Remembering the basics

It is strange how easily we forget those simple strategies that can help us so much in life, isn’t it? We may decide, for example, that some sort of daily exercise benefits our health but, before long, we let this practice slip. We may realise that sitting at a computer too long after dinner can rob us of a good night’s sleep, yet I at least still choose to do that often, even though I know it will be hard to let go of all those ideas swarming around in my brain. Time and time again, we can so easily push to one side those wise, practical ways we know are right and, instead, choose a path we may later regret.

I was reminded of all this recently when I visited my old physio for some help with managing my sore shoulders better. He questioned me about my posture as I sit and type at my desk, often for hours each day, and I soon realised that, while I had remembered some basic things to watch, I had clearly forgotten others. Yes, I have a good desk chair, I told him. Yes, I sit close to my keyboard so that I can type with my elbows touching my body, with my computer screen at eye level. But no, I often sit with my legs crossed instead of keeping my feet flat on the floor. And my husband has told me many times that I sit hunched over at my computer, with my neck craned forward as I peer at that screen.

In one way, I was relieved my shoulder issues were not due merely to old age! But in another, I was annoyed I had fallen into such silly habits. It can be an uncomfortable place to be when we have no one but ourselves to blame for the things that happen to us! Now, each time I sit down at my desk, I try to remember to check my posture, to square my shoulders regularly and roll them around to get rid of any tension. And I also do those basic exercises my physio gave me three times a day.

All this has caused me to reflect on other parts of my life too. How easy I find it each day to see the emails on my computer waiting to be answered or those posts or blogs waiting to be written or read and launch into tackling them straight away, without stopping to reflect with God on the day ahead. How easy it can be for me too to fall into old habits of worrying about things rather than praying and trusting God with them. How easy it can be for all of us, it seems to me, to forget God’s amazing love for us, feel we are alone in our battles, lean on our own strength and forge ahead as if everything is up to us.

Instead, may we each stop, remember the basics of who we are in God and consciously rest in God’s love once again as we step into our day—and into whatever our future may hold.

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!  And that is what we are! 1 John 3:1

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Kids or adults?

We sat on our kitchen floor together, nail polish and cotton wool balls nearby. As a holiday activity, our granddaughter Maxine had decided to paint her grandmother’s toenails—so who was I to complain? It is something I rarely get around to doing, after all. Besides, I knew Maxine would have watched her beauty therapist mum do it many times. And if the end result did not turn out well, then there was always that bottle of nail polish remover in the cupboard!

‘Do you give massages too like Mummy does, Maxine?’ my husband asked at one stage.

‘No,’ she responded, with a decided shake of her head. ‘They’re not my thing. Nails are my thing!’

I tried not to laugh out loud, even though Maxine’s response was something I would have expected from someone at least ten years older than the eight-year-old sitting in front of me and holding my feet so gently.

In the end, she did an excellent job. But around a week later, I saw again how good Maxine can be at sounding so much older than her years, whether intentionally or unintentionally.

‘So … who is your new teacher this year?’ I asked her as we picked her brother and her up during the first week of school to mind them for the afternoon.

‘It’s Mr A ….!’ she told us in pleased voice. ‘This is the first man teacher I’ve had in my life!’

Again, I tried not to laugh. After all, Maxine has not had any vast experience of teachers, male or female, being only in Year Four. Once again, she had sounded so much older than her eight years to me.

That same day at home, however, I watched as Maxine went from one fun activity to another as any eight-year-old would. She bounced away on the trampoline. She rode her scooter. She revelled in playing hide-and-seek. She watched a kids’ TV show. And she responded as probably many other competitive eight-year-olds would too by flouncing away and refusing to play when her older brother beat her at a particularly annoying board game! Yep, one minute Maxine can act like an adult but at another definitely like any little, eight-year-old girl.

Later, I began to wonder how many ‘grown-ups’, myself included, seem quite able to do the very opposite of what Maxine does. Rather than acting like adults, we can end up behaving much more like babies on occasions. If things don’t happen to go my way in life, I can sometimes rant and rave for quite a while—well, at least inwardly if not outwardly! And I can easily settle for functioning like a child as far as the things of God are concerned too. Rather than displaying the maturity I should have by this stage, I can act like those early believers who still preferred milk rather than the solid food needed to help them become firmer in their faith (Hebrews 5:11-12).

In 2023, I want to grow even more in my faith, don’t you? Yes, as children of God, it’s important to hold onto our childlike trust in our heavenly Father, but let’s seek to become the mature adult believers we are called to be too.

But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. 2 Peter 3:18

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On our side

Some mornings can go smoothly, as we set out to conquer whatever the day may hold for us, can’t they? Then there are other mornings when we may think we have plenty of time to get ready and be wherever we need to be or take children wherever we need to take them, yet, at the last minute, everything unravels.

This happened to our daughter recently, as she hurried to take the children to school on her way to work. She knows our grandson hates the sound of the kitchen blender—he has ADHD and finds it hard to cope with such a noise at that time in the morning. Usually, she makes sure he is somewhere else before she uses it, but this time, she was in a hurry and a huge meltdown ensued.

When they finally arrived at the school gates, our grandson was still very unhappy and angry, but apparently calmed down and made it through the day. And that night, he apologised to his mum, without even having to be prompted. But I loved how our daughter then talked more about it all with him in a calm, reasoned way. She asked him what he thought she should do to help him calm down and not be so angry, next time something like this happened. Would there be a code word she could use that would remind him she is on his side? He soon thought of one and, hopefully, this will indeed help next time! Yet, whatever happens, I believe she gave our grandson the most important gift ever through the wonderful, merciful, forgiving message contained in those four simple, little words she said to him, ‘I’m on your side!’

Our grandson knows his mother loves him unreservedly. He knows she has advocated for him so much through the years at school, where judgments and misunderstandings of his behaviour have abounded at times. He knows she will always be there for him and believe in him. And he loves her deeply in return. But sometimes, when his impulses get the better of him, he forgets all that in an instant, loses control and fights her. And so, time and time again, she asks him how she can help him better and reminds him, with such love and grace, ‘I’m on your side.’

And that, to me, is exactly what God has said and still says to us all each day. In sending Jesus Christ to live amongst us and die for us, God declared in no uncertain terms, ‘I’m on your side! I love you. I am for you, not against you! Yes, your wrongdoing matters so much—it has separated you from me and spoilt our relationship. But come, believe in my son, receive my love and forgiveness and let me welcome you with open arms into my family—forever!’

Every day, it fills me with such joy and relief to know God is watching over me, strengthening me and restoring me when I fail. I may forget and fight that love, just as our grandson does at times, yet God is still there for me and on my side—forever.

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! 1 John 3:1

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On feeling alienated

I wonder if you can recall a time when you felt very much on the edge of a group somewhere. Perhaps this describes your situation right now. Or perhaps, like me, your mind went to some setting years ago where you found you did not entirely belong.

At one stage, my husband returned to pastoral ministry, after some years of lecturing. Our new church welcomed us warmly, but I soon discovered the women had plans for me. You see, this church fielded a large number of netball teams in an inter-church competition, so it was assumed I would happily coach some of these players. Yet there was one small problem. I had never, ever played netball—or even basketball, which was more popular where I grew up!

‘Well—never mind,’ one lady told me, her disappointment obvious. ‘You can give out the oranges at half time instead!’

I knew this was not me, however. Instead, I taught three Scripture classes each week at the local primary school, played the piano at church and hosted various events in our home. I even spoke and sang once when the Sunday School anniversary guest speaker dropped out at the last minute! Yet none of this seemed to matter. I did not join in the business of netball, so never quite fitted in.

Perhaps this is part of the reason I have hated to see people left out in any church communities we have joined—or anywhere else either. And perhaps too this is why my heart went out to our seven-year-old granddaughter, when I heard about a recent conversation that took place at her home. Apparently, Maxine had tried to cheat a little, while playing a game with her mum.

‘If you’re going to do that, I won’t play with you again,’ her mum told her firmly—at which point, Maxine became very upset.

‘Well, Daddy’s too busy working and doing things and my brother’s always playing on his devices and … and because you’re angry at me now, I feel alienated from the whole family!’ she sobbed.

Poor Maxine—although it was her fault, partly at least! Yet where on earth had she learnt the word ‘alienated’? And how did she know exactly what it meant or how it felt?

Most of us, even introverts like me, do not want to feel alienated. We are created to connect, to support one another, to do life together. At times, our church communities may disappoint us in this regard—we are all still works in progress. And at times too, as believers, we may feel alienated from others in the wider community. After all, we are now ‘aliens and strangers in this world’ (1 Peter 2:11), marching to the beat of a different drum. Yet however alienated we might feel from others, we can find such comfort in the fact that we are no longer alienated from God. Instead, through Jesus, we who were far off have been drawn near and warmly welcomed into God’s family with loving, open arms.

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! I John 3:1

We belong in God’s family. We are accepted. We are known. We are loved—deeply and forever.

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Just an old lady!

Our grandson has a wonderful way of keeping me humble—and this skill of his came to the fore recently when I tried to help him complete his Maths homework. He is only in Year 2, yet sadly I had great trouble understanding some of the questions he had to answer about shapes. What on earth were ‘cuboids’, ‘vertices’ and ‘edges’? I had no idea!

‘I don’t think you have that answer right,’ I told Zain at one stage, as I stared at the cube alongside the first question. ‘I think it has six edges.’

‘No,’ he told me firmly. ‘You’re counting the faces, not the edges!’

I was unconvinced, but decided to go along with him. We counted those edges together and somehow I came up with eight, while he found twelve—or was it sixteen? Another interesting discussion ensued but, in the end, he wrote down my answer of eight. Later, we wrote the same answer for a cuboid—which of course Zain knew straight away was a rectangular prism! Surely everyone knows that, his look implied.

We proceeded then to travel through what for me was the even rockier, more dangerous territory of cylinders and cones and square-based triangles. But when it came to answering an interesting question about whether cylindrical shapes could be stacked, we differed again. While Zain maintained they could not, if they were lying with their curved surfaces lengthwise, as they were on his homework sheet, I maintained they could if they were standing upright on their flat bases. In the end, I felt Zain worked out a clever answer to this one—‘Maybe!’

Eventually, I enlisted my mathematician husband’s help and asked him to check our work. And guess what his first comment was?

‘You have two answers wrong here!’

Yes, I had been wrong about those ‘edges’—and Zain had, I think, been right from the beginning. But, when I told Zain this, to add insult to injury, he responded: ‘Well, you’re just an old lady!’

Now that put me firmly in my place.

Later, as I pondered Zain’s words, I decided that, while I may be ‘just an old lady’ to him—and there is nothing wrong with being an ‘old lady’—I know I am more than that too. I have done many things in my life. I have two tertiary degrees and a couple of diplomas. I have worked in a variety of occupations, including high school teacher, editor and pastor. I have written eight books. I have spoken publicly well over two hundred times in recent years. Along with my pastor husband, I have raised three children. I have had an interesting and varied life and am grateful for that.

But the best thought that came to me was this. Even if I had done none of that in my life, I would still be of such worth in God’s eyes. Whatever my age, I am still God’s precious child. Through Jesus, I have been born again into God’s family. I belong to God. Jesus loves me, this I know.

That’s what really counts in the end, don’t you think?

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! 1 John 3:1

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Remembering

I can’t quite put my finger on why, but something interesting happens to me whenever I walk into a Bunnings store. Of course, that friendly aroma of sausages cooking outside the main entrance is always enticing! But besides that, there seems to be some sort of inviting sense of creativity and of making things better or brighter or tidier that sets my heart and mind buzzing whenever I walk in the door. Somehow I feel at home—as if I belong. And there are so many interesting things to discover in those never-ending aisles. What could this or that be? Who would ever use or need that? Somebody must!

Recently, I went there to buy a gift card. I lingered much longer than I needed to, walking up and down several aisles and thinking of my dad as I did. My dad was a great handyman, always fixing things around our house when I was a child. His workshop was in the cool under our Brisbane ‘house on stilts’, where he fashioned all sorts of intriguing things. Occasionally too, he would try his hand at bigger projects, such as building a sun deck on top of our garage. But his greatest passion was our garden, where he worked tirelessly. If he were still with us, I suspect Bunnings would be akin to heaven for him.

On this same visit, I inevitably made my way towards the gardening section. Surely I could fit one more nice pot plant on our balcony? On my way, I passed aisles stacked with bags of potting mix, compost and moist garden soil—and immediately their unmistakeable aromas brought back more memories of my dad working in our garden. Eventually, I reached aisles filled with different seedlings and pots containing a range of beautiful flowers, including gerberas—my dad’s speciality. In fact, way back before gerberas became popular in bouquets, Dad managed to create a hardy, double gerbera variety of his own, with pretty pale pink and yellow blooms.

Then it dawned on me to wonder whether that sense of belonging I often feel at Bunnings may have something to do with those childhood memories of my dad, tinkering away at his work bench under our house or labouring in the back yard in the hot sun. Such memories from years ago are powerful, aren’t they? Whatever my father’s failings—and they were there, alongside many positives—I knew I belonged in my childhood home, where I was always loved and well cared for.

Recently, I was minding our four-year-old granddaughter when she suddenly stopped playing, sat still for a moment, then began to sing the following in such a cute voice, as she looked up at me with her big, brown eyes:

In my Father’s house
There’s a place for me
I’m a child of God
Yes I am*

My heart melted. Yes, my earthly family may no longer be here, but I know I am part of the family of God and that I belong in my amazing heavenly Father’s house. I prayed Maxine would always know this too, deep in her heart—and I pray you do too.

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that should be called children of God! And that is what we are! 1 John 3:1

*© Who You Say I Am Hillsong Worship

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An important question

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I had finished my shopping and was heading towards the shortest checkout queue when I noticed a man doing the same thing.

‘Ladies before gentlemen!’ he said with a smile.

As I thanked him and forged ahead, I bumped my trolley against the counter.

‘Oops—looks like I need to see where I’m going!’ I laughed.

‘Oh,’ he replied, ‘I’ve been trying to work that out for the past seventy years!’

My mind whirred as I stacked my groceries on that counter, but before I could say anything, he spoke again.

‘Do you know where you’re going?’

For a few moments, that question seemed to hang in the air between us. It was as if time stood still—and almost as if God was smiling at me and saying, ‘Well, Jo—what are you going to say?’

So I said the first thing that came to mind.

‘Actually, I do know where I’m going!’

‘Oh, where’s that?’ he responded.

‘Well, I belong to God—I know Jesus and I believe I’m going to heaven!’

He looked slightly taken aback, but then launched into a little poem I recognised yet now sadly cannot remember. When he had finished, I decided that, if he could quote something to me, I could perhaps quote something back.

‘Oh, I love 1 John 3:1—How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! It’s amazing we can be children of God, don’t you think?’

At that point, it was as if he dredged up a Bible verse of his own from somewhere deep in the recesses of his brain—perhaps from childhood? I could not catch it all, but nodded and smiled.

‘What’s your name?’ he demanded then.

‘I’m Jo-Anne … what’s yours?’

‘I’m Tony,’ he told me, in his lovely European accent.

‘Good to chat, Tony!’I replied, suddenly realising the girl at the checkout was smiling at me—and that the shopper she had just served was looking at me somewhat strangely!

Later, I thought of all the things I could have said instead—but at least the man hadn’t seemed too put off. In fact, I wondered if something had stirred in him as we chatted—perhaps something God had spoken into his heart long ago? And maybe our conversation would cause him to reflect a little more on his own question. I hoped so anyway.

I wondered, however, if what I had said may have come across as just that little bit too presumptuous. Even as I said what I did, I remember thinking, ‘This could sound so proud and arrogant!’ But Jesus himself tells us:

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16

And in 1 John 5:11-12, we read:

And this is the testimony: God has given us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. He who has the Son has life …

I wonder how you would have answered this man’s question. Perhaps your response would have been much wiser and more sensitive than mine. Whatever the case, I hope you do know where you’re going—because that’s the main thing, isn’t it?

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Being family

Recently, the funeral an elderly gentleman who had never married and whose closest relative was a sister living in the USA was held at our church. He was a quiet, unassuming man who had worked with a Christian organisation in various parts of the world. Each Sunday, he would catch two buses to get to our church from his home a few suburbs away. But one Sunday a few weeks ago, he apparently fell over at home while getting ready and it was two or three days before friends or neighbours realised something must be wrong. The police broke in—and he was taken to hospital.

As soon as our church heard about his plight, various people started visiting him. Some helped by getting things he needed from home. Others washed his clothes. Still others prayed for and with him. Our pastors liaised with medical staff and kept his sister informed. And when the difficult decision had to be made to turn off his life support system, his Christian friends gathered around his bed, surrounded him in prayer and farewelled him in the most godly, dignified way possible.

At one stage, a nurse commented how sad it was that no family members could be with him at the end of his life.

‘But we are his family—we’re his church family!’ one of those present exclaimed.

Perhaps most moving of all, however, were the words of the head ICU doctor, after noting the love, care and respect shown to his patient by those who visited.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it!’ he said with feeling.

Now that was both a wonderful but sad comment, don’t you think? It was wonderful that the loving, sincere, Christlike care given to this elderly man seemed to amaze this doctor, but sad too that he had never before experienced people who were not biological family acting in this deeply caring way. Perhaps he may have come from a culture where such tasks are shouldered by family members only. Who knows? Yet what a reminder to us of the importance of caring for those alone and in need, not only for their sakes but also for any who might be watching and wondering!

For me, it was also a sobering reminder of Jesus’ words in Matthew 25 about gathering the nations together, putting the ‘sheep’ on the right and the ‘goats’ on the left, then welcoming those on the right to take their kingdom inheritance, on the basis of having helped him when he was hungry or thirsty, in need of clothes or shelter, ill or in prison. He goes on to explain how the ‘righteous’ hypocrites will argue that they never saw him in such situations—and then adds some words that always cut me to the heart:

The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’ (40)

How thankful I am that that elderly gentleman, who surely qualifies as one of those whom Jesus called ‘brothers of mine’, with no biological family close by to help, had his church family around him who treated him in a way that honoured both Jesus and him! May I have the grace to follow their example, show the same love and be true family to others.

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The fine art of accompanying

This past month, I discovered once again how life can have a way of springing interesting surprises on us! Out of the blue, I was asked if I would accompany the small choir in our Village on the piano. And in what was perhaps a weaker moment, I agreed!

What could have possessed me? After all, it’s a long time since I accompanied a choir or singing group—possibly around … ahem … thirty-five years! Yes, I have played for congregational worship in that time—but not a great deal, as I have felt those days too are over.  Yet I could not help but say yes when our lovely conductor phoned and asked if I would help out. Besides, I soon discovered how much we had in common, with our lifelong involvement in music and also with husbands who are both retired ministers.

In no time at all, I was given the music for five items the choir will sing at two Christmas concerts. Four of these turned out to be easy enough, but the fifth one saw me scurrying to the piano to practise. So many tricky twists and turns and unexpected key changes!

Then the moment came for my big return to accompanying.  Everyone was so welcoming—and so grateful to have someone prepared to play for them. I soon felt at ease, especially when I realised the group found that challenging carol even more challenging than I did! I kept my eye on our conductor—and I also tried to help everyone along, wafting up into the melody line at times when the tricky accompaniment was leading some astray. I knew my role as an accompanist was just that—to accompany the singers and enhance their efforts rather than try to outdo them in any way.

As I strolled home that afternoon, it dawned on me that accompanying others in a musical sense is a little like the style of mentoring or spiritual companionship I have tried to give others over the years and still do. As best I can, I endeavour to walk in step with them, to listen to them, to pray for them, to provide resources that may help them somehow and yes, perhaps even to challenge at times when needed.

Then I realised too what a big part the whole idea of accompanying has played in my own journey with God—and still does. Recently when I spoke somewhere, I shared the following quote from Clement of Alexandria:

Prayer is keeping company with God

This is the privilege you and I have as children of God—to walk hand in hand with Jesus each day, listening, learning, knowing we are loved and accepted, talking with him, receiving strength, comfort and guidance. Of course, the difference is that Jesus is the perfect Shepherd, who is also to be honoured and obeyed as the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Yet by grace, he chooses to accompany us day by day through all our ups and downs.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. Psalm 23:1-3

Now that’s the fine art of accompaniment at its best, don’t you think?

 

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Marking the milestones

We have begun a new tradition in our family. Whenever a grandchild turns seven, he or she receives a homemade DVD of themselves, made up of a variety of photos taken and movies made throughout their short lives. Along with these are captions here and there, plus a cute online version of ‘Happy birthday’. And all this is lovingly put together over many hours by Granddad.

It all started when our older granddaughter Amy turned seven. She loved her very own DVD in which she herself was the star and has watched it many times since. She even told her Granddad that her seventh birthday was her favourite, because of this special DVD. So guess what Granddad had to come up with when her younger sister Olivia turned seven? That event took place just this week in our family.

It seems Olivia loves her very own DVD too, judging by the delighted look on her face as she opened her present and watched it along with us. The photos and movies captured all sorts of events from Olivia’s life—the moment just after she was born; various birthday cakes over the years; special musical performances; times of helping Nanna make cakes and eating the mixture; blowing bubbles and chasing them in our backyard; playing crazy games with her sister; visiting playgrounds with Nanna and Granddad; reading a book about dogs to her own beloved dog Bella, who lay there patiently through it all.

‘She looks so tiny!’ her mum kept exclaiming, as we watched. ‘That’s so cute!’ we all said often.

Now Granddad is preparing for the next special DVD due in our family for our grandson Zain. It’s not needed for a long time, however—our Zain hasn’t even turned one yet! But Granddad is very much keeping it in mind, as he films Zain’s various milestones. Already he has captured that first cuddle at the hospital; that first real smile when Zain’s whole face lit up; the first time he sat up by himself in our lounge; that little mischievous look he has when he reaches out to play with forbidden objects such as the remote control or the phone. And this week his first unaided steps in our home were recorded, as Zain wobbled his way across our lounge room.

Have you ever thought about how God watches each one of his children—how God sees our first staggering steps as new believers and observes us grow and mature as we confront the various challenges in our lives and pass this or that milestone? If we celebrate with our own children and grandchildren and also agonise with them at times, how much more must God be right there in those moments with us? In Isaiah  49:15 we read:

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!

I am picturing God now in the person of Jesus, watching the DVD of my life, clapping his hands in delight at some spots, closing his eyes at others, gazing at me with such love and pride at times, but crying along with me at others. God has been with me through all the milestones that have marked my life and is still with me now, smiling at me and encouraging me as I take each new, staggering step.

I find that hugely comforting. How about you?

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