Do You Have a Team?

It’s football playoff time. Whether you watch the NFL or not, you are probably aware that the Super Bowl is approaching.

It occurs to me that no quarterback—even Brett Favre—goes to the Super Bowl without his whole team. He needs the offensive line to protect him, the running backs to hand the ball to, and the receivers to catch the long bombs. Of course, the coaches provide the overall strategy and training, “encourage” the conditioning and practice between games, and celebrate the successes along with the players. Then there are the trainers, the water boys, the people who get the uniforms ready, and on and on.

If you’re not into football, consider the challenge of climbing Mount Everest. Do you realize that, to climb to the top of the world’s highest mountain, you need a team of sherpas, guides, and other support people at least double the number of climbers? Many adventure trek companies will provide one Sherpa per climber just to carry your extra oxygen for the ascent to the summit.

So maybe you don’t care about football and have no intention of climbing Mount Everest. But whether you're a writer, a speaker, a stay-at-home mom, or working toward any other goal, some days those efforts can seem as daunting as climbing a 20,000-foot mountain.

That’s why you need a team. Surround yourself with friends who share your goal and your faith. They will cheer you on, encourage you in your “conditioning” and persistence, and celebrate your successes with you. And, in turn, you can do the same for them.

He encouraged them with these words: "Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or discouraged" (2 Chronicles 32:6-7, NIV).

Handprints

I read a true story recently about a "ghostly" image on a wall of a house that was being remodeled.

Seems the homeowner was using "mud" (joint compound) to smooth the old plaster walls so they could be painted or papered. When he got down from the ladder, he noticed a hand print in the wet compound, but was sure he had not placed his hand on the wall. He wondered if the house was haunted.

Over the next couple of hours, the image gradually faded. His ultimate theory: the original builder had put his hand in the wet plaster, leaving a very shallow indentation. It did not show up until the new owner covered over it. Because it was slightly deeper than the rest of the wall, the print showed up as a different color, eventually disappearing when the entire coating was dry.

That made me wonder: does my Builder's hand print reveal itself in my life? I pray that my Creator's image remains strong, no matter how old I get. As long as I rely on Him, maybe I won't cover up His mark.

"Relying on the power of God, who has saved us and called us with a holy calling, not according to our works, but according to His own purpose and grace" (2 Timothy 1:8-9, HCSB).

Truth and Fiction

My husband and I were discussing my writing efforts. He's an avid reader of nonfiction, and I love fiction. We talked about the difference.
"What you're writing is lies," he said. (Remember he is an incessant teaser.)
"It didn't actually happen," I retorted, "but I am writing Truth."
He mentioned my protagonist's name. "Have you ever met her?"
That was a tough question. It's not easy to explain an author's relationship with her characters. "I know her," I said.
"But you've never actually seen her, shook hands with her?"
"No, but--" I knew I would lose the "argument."
"And your other characters? Have you seen them?"
I conceded that I had not.
"So you are writing lies." He thought he had me, but I wasn't giving up that easily.
"What I write may not be real, but it is Truth. With a capital T," I countered.
That led to a discussion of capital letters. When I suggested it was lunch time, he asked, "Is that with a capital L?"
His teasing got me to thinking, though, about the significance of what I write. Telling a compelling story is an admirable objective. But as a Christian, my goal is to tell a meaningful story. To make my characters come to life in a way that the spiritual concepts will have meaning for the readers' own lives.
Unless I accomplish that, I may as well be telling lies.

The Dragon's Gone

A week ago, I wrote about the dragon that kept nagging me as I waited for the results of a medical test.

Thankfully, the dragon is gone now. Almost like Puff, that dragon has “ceased his fearless roar” and slipped into his cave.

In other words, the test was completely negative. There was, as my doctor said, “nothing there.”

It’s the second time in my life that God has answered prayers about a cancer scare in an unexpected way. Rather than the “expected” possibilities—a cyst, a benign tumor, or early-stage, treatable cancer—He has taken a possibility and turned it into a nonexistent situation.

At these times, I wonder why He has blessed me this way, when friends are even now struggling through chemotherapy. No matter what the outcome of my test, I know that it would have been an answer to prayer. God gave me that peace throughout the time of waiting.

The beauty of it is that God doesn’t have to explain Himself to us. Someday, we will be able to ask Him face-to-face—but by that time, it won’t even be important. So for now, I just want to praise Him. And rely on God’s presence to keep the dragon of fear, worry, and doubt hidden away in its cave, no matter what the future brings my way.

For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline. (2 Timothy 1:7, NLT)

This is my command—be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:9, NLT)

Dragon in the Closet

There’s been a dragon in my closet this week.

As much as I’ve tried to hide it or ignore it, he’s been there. And every so often he sticks his ugly head out and makes sure I know he’s around.

I learned late last week that I needed a medical test for something that could be potentially devastating—or merely an inconvenience. The test is over now, but I won’t know the results for a few more days.

The question, in these situations, is always: who do I tell, and when? My first instinct is to ask for prayer from everyone I know. This would be my feeble effort to ward off the worst.

I believe in prayer power, of course. At the same time, I don’t want loved ones to be unnecessarily alarmed.

So I shared the concern with those closest to me physically—close friends at work and church. And held off telling most of those who live farther away. Once I have more information and know how they can help, I will tell them.

Most of the time, I have felt an uncommon peace. I know that my life is in God’s hands, and I think I’m ready for whatever His plan is.

But every now and then, the Worry Dragon breathes on me. He reminds me of the worst possible scenarios. He makes me feel alone. He threatens me with pain and uncertainty. He tells me that he is always there, no matter how hard I pretend that he’s not.

But God’s Word reminds me that God is always here, too, right beside me. With His help, I have tamed the dragon every time.

Both a devotional and a friend reminded me of Isaiah 41:10, and it’s become my new favorite verse. In the Message, it reads:

Don't panic. I'm with you.
There's no need to fear for I'm your God.
I'll give you strength. I'll help you.
I'll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you.

So you can go away, Dragon. I’m not listening to you any more.

Meeting a Need

While taking care of two of my grandsons last week, I was blessed to observe the 21-month-old react to having a new baby brother.

While he was uncertain at first, he showed a servant’s heart within a few hours after the baby came home. His dad (my son) was putting the baby in the crib and asked his wife if the baby needed a blanket.

Next thing we knew, big brother had gone to his room, retrieved his own blanket and stuffed toy—his bedtime favorites—and carried them to the baby’s room, where he put them in the crib. He was willing to give up—at least for a short while—things that are precious to him in order to help his brother.

I pray that his willingness and desire to meet the needs of others will grow as he matures.

Jesus told His disciples that serving others will be rewarded one day: “‘I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me’ (Matthew 25:35-40, NIV).”

Most of the time, I am unwilling to give up my own convenience, much less my most treasured possessions, to help someone in need. But watching my young grandson do so has increased my own desire to make sacrifices to meet the needs of the “least of these,” in order to serve the King of Kings.

The Joy of a Child

I’ve just returned from spending a week with my 1½-year-old grandson (and a few days with his newborn brother).
Those days made me appreciate—once again—the small things in life that we take for granted.
What fun it was to show him animals at the zoo that he had seen only in picture books or on TV. In one of the monkey exhibits, a paste had been put on the inside glass that the monkeys would lick off, and my grandson—as did many other children—took great joy in putting his finger or his mouth up to the monkey’s mouth.
I watched his excitement at being close to airplanes as they took off and landed.
He laughed when his granddad put his favorite ball into a basketball net, where it got stuck. Granddad found a stick to push the ball up and out of the net, which got more laughter—and, of course, pleas to do it again. And I was grateful that he didn’t laugh when Grandma took several tries to put the ball into the basket.
Do you remember when you got excited at seeing those big planes fly? Or the first time you saw “wild” animals in a zoo or at a circus? The success of putting the ball in the net, or the joy of going down a slide?
I was also thrilled to hold my new grandson within an hour of his birth—something I did not get to experience with my first two grandchildren. With all three of my children’s babies, I’ve been in awe that they are “flesh of my flesh.” I enjoy just watching them sleep, holding their tiny hands, stroking their soft heads.
These times are even more poignant because they occur far less frequently than we would like—the children live over a thousand miles away, so the visits are too far apart and too soon over. But I treasure each moment as it comes.
The LORD has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy (Psalm 126:3, NIV).