Press On!

An Ordinary Day

“An ordinary day--help me to realize what a treasure you are.” Those words, painted on a wooden sign, caught my attention at a rummage sale. They came to mind later at the close of a day when my road had been level and all the scenery familiar. That day, no catastrophes or major crises had disturbed my peace. No hurricanes, tornadoes, or earthquakes (meteorological or emotional) had spoiled the harmony of the hours. Just a commonplace day, with the familiar cadence of housework and ministry. That day, my sky didn’t fall.

But neither did my road rise to meet the skies. Without any bright joys or scary surprises, the day had seemed sort of flat. Dull, even--a ho-hum, same old-same old day. At bedtime I disrupt could have written in my journal, “Nothing happened today.”

But how wrong I would be! On this ordinary day, I served the King of Kings! My mundane chores were His assignments. When I cut out flannelgraph figures and folded bulletins, I worked for Him. When I washed dishes and children’s faces, I washed His feet. He, too, once used a towel, revealing the glory of faithfulness in the ordinary. Today’s simple tasks were menial, but they were not insignificant.

And also on this most ordinary of days, my King took care of me. He Who “knows my downsitting and my uprising . . . my path and my lying down,” Who is “acquainted with all my ways,” hedged me in on every side, all day long (Psalm 139). Wherever I went, I was safe in His strong right hand. He re-routed tempests and held up my sky. He shielded me from virulent viruses, enraged enemies, and drunk drivers. On a quiet day like this, I gather my wits and calm my heart, knowing that tomorrow I may confront perils. How good He is to give me this ordinary day.

But maybe, after all, there’s no such thing as an ordinary day--for every day that the God of the universe lets me serve Him, every day that I enjoy His unseen, providential care, is an amazing gift of love.

Have an extraordinary, ordinary day!

Go to Sleep

I have always lived in the city, so I sleep best when it’s not too quiet. If you’re used to countryside quiet, the city sounds I love seem like a noisy racket. To me, they’re a comforting reminder that my nighttime helpers are on duty.

A train’s low rumble says that fresh food is rolling toward the grocery store. The roar of a cargo plane means that my packages are arriving. Distant sirens say that if I need help, it will come. A passing truck with squeaky brakes is our mail on the way to the post office. The trash truck’s clatter announces the departure of stinky garbage. And the hum of a small car just before dawn means that the morning newspaper will soon plop on our doorstep.

City sounds are my “All’s well!” They sing me to sleep, and that’s a good thing, because I need sleep. Despite what some folks think, ministry is work. And rarely is a day so stress-free that a ministry wife can crawl into bed with a completely serene mind. There’s always something to keep her awake--if she’ll let it.

Those common p’s of public ministry (pressing plans, perplexing problems, peculiar and prickly people) may jabber at her all night, stealing every wink of her sleep. Or her more personal trials may be so upsetting that she’s kept awake by fearful whimpers coming from her own mind.

The best way to turn down such sleep-stealing noises is to turn up the lullaby of God’s promises. No matter what is happening in your ministry or your private life, you can still sleep soundly if you’ll remember that Someone Else is always awake.

There’s a sweet, soft lullaby promise in Psalm 4:8: “I will both lie down in peace, and sleep; for You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.” Jesus slept in a little boat rocked by a furious storm; Peter slept in prison chains. They both trusted the Father Who controls winds and waves with His voice and sends angels to open prison gates. The clamor of difficult public circumstances is simply the never-sleeping Lord at work, directing all things together for your good.

If your pain is more personal, try laying your head on the soft pillow of Psalm 3:5: “I lay down and slept; I awoke, for the Lord sustained me.” David didn’t write those words after a comfortable rest on palace cushions, but after a night spent under the open sky while fleeing from a murderous son. Suffering the deep heart pain of betrayal by an ungrateful and treacherous child, surrounded by enemies who used to be friends, still he slept, for he trusted the God Who was awake and on watch.

And don’t forget Psalm 127:2: “It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows; for so He gives His beloved sleep.” There are some problems you can’t solve, especially by telepathy from your mattress. So go on to sleep and let God handle them. If you hear scary noises in the night, remember: He’s up and He’s at work. There’s no reason for both of you to stay awake.

He Knows

“I’ve been where you are, and I know exactly how you feel.” When a woman in pain hears those words, the sorrow squeezing her heart eases a bit. The one who says them is still alive—so maybe she, too, will survive. She understands that she won’t be criticized for expressing her anguish. She can say how she’s really feeling without fearing she will be scolded for crying or rebuked for her grief. Her comforter has been there and knows what it’s like.

Those words have astonishing power to mend a broken heart. And you, my friend, are often the one saying them, as the God of all comfort allows you to use your painful experiences as tools to comfort others. You have ached, so you know how to soothe another’s painful throbbing. You have stumbled, so you know how to gently lift one who’s down. Because you have cried, you know how to wipe tears.

But when you’re the one who is hurting, who comforts you? If your pain is related to your ministry, there’s probably no female within hugging distance who can honestly say those words to you. The pitfalls and problems unique to our calling can be fully understood only by someone who’s also been in ministry. If you have a godly mentor nearby to call on and cry with, hooray for you! She’s a priceless gift. Cherish her. Share her with the rest of us!

If you don’t--and even if you do--remember this: no matter what you are going through, Jesus knows how you feel. He too was in ministry on the earth, so He knows what it’s like. He worked with sinners (and still does). Most didn’t follow Him (and still don’t). They were often ungrateful and unresponsive. They disappointed and rejected Him. Nothing you face in your ministry is unfamiliar to Him.

So when you hurt, come to His throne and pour out your heart. Be transparent, He will listen without condemning and comfort without censure. He is your compassionate and faithful high priest, and His ears are open to your cry (Psalm 34:15). Then sit still in the silence of your pain and know that He is God. Wait expectantly for His tender words of comfort. They’ll come, and they’ll probably be something like this—“I’ve been where you are, and I know exactly how you feel.”

Mother Love

I’m not sure when I first felt like a mother. Maybe it was when I heard the doctor’s voice on the phone—the test was positive--I was pregnant! Maybe it was while I walked around moaning with nausea and waddling with baby weight. Surely those hours of labor had something to do with becoming a mother. Or maybe it was the first time I looked into my daughter’s deep blue eyes. I do know when I first felt the heavy responsibility of motherhood. My newborn was seven days old. My own mother had just left for her home 800 miles away, and for the first time that fragile pink person was absolutely dependent on me—a complete amateur.

I was terrified, but somehow we both survived, and as she grew, I grew, too, into a woman who could no longer think of myself apart from her. She was never out of my mind--not even for a second. Tiny whimpers of hunger instantly woke me. One clap of thunder in the night sent me running to check on her. Her needs took precedence over mine. She not only moved into our home; she moved into my heart.

She is still there, nestled beside her younger sister and brother. They are no longer babies, but I’m still their mother, and as soon as my eyes open in the morning, my thoughts fly around the world to each of them. As long as I am alive, my love will embrace those I carried in my womb. I delight in them. I intercede for them. I simply can’t stop thinking about them--I’m their mother.

The endurance of a mother’s love is astonishing. But even the most affectionate mother is fallible. Isaiah asks, "Can a woman forget her nursing child, and not have compassion on the son of her womb?” and then answers, “Surely they may forget. Yet I will not forget you” (Isaiah 49:15). I can’t imagine how a mother could ever forget her baby, but it is sooner to happen than for the heavenly Father to forget you. Every need you have, however small, is His concern. He longs to calm your fears. He holds you in His heart and intercedes for you. He thinks of you night and day.

Ponder the intensity of a mother’s love. Multiply it by a million, and that’s just a fraction of the Father’s passion for you. You are His delight. He never forgets you--not even for a second. He can’t stop thinking about you--He’s your Father.

Tattoos

What’s so special about Rosie? I have no idea--but that huge man loved her enough to have her name tattooed in crimson on his bulky bicep. Nobody has ever loved me that much. (Or maybe the people who love me are just not the tattooing type.)

Tattoos are appearing more often these days. I’m seeing them in unexpected places on unlikely people—a purple elephant squatting on the ankle of a young mom at the park; a scaly, fire-breathing dragon on the arm of an otherwise ordinary-looking grandma; and a fearsome snake coiled around the leg of a middle-aged hairdresser. What motivates this strange urge to paint a picture permanently on skin? Is that hairdresser positive she’ll always find her resident rattlesnake stunning? Is Grandma convinced her dragon made her more attractive? Does the young mom still collect purple elephants? Does that big guy still love Rosie?

I hope so, because a tattoo is a lifetime commitment—cheap to get but expensive, risky, and maybe even impossible, to remove. Other keepsakes of failed romances and passing interests can be tossed, but a tattoo is permanent. It may turn into an unrelenting reminder of a person or event you’d rather forget. Minds change, but tattoos remain.

I’ve become so weary of being encircled by body-billboards that I’ve been tempted to point out their ugliness to tattooed strangers in the grocery store. Instead I’ve made a decision: I’ll let tattoos be my reminder of Isaiah 49:16: “Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands . . .” Just as the Jews often had an emblem of their beloved Jerusalem permanently imprinted on their hands, the Lord says to His beloved ones, “You are written on my palms.”

Does He see my name—my face--on His palms? Whatever He sees, it’s a symbol of His love. I am His; He is mine. On His hands, painfully inscribed by the nails of the cross, is an emblem of His eternal commitment and devotion to me, a mark of our inseparable union. And it’s an insignia of His steadfast promises. With those gentle hands, He leads me and holds me (Psalm 139:10). His almighty hands are my security (John 10:28-29). The strong right hand of His righteousness keeps me on my feet (Isaiah 41:10) and has unlimited power to work on my behalf (Isaiah 59:1). His commitment to me is more than permanent; it’s eternal.

What’s so special about me? Nothing, except that the God of the universe loves me and delights in taking care of me! That says nothing at all about me, but everything about Him. When all earthly tattoos and what they represent are faded and forgotten, He will remember me.

Thinking About You

"I’m thinking about you."

To a woman in ministry, those aren’t just sweet words. They are precious. All day, you give your time and energy to others. You have little time (or inclination) to focus on yourself. So when some perceptive friend says, "I’m thinking about you," those simple words lift your heart. They mean that your needs are noticed and that you are loved. But even a friend who is knows your needs may be unable to meet them. Thinking is all she can do.

God thinks about you, too. Do you know how often? "How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! How great is the sum of them! If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand; when I awake, I am still with thee" (Psalm 139:17-18).

When my son Jeremiah was little, we read these verses together, and then he asked, "How many is the number of the sand?"

"It’s a lot," I assured him, ready to move on.

"Can we count them?" he persisted.

"Well, we could count some," I agreed, deciding to give him some counting practice. We filled a cup with sand, and with a toothpick, a magnifying glass, and a sheet of white paper, we began to count grains. I quickly realized that this would take more time than I had and larger numbers than he knew. We tried to count just one spoonful, but there were still far too many, so we decided to number only the grains of sand that stuck to the moisture of one of his little fingers and were brushed onto the paper.

"Forty-two!" he said as he finished. "Did God think about me forty-two times today?"

Every day, the God of the universe thinks about you. Even if you could number every grain of sand on the earth, you still would not know how often, for His thoughts are "more in number than the sand." Our counting skills are finite; His thoughts are infinite. And His thoughts aren’t just numerous. They are constant. You are never out of your Father’s mind. Psalm 139 says that He knows when you sit, when you stand, what you think, where you go, what you say—"all your ways." He never takes His eyes, or His mind, from you.

He has a special reason for thinking about you this much: He has obligated Himself to take care of you. God doesn’t only know your needs. He meets them--every one of them. His hand leads you and His right hand holds you. He protects you. He provides for you. So go ahead and spend today as you usually do--meeting the needs of others. Don’t worry about your own needs. They’ll all be taken care of, for your Father is thinking about you.

While You’re Not Looking

While this ministry mama wasn’t looking . . .

--Her preschooler removed all the tags from all the packages piled under the Christmas tree (gifts from church friends and out-of-town family) and stacked them neatly on the kitchen table.

--This same adorable child explored her mama’s purse during prayer, discovered the week’s grocery money and dropped the entire wad of cash into the offering plate.

--Her other adorable baby girl wandered among the pews following the Lord’s Supper, removed the little plastic cups from their holders and carefully licked them clean before replacing them.

--Her sweet little boy mounted the church platform while people mingled and chatted after a service, picked up a live microphone and shouted, “All you people better get saved or I’m going to SHOOT YOU!”

I’ve decided not to tell you how this same mama set her still-being-potty-trained toddler on a table in the church lobby to tie her shoe, and of the surprise yellow puddle that soaked the brochures, tracts, and missionary letters displayed there . . . because that would be too embarrassing.

I’ve heard your stories, too, of heavy platters of fudge mysteriously disappearing from church fellowships and of furtive swims in the baptistry. They make great family tales when enough years have passed to make them funny! In the meantime, it’s good for a ministry mama to keep her eyes open. Startling things can happen when she’s not looking.

That’s true in the spiritual realm, too, where invisible but significant events are always happening. While you’re not looking, the old enemy Satan is stalking you like a ravenous lion, eager to swallow you up. He records your mixed motives, secret sins and hidden hypocrisies, and they become his ammunition, as day and night he presents God with evil indictments against you.

“Did you see what she did? Did you hear what she said? Just look at her cold heart,” Satan sneers. “And she thinks she can serve You! She’s a fake and a phony. There’s no way You can ever use that one!“ His criticisms, if you could hear them, would sound familiar, for you have used them against yourself. And of course the sad truth is that he’s right--none of us is worthy even to be God’s child, much less to serve Him in ministry.

But—oh, the glory!—also while you’re not looking, Jesus Christ the Mediator rises to speak for you. He intercedes as your great High Priest, defending His beloved, sincere but fallible servant. He is your ideal Advocate, for He is your Savior. He exhibits His wounds from Calvary, and as they fervently plead for you, the eyes of the righteous Judge turn from your fleshly failures to focus on the precious cleansing blood of Jesus instead.

I cringe when I imagine what the old adversary is saying about me to the Father. Maybe he has accused me of raising my children to be vandals, thieves and terrorists. I hope not. But whatever his awful accusations, I am immeasurably encouraged to know that while I’m not looking, Jesus the Savior is pleading for me.

Romans 8:33-34, Revelation 12:10

This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth; but thou shalt meditate therein day and night...for then thou shalt make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success.

Joshua 1:8