Happy Leap Day 2024, friends! On this special bonus day, I’m offering you some bonus content. Below is an article written by my husband, Chris, which inspired me to look at each day a little differently. I hope it speaks to you as much as it did me. Enjoy this extra day!!
Blessings and Peace,
Sara
I’m writing this on February 28 – typically the last day of the month. BUT – not this year. I know, it isn’t exactly news that every fourth year there is an extra day added to the month of February as a way to keep our seasons from getting even further out of whack (you know, like 80 degrees in February). Tomorrow (likely today by the time you read this) is a bonus day, that special day added to the calendar once every four years to account for the fact that the Earth actually takes 364.25 days to orbit the sun.
February 29 is one of those oddities of life. Have you ever known someone born on February 29? I’ve known at least 4 people with 2/29 birthdays. I had the joy of celebrating with a church member several years ago his “21st” birthday. It was fun to be with the 84-year-old man and his family as they playfully celebrated this milestone.
I’ve always had this draw to February 29 as a “bonus day” or “gift day” because it does only come around once every 4 years. It is something that doesn’t happen all that often and seems like it should be celebrated. (Although, this year, I’m pretty sure the calendar doesn’t leave a lot of room to do anything too special. We’ll see.)
But here’s the thing we forget sometimes: Yes, February 29 is special, but so are all the other days. I shared a prayer above. This isn’t a new prayer, I didn’t develop it or just discover it. I remember a professor of mine in seminary starting every class period with this prayer, and that is where it became meaningful to me. I say some form of this prayer most mornings prior to getting out of bed. It reminds me that every day can be a special day.
Every day is a “gift day” or “bonus day.” Every day that my eyes open, that I get to spend with family and friends, that I get to participate in the building of God’s kingdom, every one of those days are bonus days.
On this “Bonus Day,” I pray that God would stir up in you a desire to serve him, to live peacefully with your neighbors, and to devote EACH day to our Savior, Jesus Christ the Lord.
This past week marked the season of Lent–a time when many of us Christians give up or pick up habits in an effort to grow closer to becoming that person we believe (fingers crossed) God has called us to be. A few weeks ago, I read a devotion based on Isaiah 1:11-21 that lit a fire within me. If you haven’t read it, take a few moments to do so…I’ll wait.
In Isaiah 1, God has had it with the people of Israel. They’ve made worship a spectacle–kind of like the Super Bowl, but without T-Swift. They show up with their game-day gear, jump around, scream and cheer, get fired up and riled up, then go home feeling really good about themselves, secure in the knowledge that they’re part of team God and they will always bring home the bling. However…God’s not buying it. Look at what he says to the Israelites:
#saramsnyder.com
Yikes! I’m not going to lie, that kind of stings. That’s because I have a feeling, deep down, that Isaiah’s words are as true today as they were thousands of years ago. How often do we make our faith a performance–something we throw on Sunday mornings like a special-occasion dress so we can #church on social media? We tend make worship a bit of a spectacle, too, complete with loud songs, raised hands, and calls of “Amen” and “Praise Jesus!” None of this is wrong, per se, but God tells us that he wants more than the motions. In Isaiah, God’s not angry that the Israelites are worshipping emphatically–he’s furious that their so-called devotion doesn’t extend beyond the walls of the Temple.
While the Israelites are happy to bring sacrifices to God in worship, they most certainly aren’t doing so beyond that. They lie and cheat. They ignore those in need. They don’t defend the widows or help the orphans. And they oppress the immigrants. In fact, Isaiah goes so far as to say that the people of Israel have blood-stained hands. Maybe they haven’t physically hurt someone else, but their actions have perpetuated systems of injustice that have led to people being oppressed and neglected. When children are starving, who is responsible? God seems to say that we all are.
So, what does God want from us? Isaiah lays it out pretty clearly:
#saramsnyder
We are to be the people of hope–the feet that bring good news to the poor, sight to the blind, and release to the captives. Our acts of worship should fill us up with God’s spirit so that we can leave behind the walls of the church and bring God’s mercy and love to those on the streets…the hungry, addicted, enslaved, abused, grief-stricken, struggling, fearful, lonely people we meet every day.
God’s justice is different from the world’s justice. When the prophets speak of justice, they’re not always talking about retribution. Rather, it’s a reordering of priorities and practices. God’s justice is about freedom–breaking the chains of poverty, racism, sexism, ableism, violence, human trafficking, hunger, climate change so that all people can live into their God-given potential because all people are children of God.
God’s justice makes me want to move, to act, to sing the Good News into the world. Before Lent, I had a plan. I was going to make a justice calendar for myself that I could hang above my desk. There would be a daily act of justice, something small, but meaningful, I could check off each day. But as I considered this justice to-do list, I came to a daunting reality: You can’t schedule justice on a calendar.
The truth is, fighting oppression is a long slog through the bogs of humanity. Though we can give to the hungry, it takes a lot of time, effort, resources, and reordering of our systems of government and finance to ensure that every person can provide for themselves. Case in point, we once served a church that helped build a chicken farm in a community in Haiti. The farm was supposed to bring financial freedom to the people of the community and help their neighbors get sustenance, but these God-inspired goals were hit with the full force of political turmoil and economic oppression. The farm struggled, and though the people of the community are diligently trying to make it work, it’s an uphill battle.
Justice is hard, because it calls for a reordering of society. Justice is about relinquishing power, turning over our resources, making more room at the table for people who might make us uncomfortable. And honestly, I don’t always have the will or desire to do that. However, God is adamant that this is nonnegotiable. Remember when Jesus said: “Whatever you do for the least of these, you do for me?” That’s justice. And it’s so hard.
Fortunately, when it comes to hard things, we’re not alone. We have a God who can do infinitely more that we could ever plan or imagine. He makes things possible, though not necessarily easy. This Lenten season, I feel like I’m at the start of something. There’s a road that God is inviting me to follow, and I know we’re going to wind our way through some steep hills and marshy valleys. I don’t know anymore what this focus on justice will bring, but I know it’s a journey I have to take. Because we are kingdom builders. Even it we have to start with one small pebble at a time.
Have you ever missed the turn onto your street? I’m not talking after recently moving to a new city or neighborhood–I mean a true head in the clouds moment where you blew right past the place you’ve been turning into for at least three years. I would like to tell you that this happened to me once….but the truth is….no one in my house is surprised when I miss an obvious turn. I just get distracted. There’s a great song playing and I’m singing along. Or a fox crossed the road and I’m craning my neck to see where it went. Maybe I’m too focused on the pinks and purples bleeding into the horizon as the sun sets. Whatever the case, I don’t always pay enough attention to where I’m going.
Recently, I was re-reading Moses’ call story. This is, hands down, one of my favorite stories in all of Scripture. I love that Moses is not a superhero. I love that he comes up with excuse after excuse to avoid God’s call. I love that Moses is plagued with self-doubt. I love that he boldly tells God he needs some muscle because he can’t carry this call alone. And, of equal importance, I love that Moses was distracted enough to have an encounter with God in the first place.
As Exodus 3 opens, Moses is tending sheep for his father-in-law. I don’t know a lot about sheep, but I cannot imagine it to be a highly stimulating job, especially for someone whose resume boasts “working royal”. With no smart phone, book, magazine, or radio, Moses had lots of time and space for his mind to wander. And that’s how he came to notice the burning, yet strangely not burning bush.
In this passage, Moses was aware enough of his surroundings, yet distractible enough from his task at hand, that he noticed something out of the ordinary was taking place. Moses looked up. And when he looked up, he saw something new–something remarkable–and it sparked his interest. When Moses saw the burning, not burning bush, he was curious. And so, (like future shepherds would) he went to see this thing which had come to pass.
Here’s where the story gets really interesting: It wasn’t until Moses actually went to see what was going on that God showed up. Scripture tells us that an angel of the Lord was responsible for the fire. Though God had orchestrated the supernatural event, Moses had to take the first step before God called his name.
Sometimes, God needs to get our attention before he can get to work in our lives. And he waits until we’re invested before he speaks. Moses shows us that when God calls, sometimes it requires us to wake up and move!
Too often, I run around with my head so lost in the fog of my thoughts or an electronic device that I can’t hear God call. I’m not focused on where God and how he’s working and what he might be inviting me to take part in. And so, God gets my attention in some surprisingly odd ways. Like a cow…stuck in a fence.
Years ago, as I was going about my business, driving the two-lane highway past farms and fields that was my daily commute, singing along to whatever pop song was on the radio, I happened to spot movement from the corner of my eye. Turning my head, I saw something new–a cow that was entangled in a barbed wire fence. As my brain was attempting to process this strange sight, my cell phone rang. It was my sister, driving down city streets 200 miles away, passing storefronts instead of fences. When I told her about the bizarre bovine encounter, I expected a chuckle, or at best, a snort. But what I got instead was a question that entirely upended my way of thinking. She asked: “What are you going to do about it?” In that moment, my sister reminded me that we are not to be passive bystanders on the road of life. Rather, we are called to enter in, to act, to make a difference. Because if we don’t, then who will?
And so, I called the sheriff’s department and reported a wayward cow. I have no idea what happened next, if the cow was safely removed from the fence or became someone’s dinner, but I know that God used that cow (and my sister) to teach me a lesson that has factored into many of my ensuing moments. But before God could get to the lesson, I first had to notice…and then I had to move.
What do you need to look up from to see God working in the world? Where is he trying to get your attention? And are you willing to go and see what he’s doing?
I love January. It’s cold and quiet is a welcome respite after the jangling hustle and bustle of the holidays. Sometimes it snows, transforming the grey and boring landscape into something sparkling and wonderful. On those days, everything comes to a full stop. We stay in pajamas and grab our blankets, cups of coffee or cocoa or tea, a good book or movie or board game, and take time to just be. And in the being, we have time to think…to consider…to dream. January, in its quiet possibility, reminds us that we don’t ever just remain what we are–we can grow–we can adopt new habits, set new goals, seek self-improvement. And for people of faith, it is a reminder of God’s graciousness, because the one who knit us together in our mother’s womb is still creating.
God doesn’t ever let us be. He is, as C.S. Lewis wrote, the “great hound of heaven” (or, if you rather Anne LaMott’s description–a stray tom cat yowling at the front door.) As Paul writes in Romans 8, God had a plan for us in the dawn of time. Millions of years before the first person would ever set foot on Earth, centuries before our ancestors began putting down roots, decades before our parents even considered the next generation, God was working in our lives to write his redemptive story.
God sees the possibility in our lives. He knows where we’re going, even if it doesn’t always seem clear to us. He knows the obstacles that will stand in our way, and is ready to hold us when the journey becomes too much. He’s there, every step of the way, teaching us and mentoring us–fashioning us in his image–not the one we see in the mirror–hand held out, inviting us to follow. God offers the gift of possibility.
So, what possibility is God speaking into your life this year? What dreams is he whispering into your soul? If you’re like me, I bet some of them are pretty daunting. In my experience, God likes a big project–something I could never accomplish on my own. Like writing a book. Or pursuing a degree. Sponsoring a ministry. Even embarking on a new career path. Possibility can seem impossible, until God steps into the room. As Jesus told his disciples:
I don’t know how God will work out the possibilities he’s offering in your life. But I know it will be wondrous and surprising–surpassing all you could dream or imagine. My life at 46 is vastly different from the life I was working toward at 26…yet it is also infinitely better. When I accepted God’s call of possibility, it changed my life for the better, even if it wasn’t anything I had planned.
This January, as you contemplate change, take some time to lean into God’s possibility for your story. When we step into God’s possibility, we see the world (and ourselves) through his eyes, moving beyond who we are into who God calls us to be. Are you ready?
Over Christmas, our family took a trip to NYC–along with half the world’s population! It was beyond crowded at most of the tourist spots. Just for some perspective, here’s a look at our ferry on the way back from Ellis Island:
See those life vests up above? Just decoration…if that sardine can went down, we were all going with it.
If I’m being honest, I am not really at my best among hordes of people. In my better moments, I see crowds as a nuisance–something to get through in order to experience something I want. And at my worst…well…I mostly wish they would just all go away so I can fully enjoy whatever I want to enjoy. It’s selfish and entitled, and I am fully aware of that in the moment. Unfortunately, that awareness doesn’t always precipitate change.
That’s why I am floored that Jesus’ response to the overflow of people hounding him along his journey isn’t one of exasperation; rather, Matthew tells us (three times!) that Jesus saw the crowds and had compassion.
Compassion is a powerful word. It’s more than just feeling bad for someone. Instead, to have compassion means that you are so deeply concerned about the circumstances of another human being that, according to Merriam Webster, you have “an urgent desire to aid” them. When Jesus saw the crowds around him, his heart was broken open. He saw their sickness, both spiritual and physical, and was compelled by an urgent desire to make them better.
Too often, when I look at others, I don’t see them with compassion. I see the poor choices, the dirty fingernails, the tattered clothes, the coarse language, the cloying neediness, the boisterous braggadocio, the condescending glance, the mental illness, or even the gleaming success….and I walk away full of my own self-righteousness, somehow thinking that Jesus’ compassion is a gift only for me.
In the gospel of Luke, Jesus gives those who will listen a lesson on compassion. Love your enemies, he says. Do good, and lend expecting nothing in return. If you do, you will have a great reward. You will be acting the way children of the Most High act, for–and this is the kicker– he is kind to ungrateful and wicked people.
God is kind to ungrateful and wicked people. And who might those ungrateful and wicked people be, per se? Get a mirror.
God always sees right into the hearts of his children. And when he finds their particular sickness (which we all have), he doesn’t turn away. He is so concerned for them, for us, that he has an urgent desire to act. God brings healing and hope to all those he encounters. And, if we’re willing, he’s offering us the chance to take part in this healing with him by showing others compassion.
We are called to be a people of compassion–a people who are so concerned with the problems facing other human beings that we have an urgent desire to aid them. But so often, we let our own sickness keep us from engaging in this practice. We put ourselves first, and quite honestly, most of us don’t even show compassion there.
This year, my focus word is compassion. I want to look at others with Jesus’ eyes–to see beyond the surface and into the heart, and to allow that knowledge of who, what, and why someone is (fill in the blank) break open my soul and lead me to act rather than pass by. It won’t be easy…I realize that I’m fighting against some deeply ingrained habits of behavior. But if I open the door of my heart to God’s compassion, I think that change will come…
The other day, as I was talking to my 15-year-old in the kitchen, I noticed that he was sporting a new watch–a Hello Kitty watch. Where’d you get that?, I asked. And then answered my own question before he could get there. His buddy, _____, of course.
This is the same friend who got my son a copy of Thomas Paine’s Common Sense for his birthday, and who encouraged him to learn the guitar. This is the same friend my son competes with on a daily basis to see who can get first chair in band, score the highest on a math test, bench the most at the gym, and get the fastest mile on their bikes. These two challenge each other, celebrate each other, and just generally get each other.
As a parent, watching your child form meaningful and lasting friendships with people who get them is one of life’s greatest blessings. There’s something wonderful about being known–about being understood. You don’t have to explain your reasoning, justify your thinking, or apologize for your emotions. You can proudly wear a Hello Kitty watch to high school because it’s funny and weird and that is who you are and your friend understands that.
One of my favorite passages of Scripture comes from the Gospel of John. The “beloved”disciple begins his tale as all great tales start–in the beginning.
John establishes an almost symbiotic relationship between God and Jesus, both floating in the amniotic fluid of the universe and nursing new stars into being–each needing the other to bring forth their cosmic masterpiece. In the darkness of deep space light burst forth, and John tells us that the light was life spoken by the Word, and that this life-giving light of God was for all people. God, Jesus, and Spirit were one, and they enfolded humankind into their midst. Talk about a knowledge too great and wonderful for me!!
Often, when it comes to faith, I think we know (or think we know) a lot about God. We read Scripture and learn the stories of faith. We listen to teachers and understand the key points. We can say that God is good, or just, or merciful, or righteous. We can quote our favorite verses, and maybe list all of the books of the Bible. But knowing about someone isn’t the same as knowing them. To know someone goes so much deeper than being aware of the key events in their lives and maybe their favorite colors. We get to know others through relationship–in talking and sharing and laughing and crying and listening and understanding and journeying together. It takes time, and it takes effort, but the result is something so deep and beautiful and lasting that words can’t accurately convey it. It’s love distilled to its purest and simplest form. And it is what Jesus brings into the world.
John says that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us–we sing about it each December. But Jesus’ birth isn’t a pretty story to tell in the dark and cold of winter, it’s an opportunity to be known by the One who created us deep within our mother’s wombs. Because of Jesus, we can know God–we can walk and talk with him just like Adam and Eve did in Eden. And in Jesus, John tells us that the meaning and purpose of the universe–of life itself–comes into focus. Jesus invites us to know God as one of our closest companions, and it is in that knowing that our lives take shape.
At Christmas, we don’t celebrate the end of a story–rather, we celebrate the beginning of a deep and meaningful relationship. God made himself flesh and dwelt among us to bring us closer to him. How deep the Father’s love for us, indeed!
“Slow down!” I called, pulling in with both arms on a leash stretched taut between our big baby of a Great Dane puppy and my hand–her barreling down the trail and me being dragged behind. “You go my pace! I don’t go yours!” I cried as she finally came to a standstill, looking back at me with an expression of annoyance that clearly communicated I needed to do a better job of keeping up.
The problem of ploughing pell-mell through the woods (beyond a dislocated shoulder) is that we miss the wonder and beauty and peace that comes from contemplating all of creation on display around us. There’s not time to pause and ponder the bright yellow leaf that has fallen, absolutely perfectly, into the middle of the path. There’s no time to stop and stare eye-to-eye at the brown-eyed doe tentatively assessing whether it’s safe to cross the path. There’s no time to marvel at the way the crisp, cool air expands your lungs, and the how the earth smells sharp and rich as it seeks to reclaim the leaves and twigs and smashed nut shells of the previous season. There’s just no time…
This is how I often feel during the season of Advent (yes, it’s still a thing; no, it’s not a countdown to Christmas), like I’m being pulled through something marvelous that I really want to stop and enjoy, but there’s just no time. Where Christmas is bright, big, and boisterous, Advent is retracted and reflective, requiring a certain amount of stillness and awareness. These are qualities our society does not endorse. And so we sprint through it to take in as much of the holiday hoopla as we can instead of waiting and watching and listening for the arrival of the holy, like those wise bridesmaids Jesus spoke of in the gospels.
In the above Scripture passage, the prophet Micah is lamenting the path the people of Israel have chosen. They have relegated God to an afterthought, and instead of listening for him, instead of watching and waiting for the deliverance God longs to bring, the people are living as they wish. The people of Israel rush around seeking to make themselves happy in a misguided attempt to close the gaping hole that no amount of money, power, luxury goods, or food seems to fill. There is conflict and animosity, injustice and idolatry in the wreckage of God’s perfect order.
And then there is Micah, who must feel like he’s screaming into the wind, compelling the people of Israel to remember before it’s too late that God only wants these things from them: to be just, to choose love, and to walk in humble obedience with God. But God’s path is a slow one, filled with detours and unexpected pit stops, and the people have no desire for such a seeming waste of time. So Micah sits, pulling his cloak around him, and waits–believing with every fiber of his being that he will see the Lord’s salvation when it comes. Micah stops to watch. He stills himself to listen. He doesn’t check his watch, add to his to-do list, or strategize a shopping plan. He just waits. And hopes. And listens. Do you know what Micah hears in the waiting? He hears the voice of God.
This is the beauty of Advent, if we truly allow ourselves to indulge in it. As we wait, as we watch, as we still ourselves to listen, we, too, can hear the voice of God. Sometimes it comes in wonder, as we gaze at God’s beauty in nature or in the companionship of those we love. Sometimes it comes in song, as we pause to listen to Christmas hymns both new and old. Sometimes it comes in Scripture, as we take time to dive into God’s word and find revelation anew. And sometimes it comes in the quiet of our stilled thoughts…a soft and gentle whisper nudging us in a specific direction or wrapping us up in acceptance and love.
Newbery Award Winning Author Madeline L’Engle puts it this way:
Advent calls us into a holy stillness. While the world whirls in a carousel of frenetic energy, blurring our thoughts and confounding our senses, we are called to hop off the ride and sit, like Micah, on the side of the road…waiting and watching…believing with every fiber of our beings, that we will see the salvation of the Lord. Come, Lord Jesus….
For several days this fall, I awoke with Phil Wickham’s beautiful hymn “Reason I Sing” playing through my head. If you haven’t heard it, take a listen here. I remember one morning in particular, when I was standing on the front porch watching the puppy run amok. The light was still new–you know–that happy pale yellow that makes everything look like an Instagram pic, and the sky was that perfect cerulean blue that only comes when summer is waning into fall. I remember looking at our bushes–which are big and unruly and always make me want to grab a shovel and start digging them out, and humming the chorus of Wickham’s song, when I had the unmistakeable awareness of the presence of the holy diffusing itself all around me.
Before you get all excited about some modern-day burning bush story that ends with me uprooting my family and heading to Egypt, let me clarify that I didn’t see my bushes on fire (though if they HAD been…never mind). No, in that moment of holy hello the overwhelming feeling that bubbled up inside of me was gratitude. I began thinking about all of the reasons I had to sing: breath in my lungs, a roof over my head, family peacefully slumbering inside, good friends to share the journey with, food on my table, work that I love….but mostly, that there is a God who created all things, who is full of love and mercy, and who calls me his own. And so, in that moment, the song I had awoken singing became a prayer of thanksgiving to the One who calls me beloved.
Gratitude is a powerful thing. I’m not talking about the merely polite “thank yous” we dole out when someone holds a door, hands us a receipt, or refills our water. I’m talking about that deep-from-your-soul spring of praise that bubbles up when you realize that you are walking with a holy presence, and the very fact that He IS means you are blessed. Maybe not materially, maybe not in health, maybe not financially, maybe not in peace…but for sure in the secure knowledge that you are held by the One who created the heavens and the earth and who holds eternity in his hands. And that is our hope. And that is our joy. And that, Wickham writes, is reason to sing.
That’s not to dismiss the horrors of the world–of which there are many. My heart breaks for the people of Israel, Gaza, Sudan, and Ukraine, especially the children whose lives are being ripped apart by unimaginable violence. I ache for those friends who are in the midst of the valley of the shadow of death–whether it be a physical loss of someone held dear, the end of a relationship, or a sudden change in life’s circumstance. But the fact that there is pain and suffering in the world shouldn’t diminish our capacity for gratitude, or cause us to cease lifting our voices in praise. On the contrary, I think, as God’s people, we are called to stand in front of that yawning pit of darkness and to fight it by lifting our voices together in a song of praise to the one who will make all things new.
Being grateful for what God has done in our lives doesn’t mean we’re ignoring the pain….it just means we’re choosing to put our hope in something more than that which can be found on Earth. And we know where that hope leads. It carries us to eternal joy, which is so much more than temporal happiness.
So this week, as we gather with loved ones to share a meal in a season meant for giving thanks, let’s lift our souls in songs of praise to the one who journeys with us, faithfully holding our hands as we navigate a road that can be broken, muddy, covered in boulders, hilly, and sometimes dark, knowing that he will lead us to where we need to be.
As many of you know, I love Scripture. It’s how God and I connect on a day-to-day basis. As I read, I feel like I’m having a conversation with God, and it both fills and enriches me. Recently, I’ve also been turning to the words of those who have come before–some of those in the great cloud of witnesses Hebrews references. These are scholars, theologians, and church leaders who have helped to shape the Christian faith over the past few millenia. So, I was very excited when, as part of Bible Gateway’s Blogger Grid, I was offered the opportunity to review a free copy of the new Bible featuring the writings of some of these faith founders.
Called the Timeless Truths Bible, it is written in the New English Translation and features insight from leaders like John Wesley, Martin Luther, Augustine, and Charles Spurgeon. According to the publisher, the Timeless Truths Bible: “will encourage you through the always timely wisdom of those who came before us. Devotional notes and commentary from trusted theologians and pastors from the second century up to the twentieth will stir your affections. The ancient creeds and confessions of the faith will grow your understanding of what we believe—and have always believed. And artwork created throughout the history of Christianity will deepen your worship of the one we call Lord.”
Also included are:
Margin notes featuring devotional and theological commentary from notable figures throughout church history including Irenaeus, Justin Martyr, Augustine, Martin Luther, Ulrich Zwingli, Origen, John Wesley, Charles Spurgeon, John Bunyan, and John Calvin.
Forty-six full-page biographies of church leaders
The complete text of some of the creeds and confessions of the Christian faith that have shaped our beliefs for generations, including:
The Apostles’ Creed
The Nicene Creed
The Chalcedonian Definition
The Athanasian Creed
The Augsburg Confession
The Belgic Confession
The Westminster Catechism
The Lausanne Covenant
Book introductions for every book of the Bible
Full-color tip-in pages of artwork from the history of Christianity
As I’ve dug into these texts over the past week or so, I’m reminded that we do not walk this road of faith alone, and the insights and understandings shared from brothers and sisters over time both enrich and renew me. Reading their words, I feel more connected to a global faith, and feel an even greater responsibility to pass it to the next generation. This Bible is a through-line of faith, linking past and present. And though it is highly male-centric, leaving out the voices of faith-mothers like Susannah Wesley, Julian of Norwich, and Teresa of Avila, it is a remarkable resource that can help us unpack the timeless truths of Scripture and make them relevant to a new generation.
You can find the Timeless Truths Bible here or on Amazon.
Last week, in the middle of an aisle at Sam’s Club, I felt the warning signs of an impending anxiety attack. As I stared at my cart piled to the brim with boxes and tubs and pre-packaged everything, my heart began to pound and my temperature rose, then cooled, while the pit that often lays dormant my core began to open and gnash its pointy teeth.
“Is this enough?” I wondered. “Will everyone have enough to eat? Maybe we need a greater variety of chips? Do we need more drinks? And what about dessert? We can’t run out of dessert. But we’re already spending a lot of money. I shouldn’t spend anymore, right?” With everything pounding inside and a sinking feeling spirit, I headed to the checkout where I handed over both my debit card and my goods–feeling terrible about both.
This, my friends, is what it’s like to live in a culture of scarcity. Nothing is ever enough, and all that we have in abundance is anxiety. I know you can relate. It’s how we roll in the western world. Marketers tell us that we need to buy something fast because those shoes won’t be on sale next week and the Pumpkin Spice Latte only lasts for a season. We’re taught to consume it all before it’s gone–YOLO, am I right–while at the same time being told to hoard everything in case you need it down the road. It’s no wonder a trip to the grocery store often feels like stepping into the Hunger Games arena!
But it’s not just about finite resources. We have the same scarcity principle of time–cramming our calendars to overflowing so as not to miss out on something, while bemoaning our lack of time to do the things we truly enjoy. In our minds, everything can become nothing in the blink of an eye…so we perpetually focus on the not enough.
Like most things in our world, the scarcity deficit from which we operate is the complete opposite of what God envisioned for his kingdom. Consider this passage from Psalm 36.
I love the imagery here–how God calls us not to amble over for a light pre-game snack, but to run and eat our fill of heaven’s bounty while quenching our thirst from Eden’s own spring! There is no scarcity in God’s realm…there is only fulfillment. Need more proof?
Consider the creation story, when God caused light to burst into the void that was the Earth, then brought forth lush vegetation, waters teeming with life, and a myriad of creatures roaming the land. Or Abram, whom God called to marvel at the fullness of the night sky, then said that Abram’s offspring would outnumber even the vastness of these celestial jewels. Later, as Abram’s offspring wandered the wilderness and wondered what was for dinner, God made sure their bellies were full of heavenly bread and succulent meat. Then there is Ruth, who gleaned in a field in expectation of finding meager sustenance, only to have Boaz instruct his workers to leave piles of wheat for her to gather. And can we forget the woman at the well, whom Jesus promised streams of living water so that she would never thirst again?
Our God is abundant. There is no scarcity to be found in his work, in his love, in his mercy, in his grace. So why do we choose to live as if there is a deficit? Why do we insist that we don’t have enough when we worship a God whose very nature is one of generous giving. God gives–fully, completely, abundantly. There is enough…for…all…people.
There are those in this world for whom scarcity is a real and life-threatening situation. But it doesn’t have to be this way. God teaches us that there is enough–he made enough–so that all might have an abundant life. And guess what? He’s calling you and me to be his agents of generosity! We don’t need to grab all we can while we can because God has promised that he will give us what we need when we need it. I love the way John puts it:
Instead of thinking about all we lack when God comes knocking on the door to our hearts, what if we choose to focus on all that God can offer? What if we say:
Yes! I will give one hour a week to a kid who needs a caring adult to talk to, knowing that God will make the time multiply.
Yes! I will commit to tithing ten percent of my income, knowing that God will ensure I have enough left over to support my family.
Yes! I will contribute to a holiday drive knowing that my resources will add abundantly to those of others in order to bless someone else.
Yes! I will sign up to help with that new ministry at church God has been bugging me about, knowing that he will open doors and make a way where I see only obstacles.
Yes! I will take the time to check in on a friend or neighbor, knowing that the joy of fellowship will fill me far more than whatever else I would have consumed in those minutes.
God gives us gift after gift. So, this week, try to consciously avoid the mindset of scarcity. Instead, give your fears, what-ifs, and doubt to a God who has more than enough to meet your every need.
Confessions of the Pastor's Wife 