At The Kitchen Table

Friends and Fam, Tyndale is giving away NLT Bibles. The contest is to tell what you like about the NLT. We have about 5 Bibles, but this is the one that's normally found where I drink my morning coffee. I encourage you all to enter. If you haven't seen the NLT, you can go to www.biblegateway.com and do a verse lookup, and compare several Bible versions. Very enlightening. (BTW, they're also giving away a trip for 4 to the Holy Land. But I'm hoping to win the 100 Bibles for the Cherry Street Mission/Sparrow's Nest.) Here's the link: http://biblecontest.newlivingtranslation.com

My entry:

The NLT Bible makes me feel like it's a friend sitting down at the kitchen table with me. Other books may have poetic phrasing, but somehow the shalls and thous create distance for me. The way the NLT is written is everyday language. It pulls me in, and the writing becomes so real. I especially love this one in Matthew. "Keep on asking, and you will be given what you ask for. Keep on looking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened" (Matt 7:7, NLT).

I'd read it, and I understood it. Yet when I saw it in the NLT, it suddenly seemed like a personal note written especially to me. Instead of a student struggling to understand a teacher, it's like friends talking. That's what I love about the NLT.

 

Here's the link one more time: http://biblecontest.newlivingtranslation.com

Thanksgiving to a Three-Year Old

 

    They were all here. Five kids and spouses, fiancés and girlfriends, not to mention the grandchildren.

    There were two toddlers, one who looks like a Cherokee princess and is as gentle as the breeze, and another who looks like Hercules and wears mischief like a t-shirt "Oh, look, a glass crock pot lid someone overlooked!"'

    A four-year old skipped up to me. "Ahma Jennie (that's what she calls me), I found some money." She handed me a penny and skipped off, and yes, she really skips through the house. It's now Saturday and I'm still carrying the penny in my pocket. Somehow, it's more valuable than gold.

    The pre-basted turkey was dry, but improvable with gravy, which was fantastic. The stuffing was lousy ---another Rachel Ray-copy failure. But they were all here, unplanned. We do an open house on Thanksgiving, because I remember the mother-in-law run, and I want our children to have fun, to visit, to come when they can. We've done it for years, but this year, I woke up Thanksgiving Day wishing it was different. I wanted that long dinner table with eighteen people gathered around. Of course, it wouldn't be, and the open house makes more sense. Still, for some reason, I pined for it.

    And then, completely spontaneous, the kids called and texted, each asking the next what time they'd be here. We knew nothing about it until they all showed up within a few minutes of each other, not because I wanted it that way, but because they wanted to see each other. That was the first moment of gratitude. Then I realized that, as much as I wanted it, we didn't have enough plates in the cupboard. But we did have cartons of plates from parents and grandparents stored in the basement. One of the boys brought a box up. A seven-year old helped me wash and dry them. Then she wiped off the card table and tray tables. She was good at that, she informed me. Gratitude point number two.

    But the take-away moment of the day came after dinner, when I was at the sink. A three-year old standing on a kitchen chair next to me was helping with dishes. "Did you have a good day?" I asked her.

    "Yes," she said plainly, like she didn't understand the question. "I have a good day every day."

    And with that, she summarized what Thanksgiving is about. It's my new favorite phrase. I think I'll frame it and hang it on a wall, so I always remember. "I have a good day every day."

    Out of the mouths of babes.

Living St. Francis: Can I really do it?

I've been thinking lately about the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi, especially this line: "Grant that I may not so much seek to be loved, as to love."

This morning, I was looking for something unique to put on Christmas cards about the birth of Jesus ---such a lofty reason for reading the Bible. I came across the passage about Joseph realizing Mary, his betrothed, was pregnant, and he wasn't the daddy.

"Joseph, her fiancé, being a just man, decided to break the engagement quietly, so as not to disgrace her publicly" (Matt 1:19, NLT LASB).

Joseph did what the St. Francis prayer says. He showed love, even when his heart was broken. He showed respect, even when he felt disrespected. He cared first about her, and then about himself. If he was here today, he wouldn't go on Jerry Springer or Cheaters to publicly humiliate her. Knowing nothing else about Joseph, the man, he shines with a new light for me. It says more about Joseph than it does about Mary. It's not about what she did ---what he thought she did--- but about how he responded. That was with love and respect, no matter what.

It's easy to love strangers and not expect love back, but when someone close insults me, can I still show love? Like Joseph, it doesn't mean I continue in hurtful situations, but Joseph was better than I am at pulling back without trying to rally public support for a private injustice. When my feelings are hurt, or my pride wounded, can I quietly walk away without telling anyone why? It goes beyond radical insults, like unfaithfulness, to everyday thoughtless comments. Can I show love first, and quietly distance myself? I'm not so sure I have in the past ---okay, I'm sure I haven't. But today, I'm going to try to be more like Joseph and live the prayer of St. Francis. If someone is hurtful or a place is wrong for me, I'll make plans to move on privately, so as not to disgrace anyone publicly, because that's the kind of person I want to be. It has less to do with that other person, and everything to do with me.

That's how Joseph showed what the prayer of St. Francis taught. "Grant that I may not so much seek to be loved, as to love."