Orleans: "You're Still The One" - Bruce Atchison

I'm sure many married folks can identify with this song. Couples do argue but those who want to patch up things between each other usually do well. Check out this song here.

Being single, it's my relationship with Christ that this song reminds me of. Being a new believer back in the early seventies, I found myself in a cult church. They taught me many blasphemous teachings which I swallowed uncritically.

It took many years to recover from the spiritual and emotional damage done to me. And though I gave up on Christ, he never gave up on me. Now I'm restored to the fold and he's still the one I worship.

Jesus had harsh words to those false teachers who would mislead his "little ones." Matthew 18:6 (Bible in Basic English) reads, "But whoever is a cause of trouble to one of these little ones who have faith in me, it would be better for him to have a great stone fixed to his neck, and to come to his end in the deep sea."

That is why we read this warning in James 3:1 (BBE). "Do not all be teachers, my brothers, because we teachers will be judged more hardly than others."

How I wish I had known this and had a mentor back then. Even so, I'm like one of those folks in 1 Peter 2:25 (BBE). "Because, like sheep, you had gone out of the way; but now you have come back to him who keeps watch over your souls."

How wonderful that Christ accepted me back as a son. He knew I had been lied to regarding his nature. He knew that nobody taught me about God's providence and that, as John 9:3 says, my poor eyesight was for the manifesting of his work in me.

May our Lord and Master be glorified and manifest in your lives and writing.

Walking In God's Love by Lorilee Guenter

 

We are told Christians should be known by their love. God is love and, as we walk with Him, His love is poured out in us until it overflows, touching everything around us. It infuses our perspective and shows up in our work, our relationships, and our hobbies.

Society has a picture of love that doesn't always match what Jesus modelled. I don't believe love is the lustful passion shown in some of the popular media. Nor do I believe it is a blanket acceptance of everything without gentle correction. There is much more to honest love than this, and it is honest love that I want to define my actions.

When I attempt to define love, I do better at finding examples than at finding a concise definition. I recognize it in those around me. I recognize its absence. I don't need to create my own definition because 1 Corinthians 13 provides one. Love as described in this passage is impossible to achieve on our own strength. Love like this can change the world.

In contrast to many of the "dream big" messages, one of my current favourite songs is "Dream Small" by Josh Wilson. The lyrics tell the story of many small acts of love that together make a difference. This resonates with me. We are called to live in the everyday moments, in the small choices that we make. I have seen many examples in my own life of these consistent "small" acts. By the time years and decades have passed, it is hard to imagine the relationships looking any different than they do now. Just as it is hard to imagine the towering oak as an acorn easily held in a hand, it is hard to imagine the discussions, debates and adjustments that a marriage of 50 years may have had in the early years. 

When I get discouraged because progress is slow, I try to remember. When I notice my flaws, the places where fear pushes against faith, I try to remember. Small consistent choices may result in big dreams being achieved. Small consistent choices to follow God's leading will result in my character reflecting Him to those I encounter. I read and reread the stories recorded of the disciples and the heroes of the faith. They remind me that God can and will work to perfect my faith. My life still needs polishing just like my stories. Every time I pick up my coloured pens, the story becomes a little bit better. Every day I choose to walk in faith instead of fear, my story reflects God's love.  

The Fabric of Love by Sharon Heagy

 

Loss has defined our new year as it has for the families and friends it touched. It started with a very dear friend who passed on December 27 and ended a couple of weeks ago with our brother in-law’s mom, a very special lady. We have attended too many funerals lately, either on-line or in person, but there has been commonality in them all. Every person who died was deeply loved by someone. You could hear it in the words of a tribute and perceive it in a power point presentation of pictures. A  lifetime lived crammed into a one-hour service.

            It occurred to me that the condensation process, the sifting through moments that create a life, treasuring some, discarding others, that process removes the dross and leaves golden memories of love, of joy, of relationship. The hurt that may have left a scar, the unkind word or action that may have been said or done is, in most cases, forgotten and the focus is on the afterglow. Darkness is dispelled.  Caring words and deeds, kind moments, flashes filled with joy, those remain. And though some may say ‘Well of course they focus on the best, you can’t say ‘bad’ things at a funeral.”, and though there may be a sliver of truth in that, I believe it is more.

            As we grieve, we want to remember the love. We need to remember the love. It is the thread from the hand of God that is sewn into the fabric of humanity. The search for love – not the airy-fairy romantic type but the solid, ‘matter of fact no matter what’ kind of love is why we were built. It is what leads us to our Creator, to our Father, to Love.

            There is an honest and earnest love when family and friends speak of loved ones that have passed on. Deeply rooted love enables people to speak words of truth regarding a curmudgeonly old aunt, or a real cranky pants parent with genuine affection. Most can see beyond the crusty exterior to the soft gooey centre where love lives, even if we only see a tiny speck.

            We were created by Love and for Love and if we get our judgemental flesh out of the way, we can see the one whom God created behind the smoke screen they may present.

            It hit me at our aunt’s funeral when her two boys shared cherished and candid memories of their mom. As an aging mom myself, it gave me pause to wonder what my own sons might say at my funeral. Will they be able to take the quirks, foibles and failures and present them with obvious love and affection? Who knows? I am not planning to be in attendance.

            But what I do know is that love does not just exist while a person is alive but lingers long after they have left this earth. It’s why the passing of a loved one can feel like yesterday, even though 30, 40, or even 50 years have passed. Love is not just a feeling. It has substance, it is eternal and is the very fabric of the universe. It goes beyond our scope of understanding and imagining.

            As a writer, as a Christian writer, no matter what I write, I need to submit it to the only One who is Love, and hopefully, His light will shine through the words and touch a heart.

Love in the Face of Death ~ Valerie Ronald

He held my hand, the one without the IV attached to it, warming it in his big, gentle palms. I was the only chemotherapy patient receiving treatment in the small room, so we could speak and act freely. I shivered, so he brought me a blanket. When I wept he did not turn away, waiting in caring silence. 

“Why are you here?” I asked him through my tears.

“Because I love you and want to be with you through whatever comes.”

“I don’t understand. You could choose from any number of healthy women with a normal life expectancy. I have cancer. Why take the chance of marrying me when I could be gone within the year?”

He smiled.

“I don’t think I am taking a chance. We know God is in this so why would it be taking a chance to be together, for as long or as little time as He gives us?” 

I shook my head in wonder at such love.


When we first met, I told Garth about my recent diagnosis of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. The survival rate stood at 40 to 50 percent at that time. It was important that I be transparent from the start so if it was too much for him, he could bow out. After a divorce, he spent six years raising his children before considering remarriage. I seemed a poor choice for a wife in light of my prognosis, however, with God writing this story, His choice became clear. I soon realized that God had gifted this man with an altruistic character, and I was the beneficiary of it.

Our wedding took place in between my chemotherapy treatments. In spite of weakness and fatigue, joy gave me the energy to enjoy our celebration to its fullest. That day happened 20 years ago, 19 of which I have been in remission from lymphoma. I tell Garth often that he is essential to my well-being. His cherishing love and care are key elements to my ongoing good health. My husband’s selfless love in the face of death speaks volumes to me about its true nature. It is a beautiful picture of Christ’s sacrificial love.

The apostle Paul exhorts husbands to love their wives so deeply, purely and sacrificially that it can only be understood when compared to the love Christ has for His bride, the church. A husband should care for his wife as if his life depended on it, the same way he cares for his own body, loving and protecting his wife as if she were his very heart. (Eph. 5:25-33)  

Every day I experience the love of Christ through the love of my husband. Having escaped a previous marriage scarred by emotional abuse and neglect, I thank God for how He has redeemed those painful years by gifting me with a marriage as He designed it to be. To take for granted the myriad of small acts of love my husband does for me throughout each day would be to miss the greater reason behind them, his love for Jesus.  

Love is large and incredibly patient. Love is gentle and consistently kind to all. It refuses to be jealous when blessing comes to someone else. Love does not brag about one’s achievements nor inflate its own importance. Love does not traffic in shame and disrespect, nor selfishly seek its own honor. Love is not easily irritated or quick to take offense. Love joyfully celebrates honesty and finds no delight in what is wrong. Love is a safe place of shelter, for it never stops believing the best for others. Love never takes failure as defeat, for it never gives up. Love never stops loving. (1 Cor. 13: 4-8 Passion Translation)  

  

 

 The high calling of love as described in 1 Corinthians 13, is not achievable unless Christ loves through us. My husband and I are not perfect at loving well. We are frail humans, prone to wander, to focus on ourselves, and to react poorly. Daily we ask God to fill us with His Spirit so we can be channels for His love to flow through us, first to each other, then to others.

When Garth was praying about re-marrying, a friend asked him what he was looking for in a wife. He said, “A woman who loves the Lord and a partner to help in the ministry He’s given me.” The friend replied, “Perhaps you are to be a partner to help in the ministry the Lord has given her.”  

Garth’s encouragement and belief in the calling of God on my life speaks volumes about his love. He has suffered late, scrambled-together dinners when I’ve lost track of time while in the writing zone. Because my work space is in our open concept living/dining room, he’s missed his favourite TV programs so I can write in peace and quiet. As my “in-house pastor”, he critiques my writing for theological and doctrinal accuracy. He has taken time off work to drive me to speaking engagements at women’s luncheons, waiting patiently in a coffee shop until I’m done. His support gives me wings to fly and confidence to pursue the ministry God has given me. I love doing what God has created me to do. With the encouragement and support of my husband, I am finally free to pursue my calling. 

We have come a long way since the days of chemotherapy treatments, poor prognoses and an uncertain future. Garth and I enjoy growing old together where we acknowledge every day as a gift from the Lord. Most of all, I want to use this gift of time to thank Him for showering me with His love through the man who loves me so well. 

 

More of Valerie's work can be read on her blog:

https://scriptordeus.wordpress.com/

Kindness, a Gift of Love by Joylene M Bailey

 

I have to say, I'm always a little shocked when someone is kind to me. 

That sounds weird, I know, but I guess what I mean is that I've always considered myself as someone in the background, unremarkable, easy to walk by without noticing. So, when someone notices or remembers me or what I've done, let alone shows kindness, I'm taken aback.

I suppose that's why it's inherent in me to notice the people no one notices. My heart is one with the child hanging back on the playground where others are clamouring for attention and pushing themselves forward to be first. I know him. I am him. 

I don't mean to say that I'm deprived. Certainly not! I grew up in the most wonderful family, immediate as well as extended family. I have been adored by my husband for 39 years. I'm surrounded by love everywhere I turn. 

It's also not to say I wish I was the one making the loudest noise and getting the attention. I like working behind the scenes most of the time.

But it is nice to be recognized occasionally, and to have my work recognized too.

That's why when I opened a gift from a friend just before Christmas, I burst into tears. At first, I couldn't figure out where the tears had come from. What on earth ...? It was a simple and beautiful gift. A small sign framed in wood, with one scripted word: begin.

Suddenly I realized why I was crying. It was because someone had read my words. The ones I had written in this post, entitled BEGIN. They had read them. They had taken the time to find suitable materials and commission the word begin to be painted in script. Then, they had beautifully wrapped it and delivered it in person. 

What a gift to give to a writer! Not only her own words, but the affirmation that her words had been read and understood. 

Truly, a gift of love for this writer.

Joy has spent the last seven weeks tangled in packing boxes as she and The Cowboy anticipate moving to the next phase of their lives in rural Alberta. Find more of her joy-infused view at Scraps of Joy.

Feature photo by Pixabay

Love at the End of Life by Alan Anderson

 

One of our writing prompts for this month asks, “What act of love and kindness has been very meaningful to you, either as a giver or a receiver—or both?” The following is my answer in the form of reflections of my time as a chaplain. Reflections of life and love with my Teachers.

 

While participating in a unit of clinical chaplaincy training at a hospital a few years ago my supervisor asked me to meet with a family. The family consisted of a mom, dad, a grandmother and two little girls. The dad experienced a traumatic injury at a party with friends. When I entered the hospital room, I noticed the tubes and wires attached to the dad. His wife sat close to him on a chair. All the time I accompanied them she held his hand. Tears wet her face and she seemed to shiver; grief will do this to us. The wife’s mother came into the room and took the little girls down the hall to give the parents time to themselves. The gentleman’s wife told me she was tired and wanted to sit by herself with him. Forty-five minutes after I left the room the dad died.

 

My life's calling has never been an easy one, but it is a journey I loved. I had the privilege to sit by the bedside of many sick or dying people and listen to their stories. I heard their cries and their laughter. I saw the tears stream down their faces when they told me they will miss their families. I marveled at the radiance of their countenances as their hope said they would soon be with God. What a humble honour.

 

The countless books and articles I read from so-called death and dying experts were helpful. None of these, however, can take the place of sitting with a dying person, the genuine expert of his or her own dying. Remarkable, moving, humbling, real, powerful, sad, joyful, enlightening, final, sobering. These and other terms have become settled in my mind heart and soul as I reflect on the narratives of my Teachers of life.

 

Here is a personal philosophy I follow. I'm not saying or even encouraging others to follow this philosophy. I allow my heart to be broken, but not in front of my Teachers. I try to feel their spiritual or emotional pain as I reflect on my time with them. This does not interfere with my ability to listen to their words. If I do not listen, I will not know what, if anything I am to say. To listen must come first.

 

My chaplain visits focused on "being with" people rather than a mutual discussion with them. To "be" with a teacher is much more fruitful than talking a lot. To be, is being present. In being present I am opening my heart and mind to learn from my Teachers. A broken heart does not leave me a soppy mess or overwhelmed. A broken heart nurtures a relationship of two people that may bring healing to both.

My faith in God has kept me focused. Focused on a calling rich in the memories of people. People not afraid to allow one to listen to their private thoughts on the end of their lives. My calling devoted energy and love for them. They gave my work and ministry purpose. I worked for them. I now write for them, my Teachers.

 

Beloved reader, who are the Teachers in your life? —Love them!

Alan lives in Deroche, B.C. with his wife, Terry. He contributed stories to Good Grief People by Angel Hope Publishing, 2017; Story by Story: The Power of a Writer, Unstoppable Writers Publishing, 2018. Alan periodically writes articles for FellowScript Magazine. Blog: https://scarredjoy.ca. He has written posts for our InScribe blog since 2015.

Love Multiplies by Gloria Guest

 I love watching my grown sons be daddies to their daughters. My oldest son has three daughters (one son) and my younger son has one daughter. There is something incredibly beautiful about the father-daughter relationship that starts right at birth and when done well, carries a girl into adulthood with intact security and a strong sense of her identity. 

I have watched my sons glow with pride with a simple look at their daughters; I’ve witnessed them play and be silly until my granddaughters are squealing with delight. I’ve witnessed their patience and gentleness. I’ve been in awe of it all. Are these really the two rambunctious boys I raised, now such loving daddies to girls? 

I never had a father like they are to their daughters and perhaps that is why I notice it so much and am so appreciative of it. Where did it come from, this love that they have for their little girls? It’s obviously not just a given. Many fathers do not love their daughters (or sons). Mine didn’t. Some fathers, like mine, view their daughters as ‘less than important than a boy,’ and much worse. So where does it come from? 

A lot of it is a mystery to me. God’s grace has reached down into our family and did something more than I could have even imagined. I know my husband and I tried our best to instill our love into our sons; we were far from perfect (I cringe thinking of some of my parenting blunders) yet I do believe they knew that they were loved. Love has an amazing ability to multiply. In fact, that may be what it does best. Multiply. I never dreamed that while I was trying to show my sons love that it would multiply in such a way that the generational curse in my family, of fathers not loving their daughters, would be broken. But it is. It’s broken. My sons love their daughters. I am humbled to have played my role. I am blessed when I think of what that will mean for my granddaughters. I’m happy that I get to be a partaker in watching it happen. 

Love is truly far more powerful than we can ever imagine. Love multiplies.

Gloria blogs and writes creative non-fiction, poetry, and fiction/memoir from her prairie home in southern Sk. Easter is her absolute favorite celebration of her Risen Lord and King. You can find some of her less recent writing at www.gloria.guest.wordpress.com

photo credit Julie Huard

Love is in the Details by Lorrie Orr

 

When a traumatic event occurs, the anniversary of that event can trigger memories, flashbacks, and grief, even if the event ended well. On February 11, 1994, I was living in the small village of Shell, on the edge of the Amazon jungle. It was Friday, and the children were looking forward to a four-day weekend for Carnaval that would mark the beginning of Lent. Tradition in that part of the world was water play – water balloons thrown with abandon - at neighbours, unsuspecting tourists, friends, and passing vehicles. We lived on a gated property with several other families. I had arranged to take some visitors to the market after lunch and left the children at home, as usual. There was always someone around.

While I was gone, a neighbour came by to invite the children, 12, 10, and 8 years old, to throw water balloons at passing vehicles from their home. Off they went.

To make a long story short, our 10 year-old son was struck by a hit-and-run driver, thrown across the road, and suffered a severe head injury. My husband was the administrator of the local mission hospital where Travis was taken. So much happened in such a short time - someone found me at the market, friends packed suitcases for us, others arranged care for our two daughters - and before I knew it, my husband and I were in a red and white Mission Aviation Fellowship Cessna 185 en route to the capital city of Quito. 

Travis lay unresponsive in the ICU for five days. We prayed, we walked, and we cried. The future looked bleak. Doctors warned us that his prognosis, even if he did awaken, was uncertain. One specialist even told us that Travis would never be able to do calculus - as if we cared!

When Travis did awaken, his recovery was slow, but steady, over about two years. Travis did well in school, went to university and studied computer engineering. I had a laugh when, in spite of the physician's warning so long ago, calculus turned out to be his best subject. I think God laughed with me.

Yet, in spite of Travis' recovery, the anniversary of the accident was a day I marked privately. There was a realization of loss, of what it's hard to say. The emotions of that day and the months of turmoil that followed burned deep into my soul. Each year I shed a few years. 

And I was okay with that. The joy definitely outweighed the sadness as Travis grew up and married. But God didn't leave me there with lingering grief. 

Twenty years to the day of Travis' accident, his son was born. They named him Felix, meaning happy or fortunate. Once again, I had to laugh at how God gifted me something I never expected. In his great love, he redeemed even the memory of that day. Now, on a day that once held sad memories, we celebrate with cake and presents. 

I am overwhelmed at God's goodness in this small, seemingly insignificant detail in my life. He showed love, far beyond what I asked or imagined. Now February 11 is a day of complete rejoicing. 

Lorrie Orr writes from Vancouver Island where she enjoys boating and hiking with her husband. Gardening, reading, sewing, and spending time with her 5 grandchildren fill her days when she isn't teaching Spanish at a local high school. 

Unconditionally by Tracy Krauss

 Unconditional... Grace. Forgiveness. Compromise. Love.

These are words that come to mind when I think about my own marriage. I believe they are the key ingredients that have allowed my husband and me to weather 42 years together. (Coming up to 39 married.) Sometimes I am in awe that God has been so gracious to me because I know we are not the norm anymore. Very recently, I was saddened to find out that friends of ours who had been married for forty-ish years got divorced.

The irony is, I come from a broken home. My parents were divorced. So were my husband's parents. So neither one of us had great examples of what a stable relationship was supposed to look like. Ironically, all my siblings have managed to stay in long-term marriages, too. Maybe we learned what not to do...

That doesn't mean our marriage has been easy. Oh contrare! I am without a doubt the more volatile partner. When we first got married I was super hot-headed--as in break and throw things! On the opposite side of the spectrum, my husband rarely took anything seriously. When I was yelling, he would just laugh at me! I couldn't get a rise of out him and it made our fights very one-sided.  It was so irritating!

Well, these days, for better or worse, we seem to have taken on each other's characteristics. I have become much more docile. I've learned to control my feelings without lashing out first. He, on the other hand, actually gets mad once in a while! (He's human after all! Phew!) 

People are often shocked when they find out how long we've been together, especially when they see that we actually still like each other! I've heard it said that love is a choice, and I suppose to a degree, it's true. Not only do I choose to love my husband, but I also choose to extend him the grace he deserves. Lord knows I need grace, so I have to be willing to give it, too.

The same goes for forgiveness. I mess up and wouldn't want him to hold my mistakes against me, so I need to do the same. Keep short accounts, as they say. We've learned to compromise. I can't have my own way all the time. Life just doesn't work that way. But, when I give a little, so does he. It balances out in the end.

Finally, we choose to love one another unconditionally. Man, did I have a lot of baggage coming into this relationship! So did he. The biggest thing that's kept us going is the unconditional love of Christ. We got saved when we were young adults. I doubt we'd still be together if that hadn't happened.

Tracy Krauss writes from her home in northern BC. She was the former president of InScribe for a season but now enjoys all that extra free time... Visit her website for more:  https://tracykrauss.com

Gifted with My Own Words, Guest Post by Brenda Leyland

Image by Erwin Nowak from Pixabay

"My heart had been

touched beyond words."

It all started on a summer day in 1988. The morning was alive with sunshine and birdsong, and the air buzzed with a sense of adventure. My girlfriends and I were off to Miette Hot Springs to celebrate Canada Day in the mountains. The vehicle was packed to the roof with picnic hampers, swimming suits and towels, and a motley host of sunscreen, blankets, hats, cameras, books, and binoculars. We all looked forward to sharing the day together—eating lunch in the mountain air, keeping our eyes peeled for flowers and wildlife, dipping in the pool, and hiking alongside cold mountain streams.

That summer day was decked out in its best glory. While my friends were busy scoping out postcard perfect photo scenes—they were the photographers—I selected a sunny spot near the cascading stream where I could let my thoughts flow. To bask in the wild beauty around me and take inspiration from it to write en plein air. A blue writing folder in my lap, I would have thought of L.M. Montgomery—she was my heart's writing mentor. Her books and poetry often referred to nature's beauty; dared I emulate her in celebration of a perfect day? A poet I was not, yet when my eyes met a pale pink wild rose blooming on a bush nearby, I felt compelled to try.

I examined its fragile petals and breathed in its heady scent, careful not to sniff a bee up my nose. Thoughts flitted and buzzed through my mind as I tried out first this word and then that one. Funny thing, taking photographs wasn't my thing in those days—the fiddling with different lenses trying to get the right focus, it was too persnickety for me. Yet I felt no such impatience when it came to fussing with words, swirling them on my tongue, listening to the cadence, choosing what best expressed an overflowing heart. That evening on our way home in the twilight hours, bodies tired and souls sated, I held my wild rose poem near to my heart.

Months later, one evening around Christmastime, my girlfriends and I met to celebrate the season. We exchanged gifts, and I was handed an elegantly wrapped package; it certainly didn't look like a book or Crabtree & Evelyn bath oil. With the last of the wrapping paper removed, I sat astonished. For there—lettered on a water-coloured background nestled alongside paper tole roses—was my wild rose poem. 

Framed and ready to hang on the wall, I held in my hands the gift of my own words.

Never shall I forget that moment. Or my dear friend's extravagance and generosity. My heart was touched beyond words. What a lovely handmade keepsake of a gorgeous summer day. But more than that, it was a gift that affirmed and acknowledged my aspirations to be a writer. No gift could have been more perfect.

The Wildrose

written July 1, 1988

The rose blooms in the wilderness

   Its only gardener the Creator

The petals send forth their fragrance

   Till the air is filled with their sweetness

The rose blooms in the wildness

   Its beauty fringed with rainbow light

Each blossom exuberantly praises the Designer 

   As it sways on the evening breeze

One rose bloomed in the wilderness

   Its beauty was crushed underfoot

But though the rose was cast aside and forgotten—

   Its fragrant blossoms permeated—forever

   changing the world in which it bloomed.

* * *

Inspired by the beauty of God's world around her, Brenda Leyland writes from her home in northerly Alberta, Canada. She also writes on her blog It's A Beautiful Life and Facebook page.

Acts of Kindness by Carol Harrison

Acts of Kindness

We should scatter kindness like the seeds of a dandelion puff blown in the wind. Let them settle on those around us even if we never know the impact they might have on the person's life. The results might be visible later, just like the yellow of dandelions blooming again where the wind blows the seeds. 

Bonnie Ware writes, “I have always felt that kindness is love made visible.” Tara Cousineau Ph.D. writes, “Kindness is love in action.” These quotes remind me of the commands of scripture in Colossians 3:12-14, one of my favourite passages on what living as a Christian should look like.

“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.
Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.
And over all these virtues put on love which binds them all together in perfect unity”.

What an amazing wardrobe that never goes out of fashion. Acts of kindness show compassion and to do them means living patiently and being gentle. There have been many instances of love in action through kindness in my life but one stands out.

For six weeks my broken knee had limited my mobility and the ability to do things for myself. Crutches and I didn’t get along very well and the icy winter sidewalks outside kept me indoors. Doing simple, everyday tasks, proved difficult while holding on to the crutches for stability and to keep any weight off the broken limb. I needed to rely on the help of others for every area of daily life.

One day a good friend offered to come over and look after my feet, certain I had asked no one to do this for me. I reluctantly accepted her help. She arrived and promptly began the evening by bringing a basin of warm water to soak my feet. After that she sat at my feet and patted them dry with a softness that would not aggravate the injured leg. She clipped and filed my toe nails. But that was only the beginning of her kindness. She continued to pamper me by adding coats of polish to beautify my long-neglected toes. 

My friend’s act of service reminded me of Jesus washing his disciples’ feet in John 13. He, their teacher and their Lord, took on a task reserved for the household servants. He taught in words and by example how they should treat each other. In Philippians 2:3 & 4, Paul reminds us “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit rather in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others.”

It felt strange and almost wrong to have my friend sit at my feet for over an hour so she could look after my feet. Yet we visited, shared from our hearts, and prayed together during that time. My friend’s servant heart, her example, and the verses from scripture challenged me to look for needs others might have that I would have the ability to do and by doing so, serve them. Some of these tasks might be ones often forgotten about, but appreciated more than we realize.

Years ago, I read a quote that I remember as, “Kindness is love in working clothes.” I checked to find out the author and it is attributed to Josephina on her wordpress.com page which reads, “Kindness is love in work clothes. Who can you show kindness to today?”

These verses, quotes and the example of my friend’s servant heart challenge me to answer that question, “Who can I show kindness to today?” Then I need to listen to the nudges of God to act and do acts of kindness to show Jesus’s love to others around me and give God all the glory. 

 Colossians 3:17 “Whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus.”

 

Carol Harrison lives, writes, and hangs out with family and friends from her home in Saskatoon, SK. You can contact her at carol@carolscorner.ca