Stay Planted and Grow

By Candace McQuain –

My pastor is an endless fountain of knowledge. He is consistently sprinkling out incredibly meaningful and thought provoking words. He never ceases to amaze me in what he will come up with next. One Sunday, he told a story about a woman he had seen when he was out and about. She had approached him and told him that she goes to his church.

Well pastor always loves hearing that, so he asked her what sermon she had heard last and what she thought of it. She then told him that she couldn’t remember because it had “been a while” since she had attended. What he then wanted to say to her was, “Thank you, but you don’t go to my church, you’ve been to my church.” What he did say to her though was this, “Do you go to the gym?” She answered, “Yes”. He asked her, “How often?” She answered, “Very often.” He then said, “What would happen if you just went every now and then, or maybe only just once?” She answered with, “It wouldn’t do any good.”

I’m not exactly sure how he finished the rest of the conversation, but I’m sure you see where he was going with that line of questioning.

Building an intimate relationship with Christ is indeed a lot like building muscle tone at the gym. If we want a true and meaningful relationship with Him, just going to church one Sunday and then taking a couple weeks or months off before heading back again, isn’t going to cut it. Just like muscles that aren’t worked out regularly, our hearts and minds can become weak and vulnerable.

As regulars we become planted and when we do, our roots (faith) can extend, thick and strong.

From experience I can tell you that finding the church of your dreams is a lot like finding the man or woman of your dreams. The first time you meet him or her you get warm fuzzies all over and you can’t wait to see them again. Now the date wasn’t perfect, but you knew down deep in your heart that they were the one for you. Finding a church home is the same way. No church is perfect, but God is, and He is behind everything. So if your heart is telling you to attend that church up the street again or the one your sister has been telling you about for months, try it. These are the vessels God is using to get you there or to get you to return.

Once you’re there and you feel those warm fuzzies, because I know you will, let yourself fall in love and become committed.

Stay planted, and let yourself grow.

“They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit”  (Jeremiah 17:8 NIV).

Conceding Christmas Part Two: The Response

By Lori Freeland –

I curl up in a ball. Think about that verse from Matthew 11. “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Do I believe it? Can I live it?

Release him. Trust me.

Every moment I don’t let go, fear eats away at me. I live in bondage to the terror that Kyle will die and leave me. I can’t hold out any longer on the tugging of my heart.

“Okay, Lord. Okay. Your ways are not my ways.” Deep inside, where I cling to Kyle, I force myself to relax. I imagine picking him up, kissing him softly on his cheek, and walking over to Jesus. It takes me a moment to offer him up and hand him over. His weight leaves my arms and my heart stutters. Kicks into overdrive.

I almost grab him back.

Outside my mind, in the reality of Kyle’s dark room, I tighten my grip on the pillow that still smells like him. “He’s Yours.” I tense. And wait. For the phone to ring. With news that Kyle’s lost the fight and he won’t be coming home.

No sound comes other than the hum of the ceiling fan above me. I breathe a half sigh of relief, knowing the call could come tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or any time during this long battle.

Another quiet whisper tugs at my heart. Something remains. Something I need to do. Will you love Me? No matter what? Even if I take him home with me?

My gut burns. My heart speeds up. I want to yell, “Yes, Lord, Yes.”

But I can’t.

I roll to my back. The fan blades spin around the neon light and throw dancing shadows on the wall.

Let it go. The whisper comes again.

“Isn’t it enough that I gave You Kyle?”

Give Me everything.

Kyle’s Awana verse from last week, Proverbs 3:5-6, flashes across my mind. “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.”

I’ve already come this far—the burden almost gone—but these words are harder to say. Acid rises in my throat. These words may change everything. I close my eyes. Breathe in and out. Find the strength He gives me. “If You take him, tonight, tomorrow, next year, I will still love You.”

It’s done.

Peace fills me. Everywhere. Not the kind of peace that comes from knowing nothing bad will happen, but the kind of peace that comes from knowing you are shielded even if the very worst does happen. The peace that passes understanding.

Exhausted, I let my eyelids close and drift mercifully off to sleep.

The next morning, Alek and Maddy sit on the barstools at the island in the kitchen eating pancakes and drinking orange juice. I unload the dishwasher and turn to clean the sticky syrup off the counter.

The phone rings. I hold my breath. It’s my husband—with news I didn’t expect. Kyle will be home for Christmas.

God has handed him back to me. At least for now. The fever gone, the blood counts rising. I slump against the island in relief. “Thank you, Jesus.” Happy tears slide down my face. I grin at the kids and pull them close. “Let’s get ready for Christmas. Who wants to bake cookies?”

Conceding Christmas Part One: The Call

By Lori Freeland –

December 2004

3 AM

I burrow deeper under the covers, the bed large and lonely. Thirteen days until Christmas, but I’m not planning a celebration.

Arranging a funeral seems more likely.

My husband stayed at the hospital tonight with our ten-year-old son. This time, Kyle struggles with fever, low blood counts, and multiple infections—staph in his central line and fungus in his left lung.

The neighbor’s Christmas lights shine through my curtains, pulsing red and green. An ache sets in around my temples. I’ve been lying here for hours, watching the numbers on the clock glow and change, trying to ignore God tugging at my heart.

Give Kyle to me.

My chest squeezes in response to the words. “Lord, let me sleep.”

Your burden is too heavy. Take mine instead.

“Why are You doing this to me? I’m not ready.” I fight against the call, bury my face under the pillow. But He won’t let me rest.

With a heavy groan, I kick off the comforter and leave the warmth of my flannel sheets. The cat sleeping on my legs follows me down the short hallway. I peek inside Maddy’s room. A tiny glow shines from a Tinker Bell nightlight on her wall—it quenches her fear of the “black.” Sprawled sideways across the bed, her feet hang off the edge. Blond hair falls over her pillow, covering one side of her face. I settle her back and kiss her cheek. She smells like grape jelly and apple juice.

Soft snores drift down the hall from Alek’s room. He sleeps on the top bunk and I can’t reach his cheek, so ruffling his hair will have to do.

Kyle’s room is next, right at the top of the stairs. I always worry that he’ll fall down them on his way to find me in the middle of the night. For years, a gate stretched between the banisters, keeping him safe. If only a gate would keep him safe now.

I flip on his light and the fan begins to spin. A blue neon light underneath the blades throws off an eerie glow. I maneuver around a Lego battle scene, a stack of books, and a pile of video games. I reach his bed and sink onto his Spiderman comforter. Many nights, over the last four excruciating months, we’ve snuggled here together. Clinging to each other.

Fighting the leukemia.

I want to call the hospital. Hear his voice. But it’s the middle of the night. Instead, I roll over and trail my fingers along the rough bumps on the wall, until they hit a collage of pictures hanging over his bed—pictures of our family and his friends in the days before cancer.

Most of his buddies have stopped coming around. I know little boys can’t comprehend the gravity of cancer, but my heart aches anyway. Kyle doesn’t understand why they aren’t the same friends they used to be.

I breathe deep into his pillow. Comforted by Kyle’s smell, I curl into a ball.

Give him to me.

“Lord, where’s Kyle’s healing? His miracle? Haven’t I begged enough? It’s the only Christmas present I want.”

Let him go.Take my yoke and you will find rest. My yoke is easy and my burden light.

I recognize the words from Matthew 11 as He writes them on my heart. But I can’t give Kyle away. Tears drip down my face, onto my neck, into the pillow. A shallow puddle forms where I rest my cheek. “What if You heal him in Heaven instead of here?”

Trust Me with Kyle.

“But if he—” Tears soak my face. I can’t even think the word, “—how will I go on with a gaping hole in my heart?”

My breath catches. Knots form in my stomach and I agonize over the verse God has laid on my heart.

Can I really let him go?

Searching for a Sign

By Jennifer Slattery –

I’m a planner, a plotter, a long-term thinker. Give me a to-do list and a game plan and I’m content to trudge forward indefinitely. Send me on a detour and I’m likely to hit panic mode—especially if the end of the road is shrouded from view. So, when God first called me into writing—asking me to venture off my well-thought out, meticulously outlined, twenty-year plan—I spent a fair amount of time arguing.

Only I never openly admitted to this. Oh, no. I cloaked my arguments in “prayers for guidance and discernment.”

And God’s response? “I’ve already told you how to please Me.”

Bam!

In John chapter six, the crowds listening to Jesus raised the same smoke screen. They asked him, “What sign then will you give that we may see it and believe you? What will you do? Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written: ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat’” (John 6:30-31).

A harmless question, right? On first glance, it appears no different than the one Thomas asked after Jesus’ resurrection (John 20:25).

And yet, Jesus offered night and day responses to the two demands. With Thomas, He provided exactly what Thomas needed—proof(John 6:26-28).

Why the difference? Did Jesus love Thomas more than the crowd?

In order to fully understand the event, we need to read the whole story. You see, the crowds weren’t looking for a sign, but instead, an excuse. They wanted a loophole, a reason to justify lack of faith.

John chapter six tells us this crowd followed Jesus wherever He went because “they saw His miraculous signs as He healed the sick.” A few verses down, Jesus offered them yet another sign and fed 5,000 hungry people by multiplying five barley loaves and two fish.

The next day, after a rather stormy night, the crowd returned, probably looking for more food—more answers to their physical problems in the here and now. At this point, Jesus directed them toward a bigger picture—an eternal picture, and initially, the people responded with enthusiasm.

“Then they asked him, ‘We want to perform God’s work, too.’” {Translation: How can we multiply loaves and fish?} ‘What should we do?’” (John 6:28).

Ah, how we like to work for things, to feel important, to see progress, and know we’re taking steps toward a logical end. But then God flips things; reminding us it’s not about us at all, but about trusting in Him.

“Jesus told them, ‘This is the only work God wants from you: Believe in the One He has sent’” (John 6:29 NLT).

Uh-oh. This is no longer about bread and fish. Now Jesus told them to put action to their claims. To take a leap of faith.

And it was here that they demanded a sign: “So they asked him, ‘What sign then will you give that we may see it and believe you? What will you do? Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written: ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat’” (John 6:30-31 NIV).

And up went the smoke screen. “Give me one more sign, one more confirmation, a bit more clarity. Show me this is a foolproof plan, a well-marked trail. Give me a guarantee.”

To which God replied, “I’ve given you all the signs, all the evidence, all the clarity you need. Now it’s time to follow Me.”

My Star of Reassurance

By Janet Perez Eckles –

Like fog in the morning, the spirit of Christmas was gone that year. Still, I shuffled in the garage. One by one, I pulled the bins off the shelves I’d stored the previous Christmas. While the aroma of sugar cookies wafted through the air and “Silent Night” played in the background, I began decorating.

The task was challenging because all I had left of eyesight was the ability to see lights. With the Nativity scene at the center, I placed the items which I had memorized through the years–red and green candles, musical boxes with winter scenes, and bright red poinsettias with green garland. Next, I lifted three stockings from a box, and hung them on marked places above the fireplace. Each was embroidered with our sons’ names. I ran my fingers over the letters. One read Jason, the other, Jeff, and the least number of letters spelled Joe.

Once Jason’s and Jeff’s were hung, with tears burning my eyes, I clutched Joe’s against my chest. The empty stocking seared my heart. It had been five years since the Lord called Joe home. Five years that Joe’s absence had left an emptiness we could almost touch. And five years that God’s grace wiped away portions of the grief that ached in our broken hearts.

But the healing came like the warm steam from mint tea—soft and sweet. It came in a memory: Years ago, when our three sons, including Joe, were still young, I rushed around, worked and got crabby, trying to make everything just so. As a result, little things tended to make me crazy.

One night, while everyone was in bed, I stayed up with important stuff-trying to fix a light strand that refused to shine. One burned-out bulb was the culprit. Annoyed at the glitch, I fussed. I rearranged, and then plugged and unplugged until I was so frustrated, I plopped on the couch. I looked up and glanced at the star atop the tree, shining, glowing, lighting the room.

I sighed with slight shame. I’d done the same with light bulbs that burned in my life—from broken relationships, disappointments, setbacks, failed plans and even deep heartache. But in all that mess, I missed the one who lights the way through the darkest moments. Trying to fix the strands of my life’s issues, I missed the star—Christ the Lord, who gave significance to my life and joy for my days. “I, Jesus, have sent my angel to give you this testimony for the churches. I am the Root and the Offspring of David, and the bright Morning Star” (Revelation 22:16).

When that void in our heart aches to be filled, it’s The Star of comfort that makes it whole. When bitter sorrow robs the spirit of Christmas, it’s The Star of love that whispers joy. When a health diagnosis shakes our world, it’s The Star of reassurance that shines the certainty of new tomorrows. It’s the same star that never loses the brilliance of hope, one we can only embrace when all strands of life burn out.

I embraced it as I, with eyes focused on The Star, hung Joe’s stocking along with his brothers’. It’s not empty anymore—but filled with sweet memories—his wit and laughter, his hugs and kisses. The Star changed all that. Jesus, the “Morning Star” dispels our darkness, dries our tears, and repairs strands we cannot fix.

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