Where “Yes" May Lead You

Twenty-seven years ago, God asked me to work with teenagers, and I said "yes."

There's a story that leads up to that moment (which I won't share with you today), but what was most surprising was:

1) I was twenty, so barely out of the teens myself,

2) I never had the desire to work with teens. In fact, I was a little afraid of them, having had not-the-best junior high and high school experience,

3) I had my doubts. I had no "training." I had no clear direction.

Nevertheless, I said "yes," without knowing where that "yes" would lead me.

Soon after, I started a leading a small youth group at my church.

After graduating from college, I was hired as a French teacher at a private junior/senior high school.

Then I got married, became a mom, and spent about the next twelve years or so NOT around teens. I was hanging out with other toddler moms, chatting it up about nap schedules and cloth diapers.

And I forgot about my "yes," until I got involved in my teenagers' youth theater company (how this happened is another great story).

What a shock! I never would have imagined that I would be teaching music to teens and directing them in shows. And the best part is that I love it! I love working with teenagers and being a supportive adult in their lives.

But along with the highs come the lows.

Two years ago, a lovely, spunky eleven-year-old came to audition for Moana Jr. She then went on to be in The Wizard of Oz and The Sound of Music, making many friends along the way. Shortly after her third show, she was diagnosed with brain cancer, and two weeks ago, she lost that battle. This was heart-breaking news for everyone in our company.

Twenty-seven years ago, I wouldn't have pictured myself in a bedroom, strumming a guitar through tears, leading a small group of girls in singing Christmas carols, witnessing the final moments of their friend's time on earth. I couldn't have imagined our time afterwards in the foyer, crying and holding each other for comfort. And I never would have known that in working with this young girl, I would be asked to sing songs with her friends at her memorial service.

Her service is tomorrow. I feel nervous and anxious. I put my two-year-old to bed, then lay next to her for a few extra moments just to pray. I ask God for peace. And I hear this song in my head.

This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine...

And that's all God is asking from me when I say "yes."

Giving Children Freedom

As far as jobs and careers go, I never want my kids to feel like they need to live up to my expectations. They don't have to become pianists, they don't have to become doctors, they don't have to get a bachelor's or master's degree.

I want my children to have the freedom to succeed, in whatever way they choose to do.

But with the freedom to succeed comes the freedom to fail.

I've been thinking about this quite a bit lately, as I now have three adult children trying to make their way in the world. One chose not to continuing with schooling, one is working towards her bachelor's, and one is just starting out at a community college. And in all they do, I see them fearlessly try different things, and I've come to the conclusion that it's because they know that they will not be judged for trying and failing. They themselves have seen their dad and I work endlessly on creative projects, sometimes with success and sometimes not. We are not afraid to share our failures with our children.

And that makes a big difference.

Parents, be aware of your expectations (what is your definition of success?) and watch how you speak to your children about them. My parents encouraged me in my music, but still questioned me if I brought home anything less than an 'A' on my report card. I always felt like I couldn't do enough. Talk to your children about perseverance and diligence more than winning. Tell them that it's okay to try, and fail. Share your stories and listen to theirs. And please, share your stories here! Tell me about your experiences with failure and success, either as a child or as a parent.

Food for the Soul

During the Covid pandemic, I had a clear understanding of the purpose of art. Though most people had food and shelter during the lock-down, it wasn't enough. We aren't simply robots, needing a recharge and tune-up every now and then. We are human, we are souls, and art fed those souls. So my family and I painted cards to send to people and made music videos to share online. At that time, I understood that art was a necessity.

But somehow, this past year, I lost that understanding. I no longer had a clear vision of the "why" behind what I did. My head knew it, but my heart didn't. As I tried to think of ways to bring in more income to help my college-bound children, I felt more and more that artists were undervalued in society. Schools were cutting art and music programs. Tech and computer skills were desirable in the job market. I could make $25/hour teaching music, but if a fast-food employee makes $20/hour (new law here in California), then does that mean I'm worth a little more than a McDonald worker? (I know it's not the right question to ask, but that's where my heart was at the time.)

What made matters worst was that after I finished vocal directing The Wizard of Oz in June, I felt a big hole. I had spent months working on this beautiful show, and it was all over in four days. What was I doing? I asked myself. Is it all meaningless?

I needed someone to shine a light through my fog, so this morning I had breakfast with my friend KW (who was the director of The Wizard of Oz and my musical, Five Children and It.) As she talked about collaboration and worship and God and all things dear to her heart, she couldn't hold back her tears. I just sat and listened. 

Hours later, I thought about her words, and it was then that my fog lifted. This is the vision I have now:

The shows I work on are like apples (or fill in with your favorite fruit here.) Most people will eat an apple, appreciate it, and enjoy it in the moment. They probably will not think about where the fruit came from, beyond the grocery store they bought it at. I, on the other hand, was there before the apple even started growing. I cared for the tree, saw the blossoms, and tended the apples as they grew. I worked alongside the Creator to ensure a sweet, beautiful crop. And in the end, when I enjoyed a bite of the apple, I could think back to the day I first saw the tiny apple growing on the tree. And I could be proud of the work I've done, even after the apple is gone.

So now I see that being an artist is an amazing blessing, not a curse. The world may not value it as such, but that's okay. I'm working with God to cultivate food for the soul!

A Fickle Gut

A short post today. This is what I was thinking about in the wee early hours as I lay in bed...

My gut is broken.

And by gut, I don't mean my intestinal insides that be can fixed by changing my diet and ingesting more probiotics, or my changes in appetite throughout the nine months of pregnancy. I mean the instinct inside me that is supposed to guide me through life. Somewhere along the way, during my childhood years, between moving so often, being bullied, not feeling affirmed enough, growing up in the Chinese tradition–a myriad of things–my "guide" broke.

Sometimes "following your gut" is a good thing, but in my case, I would be in a world of trouble, because my gut is not always trustworthy. 

I would take my small revenge–my gut tells me,"You deserve it. He/she owes it to you."

I would be fearful of everything–my gut says, "Something out there will hurt you or your child."

I would doubt myself all the time–my gut whispers, "Don't try it. You'll probably fail." or "Rita, you made a mistake... again."

I would avoid conflict–my gut screams, "Run away! Protect yourself!"

We are broken people living in a broken world. Life happens–the good and the bad–and most of the time, my jerk reaction to the bad is just not reliable. This is a lesson I need to learn again and again: trust in the Word, trust the Holy Spirit's promptings, and trust people I know in the family of God. When I get lax and overly confident in my own abilities, I go with my emotions; then without realizing it, I may choose to take the easy route, the route of self-preservation. But that route is not always the right route. 

Overriding my natural responses and emotions is not easy. It's an uncomfortable place to be–sometimes it's downright painful!–but it's better than listening to the fickleness of my gut.

Be That Role Model

I stood at the front of the room, eighteen pairs of teenage eyes looking at me. I was teaching a singing class, but I wanted to share something with my singers before we even opened our mouths.

I started telling them about how I started singing in high school, with no previous experience at all, how I learned all I could along the way, dealt with the disappointment of not making the top choir, but going on to college to study music and to keep singing. My hope was to encourage those who didn't feel like they were great singers.

I wish I could say that a student or two came to me after class and said, "Thank you so much for sharing that!" but none did. But I knew that if I had heard someone tell a story like that when I was in high school, I would have felt better about myself (and not have the courage to tell the person so.) That person would have become my role model for sure.

You have a story to tell, and you never know who might need to hear it. YOU can be the role model for someone who simply needs to know that someone has gone through similar experiences. For someone who is still on the journey, you are the one he/she sees further down the road, and it is so encouraging and so helpful for all of us to know that we are not traveling alone. 

So share your story; be that role model for someone.

Growth

During a piano lesson one day, I was thinking about recitals and how far each of my students have come, when I recalled an incident from my years as a high school teacher.

It was my second year of teaching and I had been put in charge of the musical performances for graduation. No big deal. At the small private school I was teaching, I knew each senior by name and already knew who the strong singers were.

Then a senior named Kate approached me. She was friendly, gentle and kind, a girl who was content to be in the background. A quiet leader, I called her. She was a great role model in her class, and though not considered one of the "popular" students, she was loved by all. She had been doing some singing with me, and when she asked if she could sing at graduation, I said enthusiastically, "Yes!" She wasn't a strong singer, but I didn't make my decision based on that; I made it based on her character.

And then it was my job to stand up for my decision. With barely two years of experience under my belt, some other teachers felt that I shouldn't have made that call, but I stood by Kate. I knew how she'd grown the past year. I knew the courage it took for her to even get up on a stage. I knew that the song she was singing may not sound as good as some other girl singing it, but it would have more meaning. 

We still live in a culture that pressures us to look a certain way or act a certain way. We see photos of "the rich and famous" and aspire to be like them. We want to impress people, or we want our children to impress people. We compare, measure, and compare some more. But-

it is not the face you show the world for 5 minutes that counts,

it's who you are consistently when no one is watching.

it's not always the end goal that matters most,

it's also the journey you took to get there.

Growth is not looking at a tree and saying, "Wow! Look how tall it is!"

Growth is looking at a tree and saying, "Wow! That used to be a tiny seed! Look how tall it's become!"

2020 and Beyond

I'm not into New Year's Resolutions. For me, resolutions are a year-round pursuit. I'm always needing improvement. 

That's why I've been working on a list. It's a list of reminders to myself when I am old and gray. And hopefully, not grumpy. I made the list because I want to start working on these things NOW, way before I become old and gray. This way, I have plenty of time to achieve my goals.

(And my friends who are reading this, you have every right to hold me to this, even when I'm 80!)

1) Don't be stubborn when you need help. Now, it may be help with the kids or the housework. Later, it will be help with driving, carrying bags, or even going to the bathroom. If help is offered, graciously accept it. If it is not, graciously ask for it. Listen to the advice of those who suggest changes. It may be for everyone's well-being.

2) Don't be jealous of your children's affections. Love demanded from the giver is not really love. When they are young, they prefer friends and toys. When they are old, they will be busy with their own lives. Be thankful if they are visiting friends or other family members or giving of their time to a good cause.

3) Love your husband and make the most of every moment. Be quick to say I'm sorry and be quick to forgive. This one will never change, no matter how old I am, or how many years I've been married.

4) Quality, not quantity. You may not be able to do as much as you used to, but you can still do it well. So do it with excellence, whether it is making a race car birthday cake for a 5-year-old or crocheting a baby blanket for an expected grandchild.

5) Don't be afraid to speak up when you have something to say. You're wiser now. But also know when to keep your mouth shut. Just because you know better than someone else doesn't mean it's the right time to say so. Show grace, especially to those younger than you. Remember what it was like to be in their shoes 10 years ago, 20 years ago, or 50 years ago.

6) Don't waste the time you have left. You may have days, you may have years. Either way, you're not dead yet. Love extravagantly, without expecting the love to be returned. Be the first to reach out to others. Be a role model. But remember #5.

7) Pray constantly and abide in the Word. There is nothing stronger, nothing deeper, nothing more life-changing. Don't underestimate what God can do in a person's life. No one, no matter how old, is a lost cause to God.

8) Be thankful. If you want to avoid becoming a grumpy, old woman, practice thankfulness every moment of every day.

Piano Lessons

I apologize for not writing since February. I had every intention to write, but March has been a whirlwind… seven sick children, a new baby born on the 4th, more sick children…

Then I found this essay amongst my writings, and it's a good one (if you don't mind my saying so). If I had a list of top 5 life lessons learned in my 39 years so far of living, this would be one of them: wherever God puts me, I am there for a reason.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Piano Lessons

I was young.

I was naive.

I was in need of money.

All good excuses, but that’s what they were, nothing but excuses. I should have done better, even if I hated the job. 

Stuck in a closet of a room with a piano and a kid who was somehow coerced into coming was not my idea of fun. For thirty long minutes, I listened as the student stumbled through Bach and tripped through Mozart. Good thing Beethoven’s already deaf, I thought, because he would wish he was after hearing this rendition of the ‘Moonlight Sonata’.

Finally, the hands of the clock gave me permission to release my prisoner. I watched through the window as the student ran to the awaiting car, away from my chamber of torture. Oh, how I too longed to feel the breeze on my skin and sunshine on my hair!

But tick tick tick, there was another student, another lesson, another few dollars to pay for gas.

I worked this job for five months, always hating it. I hated the fact that I had graduated from college with a degree in music but all my passion, ambition, and idealism were demoted to tinkling on a piano. I hated the fact that my working hours started when everyone else’s was just ending. Most of all, I hated the fact that not one of my students really, truly loved music, that it did not sing in their bones, course through their veins, or haunt their dreams. Music, for me, needed to be a matter of life and death. 

But I could not inspire my students anymore than a match can set fire to an ice cube. They came and they went, without consistency or commitment. Just as I was learning their names, they were gone. 

Yes, I was a cynic. I admit it now. I had graduated from Berkeley with a Bachelor of Arts in cynicism. But I was a dependable cynic. Every week, I was in that closet of a room with a piano, ready to teach.

In comes a new student. Anyone could see from his face that he would rather be on a baseball diamond or a football field than sitting at a piano. I didn’t even try Bach or Beethoven with him. I went straight to the Star Wars Piano Music for Beginners. He didn’t love it, but he at least worked through it. We’ll see how it goes next week, was my thought. If he comes back.

And he did come back. He must have been bribed. I could tell that he hadn’t practice. We tried the Star Wars music again. Okay, lesson done. We’ll see how it goes next week, I thought again, if he comes back.

The next week, he didn’t come back. I wasn’t surprised. (Did I mention that I was a cynic?) His time slot was filled by a new student, Barbara. Barbara was not what I expected. She was genuinely happy to see me. In her early 60s, retired, and ready to tackle something new, she came in with energy to spare. We started our lessons as all lessons started, and thirty minutes were over in a flash. Refreshing, to have a student who wasn’t dragged in by a herd of elephants, but I was hardened already. She won’t last, I told myself. I’ve seen it before: start lessons on a whim, but quit when you can’t play like a pro in four weeks.

I patted myself on the back when, four weeks later, Barbara didn’t come for her lesson.

Too bad, I enjoyed her, I thought. And too bad, I was stuck at work for thirty minutes and not getting paid for it.

I left my closet to find my boss.

“Hey, Rita, I forgot to tell you. About Barbara...”

Oh, I know, she decided she needed a different hobby, I sneered in my mind.

“…about Barbara... she died a few days ago.”

I stopped breathing. “...it was sudden, in her sleep, her daughter called...” none of that mattered. I returned to my closet, shut the door, and sat at the piano, the very piano where, only seven days ago, Barbara had sat and played. In all my idealism, I never thought that this would really become a matter of life and death.

And what were my last words to her?

“See you next week.”

Or, maybe... “Keep practicing!”

What would I have said instead, if I had known?

“Barbara, you are my best student. I enjoy our lessons immensely.”

Sounds overly sincere, the very opposite of cynical, but those were my thoughts, were they not?

But I chose not to express them. 

No, I chose not to give any more than the minimum required, when I should have given all of myself, tap danced on top of the piano for her, baked her lemon bars, brought in CDs to listen to together, our hearts melting at the genius of Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven. No, I had thirty minutes every week with Barbara, and I threw them away.

I saw her only as a student, a paycheck, another lesson, when she was so much more: a mother, a grandmother, a friend, a human being. She was an inspiration, to strive to learn piano when most people would say, “It’s too late!” She was a music lover, to desire the key to music-making when others would say, “You’re wasting your time.” But she didn’t waste her time, not on piano lessons, not at my piano. For she taught me, when I was full of longing to be elsewhere, full of pride and apathy, full of myself. She had less to regret in her last week of living than I had in my last thirty minutes of teaching. She was the match that set an ice cube on fire. 

My ice cube.

Soon after Barbara’s death, I was hired to teach at a local junior and senior high school. I told my boss that I had to resign because I couldn’t juggle both jobs. He mentioned something to me about Barbara.

“Yes, I’ll miss her,” I responded. Because I’ll never forget her.

My new job was rough, my new classroom a little more than a closet. Instead of a piano, I had desks, textbooks, and a white board, and instead of one unenthusiastic student, I had twenty at a time. But for fifty minutes a day, five days a week, I gave all of me. My enthusiasm permeated the room like perfume, my fervor set them on fire. Even the most apathetic of students could not discourage me. And after finishing one quarter with a class of seventh-graders, I sat down and wrote a ‘thank you’ note to each of my students. I did the same with my high-school choir at the end of the year, my music class the next year, my graduates at the end of my third year. Whenever I had the chance, I told my students how much I enjoyed them, what potential they held, and how they made me smile, whether it took one minute, thirty minutes, or fifty minutes to do so.

There were no excuses anymore.

Talking vs. Communicating

My baby is now nine months old, the perfect age for learning sign language! Imagine my joy today when I saw him touch his fingers together, indicating that he wanted "more" snacks! His face beamed too, when I handed him his food. In that second, he had communicated something to me. He expressed a thought, and I understood him. (If you have a baby and you don't know about baby sign language, I highly recommend learning more about it.) 

So, if even a baby can communicate, why does it seem that communication is so hard sometimes? Why is it that most of the conflict between my children stem from bad communication? Why does every marriage book have a chapter on communication?!

It is because, oftentimes, words are spoken, but communication does not actually take place! George Bernard Shaw wrote, "The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place." We  assume that when we say something, the other person hears our words and knows exactly what we mean. This is a very big assumption. But we all make this assumption because we naturally think that everyone else perceives the world as we do. And so parents take the time to teach their children words, but they don't teach them how to communicate. Then, when the children are adults, they find themselves in situations where they cannot work through a conflict, express their emotions, or peacefully live with another person. I am more and more convinced that communication should be a mandatory school course!

Which is why I am trying to teach my children how to communicate. Even if they don't learn anything about history or science from me, I will be grateful for the times when I was able to address miscommunication and train my children to think about how to best use their words.

What are some common "illusions" when it comes to communication? Let me illustrate them with stories of my children.

Child: She wouldn't give me the book, so I took it.

Me: Did you try asking her first?

Child: No.

Me: Why not?

Child: Because she would have said 'no' anyway.

This happens in my home all the time! The biggest problem here is the lack of communication. My son did not express his desire to his sister. He presumed that her answer would be 'no', but never gave her a chance to respond. The lesson here? No one can read minds! Without getting emotional, simply state what you need. My son could have asked, "Could I please read the book?" or better yet, "When you are done, could I please read the book?" Then if the answer given is a "no", he can then take the next step and find out why. His sister probably has a good reason. But I see similar situations happen in marriages, where one person grows mad because the spouse doesn't seem to know what he/she wants. Or the person jumps to a conclusion that the spouse is doing something simply to drive him/her mad, or that the spouse doesn't have a good reason for his/her action.

Me: Please clean your room.

Child: I did!

Me: There are still clothes on the floor!

Child: Oh, I thought you mean just clean the toys!

In this situation, my son and I had different definitions for "clean your room". I knew what I meant when I said the words, but how could my son know that unless I stated clearly what my expectations were? Expectations and definitions are not always the same. My friend says, "Let's grab a coffee early tomorrow!" My friend is thinking 5:30am, but in my mind, early means 8am. An extroverted husband suggests, "Let's have a few friends over," which for him means 4-5 people, but for his introverted wife, 1-2. Being as clear as possible is a key to communication. When in doubt, ask questions to clarify definitions of terms.

Me: Let me help you with these spelling words. They're not too hard.
Child: Yes, they are!
Me: Here, let's look for a pattern.
Child: No, I don't want to! It's too hard!

Nothing I said at this point was going to convince my child that he could learn those spelling words. I had to stop and change the conversation, taking five minutes (or more) to remind him that "Mom would never give you school work that was too difficult" and "You did fine last week. Remember how you got 100% on your spelling quiz?"  Communication must be based in trust. If a person does not want to listen, no amount of words will communicate anything! Think of a debate where the debaters are antagonistic. Are they really discussing the topic? Are they saying words in response to each other, or just saying the words they want to say? In order to establish a foundation for good communication, one must first establish trust. Attacking someone with an accusation is not a good beginning to conflict resolution. If you need to talk to your child or spouse about a difficult subject, make sure the person is first ready to listen. This may mean picking a different time to talk, or apologizing and asking for forgiveness to clear the air. On the flip side, when someone tells you something that is hard to hear, don't get defensive. Take a deep breath and hear them out.


Learning to communicate well is not something one can do overnight. It takes daily practice and years to develop good habits. I myself never learned good communication from my parents, so I am learning right along with my children! My hope is that I am a better communicator now then I was when I was first married, and that I will be an even better communicator when my youngest is school age!

From Baby to Young Man

I am holding my new baby, reveling in his little fingers, his perfect ears, his fuzzy downy head. He sleeps, he eats, and does little else, and still I am awed by him. I am especially awed when he so quickly stops crying when he is transferred to my arms. What a responsibility I have! And still I wonder, "Where did this masterpiece come from? Certainly not from inside me!" I know this child is mine, and yet I have this feeling that he is not really mine at all. He is a gift sent from above (his middle name 'Matthew' means 'gift from God'), placed ever so gently in my arms for safe keeping. Aren't babies such a wonderful introduction to parenthood?

Contrast him with my oldest boy, who was once a seven-pound sack of potatoes himself and is now as tall as me. He longs to be with his dad and his friends more than he longs to be with me. He faces the temptation to be on the computer all day, or to be lazy and self-centered. And he will soon (sooner than I like!) start thinking about leaving home. I almost can't believe that thirteen years ago this Saturday, I became a mother for the first time. Never could I have imagined then the man that my baby would become. I only saw an adorable, kissable, helpless (but sometimes very loud!) little person. I didn't know (not exactly anyway) what my role in his life was besides feeding, cleaning, and protecting him. I didn't understand then what it meant to guide this little person to manhood.

This is one of the benefits now of being a 'veteran' mom. When I see my newest bundle of joy, I am able to see beyond the chubby cheeks, flailing arms, and the cries for attention. I see past my days of breastfeeding and my nights of interrupted sleep. This little person will someday need guidance in making wise decisions, will someday need lessons in self-control, truthfulness, and diligence, will someday actually seek out independence– step by step he will start walking his own path until the day he sets out by himself.

And this is my task as mom. Each of my children has his journey to discover. Whether the child is nine days or thirteen years old, I am helping him on that journey, which, with much prayer, will lead him to the throne of the One who made him.

Call the Action League! (or More On Superpowers)

It all started with my son's green hooded bath towel. He would run around the house with the towel flapping behind him, stopping every now and then to practice his karate moves on a pillow or his sister. I nicknamed the little boy 'Green Ghost', which he quickly and enthusiastically embraced as his alter ego.

Soon his little sister joined him in his game (maybe she was tired of being the practice dummy). Her towel had an octopus on the hood, so I called her 'Octopus Girl'. My husband designed superhero logos for them and drew cartoon versions of them, and the two loved being the heroes of their own adventures.

Now we have superhero names for all the children. Green Ghost, Octopus Girl, Flaming Marshmallow, the Climbist, Flying Cupcake, and Skygazer are all part of what we call the Action League. And I am Mega-mama, married to my ever faithful partner Dada-tron. We each have a t-shirt with our personal logo on it. We even have a theme song ("Call the Action League!") We don't have full-blown costumes (at least not yet) but the Action League is something that defines us and unites us as a family. When my sixth child was born at home, his siblings decided together that they all need to wear their superhero T-shirts that day to welcome him into our family.

But there is something more to the Action League. Just as the Avengers, the Incredibles, or the members of Big Hero 6 must learn to use their individual strengths cooperatively in order to save the world, our little band can do great things if we acknowledge and cultivate each person's individual talents and practice using them in ways to build each other up. As each child joined our family, he/she brought something unique to contribute to the 'team'.

So when my more serious child begins to get annoyed with his sillier sibling, I remind him that his sibling's silliness can be a gift to him. My husband likes to point out each child's strengths, not as a way of comparison, but to say, "God designed you to be you! He has a specific plan for you!" My artistic children are not artistic in the same way. My musical children are not musical in the same way. Even my husband and I are not musical in the same way! And that's just the tip of the iceberg! We choose to practice showing appreciation, rather than aggravation, for the differences that we each bring to the marriage. Even a simple "Thank you for doing that" can be so encouraging!

And here's my favorite part. (You knew it was coming!) My family is a constant reminder of how the body of Christ is meant to function: as individuals unified through ultimate grace, with one purpose– to glorify God– and one goal– to spread the Gospel of His love. The apostle Paul writes about this in three of his epistles:

For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and the members do not all have the same function, so we, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another. Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them… ~Romans 12:3-6a 

And he gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the shepherds and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ… when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love. ~Ephesians 4:11-16

Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of service, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who empowers them all in everyone. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. ~I Corinthians 12:4-7

(All of I Corinthians 12 is worth reading, especially in light of the fact that it leads directly into the famous 'Love Chapter'.)

So here's your assignment, if you choose to accept it. In your family, or your Bible study, or your circle of friends, or within your greater church body, how can you show appreciation for those whose gifts are different from yours? Is there any bitterness, envy, or annoyance that you need to confess? Any forgiveness or apologies that need to be given? And what is the action step you need to take from here in order to build up the Body in love?

My Fishes and Loaves

There are times when I feel overwhelmed by the need I see in the world. When I am on the road and I stop at an intersection, I study the cars that "meet" me at this juncture and estimate how many people are in the cars, and how many families they represent, and how many stories and sadnesses they hold all together. Then I feel like the author of Ecclesiastes when he writes, "I saw the tears of the oppressed- and they have no comforter; power was on the side of the oppressors- and they have no comforter" (4:1).

Or if I simply sit on a Sunday and watch people as they come and go for the morning service, I see various groups, each with specific needs. There are the handicapped, the elderly couples or widows/widowers, young married couples, teenagers, dating couples, single parents, divorced parents, families with children, families without children, and all the children themselves– how could I possibly help them all?!

The temptation for me is to fall into utter hopelessness, or to veer to the other extreme: I want to do all that I can to help as many people as possible. Then I end up saying, "Yes, I can do that!" to everyone and everything until I collapse in an emotionally and physically-exhausted heap.

Gladly, that was the tendency of a much younger me. Since becoming a wife, a mother, and a more diligent follower of Christ, I have learned that it is not my task to save everyone. But neither is it my job to sit back and mope. And a great example of this is the story of the boy with the fishes and loaves (see Matthew 14, Mark 6, Luke 9, and John 6), which I read with my younger children earlier this week. Picture this...

It had been a long day. People had journeyed from all over to meet this man named Jesus, and among them was a boy. His mother had sent him to the Lake of Galilee to see what was going on there. And when he arrived, he was excited to see the healings and to hear the teachings of Jesus.

But it was still tiring to sit out in the sun for so many hours. The boy was grateful for the meal his mother had packed for him. No one else seemed ready to leave, and so the boy settled on a small rock and prepared to devour his five loaves of bread and two small fishes.

Then, just before he bit into a loaf, he heard some men talking.

"Even if we had eight month's worth of wages, we couldn't feed all these people!"

Jesus and his friends were going to try to feed everyone?! The boy looked around him. From his position on the hill, he could see the people stretch between him and the lake. Never before had the boy seen so many people! It would be impossible for anyone but Caesar to feed such a large crowd! What could anyone do but send the people home?

The boy lifted the loaf to his mouth again, ready to savor his mother's delicious bread, when he saw one of Jesus's friends come near. The man was scanning the crowd, asking here and there, "Do you have any food?"

The boy didn't know what to do. What difference would his two fishes and five loaves make? But maybe the man was asking for food because Jesus was hungry. The boy stood up.

"Excuse me, sir, I have some food."

The man quickly ran over. "How much do you have?"

"Only five loaves of bread and two fishes. But Jesus can have it all, if He wants."

The man heaved a tired sigh. "Okay, that's fine. Come with me then."

The boy gathered his basket and cloak and walked with the man towards the hill where Jesus sat. His heart pounded. He was going to share his food with Jesus! But what would Jesus think of such a meager meal? There was no turning back now. When they reached Jesus, the boy shakily held his basket out. Jesus smiled at the boy, took the basket, and held it up to the sky, giving thanks for the food.

Then Jesus did something the boy did not expect. Without taking any for himself, Jesus told his friends to pass the food out to the crowd. The boy watched as person after person was fed fish and bread, and even as he watched, he couldn't explain how this was possible. It took an hour for Jesus's twelve friends to pass out the food, and when everyone had had their fill, Jesus told the men to collect the leftovers– each returning with one big basketful!

The boy could have kept his food for himself. He could have shrugged his shoulders in pessimism or apathy because, logically, his food could not have fed more than three or four people at best.

But the little he had, he gave to Jesus. And it was Jesus who took that little and made it more. And He didn't make it 'just enough', He went above and beyond! Jesus is the God of abundance!

So I don't need to give in despair, nor do I need to take on the burdens of the world. When Jesus sees people driving in their cars or sitting in a church service, and He sees ALL their sadnesses and heartaches, He also sees a very different picture–one of joy and healing– "…for He Himself knew what he would do." (John 6:6) 

And the best part is that he invites me to take part in it, to have a front row seat, to be his right-hand man! Every thing I do, no matter how small, if I do it for Jesus, can be used (and multiplied) by Him to bless people. Which reminds me of one of my favorite verses:

Whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him. ~Colossians 3:17

I will give to God what little I have to give, by writing this post, or inviting a friend over, or watching someone's baby, or sending someone a card. Who knows how far reaching my one action can go when I allow God to be the One who saves, the One who makes abundance flow from nothing?

Passing on What Matters Most

I love live music, and I want my children to be exposed to non-pop music as much as possible. So when our friend invited us to hear her perform with her symphony orchestra, my husband and I decided to go as a family.

All went well until intermission. As the children returned to their seats, an older woman in front of us turned and said roughly, "Your children are kicking the seat." I hadn't noticed anyone kicking, but I apologized anyway. And our family left before the concert was done because the woman had ruined our evening.

I wish I could have told her how I felt. I made the effort to be at a performance for the sake of my friend and my children. And these children are the future of live, orchestral music. They are the ones who will pick up the violin or oboe and someday fill our halls with beautiful music. I didn't mean to distract from this woman's enjoyment, but I knew that there was so much more to our outing than enjoyment. I just wish she saw it that way too.

My reason for sharing this little story with you is not because I want to rant about some stranger, but because it illustrates how we as parents will make the effort to bring our children to places and events when it is important to us. Some parents drive for hours and pay hundreds of dollars to bring their children to Disneyland. It's important to them. Some parents bring their children to sporting events and teach them to ice-skate, throw, or kick as soon as the child can walk. It's important to them. These parents, like me when it comes to  music, are doing what they do because they want to pass something onto their children.

And yet, when it comes to bringing children to a worship service for a few hours, some parents freeze. They'd rather sleep in and stay home. Or go to a park. Or go to Disneyland. They don't see why they should go to church, especially if there is no "children's program", because sitting with their children means that they, the parents, aren't really fully absorbing the message or paying full attention. And what will other people think? they wonder. When their child starts to wiggle, they see heads turn and they feel their cheeks burn. Is it worth it?

Author Melissa Kruger writes this in her devotional Bible study Walking with God in the Season of Motherhood:

While the paintings that hang in church nurseries always represent [Jesus and the children] as a peaceful scene, I have a feeling it was much more complicated. Surely as [the parents] traveled to get their children to Jesus, there were diapers that needed changing, hungry mouths to feed (and no a Chick-fil-A in sight), arguments, whining, dirty hands and feet, tired children, exhausted, and a myriad of other obstacles. It would not have been an easy journey.

But for these parents, it WAS worth it. Even when the disciples scolded them for bothering Jesus. And for everyone else there that day, it was worth it too, because they saw Jesus respond to these children with "Come." I'm sure the disciples took notice. And as well as anyone else there who had thought that the children were distracting them from Jesus's teachings.

As my husband and I prepare to bring our children to our church's prayer night on Thursday, I fill my mind with this image. Even though I spend most of the evening walking around with the toddler and trying to keep him quiet and out of trouble, I know that I am taking the first steps to bringing him to Jesus. Also, I remind myself that other people need to see the children there, even if they are a little distracting. Without them, the body of Christ wouldn't be complete.

Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven."

Children are, after all, the future of God's kingdom. 

Uncharted Territory

I have yet to read Corrie ten Boom's amazing story in her book The Hiding Place, but I am familiar with this one passage.

"And so seated next to my father in the train compartment, I suddenly asked, "Father, what is [sex]?"

He turned to look at me, as he always did when answering a question, but to my surprise he said nothing.

At last he stood up, lifted his traveling case off the floor and set it on the floor.

"Will you carry it off the train, Corrie?" he said.

I stood up and tugged at it. It was crammed with the watches and spare parts he had purchased that morning.

"It's too heavy," I said.

"Yes," he said, "and it would be a pretty poor father who would ask his little girl to carry such a load. It's the same way, Corrie, with knowledge. Some knowledge is too heavy for children. When you are older and stronger, you can bear it. For now you must trust me to carry it for you."

I love this short scene. It gives me a very clear image of how I am to train my children and to make daily decisions concerning their growth. Previewing books and movies, home schooling, choosing clothes… all of this goes into the 'heavy luggage' that I have been carrying for my children for the past twelve years.

And now, my husband and I are entering the phase of training our children to carry some of that 'luggage'. Our oldest child just turned twelve, and we plan to sit with him next week and teach him about the changes that will happen in the next few years. But we won't just have 'the talk' and leave it at that. That would be throwing the luggage at my son without giving him a reason. We've outlined five 'conversations' to start the process of passing on the 'luggage'. The talks are about our roles as parents, how God designed children to grow into men and women, how the world has abused the gift of sex, how to respect ourselves (modesty) and others (no jokes on this topic), and how to cultivate godly relationships with people of the opposite gender. We hope that this will not only give our son knowledge, but also the wisdom to know what to do with that knowledge.

This is uncharted territory for my husband and me. I admit I'm a little scared. We will be the first ones to trample down the grasses and mark a new path with our son.

But I would rather be the one paving the new road than to see my son following paths that others have already made. And we will encourage our son to walk this new path often with us, meaning, he can feel free to come to us with any questions he has. We pray that these initial conversations will be the foundation for many more conversations over the next few transitional years. And with each conversation, my son will carry a little more 'luggage', until the day he is a man and can carry all of it.

Hiding His Word in My Heart (Part 1)

I've always lamented that I'm not great at Scripture memorization. Over the years, I've tried again and again to memorize favorite passages, but after a few days, I'd lose heart. Even the most familiar phrases were like strangers to me when I tried to recall them from memory.

Until now!

I have found two wonderful ways to hide God's word in my heart. Being an artistic, musical, and visual person, my old method of reading the words from the Bible and reciting them over and over again was not working. Now, I try to put a verse to a melody or a rhythm. For example, Colossians 3:17 can be said like this:

And what-EV-er you DO in WORD or DEED do EV-verything (pause) 

in the NAME of the LORD JE-sus, (pause)

giving THANKS to GOD the FA-ther THROUGH HIM.

I taught this verse to the children's choir and they learned it so fast! And when I took Proverbs 6:6 and made it into a little song, my five-year=old son (who is an auditory learner) loved it! He still goes around singing, "Take a lesson from the ants, you lazy bones, lazy bones!" (Homeschooling parents, singing is a tried-and-true method of learning almost anything!)

For longer passages and verses that are hard to set to rhythm or music, I combined two things that I observed my friends doing. One friend wrote out the verses using lettering techniques, and another painted, doodled, and drew directly in her journaling Bible. This by far has been the best discovery for me in years! Being a do-er, I get to "get my hands dirty" by writing, drawing, and coloring. Being a visual learner, I can more readily picture the words as I try to recall them. I started memorizing Colossians 3:12 on Monday, and already I'm moving onto the next verse with eagerness. Here is a photo of how I wrote out verses 12-13 for myself:

As you can see from the somewhat blurry photo, it's nothing fancy. My lettering was done in ball-point pen and the coloring in pencil and I taped the index cards onto my bathroom mirror so I can glance at them throughout the day and cement them in my mind. Something so simple, yet so effective!

I encourage you to also pick a favorite passage of Scripture and memorize it. Try one of these methods, or share with me your favorite way!