The Junk Drawer of Life: I am the Samaritan Woman

Growing up we had a junk drawer in the kitchen. Much to my husband’s dismay, I have continued the tradition.

The junk drawer is full of trinkets and what-nots that I am not yet ready to throw away but there is no other spot in the house in which they could belong. If you glanced over the contents you might pick up a certain piece and wonder why it’s still there. Mixed in among the stuff that I could toss are things that bring a flood of memories. Truth is, you don’t know the back story of sweet pudgy little boy hands that played for hours with that matchbox car or the little girl that needed help putting that shoe on her baby doll. It might look like trash to you, but to me, it is treasure.

Jesus and His disciples were traveling from Judea to Galilee. The Bible states that they had to travel through Samaria. Samaria was the “junk drawer” of the day. Jews would travel the long way around to keep from sharing air space with a Samaritan.

Jesus was exhausted. He sat at Jacob’s well and sent his disciples to buy food. A woman arrived to draw water from the well. Jesus asked for a drink.

Please understand, Samaria was the junk drawer, Samaritan women were unworthy of even taking up space in the junk drawer.

And yet Jesus spoke to her. He asked her for a drink of water.

She was taken aback at first. Men didn’t speak in public to women and most certainly Jews did not speak to Samaritan women.

Basically Jesus told her, “If you knew God…if you knew His gift to you…if you knew who just asked you for a drink of water, you would ask Him and He would give you living water.”

She didn’t understand what He meant by living water.

They continued to converse and Jesus revealed that He knew her and everything about her. He knew her past failures and her present condition. He knew her struggles and her pain. Her knew her guilt and her shame.

And yet Jesus spoke to her.

Imagine with me if you will, a tired woman coming late in the evening...alone…to the well to draw water. She was not only living in the junk drawer, her choices in life had made her an outcast among her own people.

Looking in the distance, she sees there is a man at the well and wonders to herself if he will ridicule her.

Should I turn away and come back later? I cannot, for it is late and I need water.

Maybe she stiffens her back, with a rebellious attitude brought on by her life’s choices, and walks with purpose: He will have to move, I have work to do.

Perhaps she takes a deep breath and moves forward determined: I have done the best I can with my life and this man has no right to judge me.

I see her as lonely and weary: You can do this. Just don’t look at him. Get the water and get back home to the safety of a closed door.

And then He spoke to her.

The story is beautiful as Jesus’ love for her flows freely and He tells her about Living Water. She is thirsty, not from the journey to the well that warm evening. She is thirsty because she has tried to quench her parched life with what seemed right at the time. Husband after husband after husband after husband after husband…

We thirst because we fill our lives with what seems right…

I will be a good person and I will feel good about myself.

I will buy pretty things and surround myself with the security of stuff.

I will eat whatever I please because food tastes good and it makes me happy.

I will please the people around me, because if people are happy with me I am doing something right.

Life has dealt me a raw hand I am going to get what’s mine.

I will believe whatever comforts me today. A moment of peace is better than no peace at all.

As Jesus spoke, her fractured heart began to heal. He offered her living water- healing and peace that is never-ending. Perfect love and acceptance. Forgiveness without a hitch.

I see the tired lines on her old-too-early face begin to soften as she realizes she is in the presence of the Messiah.  Her shoulders, once heavy with the weight of her sins, are slowly rising with relief as Jesus lovingly removes each burden she carried.

She arrived at the well in a hopeless mess of her own doing. She left the well a new woman.

She ran back to Samaria and told the men there about her divine appointment. She said “Come see! Come see! He told me everything I ever did!”

The recounting of what happened that day ends with the men of Samaria saying “We no longer believe because of what you said, for we have heard for ourselves  and know that this really is the Savior of the world.”

Jesus stayed for two days before going on to Galilee.

I hope I never forget I am the Samaritan woman.

I hope I never fail to look at all people around me as a treasure.

Jesus came to give you living water.

He truly is the Savior of the world!

Dying for a Selfie

March, 2014—an online article surfaced that announced the American Psychiatric Society had declared taking selfies was a mental disorder called Selfitis. The article even gave 3 levels of illness:

• Borderline selfitis : taking photos of one’s self at least three times a day but not posting them on social media
• Acute selfitis: taking photos of one’s self at least three times a day and posting each of the photos on social media
• Chronic selfitis: Uncontrollable urge to take photos of one’s self  round the clock and posting the photos on social media more than six times a day

We all know folks who might fall into each of these categories.  You know, scrolling through your FaceBook newsfeed, mixed in among the “what I had for lunch” and “I’m so mad at my family” rants we all get to see the most famous selfie.

We might need to start a foundation for those caught in the selfie fray, or maybe have a color run to get the word out. We could design posters: Stop Selfitis Now! It Begins With You and place them in school halls and break rooms all across America.

We could do these things if the story was accurate, but alas, it’s bogus.

What is a fact is people are actually dying as they push the boundaries to get the most daring selfie.  Selfies such as posing with a lion…that’s right, a real, in the wild lion. How about dangling off a bridge or pulling the pin from a hand grenade?

Yellowstone Park has issued warnings about selfies with Bison after 5 separate selfitis sufferers were gored because they were a bit too close.

A San Diego man earned himself a $153,000 hospital bill after getting a snakebite selfie.

India has actually implemented a “No Selfie Zone” at one of their festivals for fear of the snap-takers causing a stampede.

On the upside, Australia is capitalizing on the selfie trend by installing GigaSelfie Platforms at some of their amazing tourist sites.

Whether authorities are encouraging safe selfies or banning them, they agree that the selfie is making the statement “It’s all about me! I post my pics, people like my pics, and I feel a great surge of self-worth and acceptance.”

Folks from every generation—Baby Boomers, Gen X, Y and Z are infected with selfitis. It crosses all lines.

Even as we might shake our heads or snicker at a few goofy pics, I am reminded that this “illness” has been around since the dawn of time.

The term “sin” is not PC and the “enlightened” of our world want to tell us that guilt is bad and there is no such thing as right and wrong. This means there’s no such thing as sin. And in turn, no need for a Savior. 

Selfitis is addressed over and over again in the Bible (which is also not PC), reminding us that anything done from a selfish ambition is sin.

Galatians 5 gives us a list.  The acts of the flesh (or self) are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.

No one really wants to look in the mirror, or at the latest posted selfie, and admit any part of the Galatians list applies to them. But we are all guilty, even the “enlightened” of our generation who refuse to take a self-inventory instead of the next selfie.

The great news is God provided the antidote for our sins. He didn’t just nullify them; he made a way to eradicate them. Accepting the gift of salvation through Jesus, we can be free of the sins that would take our souls to hell for eternity. Hell, another subject that is not PC.

The rest of Galatians 5 gives us the description of what is present in the lives of people who “live by the spirit,” in simple terms- live to please Jesus, or those who belong to Jesus. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

I’m so glad that God, knowing all things, provided a cure for selfitis. This old world needs to know there’s a better way.

From FaceBook, to Instagram, tumblr. to Pinterest to the pages of real life, we don’t have to live for the next self-serving moment.

We can live by Philippians 2: Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind regard one another as more important than yourselves.

Now, that’s worth tweeting!

Where is God When It's Dark: A Page From a Caregivers Journal

There are many things we cannot fully know until we experience it ourselves.

The complete joys and trials of parenthood

Growing old

True contentment

Forgiveness

The love of a faithful friend

Enduring a chronic illness

Caring for a chronically ill person

And the presence of God in the dark

    Many thoughts crowd a heart and mind in the darkness and uncertainty of a hospital room. There are no visitors to say a prayer and wish you well.  The unrelenting wrestling match between what is and what might be or could be or hopefully will be enters round number….what is it? Infinity it seems. Darkness can feel like a safe friend with an evil twin sister.  In the quiet solitude I pray the nurses will not enter and disturb her precious sleep, for even as she groans, at least she is sleeping.

  I am a reluctant traveler, having been thrust down a path I did not choose. I have dug my heels into the mud as a child whose mother has announced, “It is time to leave the park and go home.”  I am here. In the dark. Trying to breathe as I cry out to the Father to please, please bring answers and relief.

  The monitor sounds the alarm for attention as the bag of fluid drips to a close. Funny, how quickly a nurse tends to a screaming monitor.

 I think of how I am screaming inside and asking for attention from The One who surely knows I am feeling empty. I am told over and over and over again that many are praying and yet, it seems nothing is changing. Prayer is such a mystery.

My mind leafs through scripture passages I have used to encourage others. My heart aches as I find myself wondering why they bring me no solace at this moment.

 I am such a fraud. A pastor’s wife who speaks faith to others and yet feels so empty in the dark.

This may be confusing to my friends who do not know Jesus as Savior. People who do not know Jesus tell people who do not know Jesus that if He really loved us we would never suffer pain or confusion or trips through the faith wilderness. They have falsely assumed He is equipped to be the “you-aint-never-had-a-friend-like-me” Genie from Aladdin.

This excerpt might possibly confuse some of my friends who do know Jesus as Savior. There’s another false teaching out there. It’s the assumption all Christians never question, never wonder why, never have moments of desperation.

King David is described as being after God’s own heart. He was God’s chosen man, and yet he despaired and exclaimed “My flesh and my heart faileth: but God is the strength of my heart, my portion forever.”

The journal entry I have shared is many years old and has been relived many times. One of the wonderful truths about belonging to Jesus is, just like King David, my despair doesn’t change my Savior. The failure of my flesh and my heart does not challenge the victory of the battle over my soul.

Every hardship of life is worth the trip when we determine in our hearts to trust The One who knows everything. If we refuse to take a detour when we find ourselves on the unpaved path, we will find The Lord will also be a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble.

When I turn my full focus to what is and not on God as my deliverer, I feel empty in the dark.

When I turn my eyes on my Savior and choose to trust Him even when I don’t understand, His peace-bearing presence is just as real as the clicking of the IV monitor. Am I a fraud? Oh no, I am just a sometimes-confused striver.

God’s presence in the dark has quieted my panic when my son was serving in Afghanistan.

His presence in the dark has whispered rest for my weary body when worry tries to push in.

God’s presence in the dark has applied healing balm to my pain when I give up my need to understand and choose to trust Him because He is The God of Nevertheless.  

With His presence comes the fulfillment of the promise found in Psalm 31, Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the Lord.

So, to my friends that have never believed in Jesus as Savior—my prayer is that one day very soon you will choose Him over your own way and know what I have described.

To my friends who know Jesus as Savior—do not listen to the enemy who would have you believe God has left you alone in the dark.

He is there. He will be very gracious unto thee at the voice of thy cry; when He shall hear it, He will answer thee. Isaiah 30:19

Raging Storms, Harsh Voices, and Kindness

It had been one of those days attached to one of those weeks. Our daughter had been in the hospital... again... and I found myself once more standing in line at the pharmacy.

I was so tired from several difficult and very dark nights in a row. My heart was heavy for our then young teen daughter who was fighting battles that only God could win. 

I stepped up to the counter and gave the young woman at the register the needed information. She gathered the scripts and began to tell me that one had expired and would I like for them to contact the doctor. I knew he had called this med in and asked her to please check again.

It was then that an unknown voice from a man farther back in line shouted, "Hey lady, you can visit on your own time!"

Without a glimpse of a thought I spun around, in a loud voice of my own...okay, honestly I yelled at him...and I let the man know how rude he was and that the rest of us were all in line for the same reasons.

I paid for the medications and at this point I was weeping, not tearing up or even just crying, I was weeping.  I went to my car and sat there stunned at my own behavior and hurting so deeply at the same time.

I don't understand this, Lord. I don't know why...and I hate every minute of it. I'm trying to trust you. Forgive me for the way I just acted...

There was a knock on my window and, to my shame, it was the pharmacist. I expected him to ask me not to come back. I rolled the window down and began apologizing all over myself, "I'm so sorry, I don't know where that came from, please know that is not who I am..."

Instead,  he most compassionately said, "Mrs. Pierce, you are fine. That man was out of line. He is rude to our employees every time he comes in. I'm sorry this happened to you. The other medication you need will be ready this afternoon."

That was years ago. I've never had the opportunity to apologize to that man. I have thought and wondered what he carried that made him an angry soul.

Maybe he was caring for a wife with aggressive cancer or Alzheimer's.

Perhaps he was behind on his bills because of the high cost of the medication he was there to pick up.

Could he have been fighting his own battle of pain and the unknown?

Was he a believer, caught up in his own  "Where are you God" journey...or  conceivably a lost soul fighting this war alone?

One of my friends at work lives by the saying "Be kind, for everyone you know is fighting a battle you know nothing about."

There are some around us fighting many battles.

C.S. Lewis, who knew much sorrow in life, wrote on the subject on happiness and contentment on earth: "The security we crave would teach us to rest our hearts in this world and oppose and obstacle to our return to God: a few happy moments of happy love, a landscape, a symphony, a merry meeting with friends, a bath or a football match, have no such tendency.  Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage us to mistake them for home."

Acts 27  recounts for us the harrowing trip Paul took as a prisoner on a ship caught up in a northeaster. Read and take heart:

 For many days neither sun nor stars appeared, and the severe storm kept raging. Finally all hope that we would be saved was disappearing.  Since many were going without food, Paul stood up among them and said, “You men should have followed my advice not to sail from Crete and sustain this damage and loss.  Now I urge you to take courage, because there will be no loss of any of your lives, but only of the ship. For this night an angel of the God I belong to and serve stood by me, and said, ‘Don’t be afraid, Paul. You must stand before Caesar. And, look! God has graciously given you all those who are sailing with you.’ Therefore, take courage, men, because I believe God that it will be just the way it was told to me.  However, we must run aground on a certain island.”

What does that mean to you and me today? It means we will face incredibly scary and difficult days. Notice the severe storm raged while there was complete darkness. I know some of you can relate because in the deep of the night,  you feel the crashing waves of doubt and fear. I have been there, waking in the night to find I cannot breathe because terror has grabbed me and anxiety begins to rise.

 The encouraging news is God has not changed since that day thousands of years ago when He sent an angel to stand near and deliver the message to fear not because God was in control even as the storm raged on.

Paul believed God and we can too.

I'm praying for myself and for you. That you will know God's peace in the raging, dark storm. That we will all remember we are just passing through.

Praying we can all be kind to one another as we stand in long lines, remembering we are all in a battle.

 I wish I could turn back the years and respond to that man with kindness. It is an opportunity lost but, I certainly hope, a lesson learned.

 

When You Can't Sing

The notes to "It Is Well With My Soul" hung in the air and I stood with the rest of the people and began to sing.

That's what you do when you're in church and everyone around you is singing.

You sing.

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll...

Such a beautiful song

Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say. It is well, it is well with my soul.

 But Lord...

 it is not well.

It is well with my soul. It is well, it is well with my soul.

It is not well, Lord. And I don't think it can ever be well again.

I quit singing. I stood there, trying to quiet my thoughts and focus on the power, might and love on the The One for whom the song was written. I listened to the people around me as they sang. I briefly wondered if anyone was looking over at me...the preacher's wife who should be singing.  

I did not sing another word that day. Instead, I quietly told God how afraid...no, desperate I was. I recalled to Him all that had happened and I reminded Him that I was small up against this mountain.

As I begged Him to miraculously fix what was broken, I remembered the clichés I had heard over the years:

"The God of the mountain is still God in the valley"

"If God brought you to it He will bring you through it"

 "Don't tell God how big the storm is, tell the storm how big your God is"

And I held to scripture passages that over the years had become by best friends.

John 14

Psalm 119

Matthew 6

I just don't feel it, Lord. You have the power, please just fix this. Just fix it. Then it will be well.

But you know, months turned into years before God's work--that was taking place all along--became evident. Oh, there were moments when I thought I saw a glimpse of sunrise. And there were days when I knew the sun had to be shining just above the angry clouds. God Himself was the only One who knew my thoughts and the tossing and turning going on in my distressed heart.

Satan tried to tell me I was alone in the fight, that no person understood or cared. He tried to tell me God was off somewhere else in the universe, working in the lives of others...you know, the ones who deserved His care.

I knew it then and I know it today. God was always, always holding me. I may have struggled in His embrace as I tried to understand or change reality, but my battling didn't change His grip on my soul.

The strength of my faith doesn't change the power of my God.

Is it you?

Are you the one?

 Are you the one this little blog is for?

Could you be that person who has no name and yet you are heavy on my heart?  

It is in the most difficult of days that we learn the most about God.

God is not

superman,

a good luck charm,

a deep-pocket grandfather,

or multiple-choice buffet.

God is

holy,

all knowing,

loving, patient, kind and just.

GOD IS FAITHFUL.

He is always working in the lives of His kids.

It is on the longest and darkest of paths, that we would never choose to walk, that God's character is revealed.

Perhaps you're tired of hurting.

Maybe, today, you can't see the possibility of a ray of light.

The strength of your faith doesn't change the power of God.

Keep asking.

Keep searching.

Keep knocking.

For in Jesus' own words "The one who asks receives, the one who seeks finds, to the one who knocks the door will be opened.

There's a verse in the song we skip over. Sing it with me:  

But, Lord, ’tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait, The sky, not the grave, is our goal; Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord! Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul!

Legacy

    The assaulting sound of a blaring alarm broke through the quiet. She awoke with a jerk but remained still. She looked around at the comforts surrounding her. Ruffled curtains that matched the bedspread, a warm robe to softly wrap herself up in, and the perfume in the air of fresh coffee as her automatic maker was set to begin brewing just minutes before the alarm sounded.

   She stretched as she walked toward the kitchen, remembering being wrapped in love by her mommas blanket and the sweet taste of oatmeal served up by beautiful hands.

   The kids were already awake, settled in front of the television. "Turn it down! And move back, you're way too close to the TV. You're going to ruin your eyes, ya know!"

   She stopped at the large window at the breakfast nook and gazed out at the artistry of spring. Bright yellow daffodils lined the drive, the grass was a brilliant green, and the sound of birds announcing God's glory seemed to take up every inch of sunshine.

   Gazing at her home -- her perfect, southern-living home-- filled her mind with countless reasons to say thank you. God had been so good. Having been loved as a little girl should be loved carved a trail in her heart. She knew how to love. Looking over her shoulder at the kids intently watching cartoons, she felt rich, so very rich.

    Today would be filled with video games and hair bows, dandelion chains and driveway basketball. The sound of little hands touching black and white keys will fill the house with the elementary sounds of workbook three.

   She reached for her favorite coffee cup, delicately adorned by pansies and miniature roses. The sight of her hand startled her. She placed the cup near the coffee pot and touched her wedding band. She closed her eyes and turned the band around and around.

Oh give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever! Psalm 107:1

Her Hands

             The wind was brisk as she hurried to the shed. Her boots crunched in the snow and her toes screamed in protest to the missing lining. She wrapped her thin scarf around her face, covering her nose. Maybe this would keep the sub-zero temperature from burning in her throat and nostrils.

 Rushing around the corner, the shed shielded her from the angry gust that seemed to utter "not to worry, I will be here when you return!"

She grasped the handle and pulled as if her life depended on getting that old door to relent. Perhaps her life did depend on it. Hers and her sweet, young children waiting in the rented house a few yards away. They would wake soon.

 She stood still for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The shed smelled of old grass and gasoline. It smelled like love to her. She inhaled and sensed the arms of her daddy holding her close.

 The wind whistled her back to reality. She reached down and began piling wood in her outstretched arm. Soon she would have a happy, cozy fire singing as it snapped and danced a show of white, yellow, and orange flames. Just the thought warmed her soul.

            She took one more deep breath of comfort before heading toward the house. Glancing east she was overwhelmed by the wonder of the sun, peaking up over the horizon like a gigantic, beautifully shy flower. Only God could create such splendor in the dead of winter.

          The light above the door beckoned her to hurry, promising the refuge of home. She knew it was borrowed along with almost everything inside. Yet it was truly home. The screen door softly whispered the message of spring, assuring one day fragrant breezes would blow through its tiny, square windows.

           Moments later a fire sent its invisible arms rolling outward like an octopus reaching for company. She poured oatmeal into boiling water. Soon her children would be warmed inside and out.

           She heard the scuffing of little slippered feet moving down the hall. She turned to see sweet faces wrapped in hair askew, little pink cheeks wearing good morning smiles  and eyes that sparkled with the happiness of a new day. 

          "Good morning, Sunshine!" Momma smiled.

           This is home. Little ones gathered, snuggled up to the fire and bathed in its warmth while the aroma of oatmeal, cinnamon, and coffee filled the air. Home is right here, wrapped in a blanket framed in tattered satin trim.

           "It's shivery," squeaked the younger.

            "Is shivery a word?" asked the older as she held mommas hand and played with her ring, turning it around and around.

            Momma's voice laughed, "Yes, shivery is a word."

           "Well, your hands are warmery!" giggled the older, "and they are the prettiest hands ever in the whole wide world!" Using her own chubby little hand, she traced mommas fingers, "Someday, I hope my hands look just like yours!"

            With growling tummies the girls reached for their bowls, now full of steaming hot home.

            Today will be filled with Golden books, homemade paste, a shared pair of scissors and catalogues that have arrived in the mail. There will be songs of the Muffin Man and tea pots followed by games of pat-a- cake and eye spy.

              This is the beginning of a story of fiction, sprinkled with truth from my childhood. And I am happy to say, there are many days my hands look just like hers.

Above all, put on love--the perfect bond of unity. Colossians 3:14