Isaiah 55:12

As the heavens are higher than the earth,

so are my ways higher than your ways

and my thoughts than your thoughts.

As the rain and the snow

come down from heaven,

and do not return to it

without watering the earth

and making it bud and flourish,

so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,

so is my word that goes out from my mouth:

It will not return to me empty,

but will accomplish what I desire

and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.

You will go out in joy

and be led forth in peace;

the mountains and hills

will burst into song before you,

and all the trees of the field

will clap their hands.

Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper,

and instead of briers the myrtle will grow.

This will be for the Lord’s renown,

for an everlasting sign,

that will endure forever.”

Isaiah 55:9-13 (NIV)

It's a thoughtful kind of day...

Linking with Sandy at Still Saturday, and Cheryl at Scripture and a Snapshot

Doing

Yet you, Lord, are our Father.
We are the clay, you are the potter;
we are all the work of your hand.
Isaiah 64:8

We are catching up on Doctor Who episodes during meals.  I know - turn the television off and talk...  But that's exactly what we do.  We talk.  There is action; there are strong characters; there are choices to be made.  It is concrete enough for my daughter to talk about at her level, and it explores interesting concepts and situations - darkness and light, forgiveness and hope - so that my husband and I can carry on our favorite 'what if' conversations.  

"So, what if you knew you only had one day to live?"  He asks me.  "What would you do?"

I think about his question for a half a second - just enough time to fleetingly picture different times and places.  One day to live.  I try to imagine my favorite things.  Going to the beach, camping, sightseeing, spending an afternoon at the amusement park.

A little more background.  We are in the process of getting our house ready to put on the market - and it has involved days, weeks literally, of work. The kind of work where you fall into bed before the sun has gone down and drop to sleep despite the stiffness in your fingers and hands, despite the redness of your knees and the aches in your back and shoulders.  This is what tired feels like, and I admit, I'm not used to it, and I'm glad I don't regularly do this kind of labor.  But, my favorite army guy, my husband, took a week off to get the 'big stuff' done, and we've been laboring together where the weekend melted into those precious week days, and then, too soon, the weekend again and he must return to the his Army job.


But I keep coming back to the work.  In our last move, we acid-washed, painted and re-tiled a pool together.  We've built fences and done landscaping work - spreading tons of rock across planters and flower beds.  We've stained and hung cabinets; we've constructed countertops; we've laid entire houses of floors, ceramic tile, travertine, bamboo, laminate, and now slate.  Together.

I tell him this may sound very strange, but this working together thing, is what I would do if I had one day to live.  Funny, huh?  I would choose the tired, the aches, the pains, the practically falling asleep on my feet feeling.

"When you expect the world to end at any moment, you know there is no need to hurry. You take your time, you do your work well.”

Thomas Merton

Not so funny when I really think about it. We are working together toward a common goal, a common vision - which is concrete and seeable as we go - and therefore, fulfilling.  We fellowship - while our hands, feet and backs labor, our minds connect in conversation, planning, joking, laughing.   We work through issues and make decisions together, partners in the project.  We are mutually tired and mutually sore - so we even commiserate together.  See, it's not really the work I'm choosing; it's the time -

moments becoming days - shared.

God has chosen us for His day.  We are his creation - his work, his time.  I don't want to waste His day on rumor and gossip or fighting.  I don't want to waste it on one-ups-manship or keeping-up-with.  I don't want to waste his day in fear, or sadness, or despair.  I don't want to waste it on drama.

He chose us.  He created us.  Don't I want to live in thankfulness for that?  Don't I want to glorify my Maker?  I will do my work well.

There is joy in that.

Linking with Unite

A Wild Flower

What I'm interested in seeing you do is: sharing your food with the hungry, inviting the homeless poor into your homes, putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad, being available to your own families. 

Isaiah 58:7  (Message)

He rode his bike to school everyday.  She noticed that he sometimes arrived early, before students were allowed into the building, before there was anyone to supervise.  At least twice a week he forgot his lunch.  The days grew shorter and shadows lengthened: air crackled with brittle cold and icy frost lined the edges of moisture on browned leaves and fallen pine needles.  

He rode his bike to school everyday, his thin coat worn and smudged with use.  Sometimes he fell asleep in class, lanky hair hiding eyes on a face that might have seen a washcloth that week.  This wasn't a serve-breakfast school.  She told him he was welcome to come into her classroom on those early mornings.  So he wouldn't have to wait outside.  

I always eat a morning snack, she said.  Would you like a slice of apple? She asked.  And she cut, and shared.  And brought more, because he always ate whatever she had.  Bananas, apples, oranges.  Then granola bars, crackers and cheese, even yogurts with plastic spoons.

He was living in a motel - a weekly-rate motel across the railroad tracks.  Across the highway.  Barely within district.  Everyday, doing homework at the table in the room he shared with his mother, and brother, and two sisters.  Until they could find a better place.  

He rode his bike to school everyday, backpack pinned together with two safety pins, homework hopelessly creased and wrinkled, barely readable through the scribbled crayon and coffee rings.  It smelled of stale cigarettes.  One time she saw a bug escape, antennae sniffing the classroom air when he slapped the backpack on the desk to pull his work out.  Work and bugs from that temporary home.  She kept her face still because his eyes were on her.  He knew she knew.

He rode his bike to school everyday.  Two weeks before Christmas, there had been a delivery made to his home.  Christmas angels.  He had a new backpack.   He had a new coat, and mittens, and a hat to keep his head warm.  He sported new shoes.  Do you believe in Santa Claus?  He asked, showing her, his teacher, during their breakfast snack before school.  Yes, she said.  Absolutely yes.

He helped her in the classroom on those early mornings.  Unstacking chairs, rearranging desks, taking down bulletin boards and pulling out staples.  They didn't talk much.  Sometimes about his family.  Sometimes about hers.  She saw his hopeful smile, his little-boy smile, his big-brother smile.  It bloomed on his face like a wild flower along the summer highway.  Beautiful.  Unexpected. Out of place, but oh-so-bright-and-it-filled-her-heart-with-joy, in the white of winter and the dark before school.  He never showed that smile during class and she felt privileged that he shared it with her. 

And then he wasn't there.  His family had moved.  Out of district.  She discovered.  Out of state.  An opportunity at a real life.  

Dear God, she prayed, thank you.  Keep them safe.  Keep them healthy.  Hold them in your hand. 

Poverty is real in this country. Free and reduced lunches and breakfasts help, but are not always enough to fill in the gaps for students in poverty. Thankfully, church-led, community-sponsored, and within-faculty programs have been put into place to help in situations where families just can't seem to find a way. Back-pack programs help with weekend food. There are used-coat drives, and school supply giveaways. There are many opportunities to be a Christmas angel to children and to families.

Having been in public-school education for the past 17 years, I have seen teachers buy out-of-pocket for their students in need. Without fanfare and without publicity. These students are often mobile, moving from school to school, district to district, and state to state - families in search of a better life, or running from the one they have. The teachers don't do it for thank-you. They don't do it for a pat on the back. They don't do it for recognition. They do it because they care. Because it's the right thing to do. Because it makes a difference.

Linking with:  TellHisStory, Three Word Wednesday, Unforced Rhythms

Comfort

Comfort ye, comfort ye my people,

saith your God.

Isaiah 40:1 (KJV)

Sometimes I have to read in King James.  The forms of speech hold more information for me.  This is imperative - YOU need to comfort my people.  You meaning us.  We need to provide comfort.  And the tense isn't past, it isn't present.  It's future.

The future is now.

Comfort each other.

It's part of God's will.

Blessings on your weekend.

Linking with Still Saturday