Michele Huey's Blog: God, Me, and a Cup of Tea, page 19

Home Sweet Home

In My Father’s house are many mansions … I go to prepare a place for you. —John 14:2 NKJV

Writer’s block was never a problem after a visit to my daughter’s. I always came home with plenty of fodder.

One time the airlines lost my luggage. Another time when I wanted to change my return flight itinerary, they (the airlines, not my daughter) told me I could fly where I wanted, but my luggage was going to my original destination.

Another time I got three weeks’ worth of writing material:

Two formerly neurotic dogs she rescued from the animal shelter took a shine to me because I fed them on time. They woke me up every morning by banging against the door at 5:30 so I’d let them out.Two cats—one that relieved himself on the bathroom floor and the other with an itchy skin condition and loose, fuzzy hair— liked to curl up on the sofa bed with me at night and chew my hair.One autistic six-year-old turned on all the fans in the house or hid under the bed on his spacey days.One three-year-old tyrant preferred not to wear pants (including underpants) on any day.

Then there were the spills and other accidents on the carpet in the family room, the endless laundry for a family of four that included the toddler who went through three or four outfits a day, meals to prepare, shopping to do, and a daughter who was recuperating from surgery and didn’t have the energy to deal with it all.

No need to wonder why, halfway through the visit, I plopped in the recliner at nine in the morning with nary an ounce of energy, wondering how I, a fifty-five-year-old woman well past her prime, was going to make it through the morning, let alone ten more days of this excitement.

Sometimes I was tempted to do nothing but sit and stare at a whirling ceiling fan or hide under the bed for an hour or two myself.

I sent my husband text messages daily: “Missing you,” “8 more days,” “PRAY!”

I called him every night at ten to hear his voice. I felt inadequate without him. Dealing with life with him around is so much easier.

And while I love my daughter and my grandkids, I longed to be home, in my own bed at night, in my own kitchen, using my own computer (oh, did I tell you my laptop crashed one week into the visit, and I had to use theirs?). I kept telling myself this was a gift—these three weeks with my loved ones who live seven hundred miles away and I usually get to see only twice a year.

But I still missed home. And I couldn’t wait to get there.

It was a good reminder of the journey I have here on earth. While I’ve got a loving husband, family I love dearly, a comfortable home, a few good friends, and a fulfilling ministry, I still feel out of place at times, like I’m not really home.

I long for the One who helps me through the rough times, who has promised never to leave or forsake me. I yearn to see Him face-to-face and lounge at His feet without a care in the world.

I’m a citizen of two worlds, and, while I live here and love the fulfilling life God has given me, I ache for the place where there are no tears, no pain, no frustrations, no bills, no dust, no meals to cook, and no separation from the ones I love. And I won’t have to worry about my luggage being lost in transport.

Someday, when we finally make it to the home God has waiting for us, we’ll feel like we feel when we walk through the door after three weeks away—we are home at last.

Dear God, thank You for the home I have now and thank You for the one I’ll have in eternity. Amen.

Read and reflect on John 14:1–4.

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.

My Bucket List

Image by Renee Gaudet from Pixabay

 “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” – Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

One year I decided to compile a bucket list.

On it I put hiking, kayaking, cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, horseback riding in the Colorado Rockies, spending a month in Alaska and visiting the Canadian Rockies. Perhaps I should add “getting and staying in shape.”

I was hesitant at first to list anything. Unlike the two characters in the movie, I don’t have a billionaire to fund the fulfillment of the list of things I want to do before I kick the bucket. So phrases such as “we can’t afford it” and “be realistic” kept popping up.

We humans can come up with all kinds of reasons our deepest desires and wildest dreams won’t or can’t be fulfilled. So we plod on, not allowing ourselves to hope or dream because we don’t want to deal with disappointment. Or we make a bucket list of “safe” things—those that don’t border on impossible.

I had to push the hope-sucking words out of my mind with another phrase: “If money were no object …” and set my mind free to dream.

When I got brave enough to write my dreams down, I began to see the possibilities—how they can be fulfilled. I began to hope and dream again like I did when I was much younger.

What is life without dreams? Without hope?

In 626 B.C. God’s people thought they were without hope, too. Sent into exile for persistent willful disobedience, they were given these words: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future” (Jeremiah 29:11).

The next 70 years weren’t going to be pretty. Babylon would be a far cry from the Promised Land flowing with milk and honey God had helped their ancestors to conquer. But don’t give up hope, He told them.

Hope—what we need to get us through our Babylon times, what we need to get us through life even when it isn’t tough.

There may be those who say this verse isn’t for us today—that it was meant only for God’s people at that time. There may be those who say this verse has been so overused, it’s become cliché.

But these 29 words say so much—and I believe they are for us today, too, for “the grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever” (Isaiah 40:8).

 “For I know the plans I have for you” —God has a plan for your life, a purpose for you.

“…to prosper you and not to harm you.”— Although life includes pain, God’s purpose is not to harm but to help you to grow. God’s plan for you is good.

“…to give you hope.” Life without hope is like soda without the fizz, like a long, dark night with no sign of morning. Hope comes from God, so ask Him for it.

“…to give you…a future.” God has a future planned for you, but He reveals it one day—one moment—one step—at a time.

Plans, hope, a future—Isn’t that what a bucket list is all about? It gives us hope that someday our dreams may come true.

So go ahead—let yourself dream again. Make up your bucket list. Then give it to God and watch your hope begin to grow.

Teach me to dream again, Lord. I’ve forgotten how. Amen.

Read and reflect on Psalm 139.

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

Give Me No Bananas

Image by Juan Zelaya from Pixabay

Every day I will praise You. —Psalm 145:2 NIV

When I taught fulltime and wrote in the early morning or evening hours, I had little time and energy to do special things for my husband, such as slip a banana in his lunch box or wash the plastic container he used for cake. I was lucky to get supper on the table before 7 p.m. and the dishes stacked in the dishwasher before I went to bed or ran out of my second wind. Often he made supper and cleaned up afterward to give me time to write.

But one summer day, I decided to show my gratitude for all his hard work by slipping a banana into his lunch box. But did he appreciate my thoughtfulness? Oh, no. He complained the banana was too ripe.

“I like them almost green,” he said.

Couldn’t he have lied just a little bit? I wanted to hear “Boy, that banana hit the spot! Thanks!”

Biting back a sharp retort and stuffing the hurt, I pulled out the plastic cake container from his bucket and stacked it with the dirty dishes.

“You don’t have to wash that thing every day,” he said in a tone that made me feel like a reprimanded child. I knew he was trying to save me extra work, but I’d wanted to make him feel appreciated. Instead I got negative, negative, negative.

“Thanks for reminding me of why I stop doing little things to please you,” I muttered when he left the room.

The next day, after I’d filled my journal with two pages of anger, I opened my Bible to the day’s reading. 

“Every day I will bless thee,” I read, “and praise thy name” (Psalm 145:2). 

A heart full of anger has no room for praise.

God has a funny way of nudging me when my attitude isn’t what it should be.

I opened my journal to the entry I’d made just two days prior to my whining session when I’d filled four pages listing things I love—laundry blowing in the wind, white cotton ball clouds skimming across a summer blue sky, a soft breeze caressing my cheek, a quiet snowfall, a neon rainbow arched across a storm-studded sky, a misty morning, a blazing sunset, the blush of dawn, a field of pristine, unbroken snow….

The old hymn “Count Your Blessings” reverberated in my mind, and the anger dissipated from my heart. In light of all these priceless blessings right in front of my nose every day that don’t cost me a cent—gifts from God for me to enjoy—how trivial my reasons for being angry were!

A heart full of anger has no room for praise, but a heart full of praise has no room for anger.

With what, then, will you fill your heart? The choice is yours. Only one will bring the satisfaction and joy you crave.

When I think of all the wonders You created in the world around me and the awesome deeds You have wrought in my life, Lord God, I am humbled by Your greatness. Sometimes I forget who You are and act like a spoiled child. Forgive me. Amen.

Read and reflect on Psalm 145.

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

Under the Broom Tree

What are you doing here?” – 1 Kings 19:9 (NIV)

“I have had enough, LORD,” Elijah whined as he dropped under the broom tree, “Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors” (1 Kings 19:4).

What was it that reduced a powerful man of God to a sniveling wimp cowering in the caves of the Mid-Eastern wilderness? He’d just come off an astounding victory against 850 false prophets in a daylong mountaintop duel, then ran 16 miles, on supernatural strength, preceding the thundercloud that would end a three-and-a-half-year drought.

Why, after such a dazzling display of God’s power, was he ready to throw in the mantle?

An evil queen threatened to kill him.

So why didn’t he trust God to take care of this situation, as he had all the other times?

Because Elijah was human. Because he was discouraged and depressed. The Mount Carmel victory wasn’t a shutout. Queen Jezebel, although she lost all her prophet puppets, still spewed evil from the throne. The source of the nation’s corruption was still alive and threatening.

Discouragement and depression can weaken the strongest—even those who count on God to provide victory against a world of sin. Elijah was in the midst of an effective, powerful ministry when he fled.

Perhaps he thought the Mount Carmel episode would put an end to the depravity that blighted Israel. Perhaps he thought he’d finally “arrived”—and was, by his own words, “better than my ancestors.” Perhaps he forgot that the miracles wrought and the triumphs won were not achieved through his own power. He was but a conduit of El Shaddai.

What he didn’t see was that his ministry wasn’t an end in itself—it was a link in a chain.

God, in His mercy and compassion, was gentle with his overwrought servant. First He sent an angel to nourish Elijah’s worn-out body. Then, after Elijah plodded hundreds of wilderness miles on foot, after 40 days and 40 nights with no food, as he huddled in a dark, damp cave on Mount Horeb, God asked him a simple question: “What are you doing here?”

The omniscient God didn’t ask because He needed an answer. When God asks a question, it’s because He wants to point something out to us.

Elijah had abandoned the ministry field and was in full retreat. Rather than chastise the discouraged prophet, God reminded him that, contrary to what he thought, he was not alone: seven thousand Israelites remained faithful.

“Go back,” God commanded Elijah. Then He gave him a vision for the future: two others would provide political leadership in the next generation, and Elijah would be given an assistant, a prophet-in-training to take over when the time came to pass on the mantle of ministry.

I, too, can get so discouraged at times I want to quit— quit teaching Bible study, quit writing, quit the ministries God has called me to. I don’t see the results I expect for all my efforts, and it seems I’m expending precious time and energy for nothing.

Ministry is a heavy mantle, and God has called us all to be His ministers in one way or another (Matthew 25:35–40; 28:18–20). Times of deep discouragement and despair will come, and our wilderness caves invite us to retreat in self-imposed solitary confinement.

But the One who called us will not leave us there alone. He will nourish us, comfort us, encourage us, and, when we are ready, send us back to the ministry He has called us to.

Thank You, Lord, for the wilderness experiences that remind me that You and You alone are the source of the power I need to serve You. Amen.

Read and reflect on 1 Kings 19.

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

False Alarm

Image by Brett Hondow from Pixabay

And He will send His angels with a great sound of a trumpet     . . . No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. —Matthew 24:31, 36 NKJV

Visiting my daughter and her family a number of years ago, I’d borrowed their new car one evening to attend a local baseball game. Returning after the game, I went to lock the car and pushed the wrong button on her key fob. The alarm horn persistently shouted my mistake to the entire neighborhood. The sound was deafening. It didn’t help that it was nearly 10 p.m., the children were asleep, and this was a nice, quiet, peaceful neighborhood.

As I fumbled with the gadget, frantically pushing buttons—any button—all the buttons—my daughter came out and, with a knowing grin, grabbed the key fob from my hand. In two seconds, the neighborhood was quiet once again.

I think those car alarms go off more by mistake than when a would-be thief tries to break in. With all the racket the alarm makes, it would take a pretty dumb thief to even try.

But maybe not. When we hear a car alarm, do we even pay attention? Or do we tune out the noise, assuming it’s just another false alarm?

False alarms aren’t anything new.  

Over the years, many have tried—and failed—to pinpoint an event God promised will happen: the return of His Son and the end of time.

Remember Hal Lindsey? People rushed to get his book, The Late Great Planet Earth, when it was released in 1970. According to Lindsey’s calculations, Jesus would return within “one generation,” or forty years, of the rebirth of the country of Israel. That would have been 1988.

Yet, in spite of so many false alarms, few topics have intrigued folks more than the end times. Even Christians disagree as to the when and how. And what about all the earthquakes, tsunamis, wars, famines, and fires we hear so much about? Are they signs that the end is near?

Does it matter?

Jesus Himself said even He, God’s own Son, didn’t know the day or the hour—only the Father knows. He warned of false alarms and told us to be ready at all times.

So what really matters? I believe it’s living life as though the trumpet will sound at any moment. Whether or not I’m caught up to meet Him in the air (1 Thessalonians 4:17) or whether or not there will be a millennial reign (Revelation 20:6) doesn’t really matter. What matters is the fact that Jesus will return and I am ready with Jesus as my Savior and Lord and am diligently doing what He’s called me to do.

“God has given us eternal life, and this life is in His Son. He who has the Son has life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have life” (1 John 5:11–12).

Do you have the Son and eternal life? Are you ready to meet Him when He comes back for His own?

Let me not put too much emphasis on trying to interpret the signs of the times, Lord Jesus. Rather help me to focus on living my life so I am always ready for Your return. Amen.

Read and reflect on Matthew 24 and 25.

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

Pierogies and Peace

If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. —Romans 12:18 NIV

A Florida woman found herself behind bars over the holidays when she went after her brother with a knife for eating a plateful of pierogies.

According to the newspaper article, the siblings were at their mother’s home when the two got into an argument about the brother scarfing down the whole plateful. At some point, the 36-year-old woman grabbed a knife and threatened to retrieve the eaten goodies.

The article didn’t say whether the pierogies were homemade or how big the plate was. A serving platter? A dinner plate? Nor did it say whether they were the last of the dish or whether there had been a history of bad blood between the two.

The confrontation ended when the woman plunged the dagger into the hood of her brother’s truck.

Just when you think you’ve heard everything (shaking my head).

Not that I always got along with my siblings. My sister once threatened to drown me in the soapy water when we were doing dishes. Another time my brother grabbed me by the front of my shirt in anger. Imagine his surprise when I, five years younger and much smaller, grabbed his shirt right back. We three kids would get into it so badly at times, our mother fled across the street to her mother’s, saying, “Go ahead. Kill each other.”

Of course she didn’t mean it. We were typical siblings—we had our share of arguments. But we had good times together, too. After all, we were kids, not middle-aged adults who should know better than to fight over a plate of pierogies.  

Sometimes it’s just a small thing that appears to incite the blowup.

But the eruption has been building over time, like volcanic gases building up far beneath the earth’s surface. We hold onto our hurts and slights and grievances and stew over them. We keep a record of wrongs, and when we’ve come to our breaking point, like a volcano that can’t contain the buildup of gases any longer, we explode.

Image by ParallelVision from Pixabay

A woman once justified her temper to me by likening it to a volcano. “Once I explode, that’s it,” she said.

“But look at the damage it does,” I replied.

How much better to avoid the eruption in the first place.

People are going to say and do things that irritate us. That hurt us deeply. Intentionally or unintentionally. I’ve known folks who are born faultfinders, folks who harbor a contentious spirit, folks who are just spoiling for a fight—with anyone. Perhaps they want revenge—to pay someone back for a hurt inflicted or a wrong suffered. The problem with revenge is where does it end?

It’s not our job to label folks, to judge them, or even to understand why they act the way they do. According to God’s Word, it is our job to get along with them and to love them.

Not easy, I know, but we can accomplish this by doing three things:

Focus on the good in that person. It is there. If you can’t see it, ask God to show you.

Forget the unkind word, the thoughtless or malicious deed, the harsh attitude, the contentious spirit. By forget, I mean don’t keep thinking about it. Ask God to help you truly not remember what that person said or did that hurt you. He’s done it for me.

And pray—for that person, for the situation, for your own actions and reactions, your heart attitude, and for peace to prevail.

How much, after all, is really worth fighting over?

Help me, Lord, to focus on the good, forget the bad, and forgive as You have forgiven me. Amen.

Read and reflect on Ephesians 4:20–32.

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.

A Psalm 1 Man

Image courtesy of Simon Howden
FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The integrity of the upright will guide them. – Proverbs 11:3 (NKJV)

      My father inspected buildings being constructed for the state, making sure the contractors followed the blueprints. Having worked construction himself when he was younger, he knew too well how corners could be cut and a building’s integrity undermined. He refused many a contractor’s overtures, often gifts of liquor stashed in the back seat of his car. His colleagues soon recognized he could not be bought. He would not allow his personal integrity to be undermined.
      The word integrity comes from two Latin words that together mean “untouched, whole, entire.” These two Latin roots also give us integrate, which means “to weave or blend separate entities into a working whole or unit.”
      Personal integrity cannot be put on and off like a garment. Rather it is woven into the moral fabric of our lives over time. We weave it in each time we keep a promise or tell the truth no matter what it costs us, whether it’s claiming all our income on our tax return, returning extra change we received by mistake, or paying the difference when we’re undercharged. We weave it in each time we admit our mistakes and take responsibility for our words and actions.
      My father was a man of integrity – or, as I like to phrase it, a “Psalm 1” man.
      What characterizes a Psalm 1 man, a man of integrity?
      Two things: what he doesn’t do and what he does.
       He doesn’t walk in the counsel of the ungodly, stand around with sinners, or sit in the seat of mockers (v. 1). Notice the verbs show a progression: walking, standing, sitting.     
     Walking in Scripture implies a way of life. The Psalm 1 man walks, all right, but he takes the narrow road, often alone (Matthew 7:13-14). He walks by faith, not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7), and he walks in the light (John 8:12). As a result, the man of integrity walks securely (Proverbs 10:9).
      The Psalm 1 man doesn’t “stand in the way of sinners.” He doesn’t hang out with those for whom wickedness is a way of life. He knows that “bad company corrupts good character” (1 Corinthians 15:33). The man of integrity keeps moving, knowing if he walks with the wise he’ll become wise, and if he associates with fools, he’ll get in trouble (Proverbs 13:20 NLT).
      And the Psalm 1 man doesn’t “sit in the seat of mockers.” Sitting implies settling in and getting comfortable with those who mock God, ridicule Him, and defiantly reject Him. The man of integrity doesn’t join in with those who scorn God and His way. Indeed, he stands up for that which is good and true, right and just, noble and holy.
      The Psalm 1 man knows God’s Word so well it’s a part of him, nourishing him and guiding him, causing him to thrive (verses 2-3).
      All it takes is one man of integrity to influence the world around him. Be that Psalm 1 man.

 May our nation and world be filled with Psalm 1 men. Amen.

A Little Bit of Run Support

Therefore, encourage one another and build each other up. —1 Thessalonians 5:11 NIV

During our son David’s last year to play college baseball, my husband and I were on the road every weekend from February until May, traveling often four hours one way so we wouldn’t miss a single game of his final season. So we got to know and appreciate the boys who backed up David when he pitched. They were an amazing group of young men.

We heard apologies for errors, allowing runners on base. We witnessed the disappointment they felt when they weren’t producing the hits needed to win and when they knew they weren’t playing up to their potential. Yes, there were slumps—in batting and in pitching. But when a player was down, others encouraged him and took up the slack. When David came off the mound after a bad inning, the guys lined up to give him high fives, letting him know they still believed in him.

When I prayed for David to have his best year ever, I was thinking ERAs, wins, and all those stats that show little how much he matured as a ballplayer, a leader, and a man. I realize now how self-centered that prayer really was.

But God answered my prayer. Not in impressive stats for David but in blessing the team as a whole. David did have his best year ever—because he was on a team that knew what a team is and acted as one. No egos tainted the dugout. No self-serving attitudes strutted around the field.

They all were stars who took with them into life the lessons they learned on the ball field and in the dugout—lessons they taught me as I watched them: That it’s not about me but about us. It’s not about being served and pampered and catered to; instead, it’s about serving and loving and encouraging when the chips are down. It’s saying in action, “I believe in you” after a poor performance. It’s not about what you can do for me, but what I can do for you. It’s about ignoring the pain and playing hurt because you know that others need you. It’s about having a good attitude when the coach gives another guy the position for which you think you’re better qualified and for which you worked so hard.

It’s about learning the importance of submission and obedience and making the best of things. It’s about keeping on when you’ve given all you’ve got, only to come up short. When nothing goes your way, you keep on fighting and don’t give up, give in, or give out. It’s about letting pain and disappointment be the teachers they are meant to be and hone your character as good innings and victories cannot and will not. Our deepest pain and disappointment are usually the places where we can best help others.

“I knew if we gave David a little bit of run support,” said the second baseman, “he would be fine on the mound.”

A little bit of run support—isn’t that what we all need?

Dear God, help me to stop thinking about myself and open my eyes to those around me who can use “a little run support.” Amen.

Read and meditate on Romans 15:1–7 and 2 Corinthians 1:3–7.

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.

Magnifying Glass or Prism?

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Read and meditate on Matthew 5:13–16

You’re to be light, bringing out the God-colors in this world. —Matthew 5:14 (The Message)

When I ran into an old friend in the supermarket—seems like the grocery store has become the social center of today—we spent several minutes chatting and getting caught up. We’d been in a young mothers’ Bible study together years, actually decades, ago, and such shared experiences kind of cement the bond we women have, even though time and life have a way of leading us on separate paths.

“What have you been up to?”

“How are the kids?”

“You look great!”

Somewhere in the conversation, I said, without thinking, “If we’re not in the center of God’s will, we’re going to be restless and miserable.”

Immediately I sensed I’d crossed a line. I thought about my statement the whole way home, hoping I hadn’t offended her.

While I believe the Great Commission (Matthew 28:19–20) is given to every believer, and thus is my duty, too, I’m not bold—some would call it being “pushy”—when it comes to what we Christians call “witnessing.” While there are those who just seem to have a gift for telling a perfect stranger about Jesus, I’m not one of them—unless I sense God’s nudging. Words on paper, OK. Face-to-face, huh-uh. I’m too much a chicken. “Preach the gospel at all times and, if necessary, use words” is more my style of evangelism.

But, even in that capacity, I wonder if I’m doing the job right. After all, I’m only human, and I fail every day. And such failures are the reasons why non-believers accuse us believers of being hypocrites. “I’m not a saint—I’m a sinner saved by grace,”  “I’m not perfect, just forgiven” aren’t excuses or reasons to allow myself to blatantly disregard what God has told me in His Word.

But like the apostle Paul, “when I want to do good, I don’t; and when I try to not to do wrong, I do it anyway” (Romans 7:19 LB). Hence I have no right to judge others.

Yet I have this wonderful life God has given me (John 10:10), a guidebook to life on earth (2 Timothy 3:16–17), a beautiful-beyond-description home in heaven awaiting me (John 14:2), and the key to it (1 John 5:11–12). Shouldn’t I share this knock-your-socks-off story with others?

Yes. In the words of the late Pirate announcer, Bob Prince, there is nooooooo doubt about it. After all, James says, a faith without works is a dead faith (James 2:18). “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says” (James 1:22).

And doing what it says is to live my life so that all that I do is pleasing to God, letting His light shine in and through me. “I’m putting you on a light stand,” Jesus tells us in Matthew 5:15–16 (The Message). “Now that I’ve put you there . . . shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you’ll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven.”

A magnifying glass makes things look bigger than they really are, like other folks’ faults. A prism, on the other hand, bends the light passing through it, breaking it up into a rainbow of colors that showers those nearby.

Dear God, let me not be a magnifying glass, but a prism. Amen.

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.

Never the Same

Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. –John 15:13 NIV

My father was wounded on the pitiful island of Attu in World War II. Shrapnel imbedded in his spine left him paralyzed, recuperating in a VA hospital for a year. He was never the same.

The spinal injuries he suffered defending a little spit of volcanic rock hanging on the tail end of the Aleutian Islands off the coast of Alaska left him with recurrent back pain for the rest of his life. When the first symptoms of stomach cancer appeared thirty years later, he thought it was his troublesome back. By the time the cancer was discovered, it was too late. He died a month after surgery.

My mother was never the same. I was never the same.

War does that. It changes lives, steals dreams, shatters hopes. But the men and women who returned from World War II were stalwart characters. They got on with life, building families and communities. They were the first in line at the polls on election day, first in line at a Red Cross blood drive. They understood duty, loyalty, courage. They didn’t preach it, they lived it. Their priorities were—in order—God, family, country.

Dad refused to talk about the war. So when I discovered his Bronze Star hidden in a dresser drawer, I was surprised. I didn’t think Attu was significant enough to warrant a medal for bravery. One World War II writer described it as “the lonesomest spot this side of hell.”

But, unknown to the American public, for fifteen months—from early June 1942 to the mid-August 1943—US forces fought off a Japanese invasion in what one writer described as “arduous operations hampered by shortages afloat, ashore, and in the air . . . not to mention the almost insuperable obstacles of weather and terrain.” When it was all over, American casualties added up to 3,829 (25 percent of the invading force—second only in proportion to Iwo Jima): 549 dead, 1,148 injured, 1,200 with severe cold injuries, 614 with disease, and 318 to miscellaneous causes. The Japanese lost 2,351 men; only 28 were taken prisoner.*

Attu didn’t get much press. It was only as I looked up information for this column that I discovered the real significance of this historic battle.

We still were reeling from Pearl Harbor, as the Aleutian Island invasion took place a mere six months later. Perhaps it was to protect the public, to prevent a panic that news about the battle raging in the Bering Sea was blacked out. How many outside the military and the government knew at the time that the enemy was that close? Our military was tied up in Europe and the South Pacific. Little Attu paled in comparison.

Yet history would have been different had we lost Attu and the rest of the Aleutian Islands.

Never once in all his pain did my father ever complain or protest war. He knew the price that must be paid for freedom. Whether in Vietnam, Bosnia, or the Middle East, liberty’s price is the blood of our sons and daughters—no less than what God paid for our freedom from sin and its consequences.

Our eternal history would have been different had the battle for our souls not been waged and won two thousand years ago on a God-forsaken spit of land called Calvary. But this war, unlike human wars, changes lives for the better, restores dreams, and renews hope. Once we decide whose side we’re on, we are never the same.

For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16 NLT). Thank you, thank you, thank you, God! Amen.

*Source: http://www.hlswilliwaw.com/aleutians/Aleutians/html/aleutians-wwii.htm 

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea for the Seasons, © 2018 Michele Huey. All rights reserved. Used with permission.