Standing in the kitchen fretting over a missing spice in my chili, a familiar request interrupted my thoughts. "Ask your mom." my son's friend urged. "We'll get the other guys and play Ops tonight." Before I could step in to remind my boy that search & destroy video games were off-limits, I heard him reply "I can't. We go to the early church service and your mom likes to sleep in." Smiling a bit smugly to myself, proud of my son for declining the offer without making me the bad guy, I waited for the inevitable turn of the tables inviting everyone over to our house for a game of baseball in the yard. I thanked God I had made a super-large batch of chili, even if it was a little bland.
"Why do you always have to go to church?!" The venom in his voice struck me like a physical blow. The anger boiling over in this child frightened me. My son snapped back "I like our church! The people are great, it's fun, and we do cool stuff! You should try it sometime instead of hiding in your room playing video games all weekend!" Still reeling from this heated exchange I winced as my daughter chimed in "and we learn about JESUS! Remember Him?" Spoken in the most unJesus-like tone a twin-sister can hurl at a boy. Ouch!
The harvest is plentiful, Wanda. I felt a tug at my heart chide me for my earlier smugness. How dare I judge a worn-out mama with a less-than-engaged husband for wanting to sleep in on the weekends. Why had I never invited her to an evening service? Heck, it had never occured to me to even invite her over for a chat, let alone a church service. Why was that? You know why, Wanda, the prodding at my heart continued. Because you have been there. You have had the uncomfortable conversations, making excuses for an absentee husband or dad. You just don't want to start those conversations again, even from the other side.
I sighed to myself. How am I the hands and feet of Jesus when I was praying over bland chili and an improptu gathering of hungry boys, when 20 feet away from me was a hurting little boy that angry with God? Please God, don't thrust me back into that life, even from the survivor's side! Please don't make me go back, I prayed. The harvest is plentiful, Wanda, but my laborers are few. Ouch again.
Leaning against the wall, I sank to the floor. Hot tears welled up and spilled over as I realized I was missing the harvest in my own home. My son was missing the point. Out of the mouths of tweens came a conviction that stung like flames licking at my heart. A family I knew and cared for didn't know my Savior, yet I was fretting over always being the bad guy. Oh, Father forgive me!
Matthew 9:37 says the harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. I think workers are distracted, self-focused, awkward, uncomfortable, and any other adjective you care to use. The workers are plentiful if they choose to step up. Though not meant for my ears, I took that uncomfortable conversation and used it like a harvesting combine. I became intentional in my conversations with my children and their friends about God. Inviting them to ask questions, talk about, and even debate ideas about my Savior has opened doors I didn't know existed. Through laughter, tears, anger and joy around my kitchen table, counter, and even the backyard fire pit, we have discovered He is a BIG God. He welcomes questions and wants us to think for ourselves. He wants us to choose to love and praise Him using the gift of our free will. Not because the church is fun and has great people. Beginning this great harvest, I found a new joy in entertaining my children's friends. Loud teens and tweens bring smiles to my heart and even more laughter to our home. As a bonus, even my chili has gotten spicier!
Father, forgive me for missing harvest opportunities because of distraction, self-interest, and apathy. Please help me be brave and bold in building your kingdom. It is not about me, harvest time is short and the laborers are few. Help me to be faithful in the work you have called me to do! Amen.
"Why do you always have to go to church?!" The venom in his voice struck me like a physical blow. The anger boiling over in this child frightened me. My son snapped back "I like our church! The people are great, it's fun, and we do cool stuff! You should try it sometime instead of hiding in your room playing video games all weekend!" Still reeling from this heated exchange I winced as my daughter chimed in "and we learn about JESUS! Remember Him?" Spoken in the most unJesus-like tone a twin-sister can hurl at a boy. Ouch!
The harvest is plentiful, Wanda. I felt a tug at my heart chide me for my earlier smugness. How dare I judge a worn-out mama with a less-than-engaged husband for wanting to sleep in on the weekends. Why had I never invited her to an evening service? Heck, it had never occured to me to even invite her over for a chat, let alone a church service. Why was that? You know why, Wanda, the prodding at my heart continued. Because you have been there. You have had the uncomfortable conversations, making excuses for an absentee husband or dad. You just don't want to start those conversations again, even from the other side.
I sighed to myself. How am I the hands and feet of Jesus when I was praying over bland chili and an improptu gathering of hungry boys, when 20 feet away from me was a hurting little boy that angry with God? Please God, don't thrust me back into that life, even from the survivor's side! Please don't make me go back, I prayed. The harvest is plentiful, Wanda, but my laborers are few. Ouch again.
Leaning against the wall, I sank to the floor. Hot tears welled up and spilled over as I realized I was missing the harvest in my own home. My son was missing the point. Out of the mouths of tweens came a conviction that stung like flames licking at my heart. A family I knew and cared for didn't know my Savior, yet I was fretting over always being the bad guy. Oh, Father forgive me!
Matthew 9:37 says the harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. I think workers are distracted, self-focused, awkward, uncomfortable, and any other adjective you care to use. The workers are plentiful if they choose to step up. Though not meant for my ears, I took that uncomfortable conversation and used it like a harvesting combine. I became intentional in my conversations with my children and their friends about God. Inviting them to ask questions, talk about, and even debate ideas about my Savior has opened doors I didn't know existed. Through laughter, tears, anger and joy around my kitchen table, counter, and even the backyard fire pit, we have discovered He is a BIG God. He welcomes questions and wants us to think for ourselves. He wants us to choose to love and praise Him using the gift of our free will. Not because the church is fun and has great people. Beginning this great harvest, I found a new joy in entertaining my children's friends. Loud teens and tweens bring smiles to my heart and even more laughter to our home. As a bonus, even my chili has gotten spicier!
Father, forgive me for missing harvest opportunities because of distraction, self-interest, and apathy. Please help me be brave and bold in building your kingdom. It is not about me, harvest time is short and the laborers are few. Help me to be faithful in the work you have called me to do! Amen.