Thanksgiving Offerings Writing Prompt #3
What have you learned through the loss of a job or other financial adversity? How have you seen God at work in those circumstances? How has it affected your view of God’s provision? Has it changed your perspective on giving and tithing?
Encourage others through this project; describe how God has brought good out of the circumstance in your life that wasn’t ‘good.’ If you’ve learned something by observing someone else endure this, please ask them to share their story, too!
Thanksgiving Offerings Writing Prompt #2
Have you suffered from an illness or disability? Your child, spouse or parent? How has God worked through those circumstances? Has He taught you something you wouldn’t otherwise know?
Share your story – in just a few sentences – with the rest of us as an offering of praise to God. Further explanation and a form to submit it on the Thanksgiving Offerings Project page. Do you know someone whose story has inspired you? Please send them the link!
Thanksgiving Offerings Writing Prompt #1
My father died 31 years ago today. I’ve been able to comfort others because of that experience. How has God used your losses for His glory?
Send your story in here: Thanksgiving Offerings Project. It doesn’t have to be long; just a few sentences will suffice to bless others and praise God.
Reliance
The road wended its way toward home, with the river and its steep, rocky embankment on the left. First a slight drizzle, then a light, pretty snow. I was relaxed after some time away with my sister and felt at ease on the roads. I was driving our reliable-but-aged SUV and casually commented to her that I was “so grateful for my all-wheel drive vehicle” in weather like that.
No sooner were the words out of my mouth than we began to slip. The initial fraction of a second alerted me, but I then realized that we were really sliding. Really sliding. The road was curving to the right and we were headed – quickly – for the ravine and the river. My prayer was a simple, “Oh, Lord” as I steered into the slide. Still sliding, I was way across the yellow line, about five feet from going off the guardrail-less road. “Oh, Lord.” A moment’s recovery. Sliding again… this time towards the concrete barrier on my right as the road was beginning to straighten out and turn left. My sister began praying, too, except she somehow had the wherewithal to utter more than my simple, “Oh, Lord.” More sliding and then sudden traction, just a couple feet before colliding with the barrier. “Oh, Lord.”
I burst into tears immediately. I was terrified, relieved and thankful, but none of these were the reason I was crying.
Scripture had leapt into my mind instantaneously:
Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God. –Psalm 20:7
I was so humbled by this Word of correction that I was utterly beside myself. I had, moments before, given voice to my previously unspoken trust in a thing. I wasn’t trusting in God; I was trusting – quite literally – in my chariot. I was relying on my worldly goods for my safety, well-being and comfort. I should no more count on guardrails for my safety than my car. I was not relying on God. And He is too good to let me continue in that sin.
In hindsight, I don’t think we were ever in danger. It was as if God had His mighty hands on either side of the road, hemming us in where the guardrails were missing, yet allowing me to see the gravity of my misplaced trust. It felt like a bumper-car bounce when we regained traction, though we didn’t hit anything.
I’m asking God to show me my other chariots. I must not trust in them.
I must rely on God and God alone.
Please be sure to check out the Thanksgiving Offerings Project.
Send me your thoughts!
Thanksgiving Offerings
This week’s blog post will be up tomorrow, as usual. Until then, please be sure to check out the special Thanksgiving project I posted today: Thanksgiving Offerings.
Your contribution adds richness and depth to this concert of praises. Thank you for your participation; you bless me.
Gratefully,
Kirsten
Not Even Eyelids
He was perched atop his booster seat, at the table in my kitchen, hair wild from a nap and up to his elbows in raisins. I was full-time Auntie for the weekend, while my sister and her husband were away. In his parents’ absence, my nephew came to me for all things: his injuries (which, thankfully, were few), his delights (which, thankfully, were many), and his various needs like shoe-tying, snack-making, book-reading, and more snack-making. I enjoyed what felt like celebrity treatment from him and we had a terrific weekend together.As he enjoyed a bounty of raisins with his brother and my children around our table, an ‘incident’ occurred. Nothing major, mind you, but an infraction on his part that required correction. I was tempted to overlook it, desirous of preserving my rock star status in his eyes, but it was [sigh] necessary.
Due to the patient and dedicated teaching of his parents, my nephew’s conscience was already pricked over his wrongdoing. I knew because I saw it on his face: his head was cocked ever-so-slightly away from me, and his eyes squinted shut, the smallest crows’ feet wrinkling his perfect three-year-old skin. You see, he’d gone to his own special place. Away from me. His toddler rationale: if he couldn’t see me, then I couldn’t see him. And if I couldn’t see him, I couldn’t discipline him.
Nice try, slim.
It was as darling as it was absurd.
We’re not able to conceal ourselves and our wrongdoings from God any more than closing his eyes eclipsed him from my vision. Much as I wished to lovingly teach, correct and restore my nephew, so too the Lord invites our confessions:
But if we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all wickedness.
— 1 John 1:9 NLTPeople who conceal their sins will not prosper, but if they confess and turn from them, they will receive mercy.
— Proverbs 28:13 NLT
Our Father spared nothing, not even His Son, to secure our forgiveness. The knowledge that forgiveness has already been extended should liberate us to freely, though not flippantly, seek Him for restoration.
As a parent (and Auntie), I pray my children find me merciful in hearing their admissions of guilt. I hope I demonstrate, in some small fashion, the loving instruction and grace so generously offered to me in Christ Jesus. As a child of God, I pray I will run to my God for His merciful forgiveness, trusting fully in the sacrifice made to secure it for me.
We needn’t hide. Nothing we do, no sin we commit, can separate us from God if we have trusted in Christ. Nothing. Not even eyelids.
And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.
— Romans 8:38,39
Standers-by
When you see someone in trouble, do you stop to help or walk past, assuming that somebody else will do it? Would you want passers-by to provide assistance if the person in trouble was your child?
NBC recently staged a child-abduction on the streets of New York City to see how many people would get involved when they encountered a seven year old girl pulling away from a man, yelling for help, “You’re not my daddy.” It took hours of repeating the scenario before someone responded and came to her aid.
Earlier this month, in the Guangdong province of China, a two-year-old girl was run over in a marketplace. Eighteen people walked or cycled past before someone responded to her need.
In both cases, we’re quick to condemn those who did not intervene, but must consider whether we have looked the other way when we know we should have done something.
When asked what one must do to inherit eternal life, Jesus responded that we must love God and love our neighbors. He illustrated what it means to be a ‘neighbor’ in the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37). Both a priest and a Levite observed but passed by the man who had been beaten and robbed instead of providing assistance; they chose the role of bystander, while the Samaritan got involved.
bystander –
a person present but not involved; onlooker; spectator
What if Jesus had taken the role of the bystander: present, but uninvolved. What if he saw our need and, though fully capable of meeting it, fancied Himself too important or too busy to do anything, and assumed that someone else would take responsibility for both our physical and spiritual conditions?
- Bartimaeus would have spent the rest of his days in blinded darkness. (Mark 10)
- Jairus would have outlived his young daughter. (Mark 5)
- The leper may never have enjoyed human contact again. (Matthew 8)
- The paralytic would not have walked home. (Luke 5)
And you and I would remain dead in our transgressions. (Ephesians 2)
Shudder.
We are called to be more than bystanders to those around us because of our relationship with Him. We are meant to be His hands and feet on this earth. God gave us the ability and privilege of helping others – His children, people made in His image. In His calling on Abram’s life, God said He would bless Abram, and that Abram, in turn, was to be a blessing. (Genesis 12)
Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead. –James 2:15-17 NIV
Instead of being bystanders, let us become standers-by:
stand-by –
a person or thing that is ready for use or can be relied on in an emergency; in a state of readiness to act, respond, or be used immediately when needed.
We don’t have the power to forgive sin or change spiritual conditions; that’s God’s work. But we can stand at-the-ready to be His agent in the world. When God puts another’s need in our path, we are, in most cases, capable of doing something – no matter how small.
Doing something is doing the right thing. It may or may not be life-saving, but it will be life-giving.
For further consideration:
Why does God urge us to get involved in another’s distress?
– It shows our love for Him and wins others to Christ.
– It is a way of loving God Himself.
– It reminds us of our need for Him, in practical and eternal ways.
What would you add to that list?
It’s all good
It’s all good. Or, is it?
Culturally, we’re hung up on the concept of ‘good.’ Companies like Yoplait and Life is Good hinge their slogans and even their very name on the word. Our vernacular employs it to connote anything that is positive, pleasurable, or profitable. It’s become an arbitrary or generic term for anything we like.
In a world virally-infected with sin, where disease and depravity run rampant, can the simple phrase ‘it’s all good’ possibly bear truth? Children are abandoned or abused; families stagger under the weight of poverty the world over; natural disasters and accidents wreak havoc on life and livelihood. These can hardly be described as ‘good’, can they?
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.
– Romans 8:28
This verse is the inspiration for the name of this website: Eight Twenty-Eight. As mentioned on my About page, I chose it because I routinely quote this verse to myself as an audible flash-card, to train myself in the mindset of knowing that God is both good and powerfully at work in the lives of His people.
According to Vines Expository Dictionary of the Bible, the Greek word for ‘good’ (agathos) as it’s used in Romans 8:28,
“describes that which, being “good” in its character or constitution, is beneficial in its effect.”
When the definite article ‘the’ precedes it, as it does in Romans 8:28, it
“signifies that which is “good,” lit., “the good,” as being morally honorable, pleasing to God, and therefore beneficial.”
Isn’t that a game-changer?
Beneficial in its effect. For our benefit. The benefit of becoming more like Christ.
My father died of a brain tumor when I was nine years old. I spent thirteen years not just grieving, but shaking my fist in rage at God for allowing it. Surrendering to my need for a Savior and trusting in the sacrifice and resurrection of Christ brought the healing I desperately needed. As a Christian, I reap the reward of this promise given to believers. I see how He has brought beauty out of those ashes: I have offered comfort to those with similar losses, I value my husband’s role in the lives of my children much more profoundly, I rejoice that I have a Father in heaven, and I responded to the plight of the fatherless in bringing home my sons from Russia.
When viewing present circumstances, it requires lenses of faith to believe that what we endure now will benefit us later. Our vision is limited; we think only in terms of this life, and often merely of our comfort in it. Yet all that befalls us has passed first before the Throne of God, and He has allowed it (though He cannot cause evil). He is fitting us for heaven with every experience, shaping our characters into the likeness of Christ, ones that can trust and praise Him in all circumstances.
The horrible injustices we observe or experience aren’t ‘good’ in and of themselves, but rather ‘good’ in the effect they produce, even if we don’t see that fruit on this side of eternity. That which another intends for evil, God repurposes – redeems, if you will – for good. (Genesis 50:20) For the believer, all things can be used by God to render us into greater likeness to Christ. From this eternal perspective all things are, therefore, good.
This knowledge doesn’t make our earthly sufferings easy to endure; they are not simply overcome with those words. In the darkest hours, I return to the first part of Romans 8:28: “And we know…” When I don’t feel that anything good can come of whatever I’m enduring, I have to lean on my knowledge of who God is and what His Word says.
And His Word says that He will. Someday… somehow.
In this world ravaged by depravity, my human eyes observe very little to be ‘good’ – much less all. And so, I yield. I yield to the knowledge that God is indeed sovereign, trusting that He can and will work all things together for the good of those who love Him. And thus I will trust that, “It will all be good.”
Will you?
Dedicated to KP:
Thank you for your living testimony to this truth in your life.
Returning Thanks
What if you woke up today with only the things you thanked God for yesterday?
This question was posed by a friend’s Facebook post last week. I read it and paused to thank God specifically for my husband, as I’d just traded email with a woman who recently lost hers. I did a quick inventory of what I’d thanked God for the day before and duly noted that I wasn’t returning thanks to God for so much as a fraction of all He’s given me. Must do a better job of that, I thought.
How that thought has haunted me since…
My husband called me when he arrived to pick up my daughter from her art class but she wasn’t waiting outside, “Is she with you?” I replied that she wasn’t. He said he’d call me back after he’d looked some more. I prayed, asking God to show us where she was. I wasn’t panicked… yet. After checking with the art teacher, and a more thorough search of the surrounding area, he called: she was nowhere to be found.
I prayed again. Then I called the police, issuing information about her: name, age, description, last known location, what she was wearing, and that this was unusual behavior. My other children instinctively put on their coats and shoes amidst their tears. We prayed as I drove us all to meet the police and my husband at art, my eyes scanning feverishly as I looked for her on the rain-drenched sidewalks along our route. Officers were on site when I arrived; my husband was relating more details about her. We handed them a photo of our daughter. It was utterly surreal.
Had I thanked God for my child yesterday?
I called a neighbor to ask for prayer. I called two other friends as well, but couldn’t get through, and couldn’t bear to leave the message. Both patrol cars left to canvass the area; my husband departed to do the same. I stayed in front of the art building, in hopes of her return. Calling for her. Pacing. Crying. Praying.
My phone rang. It was the neighbor I’d reached. She saw my daughter walking up our street towards home, in the rain. My daughter was safe. Inexplicably, she’d walked herself home… something she’d never done before, nor anything we had ever asked of her. It was out of character and out of protocol. I marveled at God’s sovereignty: the one person I’d reached was the one person who saw her.
I called my husband and notified the police. I sobbed as I ran to my car, thanking God. We raced home. I couldn’t get there fast enough; I had to see her – hold her – myself to confirm her well-being. There were no words of chastisement during that embrace, only gratitude to God for the gift of my daughter.
I know not all similar stories have such simple explanations and happy endings. In fact, I know it well. I certainly don’t contend that missing children are a consequence for ingratitude, but He used those interminable moments of worry to show me mine.
God has been exceedingly generous to me. He owed me nothing, yet has granted me immeasurable blessing, demonstrated singularly in the sacrifice of Christ. Oh, but how much more! Yes, I’ve experienced losses and continue to face challenges, but His gifts abound. And He was gracious enough to reveal my presumptuous nature that I would enjoy another day, another hour, of such prosperity.
It is His right to give, His right to take away. It is my responsibility to return thanks and acknowledge the Giver.
While [Job] was still speaking, yet another messenger came and said, “Your sons and daughters were feasting and drinking wine at the oldest brother’s house, when suddenly a mighty wind swept in from the desert and struck the four corners of the house. It collapsed on them and they are dead, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!”
At this, Job got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. Then he fell to the ground in worship and said:
“Naked I came from my mother’s womb,
and naked I will depart.
The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away;
may the name of the LORD be praised.”In all this, Job did not sin by charging God with wrongdoing.
–Job 1:18-22
Suggested reading: Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts.
Related music: Great is Thy Faithfulness
Tangled
Muffled whimpers escaped the closed bathroom door. It was past the time when she was due downstairs for the morning, so I’d gone upstairs to check on Boo. This darling daughter o’ mine is a basketful of surprises: I had no idea what I’d find when I opened the door. Perhaps frustration over getting earrings into her recently-pierced ears? Sadness over one escaping down the sink drain?
I found her dripping wet from her shower, trying to extricate a comb wound so tightly with hair that I feared removal would require surgical intervention. She was pulling and twisting, ratcheting the hair tighter with every failed attempt to free it, like a Chinese finger trap.
“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” She was afraid I’d laugh. Laughter was a generous assumption of my response, given the dictates of the over-filled morning that lay ahead. I tabulated the number of minutes remaining until we needed to leave for the bus stop, knowing breakfast hadn’t been consumed nor backpacks loaded. I silently asked God to help me put those concerns aside to meet her needs, physically and emotionally. She didn’t want my help, but she needed it. If she didn’t trust me to do right by her, we weren’t going anywhere – literally or figuratively.
I cajoled her into getting dressed and coming downstairs. (Or did I threaten?) She finally appeared in the kitchen in a school-appropriate outfit and a terry cloth wimple she’d constructed from her towel to conceal her ‘issue.’
The best strategy I could devise to salvage as much hair as possible was to pour oil on her head, hoping it would lube the locks. I massaged it into the gnarled comb-hair mass. I tugged. It hurt. She cried. I fetched wire cutters from the garage and snipped teeth off the comb, in hopes of freeing still more hair. It was tedious work with dismaying results, sometimes loosing merely a few strands at a time. It pushed the limits of my patience. And hers. Still, she needed my help. Eventually, it was clear that scissors were warranted. I snipped carefully and finally liberated my daughter from her encumbrance.
As I washed the oil from her hair in the sink, I gently inquired what caused her predicament. She couldn’t offer much explanation for motive, except that she wanted to see what would happen, and really thought she’d be able to get it out. She lay outstretched on the counter, her head cupped in my hands over the sink, and she looked up at me, her Disney Princess eyes finally free of tears and embarrassment. The vulnerability of her gaze and position were striking to me. There was closeness, intimacy, in being trusted to help, and proving faithful to it.
How often I’ve found myself in a tangled situation, facing an outcome I hadn’t predicted. I retreat into my misery, whimpering as I tug on the strands of error, lack of forethought, and sin. I hide my face from the Lord, covering myself with other competencies and busyness to conceal the glaring problem-that-can’t-be-hidden. Ultimately, though, there are messes in my life that I cannot unravel; I need Another’s help. Though I may not want to feel so exposed, I need His help. Sometimes His tools are fragrant oils that wash easily away, other times wire cutters and scissors are necessary, with more painful and enduring effects. In either case, I must lay myself out on the counter – the altar, place myself into His cupped hands, and in trust look up. In that vulnerability there is Holy intimacy. And He is faithful to help, never forsaking me.
And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.
— Philippians 1:6 NLT
Recommended reading (or listening!): Psalm 40
Story told with permission from the hair ‘stylist,’ who felt blessed to know that her story taught me something, and was then willing to have it shared with you.
