The anthill teems with busy life. Seemingly orchestrated by a higher power or design the lines of workers move back and forth, in and out, up and around - unified in the building, collecting and protecting of their impressive kingdom. I wonder if there ever was an ant to stop, think of the enormity of the task, and bow out then and there. It’s too great a task - I’m only one ant - it will never be completed - there won’t be enough for winter. Overwhelmed and inadequate. So often these are the first feelings to wake me up in the morning and follow me around throughout the day. Living half asleep, half alive, halfway to somewhere or something that I want to be. I know I want to live a life of influence, success, wholeness - contributing and adding to the lives of those around me. But another day goes by and I don’t see or feel any difference. My hands feel empty or without purpose, caught in the mundane my focus blurs. ———————————————————————-- Jesus had been teaching, giving, healing all day, all week. A huge crowd followed him everywhere he went, always wanting more. The day grew late, sun setting, and the disciples could sense the crowd was stirring, getting hungry and tired. They urged Jesus to send the crowds home to find food and rest. Jesus turns and says simply, “You feed them.” A small fortune! Didn’t Jesus know how much that would require? So much more than they had or could imagine. Overwhelming to comprehend. Impossible. Then a young boy brings his packed lunch - five loaves of bread and two fish - and gives it to Jesus. Cute, they think. So sweet, but so insignificant. A child’s gift, a child’s faith - now back to the real problem at hand. Little did they anticipate Jesus’ response, or ability. “Tell everyone to sit down,” Jesus ordered. So all of them - the men alone numbered five thousand - sat down on the grassy slopes. Then Jesus took the loaves, gave thanks to God, and passed them out to the people. Afterward he did the same with the fish. And they all ate until they were full. “Now gather the leftovers,” Jesus told his disciples, “so that nothing is wasted.” There were only five barley loaves to start with, but twelve baskets were filled with the pieces of bread the people did not eat. John 6:10-13 ——————————————————————-- What if this child had withheld what was in his hand? What if he had thought like an adult - what’s the point? What I have is insignificant, inadequate and not worth giving. What if he had thought like me? I sense a tug on my heart - how many times have I missed an opportunity to give or offer what I have because I fear it isn’t enough, or think that it won’t be missed? There was a miracle on the other side of this young boys sacrifice and gift - a miracle that not only filled his belly, but every belly around him. What’s in my hand? What’s in your hand? I want to live a life of influence - but do I live faithful to my commitments, choosing integrity when it’s hard or unseen by others? I want to live wholehearted - do I choose to be fully present with my daughters? Laughing, playing, teaching, encouraging - engaging with them even when there’s many other tasks that seem more pressing at the time? I want to live a life of success - do I take every opportunity to be excellent, to do what I have to do well? I’m learning that I can’t do it all - but I can do one thing at a time, and do it well. What’s in my hand today? “If you are faithful in little things, you will be faithful in large ones.” Luke 16:10 I want to live with the heart attitude of this young boy. Open handed, open hearted, giving all I have to offer in every encounter or situation, trusting God for the rest.
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“Higha, higha Mummy!” Her fat fingers grip the tight to the metal chain, as the swing’s momentum climbs and falls again. Sweet, gurgling laughter fills my ears as I push ‘higha’, and watch delight overwhelm her face. Pure joy, no room for fear. One of my greatest privileges by far is being this girl’s mother - yet I am constantly challenged and humbled by all she teaches me. There is beauty in every flower, no matter how dead or alive, weed or magnolia. There is delight in running through soft grass, picking an assortment of leaves, watching ants busying, and chasing birds till our feet are tired. She tenderly over-waters every pot-plant till dirt oozes over the pot’s side. She fastidiously collects and sorts clothes pegs from one bucket to the next and back again, and the tupperware cupboard holds hours of fascination. Every passer-by is greeted with a “Hi!” and smile, every airplane is waved goodbye until it disappears into the clouds. Every day is wonder. Every day is free. “At that time the disciples came to ask Jesus, “Who is considered to be the greatest in heaven’s kingdom realm?” Jesus called a little one [or toddler] to his side and said to them, “Learn this well: Unless you dramatically change your way of thinking and become teachable and learn about heaven’s kingdom realm with the wide-eyed wonder of a child, you will never be able to enter in. Whoever continually humbles himself to become like this gentle child is the greatest one in heaven’s kingdom realm.” Matt 18:1-4 // Passion translation ‘Like a gentle child’ - so often I dismiss this simplistic truth, feeling somehow justified by my concern or worry, and my identity secured in the busyness of my days. I trade wide-eyed wonder for close-fisted fear. My pride blinds me from what I am truly missing, while in pursuit of things that will not last. The young child, the sweet-eyed toddler, is free - secure in the love of a parent, they have no thought to the next meal, or the clothes they will wear, or whether today will be a good or a bad one. Every day is begun in eager expectation, and walked through with simple faith that every need will be provided for, every desire fulfilled. This is the beautiful life, the way we were formed to live! Wearily, Donovan crouches to sit next to Abel. He has just returned from protesting that the evidence to be used against Abel was obtained without a warrant and therefore should be disregarded. The judge denies the appeal, stating that as Abel is a suspected Russian spy, an illegal immigrant and a threat to the American way of life, he is not entitled to any rights. ABEL: How did we do? DONOVAN: In there? (pauses) Not too good. Apparently you’re not an American citizen. ABEL: That’s true. He dabs at his nose with his handkerchief. DONOVAN: And according to your boss, you’re not a Soviet citizen either. ABEL: Well…The boss isn’t always right but he’s always the boss. Donovan looks at him. DONOVAN: Do you never worry? ABEL (shrugs): Would it help? Bridge of Spies Film (2014) _______________________________________________________________ I love this scene. Abel - imprisoned and about to be convicted as a Russian spy in the United States - faces the very real possibility of a death sentence. And his response to whether he is worried about the prospect - “Would it help?” My goodness. What an excellent question. No man is stranger to the imposter fear - I feel it rise inside me every day. Worried, anxious, stressed and afraid. Will I make it on time? What if it rains on my washing? Is that a flu sniffle I hear? What if they don’t like me? Have I offended them? What if God’s not big enough or what if He forgets? But has it ever helped? I grip fierce onto my fear, feeling a weakly false sense of control in the stress. Yet I wonder, has my worry or anxiety ever added or contributed anything to any situation? What if I’ve been robbed all along - blinded by fear, “just a lie running out of breath”? Do not be afraid - I am with you. God speaks truth and my heart knows peace. But how quick I am to lend an ear to fear! Choosing not to listen and instead let worry fill my heart. And I am robbed. I don’t see the moment’s beauty as I’m caught up in fear about the next. I don’t see the sun setting brilliantly in the western sky as I rush about my unfinished task. I don’t see the look in her young eyes, longing for someone to play with, because I’m stressed about dinner burning or getting out the door on time. I forget God’s voice promising provision as I worry about what I have now. I don’t see and I do forget. I’ve been realising that worry hasn’t made me more efficient, nor fear more confident, nor stress more wealthy or successful. They haven’t helped. I have not given you a spirit of fear. He gently reminds me that with every feeling comes next a choice. Will I choose to submit to this emotion and let it rule in me? Or, holding it up to the truth He speaks, do I reject this feeling as an imposter? Do not let your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. My choice. Your choice. Will you worry? Would it help? “I have learned to be content and self-sufficient through Christ, satisfied to the point where I am not disturbed or uneasy, regardless of my circumstances.” Philippians 4:11 I glance over my shoulder to catch the dazed shine of the Mercedes starred wheel logo whoosh past us, seeming to glide effortlessly up the road. A jarring clunk brings my eyes back to the gravel in front of me, and I grip tight and turn slow, our faithful, aging vehicle groaning a little in protest of another journey to the shops and back. We park, and I strap my crying baby to my front, hoping this trip will be quick and she will sleep long. I push the trolley down isles full and brush past a lighthearted laugher – she talks freely to her small and giggly toddler, propped up in the trolley’s seat, neat and prim. The lady’s hair falls just so, clothes pressed and draped around her slim frame boasting the latest fashion. Looking down at my own shirt I see patches of vomit dried and crusted from an upset baby’s protests that morning. I pass her walking quickly with hopes of quieting my now screaming babe, feeling eyes of sympathy laced with pity. Comparison. What a slippery, lying thief it is! I look around me, pulling in close another’s reality and experience, holding it up to measure next to mine. And I am always left wanting. Discontent with what I once treasured and valued, I no longer see beauty or know peace. I compare what was never meant to be compared – and why? Is it because I am listening to popular opinion of what is the latest and greatest? Or do I stack value on an item according to its monetary worth, instead of intrinsic and eternal significance? “I know how to get along and live humbly [in difficult times], and I also know how to enjoy abundance and live in prosperity. In any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of facing life, whether well-fed or going hungry, whether having an abundance or being in need.” Philippians 4:12 The secret of life, the secret of living – no comparison! To live thankful, everyday and in every circumstance. The truth is, I love my life! I love everything about it. The wakeful nights cuddling and feeding our sweet baby girl, the seemingly endless washing of clothes and dishes, the old and homely house set quaint under ancient trees, my husband’s big laugh and strong hands to hold. But everyday is a new opportunity to choose to compare or to be grateful. And my joy and contentment will always correlate perfectly to the measure of my thankfulness.
Happiness is entirely of our choosing and lasting happiness has nothing to do with what we hold, own, or stock in the cupboard. The truth is, unless I am thankful for the small, the little, the simple, I will never be content or satisfied in prosperity or abundance. I want to hold this secret tight, write in on my arms everyday, so that holding little or embracing plenty I know joy. His joy. For with God, although I have needs, I am never in need. He fills them. In every way. “I can do all things [which He has called me to do] through Him who strengthens and empowers me.” Philippians 4:13 Late 2014 Jakin, my husband, set out to enter a local short film festival. While he was the master videographer, director and producer, I was dragged in as his novice accomplice and script-write. The theme was 'Winter Light', with much room for interpretation and expression. I encourage you to take a minute to watch and enjoy! Lone bird cry wakes morning,
And the dawn stirs. Sheets pull and feet hit floor hard. Day begins again. The cold seeps deep into bones; Water shivers through pipes, And kettle steam wisps delicate. Outside the frost bites, And all around creeps fog. Confused, heavy. Ages of dreary days dulls the driven mind. The chill steals breath sharp, Billows cool and cuts hard. Droplets form and track slow down signs. Footsteps drag heavy, joining the chorus. This day, grey, like every other. Is there more than this? Sun rises. Ancient skies are streaked with light, As secrets in the mist whisper soft across the valley. Heart beats and every breath is seen. The mud churned trail speaks journey, And draws in deep. Trees stretch tall, As underfoot branches snap with every step. Mist hangs regal, cloaking the rippled river path- And fades. All glory awakens! Luminescent moon fades brilliance. Light rises. Filling every crevice, painting every rock face, And warming the cold inside. And there is more, There is light, here, now – and in every season. The bleeps from the monitor pierced still room and drew my attention to the screen. The green line traced and spiked in wider waveforms than before, small numbers in blue dipping and flashing red. Just for a moment. Glancing down I saw the baby’s chest rise and fall drawing in rapid, regular breaths, cheeks rosy and pink. Hand on edge of small cot I spoke soft to his mother, “It’s okay.” She had started anxious out of a restful slumber at the noise. “It’s just a small drop in his heart rate. It’s back up now and he doesn’t look too concerned.” With a knowing smile she sank back into her seat, eyes tired. “I should be used to that noise”, she said, hand waving toward the cardiac-respiratory monitor mounted above her young son’s cot, “But it still scares me every time.” Sitting again beside her I noticed the worn book she fingered in her lap. “What are you reading?” I motioned. Carefully she opened the aged pages, but even my curiosity could not help decipher the foreign script. She smiled at my confusion, “It is a book of prayers. Sikh prayers. I pray them often, for my son.” Benjamin had been a patient in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit ever since he was born, at 26 weeks gestation. A full 14 weeks too soon, Ben’s intricate and multifunction systems were neither fully developed nor compatible with life unassisted. He would not have survived without the weeks of respiratory support for immature lungs, gastric tube feeding, countless intravenous drips or the myriad of medications and electrolyte replacements. Even then there were days we thought might be his last. Thoughtful eyes, deep and weary, looked at her young son and she murmured, “I never used to be a praying woman.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Mary’s frail body curled on the hospital bed, eyelids drooped pale and transparent as she waited for the wardsman to come. The bed looked colossal, puffed pillows and blankets piled high, seeming to swallow up her 30kg frame. All I could see was her pale face and bright scarf, wrapped graceful around her bare head. “Mary”, I tried to whisper soft so as not to startle, “I just came to check that you’re all ready to go to your procedure.” Eyelids fluttered and rose slow as a smile wisped across her brow. “Yes, I think I’m ready.” I adjusted a pillow under her instruction, and we chatted about the drizzling morning rain. “I love the rain.” Mary closed her eyes again as she spoke. “I love its smell. The freshness you know? It seems always so full of promise, smelling like tomorrow, you know?” In and out of hospital for most of her 50 years of life, Mary was no stranger to suffering. A fierce disease had gripped her gastric-intestinal system, leading to countless operations, and months of diagnostic testing in and out of hospitals. She seemed to me to carry a grace that rested on you when in her presence, and depth of serenity that denied her experience. “I want to see tomorrow. Just for a moment.” She gripped my arm strong with bony hand, her voice rimmed with fierce determination, “There has to be a tomorrow.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Why is it that it takes sickness or loss to draw us to think deep, to question tomorrow? Death stares straight into our eyes, and fear grips heart tight and we cry out. Why? Is it the fear, the loss of control or threat of absence of life itself? Or is it because in that moment, our weakness and vulnerability stretch open heart-eyes wide and we see clear, just for a moment. We see and we feel and we cry out - there must be more than this. “He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end.” Ecclesiastes 4:11 Eternity in our hearts, deep. Hidden. Suppressed and stuffed in. Life distracts, pulls hard for our attention, and we don’t have the time. Time to see, to stop, to know, to value. Time pushes us into the rush, carries us through day, and haste makes waste. Soul empty, there is a whisper for more; yet we are independent, fine, altogether functioning, strong. Yet faced with the end, in the weakness and vulnerability of loss, we look at race run and see a moment. Just a moment in time. And what is gained? “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world…I must keep alive in myself the desire for my true country, which I shall not find till after death; I must never let it get snowed under or turned aside; I must make it the main object of life to press on to that other country and to help others to do the same.” - C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity Here the fight is waged and battle lines drawn. Everyday is a fight to see. A struggle to live for more than that which is seen. To live with eternity’s light in our eyes, heart drawn and all affection captivated by the One who creates life and holds it gentle in hands. Our weakness is a gift, a vulnerable window through which we catch sight of the Glory God, who transforms and empowers and purposes. Life fades, just a passing, momentary breath in the grand expanse of eternity. Life and death and all earth proclaim that there is more than this. enlighten: to give [someone] greater knowledge or understanding; {illuminate or make clearer}; to OPEN SOMEONE’S EYES. The sun, hot at noon, fell heavy on our foreheads. Dust red and dry rose shimmering, plastering our white damp skin with every step. Muffled laughter filled my ears – children’s feet racing down narrow paths, beckoning friends along the way. Water sloshed through dirty pots, and clothes rubbed hard and clean. The murmurs of friendly greetings rose; tin clanged and pots stirred. Odors wafted and hung heavy in the humid air, not all pleasant. A child’s hand reached and grabbed mine, tugged hard. “Muzungo, muzungo!” A black face looked back at mine, teeth flashed, eyes wide with smiling amusement. I smiled back and squeezed hand tight. This was Africa. It took awhile to sink in…the tiring 22 hour air journey was not quite long enough to prepare me for the smell, the noise, the heat, nor the heart of the people. Uganda, Africa – the nation of big skies, vast plains, dark skinned beauty, and intense hurt and suffering. We were here, for real. Eyes opened wide, expectant and ignorant, but thankful. The unknown of our two-week adventure found us dependant, kept humble and reliant on the God who knows. From day one, it was the openness of the people welcoming strangers into their lives that served as constant reminder of my need and of the controversy of it all. Heart undone and willing to be enlightened, I was ready to have my eyes opened wide. A woman stopped us on the street, our skin blaring foreign in the sun. “Sister! Would you look? My child, the fever has not left. He does not respond!” Her cry was definite, yet not pleading, as if asking for compassion, an ear, for human recognition of her plight. We stopped, Mum and I, bent down and felt the boy’s head. Hot and clammy he looked up at us unsure. “What are you doing here anyway?” The woman’s voice again questioned, inquisitive. We met her gaze with smiles; “We are nurses – visiting this beautiful country, learning, helping where we can. Has this always been your home?” Our question led into depth of discussion and short friendship – we listened, gave her medicine for her son, and prayed with them both. Squeezing hand tight, we prayed God would again reveal His love that satisfies, that she would see and know it again. Her story of loss, searching and hardship I will not quickly forget, nor has God ever forgotten. Joy was her name, and it was written all over her face. She beamed as she cooked our meals, laughed over the pots of beans and cabbage, and found delight in smelling the wafting aromas and walking in the brilliant light of afternoon sun. And still her eyes danced as she in broken English spoke tales of her broken past. She told us of her son, sick during the days of rebel occupation, to the point of requiring hospitalization. That night at the hospital – the rooms full of sick babies, scared mothers, and townspeople seeking refuge from the darkness – that night the rebel soldiers burst through the doors, spraying bullets into the mess of sickness and fear. Joy held tight to her young son, protecting him from the bullet that pierced her skin and bone, shattering her upper arm. She pointed to the scar, deeply indented in her arm, “We all have this story”, she smiled big, “But I have my life!” We smiled back astonished. We do not have this story, and how often we do not have this joy. A day at the hospital was much like any other – wandering, greeting, learning, and overwhelmed by the seeming helplessness. The sun was heavy again. Sweat trickled, dust hung low, and this day I cringed, bothered. We made our way to the maternity ward. Soft groans met our ears and grew louder as we wound through the dark hallways. A mother in labour lay on the short table in the middle of the room, hands gripping sides, neck arched as she tried to find comfort on black plastic mat. A throng of young nurses and midwifes crowded, pulling curtain open wide to get a better look. We slipped into the group – Mum grasped the woman’s hand, reassuring. “10cm dilated. Now push woman!” The midwife in gumboots mopped the wet and messy floor as she instructed. Gritting teeth the young woman pushed and head appeared – beautiful, wet, bloody, new head. Another groan and there she was. Tiny, screaming and kicking girl-life welcomed into the world. I marveled at the beauty of the moment. Proud mother sat up stark, unashamed, reaching for her child, her likeness. We cleaned and gently swaddled the babe, giving her to her mother to delight in. Not long was her rest though – within the hour, mother was up. Gathering mat and blankets she carefully walked the slippery tiles to the cleaners room at the end of the hallway. Scrubbing the mat on which she had just lay she cleaned the marks of her labour from her blankets and strong frame. Offering to help, astonished at this young woman’s resilience, we were laughed at. “No, no…” she smiled, waving us away. Mum and I looked at each other amazed – the concept of giving up, of waiting for others to do what one could do themselves, was almost as foreign as our skin to these people. Two short long weeks, and I felt the hurt cut deep hearing stories of loss, of atrocities and pain. We saw the squalor, the dirt, the inequality of it all. Eyes open I saw. But my heart felt too the joy that smiled big and surpassed understanding. I experienced the thankfulness expressed for the smallest favour or gift, and the resilience to carry on, never giving up. Always I come eager to help, to change, to make a difference. And yet it is my heart that is changed. Eyes a little wider, heart a little swollen with the people, the questions, the need. Eyes opened, enlightened. My heart pounds even now with the question, how then should I now live? “And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” {Micah 6:8} There is the call, the summons – to act and to love and to walk with Jesus. And the question is not ‘where will He lead?’ But ‘am I willing to follow?’ For in-light of it all – the cross, the love of God, eternity forever – nothing else matters. I want to live the life of simple obedience, to see and be changed, to love and be overwhelmed, and to live in-light of the Light. |
AuthorHannah Mai Archives
October 2016
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