“I’m calling to let you know we have the results of your test. There is no sign of cancer.”
I breathed out a quiet sigh that felt like I had been holding in forever. After more than a month of detailed medical screenings, those anxious thoughts tapping on my shoulder, I knew I would always honor prayer requests from people undergoing tests.
“Who will roll away the stone?”
When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus’ body. Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb and they asked each other, “Who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?” (Mark 16:1-3).
I was thrilled when I found out I was pregnant with my first child, I was elated when a few months later, I gave birth to my daughter. I learned a lot about God’s love through being a parent. Soon after, I was excited when God gave me the opportunity to serve Him in children’s ministries in my church. I learned about God’s tenderness by serving in the nursery, I found out about God’s patience in potty-training toddlers, I understood God’s playful side when I organized games for elementary kids.
“And those who know your name put their trust in you, for you, O Lord, have not forsaken those who seek you” (Psalm 9:10).
Survey after survey shows that trust is a big deal. No, let me rephrase that. Survey after survey shows that lack of trust is a big deal. I’m not sure this is a “new” thing; after all trust issues go all the way back to the garden of Eden, don’t they? I guess you could say Adam and Eve were the first ones who failed the trust test, and we’ve been struggling with trusting one another—and trusting God—ever since.
“Where are you going with that huge bowl of ice cream?”
I was a new server at our local country club, my first job working for someone besides my father. I stood there with what I thought was a proper portion of this familiar treat. After all, I knew how much it was going to cost the customer, and I wanted him to get his money’s worth. My supervisor, however, stopped me before I could leave the kitchen.
It was late in the evening as the military Casualty Affairs Officer and the Chaplain approached the door. After knocking, the door opened, and they were greeted by “the look.” It is no ordinary look but one that communicated the knowledge that something was wrong. They were ushered into the living room. The family members sat down and heard the dreaded words, “It is with deep sorry and regret that we must inform you of the death of your (husband, wife, son or daughter).” There is no way to convey the feelings and there are no words to express the pain, so they cry.
I was blessed with a great father. My parents were both older when I was born, I was a surprise and an only child. Neither one of my parents had a college education; my mother had a high school diploma and my father had an eighth-grade education. He was a construction worker during my growing up years but had been a long-haul truck driver, covering the north/south route from Maine to Florida for a national food distributor.
I’m not often tempted to pat myself on the back. At my age, I know know better. It would make my shoulder hurt. (Don’t ask me how I know that.)
Nonetheless, if I’m ever tempted to try – again – another simple but painful experience, God should deliver me from the temptation.
Despite more than a decade devoted to teaching people how to Lead Like Jesus, when it comes to me being a Jesus-like leader myself, I’m not there … yet.
How do I know? Here’s the backstory.
Compassionate leader
When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So he began teaching them many things. By this time it was late in the day, so his disciples came to him. “This is a remote place,” they said, “and it’s already very late. Send the people away so that they can go to the surrounding countryside and villages and buy themselves something to eat.”
“You can choose one of these three outfits.” I calmly told my three year old what her options were for church attire. I wasn’t as concerned about her appearance during the week, especially if we weren’t venturing from the house. But heads would turn if I allowed her to select her church outfit. Having a choice was the battle, and I gave her that choice… within limits.
