"When is the last day?" {A story about being ready}
“When is the last day?”
Heidi was seated at the kitchen counter, flipping through our wall calendar.
“Last day? Last day of what, Sweetiegirl?”
“The last day. When Jesus comes! When we get to go to heaven. When is it?” She continued searching the calendar pages.
Oh babygirl.
“Good question. We don’t know when Jesus will return. But I hope it’s soon! It’ll be awesome when he comes right?” She smiled and nodded, then she and Dutch began chattering about what heaven would be like. My mind drifted … I love how anticipatory Heidi naturally was about Jesus’ return. I love that she was perfectly content not knowing, but still eager. Am I like that? We have been part of churches with a wide spectrum of eschatological views and I chewed for a bit on how to encourage a grace-filled, loving approach to end-times ideas. I leaned into their conversation.
“Hey guys. Can I tell you a story?”
They lit up, of course. They love stories.
“There once was a little boy and a little girl. The boy was named Dutch and the girl was named Heidi. They LOVED playing with their Papa and always looked forward to having him visit.
One day, in the morning, Papa called and told Dutch and Heidi that he was coming to visit them that day. They were so excited! They jumped up and down and said, “Ok! And hung up the phone to hurry up and eat their breakfast and make their beds, to they’d be ready for him to come.
But they didn’t know what time he’d be coming. Heidi said they should go ahead and do their schoolwork and pick up their toys and get all their work accomplished before Papa got there. Dutch said no way. What’s the point of doing their schoolwork because Papa was going to show up any minute and they’d just go play with him for the rest of the day? There was no use doing schoolwork when Papa was going to come over!
Heidi disagreed. She thought Papa was probably going to come later, after rest time.
Dutch argued, No way! Dutch didn’t like rest time, so he thought surely Papa wouldn’t wait until after that. Papa would come before resttime because when Papa was here they didn’t have to take rests. Papa would save them from having to take a rest, by coming before and keeping them from it.
Heidi didn’t agree.
Heidi said because Papa loved them so much He would do what’s best for them, coming after their rest so they had to learn to be patient. Dutch didn’t agree. He said Papa loved them so much there was no way He’d make them have to go through rest time. Papa knew that they didn’t like rest time, so Papa would show up and save them from having to do it.
Pretty soon things heated up. Heidi wouldn’t back down and neither would Dutch. Heidi was yelling about getting their schoolwork done, and Dutch was yelling at her to be quiet so that he could hear in case Papa’s truck pulled up. Finally Dutch got so mad he just left her alone and went to sit on the front porch, sulking all day, just waiting for Papa to show up. Eventually, he even fell asleep on the porch. Heidi, fed up, left him alone and did all the chores and responsibilities, frustrated and muttering and complaining about how lazy Dutch was. In fact, she was so fixated on her frustration toward Dutch, she completely forgot about Papa coming over.
When Papa arrived, his heart sank in disappointment. No one ran out to meet him. He had been hoping that his grandchildren were listening for him, eager to run out and greet him. He walked up the steps and found Dutch asleep on the porch. He walked inside and found Heidi, fuming, picking up toys and muttering to herself about how lazy her brother was.
Even though He was sad, Papa forgave them. He woke Dutch and interrupted Heidi, gathered them up into His lap, and gently told them this:
‘My precious grandchildren, I love you so much. I was so excited to see you. I’m sad that you were arguing over when I would show up. Dutch, I’m sad that you ignored all the work right in front of you, and just sat around waiting for me. Heidi, I’m sad that you forgot all about my visit because you were grumpily trying to do everyone’s work. Both of you, I’m sad that you weren’t here to run out and embrace me when I showed up. I wish you would have stayed busy with your chores and responsibilities, all the while keeping your ear out so you could hear my truck when I arrived.
Then, precious children, you would have been ready for me.'”
~
“And now the prize awaits me–the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on the day of his return. And the prize is not just for me but for all who eagerly look forward to his appearing.” 2 Timothy 4:8
{Let us eagerly look forward to His appearing. Thanks for reading.}
When you're stuck…
Last Sunday, the kids and I piled into the car for the short drive home from church. I had been away all weekend speaking at a retreat, and was so excited to get home. It was dark, pouring down rain, and the massive church Traeger was strapped to the back carrier. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I noticed the gas tank was low, but it was only a short drive home so figured we’d be fine.
I figured wrong.
Halfway home, on a steep, steep hill, we ran out of gas. Perched on this hill, the Traeger teetering precariously on the back, Heidi started crying, “What’s happening?!!” I searched for my cell to call Jeff only to remember it was still in my jacket pocket — in Jeff’s car. Rolling backwards over to the curb, we set the brake, flashed the hazards, and waited. And waited and waited. The kids cried. “Why isn’t he coming??” Eventually I announced we should just walk home, only to remember that Dutch had taken off his shoes to play at church and put them in his backpack … in Jeff’s car. I had said he could just be barefoot since it was such a short drive home.
Whoops.
No cell. No shoes.
“Well, kids, this is where we learn to wait and trust God!” The dark and rain and stranded-feeling felt scary to the kids, so they crawled up front and huddled on my lap. And so we sat … stuck.
A common theme throughout our faith-journey has been that God really likes letting us get stuck. Check out this interesting way that God led His people in Scripture:
“Then the LORD said to Moses, ‘Tell the people of Israel to turn back and encamp in front of Pi-hahiroth, between Migdol and the sea, in front of Baal-zephon; you shall encamp facing it, by the sea” (Ex.14:1-2).
So they turn back and God tells them exactly where to camp. Not just a general area, they are to camp right by the sea. And not just by the sea, but in a spot that corners them by the sea. They are to face the sea. To look straight into an impasse. Then what happens?
God brings Pharaoh. And six-hundred of his chosen chariots and all the other chariots of Egypt with officers over all of them. They all came out.
So, because of carefully listening to the voice of the LORD, the children of Israel are stuck. Cornered. Up against the sea with thousands of Pharaoh’s guys coming after them. And the result?
“They feared greatly.” (v.10)
No kidding! They were scared out of their wits! This isn’t just running out of gas in the dark! They instantly cry out to God and lament, “Is it because there were no graves in Egypt that you brought us out to die in the wilderness?” No more are they thankful for the miraculous deliverance in the Passover. And understandably. They have been led into a corner and are facing certain death.
But of course we all know what happens. God parts the Red Sea, all the nation of Israel is saved, and all of Pharaoh’s army and chariots are swallowed up in the sea and lost. In one fell swoop God fights the entire battle for them.
And all they had to do was walk.
Because the real battle had already been won. The battle of trusting God.
God leads us into circumstances where the only way out is God. There is nowhere to run, hide, fight. We’re stuck in a corner against the Red Sea. And that is where He loves to flex His muscles, doing what only the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords can do.
Since He created that sea by a simple word, He is able to part it rather effortlessly.
What corner are you facing today? Where are you stuck? Is there a circumstance that seems hopeless? A situation where you have no options? Where you throw your hands in the air and say, “I give up!”
That’s great.
Obey His voice and stay right there in that stuck spot.
Then look up.
Chances are the waters are just about to part.
~
{And of course, Jeff came and saved us when we were stranded. Later, as I tucked the kids in bed, I asked Dutch what his favorite part of the day was. His response: “When we ran out of gas!” Faith really is a fun adventure. Thanks for reading.}
When you need more energy…
It all began with that ridiculous poop post.
I can’t pass a piece of trash on the sidewalk without remembering this:
A man was walking along the sidewalk just as a flashy sports car was pulling up at a traffic light. The man in the car finished his soda and tossed the empty can out the window into the ditch. The man walking, a Christian, continued across the street and thought to himself, “What kind of jerk throws his pop can out of the window? That’s what sin does!” Immediately he sensed God’s voiced prodding heart: “Sin throws out the pop can, but grace stoops down and picks it up.”
God had brought this story along my path when I’d refused to pick up the poop. Someone else’s dog poop, mind you. But God bent me low with those words, Grace Picks Up The Poop, and He taught me to stoop down more often than before.
But, really? Do I have to always be the ridiculous person picking up trash?
This time, the lesson was different. I was out for a run. My legs burned, every step was a chore, but I’d finally reached the long downhill leg down Main Street. Yes! Finally! I cruised down the hill running fast and, if I can be so honest, had just passed two other runners and was feeling pretty good about myself.
Then I caught sight of it–the crumpled Dorito bag.
I ignored it. I’m running! It’s not like I have a bag to put the trash in. I kept running.
The conscience nagged. I kept fighting, farther and farther down the hill I went. This is ridiculous. It’s a little Dorito bag. I am not stopping, losing all momentum, and running back UP the hill to get the stupid bag. Besides, those people I passed will think I’m crazy. Isn’t it someone ELSE’s turn to pick up some trash, for crying out loud? I kept running, justifying. But God, I need to save my energy. I’m so tired and if I turn around and run all the way back up that hill to pick up the trash, I’ll be so tired.
But as I kept running, I felt more tired than ever and it struck me:
When I disobey I’m drained. When I run away, I’m running away … from Him. His love. His power.
HIS energy.
Our lives are made up of a million little choices. We’re always walking–or running–to or away from God. The most trivial–trash–turned my heart around.
I stopped.
And as I turned around, eyes spotting the tiny Dorito bag up the hill, I began to run and to my surprise you know what I found?
A burst of energy.
My legs felt lighter, my heart felt freer, I sprinted up that hill with the wind (Spirit?) at my back, ignored the funny looks and bent down low…
crumpling the piece of trash–and pride–in my hand.
It feels so good to obey.
And as I ran back down that hill, the buzz of holy energy lifted my feet, my heart, my spirit.
See, energy doesn’t come from conserving it…
from holding back…
from putting your needs first.
Energy comes from obeying.
Why? Because it’s not that we need MORE energy …
It’s that we need HIS energy.
His energy is the supernatural strength and power that is for us today, that we can only tap into through one simple secret:
Obedience.
In the small stuff. The ordinary things. The mundane moments.
Only the Holy Spirit can speak the specifics to you today. But know this:
Obedience unleashes His energy in us, the energy we so desperately need today.
“…I toil, struggling with all His energy that He powerfully works within me.” Colossians 1:29
Praying His energy for you as we begin our week. Thanks for reading.
What not to miss…
Remembering this:
It’s early but feels late. (Is 6pm too soon to put kids to bed?)
There’s no more energy left in this girl. I’m tired.
I finish the dishes of the big dinner the kids picked at and didn’t eat. Resist the urge to medicate with another piece of chocolate. “Ok, bath time, pick up your toys!” Kids scurry, pick up toys. Begin to head upstairs. I look around. These kids must be half blind. Call them back down to get the rest.
Dutch looks around, bewildered. “What other toys?”
Is it a boy thing?
We finish. Head up. An issue of delayed obedience (which is disobedience) demands attention. There are tears. They are tired too. Bodies are cleaned but washing hair is a war. Little bodies, slippery like fish, are wrapped in towels. I notice the smell. Glance over at the laundry basket. It towers, taunting me. Tomorrow, I tell myself.
They’re just getting settled when it hits — the ravenous bedtime hunger. “May I please have something to eat?” Which from Heidi’s mouth sounds like, “May I peese ‘ave froggy to eat?” For some reason “something” always sounds like “froggy.” I remember their non-existent appetite when dinner was served. Suddenly that appetite has returned with a vengeance. After banana, cheese, and a baggie of tomatoes, they ask for more but I draw the line. I give them a half-hearted 3-second teeth-brushing, herd them into bed, kiss them both and turn toward the door.
Out the door, in the hall, I exhale the sigh of relief, but stop in the hall. My room, the bed, the computer, the escape, it calls. Beckons. Lures. Come, be DONE. DONE. DONE.
I haven’t prayed with them. I haven’t told them how much God loves them. I’ve cared for their bodies but neglected their souls. My flesh is so weak the truth is I just want to close my bedroom door and be done. But then I remember how sometimes bedtime takes forever … and it should.
I turn around and enter in.
I kneel, curl up beside Dutch and lean in close to his puppy-breath, kiss his cheeks. I pray God’s goodness and favor and blessing and grace over his life, then tell him how much God loves him and I do too.
“Mommy, I love you so much.”
I almost missed this.
I go over to Heidi’s bed. She’s already heavy-eyed, curls spilled over her pillow. I pray. Tell her as well how much God loves her and I do too.
“Mommy I yuv you.”
How could I have considered missing this?
I slide under my covers. Write this. Read a precious email from another tired mom. Close the laptop lid and snuggle down into darkened silent bliss. Close my eyes, yes.
“Mommy!! May I please have more cheese?!”
–
{Happy weekend dear Mommy, and thanks for reading.}