Mashed Potatoes

Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to act. Proverbs 3:27

I recently had my annual well visit with my doctor. I like him because he remembers details about my life, and when we were chatting about stuff he asked me about my recent mission trips. He made the comment that he has peers who have done work with “Doctors without Borders” and he has always wanted to go. I admitted that sometimes I wish I had a more “practical” skill to share with the people I meet. And bless him, he was quick to point out that people need love and laughter and encouragement just as much as they may need medical or dental care. They all facilitate healing (and the sharing of the love of Jesus).

So this verse encourages me to not minimize the good I can do. Whatever my “power” happens to look like, I shouldn’t hoard it, but give it freely away. I may never know the profound impact of my wee bit of good. And it’s not for me to know; it’s for me to give.

I also thought about how over the past year I have probably mashed more potatoes than…I don’t know, but I’ve mashed a lot of potatoes. See, I’m in charge of evening care for my Dad and Grandpa, and mashed potatoes are their favorite food. So I make them. A lot. Sometimes I feel like if I have to mash another potato, I’ll just scream.

But this verse reminds me that sometimes, love looks suspiciously like mashed potatoes. Because even when I’m a little weary of it, I truly love my family and I’m happy to serve them.

So I'll go on mashing, and go on serving...as long as it is within my power to do it.

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This post was inspired by Liz's "Favorite Proverbs" post: Do Good

Blogging with Liz: Favorite Proverbs

My friend Liz has an awesome blog. This year, she’s going doing a weekly Bible study post on people’s 50 favorite proverbs. I love her exegetical style, and often find myself pondering the question she includes at the end of each post. So this is me…catching up with the proverbs she’s covered so far. Without further ado: Blogging with Liz.

Wisdom’s Source - For the Lord gives wisdom; from his mouth come knowledge and understanding. Proverbs 2:6

I'm late revving up my engines, but here I am! I believe God is asking me to use his free gift of wisdom to get back into writing. God often speaks to me in strange and off-the-beat moments, and I used to be good at sitting down and capturing them (or working them out) as blog posts. This past year has been one of closeness with my heavenly father, but relative silence in the blogging world. But I sense a changing in the wind, and I truly believe it's his still, small voice calling me once again to return to the discipline of writing. Now I just have to put feet to that call. (Easier said than done!)

Right Time, Right Word - A person finds joy in giving an apt reply— and how good is a timely word! Proverbs 15:23

Timely words. I’ve experienced this phenomenon a time or two, and the one that sticks out most vividly in my memory is the time I shared a bit of my testimony with a village of women outside of Jinja, Uganda. I struggled with what I wanted to say, because I didn’t think I would have any common denominator with these women. My background and circumstances were just so different from theirs. How could I possibly say anything relevant or encouraging to them? But I went out on what I thought was a limb and spoke from my heart. Wouldn’t you know it; they had just finished a Bible study that overlapped with several of the aspects of my testimony! It was a precious time of fellowship, and I emerged from that day with a renewed respect for that still small voice that speaks so faithfully to my heart.

No Fooling - The way of fools seems right to them, but the wise listen to advice. Proverbs 12:15

Something that seemed so right at the time.  Missionary friendship. You know, continuing to be close friends with someone who once walked the straight and narrow but is now following the wide and popular…thinking my presence would shine a light in a darkened place.  It's a principle that may be true, but is a path that must be walked with great care and intention. Because while it is true that the light of Christ can shine in the darkest of dark, it is also true that bad company corrupts good character. And when roles are reversed, and the once discipled becomes the missionary to the disciple-er….the regular rules of outreach become blurred. Advisers told me to distance myself from my friend, but I foolishly thought if I held out, I could show grace and compassion and unconditional love and, be a conduit of reconciliation. But in this case it was foolish. When hearts are hardened, it doesn’t matter what my walk shows. The fallen friend sees what they want to see, and hears what they want to hear. Truth be told, my character and testimony *did* suffer for a time, and it was incredibly hard to back away from someone I loved. But through my experience I learned the difference between showing Jesus to a new audience vs. showing Jesus to a hardened heart. It’s a heartbreaking lesson, and I still pray for my friend…but I no longer walk as closely by her side.

In the Spotlight - The human spirit is the lamp of the Lord that sheds light on one’s inmost being. Proverbs 20:27

When I ponder this verse, I think about how God has set eternity in the hearts of men. The very fact that the human spirit continues to search and ask and explores deep questions is a searchlight meant to point the way home to our heavenly Father. And no matter how messy and complicated our inmost being might be, grace whispers “Where sin abounded, grace abounded much more.” (Romans 5:20) This promise has rescued me on more than one dark night, and my view of God expands each time I understand a deeper part of myself. “You love that part too?” I ask. “Yes.” Comes the answer. “I knit you together before your story began (Psalm 139:19), and I love you.” As my road continues on, I can truly declare that I love him, but he loved me first (1 John 4:9)…quirks and failures and triumphs all.

Here Comes Trouble - When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom. Proverbs 11:2

When I look back now at all the activities and responsibilities I juggled in my early 20’s, I just don’t know how I did it. Being that high performer was an area of pride for me. My "Newport Beach" moment came when the inevitable happened and I dropped the ball in a big way. It was a time of transition at our church, and there was suddenly a need for someone to lead the children’s handbell group. The person who asked me thought I would be more than up to the task: I’d grown up playing handbells at our church, I was good with kids, I was a natural leader…everything pointed to me being the perfect person to fit the bill. I thought so too.

But it turned out that even though the kids only rehearsed once a week for an hour, the demand and draw on me as the leader went much beyond that. The kids were lovely. I had actually had a great time introducing them to the world of music, and even more into the world of handbells. But I quickly discovered myself falling behind and feeling unprepared and frazzled. Long story short, it turned out to be a train wreck and I dropped out just two months after accepting the challenge.

I was so embarrassed, disappointed in myself, and tremendously humbled. I prided myself on being dependable, being a leader, and being able to balance my demanding schedule…and I had fallen flat on my face. I felt guilty about letting the kids down. I felt guilty about letting the leader down. And truth be told, I spent the next several months avoiding both sets of people. Because each time I did, I felt my stomach drop anew. I was just ashamed.

The lesson I learned? The power of focusing on a few things instead of trying to everything. The necessity of being able to say “no.” And eventually, the beautiful forgiveness and renewal you can find in the context of serving in a church family. (That’s quite humbling to receive too.)

** Whew!  All caught up! ...Till Wednesday :-)  **

Garden

Five Minute Friday, Linkup link
This week’s word: Garden

Go

“Garden.” This is s a surprisingly laden word for me. Almost immediately, two pictures pop into my head. Ok. Three. Thus is the magic of the imagination.

 I think of my mom, and how she loves gardens but isn’t particularly great at tending to them. I tease her by saying she’s really great at growing jungles (of weeds), but there’s no malice behind the jest. I know she loves the colorful beauty of a well-tended garden, but like most of us, the “tending” gets lost in the everyday chaos of life. I’ve bypassed this at my home by simply refusing to garden for now. Maybe one day I’ll embark on a journey to home-grown asparagus and yearly planned flowers. But for now, I’m haunted by our once-in-a-blue-moon weeding efforts to rescue and resuscitate my mom’s garden dreams.

I think of the “Secret Garden.” That great children’s classic that gives hope to anyone who has felt afraid to live and love. Dickon will forever hold a special place in my heart, and I’m pretty sure I had a little crush on his character when I was in elementary school.

But the most vivid picture that comes to mind is of a garden in Uganda. I was privileged to visit the home of Pastor Bev in Jinja to celebrate the birthday of my friend Jen. And here, in the middle of dry season, right next to an infamous slum, I encountered a beautiful English garden. I snapped a few pictures that did little capture to splendor and charm of this little oasis, and that evening is full of precious memories for me. My friend is very quiet and reserved. But that evening, I saw her shine. A power outage (normal fare in Uganda) forced us to celebrate by candlelight and good old-fashioned storytelling. And the small, intimate, stripped-down evening suited her to a t.

Later in my trip, I returned to that garden to hitch a ride with another local missionary under Bev’s ministry. We took an SUV out to a distant village, picking up numerous passengers on our trek, and I had the distinct joy of sharing an encouraging word with the local village women. Two translators immediately repackaged my words into both Lugana and Swahili (which was beyond bizarre), and in many ways that day opened the floodgate of missionary work in my life.

So yeah, “garden” brings me back to both my childhood and that trip to Uganda. I’m ever so grateful to both.

Messy Communion

Hiding at the back of the chancel as part of the worship team, I sometimes get to see the messy side of Sunday morning. This is a true story from a few weeks ago.

It’s time for communion. The ushers are making their way through the congregation, passing trays of bread and juice. The pastor is delivering a beautiful reminder of what this sacrament is all about. The pianist skillfully keeps the background music going to set the solemn atmosphere.

And while the pastor prays and asks everyone to "eat the bread in remembrance of me"…a poor guitar player is scrambling.

Sometimes the worship team takes communion together before second service, but this Sunday we thought we would try taking it along with the congregation. Our awesome man-behind-the-scenes thoughtfully laid out the elements before service started, so they’re patiently waiting there on the edge of the piano.

But this Sunday, the worship team is guitar heavy.

Four players – three guitars and one bass – are all in a row, and suddenly all four of them need to turn around to pick up their cups and wafers without also whacking each other with the necks of their instruments.  Two of the guys quickly realize they can duck back a bit and lean in to reach their bits of bread and juice. But for the guitarist right in front of the waiting elements and there’s really no easy or graceful way for him to turn around and pick them up. It takes him a moment to figure it out, and by the time he’s got it, the rest of the congregation has already moved passed the “taking” portion of communion and is on to the follow-up prayer.

I see him pause for the briefest instant (perhaps he’s asking himself, “Now what? Do I still take it?”), before he quickly eats his wafer and drinks his juice, finishing mere seconds before the pastor wraps up his prayer.

I don't think anyone else witnessed his struggle...but I did.  And in that moment, God whispered to my heart, “Yes. I’m with you always. In the messy moments too. Remember me.”

God with us.

In our messy moments.

When things don’t go smoothly or as planned.

He’s still right there.

Sharing it all with us.

He doesn’t abandon us for the crowd.

He’s the kind of shepherd who reaches for the one.

How often do I lose sight of that and forget to remember he's right there?  Always.

I don’t know if that guitar player felt the same encouragement and reassurance as I did during that communion. (I hope so.) All I know is, I’m really thankful for my little hiding place on Sunday mornings. Sometimes it’s right where I need to be to hear his voice.

Writing

Five Minute Friday
This week’s word: Write

Go

I told myself in January that I would get back into the habit of wrestling my thoughts out of my head and onto the page. Now it’s solidly a week into February and I have yet to complete one post. For a moment, I want to beat up on myself and see this as a failure. But just as those thoughts are winding up for a good long rant…they’re stopped by another onee.

I don’t audition well.

I’ve played violin since I was in elementary school, and while I’m no Vanessa Mae or Joshua Bell, I’m no slouch either. But every time I tried to audition for something crazy awesome, I could never quite get everything in gear. In fact, while I was playing with one orchestra in college, one of the first violins had no idea why I was playing with the seconds. “You’re so much better than that.” My reply? ::shrug:: I just don’t audition well.

After a while I joked to someone (probably my best friend) that it was almost like God wanted to keep me for himself. Like my playing would be this gift of the moment, or a supporting role in a crowd, rather than a starring one in front.

And whether or not that’s theologically sound, it brought be a lot of peace and allowed me to let go of all that audition angst. (To clarify: I still don’t audition well, but now I don’t beat myself up about it. I just play for the joy.)

I remember being at one of the David Crowder Band’s final concerts. While reminiscing over their last 10 years of touring, Crowder shared that when their first song really took off, they realized they had been given custody of something much bigger than themselves. The lyrics were given to them, but they were a gift meant to be shared with others.

That’s how I see the work of my favorite writers (bloggers or otherwise), and I’d like to think some of my words are like that too.

Sometimes a thought comes to me and captivates my mind and my fingers, almost holding me hostage until I write them down. And whether they’re meant to be read immediately or sometime in the future, I just know that they’re meant to be shared. They’re a gift.

But other times, no matter how much time I spend staring at my screen, my thoughts rebelliously rattle around my head and refuse to be tamed onto paper. They scamper away as soon as I get close enough to see the straight path from start to finish. (Then almost without fail, as soon as I’m safely away from the keyboard…they present themselves just as beautiful and eloquent as can be.) It's just...I know someone will read it, and I'm simply locking up.

Those times it just feels like I’m not auditioning well.

I know a part of it is that I’m out of practice. (After all, no matter what your talent is, you have to work on it. Even “naturals” have to have disciple and hone their craft.) But I think sometimes a part of is…those thoughts are for me. Perhaps one day they’ll simmer down and congeal into something I’m able to share. Or maybe through the wrestling of writing I’m meant to learn something I wouldn’t have seen if it had come easily.

Or maybe, for this moment, He’s just keeping me to himself.

Grace and Mr. Carson

Mr. Carson: “At times I wonder if I’m just a sad old fool.”

Mrs. Hughes: “Mr. Carson, you are a man of integrity and honor who raises the tone of this household by being part of it.”

Poor Carson. He’s tried so hard to cultivate this image and set the standard of professionalism, excellence, and propriety at Grantham home. 

Suddenly, there’s a crack in the visage and we get a glimpse of a whole new facet of his past and personality.

He’s horrified and thinks it’s all over.

Cover blown.
Integrity lost.
The look on his face says it even if his words don't.
“I wonder if I’m just a sad old fool.”
What will people think now?

As it turns out, people aren’t bothered at all!

This new revelation doesn’t detract from Carson’s image. It adds to it; somehow making him all that more endearing.

Thank goodness for Mrs. Hughes, who speaks these words of encouragement.  Gently prodding Carson to extend the same grace to himself that he would be quick to extend to others. Reminding him no matter what his past looks like, this is where he now stands.  He is who he is, and Downton Abbey is all the better for it.

This scene captures my heart every time.

Why is it sometimes the hardest direction to extend grace is inward?
(Especially when the past comes to call?)

Sometimes we all need to hear the words of Mrs. Hughes.  “Mr. Carson, you are a man of integrity and honor who raises the tone of this household by being part of it.”

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This post was inspired by Five Minute Friday and this week's word -- grace.

Thabani

When I made my first trip to Jinja, Uganda in January of 2011, one of the biggest highlights from that trip was getting to spend a day on the Nile River in the company of this wonderful human being.

It was a “slow” day on the river. Usually, there are several rafts of adventure-goers, accompanied by a team of kayakers and a support raft. But since I was there on a Tuesday in January, ours was the only boat. We were an eclectic group: a couple from Poland, two girls from the north of England, a guy from Turkey, and me. Our river guide was the man pictured above: Thabani from Zimbabwe.

My original plan was to only raft for the first half of the day. It was my last full day in Jinja, and I had tentative plans for the afternoon. Not the least of which was to give one more violin lesson to my favorite 9-year-old missionary kid before going home the next day.

But then the rafting started, and I quickly discovered a kindred spirit in our river guide.  We had an instant rapport. His deep belly laughter was soundtrack against which we braved each rapid, and I found myself joining in with equal parts laughter and screams of terror/delight.  

Truth be told, the first part of the day was a little rough. The Nile River is no joke, and we were dealing with class 5 and 6 rapids. One of them, called “Silverback,” overturns almost everyone who rafts it. Our rag tag crew made it almost to the end, but then the inevitable happened. Most of us were thrown upriver, but somehow I got thrown downriver…and that started the scariest minute of my life.

But that’s a post for a different day.

We were all successfully retrieved by the amazing kayakers, but we were all a bit rattled. One of the English girls adamantly declared that she was finished with the adventure and wanted to get off at the lunch-checkpoint.

She wasn’t the only one. Her friend, and the girl from Poland were done too.

Thabani and I caught each other’s eye and I felt him ask the crucial question: Still just a half day? Or are you in?

I knew this was a critical juncture. If I left too, that would just leave the two guys in the raft. While I’m sure he didn’t want to admit it, if I left, they might not be able to continue. There was still a half day’s worth of rapids to go…including a waterfall! How could I miss that, or deprive the guys of the fun?

So with a shrug and a grin, I heard myself say: “I’ll stay.”

And with that, everything changed.

For one thing, the Polish girl decided to stay.  But far beyond that, the second half of the day we were a completely different raft.  We were all committed, and instead of pulling back from the intensity of each rapid, we leaned in and embraced the challenge. And wouldn’t you know it, we didn’t overturn once. Not even on the waterfall!

That day showed me the power of a positive attitude, and the magic of a kindred spirit. Thabani is one of those people who is simply infused with joy, and you can’t help but be uplifted simply by being in his presence.

At the end of the day, when we were relaxing from a rewarding day and eating dinner back at the lodge, Thabani pulled me aside and said, “I want you to know you made a big difference on the river. When you decided to stay, it changed everything.”

That meant so much to me to know it went both ways.

I’ll never forget that day, or the kindred spirit I met while rafting on the Nile River.  His laughter will forever echo in my adventurous heart.

"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.” ~ Carl Gustav Jung

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This post was inspired by Five Minute Friday and this week's word -- red.