Hands Like His

There is a story told about the bombing of a city in World War ll. A massive, marble statue of Jesus was nearly destroyed. Digging through the rubble the following morning, the townspeople found the pieces of the damaged sculpture and, hearts broken, began to collectively mourn. The statue had long been a symbol of their faith and of God’s presence in their lives. 

Experts and craftsmen were surprisingly able to restore most of the figure, but its hands had been broken so badly, they were beyond repair. Eventually, someone placed a thought-provoking sign at base of the statue of Jesus that read: “You are my hands.”

Which begs the question, “Are you?”

During this sobering season of Lent, I often find myself thinking of Jesus and all the people He touched during His three-year ministry on planet Earth. How many blind eyes received vision at His touch? How many leprous bodies were healed? How many hungry were fed as His hands broke loaves and fish? How many twisted legs were straightened? How many dear children were held and blessed?

He was tireless in His work, the work His Father had given Him to do here. Work that compelled Him by His great love for us to willingly surrender those healing, gentle hands to Roman spikes. Yes, He finished His work of reconciliation and rescue of mankind at the cross.

He has the nail-scarred hands to prove it.

But my work isn’t finished.

Listen to what Ephesians 2:10 in the Message says, “(God) creates each of us by Christ Jesus to join him in the work he does, the good work he has gotten ready for us to do, work we had better be doing.”

Like that sign on the sculpture reminds us, “You are my hands.” What work or service or touch would His hands be about in your neighborhood, in your school, at your job, in your home, or at your church today? Whatever He would be doing, wherever He would be at work, whomever He would be “touching,” that’s where we should be and what we should be doing too. There is a lot of “good work” to be done and our Father planned for us to accomplish it. He intends to keep our hands very busy. What a privilege…

Won’t you think of ways you can be His hands right now?  Write that card, bake that pie, rake that yard, babysit that child, drive that neighbor, touch that hand, or knock on that door. The needs are great; the laborers few.

Can He count on you?

Can He count on me?

Will you surrender your hands and be His?

Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands…    (Psalm 90:17)

—Eileen Hill

Get Off the Orphan Train

As suspicious as I am of these new-fangled cell phones everybody has glued to their ears, I reluctantly must admit that I often find them pretty handy. That was the case last summer.

On our road trip through America’s Heartland, heading to a family reunion in the Black Hills of South Dakota, we whizzed by a couple of signs that read, “Orphan Train Stops,” apparently designating the communities we were passing. Had I read that correctly? What on earth? I don’t think I had ever heard of an orphan train before. Being honest here, I didn’t immediately think of looking it up on my phone. But our lovely granddaughter, our traveling companion, was all over it.

We were captivated by what we read about this little known yet significant slice of American history.

From the 1830’s to the 1920’s, east coast cities were flooded with homeless, abandoned, and orphaned European immigrant children. Some found refuge in over-crowded and under-resourced institutions while thousands lived on the frightening and dirty streets. It is estimated that more than 10,000 children, at any given time, were trying to survive on their own in New York City alone.

There were no federal or state social safety nets to address this horror until 1930, so some well-intentioned religious and philanthropic organizations made attempts to do something. One of their solutions was to load these already traumatized children onto trains and carry them hundreds of miles to midwestern farming communities where they would be “adopted,” which more accurately could be called indentured servitude, according to Christina Baker Kline, author of Orphan Train. While I’m certain some of these children were happily adopted into loving homes, many others were not. There are many sad stories. You can only imagine.

It is estimated that more than 200,000 children made that fearful journey into the unknown.

I was greatly moved by what Casey read to me from Wikipedia that sunny June afternoon. And by what I have researched since.

Maybe you are wondering why I’m sharing this obscure American social experiment with you. I guess it’s because I relate to the plight of these dear children so well. I’m wondering if you might too.

You see, I have been a spiritual orphan. Have you?

I’ve been on that crowded train, empty and alone, clacking rhythmically over the rails, heading to some distant place I can’t name, longing, searching for home, a place of provision, of protection, of security, of significance, of rest, of kindness, and of love. A place where I am known. A place where I belong. A place where I have a Father.

Jesse gets it. Did you hear what he so beautifully expressed last Sunday morning on the video when he and Mary encouraged us to be baptized? He told us that he had been physically orphaned as a young boy. That made him feel he was not a part of things, that he always had to try to make himself likeable, accepted. He continually had a fear of being rejected. But choosing to be baptized solidified for him spiritually that he is part of a family and that he has a Father Who loves him and cares for him, One who has proven to Jesse throughout his life that He is constantly there for him.

Jesse’s story greatly moved me too.

I was reminded of Ephesians 1:4-5 in The Message. “Long before he laid down earth’s foundations, he had us in mind, had settled on us as the focus of his love, to be made whole and holy by his love. Long, long ago he decided to adopt us into his family through Jesus Christ. (What pleasure he took in planning this!)”

After reading those incredible words, could you ever feel more wanted? God Himself DECIDED before you were even BORN to adopt you, to make you His own child, to be your true Father forever and ever. No degrading whistle stops to have your teeth checked and your muscles squeezed. No more being rounded up and boarded back on the train, hoping that at the next stop, somebody will want you. No one telling you that you aren’t pretty enough or old enough or young enough or strong enough or smart enough or talented enough or educated enough or religious enough or brave enough. No one telling you that you talk funny and don’t have the right pedigree or background. He, King of the universe, the only wise God, chose you and adopted you into His forever family through Jesus. Amazing.

No longer orphans, aliens or strangers, we are reconciled to God and graciously placed in His family, members of His household with all the rights and privileges of sons and daughters (Ephesians 2:19). We now can “approach God with boldness and confidence” (Ephesians 3:12) and enjoy unhindered and unlimited access to Him (3:18). We find ourselves in a huge, worldwide family of faith (and a local one!) where there is mutual support, encouragement, accountability, purpose, and enjoyment of and gratitude for our Father’s lavish love for each of us.

Fear or doubt could easily make us feel like an outsider, keeping us from fully accessing the benefits of being part of God’s family. But hear and embrace once more the reality of God’s free and generous gifts of love and bask in the wonder of being His. (Lisa M. Samra, Our Daily Bread)

So get off the train. No need to travel any farther in your search to belong. You have been adopted, by faith in the finished work of Jesus on the cross, for God the Father Himself. You are no longer an orphan. You are home, loved, known and accepted, right where you belong.

You have an incredibly special Father.

You have a church family.

Make sure you thank Him every day.

You don’t even need a cell phone to do it.

—Eileen Hill

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

You Can Write a Love Story

I love stories. I know. I know.  I’ve told you that before, haven’t I? Stories grab our hearts and captivate us with truth in unique and subtle but powerful ways.

So here’s the latest one I want to share with you. It’s from Max Lucado’s Grace for the Moment devotional.

Leo Tolstoy, the great Russian writer, tells of the time he was walking down the street and passed a beggar. Tolstoy reached into his pocket to give the beggar some money, but his pocket was empty. Tolstoy turned to the man and said, “I’m sorry, my brother, but I have nothing to give.”

The beggar brightened and said, “You have given me more than I asked for—you have called me brother.”

To the loved, a word of affection is a morsel, but to the love-starved, a word of affection can be a feast.

Do you know people who are starving for a morsel of love? How can you reach out to them?

To me, this story connects us to and reinforces several of the themes in Greg’s messages of the past few weeks. The kingdom of God advances when people are truly seen, affording opportunities for us to speak God’s love into their lives and for their deepest needs to be fulfilled. All people. Beggars and kings and everyone in between. Look around. At work, at school, at church, at home.

Also, we have a grand purpose. We are living out our days in community with others to represent the beauty, greatness, and majesty of our God to them. They need to see and experience what He is like. Do we know Him well enough to do that? Are we an accurate picture of our loving Father? Do our actions and words inform others of who He is and His intentions?

Tolstoy took the time to speak to a lowly man he happened upon. Moved with compassion but with nothing tangible to offer, he gave what he had. Words. Words are important. As image bearers, the words that come out of our mouths have the potential and the power to impact generations to come. Life and death are in the power of the tongue as are morsels and feasts. Sometimes we have more than words to share. Our generosity and hospitality, our actions, sometimes need to back up the words we speak.

It’s Valentine's Day as I write this. What a day to pause and consider folks in my sphere of influence who could use a reminder that they are dearly loved! Immediately, those of my sweet friends who are grieving incredible losses, those dear ones who are aging and alone, or those who live in relational nightmares come to mind. I have friends with devastating financial burdens, job losses or stresses, frightening illnesses, rebellious children, debilitating depression—pain and hurt abound. It’s not hard to identify and give special attention to these people.

Some folks, though just as needy, don’t come to mind so readily. They are our family and friends who are expert role players, mask wearers and wall builders. They are so good at hiding loneliness, brokenness, and pain that they often convince themselves that they are just fine. But how they hunger for love and kindness and acceptance like we all do! How precious is a kind word or understanding touch even to them. They may be starving. We need to listen closely to the Spirit’s directing in these cases.

And if you missed loving someone intentionally on Monday, February 14, take the time now to think of someone who would benefit from a timely word, an affectionate touch, a kind deed, or an encouraging note. There are any number of ways to share God’s love with others. Make the call, text the verse, drop off some soup, go out for coffee, visit the nursing home, baby sit a youngster, rake a yard, offer a ride...let the Spirit open your eyes to the isolation, neediness, pain, fear and brokenness of so many near us, the obvious and the not so obvious. Let them know they are seen, that they are not alone. Tell them or remind them of the God of perfect, unconditional, rescuing love. Let them see Him in your loving kindnesses toward them, words and actions.

Pastor Greg suggested we do this exact thing. He asked us to purposefully target three people and express kindness and love to them. Those of us who have so graciously been given His great love have much love to pour out by His Spirit. How selfish to hoard it! So, did you do it?  Did you see somebody? Did you represent your Father well? Did you participate in His redemptive work? What did you do? I am sure you were blessed if you did—just as you were a blessing.

Wouldn’t it be cool if 300 of us from LFA took the challenge and demonstrated God’s love in some intentional way to three others this week? 900 folks in South Jersey and beyond would get a morsel or a feast! Incredible thought. I wonder what it would be like if just half of those given love and kindness then decided to pass it on too?

I think maybe the beggars everywhere would be dancing and singing.

And our Father would be smiling.

And the Lord make you to increase and abound in love one toward another, and toward all men. 1 Thessalonians 3:12

And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. Hebrews 10:24 NIV

Let me give you a new command: Love one another. In the same way I loved you, you love one another. This is how everyone will recognize that you are my disciples—when they see the love you have for each other. John 13:34-35

For this is the message you heard from the beginning: We should love one another. 1 John 3:11

Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. 1 John 4:7

—Eileen Hill

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

Dusting in the Dark

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I don’t think I am overstating it to say I was astonished. A bit annoyed and embarrassed as well.

I had just dry mopped my mudroom floor, my usual housekeeping chore after breakfast. Setting my dust mop aside, I opened the back door on my way out to the mailbox. I blinked my eyes. Early morning sunshine streamed into my cabin through the bare, winter branches of the towering oaks along my driveway, illuminating the faux wood planks at my feet. I was temporarily blinded by its brilliance.

Then I gasped. Dirt, dust balls, hair, and crumbs suddenly appeared like magic in the revealing sunlight—right where I had just cleaned. Are you kidding me? How had I missed all this disgusting crud? Where did it come from?

As much as I hate to admit it, it must have been there in my gloomy hall all along. I just missed it.

It simply wasn’t apparent until there was light.  

Now I live in the woods and, even with lots of windows, my home is pretty dark and shadowed. I wondered how many other floors in my house were this messy and repulsive.

I grabbed my Swiffer wet jet and got busy. What a terrible housekeeper! Maybe I needed to wear a head lamp when I did my chores.

It seemed my key to a clean home wasn’t just my effort. It was light.

Scrubbing away, it occurred to me that there was another quite obvious lesson to be learned. The key to a clean heart, each person’s inner control center, was the very same thing.

Light.

I can’t speak for you, but on so many lazy, self-focused and/or rebellious days, I want anything but light shining in me, probing my innermost me. I don’t want to see, nor do I want anyone else to see, the ugly pet sins I cherish or the dreadful seeds of doubt or bitterness or envy or guilt that have taken root inside me. I want to hide the appalling false saviors that sit on my heart’s throne and the elusive phantom of pride that defiles my very being. Dirty. Messy. It’s really true that men love darkness rather than light. Why? Because their deeds are evil and wicked. So are their thoughts. And mine too. I try to hide them. Do I really think my Father doesn’t see and know?

Other days, when the light is brilliant and I see, like when I am hearing God’s Word preached on Sunday morning or I turn on a favorite pastor’s radio message or when I pick up my dusty Bible, I wonder how all this repulsive junk got in me. I tell myself that I have been sweeping and mopping, working hard to keep myself looking clean, feeling clean. But just like the crud in the shadows of my mudroom, I have missed what was really there. I have been fumbling with no light. What a waste of time and energy.

I need light to see. I need it shining all the time.

Psalm 119:130 says, The unfolding of your words give light; it imparts understanding to the simple.

Ah, God’s Word is the answer. Of course. God’s Word gives light as I “unfold” or read its truths. It also gives me understanding.

Psalm 119:105 says, Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.

As I read God’s Word, it becomes a candle shedding light in the darkness of me, showing me where my next steps should go, revealing the traps, the signposts, the potholes, the bandits, the detours, and the road blocks along the way. It also illuminates ugliness and brokenness and sin I need to confess and take to my Father for help, healing, and restoration.

God’s Word is the inescapable light I need to be all God has designed me to be, to accomplish His very personal and special purposes for me. I don’t want it blocked, crowded out, ignored or covered up.

Paul Tripp says it this way in his devotional, Wednesday’s Word, Does the Bible Influence You Enough?

…I have to say it: many Christians, maybe even you, don’t always live as if [God’s Word] is the most foundational source of wisdom in their life. Yes, we profess that we believe in the doctrine of Scripture—the doctrinal foundation upon which every other doctrine stands—but it probably doesn’t change our everyday living to that extent that it should.

I know it doesn’t always for me.

Sadly, many of us do not spend daily time in our Bibles. Many of us are not avid students of God’s word. Many of us are only fed from it for one hour each week as we gather together for Sunday worship. Yet, we spend hours and hours allowing our hearts and minds to be influenced and shaped by the internet, social media, and political commentary on TV. Functionally, these voices of influence are often more authoritative than Scripture.

If we deeply believed in the doctrine of Scripture, wouldn’t we be looking for every opportunity to share its glorious message with others? Wouldn’t that quiet time, when you separate yourself from other people and other responsibilities, and it’s just you, your Lord, and his word, be your favorite part of your day?

If you, like me, are feeling convicted, the solution isn’t to read God’s word in a quasi-guilty, sense-of-duty, this-is-what-good-Christians-do sort of way. No, we always should approach our Bible reading and study with heartfelt joy.

“Great are the works of the Lord, studied by all who delight in them.” (Psalm 111:2)

“They received the word with all eagerness, examining the Scriptures daily to see if these things were so.” (Acts 17:11)

Yes, we approach God’s word with commitment, but we do so because we are grateful, excited, and hungry. We find him there, we find his saving grace there, we find astounding wisdom there, we find guidance for our daily living there, and there we find hope to do it all again tomorrow.

Every time you open the book, pray that God would grant us open eyes and a joyful, grateful, eager, and tender heart.

Pray that the light of His Word shines in you, revealing what needs attention inside, guiding you in the way you should go.  

Won’t you make 2022 the year you quit stumbling in the dark, ignoring the dirt, being uncertain of your path ahead? Won’t you make this the year you resolve to walk in the light of His Word every single day?

I want to.

It’s a better use of my time than dust mopping in the dark, don’t you think?

—Eileen Hill

New York Is Not Home

“New York’s not my home!”

Jim Croce never had a more adorable or enthusiastic trio sing along with him.

Bumping along the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway in our odd looking Pacer, my three kids (ages 3, 5, and 7) sang at the top of their lungs, drowning out the well-worn 8 track tape blaring from the dashboard.

“Though all the streets are crowded

There’s something strange about it

lived there ‘bout a year and I never once felt at home…

That’s the reason that I’ve  gotta get outta here

I’m so alone

Don’t you know that I gotta get outta here

‘Cause New York’s not my home.”

My exact sentiments. We all knew the words. We were heading back to New Jersey.

We were going HOME.

Kenny had taken a job in the city, a production manager at a busy publishing house. Always ready for adventure, we had moved our little family to Long Island. We lasted a year and a half. We had found a good church, made some very good friends, enjoyed our diverse neighborhood, adapted to the busy lifestyle…but it just wasn’t home.

Especially at Christmas. I slipped another tape in the tape deck and cranked up the volume. The kids giggled with pleasure and followed along with Bing Crosby as we crossed the Verazano Bridge and sped toward the NJ Turnpike.

“I’ll be home for Christmas 

You can plan on me

Please have snow and mistletoe

And presents by the tree.”

Like us, everybody’s favorite destination at Christmastime is home. No matter how far we have to travel nor how difficult the traffic or annoying the delays, we long to be with the ones with whom we experience the warmth of acceptance and the pleasure of belonging. 

This profound longing for home resonates deeply in the human heart. It echoes our need to connect not only with family and friends, but with something…more.                                                                                        

“The human heart hungers for an ultimate home, to rest in loving communion with God. Then and only then are we finally home, our hearts at rest and peace, filled with the joy that comes when we are known, the immense love of God holding and filling us within.” (D. Miller)

And not just at Christmas.

Augustine of Hippo said it this way, “Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee.” Until it is home.

But we have a big problem, don’t we? We live most of our lives feeling far removed from this home that we long for. We are, in effect, exiles on a journey to our ultimate home. But we grow impatient and forgetful and foolish. We find ourselves trying to attain our acceptance, satisfaction and our sense of belonging in this world with its allure and charms. But this world is just not our home. We are strangers here. The creation simply cannot fill the hole in us that was designed to be filled by God the Creator alone.

We are like the young man in a parable Jesus told. He left his father’s home heading off to a distant country where he thought life would be grand. Wine, women, and pleasure looked more attractive than slaving in his father’s fields. But one day the prodigal son came to his senses. He returned home to discover the beautiful grace and welcome of his forgiving Father. Prodigal means lavish, and what that selfish boy and we discover is that the love of the Heavenly Father is more prodigal—more lavish—than our sin. God’s children come home to realize that life in the Father’s house is what they’ve craved all along. Life isn’t better out there. Not even in Elmer at Christmas…

Some of us have moved to a “Long Island.” We are skulking around in a “distant country” today, trying to satisfy our longings, aching to fit in, searching desperately for love. We’ve wandered far from our spiritual home. We need to come to our senses too. When we do, we’ll find that our Father has been watching and waiting for our return. Like my sweet mom shivering on her front porch until we pulled up, our Father has the light on and His arms are always open. He wants us to come home to His rest.

This Christmas, savor the longing you feel within. Attend to it. It will lead you home where you belong.

You’re right, Jim Croce. New York’s not our home either.

Jesus replied, “Anyone who loves me will obey my teaching. My Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them.”
John 14:23

—Eileen Hill

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

Loving Katherine

I’m no hero.

I’m not exceptional.

But I’d like to think that I love others.

Most of the time anyway.

Well, that’s what I thought before Katherine.  

In our interesting study of 1 John, Pastor Greg has suggested that the apostle John is writing to help his readers reflect honestly on their faith and answer the questions, Are we true believers? Is our faith genuine? John then suggests to them (and us!) that they can test themselves and KNOW their true identity, their eternal destiny, and their right relationship with the Father by simply looking at their actions. If they love one another, that is evidence of God’s Presence and work in their lives—and ours. Pastor John recognized and emphasized that love comes from God, and he encouraged true believers not to selfishly keep that love to themselves but to spread that genuine love around. I try to do that.

So Greg has asked some of us to tell stories of growing in the love of God by being obedient to His call and learning how to love others, particularly when loving someone is not easy or comfortable. That kind of love is evidence of His loving Presence at work in us, affirming our standing as His true children and His promised commitment to progressively transform us into the likeness of His precious Son. As He lives in us, works in us, His amazing, unconditional love (not my puny, limited, human, just-gut-it-out kind) spills over to others and they are drawn to Him, blessed by Him, and cared for by Him. Awesome plan!!

That’s the story I shared a few Sundays ago. That’s how God helped me truly love my Mama on her long, sad descent into Alzheimer’s disease. Knowing I was His and He would never leave me, assured He would give me everything I needed to love her well—including His love—certain that His mercies were new every morning, I could press on, loving and caring for a fading shadow who could give me nothing in return, someone who didn’t know me or even like me anymore.

But she was still my Mama.

I think a better test, a more telling assessment of my faith would be, can I sincerely love a difficult person outside my family circle, someone I may not even know? I thought the answer was yes. At least I hoped so.

Then Katherine showed up.

I was the new kid on the block at church in Clayton. At my first deaconess meeting, as the “veterans” divided the list of senior saints in the congregation for visitation and care, I was rather quickly nominated to “look after” Katherine. I picked up on a few smothered snickers and some knowing eye rolls around the room, but I pretended not to notice. I was pretty new to the church and didn’t want to make a bad impression. I figured I would get whatever they were hiding from me soon enough.

Boy, did I!

That Sunday, I met Katherine. She was the odd-looking old “man” I had noticed across the sanctuary each Sunday morning. Yep, you read that right. I thought Katherine was a man. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one.

With close-cropped, snow white hair, coke-bottle, black-rimmed glasses, a plaid flannel shirt over a masculine, white undershirt, tan corduroys, and boot-like, curative footwear, Katherine was the stereo-typical picture of an elderly gentleman.

 But only until you were close enough to see her eyes—big, bright, blue, beautiful, sparkling with fun and laughter—even through the very thick lenses of her corrective eyewear. And they were very feminine.

At first, I was a bit hurt and even slightly angry that my very new “friends” at my very new church had “stuck” me with this weird person. I felt like they were playing a not-too-funny joke on me. Not very welcoming, I had muttered to myself. But then my iron-will stirred within me. My strong sense of duty and over-developed commitment to responsibility took over. I decided I could do anything for a while. I would conjure up the courage and strength to do my job and do it well. I would show them. I would befriend Katherine. What a fine deaconess with such pure motives I was!!

I was embarrassed to be seen with Katherine. She was, well, strange. People looked at us wherever we went. She was often loud and inappropriate. She couldn’t see or hear well. She had no idea how to handle her money, and I often had to pay for things she bought. She was rude to people and made fun of them, loud enough for them to hear. She had questionable table manners. She was hooked on spicy romance novels she borrowed each week from the library and hid from me when I tried to redirect her to better reading material. She got her feelings hurt very easily. She called me ten times a day with no regard to what time it was. She demanded I drive her everywhere several times a week. She threatened people with her trusty cane. She constantly made up medical emergencies to get my attention. She was extremely jealous of my other friends and even my family. In the ladies’ rooms, women would stare at her or yell at her, informing her that she was in the wrong lavatory. I was always glad she was nearly deaf on those uncomfortable occasions. She was one-of-a-kind. Difficult. Brassy. Ornery. Demanding. Quirky. Messy.

And I loved her. 

I know it was from God. I did not have that kind of love in me. She sucked the life out of me and I let her. The more love she required, the more love my Father shed abroad in my heart for her. The more of my life she needed, my Father graciously provided me with strength, wisdom, time, energy, and kindness. You see, God loved Katherine too. He planned for us to connect so I could be His hands, His heart, and His feet in her life and care for her the way He had promised her He would. And as I did, He graciously was working to change my prejudices, to refine me, to teach me about sacrificial love, to remind me to trust Him completely to supply everything I need to carry out His plans and purposes for me. He was affirming that I, too, was His. So was Katherine.

I learned her very sad story. She was both physically handicapped and mentally impaired. Aside from a nephew living out west, she was basically all alone in this pretty unforgiving, judgmental world. Soon she was spending holidays with us. She became part of our family.

I even got to be part of her Baptism, a beautiful experience for me. And funny too. In her fear, she began to fight the pastor as he tried to dunk her. I had to reach in and push her head under the water! Quite the solemn event.

She was probably the most loyal, trusting, unconditionally-loving friend I have ever had.

I miss her.

Thankfully, I know she’s with Jesus. At her funeral, another of my dear elderly friends whispered, “Oh, Father, You have your hands full now!!” Oh, how very true.

There are a lot of Katherines out there. Lots. Won’t you find one to love? Could that be part of the Father’s purpose for you? I am so glad it was His plan for me. How much I would have missed!

If this unexceptional, non-hero who certainly has overrated her own abilities can do it, anybody can….anybody who is a true believer, whose faith is genuine, who has the very love of God spilling over in them. Loving others, maybe especially those who take us far out of our comfort zones, affirms God’s Presence and His work in us. I am so thankful.

The Apostle John and Pastor Greg will be too.

—Eileen Hill

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

Back to School!

Back to school!

The stores are crammed with school supplies and lunch box snacks in every aisle. Can the summer be over already? Mothers are dancing and kids (and teachers!) are moping. It must be true.

I have a terrible first-day-of-school memory.

It was my freshman year of high school, and I was literally shaking with fear and anxiety. I rushed to catch the huge bus that would carry me to Bridgeton High School for the next four unscripted years of my very sheltered life. Growing up in Elmer, I had been educated with the same 23 kids since kindergarten. I had walked to school twice a day (we came home for lunch) for nine school years. What drastic changes were coming my way…and even back then, I didn’t do change or “the unknown” well at all. I was scared out of my mind. 

I had never ridden on a school bus, and it would take 40 minutes one way each day. I had never eaten in a cafeteria or packed my lunch. I had never changed classes, had a locker with a combination to remember, worn a gym suit, carried my books around, had multiple teachers, used hall passes, navigated one way stairwells, and had hundreds of classmates swarming around me. And I had never had to get up so early. That was the worst.

But I didn’t have a choice. I had to go. And I was late.

I had vainly fussed over my hair and makeup too long. My clothes had been carefully decided upon and spread out for weeks, but my hair, with a mind of its own, decided not to cooperate that morning. Shoveling down my mandatory breakfast, I practically had to run to Elmer School, probably about a mile away, where I would catch the dreaded bus. The uneven sidewalk along Front Street was shaded back then, and I remember hearing the birds singing in the trees, calming me down a bit.

Until one of them let loose on my head.

Really.

It dribbled down my carefully arranged curls onto my brand-new, light blue blouse. A huge, juicy plop. I had no tissues. I had nothing. I cried. Now my makeup was running down my cheeks. I ran faster. I couldn’t wait for the safety of the bus so I could hide.

I really don’t remember how I cleaned myself up, if a classmate had something I could use or whether I had to hit the lavatory the minute we arrived at school. Remember, this is long before wipes and sanitizers were invented. That part of the day is just a blur.

But I do know my hair was gunky and plastered to my head and my mascara was gone. What a first impression I made on all those sophisticated city slickers! It was true. Elmer kids were all dumb—and messy—hicks. I was mortified.

There is a lot that could be said about this now-comical memory of mine, but my main point in relating it today is to simply say this: All kinds of unexpected things happen when our kids go off to school.

Some of them are silly and unimportant, easily handled, laughed at, or overlooked altogether. But there are other events that are much more significant than my sparrow attack. There are painful, life-altering, and innocence-robbing circumstances that our children are woefully ill-equipped to know what to do with.  And we are not there.

Thankfully, our Heavenly Father is.

We know we can’t anticipate or control all our children’s life experiences, especially when they are away from the protective environment of our homes. Who could have foreseen a bird dropping? No matter how loving and responsible we are, no matter how carefully we manage and train, we live every day in a broken, messed up world full of broken, messed up people—and birds. Into that, we send our most precious gifts from God, our children.

We spend hours and dollars preparing our kids to go to school—clothes that fit their ever growing bodies, back packs, tissues, notebooks, glue sticks, fruit snacks, Gogurts—so many things, so much time. All of this is necessary.

May I humbly suggest that it is even more necessary to spend an even greater amount of our energy and time praying for our children while they are in school or on their way? How we need our Ever-present Father to watch over them! How He loves for us to ask!

I have a laminated card in my car that gives me verses and specifics to pray for my children and grandchildren every day. I found a similar one on the FamilyLife Today website earlier this year to share with our parenting class members. A Parent’s Daily Prayer Guide, compiled by Don and Sue Myers, missionaries for many years with Cru all over the world, suggests seven specific requests we can pray for our children, one for each day of the week.  

Here is their list with verses you can look up and cling to.

Monday: Ask God to place a protective, solid hedge around your children so that Satan cannot reach in and lead them into temptation and so they will be safe from harm (2 Thessalonians 3:3; Psalm 33:20).

Tuesday: Pray that your children would use godly wisdom in selecting friends and peers that will make a positive difference in their lives. Ask God to give each child a discernment of people as well as knowing the difference between right and wrong (Proverbs 1:10; 18:24; Deuteronomy 13:6,8).

Wednesday: Pray that your children would stay pure in their thoughts and deeds (Psalm 24:4-5; Job 17:9).

Thursday: Pray that they will be caught if they wander into cheating, lies, or mischief (Hebrews 13: 18-19).

Friday: Pray they will be alert and thinking clearly as they attend school and extracurricular activities and as they take exams. Ask God to help them be motivated to do the best they are capable of doing (Colossians 3:17; 1 Corinthians 10:31).

Saturday: Pray for the spouse each child will marry someday. Ask that they will come from godly homes and have an appetite to live the spiritual truth they’ve learned. Pray also that their goals and purpose will be the same as our own children and their future homes would be godly (Deuteronomy 5:29).

Sunday: Ask God to help them live their lives for Him and that He will use them as a testimony and witness for His glory. Pray that they will be grown to full spiritual maturity (Psalms 78:1-8; 103:17-18; Isaiah 54:13; Ephesians 3:20-21).

Do not leave your children unprotected—that is, vulnerable to Satan’s attack. The greatest shield of protection we as parents can provide for our children is prayer. It’s never too late to start (1 Samuel 12:23; James 5:16; Colossians 4:2).

This is a good place to begin, isn’t it? I know it is not an exhaustive list. I add things for my particular child or grandchild, requests that are personalized just for him or her at this moment in time. I often pray that they will hunger and thirst for righteousness, that they will love God’s Word, that they will love justice and mercy and walk humbly before their God, that at an early age they will acknowledge Jesus as Savior and King and follow Him all the days  of their lives. I pray against fear and worry. I pray against self-love and deceit. So many things. So many beautiful children.

Such a Big, Wise, Loving, Powerful, Comforting, All-knowing, Ever-present God!

Will you take a bit of time each day to cover your children with prayer this school year? Will you ask the Father to do what you cannot? It’s never too late.

A bird poo attack is the least of our worries…   

May God bless you and keep you and your dear children this year and every year.

—Eileen Hill

An Unexpected Encounter

I didn’t expect it that morning.

I really didn’t expect it in the ladies room at Wawa.

I didn’t even know I needed it…

I was rushing to fit in a couple of errands before work and realized I hadn’t brought my coffee from home. I slipped into Wawa to grab one to take along with me. Washing my hands in the rest room, I glanced up and noticed a card partly tucked behind the fire alarm on the wall. There was Jesus—peeking around a corner, looking right at me with a kind and loving smile. The caption read, “Psst! I love you.”

Oh, how my heart quickened and the tears welled up in my eyes. I watched me in the mirror physically responding to His gentle words. My shoulders relaxed, my brow softened, I smiled to myself, and nodded in humble gratitude.

He does love me. I need look no further than the cross.

From my earliest years, I have often sung this truth. “Jesus loves me, this I know.” Had I forgotten it? I don’t think so. So why such an emotional and hungry response to His words on that wall?

I think it’s because I know who I am. I know what I do and what I think. And while I KNOW Jesus LOVES me, when I look in that mirror some days, I have a really hard time believing He should. I find myself wondering why He would even like me.

Alicia Bruxvoort nailed it in an article I stumbled across, one she wrote for the Proverbs 31 Ministries.

I don’t know about you, but somedays I just feel unlikeable.

Some days I feel messed up and maxed out, exasperated and exhausted.

Some days I’m not grateful or gleeful, flexible or fun.

Some days I don’t bring delight to my husband, my kids or even my dearest pals.

And to be totally honest, some days I don’t even like myself.

Yet scripture reminds us that the One who took our place on Calvary’s cross doesn’t merely tolerate us through gritted teeth or embrace us because of holy compulsion. As preposterous as it sounds, the One who first loved us, actually likes us too.  And here’s proof:

·       Psalm 18:19 says He takes joy in us.

·       Psalm 149:4 declares He delights in us.

·       Zephaniah 3:17 affirms He rejoices over us.

·       And Psalm 147:11 proclaims that we bring Him pleasure.

It’s crazy when you think about it—that the perfect Prince of Heaven takes joy in His flawed followers on the dust of earth. But when I remember this simple truth, it changes the way I pursue my Savior.

When I acknowledge that Jesus enjoys me, I look for ways to enjoy Him, too. I seek His company as I go throughout my day, whether it’s talking to Him as I drive across town or laughing with Him over my children’s goofy antics.

I notice His kindness in the depths of my daily grind—the brazen sunset over the trees in my back woods or the unexpected phone call from a friend on a hard day.

And I relish His presence in the midst of my pandemonium. I savor the song of the birds beyond my window, the unexplainable peace in my hurry, the echo of an encouraging Scripture verse that runs through my mind.

In short, when I remember how the One who died for me also delights in me, I’m drawn to delight in Him, too.

So I’m gonna keep singing that Sunday School song I learned as a child: Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.

But I’m also going to celebrate that oft-ignored truth that He also LIKES me.

Did you get that, friends? Oh, please do. My day reset after my wash room encounter with Jesus that morning. Living loved—and even LIKED—has that kind of dramatic effect on each of us. It changes the way we think, act, respond, choose, work, love, serve, and everything else…about ourselves, others AND our Father. As His children, ones who desire to follow Him into every area of our lives, we need to be reminded of that every day. We are loved.

So when you have been too busy, when your heart has wandered, when you have trusted false saviors,  when you have willfully sinned, when you have been unjust or unkind, when your passions have controlled you—when you look into your mirror and see someone you don’t recognize, someone you don’t even like, remember that you are still loved. You see, it really doesn’t matter what you think of yourself, how you judge yourself, what you KNOW about yourself, how you feel, behave, or look. Jesus loves you. And it’s not because of who you are or even what you have done. Jesus simply has decided to love you...while you were still a sinner. Yes, it’s all because of who He is and what He has done!

Jesus loves you. He likes you. Believe it. Doesn’t that stir your heart? Doesn’t it make you want to smile and sing? Doesn’t it make you want to share that overwhelming, gracious love with someone else today?

Maybe you’ll find that person in Wawa.

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

How's Your "I" Sight?

Not exactly sure where it came from, but while doing some cleaning and sorting this week, I uncovered a dusty box of really old pictures. Opening the lid, I smiled at the faded black-and- white prints of little me smiling back at old me from years long past. Precious memories flooded over me and I was swept away with pleasure, remembering.

Then I saw it. Scrawny, awkward, and beaming. The ghastly picture of me sporting my very first pair of bright pink, glitter-spattered eye glasses. I’d be embarrassed for you to see it. What was my mother thinking? How could she have allowed a clueless seven-year-old to pick out such unattractive, gaudy eyewear? And she let me wear them in front of people!

Well, that’s what I am saying now, but if I think back a few decades, back to that very exciting and monumental childhood event, those specs were the cat’s meow! I couldn’t wait to wear them. I hate to brag, but I was pretty hot stuff. At least, that’s what my daddy said when he saw me sparkling. Now that I think about it, he had pretty bad eyesight too…

But more important than all of the added glamor those glasses afforded me, when I put them on, I could see. Really see.

There actually was writing on that blackboard at school. There really were birds in the trees making that lovely racket. There was a real ball whizzing toward home plate when I stood helplessly holding the bat. People truly did have faces with eyes. TV shows weren’t fuzzy at all. Who knew? My glasses were amazing, ugly as they were. They changed my world. What a blessing for a freckled kid with such poor eyesight! I am so grateful for my glasses.

You know, I think many of us have poor eyesight. But, sadly, I think our “I” sight is pretty perfect. Twenty-twenty, in fact. Do you know what I mean?

For example, I rummaged through that old box of photographs for several minutes the day I discovered it. It was filled with family pictures, pictures of people I love best in this whole world. But do you know who I searched for first in each print? Me, of course. Did I look cute? Was I a nerd? Did I look fat? Why didn’t I pick out cooler glasses? 

“I” sight. All my focus on me. Looking out for old number one.

Now maybe you don’t think that is so bad. It’s natural to notice ourselves. But I think we take that “notice” to a very unhealthy and dangerous extreme. I contend that our very good “I” sight is the root cause of many of the problems we are facing in our lives.

Paul Tripp in New Morning Mercies describes this common malady well.

You see it in the whines of a little boy, you see it in the entitlement of the teenager, you see it in the needless argument of the married couple over something unimportant, and you see it in the bitterness of the old man. None of us has escaped this disease. It infects all of our hearts. It is the reason for so much of the brokenness, angst and pain of the human community. It is the foundation of so much unhappiness and generations of war. It is a personal and moral disaster yet it seduces us all. Its power draws all of us in. We see it in others and deny it in ourselves. It makes for uncomfortable family moments, friendship disloyalty and violence in the streets. It makes us envious and demanding. It causes discontent to be more natural than thankfulness. It ruins our vacations and holidays. It makes us spend ourselves into hopeless debt, to fall into paralyzing addiction, and to eat more than we ever should. It turns siblings on siblings and makes war-making more natural than peacemaking.

So what is it that causes us so much trouble and pain? It is “I”sight, the selfishness of sin, the idol of self. We focus on ourselves and make everything about us. What a tragedy for our loved ones! What a shallow life we live. Dr. Tripp continues.

We put ourselves in the center of the story.  We evaluate life from the vantage point of a scary and tragic “me-ism.” We pull the borders of our concerns into the narrow confines of what we want, what we feel, what we dream and what we think we need. A good day is a day that is pleasurable or easy for me. A good circumstance is one in which I get my way. A good marriage is one in which my spouse becomes a servant to my dream for my life. A good church has the worship, programs, and preaching that satisfy me. A good job is one that keeps me happy and engaged. It is a life shaped by a shrunken kingdom of one.

But the first four words of the Bible confront us with the inescapable reality that it is not all about us. They confront us with the truth that life comes from, is controlled by, and exists for another. We will never be at the center because God is. It will never be about us because it’s about him. Our will won’t be done because his will will be done. We won’t rule because he rules. Our kingdom won’t come because his kingdom will. Life will not submit to us because ultimately all things will submit to him. His is at center stage. He is the spot lit character. Life is not to be found in putting ourselves at the center. That only leads to dysfunction, disappointment and brokenness. Jesus came to decimate our misplaced loyalty so that we would find freedom from our bondage to ourselves and know the peace that passes understanding. Adam and Eve’s rebellion becomes our delusion, and for that there is rescuing grace!

Let’s open our eyes—whether they are near-sighted or far-sighted or fine. Let’s not be deceived. Let’s embrace God’s saving grace. Let’s humbly and purposefully get—and keep—the right perspective, the eternal one. Let’s base our self-worth on our identity as beloved children of the King. Let’s get rid of the “I” sight altogether. Hebrews 12:2 (The Message) reminds us how we can do that.

…Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we’re in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way: cross, shame, whatever. And now he’s there, in the place of honor, right alongside God. When you find yourselves flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, that long litany of hostility he plowed through. That will shoot adrenaline into your souls!

When we find ourselves wallowing in our selfishness and struggling with the crumbling kingdom we have built for our personal glory, let’s lift our eyes to the Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, our story. Let’s remember all He has done to rescue us from such meaningless and trivial pursuits. Let’s live for his glory, for his purposes, his kingdom…and not our own.

Larry Bartlett lived like that. His life of selfless dedication and service can be summed up by a verse he had underlined in his Bible, a verse read at his beautiful funeral service this week. 2 Corinthians 5:16 tells us that Jesus “died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who for their sake died and was raised.” What a God-honoring legacy he left behind. May God increase his tribe. No “I” sight there.

My prayer for us today is that we won’t have it either. That we won’t live for ourselves. That our Father will give us clear vision for his kingdom.

May he open the eyes of our hearts that we might see him high and lifted up, shining in the light of his glory, pouring out his power and love as we sing holy, holy, holy! What great lines from a familiar praise song.

No funky glasses needed for that, but we just might need some shades!   

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

The Hunt

He is risen! Hallelujah!

Thank you, Pastoral staff and worship teams and all the behind the scenes folks who so beautifully led us through this significant Lent season. From the darkest moments of human despair and loss to the most glorious heights of hope and joy, you inspired us to raise our voices in humble gratitude to our Father for His incredible plan to redeem us and give us new life. Oh, give thanks unto the LORD, for He is good!

Easter is incredibly meaningful to me. I enjoy all its sacred traditions and moving celebrations. And to be honest, I even enjoy some of its secular customs.

For example, I love egg hunts.  

In fact, I love almost any hunt.

As a child, we entertained ourselves for endless hours playing Huckle, Buckle Beanstalk. Anybody even heard of that look-for-the-button game? I’m showing my age. And how we loved Hide and Seek, especially after dark, lurking in the pole beans. It was simply magical.

Our curious family frequently scoured freshly-plowed fields for ancient Indian arrowheads and relics. We braved post-storm, windy ocean beaches searching for unusual shells. We hiked the trails at Parvin’s to find a variety of flora and fauna. I can still sprawl on my arthritic knees for hours on Sunset Beach collecting Cape May Diamonds just like I did as a kid.

From an early age, I was trained to be an observant hunter—one with no weapon, but with an eye for God’s creative genius and His story.

In Elementary School, I hunted for four-leaf clovers on the little hill behind Elmer School every recess.

Even back then, I loved hunting for just the right gifts for those I love. I still do.   

I still enjoy a good hunt for a lost pair of glasses or a misplaced set of keys...an almost daily event in our house. I even like to hunt for the one earring or one sock or one Tupperware lid that always seem to be mysteriously disappearing.

I love scrolling through Pinterest, hunting for new recipes to try for parties and holiday ideas to add to my repertoire. 

I love hunting for golf balls in the rough and in the woods. Kenny? Not so much. We don’t golf together anymore...

I love hunting for birds to identify, another pattern learned from my dear family of origin. Now it is just another of my golfing distractions!

I love hunting for bargains. I coupon, I thrift, I make lists and plan menus from circulars, and I shop the sales. Kenny insists I drive 30 miles and spend hours of my time to save a nickel. 

I hunt endlessly for charming Bed and Breakfasts and out-of-the-way get-away or vacation spots. I love searching for fun activities to do with my family.

I can easily spend an entire joyous day hunting through a dusty, old, used book store or a library.

I love hunting the internet for new, helpful marriage curricula and funny video clips to share when we teach.

I love searching Scripture, tracing words or themes through its pages. I love to hunt through commentaries to help me understand what I’m reading.

And, quite frankly, I have one favorite search. I really do love seeking God. I want to know Him...so much more than I do.  

But to be honest as well as frank, I don’t always do a very good job in that worthy search. I am so easily distracted! I find myself quite impatient, lazy, sporadic, and faithless in my pursuit. I often find myself seeking my Father’s gifts more than I am seeking Him. Instead of just sitting at His feet and basking in His beauty, worshiping Him in spirit and in truth, I find myself filling the air with my whiny complaints and endless petitions or my legalistic acts of service and rituals.

Oh, to always have a Mary’s heart and choose the best thing! For in the quiet, at His feet, my Bible open, my confessions made, my attention fully engaged, my eyes fixed on my Master—I am able to hear His tender voice. And in His Presence, I am transformed. My heart is taught to desire, to seek after the important, urgent things that fill His heart. All other searches, all interesting hunts for the glittering treasures or the vain pursuits of this world, helpful though they may be, they suddenly lose their appeal and fade into the background.

You see, Jesus came to earth for a single purpose. Luke 19:10 says, “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.” He is on a search and rescue mission, the only “hunt” that really matters in light of eternity, don’t you think?

I was vividly and poignantly reminded of this mission Easter evening as I wept and laughed through the premier of The Chosen, season 2. I hope you saw it. It was magnificent.

Do you remember the scene where Jesus was speaking to the crowd and addressing the shepherd standing in the background? It was a creative retelling of the parable of the good shepherd in Luke 15:3-7, the shepherd  who leaves his ninety nine sheep out in the open country and goes out into the night, risking his own life, searching for the one who has gone missing, wandered off. When he finds the one, he joyfully lays it across his shoulders and carries it lovingly home. He then invites his neighbors to come to a feast to celebrate. What a beautiful picture of our true Good Shepherd!

Now, to be honest, in my flesh, this heroic act by this kind herdsman in the story irks me a little. I consider myself, dripping in humility as I am, as one of the crowd, the good, obedient sheep, who gets left to their own devices because of some rebellious, arrogant lamb who selfishly does his own thing. I kind of resent that he so thoughtlessly puts the protector and leader of the flock in danger for a self-centered little joy walk.

But I am missing the whole point. I obviously don’t have the shepherd’s heart. Not yet.

The shepherd in this story loved EACH of his sheep, rebel or saint.

Just like our Good Shepherd does.

So much so, according to the Father’s plan, that He left the splendor of heaven to die a bloody, cruel death on a Roman cross—not as a Shepherd, but as a sacrificial Lamb, slain for the sins of those clueless sheep who think they are righteous and also for those who know they are not. Oh, that we all would see ourselves for who we really are and come to repentance!

So this begs the question: If I am seeking my Father and desiring to know Him, really know His heart and His desires, and if His plan is to send His Son to seek the wandering and lost men and women of this world and to save them by Jesus willingly and cruelly dying in their place to satisfy the judgment against them, what am I doing about it? Looking for seashells? Sneezing in a moldy bookshop?  I am appalled at my waste of time! Shouldn’t I join Him?

Now, I am not saying that all these “hunts” of my delight are evil and that I should not clip coupons ever again. But I am saying, dear ones, the time is short. I certainly need to prioritize my resources (my energy, my time, my talents, my money, my gifts, my family) for what My Father considers His urgent purpose, the seeking and saving of those who are lost. And broken. And guilt ridden. And discouraged. And sick. And lonely. And abused. And poor. And powerless. And enslaved. And proud. And despised. And messy. Couldn’t we go on and on?

The Good Shepherd is seeking them all. Just as He sought us.

Shouldn’t I care about them too? Shouldn’t I be pursuing them too? Shouldn’t you?

Who has the Holy Spirit brought to mind this very instant? Be honest. There is someone who needs you to seek after them, to bring them to the Good Shepherd, the One Who laid down His life for them. It is someone who desperately needs to be rescued from himself and the entanglements of this fallen world. It may be hard. It may involve personal sacrifice. It may be ugly. It may be humiliating. Who is it?  Can you hear His voice?

The Father promises that He won’t hide. He will be found by those who earnestly, diligently seek Him (Jeremiah 29:13). His own sheep and those who are not yet His. And He will save.

Will you join the Master’s search and rescue mission?

Or find another golf ball?

Seek the LORD while He may be found; call upon him while he is near (Isaiah 55:6).

 —Eileen Hill

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

Sweet Dreams

As a little girl, I lived in a magical world of imagination and make-believe. What glorious days I spent with my dolls in the attic, creating sweet stories of maidens in distress and knights in shining armor, of beautiful and forgotten Cinderellas and rescuing, handsome Prince Charmings.

But nighttime was a different story. That overblown imagination of mine wreaked havoc in the dark. I suffered from terrible nightmares almost every night.

My very resourceful and creative mom came to my rescue….not one of my imaginary cavaliers dashing in on his noble, white steed. She would sit with me on my bed and gently caress my arm and my forehead until I was awake. Soothing me with her quiet words and kisses, she would whisper softy, “I brought the Sweet Dream Drops.” She then would unscrew a little glass bottle and, with her fingertip, place a droplet of the potion on my pillow. Eagerly, I would roll over on my side so I could get my nose nearer the spot. The delightful aroma filled my head and I would sigh with relief. Before too long, I would slip into a peaceful sleep.

Don’t you wish there really was a secret formula that would make all the scary things in life disappear like that? I sure do. But as an adult living in this fallen world, I have sadly come to realize that many of us truly are living, not sleeping, in the middle of many different kinds of very real nightmares. And there isn’t a bottle of anything big enough to bring us the peace and rest and comfort we desperately long for.

Recently, we hosted a marriage retreat featuring Dr. Paul Tripp and a series called The Marriage of Your Dreams. Nearly forty couples, couples of all ages and stages, gathered to listen and learn from this pastor, speaker, writer, and counselor. As I looked around the room, I couldn’t help but wonder if some of the couples, once expectant and smiling brides and grooms, were in fact living out their marriages with fear and trembling, caught up in a painful bad dream. I prayed Dr. Tripp would have words to help them, to help all of us.

For those who attended, here is a mini reminder of what we all heard, God’s words, I think, for navigating our marriages. For those of you who did not attend, here is my big take away.

I thought one of the most astonishing things Dr. Tripp said during the course of the weekend was that it is a miracle that any marriage survives. Not what I was expecting to hear. But he reminded us that marriage is basically the union of two broken, sinful people living in a very broken, sinful world trying to live together in the most intimate and intense of all human relationships—and somehow making it work. At the very least, marriage is difficult. For every couple. Not the stuff of our childhood dreams for sure. And not at all what we expected standing at the altar. 

But, Paul Tripp reminded us, God knows that. The fact that we struggle for harmony in our marriages didn’t catch Him off guard. In fact, He uses our difficult marriages for something great and glorious and good. Isn’t that just like Him?

And besides that, Dr. Tripp wanted us all to remember we are not alone. What we have is so much better than a magic potion.

We have God, the Designer of Marriage, the Comforter, the Healer, the Rescuer, the King.

If we’re God’s children, He wants so much more for our marriages than we can imagine, so much so that He in His loving kindness has “unzipped” us and placed the Holy Spirit inside us to live. We are not left to our own frail and faltering resources. The Warrior Spirit has the power to defeat what we cannot and to achieve what we cannot.

Galatians 6 seems to say there are two ways we can live in our marriages. We can walk in the flesh, held hostage to the evil that still lurks in us and trust our own will power, OR we can wisely walk in the Spirit, choosing to move in alignment with the Father’s character and plans, and He will gift us with love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, kindness, self-control—the stuff of the marriages of our dreams. Don’t we all want marriages and relationships overflowing with these graces? Seems like a no brainer.

Jesus died to make this our potential. He died not just to secure forgiveness for our sins but also to deliver us from them here and now. Jesus died so that we as His children would be transformed. He doesn’t want us to just settle for the mess we have created in our homes by choosing our own selfish ways or by simply learning to negotiate each other’s bad days. We can do better. Our Savior is exercising His powerful grace through the Spirit inside us to change us. That’s His plan for us. When we walk in the Spirit, we must understand that is His goal.  

And how does He do this? He uses our marriages! Do you see the interconnectedness of this, the beauty of His plan? God wants the best for us—His definition of that, not ours. The “best” we would choose for us would be selfish comfort. But God wants more for us, so He wisely puts us in the comprehensive relationship of marriage and uses the struggles in it to transform us. The conflict and poor communication we experience bring to the surface our flaws and weaknesses, blind spots that need attention. When we choose to walk with Him in this process, to walk in the Spirit, we make our purposes His purposes. We say we want to go in the same direction as our Redeemer. We learn to desire to be changed and cooperate with Him, recognizing that even the painful circumstances, the nightmares of this life, are not wasted. God is all about turning even these into something good and useful, tools in His hands as He molds us into the likeness of His dear Son. The Spirit He has given us, living in us, provides everything we need to let Him do His work.

For example, I am incapable of loving Kenny like I should, so I pray each day that God will help me love him. I know that is God’s plan. He wants to show Kenny His love through me. So I look for ways to do it. My job to love Kenny must be more valuable to me than being right or having peace. As I do this daily, especially when he is not so lovable and I am not so willing, God invades our mess by His grace and grows us to a brand new way of living. He gives me what I lack. He promises me He is near. We are growing and changing and He graces us with His gifts of love, joy, peace, gentleness, and patience…all His precious graces, all things we long for in our home.

To have the marriage of our dreams, we must let our marriages with their inevitable struggles and nightmares continue to refine and rescue us and make us more like Jesus, cooperating with the purposes of God and leaning on the indwelling power and presence of the Holy Spirit for help each day. Who knew the way to have the marriage God desires for us, the marriage I really want too, is to let the sometimes hurtful issues of that very marriage change us into the persons He wants us to be? Seems counter-intuitive…

Please don’t be discouraged if you are in the beginning or middle of His work in your marriage. Trust His good plan even when it hurts or seems impossible. He desires to accomplish something beautiful and is committed to defeating selfishness and transforming you. He gives grace. He gives strength. He gives hope.

Your God is big. He is faithful to complete the work He started in you.

The marriage of your dreams may be on the horizon.

You don’t need Sweet Dream Drops.    

 —Eileen Hill

Christmas Eve Every Day

In the little devotional for December 24 in Our Daily Bread, James Banks retells one of my all-time favorite and true Christmas stories. I think it’s worth repeating here—even if you read it last week. It’s just that good! I hope you agree.

On a cold Christmas Eve in Belgium in 1914, the sound of singing floated from the trenches where soldiers were dug in. Strains of the carol “Silent Night” rang out in German and then in English. Soldiers who earlier in the day had been shooting at each other laid down their weapons and emerged from their trenches to shake hands in the “no man’s land” between them, exchanging Christmas greetings and spontaneous gifts from their rations. The ceasefire continued through the next day as the soldiers talked and laughed and even organized soccer matches together.

The Christmas Truce of 1914 that occurred along World War I’s western front offered a brief glimpse of the peace the angels proclaimed on the first Christmas Eve long ago. An angel spoke to terrified shepherds with these reassuring words: “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you.” Then a multitude of angels appeared, “praising God and saying ‘Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.’”

We still need peace today. Not the kind of temporary or conflict-avoiding peace the world tries to sell us. We need the joyous peace the angels proclaimed that first Christmas Eve. It is both something we receive and something we pursue.

Jon Bloom from Desiring God explains.

The Bible calls Jesus the “Prince of Peace” (Isaiah9:6). And the Prince of Peace, the Son of God, said, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God” (Matthew 5:9). How far did the Prince of Peace, the Son of God, go to make peace with us? To the death. Jesus made peace between us and God “by the blood of his cross” (Colossians1:20). When we were still sinners (Romans 5:8).

How far should the sons of God go to make peace? To the death. What does that mean? It depends on the nature of the conflict. But at the very least it means, “Put to death therefore what is earthly in you” (Colossians 3:5). It means, “Love one another with brotherly affection” and “outdo one another in showing honor” (Romans 12:10). It means, “Bless those who persecute you,” “live in harmony with one another,” “never be wise in your own sight,” never “repay . . . evil for evil,” and “do what is honorable in the sight of all,” never seeking revenge when wronged, treating our enemies with graciousness and compassion, and, so far as it depends on us, living “peaceably with all” (Romans 12:14-21).

 After accepting the incredible personal gift of peace Jesus gives us, our peace with God, it seems to be a crazy kingdom irony that we then have to fight—to strive— so hard for peace around us, for peace among us. But that is what the author of Hebrews insists we do.

This is what it looks like to “strive for peace with everyone” (Hebrews 12:14). Most of the time, when a conflict is brewing, we should assume it is avoidable and do everything to pursue peace. We should assume the best of the other(s) and assume we are misunderstanding something or being tempted by warring passions. We should not enter into conflict as such until we have clear confirmation that it is unavoidable in the biblical sense. And even then, we speak the appropriate truth in the appropriate form of love, whether it be tough or tender (Ephesians 4:15). Peace requires a rigorous, disciplined commitment to being quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.    

This is hard. Like all forms of spiritual endurance and warfare, we must strive. We must die. But this kind of dying to make peace is blessed. It’s what sons of God do. And God’s reward to his peacemaking sons will be out-of-this-world wonderful.

It will be like that 1914 Christmas Eve miracle.

Someone took that first step into no man’s land that wintry night. Someone extended their hand in friendship to their sworn enemy first.

I’d like to think that “someone” was a son of God, a humble peacemaker who had come to personally know the peace of God through the redemptive work of Jesus, the Prince of peace. So on that lonely, war ravaged field, he remembered the message of the angelic hosts. He remembered he was a peacemaker. He had peace from God to share.

In the midst of a broken, painful, miserable situation, even for an only brief season, there was peace.

May we find—and create—those precious moments of peace in our families, in our neighborhoods, in our work places, and in our church.

After all, we know the Prince of Peace.

In fact, we are His sons and daughters.

May your new year be filled with His incomprehensible and overwhelming peace.

—Eileen Hill

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

A Grateful Reed

This little devotional by Max Lucado was for me this week. Maybe the ugliness bombarding us at every turn has you feeling pretty beaten up and black and blue these days too. Please read on.

Is there anything more frail than a bruised reed? Look at the bruised reed at the water’s edge. A once slender and tall stalk of sturdy river grass, it is now bowed and bent.

Are you a bruised reed? Was it so long ago that you stood so tall, so proud?

Then something happened. You were bruised…

By harsh words

By a friend’s anger

By a spouse’s betrayal…

The bruised reed. Society knows what to do with you. The world will break you off; the world will snuff you out.

But the artists of Scripture proclaim that God won’t. Painted on canvas after canvas is the tender touch of a Creator who has a special place for the bruised and weary of the world. A God who is the friend of the wounded heart.

An excerpt from a Desiring God article, A Bruised Reed He Will Not Break by Sam Allberry, continues this theme so well.

Only Jesus can demonstrate ultimate strength and then apply that same unique strength in the most tender ways. The same Jesus who has the power not only to throw down tables in the temple courtyard, or to expel demons from the possessed, or even to call a dead man out of a grave — this Jesus also has the capacity to show tenderness to those who are most delicate and fragile. We’re told in Matthew’s Gospel:

“He will not quarrel or cry aloud,
     nor will anyone hear his voice in the streets;
a bruised reed he will not break,
     and a smoldering wick he will not quench,
until he brings justice to victory;
     and in his name the Gentiles will hope.” (Matthew 12:19–21)

There was none stronger than Jesus. He was fearless before those who opposed him. He never once hesitated to say what needed to be said, even when he knew it would provoke violent opposition. He confronted those who needed to be called out. And he claimed victory over sin and death. This was no weak man.

And yet, in Jesus, enormous strength does not lead to insensitivity. The capacity to challenge and confront doesn’t lead to unnecessary conflict. He doesn’t stomp over people. He can crush a serpent, but he can also hold the most delicate in his care. We are reminded of what Isaiah said about the God who would be coming for his people:

Behold, the Lord God comes with might,
     and his arm rules for him;
behold, his reward is with him,
     and his recompense before him.
He will tend his flock like a shepherd;
     he will gather the lambs in his arms;
he will carry them in his bosom,
     and gently lead those that are with young. (Isaiah 40:10–11)

The arm with which this God effects his mighty rule is the same arm which gathers up the lambs. The God who can level mountain ranges and topple superpowers is the same God who carries the weakest and most tender close to his heart.

Isaiah’s prophecy looks forward to one who will not break a bruised reed (Isaiah 42:3). That is not because Jesus is a pushover. He is not soft. He knows how to apply strength to vulnerability. Think of all the things he could break and you begin to see the wonder of what he won’t break.

Part of the wonder is that Jesus is able to combine what we so easily separate. In our experience those who are gentlest tend to lack strength and force when it is called for, while those who are strongest tend to lack the capacity for gentleness and restraint. But Jesus exemplifies perfect gentleness and awesome strength. No one is crushed by mistake. There is never any friendly fire or collateral damage.

This combination is why he is such a good Savior to turn to. He is strong and mighty to save: he can take on the strongest of our foes and always be certain to prevail. No spiritual force arrayed against us stands a chance of surviving. And yet he is unspeakably delicate and careful with us. There is no wound or vulnerability he doesn’t understand or handle with the utmost care. He is someone we can trust with our most tender bruises and fragility. He will not be clumsy with us. He won’t steamroll us. He can apply his unimaginable strength to us with affection and sensitivity.

In a fallen world like this, all of us are people who have both sinned and been sinned against. Some of this will have left us with deep wounds that seem unfathomable even to us, let alone others. But Jesus knows us fully and understands us entirely. He loves us more than we love ourselves. He is even more committed to our ultimate joy than we are.

In our pain and confusion, in our weakness and mess, we come to him assured that he alone is trustworthy. He has the power and capacity to help us, and the tenderness and care to want to. We can trust him with our deepest pains and bruises. There is none more fearsome, but none gentler.

Our God is a friend of the wounded heart.

Doesn’t that give you incredible hope?

Doesn’t that compel you to cry out with humble gratitude to our compassionate and caring Father?

Isn’t this posture a fitting way to begin to this Thanksgiving season?

It is for me…

—Eileen Hill

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

The Tree and the Elephant

Have you enjoyed the past few events at church as much as I have?  

There were three: the College of Prayer, our Missions weekend, and the Oneness Marriage Course. Okay, that’s just a joke. The Marriage Course is another shameless plug for our class. But we do have two spots left, just sayin’…

But seriously, were you able to take advantage of the two really special events hosted here the past couple of weeks? I hope you have. It’s so good to be reminded of what’s vitally important in our walk with Jesus, to go back to the essentials of our faith. Prayer and missions are two of those.

You know I Iove stories. So did Jesus. They are so good for teaching profound truths in an engaging way, a way that will promote both learning and retention. They also inspire wonder. This true story I’d like to share did that for me. And it ties both our notable occasions together. See what you think. It is based on a book, Ian and the Gigantic Leafy Obstacle, by Sheila Miller.

Ian and the Gigantic Leafy Obstacle

By Sheila Miller

Ian wiped his brow, exasperated in the heat of the blistering afternoon.The huge tree looked like an enormous sleeping giant sprawled across the rocky mountain road. Ian gave the trunk one more useless shove and turned to the exhausted villagers. They all had been helping their new friend, a Scottish missionary, who had arrived at their village-at-the-end-of-the-road just two days earlier. He shook his head. No one had any idea how to push the tree off the roadway that hugged the steep mountain path, the only way in or out of the remote little town.

“Teacher, teacher,” one young man called. “You told us that God answers prayer. Why don’t you pray now? Ask God to move the tree.”

Everyone was silent, waiting to hear what Ian would say. He had come to Thailand and then up their mountain in his landrover to tell them about God. He’d brought a thing called a projector which had a light like a little moon shining in the dusky tropical night. And it made pictures. The pictures had been about a man called Jesus, the Son of God.

“He can forgive all our wrong things,” the missionary had told them, “and you won’t need to be afraid of evil spirits any more. Jesus can make life worthwhile. He can take us to His beautiful home in heaven when we die” And yes, he had said that his God could answer prayer.

Ian swallowed nervously as he looked around. Of course he believed God answered prayer, but—a tree? Could it really suddenly disappear as quickly as it had fallen over and blocked the mountain track?

And then he remembered something quite remarkable. It was a verse in the Bible and, strange to say, it was about a tree. Jesus had said, “If you have faith you could say to this tree, ‘Pull yourself up by the roots and plant yourself in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”

So Ian decided to trust God and pray. He had never seen a tree move in answer to prayer, but why not?  God can do anything

He bowed his head right in the middle of all the villagers. In the Thai language, Ian prayed, “Dear Father God, I’ve told these folk about you. Now I need to go down to the next village to tell the people there too. Please move the tree off the road so I can get through. Amen.”

Ian was almost afraid to open his eyes. Had the tree disappeared? No, it was still there as big, bulky, and leafy as ever, the road still completely blocked.

Before he knew what to say, a stranger rushed up to the group beside the fallen tree. The breathless man begged Ian not to go away. He pleaded with him to come to his village and show the films. His village? Where was that? Ian was confused. He had driven up the road to begin his teaching tour as far as anyone could go, to the village-at-the-end-of-the-road. He had planned to work his way down, stopping at every village on his way back home before monsoon rains made travel tricky if not impossible.

Ian had never heard of this man’s village but he agreed to go. What an adventure! There was no path at all, and Ian needed the landrover to provide a generator for the movie night, so they drove through rice paddies and fields. Villagers perched on top of the vehicle and ran alongside as they bounced and lurched over tiny bridges and shrubs. The last mile and a half (which took two hours) of the “road” was a stream filled with boulders that had to be rolled out of the way for them to get by. Finally, Ian reached the real village-at-the-end-of-the-road.

Meanwhile, in a logging village several miles down the mountain, old Mr. Boon was struggling through the jungle in search of Tusker, his favorite elephant. Tusker had disappeared earlier in the day and Mr. Boon feared the worst. His tracks led ahead in a straight line through the dense underbrush as though he were being led. He feared Tusker had been stolen. Compelled to get his elephant back and with night coming on in the dangerous jungle, Mr. Boon climbed a low tree, cradled in its branches, wearily ate his supper, and soon fell fast asleep.

In the morning, worried and wary, Mr. Boon resumed tracking Tusker on his unwavering flight through the jungle. He noticed where his elephant had stopped to eat and, when satisfied, had plodded on…still moving straight ahead. How strange! There were no other footprints that indicated a thief was pulling him along. All day Mr. Boon followed and then passed a second night in a tree away from the dangers of the jungle. He was exhausted and hungry in the morning, and his hope was fading.

Suddenly, up ahead, he caught sight of his saggy, baggy elephant. He happily rushed to greet Tusker just as Tusker started off once again. Apparently, his traveling days weren’t quite over. Mr. Boon was trailing behind, huffing and puffing.

Meanwhile, Ian had returned to the giant fallen tree in his now-muddy, scratched-up landrover. With no tools or equipment to use, nothing had been done at all about clearing the road during the two days Ian had been to the other village. He smiled at all his Thai friends who had followed him once more to the road block. “The people in the top village were so glad to see the movie and hear about Jesus,” he reported. “But here we are again.”

“Teacher,” called the young man who had spoken before. “There are no more villages, so you’d better pray again. Perhaps this time your God will move the tree.”

So prayed again in the Thai language so all could hear. “Thank you, God, for guiding me to that other village. But now I need to get home before the rainy season starts. You know we cannot move this tree so please, will you move it for us? Amen.”

The people breathlessly opened their eyes. The tree was still there. And yet another stranger.

This time it was a little old man with a crooked stick. No one in the village had ever seen him before. He pointed his stick at Ian and asked the villagers where the foreigner was from and where he was going. Ian answered for himself, surprising the stranger because he spoke his language. He told him he was from down the mountain and was trying to get home. The stranger pointed out the obvious. No one was going anywhere with the tree in the road. Everyone agreed.

The little old man then calmly shuffled across the path to the tree and poked it and prodded it with his stick again and again. “I’ll move the tree,” he said finally. He turned and mysteriously disappeared into the jungle. The villagers whispered to each other that they thought he was crazy.

Until they heard the rustling and crackling in the undergrowth.

Nearer the noises came, crunching, snapping, and the ground shaking a bit. Then, high above the fallen tree, the little old man came into view riding on the back of Tusker, his wrinkled gray elephant. Tusker felt around the tree with his tusks and found a spot where he heaved and shoved and pushed the giant tree off of the steep road far enough so Ian could edge the landrover around it.

The villagers were amazed. They praised Tusker and the little old man and hounded him with questions. Where had he come from? How had he arrived at just the time they needed him? As the new friends exchanged stories, they discovered that Mr. Boon had just caught up with Tusker after a grueling two day pursuit and had slipped the chains on his feet to lead him back to the logging camp. He heard voices and came through the jungle hoping to find some food and water for his return journey. That’s when he found Ian and the villagers praying. He told them Tusker had never run off like that before.

Ian was nearly bursting with astonishment and happiness as he listened to all the conversations. He had stood on that exact spot two days earlier and asked God to move the tree, and just two days ago, Tusker had strayed. God had begun answering his prayer the very moment Ian had prayed. What a good Father!

Ian jumped in his landrover and inched around the cleared road to wind his way down the mountain. Waving goodbye and shedding a few tears, he was stunned again as he recalled how God had orchestrated the events of the past days so beautifully. While they all had to wait for the elephant they didn’t know was about to come and be the answer to their prayers, God had sent him on to that other village, the one he didn’t even know existed, the real village-at-the-end-of-the-road. The obstacle in the track meant Ian could tell other people about Jesus. “God certainly can turn a difficulty into a launching pad for one of His special miracles,” Ian smiled.

And that is the beautiful truth.

But do you also see how this story combines prayer and missions? God’s kingdom advances as God’s people pray and God’s people obey. What an amazing plan! Even elephants obey Him!

And, yes, it’s God’s plan for you and me….not just for the paid professionals or the chosen few. We all have a person-at-the-end-of-our-roads….or blocks. Or pews. Or desks. Or counters. They need to know Jesus too, don’t you think? Won’t you go? Ian went to Thailand. Will you go across the street?

Do you have some obstacles that hinder you? He may not send Tusker, but God’s got you covered. Pray believing. Sometimes it’s gutsy. Sometimes there’s a delay. Sometimes it’s confusing. Pray anyway. Prayer changes things. Prayer changes people. Prayer changes you.

Thank you, pastors, for two important and thought-provoking weekends. May we as a local body of believers grow in our desire for, our understanding of, and our competence in prayer and missions.

May we manifest the Presence of Jesus in this very broken world.    

—Eileen Hill

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

Sitting Close

I admit it.

Once in a while, I love to check up on Facebook…especially when Kenny is watching baseball or golf while we relax in our chairs after dinner.

Browsing my feed the other evening, annoyed once again with the Phillies and their pitiful bullpen, a post from a sweet, young friend caught my eye. See what you think.

Wanted to share a little of what's been on my mind as I was taking a walk and praying this morning. I remember my pastor giving, a while ago, an analogy of a husband and wife who had a truck with a bench seat. In the beginning of their marriage, the husband and wife were cuddled up next to each other each day as the husband drove. Through the years, they got farther apart until, eventually, the wife was sitting all the way by the passenger side door.

One day she said, “I miss the days when we were so in love that we were inseparable and cuddled close." The husband replied, "I never moved."

My pastor went on to say how much this is like our relationship with God. God never moves but with disappointments, prayers not being answered the way we want, our lives not going the way we planned, people hurting us, injustice in our country, etc., we pull a little farther away from God—just like this wife did.

 I was convicted this morning because I asked God for something and it didn't go my way so I felt like a little child that scoots away from her dad because He said no and it can start rocking our faith. But God never changes, He never fails, He remains steady and we need to pray and repent and scoot back next to Him in the driver’s seat.

 Praying this can be an encouragement to someone today

“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Romans 8:35, 38-39 ESV

Thanks, Amy. Well said. I have a few observations.

1.    I love that Amy was walking and praying. What a win/win on so many levels. What a perfect way to begin a day. And notice, when she made space for the Father, He clearly spoke to her, His beautiful, listening daughter.

2.    God brought to mind a sermon she heard earlier. She puts herself in places where she hears Truth and that allows her to be reminded of what she needs during the messy or confusing situations of life that arise later on. She is already equipped for help and encouragement. Good plan.

3.    I know her post isn’t primarily focused on that marriage story, but because I care so much about marriage, I think it would be a worthwhile exercise for couples to consider why a wife might be hugging the passenger door. Or a husband. Or both. Seatbelt laws? Personal hygiene? Bucket seats? Or something more? I know it is just a simple, hypothetical narrative, but I think a lot of us, if we were honest, can relate to it. So would you as least have a conversation about it? Would you discuss the distance that exists between you and your sweetie? Is there one? If so, why? What is in that space that is pushing you apart? There are a LOT of possibilities in this demanding, me-first, busy world we live in. Kids, in-laws, jobs, hobbies, finances, friends, sports, disappointments, unconfessed habits…you name it. Discuss how you, with God’s help and His grace, can rid your relationship of whatever keeps you from the good old days of snuggling together on the seat. Won’t you try? And here is a shameless plug: we have a Marriage Course and a Marriage Retreat coming up. Stay tuned for the information and join us!

4.    God doesn’t move. But, oh, what restless, careless drifters we all are! Sometimes I think we will grab onto any excuse in the world to rebelliously pull away and go after other loves that cry out for our affections. Other times, the move away is so subtle and slow and unintentional, we are shocked to awaken one day and see how far we are from Him. Either way, whatever has filled the space between us—false saviors or deceitful loves, real and painful realities, foolishness and sin, laziness and busyness, hurts and unresolved conflicts, selfishness and lack of faith or knowledge—we find ourselves wandering, confused and alone, in the cold and the dark, out of fellowship with our Father…and His people. How we need to guard our hearts and our steps! How we need to stay close to Him! How we need His love! He never moves and He promises nothing can ever separate us from Him.

5.    Scripture informed and substantiated her conclusions and thoughts. What a treasure we have in God’s Word. How much we need to know it.

So I loved Amy’s post for a lot of reasons. I’ve watched her grow up from birth into a wise and sweet woman who loves God, and that is a particular joy. I loved that she talks to God and listens for His voice…and learns. I loved that she reminded me of the blessings of faithfully being in God’s house, a practice instilled in me as a child by my godly parents. I loved her value of God’s Word. I loved thinking about how Kenny and I still enjoy snuggling together in the pick-up truck after fifty years of marriage (September 5!) and am humbly grateful to our Father for that. We have learned (well, mostly!) to toss those things that constantly try to push us apart out the window of the cab.

But I think I mostly loved the post because I needed it. This quarantine business has been a BIG and sneaky disruption and distraction that I didn’t pay attention to. The church, quite literally, has been scattered to our homes. We’ve moved. And I have become very comfortable watching the morning worship service in my nightgown, sipping my coffee, snuggled under my blanket. I take my notes, Bible open in my lap. It’s been good. I am close to God. But I am not at all close to His body.

Now I am not even hinting that God is only in our church building and we have left Him if we continue to stay home and don’t show up on Sunday mornings. He is there and He is everywhere…even in my cozy basement at 9 AM. But I am saying that the body of Christ used to be in our church building every Sunday and we hugged and chatted and laughed and cried and connected and worshipped and sang and cared and prayed and studied and built relationships.  We had the opportunity to sit close. But that body is not in my house, sitting on my couch in front of my TV Sunday morning, and I miss it; I miss them.

And isn’t that what Amy’s post is all about? You can’t have a loving, lasting, meaningful relationship with ANYONE, a spouse, a child, a friend, or even your Heavenly Father, if you are holding yourself back, pulling yourself away, allowing anything or anyone to fill in the few inches or the gaping chasm you or someone or something has created, intentionally or not, between you. Paul Tripp says, “We are relational beings who have been called to lifelong community with God and others.” It’s difficult to love others sacrificially, to be in community, and to be a tool of God’s work and grace in other’s hearts and lives when we are miles apart. Nor can my brothers and sisters be that for me. How I need it!

As Pastor Diego reinforced on Sunday morning, some of us have very significant health/age/job issues and other pressing reasons for continuing to stay apart. We need to respect and support each other in that. For me, though, while I remain very careful in protecting my vulnerable in-laws who live with us, I think it had become just easier and more comfortable—almost like a new habit—to stay home and view church on my TV. But I don’t want my desire for ease and personal comfort to keep me from building or maintaining my dear relationships with my brothers and sisters at LFA. I know you don’t either.

I guess I’m humbly and kindly suggesting that maybe it’s time to carefully evaluate exactly what is keeping us apart and decide if it is a legitimate reason. Or is it something we should toss out the passenger side window?

It’s time for us to sit close.

We need each other…now maybe more than ever. 

—Eileen Hill

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

The Family Meal

She hadn’t been gone a week.

We sat silently at the kitchen table, bravely trying to ignore the lonely, empty chair between our boys. We picked at the blueberry muffins—just out of the oven—and wiped the tears that trickled down our cheeks.    

Somehow, we knew Sunday breakfast would never be the same.

Tracy, our only daughter, had gone to college.

The circle had been broken. Nothing would be the same.

Looking back on that morning so long ago, I think we somehow understood, quite painfully, that something familiar, precious, comfortable, and meaningful—an essential family ritual, our family ritual—was changed forever. We were heart-broken and I don’t think I am overstating this. It was more than just missing a beloved daughter or a sister. It was more than missing the playful, weekly squabble over who found the muffins with the most berries. I think we were grieving the loss of life as we knew it, our pretty happy family system, a system that often circled around shared meals together. The void, the change, hit us hard that first Sunday breakfast.

You see, eating together as a family had always been a top priority for Kenny and me. When we said “I do” and “I will” nearly fifty years ago, we both somehow understood that to also mean “I will eat with you forever.” Looking at the two of us, you can see we took those vows quite seriously!

The family mealtime had been the practice of both of our families of origin, so we naturally adopted this comfortable pattern. As our children joined our family, eating together continued to be a valued priority. Early on, though it wasn’t always practical or even possible to share every meal, dinnertime was often the highlight of each day…for so many reasons. Around the table, we prayed, we were nourished, we chatted about the happenings of the day, we asked questions, we looked each other in the eye, we touched each other, we talked about current events, we planned outings and vacations, we shared disappointments and fears and dreams, we advised one another, we ironed out schedules, we told jokes, we established expectations and rules, we meted out discipline and punishment…we did life.

Sometimes it was light-hearted and fun; other times, it was uncomfortable and hard. Sometimes it went well; sometimes it flopped. Sometimes it was at a fast food joint or sometimes at a fancy restaurant. Sometimes it was lunch and sometimes it was breakfast. Sometimes it was steak and sometimes it was peanut butter and jelly. But mealtime together was always a place for communication and connection. It was a place of incidental training and the passing on of significant values. It was a place for our children to learn to recognize and then thank God for all our blessings. It was a place to learn good manners and respect for each other, a place to practice healthy eating habits, a place to learn to listen well and speak up, a place to figure out relationships and authority structures, a place to be heard and a place to belong. A place where no one could hide and walls would come down. A place of safety and unconditional love.

I know, as flawed parents, our mealtimes weren’t always perfect and helpful and grand. I don’t want you to think that. But we battled and struggled for them none the less. Their importance was our firm conviction, especially as the kids entered their teen years. Because of crazy job schedules, sports, meetings, youth group, church, friends, homework and the like, it was hard work, an almost impossible dream to sit down somewhere to eat at the same time. But it was a war we were willing to wage. We wanted to stay involved in their lives, to have a voice, to be connected. We took advantage of nearly every flimsy opportunity we had. And we could almost always count on Sunday morning breakfast with blueberry muffins before we headed off the church. I can almost taste them now…

Statistics and articles from the worlds of psychology, education, and medicine confirm what we have believed for so long. Family meals help children thrive in many areas of life including academics, nutrition, mental health, lifestyle choices, and the list goes on. And now that we are old and Kenny’s gray (smile) and all our chicks have long flown our coop across the map, a family meal, rare as it is, is our fondest desire and greatest joy. There are twenty three of us now; we need a much bigger table and a whole lot more food, but what a blessing!

So I was stopped short reading through Acts this past week in Acts 2:46 and 47. I loved the reminder.

46 Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, 47 praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.

This scripture passage is right after Pentecost, the day the Spirit of God ignited the early church with power to turn the world upside down. Three thousand people trusted in Jesus Christ that day and every day after, others chose to follow Him too. So many new Christians who needed to be taught God’s Word and needed fellowship with God’s people if they were going to grow in their faith and become effective witnesses! What a huge job for the early church! The leaders of the early church desired not only to make converts; they longed to make disciples. So they gathered at the Temple each day for instruction and prayer. As Warren Wiersbe says, “Their Christian faith was a day-to-day reality, not a once-a-week routine.”

But this is the part I love. After the teaching time, they went to each other’s homes and ate together. Like a family meal! Nourishment. Discussion. Sharing. Laughter. Questions. Answers. Relationships. Encouragement. Communication. Plans. Problem solving. Belonging. And they were glad and sincere. They praised God. They enjoyed the favor of ALL men. Their love, unity, honesty, and generosity were winsome and attractive to those outside the community of believers. Curious, more and more folks desired to come learn about this Jesus, the Savior of the world. God sent more and more people their way.

Yes, I am persuaded that our wise God really likes the idea of family meals. I believe the brothers and sisters in the early church did too.

Around the table, strangers become friends, defenses are lowered and skeptics are disarmed. Families are built, friendships are built, people are built, churches are built. People are loved. God is revealed. Yes!

But I also am of the conviction that the practice of family mealtime, of sharing a meal together with others, is nearly obsolete, out-of-date, old-fashioned. It certainly is on the endangered species list. Even though we read the world’s statistics that affirm our biblical patterns, most of us give in to the esteemed cultural pressures of busyness, self-centeredness, simplicity, comfort, independence, and privacy. Exhausted from our packed-out schedules, we pull into our driveways, rush in our front doors, and lock them tightly against any interruption. We pop in a frozen pizza, turn on the TV, and kick back in our lounge chairs as we scroll through FaceBook until we fall asleep. All we want is peace and quiet and relaxation.

Even if we do sit down to eat as a family unit, everyone has a fork in one hand and an electronic device in the other. And ear phones jammed in their ears. And the TV blaring from the living room.

But these practices, these flawed and selfish values don’t lend themselves to hospitality, to leisurely, intentionally, purposefully sitting around a table and generously sharing our lives with others, especially our children. Or God’s children.

Maybe that’s why we don’t experience the joy we would like. Maybe that’s why we aren’t radically building up our faith community. Maybe that’s why our families are fragmented. Just a thought.

Tracy has been gone since 1989. My boys left not long after. But that was not the end of “family” meals for us. Kenny and I still enjoy blueberry muffins on Sunday mornings (if I get up early enough) and now we don’t have to fight with anybody over the last one or the best one. Kenny is always the winner. We still eat together every evening and just about any other time we can. Our family ritual.

And we have mended that broken family circle and enlarged its definition quite a bit. We have a lot more “family” joining us at the table, children of our hearts whose lives we pray we can influence for the Kingdom of God. Around the family table, there is food and conversation. There is encouragement and exhortation. There are questions and answers…or not. There is mutual respect and caring. There is joy and friendship. There is safety and unconditional love. There is belonging.

I still have a whole lot of life—and muffins—to share.

And God has a very big family.

Won’t you build a circle at your table?   

—Eileen Hill

*Please be advised that this blog represents the views, opinions and beliefs of the writer and does not necessarily reflect those of our church leadership or denominational affiliation.

Sweating the Small Stuff

Have you heard the phrase, “Don’t sweat the small stuff?”

I have. And I won’t ever pay attention to it again.

Small stuff can be really BIG stuff.  

Taking a hike one spring day a few years back, I hesitated on the path. The kids bounded ahead on the trail, took shortcuts through the woods, and wandered along the riverbank. The year before, I had been bitten by a deer tick and had a nasty bout with Lyme’s disease. The effects, honestly, were just going away and I was terrified of having another year like the one I just had experienced. Kenny “encouraged” me by saying, “You can’t live your life in fear. Let’s go.”

It was his version of “Don’t sweat the small stuff.”

And in the grand scheme of life, a tick is certainly a very small thing and, compared to the much more serious and sad illnesses of many others, my Lyme’s disease was more of a painful and annoying inconvenience. Especially the nine months of double vision.

So I went.

And that day I was bitten by a NJ newcomer, the Lone Star tick.

Another very small bite by a very small creature that has caused me VERY BIG problems. This nasty tick has given me Alpha-gal syndrome and sent me to the ER with itchy hives and a closing-up throat. Thanks to this bitty bug, I now carry an EpiPen and have to read a lot of labels. I can no longer eat any mammal meat and, early on, I could not tolerate dairy products either. No cheese, no ice cream. It was simply un-American.  What was Texas thinking?

See? Maybe I should have sweated the small stuff and stayed in the car.

Anyway, it’s that time of year again. Those horrible, parasitic little insects have been on my mind once again. But I braved a hike on Mother’s Day, taking all the necessary Covid19 AND tick precautions necessary. So far, so good.

Meanwhile, my mind is stuck on the perplexing reality that a little, tiny, insignificant thing, like a creepy-crawly tick, can make a BIG difference in someone’s life. MY life in particular…

Small stuff can be really big stuff, can’t it?

A little pimple on the first day of school.

A tiny splinter.

A small shadow on the x-ray.

A tiny heartbeat.

A small and shiny diamond ring.

A little, white lie.

A little faith the size of a mustard seed.

A bit in the horse’s mouth.

A little leak.

A little gift.

A small spark.

The tiny tongue.

A little sip.

The still, small voice.

These small things can be really big. They may be things we don’t need to sweat. Or maybe we do. Small things can be or bring huge blessings as well as great pain and disappointment.

I think I’ve whined to you before about my limited dietary issues since my latest tick encounter. I so miss a juicy cheeseburger right off the grill or a crispy BLT made with Jersey’s finest. And I am ashamed that, given this premise that keeps bouncing through my brain, that small stuff can be really big stuff, I find I immediately latch onto all the negative examples around me instead of considering the positive side of the proposition. I can’t seem to get beyond that tick. And the loss of that Bubba Burger.

Then tonight, in our monthly family Zoom prayer meeting, my sweet sister-in-law from North Carolina prayed that we as a family would have eyes to see all the little ways God is rescuing us, providing for us, protecting us, guiding us, blessing us, strengthening us, and loving us…especially in these uncertain and restless days. She reminded us that we should recognize the hundreds of little things He does for us in our commonplace days, things we should never take for granted, things that should enlarge our hearts with enormous gratitude and thanksgiving.

Immediately, the Holy Spirit stirred my heart and began the work of transforming my perspective. I asked God to forgive my selfish, microscopic focus on me and my small, insignificant world with its little problems. I asked Him to help me move beyond my petty issues and concentrate on what is important to Him, who is important to Him. Little blessing after little blessing, and person after person, began flashing through my mind making me smile as my family on my screen continued to pray. In the mundane and ordinary small moments of my every day, my good Father is always at work. The sum of all the little things He is doing for me daily is vast beyond all accounting. What amazing grace! It’s huge. I need to count my many blessings. And thank Him.

Can you think of some little ways our caring Father is providing for you too? Have you thanked Him? That’s big stuff.

Then I thought about little things some more. Can you even imagine little me and little you, average fools at best, being loved by and adopted by God Himself? Can you even grasp the unbelievable and incredible BIG-ness of that very thought? He wants us. He desires a relationship with us. With God, the Potter, small, messy, incomplete, flawed and broken people can be re-formed into really big, useful, and beautiful stuff, vessels fit for the Master’s use, carefully sculpted by His hands. He is committed to forming us, His beloved children, into His image. Incredible, right?

What little or big plans and purposes do you think He has made you for? How are you doing with them? That’s more big stuff.

It occurs to me that Jesus often speaks of small things being big things.

He teaches that the first shall be last. He’s inferring that the self-proclaimed big shots of the world are going to be shocked when humble little guys, servants of all, will be big in the Kingdom of God. He modeled that principle for them as well.

He says seekers must become like little children if they want a place in His big and glorious Kingdom. No self-righteous big cheeses allowed.

Jesus tells His followers that when they do little acts of kindness, especially to the downtrodden, marginalized little guys, and they offer a small cup of water in His name, it’s like they are offering it to Jesus Himself. How BIG is that?

Jesus announces that if His followers had faith the size of a tiny mustard seed, they could move big mountains. Wow.

Jesus says He knows when a tiny sparrow falls. Don’t you think He cares much more for you? Don’t you think, knowing how loved you are, that He will watch over you in a big way?

The small stuff can be really big stuff in the Kingdom of God. Jesus says it’s true. So we don’t need to sweat the small stuff after all.

We just may need to embrace it.  

Or do it.

So what small thing can you do today that could possibly make a big impact on someone? Make a list and follow through at the Spirit’s prompting. Can you write a note, make a call, bake some brownies, pick some flowers, or offer to shop for someone who is isolated and disconnected? 

Mother Teresa admonishes us, “Not all of us can do great things, but we can do small things with great love.”

And Winnie the Pooh adds, “Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in our hearts.”

Pretty wise words from a funny, little bear.

I so hope Hundred Acre Wood has been sprayed for ticks…

—Eileen Hill

Forget the Vest

If God is your Father, the Son is your Savior, and the Spirit is your indwelling Helper, you have hope no matter what you’re facing.

The words bounded off the page and hit me between the eyes, then landed in my heart with an attention-getting and profound thump. Does anybody else beside me need some hope these days? It seemed Paul Tripp knew exactly what I—and maybe you—needed to read today. Has that ever happened to you before? I suspect our dear Father in His grace just might have something to do with that. I read on in New Morning Mercies, my daily devotional by Paul Tripp. I must admit, though, I wasn’t exactly prepared for what I read next. It didn’t start out very hopeful.

“Who in the world do you think you are? I’m serious. Who do you think you are? You and I are always assigning to ourselves some kind of identity. And the things that you and I do are shaped by the identity that we have given ourselves. So it’s important to acknowledge that God has not just forgiven you (and that is a wonderful thing), but he has also given you a brand-new identity. If you’re God’s child, you are now a son or daughter of the King of kings and the Lord of lords. You are in the family of the Savior who is our friend and brother. You are the temple where the Spirit of God now lives. Yes, that really is true—you’ve been given a radically new identity.

“The problem, sadly, is that many of us live in a constant, or at least a rather regular state of identity amnesia. We forget who we are, and when we do, we begin to give way to doubt, fear, and timidity. Identity amnesia makes you feel poor when in fact you are rich. It makes you feel foolish when in fact you are in a personal relationship with the One who is wisdom. It makes you feel unable when in fact you have been blessed with strength. It makes you feel alone when in fact, since the Spirit lives inside of you, it’s impossible for you to be alone. You feel unloved when in fact, as a child of the heavenly Father, you have been graced with eternal love. You feel like you don’t measure up when in fact the Savior measured up on your behalf. Identity amnesia sucks the life out of your Christianity in the right here, right now moment in which all of us live.”

This is just what Erik and Greg had been preaching about a couple of Sunday mornings ago. We do too often forget who we are and we write, or worse, let someone else write, some kind of ugly name in glaring four inch letters on the back of the orange vests we wear. We allow those names to define us and dictate how we live. They are names of our shame. They are names that make us forget who we are. We lose hope.

But Jesus wants us to stop hiding in fear and to refuse to be defined by our shame. He asks us to tear off those vests and, in the most unexplainable, undeserved and extravagant exchange ever conceived, allow Him to graciously place on us His own glorious robes of righteousness. Can you just imagine? Jesus takes away all our sin, guilt, shame, and brokenness, things that have held us captive, and He carries it to the cross. He took it on Himself and bore the punishment we deserved—and then offers us His very own righteousness. What a costly transaction for Jesus!  

In my very active imagination, I’d like to think these new robes He clothes us in will also have a name delicately and beautifully hand-stitched in gold script. What will yours say on the back?

Paul Tripp concludes his thoughts for the day.

“If you’ve forgotten who you are in Christ, what are you left with? You’re left with Christless Christianity, which is little more than a system of theology and rules. And you know that if all you needed was theology and rules, Jesus wouldn’t have had to come. All God would have needed to do was drop the Bible down on you and walk away. But he didn’t walk away; he invaded your life as Father, Savior, and Helper. By grace, he made you a part of his family. By grace, he made you the place where he lives. And he did all this so that you not only would receive his forgiveness, but so that you would have everything you need for life and godliness.

“So if you’re his child, ward off the fear that knocks on your door by remembering who God is and who you’ve become as his chosen child. And don’t just celebrate his grace; let it reshape the way you live today and the tomorrows that follow.”

So what does the back of your new robe say? Mine says “Grateful, chosen, cherished child of the King!” I know. That’s a lot of words. It’s my imagination, okay?

And I laugh thinking about what will happen when the bullies of this world or those in my head start to call me names and remind me of my fears, my past, my shame,  and my failures. With great confidence I will cry, “Leave me alone! My Father’s bigger than your father!”

I don’t have to run. I don’t have to hide. I am never alone. I have a true identity given to me by my God.

Now that gives me hope.

In quarantine or not.

—Eileen Hill

Habakkuk Was Onto Something

I think Habakkuk was onto something—a man ahead of his time.

As I am writing, it’s the National Day of Unplugging (March 6). Did you even know about it? I bet many of you didn’t make it 15 minutes…let alone the 24 hour global respite from technology that was suggested. I confess I didn’t. The goal of the promoters was to “highlight the value of disconnecting from digital devices to connect with ourselves, our loved ones, and our communities in real time.” You could even request tool kits with conversation starters and activity guides to help you learn how to survive the trauma and separation anxiety. The idea would be laughable if it weren’t so sadly true of many folks in our culture today. We are addicted to a steady stream of noise, information, entertainment, and distraction. We just don’t value quietness and all the benefits that come with it.

Hundreds of years earlier, Habakkuk suggested something to his people, the nation of Judah, that may have been as radical for that day as this unplugging event is for this day.

Reeling from God’s pronouncement of impending judgment because of their sin and rebellion against Him, Habakkuk cried out to the people, “But the LORD is in his holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before him.” What kind of message was this? Shouldn’t he have been urging the people to repent yet again? Shouldn’t he suggest they recruit an army of allies or at least sign a petition against God’s verdict, compiling a list of excuses and meaningless promises? He didn’t even advise them to close the borders or head to the hills. He simply commanded them to be silent...before the Lord.

And it was not prompted because his fellow countrymen needed to reconnect and rebuild relationships or to get their own heads on straight.  No, this was a very serious call to be still in the middle of a very serious, credible threat. Habakkuk’s hope was that, away from noise and distraction, the people would then be able to consider God’s awesome nature, who He is and what He does. He wanted them to connect with their true King and realize His sovereignty over all creation, including them. He hoped they would finally align their hearts with God’s—just as he had done. It was bottom line stuff. Significant stuff. The stuff of real life.

Isn’t that also a good idea for us today? Do you think we can keep quiet before Him—for more than 15 minutes—to remember and consider His awesome nature and realize His sovereignty over all creation, including us? To align our hearts with His? That’s pretty significant stuff for us too.

When we are too busy, when our ears are tuned to the static and noise and interferences of this pagan culture we live in, our minds are directed to anything BUT God. So, as a defense, we need to saturate our brains with the truths we know about our King, who He is and what He does. We need to rehearse these over and over, to preach His character and His mighty acts to our hearts until we know Him intimately and are consistently paying attention to His works around us as well as being reminded of all He has done in the past. We also do this by reading His word, by listening to messages, by attending classes, by surrounding ourselves with godly friends. But sometimes we need to sit quietly before Him.

We need the quiet to contemplate and commune and listen. I love to do that, to recount who He is, to focus on my Father with a heart filled with praise. But I have to work to make space for it in the craziness of life. Don’t you?

Sometimes I need a little help in getting or staying quiet and tuned in. I am so very thankful for both the old hymns and today’s worship music, profound words set to delightful melodies that capture my heart and carry me to quiet, reflective places where I can rest and focus on my God. So the song I find myself humming and singing over and over lately is Way Maker. What a reminder of God’s beautiful character! And I do remember as I sit still.

Several years ago, Kenny and I were trapped in a flaming inferno trying to escape the raging forest fire that wreaked havoc in Smoky Mountain National Park. Huddled in our car, locked in by other vehicles, downed wires, and fallen trees, barely able to see because of the billowing smoke, flames moving ever closer—when suddenly, the wind altered direction. The fire almost imperceptibly changed course, as did the smoke. Right next to us was a rutted pull-out along the parkway we hadn’t seen before. Kenny jerked the car into gear and quickly moved us away from the encroaching blaze behind and beside us. Our children, hundreds of miles away, were praying for that exact thing to happen. Way Maker…

Our newspaper and magazine business, once-profitable and demanding, had become an outdated and unnecessary dinosaur. Without boring you with the messy and hurtful details, we were in trouble, financially and emotionally. And we needed a car. We had turned in a leased company vehicle and we had hoped to share our older pick-up. But my mom, who I was caring for, had trouble getting in and out of the truck. We decided we needed to ask God for a vehicle. We called our three children, told them what we needed, and asked them to pray with us. Our oldest son asked, “How much can you spend?” Kenny never hesitated. He replied rather boldly, I thought, “We don’t plan on spending anything.” Really?

The very next day, that same son called to say he had a car for us. He had gone into church (he’s a pastor) and his elderly secretary asked if he knew anyone who needed a vehicle. Her son, a used car dealer, routinely switched her cars, making sure she always had a nice, dependable ride. He told her to donate the one she had. Really! And guess what it was? A pink Cadillac with heated front seats for my arthritic Mama! She rode around like a queen in a gently used limo. How gracious of our Father to take such good care of ALL of us. Miracle Worker…

Peace. That’s the very best word I can come up with. Peace on the worst day imaginable. Peace that passes all understanding, to be more specific. Peace that our dear Father promises to His children.

We had been waiting for and dreading this day for months. We were greeting a new grandchild. But this time it was going to be very different. Our beautiful Julian was arriving in a little body that was unable to sustain his precious life here on earth. He was simply passing through our broken world on his way to a glorious one where he would be forever with Jesus. We were going to have to celebrate and grieve, greet and say goodbye, pour out our love as we poured out our sorrow…all in a brief moment in time. Eighty-seven minutes to be exact. What was that like? In a word? Peace. All-encompassing peace. Unbelievable. Promise Keeper…

I am afraid of the dark; I don’t want to be there, stay there. But I have been in dark places in my life. The sudden death of my dad when I was a teenager. My mother's Alzheimer’s journey. Untreated hypothyroid induced depression. Cranial nerve palsy disabling my eye for months. Tick-born diseases that still affect my body in strange ways. Biopsies and medical scares. Church hurt. Betrayal. Business failure. Losing dear siblings. You know about these dark places too, don’t you? But I was never alone and neither were you. There was always hope, a way out. Why? He’s Light in the darkness…

As I sit in silence, I am humbled and grateful as I remember His mighty acts to me, His child, acts that flow from the very essence of who He is. In the daily circus, I rarely remember these things. But in the stillness, when I fix my mind on things above and block out other things, I readily recall His power, His love, His majesty and His mercy as He showed up time after time in my difficult life situations. I remember my God. I remember He is relentlessly pursuing me, desiring to awaken in me the truth of who He is and what He does. That is the very essence of my faith that He is growing and maturing.

That was what was happening to Habakkuk too. He went from confusion and complaint to humility and reverence. He was being transformed by realizing just who God is.

It happens in the quiet. “Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)

Give it a try!

—Eileen Hill

Better Than Mr. Rogers

A verse in 1 Corinthians says, “Let no one seek his own good, but the good of his neighbor” (10:24 ESV).

Can you imagine what that would look like played out in your neighborhood?  

We didn’t have to imagine.

We had Doug.

Doug was better than Mr. Rogers. He wasn’t a faraway TV star. He was our star. He always was looking out for the good of his neighbors…and that included us.

Then, on January 12th, just two sad weeks ago, Jesus called Doug home quite unexpectedly. He was only 67. Today, he has a new address, new neighbors…and a new, healthy heart (if he even needs that in Heaven).

So I’d like to share part of a tribute I wrote for his shocked and grieving family, our dear friends. I hope it gives you a glimpse into the life of a good neighbor.

We’ve a Neighbor Through the Woods

Sometimes a heartless winter gale spews ice across our woods, wreaking havoc with our graceful trees, snapping brittle power lines along our road. We shiver in the dark—no phone, no water—buried in ten quilts piled up to our eyelids. We wonder if the utility company is even aware of our plight.

But we’ve a neighbor through the woods.

It’s late at night and I’m alone, yawning. I keep the lights on as I struggle to fall asleep. Even the shows on TV are tired. Kenny’s driving, gone for days. Once again, the ghosts and goblins are dancing on my roof. I shudder and my heart pounds as I clutch the phone beneath my pillow.

Thankfully, we’ve a neighbor through the woods.

We’re rudely awakened by its unnerving and shrill screaming in the dead of night, a warning cry which disrupts the peaceful night. Our burglar alarm is blaring. Is someone breaking in? Is there a fire? Kenny grabs his trusty baseball bat. Whether we are home or whether we’re not…

We’ve a neighbor through the woods.

I rush into the kitchen, nearly late for a dentist appointment. The car is still running, ready to speed off to Bridgeton, and I need the check book. But something—a noise?—stops me in my hasty tracks. A sudden and frightening chill races down my spine. Why are the drawers and cupboards half-open? I peek into the living room and see jagged pieces of my French door frame scattered across the hardwood floor. Someone has broken into our safe and cozy home! And are they still here? Panicking, hardly able to breathe, I run.

We’ve a neighbor through the woods.

When the springtime sun is smiling, basking lazily in a sea of brilliant blue, the robins and chickadees call me outside to play. I smile too. On my back step, there’s a flat or two of lovely flowers just waiting to be planted along my sidewalk.

We’ve a neighbor through the woods.

Humming to myself, fancying myself a gourmet chef, I am concocting a new recipe for dinner. Company is on its way and I need to get this dish in the oven right now…and clumsily drop the last egg I need to finish it all up. Do I run to Anderson’s or Ternay’s and pay $5 for a dozen? Do I forget the last egg and hope for the best?

We’ve a neighbor through the woods.

I see Kenny backing his truck up the driveway, home from a tiresome day of deliveries. A half hour goes by before I hear him wiping his feet and sliding off his work books as he pushes through the back door.

We’ve a neighbor through the woods.

I don’t worry about my house when we go away for vacation.

I don’t have an operation, a serious illness, or a terrible loss without a card, a visit and a meal.

I don’t have disgusting trash cluttering the road in front of my house after the days the dump is open.

I don’t have to wonder who will send me the first Christmas card of the season. 

I don’t suffer death and bereavement alone.

I don’t celebrate joy and happy events alone.

I don’t have a birthday that I don’t have a sweet, unstamped card in my mailbox.

I don’t chase burglars by myself.

I don’t have to wonder what’s going on with an old classmate or what’s happening in our little community.

I don’t wonder who I can ask for a ride or a favor.

I don’t wrestle with who we can share our troubles with, who we can ask to pray for us.

I don’t feel afraid or isolated or forgotten.

We’ve a neighbor through the woods.

And he is a gentle, thoughtful, funny, friendly and sweet giant of a man who doesn’t know a stranger and would give anyone whatever he had.

It was always a beautiful day in OUR neighborhood, not because of Fred Rogers, but because Doug Paten lived through the woods.

So thankful we still have Alice.

We still have a selfless neighbor through the woods.

And now it’s our turn to intentionally be the same. We’ve some big shoes to fill…

But throughout the Bible, God commands us to love our neighbors, to deal honestly and uprightly with them, and to consider their needs above our own. If we’re truthful with ourselves, our hearts and heads know it’s right to be a good neighbor; we just need to do it. It is a decision we must make. We choose to invest ourselves in those God has placed around us. It can be difficult, messy, costly, exhausting—and very rewarding—to put others first. It takes being present in their lives and being willing to listen, love, encourage, and help. It’s the way Jesus lived here on earth, surrounded by people of all kinds, loving them, meeting their felt needs, offering them an eternal relationship with the Father. It’s the way He wants us to live now.

That kind of neighborly love and kindness is contagious and transforming. It could even change the world.

It changed our neighborhood.

Wouldn’t you like it to change yours?

You can be that selfless neighbor through the woods—even in the city!

—Eileen Hill