The Widow's Offering

Being that it is *that* time of year and the holiday hustle and bustle has begun, I often find myself reminiscing on the memories and traditions of my childhood.  I was surprised by a story from my past that bubbled it's way to the surface recently, no thanks to those pesky bell-ringers hanging around outside all of my favorite shops. 

The year that I was 8 years old (Hello, 1995!), my parents gave me the opportunity to earn money for Christmas shopping by doing chores and tasks around the house.  I worked my 8-yr old fingers to the bone for what begs to be remembered as months, though I'm fairly certain it was only a matter of weeks. ;)  When all was said and done, I prepared to go shopping with my Mom, a whopping $25 and a detailed list in tow.  (Whether that list was mental or actual, I don't recall.)  I can still feel the excitement in my little girl-heart at the thought of using my very own money to buy special presents for those I loved.  The only gift I vividly recall wanting to purchase, as it was the 90's, was a Skip It for my best friend, Amanda!  I was CRAZY for my Skip It and desperately desired for her to have one so that we could "skip it" together. lol  (Love that picture -totally symbolic of my childhood; cracking up!)

I can still see it now.  We come to the first stop, and I eagerly hop out of the good ole' Chevy Silhouette aka "Ruby," all bundled up in my winter jacket.  Holding my Momma's hand, we are nearing the door to the store when I notice a familiar jingling of bells.  "Why are they ringing those bells, Momma?" She answers me by saying something like "They ring those bells so people will put money in those little buckets, and that money goes to help families who don't have things for Christmas."  I stopped and let that thought sink in a bit.  Then, with only brief hesitation, I walked  forward and put my $25 in that little red bucket.  

I think my Mom was slightly shocked, yet full of pride.  I'm sure she probably asked me if I was sure that's what I wanted to do with my money, and I'm sure I said yes, though this part of my memory is a little foggy.  However what I do remember is that we didn't make it two steps inside the door before I was crying my little eyes out. Lol.  My Mom asked me "What's wrong, sweetie?" and through my sobbing, I managed to utter "I can't buy Christmas presents now." In the end, of course, my Mom allowed me to do my shopping and said she would pay for it for me.  I was even able to get a Skip It for Amanda.  Best favor ever. lol

On the voyage home that day, my Mom shared a story with me that she said was from the Bible.  She told me about a group of people who were giving their offerings at church.  She said there were many rich people putting lots of money into the collection box.  And then there was a poor widow, whom I'm pretty sure she termed an "old lady," (lol) who gave her last two pennies.  And how that meant so much more to Jesus than all the money the rich were giving, because she had given everything she had.  I remember feeling a warmth in my heart and a peace that I had made Jesus happy.  An eagerness to give was planted in me that day, and her story stuck with me all these years.

About a month ago in my journey through the book of Mark, I ran across this story for the first time in my life. I'm not calling my mother a liar, but I'm not sure why I always secretly thought she made that story up to make me feel better that day.  hahaha!  Turns out, my Mom and her Bible knowledge are legit. (Sorry, Mommy!)  It can be found in Mark 12:41-44.  
"Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts.  But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents.  Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others.They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.” (NIV)

That day I was gifted with a beautiful lesson that shaped a big part of who I am.  It was a defining moment that followed me into life with Jesus.  My identity in Christ and the fulfillment of my purpose are tied into that single moment where a seed and a story were planted.  It is so important to be giving with the gifts the Lord has blessed us with.  The widow may have only given two coins, but they were her last!  This was an act of great faith!  She gave all she had, fully trusting that the Lord knew her needs and would provide.  Our giving is an act of love and praise for God.  It is meant to be a sacrifice; it's about parting with what you'd prefer to keep in order to bless somebody else.  Giving to others is an opportunity to glorify God for his gift to us: the offer of unmerited salvation through His one and only Son. 

I think it is important to note that I'm not focused solely on money here.  We should also be generous with our time, love, forgiveness.  Giving ourselves over to God.  So, this holiday season, let us keep the important things in mind.  Let us not be distracted by the the hustle and bustle, the giving and receiving of costly gifts, the commercialism.  Those things are all good and fun, but be conscious of giving back to others from a place of love.  For, "God loves a cheerful giver." (2Corinthians 9:7)  When we give with a pure and willing heart, He takes notice!  I welcome you all to find at least one opportunity to step outside of yourself and give back in some way this holiday season; be it through your church, a community outreach, or a personal friend.  You find your way of blessing somebody to gLoRiFy your Father in Heaven.  Tis the reason for the season, yo!

 

Yes, to my surprise, I still remembered all the words to this commercial. :D

My sweet Mason

Tonight, I was cleaning the bathroom and the rustling of noise woke the baby.  He's such a light sleeper.  He sat up in his crib and gave me the biggest smile, eyes still half-closed and full of sleep, softly meeting the roundness of his chubby cheeks.  It may have been the most adorable thing I've ever seen.  So, I stopped what I was doing and said "Do you need your Momma?" And without missing a beat, he hopped to his feet and said "Oooout?" This boy never disappoints, he's such a little lover and fully enjoys every opportunity to snuggle. (I don't know where he gets it from)  So, when I picked him up out of the crib, he threw his arms around my neck in a full embrace ...and well... melted my whole heart into a sopping wet pile of lovey-lovey-goo-goo!!!

While we were cuddling I was reminded ever so gently, by my Heavenly Father, about Mason's whole journey into existence.  What a road we traveled down just to be able to know Mason's incredibly special brand of affection!  You see, my relationship with the boys' dad was hanging by a thread when I got slapped upside the head by a surprise pregnancy.  (I use that term loosely, are pregnancies ever really by "surprise?")  I have spent all of my adult life on the baby train.  Trying to get pregnant, sustain those pregnancies, losing precious babies, and all the pain and frustration that goes along with those things.  So to be sneak-attacked by my pregnancy with Mason, at the worst possible time, was new territory for me.  

I remember being SO angry at first.  I felt trapped in an unhappy, unhealthy situation.  I recall railing at God daily.  I remember all the unspeakable thoughts that I'm too ashamed to put words to.  I hadn't even had the chance to wrap my mind around the idea of welcoming another baby into my world when it started to happen... again.  My body was threatening miscarriage.  So, my Dr. prescribed a slew of "solutions" to a problem I honestly wasn't sure I wanted to solve.  (To this day, I beg forgiveness for that thought every time it rears it's head.)  Ultimately, I decided I could not bear the weight on my soul if I had chosen not to do anything.  So I began all the lovely hormone treatments my doctor had proposed and suffered through blood draws every two days, and then every week, for 14 weeks.

I never would have guessed that THAT could be the easy part.  Not two weeks later, I got a phone call from my kind-hearted doctor explaining to me that the quad screen results had come back abnormal.  There was a 1 in 26 chance that my baby would have Trisomy 18.  Having a fairly firm handle on the medical side of things, I knew that this was just a ratio with a high incidence of false results.  I knew that this meant we would be encouraged to go forward with an amniocentesis.  However, I also knew this meant there was a 25 to 1 chance that my baby was perfectly fine.  It felt like everybody around me was overreacting.  I vaguely recall feeling like I was the comforter rather than the comforted.  Like I was the one being strong when the people around me were freaked out.  I can't tell you how many times the "termination" option was brought up, regardless of the fact that I had just spent so many weeks fighting to keep him alive.  I began researching Trisomy 18, and it was heartbreaking, to say the least.  "Incompatible with life."  Those words echoed in my head every minute of every day.  But true to my nature,  I wanted to be well-versed in what that meant for us, for him, what the options were, etc.  

So, I consented to the amnio.  We learned that day that it was another boy, but I was so distracted by what was to come during the procedure, that I don't remember saying a single word or even trying to pretend like I was excited to know the gender. :D  And then, the amniocentesis failed.  My best friend, Jessica, sat with me through the entire procedure and watched them stab me in the stomach with what I'm certain was a 4-foot long needle! Lol... but, the baby kept moving into the fluid-pocket.  I let them stick me at least twice and then they gave up.  I remember feeling quite confident that God was going to deliver me a healthy baby boy, but was never too far removed from the fear that He wouldn't.  I educated myself on comfort care and the various things we could do to improve his quality of life IF he were to be born with T18.  I prepared myself the best I knew how for what might be coming, knowing there was the possibility of meeting him and losing him.  All the while telling everyone "I can't explain it, I just believe in my heart that he is okay and he is healthy.  And if he isn't, then I believe God will take care of him AND us."  

Mason was my first lesson in trust with the Lord.  You see, I didn't truly know what it meant to have a relationship with God then, but He made sure I knew we were in His hands and at His mercy during that time.  It was also my first lesson in His grace.  He gifted me with the whisper of this baby's name, Mason (brick-layer/stone worker) Elijah (Lord is my God) ...and I never questioned it, even though I had 5 other names in mind. :) Then, some 20 weeks later, I delivered a totally healthy baby boy.  ... 7lbs 11oz, 19.5 inches long ... and as perfect and precious as they come.  Jessica likes to poke fun at me because even at that moment, I didn't cry.  I got ever-so-slightly choked up and let out some ragged sigh of relief.  And promptly fell asleep. ;) lol  

It is only now that I realize Mason laid the very first bricks of my foundation in the Lord, my God.  His name means more to me now than it ever did.  Mason has been the greatest blessing.  He is so loving, hilarious, eager, and adorable.  He has blessed his brother with an amazing bond that I could never have imagined for them.  Glory to God... those boys are in a love affair with each other. :)  Nearly 19 months later, it is Mason who teaches me to lift my hands in wholehearted surrender and give praise to the Lord!  I couldn't have handpicked a more perfect child to round out our little family of 3.  To think of all the wretched thoughts I had in the beginning, to fighting the fight for his life (which was never really in my hands), and all the fear I bore in silence... I wouldn't change a second of it.  Mason was made just for me and my burgeoning journey with Jesus.  Mason was a vessel for Jesus' love, grace, and comfort.  And he still is.  As he laid in my arms tonight, I traced his fingers with mine and thanked God repeatedly for this gift He shared with me.  I took in the sweetness of his face, the smell of his hair, and the purity of the consumption in my heart.  He was never anything other than my very own abundant blessing... ♥

"And the child grew and became strong; he was filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was on him" (Luke 2:40 NIV)

Putting Down Roots

I first read The Parable of the Sower in the book of Mark, Chapter 4, but it is repeated several times in the Bible (see also: Matthew 13, Luke 8, and Thomas 9).  So far, this is definitely one of my favorite stories in my personal study journey.  It spoke to me in a profound way, and continues to open itself to me each time I re-read it. 

In this story, Jesus begins to teach by the lake.  A huge crowd gathers and so he goes out on the lake in a boat, while the people are gathered at the water's edge. It is said that Jesus liked to teach in parables, a.k.a. stories.  So, he tells the crowd of people the story of the sower.  A farmer goes out to the field to sow his seed.  And this is what happens:

*Some of this seed falls along a path and the birds come and eat it all up!  

*Some of the seed falls in the rocky places, where there was not much soil.  It sprouted quickly, but wilted under the hot sun and died because there was no nourishment in the shallow soil!  It could not take root!

*Still, other seeds fell among the thorns and these thorns sprang up and choked the young plants, so they could bear no grain.

*And finally, some of the seeds fell on good soil!  It sprouted, grew, and produced a crop - 30, 60, even 100 times what was sown!

When alone again with His disciples, Jesus explains to them the meaning behind this fancy little riddle.  The farmer sows the word, God's message.  When the seeds of God's message fall upon the hard pathway, Satan swoops in (like the birds) to devour all the word that was sown in them and make them forget.  Others, like the seed sown on the rocks, welcome the word with joy!  But because their roots are not yet deep, they "wilt" at the first sign of trouble or persecution.  Then there are those who hear and receive God's word, but get lost in their worldly desires and struggles.  This strangles the word of God in their heart and they fail to produce a crop.  Lastly, the seed that falls on good soil represents the hearts of those who truly accept the word and produce a plentiful harvest for the Lord.

Oh, how I desire to be the good soil that seed falls on!  I don't want to be the hardened person who hears but does not understand.  Nor do I want to be the unchanged weenie that dips out when the going gets tough.  I want to put down roots!  I want to produce a crop a hundred-fold!!  Dig deeper into His word.  Pray more.  Water those seeds and let them bloom!

But how do we get there?  Listen well to our Father.  Accept and apply His messages with great trust!  Allow ourselves to experience the depths of his truth, grace, and freedom!  Let Him overwhelm us with His perfect, unfailing love so that we may live to bear much fruit!! 

So, does your faith-life exemplify the good ground?  If so, what can you do to increase that harvest just a little more?  How can you go from 30 times what was sown to 60 times what was sown?  If you have not put down strong roots yet, how can you dig a little deeper into your relationship with Jesus Christ?  What changes can you make to strengthen that trust and faith?  

Let us not allow those birds and thorns and weeds to distract us from the plentiful harvest we are purposed to produce!