Exodus 13: 17-18a When Pharoah let the people go, God did not lead them by way of the land of the Philistines, although that was nearer; for God thought, “If the people face war, they may change their minds and return to Egypt.” So God led the people by the roundabout way…
In geometry, math students learn that the shortest path from point A to point B is a straight line. As a task-oriented individual, I am prone to view life that way. Efficient and concise, the straight line is very appealing. Shouldn’t life follow a similar line? It works in geometry!
Our geometry doesn’t always work for God. Much to my dismay, the best path is not always the most efficient. Like the children of Israel, there are reasons God leads me along ‘the roundabout way.’ There are lessons to be learned, character to be built, a life to be developed in the wilderness.
And, like the Israelites, there are worse things to be spared, sometimes, by the roundabout way. God doesn’t see fit to answer to me. Often I have no idea why I am taken through an experience. Wilderness feels, well, wild and uncontrolled, not logical and not efficient. Yet if I am honest, it is those wilderness times that draw me closer to him. I let go of the mindsets and ways of being that enslaved me. I learn to trust God for more and more of my life.
Because God leads me, the roundabout way is not so desolate as it might have been. When the time there is done, I am more prepared for what comes next than I would have been otherwise. The roundabout way is not NO way, it is the way where God leads. God has blessed the roundabout way with his presence, and I am learning to be grateful for the inefficiency of the path.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
The Sacrament of the Barbecue Sauce
Sometimes the greatest gift we give others is remembering.
Last year in a Stewardship meeting, we were planning our annual hog roast. Mike Miles, an amazing cook, commented that we'd use Sweet Baby Ray's barbecue sauce because everyone liked it. In a probably overly-opinionated way, I said, "Everyone but me. I prefer the eastern North Carolina-style sauce." Vinegary, peppery, not so sweet. Having spent time at Duke, and having sampled many types of sauce in my stay there, I was quite adamant. Mike revised his statement with a chuckle.
This year, I didn't have much to do with planning the hog roast. Mike and his small group spent hours creating the side dishes from scratch, planning and preparing and serving. They sacrificed time and energy to bless their entire church family. When I slipped in the kitchen to thank them, I was told that Mike had made a special sauce, just for me: eastern North Carolina-style, with his own signature tweaking. In all his doing for the whole church, he had done this one thing for me alone.
A year and a half later, Mike remembered our conversation. He recalled what I liked, and he did something about it. How incredibly kind! I felt so honored and humbled by that gesture. He couldn't have blessed me more if his gift had cost a mint of money. Mike remembered, and he acted, and his action showed his care. What's more, in a way I can't explain, that barbecue sauce was more than delicious (which it certainly was). It was a means of grace, a way that God communicated his infinite love and care for me, personally.
Sometimes, all it takes to bring life and joy and blessing to someone else is to remember and act. We think about doing big things for the glory of God, when often what communicates God the best is something rather simple. Mother Teresa said it: "We can do no great things, only small things with great love." I would simply add that small things done with love are indeed great things in the Kingdom of God.
Last year in a Stewardship meeting, we were planning our annual hog roast. Mike Miles, an amazing cook, commented that we'd use Sweet Baby Ray's barbecue sauce because everyone liked it. In a probably overly-opinionated way, I said, "Everyone but me. I prefer the eastern North Carolina-style sauce." Vinegary, peppery, not so sweet. Having spent time at Duke, and having sampled many types of sauce in my stay there, I was quite adamant. Mike revised his statement with a chuckle.
This year, I didn't have much to do with planning the hog roast. Mike and his small group spent hours creating the side dishes from scratch, planning and preparing and serving. They sacrificed time and energy to bless their entire church family. When I slipped in the kitchen to thank them, I was told that Mike had made a special sauce, just for me: eastern North Carolina-style, with his own signature tweaking. In all his doing for the whole church, he had done this one thing for me alone.
A year and a half later, Mike remembered our conversation. He recalled what I liked, and he did something about it. How incredibly kind! I felt so honored and humbled by that gesture. He couldn't have blessed me more if his gift had cost a mint of money. Mike remembered, and he acted, and his action showed his care. What's more, in a way I can't explain, that barbecue sauce was more than delicious (which it certainly was). It was a means of grace, a way that God communicated his infinite love and care for me, personally.
Sometimes, all it takes to bring life and joy and blessing to someone else is to remember and act. We think about doing big things for the glory of God, when often what communicates God the best is something rather simple. Mother Teresa said it: "We can do no great things, only small things with great love." I would simply add that small things done with love are indeed great things in the Kingdom of God.
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