Gratitude as an Attitude

Gratitude has been the single most radical attitude adjustment I've ever experienced.

Once upon a time, I had the time and energy to be a volunteer Bible camp staff member. One year (I don't remember how it started), a couple of us girl staffers found a way to stay positive: if any of us seemed to be sliding toward complaining or a sour attitude, one would call out, "Attitude check!" and we would respond, "Praise the Lord!"

A bit trite? Maybe. But it worked. Every time.

Try being negative while giving thanks.
Try complaining when you're busy thanking God for His blessings.
Try holding a grudge when you're remembering what you've been forgiven.
Try coveting while taking note of the abundance of your possessions.
Try ruminating on all your failings while hearing God's truth spoken over you.

Lord, I can't see you. I feel so hopeless. Where are you in times like this? Do you see me here?
I see you. I know you. I know your circumstances; not one of them is outside my awareness.

Father, they've hurt me. Every time I try to forgive them, what they did rises before my eyes and blocks my prayers. How can I move past this?
Look at what I've forgiven you. Love them with the love I've given you.

I've had enough! This isn't fair. This isn't what I signed up for. I have my rights!
Do you remember what I did with My rights?

Gratitude - thanksgiving - sings with the joy of salvation and revels in the riches lavished upon us.

Think of your salvation story. Someday, maybe I'll put mine on here. I've shared bits with those around me as I felt it would be beneficial, but my husband is probably the only one who's heard the whole, ugly truth of it. I don't know about you, but when I think of the ick that's in there and what I've been saved from, my heart kneels in awe. To consider that God could use my story in His kingdom plan is nothing short of miraculous; remembering that gives me a whole lot more grace for those around me.

Thanksgiving colors the air around you when you breath it in and out daily. It changes how you see people and situations, and it affects how others see and respond to you.

It's not a stretch to say that gratitude could fix a lot of what is wrong with this world.
Prejudice.
Debt.
Hoarding.
Adultery.
Family squabbles.
Materialism.
They - and a host of others - all have the potential to fade into nonexistence when people are busy thanking God.

Thanksgiving...
So much more than the fourth Thursday in November.



"And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him." Colossians 3:15-17 ESV, emphasis added

A Job Done

Back in March, I posted about my desire to put together a meal for the carnival workers that staff the midway for our town festival, to thank them for their work and welcome them to our town. (If you haven't read that one, this one will make more sense if you read the March one first.) On the 12th of this month, that desire became reality.

Actually, toward the end of June, I started getting nervous. I had only heard back from one church, and the response from the newspaper notice was . . . insufficient. Donations came in generously, but as far as putting a meal together . . . I was starting to wonder if this whole thing was going to work.

So, back to Facebook I trotted. Created an event. Invited anyone in my friends circle from the area. Waited some more.

And the responses started coming!

The first one I got was from another young mom. We had only met recently, but we ran into each other again at the kiddie pool. She was going to bring a fruit salad and a dessert! I left the pool on a high.

The next few days included some follow-up and some more positive responses. Enough came in that the ones who couldn't come didn't make me nervous anymore.

This was actually going to happen!

The day of, my dear mother and my 91-year-old grandmother came to help N and me with finishing touches. The first thing we had to do was invite our guests of honor! We drove down to the park, printed invitations in hand, piled out of the car, and went in search of our carnival workers. We didn't have to look far.

We found some taking a break near the picnic shelter and handed out invites. Chatted with a middle-aged mom. Met her daughters. My mom reconnected with someone she actually knew who happened to be working the carnival this summer (leave it to Mom to find someone she knows!). Got directions to their trailers. Dropped off some more invites, tucking them under door handles when no one was around. Found a few workers for Mom to practice her Spanish inviting them.

I was a little nervous. I've never met someone who works the carnival circuit before, never had to carry a conversation with them. I hated that an unfamiliar, stereotyped vocation made me protective, suspicious, wary. But the more we talked, the more at ease I felt.

Having successfully dispersed invitations, both paper and word-of-mouth, we headed back for the house. We organized the gifts, finished baking a few dishes, loaded up two cars, and headed back to the park. Unloaded. Shuffled picnic tables at the shelter. Set up the gift area, the serving line, the drinks.

And people started to come!

We had three tables full of salads, main dishes, and desserts: from veggies and mac salad, to spaghetti and smoked pork loin, to chocolate peanut butter brownies and lemon meringue pie! Yummmmm . . .

The workers filtered in, we prayed, and started eating. A neighbor of mine, and an elder at a local church, had agreed to share a devotion, so while we fed our stomachs, he fed souls. He spoke about God sharing our joys, and he thanked the workers for the joy their work brings to us and our kids. He spoke Truth winsomely.

Some of the workers were open to conversation; others huddled together. The language barrier definitely created some, if not most, of that distance.

We found that these were moms and dads, families and individuals like us, just with an entirely disparate way of supporting themselves. Some had grown up in the carnival world - it was as normal to them as a home and an address are to us. One mom asked me if I could recommend someone to watch her one-year-old daughter while the midway operated - she worked a booth and her husband worked a ride. She wanted "a church lady, because there are weird people these days, and I would feel better if it were someone from a church." I turned to ask a friend, one with four kids of her own, and just that easily, we had her answer.

Conversations over delicious food

When no one could eat anymore, we loaded up everyone with the left-overs and with any of the gifts they wanted. Bath towels turned out to be in high demand, and I was excited that a couple Spanish translations of the Bible were taken. Many, many thank-yous were heard.

Picking through the gifts

When everyone had left, Mom and I tucked N and Grandma into the car with the AC running and finished the cleanup. We loaded everything for the last time, drove the half mile home, unloaded, put N down for a very late nap, washed, organized, put away. Took a cold shower.

I collapsed into an easy chair as Mom and Grandma went out the front door. Finished! Exhausted.

Deep breath . . .

And then N woke up.

"I Had No Idea"

We've all had those life experiences we look back upon and say, "I had no clue what I was getting into."

Two-year-olds (like N this morning) may learn that Mom and Dad tell them not to touch an electrical outlet for a reason.

Middle school kids often find that friendship drama is more than they bargained for.

A teen may find college harder to navigate, more work, or even more enjoyable, than they thought going into the experience.

Adults have their own versions of being irreversibly over their heads: a new job, owning a home, marriage, parenting. And it seems, no matter what sort of measures we take to be prepared going into it, there are just some things in life you have to experience to really grasp what it's like.

And then, of course, there are the life events we hardly comprehend to prepare ourselves for.

Our two-year-old is coming up on one such event, and try as we might to prepare her, she honestly has no idea what's in store for her. But, she'll figure it out sometime in January.

All In

If I thought I didn't post very often before a child landed smack-dab in the middle of my life, I had another thought coming.

I wish I had posts niggling away in the back of my mind, just itching to run through my fingers into the computer keys, but I don't. It's as if I've not only lost the time but also the contemplative power to post.

Is my mind too full of to-dos and what-ifs to ponder anything beyond/above myself and my day? Or maybe I've allowed my mind to snack on diversions rather than dig into a feast of actual thought.

Or maybe this parenting thing is just completely all-encompassing.

Parenting isn't something a body can do halfway. A person really has to be all in - or not at all. Good parenting, bad parenting, that's another topic entirely; but if you're going to raise a little ankle-biter, it's going to completely revamp your life.

After N was born, someone told us that having a child was the most unselfish decision a couple could make. I'm still thinking having the SECOND child is least selfish, because then you have an idea of what you're giving up:
the right to your own glass and plate;
the ability to do a task from beginning to finish without interruption;
the possession of your own bed;
the luxury of using the bathroom by yourself;
the chance to sleep through the night;
the pursuit of hobbies, reading, and other interests;
and on and on and on . . .

N and I were at the town kiddie pool yesterday. It's a little wading area set off from the main pool, starts at 0" and gets to 1' 6" at the "deep" end. It comes complete with nine little fountains of water, three sets of three, spraying, bubbling, and shooting in their respective places. A favorite activity of the young patrons is to step on one of the fountains in a set, causing the others to spray further than normal.

N, taking everything in as she does, saw the "big" kids doing this and decided she would get in on that action.

She pulled herself out of the 4" section, hurried her way to the deep end, and flopped her toes down on the first fountain she came to.

Surprise!

The water shot between her toes and, rerouted by her interference, squirted right up into her face!

Shocked and a utterly perplexed, she backed up, furiously wiping water from her eyes. I wanted to laugh, but instead put on my compassionate face and helped her dry her face.

"Did the water squirt you?" I asked.

"Uh-uh," she answered with quivering lip.

"Here, use your whole foot, like this," I demonstrated.

And she did! She was so proud! Stepping on the fountain like the big kids!

She just had to go all in.

Feeling Kist

It was a Wednesday afternoon, and the week still hadn't decided if it would be sour or sweet.
Spring played hard to get;
N wanted her lunch,
except when she didn't want it,
until she wanted it again,
at which point she only wanted it if I would feed it to her while she danced around the kitchen table between bites.

And then two piano students came in for their 100th lesson. And they had flowers.
For me.
For our 100th lesson.

But even that paled in comparison to their old-fashioned thank-you note.

I think this week is going to turn out quite pleasant after all.

Go Do Your Job

This post could be part 2 to the one I wrote last Saturday. Not in that this comes after it, but in the sense that this is the bigger picture, the other side of the topical coin, the driving force, or whatever other similar cliché you'd like to insert here.

Our pastor challenged us a while back with a thought which I'll paraphrase, since I didn't note his exact phrasing. The idea was this: If your church suddenly disappeared, would the surrounding, secular community notice? Would they care? Would your church be missed?

Now, I can't control everything my church does or doesn't do, but I certainly have a significant role in determining my own actions and pursuits. After all, as the people go, so goes the church, right? A church of inert believers isn't going to do much moving and shaking outside its own walls.

So, my question for you today is this: What sort of skin does your faith have?

Does it have bones and muscles?

Is it the type of faith that scrubs toilets, waits tables, and washes feet?

Is it practical?

Does it change those around you?

Does it change you?

Wait a minute, you might say to me, my faith is a private matter! It's an inward relationship. This isn't your business and I certainly don't have to prove myself to you to be a valid Christian!

You're right; I'm not the judge of authentic faith for believers. But you do have to reckon with a couple very persuasive, first-century teachers. One, for example, says that a faith that does not show itself by outward works is useless. Another seems to think that we've all received special abilities to serve, and so we should use them, and he even includes a list of ways to do just that! They're persuasive, and they're right, because they were divinely inspired to write those sections of Scripture.

So, stop and think.

On Monday morning, when your alarm rings, do you check your faith into "daycare" and make a mental note to pick it up again in time for church next week?

Is church just something you do because it's what you've always done?

Is it a place to be seen, like a club?

If your pew neighbor had never come to your church but ran into you on the street or met you at work, would they still assume that you're a Christ-follower?

Do you look like, sound like, act like Jesus, and more and more as the years tick by?

We're good at the head part of the Gospel, but let's not lose the heart. It's the heart that moves us with pity; it's the heart that cares for our neighbor; it's the heart that reaches out to the lost.

But - 

Maybe you're more on the social justice side of the Gospel. You advocate for the trafficked. You donate to the shelters. You volunteer. You give to the Christian radio station. You have people into your home for meals and conversation. You might even pray out loud in church.

Where's your head?

Remember, faith is not simply actions, it is conviction, attitude, a grasp of a belief. Don't think that you can busywork yourself into God's good graces. Matthew 7 records Jesus' own thoughts on the matter, and they're frightening.

Ephesians 2:8-10 may be one of the most famous Scriptural explanations of salvation. It reads,

"For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them." ESV

Do you notice that faith comes first? We have salvation through faith [by grace], with no merit through or from or by our doing.

But - 

Because of that salvation, we have good works to do, works God made us to do, which we can now do because of what Jesus did.

So, in other words, I could have just quoted those three verses and left out the rest of the blog post.

As you celebrate the death and resurrection of our Savior this weekend, remember that we celebrate the finished work of Jesus Christ. You can't add to it or take from it by what you do or do not do.

But - 

If it is truly a part of your life, shouldn't that flow out in gratitude through your good works? "Walk in them." Get off your duff and go do what God made you to do.

Letting God Do His Job

HELLO . . . hello . . . hello . . .

Ahh, the echoes of a long-neglected blog!

Usually, my posts grow out of a thought or impression that follows me over the course of several days until it has developed into a full-blown post. Lately, I've been running so fast trying to keep up with our 20-month-old that a thought flies out of my head before it has a chance to root, much less grow into anything worthwhile. Besides - blog or sleep? No contest, lately!

But, for you kind souls who like to amuse yourselves while humoring my vanity by reading these posts, I'll let you in on something that has managed to keep pace with my life lately. It's been much longer in the making than my typical posts, actually.

Go back with me several summers. We had only owned our small-town home a short while but were rapidly falling in love with the idea of raising a family here. We felt we lived in a real-life Mayberry, in the best sense of the expression. The people were kind, the town was clean, and the opportunities were just perfect for our purposes.

These happy thoughts were percolating while I was out for an early-morning jog, trying to beat the heat that July day. My usual route took me past the town park where the carnival was setting up in anticipation of our town festival that weekend.

Now, I've never spent much time thinking about carnival workers and their lives. Of course, I've seen some flicks and heard some stories about the rough life they lead or the shady character that can be a carnie, but that was about all the time I'd ever bothered about them. So, when I say, "the thought crossed my mind," I really don't mean to imply that it came from me. But, it was in my mind, suddenly, and I didn't know what to do with it:

"I wonder what they think of our town?"

The thought stopped me in my tracks. What? Of course they know what a lovely town this is, what nice people we are.

How would they know? What if your town is just another stop to them? Another weekend, to make another check, to pack up and do it again for another town just looking to have a good time?

Did they think we were snobs? Did we ignore them? Treat them as less-than?

What if they didn't even like being here in my town?

Well, I didn't like bothering with such uncomfortable thoughts. After all, I was still a new-comer. What could I do?

So, I finished my jog and conveniently forgot all about the whole thing.

Until last summer.

When the same thing happened all over again.

I can be dense, but I listened better the second time.

But, how does one reach out to a carnie? What do they need? What would they be open to having someone do for them? What have others done?

Enter the all-knowing Google!

Except, Google didn't really know, either.

I searched "carnival worker ministry," and I maybe got a handful of articles, written 10 years ago or more.

Except there was one hit from a Facebook page, dated earlier that summer, and titled (drumroll, please!), "Carnival Worker Ministry"!

Eureka!

I backtracked to the hosting church's website - for a church in Kentucky - and shortly had a phone number.

Gathering my courage about me, I put N down for a nap, tucked into my easy chair with a pen and a sticky note, and dialed the number into my cell.

A couple of rings later, I was speaking with a kind woman with a Southern lilt to her words - not so much that I couldn't understand her, but enough that I made sure to listen closely!

Wouldn't you know it, she just happened to be part of the women's group that headed that particular ministry. I told her my reason for calling, explained Google's lack of assistance, how I had found their page, and asked, "What do I need to know?"

She was positively tickled that I had called and gladly walked me through their yearly potluck dinner with the carnival workers, explained how they prepared, what sort of gifts they collected via donations to send with them, and much more.

At the end of our conversation, I thanked her, and she left me with the church's email address, requesting photos should anything come of our conversation.

Earlier this year, I contacted our festival board, and they were thrilled to have new ideas and new blood - especially, I think, since I was willing to head up the project!

The library is willing to be the collection site of donations.

Now, I am in the stage of contacting area churches. I sent out emails late Thursday afternoon and nervously check my inbox every time my phone chimes.

I would like this to be a community effort, but I want to have a devotion during the meal and give Bibles and devotional materials along with the other gifts, so I need it to clearly be an interchurch and community event. In order to have an interchurch event, I need churches involved.

So, I wait. And pray.

It's scary not knowing what will happen.

Maybe no one will want to come to the potluck. Then I will be doing a lot of cooking.

Maybe a lot of community members will show at the potluck, but none of the carnival workers will bother. That would be awkward.

But, I can't control that.

I can only step out, one foot after the other, in what I believe to be the path I've been asked to follow.

It seems God has been asking me to do that sort of thing more often lately - do what I am supposed to do and leave the rest to Him.

It's tough letting God do His job.

But it's much less work than doing it for Him.