I got to write the lead article to our church's newsletter for January:
Our youngest child, James, the one with the fly away blonde hair and angelic face, is a pistol. He keeps me on my toes and keeps life interesting for all of us in the Jurgensen home. He’s either hot or cold, naughty or nice, and never anything in between.
James feels that one of the greatest honors he can bestow upon me is to allow me to sit by him during a meal. I’d like to clarify that sitting by a three year old actually means that our two chairs must touch and the sides of our bodies must be pasted together for the entire dining experience. He will often lean over and plant a kiss on my cheek with his sticky lips and express with all the heart and sincerity a three year old can muster, “I love you, Mommy.”
The other night James was protesting bedtime. For whatever reason, he felt that it was a gross injustice that I would make him put on his pajamas and brush his teeth. After his bedtime story, which was cut short by his weeping and gnashing of teeth, I informed him it was time to crawl into bed. He stood his little body as straight as he could and spat angrily through his tears, “If you make me go to bed…I’ll NEVER EAT SUPPER WITH YOU AGAIN!”
The whole experience got me thinking of unconditional love and relationship. Our Heavenly Father chose us before we ever even knew him. Through Christ, who was sacrificed on our behalf, we have redemption and forgiveness of sins. God took me at my most unlovable state and made me his child, as undeserving as I am. And he loves me no matter what: great offenses, bad habits, slight flaws and all. That love makes me want to give Him the privileged spot in my life. Like James sometimes gives me the “best seat” next to him at the table, I wish to “do life” with God right at my side, offering up my words and actions to his praise and glory, much like James’ sticky kisses.
And sometimes, just as James was angry at the necessity of bedtime, I get angry or impatient with God and his plan for my life. I can’t understand why some parts of the journey have to be so painful or difficult for others or for myself. And yet, I know in my heart that God IS love, and that my wisdom and understanding don’t even cast a shadow in his greatness. I hold fast to Romans 8:28: ...we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him...and that nothing, no tear or hurt, is ever wasted when the brokenness is handed over to God.
What can I take away from God anyhow? Like James removing the honor of eating with him, the only thing I can remove from God is me. And when I look honestly at that, it’s rather silly, because I’m only punishing myself. Who is going to feed me and take care of me and love me and protect me if it isn’t God?
By the next day, James had forgotten his threat to never eat with me again. He was on his stool and waiting for me to bring him his food and come sit down. It’s much harder for me to forget when I’ve put distance between God and me. I ask for his forgiveness, tell him I don’t always understand life’s events and situations, but the alternative of “doing life” without him is far more scary than snuggling up beside him and allowing him to navigate our journey, on the majestically scenic roads, the uneventfully straight and easy interstates and the even on the dark, uncertain paths.
I don’t know where each of you is at today in your journey, if you are going through hardships or enjoying bounty and goodness. Where is God in all of it? If he’s not pasted up along side you, his chair touching yours, I encourage you to have a conversation with him. You may find that in doing so, you’re drawn to inch your chair over closer and closer to his so that you can lean over and paste a sticky kiss on the face of God.
Our youngest child, James, the one with the fly away blonde hair and angelic face, is a pistol. He keeps me on my toes and keeps life interesting for all of us in the Jurgensen home. He’s either hot or cold, naughty or nice, and never anything in between.
James feels that one of the greatest honors he can bestow upon me is to allow me to sit by him during a meal. I’d like to clarify that sitting by a three year old actually means that our two chairs must touch and the sides of our bodies must be pasted together for the entire dining experience. He will often lean over and plant a kiss on my cheek with his sticky lips and express with all the heart and sincerity a three year old can muster, “I love you, Mommy.”
The other night James was protesting bedtime. For whatever reason, he felt that it was a gross injustice that I would make him put on his pajamas and brush his teeth. After his bedtime story, which was cut short by his weeping and gnashing of teeth, I informed him it was time to crawl into bed. He stood his little body as straight as he could and spat angrily through his tears, “If you make me go to bed…I’ll NEVER EAT SUPPER WITH YOU AGAIN!”
The whole experience got me thinking of unconditional love and relationship. Our Heavenly Father chose us before we ever even knew him. Through Christ, who was sacrificed on our behalf, we have redemption and forgiveness of sins. God took me at my most unlovable state and made me his child, as undeserving as I am. And he loves me no matter what: great offenses, bad habits, slight flaws and all. That love makes me want to give Him the privileged spot in my life. Like James sometimes gives me the “best seat” next to him at the table, I wish to “do life” with God right at my side, offering up my words and actions to his praise and glory, much like James’ sticky kisses.
And sometimes, just as James was angry at the necessity of bedtime, I get angry or impatient with God and his plan for my life. I can’t understand why some parts of the journey have to be so painful or difficult for others or for myself. And yet, I know in my heart that God IS love, and that my wisdom and understanding don’t even cast a shadow in his greatness. I hold fast to Romans 8:28: ...we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him...and that nothing, no tear or hurt, is ever wasted when the brokenness is handed over to God.
What can I take away from God anyhow? Like James removing the honor of eating with him, the only thing I can remove from God is me. And when I look honestly at that, it’s rather silly, because I’m only punishing myself. Who is going to feed me and take care of me and love me and protect me if it isn’t God?
By the next day, James had forgotten his threat to never eat with me again. He was on his stool and waiting for me to bring him his food and come sit down. It’s much harder for me to forget when I’ve put distance between God and me. I ask for his forgiveness, tell him I don’t always understand life’s events and situations, but the alternative of “doing life” without him is far more scary than snuggling up beside him and allowing him to navigate our journey, on the majestically scenic roads, the uneventfully straight and easy interstates and the even on the dark, uncertain paths.
I don’t know where each of you is at today in your journey, if you are going through hardships or enjoying bounty and goodness. Where is God in all of it? If he’s not pasted up along side you, his chair touching yours, I encourage you to have a conversation with him. You may find that in doing so, you’re drawn to inch your chair over closer and closer to his so that you can lean over and paste a sticky kiss on the face of God.
No comments:
Post a Comment