Out of the Mouths of Babes

“I don’t like church, but I like the donuts,” a three-year-old Morgan announced one Sunday morning years ago, as we made our way to church. Pete and I, though amused with her honesty, were a bit concerned. We want church to be a positive experience for everyone in our family, so we asked her to elaborate.

“I don’t have very many friends in Sunday school,” she explained.

“Jesus is your friend,” we told her. “He is with you and wants church to be fun. Let's pray that you'll make some new friends today.”

We prayed God would be with Morgan, that she would have the courage to meet new people, and have a favorable experience.

Later, after Sunday school, she beamed.

“Everybody played with me and we learned about Zacchaeus. My class was so, so fun! Can I get a donut now?”

On the drive home, she informed us, “Well actually, I do like church, but I REALLY like the donuts.”


Note: It has been three years since this experience and the donuts have long since become secondary. Both our daughters have learned so much about Jesus and have many, many great friends in Sunday school. They look forward to church each week. Pete and I are so grateful for the Children's Ministry teachers and staff who work so hard to help our little ones learn about Jesus and encourage them in becoming little people of God. :)

A Listening Problem…

I scrambled out of my seatbelt and slid down the upholstered seats on my stomach until my feet hit the familiar safety of the running boards. Then I was free.

The sight before me was more than my ingenuous eyes could behold. Every inch of space before me was filled with blossoms and blooms each in a hue so rich and deep it was if the palette that painted the earth was drawn from the colored flowers before me. Tulips, daffodils, hydrangea, and roses were clustered together in pots of deep purple and royal red. Lilies the color of rich, sweet honey grew next to towering sunflowers. Tubs of larkspur, gladiola, and daisies littered the ground at my feet along with vines of ivy that crept up forest-green plastic stakes. Trees soared overhead; they were not as tall as the trees in my backyard, but they still towered above me, lending a chill to the shady spots where their foliage and leaves eclipsed the sun and the cement was still puddled from a recent watering.

“Stay close to me and don’t touch anything.”

My mom’s voice came to me as if in a dream, a voice singing in my slumber. She sounded far away. Of course, I did not really hear her—though there were no other noises to compete with her voice, my head buzzed excitedly with the perfumed scent of each flower and the felt-like touch of each petal. I wanted to peer at every plant, to drag my fingers along each bud, to experience this new world on my own terms.

“Be careful of the bird bath. Don’t touch it, it looks unstable.”

Whaaaaat? A bird bath? Now that was worth exploring! I stole a glance at my mom, who was busy selecting flowers for her garden. When she looked back at me, I smiled my best “I’m not up to anything” grin and waited until she went back to her list. Then I was off.

I didn’t even know birds had bathtubs. I had never seen a bird take a bath…this I had to see!My insatiable curiosity ignited like a match to a dry bunch of kindling.

I circled the nursery grounds and couldn’t find anything that looked like a bird’s bathtub. I walked through again, looking for a small porcelain basin, perhaps with claw feet, the size of a shoebox. I found nothing. Then, I came to a big stone pedestal with what looked like a big bowl balanced on top of it. The top of the bowl was a bit higher than eye level. The bird bath was up there, I knew it. I had to look.

“Be careful, Celeste. Don’t touch that.”

I am quite sure I never heard the second warning and if I did, I could not have possibly been expected to listen. What would the other Kindergartners think when I told them about my discovery? A bird's bath! I was Robinson Crusoe! I stood tall on my tiptoes and grasped the ledge of the heavy stone basin. And then I pulled myself up to get a peek.

WHAM!

A pain seared my toe like a hot iron. The stone basin was no longer balanced on the pedestal, but laying squarely on my right sandal-clad foot.

“Oh, Celeste! Oh, Celeste! I told you not to touch that bird bath.” My mom rushed over and summoning the strength of the Incredible Hulk, lifted the basin off my pancaked foot. She scooped me up, a five-year-old explosion of tears and snot, rushed me to the backseat of the Suburban, and tended to my throbbing foot. The entire toenail had been sheared from my not-so-big-yet big right toe.

“I am so sorry,” my mom said. “Oh, if only you would have listened.”

If only I would have listened.

More than thirty years later that phrase rings true time and again. I can think of myriad times when I could have been spared pain (and lots of trouble) if I would only have listened…to my parents, to my husband, and to my God.

The pull to do my own thing is still very strong—sometimes it is too strong for my own good. And so I usually push on with my own agenda, eventually limping back, wounded, regretting my transgressions.

For me, listening takes time. It takes quiet. And it takes discipline to yield. From experience, I know when I slow down and quiet my mind, I can more clearly hear God’s whispers. I hear His warnings, encouragements— and His truth.

My life is much easier when I take time to listen and obey…

But like the five-year-old int he nursery, I am still learning to do so.

I am getting better about my quiet time with the Lord. Praying He’ll teach me to listen, use me to reach others, and make me into all of the person He created me to be.

(And I have to admit: I occasionally pray that He’ll help my daughters to listen to me…because sometimes they have their own agenda, too…)

I wonder where they get THAT from?

“Challenging the Norm”

Counterculture.

Counterculture is a word that I’ve been contemplating a lot lately. It’s a term that has many interpretations. When you say “counterculture,” some people conjure up the 60’s, drugs, and hippies. I, on the other hand, think it simply means doing the opposite of what everyone is else doing. Going against the norm.

Some may think attending church—being an active part of a church community—is counterculture—not the norm.

Based on stats, the majority of people don’t regularly attend church, though most people say they believe in God.

So where is the breakdown? Why, when Sunday morning rolls around, do more people opt “out” than “in”?

The reasons are different for everyone. Some may have had horrible church experiences in the past; some may feel the pull of other activities and demands (especially in Colorado—with skiing, kids’ sports schedules and the like), some may be fearful of not fitting in or feeling uncomfortable. The list goes on...

Pete and I have been part of Smoky Hill Vineyard for almost nine years now and while we loved it from Day One, it took us a while to really to get in the game. While SHV had much to offer us in terms of learning about Jesus and reaching out to others—our own plans took precedence. We had people to see, stuff to do. When we had a slow weekend, we went to church but did “our” thing the rest of the time.

The irony is, we really wanted to live lives of purpose, lives that make a difference—but in retrospect, we weren’t actively doing much about it.

Then Jesus caught our hearts—I mean really caught them!

Over the years, we have participated in many different outreaches—from helping serve the poor in Denver to heartbroken widows in Chennai, India. Our kids have helped at the food bank and helped clean the house of a military family. Through SHV, we have the opportunity to serve others in ways we never thought possible.

Since we’ve been at SHV, some other stuff has happened, too:

We had a second baby (who is now six!).
We’ve navigated job changes.
Our oldest daughter battled a brain tumor.
I’ve written and published two books.
Our marriage has been strengthened.
We’ve made lifelong friends.

Our lives are better—and blessed—for being a part of the SHV community.

There is so much MORE for all of us. More growth, more friendship, more fun, more LIFE.

When Pete and I were in the “majority” we were missing out on a big chunk of God’s blessing. Now we are challenging the norm—and living the good life—as a part of SHV.

But here's the deal: While I may be contemplating the meaning of counterculture, God doesn't give a hoot about it. He's not into the norm and challenging it. He's into transforming lives!

He's contemplating you... and me... His love... and how to get it to a world in need. And guess what? He's come up with a phenomenal... an awesome idea! It's called the local church.