer like a raindrop on a flower pedal. Sometimes we look for the rainbow of relationships (partners, prodigy, parental acceptance) sometimes the love of our culture’s coveted accolades (career, cash, cred). But often we’re living under the rainbow- with our relationships sometimes on the rocks, our culture ignoring our capabilities and we’re left to find our treasure in something else.

I didn’t get a job I wanted (or thought I wanted) last month. A job that fit my capabilities and resume to a ‘t’. A job that could have fit like a hand to glove. And I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been morning that rainbow that led to a mud pie. I’ve grieved the loss of a career and paycheck that grants the nodding chins and smiling eyes of cultural worth. But alas. Despite this. And there have been tears. Rainbows only come after a rain you know. I knew immediately in my gut, that I’m still me. I’m still talented. I’m still worthy. I’m still capable. I’m OK. And it’s living here in between the bows, where we have to learn again and again what defines us isn’t what we think. Sometimes a rainbow was meant for someone else and sometimes we’re left to celebrate their moment to shine.

I get confused at the meaning of Easter and HOLY WEEK.  My days are not filled with somber reflection, but are actually filled with arguing with my 4 year old about whether or not he can have a treat from his egg hunt he got on Thursday at Pre-K, or from his sister’s egg hunt which came 2 days earlier. Or they are spent shaming that he ran and ate all the candy after I told him not to and his wrappers all over the house tell the tale.  My child has no sugar consumption control.  This should not surprise me, but it does seriously frustrate me.  Why has all of Easter (and every holiday in America) become associated with Candy CONSUMPTION?! It frustrates me to NO end.  I hate the battles, the arguments, the putting it on top of the fridge, which they just pull a tall stool up and indulge when I’m not in the room.

What happened to REAL eggs? DIPPED IN REAL DYE, laid out on the ground, rotting away in their tombs SMELLING LIKE DEATH!?  That might mean a bit more, you know?  Intead, we have an Easter SUGAR SURPRISE?! One that is unfulfilling, unsustaining, not real food, and leaves us with a giant pit in our stomach and a chemical imbalance in our brain asking for MORE. 

American Easter Traditions SUCK> I’m sorry, I’m just going to say it.   And I participate in it. I’m all for JOY and my kids liking me. For the first time I thought, I’ll buy the basket, I’ll buy the PEEPS (Heaven Help Me) and apparently I’ll also pay the Dentist in a few months.  It’s been a pandemic, don’t be Bunny Scrooge– (maybe the Rabbit from Winnie the Pooh?). And that’s not to say all of those hard working women and childcare workers who put them on Suck. They don’t.  They are loving on our kids and they can’t help my children have tall stools.

I’m just so tired of things that don’t satisfy.  I don’t want the cute stories, I don’t want the sugar substituted version.  I want to know about the DEATH< the PAIN < the WAITING, the RESURRECTION!>  And I want my kids to know a little of it, what they can, the best they can.

I know, I’ve heard of resurrection rolls, and maybe I’ll try it. I mean, I’m lazy, I’m tired. It’s just me here you know, pulling the weight of our families traditions in meaningful ways (OK, yes my hubby is here, but he is not really a party planner).  I want parties planned for me. I want community and learning that doesn’t cost me. I want my house cleaned without it taking time from my internet scrolling. Do you know what I MEAN?

My new favorite phrase is “Toughen up Buttercup”  (Thanks Jen Hatmaker)  I use it at least once a day, usually against one of my children.  Although today, I’m telling myself. It goes right along with Glennon’s mantra “I CAN DO HARD THINGS.”

You want your kids to know more about Easter than where their headband bunny ears are in the house? Toughen up buttercup, It’s your job sista, I tell myself.   You wanna not hate your Easter existence because LEGOS are all over your dining space?– toughen up buttercup you can make your kiddos clean.  You want something other than candy to be their lasting toothache of a memory of Easter. Toughen up buttercup, start the water boiling. Teach them. If not now, when? If not this year, which?  

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to make them wear a new(ish) outfit and smile for a spring photo. I’m still going to let them eat some sugar because I bought it and you know, OOPS. They will now know what a Cadbury egg tastes like (basically the sweetest, creamiest, nastiest thing on earth.)  But I hope they will also know that there was more.  There is something that satisfies something that actually brings LIFE and substance.  It’s a resurrection power.  It’s that death has been defeated and for that we celebrate and eat too much HAM, and hop around like bunnies and wear the fanciest thing in our house. No more sugar substitutes. I want an egg that somehow went through death and survived to be eaten and gives enough energy that it can take you on a day’s journey. Because Death has been DEFEATED and our Jesus is not dead.  He was not robbed from the grave, but the tomb is empty because he is ALIVE.

Fellowship of His Suffering

There are times of life–seasons, when gray clouds roll in and just stay. There are days when our weeping lasts more than a night, and the joy has not come in the morning. It is those days in which our faith in Jesus has a lot to say, but often our culture has very little. Sadly, even our cultural Christianity has taught us to despise or suppress these difficult emotions. Religious folk have wrapped them up quickly and labeled them as unfaith, unbelief, or just ‘wrong.’ Gratefully, this is not the story of life with the great Divine.

My first year of marriage was full of frustrating health problems. A year that I thought would be full of joy and fulfillment was instead full of tears and discouragement as we sought to find the sources of my pain. I found myself often crying at worship Sunday mornings, with questions of “Why?!” and “HELP” and of course the silent prayers of utter fatigue and “I can’t do this anymore!”

Our society at large despises suffering. Our American culture has fine-tuned us for comfort, comfort, and more comfort- teaching us to avoid pain at all costs, so that when we do experience pain and difficulties we numb it, ignore it, disregard it and shame ourselves for having it.  We repackage this pain so easily it becomes almost a reflex. Emotional discomfort? Grant me relief with a swipe on our screen. Conflict with friendship? Pour me a drink. Difficult relationship? AVOID IT AT ALL COSTS. Societal woes? Offer quick solutions, or let me write a check so that I can ease my guilt as I walk away. Sadly, the church often remains a reflection of those values, those in pain should remain silent, suffer quietly, and above all: Never complain.

Perhaps this is what makes this current day and age so difficult.  PAIN & suffering can no longer hide and be pushed to the corners. It has been laid bare. The wounds made clear. The makeup/veneer off. The fancy robes revealed to show a body that has many ills. As is typical, pain elicits many normal responses from us. We recoil, we look for answers, we search for healing and pain elimination, and at times are able to offer compassion and care for those hurting (including compassion for ourselves).

But what do we do when the begging and praying and the answer to removing your discouragement and difficulty is “no”? What then? Thankfully Jesus shows us how in his most trying time.

It is there, in the garden:  We see Jesus not numbing the pain, but staring it in the face. It is here, in the garden, where Jesus demonstrates his life with his Father is not out of sorts when one of the members is terrified to the point of sweating blood. Here in the garden, when despite his Father’s great love, the answer to avoiding suffering was “no,” there was not another way.  And in the same way, Jesus asks us, “Can you drink this cup?” It was his will to endure a cross, enduring the sin and the shame. This final week leading up to his crucifixion must have been excruciating! The mental anguish, the emotional uncertainty, the temptation to escape. The dark clouds were billowing and rolling in on Jesus and yet the only option was forward through the unknown, towards the pain. His triumphant entry summoned in him the knowledge that this was the last teaching, the last supper, the last time to be together, the last embrace. This was a triumphant march to death on a tree.

My year of pain led to a greater understanding about my body–and my lack of care for it. I learned more about nutrition and balance in areas of my life. It gave me a greater appreciation for different paths of health, more holistic methods, that addressed the root of my problems. It also gave me compassion knowing my perceived righteousness did not equal a reward of an easy life.

The Isaiah prophecies reveal that Jesus was a man of sorrows acquainted with grief (Isaiah 53:3).  This knowledge of Jesus was not lost on those who closely followed him. Paul, a man also no stranger to suffering, wrote, “I want to know Christ–yes, to participate in his resurrection and participate in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death.” (Phil 3:10) Sometimes the only comfort in this pain-filled world is that Jesus suffered pain and his spirit can comfort us–not as one distant to it, but as one who has walked through the gray and knows the light on the other side.

(Part of the Commonway Lenten Series also found at www.commonwaychurch.com/fellowship_of_his_suffering/ )

My four year old eats an apple every morning for breakfast and sometimes another one for snack. It’s a bit much. I mean, I’m not saying this to brag, I would feed him pretty much anything to keep his ravenous hunger at bay. Luckily, an apple is not messy (if sliced) and other than an empty bowl left out, doesn’t leave a stream of sugary milk anywhere.

On occasion, there is a bad spot, a wormhole, a, I-don’t-know-what in the apple and try as I might I cut out the spot, slice it up and send it on its way to be eaten.  However, my kid knows something experientially, what I had to learn the hard way (finding bowls of uneaten apples and a new fresh apple bitten into).  One spot pretty much ruins the whole apple.  The smell, the taste, almost completely tainted by one small spot. It feels a bit ridiculous. A bit of melodrama coming from an apple.  Although, I might recall this is a fruit that has remained center stage in its association with evil (Garden of Eden & Snow White).  And at other times has tried to knock knowledge and sense into our lives and explain order out of chaos (thanks Newton #gravity).

It’s February, the month of candy hearts and Valentines and romantic gestures.  But it’s also Black History Month, a time to celebrate the great achievements of so many amazing leaders and revolutionaries in our culture who have been historically silenced and mistreated.  It’s a time for learning & humility, rather than misunderstanding and division.  Which is why, when this past summer, police brutality was described as merely a case of a few ‘bad apples,’ they clearly were misusing the intent of the saying.  It is not that one bad apple can be thrown out, it’s that one bad apple spoils the whole barrel.   Of course, we won’t throw police under the bus. This is the truth of sin anywhere- with anyone- and any system.  It’s not this neutral force waiting patiently to be rooted out.  No, it’s seeping beyond its bounds. Spreading. Growing.  Gaining strength and taking down innocents.  Which is why we can not approve of merely not being racist, the call is to be anti-racist.  And to do that, we must acknowledge we may have no idea what that entails.

So, we must learn. I must learn.  How do I participate in a society that continues to benefit certain people at the expense of others?  What actions can I take to change that?  What do I not know, that I need to know?  How can I humble myself and take the posture of a servant, rather than being the leader who calls the shots?

A favorite joke in our house is that “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”  A phrase we likely saw as some sort of cliché house gift, a pillow or wall hanging.  It always makes us laugh, because the exact opposite is the case.  Love means you say you’re sorry. Not only that, it means you are not merely sorrowful, you ask for forgiveness (admitting to real guilt) and produce repentance (changed behavior).

Just “sorry” sometimes is just being lazy.  It’s not the truth. As women we are programmed to say this even when things are not our fault, sorry. Sorry… sorry. Was I shopping here first and you cut me in line, sorry… I’m talking about something more than that. In fact, I’m asking for something opposite of that. We will not pretend we are to blame, we will not apologize for something we are afraid we might have done, or could be done, or what someone else thought we might have done… No we will take an honest to God look at ourselves, we will be brave, stare at our souls and do the real work of getting rid of the apples in our lives that are causing the whole barrel to go bad.  Not because we are ashamed, or BAD, but because it’s what must happen so that there is space for the GOOD.  We’ll show up. We’ll listen.  We’ll serve.  We’ll forgive, we’ll ask to be forgiven.  Because that’s what Love really does.

Despicable Me January 18. 2021

Gabriele Replogle

I want refining without fire
I want success without hard labor
I want pleasure without constrictions
Only joy and never sorrow.

I want victory without battles
I want glory without God’s face
I want peace, with no justice
Only if it keeps my place.

I want truth as my sword
I want it always pointed away
I want to divide their bone and morrow
Surely I have not gone astray?

I want passion and performance
I want to be entertained
I want ease & comfort
For my attention that has waned.

I want likes and hearts
I want my valentines displayed
I want the nations to adore me
And my memory never fade.

I want resurrection without death
I want to be born without pains
I want power without purpose
And my kingdom to forever reign.

I want apples and more apples
I want to see it all.
I want knowledge & enlightenment
To never see My Fall.

I want His Kingdom to be on MY side
I want Him to follow me.
I want victory without death.
Or crucifixion to a tree.

2020’s Here and 2020’s Gone

Inspired by my Summer’s Here & Summer’s Gone (2019)- here’s my reflection on this past year.

AHHHHHHHH!, it’s time for
Scary, social distance days.
Frantic, tantric political days
          Catching virus and catching craze.
Confederate flags and no parades
          Police stand guard, protesters wave
Dumpsters lighted, enemies made

Boring nights, boring days
Bored and frightened, bills to pay
No holidays and dream vacas
Nightmares, doomscrolling, political parlay
TV, TV, DVD me, catching up on all my streaming
          Nothing to do, everything to say
          This schooling at home will kill us today

Black Lives Matter, All to gather
Against the people who would rather
Protect their privilege, blame the other
Forget that all people have a mother
          March for real change, March for each other
          Labeled mobsters, attacked by “proud brothers”

Senseless deaths, again and again
Black lives don’t matter, it’s proven
No Justice for these black bodies
No justice for blood or nooses on trees
No guilt will be granted to your oppressors
          but covered tracks and senseless slander,
           of those supporting Black Lives Matter

Whirling winds above the seas
Hurricanes tearing down the trees
Growing larger, going slow
Make a path of destruction where ‘re they go
          Arthur, Bertha, Crystobal
          Hannah first to make landfall
Laura in Louisiana, blistering winds take their toll
          Then comes Sally rolling slowly
                    Dumping rain and causing flooding

Burning, burning on my TV
Acres of forest, flame tinged RVs
Where to go, where to sleep
          There’s no place where the flames don’t creep
          Fighting fires, West Coast state emergencies
                    Blaming, it’s their own fault, you see

Cooler nights and cooler days
Back to school the President raves
          Get your kids there, get them fast
        Or financial support for you won’t last.
                    Zoom Calls, zoom calls
                    Please no more
                            Lying exhausted on the floor.

But wait, it’s time for November
Time to turn the nation asunder
Mail your vote. Mail it fast.
The USPS sure won’t last.
          In person voting, or it’s libel.
          Envelopes your surest rival.
            Drop box missing, what to do.
            Wait for hours, pay your due.

Counting, counting. what’s the trouble?
Arizona takes forever, hurry hurry on the double
PA, GA turning blue.
Holding their breath the nation does too.
            What to do, oh what to do?
            Biden, Trump will never concede to you.

Not only are black lives not good,
but their votes are surely falsehoods
            Pittsburg, Atlanta, Madison
            Litigations just begun.

Electorates, will you please vote?
Give a yep, or a nope?
          Do your duty, tell the truth?
          Or will you seek to join the coup?

Bustling thoughts, it’s time to rest
Where to go, what to do
Hibernate til COVID’s through
Too scared to move, too scared to rest
          2020 at its best
          Downing drinks and popping pills
            Mistrusting neighbors, opposing views,
            glare from top their window sills

Frenzied frantic, beleaguered, now done
2020’s here and 2020’s gone.

Gabriele Replogle January 7, 2021

Holy is Your Name by Gabriele Replogle

The Lord’s Prayer Matthew 6: 9b Hallowed Be Your Name

Hallowed

As a mother of four small(ish) children there is not a lot of ‘hallowed’ space in our house. Literally almost none. There is nothing sacrosanct. Nothing we aren’t willing to sacrifice on the altar of sanity. Maybe the windows to our house? I think we’d fuss if our kids broke all of those.  Sometimes it seems like nothing is really ‘sacred’ anymore in our culture and people throw words around smashing windows, with little care. I suppose it comes with a strong decline is a little word that carries a lot of weight- RESPECT.  And yet, here comes Jesus asking us to keep God’s name ‘hallowed’.  

Hallowed Be

To the hearers of this prayer God’s name being hallow wasn’t really counter-cultural, it was firmly grounded in their upbringing.  God’s name was not even allowed to be spoken out loud. Rather than say “Yahweh”, speakers would call God “Adonai” or “Lord”.  In Hebrew, each name had a very specific meaning.Adam- coming from the earth, Eve- to breathe/to live!  God even changes names the founders of this Jewish faith from Abram -father, to Abraham- father of many and Sarai- princess, to Sarah- princess of many, with the promise of an heir and a blessing to all nations.  A name had profound meaning.  It was one’s identity.

Hallowed Be Your

I’ve had the blessing of getting to name four kiddos– and it wasn’t quite as simple as I had thought.  I had journaled names of my future children for literally YEARS, but somehow when it came time to name my own children, my childhood dreams of names were just that- childish notions.  They had been pondered and enjoyed by a girl, not one who had really lived life, or even known who would be the father to her children.  For us, naming our kids was sort of a tag-team effort, if I got to do the first one, he got to do the next one. Oddly enough, both of the children I named meant ‘LIFE’!  Our first pregnancy occurred after lots of health problems and frequent trips to the doctor. I wouldn’t have even dared to try to get pregnant and yet–Surprise! God had given us Zoe- from the Greek word meaning life given by God.   My other child named Life is Eva from the Hebrew- `breath.  This baby was born after another baby miscarried– she was a rainbow baby. Life and promise after death.

Hallowed Be Your Name

I love that God has been given so many names in the Bible. El Elyon– The God Most High. El Olam– Everlasting God.  El Roi– the God who sees me- this name given to God by Hagaar a female slave who God personally attends in the desert!  Jehovah-Jireh- The Lord Will Provide- given by Jacob when a lamb is provided in place of his son Isaac.  Jehovah- Rapha- The Lord Who Heals, Jehovah- Rohi- The Lord is My Shepherd. YHWH- I AM.  And this is just a start.  Each one comes with a story. Each name has a meaning.  Each name is testifying to God- who He IS, not just what He is called. Just as His own words brought life out of nothing and brought life back from death.  So does His name invoke His power, His presence, His personality and His perfection.  

Take Away:

Hallowed be your name isn’t something you must do or protect, but it is something that “IS”. His name is set apart, because He IS Holy.  God revealing who He is in His various names and experiences reveals a God who is worthy of respect. The real meaning of “Hallowed be Your Name” is not just refraining from saying “Oh my God,” but living a life in fear of the LORD. 

Prayer: 

Jesus- your name brings life and hope and you have shown us the way to your Father, who you invite us to call Daddy, yet, you are still the great Jehovah Sabaoth– Lord of Hosts.  We trust in You. We trust in Your name.  Forgive us Lord when we treat You and Your name with disrespect.  Grant us to fear You Lord, Who You are, that we might gain a heart of wisdom and also bring Glory to You.  Thank You Lord that although you are Elohim – the All-Powerful One you are Immanuel-  God with us, and you know our names. Blessed be your name, now and forever!

Shorter version originally posted on Commonway Church’s Blog Lenten Series on The Lord’s Prayer March 2, 2020

Teach Us To Pray; In Our Frustration

By Gabriele Replogle

Matthew 17: 14-17

When they came to the crowd, a man approached Jesus and knelt before him. “Lord, have mercy on my son,” he said. “He has seizures and is suffering greatly. He often falls into the fire or into the water. I brought him to your disciples, but they could not heal him.”  “You unbelieving and perverse generation,” Jesus replied, “how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy here to me.”

I don’t know if you’ve caught this already from previous blogs, but despite my typical sunny disposition, I am not a saint. I am not an unlimited wellspring of positivity, and my husband says I sigh… a lot. Sigh. I think it’s just my body trying to remember to breathe. You might say I am a person prone to well, what’s the word for it? Constant frustration!  Have you ever been around a two year old? Fed a toddler spaghetti, chocolate milk, or left a child unattended with a water bottle? Heard your child chanting from another room, “A mess, a mess, a mess!”? Have you put socks on a child over 6 times that day, changed more than 1,000 diapers? I’ve been mothering toddlers for over six years now and let me say, I’ve probably sighed enough piles of frustration to build Mt. Saint Helens (yes, I chose a volcano). And while my stories sound humorous from a knowing grandparent stance, the everyday realities of having one’s plans and efforts frustrated is really not something that’s always easy to laugh about.

Like you, if you’ve chosen to follow Jesus, my life is not my own. Sigh. I sometimes find it hard to give up. My work is not glamorous or even paid. Sigh. My day to day moments are full of interruptions, silly situations, and eye-roll worthy antics. Antics that, at times, I could do without. Attitudes I’d rather not console, and limited time to console my own. Sigh. I am not in control of my schedule. Sigh.

Your life might look different than mine, but I can imagine you know what frustration feels like. Frustration of school closures, entire routines changed, and a lack of information. Filling out a complicated medical form, seeing ten different doctors, having to change your diet, grocery shopping, or driving at rush hour, being misunderstood by your co-worker, boss, friend, or spouse. Have you ever been swimming in debt, unemployed, unable to see anything positive your future might hold? Have you been left overwhelmed at the markets that crashed and depleted your savings for the future? Or perhaps you’ve been left waiting, and waiting some more for the spouse that never came, the pregnancy test that never turned blue, the career that collapsed, your health that never healed. Frustrations small, large, short-lived, and chronic, we all face them.

Gratefully, unlike the typical portrayal of a plaster smiled Christian, the Bible doesn’t sugarcoat frustration and or skip over it to forced happiness. Life is not always positive and encouraging. Patriarchs wrestle with God, and argue over His plans. The Psalms are full of lament and discouragement, and even dare say- complaining.  Even Jesus gets frustrated again and again with the Jewish leaders, the nation’s unbelief, and his disciples. In Matthew 17: 14-17, Jesus declares in frustration, “How long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you?” He is deeply upset that his disciples were unable to heal a child who was prone to seizures. He explains to them that their faith was too small (apparently smaller than a mustard seed for he said a mustard seed size faith could have moved a mountain!) Yes, even Jesus gets frustrated. His cry on the cross is (quoting from the Psalms) “My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me?” He does not sanitize his negative emotions or try to put a positive spin on his pain.

How is this possible? Why is he not always joyful, or thinking only about what is noble, true, and right? Perhaps in our Western modern ‘enlightened’ minds, we have quarantined our full range of emotions? But Jesus does not avoid pain or frustration. He is able to walk into it fully. Confident that even railing against his heavenly Father for abandonment was not outside the threshold of giving Him glory.

Just as my children have cried to me in frustration and called out for help, with unfettered wails of unfairness, hunger, pain, in need of assistance to accomplish their deeply needed goals of getting something unstuck from their bare foot, or their inability to open a door, or making sure they get their turn- we may cry out to God. HELP. And with the ear of a loving, compassionate father, He will come to our aid. He will not mock us for our frustrations, or belittle us for not bucking up and accomplishing it on our own., He will be endeared that in our time of distress, we came asking for Him. He may give us what we want, or He might give us what we need, or He might just stroke our cheek and smile that knowing-smile that He alone knows what is for our ultimate good.

Prayer

God, I’m frustrated. Sometimes so deeply and too proud to admit it. Sometimes I’m frustrated, and I can’t even see my need for help. Will you help me anyway? Help. Grant me what I need in my troubled spirit, my troubled relationships, my troubled health, my troubled goals, my troubled nation, because you love me, and you are good even in the pain and frustration. Amen

Originally Published on Commonway Church’s Blog March 24, 2020

The Love of Strangers and the Love of Family

I was a poor graduate student in Portland, Oregon.  Despite at one point, working four different part time jobs in addition to my class work, not owning a car (I rode my bike), I was going hungry and losing weight.  My meals were wheat thins and avocados and way, way too much cereal.  I reworked my coffee beans twice before I got new ground coffee.  Maybe you too have had times of working your hind off and still hunger before you.  Gratefully, I heard of a food bank and was able to stockpile my groceries there each week. Although, if I recall correctly, I remember trying to go when no one else would see me.  I received love from strangers.  People who had been in need perhaps themselves at some point, or just knew of the financial difficulties of many students.  I am grateful to them… and I don’t even know their names.

As an American, I was subconsciously raised to be independent, self-reliant and maybe a little proud that somehow my “hard work” was what had got me to where I was.  But maybe you too have been on the other side, working hard, and still dependent.  I had been vigilant not to try and take out loans I didn’t have to.  I had just paid off my undergrad working as a nanny and if I were to be a missionary, I knew I couldn’t afford to have much debt. One night I remember breaking down in tears with my parents. I’m hungry and stressed. I can’t take it– I don’t know how to cook for one! (Even though I had just cooked two years for a family of five.)  My parents graciously helped pay for my meal plan so I could dine at the student center.  I humbled myself and received help from my family.

So often we like to associate ourselves with what we see as the heroes of our Christian faith stories.  We feel God’s approval when we are like the Samaritan who gave for the stranger in need.  Or like Jesus, through God’s power we find ways of multiplying loaves to feed those who are hungry.  We want to be the ones entertaining strangers and somehow meeting angels.  But we must also be willing to identify with those who are broken- Jesus- the lamb who was slain.  “Blessed are those poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted.” (Matt 5:3-4)   And while we seek and pray, abiding by his Spirit we are faithful to follow the path of Jesus to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome strangers, clothe the naked, and visit those in prison.  (Matt 25: 35-39) Yet, we must also realize that by the King declaring, “As you did to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me,” Jesus identifies with the hungry, the thirsty, he is the stranger, and the inmate.  He is not above them and if he is not above them, we should not have undo shame when we experience them.

Autumn is here. As we look to bring in the harvest, may we remember how we sowed our seeds in hope that what died, brought new life- life that multiplies.  We remember that it is God who has supplied our seeds and bread for food.  We pray, like God, that we may be cheerful givers, just as God has so freely given to us.(2 Cor 9)  And may we rejoice when God allows us the grace to be like him, to accept the gift of a brother or sister, in our time of need.  May we humble ourselves as Jesus did, and accept the love of strangers and the care of our family.  Knowing that even when we are weak– He is strong! (2 Cor 12:10). Praise be to Jesus.

Help me Jesus, to see my needs and to humbly receive help when I need it.  Thank you that you make dead things come alive and you can multiply what is good for your glory.

Published originally on Commonway Church’s Blog Oct 22, 2020