God's Gift

by Joanie Butman

Someone wrote to me this week about a book called You are God’s Gift to the World. I have never read it, but ordered it immediately. Why? Because the title brought back a vivid memory that has haunted me since middle school: my name with this opinion beneath it, “She thinks she’s God’s gift to the world!” Before you are tempted to agree, read on.

We've all heard or used that phrase, and it is NEVER complimentary. You could find it and worse in our middle school Slam Book. For the uninitiated, a Slam Book is simply an innocuous composition book (had to be so nuns wouldn’t take notice) with a page designated for each person unfortunate enough to be included in it. The book would get passed around and girls would anonymously post comments about you on your page. These remarks varied from the occasional compliment to passive aggressive observations to veiled insults thinly disguised as constructive criticism to outright vicious critiques of your character, clothing, makeup, hair, family, etc. Nothing was spared. I’ve never fully recovered from that experience, and I’m sure I’m not alone. Adolescent females are brutal, and some never outgrow it.

My youthful assurance that promoted this criticism couldn’t have been conceit because I had nothing to be conceited about. I was overweight and in that awkward stage that few go through gracefully. I wasn’t athletic or musically inclined, yet I tried out for every team and every play. Never made any of them, but oddly that never deterred me. When I couldn’t find a niche, I created one with my friends. By producing and directing our own plays, we could give ourselves any role we wanted. We put on shows for the school — mostly comedies with the exception of the passion play which, though serious, had more than one comedic moment like when my best friend (Christ of course) fell carrying the cross whose weight we grossly underestimated. It fell on top of her, and she couldn’t get back up. I suppose it made it all the more realistic when Simon had to come to her aid. My role as Judas could have been a foreshadowing of my subsequent rebellion. Luckily, I was able to eventually grab onto something that eluded Judas – forgiveness and redemption.

Our sophomoric comedies were hilarious – or so we thought. When I moved to Connecticut I met someone with whom I attended grammar school. One of the first things she said was, “You used to put on the stupidest plays.” Hopefully, my sense of humor has evolved over the years but not according to my children.

When my daughter was going through her own middle school angst, she asked me if I was one of the ‘cool’ kids when I was her age. At a loss for an honest answer, I emailed my childhood friend and posed the same question. Her answer typifies our group’s mentality and probably the attitude that prompted that comment under my name. She responded, “No, but we thought we were and that’s all that mattered.” No wonder we’re still friends 45+ years later!

I can’t remember any of the other comments written in that Slam Book EXCEPT the one that claimed, “she thinks she’s God’s gift to the world!” Thus began a lifetime of working to convince myself I wasn’t because apparently that belief was not a good one, and I bought into that lie. Maybe it was because my Catholic education taught me to perceive that attitude as the dreaded pride – one of the seven deadly sins. Just one of the many one-way tickets to hell the nuns threatened us with to keep us in line. I had accumulated so many one-way tickets by this time for minor transgressions like passing notes, talking during a fire drill, the length of my uniform or occasionally eating meat on Friday that I’m sure the sisters thought Judas was the perfect role for me.

I’ll never know who wrote that remark, but by accusing me of pride she unwittingly planted its seed because a person with an inferiority complex is just as painfully self-aware as one with a superiority complex. Self-aggrandizing and self-loathing are both forms of pride. It doesn’t matter if you are looking at yourself in a flattering way or a critical one, your focus is still on you. What I didn’t fully grasp until much later in life is that “True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less.” (C.S. Lewis) At the time, however, in a misguided effort to correct my perceived fault, I became overly self-critical. I ended up thinking about myself more instead of less, and every action was measured by that original assessment. In my attempt to achieve humility, I lost it. Tim Keller calls humility a shy virtue because he explains it is not something you can work on. It is a byproduct of something else; namely, service to others. If you are thinking of someone else, you can’t be thinking about yourself. Your attention is focused elsewhere.

Coincidentally, when I received the email that prompted my memory I was in the middle of writing this week’s blog about identifying and using your gifts and talents. You’d be surprised how many people say they don’t have any. The essay was (and this is no lie) about learning to recognize yourself as God’s gift to the world. The title remains God’s Gift. You see, that comment is EXACTLY what God wants us to embrace. That was the real tragedy. I chose to allow that unkind comment to convince me otherwise. It took something I instinctively knew in my youth and turned it into something negative. We were made in His image to reflect His glory and goodness to the world. When you truly grasp how precious you are in his eyes, you don’t need anyone else’s approval. Oh, how I wished the nuns had drummed THAT into my head and my soul instead of memorizing the seven deadly sins.

God gives each of us a certain set of abilities, not to be kept to ourselves but to share with others in the unique ways He creates just for us. Appreciating those gifts and talents isn’t conceit; it is a form of worship. We are his hands and feet here on earth, and as such He has given us the awesome privilege of co-creators by using the gifts He’s given us to serve others, to have a positive impact, to reflect His image. When you are using those gifts you aren’t thinking of yourself, you are lost in the joy of the process. You are in communion with the Divine.

I will give you an example. My friend described an exercise her church was conducting an exercise called the Talent Adventure based on Jesus’ Parable of the Talents. The congregation was encouraged to accept a small amount of money passed out in envelopes along with the challenge to use their gifts, talents and imagination to multiply the amount given. The proceeds are then to be used for a number of the church’s outreach programs. Ruth is a gifted painter. While she was considering how to apply her talent, I called her to commission a watercolor for a friend. She used the money she received in her envelope to purchase the canvas and supplies to apply her magic to the task at hand. The fee I paid enabled her to multiply the money she received in her envelope. The night before I presented my friend her unexpected gift, one word woke me up in the middle of the night. I realized I was being given the title for the painting. When my friend opened her sussie,* she was moved to tears because Ruth had captured something in her art that my friend had been at a loss to describe. God used Ruth’s talent to speak to my friend. His message was simply, “Remember.”

Your gifts and talents don’t have to be grandiose to make a difference. We all have something to offer. Ruth Tucker (not Ruth the artist) describes the quickest way to improve your self-image: “I feel best about myself when I have selflessly reached out to someone in need and given with no thought of reward – or of self. It is only when my self is submerged that God’s image begins to shine forth. Then I have a healthy self-image that truly reflects God’s image.”

Sadly, my producing and directing tenure didn’t extend beyond eigth grade, but I can still choose the roles I take on in life. I can also choose to use my gift and talents to glorify myself or God. Therein lies the difference between pride and humility. By the way, He’s an excellent director but only when we choose to ask for His guidance.

So, 40+ years later my answer to that snarky comment about me thinking I am God’s gift to the world is this, “Aren’t we all?”

*A sussie is an unexpected gift given for no real reason other than it's relevance to the intended recipient.

 My favorite song and daily prayer. [button url="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nVUg85l-254" target="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nVUg85l-254" size="small" style="tealgrey" ]Play Empty Me[/button]

It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane…No, It’s Ridiculous!

by Joanie Butman

Last Sunday, I read with interest a number of articles regarding the recently released movie, Man of Steel. Intrigued by Warner Bros.’ promotional strategy of marketing it to Christians as the story of Christ, I was coaxed into the theatre, which is exactly what they are banking on I’m sure. Well, after sitting through more explosions than I’ve seen in a lifetime, I had to laugh about how easily I succumbed to Hollywood’s bait.

Literature and the arts have been retelling the story of Christ forever. This art form is nothing new. It is a valuable tool for conveying His story to audiences of all ages and backgrounds. C.S. Lewis and J.R. Tolkien made their reputations doing just that. That said, Superman could hardly be considered in the same genre. Sure, there are some glaring biblical references and metaphors obviously used to appeal to a Christian audience, but Superman as an allegory to Jesus is laughable – especially in light of the massive amount of collateral damage he creates in his quest for “truth, justice and the American way.” That might be the American way, but it’s certainly not Christ’s. Why not include Popeye whose mantra, “I am what I am,” is pretty darn close to how God introduces himself to Moses, “I am who I am.”

Despite my cynicism, there are plenty of Christian themes to explore in the movie within a children’s ministry. I would have seized any opportunity to engage youngsters when I was teaching religious education to my son’s first and second grade class. Passing it off to the general public as the story of Christ, though, is ridiculous. Distributing sermon notes and providing free previews for pastors is just a marketing ploy to tap into an audience notoriously critical of the content and quality of Hollywood’s efforts.

The underlying story of Superman has always been wholesome in its message. Historically, it’s been a classic story of good vs. evil – a saga that began in the Garden of Eden and will continue until Christ comes again. In this version, however, the good vs. evil theme gets a little grey – at least to me. In most contemporary superhero sagas, the protagonist and antagonist share equally impressive powers. However, the difference between them is typically pride, which ultimately leads to the villain’s destruction. It’s a simple formula. Superheroes use their powers to benefit others. Villains use their powers to glorify themselves.

Man of Steel’s General Zod isn’t so different from Superman. He is willing to sacrifice everything to save his race and way of life. His efforts begin with his failed coup on Krypton to rescue the planet from an irresponsible government who has depleted their natural resources thereby causing instability in the planet’s core leading to its imminent destruction. (Global warming parallel?) Zod spends his life committed to the task for which he was designed  –  to protect his people at any cost. His motives aren’t personal gain or glory. He believes his cause of preserving his race is a noble one. It is the sole purpose for which he was created – literally. There is no free will or natural births on Krypton. Superman is doing the same thing, except humans are now his people. He is willing to sacrifice the remnant of his biological race to protect his adopted one. Wars have been fought since the beginning of time over grey areas such as these, with both sides believing their cause is greater and nobler than their opponent’s. In reality, it isn’t always easy identifying exactly who is the enemy. I suppose it depends on where you’re standing.

On a more personal level, I’d say we’ve all been given unique abilities, which can be used for the benefit of others or for selfish pursuits. Life is a journey where we are constantly discovering and developing our gifts and talents. Among the many important lessons Kevin Costner’s character imparts to his son, Clark, is this: “I have to believe that you were sent here for a reason. And even if it takes the rest of your life, you owe it to yourself to find out what that reason is.” Isn’t that true for all of us? Rick Warren has devoted his life to helping people answer that question through his Purpose Driven Life ministries.

Furthermore, determining what kind of man (or woman) you want to become is something we all need to decide, and it will be no less life-defining than Superman’s. Costner sums up this point beautifully, “One day, you’re going to have to make a choice. You have to decide what kind of man you want to grow up to be. Whoever that man is, good character or bad, it’s going to change the world.” Isn’t that something we all need to consider carefully? Most of us will never be in a position to change the entire world or maybe we will. Regardless of what our role is, we all affect the lives of those we touch. It is our choice as to what kind of affect we want that to be.

The true heroes of Man of Steel are Superman’s biological and adoptive fathers. They are the ones who sacrifice their own lives for their son, and consequently, for the world. It’s not surprising, then, that Warner Bros. would schedule the release around Father’s Day. Celebrating all those dads who live out their lives in quiet anonymity building and shaping their sons and daughters to become “men and women of steely resolve” is what true heroes look like – and a more appropriate marketing strategy that appeals to everyone regardless of their religious beliefs. Little boys may run around dressed as superheroes in their youth, but good fathers are the heroes they choose to emulate in adulthood.

I will leave you with the words of a pastor that ring truer than any superhero legend. “Heroes aren’t born; they’re made — very slowly, with the help of God’s grace.”  I couldn’t agree more because when you submit yourself to God’s will, your humility and God’s power enable you to do heroic things. I watch that story being played out every day as ordinary people accomplish extraordinary things in the quietest and simplest of ways.

Oh, one last thing. Unarguably, the most irrefutable biblical parallel between the story of Superman and Christ is that THE GOOD GUY WINS IN THE END!

My Father's Eyes

by Joanie Butman

“There’s a new sheriff in town!” That was my husband’s announcement to our children as I prepared to leave for a 10-day trip. His statement was promptly followed by a long list of directives. I heard him attempting once again to establish a ‘NO-SHOE ZONE’ along with a number of other new mandates. I finally told him, “Keep it simple. Even God only needed ten commandments, and most of us have a hard enough time remembering them.” Despite his show of authority, I knew my children were eager to see me leave because they understood that once alone with their Dad, they (and he) would enjoy a reprieve from my watchful eye and my own long list of do’s and don’ts. My intuition was spot on because upon my return, I opened the pantry to discover many forbidden, sugar-laden breakfast cereals. When I questioned my daughter, she told me my husband bought them. When I turned to him, he pointed at my daughter and replied, “She told me to,” as if that was a viable defense. Wasn’t that Adam’s excuse?

I’m not sure if that trip was when the DTM (Don’t Tell Mom) acronym was coined, but there were other signs that perhaps all was not what it seemed. I relay the story tongue-in-cheek, but developing a united front and their own love language was a joy to see. DTMs work just fine for me. There are some things I’m just better off not knowing, and they all intuitively sense which ones fall into that category.

My pediatrician was the first to lecture me on the importance of not hovering over my husband or criticizing his child-rearing techniques. If the diaper is on backwards, no one is going to get hurt. He stressed the importance of letting my husband be responsible for his relationship with his children without me trying to dictate the terms. I thought it odd at the time, but I suppose he’d seen enough uber-moms come through his office that he chose to use his position to improve the lot of dads in general. He was right of course – and particularly good-looking, which is why I was paying such close attention.

We all carry the influence of our dad’s throughout our life. Whether you had a great dad, a not-so-great dad, or even no dad, his presence or lack thereof has a life-long impact whether we choose to acknowledge it or not. We learn not only what we want to emulate, but also what we don’t. It’s funny. The things that sometimes have the most impact are ones they may not have thought important at all. For instance, my life-long love of the theatre began with my dad taking us to occasional Saturday morning plays as a way to give my mom a break. His tradition of taking the brood of us to a Broadway show every Christmas season lasted well into my adulthood. Unfortunately, there always seemed to be a big playoff game on the same day. As an avid sports fan, he was not to be denied so he would sit in the theater listening to the game through headphones. One of the last shows we saw was Fifth of July (a drama about a gay paraplegic Vietnam vet). Christopher Reeve’s was delivering his intense soliloquy when the Giants scored the winning touchdown. My father jumped out of his seat and screamed. I'm not sure whether it was that incident or our growing numbers that eventually put an end to the tradition. Regardless, we had a good run.

I’ve inherited a lot of things from my dad – some good and some not so good, like my driving skills. There are many things I admire about him, but his devotion to family, sense of fun, ability to laugh at himself, and his penchant for remembering only good times have got to be at the top of my list. Without a doubt, though I didn’t appreciate it growing up, the most important example my dad set for me was the way he lived out his faith.

A friend of mine met my dad last year during one of his visits. Shortly thereafter, she sent me a note saying, “When I look into your father’s eyes, I see Jesus.” Wow, in the middle of Swanky Franks? Who would’ve guessed? It was an unexpected compliment though oddly enough, people have commented on his eyes before. It made me wonder what people see when they look in my eyes. Did I inherit my father’s eyes? As a Christian, the answer to that question is a resounding, “YES!” Seeing the world from God’s perspective is part of our inheritance as is His legacy of love – if we choose to claim it. In turn, our lives are meant to be lived in such a way that reveals that love to others. I believe that is what my friend saw in my dad’s eyes, and like Amy Grant, I pray that someday, others will say the same about me.

When people look inside my life, I want to hear them say

She's got her father's eyes

Her father's eyes

Eyes that find the good in things

When good is not around

Eyes that find the source of help, when help just can't be found

Eyes full of compassion, seein' every pain

Knowing what you're going through, and feelin' it the same

Just like my father's eyes

my father's eyes

my father's eyes

Just like my father's eyes

As I mentioned, my father’s example of a faith-directed life laid the foundation, but much like that doctor advised all those years ago, I had to build my own relationship with my heavenly Father. Getting to know someone is always the first step in developing a deep, lasting relationship, which is why I choose to study the Bible. It is God’s love letter to us, and it speaks to each of us in different ways at different times. Any knowledge I attained would all be for naught though if I didn’t choose to spend time with Him everyday. It’s no different than developing and maintaining relationships with our earthly fathers.

We aren’t all fortunate enough to be blessed with fathers who share their faith or even gentle, tender-hearted fathers who shower us with love. Nevertheless, we all have access to a heavenly Father who wants to do just that, who values each and every one of us and is waiting to share those things we tend to keep hidden from everyone else. Even so, it is still our choice to determine the depth and breadth of that relationship.

While I am celebrating the men in my life today, I begin by thanking God for blessing me with them.

Thanks Dad for always being there when I needed you - and especially when I didn't think I did. Happy Father’s Day!

I wrote that last line for Big Lou as my dad is affectionately called. However, when I read it, I realized it also sounds like an excellent prayer for today so I will end it accordingly with a heartfelt "Amen!"

Garden of Weedin'

by Joanie Butman

When we moved to Connecticut from Manhattan thinking we were doing it for the kids, they wouldn’t get out of the car because ‘there were bugs out there.’ They hated the feel of grass on their feet, and my son toddled aimlessly in this sprawling house voicing what I too was feeling, ‘miss the city.’ I remember waking up that first morning to the cacophony of a gaggle of geese on our lawn and my husband chasing them with a broom. I thought to myself, “What have we done?” It felt like a scene out of Green Acres.

Faced with the momentous task of maintaining a property that far exceeded anything I had ever seen, I would have paved as much of it as possible if permitted and am still tempted to do just that. It remains a daunting responsibility if viewed in its entirety and luckily we have the resources to farm out lawn care. I carved out little spots that I can cultivate, but leave the general caretaking to the professionals. I choose to focus on my little plot and leave the big picture to those better equipped to handle it. Having spent a large part of my life in the city, gardening did not come easily or without costly mistakes. Mirrors my life too.

We are now deep into the gardening season. My fingernails are stained and my hands rough from happily digging in the earth. Blooming perennials are at their finest, robust and fresh from the spring rains as opposed to the wilted aridity of August. It is now warm enough to plant colorful annuals to add a rainbow of color that compliments and enhances a garden heavily weighted with perennials whose blooms, though beautiful, are usually short-lived.

Unlike my Connecticut yard, my garden in Massachusetts is the perfect size—a postage-size rock garden that is easily maintained. Even so, it still takes a lot of time and TLC to coax it back to life and keep it watered and well fed during the summer. Without a doubt, the most tedious part of gardening has got to be weeding. It is a never-ending task. There is some bizarre rule of nature that causes undesirable weeds to grow and spread faster than the plants so lovingly sown. Sounds like gossip. In this age of technology, the information that goes viral is usually of the toxic variety not the type you want proliferating.

My daughter worked one day with a gardener recently. When she came home I inquired, “Was it fun?” Her look spoke volumes, but she simply said, “I just spent seven hours weeding. I wouldn’t describe it as fun.” I had to agree, weeding’s no fun. It can be grueling, tedious, exhausting work.

We are all gardeners of some sort and do our own fair share of weeding. We weed out our clothes, our junk, our in-boxes, our memories, our thoughts, our commitments, our diets, even people in our lives. It is often hard work but comes with a certain satisfaction, a lightness of being that is the result of ridding yourself of excess baggage that is weighing you down. As a Christian, that is the way I choose to view the constant struggle to correct certain behavioral patterns. Without a doubt, there are areas in my life where I am a chronic recidivist.

Disappointingly, even though my faith has grown over the years to a level I never dreamed possible, I still commit the same sins I did before I embraced Christianity. My father told me once to think of my sins like a gardener. You can’t just weed once. It is an on-going process. The same weeds keep coming back, and our job is to keep pulling them out because if we ignore them, they will take over the garden choking out the plants which produce the most beauty. Faith doesn’t produce a weed-free garden. It just gives us the impetus to keep digging.

Let’s face it—you can’t be a good gardener without getting dirty. In the same way, you can’t be a good Christian (if there is such a thing) without choosing to recognize just how much muck you have under your nails or that there will be times when you will find yourself knee deep in fertilizer. Part of becoming a proficient gardener is learning the difference between a flower and a weed. Learning to recognize the weeds in your life is also the secret to personal and spiritual growth regardless of your beliefs.

I sincerely believe this type of self-assessment is what Socrates meant by his statement, "The unexamined life is not worth living." It was his belief that “we are unable to grow toward greater understanding of our true nature unless we take the time to examine and reflect upon our life.” *

Did I ever become a proficient gardener? No, just an avid one. I do not have a green thumb, but I can now identify the undesirables in my garden – and not all of them are necessarily weeds. I particularly dislike plants which require high maintenance. Over the years, if I plant something that becomes too troublesome, I just choose to dig it up and replace it with a heartier, healthier one. By now I know the ones that work and the ones to avoid. I wish I could say I’ve been just as successful with my bothersome habits. Hence, the need for on-going weeding which, not surprisingly, is best done on your knees.

My closing observation is that those who choose to dedicate lots of time digging in the dirt tend to be the best gardeners. They’ve earned their wisdom through trial and error and lots and lots of weeding. Similarly, the wisest people I know in life are those that choose to dig deeper for meaning and enlightenment in their own backyards and also spend lots of time on their knees weeding.

I will leave you with one last thought to ponder this week, "Choosing to criticize another's garden doesn't keep the weeds out of your own. " ~ Author Unknown

*http://www.consciousearth.us/socrates-unexamined-life.html

Choosing to Be An Ambassador

by Joanie Butman

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”  Charles Dickens wasn’t describing children’s sports, but he certainly could have been. Some of my fondest memories were born over a decade of standing on the sidelines. I’ve also witnessed a fair share of moments I will be glad to leave behind now that my tenure is nearing completion. You know the kind. When an otherwise normal individual sets aside all manner of civility for the duration of the game thinking it is acceptable in that forum.

We all have spectator personas, and there must be some unspoken rule of engagement that transforms ordinarily affable people into raving lunatics and those who already suffer from that malady the leeway to step it up a notch. Without a doubt, sideline behavior is a study in psychology. Whenever I’m tempted to think I’ve seen it all, something else happens on the sidelines to trigger a jaw-dropping response. This week was no exception.

A parent known for his loud and often coarse comments took it to a new level by directing a particularly offensive remark to a mother from the opposing team. Our team mom, a woman I’ve known and admired for years, approached the victim of the verbal assault, acknowledged the man’s shameful behavior and offered her sincere apology on behalf of the school. “That’s not who we are,” was her message, and I couldn’t have been more proud.

I didn’t hear the man make the remark, only her apology. It made me wonder, though, if I had witnessed the exchange, would I have chosen to speak up as a representative of our school. I would have been just as horrified, but would I recognize the need for intervention? Would I choose to act with the grace of this woman to protect the dignity and reputation of our school? Sadly, I don’t think so. At least I haven’t in the past, but I will now because she taught me a valuable lesson. We have no control over how others choose to behave, but we can choose to be louder in soft-spoken kindness and poise. Too often it is the boisterous behavior of the minority that tarnishes the reputation of the group as a whole in any venue, from athletics to politics to religion.

This episode reminded me of the importance of being an ambassador. We’re all ambassadors of something – our family, our school, our church, the organization for which we work. Like it or not, our behavior (for better or worse) reflects our beliefs, values and those of the groups with whom we align ourselves. It is not a responsibility to be taken lightly. For that reason our choice of school, organization, business, or church is important in that you want to ensure that you share core principles.

In sports, every team definitely has a personality – usually fostered by the coach. Some are known for their physicality, some are just thugs, some show class while others a lack thereof. Maintaining the integrity of any team is an important role of fellowship. When a member chooses to behave in a way that doesn’t reflect the proper character, it is important for the coaches and teammates to hold him or her accountable. This principle is true within any association, and I learned it at a young age.

“We don’t do that in our family,” was an admonition frequently heard in our house growing up. Whenever I got in trouble as a child, it was always a double whammy. First, because of the offense; second, because I had failed miserably as a representative of our family. I was an embarrassment. It wasn’t a ‘maintaining appearances’ issue. It was the fact that my behavior did not reflect the values and beliefs my parents thought they had instilled. Now that I am a parent, I have a better understanding and appreciation of that concept. I can’t deny a certain element of the ‘maintaining appearances’ though, as I have often expressed my parenting goal of simply getting my kids through high school without any of us appearing in the police blotter. Only one more year to go.

There is no denying that good kids as well as good parents make bad choices sometimes. How we choose to handle them, however, speaks volumes about our character. My friend had no control over that man’s choice of words, but her decision to be a caring, dignified ambassador for our school probably conveyed a more lasting image of  ‘who we are’ as an institution than his crass behavior. The choice to refuse to allow the conduct of one to speak for the majority is a universal concept that can be applied across the board.

Christianity is no exception. Being an ambassador for Christ is an integral part of a choosing to become a Christian. It involves learning and identifying what being part of God’s family entails. Hence my years of bible study. It means choosing to behave in a way that pleases Him—not to earn His love, but because you have His love. Choosing to be an emissary of Christ doesn’t necessarily require eloquence. In fact, I’ve learned more about Christianity watching the quiet grace of fellow Christians (like the woman noted above) than any sermon I’ve ever heard. Choosing to conduct yourself in a way that attracts others to Christ is something we can all accomplish regardless of our oratorical skills. Our lives are meant to be “reflectors of God’s light to a darkened world.”* Without having to say anything, we can choose to reflect His joy, peace, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control. A tall order yes, and one where we will frequently fail. Nevertheless, our failures can be used to glorify God, maybe even more so. Without failures, I’d have nothing to write about. Therein lies the truth behind the adage, “your mess becomes your message.”

As shocking as sideline behavior sometimes is, it carries over into every aspect of life. Eventually, we will all find ourselves in situations where we are faced with a similar choice as to how we conduct ourselves and how we hold others in our families and associations accountable for reflecting our shared morals. Regardless of your beliefs, we can all choose to be ambassadors of light and goodness in this world because as Ken Nerburn points out in his book Letters to My Son, “We have the power to create joy and happiness by our simple acts of caring and compassion...the power to unlock the goodness in other people’s hearts by sharing the goodness in ours.”

I’d rather see a sermon than hear one any day,

I’d rather one should walk with me than merely show the way.

The eye’s a better pupil and more willing than the ear;

Fine counsel is confusing, but example’s always clear;

And the best of all the preachers are the men who live their creeds,

For to see the good in action is what everybody needs.

I can soon learn how to do it if you’ll let me see it done.

I can watch your hands in action, but your tongue too fast may run.

And the lectures you deliver may be very wise and true;

But I’d rather get my lessons by observing what you do.

For I may misunderstand you and the high advice you give,

But there’s no misunderstanding how you act and how you live.

Edgar A. Guest

*To See the Sky, Judith Hugg, pg. 64.