Today is Memorial Day in the U.S.– a day when we honor those who have fallen in battle and given their lives for our country. It is also a day on which we often decorate the gravestones of ancestors and relatives who have passed on. There may seem to be little connection between soldiers of war and civilian great-grannies or uncles, but Memorial Day can stretch to both– especially to Christians. Here’s how I see it:
Soldiers who gave their lives never lived to see the fruits of their sacrifice. They died, never knowing if their sacrifice was in vain. Our ancestors, similarly, poured their efforts into rearing children and living lives of integrity, little knowing how their efforts would be carried on by the next generation. There is a risk in battle– whether a war-time conflict, or just daily survival–a risk that all our hard work and all the perils we face will end in failure. We memorialize those whose efforts did NOT fail. We honor those whose sacrifices made a difference in our lives and in the lives of others. They lived (and died) for a purpose– and we honor that purpose, as well as the individual lives.
All of us are fighting a battle– a spiritual battle– in which our very lives are on the line. Some of us will lose our lives, literally, through imprisonment, persecution, torture, or disastrous choices we make to surrender to the enemy. Others will lose our lives figuratively, giving up our time and our own dreams to a greater cause. We honor those who went before us in this fight. We honor the good examples and the fallen heroes.
Soldiers go where they are sent. They often die and are buried far from their homes, on the battlefield. They may or may not have graves with the rest of their families. Many in our family were immigrants and pioneers, moving far from “home” to start a new life. Some of them moved as the result of war coming to their ancestral home and pushing them to relocate.
Memorials– whether gravestones, statues, monuments, or stories passed down to the next generation– serve as reminders of our priorities– freedom, family, and Faith. God’s people throughout the years have raised memorials to commemorate God’s faithfulness, as well as the high cost of fighting against Sin and its effects.
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial
I pray that on this Memorial Day, we will take time to remember, and give thanks for those who have fought the “good fight” in the name of freedom, and in the name of Faith. But more than that, I pray that we will be inspired to carry on the fight– knowing the risks and weighing the costs–to preserve those things that are most important. Let’s pause to remember– and then let’s move Onward!
When I was growing up, we always said grace before our meals. It wasn’t an afterthought; it wasn’t an affectation. It was just part of the meal. We sat down, said grace, and started eating. Sometimes, Dad did the honors; sometimes, it was Mom. And sometimes, my sister or I were asked to say it. It was usually something simple, though it wasn’t always the same. We would say grace at home, around our own table, and we would say grace at restaurants– wherever and whenever our family was together for a meal.
Today, my husband and I have the same tradition. We don’t have children in the house, but he and I take turns saying grace, and if one of the grandkids happens to visit, they know they may be asked to take a turn, as well. If David and I are eating out, we still take a quiet moment to hold hands, close our eyes, and say grace. Some times, other diners or wait staff will stare (or glare) or comment, but most of the time, they don’t even notice.
So why do we do it? Is it no more than force of habit? Are we just “holier” than other diners? Do we really think it impresses God if we say grace, or that God will be angry if we don’t say it?
No. But we believe saying grace is important. Here are some reasons why:
Grace is about gratitude. In our busy lives, it can be tempting to take things for granted– even things like food and family. We are BLESSED to have food to eat, and family with whom to share it. We are blessed when we go out to eat to have others cook and clean up for us. We are blessed whenever our family or neighbors can share a meal with us. God is a loving and gracious God, and grace is a time to remember our blessings.
Grace slows us down for just a minute to REMEMBER who we are, and who God is! All our blessings– including food and family and time to share them– come from God. Grace reminds us to be humble as well as thankful. It reminds us to see God’s hand at work in even the smallest and most mundane happenings in our lives. And it reminds us that God is faithful in all things, big and small.
Grace also helps us to remember to thank the people involved in our meals– the ability to buy groceries; the work it takes to prepare our food; friends and family who share our meals; neighbors who have given or traded with us for food; the cooks and wait staff that serve us at restaurants. Saying grace helps us SEE how we are interconnected; how we depend on God and on others in every area of our lives.
Grace gives us the opportunity to lift up our immediate worries and give them to God, instead of holding on to them. Grace is more than just a quick word about food. It is a time for us as a couple (or a family) to pray together about worries that are on our minds. Then, instead of being stressed as we eat, we can stay “in the moment” with each other, and enjoy mealtime together! It’s also a great way to share our thoughts, feelings, and concerns in a safe and informal environment. How much better mealtime is when stress and frustration are diminished, and joy and peace are given a seat at the table, instead!
Saying grace is much more than just a quaint habit from a bygone era. It is a vital part of our growth as individual Christians, and as a Christian couple. I believe it is a simple and quiet witness to others. I believe it has benefits for our digestion, our attitudes, and our emotions, as well.
Grace– not just the mealtime prayer, but the concept of Grace– is not loud or showy. It is, however, consistent, lovely, and powerful. May we say grace; may we show grace; may we live in the power of Grace today!
The other day, God answered a prayer I had been praying for about a month. I had lost a letter. Such a small thing, and yet it was priceless to me. It was old, yellowed, and crumbling. I was a letter from a law office, sent in 1933, informing my great-grandmother that her long-lost great-granduncle had died in California. He had not made a will, so his fortune was to be divided between any of his surviving relatives. The law office had found 36 such relatives, one of whom was Lila Green, for whom I am named. The “fortune” had been greatly reduced by the Great Depression– his stocks were worthless, and his properties greatly reduced in value. Still, the share that came to my great-grandparents allowed them to pay off debts, keep their farm, and even invest at a time when others were destitute.
I had intended to scan the letter and include it in a book I am writing about the lives, times, and families of my great-grandparents. But I had put it aside and misplaced it.
Such a dingy, yellowed, fragile letter– just a single sheet in an equally yellowed and fragile envelope with a three-cent stamp still clinging to one corner. I could not remember where I had placed it for “later.” I looked everywhere, or so I thought. And I had prayed that God would show me where it was. It seemed as though God might be telling me to “just let go” of the letter. That it wasn’t necessary for the book, and I was wasting my time looking for it. Still, it hurt to think that my great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother had preserved the letter, just to have me lose it when it could be useful again.
And then, my husband asked me to look for some paperwork to finish our taxes. Oh NO! Surely I could find important papers from the past year– I was pretty certain I knew where they would be. Still, I prayed that God would help me find them quickly. And I did! But as I was putting the financial papers away in the aftermath, I found a book bag behind the box of receipts and tax papers. It looked empty– no books inside– but it wasn’t. There, waiting patiently, was the letter, along with some other old papers I wanted to keep in my family history files!
I was so thrilled! I danced around, thanking God for His answer to my prayer. I was far more thrilled, in fact, over finding that letter, than I was about finding the tax papers!
But what about the “lost” people I encounter each day? When was the last time I put aside my other tasks and spent time “searching” for ways to share the gospel? How much time have I spent reaching out to “find” the hurting, the needy, the hopeless? Have I done more than just say a quick prayer, or shed a couple of tears? Have I even prayed consistently for weeks or even years?
Of course I pray for family members I know and love; for old friends and classmates who are struggling; even for people groups or nations where Christians are being persecuted, and the Gospel is being hindered. But that’s not the same.
This letter reminds me that there are people– many of whom “look” rather worn or worthless– people for whom Christ gave His life to save. People who need someone to listen, and offer hope. They need to be “found.” Even so, not all of them will accept the Gospel message. I can’t force them to see God for who He really is; I can’t make them choose to follow Christ. But I can do a better job of letting them know how very much God loves them, and wants a relationship with them. Yes, even those who feel yellowed and used; even those who have been sitting, forgotten, lost in the shuffle.
15 1-3 By this time a lot of men and women of questionable reputation were hanging around Jesus, listening intently. The Pharisees and religion scholars were not pleased, not at all pleased. They growled, “He takes in sinners and eats meals with them, treating them like old friends.” Their grumbling triggered this story. 4-7 “Suppose one of you had a hundred sheep and lost one. Wouldn’t you leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the lost one until you found it? When found, you can be sure you would put it across your shoulders, rejoicing, and when you got home call in your friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Celebrate with me! I’ve found my lost sheep!’ Count on it—there’s more joy in heaven over one sinner’s rescued life than over ninety-nine good people in no need of rescue. 8-10 “Or imagine a woman who has ten coins and loses one. Won’t she light a lamp and scour the house, looking in every nook and cranny until she finds it? And when she finds it you can be sure she’ll call her friends and neighbors: ‘Celebrate with me! I found my lost coin!’ Count on it—that’s the kind of party God’s angels throw every time one lost soul turns to God.”
Luke 15:1-10 (The Message)
I thank God that He helped me find the old letter. But I am eternally grateful that He seeks out and saves people like me, and like you. I pray that today, I will have eyes that see, and a heart that reaches out to the “lost.”
Have you ever been the “victim” of a surprise party? Maybe you sensed that something was “up”, but you were still shocked and elated to see old friends or family all wanting to wish you well on (or near) your birthday, anniversary, wedding, retirement, or even “just because”. Even if you “catch on” or if someone “spoils” the surprise, it can be a wonderful celebration. (Or, on occasion, a disaster.)
Have you ever been on the planning side of a surprise party? Several years ago, we threw a surprise birthday/retirement party for my father. It required several months of planning. We invited cousins from out of town, co-workers, neighbors, and old friends. We gathered old pictures and mementos to display, ordered cake and balloons, and tried to keep the excitement under wraps, lest my father guess our intentions. All the details fell together, except we couldn’t figure out how to get him to the party without guessing. Dad was a genius at “sussing out” secrets and surprises, and also at setting them up. We wanted to turn the tables and give him the best surprise of his life.
Then, less than a week before the party, my aunt (my mom’s sister) died in a car accident. The funeral was arranged for the same day as Dad’s celebration. We suddenly had to wrestle with a decision– to cancel or to forge ahead. With so many coming from out of town, we decided to stick with the original plan. It would be difficult– my aunt’s funeral was scheduled earlier in the day, and there would be about an hour to drive from one event to the other. Dad was certainly surprised–already dressed in his best suit, he drove from a funeral in one town to a party in his honor 20 miles away. From flowers and tears to laughter and cake…it was a day unlike any other. The first several minutes were surreal and jarring. But it was also cathartic. As difficult as the day was, we honored both my father and my aunt. Being surrounded by family and friends, some of whom joined us for both events, became a healing and encouraging experience. It was not the surprise we expected–certainly not the surprise we had planned.
Several years later, (in fact, after my father had passed away) we planned another surprise party– this time for my mother. Mom had, of course, been part of the planning (as well as the trauma) of the first event. As with the first party, we invited family from out of town, ordered cake and balloons, gathered photos and memorabilia, and wondered how to get her to the event without suspicion. All went as planned, and we had a wonderful time. Mom was delightfully surprised, and even more so for having been through the experience of the prior party.
What does any of this have to do with prayer? Well…we prayed for both parties. We prayed that all would go well, that Dad and Mom in their turn would be surprised, that guests would arrive safely, and that the parties would both please and honor the recipient. God answered both prayers. His ways are not our ways– but He is eternally good. He gave us strength for each day in its turn, in the midst of surprises– pleasant, painful, and both together!
But, far more, the two parties offer an illustration of God’s grace in the area of knowledge and foreknowledge. “If I had only known…” is a common phrase, and one that we could readily apply to the Dad’s party. But if we had known the end from the beginning, would we have changed our plans? When we say that we want to know the future, we’re generally asking to know a specific outcome of a specific event– without considering the greater consequences and impact of that outcome. When we pray, we generally pray for a specific outcome, again without knowing the full consequences. What seems like a disastrous outcome to us may be God’s way of preparing us for an unexpected blessing. God doesn’t send bad gifts– disasters come (and God allows them in His sovereignty)–but He doesn’t send disaster and pain to mock us or ruin our lives. Instead, in the midst of tragedy, He gives us unexpected strength, comfort, and sometimes, even joy.
If we had known that Dad’s party would be shadowed; that my aunt would die so suddenly, we might have given in to despair and bitterness. And though the party brought unexpected comfort, it did nothing to erase the overall grief of my aunt’s passing. But we learned so many things that day. We were reminded that our time with Dad was precious– that life itself is precious– in a solemn and powerful way. We were able to receive comfort from unexpected sources. We would not have shared our tragedy in such a public way with those who did not even know my aunt. But circumstances forced us to do so, and in the process, we were able to continue to honor her in the celebration.
If we had known all that would happen at Dad’s party, and not seen it through, we might never have risked planning a party for Mom. If we knew in advance all the joys and tragedies we would face, we would never learn how to trust God for the next step in life. Even more, we would live in constant dread of looming tragedies and negate all the joy of discovery and wonder. We might not be driven to take risks if we already knew their outcome, and we might not learn from our mistakes if we already knew their consequences…and because our lives are so short, we might only see the short-term consequences, and never see the ultimate outcome.
God is above and beyond time– He is the creator of all things, including time. He has decreed for us a beginning and an end to life on earth, and He has decreed that we should life our lives with a certain amount of suspense– of not knowing what the future holds. It holds both triumph and tragedy– trial and temptation. Life is filled with surprises– catastrophes, ecstatic joy, and “a-ha” moments–as well as peacefully uneventful moments to reflect and enjoy.
As we pray today, we can be thankful that God’s knowledge is perfect, and that His power is sufficient to hold us in the midst of shock, lift us in the midst of tragedy, and surprise us with joy along the way. And we can ask Him to grant us the wisdom to trust Him fully when we don’t see the end from the beginning– or from the middle–of the storm.
Prayer is a conversation with God. But sometimes it can seem like a one-sided conversation. We have pressing needs for healing, or strength to bear up under stress or oppression. Sometimes, we pray for our loved ones’ struggles against addiction or wrong choices. And God seems silent.
Sometimes, it’s better to get an answer we don’t like than no answer at all. When I was younger, I prayed for a family– a dream family with a handsome husband (preferably wealthy), three adorable and well-behaved children (I already had names picked out..), and maybe a beloved family pet, all living in a beautiful house with a big back yard, and maybe a small woods. I waited and prayed; prayed and waited. When I was in my thirties, still waiting and praying, I found out that I have several health problems– none of them life-threatening, but they mean that the chances that I would ever have had children are slim to none. I would never have the pleasure of watching my own children grow up; never know the joy of having a little voice calling me “mommy.”
But God had not abandoned me. In my careers as a teacher and a children’s librarian (careers I had begun before I knew I couldn’t have children of my own), I had the joy of working with hundreds of children across a spectrum of ages, from nearly newborn through college! My memories are filled with a choir of voices calling me Miss Toney or Miss Lila (as I was known then). God had not closed the door on my dream– he had opened a window.
It wasn’t the answer I had hoped for, but it was an answer. However, I was still single. I didn’t want to be single. I didn’t feel it was what God wanted for my life, yet He didn’t seem to be listening or giving me any sign that He heard or understood. There was only silence. No promising relationships– only a few scattered dates over the long years–a few budding friendships, and many lonely days and nights.
There were many helpful friends and family with suggestions, ideas, advice, comforting thoughts, or “explanations.” “God is waiting for you to become more mature in your walk with Him.” “God is saving the best for last.” “You’re too picky (I was never quite sure what that meant in light of the scarcity of dates, but…)” “You need to ‘get out there’ more–have you tried on-line dating? (I did. It was ‘meh’..).” “You should change jobs– single men are not hanging out at the library.” “You should change churches– find one with more single men.” But God stayed silent through my thirties and into my forties.
I did take some of the very good advice I received. I signed up to do short term missions trips. I traveled when I could, with family and friends, and even on my own. I read and went back to college. I spent time in the woods and at the beach, meditating, singing, or just enjoying God’s nature. I got “involved” in various volunteer opportunities. I joined the church choir. And I continued to pray.
By the time I was squarely in my forties, I had decided to stop praying for a husband, to stop hoping, and praying, and seeking, and dreaming. And God said nothing. But I began getting phone calls from an old friend– someone I had known in childhood–in fact, the very first boy I had ever dated, nearly 30 years before! At first, I listened to his voice-mail messages, but didn’t return his calls. I was annoyed, and even a bit angry. After all this time, was God laughing at me? Did He really expect me to go all the way back to the very beginning and start over?
David and I on our wedding day.
Finally, I let go of my pride, and my ancient dream– I decided to give David a chance. Maybe it would lead to another (renewed) friendship. Maybe it would be another disappointment. But it led to a new dream. It led to marriage, and a huge extended family, including David’s wonderful children, and three adorable (and mostly well-behaved) grandchildren. My husband is kind, and honorable, and Godly. He is a treasure. And God’s timing is perfect, even as it is mysterious. God didn’t withhold marriage as a bargaining chip to get me to “grow up,” or grant it as a “reward” for going on a couple of mission trips. God was silent–but He wasn’t absent. He saw every teardrop, rejoiced in every busy child-filled day at work, smiled at every snapshot of every natural wonder, every Teddy Bear picnic, every Bible School. He want along on every date, kept track of all the hundreds of books I read over the years, and hovered over the dinner table set for one every night. I committed my life to serving Him– whether I was single or married, alone, or surrounded by children. His ways are higher, and better, and wiser than mine.
I may never understand why God allowed me to travel the roads that have been set before me. And my roads could have looked much different. I could have married young, unaware of my barrenness, and ended up bitter and feeling guilty about my body for years before I was diagnosed. I might have had a child (or children), and become proud and controlling and fearful. I might have made idols of my “dream” husband and family.
I know many dozens of people who are praying into the “silence” and waiting for God’s answer. Some are praying for healing. They may pray for days in the hospital, only to lose their loved one. They may pray for weeks or months, as their child battles chronic illness. They may pray for years as they battle depression and loneliness. God may seem silent. But He is never absent. His ways sometimes lead to a happy ending in this life. Sometimes, they lead us to have greater understanding and compassion for others. Sometimes, they lead us to unexpected purposes and goals– adventures beyond what we have ever dreamed of. Sometimes, they lead to a legacy that we cannot see this side of death. He does not promise us the answer we want, when or how we want it. He doesn’t promise us an easy or “happy” answer on the road ahead of us in this life. What He does promise is that He will never forsake us. Long after we have been tempted to give up, to doubt, to turn away, God will still be waiting– sometimes in the silence– for the perfect moment, the perfect justice, the perfect word, the perfect solution.
As I write this, I am keenly aware that one year ago, I was at a graveside, saying farewell to my mother. Grieving comes in waves. I rejoice that she is in heaven, and I rejoice that she had a good, long life, and that she didn’t suffer very long at the end. But there is still an ache– wanting to share a memory or a laugh and knowing she isn’t here; questions I didn’t know I had, but now she can’t answer them; just missing her voice and her smile. My father has been gone for 25 years, and the same ache still hits at odd moments.
Sometimes, grieving brings us closer to God. At other times, we can let our grief drive us away from God. But God doesn’t move. He is ever-present. And He reminds us that He is “close to the broken hearted” (Psalm 34:18). When we are grieving, that is a blessed reminder. Grief tends to isolate us. “No one understands…” “Laugh, and the whole world laughs with you; cry, and you cry alone.” We see the “rest of the world” enjoying life, seemingly untouched by sorrow, and we feel abandoned twice over.
As Christians, we are called to follow Jesus’ example, and be close to the broken hearted. We should be the ones ready with a hug, a listening ear, and a shoulder to cry on. We should be the ones who, like the friends of Job (before they offered ill-advised ‘counsel’) are willing to sit with our suffering friends for days at a time, offering the comfort of solidarity and ‘presence.’
My family was blessed with a host of Christian friends and family who comforted us in the days and weeks after Mom’s passing. They still ask. They still share memories. They still pray for us. And in return, we do the same. God does not want any of us to suffer alone.
And this is also true for those who suffer a broken heart for other reasons– divorce, the loss of a home to fire or flood, the loss of a job, a wayward son or daughter– it is important for us to draw strength from others, and offer strength in our turn. But the source of our strength is Jesus, who suffered on our behalf, and rose victorious over death and separation. When “no one” understands, He DOES. When the world leaves us grieving alone, He is THERE. And when we see someone else grieving and suffering, and we don’t know what to do– He gives us the strength and the compassion to reach beyond our own resources and offer comfort.
On our own, we can be like Job’s friends– after awhile, we try to offer solutions, explanations, even judgment about another’s grief. “It’s time to move on.” “Just get over it.” “Well, if only you had…” None of these are helpful. Jesus never said any of those things to the people He came to comfort. Instead, He encouraged them to look to Him as the “resurrection and the life.” (see John 11:25).
Today, let us do the same. There are hurting people all around us. Let’s be an encouragement to others to embrace life– even when we are broken hearted.
The Bible is filled with images of family–long lists of “begats” and genealogies, parables about sons and fathers, brothers, weddings, brides and grooms…God is even described as our Father, with Christ as “the son.”
One of my hobbies is genealogy– tracing my family’s roots back through several generations and several different places. While the Bible warns that we should not get caught up in “endless” and vain genealogies that lead to false pride and foolish divisions (1 Tim. 1:4/Titus 3:9), there are many good reasons to pay attention to families, family histories, and family dynamics.
First, the family is God’s design– God instituted marriage, parenthood, and family units. It is God’s will and purpose that we should not live in isolation and self-absorption, but learn to depend on and be responsible to others. Families honor, protect, love, provide, comfort, teach, encourage, build and work together. Even in a broken world, filled with dysfunctional and chaotic family relationships, the purpose and design of “family” is still part of God’s good and perfect plan for living. Broken families and toxic relationships are not a failure of God’s plan– they are the result of Sin’s power to distort and corrupt the Good that only God can create. The great news is that God also has the power to restore and redeem individuals and families; offering “rebirth”, adoption, and an eternal “inheritance” within His family!
Second, families can teach us about the astounding and limitless love of God. There is something about the bonds of familial love that stretch us beyond our regular capacity to hope, to sacrifice, to share, to grieve, to endure, and to forgive. Who has seen a mother or father go hungry so their child can eat; or a sister or daughter donate her kidney or bone marrow to help heal a family member? Or a father carry his son who could not walk, or a wife who visits her aging husband when he no longer knows her face? How can we see such devotion and not be struck by how much greater, wider, deeper, and more eternal the Father’s love is for each of us?
Third, family (particularly the idea of genealogies and long family histories) teaches us the eternal nature of God. We live our lives as part of three or four generations– a span of 70 or 80 years for many of us–and we concentrate our efforts on “making our mark” for less than that entire span. But even the longest of our lives are so short in the span of God’s plan for His people. We have one lifespan to play an important role in the story of centuries. When we fail to understand that role, we can miss our sense of purpose in life. Sometimes, we overestimate our own importance or miss the significance of our own legacy. Even “important” people are forgotten, or have their legacies tarnished or rewritten in the pages of history. And those people who never made the history books are often the inspiration for actions and movements that span generations and change nations. When I study the history of my own family, I find lives that were cut short by war or disease– yet these lives shaped the lives (or were the lives) of my ancestors, and without them, I would not be who or how or where I am today. Maiden aunt, baby brother, empty seat at the table– every life touches others in ways that God alone truly comprehends. “Coincidental” meetings, “unplanned” children, migration patterns, epidemics– all loom large in a single generation, but they all become part of the fabric of each person’s “history.”
Lastly, genealogy reminds us that we are all one enormous family! There is so much talk on the news and online about all our differences– language, culture, skin tone, beliefs, skills, abilities, interests, even diets!– and it is important to note that God loves variety and created us each with unique and precious differences to reflect His infinite character. But sin twists our differences into conflicts; sin spreads lies about God’s character, and thus, about how we (or others) reflect, honor, understand, acknowledge, or obey our amazing creator. Differences may cause division in our broken world, but they do not cancel God’s mercy or limit the reach of His love for us all.
This lesson is being brought home to me in a secondary way as I see the time approaching for my 40th high school class reunion. Of course, we are not all directly related. And we are all the same general age, rather than being multi-generational. But it struck me that our class has been very much like a family– we grew up together; we learned to get along (most of the time), to share, to work together, to understand and appreciate our differences and our unique gifts–we send birthday greetings and share pictures, we laugh together, grieve together, share fond memories and special connections with one another. We pray for one another, argue with one another, encourage one another, and challenge one another. There are some who have distanced themselves–whether through physical distance or emotionally– from the rest of us. Some have even ended their earthly journeys. But that doesn’t make them any less a part of our class/our family. We are short and tall, thin and stout, hairy and bald, dark and light complected; we are single, married, divorced, and widowed– some with children still at home; some with no children at all. We are rich and poor, healthy and ill, walking around with scars and wounds and unresolved questions, arrogant assumptions, or chips on our shoulders. And we are optimists and mentors, healers and teachers, helpers and protectors. We are loud and quiet, social and task-oriented, driven and laid-back, dreamers and doers. And in my genealogy research, I have made genetic and marriage connections to about 1/3 of them! We really ARE family, and I can show how we are related! How small would this world seem if we looked at our brothers and sisters across the world, and realize that those connections are so much greater than the differences that divide us?
I’m also in the process of writing a book about my family. I estimate that there are nearly 500 people who can claim the same ancestral “roots” from the same two people, who lived through some of the most amazing events of the twentieth century! Once again, we don’t all look , or act, or think alike– some are tall, some are tattooed, some are old, some are newborns, some argue about college football teams, or politics. Some of us speak other native languages or live very different lifestyles. But we love each other, encourage each other, and many of us share our prayers and concerns and joys and pains. My great-grandparents (and all their children) left a legacy of love and faith that continues to influence and inspire the fourth, fifth and sixth generation to follow!
When we pray for others, we are always praying for our family! Praying for our neighbors and classmates and co-workers– we are praying for family! Praying for our enemies, for strangers, for those who look and speak differently than us–We are praying for family! May God give us eyes to see and hearts to love our brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, cousins and even the “long lost family members” and lift them up in prayer to the One who loves us and wants to bring us all into His family!
Across from our shop, there is a mural that tells the story of the first “Orphan Train.” In October of 1854, 45 children– some orphaned, others abandoned–arrived in southwest Michigan from New York City. Conditions for such children in the large cities were dangerous. Floods of immigrants included children who had lost their parents on the voyage to America, or who had been separated from their families upon arrival. There were very few orphanages, and almost no resources dedicated to child welfare. Hunger, disease, crime, and exposure to the elements meant that many children never lived to maturity. Most of them lived on the streets; ignored, preyed upon, or simply forgotten. A group called the Children’s Aid Society, founded in 1853, had tried helping children– especially boys–but their limited resources were overwhelmed within the first year.
Section of the Orphan Train Mural, Dowagiac, Michigan (Ruth Andrews)
It was the idea of a man named Charles Loring Brace that large numbers of these children could escape the dangerous environs of the city and find safety and hope in the expanding “West.” With the help of the new railroads, groups of children could travel west, where kind-hearted families could adopt them. Food, shelter, education, fresh air, opportunity, and a loving family- this was the promise of the orphan train. For some children, it was the start of a wonderful new life. For some, it was trading a hard life in the city for a hard life on the frontier.
I can only imagine how frightening it must have been for the first train-load of orphans to travel here. Few people had ever traveled by train in those days. Some of the children had never traveled more than a few blocks from where they had been born– had never seen a farm or a forest. Part of their journey was on a steamboat. The journey would not have been comfortable, but it would have been exciting and even terrifying at times. They had no guarantee of finding homes or families who would be willing to take care of them– only the hope that someone might.
What does this have to do with prayer? Well, the obvious connection would be that everyone involved with this venture must have prayed diligently. All 45 children were placed with local families in that first journey. And the success of this first placement encouraged future endeavors. The “orphan trains” ran for 75 years, and carried nearly a quarter of a million children to new homes throughout the growing United States. And while not every child found a “happy ending” with their new family, most of them survived to create a new life as adults–an opportunity many other orphans had been denied.
But it struck me today, as I was looking at the mural and thinking about the fate of these children, that we are or were all in a similar situation. I am so thankful to be able to pray to my Loving Father– but there was a time when I was lost and without hope. There was a time when Sin had made me an orphan. I was alone and frightened and helpless to save myself. Like the orphans in first part of the mural, I was sick and sad, my best intentions were no more than tattered rags. Even as they line up to board the train, their faces show fear and pain.
It can be frightening to call out to God– frightening to leave the life we know, even when it is dangerous and unhealthy. God’s way takes us to uncomfortable and unfamiliar places–we can’t see the road ahead, and we don’t know what our “new” life will be like.
As I gaze once again at the mural, the last section shows an idealized version of the “new life” experienced by the riders of the “Orphan Train.” It shows a groups of children in a circle, holding hands and playing in the sunshine among grass and trees, while a bird flutters nearby. It is a heavenly place– the children’s clothes are clean, and they look healthy and happy. And while this is an ideal, rather than the reality for some of the children, it is a reminder of the contrast with the life they left behind.
Thanks be to God for His Grace that rescues us from the ravages of Sin. He offers us an escape to a new life– complete with a new family and a glorious hope of Heaven. He offers full adoption– guaranteed by the blood of His own Son– for those who will choose to leave their old life of Sin behind and travel as an orphan on His own “Orphan Train.”
4 I mean that the heir, as long as he is a child, is no different from a slave, though he is the owner of everything, 2 but he is under guardians and managers until the date set by his father. 3 In the same way we also, when we were children, were enslaved to the elementary principles of the world. 4 But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, 5 to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. 6 And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!”
“Let every heart prepare Him room, And Heaven and Nature sing!”
from “Joy to the World”, by Isaac Watts
I cleared a space in my living room for a tree. I placed a Nativity set on our newly-cleaned mantle place.
I found a cozy nook to wrap all the Christmas gifts, And I used candles and decorations to fill all the empty space.
I cashed in my Christmas club money to buy the gifts For friends and family.
I set aside money to buy stamps for Christmas cards And to give to charity.
I cleared my schedule and made time for All the extra running this Holiday season.
For parties and shopping with friends; For Church and family–all excellent reasons!
But it wasn’t until I made time and space for the Babe– God come to Earth as a baby Boy–
It wasn’t until I let go of all of “it” for “HIM,” That my heart was transformed with Unspeakable Joy!
Christmas has room for bells and lights, For carols, and cookies, and festive nights.
Christmas has room for laughter and presents. But it isn’t really Christmas without HIS PRESENCE.
“Let every heart prepare Him room” this year. Let every heart be filled with true cheer.
Let us Adore Him–far and wide– This Savior who was born; who died
And rose victorious over the tomb! Who entered our world in a Virgin’s womb,
The one who came to save the human race; The one who is filled with “redeeming Grace!”
May Christmas Day, and ALL our days Be filled with Wonder, Joy, and Praise!
Today, as we celebrate the coming of Jesus Christ into the world, let us remember that He came into a world that wasn’t prepared. There was no room in the inn. There was no baby shower, anticipating the arrival of a long-expected birth. In fact, His birth came without all the trappings that we have added to the Holiday. I love all the wonder of the Christmas Season– all the lights and songs; gathering with family, and friends, Advent services and Christmas Eve candlelight vigils, gifts and cookies, Christmas movies and Christmas cards– I could go on for pages!
But the heart of Christmas comes quietly and simply; when we step back from all the glitter and activity and take in the absolute wonder that the God of the Universe stepped into all the limitations of His Creation– a world of time and space, dirt and disease, broken hearts and broken bodies–and He did it for YOU and for ME. He had to be fed and changed–the ruler of Nations!–and placed in a manger to lie in all the helplessness of infancy. He had to walk wherever He wanted to go. He had to eat and sleep and wait in lines and wash away the dirt and sweat of His exertions. He had to listen to the foolish arguments and explain Himself to critics whose very souls He had lovingly created. And He let them condemn Him unfairly and kill Him in the most painful and humiliating way they could dream up.
Christmas is about Joy bursting into a world that was NOT prepared for it. It is about the inextricable link between suffering and celebration; between seeking and being sought out; between salvation and sacrifice.
Our Joy at Christmas cannot be manufactured by songs or gifts or entertainments. It can’t even be found in rituals and traditions. But when Jesus finds room in our meditations, our relationships, and our lives, Joy is the overflow.
May we all find Joy this Christmas– whether or not we prepared in advance; whether or not we checked off all the items on our “to-do” lists; whether we can afford all the trimmings and decorations; even if we are crying out in the darkness– may the Joy of Christmas burst upon us, just as Jesus burst upon a weary world so long ago!
It’s that season of the year, when several companies have their annual “Christmas Parties.” Some companies, in an effort not to offend any of their employees, investors, etc., have stopped calling them “Christmas” parties– they are “holiday” parties or “year-end” celebrations. In fact, at one place I worked, they stopped having any parties for the employees, claiming it was a “bad look” to “waste” money on such nonsense! Bah, Humbug!
But company Christmas/Holiday parties have a tendency toward the silliest and least meaningful ways of celebrating what this season and its holidays are all about. Often, the festivities involve a cash (or open) bar, some sort of anonymous gift exchange– white elephant or “secret Santa” with a spending limit of $5 or $10 dollars, and an ugly sweater contest.
And there is an entire industry predicated on the modern tradition of the “ugly” holiday sweater. Garish, loud, often bedecked with pom-poms, tinsel, or even battery-operated flashing lights, such sweaters can cost a minor fortune. They get worn once a year (twice if you have to go to a second party with a spouse, friend, or as a chaperone). And, while I don’t want them banned, I think they represent some of the worst excesses of our modern first world. They serve no higher purpose than to draw attention to bad taste and mock the core values of Christmas, Hanukkah, and other seasonal holidays. They are about tacky and fleeting entertainment, at the expense of higher virtues.
I’m not trying to be a Scrooge or a Grinch. The holidays should be a time of joy and laughter. But is a tacky sweater really the best we can come up with? Is it in the top ten best ways to enjoy a season of miracles, love, light, giving, and hope? (I feel the same way about the focus on drinking– waking up hungover and sick; not being able to remember the end of the party– how is this “fun?”)
In our effort to have “Christmas” without “Christ” or Hanukkah without miracles; in our efforts to erase God from the celebrations of HIS goodness, we have created a level of fake celebration that echoes the story of “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” We’re walking around with ugly sweaters, each more elaborately ugly than the one before, considering it a triumph to be the biggest fool in a forest of foolishness.
Imagine giving that ugly Christmas sweater to someone who was homeless and had no warm clothes. Would it make you laugh to see someone in those circumstances wearing your once-a-year indulgence? Would your ugly sweater bring hope and healing to those who are refugees this season? Do you wear it when no one else can see it? The sweater isn’t about the season. It really has nothing to do with the meaning of the Holidays. It’s about impressing people with your willingness to stand out; your ingenuity in finding an uglier sweater than anyone else; it’s about YOU.
What would happen if, instead of an ugly sweater contest, seeing who can drink the most before passing out, or a white elephant exchange of worthless gifts, companies celebrated with worthwhile activities– building community ties, honoring achievements, or maybe even reflecting on miracles in our midst? What if our celebrations were less about empty amusements and more about reflecting on what is genuinely worth celebrating–health, friendships, family, hope, and purpose? They might be less amusing, but they might also be more memorable and meaningful.
There’s nothing “wicked” about ugly sweaters or white elephants– but they are becoming symbols of the kind of “Christ-less” Christmas that offers mild entertainment, but no hope for the dark days of a long winter. They are some of the symbols of excessive economic wealth in the midst of emotional and moral poverty. Naked and empty entertainment, pretending to offer light and satisfaction, but settling for glitter and gluttony.
Today, I’m going to wear a sweatshirt to keep warm, and I’m going to spend some time with my family– building memories that will last much longer than last season’s ugly sweater! And I will spend some time thanking God for the sweatshirt, my grandkids, and for the incredible gift of His Son–the real meaning of this season of love, gifts, miracles and hope–our real reason for celebrating Christ-mas!
Pursuing Prayer 