My Mother's Legacy of Service

Over the years I spent with my mother, I never knew a time when she was not volunteering at something. Her health made it a struggle, but she always found a way to serve. Often, my sister and I had the privilege of helping.

Before I was 10 years old, I knew how to find a store manager and request permission to post a sign for important events such as the Red Cross Blood Drive or our church's Shut-In Mass. I had stuffed envelopes and waved at passers-by dressed as a clock for a political campaign. And, the list goes on.

Even when we were not able to participate, we understood that serving should be constant. We learned this as she shared her experiences with us.

I recall her return home one Sunday afternoon, after she had been volunteering as a chaplain at the local hospital. She seemed lost in thought, but proceeded to explain. She recounted a series of events which she attributed to the work of the Holy Spirit to put her exactly where she needed to be, when she needed to be there. She was on the elevator, where she met a man with a boy and a girl around 8 and 10 years old, both of whom were sobbing. The man explained to mom that they were on their way to say goodbye to their mother. She accompanied them and stayed with them until they were ready to leave.

I cried as I listened and then asked her, "How did you do it?!" She said simply, "Just hold their hand and let the Lord lead."

During another season, she was a teacher of English as a foreign language at our town's library. She didn't just teach English, however, she got involved in their lives and taught them our culture.

Three of her students were a man and his two sisters from Czechoslovakia. He spoke some English, but the women did not. Shortly after mom began working with them, the man died unexpectedly, leaving his sisters behind alone in a foreign country whose language they didn't speak. My mother stepped up. Imagine trying to translate to and for people you couldn't understand yourself. But, she did it - with God's help, she insisted. They became life-long friends.

There are many more examples, not only of things she did, but lives she changed.

In her later years, she read books to a blind man until she could no longer speak. Before she reached that point however, she read the entire Bible onto tape for him. At that time there was no such thing as audio books. When she could not read anymore, she took up her knitting needles.

She spent hour after hour knitting bandages for a leper colony in the Philippines. They were needed because they were lint-free and reusable. She suffered from Carpel Tunnel and would knit until her arms cramped. She'd stop only long enough to rub the circulation back into them and then continue with her labor of love. In all, she knitted hundreds of yards of the bandages before passing away at only 62 years old.

I learned a lesson from my mother which has become a passion and a way of life. She taught me that if you can breathe, you can find something to do for someone. She may have been weak in body, but the Lord made her strong in spirit to do every work He set before her.

I still treasure her knitting needles. In death, she left them behind, along with her legacy of service. She and they will never be forgotten. I love you, Mom.

Praise you, Lord, for a godly example of living to serve. May I remain eager to serve You. Show me the way, Lord. What work do you have for me? Help me to remain faithful and to train up these children You have entrusted to me as servants for Your Kingdom, and may we together continue her beautiful legacy for future generations. AMEN.

Though My Fields Be Empty

So many times I wonder why God does things. We all do. When Life gets hard, we often ask the Lord, "Why me?" as though it should have been someone else. When situations arise that shake us to our core, it's easy to think God must have been mistaken. This is not how life is supposed to be.

It's easy to see this tendency in the circumstances that threaten to overtake our lives as we know them. But, what about during the more mundane happenings that pass each day? We often miss the Hand of God and His fingerprints in life's minor inconveniences.

This year, as in years past, I planted a garden or, more accurately, a crop. It was not your average "throw some seeds in the ground and see how they do" affair. Not in the least.

It began with reading and planning and dirt testing. Then days filled with hand tilling and soil enhancement. By the time planting days deemed appropriate by the Farmer's Almanac arrived, I was exhausted both mentally and physically. My hands had more blisters than a sunburned albino and every muscle in my body protested even the slightest movement.

And, I prayed through every step in the process. I prayed harder as the work got harder. With more pain came more prayer. In the end, I cried to the Lord. Tears rolled with sweat down my face as I begged for His strength just to finish, and I praised Him when I did.

The weeks passed as I watered. My garden looked lovely. It was exciting to see the sprouts spring up and still more exhilarating to watch them bloom and grow. Praise the Lord for His goodness!

"Wait...is that...gasp!...mold?! Ok. Don't panic, just water every other day instead. Great, now they look dry and burnt."
It went from bad to worse. First the cucumber vines succumbed, then the potatoes. "Not the corn, Lord! Really?"

In the end, we lost it all. Frustration set in and then anger. "Lord, did I not pray? Did I not ask for your blessing and favor? Did I not promise to tithe the first fruits?" I reasoned. I don't often get angry with God, but I could see no fault of my own for this failure.

Often I sit on the front porch of our country home for my quiet time with Him. Since the devastation that was my garden sits close to the porch, I had avoided seeing it and opted instead for the comfort of the kitchen table for devotions, until the morning He nudged me back outside.

As I sat contemplating the mess with hurt in my heart, He led me straight to a verse which I don't know if I could find again if I tried. It said, in essence, "Yea, though my fields be empty, Lord, yet will I praise thee."

I no longer see failure in the brown cornstalks poking up out of the ground, I see the gentleness of a Father who loves me. I see His sovereignty. I see a lesson. And, I see that, although I do the tilling and the plating and the watering, it is He alone who gives the harvest.

Father, please forgive my presumptuousness and the ensuing temper tantrum. I am humbled before you, my King. Thank you for the opportunity to serve in Your fields. It is an honor and a privilege. Thank you for granting the strength to complete the tasks you set before me. And, "Though my fields be empty, Lord, yet will I praise thee." AMEN!

Without You Lord, I am Nothing

So much time has passed, I scarcely know where to begin. However, this is not about me. It is about a life affected by the Lord.

The last years have been trying to say the least. What I have found most difficult to bear is the time of spiritual dryness. I have endured a protracted time of barrenness in my relationship with the Lord, and it has been agonizing.

To my shame, I had harbored thoughts in my heart so deeply, I didn't even know they were there. I had the audacity to believe in some way all I had learned and studied about God's Word was a result of work I had done. I supposed the knowledge was my own. In my pride, the Lord "slapped me off my donkey." His discipline to such an attitude was swift and justifiably harsh, and I am glad.

It taught me a lesson I will not soon forget. I came to the immediate understanding that without the guidance of the Holy Spirit, I do not even have the capacity to comprehend the words in the Book, let alone to soak into their rich and deep context. The great beauty I have experienced in the pages of His Word has absolutely nothing to do with me nor any intrinsic ability on my part. I have enjoyed profound revelation of His glory in the pages of His Word only through the gift of His grace and generosity. He has delighted my soul.

When the realization of my arrogance arose in my mind, I was immediately cut off from understanding. Throughout the months and years to follow, I would occasionally have a moment of clarity in which He would show me in my desperation that He was still with me and had not abandoned me altogether. Those times, however, were few and far between and mere fleeting glimpses of closeness I yearned to experience everlasting.

As well, during this time, I had asked a professional writer friend of mine if there was any potential in my writing. The response cut me to the quick. I was informed that my writing is "not interesting." I have wrestled with this declaration for quite some time now. At first, I felt hurt mixed with no small amount of embarrassment. I decided never to write again. But I waver as I am reminded of His question to me, "If I were the only one listening, would you write anyway?" Yes, Lord, I would.

Well, this season of desolate isolation appears to be nearing its conclusion. I find myself in a place of refreshment and renewal, and my soul rejoices!

Since I have received many more messages indicating the writing the Lord has put on my heart touches the souls of others, I have decided to fulfill my promise to my Father. Yes Lord, I will write as though You are the only one listening. I will extol You. I will allow my soul to sing of the good things You show me. I will never again take them for granted nor will I allow myself to harbor vanity in my heart.

Without You Lord, I am nothing.