Nonfiction – Page 3 – The Word Worker

What Are We Looking For?

The Pharisees and other Jewish leaders ostracized anyone who broke what they thought was part of God’s law. They spent their days watching for infractions, railing about rules, and arguing about minutae. When God Himself visited them, they rebuked Him using their interpretation of the law He wrote, the law He was; then they killed Him rather than admit they were wrong.

Jesus looked for the smallest signs of faith, sometimes extending compassion and help in order to spark life in broken souls. He lived by love rather than rules. He was intimate with “sinners” and held the “righteous” at arm’s length. Hearts were changed by being in His presence. Crowds followed Him everywhere, drawn by what He offered. A feast day parade to the temple reversed course into a reception for the King. The only people given harsh treatment were the heartless enforcers.

What we look for in people matters. The Jewish leaders looked at Zaccheus and saw a greedy thief. Jesus looked at him and saw an eager heart. The Jews looked at the Samaritan woman and saw an adulterous descendant of a rebellious people. Jesus looked at her and saw a woman searching for a Savior. The Pharisees looked at the crowds following Jesus and saw lazy, unholy rabble. Jesus looked at them and saw sheep longing for a shepherd’s love and protection.

The Pharisees were certain that salvation came from their own actions, their own perfect rule following. They lost sight of the law giver and of the souls to whom it was given. They believed that they trusted God, but when given the chance to prove it they dug into their self-imposed framework instead and lashed out at anyone who threatened their perception of their own perfection.

Matthew 23:13, 15 (CSB): “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! You shut the door of the kingdom of heaven in people’s faces. For you don’t go in, and you don’t allow those entering to go in. Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! You travel over land and sea to make one convert, and when he becomes one, you make him twice as much a child of hell as you are!”

Jesus delivered the above rebuke over exactly that behavior, that approach to their fellow humans. He also said anyone who hindered another from a relationship with God by their need for control would be better off drowned in the deeps with a millstone around the neck. Jesus didn’t see people with such an attitude as sheep; he saw them as wolves slathering to rip the flock to shreds and eat them for lunch.

The faithful reflect the nature, the character, the viewpoint, of Jesus Himself. If our claims to faith are accompanied by a fine toothed comb or a twist of the wrench, whose character is reflected? What is it we are truly seeking?

Mustard Seed Faith

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The mustard tree is a fascinating plant. Its tiny seed is one of the smallest in the world, and must be collected by soaking the pit of the mustard fruit for several days and then straining the resulting pulp through a cloth. The seed germinates quickly but grows incredibly slowly. Its most rapid growth occurs when planted near a water source; its roots seek out water, sensing it and growing toward any source, even breaking through pipes or well walls to access it. However, the tree can live and thrive on less than 8 inches of rainfall per year in some of the hottest, driest climates on Earth. The hotter and more consistent the sunlight, the healthier the tree, and clay that grows little else nourishes it. The leaves resemble those of succulents, and are often consumed for their moisture by desert animals and people. When in dryer conditions the mustard tree may only grow to about six feet tall, but in wet environments will grow up to 25 feet, an imposing sight.

On three separate occasions Jesus explained the power of faith using the image of the mustard seed. He said that even faith as small as a mustard seed could do such impossible things as moving a mountain from one place to another or uprooting a mature tree to plant it in the sea. I have known the analogy all my life, but grasping such a thing is difficult when we tend to think of big and small as opposite limits of size.

God doesn’t think in limits. Just as a day and a thousand years are the same to Him, big and small hold no meaning in a physical sense. Instead, he sees potential. The tiny mustard seed has no strength of its own, no power to impress our human sensibilities, yet in the harshest, most unexpected conditions, life can be induced to spark within it. The germs of faith wake under similar circumstances. Like the mustard tree, faith does not become full overnight. It grows, millimeter by millimeter, over a lifetime. It can outlast some of the hardest circumstances life can throw at it, although often in hard times it merely exists, eking out drops in desperation but not finding enough to grow any larger. When the nourishing rain of an answered prayer, an encouraging word, a relief from a trial arrives, it grows again and fills new leaves with nourishment to hold in reserve for the next difficulty.

Also like the mustard tree, the roots of faith reach out endlessly with insatiable need. Faith knows its source, and will move in that direction only no matter what gets in the way. It cannot be stopped; even when we feel like we are barely hanging on, faith looks for any sign of God in the darkness and dirt of life and drinks it thirstily. If there were no water to be found, the tree would die – it cannot manufacture its own nutrition – but those roots can find and use any trace of moisture. Faith without nourishment would be nothing -a shriveled, rotten trunk – but unlike water God is always there to be found.

When Jesus’ disciples woke Him in the storm, He told them their faith was weak and small but He still stopped the storm. When they failed to cast out demons in His name He told them their faith was weak and small but He still cast out the demons. When a man begged for healing for his son and said he wanted to believe but needed help making faith stronger, Jesus healed the man’s son. When Moses hid in the wilderness for forty years because what he thought he was supposed to do for God failed, God became fire in a bush and told him he was chosen for a purpose because of his faith. How many more have been planted while tiny and insignificant, then nourished by God’s eager help into trees of faith to feed and harbor weak and searching souls?

“It’s like a mustard seed that a man took and sowed in his garden. It grew and became a tree, and the birds of the sky nested in its branches.” Luke 13:19 CSB

God will feed any faith we are capable of placing on Him, including the mere desire to have faith. Are you a mustard seed? How high will you grow?

God in the Moments

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This morning I woke up with a heart that felt like lead in my chest. The future lay in shadows that I could not penetrate, and I doubted even the point of me. I did not think anything I tried to do came to anything. I felt as if all my gifts from God were useless, extras in the grand scheme, discardable. I felt discardable.

I buried my head in my pillow with tears pouring down my face, and I cried to my God for answers. “Why does everything have to be so hard? Why does no one want what you gave me to give? What exactly is it that you want from me? Why am I failing?”

As I lay there, my husband wrapped his arms around me and spoke in my ear. He reminded me of our children’s answers to some recent questions, answers that filled me with awe at the hearts of children. Children who have seen God. “You are not pointless.”

The telephone rang, asking if the kids could interrupt their routine to haul firewood. A cold front is coming and hard workers were needed to lay in a good supply. The hard workers asked for were my children, because they would certainly get it done. It’s what they have been taught. “You are not failing.”

My tears still flowed, my heart still screamed, and I reached out to friends for prayer. Four dear sisters heard my cry and felt my pain. Messages flooded in; prayers, empathy, wisdom, and love filled my screen. “You have been called for a purpose.”

My husband remembered a lunch meeting with a brother. Their conversation turned to frustrations, doubts, and fears that this friend and fellow worker shared with us. Commonalities that would have continued to have been suffered alone otherwise. In the sharing perspective was discovered in each other’s struggle. “You are needed.”

Family called with an invitation to a donut feast. A loved dog had died and cheer was needed. Orders were taken, favorites recorded, and two dozen donuts purchased. The laughter of children, sticky fingers, and sugary faces followed a shared supper. Grief receded into togetherness. “You are wanted.”

I went to shower and turned on the radio as I often do. My daily shower provides a few minutes of reflection and music provides a focus. Words of faith and reassurance streamed like water over my head. All the feelings I had poured out to my Lord, all the answers given through the events of the day, culminated in those strains of praise. “You’re gonna be okay!” “I am not alone!” “I will trust in you!”

My heart still aches. The causes of my feelings still exist and will continue. But in my moments of pain God heard me. In the words of friends He was there. In the calls for help and fellowship He was there. In my quiet hours He was there. God is in all my moments, and in seeing Him there I can dry my tears. In His presence I find again my reasons and my joy.

Recession Christmas, Part 3: Hard Blessings

Part of Christmas tradition is the giving of gifts. It has been argued that this tradition has become too commercialized, that focus on gifts detracts from what is important. I certainly saw advertisements that missed the point and pushed the idea of social status rising from gift quality or price. However, the concept of giving gifts stems from the core of God’s nature and is one of the ways humans in our limited capacity can try to reflect Him in our lives.

Gift giving is one of our favorite family traditions, and rather than allow financial restrictions to cast shadows on our joy, we decided to let it motivate us to deeper intention. Wish lists became highlights of interests and favorites. The kids used their own money saved from birthday gifts and odd jobs for family to buy things like stickers or art supplies, or used their talents to make gifts to suit the receiver’s personality. I raided my fabric stash and used outgrown clothes to make hand-sewn treasures.

It was a simpler approach, reminiscent of a time when life was simpler, but there was nothing easy about it. Handmade gifts take time. A lot of time, squeezed between the usual chores and responsibilities that don’t vanish because holidays are coming. Artwork requires both work space and space for drying paint, which in our full little house means the dining table. Sewing with scraps and old clothes means working with materials that weren’t designed for small projects or for particular work with needle and thread. It means aching eyes and fingers from hours of close work creating straight, invisible stitches. Handmade gifts make surprises difficult, as everyone is working right in front of each other.

The hard tried to take over as Christmas drew closer, raising stress levels and encouraging distractions. Tears flowed, panic attacks occurred. It’s harder for adults to remember the important things than for kids, it would seem. It was the kids who kept us grounded with their excitement for everyone to open the gifts they had made.

When the time came to wrap everything and fill stockings, the true blessings began to be revealed. What we had feared would be a sparse spread had grown to as many or more packages as usual. They were small, but so much thought and effort had gone into every single one that they seemed larger than life. On Christmas morning, stockings that had felt underfilled were received with unmitigated joy. Sticker sheets and snacks produced reactions associated with gifts of gold and incense. Paintings and purses were pored over and strutted with as if made by the world’s finest creators.

Simplicity isn’t easy; it never was. In so many ways our lives are much easier now than when life was simpler. There’s nothing wrong with easy, but sometimes having everything at our fingertips makes us a little too focused on what we can have. Love isn’t about stuff or money, it’s about what we are willing to give up or go through for someone else. Nothing we did was extraordinary; our usually easy lives made hard begin to feel burdensome, but hard carried love that would never have been seen otherwise. Sitting in their little piles of love offerings, our kids declared our recession Christmas to be the best ever. They understood better than we did the blessing of love found in hard simplicity.

Recession Christmas: Part Two

No matter what other traditions people may have around the holidays, food is always a key factor. Every family has their favorite recipes, associates certain flavors and smells with family and good times. My favorite holiday memories from childhood involve baking with my grandmother. We made piles and piles of candy, cookies, and pies.

Although most of the time I rather hate the perfectionist and time-consuming nature of baking, for a few days in December I throw myself into the process with joy. My children wait impatiently for the announcement of “baking day,” and all have their special requests. This year they were all old enough to participate independently, and my thirteen-year-old has fully co-opted her particular preference: sugar cookies.

Made of little more than flour, sugar, and butter, those economical little cookies are the perfect family activity. Everyone’s fingers and noses (and probably clothes) are floured as much as the cutting board. Reindeer, trees, snowflakes, and “gingerbread men” take shape under cutters pressed by small hands. The oven is impatiently watched between turns to “cut,” and golden cookies cover every surface while voices clamor for “just one.”

Other easy recipes soon join the marching shapes. Pretzel and cracker dips splatter chocolate in remote corners. Oatmeal cookies redolent of cinnamon fill the house with their comforting aroma. Gingerbread puffs delightfully in muffin tins. Homemade eggnog whips in the mixer.

When all the beautiful food is finished, it’s time to package it up. You see, while we do enjoy eating some of our goodies ourselves, we bake with another purpose. The time spent together is our gift to each other as a family, and the results are our gift to friends. A little of everything is packed into little bags with holiday notes attached, and on the Sunday before Christmas the kids get to hand deliver every package with an excited hug and a Merry Christmas. These gifts, made in an atmosphere of love and by the labor of their own hands, unconsciously reinforce the meaning of giving in their hearts.

Only when the gifts are ready and the mess cleared away do we taste the fruits of our labors. With a holiday movie on the screen, a fire crackling in the heater, and lights twinkling on our rather Seussical tree, we savor the taste of love.

Recession Christmas: Part One

For many years our family has been extraordinarily materially blessed around the holidays. Both parents and kids felt the magic of love (perhaps parents more than kids by knowing the sources of those blessings). This year, however, few have been unaffected by economic trials, and holidays must adjust accordingly. Instead of being stressed out or upset about this fact, our family decided to embrace the situation and make a different kind of magic.

One of my favorite holiday entertainments is looking at Christmas decorations. Beautifully coiffed trees, houses bedecked with twinkling lights, and outdoor displays that inspire awe capture my imagination every year. Not so very long ago, none of the materials for those displays existed. Instead, people used plants to dye fabric and ribbon into bright colors, and wove vines and branches into garlands to turn their homes into fragrant, cheerful, peaceful wonderlands. While fake plants did exist, materials were expensive and such things were hard to find even for the wealthy.

Instead of buying more decorations this year, we decided to emulate our ancestors and make our own. The woods are full of beautiful materials that cost nothing but the time taken to gather and arrange them. Moss, pinecone, and bark become a forest mountainside. Bare twigs in a painted bottle become winter ambience. A wild grapevine becomes a perfectly twisted wreath in my husband’s skilled hands. Adding a little saved ribbon and a few well-placed bits of bright paint creates a festive air.

The best part of it all is something that can’t be found in a store or on a website, something that can’t be bought for any money. The whole family went to the woods together, kids shouting with excitement over the perfect pinecone or insisting that a brightly colored freshly fallen leaf should take center stage in our table centerpiece. Eyes and minds focus on what God created, lungs breathe in clean air beneath the trees. Imaginations soar with possibilities. Innocent joy is shared. The world around us – filled with angst, selfishness, and materialism – is shut out. Pressures of work and school and our own differences melt away for a little while and we are just together.

Blog Thursday: Description

https://www.writingforward.com/storytelling/42-fiction-writing-tips-for-novelists

What image comes to mind when you hear the word “rock?” Now imagine a rough, mossy rock. If you were told the rock was in a forest, what would you see? Would your vision look different if you read that the rough, mossy rock protruded from the loam in the deep shadows cast by ancient oaks?

Description tends to get a bad rap these days, probably because inexperienced writers often try to describe everything in their world at once without context, forgetting that readers first need a reason to care about what they are seeing. In the process of combating such boredom, others sometimes run to the opposite extreme, insisting that descriptive modifiers should be eliminated. Effective description lies somewhere between the two extremes.

The easiest way to add descriptive words is the way we all learned them in grade school. “The fat white cat lived in the creepy old brown house.” It’s easy, and it communicates facts, but it doesn’t make me want to read more.

“Coconut lay sunning herself on the front step, her round belly white against the brown boards. Her ear flicked at the sound of slow steps on the walk, and her nose twitched. Peanut butter. It was the one called Penelope again, the one who never stayed on the sidewalk like the others.

“Coconut lazily opened one eye, the tip of her tail rising and falling like a long, slow breath. Penelope’s forehead wrinkled, and the tip of her pink tongue protruded through set teeth as she took another hesitant step forward, staring at the weathered door above Coconut’s step. The cat waited until Penelope put a hand on the splintering handrail, then yawned and lurched to a sitting position, wrapping her tail around her haunches and fixing the child with a green-eyed stare. Penelope swallowed loudly, but reached one hand toward Coconut’s head with a weak grin.

“This would never do; Coconut had an image to uphold. Creepy houses did not shelter friendly cats. She arched her back and leaped straight into the air with a yowl that set her own fur on end. Penelope jerked backwards, whimpered something unintelligible, and fled. Mission accomplished, Coconut smoothed her fur with a few well-placed licks and stretched back to full-length in the sun.”

There was nothing technically wrong with the single sentence, but only one of those descriptive modifiers really crossed over to engage the brain’s sensory interpretation. We don’t absorb true sensory information so concisely, instead collecting tidbits of information and compiling them into an impression of our surroundings. That impression then engages an emotional response, allowing us to respond appropriately (or inappropriately) to those surroundings.

The use or lack of descriptive modifiers is not a determining factor for good or bad fiction. Whether or not our descriptive language can be interpreted as sensory information is what matters. Can you picture a cat behaving the way Coconut did? Can you feel the aging wood under your fingertips? Does your pulse quicken with Penelope’s mixed reactions? Can someone live within your world?

The Price of Easy

My favorite story is the Tolkien’s _Lord of the Rings_. In that story, the ring possesses power to change and shape the world to the will of its maker, appealing to the deepest desires or fears of whoever holds it. At one point, Frodo tries to rid himself of that responsibility by offering it to the most powerful being remaining in Middle-earth, Galadriel the elf queen.

At the time, all Galadriel longed for was an end to evil in Middle-earth. The ring’s power whispered to her promises of success. All she had to do was wear it, become a goddess able to banish Sauron and shape the world with her own ideals. All would bow before her, it promised, following her command, and the world would be only good. For a moment she faltered, everything she had ever truly wanted seemingly at her fingertips. There would be no more war and suffering; life would be perfect and effortless. Easy.

The problem was that all the promises were a lie. The ring’s creator was entirely evil, and the power within the ring came from the depths of his own wicked heart. Indeed, that power could not be separated from him; it was his voice that spoke through it, and he that wielded it regardless of who held it. Galadriel’s vision could never have been accomplished, and in trying to achieve it her own heart would have been irrevocably twisted into Sauron’s image.

Galadriel’s desire was natural. She and others like her were embroiled in a war against apparently impossible odds. Fear, pain, sorrow, and death covered the world as completely as the clouds of smoke and ash belched into the sky by the enemy’s forges. Any with the courage to stand against evil found themselves beleaguered from every side.

In similar fashion, followers of Christ in the first century A.D. faced the greatest hardship they could have imagined. Choosing a life that reflected God’s character brought opposition at every turn. Confused rumors led to accusations of treason. Rejection of religious traditions drove wedges in formerly peaceful relationships, even between parents and children, husbands and wives. Refusal to follow societal customs and disapproval of pagan practices often meant businesses failed, jobs were lost, families were hungry. Punishments for standing out were often harsh, as citizenship was a privilege granted to few and without citizenship few human rights were respected.

Under such circumstances, it would have been hard to resist the urge to compromise. After all, they truly wanted to change the world into God’s image. Why not punish those who rejected Him as harshly as they had been? Why not force God’s ideals on the world instead? Why not use the tools of idolatry and materialism to become accepted back into society and make life, and teaching, easier?

The problem was that being different, living that harder life, was God’s image. Everything done to them, all the power leveraged against them, was the power and mindset of evil. Satan whispered through society just as surely as Sauron used the ring in the story. Using his tools might have felt easier, but the price would have been the destruction of everything they sought to build, would have been the loss of their very identity. Sauron could not produce anything good or beautiful because he himself was terrible. Satan cannot build anything worthwhile because he himself has rejected the source of all worth. “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” (James 1:17)

Galadriel resisted the ring’s call, saying that instead of embracing power she would diminish. God’s people who resisted society’s pressure for an easy life and earthly influence apparently experienced a similar sensation of collapse as more and more landed in prison or were executed, and those who remained became outcasts. In reality, Galadriel’s act of humility regained her true greatness, the glory that had been lost in banishment from the presence of the gods. Her banishment was ended, and she returned home to the throne that should have been hers all along. God’s people who surrender control and remain content with the battle in which they are placed will also receive a greater glory than any they could seek here on earth.

James 1:11–12 (CSB): Blessed is the one who endures trials, because when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.

But I’m Not Trying To!

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Whenever my kids require discipline for something, their favorite excuse is “but I wasn’t trying to!” “Don’t be mean to your brother!” “I wasn’t trying to!” “You only half-cleaned the dishes; all these are still dirty.” “I wasn’t trying to!” Somehow, in their minds, lack of effort in one direction equals actual effort in the opposite direction.

Luke records a parable Jesus told about a man who had been possessed by a demon. The demon was cast out, but after wandering for a while decided to return. He found the space he had occupied within the man empty, bare. It was so wide open and inviting that the demon found seven other demons to join him in possessing the man once again, so that the man was much worse off than before.

My kids and the man in the story have the same approach to life. I’m sure if someone had said something to the man about letting demons invade his soul he would have said, “But I’m not trying to!” Sure, his mind wasn’t full of evil, but he had made no effort to fill it with anything once it had been cleaned.

How often do we behave this way about spiritual things? We feel satisfied with ourselves because we “aren’t trying to disobey;” maybe we even boast about it a little bit like the Pharisee praying in the public place. The truth is that “not trying to” requires no effort. It’s easy because it literally involves doing nothing. Unfortunately, nothing produces nothing, leaving a gaping space in our souls empty and unguarded.

My kids have to learn the hard way that “I wasn’t trying to” needs to become “I’m trying to do better.” As children they are focused on what feels good in the moment; they haven’t learned the consequences of nothing, and they haven’t experienced the fulfillment that comes from effort. Those experiences will come in time. For now they have someone to remind them, to guide them through the consequences, to show them how to be productive. As adults we have no excuse. No one else is responsible for our choices. No one else will do our work for us. No one is looking over our shoulder to make sure we take the next step. It’s up to us whether we are empty houses of “not trying to” or filled with the work of God.

Romans 2:4–8 (CSB): Or do you despise the riches of his kindness, restraint, and patience, not recognizing that God’s kindness is intended to lead you to repentance? Because of your hardened and unrepentant heart you are storing up wrath for yourself in the day of wrath, when God’s righteous judgment is revealed. He will repay each one according to his works: eternal life to those who by persistence in doing good seek glory, honor, and immortality; but wrath and anger to those who are self-seeking and disobey the truth while obeying unrighteousness.

The Darkest Valley

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When Moses was called to release God’s people from Egyptian servitude, he feared to obey, and the first results of his efforts seemed to justify his fear. Pharaoh was so incensed by the challenge to his perceived authority that he responded with harsh punishment. Beatings, killings, and impossible expectations made the Israelites utterly wretched. Moses, who himself remained untouched, was forced to watch these consequences of standing for God, feel the pain his people endured. In addition, he became a pariah to those God sent him to rescue; the familiarity of slave life, of being treated as inferior or as beasts of burden, was more palatable than the cost of freedom.

What would have happened if Moses had told God His freedom was too hard? Had returned to shepherding in the wilderness and left the Israelites to their familiar drudgery?

Because Moses faithfully walked through the shadow of suffering with his people, eventually even Pharaoh suffered enough from his behavior that he granted freedom, at least temporarily. Like all egomaniacs, however, as those who had been under his thumb stood on the brink of escape, he reached out to trap them again. Once again, Moses had to watch the darkness of evil falling around the people he loved, and endure their panicked blame. It seemed that every action taken in the direction God sent put them all in a deeper valley of hopelessness.

What would have happened if Moses had told the people to give themselves up? If he had decided the assignment was impossible and that life in slavery was better than promises that came with fear?

When Pharaoh’s army had been drowned and the Sea had been crossed, Moses faced the task of leading a nation through cultivated lands populated by military powers who would not share, through wild lands where no food could be found, and through deserts that parched throats without relief. Over and over he watched his charges face death on the path God had chosen for them, wept for their suffering, and endured accusations from people who found dehumanization and subjugation more palatable than scrabbling for their own necessities in freedom.

What would have happened if Moses had bowed in defeat in the desert? If he had decided the hunger and thirat and recriminations were too much to bear and left the Israelites to throw themselves on the mercy of their enemies?

“Even when I go through the darkest valley, I fear no danger, for you are with me;… you prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies…” Psalm 23:4,5

What would happen if, when threatened for following the path God set, we kept walking? What would happen if, when punished for speaking God’s challenge to evil, we kept talking? What would happen if, when hardship and death loomed because we stepped out in faith, we trusted Him to give us life? What would happen if, when in our darkest valleys, we chose to look at the Son?