Trust

 

The girl pointed her finger at me, her brows knit together in scorn, then to the “Angry” icon on her assistive technology device. Though she spoke no words, I could feel the distrust emanating from her. I was there in the place of her regular teacher, and she did not know why.

I voiced the words that she could not, saying to the paraprofessional that was helping her, “Her teacher is not here, and she does not know me.” The woman’s eyebrows raised, and she said to the girl, “You are sad because your teacher is not here.” The girl stopped pointing at me, found the “Sad” icon, and was able to move on.

Later, as we sat together and watched a video book presentation, the girl reached her hand over to mine and held it softly. I put mine on top of hers, and together we watched in silence. There was no need for words to express the poignant feelings shared. I could tell. She trusted me!

I had prayed that morning that my first day on the job substitute teaching would be a successful one, that I would feel God’s love for the students, and that I could share his love with them. It had happened in a way I never thought possible.

At the end of the class period, the girl gave me a hug, and we walked hand in hand to the door. Still, no words were spoken, but I knew that I was in the right place at the right time. My purpose had been fulfilled in that small moment.

Proverbs 3:5-6 tells us to “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” This was my theme song when I left the mental health unit years ago. Now, it has become my lifeline.

When I decided to leave my employment as an office manager, I felt that God was directing me to go and serve his children as a substitute teacher in the public school system. At first, I was frightened. So many things had happened in my past that had taken me from that realm of the world.

Now, here I am, stepping back into it, having the very experiences that called me in that direction in the first place. Surely, a way will be provided, and I can go forward with faith, trusting that all will be well!

Clean

 Once again on my hands and knees, scrubbing the dirt from the cracks and the seams. I thought that the floor was clean when I mopped, but then I noticed the flecks and I stopped. I grabbed a sponge and got down on all fours, and there it was around all the mop boards as if little tractors had deposited their grime when they marched through the house in double time!

I groaned and I fretted until the mopping was done and determined that before the day’s setting sun, I would take the time to clean it all out and make the floor shine. It would be clean, no doubt! Little did I know what lie in store, and the lesson I would learn from a simple floor. My heart must have been right for the teacher appeared, the message delivered, my conscience cleared.

I started in the easiest spot that I found by the bedroom carpet, there I put my knees down. With my nose as close to the floor as I could, I noticed the tracks across the edge of the wood. Like flecks of tar that came in from the street, they stuck to the floor, and I sprayed on a sheet of chemical to loosen them so I could scrub and then took a rag and began to rub.

It didn’t come loose unless I pushed with my hands, my fingertips ached, my muscles like bands, my shoulders hunched forward, hard to the task, my back sinews taut as time marched on past. I moved down the hall to the dining room, under the table, each crack I did groom. The sweat poured like rain from my brow up above, so I wiped with my sleeve and wished for a glove.

Then somewhere, somehow, in my simple mind’s eye, the sweat became blood where my Savior did cry. He, too, was down on his hands and his knees, the sweat there did pour, his muscles pain seized. He was determined to stay strong to the end, to finish the work, God’s will not to bend. He prayed and he bled from every pore, when he thought that he could not take any more.

For a moment I watched him, my heart opened wide, wanting to hold him, aching inside. I felt as if I was there in the flesh, his spirit and mine were one, enmeshed. Tears fell down my face as I prayed silently. “Thy will be done,” he said quietly. Only then did my eyes see again the floor and the task that I faced was no longer a bore.

What he did there that day for you and for me, we will never know, we will never see. All that we know is that when he was done, we were no longer ours past the setting sun. We were bought with a price that he paid then and there, no matter what we’ve done, whether or not we do care. He simply says “Come, follow me,” I will take you there, then set you free.

By the time I was finished, I knew in my heart, that a clean floor may be important, if I do my part, but there is something that I cannot do for myself that he did for me, not just a book on a shelf. He gave me a chance to be clean through and through, much past the surface, my heart and soul, too. He paid the price that I might live. His blood washed me clean. His praises I give!

Assertiveness

 

“No, I cannot help you, I am not available then,” but in my mind I am saying, I will not do that again. You stepped upon me once before and left me injured there. I will not be in that place again, although you say you care.

Assertiveness is a skill that I am learning how to use. It gives my heart protection and keeps me from being used. It means that I will say how I feel at the time the event takes place rather than waiting and trying to please, or rather than saving face.

“Do you have a minute? We need to talk,” I said to my colleague and friend. “Just a moment, I’ll be right there,” she said as she rounded the bend. We went into a private room and there discussed the scene that had unfolded just moments before leaving me embarrassed, it seemed.

“You say I did this thing to you, you may feel rightly so,” but in my mind I am saying, your choices you made, you know. I cannot take the credit for making you what you are. The things that you have done before are bringing you this far.

I will stand and hold my ground; I am just as important as you. I need to not cower or run and hide, to myself, I will be true. For I am strong, and I am free, to choose how I want to live. And God, He will be with me. For me, new life He did give.

Stuck

 

I don’t know what to do. Nothing is working out for me right now. No matter which way I turn, things keep getting worse. I feel like I am in a hole, and it is getting deeper and deeper. When will it ever end?

Surely, I am suffering because I don’t deserve anything better. If I would have been a different person, then I wouldn’t be where I am today. I wouldn’t be having these problems right now. It is all my fault.

At night I toss and turn, my head filled with images of the things I could have done or should have done. I cannot rest. I hurt all over. I want to go back to bed, but I can’t. I have things to do…places to go…people to see... I am exhausted.

 I feel like I am lost in a desert. I cannot get relief for my incessant thirst.  I don’t have any water and there is none around me. I am hot and dry, and there is no shade in which to cool myself. The sun is scorching me and there is no relief.

Something has got to change. I know what I cannot do. I cannot change the past. What has happened has happened. If only I could turn back the hands of time, I could make things different. But, alas, that is not possible.

I cannot change the actions of others. They have made their own choices just as I have. I cannot force them to change, nor can I change their past. I cannot change how they treat me, or what they do as a result of my foolishness.

What can I do? First and foremost, I can accept who and what I am. Ripping myself to pieces will not get me anywhere. Crying just makes my head hurt. Anger is no better; all it does is dredge up the past. Yes, I have weaknesses, but I also have strengths.

I can look to my God for help. He is my rock, my guide, and my stay. He loves me, no matter what I have done, no matter where I end up. He gave his life on the cross for me, little old foolish, insignificant me. He died that I might live.

I will live for Him. I will work for Him. I will praise the new beginning I have each day because of Him. I will look at others needs and help fulfill them because I know that is what He would have me to do. I know that He is with me now, and always will be, forever and forever!

Moving Mountains

 

I cannot move this mountain, Lord; it is way too deep, too wide. I’ve toiled until my bones do ache, ‘til way past eventide. I cannot go around, dear Lord, a chasm is in the way. There is no bridge for me to cross, no ferry in the bay.

I cannot climb, it is way too steep, the rock face sheer and bare. There are no trees for me to grasp, no foot holes anywhere. How can I fill this mission, Lord, for I am but a man? My strength is not enough, dear Lord, I need a helping hand.

Oh, my son, you did not hear, when I called for help today. You were too busy toiling to hold a light and show the way. You were more concerned about the matters nigh at hand, the mountain right in front of you, than the needs of your fellow man.

How can I lend a hand to you when you have turned your back on those who need my love through you, who daily needs do lack? Go and serve them, then come back, and you will surely see, that we can move this mountain together, you and me.

I left my shovel at my feet and went away from the mountainside. I found another I could help on my way home that eventide. I saw them rested and refreshed and encouraged them to see the light at the end of the tunnel, for He said, “Come, follow me.”

As I turned to leave the simple words came ringing in my ears, “What can I do to help you, you’ve been so kind all of these years.” “I’m trying to move a mountain,” I said with faltering tone, “But it really is not important, I just can’t do it alone.”

“Let us go together,” he said, “There is still hope. I’ll bring a spade, a ladder, and plenty of braided rope.” Once again, the mountain we faced, but this time with the strength of ten. The Lord, me, and my brother, but now, for the salvation of men!

It’s Easy

It’s easy to feel bad when things go wrong and we realize we made a mistake in a song or said something stupid or clicked on that file and the consequences seem to go on for a mile.

It’s easy to think we’re not good enough and that we really do not have the right stuff to become what we were meant to be, to give of ourselves, to go forward, be free.

It’s easy to frown and turn anger within when we realize that we have committed a sin and someone is hurt or defeated in soul because we were not with it, in part or in whole.

It’s easy to cry when our weaknesses scream and everything comes apart at the seams, when little things tower and are huge in form and we know that we have stepped outside of the norm.

It’s easy to feel all alone in the night when there’s no place to turn and we’re frozen with fright, when life seems so hard and there's no place to hide, and morning is a long way from eventide.

It’s easy to fall on our knees in prayer when our pride has tumbled and is no longer there, to raise our voices and hope for the love that we know only comes from the realms up above.

It’s easy to place at his nail-pierced feet the burden too heavy for our faltering feet, to think that perhaps we can make amends after wondering abroad around life's many bends.

It’s easy to look up into his face and hope that he’ll give his amazing grace, in spite of our weakness; in spite of our sin, he’ll open his arms and wrap us within.

It’s easy to stand by his side once again, and shoulder the yoke that he shares with all men, to keep us going when the times are tough, helping us climb the hills that are rough.

It’s easy to feel indescribable joy when we know that he loves every girl, every boy, for heaven is where he is today, our Savior, Redeemer, our friend come what may.

Unexpected

 

The knock came unexpectedly. I really didn’t hear. But when it came again, I knew, it sounded much more near. I looked out through the window, not knowing who I’d see and there were four big fear filled eyes looking back at me.

I quickly opened up the door and asked what I could do. The girls said they were playing ball, and in my yard it flew. “Will you please get it for us, and then we will be gone. We’ll be more careful next time, our grandma’s watching on.”

I told the girls to go on back and get the ball themselves. I gestured to the path to take, they ran like little elves. I went back to the other side, my feelings in suspense, and noticed grandma standing there, beside the neighbor’s fence.

I went outside to greet her. She apologized and smiled. We shook hands and exchanged our names, our information filed. I assured the girls and her right there that if they needed to, they could come into the yard for ball, or bat or shoe.   

As I walked back into the house, I hung my head and sighed. They’d lived there now for quite some time, my neighbor’s home inside. We had seen each other once or twice but never really known the truth about each other, or seeds of friendship sewn.

How things can change so easily, in a moment that is gone. The unexpected turns us round and we find we’re not alone. There are others all around us who need a helping hand. As we reach out to them, the dove of peace will land.