Hamburger, Jelly, and the Fruit of the Spirit

 

When my friend, Machelle, asked her three-year-old grandson to name his favorite foods, he listed them: hamburger, jelly, and the fruit of the Spirit. In his preschool mind, the list seemed logical: these were things he had enjoyed at one time or another—the hamburger at dinner, the jelly on some toast at breakfast, and the fruit of the Spirit through the actions of his parents and those who loved him. He heard and remembered this spiritual tidbit about fruit and decided to add it to his favorite foods list. Why not?

Galatians 5:22-23 teaches us “ . . . the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. . . (ESV). When we accept Jesus as our savior, we are “sealed with the promised Holy Spirit, who is the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it.” (Ephesians 1:13-14 ESV). This encouraging fact means that God marked us as his own by giving us his powerful Spirit to live inside of us! This seal serves as a guarantee that our inheritance in the Kingdom of God is real–not only here on earth but in Heaven as well. Because we possess the same Spirit who is also in our Savior, we are able to produce fruit–or character qualities–that make us look more like Him. But, being able to look more like Him does not mean we always choose to live more like Him. The reality of sin complicates things.

When we allow our sin-tainted will to guide us, we are tempted to gorge on the false foods of self-sufficiency and pride. These can make us feel full for a while, but they won’t lead us toward Life. True life is found in God and in the Spirit he freely offers. When we allow that Spirit to transform us, we can deny our sin and we can feast on the fruit of holiness. This fruit–God’s very nature–is given to enliven and make us more like Him, but it is also meant to be shared. So in a world full of brokenness and grief, Christ-followers can exude beauty, wholeness, and hope; humanity hungers for these. So let’s offer them our bounty, but introduce them to the Giver as well. Wouldn’t it be grand if everyone we met went away full of the Spirit and filled to the brim with fruit? Make us faithful and fruitful, Lord.

Next time someone asks me about my favorite foods, I will start with tortilla chips and ice cream, but, like a certain three-year-old, I will continue with these: Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control. Why not?

 

No Worry Required

In the past, I have written about my guilty conscience and the ways I try to quiet it. Some things for which I used to feel guilty have resolved themselves because they involved parenting duties I have now relegated to my adult children themselves, ie: cutting their own fingernails and brushing their teeth. When they were small, I didn’t do these things for them and barely did them for myself because I was simply trying to survive and those things seemed superfluous. Now that I sleep and have large chunks of time at my disposal, most of the things I once felt guilty about no longer plague me. In fact, I don’t struggle as much with guilt now as I used to, maybe because I realized many of the things I struggled with were actually false guilt. What I struggle now with is worry. 

I worry about my kids. I worry about my grandkids; I tell myself to stop because it is their parents' job to worry about them and I already did– and am doing–that for my kids. If I keep worry tabs open for each grandchild–we are up to eight now–I would freeze, and my mind would become the spinning ball of death–the same ball that appears on my Mac when I give it too much to do. I worry about my husband, and I worry about both of us when we fly in his airplane. I worry about my dog which I left with friends in Wyoming because I didn’t want to fly him home and because he is epileptic and I worry about his seizures. As a writer and a non-rusher and a bit of a dawdler, I worry about productivity. So when I get into a good routine of writing or living or eating, I worry about stopping it because maybe I will never get into a good routine again. I worry about writing because it doesn’t come as easily and cleanly as it used to, and I have to work harder to make myself do it even though I love it. I worry that I might be stupid because even though I understand words and feelings, numbers and money confuse me. I worry about my hermit-like tendencies and wonder if maybe I should try to be around people more even though I really like staying home by myself. I worry about exercising, and then when I exercise too much I worry that I am not recovering well and that maybe I have permanently injured myself. I worry about having too much stuff. I am OCD with this and need to know where everything is so I can feel in control. If I have too much, I can’t keep track of it all and it is stressful for me. When we moved recently, I got rid of nearly half of my possessions and keepsakes and it felt very clean and controlled. Now I worry about buying things because that clean feeling might go away. I worry about everything happening in the world today and that things are spinning wildly out of control and nothing will ever be beautiful again.

But mostly, I worry about worrying because I know that it accomplishes ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. So why do I do it, and why do I keep letting myself get into the mental space where everything feels threatening and life seems oppressive and ugly? I do it because I don’t really truly believe that God is sovereign and good. If you asked me this, I would say that I do believe he is those things, but I am realizing now that I don't. But I want to.

If I truly, with all my worrying heart, believed that God was holding onto everything and that nothing happened that wasn’t sifted through his holy hands, I could relax. I mean really relax. And I could enjoy the life he has assigned me in the time and place he has put me. If I truly trusted that he is good and that he is doing good for me, I could live the simple life of a child–God’s child. I wouldn’t worry because my Heavenly Father is in control. He is all-powerful. He is omniscient. And nothing ever surprises him. He is allowing history to unfold in the exact manner that he planned, and he is not shocked by the brokenness of the people he has made. If I really believed that I was praying to my Father–to my FATHER–in Heaven when I pray the Lord’s prayer or any prayer, I could shed my propensity to worry about everything as fast as my granddaughter sheds her clothes at the mention of a bath. 

Because really, what is worry? It accomplishes nothing except fear. It makes me distrustful and sometimes bitter because if nothing bad ever happened, I would never have to do it. The only time I find myself at ease and not worrying is when everything is going my way and no one is sick and no one is sad and all of my possessions are tidy and in order. 

But this is no way to live, because then I am always worrying that the perfectness is just about to end, and then I will be back to worrying again. I try to mitigate all of this by telling my kids to drive carefully and to stay healthy. I put up gates in my new house so no one will fall down the stairs and break themselves although I am still worried that they will stand on the bench that sits by the stairs and catapult themselves overboard and land lifeless in the basement. These thoughts create panic in my brain, not peace. So how do I stop? How do I get to a place of peace?

I get to peace by giving it all up–all the worry. I get to peace by trusting that God has my best life planned, even if it’s not the way I may think best, it will be the very best to make me more like him. I get to peace by praying and telling him that I am worrying again, and that I know that I am not supposed to worry about anything. I get to peace by reviewing his faithfulness in my life in the past. I get to peace by reading the Bible and seeing things that God already did and things he has already worked out behind the scenes when no one even knew he was doing it. I get to peace by truly believing that God has already won the battle over Satan. That he sent Jesus to live perfectly in my place so I have nothing to prove. That everything sad will one day become untrue. 

I get to peace by realizing that when I focus on my little ever-changing life, I am uncomfortable and insecure. And by realizing that when I focus on God and his unchanging nature, I can be still and know that he is God. When I look at his sovereignty rather than my fickleness, I see that worry is silly because we have no control over anything. But God does. 

And he is a master at making everything beautiful in its time.

God has a beautiful worry-free life planned for me. I just need to believe it and give up my perceived control. I need to remind myself daily of his goodness. I need to stop worrying, look for the peace he has promised, and learn to trust him more.

Because he really is sovereign and good.

 Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:6-7 (NLT)

Why don’t we?

I have the most faithful readers in the world.  Without your questions, this series would be null, void, nothing, nil, nix, nada,  naught, zero, zilch, zip, zippo (I got all of those from www.synonyms.net –pretty snazzy, huh?). 

So…I’m glad you love me, or at least you feel sorry for me…and that you keep asking me questions because we all know that I am highly qualified in this capacity. 

And you all must be pretty gullible too.

Here we go!

Kim from 26lettersamillionstories.wordpress.com/, writes:

I have a question for you. Why did the matronly lady at Kohls seem so appalled that my son was in full out superhero attire? Does she not understand the value of superheros in our lives? And would it have been appropriate to smack her? Cuz that's what I wanted to do.

Dear Kim,

Maybe the matronly Kohl’s lady always secretly wanted to be the Bionic Woman or Elastigirl from the Incredibles, but maybe in the last several years, things have been stressful working in the women’s section, and maybe she has been going home every night feeling depressed, so maybe she just sits on the couch and watches old Wonder Woman reruns wishing she was Lynda Carter and eating Moose Tracks ice cream.  So, maybe, when your son appeared in his full superhero regalia, it brought out all of her old feelings of regret in never taking Tae kwon do so that she could become a female super hero, and just maybe this regret masqueraded as bitterness at your son obviously realizing his dreams and living them out at such a young age.  She probably fully understands the value of super heros in our lives, but was too trapped by her bitterness of her lack of get up and go to show her true feelings.  She was probably hurting, Kim, and remember, hurt people hurt people.  So, in answer to your question of smacking, no, I think that smacking her would have been a bad idea as it would  probably have fatally crippled her obviously damaged psyche and removed all spunk from her sad, matronly heart.  Maybe next time you go to Kohl’s, you should seek her out and give her a hug or a friendly little punch in the shoulder.  And maybe you should make her a cape to help her re-ignite her dreams.

That’s all the wisdom I have for you today.  Ask me anything—preferably human interest related.  Do not ask me anything about math, cars, or politics, because it you do, I will have to lie to you so it sounds like I know what I am talking about.

Why don’t we?

It’s time for another Why don’t we?  Actually, it was time yesterday, but I didn’t get it done and I figure that this is a leap year anyway so I have a free day to use as I want.  Right?

I have two questions this week and since I don’t think about my responses to those questions until I sit down here to type, let’s see what comes out of my fingertips today.  Here goes…

Confused and also in Huxley writes:

(In response to last week’s article) “Is the whole yesteryear thing also why the postal service keeps increasing postage rates?”

Actually, Confused, I think you are confused, because if the USPS wanted to keep their postal rates in tune with their whole yesteryear image, they would reduce the cost and put old presidents on them. Instead, we mail our letters with sticker stamps of Pixar movies characters, or famous paintings, or Bonsai trees, or fuzzy animals, which I think are all way cuter than any of the old presidents that I can remember with the exception, maybe, of Abraham Lincoln.  So, I guess I would say they’re going great guns on catching up with the modern area in the stamp thing, but a little slower with the transportation thing…at least in Iowa…where we don’t have hydroplanes.

And for my next question;  Barbie and Ken from Ames (real live people, not from Mattel, and having nothing at all to do with Barbie Riding Club), write:

“Why aren't men Gentlemanly any more? Helping females (and especially spouses) with the door, packages (grocery bags) gardening, diapers, laundry, etc., etc.? Is it the NFL or laziness?”

Hmmm.  Now that’s a thinker. I don’t believe that football games or laziness are causing America’s men to shrug off their chivalrous duties.  I think that American women are just in a hurry and that the men are just too slow to catch them.  I know that when I was little my mom walked so fast that I had to jog beside her to keep up; why do you think I became a runner?  And I think maybe they would love to hold the door open for said women, but by the time they reach the threshold, the racing female has already gone in and out…on to her next task.  As far as carrying the packages, and doing gardening, diapers, and laundry, maybe they are just afraid they will do it wrong and that then they will be in more trouble—just for snapping the onesie on the outside of the outfit, or folding the T-shirts with a crease down the middle.  We, females, are a persnickety bunch, you know, and I think our men would be willing to assist us if we celebrated rather than criticized. 

And crying helps too.  You might try that. Even though most men don’t carry hankies anymore, they will probably offer to get you a Kleenex…and then maybe they will offer to throw the used one away—now that is the mark of a true gentleman.

 

OK. I did them both.  Now send me more of your questions so I can answer them with all the grey matter my brain can muster up.  Go!

Why don’t we?

It’s the second week of my new series and I already have a reader question!  Isn’t that so exciting? 

Angie from Huxley writes: “The question I pondered yesterday: Why, in this world of high-tech efficiency, is the US Postal Service still hiring people to drive their cars around and put mail in everyone's mailboxes? I drove behind a mail carrier and the whole thing seemed so slow and out-dated. I don't have a solution though! Any thoughts, my friend...?”

Well, yes.  I have lots of thoughts about everything because I think all the time.  Here’s what I am thinking now:

The reason that the US Postal System (USPS) still drives those cute little white trucks with the steering wheel on the right side is NOT so they can annoy you with their stopping and starting—though, dear reader, I know that it can feel like that especially when you live in a big metropolis like Huxley, Iowa.  The reason that this antiquated practice is still in existence is because America is obsessed with speed and efficiency and the USPS is trying to remind everyone to slow down, get out and walk, and meet your neighbors.  It is trying to capture a little of “yesteryear America”—ever notice how the carriers even wear short pants—kind of like knickers, heh? 

Every single household in America has a mail address of some kind and the post man delivers to every one of these.  And he drives his little white truck to most of them.  In a way, America’s postman is kind of like a real live Santa that even evangelical Christian homeschool parents can let their little ones believe in without fear of condemnation. And in the same way, his little white truck* is like Santa’s sleigh full of exciting junk mail and bills! 

So, though I don’t have a solution for your problem, Angie, I’m not sure you need one.  Maybe you should just change your paradigm regarding this age-old delivery system and learn to appreciate it’s quaintness and predictability.   Or maybe, next time you see the postal Santa in his sleigh on wheels, you just need to find a different route home.  Either way works.

 

*By the way, the little Santa truck is not the only way the
USPS delivers it’s mail.  Look what I found on www.aboutusps.com :  The Postal Service moves mail using planes, trains, trucks, cars, boats, ferries, helicopters, subways, float planes, hovercrafts, T-3s, street cars, mules, snowmobiles, bicycles and feet.  

I wish my mailwoman would deliver my mail in a hovercraft.  Now that would make the ol’ postal service look all tech-savy and modern, don’t ya think?

Why don’t we?

Today marks the beginning of a new series of questions I ask myself.  Send me questions that you ask yourself and see how long I can ramble on about them. 

Yesterday as I was thinking of someone, the word “nincompoop” came to mind.  What a great word, nincompoop.  I mean who doesn’t like saying nincompoop?  It sounds a little bit risqué with the p--p at the end, but it is a perfectly acceptable word to use. It’s a way nicer word than, say, “jerk” or “loser”, and by saying the word nincompoop, you automatically add colloquial value points to your everyday vocabulary.

Why do we not use this word anymore?  Dictionary.com describes a nincompoop as “a foolish or stupid person” . I know some of those, don’t you?  So, join me in my new nincompoop campaign.  I vow to say nincompoop at least once a day for the next 7 days.  Maybe by then, it will become a valuable diamond in my dialect.

How about you?  Don’t be a nincompoop, try something new!  (If you didn’t notice, that rhymed—I mean the you/new part.)

nincompoop…nincompoop…nincompoop…nincompoop…nincompoop…

 

The way of a nincompoop seems right to him,
   but a wise man listens to advice.

Proverbs 12:15 TRV (Tori’s Revised Version)