A Thanksgiving Story

It was Thanksgiving morning, and the man sat alone in his chair watching the parade on tv. For what was he to be thankful? That his family hadn’t abandoned him after his wife’s death? Ha. He knew they hung around for the money.

No, life was hard. He had studied hard and worked hard and accumulated enough to be comfortable. No one had ever given him anything; why should he thank anyone? Certainly not God, who had taken his wife. Well, maybe not taken. It was time, she was suffering. Maybe he could be thankful she had not lingered on for years in declining ability, worsening health.

But that was just the whims of life and death. He would die someday too. Everybody did. His hard work over the years had paid for the best medical care and daily help available. That was the most he could do. Her death and his death were out of his hands.

Were they in anyone’s hands? Did God ordain when people were born and died? Some people thought so, but it made no sense to him. Certainly, his life was his own to live. People made bad choices which led to an early death; others made good choices that led to a long life.

Except it didn’t always work out that way. Mean-spirited alcoholics lived into their nineties; kind nurses in their twenties were shot in a random act of violence. Obviously no intelligent being planned this.

Unless there was more to “life” than how long you lived it.

He looked out the window at the clear blue sky. He knew it was cold out there. The bare limbs of the tree stood stark against the bright sun. It was stunning. How many moments had he carved out his busy schedule to admire the beauty of late fall? Very few. He had the time now.

He pushed himself out of the chair and walked to the windows. A cardinal sat on a bare branch, his mouth opening and shutting as he called his mate. A murmuration of starlings swooped and swarmed against the blue sky. A squirrel darted up the tree trunk, twitched, and scampered back down. The world was alive out there and it was beautiful.

What a gift to be able to see and appreciate such beauty. He could be thankful for that. He didn’t make the birds, the squirrel. He didn’t even plant the tree or help it grow. Had others done so, or were these just gifts from the universe, accidents in time?

The cardinal turned to face him, tilting his head. Such bright red feathers, such a beautiful crown. The bird seemed as interested in him as he was in the bird. He felt his throat constrict and tears gather in his eyes. What in the world? As if this bird was telling him to remember all the beauty in the world. That this beauty was no accident, but a gift. A gift from a loving God.

The parade still played in the background, loud and falsely cheerful announcers yelling over the carnival sounds. He couldn’t turn away from the cardinal. This silent bird was speaking to his heart in a way the tv announcers never would.

God is real. God is good. God loves you. Give him thanks.

What had he done, really, all by himself? He did not make himself smart. It was not his choice to be born in a peaceful time in a country with a stable economy. He had been successful, but others had helped him along the way. He’d had a long marriage to a wonderful woman, children that would come and take him to their house for dinner later that day. He had food and shelter and clothing and warmth. He could look out his window and see a beautiful world.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you for giving us this day to stop and recognize your presence in the world. Thank you for family and friends and food. Thank you for the beauty of your creation. Thank you.

Love in Christ, Betsy

Flawed

A letter arrived the other day, from one of you. It moved me profoundly. God is using these words that tumble from my brain and that is very exciting.

I went to a writer’s conference full of confidence from the letter, only to lose my credit card in the hustle and bustle. I cancelled the card, and ordered a new one, making a list of companies who would need the new information. Then I found the card. I had looked for it; I had looked for it where I found it, but in my panic, I hadn’t seen it. Then suddenly, there it was. Now I have made unnecessary work for myself. There’s a lesson here, but it is hard to learn.

Stop, Betsy. Stop trying to do everything yourself. Stop pushing so hard. Slow down, ease up, fail a little.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness,” so I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so the power of Christ may dwell in me. 2 Corinthians 12:9.

But I confess – I don’t like weakness. I still want to send out the perfect family Christmas card. I haven’t been able to send one out since Nick died. I show the cute pictures of the grandkids. I don’t even take pictures of them when they are screaming. I brag about my kids, my trips, and my friends.

Sometimes I even brag about what God is doing in my life as if I had something to do with it.

But the truth is, my friends. I am a mess. I lose my credit card in my suitcase. I forget to look at my calendar and miss things. Dishes pile up in the sink, old mail covers my table, and light bulbs go unreplaced. I am too physically soft to garden by myself. I am slow to forgive, especially if it’s not me you have hurt. I insert myself into situations that are not my responsibility. I talk too much. Sometimes I covet worldly wealth and acclaim. And, spoiler alert if you don’t know me, I overeat.

I can pretend that none of these things are true, but it wouldn’t make them less true. I share them because I bet there are some imperfections in you as well. What if we could see these imperfections as places where the Holy Spirit could work through us? What if I could stop pretending that I am a put-together person?

What if God is using me, not because I am so wonderful, but because I am such a mess?

Perhaps my weaknesses help me remember my need for others. I can’t do this, whatever this may be, by myself. I am physically soft, slow to forgive, and careless with belongings; I need others to help me achieve whatever God has put on my heart to do.

For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. 1 Corinthians 12:12.

I don’t have to be perfect, and I don’t have to pretend that I am perfect. I don’t even have to pretend that I have perfected letting others help me. In fact, I may be here to help someone else, not have them help me. One body, working together. The body of Christ in the world. All of us flawed, all of us imperfect, all of us welcomed in grace.

For while we were still weak, at the right time, Christ died for the ungodly… But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us. Romans 5:6,8.

It’s okay if you are a mess; we all are. And God loves us anyway.

Love in Christ, Betsy

Connecting

A soft rain and a chilly breeze alert me that the weather has caught up to the calendar. I can turn off my A/C and get out my sweaters. My plans to putter in the yard are put on hold. This will be an inside day. I look forward to snuggling under a blanket with a cup of hot tea or hot chocolate. I might not see anyone today.

Connecting with others is vital to mental health. We learned that during the pandemic. Today, connecting can happen in a myriad of ways, the splashy methods often overshadowing the quieter ones. I’ve seen the quips – four million likes, sixty thousand followers, two hundred thousand subscribers. I have friends who follow thousands of people on twitter. I also have friends who don’t do social media at all. I have friends who don’t text. I would still prefer to have a conversation using my vocal chords.

My writing associates talk a lot about connecting with readers. Not so much because they think you, the reader, need to hear about what they, the writers, have to say; but because connection is vital. It’s the underlying emotion behind those “tell how we met” posts.

It’s got me thinking about how Jesus connected with people. He had every possible means of communication at His disposal. If it didn’t exist, He could create it with a word. He could have come in this age of international, instantaneous communication. But He didn’t.

Jesus walked the earth when walking was the predominate means of travel. Jesus met with people one on one. Jesus spoke to whomever gathered around him, one woman or five thousand men. To our knowledge, He never wrote a letter. His words come to us filtered through the ears and pens of others.

It almost seems like Jesus was more concerned with the connections He was making than with the words He was speaking. And yet, such words!

Come to me, all of you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28.

It’s easy to be concerned about what we say, to whom, and who hears it, reads it, comments on it. I worry about the words spoken in error, in haste, in anger, in ignorance. But words, as poignant as they can be, are secondary to connection.

When I am connected with someone, when I have a relationship with them, I can forgive those words spoken in haste, in anger. Hopefully, they can too. I worry about the words I send out each week. We are not speaking one-on-one, using our vocal chords, but I do feel connected to you, and I pray you feel connected to me.

Take a moment today to connect with God. Sit in silence. Stand with your feet in the grass and take deep breaths. Turn your face to the sky and feel the raindrops or the sunshine. Read a chapter of the Bible with your mind open to what the Holy Spirit wants to say.

God loves you. He wants to take you in His arms and comfort you. He wants you to let go of the tight grip you have on your life and let the tears flow. He has this, whatever this is. Your fears? He is greater. Your anger? He has soothing balm. Your guilt? He will wash it away.

God won’t make your life easy. No one’s life is easy; the problems are just different for each of us. God connects with us. God sent His Spirit to walk with us twenty-four, seven. God created the deepest connection ever imagined – He sent His Spirit to live in us. That is connected, my friend.

Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? 1 Corinthians 3:16.

We are not alone. We never were and we never will be. God is with us. I pray you take a moment to reach out to God today. And after that, reach out to whomever he puts in your mind. Use your vocal chords and connect.

Love in Christ, Betsy

In the Garden

It is peaceful in my garden. The birds sing and the leaves rustle in the breeze. I pull tomato cages and store them for next year. I sit on the ground and yank the crabgrass roots that run along the fence line. I’m extending the cardboard under the fence this year. To do so, I need to disentangle the fence and the landscape timbers from the crabgrass tentacles.

The activity, the fresh air, the smell of dirt calms me. I feel connected here, connected with the earth, connected with God. Here in the garden, I work, and God provides. I sense my place in the world. Not a world of chaos and panic and accusations, but the world our God created. A world of harmony and interdependence and natural rhythms.

Here in the garden, the cooler weather and shorter days have put even the hardiest pepper plant to rest. It’s November and the garden soil is seeking rest and recovery. Me, too. This will take some effort on my part, a stepping outside, a stepping away. Some intentional action to disentangle myself from the world’s ropey tentacles.

In the morning, while it was still dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. Mark 1:35.

By the time you read this, the voting will be over. We may know who our next President is, we may not. Either way, I am sure those who earn their living talking about politics will be busy. Here in the garden, the results of our election don’t matter much. In this space, it is just my hands in the earth, my mind on God.

The tension between being in the world but not of the world is real. Who our representative is, who our president is, matters. How we treat our citizens, our visitors, our allies all matter to the extent it reflects our relationship with God. And as Christians, as followers of Jesus, it is okay to disagree on the best way to show His love. As long as we can agree that He calls us to love.

Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. 1 John 4:7-8.

My muscles strain as I pry the landscapes timbers from the ground. Over the past year, they have become embedded in the yard, some of them decaying, returning to the soil. They don’t want to be moved. But I don’t want weeds invading my garden. Once pried free, I push the cardboard under the fence, under the timber, extending beyond the garden into the yard.

Am I doing this in my life? Am I ridding myself of weeds that entangle, intrusions that sap the nutrients, God’s goodness from me? Am I creating and maintaining a peaceful garden in my life? Am I extending my peaceful garden into the larger world?

I take a deep breath and rest from my labors. I can hear squirrels rustling the tree branches. A dog barks, and the voices of children rise from a nearby church. I smell the dirt, the remnants of tomato and basil and marigolds. What a beautiful world. I open my eyes and see a bunny dart along the creek bank, see the murmuration of birds swooping in the sky. I wonder if we could fly in such a unified manner, if from a distance we do.

It is peaceful here in the garden. But I can’t stay here all day. The world calls. Things to do. People to see. Love to give.

It’s been a good morning. Another section of my garden is ready. A few more frosts and I will plant the garlic. A few more weeks and my family will gather for Thanksgiving. I will be ready. My garden is resting and at peace.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. John 14:27.

I pray your November is peaceful, dear friends. I pray you take the time and make the effort to create a space for God’s peace in your lives. It’s a beautiful world. He’s a loving God.

Love in Christ, Betsy