Just Ask

And he [Jesus] did not do many miracles there because of their lack of faith. Matthew 13:58

The story is told in the verses preceding this one that Jesus came to His hometown planning to minister to his neighbors and friends, just as He had to the multitudes in other cities. His teaching surprised and amazed them, alright. But the locals weren’t convinced. He was one of them. The women washed clothes at the river with His mother, Mary; Joseph, His father, constructed their cabinets; and each of his brothers and sisters were literally “the guy or girl next door.” Nothing Jesus could say or do convinced them that He had any more power or authority than anyone else in town.

Jesus sensed their disbelief. He tried, but failed to gain their trust. Daily in other locations He was approached by those with needs or sicknesses, and He performed miracle after miracle. The simple act of requesting aid, of bringing the sick and the lame to Jesus, you see, demonstrated faith in Him. Evidently, Jesus’ hometown friends and neighbors didn’t line up, expecting the miraculous. Despite Jesus’ reputation and obvious words of wisdom, their hearts were clouded by disbelief and cynicism.

I think I experienced a tiny glimpse of what Jesus must have felt at the end of my Preschool class today. While several children finished up their snacks, I let the remaining children do somersaults on gym mats. “It’s time to line up. Your parents are here,” I announced after several rounds of somersaulting.

Immediately, a child just finishing his snack at the table burst into tears. “You didn’t let me have a turn!” he wailed.

I didn’t immediately go to him. First, I lined up the children who immediately followed directions. When I did approach him I said, “You know, if you had just asked me, I would have made sure you had a turn on the mat before you had to go. Next time, don’t cry. Just ask.”

This illustration may be a stretch -I certainly can't perform miracles like Jesus did- but I was disappointed that my student didn’t trust me enough to ask a simple favor, or to expect that I might grant him one. Jesus must have felt that way, too, when the people who watched him grow up, who worked with him, worshipped with him, and knew his entire family heard his message, but didn’t trust his heart enough to ask for favors. Since few were asked for, few were granted.

How often have I been guilty of the same thing? Do I always see God as a loving Father who wants the very best for me? Do I trust His heart enough to go to Him with each and every concern and request, fully expecting Him to do the miraculous, or do I try to fix things on my own, assuming that God won’t give me the results I want, anyway?

Father God, help me always to remember who You are; to come to You often, trusting in Your goodness, believing in Your power, expecting the miraculous.

If you would like to participate in this meme or read more thoughts on this verse, you will find the links at An Open Book. I am so excited that Joanne decided to start Monday Manna up once again!

Baby Blues

In honor of Mothers Day I thought I would share a story I wrote about becoming a new mother. Sure, it has been a while since this happened to me, but some feelings are easily recalled. In case you're wondering, the baby in the picture is none other than my new little granddaughter, Josie Jean LaRue Guthrie, born April 26th. She was one day old here. Isn't she precious?





Baby Blues
by Sharlyn Guthrie

As I reach up from the wheelchair to accept the tiny bundle my eyes widen and my heart seizes. “Are they really going to let me take you home, little one? What makes them think I can care for you properly? I killed all my African violets, for heaven’s sake! And last week I totally slept through Roger’s raucous card game. The cat nearly trips me before I remember to feed him. What if I forget to feed you?” Anxious thoughts erupt one after the other, causing my raised hands to shake.

“Are you okay? A little tired, perhaps? Maybe I should push him down in his bassinette.” As if my own worries aren’t enough. Now I’ve managed to alarm the nurse.

“I’m fine.” The infant moves only slightly as his cocoon is nestled into the crook of my arm. He draws my attention like a magnet, making me barely aware of our procession down the hall. He is warm and beautiful. Delicate eyelashes rest on sumptuous cheeks punctuated by a comma for a nose. The shape of a heart adorns his upper lip, resting on the beginnings of a pout. “What was it that Grandma said about his chin? Ah yes, ‘an angel must have kissed him there, for a perfect dimple remains as evidence.’”

“My son is beautiful, not handsome.” The sudden revelation, or else the jolt of the descending elevator, causes my stomach to lurch. “Will the other children think he’s girly? Call him names like ‘wimp’ or ‘pretty boy?’ Will he get picked on at recess and eat his lunch by himself, causing his teachers to whisper among themselves and shake their heads with pity?”

The door has opened again and my son and I are wheeled toward the lobby. I relax a little as onlookers pause, regarding us tenderly. Apparently I don’t look as inept as I feel. Maybe I’m not an unfit mother after all.

That thought evokes an unwelcome memory from three Sunday nights ago. It was time for my hourly trek to the bathroom to relieve my restricted bladder. The dog whined to relieve hers as well, so I picked her up and waddled to the back door, whacking her in the head with the door as I opened it. She leapt from my arms and cowered, whimpering under the picnic table. She still tucks her tail between her legs whenever I approach. “What if I accidentally harm my own child? Or worse yet, frighten him by losing my temper? Will he someday wince when I raise my hand? Will he run to hide when I call his name?”

A kiss on my forehead interrupts my frightful retrospection. “Motherhood suits you,” Roger whispers. “You positively glow.”

Touching my flushed cheeks, I smile faintly. Oblivious as usual, Roger is simply being his easy-going self. Yet somehow at this moment his jovial, laid-back manner irritates me.

“Here, honey. Why don’t you take your little prince and fasten him into his car seat?” Sarcasm rolls off my tongue with the words. “I assume you have it properly installed and all the straps sorted out and adjusted.” I watch for any hint of trepidation, but there is none. Roger calmly lifts our son, placing him gently into his seat, only slightly fumbling with the straps he is fastening. All the while he croons a soothing lullaby.

Un-beckoned tears squeeze out, streaming down my cheeks, releasing my worries, my doubts, my fears like a flood. Whether it’s unbalanced hormones or a bad case of the jitters, I don’t know. But I do know that I don’t have to do this alone. The God of the universe has promised never to leave me. And Roger, my amazing, even-tempered, God’s gift of a husband, promised the same thing.

I settle into the back seat next to our son who continues his peaceful sleep, totally unaware of my inexperience and insecurities. He absolutely trusts in my ability to care for him. Surely I can rest as peacefully in God’s strength and trust as fully in His power.

Glancing sideways, I note that our baby’s pout has turned into a lop-sided smile, and fresh concerns tumble through my mind. “Is he still breathing? Are his nerves and muscles all connected right? Will the left corner of his mouth always droop like that?”

Be still, my fretful soul.




Fiction Friday is being hosted today by Karlene Jacobsen at Homespun Expressions.

When She Sees Me Face to Face

I can’t help it. I am in awe of the technology that is available these days, even to regular folks like me. I would never have guessed, for example, that I would be able to have semi-regular Sunday evening visits with my darling baby granddaughter who lives a thousand miles away.
















I’m speaking of SKYPE, or course, a modern marvel in communications. Not only can I hear sweet Selah coo and squeal during these hour-long sessions, but I can see her, too. I watch her jump in her Jenny Jump-Up,















watch her eat baby food,















see how she wiggles and squirms in her daddy’s arms.















I’ve seen her new teeth as they come in, and I’m told that I will be able to watch her crawl during our next visit.

















The photos I am sharing here are of Selah, in Texas, taken with my computer’s camera from my living room in Iowa. Isn't that amazing? I often remark that she seems to be looking right at me, but my son believes that she is really looking at the video of herself. (sigh) Oh well. I should be satisfied, shouldn’t I? What more could I possibly want?

Actually, I do want more. As wonderful as it is to spend such precious time with Selah (and her parents, of course) on SKYPE, it also fills me with longing. I want so badly to hold her in my arms, to kiss her chubby cheeks, and to play “This Little Piggy on her stubby little toes. I want to snuggle with her as she dozes off to sleep, and be the first to greet her when she awakes. No amount of Skype time makes up for face to face, skin to skin Grandma time.

As I’ve thought about this, I have been reminded of this verse:

“Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” I Corinthians 13:12 (NIV)

This verse describes a little of how I feel about my SKYPE sessions with Selah. It also makes me realize, however, that the same is true of my relationship with God. As great as it is to know Him, I only know Him in part for now. Someday, however, I will know God fully. As my creator, not bound by the laws of the physical world, God already knows me fully, so the revelation will be solely mine. What a mysterious, marvelous truth! What a day to anticipate!

Lord willing, I will get to see Selah in person next month. I am so looking forward to that day! We will cuddle and sing, play, read books, and go for walks for an entire week. Maybe she will begin to know and recognize her grandma, and just maybe she will actually remember me when she sees me on SKYPE once again after we all return home. Well, I can hope, anyway.

Grandma loves you, Selah!

Oh, to See What Uncle Benny Sees

by Sharlyn Guthrie

The phone call announcing Grandma’s death came as unexpectedly as a cold north wind in August. Grief, Death’s cruel step-sister, was of necessity detained.

“Who’ll look after Uncle Benny?” I called, catching up to Daddy.

“We will, of course.” Daddy’s reply fell like a courtroom gavel, firm and final.

~~~~~~~~~

Uncle Benny, the oldest, but most child-like of Daddy’s brothers, lived with Grandma in the small two-story bungalow three blocks from our house. Grandpa had died years earlier, before my birth. I adored my playful, good-natured grandma, but I can’t say I really knew Uncle Benny. He rarely spoke to anyone but himself, and moved constantly about the house grazing walls and furniture with one hand, like a trolley on its cable. His eyes gazed upward, pulling his lips into a slight smile. I once asked if Benny was blind, but Grandma shook her head. “Benny sees so well, he sees things that most of us can’t.” Sometimes I squinted up toward the ceiling, straining to see what glorious sights he beheld.

Uncle Benny meticulously arranged bottles of bubble bath, lotions, and soaps by graduated sizes on the bathroom shelf. I enjoyed moving them around just to see if he’d notice. He was quite astute, returning each to its proper angle and station within minutes of my meddling. Perhaps it was a cruel game, but at least it was an interaction between us.

The most remarkable thing about Uncle Benny, however, was his ability to play the piano. For several hours each day he performed songs that were his alone. His limber fingers waltzed effortlessly over the keys as his upturned head wagged back and forth. His music delighted Grandma and her frequent visitors.

~~~~~~~~

The phone call sent Daddy and I racing the three blocks to Grandma’s house. We found Uncle Benny talking loudly into his flapping hands, while a neighbor attempted to soothe him. Uncle Benny had pounded on her door and led her back to the chair where Grandma still slumped over her open Bible. Daddy probably wouldn’t have taken me along if he’d been thinking straight. The scene was at once alarming and reassuring. It changed me in ways that only death and real life can.

Daddy made some phone calls, and then turned to his brother. “Benny, you know where Mom went, right?”

Silence.

“She’s not coming back, Benny. That’s just mom’s body in there –an empty shell. She was just sitting there talking to Jesus this morning, and I guess He told her to come on up and join Him and Dad. That must have been an invitation she couldn’t refuse. I sure wish I could see her now. She’s in Heaven, Benny.” Benny still stared into his hands, but calm had settled over him like a cool, swelling shadow. “I wonder what the party is like. Do you think they’re dancing, Benny? The angels and Mom and Dad –they must be having a grand time. Mom will be telling them whether the music is good or not, just the way she always told you.”

“Oh Benny, I miss her, too. I don’t know how we’ll manage without her, but we will.”
Daddy didn’t see me poking my nose around the doorframe. He and Benny were locked in an embrace, tears streaming down both of their faces.

The doorbell rang, and the coroner entered to validate what we already knew. He was followed by the funeral director, who carted Grandma’s shell out the front door and into a hearse.

Daddy chose to stay with Uncle Benny at Grandma’s house while making plans for the funeral, believing that gradual change might be easier for all of us. By the day of the funeral, Grief had arrived, along with many sorrowful relatives.

The service was solemn, unlike the rollicking Grandma I remembered. Soothing scriptures and details of Grandma’s well-lived life were unfolded slowly, thoughtfully. Friends and relatives dabbed with tissues at the corners of their eyes. After the benediction was read, Uncle Benny rose and strode to the piano.

We shifted uneasily in our seats, uncertain what to expect. Then, from the piano wafted Uncle Benny’s newly composed song –the sound of angel wings. It straightened our shoulders and lifted our chins. It drew our eyes upward, and our lips into a smile, like his. Tears of joy flowed freely down our cheeks. And for once I saw what Uncle Benny saw –a vision of Heaven so warm and welcoming I envied my Grandma and Grandpa who surely were dancing there.




I wrote this story for the Faithwriters challenge for the topic "uncle." Although it is fiction, it is based on my memories of some very special students I worked with many years ago, and their wonderful families who knew they were blessed to be entrusted with their care.

Sherri Ward at A Candid Thought is hosting Fiction Friday today.

I Am Still Confident of This

I Am Still Confident of This
By Sharlyn Guthrie

Her long strides barely matched his short-legged sprint. Tugging excitedly on her arm and her heart, he pulled her through the long, noisy hall. “Welcome to Kindergarten,” proclaimed the apple poster on his classroom door.

“Bye, Mom!’ Her eyes glistened as she listened for any hint of trepidation. There was none. Blowing her a kiss, he scuttled through the melee, depositing his backpack in the cubbyhole with his name printed above. Through the glass she observed him glancing around the room, and then brightening at the sight of the block corner. With easy confidence he rushed to join several other novice builders.

“Father, watch over him today and throughout his years of education. May he always be as eager to learn as he is this morning.” The lump in her throat eased as she prayed, stepping out into the sunshine of her first day without him at her heels.

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

“Hidden Valley Bible Camp,” read the sign swinging in the breeze, marking a path that descended into underbrush. They had driven three hours to find this place and now her stomach lurched, more from her own anxious thoughts than from careening down the steep hillside.

A smile remained fixed across his freckled face as wide eyes scanned the primitive surroundings. “I can’t believe that you and Dad are letting me spend two weeks here! This is the best!”

Assigned to the same cabin as two others in the registration line, he ran ahead with his new-found friends while she drove to the cabin, then watched him hoist his sleeping bag overhead, claiming the top bunk.

No need to embarrass him with unsolicited displays of affection. She waved and smiled with more sincerity than she felt and ascended the lane, praying as she drove. “Father God, thank you for blessing our son with strength and confidence. Use this time and the people here to create in him a hunger and thirst for you. I entrust him completely to Your care. Amen.”

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

He was easy to locate in the procession of graduates identically adorned in shiny robes and tasseled hats. He stood a little taller, a little straighter, every measured step exuding quiet confidence.

Her moist eyes were trained on the boy she had raised who, today, looked more like a man. Clutching her husband’s muscular arm, she listened attentively as a uniformed Marine outlined their son’s accomplishments and welcomed him into the armed services. No summer camp this year. He would report for basic training in two weeks.

“It’s what I have to do, Mom,” he had argued. There was no refuting him.

So this is what letting go feels like, Lord. It is more painful than I could have imagined. But he is Yours, Lord. Only You know where this commencement will eventually lead. We offer him, Your precious gift to us, to use for Your honor and glory.

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

Suppressing waves of nausea, she clung to the pew in front of her, seeking stability where there was none. Red, swollen eyes were outward indicators of her inward turmoil. Anger, hurt, confusion, incredulity…attempting to label the jumble of emotions was futile. She strained to envision his familiar freckled face with squared jaw and shaved head, smiling his usual confident smile as he waved goodbye. She recalled his tenacity as he hugged her, planting a kiss on her forehead. Why, then all this talk of her son in past tense? Surely he would march in, joining the ranks of his somber-looking comrades very soon.

Grief and reality joined cruel hands, gripping her as the account was read of his final moments –his warning shout, the ambush, an explosion, the last words from his lips, “Help me, Jesus!”

Finally the voice of her son spoke directly to her in the words of David being read from Psalm 27. “I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”*

And she whispered, “Help me, Jesus!”



*Psalm 27:13-14 (NIV)


I wrote this story in July, 2007 for a Faithwriter’s entry on the topic “Confident.” It placed 9th in the Masters level for that week.
For links to more great fiction, visit Yvonne at My Back Door.

Faith: A Precious Gift

“Give yourself permission not to know
and be satisfied knowing the One who does.”
~ by Joyce Meyer, I Dare You

Apostle, prophet, teacher, administrator, tongues, healing, helps, faith, prayer, knowledge...Do you know what the things on this list have in common? They are all spiritual gifts. As Christians, we are each given some of these gifts at the time of our salvation, and it is our responsibility to discover, exercise, and put to use the gifts God gave us.

It was only after marrying my husband that I became aware of one of my most treasured spiritual gifts –the gift of faith. My wonderful husband, John, is an engineer. Everything in his world has to make sense in order to work. He truly loves the Lord, but he struggles with faith. John’s tendency is to take everything apart piece by piece, examine it, and then fit it back together. I constantly find myself telling him, “Neither life nor Scripture are like that. In both we come upon things we simply cannot explain. That’s where faith comes in.” I often feel bad for him, wishing I could ease the conflict he so often feels, but I can’t. He has his own spiritual gifts, of course, and I often wish I could see things more logically, and understand how things actually work. Still, as time goes on, I become more and more thankful for my gift of faith.

Seven years ago my faith was put to its greatest test. All three of our sons were married to lovely Christian girls, two of them sisters. I had longed for the day when I would no longer be the only female in the family, and we welcomed our daughters in law with open arms. All were in constant contact with us, and very involved in their churches. So we couldn’t have been any more shocked when our oldest son, Travis, called one day to say that his wife had left him, saying she didn’t want to be married any more. He was absolutely stunned and devastated. Of course this rocked our entire family, in part because her only sister was still married to another son. If that wasn’t enough of a blow, we learned within the day that another son, Tristan, and his wife had lost the baby that was to have been our first grandchild.

I was soon on a plane to Texas, since both sons needing comfort lived there. I prayed and prayed, but couldn’t stop crying. God comforted me by bringing to mind verses of Scripture I had memorized over the years, and the words of hymns that came easily to mind.

I remember telling my son, Tristan, who was in seminary at the time, (he was also the one grieving over the loss of his first child), “I know how God wants Travis’ story to end. If this marriage can be saved, it will bring more glory to Him. So He will surely answer our prayers, and bring them back together.”

I still see in my mind’s eye Tristan’s sorrowful expression as he replied, “We live in a fallen world. God sees and cares, but He doesn’t always intervene. He allows us to make choices contrary to his will. Illnesses and death still occur. There is nothing we can do about many of those things but trust Him to help us through it.” Perhaps his words should have shaken my faith, but they strengthened it instead. I realized immediately that my faith had been misplaced. My faith needed to be in God, Himself, not in the outcome.

The next several months were so difficult, but with Travis looking to us for wisdom and comfort, I felt a responsibility to deal quickly and completely with my own grief and to seek God’s face like I had never done in the past. It was a bittersweet time as I grew in my faith by leaps and bounds, but I came to realize that the marriage would not be saved. Neither would Tristan and his wife be able to conceive again for a couple more years. I began to understand how hard it is as a parent to see your children suffer through trials that I would have gladly suffered myself, if only I could have spared them the pain.

It also helped me to understand how God, our Heavenly Father must feel when He sees me hurting and struggling in this imperfect, sin-wrecked world, and how He ultimately sacrificed His only Son to spare me from a life-sentence of certain death. That is where my faith, my hope, and my comfort lie. Now, seven years later, I can see many ways that God used those awful experiences for His glory, and for good in all of our lives.

A few years ago I taught a Ladies’ Sunday school class on the attributes of God, using the book, The Knowledge of the Holy by A.W. Tozer. If you have never taken an in-depth look at who God is, what He cannot help but be, because He is God, I encourage you to do it without delay. The truth of God’s character, combined with His faithfulness that I have experienced in the midst of trials gives me something solid to cling to when I am faced with questions I cannot answer. I may not know how a certain passage of Scripture fits into God’s plan for me or the world He created, but that uncertainty can’t shake my faith in the great I Am. He has always been, and will always be who He has claimed to be. It is almost beyond comprehension that I have the opportunity to draw near to this amazing God, and that in so doing, He will draw near to me. (James 4:8)
Here are some song lyrics that illustrate beautifully Joyce Meyer’s quote and the things I have shared:

After the Last Tear Falls (by Andrew Peterson)
After the last tear falls
After the last secret's told
After the last bullet tears through flesh and bone
After the last child starves
And the last girl walks the boulevard
After the last year that's just too hard

There is love
Love, love, love
There is love
Love, love, love
There is love

After the last disgrace
After the last lie to save some face
After the last brutal jab from a poison tongue
After the last dirty politician
After the last meal down at the mission
After the last lonely night in prison

There is love
Love, love, love
There is love
Love, love, love
There is love

And in the end, the end is
Oceans and oceans
Of love and love again
We'll see how the tears that have fallen
Were caught in the palms
Of the Giver of love and the Lover of all
And we'll look back on these tears as old tales

'Cause after the last plan fails
After the last siren wails
After the last young husband sails off to join the war
After the last "this marriage is over"
After the last young girl's innocence is stolen
After the last years of silence that won't let a heart open

There is love
Love, love, love
There is love

And in the end, the end is
Oceans and oceans
Of love and love again
We'll see how the tears that have fallen
Were caught in the palms
Of the Giver of love and the Lover of all
And we'll look back on these tears as old tales

'Cause after the last tear falls
There is love

Thank you, God, that You are the Giver of love and the Lover of all. Thank you for the gift of faith with which You have blessed me. Thank you for sustaining me with this gift, and using it to help me to grow in awe of You. For those I love, and those reading this who may find it hard to trust You completely, I pray for a greater measure of Your faith, and a very real knowledge of who You are. I know I will face many more unknowns in this life, but I also know, and fully trust, the One who will see me through them.


I am participating in the Tuesday meme, "In Other Words" hosted today by Nina at Mama's little Treasures. Please visit her blog for links to more discussion on this quote.