SHAKEN by Pamela Mytroen

SHAKEN

 

In keeping with January's theme, I dedicate this piece to a member whose words in writing and in person embodied InScribe’s mission. She, like InScribe, continues to inspire me. 

 

For Bobbi:

 

Bobbi knew her place in a salt-shaker. While she may have been more comfortable hiding quietly, she surrendered her heart to Jesus, and allowed Him to shake her. 

     In her upside-down, unsettling       moments, she poured herself out in a generous pinch of thirst-creating, truth-preserving, hope-enhancing salt to her world. 

 

     Throughout membership and contest coordinating for InScribe, I leaned on Bobbi to answer scads of questions. Emails flew back and forth, mine often heavy with desperation, hers always brief with just a question or a little comment that clarified things. Between the cracks and crevices of numbers, graphs, and spreadsheets, Bobbi sprinkled the salt of encouragement. One of her last comments to me was , “One day at a time, Sweet Jesus.” She practiced that daily dependency on Jesus for everything from balancing the InScribe books to pacing herself through another hard-to-breathe day. With that little phrase, I knew her faith was still real, practical, and a light to me in the midst of deadlines. 

   

Salt is a tricky thing to get right. Too much and it’s revolting. Not enough and it disappoints, leaving flavours hidden. 

Thirst for Living Water

But Bobbi had a knack for seasoning her words with just the right amount. It made me long for more of her wisdom, her wit, and her grace. Just like salt creates thirst, so our words should be seasoned with faith, hope, and love, moving our readers to yearn for Living Water.

Bobbi’s words challenged the reader. She told stories simply and with an almost uncomfortable honesty. Salt can sting in an open wound, but also heals. If you’ve heard her podcasts based on “The Reluctant Care Giver”, or read her book by the same title, you would recall her unpredictable and somewhat chaotic journey with her mother as she tried to place her into assisted care. The way Bobbi tells it left me laughing and crying at the same time. She listened to God’s voice, at times turning her car around and for reasons unknown to her, driving to her mom's place. As a result of letting God lead the way in the puzzling maze of dementia, she was able to partner with her mom, and her nontraditional "method" resonated with many caregivers, professionals included. Her simple faith still challenges me to be radically obedient, like her.  

 

Salt also kills bacteria by sucking the life-water out of its environment. Before refrigeration, salt in abundance, not just a sprinkle, was required to preserve meats. Jesus called us the salt of the earth, (Matthew 5:13) possibly because it is our duty to preserve goodness in the dirt around us. While our eyes burn from the stench of hatred, greed, and injustice, we are called to prevent moral decay by packing a lavish portion of His life-giving, healing words around the muscles and tendons of those with tender faith. Perhaps He expects us to share such savoury words that they "suck the life out of" society's slimy salmonella-infused lies, and cure carnal rawness with pure Spirit. Bobbi wrote essays for our Fall contest. Her words challenged deceptive norms, and confronted ideas that threaten the value and dignity of human life. She wrapped salty truth around every paragraph of every piece, and injected a briny veracity into her books and presentations. She helped preserve the standards for which InScribe stands.  

 

The humble salt-shaker - in a myriad of shapes and colours - brings us all together at the table as we lean in and seek salt, or some variation of it. We as blood-bought believers are that salt. We are all diverse, viewing life through our own upbringing and culture, and even interpreting current laws differently, but Jesus' forgiveness and His call on our lives pulls us together into the cozy confine of the shaker. Bobbi, with her grace-seasoned spirit, often stepped out of coziness to share tidbits of truth. 

 

Our InScribe family, and no doubt Bobbi’s more intimate circle of her own family, are missing her these days. We are tasting the salt in our tears. May that be a reminder to learn from her, and to be willing to be shaken. Shaken right out of our comfortable shaker. 

May we, like Bobbi, sprinkle a little truth into everything we write, to create thirst for the eternal Spring. 

Like her, let us flavour our stories with a daring dash of hope. And let us pack a briny brightness into every sentence of every story to nudge our readers as they take one more step  - "one more day at a time, Sweet Jesus" - across the gulf of darkness and into the Light.  

 “Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone” (Colossians 4:6 NIV). 

 

 

    

 

 

  

 

 

A little salt goes a long way by Pamela Mytroen

I don’t see God’s supernatural hand when I’m in the midst of a storm; I see it after the calm. After that wounded day of 9/11 in September of 2001, I had responded by writing an article, which I had taken to our local newspaper. It was rejected. However, I was offered a job as a correspondent, which softened the “blow”. I began writing feature pieces for the paper but I was restless. I desired to share Christ with my community, to point the way to Truth.   

The world’s thinking had shifted as the smoke from 9/11 dissipated into the clouds. Christ was embraced at first as people grieved, but the thunder of suspicion and skepticism towards Christianity began to rock our world. I felt that if I didn’t quickly share truth with people, that our chances might crumble like the twin towers. The editor had assigned me to write human interest pieces and I was not allowed to venture out of that role. How could I write for Jesus in our paper now? 

Previously, the Pastors of our community had written a weekly column in the paper, but over time, as the Pastors moved on and a new editor was hired, that column disappeared. I longed to see God’s Word in print, taking on advertisements and news. I began to pray about it and God began to nudge me to take action.  

God whispers, seldom shouts, but it’s a whisper made of fire that burns deeply. I don’t like to be the one to give feet and action to my dreams, but God believes in us; isn’t that amazing? So He wouldn’t let go. I was and still am fearful about leading. A storm of doubt always rages inside me when I need to talk to people and make something happen, but God’s whisper had shot through me and I needed to obey.  

I could send an email to the newspaper office with my desire to see this column start up again. No, too impersonal. Or I could call. Again, too easy for the editor to say, “no.” I knew I had to go in person, which unsettled my stomach. I approached one pastor and shared my idea. He liked the idea of writing for the paper, but said he was too busy to help me. So I approached another pastor, who was very young, and new in his position. “Yes, of course, I’d be happy to come with you.” I suspected that our inexperience and youth wouldn’t stand a chance against this seasoned, curmudgeonly editor. I’d been told that the new editor was very secular and wanted nothing to do with Christianity in her paper. “She will run you out of her office,” one said. Another said, “She won’t publish anything Christian. I’ve been trying for 3 years.” I really hoped the editor wouldn't be there when we went to see her or that the office would burn down before we arrived. Anything to avoid being chased from her presence. Just before we went to the Times, this young pastor and I bowed our heads and prayed that God would open the hard heart of this editor. 

We were ushered into The Editor's office. She jabbed at her keyboard as we stood before her. She asked what we wanted while she scrolled through her screen, harrumphing and sighing. We sat down. She looked at us over her glasses and I shared how I would like to see this type of column start up again. The young pastor enthusiastically talked about his ideas of writing for the Times. 

I will always remember what happened next. The editor crossed her arms over her chest and stared at us. She said nothing. The silence condemned me – why did I think this had been a good idea? Then, she leaned back in her chair. It was one of those reclining office chairs. She kept her arms folded and continued to stare at me. My perspiring hands slipped on the plastic arms of the chair. Not only would she reject this crazy idea, but she would probably not trust me to write any more feature pieces. Her chair creaked as she leaned forward, preparing to announce her judgment. I uncrossed my legs, and planted my feet, ready to flee from her presence. 

The words she said burned their way into my imagination and seared my doubts to a crisp. “Yes,” she said, picking up her pen. “That is exactly what our paper has been missing.” 

The young pastor, who had believed all along, chatted with her and they began to put plans in place. It would be called, “Pass the Salt” The word count would be 300 and pastors from a variety of denominations in town would take their turn writing every week. About that time I began to breathe again and we left the office together. That was almost 20 years ago.

The salt is still being "passed" every single week. Storms continue to happen since 9/11, but during every one that our nation, province, or community endures, the Word of God is shared by our pastors. Like a rainbow, it arches over the fear and devastation and gives hope and light to our community. 

As I look back I see that although God’s whisper is so gentle, and can be snuffed out, that is how He guides me. He is so wise. He fought the battle in the heart of an editor. He paved the way to transform lives, and all He asked of me was that I take His hand, go along with Him that day, and watch Him do something amazing. We serve an extraordinary God who whispers calm into a storm.