Handfuls of Flour. And Gas Cans

Once upon a time in a far away land, there was a lady named Liz who wrote a bunch of blogs. She stopped writing for several years- for all kinds of reasons, but mainly because it didn't feel like it "mattered enough." She kept paying for this domain during those off-years, because there was still some good stuff here after all, and deep down she didn't want to be completely done. She hopes it's not weird that she's writing a blog again out of the blue. "Do people still even write blogs these days?" she wondered to herself. "Does anyone even still read them? Am I supposed to say the things I want to say in a TikTok or podcast instead?" Lucky for you, she is too technologically inept and stuck in her ways to try anything new, so you can go ahead and read this dinosaur without fear of jump-scaring anyone around you with unexpected audio. You're welcome. **************************************************************************************************************

 Ironically, the thing that spurred today's blog entry was a podcast. (Shout out to Jennie Allen for being cooler than me.) I was loading dirty dishes into the dishwasher when these words pierced through the air: "Lay down the inferiority you feel when you think about purpose." I don't know when Ms. Jennie had recorded these words, and she doesn't know me, so there's no way she knew that just the day before I had read this account in 1 Kings:

7 Some time later the brook dried up because there had been no rain in the land. 8 Then the word of the Lord came to him: 9 “Go at once to Zarephath in the region of Sidon and stay there. I have directed a widow there to supply you with food.” 10 So he went to Zarephath. When he came to the town gate, a widow was there gathering sticks. He called to her and asked, “Would you bring me a little water in a jar so I may have a drink?” 11 As she was going to get it, he called, “And bring me, please, a piece of bread.” 12 “As surely as the Lord your God lives,” she replied, “I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die.” 13 Elijah said to her, “Don’t be afraid. Go home and do as you have said. But first make a small loaf of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me, and then make something for yourself and your son. 14 For this is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the Lord sends rain on the land.’” 15 She went away and did as Elijah had told her. So there was food every day for Elijah and for the woman and her family. 16 For the jar of flour was not used up and the jug of oil did not run dry, in keeping with the word of the Lord spoken by Elijah.(1 Kings 17:7-16)

Jennie also didn't know that earlier this morning, a lady's vehicle had been brought to a stall in the middle of the road directly in front of my house. 

 Some background information for you:

 -I drop off my kids in my pajamas. Every day. Not sorry about it. 

-I have never helped a broken down motorist. 

-I don't know anything about cars or car gadgets. 

-My husband is deployed. He has lovingly prepped me with all kinds of useful things in the garage before he left, and I SWEAR I LISTENED, but I have since forgotten all the things he'd told me. 

-I'm a crazy mess. 

 So as I approached my house this morning, I waited behind her stalled car for a solid minute, thinking "Hmm this is weird," before I finally boxed around her car and turned into my driveway. I hopped out of the car in all my pajama-pantsed glory as a woman exited her vehicle. 

 She had run out of gas. In the legitimate middle of the road, one block away from the elementary school, and God had her run out of gas *right in front of my house.* Me.  The lady whose car and people skills equate to one handful of flour...

 But I had a little gas in a jug. Unfortunately, this crazy lady could not remember from her husband's briefing a few months earlier whether it was regular or diesel. I tried calling him, but couldn't get through. No worries, though--I could just go to the gas station for a new can! I told her I'd be right back, and left for the station. I looked and looked, but no gas cans. I asked the lady behind the counter and she retrieved the *last one* at the store for me. This was feeling meant to be!

I filled 'er up and headed back to the house. This expedition had taken me longer than expected, and I wondered if she'd even still be there, but she was. Cars going past her left and right. I came back out of the car and raised the gas can in victory! Hooray!! 

Unfortunately, the newfangled spill-proof gas cans they're making these days are the devil's work, and we could not figure out how to get the gas to dispense out. We were out there struggling for at least 10 minutes, cars going around us left and right. (Defeat. Boo.)

 At just the right time, my next door neighbor looked out the window and saw us struggling, and I got a text from my husband. The neighbor also struggled with the devil can, giving me slight validation. And my husband let me know that it was indeed regular gas in our can (probably for the fifth time now) and I converted the contents of the newfangled devil can into the proper relic. It probably took me an hour to do what could have been done in 15 minutes, but she was able to drive away. (And I was able to keep my word. Bonus!) 

 This was a little thing I was asked to do. I mean, it turned into a big ordeal because I'm me and I make all things more difficult than they need to be, but truly, it was a small deed. 

Yet, let me tell you all the things I was thinking when I was called to serve this woman brought to my house today: 

-I don't know what to do. 

-I don't know if this is the right thing to help. 

-I don't know where to find the thing to help. 

-This person might no longer need my help. 

-I don't know how to use the thing to help. 

-I feel like I'm not helping. 

-I wish someone else would help. 

 **All of this self-doubt and second-guessing for a small, self-explanatory thing, y'all!**

 The widow's call was worlds bigger than mine, without a doubt. (And I am NOT selling her faith and obedience short, so please don't think that!) But it is strange to imagine that at the end of the day, the Lord brought someone to her house asking for bread, and she could have been bombarded with the feelings of inferiority I had when someone asked me for gas. 

 Don't do that. 

 Don't let "devil cans" or the devil make you think that what you can do is not good enough. 

That generosity in any amount is ever small. 

That if it doesn't help a big group, then it's somehow not helpful. 

That if the impact isn't big, then it must not be important. 

 I think so many of us are searching for ways to make a big difference, but we end up driving left and right around the assignment that's right in front of our face. Don't do that either. 

 I'm thankful this assignment came to my front door today, because if I'm honest, I probably would have missed it otherwise. I'm thankful for the help of the cashier and my neighbor and my husband. I'm thankful to serve a God who shows us big lessons in humble moments. And I'm thankful I still get taught lessons, even if they always seem to happen the hard way. 

 And for Jennie Allen's podcast :) ***************************The End. For now :)

Love Your Neighbor

I know I haven't written a post in a million-jillion blogging years, but I've been mulling something over, and I think this is the right place to share it.

The week that the Texas Heartbeat Bill took effect, I sat in a balcony in my new church home and heard a message preached on Luke 10:25-37--the Good Samaritan. I do not think this was a coincidence for me. Here's the story of the Samaritain:

On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” “What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?” He answered, “ ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’” “You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.” But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’ “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.” Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”(NIV)

Now before I start doing my thing, I need y'all to know how personal this is going to be for me and how vulnerable this *already* makes me feel. Everything I say, I say in love. Please remember that.

So about this parable...

Let's start with the beginning piece of information, which tells us that a man was attacked, exposed, beaten, and left..

Should the man have been travelling by himself? Was he going down a sketchy road at the wrong time of night? Was he foolishly parading around his goods, making him more of a target to robbers? We don't get to know that, nor does it matter. What matters is what happened. He was attacked and beaten and left to die.

Now, I am also going to try to approach recent events from an angle of what has happened. Not whether or not abortion should be legal, not whether or not a bill should have been made into law, but simply looking at what is. In Texas, abortions are now off the table to women who are more than six weeks pregnant. The oppositions to block this bill have all been beaten. And now we are left with these women.

Church, you need to see these beaten women. I'm seeing a lot of commentary about how these women are selfish, horrible, weak, baby-hating murderers. Can I tell you from personal experience what they really are?

Scared. Ashamed. Lost. Desparate. Alone.

The burden of an unplanned pregnancy is painfully heavy. And even though it takes more than one person for that pregnancy to occur, it's the woman that bears the brunt of it. I don't mean to suggest that the father's load is especially easy--not at all. But societally speaking, if the father decides to walk away, then nobody really hounds him. If the father decides to stay, then he's a hero. In contrast, the mother can't walk away from it..it walks with her. If she chooses to terminate, she's a killer. If she chooses to keep the baby, well...we all know the word she's called.

I'm also not saying that these babies aren't still worth celebrating. But I know that choosing to keep the baby in this situation comes with a sort of solemn celebration. That belly will be the scarlet letter a mother wears for a while. Everyone will eventually notice, and everyone gets to know what she did. Telling families is more hard than happy. Some families feel like they have to share with a bit of embarassment. Feeling like you let people down is terrible, and it lingers with you.

I am a mother who had support from so many loving people in my circumstance. A lot of the women who would choose abortion and now can't, do not. I cannot imagine doing what I did all alone.

We've got to get ourselves there together, Church. We have to see these broken women. And seeing broken people should break your heart, not harden it.

The next part of the parable was almost too painful for me to piece together with this, but here we go.

A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.

Friends, I don't think it was an accident that Jesus chose priests and Levites to be the "ignorers" in His parable. I do think it would be an accident to skim over what this might mean for us. The question we have to ask is why would a priest and a Levite ignore a man who needed help?

Too busy? Too apathetic? Perhaps. But what I worry is actually true isn't what the priest and Levite might have been, but what they thought the beaten man was: Too messy.

The priest and the Levite had duties to the temple to remain ceremonially "clean." They couldn't do what they needed to do in the temple if they chose to help this man--they would have been forbidden to, actually. The man's blood literally could not be on their hands if they wanted to don their robes and go to their stations.

I don't want to have to say it, but you know where I'm going here...

We cannot pass these mothers off, Church. We cannot turn people aside because we might get their "dirt" on us. We cannot avoid their messy-ness. The mess is already here, and it isn't going anywhere. (And guys, unless you're reading a different Bible than I am, it is just going to get messier.)

Can tell you a broken-hearted truth? I have never felt lonelier in my life than when I went inside a church with a baby and no wedding ring. Everybody has something that they're struggling with, but most people try to mask it somehow. I couldn't hide the baby, and it made me a pariah in the pews.

Now, is it fair to those people to put the burden of my shame on them? Nope.

But was it fair to Christ to put the burden of your shame on Him?...

Praise God that Christ was not afraid to come down into our mess and bear our sin and shame, because this is the gospel of grace and love and redemption! He did it first. It's what we're supposed to do, too.

The next part of the parable says a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. If it's not an accident that the priests ignored, then it's also no accident that the Samaritan saw. In Biblical times, Samaritans were not highly regarded amongst the Israelite nation. They were the lesser-thans. The not-so-holies.

Father, help us. The "not-so-holies" are coming to Your people. (Spoiler: they are His people, too.)

In what might be a wonderful mercy of God *TO US,* these women are going to start showing up in droves at the church doors, because they have no place left to go. In desparation and holy irony, they are going to come to the finger-pointers and name-callers and ask for help. If it feels harsh, then embrace the sting a little with me. They know what we've been saying. They can read memes, too.

Have pity, Church, because the in the next part of the parable, we see the cost.

He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him.

The Samaritan tended to the man's wounds. Gave him medicine. Gave him transport. Gave him lodging. Gave him rest. Took care of him.

These mamas are going to need more than a billboard on the side of the road. They're going to need more than beautifully crafted digital file about how we are fearfully and wonderfully made. They're going to need care. Medicine. Transport. Lodging. Rest. Clothing. Food... They need hands and feet, not words. (Please hear this blogger: I struggle with this part a lot. Every day.)

After the Samaritan makes sure the man is settled, he pays an innkeeper with this promise:‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’ This Samaritan wasn't a fly-by Superman. He was coming back again--in it for the long haul. He was invested.

That's going to have to be our story, too. First the mamas, getting them through the pregnancy...Then the babies, making sure they're equipped for a healthy start...Then the mamas again with postpartum recoveries and lives with new babies...then their babies again as they continue to grow...

We have to keep showing up. We have stick with them. Raising children and taking care of people is an investment. It takes time to mature. (And just so we're tracking, there's going to be some extra expense.)

Like I said, this feels personal to me, and I'm about wiped from it all. But I'd be remiss if I did not mention that many of the people who'd click on this link to read my thoughts are the very same ones who've invested in me: in my family and in my faith. I love you so much and I'm thankful for you.

The last part of this story ends in direction from Jesus. Go and do.

I hope we will. In Jesus' Name. Amen.

Of Fruit and Fire

Veering from my usual anecdotal revelations, I want to quickly share a bit of Biblical wisdom with you.  The sharing will happen in a stream of consciousness telling with a bit of unnecessary details, I'm sure, because I am still me.

I am in a women's Bible study group and we are in the book of Numbers. Today the study had me reading Numbers chapters 16 and 17.  Here are the highlights to help keep you with me the rest of the time:

-Backstory: The Israelite generation that was liberated from Egypt has just been told that they shall not enter into the promised land, because of their fear at the report of 10 spies (who we can assume would have been very prominent warriors/leaders in the community.)

-Chapter 16: Everybody blames Moses. Everybody is mad at Moses. People are starting to wonder if Moses is a worthy leader. There is a man named Korah who rallies 250 respected and influential members of the tribe to confront Moses and ask for more responsibility at the tabernacle. (Perhaps thinking they could interpret God's word better so they weren't doomed to wandering?) A couple fellas, Dathan and Abiram, who side with Korah, are so over Moses's leadership that they don't even want to come into an audience with him...are just flat out going to ignore him and his God-given authority. Now Moses is offended. He talks to God about his anger, and then tells all the people who were unhappy with their current responsibilities and hungry for more authority to come to the tabernacle with censers in hand. They do. God tells Moses and Aaron to remove themselves from the situation because it is about to get bad. Moses immediately asks God to not consume everyone because of the misleadings of a few. God tells them to make sure everyone is removed from the tents of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram. Then these guys and all their worldly possessions are swallowed up in the earth. Then, the 250 who followed Korah and held the censers are consumed by fire. Moses is instructed to have a priest take the now holy censers and melt them down for a plate to cover the altar. (There is more to the chapter. Read if you're interested.)

-Chapter 17: All of the Israelites are, understandably, distraught. God asks the twelve tribes to provide one staff each and present them in the tabernacle. God takes Aaron's staff and causes it to bud and blossom and produce almonds.  After the staffs are all presented to the congregation, God tells Moses to leave Aaron's staff in the temple as a reminder to the people.

So here in the temple we now have two tokens of remembrance: an altar made from the censers and a staff bursting with fruit and life.

The commentary for the study I am in used the altar and the staff to help distinguish between disobedience- which leads to death, and obedience- which leads to life. I like that and I agree with it.  But as I kept contemplating these verses for myself, I was led to something even deeper.

In chapter 16, when the LORD instructs Moses to collect the censers from the burned, He says this:

"Speak unto Eleazar the son of Aaron the priest, that he take up the censers out of the burning, and scatter thou the fire yonder; for they are hallowed. The censers of these sinners against their own souls, let them make broad plates for a covering of the altar: for they offered them unto the LORD, therefore they are hallowed:" (v37-38)

Censers were reserved for priests, and in the Old Testament and under the old covenant, priests were only to be Levites. The 250 were not Levites.  It is why their censers needed the refining fire. It is also why Aaron's staff blossomed. His was the staff that would bear fruit in the temple.

But we are not bound by all of the laws of the old covenant.  We live under the new covenant, established through Jesus Christ. Whereas the Israelites followed the letter and instructions of the Law for holiness and sanctification, we rely on Jesus and His Spirit to sanctify us through the Spirit of God that dwells in us. 

I was thinking about how God operates so differently under this new covenant, and yet so much in the same way. Christ does the sanctifying work in us. We will be made holy--like the 250. But our hearts determine if that sanctification is going to happen through fire or through fruit.

I know I've had a bit of both in my life. 

Fruitfulness is lovelier in the book of Numbers, it is our calling under the new covenant, and I would argue it's the better way now.

But I just want to offer a glimmer of hope from a hard O.T. judgment: God can still use your fire as a holy offering, maybe even to bless others.  I haven't done research yet to see what else the altar of the 250 was used for. I am curious to find if anything else was offered there or if it was simply for remembrance--but I know it was holy, for God Himself had made it become holy.

11Day after day every priest stands and performs his religious duties; again and again he offers the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins. 12But when this priest had offered for all time one sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God, 13and since that time he waits for his enemies to be made his footstool. 14For by one sacrifice he has made perfect forever those who are being made holy. (Hebrews 10)

 Keep going-xoxo