Little Surprises

My husband and I eat lunch together every Friday at a diner not far from our house. Actually, we’ve eaten at this restaurant for so long we know everybody who works there.

One Friday we finished our meals and were waiting for Carol, our waitress, to bring us the check. I leaned back in my chair and sighed contentedly.

“I’m stuffed,” I told Scott. And then I thought, A piece of chocolate would be a nice finish to this lunch. But then as quickly as the thought came, it fled. We don’t have chocolate at our house and the restaurant doesn’t sell candy at the front counter.

Carol dropped off the check, and Scott and I went to the front to pay the bill.

As I handed the money to Gloria, the hostess/cashier, I heard Scott say, “Well, it sure would be nice if you shared whatever that candy is.”

Gloria laughed. Although I wasn’t paying much attention, I glanced at Gloria to see that she was sucking on something. She opened a drawer next to the cash register, pulled out a small Dove chocolate, and handed it to Scott. Then she took another and passed it to me. I looked at the candy and blinked. It took me a moment to process what had just happened: I’d thought for just a second about how nice a piece of chocolate would be, and voila, in less than five minutes, I had a piece of chocolate.

Most people would laugh it off as a coincidence. But it hit me that God had handed me a little surprise. Just because.

And then something else hit me. How many little surprises do I miss throughout my day, because I think God’s too busy handling really important issues to be concerned about little, insignificant wants and desires? Only bother God with issues of salvation or war or famine; don’t bug him about chocolate. But you know, he’s a father who delights in his children!

In Psalms David wrote, “The LORD directs the steps of the godly. He delights in every detail of their lives” (Psalm 37:23, italics added). And on that Friday, those details included an after dinner treat.

As I opened that piece of heavenly delight and popped it into my mouth, I was overwhelmed by the simple pleasure God must have had to surprise me like that. For no reason other than I’m his kid and he loves me.

Wholehearted Sabbath

There’s something about the Sabbath that’s like taking a deep breath of fresh air. However, there’s also something about it that produces anxiety within me. What is the Sabbath supposed to look like? What should I be doing? What should I not be doing?

I grew up in a family that practiced the Sabbath, sort of. My parents were lay leaders in church, so Sunday was a day of work and ministry. Saturdays were closer to what I’d call a Sabbath. While the morning was spent doing chores, lunch marked the beginning of time for family, the park, movies, and long, leisurely meals. It was a kind of hybrid Sabbath, where we spent half of what God commanded as a day of rest.

With that personal background, the question of what should I be doing and not doing on the Sabbath still lingers. Exodus 20 tells me, “Work six days and do everything you need to do. But the seventh day is a Sabbath to God, your God. Don’t do any work” (The Message).

Sabbath to do: focus on God in my rest.

Sabbath not to do: tasks that need to get done, like bills, chores, and shopping.

With the backdrop of the Hebrew Scriptures and hundreds of years of rules interpreting this command, Jesus clarifies and deepens our understanding as only he can. In Mark 2 the disciples get in trouble for breaking established rules, and Jesus teaches: “The Sabbath was made to benefit people, and not people to benefit the Sabbath. And I, the Son of Man, am master even of the Sabbath!” (2:27–28). In Mark 3 Jesus notices a man with a withered hand and asks those gathered in the synagogue: “What kind of action suits the Sabbath best? Doing good or doing evil? Helping people or leaving them helpless?” (3:4).

Sabbath to do: do good by helping people and be flexible.

Sabbath not to do: take my Sabbath so seriously that I ignore or avoid doing good to others.

Recently I had the opportunity to travel to Israel and experience a modern keeping of the Sabbath. We ceased our travel and learning by sunset on Friday. One of our hosts offered the traditional prayer over the wine and the two loaves of challah bread to mark the beginning of this weekly holiday. We partook in a leisurely Sabbath meal in which we had time to get to know and enjoy our fellow travelers and our Israeli hosts. It was a wonderful opportunity to remember God’s blessings of rest and to delight in the gift of friendship.

Sabbath to do: Cease, end, and rest (which is what the Hebrew word Shabbat means), delight in God’s good gifts of people, rest, and nature, and start the Sabbath with “‘Shabbat shalom,’ ‘The peace of the Sabbath be with you.’”

Sabbath not to do: ignore the tradition and wisdom of generations who have obeyed God’s commandment.

I learned that preparation and planning are necessary to enjoy delightful rest. However, even with these insights, I still struggle with the planning and practical side of the Sabbath and with the desire to do it wholeheartedly.

Can you relate? What do you do to prepare and delight in the limits and the activities of Sabbath?

The Art of Discomfort

I’m reading the Gospel of Mark again. I always forget about Mark. I leave him out of the Gospel writer equation and then I feel terrible amounts of guilt for forgetting him. I wonder if he was a middle child.

Anyway, I stumbled upon this little number last night from Mark 6:47–52:

“Later that night, the boat was in the middle of the lake, and [Jesus] was alone on land. He saw the disciples straining at the oars, because the wind was against them. Shortly before dawn he went out to them, walking on the lake. He was about to pass by them, but when they saw him walking on the lake, they thought he was a ghost. They cried out, because they all saw him and were terrified.

“Immediately he spoke to them and said, ‘Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.’ Then he climbed into the boat with them, and the wind died down. They were completely amazed, for they had not understood about the loaves; their hearts were hardened” (Italics added.)

This event took place less than 24 hours after Jesus took five loaves and a few fish and created a meal that satisfied thousands. You’d think that at this point, the disciples would be looking at Jesus and thinking, This man can do anything. We’re good to go. Instead, they somehow managed to forget about his recent miracle, and found themselves stunned and terrified by his ability to walk on water and calm the storms.

Their hearts were hardened toward his power and greatness, and these hardened hearts kept them from understanding the truth that God’s power rests on those who put their faith in him. Jesus was constantly re-teaching his disciples to put their trust in him.

I can sit around and judge the disciples for being complete morons, and I might have a few valid points (Peter, for example, was not the sharpest tool in the shed. Thomas had trust issues). But in reality, the reaction of the disciples to the power of Jesus Christ acts as a mirror into my own doubting, blinded soul.

I’ve had countless experiences with God performing miracles in my life. Now, granted, he’s never multiplied my coffee beans or enabled me to ice skate down a waterfall. I still can't fly, which is kind of a bummer. He’s not flashy like that with me. He does things far better, and works where I need him most. He led me to a new job when I was scared of leaving the security of the old one behind. He provides for me when I'm not sure how I am going to make it financially. He’s blessed me with friends and protected me from relationships that would have hurt me. Countless times I’ve seen a blessing that’s put upon my life when I’ve stepped out in faith. I know as I walk through my days that the hand of God is upon my life.

I know all of this, and yet I still find myself afraid. I’m going through some uneasy transitions—at 24 years old and single, I think I’m always going through transitions. There are constant unknowns in my life. Where will I live next year? Who will I live with? Will the price of gas keep going up? Am I doing enough at my job? What will I do if my car breaks down? Are my parents going to keep their health for a long time? Am I ever going to manage to settle down enough to get married? I’m so selfish. How do I even become a person capable of marriage? Am I serving enough? And I serving too little?

And on . . . and on . . . and on.

These are the thoughts that fly through my head on a daily basis and keep me up at night. Last year at this time, I was forced to trust God in a way that drove me to my knees on a daily basis. I saw his providence and was able to begin thanking him for providing for me before he’d actually done so. My entire perspective changed last year, and my faith was strengthened through a power that was not my own, but was the Holy Spirit working on my heart.

But now . . . I find myself having lived comfortably over the past few months. And such comfort leads me to a place of false self-sufficiency. And that self-sufficiency leads me away from relying on God. So here I stand, knowing I need to get back to that place of constant dependence, but annoyed by it in the same way a petulant toddler feels annoyed that he can’t yet walk across the living room floor without the help of his mother.

Doubting in the power of an almighty God is a dangerous game that leads to anxiety and helplessness. It can crush my spirit if I let it. So today, I will fight the good fight. I will to ask God to soften my hardened heart and allow me to see and trust in his ever-perfect ways. I’m going to lift my hands and ask for a little help as I try and take my next step.

I hope you’ll do the same.

I Give Up

Every year for as long as I can remember, I’ve given up something for Lent. As a child, I routinely surrendered chocolate, and many years I’ve given up sweets all together. I thought last year was the hardest ever. I gave up caffeine and candy.

So this year as Lent approached, I wondered what to do. I wasn’t really up for surrendering coffee again. Chocolate was too easy. This year I sensed God calling me to do something more challenging.

Just give up, he kept whispering. Give up.

Submission has been a running topic of debate in my house lately. I don’t do it well, as I’ve come to discover in some not so pleasant field experiments, like, say, my marriage. And yet since last year—Good Friday to be exact—I’ve sensed God running a thread on the theme of submission through my life.

Last Good Friday, the culmination of 40 days of giving up food stuffs so I could experience God more tangibly, I had a life-changing revelation: “Unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. . . . Those who love their life in this world will lose it. Those who care nothing for their life in this world will keep it for eternity” (John 12:24–25).

Somehow in giving up food and drink that I like—a small but specific dying to self—God helped me gain a bigger sense of the deeper dying that needs to happen in me. There’s still so much I hold onto.

So this year, instead of giving up food and drink, I have merely given up.

Slowly—painstakingly, actually—I’m allowing God to show me the parts of my life that I’ve been unwilling to submit to him. Where am I a hardened kernel, Lord? Where are you waiting for me to soften up so you can begin to bloom something in me?

God asks us to die to ourselves because he has something so much more glorious to raise up. Why, then, do I resist this? Why don’t I just die already?

Because dying’s hard, and it’s not fun.

Like the apostle Paul, I sigh: “What a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death? Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord” (Romans 7:24–25).

I can’t share my list of specific surrenders I’ve made this Lent, which is unsettlingly to me, who prides herself on being productive and having noteworthy achievements (Oops, I just let one slip out of the bag!). But I can share this: In submitting myself to God, I’m letting him do what he wants. I’m letting go of my agenda for my life as best I know how. And I’m finding that God is patient and gracious. He reveals to me as much as he knows my proud, little heart can bear.

How about you? Where is God calling you to die so he can birth something new?