Do not let anyone treat you as if you are unimportant because you are young. Instead, be an example to the believers with your words, your actions, your love, your faith, and your pure life. [1 Timothy 4:12 (NCV)]
When a service group recently asked a young friend if she would serve on their board of directors, her response was that she’s not qualified since she’s “just a mother.” Her response reminded me of when I once thought of myself as “just” a mother. Many years ago, long before Facebook or LinkedIn, I received a questionnaire prepared by my high school’s reunion committee. Along with personal questions like marital status, it asked about my education, jobs, achievements, and awards. Once returned, the responses were Xeroxed, bound, and returned to us prior to our 25th reunion.
When I received the book and read about my old classmates, I felt like the greatest underachiever in the world. I’d attended a private arts academy and my class was filled with bright, talented, and intense over-achievers (except, apparently, for me). Some classmates played in well-known orchestras or had become celebrated soloists but I played piano for children’s Sunday school, accompanied the kid’s choir, and strummed the autoharp at sing-a-longs around the campfire. One classmate composed symphonies played by major orchestras while I’d written several unmemorable songs for Girl Scout camp. Several classmates had acted on Broadway, one had a featured role on a popular sit-com, and another had been nominated for an Academy Award. Rather than Broadway, I did readings at church, moderated political debates at candidate nights, and read bed-time stories to the kids. Fellow grads danced with the ABT and Twyla Tharp while I danced the hokey-pokey with my Brownie troop. Several alumni had become physicians but my medical skill was limited to removing splinters, putting on Band-Aids, and kissing “ouchies”. A few classmates had their PhDs and taught at prestigious universities but, rather than lecturing at university, I helped kids with homework, volunteered at the school, and became adept at science fair projects. Fellow alums had published books while I wrote the local League of Women Voters’ newsletter and did publicity for a local art fair. Several classmates had traveled the globe and lived in exotic locations but I lived in a small town and traveled the county ferrying kids to activities or meals to the homebound. One person had his art work displayed in major museums and another rescued people from cults. I was skilled with Play-Doh and crayons and the only things I liberated were the fireflies caught on summer nights. In short, I was “just” a mother.
After reading everyone’s accomplishments, I was embarrassed by what I’d written because my life seemed so mundane in comparison to theirs. It’s not that I didn’t like my life—I loved it! I just thought I should have done something more impressive in 25 years. Imagine my surprise when, at the reunion, one of my over-achieving classmates greeted me with the comment that he loved reading my profile. “I’m just a mom and my life is so ordinary,” I protested. “But, you’re so happy!” he responded. His words gave me pause and I looked again at my reunion booklet. I wrote of faith; others wrote of fame. I wrote of giving; others wrote of getting. I wrote of family; others wrote of colleagues. I wrote of church and service; others wrote of accomplishments and honors. Indeed, I was happy and content with my life as “just” a mother!
God gave missions of great consequence to people like Moses, Joshua, Elijah, Jeremiah, Gideon, Peter, and Paul but few of us will ever be asked to do anything as far-reaching as were they. That our achievements won’t be recorded in history, our names won’t be listed in a Hall of Fame, and no awards grace our shelves, does not negate our value. That most of us live in obscurity does not mean our lives are insignificant or unimportant.
The Apostle Paul told Timothy not to let anyone disregard him just because he was young. Like Timothy, we must never allow anyone (not even ourselves) to think less of us because we are “just” a youth or senior, mother or father, handyman, secretary, maid, or anything else. We are children of God and followers of Jesus! Like Timothy, our words, actions, love, faith, and morality are to serve as examples in daily, practical, and relational ways. Let us look forward to the day we hear God say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.” After all, His opinion is the only one that matters!
When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, “I used everything you gave me”. [Erma Bombeck]
No matter what translation is used for the above verses, I find it difficult to picture something that is described as suffering, trouble, affliction, or tribulation as being small, little, or light. Moreover, while I’d like afflictions to be so, they rarely seem to be temporary or momentary. Perhaps, I’m splitting hairs but what exactly is “momentary” and “light” when it comes to suffering and affliction?
Even though “Black Friday” sales already have started and stores have been decorated for Christmas since Halloween, the holiday season doesn’t officially start until Thursday with Thanksgiving. Although the angel brought good news of joy to the shepherds and told them not to be afraid, the holiday season brings a sense of dread and anxiety for many of us. “Stress” and “family” are two words that shouldn’t go together but often do. The dynamics of several families and generations gathering together over the holidays can put a strain on everyone as different traditions, expectations, politics, and faiths collide with one another. Couples struggle to keep both in-laws and parents happy while grandparents overindulge their grands. Children get too much sugar and not enough sleep, too much money is spent, and too much alcohol often gets consumed. Add to that the challenges presented by long-distance travel with its almost inevitable lost luggage, delays, or cancellations and trying to maintain peace at a politically divided dinner table and we have the makings of a perfect storm! The joy of the season easily gets lost in the stress of the season.
Thirty years ago, Al Franken played a character on Saturday Night Live named Stuart Smalley. Host of a fictitious self-help show called “Daily Affirmations with Stuart Smalley,” Stuart would look into in a mirror and affirm that he was good enough, smart enough, and that people liked him. A member of several twelve-step programs, Stuart often shared maxims like, “Denial Ain’t Just a River in Egypt!” along with affirmations that he was entitled to his share of happiness and (my personal favorite) that it is easier to put on slippers than to carpet the world.
Back in his college days, my husband and several friends were on a lonely stretch of road in what seemed the middle of nowhere when they stopped for a red light. Although the average red light lasts from 90 to 120 seconds, that seemed like an eternity to the impatient driver. After looking around and seeing no other cars, he proceeded through the intersection. There was, however, one other vehicle nearby—and it was a police car! Although that driver’s impatience cost him time and money, other drivers’ impatience can take lives! A typical commuter train, for example, usually passes through an intersection in two to three minutes. But, when we lived in Illinois, at least one or two impatient drivers tried (and failed) to beat the local commuter train across the tracks every year.
Whenever we were with my mother-in-law, she would say, “Come, sit down, and rest for a bit.” Since I usually was busy preparing a meal or doing some task for her, I’d say, “Not now, Grandma, maybe later!” Now that she’s gone, I wish I’d spent a few more minutes sitting and resting with her. I thought of her this morning when reading Jesus’ words urging the disciples to find a quiet place to rest awhile.
Devotions of the Heart 