Hands and feet
When I was in fourth or fifth grade, my family adopted another less fortunate family for Christmas. Whether we did this on our own or as part of a larger group I don't know. What I do know is I stood in their tiny apartment, freshly wrapped gifts in the corner, bags of groceries and a rent check on the kitchen counter, and watched my mother and that family's mother wrapped in each other's arms weeping tears of joy and gratitude.
It is a moment I will never, ever forget, two women who didn't know each other from Adam so overwhelmed by the power of humility and loving like Jesus.
Right then and there I made the decision that I was going to serve the Lord with my life. Through the years I have watched my Mom and Dad pour themselves out for God, for any in need. Acts of kindness and sacrifice big and small. And with this, I know no other way than to give. To work. To make even the smallest difference.
I so love where God has planted me right now. Pretty much every day contains a Heavenward thanks that His will for my life was exactly what I had always hoped for. And He does indeed give me a multitude of ways to serve. The majority are small in scope, and a great many involve food. Go figure.
But probably my busiest self, a role I both cherish and fight with, a strange and precious outlet for sharing the Gospel without a word, comes in the form of our church's Easter drama. The Cry of Christ for ten years has brought to life portions of Jesus' walk on this earth, the sacrifice He paid for us, and the victory that will someday be shared with His children.
I've been there from the beginning. As invisible as possible, organizing everything you can think of, blitzing unsuspecting would-be actors in the church hallways, designing flyers over lunch breaks, whisper-shouting backstage directives, finding myself smothered in the folds of the curtain while gazing out a tiny slot at the story of my Savior.
It's priceless, I tell you. Brandon has been in it from the start as well, running sound and lecturing on proper microphone usage and providing comic relief and talking us all off the ledge when we're paralyzed by trying to do all this in our own power.
Service takes many, many forms, y'all.
It has been my prayer ever since the boys were born that somehow they too would fall in love with serving the Lord, that Brandon and I could model constant service the way our parents did, and that we could all serve Him together as a family. Better together than we could ever apart.
It's happening.
Trey's at the camera and Aden's at the curtain and we're working with eagerness and joy in our hearts and I. Can't. Even. The words, the scriptures, the songs heard over and over are sticking and these boys are learning the whys and hows in such a cool way. They're becoming the hands and feet of Christ, along with a hundred other people in this strange Easter observance, our little family joined together with the bigger family, all doing our jobs because we're about to burst with the love of Jesus.
There aren't words to describe my gratitude for this ministry, the opportunity to be part of the body of Christ, my undefinable position in it, and the full circle it has brought to my life and prayers. My sons watching me, watching us, pour ourselves out. And this not a sacrifice, but an act of worship, a gift to the One who gave everything for us. Treasures in Heaven. May these boys know no other way.
It is a moment I will never, ever forget, two women who didn't know each other from Adam so overwhelmed by the power of humility and loving like Jesus.
Right then and there I made the decision that I was going to serve the Lord with my life. Through the years I have watched my Mom and Dad pour themselves out for God, for any in need. Acts of kindness and sacrifice big and small. And with this, I know no other way than to give. To work. To make even the smallest difference.
I so love where God has planted me right now. Pretty much every day contains a Heavenward thanks that His will for my life was exactly what I had always hoped for. And He does indeed give me a multitude of ways to serve. The majority are small in scope, and a great many involve food. Go figure.
But probably my busiest self, a role I both cherish and fight with, a strange and precious outlet for sharing the Gospel without a word, comes in the form of our church's Easter drama. The Cry of Christ for ten years has brought to life portions of Jesus' walk on this earth, the sacrifice He paid for us, and the victory that will someday be shared with His children.
I've been there from the beginning. As invisible as possible, organizing everything you can think of, blitzing unsuspecting would-be actors in the church hallways, designing flyers over lunch breaks, whisper-shouting backstage directives, finding myself smothered in the folds of the curtain while gazing out a tiny slot at the story of my Savior.
It's priceless, I tell you. Brandon has been in it from the start as well, running sound and lecturing on proper microphone usage and providing comic relief and talking us all off the ledge when we're paralyzed by trying to do all this in our own power.
Service takes many, many forms, y'all.
It has been my prayer ever since the boys were born that somehow they too would fall in love with serving the Lord, that Brandon and I could model constant service the way our parents did, and that we could all serve Him together as a family. Better together than we could ever apart.
It's happening.
Trey's at the camera and Aden's at the curtain and we're working with eagerness and joy in our hearts and I. Can't. Even. The words, the scriptures, the songs heard over and over are sticking and these boys are learning the whys and hows in such a cool way. They're becoming the hands and feet of Christ, along with a hundred other people in this strange Easter observance, our little family joined together with the bigger family, all doing our jobs because we're about to burst with the love of Jesus.
There aren't words to describe my gratitude for this ministry, the opportunity to be part of the body of Christ, my undefinable position in it, and the full circle it has brought to my life and prayers. My sons watching me, watching us, pour ourselves out. And this not a sacrifice, but an act of worship, a gift to the One who gave everything for us. Treasures in Heaven. May these boys know no other way.
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