While catching up on Katie Davis's recent blogs (for more information, check out kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com or amazima.org/), her most recent one really caught my attention. She started the post with these words, "Around here, we live bent low." I immediately thought she was referring to the amount of prayer she and her ministry do, but at the end of the post, I stood corrected.
Katie was instead referring to the servant heart that Christians are called to have. As Christians, we must bend low for others. She used several examples that she had witnessed in her own life: bending low to paint some girls' toenails, bending low to offer a sucker to a homeless man, and bending low to help her daughters and students with math problems. Christians must bend low and get their hands dirty helping others. They must be willing to experience exhaustion and fatigue at the service of others. Sound tiring? Katie Davis had yet another reminder...
"People say, “Don’t you get tired?” and yes, I do. But I’m face to face with Jesus in the dirt, and the more I bend the harder and better and fuller this life gets. And sure, we are tired, but oh we are happy. Because bent down low is where we find fullness of Joy."
What struck me the most from her quote is that she said life gets "harder" the more she bends, but it also gets "better and fuller." How can something so hard be so much more fulfilling? Because bending low is serving God. And serving God is hard work. But ultimately, that hard work will be rewarded with the inheritance of all of God's riches in Heaven. Those riches will add up to quite a bit more than forty hours a week at minimum wage ever will... eternity in Heaven.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
In honor of Father's Day...
Yes, Father's Day was yesterday. My Father's Day gift was a little late to my dad. In fact, I only spent about 15 minutes with him on the special day. So, after failing so miserably on that holiday that will never ever possibly be for me, it's only fitting for a post regarding fathers (and mothers) to be a day late.
I spent most of this weekend in Sioux Falls, staying with the family of a couple Dordt friends. We spent a significant amount of time in suburbia, at Falls Park, driving around the city, and attended a rather large and youthful church on Sunday, so I was able to observe many families interacting. For some reason--maybe because of the upcoming holiday or maybe simply because I will have a family someday--I was very interested in the family dynamics going on around me. I saw parents pushing their children on swings, catching them at the bottom of slides, and chasing them around on the wood chips. I observed a baptism followed by the newborn child's older brothers singing a song of dedication for the ministry of music in the service. I passed by a nursery full of crying infants and rambunctious toddlers. Families and small children were everywhere.
Sometime during these observations, I was reminded of the reality that my family had once looked like these. A mom, a dad, a six-year-old nerdy brunette boy, four-year-old crabby redheaded girl, and a collic-y blonde newborn baby boy once roamed the streets of Hospers. Strollers and bikes with training wheels cruised those cracked sidewalks. And cries, whimpers, arguments, pouts, and plenty of spankings filled a God-centered household. Yes, we were the Janssen clan. I know from stories shared that my brothers and I were a handful. David was a space cadet. He would tend to wander off while spacing off or with a book in hand. I was an energetic, yet attitude-filled child with the flaming orange locks to match my personality. And Jonathan, well, he collic-y from day one, which I'm sure made for a hectic life. The boys became best friends quickly and often left their only sister to play alone with her dolls all afternoon. (It wasn't really as bad as I made that sound.)
Regardless of the memories my parents have told us about, the young family we remember only through pictures and stories still exists today because of love. A love that a Father showed to all of His children through His Son. A love that that same Father showed to the young parents of that family. And a love that those parents were able to model their own love for their mischievous children after.
Yesterday was Father's Day. A day in which every child is supposed to remember his or her father and thank him for the love and support he has given to his children. On Father's Day, my first feelings were that of remorse and regret. Regret for all the pain and difficulty I've given both my parents. Remorse for making them have to struggle to spank me, discipline me, and show the tough love that they're so good at granting. My parents have raised me with a selfless love for almost 21 years. They gave up their carefree, youthful lives to marry and acquire an immense amount of responsibility and commitment through their relationship with one another. They decided to give birth to David, me, and finally, Jonathan, giving even more of their personal, spare time up in order to commit their lives to raising Christian children. Finally, they turned their backs against the world and chose to commit their lives to Christ before they had even met one another, knowing that one day they may both be called to influence their children in the same way.
My parents never gave me everything I wanted. In fact, our upbringing could be considered frugal by many. I am a PK, after all. However, this has never bothered me. My parents were able to give us everything we needed and that is all that mattered. They provided us with a Christian home, full stomachs, clothing, and all the love they had to offer... everything necessary for a life of service to God.
More importantly, though, is the truth that my Heavenly Father has freely given me everything I could never deserve and more.
Two examples of beautiful love left me with my own feelings of love, gratitude, and obedience at the end of Father's Day. Obedience..a feeling that will always need work. Gratitude..for the self-sacrificial commitments. And finally, love..for two parents willing to sacrifice their lives for mine..and for my true Father, the one who did sacrifice His own Son's life for mine..and my parents'.
Lesson learned: The next time I decided to argue with, ignore, or pick a fight with my parents, it is my prayer that my Father's Day feelings are stirred within me once again and that instead, I am able to embrace my God-given parents with the same love that they raised me with.
I spent most of this weekend in Sioux Falls, staying with the family of a couple Dordt friends. We spent a significant amount of time in suburbia, at Falls Park, driving around the city, and attended a rather large and youthful church on Sunday, so I was able to observe many families interacting. For some reason--maybe because of the upcoming holiday or maybe simply because I will have a family someday--I was very interested in the family dynamics going on around me. I saw parents pushing their children on swings, catching them at the bottom of slides, and chasing them around on the wood chips. I observed a baptism followed by the newborn child's older brothers singing a song of dedication for the ministry of music in the service. I passed by a nursery full of crying infants and rambunctious toddlers. Families and small children were everywhere.
Sometime during these observations, I was reminded of the reality that my family had once looked like these. A mom, a dad, a six-year-old nerdy brunette boy, four-year-old crabby redheaded girl, and a collic-y blonde newborn baby boy once roamed the streets of Hospers. Strollers and bikes with training wheels cruised those cracked sidewalks. And cries, whimpers, arguments, pouts, and plenty of spankings filled a God-centered household. Yes, we were the Janssen clan. I know from stories shared that my brothers and I were a handful. David was a space cadet. He would tend to wander off while spacing off or with a book in hand. I was an energetic, yet attitude-filled child with the flaming orange locks to match my personality. And Jonathan, well, he collic-y from day one, which I'm sure made for a hectic life. The boys became best friends quickly and often left their only sister to play alone with her dolls all afternoon. (It wasn't really as bad as I made that sound.)
Regardless of the memories my parents have told us about, the young family we remember only through pictures and stories still exists today because of love. A love that a Father showed to all of His children through His Son. A love that that same Father showed to the young parents of that family. And a love that those parents were able to model their own love for their mischievous children after.
Yesterday was Father's Day. A day in which every child is supposed to remember his or her father and thank him for the love and support he has given to his children. On Father's Day, my first feelings were that of remorse and regret. Regret for all the pain and difficulty I've given both my parents. Remorse for making them have to struggle to spank me, discipline me, and show the tough love that they're so good at granting. My parents have raised me with a selfless love for almost 21 years. They gave up their carefree, youthful lives to marry and acquire an immense amount of responsibility and commitment through their relationship with one another. They decided to give birth to David, me, and finally, Jonathan, giving even more of their personal, spare time up in order to commit their lives to raising Christian children. Finally, they turned their backs against the world and chose to commit their lives to Christ before they had even met one another, knowing that one day they may both be called to influence their children in the same way.
My parents never gave me everything I wanted. In fact, our upbringing could be considered frugal by many. I am a PK, after all. However, this has never bothered me. My parents were able to give us everything we needed and that is all that mattered. They provided us with a Christian home, full stomachs, clothing, and all the love they had to offer... everything necessary for a life of service to God.
More importantly, though, is the truth that my Heavenly Father has freely given me everything I could never deserve and more.
Two examples of beautiful love left me with my own feelings of love, gratitude, and obedience at the end of Father's Day. Obedience..a feeling that will always need work. Gratitude..for the self-sacrificial commitments. And finally, love..for two parents willing to sacrifice their lives for mine..and for my true Father, the one who did sacrifice His own Son's life for mine..and my parents'.
Lesson learned: The next time I decided to argue with, ignore, or pick a fight with my parents, it is my prayer that my Father's Day feelings are stirred within me once again and that instead, I am able to embrace my God-given parents with the same love that they raised me with.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Snake = Dead; Fear = Alive
I killed a snake today. Actually, I killed THE snake today.
Last week, while mowing for an older couple across town, a black snake slivered out from a hole in the ground near an old tree stump. I shrieked, literally. And believe me, those girly screams are not something I do. But, this was definitely one high and girly-sounding little shriek. After watching the snake slither away through the grass until I couldn't see it anymore, I practically sprinted laps around the backyard with the mower, so worried that the snake was going to come out of nowhere and attack me.
Needless to say, I was a bit nervous to mow that lawn again today. I did my trimming, mowed a few laps around the outline of the backyard, and was just getting close to the tree stump. I had been checking my every move, looking for something black and slithery lurking in the wild, dandelion-infested lawn. As I rounded the tree stump, I saw it. Basking in the sun on the top of the stump, it was as if the snake saw me at the same moment. It began to quickly slide away, slipping down the side of the stump and into the grass. Not ready to sprint laps around the lawn again, I decided to go after the snake. I cut a path around the stump towards the snake, wildly maneuvering my mower-turned-death trap into the snakes path. Without another thought, I simply road over the snake.
My thoughts afterwards? "Whew. Glad that's gone. I wonder if he has brothers at home under the stump? I sure do hope not. Wait a second, I just brutally killed that snake. Did I actually kill the snake? Did I really only drive over it? Maybe it slithered up through the blades and is just hanging out in my mower, waiting to attack. What if it actually got away and I didn't see it?
Yep, you guessed it. There's definitely still not complete peace about snakes in my mind.
Last week, while mowing for an older couple across town, a black snake slivered out from a hole in the ground near an old tree stump. I shrieked, literally. And believe me, those girly screams are not something I do. But, this was definitely one high and girly-sounding little shriek. After watching the snake slither away through the grass until I couldn't see it anymore, I practically sprinted laps around the backyard with the mower, so worried that the snake was going to come out of nowhere and attack me.
Needless to say, I was a bit nervous to mow that lawn again today. I did my trimming, mowed a few laps around the outline of the backyard, and was just getting close to the tree stump. I had been checking my every move, looking for something black and slithery lurking in the wild, dandelion-infested lawn. As I rounded the tree stump, I saw it. Basking in the sun on the top of the stump, it was as if the snake saw me at the same moment. It began to quickly slide away, slipping down the side of the stump and into the grass. Not ready to sprint laps around the lawn again, I decided to go after the snake. I cut a path around the stump towards the snake, wildly maneuvering my mower-turned-death trap into the snakes path. Without another thought, I simply road over the snake.
My thoughts afterwards? "Whew. Glad that's gone. I wonder if he has brothers at home under the stump? I sure do hope not. Wait a second, I just brutally killed that snake. Did I actually kill the snake? Did I really only drive over it? Maybe it slithered up through the blades and is just hanging out in my mower, waiting to attack. What if it actually got away and I didn't see it?
Yep, you guessed it. There's definitely still not complete peace about snakes in my mind.
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