Michele Huey's Blog: God, Me, and a Cup of Tea, page 4

The Joy Stealers

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

The fruit of the Spirit is . . . joy.  – Galatians 5:22 (NIV)

I know how to be abased, and I know how to abound; in any and all circumstances I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and want. – Philippians 4:12 (RSV)

My grandson and I had an interesting conversation in church one Sunday. The pastor was preaching on the Ten Commandments, and Brent, as usual, was on the fidgety side. So I gave him a notebook and pencil to help burn up some of that nervous energy. He spent the next several minutes copying the Ten C’s in the notebook then showed it to me.

When I got to the last one, I noticed that “covet” looked like “cover.” I wonder if he knows what “covet” means? I thought. At eight, probably not. So I asked him. (Writing in the notebook, of course. It wouldn’t do to talk in church, and with my hearing loss, even with my hearing aid, I can’t hear whispers.)

He shook his head. 

“It means to want something that you don’t have,” I wrote. “To want something that belongs to someone else. 

“It’s a sin because it makes you feel jealous and envious of others—and ungrateful for what God has given you. It also leads to stealing, and it robs us of joy.” 

I underlined “joy” twice. 

I don’t know whether Brent understood what I was trying to teach him, but it sure gave me plenty to think about.

You see, times had been lean as far as my freelance writing and editing went. It seemed as though everything dried up. The outgo exceeded the income. And we needed both incomes—from my husband’s job and my freelance work. And focusing on the debt was sucking the joy out of life.

So we decided to streamline and simplify. I canceled the DirecTV and the newspaper subscription, and dropped my Curves membership. Walking was cheaper and would give me the same results. I substituted skim milk for the expensive protein shakes I was drinking and warm skim milk at bedtime in place of ice cream. (The warm milk helped me sleep better, anyway.)

I borrowed my daughter-in-law’s unused bread machine and started baking bread from scratch. 

My husband was okay with this. “It’s what you get used to,” he told me with an I-really-don’t-want-to-do-this-but-I-will-if-you-say-we-have-to look on his face.

I’m okay with it, too. After all, I spent most of my life on the “have not” side of things. It taught me resourcefulness. And I love a challenge.

One day I pulled out my verse for the day: Philippians 4:12. 

I’d always read that verse from the have-not perspective, but this time it hit me: I know how to be abased. I know how to face want and hunger.  What I don’t know is how to abound. How to handle plenty and abundance.

I had the chance, and I was unwise. I took the plenty for granted, felt a false security in it, and wanted more—so I could keep up with others whom I secretly envied. 

But the abundance didn’t bring me the joy I thought it would. I worried that I’d lose it, that someone would steal it, or it would be burned in a fire or otherwise destroyed.

It may be that not having enough steals joy. But the more dangerous joy-stealers are covetousness and not knowing how to handle the blessings we’ve been given.

Deep, lasting joy comes from knowing that God will supply all my needs according to His glorious, abundant, limitless riches (Philippians 4:19). 

And that’s a promise I can bank on!

Give me neither poverty nor riches, O Lord. Give me just enough to satisfy my needs. For if I grow rich, I may become content without You. And if I am too poor, I may steal, and thus insult Your holy name. Amen. (Proverbs 30:8–9)

Read and reflect on James 4:1–8. 

NOTE: For more on joy and joy-stealers, read Hebrews 13:5; Matthew 6; Philippians 4:4-7; Romans 12:12. And, when you’re feeling down, sing a verse or two of “Count Your Blessings.”

From God, Me, and a Cup of Tea, Vol. 3, © 2019. All rights reserved. Used with permission. 

Control Freak

Image by Michal Jarmoluk from Pixabay

But when the Holy Spirit controls our lives, he will produce this kind of fruit in us: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. – Galatians 5:22-23 (NLT)

Growing up as the youngest in a poor family wasn’t all that great.

I rarely got new clothes. Hand-me-downs from my older sister had to do, whether I liked them or not—and just about everything needed hemmed or taken in. 

Then there was the keep-her-close-to-home syndrome my parents seemed to suffer from. Neither my brother nor my sister were rebellious in the ’60s way, but, for some reason, my parents kept me close to home—and that included not wanting me to get a part-time job. A little pocket money would have improved my practically nonexistent social life, but my parents told me my job was “to be a good student” and “help your mother around the house.”

I obeyed on both counts. I made the honor roll every grading period and cleaned the house every week during the summer months. One time, wanting something different, I rearranged my bedroom furniture, now that I had the room all to myself, then went to a friend’s house for the evening. When I returned, the room was back the way it had been. 

Then there was the financial situation. I’d been selected to be a band majorette for my junior year, and that meant money for boots, tassels, a new baton, band jacket, and a brand new uniform—and occasionally a soft drink after practice. Knowing it was hard for my parents, still struggling from my father’s layoff years earlier, to come up with the extra cash, I applied for—and got—a part-time job at the school library for the summer months. It was one of those underprivileged student jobs through the local government.

My first day was heaven. I loved the work—I mean, here I was, an avid reader, working in a library. And I loved feeling useful, doing something to contribute to the family finances. 

But when I got home, my mother told me that I wouldn’t be going to work the next day—or any day. 

“There was a mistake,” she said. 

Once again, I obeyed, but when I landed my first teaching job years later, I seized the reins of my life. And have struggled with relinquishing them for a long time—even to God. Even though I knew His way is best and He’s not a control freak like my mother was.

The kind of control my mother exerted led to frustration, disappointment, heartache, and rebellion.

But the kind of control that God, through His Holy Spirit, exerts leads to only good things—such as joy, peace, satisfaction, and fulfillment.

Isn’t that what we all hunger for? 

Dear God, when I fight You for my way, remind me that Your way leads to all I’m searching for, all I desire. Break the control freak in me. Amen.

Read and reflect on John 15:1–8; 14:16–17, 26; 16:13.

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea, Vol. 3, © 2019 Michele Huey. All rights reserved. Used with permission.

NOTE: This is the first in a 10-part series on the Fruit of the Spirit.

When Arrows Come Flyin’

            Take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.  – Ephesians 6:16 (NIV)

            “Never make plans,” a friend once advised me. “Take it only one day at a time.”

            That’s wise advice, considering some days so much comes flying at me that I’d like to go hide all by myself for awhile. A week would do nicely.

            The expected things I can handle. It’s the unexpected, unplanned, unforeseen things that throw a crammed schedule out of whack and trip me up – like getting sick.

            When I was working, Saturday was the only full day for such pleasantries as laundry and house cleaning. One Saturday, however, I woke up with a sore throat and sinus congestion, so I took a 12-hour cold pill, thinking it would get me through the day. I was wrong. All it did was make me drowsy. I snoozed all afternoon and evening, while my work went undone. 

My Saturday chores were still staring at me Monday morning. Monday morning, however, I was still sick. Tuesday I called the doctor for antibiotics, but that bug hung on. For three weeks fatigue kept me on the couch, staring at the dust and disorder that got worse every day.

            It’s when things pile up and I feel my schedule slipping out of control that I find I’m more susceptible to temptation. Ditto when I’m tired or sick. It’s easy to cave in and feel sorry for myself. Self-pity makes me testy, and I before I know it, I’m snapping at my husband and children. Then the guilt sets in.

            I need to learn to use my “shield of faith” by remembering Who is really in control of the events of my life. Often the only time God can get my attention is when I’m flat on my back and helpless. I’m more willing to listen then and more apt to learn that it’s God’s faithfulness and not my own weak faith that helps me to cope when arrows come flying.

            Great is Your faithfulness, Lord, unto me. Thank you. Amen.

    From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea, Vol. 3, © 2019 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.

The Time in the Tomb

Image by Freepik

Read and meditate on Matthew 27:57–66.

Stop judging by the way things look. –John 7:24 ERV

Jesus was dead. 

What now?

They’d believed He was the Messiah, the Promised One, the Son of God. Divine. He’d healed the sick, raised the dead, cast out evil spirits, fed crowds of thousands with a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish, walked on water, calmed storms. He was their friend, their teacher, their master, their Lord. 

How could this have happened? More important, how could He have let this happen? 

His enemies had had the last word. So everyone thought.

Now what would happen to them?

I think about that day between Jesus’ death and His resurrection. 

His body lay in a cold, dark, dank tomb, buried in haste by a rich disciple who also happened to be a member of the very Council that condemned Him to death. 

His disciples were locked away in an upper room, cowering in fear, wondering if they’d be next. Best stay hidden.

His enemies visited the Roman governor and asked him to post a guard at the tomb, “lest His disciples come by night and steal Him away, and say to the people, ‘He has risen from the dead.’ So the last deception will be worse than the first.” (And by getting guard, they proved that the disciples could not have come and taken the body. Ah, I love how God works!)

Yes, the time in the tomb was bleak. The disciples’ dreams of a Messianic kingdom were gone, bled out by the nails that pierced His hands and feet. The last shred of hope pierced by the spear that plunged into His side as He hung on the cross.

But all was not as it seemed. 

It never is, is it? 

We cannot see what God has in mind. We can only trust that He’s got this, and He knows what He’s doing. That eventually His plan and purpose will be fulfilled. We just have to wait it out. 

Wait and pray.

Wait and hope.

Wait and fluctuate between fear and faith. Between despair and hope.

And waiting is the hardest part. It tests our faith, runs roughshod over what hope we’re left clinging to. It stirs up doubt. Does God really care about little me? Is He ever going to make something good happen? 

But it’s in the cold, dark, dank tomb that our faith, through trial and testing, strengthens and grows. It doesn’t grow in the good times, when euphoria and adrenaline feed our emotions.

Faith isn’t about emotions, is it?

Faith isn’t about what we think, is it?

Faith, to paraphrase a favorite quote, is like driving at night in the fog (or heavy rain). You can only see as far as your headlights’ beam, but you can make the whole trip that way.

My friend and sister-in-Christ Laverne lay in a coma since September 2, 2017, when a speeding car hit her and sent her careening headfirst onto the pavement. For nearly seven years friends prayed for a miracle.

I prayed. But, like the disciples, I doubted. Years of nothing. Her time—and our time—in the tomb.

But a thought came, unbidden: “Wouldn’t Easter be the perfect time for God to bring this precious lady of faith out of her tomb?” I pushed it aside. After all, look at the facts. Even the doctors said there was no hope. And even if her body survived, her mind wouldn’t.

Then I got a message from her husband: “Today Laverne was alert, with one eye open, squeezing my hand. Actually moved her hand sideways. When I got there, the nurse that shifts her position said Laverne was actually helping her move. (Never happened before.)  Small miracles, slow but adding up. Thanks for continued prayers.”

Shame on me. I’m too much like Thomas. I want to see before I believe. But I have to believe before I can truly see.

Are you in a tomb? 

Have faith. Cling to that last thread of hope. 

Sunday’s coming. New life will explode out of that tomb. 

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief. Amen.

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

UPDATE: After 75 months in a coma, Laverne experienced complete healing when she ran into the arms of Jesus on January 16, 2024. You may remember her as one of the angels in the Punxsutawney First Church of God Christmas cantata.

Not an Ornament

Stand firm, then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist… Ephesians 6:14 (NIV)

When my favorite belt began to unravel, I tucked the frayed and broken edges into the weaving, hoping to extend its life span. Small wonder it was falling apart – I wore it every day with slacks, jeans, shorts or a skirt. I liked the sporty look it gave my outfit for the day.

After a couple of years of daily use, however, the belt took on a work appearance, and, in time, I could no longer hide the frayed and broken sections, no matter how hard I tried. It was time to dispose of what I’d come to depend upon to complete my daily dress.

At first I felt incomplete, but then I noticed I really didn’t need the belt to hold up my bottoms – my “middle age spread” did the job just as well. All my belt had been was an ornament, something added for decoration but having no practical value.

Nearly two thousand years ago when St. Paul instructed the people of Ephesus to have the belt of truth buckled around their waists, a belt was more than an ornament. It was an important piece of a soldier’s armor. A strong, wide piece worn around the middle of the body, the soldier’s belt served two purposes: It protected his vital organs, and it held all the other pieces of his armor together.

In likening truth to a belt, St. Paul has shown us its importance. Truth, defined as “all that is real and will not change,” is not just something we put on to make us look good. Truth has a real and vital purpose: to protect us and to hold us together. The belt of truth gives the wearer the security and peace of a clear conscience. Unlike my imitation leather belt, the belt of truth will never unravel or wear out. 

 Help me, O God, to bind myself with truth every day of my life. Amen.

Read and reflect on Ephesians 6:10–20.

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea, Vol. 3, © 2019 Michele Huey. All rights reserved. Used with permission.

The Right Shoes

Image by Keith Johnston from Pixabay

Read and reflect on Ephesians 6:10–20.

… having shod your feet with the equipment of the gospel of peace … –Ephesians 6:15 (RSV)

When he was still living at home, my son David took the shoe trophy for the Huey household. He had a pair of shoes for every occasion and activity, it seemed: baseball, basketball, skateboarding, school, play, work, fishing and hunting. It would have been so such simpler – and cheaper – if only one pair would do.

Each type of shoe, however, had a different job to do and was made accordingly. David’s baseball shoes had spikes, which gave him traction as he dashed around the bases or through the grassy outfield. His basketball shoes gave him the ankle and arch support he needed as he ran and jumped on a hard, wooden floor. Sturdy work boots, like hunting boots, gave him support and protection as he tramped over the uneven terrain of the woods in search of firewood or game. The shoes he wore for fishing were made to keep his feet dry, while the boots he donned for hunting were insulated to keep them warm. If his feet hurt – or were cold and wet – it would have been hard for him to concentrate on the job he had to do. The right shoe helped him to do the job right.

Just as David needed the proper footwear in whatever he was doing, so I need the right “shoes” for the job God has given me – to take the peace He offers through His Son Jesus to the world around me (John 14:27, Matthew 28:20, Acts 1:8). 

Before I can bring peace to others, however, I need to have peace with God through His Son. Only then will I have the traction, support, warmth and protection I need to run life’s bases or stand my ground against the enemy.

Only when I have God’s Son in my heart do I have the right shoes on my feet.

“How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace…” (Isaiah 52:7 NIV) Lord, let my feet be beautiful!

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea, Vol. 3, © 2019 Michele Huey. All rights reserved. Used with permission.

Not an Ornament

Read and reflect on Ephesians 6:10–24.

Stand firm, then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist… Ephesians 6:14 (NIV)

When my favorite belt began to unravel, I tucked the frayed and broken edges into the weaving, hoping to extend its life span. Small wonder it was falling apart – I wore it every day with slacks, jeans, shorts or a skirt. I liked the sporty look it gave my outfit for the day.

After a couple of years of daily use, however, the belt took on a work appearance, and, in time, I could no longer hide the frayed and broken sections, no matter how hard I tried. It was time to dispose of what I’d come to depend upon to complete my daily dress.

At first I felt incomplete, but then I noticed I really didn’t need the belt to hold up my bottoms – my “middle age spread” did the job just as well. All my belt had been was an ornament, something added for decoration but having no practical value.

Nearly two thousand years ago when St. Paul instructed the people of Ephesus to have the belt of truth buckled around their waists, a belt was more than an ornament. It was an important piece of a soldier’s armor. A strong, wide piece worn around the middle of the body, the soldier’s belt served two purposes: It protected his vital organs, and it held all the other pieces of his armor together.

In likening truth to a belt, St. Paul has shown us its importance. Truth, defined as “all that is real and will not change,” is not just something we put on to make us look good. Truth has a real and vital purpose: to protect us and to hold us together. The belt of truth gives the wearer the security and peace of a clear conscience. Unlike my imitation leather belt, the belt of truth will never unravel or wear out. 

 Help me, O God, to bind myself with truth every day of my life. Amen.

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea, Vol. 3 © 2019 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.

Chest Protectors

Read and reflect on Romans 3:21–26

Stand firm…with the breastplate of righteousness in place. – Ephesians 6:17 (NIV)

When our boys were younger, my husband was forever reminding them of the importance of wearing the proper equipment when playing sports. So when he got his ribs bruised rough-housing with the oldest, who was in full football gear, I had to bite back the “I told you so” and go and buy the biggest Ace bandage I could find. He who preached protection was sore for at least a month.

Football isn’t the only activity for which participants must wear protective gear. Baseball catchers and umpires, deep sea divers, astronauts, law enforcement officials, construction workers, firefighters and soldiers all wear specially designed equipment to protect their bodies from serious injury. Especially vulnerable is the torso, where our vital organs are located. Of utmost importance is the heart, which keeps us alive by pumping oxygen and nutrient-rich blood throughout our bodies to every organ we need to live. That’s why chest protectors are so important.

In spiritual warfare, we also need a “chest protector.” St. Paul calls it the “breastplate of righteousness.” Righteousness is, most simply, right thinking, right feeling and right living. When the winds of trial threaten my faith, when anger over a careless remark or action rises unbidden, when low funds tempt me to delay paying what I owe, when desire for others’ respect becomes more important than truth and honesty, then I need to bind that chest protector around me even more tightly. I should never, ever be without it. I’m much too vulnerable to the enemy’s attacks. Only with it secured and in place can I stand firm.

Only with the righteousness You give through Your death and resurrection, Lord Jesus, can I stand firm in the battles I face every day. Thank You.  Amen.

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea, Vol. 3 © 2019 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.

Stinkin’ Thinkin’ – Part 1 of The Armor of God Series

Take the helmet of salvation…- Ephesians 6:17

When my two oldest children were in grade school, I hosted and taught a Bible club in my home once a week. More than 30 kids hiked across the field after school and kicked off their muddy shoes or snowy boots on the floor I’d just cleaned. Dropping their backpacks and coats, they trooped into the living room, cookies and Kool-Aid in hand, and plopped down on the carpet. 

Most of the time I convinced myself the clutter didn’t matter – that there were eternal rewards for my efforts. But one time I let the mess get to me. 

After the crowd left, I sent my children upstairs to begin their homework while I started supper and cleaned up. I wasn’t seeing the eternal rewards right then – only the mud, puddles, crumbs and other residue left from a house-full of hungry, hopping kids. Are they even getting anything from the Bible lessons? I wondered, hurling my sweeper over the floor for the second time that day. Should I even bother?

The more I thought, the madder I got. When my oldest son came downstairs to ask me something, I snapped at him, letting loose a few words I thought I’d eliminated from my vocabulary.

“Mom,” he said, looking me straight in the eye, “Look at what Satan is doing to you.”

I stopped in mid-sweep. He was right. I was guilty of “stinkin’ thinkin’.” And those thoughts, set loose in my mind, slithered into my heart and poisoned the way I felt and, consequently, the way I acted.  

“Stinkin’ thinkin’” is sin, no matter how we try to justify it. And “sin” is not a popular word in today’s “feel good” society where everyone, it seems, is a victim of something or other. We do wrong things, we’re told, not because we were born with selfish, rebellious hearts, as the Bible teaches, but because we are reacting to something someone did along the way to hurt us or to life’s unfairness.

But sin is our whole problem. It is the seed, the root, the trunk, the branches, the rotten fruit. It is the Pandora’s box that separates us from a loving and holy God, and it must be routed if we are to become the persons God created us to be.

“The mind of sinful man is death,” St. Paul wrote, “but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace” (Romans 8:6). I put on my “helmet of salvation” each time I choose to think only about those things that are true, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent and praiseworthy. This “helmet” protects my mind while the Holy Spirit transforms and renews it. 

What’s more – God has promised to keep in perfect peace those whose minds are “stayed” on Him (Isaiah 26:3). If I keep my thoughts on God, He will, in turn, give me a peace that will guard my thoughts and emotions – and, consequently, my actions. 

And that beats stinkin’ thinkin’ anytime.

Dear God, help me to choose to think the right thoughts, even when everything seems to be going wrong. Amen. 

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea, Vol. 3, © 2019 Michele Huey. All rights reserved. Used with permission.

Peace Maker or Breaker?

Photo by Edgar Okioga

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God. – Matthew 5:9 (NIV)

So far I’m zero-for-two – with the airlines, that is. One year I had to cut my trip short by a week because my baggage was destined for Pittsburgh, not Charleston, SC, where I was to meet my daughter and her family for a couple days at the beach. But that confusion was my fault. I hadn’t canceled my Pittsburgh flight when I booked the Charleston one. 

This time, though, it wasn’t my fault. I packed carefully for a three-week trip, two weeks at my daughter’s in South Carolina, then a week at a writers’ conference near Pittsburgh. After a brief layover at Washington Dulles airport, I arrived at the Columbia, SC, airport and waited at the baggage claim for at least five minutes after everyone else from my flight left. My book bag had come through, but the suitcase with all my clothes had not. 

When I filed a missed baggage claim, I was told that my suitcase was still at the Washington Dulles airport and that it would be on the next flight to Columbia, which would arrive at 7 p.m., five hours away. The airline would deliver it to my daughter’s that evening, the agent at the baggage claim desk told me. 

Around 9 p.m. we called the toll free number the agent had given me, and an automated voice informed us that my luggage would be delivered between 8 p.m. and midnight. It wasn’t. My daughter and son-in-law stayed up until after midnight, making additional calls, two of which somehow got disconnected, and the third for which they waited on hold for 45 minutes before hanging up.

When my suitcase hadn’t arrived by 9 a.m. the next day, we called again, this time actually getting to talk to a real, live human being, who, after giving us the same runaround we got the night before, told us it would arrive by noon. It didn’t.

Around 4 p.m., I called the baggage claim number again, and when I was put on hold to wait for a customer representative, the connection was broken. Considering I had to suffer through the whole exhaustive menu thing just to get to that point, I was beginning to get just a little irritated, which, of course, is an understatement.

Since I wasn’t getting anywhere with the baggage claim department, I punched in the number for “Customer Relations” and learned that “customer relations” is the term the airline uses for the person who tells the caller to calm down, asks for important information such as your name and phone number, listens to your complaint, then tells you she can’t do anything to help you. And if you’re not satisfied with her answers and ask to talk to her supervisor, she refuses.

“So what good are you if you can’t help solve the problem?” I practically shouted, hanging up.

Fighting to rein in my temper, I called baggage claim again, and this time was told that my luggage was en route and I would have it “within the hour.” I didn’t.

I finally got it shortly after 7 p.m., with a golden “Cleared” seal of the Department of Homeland Security.

I could justify my anger: My luggage was intentionally delayed; I was ignored, lied to and given the runaround. I felt helpless and at the mercy of giant corporation to whom I was unimportant.

But, as a Christian, I cannot justify my behavior. “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone” God’s Word commands us in Romans 12:18. It was possible. My temper depends on me. But I chose to be a peace-breaker, not a peacemaker. 

Father, forgive me for acting in a way that brings shame to Your Holy Name. Remind me that I am Your child, and help to behave accordingly. Amen.

Read and reflect on James 3:17–18.

From God, Me, & a Cup of Tea, Vol. 3 © 2019 Michele Huey. All rights reserved.