Home Part 2…Memories

I’m getting settled. Husband and I have worked together to make our one room (large family room) function as bedroom, living room, office, and exercise space. Cozy. Putting the bed (twin with trundle) together was actually a fun experience. Sleeping in it even better.

Today in Arizona my siblings will be scattering my mother’s ashes across the desert she loved so much. Because of limited finances (neither husband or I have jobs or income), I decided not to fly out and participate. Part of me is sad to miss out, but the practical side of me won out. I will close my eyes and see her smile as she spoke of her love of the desert, and I will be okay.

Many years ago, after my dad died, we scattered his ashes on the 18th fairway of one of his favorite golf courses. At first this seemed odd. I had served as a pastor in several states, performed many funerals, and each one ended in a cemetery. Dad wanted to be cremated: pragmatic and cost effective. No services: too emotional, not his style. So, casting his cremains where he would be happiest made sense. Enough that it then became my mother’s wish to follow suit.

Here’s what makes that extra special in my mind. Every time I pass a golf course (and I did that daily on my way to work for the year after Dad died) I would think of my dad. I would remember his smile and stories of good games and lousy outings when he got home and put away his clubs. My husband golfed with my dad and it has been a special source of memories for him, too. That’s how we remember Dad. Not e don’t have to go to a certain cemetery and stare at a rock. We see him alive and happy.

So today, Mom will become one with the desert, and that makes me smile, but it will forever be owls that will trigger my memories of Mom. Like this little guy, perching on my coffee mug. It will be endless games of Scrabble, or Words with Friends…and I’m sure she would have loved Wordle.

This morning, I’m immensely grateful for the past two years (see previous posts that explain this life change). The cost was enormous. The discomfort, loneliness, distance, and loss immeasurable. I can’t thank my husband, daughters, and grandchildren enough for supporting me and loving me through this.

Once when I was in the throes of a teenager angsty tantrum, Mom and I had words. Exasperated, I went to the garage where my dad was creating beautiful pinecone wreaths. I had barely left the steps when the angry words came tumbling from my mouth, “How do you put up with her?”

He slowly removed his work gloves, set them on the table, and turned to look at me. I swear the moment was developing in the slowest motion possible. I stepped onto the garage floor and waited for him to speak.

“She’s your mother and you will respect her.”

That’s it. That’s all he said and then he went back to work.

I thought about that scene several times over my two years caring for Mom. Her rigid schedule and OCD behaviors could make me crazy in a blink. Her quirky rituals and superstitions most times made no sense…but that’s how she was. And I learned that I not only respected her, but loved her fiercely. And I would do whatever it took to make sure she was happy and well-cared for…to the very end.

I miss daily Scrabble. I miss knowing what day it was and exactly when it would be time to eat…and what. Nine pineapple chunks for breakfast with sliced banana—12 slices and exactly the same size. How to make a half a deli ham and sliced swiss cheese sammich with just the right amount of mustard. Dinner: Monday hotdogs; Tuesday boca burger; Wednesday mashed potatoes with Lloyds bbq; Thursday Gorton’s panko fish portions; Friday pizza; and Saturday grilled cheese. Sunday was up for grabs, but her two favorites were jumbo shrimp from Culvers, or a quesadilla from Chipotle.

I miss so much, but more than things…I have memories.

Home Again…Part 1: Adjusting

Two years. So much can happen. So much can change. I’m sure I don’t have to explain that to you…you lived the last years, too. If you’re reading this you survived them, too.

Two years ago I went to the best conference of my life. Connecting with other women clergy within my denomination energized me and encouraged me. I was excited to get back to my congregation. But first a quick visit to get my Scrabble fix with Mom.

Two years ago she got sick and never really bounced back. Her breathing issues were complicated by her anxiety. Or was it the other way around? The cycle was vicious. Then the natural progression of age related dementia began to show up unannounced. Another severe lung infection and we called in support from hospice. She had several infections, but they cleared up with medication…except for this last time.

The day before Christmas Eve was a typical day. Sure, her appetite was off a little. But she was scolding the officials and coaching the teams from her chair as she watched a couple bowl games. Before that we managed to get in a game of Scrabble. All in all, a pretty normal day.

Until bedtime. As she was completing her usual bedtime routine she began to have breathing issues which switched on the anxiety. A dose of morphine, holding her hand for a bit so it could kick in, and then walking her to bed and tucking her in seemed to quell the attack. But her sleep was restless, and she cried out for it all to end. More hand holding and gentle words. I called hospice and was directed to use a med that would help with the secretions. This seemed to bring a little relief and she fell asleep. And then she was gone.

My husband and I had dreamed of somehow being able to purchase Mom’s house and live out our retirement in the beauty and warmth of Arizona. Not having enough means and Nelson needing to be in Ohio for his mom brought me back to Ohio.

In one of our conversations on the long trip home, I tried to express part of what made this obvious choice so difficult for me. I’m nearly sixty-five years old, and this is the first move I’ve made, we’ve made, without knowing where or what, without having purpose or direction. Limbo. Waiting. Trusting. Wondering. I’m living an unsettled sort of peace. And I’ll confess, I’m not particularly fond or comfortable with this strange mix of circumstances.

But I’m home. And we’ll continue to work out all that means, and where that goes. Because that’s what we do.

Participation

Are you an observer or a participant?  I know, it depends on what’s going on.  My extroverted personality tends to get me involved.  My lack of boundaries causes me to say yes to things I don’t always “want” to do.  And because I’m somewhat ADD, well, I just don’t sit well.  I like to be where things are happening.  Unless the “happening” is in the kitchen or on a sports field of play.  I do know my limitations.

Ah, limitations in participation.  They are pretty much self-imposed, wouldn’t you agree?  We have our list of “can’ts”  that we are quick to recite when with really can’t or don’t want to do something.  When I was a kid and my grandmother wanted to teach me to knit and crochet, I was quick to use the excuse that I was left handed and therefore couldn’t learn.  I’m not exactly sure where I got that, unless it was from my first grade teacher, who I absolutely exasperated, as she struggled to teach me how to write my letters.  Perhaps she determined and announced that I was unteachable because I was left handed.  Anyway, it was an excuse that served me well on summer days when I was clearly more interested in playing outdoors than learning to knit one and purl two.

All this thinking about participation, reminded me of one of my favorite passages in scripture.  It was penned by Peter: His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness. Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature and escape the corruption in the world caused by evil desires. (2 Peter 1:3-4, NIV)

I found this passage early on in my faith journey, thanks to a small book by Bob Benson entitled, “Come Share the Being.”  You can borrow my copy, but I want it back.  In it he invites us  to really contemplate how we have not only been invited, but we are equipped to share in the divine nature of God.  You and me, with all our stuff—good and bad—have been given the great and precious promises so that we can participate in the divine nature of God.  Does that give you chill bumps, or knock you upside the head, or break your heart?  Think about it! 

Now, given that we’ve been given ev-er-ee-thing (hear that word broken down and pronounced in a slow exaggerated manner) that we need, how (how, how, how) can we continue to throw up excuses and can’ts when God asks us to do something?  It is time to stop letting a few do the work while we observe.  

It is time to participate.  

If you’re ready to plunge right in, by all means go ahead!  The water’s great!  But if not, if you’re feeling a little more timid, if you need a little more confirmation (if your cousin’s name is Gideon), than stick your toe in and watch what God will do.  Remember when the Hebrew children were willing to put their toes in the Red Sea or the Jordan River, the waters parted. 

You have been given everything, God’s most precious promises, to be able to participate in the divine nature.  And yes, that does mean you—no matter what your first grade teacher, or mom, or boyfriend, or boss have said!  

I don’t what time the clock says as you are reading this, but I know it’s time to stop observing and start participating.  What are you waiting for?  You have everything you need.

Where am I…why?

Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, NIV)

This morning I attended a Zoom training provided by my district for ministers/pastors. The District Executive opened by reading the scripture noted above. She preface the reading by saying she had heard several people expressing their concern over knowing what God’s will was/is for their lives. “God’s will is plainly stated in scripture.” And then she read the all too familiar verse.

There are other scriptures that make God’s will and expectations clearly and plainly known. We’re the ones who get all Gideon (see Judges 6:36-40) and keep asking God to make is unmistakably clear before we will act—only delaying the obvious out of fear or selfishness.

One example from the Old Testament, Micah 6:8 begins with the prophet asking the question he already knows the answer to: What does God require of you but to do the right thing (act justly), be kind (love mercy), and walk humbly with your God (author’s interpretation).

At one point in Jesus’ earthly ministry, he was asked a young man what one thing needed to be done to inherit eternal life. He did well on the keeping the standards of the day (teachings of the Law and prophets), so Jesus challenged him, nudged him toward greater growth: go and sell everything you have and give the money to those with need. This was too much for him, and he went away sad. Jesus seemed to be telling him that he can’t claim an eternal reward when the temporal needs of those here are so massively obvious, and we can do something about it. There will be no riches taken into heaven, so invest them here in those with need.

But I digress…

When Kris read the scripture Paul wrote to the Thessalonians, I began to weep. I have been here caring for my mom for nearly two years. Two years away from my husband and family. Two years away from the job that is my calling. Two years separated from friends. Two years feeling like I’m wandering in the desert and looking for the Promised Land.

Honestly, I find myself resentful and angry, depressed and discouraged. I cannot count the times I have cried out to God, “Why am I here? Why now? How long? When will I get on with life?” I know that I am needed here. But why do I need to be here?

I have taught on numerous occasions from the story of Jesus feeding the multitudes that God wastes nothing. So my head knows and believes that even this time when I am not where I want to be, doing what I want to do, will not be wasted by God.

Only I can choose to waste this time.

Can I just tell you that awareness sucks? I haven’t been living joyfully, prayerfully, or thankfully. Maybe on the surface…but not deep within. Not where it counts.

So…I have a couple of choices. Now that I know what God’s will, intention for my life, is: I can go away sad and unchanged because it’s too much to ask; or I can determine to live more fully and actively into God’s expectation and will for me and trust that the opportunities to live out my calling will present themselves—perhaps in ways I never imagined or even knew could be for me.

I think I’ll choose the latter. Because I’ve walked the route of the former and it is an unfulfilling, lonely, and futile path…and I was made for more than that.

And so were you.

Let’s get our rejoicing on, our prayerlife going, and our gratitude overflowing. Perfect season to be thinking, moving and growing this way.

Cooking and Writing

(I wrote this several years ago, but find the truth still applies…at least for me.)

Recently, a friend of mine warned me not to sit on my gift.  Just prior to that, she had asked me if I had written anything lately.  I hadn’t.  I haven’t felt inspired to write.  It was like I had nothing to say.

Last week I was going through emails and I came across one that was advertising next year’s Writers’ Market.  I remembered back to January of this year.  I had begged Nelson for an updated copy.  I told him that if he would buy it for me I would send out at least ten pieces to publishers.  He did and I didn’t.

In the past few months, I have begun to enjoy cooking.  Not long ago, Nelson posited that I was cooking to avoid writing.  Seemed ridiculous to me.  He had cooked most of our married life—mostly because he was very good at it, but also because I worked non-stop.  Now, Nelson is working long days and it just makes sense for me to pick up that responsibility.  I dove into the task by hunting for potential recipes and then began experimenting with combinations that I knew we liked.  I went quickly from having three recipes that my family enjoyed to a couple dozen.  It felt good.

This morning as I was washing the pot that I had made a really good soup in yesterday, I had an epiphany.  It was about cooking and writing. When Nelson and I got married I was afraid to cook.  I was such a novice that my mother-in-law bought me an illustrated cookbook.  My repertoire included macaroni made in a hot pot and peanut butter sandwiches.  To avoid embarrassment, I acquiesced to Nelson’s expertise and over the years discovered three recipes that I did well and stuck with those.  I was afraid to do any more than that because if I couldn’t do it perfectly I wouldn’t do it all.

What I realized as I stood at my sink scrubbing dishes was that Nelson was right in part.  I needed to cook so that I could write.  I hadn’t contacted any publishers with my writing because, though I knew I could write, I didn’t consider myself a writer.  Throwing myself into my cooking showed me that.  For years I had avoided cooking because I didn’t see myself as a cook and therefore I couldn’t.  It wasn’t enough to say that I could cook, I had to be the best cook.  I knew I was far from that so I didn’t, and wouldn’t cook.  This was reinforced by the ridicule I took when I tried to cook.  I was the brunt of many a family joke.  Why should I continue to prove them right and give them something new to laugh at?

My recent successes at cooking have forced me to rethink this.  I may not be a “James Beard Chef”, but I can cook.  Nelson has really enjoyed my newly found and developing love for being creative in the kitchen.  He raves about the meals and shows them off at work.  I’m not going to be Top Chef anywhere, not even in my kitchen.  That honor will always be Nelson’s.  But it’s not going to keep me from cooking and experimenting.

I still have a few months left in this year.  I will probably never win an award for my writing, but why should that keep me from developing my craft and sharing my thoughts?  The obvious answer is that it shouldn’t—and based on what I learned from cooking recently: it won’t!

Oh, and while I’m at it, I realized something else about my writing that makes it more imperative that I push past my reluctance to face rejection.  Recently while I was preparing for a retreat I led on spirituality and personality, I read that most devotionals are written by “N” types (think MBTI).  I mulled that over for a while and realized that is one of the reasons I feel so compelled to create a devotional series, one that is more appealing and appropriate for “S” types.  Not everyone relates to the intuitive style and needs to engage their senses more completely to engage them spiritually.  Maybe I’ve found my niche!

In Rembrance…In Unity

Today is Worldwide Communion Sunday. I love this Sunday. I loved it when I was a pastor. I observed it in all the denominations I worked with. The thought and feeling of partaking of the Lord’s Supper along with believers all over the world moves me, encourages me, humbles me. Today was no exception.

Today I worshipped outdoors with a group of people I have only met with twice before. The weather was perfect. The message clear and inspiring. Two of the pastor’s points stuck out to me.

First, he described a study that was done in which people were asked what their favorite phrase in the English language were. The number one response was, “I love you.” Understandable. Don’t we all love to hear that? Also high on the list, and pertinent to the message, “Dinner’s ready!”

Time to eat. Come and get it. Come and dine. Come to the table. Do you remember how you were called to dinner as a child? I don’t have particularly fond memories of dinnertime as a child–but oh how precious those shared meals became when shared them with friends in college, and later with community in the church.

The pastor’s text was Jesus invitation to the crowd as recorded in John 6. Everybody was invited. Everyone was included. Y’all come.

Who doesn’t want to hear that? We may need a bigger table.

The second thing that hooked my heart was the concept of remembrance. Living with Mom I’m daily dealing with issues of memory: odd rememberances, distorted memories, lost memories. Hers and mine!

As I sat in the gathering on Sunday morning, one question percolated to the top: What do you want me to remember today God? It seemed like a simple question, but it brought on a whole slew of recollections. They came in waves: communion services from across the years; faces of clergy mentors and friends; different places; and different times.

Sitting alone, in a gathering where I knew no one, I drew comfort in the sense not only of God being present, but with me–speaking my name. Just as the bubbling memories spoke to the how there had been people all along in this journey of faith, the Spirit gave clear assurance that even now when I felt so incredibly alone…I was not, and would never be.

Remembering this, hearing this, feeling this prods me to wonder if you, dear reader might be feeling alone. Jesus calls you to the table. There is clearly not just space, but a space for you. As you take your seat, please remember the times and places where God has brought you into the company of others as a means of assuring you of your place in the family, and God’s great grace and provision for us all.

yes magazine.org

Y’all, come.

Finding Joy?

One of the saddest sights: the red truck, driven by my husband, heading back to Ohio.

Nelson and I had a wonderful visit. We worked on projects together. We cleaned out the shed (again). We cooked together. We laughed. We “attended” church together (online).

But today, he left for Ohio. He’s still needed there. And I’m needed here. It’s hard—I know, I’ve said that before. But doing the right thing isn’t always the easy thing.

When I left to go walk dogs at the shelter, he left for Ohio. I cried. He cried. We waved and blew kisses until we could no longer see each other.

After I was done at the shelter, I came out on the porch to work on my fall class syllabus and write a bit. Being out here made me happy because one of the projects Nelson completed was putting up the two fans (with lights). I can work out here because with the fan on the humidity is no bother! I love it.

Before I started this reflection, I read a post by a young writer who has a medical condition that makes life difficult when it flares. And she’s in a flare, but in spite of the pain and the medical questions, she was finding joy in simple things—like wearing a new t-shirt with the cutest donkey on it. And she asked the question, “Where do you find joy?”

My initial thought was that there was no joy in this day. But after a moment of quiet, I realized that’s not true at all. I just had a wonderful visit with my husband and the plan is for him to be back in December—for Christmas! I can sit outside, no matter the weather, because of these wonderful lighted fans. I was able to walk two dogs this morning, and get a bunch of doggie kisses from two dogs as well. I had a really nice talk with one of the other workers. And another checked on me since she remembered this morning might be difficult for me.

I need to be reminded sometimes that joy is not dependent upon my circumstances or even the situations I find myself in. For even in the darkest of times, if I will look or pay attention, be present in the moment, I can find reason for joy, and for peace.

On a morning like this, will I only see the red truck driving away, or will I look for the joys, the blessings that are here with me? And while December may seem a long way off, there will be multiple daily Facetime calls to keep us connected. Calls where questions can be asked, jokes can be told, and problems can be solved. And those connections hold their own special kind of joy.

I may not be able to “count it ALL joy” (James 1:3), but I can find joy in the moment. And I will live Moment by Moment.

Moment by Moment is an old hymn, a favorite of mine and Nelson’s. Here are the lyrics:

  1. Dying with Jesus, by death reckoned mine;
    Living with Jesus, a new life divine;
    Looking to Jesus till glory doth shine,
    Moment by moment, O Lord, I am Thine.
    • Refrain:
      Moment by moment I’m kept in His love;
      Moment by moment I’ve life from above;
      Looking to Jesus till glory doth shine;
      Moment by moment, O Lord, I am Thine.
  2. Never a trial that He is not there,
    Never a burden that He doth not bear,
    Never a sorrow that He doth not share,
    Moment by moment, I’m under His care.
  3. Never a heartache, and never a groan,
    Never a teardrop, and never a moan;
    Never a danger but there on the throne,
    Moment by moment He thinks of His own.
  4. Never a weakness that He doth not feel,
    Never a sickness that He cannot heal;
    Moment by moment, in woe or in weal,
    Jesus my Savior abides with me still. (Daniel W. Whittle)
(A “family portrait” painted for us by Jim Lemasters)

Purpose

(I wrote this during Lent in 2009. Even more true today)

For a while I thought I was depressed.  Life changed drastically for me when I lost my job.  In part, I think the trauma was due to the to the fact that I found my identity in what I did.  The challenges of the work gave me purpose.  I felt vital and alive.  Losing my job meant I lost my sense of purpose.

I used to teach groups of people how to write their mission statements.  We didn’t start with that.  We would back up and talk about finding their passion in life and for life.  When it came to putting that passion into a working purpose or mission statement, I would teach to the difference between a goal (short term) and a mission statement (life- long driving force).  A mission or purpose statement is something you can see devoting your whole life to.  It is true now and will be true in twenty, thirty, even fifty years.

Reflecting on this, I wasn’t really depressed.  I was just adrift and going nowhere because I had taken my eyes off the map.  I thought that without the job I wouldn’t be able to follow my purpose and mission.  I forgot that the job wasn’t the only vehicle to get me where I needed to be.  I forgot that the whether I’m teaching or cleaning toilets, it is the purpose or mission God has for my life that matters and he will provide me with the opportunities I need.  I forgot that it is God who gifts me and directs me to use those gifts.  

I was reading about John the Baptist in Mark’s gospel.  I don’t think there are many who would sign up for John’s job—especially if they knew how it was going to end for him.  Yet, even in the briefest of ministries, John paved the way by preparing the people for the emergence of Jesus’ life-changing ministry.

It reminds me of relief pitchers in baseball.  They will never pitch a whole game.  That’s not their job.  It’s not why they were hired.  Some of those guys will only throw a few pitches and the next thing we see is the coach headed to the mound.  Those couple of precisely placed pitches are what the reliever gets paid the big bucks for.  It’s their purpose.  

Now, dust off your imagination and try to picture this: your favorite baseball team has made the playoffs!  They did this not just on their bats, but because of their pitching.  But now that they’ve made it to the biggest games, the team’s relievers and closers have decided they want more playing time and have threatened to not play at all if they don’t get the opportunity to pitch a whole game.  How crazy is that?  How dare they hold the game hostage for their whims?

The apostle Paul, in his discussion of gifts, makes this statement: But our bodies have many parts, and God has put each part just where he wants it (1 Corinthians 12:18, NLT).  Right there with the assurance that we all have a part, we’re told that we are placed right where He wants us. 

That’s why we really need to bloom right where we’re planted!

Prayerfully ponder: How’s the soil where you are? Are you focused on how you want to use your perceived talents? Are you more concerned with what you want than what God needs from you? Are you discouraged because you feel like you’re riding the pine and you can’t understand why God is wasting your abilities? Are you aware of what God’s doing around you so that when the time is right (God’s specialty) you’ll be ready to pitch your inning?

Unlikeliest Hero

It is a rare thing that the moment I start to write, my eyes fill with tears and the truth of what I’m thinking overwhelms my heart and mind.

But it just happened.

This morning during breakfast, Mom made some comment about heroes. I can’t even recall what it was because it immediately sent me into my head where I began formulated this post. I was so into it, I excused myself from the table and hurried to jot down some notes I could come back to after I was done cleaning up from breakfast.

Heroes. We all want them…need them. And if we would get honest, want to be one.

This past year while we’ve done battle with a raging pandemic, we’ve lauded the efforts of first responders, medical professionals, and those researching for a vaccine. Politically, we’ve sought for a restoration to civility and accountability. Emotionally we’ve longed for answers, peace, and a return to normal or comfort or familiar.

Many years ago, my husband and I watched a television program called the Equalizer. Then there were two movies with the same premise starring Denzel Washington. Now Queen Latifa has reprised the role and hooked me once again.

I stopped typing and called my husband (keeping in mind the 3 hour time difference). I told him what I was doing and then asked him why the original show hooked him? What was it that appealed. He put words to what my heart was feeling: it was like a modern Robin Hood of sorts. Robert and Robyn McCall as the equalizers brought/brings help for the oppressed; help for those who can’t help themselves.

Thinking about his statement sent me down another path—a spiritual one. Imagine that.

This past Sunday was Palm Sunday. I made a reference to the Christmas song, “How Many Kings.” As we move through Holy Week toward the resurrection, a phrase from that song keeps going through my mind. Referring to the baby Jesus, the words describe him as the “unlikeliest hero” for he was wrapped in his mother’s shawl.

This week, Jesus is wrongfully accused, murdered, and laid to rest in a borrowed tomb. Talk about an unlikely hero.

Our heroes don’t die. Or do they?

Shouldn’t our heroes be the ones who give up their lives. Jesus tried to explain this to the disciples: There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends (John 15:13, NLT).

Paul described this to the Philippians this way: You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had. Though he was God, he did not think of equality with God as something to cling to. Instead, he gave up his divine privileges he took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being. When he appeared in human form, he humbled himself in obedience to God and died a criminal’s death on a cross (Philippians 2:5-8, NLT).

Jesus gave up the fullness of his super powers and maybe that’s what made him an unlikely hero. But the way lived, died, and rose again demonstrated God’s power to the max! Those powers may be overlooked by the world that is mesmerized by flash and boom. But Jesus, like the Equalizer, was and is more concerned about helping those who can’t help themselves…about bringing relief to the oppressed .

That’s the kind of hero I want to be. The kind of hero this needs more of. We may seem to be unlikely heroes…but we can change the world by following Jesus’ example, by having his mind.

He gave his all…all for me…all for you…just like the song says.

Monday Morning Magic

My alarm went of at 5:15AM. I leapt up, made my bed, grabbed a shower, dressed in the clothes I set out the night before, and raced out the door. Between getting dressed and dashing out the door I did pause to make sure that Mom’s meds and breakfast were set out exactly the way she likes them.

Once out the door I headed for the the place I love to be on Monday mornings: The Animal League of Green Valley. Choosing to volunteer on Monday mornings is the best thing I ever done. My week starts out with lots of wags and puppy kisses. I walk whoever I can, and love every moment whether I’m being pulled along or stopping to smell every leaf. Then when every dog is walked by all the volunteers, we hang out for socialization and some training.

There are times when I ache for my dogs back in Ohio. I would rescue in a heartbeat, but Mom can’t handle the stress or the dander. I’d volunteer every day, but Mom can barely handle me being gone for one day. So I suck the life out of my time away and give thanks for this respite that feeds my soul.

As I was reflecting back on my morning doggy therapy session, I had a pang of sadness. For a brief moment I was reminded of the Syrophoenician woman who had a conversation with Jesus. It went like this:

Jesus went away from there, and withdrew into the region of Tyre and Sidon. And a Canaanite woman from that region came out and began to cry out, saying, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is severely demon-possessed.” But He did not answer her with even a word. And His disciples came up and urged Him, saying, “Send her away, because she keeps shouting at us!” But He answered and said, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But she came and began to bow down before Him, saying, “Lord, help me!” Yet He answered and said, “It is not good to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.” And she said, “Yes, Lord; but please help, for even the dogs feed on the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus said to her, “O woman, your faith is great; it shall be done for you as you desire.” And her daughter was healed at once (Mark 15:21-28, NLT).

I love this story. She wasn’t asking for the world. She was, in her own mind, willing to settle for “crumbs that fell from the table.” The scraps. The castoffs. Jesus commended her for her persistence and her faith. The Apostle Paul said it this way: little is much when God is in it.

So while others are dreading Mondays, I’m ready for the “crumbs.” They more than satisfy.

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