Sunshine and Shadows

I was sitting at the office this morning, contemplating life: the stuff I liked about it, the stuff I didn't. (Sometimes, like today, I feel overwhelmed by the stuff I don't like so much about life..it's easy to do. I mean, it's a challenge to embrace the "awesome" when you feel pushed down by opposition. That's just the way it is, right? Even the optimist sometimes has to search for the silver lining.)

Anyway, as I said before, I was sitting in the office, contemplating life when I looked out the window at just the right time. You see, there's a beautiful, sturdy, old brick church across the street from my office, complete with mesmerizing stained-glass windows. I love to look at it, bask in its character. Today, though, the thing that caught my attention wasn't the building itself, but rather the shadows cast on the side of the building by the small maple trees that line the path between the church and the road. The sun was appearing and it was bright and powerful this morning. Those shadows were so dark, so obvious, so defined. So frail.

That's when it occurred to me.

Life's shadows are often cast upon our sturdy, beautiful souls. They write upon our faces. They threaten to consume our identity. But they cannot.  In reality, shadows are simply a reflection; an illusion. The sun, until it reaches its zenith, casts those shadows.  Yet the sun is bright and strong and will, in time dissolve the darkness. 

This experience was a testimony to me that a shadow is simply a reminder that something brighter is appearing right now across the horizon of life.

So, it is now forever etched into my life.

Whenever there is a shadow cast (whether literally or figuratively speaking), I will always take a moment to pause, look around for the source of light and then move forward through the darkness with strength, holding tight to the hope of what will rise just beyond the horizon.

Pharisees...and Me

In the bible, the Pharisee's were generally a proud, self-righteous people. They were the "tattle-tales" that everyone dreads. They were the children who waited and watched until they found someone doing something wrong and then they'd scream at the top of their lungs to get that someone in trouble.

In John 8, we read such an account.

"And the scribes and Pharisees brought into [Jesus] a woman taken in adultery: and when they had set her in the midst,

They say unto him, Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act."

The story goes on to tell that they tried very hard to convince the Lord that this woman should be stoned, according to the law of Moses, which they lived to the very detail. Jesus ignored them at first and then responded,

"He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her."

The Pharisees walked away, knowing that Jesus had created a verbal trap for them: If they threw a stone, they would be lying and everyone would know it because they, too, were known to often commit the same sin (yet THEIR sin was justified in their eyes). If they walked away, they admitted their sins thus damaging their pride. They walked away.

As I read this account, I was reminded of how intimately Christ knows our hearts. Here was a woman committing a terrible sin, but at that time it was not uncommon for women to turn to this way out of utter desperation. We don't know much about this woman or her reasons, and I would suspect that neither did the Pharisees. But we DO know that Jesus could see deep into her heart. He knew what events in her life that led her to this end. He saw her story from the beginning.

He also knew the hearts of the Pharisees and what led them to become who they were.

Then I was reminded that sometimes I am like a Pharisee.

Sometimes I look at people and get angry or frustrated or afraid at what they are or the decisions they make. Sometimes I puff myself up and pride blinds me. Sometimes I am too quick to point fingers, when I should be using those fingers to fix my own problems. Sometimes I guffaw and call out to the Lord saying things like, "I'm right. They're wrong." or "Why aren't they being punished?" or "Who do they think they are?"

These sacred words in the story today reminded me that I am in no place to judge. It is not my responsibility to present others sins when I have so many to work on myself. The words I SHOULD be thinking are "Who am I to judge them?" I was reminded that only the Lord knows the hearts of a person. Only HE knows what events happened in their lives to lead them to the lives they now lead, the decisions they now make. Only Christ has the flawless ability to pass a perfect judgement.

It is my job to make them feel loved, not degraded. It is my responsibility to recognize the sin that's my own, not cast the first stone.

Thoughts on Bread

During my scripture study this morning, I came across one of the passages where Christ fed the multitude. It's amazing to me to try and mentally comprehend how this is possible. Five thousand persons. Five loaves of bread and two fishes! How can that really happen? How can that possibly be done? And then have an overabundance left over! My little brain cannot fully wrap around this miracle, still I know that it happened. I know it to be true.

As I was reading the beautiful account in Mark, I began thinking how I'm like a little loaf of bread: fluffy, delicious, homemade, a great accent to any dinner table, good-smelling, full of way too many calories...mmm-mmmmm...



Wait, no that's not what I was thinking!...I was thinking more along the lines of if those little loaves of bread could think, what do you think they'd be thinking?: "Wow! That's a LOT of people and I'm just little ole me." "You're gonna tear me into HOW MANY pieces?" "I sure hope everyone likes me and no one spits me out!" "How can I possibly be stretched out that thin." "You want me to do WHAT?" "Don't forget, I'm only one little loaf of bread." "Uh, are you sure about this, Master?" "Wait! You forgot the BUTTER!"

Still, Jesus Christ, Master of ALL MIRACLES took that little tiny loaf of bread and somehow gave it the strength to be stretched out and spread out and fulfill it's purpose in life: to bless the lives of thousands there at the hill, millions throughout history.

And sometimes, I feel like that little loaf of bread. Sometimes I look at life and stress out, thinking, "How can I possibly do all that is asked of me?" "How can I even think of taking on ONE MORE thing in my life?" "I'm only human, after all." "I sure hope everyone likes me and no one spits me out!" (I guess I'm more like a loaf of bread than I thought....)

Maybe no one else ever feels like this. I do, though. I do A LOT. And I just have to remember the scripture that reminds us, "Where much is given, much is required...." I've been given a lot. You've been given a lot. Therefore, the Lord expects a lot of us. And if we are being used for His purpose, He will somehow perform a miracle in our lives which will give us strength and energy to allow us to be spread in all the many directions He needs us to in order to bless the lives of others, which in turn will bless the lives of others, which in turn will bless the lives of, that's right, others.

Sooooo.....

Be a loaf of bread. Be any flavor of that yummy stuff you want: be rye or the kind sprinkled with seeds or whole wheat or sourdough or pumpernickel or banana or plain ol' white. But whatever you do, make sure, that you allow yourself to be shaped and molded in the hands of Christ...and then when He asks something of you that seems impossible, something you think you're less than adequate for, something you feel will completely overwhelm you, something that would take nothing less than a miracle, then turn your life to Him and see how He will sustain your efforts to make it be enough.