Michele Huey's Blog: God, Me, and a Cup of Tea, page 13

Stuck in Smithport

What is that in your hand? – Exodus 4:2 (NIV)

After a year and a half of filling the pulpit for a small, local congregation, I felt adrift and useless—that I’d lost my sense of purpose. It didn’t hit me all at once. My last Sunday with what I’d come to call “my little flock” was October 28. The next two months were filled with holiday happenings and a challenging writing course. 

Then the holidays were over and the schedule settled down. Snow swirled outside and the sun, along with my writing muse, disappeared for days on end. The weather was too inclement to walk outside and too unpredictable to plan shopping trips to town. Even my bi-weekly Bible study was postponed until spring. I felt stuck in Smithport. The only phone calls were my daughter’s weekly updates on Sunday evenings and requests: requests from the church’s prayer chain, requests to babysit the grandkids, and requests for milk, eggs, sugar, tomato paste, or whatever my sweet son and daughter-in-law didn’t have for the recipe they were making. By the time my husband, who worked 11-hours days, and I had supper, spent a little time together over tea and cleaned up the kitchen, not much was left of the evening or my energy. After my shower I watched NCIS reruns.

Reruns. That’s what my life felt like. Until God gave me a Gibbs-like smack on the head. 

I was reading Exodus 3 about when God called Moses from leading sheep to leading His people. Moses had spent 40 years in Midian on a quiet mountainside after 40 years as a prince of Egypt. Talk about feeling put on a shelf! 

“What is that in your hand?” God asked him. 

“A staff,” Moses replied.

“Throw it on the ground,” God told him.

And so he did, and it turned into a snake. When God told Moses to pick it up again, and he obeyed, it turned back into a shepherd’s staff. We all know the story: how Moses led the people of Israel out of slavery in Egypt to the borders of the Promised Land. 

But Moses had to first acknowledge what he already had and then let God use it for His purpose.

“What is that in your hand?” God asks me.

And I think about all that my hands touch each day: food, dishes, laundry, a keyboard, writing lesson books, a vacuum cleaner, the phone, my grandchildren’s coats and shoes when they come for a visit, Scrabble tiles and jigsaw puzzle pieces, a pencil for a game of Boggle or Yahtzee!

And I realize I can’t see the trees for the forest. I’m too busy searching “out there” in the big, wide world for my purpose, but it’s right in front of me: taking care of my husband, being available for my children and grandchildren, praying for others’ needs, proofreading my daughter’s papers as she works towards her master’s degree, mentoring student writers through Christian Writers Guild, reaching out to those who read my weekly column and blogs, working to improve the talent God gave me. 

What’s in my hand? 

God’s purpose for me. Not “out there,” “someday,” but here and now. 

Forgive me, Lord, for treating as unimportant what You have put in my hand. Amen.

Read and reflect on Exodus 3–4.

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor during your time with God © 2017 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.

Touching Greatness

She began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them. — Luke 7:38  NIV

A booklover to the core, I get a thrill when I’m passing through a town and see a library or a bookstore. So when I spied a quaint-looking bookstore as my husband and I strolled through the charming town of Northeast Harbor while on our vacation in Maine, I made a beeline for the door. 

This was no ordinary bookstore. Its shelves were lined with used, rare, and out-of-print old books. Browsing the titles, inhaling the mustiness, this former literature teacher was in heaven. 

When I pulled a gray, hardbound book from a shelf in the back of the store, I took an awed breath. The Song of Hiawatha, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s epic poem, had no copyright page, but its yellowed, thick pages told me it was old. And it was only $10. 

Holding the classic in my hands brought to mind other writers who have made the pages of literary history. I turned to the proprietor. 

“Do you have anything by Robert Frost?” 

I should have known I was in trouble when he pulled a stepstool to a wall of glassed-in bookshelves behind me and inserted a key. 

“This one,” he said, handing me a copy of West Running Brook, “is a second edition and is probably a little more than you want to spend. It’s autographed.”

I reverently opened the cover and ran my fingers over the signature of my favorite poet. I felt like Benjamin Gates did in National Treasure when he stood in the room where the Declaration of Independence was signed. Okay, it was just a movie, but I identified with the emotion portrayed in that scene.

“I’m touching greatness,” I breathed. 

I looked at the price: $1,250! 

But I could touch it for free. 

I bought Frost’s Versed in Country Things for only seventy-five dollars. 

“Consider it my birthday and Christmas presents,” I told my husband.

The experience reminded me of the time a woman wept at Jesus’ feet and kissed them. She knew she was touching greatness. So did Mary, Jesus’ mother, every time she held her baby, kissed a boo-boo on the toddler’s knee, wiped her tears from His dead face after He was taken down from the cross. And Mary Magdalene, who was so overjoyed seeing Him alive that first Easter morning she clung to Him. 

I often wish I could have lived in first century Bethany and, like Mary, sit at His feet. 

Then God reminds me that I touch greatness every day: when I run my fingers through my husband’s hair, when I hold a grandchild close, when I clasp my best friend’s hand as we say grace before a girls’ day out lunch, when I hug a friend at church, when I wrap my arms around a distraught, hurting soul and pray with her, sometimes right in the aisle of a grocery store.

Because every person, whether rich and famous or poor and obscure, is great in the eyes of God. 

Thank you, Lord, for reminding me of the value of every person on this planet. “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son . . .” (John 3:16). Amen.

Read and reflect on Luke 7:36–50.

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor during your time with God © 2017 Michele Huey. All rights reserved. 

The Well, the Ram, and Jehovah Jireh

“Hagar in the Wilderness”
Artist: Camille Corot (French, Paris 1796–1875 Paris) | Date: 1835

And then God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water. – Genesis 21:19 (NIV)

Abraham looked up and . . . saw a ram. – Genesis 22:13

I’ve always felt that Hagar, Sarah’s Egyptian maidservant, got a raw deal. Her job was to serve her mistress. This she did. And what did it get her? Not five gold stars for obedience, that’s for sure.

We first meet her in the pages of ancient Scripture when barren Sarah decides the only way she’ll have children is to order her maidservant to sleep with her husband. Any child conceived as a result would then be considered Sarah’s. Legally.

So Hagar sleeps with the big man and conceives. Sarah’s abuse of the pregnant maidservant is so harsh that Hagar runs away. But God meets her in the wilderness, gives her a blessing, and sends her back. Fast forward about 15 years to the weaning celebration of Abraham and Sarah’s miracle baby, Isaac. Sarah spots half-brother Ishmael taunting the little guy and runs to Abraham. “Get rid of that slave woman and her son!” she orders him.

The next morning, Abraham gives Hagar some food and water and sends her off into the wilderness.

When the water was gone, she put Ishmael under a bush and went off a short distance, where she sat sobbing, “I cannot watch him die.”

Once again God meets her in the wilderness. I love how the writer of Genesis describes what happens next: “God heard the boy crying” (Genesis 21:17) and “God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water” (v. 19).

They do not die in the wilderness. Ishmael becomes “a great nation,” as God promised his mother.

Fast forward again, this time to Abraham and Isaac on a mountain on the land of Moriah, where God has sent Abraham on a mission: “Take your son, your only son, Isaac, and . . . sacrifice him there as a burnt offering” (Genesis 22:2).

They were almost there when Isaac asks, “Where is the lamb for the burnt offering?”

I used to wonder if Abraham’s answer, “God himself will provide the lamb,” was a cop-out. I mean, would he really tell Isaac he was the offering? And I used to think Abraham lied when he told the servants to wait at the bottom of the mountain: “I and the boy will go over there. We will worship and then we will come back to you” (Genesis 22:5, emphasis mine).

Image by rjmcsorley on Pixabay

Then on the mountain, just after God has stayed his hand from plunging the sacrificial knife into Isaac’s heart, “Abraham looked up and . . . saw a ram,” which he sacrificed in place of Isaac.

Did the ram just happen to be there? Or had it been there all along, making its way up the mountain and getting itself stuck in the thicket just as Abraham looked up?

Did the well that provided life-giving water to Hagar and Ishmael just happen to be there? Some commentators say it was there all along, but Hagar, in her physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual condition, just didn’t see it. Some say it was well hidden.

The answer to these questions is the name that Abraham gives to the mountain: “The-LORD-Will-Provide”(YHWH Yireh or Jehovah Jireh).

The Hebrew word used for “provide” also means “to see.”

God is still Jehovah Jireh today.

Thank you, Lord, for reminding me of the value of every person on this planet. “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son . . .” (John 3:16). Amen.

Read and reflect on Genesis 21:14–21; 22:1–19

From God, Me & a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor with your time with God  © 2017 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.

The Wrong Part

Your Father knows exactly what you need even before you ask him. — Matthew 6:8 NIV 

My husband came home one Friday evening with a disgusted look on his face. 

“My truck is not to be moved,” he announced.

I looked out the door and noted the hood of his green pickup ajar. I was almost afraid to ask why. 

A section of the fuel line was leaking, and until he replaced it, the truck couldn’t be used. So he went to the auto parts store in town. Just as our luck would have it, the part had to be ordered from the manufacturer, and we’d have to contact a local dealer in another town forty-five minutes away to order it for us.

“The part will be in on Wednesday,” he announced Saturday morning after a couple of phone calls. “Can you pick it up for me?”

Wednesday I called to make sure the part was in. It wasn’t. Neither was it in on Thursday. Or Friday. Monday I called the dealer for the fourth time. 

“We ordered it, Ma’am,” he said. “We just didn’t get it yet. We don’t know where it is. The manufacturer said they shipped it. I’m going to put in another order and have them ship it so I have it tomorrow.”

“Why don’t we just forget it?” I said when I called the next day and it still wasn’t in. “I could have been to Detroit and back and gotten it myself.” 

“Would you wait one more day?” he asked. He sounded as frustrated as I felt. “I’m going to call the manufacturer and find out where it is.” 

“Okay,” I agreed, but not without a sigh.

The next day, even though the part we needed was put on the delivery truck at four o’clock that morning, it still wasn’t in. So what do we do now? It had been ten days since we ordered the part, and it was lost somewhere between Detroit and western Pennsylvania. If we ordered it from another dealer, we’d probably have to wait another week before it came in there. And what if the part came in the first place the day after we ordered it from someone else? 

Finally, on Thursday, seven days after it was to be in, the elusive order arrived. One look at my husband’s face when he saw it, though, and I knew: After all that, it was the wrong part.

I got to thinking, though: We’re such an “instant-minded” society. Aren’t we like that with God, too? 

We put in our orders with our heavenly Father, thinking that prayer is like putting our money in a vending machine, pushing a button, and having our answer drop down out of heaven like a candy bar. But more often than not, we have to wait, and waiting is the hardest part. Sometimes we wait so long, we think God is ignoring us or punishing us. 

But when the answer does come, it’s always exactly what we need and right on time. And what’s even better—He never sends the wrong part.

Father, I am so impatient. Help me to be persistent and patient in prayer. Amen.  

Read and meditate on Matthew 7:7–11. 

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor during your time with God © 2017 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.

Two Rocks Don’t Make a Duck

Cairn at Acadia National Park
September 23, 2013

My God is my rock. – Psalm 18:2 (NIV)

When my husband and I visited the Acadia National Park Visitors Center, informational placards lined the uphill walkway from the parking lot to the building. Of course, I had to read them all. Not only because I needed to catch my breath from climbing the hundred-plus steps, either. Maybe it’s the teacher in me. Or my insatiable curiosity. Or both.

Since Dean’s impatience at my frequent stops was starting to show (and it was only the beginning of the day), I took pictures of the placards so I could read them later in the evening when he was asleep in his recliner.

But the cairns intrigued me, and I took my sweet time at each of them.

A cairn is a stone structure built to point the way on a trail. Although cairns come in various shapes and sizes, the ones at Acadia were no more than 18 inches high and were built with four or six large stones: two or four large, square ones on the bottom with one large, rectangular stone spanning them, and a smaller, triangular-shaped one on top, with the tip pointing the direction of the trail.

“Cairns are carefully built and placed to point the way,” one placard read. “When trail blazes are hidden by fog or snow, cairns are essential,” said another.

Another placard warned of tampering with the cairns: “Do not build new cairns or add to existing cairns – you may confuse or endanger hikers.”

Back at the camper, I googled “cairns” to find out more about them. Trail marks in North America, I learned, are often called “ducks” or “duckies” because the point of the top rock resembles a duck’s beak. “The expression ‘two rocks don’t make a duck’ reminds hikers that just one rock resting on another could be the result of accident or nature rather than intentional trail marking.” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cairn)

Like a path in the woods, the trail of life can be confusing at times, too. The fog of indecision, the snow of fear about the results of our choices may hide the direction we are to go. Sometimes all the paths look good – or bad.

Right now I’m wrestling with a decision of whether or not to proceed with the project of publishing a third book of meditations – compilations of this column. Since I self-publish, the cost upfront comes out of my pocket. I’ve started two or three times to put the book together since my last compilation came out in 2002. But each time I backed out because of finances.

“If you need wisdom, ask our generous God, and He will give it to you,” the Bible tells us in James 1:5 (NLT).

And again: “Trust in the LORD with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek His will in all you do, and He will show you which path to take” (Proverbs 3:5, 6 NLT).

God’s cairns are there for the asking. But sometimes we don’t recognize them because, like me, we don’t know what they are.

But when we do, we see that He’s placed them at every point we need direction. We just need eyes to see the duck.

Give me the spiritual sight to see and recognize the cairns You’ve placed along my life’s path, O Lord. Amen.

Read and reflect on Exodus 13:21–22

From God, Me & a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor during your time with God, © 2017 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.

The Seed and Me

  I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. — John 12:24 NIV

No discipline is pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it. — Hebrews 12:22 NIV

It’s cold down here. And damp. And so very black. I can’t tell which way’s up or which way’s down. I can’t see what’s ahead or behind me. I’m all alone. 

Oh, for the day when I lived in a nice, warm, bright packet with my family and friends! It was cozy and dry in there. I wanted for nothing. My shell was smooth and sturdy. Nothing could get to what I guarded within.

But one day a hand ripped open the packet and shook me onto the ground. Then clumps of moist dirt covered me, and I was alone in this strange, cold, dark, place. What did I do to deserve this? I cried. Why me? But no one answered. 

Time passed. I didn’t know when it was day or night. How long? I wondered—and wept. Just when the ground around me became comfortably dry, water seeped through the soil, chilling me and softening my shell. Then one day, it cracked open. Oh, my beautiful shell! Oh, the pain! My innermost being was now exposed to the ugly world around me. 

But I was changing. A tiny green arm sprouted from my insides, and I began reaching, stretching—until I pushed through the soil into the brightness above. Uncurling, I lifted my face. I felt the warm caress of the sun and the whispery kiss of the wind. 

Day after day, night after night, I reached and reached and reached. Then one day a tiny bud appeared on my stalk. Slowly, it unfolded, opening to the sun and wind and rain. 

“Oh, how beautiful!” I heard a voice exclaim one day as I danced with the breeze. 

Do they mean me? I wondered. I wasn’t beautiful as a seed. I only became beautiful when I died to what I was and allowed the soil and water to change me. And when I reached for the sun.

My flower is fading now, but I’m not done yet. Deep within my blossom are countless seeds, just like I was once. Someone carefully removes them, dries them in the sun, and places them in a clean, dry packet. 

 Dear God, I am that seed—falsely content in my envelope world. But You know what it will take to transform me into what You have planned. Just when despair is about to overwhelm me, remind me there is a purpose for the cold, dark, lonely times—a purpose for the pain. Grant me the strength to keep reaching and the faith to believe that someday I WILL bask in the light of the Son. Amen.

 Read and reflect on James 1:2–4.

 From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor during your time with God © 2017 Michele Huey. All rights reserved. Used with permission.

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.

Facing the Giant

For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline. – 2 Timothy 1:7 (NLT)

Photo by tmaull (c) 2008. Some rights reserved.(Flickr.com)

To celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary, a friend and her husband took a weeklong sailing vacation in the British Virgin Islands. Although they hired an experienced captain to pilot the 39-foot Catamaran, my thoughts at the time were, “I’d never do that!” Perhaps I’ve watched too many adventure movies, such as The Perfect Storm, or read too many articles about some hapless individual getting lost at sea.

Another friend loves to sail and owns her own sailboat, which she singlehandedly maneuvers on Northwestern Pennsylvania lakes. Sailing, she says, calms her spirit and gets her mind off her worries.

Another friend—also past middle age—celebrated her birthday by going skydiving.

Photo by Laura Hadden (c) 2005. Some rights reserved. (Flickr.com)

I have to admit I envy these women. Not in a jealous way, but in an admiring one. To be honest, my inner spirit whispers, “I wish I could do that!”

Funny thing is, the older I get, the more fearless I become. Maybe it’s because I realize the time I have left on earth grows shorter and shorter, and I’m missing out on too much simply because I’m afraid.

I used to be terrified of deep water, but I conquered that fear and learned to swim.

I once remarked—feeling brave at the time—that I wanted to bungee jump the New River Gorge in West Virginia. I’ve since changed my mind because I don’t think this old body of mine would take the jerky stop. But now whenever we drive over it, my husband, the big tease, likes to remind me of my boast.

Just like he teases me about wanting to zip line. “Do you realize how high that is?” he points out whenever we see someone gliding on a cable suspended far above the ground. He knows I’m scared to death of heights.

Photo by Tara Joyce, (c) 2009. Some rights reserved. (Flickr.com)

But bungee jumping and zip lining look like so much fun. So I want to conquer my fear. How else to conquer fear but to face it?

By fear, I don’t mean a reckless fear or a “No Fear” attitude. That can be dangerous. Fear, after all, in the right amount, is healthy. It prevents you from doing something foolhardy that you’ll regret.

By fear I mean an unhealthy fear that keeps you from realizing your potential, from enjoying the thrill of adventure, from trying new things—a fear that keeps you in the safe corner, always watching and wishing.

What is fear, after all, but an emotion—a powerful one—that can paralyze us or propel us forward.

The fear the Bible talks about isn’t a being-afraid kind of fear, but means respect and reverence. For example, I’m not afraid of storms, but I respect their power.

Respect is important in conquering fear. Respect means you acknowledge the danger but take steps to minimize it. You prepare. You train. You learn all about whatever it is you fear or want to do. And you don’t adopt a careless, “I’m invincible” attitude.

Young Timothy had a timid spirit, and his fears were keeping him from realizing his God-given potential as a pastor. So his mentor wrote to him, “God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and self-discipline” (1 Timothy 1:7).

The young shepherd David knew he could conquer the giant because he’d conquered wild animals threatening his flock. And he knew God would enable him.

What fear is keeping you from reaching your potential? From enjoying life? Making you afraid to try new things?

It’s time to give that fear to God, forget what’s behind you, and reach for the abundant life God has in mind for you.

You know, I think I’ll add “go sailing” to my bucket list.

Father, I give my fear to You. Help me to embrace the challenges and to live my life to the fullest. Amen.

Extra tea: Read and meditate on 1 Samuel 17:1–50

Even more tea: Research how many times “fear not” or “do not be afraid” appear in the Bible.

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor during your time with God © 2017 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.

Picnics on the Hill

There are many rooms in my Father’s home, and I am going to prepare a place for you….When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am. —John 14:2 NLT

 “It doesn’t get any better than this. This is what heaven’s going to be like.”

I’ve never forgotten those words uttered by our friend Sam while we were sitting around a campfire on Benson Hill. That was back in our camping days, when the kids were still with us and family vacations were spent at campgrounds and holiday weekends with the crew on the hilltop outside Punxsutawney. With three kids, we couldn’t afford anything else.

Not that camping on the hill translated “poor.” It was a rich experience in every way. 

Picnics on the hill were not only reserved for holiday weekends, but for any time the need was felt to get together, which was frequently. And they were open not only to the Benson clan, headed up by Grandpa Oscar and Grandma Henrietta, but also to friends from the little country church we attended and anyone else they took a shine to—which was just about everyone they met. 

The kids played night games—“Capture the Flag” in the dark. And there was always a pot of coffee on the fire and food on the table, a weekend-long covered dish picnic. 

We looked forward to the legendary cowboy breakfast, compliments of the many hands that prepared it—scrambled eggs, fried potatoes with onions and peppers, bacon, ham, and toast, all cooked over an open fire. Auntie Kay was famous for her sticky buns—cinnamon rolls slathered with a thick ooze of sweet, sticky icing. Back then we didn’t worry about fat grams and cholesterol and anything else that would eventually kill you. We just enjoyed eating and being together.

Occasionally the Backwoods, a local men’s quartet, would fill the air and our souls with Southern Gospel music. 

One year, in response to the growing number of folks who showed up for picnics on the hill, Sam and Steve, another friend from church, built a three-bay outhouse Sam named “The Steven F. White Memorial Toilets” (after Steve), which he painted across the top.

I never had to worry about my kids. There were plenty of moms who patched up skinned knees, put ice on sprained joints, and kissed boos-boos.

Grandma and Grandpa are gone now, and the kids are raising kids of their own. Echoes of laughter and singing no longer ring across the hilltop outside Punxsy. The creaks and groans of aging have caught up with just about all of us.

If I could relive any time of my life, it would be picnics on the hill. We were surrounded by family and friends who loved Jesus and us. Like-minded folks who knew, believed, and lived the Bible, who practiced that old-time religion the world might label “politically incorrect” but never really goes out of vogue. 

Ask a hundred people what heaven will be like, and you’ll get a hundred different answers. No dust. No cleaning. All the chocolate I can eat and no worries about gaining weight (I’ll have a new body!) No aches. No pain. No tears. No sadness. No conflict. Only love, joy, peace and rest forever. Whatever we enjoy most in life is what we associate with heaven, whether golf, fishing, family, friends—or picnics on the hill.

What does the Bible say about Heaven? After all, that’s what really matters—what God says about it.

That it’s His home, unimaginably beautiful, and open to all whose names are inscribed in the Lamb’s Book of Life (Revelation 21:27). I know my name is there. And I’m looking forward to an eternal picnic on the hill of all hills.

You were right, Sam. It doesn’t get any better than that.

Dear God, thank You for blessing us with picnics on the hill and people who fill our lives with their love—in this world and the next. Amen.

 Read and reflect on Revelation 21 and 22.
 
From  God, Me, & a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor during your time with God  © 2017 Michele Huey. All rights reserved. 

The Funny Hat Man

So encourage each other and build each other up. — 1 Thessalonians 5:11 NLT

 Byron Depp was known as “The Funny Hat Man” because of the silly hats he wore to work at the local Wal-Mart. On Groundhog Day, it was a furry groundhog hat, complete with standup tail. On St. Patrick’s Day, he was the perfect leprechaun. Around Easter, it was a frilly ladies’ bonnet with lots of ribbons and flowers or a white, fuzzy rabbit ears hat.

Whatever the occasion—and even when it wasn’t a special occasion—Bryon had the hat: a joker’s hat with jingle bells (this one was my favorite), one of those silly, homemade sun hats crafted from yarn and plastic. Whatever the hat, it brought a smile to even the most dreary face and lightened the heaviest heart.

I first met Byron when I was a reporter for the local newspaper. A veteran of the U.S. Army, he was an active leader in the local American Legion post and kept me informed of the post’s activities. His commitment to veterans stoked up my latent patriotism, awakening in me an awareness of the sacrifices they made and a pride in the men and women who selflessly serve—and have served—in the armed forces.

Bryon has since passed away, but his legacy remains. I—and many others, I’m sure—will remember him every time we step into the local WalMart.

And, really, isn’t that what we’re here for? To encourage one another by bringing a smile to a sad face, restoring faith, hope, and confidence however we can? 

I’ve heard over and over from graduating seniors that they don’t know what they want to do with their lives. How sad! My parents’ generation did what they had to do to pay the bills and put food on the table. They worked in the local steel mill or followed their parents in farming or construction. They found purpose and meaning day by day as they provided for their families. They were truly an outward-focused generation.

The trouble with today’s “follow your dreams” advice is that too often it’s all about only one person—me. What I want. A self-serving philosophy of a me-first, inward-focused society. 

There’s a story about a man who died and was being shown around the afterlife. His guide first brought him to a large banquet hall, where the diners sat at long tables laden with all kinds of tasty dishes. The diners, however, were skinny and malnourished. 

“Why,” he questioned the guide, “are they so skinny when they have all this wonderful food?”

“Look closer,” the guide advised.

He did—and noticed they were using spoons with handles so long the food couldn’t reach their mouths. Every time they tried, the food would drop off. Groans, complaints, and sobs filled the air.

Next the guide took him to another banquet hall. Same food-laden tables, same long-handled spoons, but the healthy-looking diners were laughing and having a ball. The man looked puzzled.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “What’s the difference?”

“Look closer,” the guide said.

That’s when he noticed that in this room, each person used his spoon to feed the diner across the table from him.

There’s a connection, you see, between the mouth and the heart. Bryon Depp understood this. With his funny hats that made them smile, he fed thousands of people starving for a little bit of joy. 

Frederick Faber once wrote, “There are souls in this world which have the gift of finding joy everywhere and leaving it behind them when they go.”

Byron was such a soul.

And, Lord, may you and I be, too!

 Dear God, open my eyes to those around me who need a funny hat man. Amen.

 Read and reflect on Romans 15:1–13.

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea: 101 devotional readings to savor during your time with God © 2017 Michele Huey. All rights reserved. 

Someday You’ll Understand

HERE’S A SPECIAL FATHER’S DAY READING FOR YOU.

MY FATHER – SGT. PETER MADDOCK, US ARMY WW2

SOMEDAY YOU’LL UNDERSTAND

Suggested reading: Hebrews 12:5-11

Honor your father and your mother. – Exodus 20:12 (NIV)

            I came across Dad’s letter while rummaging through the bookcase for some now-forgotten item. The slightly yellowed envelope bore a State College postmark. I smiled softly. I didn’t even know I’d saved it.

            Settling on the game room carpet as snowflakes whirled in the winter wind outside, I reverently unfolded the letter, typewritten on motel stationery.

            “My dear Michele,” it began. “Perhaps by now you are over the mad spell at me for scolding you the other night…”

            My mind drifted back to a mid-summer night when I was 15. The warm summer sky sparkled with a thousand pin-lights as my friends and I walked through town. It was just the kind of night that holds magic for a teenage girl on the brink of growing up. Heady with all the freedom and fun, I’d neglected to call my parents to tell them I’d be late. By the time I climbed the front porch steps, it was past midnight. Dad waited at the door.

            “This is the first time you ever stayed out late without calling and letting me know your whereabouts,” the letter continued. “I was actually sick with worry after walking up to the bazaar and not finding you there. By that time I was imagining everything.”

            I couldn’t remember Dad ever being so angry with me before. After an angry scene, I stormed up to my bedroom, grounded for two weeks. The next day Dad seemed to have gotten over his anger, but I treated him with icy silence. By the time he left for work Monday morning, I still hadn’t spoken to him. Since Dad worked out of town through the week, I knew I wouldn’t see him until Friday. The letter came Wednesday.

            As I read Dad’s words that long-ago day, my stubborn resistance melted away as a father’s love triumphed over teenage pride. One moment of panic, I realized, doesn’t cancel out years of steadfast love. Four years later Dad died.

            “It is so hard for a parent to be cross with a child, but sometimes it is necessary for your own good,” he wrote. “Perhaps when you have children of your own, you will understand how we feel.”

            I thought of my own three children. They’d all had me frantic with worry and fear at times as I imagined the worst. 

            “Yes, Dad,” I whispered softly, holding his letter close to my heart. “I understand.”

            Thank You, Father, for parents who loved me enough to discipline me when I needed it. Help me to be a parent worthy of being respected, valued and honored. Amen.

From MINUTE MEDITATIONS: MEETING GOD IN EVERYDAY EXPERIENCES by Michele T. Huey. © 2000 Michele T. Huey.