Audience of One--and maybe just one more

My husband and I drove the 104 miles past seemingly endless fields. We drove by shelterbelts (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shelter_belt) and farmsteads, and passed through occasional small towns. Eventually we reached our destination: one of the country churches that was loosely affiliated with the camp where we served.

This church had a new pastor whose wife Sheryl (name changed) was anxious to be a blessing to their congregation. She had arranged a special women’s event and asked me to share the message. We wanted to get to know this couple and congregation anyway, so my husband and I agreed to make the trip and spend the night in the pastor’s home.

Not too long after our arrival, Sheryl mentioned a bit disappointedly that she had heard a lot of the women weren’t going to be able to make it for one reason or another. “I feel bad you drove all this way,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said sincerely. “I’ve never been one to place too much emphasis on numbers.”

When the time for the actual event came, Sheryl and I arrived at an almost-empty church. I could tell she was even more disappointed.

One lovely young mom met us inside. She and Sheryl chatted a bit, and the young mom shared about even more last-minute cancellations. The three of us sat down at a table together and continued to get to know each other.

Sheryl looked at her watch and said, “Well, Stephanie, I’m really sorry about this. I can’t imagine you’d still want to share with us. It looks like it’s just the three of us.”

I chuckled and said, “Well, we’re here, aren’t we? I might as well. It will just be more of a conversation among friends.”

So I shared the message I had prepared in a way that seemed to fit. And we had a nice time together.

Months later, Sheryl showed up at camp for an event. She caught me for a moment of conversation while I was working in the camp store. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” she said. “Remember when you came to our church and only one mom showed up for our event?”

Of course I remembered.

“Well, your message had a really big impact on the one in attendance,” Sheryl shared. “We have talked about it several times. It’s really making a big difference in her life, and God is using her to influence others in her family and in our congregation.”

You see, I had shared about forgiveness. Little did I know that bitterness was a real stronghold in the community, church and even extended family represented by my one listener that day.

So God had sent a young couple from a rural Bible camp over 100 miles to address that issue with truth, testimony and hope. And He had sent a willing listener to be a recipient of the message. And now He was using her to model and spread the goodness found in forgiveness.

I marveled at the beauty in it. I marveled at God’s plan.  

Everything I do is before God, and He is the only One I need to please. This incident in our early ministry affirmed the truth to me that my audience is One.

And in that specific case and in that little country church, the audience happened to include just one more.

“Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ.” - Galatians 1:10

Bad birthdays

A friend of mine marked his birthday a few days ago. His seven-year-old son passed away two nights prior. Somehow “happy birthday!” did not quite seem to fit the occasion.

Earlier this year, I experienced probably my worst birthday ever (for reasons that do not remotely compare with my friend’s loss). My whole family knew my misery, so when greeting after greeting proclaiming something like, “Hope this is the BEST birthday EVER!!!” scrolled by on my Facebook page, my older daughter looked up at me with a pitiful expression that conveyed, “Ironic, eh?”

I knew the greetings were all coming with good intentions, but it was a little like pouring salt on a wound.

I do realize “happy birthday” is the tried-and-true, standard birthday greeting in our culture. Most often, I use it. But a slew of loved ones celebrating hard birthdays after my own miserable one has gotten me thinking more consciously about something that has been floating around in my mind for years.

Beyond saying, “happy birthday,” I tend to be pretty careful.

For one, I try to avoid nurturing self-centeredness, because we really don’t deserve anything, as the common birthday greeting goes. And the more we think we do deserve a great birthday celebration, the more disappointed we’ll be when something more urgent comes along—or if our day just doesn’t go as hoped.

If I’m going to expand on a simple birthday blessing, I usually try to encourage gratitude. Something along the lines of, “May you be filled with gratitude as you celebrate another year of life today,” might show up in my greeting.

But, as implied, I usually try to keep my greetings a simple birthday blessing, choosing a Bible verse that fits the person. So you might get, “Happy birthday, _____! Be blessed by Psalm 9:10 today,” or something like that. And I do put thought into the chosen verses.

After all, these days of celebration are not all about delicious desserts and warm, fuzzy feelings. They are about celebrating a person, celebrating life, expressing appreciation. They mark the passage of time.

So, on your next birthday, may you be enriched in spirit, rather than in pocketbook. May you rejoice in the milestones of life, rather than the length of your Facebook feed.  And may you be blessed with gratitude much more significantly than gifts.

Even if your bad birthday can’t be happy, may it be blessed.

Meeting God as Father

Two nights ago, my husband launched out of bed after a loud crash sounded somewhere on the upper floor of our home. We had both been sleeping deeply, but his fatherly instincts kicked in and he immediately sought to protect his family. This reminded me not only about how much I love my husband, but about one of the many ways God has used him in my life.

Even as a young adult, I was among the many people who struggle to understand God as Father.

This world is a broken place, and our earthly fathers are certainly among the broken.

While I am entirely convinced today that my fathers (both biological and step-) deeply love and care about me, this was not always the case. One didn’t see me consistently for years, and the other took on the complex situation of step-parenting while still recovering from deep wounds received in other areas of life.

It wasn’t until my late teen years that I began to understand how difficult both life and parenting were for my fathers.

My fathers had my understanding and respect by the time I became a young mother myself, but it was my husband God used to help me understand the beauty of God as Father.  

The first revelation came at nighttime.

We were sleeping in our bedroom in North Dakota. With a baby on the way, our toddler Abigail needed to be moved to the other side of the house, to her own bedroom, and into a “big girl” bed. Things had gone fine, so we were sleeping deeply that night.

That is, we were sleeping deeply until something caused us both to jerk upright in bed. We heard strange, muffled crying. And it sounded like our precious Abigail.

We both headed to her bedroom, my husband Aaron in the lead. To our dismay, we still heard the crying, but her bed was empty, and we could not identify the location of the crying.

I suddenly became transfixed by my husband. He was on a mission, totally and completely, furiously, seeking our daughter. We seemed to search everywhere, we rushed from room to room, he got down on his hands and knees, he put his ear to the floor. Then he jumped up again and dashed back into her bedroom.

He reached under the bed and pulled out our tiny Abigail. She was curled up against the wall—and thus the vent—crying, with her muffled sobs piping into the next room.

He wrapped his arms around her completely, holding her close, soothing and praying for her. She achieved peace in his arms. Somehow she had rolled off of her new bed, gotten lost on her way back up, and ended up in a cramped, scary place. But now she was safe. Nothing could feel safer to that little girl than her father’s arms.

I was active in this hunt for our daughter, frantic in my own motherly instincts, yet I knew exactly what God was revealing to me as I watched my husband fulfill his God-given role. “So that’s what it means!” I said to my heavenly Father as the beauty of His role began to sink in. “You love me that much! You pursue me that fervently! You protect me that fiercely! I’m SAFE with you! Thank you!”

Sometime shortly thereafter, just to make sure I got the message, another very clear incident happened.

Aaron was heading to warm up the car while I carried the baby in his carseat down the steps. Abigail was at my side, but slipped and tumbled down the last stone steps, falling toward the gravel. Aaron was yards away, but was there in a moment, almost before she hit the rocks. Again the look on his face was priceless. He was going to save his little girl. He was going to protect her. And when he didn’t get there fast enough to cushion the fall, He made up for it through the comfort he provided.

“Thank You, Lord,” I declared, “not only for Abigail being OK and for this wonderful husband, but for revealing Yourself to me. You don’t want me to fall, but, when I do, You will comfort me. You are my Father and Protector, my Comforter, all wrapped into One.”

We live in a broken world, but God gives us glimpses of His glory. And coming to know Him as Father through my husband has certainly been a transformative glimpse for me.

 Abigail knew she could trust and admire her father at a very young age. For that, I am very thankful.