One of life’s greatest joys is a good old fashioned potluck supper. I have vivid memories of these meals in the various churches my family attended throughout my childhood. As a young child, there were some women whose names I might not always remember, but I would know them by their signature homemade dishes. Their names might be Mrs. Smith or Mrs. Jones, but in my head they were “Mrs. Sourdough Bread” or “Mrs. Pistachio Jell-O Salad” or “Mrs. Lemon Squares.” Sometimes there were men with potluck specialties, too, such as “Mr. Bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken” or “Mr. Has His Own Soft Serve Ice Cream Machine.” Their contributions were just as welcome! It’s comforting that in this ever-changing world, some things stay the same: Old men still make jokes, like “Thanks for making my plate!” when you approach holding a Styrofoam plate full of deliciousness you actually prepared for yourself. People still say, “I better get my dessert before everything good is gone,” just after setting their main course on the table, even though there’s plenty of desserts to go around. And sharing meals together—sharing the actual food you bring to the community tables and sharing the experience as you eat side-by-side—is still the best way to be a family. Now that I’m the church lady bringing dishes to gatherings, I can appreciate the work put into these meals, and I often marvel at the variety. Crockpots full of soups and layered salads in glass trifle dishes, rows of pies and pans of brownies. Seasoned potluck organizers don’t worry what people will bring. These veterans of the Fellowship Meal know that it won’t be a table full of only fried chicken or only veggie trays or only chocolate chip cookies. They trust the attendees to bring their specialties, their best dishes, the food their own family prefers. As the people arrive, the food is laid out and…voila!…so much variety! Something for everyone! The word potluck has evolved over time. Originally, it meant that a traveler was lucky to receive whatever was cooking in the pot at the home where he stopped for the night. Nothing special, just regular food. Now it means a communal meal where everyone brings something to contribute to the group. I like the second definition better and not just concerning food. I like the idea that people contribute what they have to share with everyone. Though a pan of brownies is delicious, if that’s all I’m eating it’s not much of a meal. But if you put together my brownies plus your pasta salad and her BBQ sandwiches and his potatoes chips (and the sweet tea…don’t forget the sweet tea), then we will have a great supper. It’s the same when we combine our gifts and talents. It reminds me of the early church described in Acts 2: “And all the believers met together constantly and shared everything with each other, selling their possessions and dividing with those in need.They worshiped together regularly at the Temple each day, met in small groups in homes for Communion, and shared their meals with great joy and thankfulness, praising God.” (TLB) This is the ultimate Potluck Supper—food and family, joyfulness and thankfulness.

How did I end up sitting on this metal bench next to a Customer Service desk? I just wanted two $25 gift cards, but instead the cashier rang up one $50 card and one $0 card. After talking to three different employees while nearly sweating through my Christmas red sweater and with no time to rectify the mistake because I needed to pick up kids from school, I left with what I thought was the $50 card, only to discover while sitting in the carline and finally examining the receipt that it was the other one. I dropped off my kids at home and drove back to the store. My parting instructions from management were: “If you want to change this, come back and ask for me, (insert Assistant Manager’s name here),” so that’s what I did. I didn’t want to get in that long December return/exchange line, so at first I wandered around looking for my assistant manager friend. “Do you know ______?” I would ask vested employees, as if I were searching for a missing child. “Have you seen her?” Finally, I found one of the employees who had been a part of the original purchase, and she helped me find the correct member of management. And that’s why I’m sitting here now, waiting while she checks the store log to find which card has what. As shoppers walk past me, I wonder if they think I’ve been caught shoplifting and that’s why I’m sitting here with no bags and no buggy. That’s silly, I tell myself, why do you assume people think you’ve done something wrong? Other than being a slight inconvenience, this is really not a big deal. It’ll be worked out and I’ll soon be on my merry way, so in the meantime I’ll sit and watch the busy afternoon foot traffic. In spite of the festive decorations and the countdown to Christmas, generally-speaking, people look tired. They look stressed. They look not-so-Christmas-Spirit-like. A mom just snapped at her young son as he wailed for something she wouldn’t buy him. There’s some tension over a bike return at the Customer Service desk. No one is yelling, but there is a cloud of disappointment lingering over the participants in the bike return dispute. Everyone in that line looks they’d rather be anywhere else doing anything else at that moment. I’m suddenly aware of an aspect of Christmas I hadn’t considered before. We (me included) get so caught up with the buying and wrapping. We can easily become consumed with lists and costs. So what if I were the gift? Not that I don’t think we should give each other presents! I’m not suggesting we eliminate any opportunities to be generous and kind. But as I sit on this metal bench on this busy afternoon, I can choose to be the gift. Nothing material. Nothing to be bought. Nothing to be wrapped. My smile, my understanding, my attentiveness can be what this stressed-out group needs this afternoon. When the assistant manager comes back with my loaded gift cards, I can be the gift of calmness without a trace of self-righteous anger. When I get home, I can be the gift of patience with my kids while I try to juggle helping with homework, making supper and getting kids to ball practice. Hopefully, if I keep looking for ways to be a gift to others, it will become my natural inclination, then it might become contagious. Imagine what a pile of presents we’d have if we all endeavored to be a gift!

I heard a story on the radio a few months ago about a woman named Maris Blechner. Her first son died just after childbirth, then she adopted a daughter. Ten months later, she delivered a son, and then she adopted another daughter a few years after that. Believe it or not, people would tactlessly tell Maris things like, “I suppose you love your biological child the best. Surely the one who shares your blood is your favorite.” At the time, she wasn’t able to form a reply to their insensitive remarks. Her three surviving children all got married and had children of their own. In fact, they each gave birth to a daughter within a few months of each other. Maris would watch her granddaughters play together, and she saw how these cousins who shared no blood relations loved each other without reservation. They were family. The rest was just details. After opening her own adoption agency in Queens, NY, Maris eventually formed an answer to those narrow-minded questions around adoption: “There’s no such thing as ‘as much as’ when it comes to love. Love isn’t measurable,” Maris would say. “You claim your child and it’s forever. We claim our adopted children exactly the same way birth parents claim their children.” That word—claim—stuck with me long after hearing her answer. Besides being in a similar situation with both biological children and an adopted son, I can feel an extra measure of weight in that word. To be claimed by someone you love and trust, to be received by them wholeheartedly, is the most freeing experience. For instance, to know my husband claims me isn’t restraining to my freedom because I also claim him. And I don’t have to be anything particularly special, because this claim is forever. If we can understand this unconditional form of love in human terms, it’s a little easier to begin to understand God’s love for us. We see it in 1 John 3. “See how very much our heavenly Father loves us, for he allows us to be called his children—think of it—and we really are! But since most people don’t know God, naturally they don’t understand that we are his children. Yes, dear friends, we are already God’s children, right now, and we can’t even imagine what it is going to be like later on. But we do know this, that when he comes we will be like him, as a result of seeing him as he really is.” (TLB) With the start of a new year, choose to live like you are claimed, like you are valuable enough for someone to call you His own. Whether you have felt this level of love before or not, know that you have a heavenly Father who claims you as his child.

It’s my pleasure to work at a Mothers’ Day Out program at my church two days a week. Within the walls of our little preschool, I get to spend time with what I think is God’s greatest blessings—kids aged 1-5. There’s just nothing like a heartfelt conversation with a 3-year old. The way they look at the world and latch on to those observations in the most literal way is just fascinating to me. No pretense. No fake humility. No concerns about social media or weight gain or global warming or the impeachment trials. Just “When is lunch?” and “Do you like my new light-up sneakers?” and “Can you help me with this zipper because I really have to go to the bathroom?” Recently, as I walked down the hallway, I heard two back-to-back remarks from teachers: One teacher asked, “Who’s mooing? Boys and girls, who is mooing?” as she tried to find the sneaky bovine impersonator. Passing the bathroom, I heard a different teacher say, “And that’s why we don’t EVER lick the bathroom floor.” This is how you know you’re in a preschool. Even though he’s older than a preschooler, my second grade son can still blow me away with his childlike yet profound comments and pronouncements. The other day he told me, “When we get to heaven our fingernails will always be the right size.” Just out of the blue, he had this epiphany about the afterlife. A few weeks ago, when I was dropping him off at school on a gray, rainy morning, he said, “When it’s raining like this and I’m at school, it feels like the people in my class are the only people left in the world.” One day inside his imagination would be more interesting than any movie ever made! Being the youngest of four with three much older siblings, he tries to pretend he’s bigger and older and more confident than his reality. He wants to chest thump all of us and slap our shoulders as if we are wearing football pads, pumping us up for a non-existent game. For a while he liked that chant often shouted at soccer games and used in a few Nike commercials: I believe that we will win! Always an original and still a little behind when it comes to language, he would say, “I will leave if we don’t win!” It still works but sounds more petty than peppy. Once, during one of these locker room pep talks (which actually mostly takes place in the kitchen), he started yelling, “ I AM STOPPABLE! I AM STOPPABLE!” My older son asked him, “Don’t you mean UNstoppable?” “Nah,” little brother answered, “I’m not that good.” As we were watching the National Anthem sung before a football game on TV the other day, he said, “I would be too scared to sing in front of a thousand (kids and their powers of estimation!) people like that. She’s brave, brave like George Washington!” With all of the wisdom I’ve received from the kids I get to be around, I feel like I should share a bit of it here: Be yourself, encourage others, a good imagination is a lifelong friend, light-up shoes are magical and be brave like George Washington. You’re welcome.

I’ve been doing a little sewing lately—a set of curtains, hemming a couple of skirts, and, of course, cloth masks. Fabric is one of those things that most of us take for granted—the cotton that makes the threads that makes the fabric that makes that favorite shirt you love so much so you never put it in the dryer. But if you look closely at the fabric, you can see a miniature kingdom of order and uniformity, tiny stitches going one way and tiny stitches going the opposite way. Longitude and latitude of warp and weft. Imagine a loom being prepared for weaving: Yarn stretched taught in vertical lines, followed by shuttles of yarn woven in and out creating horizontal lines. To determine which set of thread is warp and which is weft, you must hold it in your hands and stretch it. If you pull on the fabric one way, there is very little stretch. If you turn it and pull the opposite way, the fabric gives. The stronger set of threads is the warp, because they were designed to withstand the tension of the weaving process. I’ve always been interested in the character of strong, courageous people. What is it about their backgrounds that make them this way? Was it the resilience cultivated in them after some childhood tragedy that made them the “warp” of their families? Or did they learn this strong moral code from watching the Giants of Goodness who walked among them as they grew up? When the “weft” around them stretch and change colors like a chameleon according to current opinions, the strong stand up for what’s right even when it’s not popular, but how did they get that way? The phrase “Be strong and courageous” is used four times in the space of one chapter in the Bible. Flip to Joshua 1 and you’ll see why. Moses, the Israelites’ revered leader, has died and General Joshua is taking over. They are about to battle against nation after nation, and they need to be reminded how to be the “warp”. Be strong and courageous, because you will lead these people to inherit the land I swore to their ancestors to give them. (vs. 6) Be strong and very courageous. (vs. 7) Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. (vs. 9) Only be strong and courageous! (vs. 18) Sometimes I also need to be reminded about the strength of my own design. I was woven with a warp and weft, strengths and weaknesses. There are times which require me to give a little and be flexible, just as there are times when I need to stand firm. Either way, we can heed the words given to Joshua: “Be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

Last week, I went into a store and left with a really interesting life lesson. The woman who worked there and I were discussing the importance of labeling our kids’ clothes so that they could be identified later in the Lost & Found bin. She mentioned that she had an embroidery machine at home and often used it for that exact purpose. Then she told me a story about a time when she embroidered her teen daughter’s name in a large font on a prominent place on the hood of a jacket. She described the jacket’s various shades of pink and how much her daughter loved it. Another woman asked her about the jacket—where did she get it and how much did it cost—and then, a few days, the jacket went missing. “Eventually,” the woman at the store told me, “I saw her wearing that pink jacket. I could tell where she had picked out the stitches where my daughter’s name had been.” I assumed the next part of the story was going to involve the authorities and an ugly argument, but I was wrong. “What did you do?” I asked her. “As soon as she saw me, I could tell that she knew she was caught. So I went over to talk to her. I told her that I recognized the jacket and knew it was my daughter’s. Then I asked her if she would like me to embroider her name on the jacket. Knowing she thought I was just offering so that I could take the jacket back, I told her that she could come with me and stand right next to me while I sewed it.” This gracious woman embroidered another woman’s name—the name of the woman who had stolen from her—on the jacket she had bought especially for her pink-loving daughter without asking for anything in return. At first listen, it may seem that this woman should’ve taught that thief a lesson. One might think: Now she’ll be stealing everyone’s stuff! Where’s the justice?! But there are moments when we are called to show mercy, and this angel listened to the call. I can only imagine what effect this had on the woman who had stolen the jacket. Was she so weighed down by guilt after this undeserved act of kindness that she could never wear the jacket again, or did she whistle happily as she walked away, congratulating herself on her good luck? No matter what the offender’s feelings were, the woman I met at the store that day was content with her response to the ill treatment she had received all those years ago. This kind of mercy, especially when coupled with unexpected forgiveness, warms my heart and makes me all teary-eyed. These glimpses of what humans can do for each other when we’re not trying to tear each other down is refreshing. I like this quote from Abraham Lincoln: “I have always found that mercy brings richer fruits than strict justice.” Maybe that’s the question to ask when we suffer wrongdoing at the hands of others: What fruits will my response bring? In Micah 6:8 we read the best prescription for doing what is good and what’s required of us: “To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” That just about sums it up.

By the time Moses marched the Israelites out of Egypt, they had gone through a lot: Mass murder of their baby sons and harsh treatment as slaves. The frightening experience of watching (from a safe distance) as God sent plague after deadly plague, culminating in a final act of punishment which required blood smeared across door frames to ensure survival. The sea was parted and they walked across dry land while the pursuing Egyptians met their watery fate. Then the Israelites found themselves in the wilderness. Missing the comforts of their old home (though minimal), their stomachs rumbled and they grumbled, “You have brought us out here in the desert to die!” So God sent manna, honey-flavored flakes from the sky which settled on the ground like dew. They were told to take as much as they needed, about 3 lbs. for each person in their family, then bake it or boil it according to their own particular taste. Moses told them not to keep any of it until morning or it would spoil. The Lord was teaching them to rely on Him. On the sixth day of the week, they were told to gather twice as much. The Lord saw their stress level and their arrogance, so He told them, “Tomorrow is going to be a day of sabbath rest. So prepare the manna however you choose and save whatever is left to eat tomorrow.” Sure enough, this time the manna didn’t spoil or become infested with maggots. But some hard-headed people still went out to gather manna on the sabbath morning. The Lord saw their surprised and frustrated and worried faces, so He said to Moses, “When are they going to start obeying me?! I’m giving them rest! It’s what they need! Everyone is to stay put on the seventh day.” And that was that—the Israelites kept the Sabbath. I told my young son this story on Sunday—the grumbling, the manna, the worrying, and the gift of the Sabbath. An hour later, my sister sent me a beautiful poem written earlier this month by poet Lynn Ungar about our present misfortune. It reminds me why we should keep the sabbath today. Pandemic What if you thought of it as the Jews consider the Sabbath— the most sacred of times? Cease from travel. Cease from buying and selling. Give up, just for now, on trying to make the world different than it is. Sing. Pray. Touch only those to whom you commit your life. Center down. And when your body has become still, reach out with your heart. Know that we are connected in ways that are terrifying and beautiful. (You could hardly deny it now.) Know that our lives are in one another’s hands. (Surely, that has come clear.) Do not reach out your hands. Reach out your heart. Reach out your words. Reach out all the tendrils of compassion that move, invisibly, where we cannot touch. Promise this world your love– for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, so long as we all shall live. –Lynn Ungar 3/11/20

I was talking to a Sunday school teacher about classroom behavior and how to manage the rowdier kids during the hour he has them every week. I mentioned that it might help if he set the expectations before class, being as specific as possible with what is okay (sitting in their chairs while listening to the lesson) and what is not (standing on the table while shouting during the lesson). “Don’t assume they know anything,” I told the teacher. “Tell them exactly what you expect and what the consequences will be if their behavior doesn’t line up. Then, if they act like wild animals, you can enforce the rules with full confidence that they definitely know better. But I think you’ll see an improvement in their overall behavior.” I walked away from this conversation feeling so proud of my advice, convinced that it would work. I mean, how could it fail? Once we’re told what’s right, we just do the right thing, right? Then I read my daily Bible reading from the book of Leviticus, chapters 25-26. It’s fairly long, so I’ll paraphrase what God told Moses to tell the Israelites: “If you follow all of the rules I just mentioned, I’ll give you plenty of good food to eat, peace from your enemies, and I’ll live right there with you. In other words, I’ll both be your God and your helpful next-door neighbor. But if you don’t do what I’m telling you, you’ll be plagued by diseases and poor harvests, and I’ll allow your enemies to defeat you. I’ll give you plenty of chances to repent and turn things around, but every time you ignore me or flagrantly disobey, I’ll make things worse.” Of course, if you read on after Leviticus, the Israelites seemed to test God to see if He was just kidding about what He had said to Moses up on that mountain. (Spoiler: God was dead serious about their call to obedience.) All the things He said would happen if they were hostile toward God did, in fact, happen. It’s a reminder that for some of us—both in Old Testament times and now—we just have to push and test and sneak a toe over the line. For whatever reason, we take the hard road when the godly path is right there in front of us. Maybe it’s about a lack of trust that God’s plan is perfect or maybe it’s about pride in our own decisions. Either way, we end up suffering. But that’s not where the story of the Israelites, God’s chosen people, ends. At the close of Leviticus 26, God says, “But if they will confess their sins and the sins of their ancestors…then when their uncircumcised hearts are humbled and they pay for their sin, I will remember my covenant with Jacob and my covenant with Isaac and my covenant with Abraham, and I will remember the land.” God’s mercy is astounding. His memory is infallible. His promises are unbreakable. And I’m so, so grateful that He is my Father.

I pass the same Burger King restaurant several times a week, though I’ve never actually eaten there. On my frequent passings, I’ve noticed the three words on one side of the marquee sign: YOU RULE MURFREESBORO. As I was recently pondering those words during my turn to stop at a red light, I thought about what the Burger King employee was hoping that I and my fellow travelers would take away from this message. I assume he was attempting to brighten our day with a “You’re awesome!” kind of cheer. But as I reflected on the punctuation of the sign, I imagined it was more of a declaration of my legitimacy to sit on the royal throne for my city. I wanted to roll down my window and shout: “I RULE MURFREESBORO! IT SAYS IT RIGHT THERE ON THAT SIGN!” but I didn’t. Instead, I chuckled to myself and wondered if commas usually come in the alphabet kits for those signs. Because that’s what was missing from that three-word declaration, and it highlights the importance of a little comma, a pause, a break. There’s a word we see 74 times in the Bible, 37 of those instances used by King David. It’s a word I usually just skip over with no notice when I’m reading. It’s the word Selah. There’s some confusion about what this word means. Is it instruction for the singers, like forte or crescendo? Is it meant to divide sections of the text, to prepare the listeners for a transition in the emotions? When it comes at the end of a text, is it like our word Amen? A final “let it be so” we whisper at the close of a string of laments and petitions and praises? The answer to all these questions seems to be yes. This busy, little word does all of those things in our Psalms, but it also encourages us to do something which I way too often forget. In the midst of our busy lives, Selah tells us to pause and listen. It reminds us to lift up the words we’re singing. One example can be found in Psalm 24. It starts off with “The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it.” Then the Selah comes at the very end, after David says, “Who is this King of glory? The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle. Lift up your heads, you gates; lift them up, you ancient doors, that the King of glory may come in. Who is he, this King of glory? The Lord Almighty—he is the King of glory.” In my moment of Selah, I try to imagine the winding line of priests and Levites carrying the Ark of the Covenant—the mercy seat of God—into the city of Jerusalem. The worshippers call out for those inside to open the doors and gates of the city so they can bring the ark inside. Instead of spending their workdays and free time thinking they were self-sufficient, fully in charge, and invincible because of those the tall city walls, they were invited to open their hearts to what (Who) was approaching, “that the King of glory may come in.” You rule, Lord Almighty! Selah and Amen.

Looking out at the dreary winter landscape that is my backyard in February, I have to rally my senses to look forward to a lovelier season…beautiful, green, blossomy, sneeze-inducing Spring! I can hardly wait for the bare trees to be covered in new leaves and the yellowed grass to be green again. When Spring arrives, I want to throw open the windows and call birds to come perch on my outstretched finger. I feel the need to quote King Solomon: “See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land.” We made it! Winter is over! As much as I love the warmer weather, something that comes hand-in-hand with increased temperatures and sunshine is the need to water those beautiful flowers and tomatoes I’m attempting to keep alive on my front porch and around my patio. I pull out watering cans and uncoil hoses, and I get to the business of soaking my plants. Inevitably, I’ll encounter that moment when the water is no longer gushing. This lack of gush is usually accompanied by a particular noise. It’s a sound made of high notes of building pressure, the sound of a kink in my hose. As regular as it is frustrating, it happens to every gardener from time to time. I look for the source of the stoppage, the crimp in the hose. Then I work to unbend it and right the tube so that the water can flow through easily again. Seeing that meager drip of water trickling from a kinked garden hose onto the parched soil of my flower beds reminds me of when I feel spiritually thirsty. When King David was faced with trials in the desert of Judah, being hounded by his enemies beaten down and alone, he wrote the words to Psalm 63. “You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water. I have seen you in the sanctuary and beheld your power and your glory. Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you. I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands.” In his psalm of prayer, David states the problem (he’s in a dry and weary land), declares what he knows about God (he’s seen God’s power and glory), and then he proclaims what he will do (he’ll praise God as long as he lives). David doesn’t say, “Once everything gets fixed and no one is hunting me and I’m back home where it’s comfortable, I’ll praise you, God.” He gets busy praising right away, down on his knees on the hot desert sand. I love what theologian Charles Spurgeon said about this passage: “Learn from this, and do not say, ‘I will get into communion with God when I feel better,’ but long for communion now. It is one of the temptations of the devil to tell you not to pray when you do not feel like praying. Pray twice as much then.” We’ll have times when there’s a kink in the flow of our spiritual garden hose. It’s inevitable since we’re mortal creatures living in a fallen world. For one reason or another, it’s just going to happen. So when we’re thirsty, we can remember David’s example, along with Jesus’ words in John 7. “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.” So go to the Ultimate De-Kinker, pray to Him and praise His name. Then get ready for that living water to come gushing out.

Before our schedules became too busy for family trips in the summertime, we used to take an annual trip to a high-rise condo at the beach. We were usually on the 4th floor, so this presented the opportunity for our suburban kids to do something they rarely got to do…ride in an elevator. (Side note: our youngest son even composed a song about this modern conveyance between floors entitled “Party in the Elevator.” Years later, we still sing the tune, as long as there are no strangers riding in the elevator with us.) If you know anything about little kids, you know that there are many activities which adults find commonplace and boring, but kids love to do. For instance, kids can spend a full recess period spinning in circles until they fall down, dizzy and laughing. They also enjoy blowing bubbles in their drinks through their straws, and they like to crumble their crackers or chips until they’ve pulverized their food into a fine dust. And if you start playing “peek-a-boo” with a toddler, you better cancel all your plans for later, because they will really dial into that game! These activities are the kid equivalent of a night out on the town with friends or a binge-watching a great series on Netflix. So. Much. Fun. Another very popular pasttime amongst most kids is pushing buttons, which is why the elevator rides at the beach condo were equal parts vacation highlight and also opportunity to squabble with siblings. “She pushed it last time! It’s my turn to push the number 4!” If we heard this whiny refrain once, we heard it a thousand times. Getting to push the elevator button was the ultimate reward for them. But to me, it was no big deal. If I attempt to put myself in the place of my button-pushing kids (By the way, these buttons were being pushed both physically and emotionally. Can I get an amen from the parents who’ve vacationed with small children before?), I can understand the desire to be the elevator-button-pusher. Maybe they wanted to do something which seemed like a grown-up job. Or maybe they were looking for a way to stand out from their siblings at that moment. Or perhaps our kids were just tired of having everyone tell them where to go and what to do when they got there, and they thought they’d like to be the one in control, even if for just a second. The feelings associated with being the person in control can dominate us. Thinking we have too much power or too little power can affect our relationships with others and the decisions we make. These feelings can make us arrogant or resentful. I’ve been reading through the Bible, and when I finished the book of Genesis, I couldn’t help but notice all the times when people tried to control what God had already said would happen. For example, instead of trusting Him to give her a son, Sarah told her husband Abraham to sleep with her servant to produce an heir. Instead of trusting that God would make Jacob ruler over Esau, their mother Rebekah helped Jacob trick his father into giving him the blessing. Over and over, we see real people getting a definitive word from God that something would happen, but they put their own flawed plan into action instead. I often have to check myself in regards to controlling what happens around me. I have to remind myself that I’m not pushing all the buttons, and that’s actually a really good thing. My own flawed, not-prayed-about plans could end up making me and those around me miserable. Midway through reading the book of Genesis, the chronological reading plan I’m using had me spend some time in the book of Job. Chapters 38-41 are a great place to read if you’re feeling like you think you can run this universe better than God. He speaks to Job in a way that is humbling and beautifully sarcastic. The Lord asks Job a question that I’d rather not have the Creator say to me from a mighty whirlwind He’s made for just such an occasion, “Do you still want to argue with the Almighty? Or will you yield? Do you—God’s critic—have the answers?” So I’m working to yield control to the Almighty who laid the foundations of the earth and set the boundaries for the seas. He can run this show so much better than me.

When our kids were little, one of their frequent requests was: “Daddy, tell us a story about a time you got hurt.” That may sound strange and a bit ghoulish, but they asked this all the time. And, luckily for them, Dad had plenty of painful tales to choose from. One of their very favorite stories was the one about the toothpick. As I remember it, young Brent was being goofy in his chair at the kitchen table, rocking back and forth as elementary-aged kids like to do. Eventually, all that rocking led to him falling out of his chair and onto the floor, inexplicably landing on a toothpick which became imbedded into his side. His mom was unsure what to do—seeing as how this was decades before she could’ve googled the solution for such a bizarre predicament—so they went to the doctor where the toothpick was removed. At the close of his story, our kids would sometimes ask follow-up questions or more often just cackle with delight. They knew exactly what would happen, but they still liked to hear it over and over. My guess is they mostly enjoyed being near him and hearing their daddy’s voice. The repetition and predictability were comforting. Connections were created and memories were made. Another chapter of our family lore was written, and certain cautionary tales about the inherent dangers of toothpicks were tacked on for the benefit of future generations. This is the magic of storytelling. It never ceases to amaze me what language can do, which is reasonable since words have been around since the very beginning of the world. You only have to read three verses into the first book of the Bible to find the phrase “And God said.” His words brought forth light where there was a complete and utter void. Obviously, my words can’t do that, but what are they capable of? For one thing, what I say can be a balm to the weary. Proverbs 16:24 reminds me that “Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.” And 1 Thessalonians 5:11 says that my words can be a source of reassurance. “Therefore encourage one another and build each other up.” Jesus had a lot to say about words and listening and telling others the important things we hear. In Matthew 12, He said, “But I tell you that everyone will have to give account on the day of judgment for every empty word they have spoken. For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned.” I love the inspiration for storytelling in Psalm 107. “Has the Lord redeemed you? Then speak out! Tell others he has redeemed you from your enemies.” Our stories can be constructed in such a way as to highlight what God has done for us, and we’re commanded to take part in the telling. We don’t have to use fancy words or a theatrical voice. We need to absorb the truths of the Scriptures and then weave our own experiences into the big story of God’s family. Deuteronomy 6 says it best: “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.” When we tell others about the times when see God in our story, we take part in a simple, yet profound act of worship.