Broken Alabaster Boxes

What you said at work today, that really hurt. I know I smiled and seemed to move on, but I remember still the pain. I look at myself, search my own work and relationships to see where I have failed, and I see so much failure. I berate myself for my mistakes, and yet am frustrated that you seem so unconcerned and oblivious of your own. So quick are you to point out the faults of others, yet you never acknowledge your own. But when I step back and allow myself space, I see more. I see you as the single mom, struggling to make it to the next paycheck, living without joy. I see you as the woman who has been fighting for control all of her life, and now, with sickness and health problems, is clinging to the bits of control she has. I see you as the bachelor who has had his fling at women and drink, who is now growing old with nothing to show for his existence besides a busted back and a sordid attitude. I see those who do not extend mercy to others because perhaps they seldom have mercy...

When winter closes in around, When the sky is forever grey, When you wonder if the sun will ever shine again, Remember, spring is coming. And though now, with mountains of snow or wet sloppy slush, You wonder if it will ever end. He is faithful. Spring is coming. The chorus of birds will soon throb through the air. The spring peepers will be deafening.  And the dark earth will warm and push its things of green. So I think of the spring, remembering that it comes faithfully, And I wait.

First, a bit of a disclaimer. I am in no way saying Bible School is a harmful environment or a bad place to go. Rather, I think it's a wonderful opportunity, one that every young person should experience. I myself have gone a number of times, and personally for me it has been a convicting and growing experience; an experience my life would be very empty without. So as you read, keep that in mind. I sat watching the singers of a Bible School chorale, and I know. I know the feelings surging through them as they sing. I understand the ache of new found friends leaving so soon, the sadness of a term now over, the passion to give all in a life of wonderful service for God. I know the feeling of sharing a testimony with the audience and thinking that in some great way I have blessed them in that act of selflessness. And I know the intense emotions, at times so confusing and hard. The chorus throbbed before me with energy. Sixty-five young people, urged on to serve God valiantl...

Your eyes are haunting. Trapped. Your life ugly and in shambles. Broken. Drugs and alcohol are your companions. Fear and anxiety peer out along your path. Depression intwins it's arms through yours. Haggard. Hopeless. Haunted. And me? I come into your life smiling, Innocent of so many of the evils that have walked in your life. Simple of the weight of evil. And I'm your friend. Yet somedays I ache because I cannot understand. Your walk so different from my walk. Your life plagued with weights I cannot comprehend. My walk full of hope. Yours full of those without hope. My life walked with those who give their lives. Yours with those who take their lives. I ache because I have so little words. I cannot understand. I have never lived a life like yours. I have never walked this way. Would I live any differently if I had your life? Would I carry any less bitterness or hardness? I feel so empty. I have no answers. No solu...

You worried about your dirty house. You said you were not a natural hostess. When I came, there were dirty dishes in the sink, And the table needed clearing.  But when I knocked on the door, You cheerfully opened and invited me in. And I knew you cared that I was there. I knew that you cared about me as a person. To me, your guest, the dishes seemed irrelevant. Though your house was not perfect, You made me feel welcome. And I did not care that you didn't have time to sweep the floor. I did not mind your smudged windows. You set before me simple refreshments, And I was blessed. Your hospitality was not based on your house or the fare. It was based on you. And that to me is true hospitality.

I am not a mother. So I'm sure I cannot understand truly how it feels to let a child go. But I can imagine. And this is what I imagine. You mothers out there can tell me if it's right.  That letting go, It's not easy. It's not romantic. It's necessary. It can define a child's life. It's those you love the most, That you want to hold the tightest. You want control, to know they will be ok. But though you cling to them as long as you can, The inevitable will happen. And they are gone. You find that whether you choose, Or they choose, They will go, learning to walk on their own. Placing their hand in Christ's, Rather than yours. So the question is not whether to let them go, It's how to let them go. Not in fear. Not in anxiety. But in faith. In peace. In joy.  Faith that He is wiser. Peace, knowing that He knows. Joy, because I trust Him. I open my hand. And let them go.

When we were children, my brothers had a trap line. And I don't mean a trap line in the house to catch those horrid mice, though we had that too. But a real trap line. With real conibears and leg holds. They spent hours walking. And sometimes I would go with them. It was no feat for the faint of heart, at least coming from a child's perspective. We walked on a narrow trail packed through the snow. It wound through the peat moss swamp, around evergreens heavy with snow. Trudging through the forest, we were careful not to disturb anything unnecessarily, careful not to break any twig. Craters in the snow showed where big branches shook loose, sending their burdens hurling down with a wump. We called them elephant prints. Eyes searching the snow-covered ground, we found evidenced weasels, pine-martins, and the ever-present rabbits. It was cold. The trap line must be walked every day despite the weather. The trail must be re-broken if it snowed. My brother carried a backpa...