Blursings

The "Curse" of Our Gifts

This morning on facebook a relative posted a short video about the spiritual application of a pizza box. It's a two minute clip about how we as believers are vessels of Christ. Keep it in mind as you read this post because, as I'm sure you know, we cannot take credit for our gifts. James 1:17 reminds us that "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows."
  A few years ago at church we all took a spiritual gifts test. The goal was to identify our strengths so we can utilize them for service. I found it super-interesting. A couple of people were asked to speak briefly about their results and they said something that resonated with me and I'm guessing you get it, too.
They said that they know it's a blessing, and they are thankful for their gifts, but sometimes their blessing felt like a curse. That's why I sometimes refer to these things, in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way, as "blursings" because they feel like a combination of a blessing and a curse.
My friend has the gift of administration and she's amazing. Creative and organized, she is a master at making everything beautiful. Dozens of times I've heard people (myself included) say they wish they could just let her do whatever she wanted to makeover their homes. She likes things clean and organized and she's very very good at it.
But, for her, there's a downside. Disorder and mess bug her. Some people could overlook a messy bookshelf, but for my friend it would probably stress her out a little.
Then there's another lady. She spoke about one of her main gifts. The gift of mercy. Oh boy. When she said that this blessing sometimes felt like a curse I knew exactly where she was coming from because I have that one, too.
Compassion.
Several years ago I played "Truvy" in a stage production of "Steel Magnolias". When Shelby, regretting asking Truvy for a short haircut, begins to tear up, Truvy begs her to stop. "Oh sweetheart don't. Please don't cry or I will too. I have a strict policy that nobody cries alone in my presence."
Yep. I may not actually cry, but no one suffers in solitude if I'm around.
I'm glad I'm a compassionate person. But being compassionate means that there are times when my heart aches because of valleys I'm not actually walking through. If you are in the valley and need someone to hold your hand awhile, I'm your girl.
Don't misunderstand, I'm thankful for my gifts. Along with mercy, a couple of my other gifts are discernment and wisdom. I'm so grateful for them. I think if I had had a choice I would have picked those gifts.
But here's my point. I think that there's a reason there's some pain in the gift. What good is mercy all by myself, kept hidden? What good is wisdom if I don't share it?
Is a gift really a gift without some amount of sacrifice? Is it really worth anything if we don't grow, develop, and use it to bless others?
These gifts are meant to be manifold. Paul said in Acts "In everything I did, I showed you that by this kind of hard work we must help the weak, remembering the words the Lord Jesus himself said: 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.' "
Haven't you noticed that sometimes the best way to lift your own spirit is to bless someone else?
Let's embrace the sacrifice. Like Tom Hanks said in A League of Their Own, "It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it. The hard... is what makes it great."
Like when you knit, bake, clean, create, write, craft, or just give your time. When you sit and listen and let your presence chase away loneliness. The time you spend. The risk you take in being vulnerable, the inevitable hurt we invite when we love one another. It makes it sweeter, and richer, and more. The sacrifice of our "blursings"'is all part of the gift.

Pretty Pie Plans

Yesterday I told you about the peach cream pies I made and the plans I made about them.
Sunday is a big day for planning, isn't it? I always seem to have so many things to remember. We were going to have lunch at Grandma's after church. I was in charge of bringing the pie.
But one of my boys woke up not feeling very well. He laid on the couch all pale and droopy.So we stayed home.
He's much better now, running around outside enjoying the out-of-season winter sunshine.
I'm glad he's feeling better. I'm also sorry we missed church today, but I was reminded that our plans are not the ultimate authority. Not even good plans.
Today my boys stayed home and painted a wooden truck that Keith made for them. I had word fun with my Wreck this Journal (you can see some of the finished pages here) while Keith watched someone on TV install a beautiful hardwood floor.
I'm okay with our plans not working about because I know I'm not the One in charge.
And in case you were wondering, the pie is delicious.

Pastor Holland's Opus

Pastor Holland’s Opus

        Two Octobers ago my church, the church I have attended since babyhood celebrated its 130th birthday. We made a really big deal out of it. One Sunday we dressed up in “old timey” clothes and took sepia-toned pictures. There was a gigantic carry-in and lots of people came back to visit. Former pastors, missionaries and lots of friends. It was glorious. 

me in "old timey" garb

I am profoundly grateful for my church family on ordinary days, but on that day I was overcome with just how much my life has been impacted by the people who worship at “the church on the curve”.
       It made me think of that Richard Dreyfus movie- Mr. Holland’s Opus. Remember the scene at the end when dozens of his former students come back to play the great work he had been composing for most of his life? It was sort of like that. Only in reverse. I was not sitting there looking over my own accomplishments. Not my great work, but God’s work in me. I was the opus (just like we all are). 
       Pastor Boardman was there with his family. Steve is the first pastor I remember. He baptized me when I was eleven years old. His eldest is one of my dearest friends in all the world. I have vivid childhood memories of Pastor Boardman joyously leading Bible School songs like “Only a Boy Named David”. 
       Pastor Holland was there. (Yep, that’s right we had our own Hollands) Brian was my youth pastor when I was a teen. I can hear him now, as I type these words, giving the advice I know impart to my young boys, “Remember who you are, and whose you are.” 
      There were my Sunday School teachers and youth leaders and people who sent me cards and came to my plays and read my stories. We've shared meals and laughed together. They patched me up when my heart got broken, and were there when I needed advice. They have composed notes in the great work that God is doing in me. Each of us is His great work. His opus. He has used my church family to recreate me in His own image. 
       I met my husband in Sunday School. Pastor Van Cise (the current pastor) preformed our wedding. Pastor Paul also dedicated both of our sons. 
      And the legacy continues. Now as my children are being written, they are orchestrated by God’s hand, and He still uses the wonderful people in our church family to bless and teach and comfort and lead. What a precious, wondrous gift. 
      I pray that I am not only a recipient of this astounding gift, but I, too, want to be an instrument. I want my life to compose notes in other great works. What a beautiful symphony it must make when we love one another. 

Rhinestone Legacy

Rhinestone Legacy

I think I was eleven or twelve. My mom and I went out to eat at The Galley. Those were the good old days when we had one close by. We were greeted by the adorable hostess, Pat and her warm, enthusiastic smile. I don't know if she was naturally super short, like me, or if she was one of those old ladies that sort of shrunk with age. It didn't matter, because she was as sweet a person you would ever want to meet and bursting with personality. 
I think the thing that stood out to me most about Pat was the pin on her lapel. She was one of those ladies who liked lots of jewelry, but there was one piece that drew my eye. It was a rather large rhinestone thing that spelled out a word in careful cursive. Jesus. How simple. How bold. This dear woman proudly wore her Savior's name right there on her shoulder for everyone to see. I admired her gentle testimony. I wanted her to know. “I like your pin” I told her. She smiled. I think she said something grandmotherly, “thank you, honey,” and she seated us so we could enjoy our meal. 
We didn't eat out often, but eventually we came around again. Mom and me and The Galley. Again Pat was there to bless and smile at us. Again she wore her Jesus pin. Again I told her I liked it, but this time she didn't thank me. Pat remembered me and asked me if I were “that little girl that liked her pin before.” I told her, yes, that was me, and she did something amazing. Pat took the pin off of her shirt and held it out to me. I hadn't noticed, but this pin was smaller than the one she had worn before. It was for me. She had bought another one and worn it waiting for me to come back. I was so touched. What a lovely thing to do.
And yes, I still have my pin. I took it out to look at it when I was reminded of this gift last week. My lovely, quirky, friend doesn't need her pin anymore because now she has the Real Thing. I didn't get to attend her funeral, but I was told that she was laid to rest with her Jesus pin on her lapel. I really didn't know her well at all, but it doesn't matter. I am a small part of her legacy. Pat is a beautiful reminder that our witness for Christ doesn't have to be something loud or extreme. For me her legacy is a warm hug, a sweet smile and a rhinestone pin. I love you, Pat. Not even in my wildest imagination can I picture your reward.

How Does He Love Us?

 

How does He love us? Let Him count the ways. 

In my Sunday School class we've been learning about the overwhelming evidence of the accuracy of the Bible. It's been fascinating. Did you know that DNA is a lot like computer code? It's complicated and specific, and no way, no how, assembled by chance. There's also archaeology. Scads of evidence corroborates the accounts of the Bible. Amino acids and ancient pottery- it all reinforces what we already know. I really enjoy it, but it frustrates me, too, because this study material wouldn't exist if it weren't for skeptics, but most skeptics aren't going to listen anyway. So what’s the point? Many people want to be their own authority and have rewritten the truth to make that a possibility. 
For a long time I thought that my frustration was a flaw. I was just being narrow and overly sensitive. 
Until I decided to try something I had read about: I asked God to tell me things He loves about me.
That's right. 
I asked God what he loves about me. 
I waited until I had a rare quiet moment to myself and I asked Him. He told me other things, too, but I was surprised when He brought up the topic I just mentioned. My impatience with refusals to acknowledge Him? My discomfort with the fact that we have to arm ourselves with extra-biblical information because of the willful ignorance of others? He loves that about me. Loves it. I thought it was a defect, but He loves it. 
And here is my point: We live in an upside-down world.We're bombarded with lies every day and it changes the way we see things. God sees things differently. 
I encourage you to ask Him to open your eyes to the lies you're believing about yourself. Really listen. Take a quiet moment and ask Him to tell you what He loves about you and get ready to be overwhelmed because you are profoundly loved, His list is long, and He may say something that surprises you.