Cause

The gold, low-riding, tricked out Cadillac pulled up in front of the school. Both front doors opened and two massive young men got out of the front seat simultaneously. Each was adorned in high-end gang apparel and a variety of gold jewelry. The tough anger on their faces caused everyone to pause.

One opened the back door of the car while the other reached his hand inside to assist the lady in exiting the vehicle.

She had a fresh hairdo and was dressed to the nines. As she emerged it was clear that both men were rendered helpless by the mesmerizing power she held over them.

The sheer delight on her face captivated the rest of us as she slowly walked into the school with one man on each arm. The man on her left let go only long enough to open the school door. He then took her frail hand as she laboriously navigated the step up and in.

As they waited with her in line to vote, she started a conversation with a couple of her friends who had gotten to the polls a few minutes before her. The two friends said they would wait for her afterward. With great dignity, they hobbled along with their canes toward a few chairs along the wall.

The three women sat together and visited quietly while keeping an eye out as for who had made it to the polls. Just a glance into their eyes told quite a story.

For those eyes had seen lynchings. And those feet that now needed a cane had marched. The arms that had been supported to reach the polls had been linked together in solidarity in standing for justice. They'd sat at the lunch counters and in the front of the bus. They knew what fire hoses and police dogs and night sticks could do. That day they remembered what they had been through and marked some of the fruits of their sufferings.

The men who had driven her hadn't voted. They loitered in a corner. If they even hinted at being impatient or wanting get back to their other dealings, one brief look shot across the room from her put an immediate end to it.

When I look at my role in building His kingdom of righteousness, peace, and joy, I'd like to say that I'm like one of those elderly women. Truthfully, though, I must confess my solidarity is more often with the men who were with her.

I don't clearly see or understand or begin to appreciate the sacrifices and suffering that have made it possible to fulfill my calling in His work. Be it the saints of old or people who currently give beyond their means to make sure that I have a salary, it's often lost on me.

Plus I know that there are material and emotional benefits if I deal only in the portions of the Gospel that are the opiate of the masses rather than getting fully engaged in the cause of Peaceable Kingdom. It's easier to surround myself with material possessions that show my status to others (though mostly to convince myself of my own worth) rather than to go through the hardships it takes to bring worth and dignity and justice to others.

And if I can't get my head and heart lined up around these things, how can I possibly even begin to pretend to understand the cross?

But once in a while I hear the Story again. And as I do I'm reminded that His work is not just something from the past or for the future but is for the here and now.

So I have a choice each day. I can treat Him with respect and honor. It may be a bit inconvenient and I might get impatient but for it I'll be blessed. Or, I can pay the price of joining with Him in the task of building His kingdom in the here and now. The cause is His. The choice is mine.

Your cause be mine, great Lord divine.
Your aim be my ambition:
For wasted is my greatest strength
Unless it find expression
In love the gives itself away,
In life responsive to obey
The terms of Your commission. (Bryan Jeffery Leach)

Tables

Even before kids arrived we knew there wouldn't be room for them. The young adults on a mission trip who were in charge of Bible School that August took up most of the space in the tiny storefront. We would need to move most of our activities at the end of the block in the park.

The day before our festivities were to begin, we all walked down the street to scope out how to get the kids safely across the street and to determine where we would need to haul tables and chairs each day.

When we arrived we were pleasantly surprised to find several brand new heavy duty wooden picnic tables with attached benches. They were right under the trees where we were thinking of setting up our tables. They hadn't been there the day before. None of the neighbors noticed anyone delivering them and they were just as surprised to see them as we were.

Bible School flew by. We had bunches of kids. Many of those kids were new to the congregation. The young adults on their mission trip lead great lessons and activities. We even had one person find a grocer who provided lunch for all the kids each day. Those new tables got a good workout. They couldn't have been more perfect.

Though Bible School ended on Friday, the young adults still had one day left in town. We decided to spend Saturday cleaning up an empty lot.

So it was early on Saturday morning when we noticed it. The tables were gone. No one, including the neighbors whose houses face the park, saw them removed. They somehow appeared in time for Bible School and vanished as soon as it was over.

We never saw signs of those tables again.

Lord, surprise me today with Your mercy and care and blessing. May I revel in Your mysterious ways while I witness of and delight in You.

Boards

Fresh new boards covered the windows and doors of the house. The old boards had been there a long time.

I remember when we were looking for a place to live in the neighborhood seeing this house. It was boarded up then but still appeared in good condition. It's on the quietest street in our neighborhood. The houses on either side of it are in excellent condition. It's the only house on that block that I've ever seen boarded up. The owner was not interested in selling it back then and must not be wanting to now, either.

So there are fresh boards on the house. Though they're better than the old boards which had begun to rot, the house is still a board-up.

It's hard for me to understand why someone would keep a house boarded up for so long. They could live in it or rent it or sell it. Certainly there's something useful they could do with it rather than just reboard the windows and doors every couple of decades.

Then again, I do understand a bit about keeping things boarded up.

I have places inside me that I don't want to deal with that I've kept boarded up for years. There are dark corners full of grime and pain and resentment and things I've completely forgotten about that I don't want to see. Even when I get a chance to go in and try to clean things out I prefer to instead put new boards up and move along to more pleasant areas.

And I want God to respect the boards, too. Yes, I know that the Spirit will bring new life to all areas I let Him in. But I've had Him work on so much of me that I know His remodeling projects can take a long time and are often painful. Though I am absolutely sure the results of His presence will bring life, I just don't want to deal with the process.

So guarding the boarded up doors becomes as important as the boards themselves.

There are no signs from the city on the house. Yet, for all practical purposes, even with the new boards this house is condemned. John 3:18 reminds us that I don't need to have someone spray paint the word "condemned" on the parts of my life where I lack trust in the Savior; that message is self-inflicted.

I fantasize that God would work like they do on the television show "Extreme Makeover - Home Edition." I could invite Him in, He'd send me to Disney World for a week, and then I could come back with all my old junk removed and a new life in front of me.

But He want me to pick up a hammer, too, and take ownership of the process.

When I've done so in the past -- when I've taken down the boards and let Him remodel other areas of my life -- I've received nothing less than an abundance of joy and peace as a result.

So somewhere deep inside me there's a hope that I'll work up the courage and strength to remove the boards on those portions of my life that I haven't yet given completely to Him. Then, by His grace, we'll enter into the next episode of "Extreme Makeover" in my life.

Let your mercy and grace flow, Lord. Let your light shine in my darkness and let me live in the fullness of Your presence.

Sight

No one was surprised, really, when it happened. This kid had been one of our most faithful participants in church so we'd noticed that his old pair of glasses had been repaired time and time again. So when I picked him up at camp, finding them in pieces in his hand was almost to be expected.

A couple of the camp staffers pulled me aside. They felt bad about his glasses situation and had taken up a collection from the other staff so we could restore his sight.

That really helped when I dropped him off at home. I was able to tell Mom that we were ready to replace what was left of his specs so she made the appointment and we all went to the optometrist together. He got his prescription updated and we found some amazingly durable yet sufficiently cool frames. We'd received enough in the collection from camp to cover all the costs.

I took him a couple days later to pick them up. He was so happy to be able to see clearly again and bounced up the steps back into his house when I dropped him off.

I didn't see him at church that weekend. That was unusual but not unheard of.

But then he wasn't there the next weekend, or the weekend after that, or the weekend after that. This was the new pattern. I'd bump into him on the streets once in a while but church was clearly something he wasn't interested in.

It was somewhere in that time when I let those six dangerous words creep into my head:

"After all I've done for you."

I don't know that I actually said them, but they were festering inside me. WE took him to camp. WE collected the money to get the new glasses. WE took him to the optometrist. WE paid the bill. WE gave him a ride.

Yet he wasn't hanging out with us any more.

After all we'd done for him.

And when I find those thoughts and feelings inside me know I'm ready for a time out. Because when those words are in me I know I can be saying a lot of unsightly things.

Those words say that I have ulterior motives in ministry.

Those words say my love is conditional.

Those words say that I'm not serving, I'm exchanging.

Those words say that doing the right thing is only necessary when payback in imminent.

Those words shift my actions from "Thy will be done" to "My will be done."

Those words say that the most important thing is what I get out of serving, not what those who I serve get out of what I do.

I don't like what those words say about me. I don't like the kind of god those word's actions in me reflect to the world.

Because Jesus had done more for me that I could ever recognize much less pay back. And I trust that since He loves me unconditionally that He's not up there brooding over the thought, "After all I've done for him."

So I when those words start creeping into my head it's time for a motivation check and an attitude adjustment. Why am I here? Why do I do what I do? What kind of invisible expectations have I placed on people? What must people do in order for me to love and serve them?

When I can get the right answers to those questions deep enough in my heart, my mind, body, and spirit, it starts showing in my attitude. It's then that I can really get back to serving others.

And months later once my vision had been corrected in this case, the kid didn't owe me anything and I was free to love and serve him again. Only then did he find his way back to the church.

Create in me a clean heart, Lord.