When the Niceness of Jesus Overflows From Us and Changes the World

I'm not sure what made me think about the daffodils yesterday, but, around the farm, they're the first flowers that bloom in the spring. They're planted along the fence line and stretch half-way down the drive. It's a glorious sight.

When the flowers were in full bloom, Sam would go down the row and pick a bouquet, careful not to remove too many from any one spot. He'd come to the back door and present me a double-handful of yellow sunshine. 

The first spring I was here, I was shocked that he'd picked what I considered "my" flowers. Later, I realized he'd helped plant them. After working on the farm for nearly thirty years, those flowers were as much his as mine.

When the magnolia across the lake bloomed, he'd bring me a blossom to "fill my house with the smell." The first time Sam gave me a milky-white magnolia surprised me, too. 

I'd received flowers before, but always florist-flowers. Sam picked what gave him joy and passed it along. Not once did I see him take flowers for himself. 

One day, as Sam gave me another bouquet, I thought, "He's such a romantic," and realized it was true. He shared the tenderness of his heart in little ways that were as consistent as the morning sunrise. The eagerness with which he gave his offerings of love reminded me of a young boy. He's too frail to pick flowers now, but the aroma of the offerings remains.

I wish I were more like Sam. 

I wish I noticed the world around me on a consistent basis.

I wish I gathered beauty, not for myself, but to simply pass along, because the gifting is a lovely moment, too.

I wish I were consistently kind, because there's great beauty in kindness.

This morning, I read John 15 and came across Jesus' command. "Love one another." I had a crazy thought. Jesus is as nice as Sam. Of course, I had that backward. The correct wording is, "Sam is as nice as Jesus." 

I thank God often that He's nice, and it always surprises people when I do. But He is. 

Monday, the funeral for my friend Jan's daddy was held. The sky had looked like an impending rainstorm all morning. I'd been concerned it would be just as threatening for the burial. 

Of course, it wasn't gloomy at all. God pulled back the clouds, filled the sky with blue, and let the sun shine it's brightest. It reminded me of Sam and the daffodils. A sweet gift filled with love. 

Imagine for a moment a world filled with the sweetness of Sam, which is really the sweetness of God Himself...

Wouldn't that be a better place? A more beautiful, peaceful place?

That kind of love and beauty is only possible if we make a start, for it must begin with us, the people of God. We, who were commanded by Jesus Himself to love must begin to do it with intention. It's not optional.

To love with the intention of Jesus, to share beauty with the abandon of Christ, will require that we slow down long enough to recognize the beautiful, to fill our hands with love, and pass it along. 

Don't we want this kind of life? Then why don't we demonstrate that desire by our actions?

Dear friends, time is short and we must make a start if we ever hope to do it. Be still. Look around. See with our hearts. Open our hands. Love. Share. Give. Do it all in the name of Jesus.

We could change the world...if we would. 

"This is my commandment, that you love one another, just as I have loved you."  John 15:12 nasb

"Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." Romans 12:21 nasb

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In case you missed it, here's the link to yesterday's post: When We Made Up Our Minds to Do a Hard Thing and We Did It

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#sam #loveoneanother

There's Still Good in the Midst of Evil

As I drove through town on my way to church one Sunday morning recently, I glanced toward the town hall. The Little Free Library (the only library we have in Blue Springs) was leaning to one side. I didn't have time to stop, but later in the afternoon I went back to check. Mamie's Book Box was so loose it could just about spin on its stand.

I thought, at first, that I could lift it up and reseat it on the screws that secured it to the post. Looking back, I don't know why that made sense, but I gave it a try. 

I lifted it up and quickly found that the only place that wooden box was going was to ground. It was much heavier than I remembered. I managed to lower it with the tiniest of crashes. It scattered the books, but nothing broke.

Well, nothing broke that wasn't already broken.

As it turned out, the Little Free Library had been vandalized. Someone had wrenched it off the bolts that held it. 

Vandalized. The little library I'd done in memory of my mama. With the brightly colored flowers and decorations I'd made by hand. The library Ronnie Rogers had spent hours sealing and painting. The library our citizens had stocked with donated books. 

I was heartbroken. How could someone do something so mean to such a sweet little memorial?

I hate to admit it, because I love Blue Springs more than you can imagine, but there was a little bit of a hard place in my heart about the damage to the library. I wanted to have it repaired, but I didn't have the heart to risk it being vandalized again. Instead, I dragged it into the town hall and left it. Right in the middle of the floor. 

I was at the town hall one day a week or two later and Mike Matkins came over. He'd seen the damaged book box and noticed that it was still not back in place. "I could fix that box for you, if you want. It won't be a problem. I'll put it back on the stand. It'll be easy to fix."

He was so sweet, I nearly cried.

Over this past weekend, he and his brother, Conway Allen, repaired the book box and put it back on its stand. 

My hard place was still having a field day. I drove past there repeatedly and wondered if the vandals would be back. I wouldn't put the books back inside, because I was afraid they'd be damaged, too. 

I hate to admit it, but my desire to protect the book box was more about my anger at the vandals than about the box. 

Yesterday afternoon, I dropped Sam off to get his hair cut and went to check the flag. I could see the little library box from the flagpole and, right there in front of the flag and the roses, I had church. 

I forgave the vandals and gave the box back to God, who gave me the idea for it in the first place. I repented of my anger and thanked God for the ones who'd been so generous in repairing the library. 

Once the box was back in His hands, instead of mine, I gathered the books and arranged them in the box. There's everything from legal thrillers to romance to biographies to devotional books and classics in that library now.

As I closed the door and secured the latch, I was reminded that, in the midst of all the strife and evil of this world, there is still plenty of good. God is still on His throne. He still works through His people. 

And He alway will. 

"Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you." Ephesians 4:32 esv
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In case you missed it, here's the link to yesterday's post: The Wine-Tasting Wall-Building City-Saver 
 #kindness #littlefreelibrary #forgive

The Incredible Kindness That Broke My Heart

A most unexpected thing happened to me Sunday. I'm in a ladies' Sunday School class, but I've attended a "temporary" Mission Mindset class for the last eight weeks or so. That's why I wasn't in my regular class Sunday morning. 

I had just gotten to the sanctuary/worship center when a young woman from my ladies' class came up to me, carrying a cute green gift bag. 

Kacy is a beautiful, petite blonde who is a single mother to two small children. She's a faithful member of our class, and as sweet as can be. Like all young mothers, her life is busy and sometimes overwhelming.

"Miss Leanna, this is for you. I owe you an apology, and I want to tell you how sorry I am." She held out the bag to me.

I stared at her in confusion for moment. How could she possibly owe me an apology? I wasn't sure what to say, but I took the bag and thanked her.

My confusion was evident, I guess, because she explained. "I was insensitive and inconsiderate Friday night, and I'm so, so sorry. My little boy felt so bad about it that we wanted to make it up to you."

She was so sincere, so intent on making amends that I desperately searched my mind. What could she have done that I totally missed? I didn't know what to do. 

Finally, I admitted my confusion. "Kacy, thank you, but I don't know what you mean. When were you insensitive to me?"

She explained that she had been in charge of dessert for the Sunday School class party on Friday night. She and her boys made cookies. I saw them on the counter when we served our plates. They were so beautiful that I considered taking a picture of them to send to my son, and wondered how she'd made them. In fact, they were the most beautiful homemade cookies I'd ever seen. I wished I could make cookies that looked like that.

Not for a moment did I wish to eat the cookies. They weren't gluten-free, and I am. My mama had celiac disease and grieved for every cookie she couldn't eat. Not me. If it's gonna hurt my gut and give me brain-fog, I don't want it. It doesn't hurt my feelings at all.

Kacy said, "I never asked about food intolerances. I was supposed to bring dessert for everybody. Not for everybody but you." She felt she had left me out, and it had broken her heart. It broke the tender heart of her son when he learned about it, as well.

Her grief over what she perceived as a slight to me was so profound, it pierced my heart. I don't grieve over causing an insult like she does, and I'm ashamed of myself. I'm not as inclusive. Not as sensitive. Not as kind.

Her sorrow over causing a slight, her incredible kindness in an attempt to make amends, did more to change my heart than a fiery sermon ever could. 

I wept. And wept. And I've wept again this morning writing about this sweet woman and her tender heart.

She has the heart of God for others and she's teaching her children to have that same kind heart. I often say that, to the sweet, God shows Himself sweet. And He does. I think He must be awfully sweet to Kacy. I pray He is, for she's an example to us all.

Kacy and her boys got up early on Saturday morning. No cartoons. No dawdling in pajamas. They went to the store and searched for gluten-free cookies. Her son picked the vanilla sandwich cookies, the very pack of cookies I'd have picked for myself. 

They might be the best cookies I've ever eaten because they are coated in love and kindness. 

Kacy knows that, for the body of Christ to be unified, we have to include everyone. Even people like me, who makes including me more difficult because of my dietary intolerance. 

When I think of the verse, "Be kind to one another." I think of Kacy. She wants everyone to be a part of the rich blessings only Christ can give. I've learned an important lesson, and I hope I'll be more like Kacy going forward, because she's so much more like Jesus.

We could all learn a lesson from Kacy and the boys. Apologize freely. Love all. Include everyone. No matter how hard it is. 

"And be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving each other, just as Christ also has forgiven you." Ephesians 4:32 nasb

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I need your help! 

The Clay Papers e-book is free on Amazon today and tomorrow (June 2 and 3). I'd like to give away at least 1,000 copies (well, I want to give away more than that, but I'm praying for 1,000) so please take a moment and "buy" it for free and ask all your friends to do the same. Here's the link: http://ow.ly/t6b4300Q6Qo

(The price has not been adjusted by Amazon as of 6/2 at 6:3 am, but I have contacted them and it should be corrected shortly.)

In case you missed it, here's the link for yesterday's post: Choosing Dirt

#kindness #bodyofChrist #disciple 

A a little Help From My Friends

The old Beatles song, "I get by with a little help from my friends" has been playing in my head the last few days. 

Yesterday, I finally made it home for a few precious hours. My dear friend Debbie Hayden had cooked the roast, potatoes, carrots, and squash I spooned onto my plate. As I sat down to eat the second "real" meal I'd had in a week, I thanked God for the friends that have made this crazy and horribly difficult week possible. I wept that there are people who love me enough to care for me in such tangible ways. 

I, who am cloistered most days in a universe of my own fanciful design, writing about people who exist only in my imagination, have experienced the kindness of flesh and blood humans and am astounded. 

My Wonder Girls (two marvelously energetic Shih Tzu's) were having a terrible time because of my long hours away. They do not prefer puppy pads for their potty needs, but will use them if they just can't wait anymore. They've had entirely too much "just can't wait" this week. 

We were struggling, then Linda Buchanan text'd me. "I'm coming back from Oxford. Can I walk your dogs?" I blinked back tears. Yes! That one gift of generosity turned this difficult week around. Since then, Jan Musgrove and Yvonne (who lives in my rent house and works incredibly long hours) have also walked and loved those furry bright spots in my life. 

When I returned home yesterday, my precious balls of fur greeted me as if I hadn't neglected them at all. They loved me and forgave me. 

I should be as generous with the people I love.

What if every homecoming was greeted with the unconditional love of my wonder dogs? We might have more prodigals finding their way back home. If they knew that unconditional love and joy-filled acceptance awaited, they might not hesitate when they finally come to the end of themselves.   

When two ladies from Blue Springs offered to help, including stay with Jamie, I thanked them, but thought, who really wants to sit up at night in a hospital with a sick person? Maybe no one, but Shelby Pannell was more than willing. I waited until I was dropping in my tracks to accept her offer, but that night's rest has kept me going. 

Getting away from the hospital to run errands and wash clothes would not have been possible without the generosity of Shelby Pannell and Jane Witt, who stayed with our rowdy patient to give Sam and me a much needed break. 

I saw the sky, breathed in the crisp fall air, and longed for more.  More time outside. More of a break. More delivering my problems into capable hands and simply breathing for a while. 

How foolish I am! There's not one day that goes by without the option of problem-transfer. Our Lord stands ready and waiting to handle every problem I have, every problem you have. I know that. I've lived it. So why do I hang onto the little stuff, as if I might, by some miracle, be able to manage something on my own? I can't. It's all too big for me. It's all too big for you. 

Why not give it all to God? Every problem, big or small, every heartache, every sorrow. Let Him handle life so we can concentrate on breathing. Being. Loving. 

There's no way to mention all the hospital staff who have cared for Jamie with such love while pouring out love and concern on Sam and me. They have helped with everything from an extra blanket to thermostat adjustment to cups of steaming black coffee to an understanding ear when I'd run out of steam. 

I've been the listening ear, the caring physician, the gentle helper. I haven't often been the receiver. 

I am humbled by this experience, and left wondering whether my life might not have been a bit easier if I had been willing to accept a helping hand, invite a few people into my life, step out of my invented world into the real world. 

I have seen you, my fellow humans, and I am in awe of you. I have felt your love and I'm offering my love, meager as it is, in return. 

When God created humans, he looked at them with love, and joy, and just a bit of sorrow for the mess He knew we'd make of things. He looked at us and proclaimed, "it is very good."

I, too, have looked at mankind this week. We aren't perfect, my friends, but in all of us there's a bit of that first creation, a touch of the hands of God, and it is still very good. 

Live well, dear ones. Love with abandon. Give without measure. And, every once in a while, receive with gratitude.

Well done, my friends. You've done this just right, and I thank you. 

#gratitude moreblessedtogive #thanks