What's Love Got To Do, Got To Do With It?

 

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Good morning!  This is my third attempt at writing a blog so far and I thought it was going to go one way but it didn’t.  I thought it might go down another path but that too was a dead end.  As I began this one, I thought I was on the right track but just received a message from a friend who wrote of a loved one’s condition and in that message there were these two words--words that I had been considering anyways but wanted to keep this blog light and airy today rather than sad and melancholy, so I put them on the back burner, saving them for another day.

Okay then, let’s see how this one goes, Stef.

Bruised heart.

Those were the two words she wrote.  

A couple of days ago my heart--nay, my soul!--was hurting.  I had been invited to a celebration ceremony where many hard-working kids were about to be rewarded for their diligence in their studies for the past school year.  So many proud parents, grandparents, and other caretakers (hmn, that’s an interesting word:  caretakers.  It implies ones who take care, right?  Keep that in mind as you continue reading.) were on hand to see their precious child(ren) receive ribbons and certificates.  Cameras abounded and the gymnasium was...well, it wasn’t as full as when other types of programs went on, but perhaps that was because this order of events was limited to a certain sect of the whole population.

Or was it something else?

As I gazed about the mostly cheerful faces, I noticed something missing.  Perhaps I should say I noticed someone missing.  Where was that one’s dad?  And that kid over there--where was her adoring fan club?  The little kid beside me who kept talking about her daddy really broke my heart because, you see, daddy and mommy were no longer a pair but apart.  Why didn’t he come to see his kids be rewarded, even if it meant sitting on the opposite side of the gym?

Trying to focus on the good that was going on, I purposed myself to pay attention to the better things.  So many achievements by so many students!  How wonderful to see their love for knowledge and to hear of their excellence.  But then, as I listened closely, maybe not by so many after all.  It seemed like I kept hearing a lot of the same names called, just for different categories.  I watched the faces of the classmates as their peer’s name was called.  Some smiled as they shared the pride of knowing that was their friend who was getting an award.  Some clapped enthusiastically when the child’s name was read out.  One parent was quite exuberant in his excitement over what his son had accomplished and let out a huge “Whoop!” which was soon mimicked by the toddlers around me who were getting bored by this time.

But then there were the students who just sat there with blank looks upon their faces.  They knew they were just there because, well, they were just there.  Nothing special was going to happen to them and they knew it.  No awards were coming their way and they knew this as well.  No one was going to take their picture as their hands were shaken and ribbons placed around their necks.  Un unh.  Pats on the backs and words of “Well done!” or “Excellent job” and mostly “I’m so proud of you!” would not be spoken about them.  Getting that one certificate of promotion to the next grade was all that was in their future.

Sigh.

Bruised heart.

Hurting soul.

When do kids lose it?  When do they lose the favor of the ones who brought them into this world?  When did they lose the attention span of the adults who used to hang on their every word, their every achievement as they learned to speak, to walk, to run, to read, to jump, to sing, to learn?  When did mom and dad turn their focus away and basically left the kids to their own devices?  When did the caretakers stop taking care?

Sigh.

Bruised hearts.  Hurting souls.  

Someone used to sing to them “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.  You make me happy when skies are grey.  You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.  Please don’t take my sunshine away.”  When did their light stop shining?  When did the parents stop looking for that light and instead choose to live in the dark?

At the start of this blog, I quoted from First Corinthians.  My meme featured a verse about the same topic.  Love.  The title of my blog asks what love has to do with it.  And though it’s been a scattered essay, I leave you with this question:  are you loving today?  Are you truly loving or are you just making noise that you are a good parent, a true friend, a considerate person, or are you just performing when it makes you look good to the world rather than to the one who needs you the most?  Those kids shouldn’t have had to had sad faces and gone home without ribbons around their necks.  They shouldn’t have had to try to find things to amuse themselves with while their friends were being photographed and fawned over.  They didn’t have to maybe collect the awards they did receive and tuck them carelessly in their backpacks to maybe show off later--the next time they got to see mom or dad...whenever that might be.  They didn’t have to not know love.  Their hearts didn’t have to be bruised nor their souls filled with anguish.  They’re just kids!  They didn’t ask to be brought into this world but here they are, waiting to be loved, waiting to be someone’s sunshine.  Let’s not leave them in the dark, friends.  May we all love in deed and in truth is my prayer, my plea, asked in the name of Jesus Christ.  Amen.

I Don't Want To Settle For Good Not Great

But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.  James 1:22

Most of us are familiar with the story of Pinocchio, right?  Jiminy Cricket tells the story of a wish coming true about a puppet becoming a real live boy.  The Blue Fairy visits Geppetto’s workshop during the night and brings Pinocchio to life, but until Pinocchio proves himself to be brave, truthful, and unselfish, he will stay as a puppet.  As the story progresses, we find that Pinocchio has issues with telling the truth, which causes his nose to grow longer each time a lie is told.  It’s a good story on morality and will be the background theme for today’s blog.

Okay, be warned: it’s going to get real here.  Hang on and follow me as I delve into my own issues with truth.  I might need to put my boots on!

The other night I began a writing class.  One of the things that the teacher alluded to was the concept of branding.  For those not familiar with branding, basically it’s a way of marketing yourself.  We all know that everything you read on Facebook is true, right?  Yeah.  But truthfully, many of us take at face value what we read as gospel and often quote it to one another as such.  Much of this is because we are too lazy to investigate for ourselves, preferring to take someone else’s word over things, and believing what is “presented” instead of seeking the validity of it.  I mean honestly, how many times have you seen a headline or meme or portion of a story and immediately accepted it without reading the entire story itself to see what was real versus what was proclaimed?  We’re just so busy that we neglect to seek these statements out for ourselves, so we accept without hesitation what the headlines proclaim.

Therefore, when introducing ourselves to others in print, we can embellish our talents, our skills, and who we are and others will just eat it up.  For instance, our teacher told us he was a renowned traveler, journalist, and so on, making himself sound like he was really something and because it was right there, in black and white for the whole world to see, who was going to question it?  It sounded impressive--HE sounded impressive so, of course, we swallowed it and began to blindly believe whatever words came out of his mouth.  This is branding.

The next day in my Bible Study group, one of my dear friends referred to me as “the favorite aunt.”  We had a new lady join our group and as we were discussing age and kids and grandkids, Kristy told me I was more like everyone’s favorite aunt, rather than an old granny (my words, not hers).  Have I mentioned I just love this girl?!  As I tucked this away to reflect upon later, I wondered about how I was going to brand myself for this new chapter of my life that I am embarking upon.

I like to think I am a pretty nice woman.  Fair.  Able to see both sides of the story before spouting off my opinions about whatever situation has been addressed.  I like to think I have sense, integrity, and the ability to love without being too judgmental.  I like to think that I am modeling Christ in my daily activities and making Him proud of the woman I am endeavoring to be.  Friendly, warm, and someone others are comfortable around.  Yeah, this is me and I have got it going on.

Right.

What about the other night at the restaurant, Stef, when that waitress somehow took an instant disliking to you?  How did that happen?  Where were all of those wonderful traits you just described about yourself when she was attending to you?  Could it be you were projecting an attitude of self-importance and that your needs must be taken care of before anyone else’s?  What was just so special about you that instead of falling all over herself to make sure your every wish was granted she seemed to do all she could to avoid being in your presence?  

Choke.  

Ouch.

Truth.

Sigh.

As he so often does without any falseness in his demeanour, along comes my hubby who is just so much higher than I am.  While I told him of my waitress woes and to not be in a hurry to get our order taken, what does he do but treat the gal with exceptional kindness and compassion?  Oh sure:  he too had had a rough day and suffered harsh words thrown at him.  He could very well have joined in with me in my rant against humanity and how poorly his hard-earned dollars were being wasted at a place that didn’t value and appreciate our presence but instead...instead he made a point of being nice, of asking the lady how her day was, and treating her like the one who needed attending to rather than him being the customer.

I was mortified.  Again.  Just who did I really think I was?  Regardless and sometimes in spite of how others treat me, it is not my place to be rude, to complain, nor to speak badly of them.  Had I not just been writing about how wonderful I was and how great of a representative of Christ Jesus I am?  Yeah.  Epic fail.

With dismay and a heavy sense of regret for this huge lapse, I told Steve I needed something from him.  For each time I even think of getting out of line or thinking of myself more highly than I ought, I asked him to say these words to me:  “Remember who you are.”  And then, if that didn’t get me to instantly straighten up, I told him to say this to me:  “Remember Whose you are.”  Firmly.

How grateful to God I am that each time I fail Him He doesn’t cause a disfigurement, such as the extending of my nose, as per Pinocchio.  How thankful I am to Him that He has earthly examples to show me how to live more like Him and less like the world.  How ashamed I am to call myself His child, His bride, when my actions prove otherwise.  

Sigh.

So, if I was to write a brief brand for myself right now what would it say?  Hmn.  Perhaps this:  Stefanie Hutcheson is a wandering soul on a mission to become more like Christ.  While not there yet, she is learning, growing, and seeking truth through her interactions with others, with her writings, and mostly with the studying of God’s Word as her journey continues.  While she has no awards to prove this, one day a crown will be waiting for her that she may return to her Jesus for His faithfulness in making her worthy through His own righteousness.  

Let’s pray.

Dear Lord, I don’t want to be a hearer of Your Word and think I have it down pat only to go out into the world and disregard the truths You have revealed to me.  I don’t want to attend Bible Study and church services to only walk away unchanged and still doing the things I think are right in my own eyes.  I don’t want to be a hypocrite, writing this blog and encouraging others to be more when I myself am less.  People follow examples, Lord, and You have been the Perfect One.  Help me today--each moment of today and whatever days You allow me--to remember I am Yours.  I am a child of God and the future bride of Christ.  It’s time I started acting like it for it’s a privilege not given to all.  As I strive to achieve this position of honor, I need You every hour, every minute, to help me to remember what price was paid so that I could be Yours.  I fail too often, Lord.  Thank You for tender mercies that allow me more opportunities to get it right the next time.  In Jesus’ name I humbly pray:  amen.

Day Ten

Bless his heart.  Had not enough bad stuff already happened to him today, this week?  I mean, seriously, how much was one kid supposed to take?

It all--well, not all, but at least the latest incident to damage the poor child's calm--happened after supper was almost over.  Ever the warrior, my precious middle gson had his sword at the ready.  PawPaw though, being oh-so-wise and on the lookout for potential disaster (did I mention the youngest gson was in his arms, often ready to take what his brothers are playing with and claim for his own?) found the ideal spot for the sword.  He placed it in an opening in C's chair, still within arm's reach, and ready for him to pick up once his macaroni and steak bites were eaten.

And then?  BAM!  One wrong move and the sword somehow wound up being nearly extracted, hitting my sweet and unprepared love in his arm, making a sting that made him feel as though he had been attacked.

"PawPaw!"  he cried, and his eyes were so full of tears, wrath, and anger. "This is all your fault!"  Rubbing his arm and eyes, he glared with the fury of a thousand jungle beasts at Steve, who was trying not to laugh and cry at the same time as he felt C's pain but also at the hilarity of--once again (nearly always?)--being blamed for when something goes wrong.

We tried explaining to him that he couldn't blame others when situations turned on him.  We told him how the sword had sat there for many minutes without it bothering him so how could it possibly be PawPaw's fault?  I told him he couldn't blame him for this accident.  Through his rivers of tears and pain and frustration at being "attacked" again, he cried out "I don't even know what "blame" means!"

Oh my heart!  This forty-pound, five-year-old, wee bundle of all things great, good, and lovable was disconsolable until it all made sense and sank in his tiny little brain.  Brushing aside his tears, smiling once again, and ready to play, he took off to join his brother in the circle of fun when only a couple of minutes later BAM!  Another accident caused him to explode in a fit of fury as he felt the sting of a board brushing against his back as his brother had innocently thrown it without paying good attention to where it might land.  C was ready to fight, to scream, to pound out his indignation but there was Granny, once again, stepping in to explain that it was indeed an accident but that W did need to go further than his off-the-cuff "Sorry" and show his brother some real concern.  He went over to him, arms outstretched, the "I'm really sorry.  Will you forgive me" spiel on his lips.  But poor little C had had a rough week, as mentioned above.  He'd been "I'm sorried" one time too many, had too many "accidents" that needed forgiven, and it was the night before he was to graduate kindergarten and his emotions were stretched to the max.  

As W's arms enveloped his younger brother's, Con Man's were outstretched as well.  The difference though was when contact was made, he began "beating" his brother's back, trying to make him feel some of the pain he had just experienced.  Again telling him it was an accident, I interceded, and the fight went out from him as he heard the truth, as he felt his brother's contriteness and his need to reconcile.  They hugged as they so often do and squeezed and began to giggle and wrestle and went on about their business.  Once again fellowship was restored and the hurt forgotten.

Today's verses kind of deal with this.  Read them with me, from Colossians 3:12-13:

"Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive."

These kids have already forgiven each other so so many times--with many more to come in the future, I have no doubt.  How I admire their willingness to acknowledge the hurts, the infractions, the sins, and to deal with them.  Compassionately.  Kindly.  With meekness when they know they are to blame for the other's pain.  With patience when they see that the other needs to kick and scream a little before restoration takes place but bearing with that other one, and then allowing the forgiveness to run its course.  Although they don't realize this life lesson they are not just learning but practising, they are setting the stage for future "accidents" and "on purpose" events that they will have to make the choice to forgive or to harbor bitterness in their souls.  

May they always choose forgiveness is my prayer.  They teach me so much!  Thank You, God, for my grandsons.  Through them, I learn so much about Your love for me.  May I be more childlike in my faith and walk with Christ is my hope, asked in His name.  Amen.