the toenail An Important Part Of The Whole

It’s the weekend.  Saturday.  The youngest son (YS) is up at the crack of dawn.  His older brother & roommate, our middle son (MS), is still sleeping – a hard sleep, since he didn’t “go to sleep” until 5:50am.  The night before he had gone to a “Night of Prayer & Bible Study” at our church.  He got home around 12:30am, and immediately retreated to his room for some uninterrupted XBox 360 game play.  When nature woke me before day break this morning, I saw the silenced television images flashing in his darkened room.  Still awake.  Still playing a game.  So, today at 2pm, our MS was still sleeping.  Now you know why.

YS:  “Mom, you wanna see what I did in our room?”

“Yes, but be quiet.  [MS] needs to sleep longer.”

YS:  “I wrote [MS] a note on my easel, and put it in the doorway so he’ll see it when he gets up.”

“Oh, that is very nice!”

The note read:   DEAR [MS],

I AM SORRY FOR GITTING A ADITUDE ALL THE TIME
AND FOR ENOYING YOU ALL THE TIME.  DO YOU WANT
TO PLAY THE GAME WITH ME TODAY?  I LOVE YOU AND
I HOPE YOU WILL FORGIVE ME.

There is a five year age difference between our youngest two sons, and our MS is teetering on the tween/teen line, so he doesn’t always have the patience needed when dealing with our YS, who is an 8-year old.  And at the same time, our YS doesn’t always understand it when MS needs his quiet, his space.  As MS’s social calendar is beginning to take form, the weekends for him are not always about staying home and “playing” anymore.  He’s got an active schedule with the youth group at our church now that he’s a middle-schooler, and every other weekend he’s away from our home for visitation with his father.  Our YS is having to learn to deal with the feelings of not having his older brother’s dedicated attention all the time.  Last night when MS told YS that he was going to church, YS was not at all happy about that.  Apparently he made faces at his older brother, and picked up the footstool and threw it around the den in anger that his older brother was leaving.  I didn’t witness this, but instead, learned of it in the car ride to take MS to church.  When I returned home, I did not discuss it with YS, but instead, involved him in some outdoor gardening work that his dad and I were finishing up.  Distraction.  It’s a friend, sometimes.

After reading the sweet easel note that YS had composed and written for his older brother to see, my heart melted.

“YS, were you apologizing because of the way you acted toward your brother last night before he went to church?”

YS:  “Well, not just for that, but kind of for the way I’ve been annoying (enoying) him for the last 5-6 years.”

“Oh, you felt like you needed to say you were sorry, huh?”

YS:  “Yes.  I love him and I don’t want him to be mad at me.”

“You know why you felt like you needed to write him that note?”

YS:  [shrugs]

“Did you have this little tugging, this feeling that you needed to do it because it was the right thing to do?”

YS:  [smiling] “Yes.”

His daddy:  “That’s because you have Jesus in your heart and you wanted to do the right thing.”

“You know how proud your daddy and I are because you did that?  There’s someone who’s even more happy than we are.  You know who that is?”

YS:  “Uh-huh.  Jesus and God.”

“That’s right!  You did something, and when you thought about it, you knew it wasn’t right and you needed to say you were sorry.  You were doing what Jesus would want you to do!  That’s what it means to obey Jesus.  We’re so proud of you.”

I am a mom.
I am a mom with three children.
All boys.
Each, 5 years apart from the other in age.

I don’t have to tell you the ins and outs of how busy my life can be – I joke about living in chaotic bliss, but really, it’s not a joke most days.  Routines are never routine, and oftentimes I feel that flying by the seat of our pants IS indeed our routine.  With this lifestyle, though, important things that need daily attention and devotion (no pun intended – that is foreshadowing) have no secure block of time in which to call their own.  Like prayer.

I’ve always been okay with this, especially in my growing closeness to our Savior.  I talk to our maker all the time.  ALL THE TIME.  Sometimes audibly.  Jesus is a close, personal friend of mine.   The defined lines of “prayer time” are cloudy and nondescript, as my calling out to him and sharing with him has no boundaries.  It might be while standing in the check out line at Wal-Mart, or while blow drying my hair in the mornings, or as I am stringing popcorn for our Christmas tree.  But as far as a set aside time to spend with him, I’ve not nailed that one down yet.  In my head, I have a time planned out, but my plans rarely, if ever, happen.  And notice that I said “talk to” him.  I’m trying to get better at that, too.  I need to be a better listener.  God is a great one.  And he’s never complained about our one-sided conversations.  But God does talk to me, and if I’m quiet and still, sometimes I hear his words so loud and with pristine clarity.

One of our treasured times together, with me listening, was in the car line at the elementary school where I wait for a very long time to pick up our youngest son after school.   It was October 2009 – a beautiful Monday afternoon.  Earlier, my work day had been very stressful.  The holidays were coming on like a lion, making the never-ending stress of finances seem even more vicious.  And our oldest son, who was a Senior in high school, had recently made the decision to go into foreign missions when he graduated.  He had begun the application process with an international Christian organization already.  All of these things were laying heavy and in the foreground of the quiet I found myself in while waiting in the car line.  That is when he spoke to me, and brought the comfort only the Savior can envelope me in.

“Let’s talk about your children.”

Me:  “Okay [laughing to myself]”

“Your youngest child is golden.  Pure.  Smart.  I know you struggle with his need for attention.  Do not let that distract you from the pure child that he is.”

“Your middle son is also smart, and not without his need for attention.  But remember, you cannot be disappointed by that which does not deceive you.”

“And your oldest.  I know you are worrying about him.  Please do not.  I am with him, just as I was with you at that age.”

Me: “Oh, right!  I know what I was like at sixteen…”

[He did not let me finish my thought, as he said:] “The difference is, he listens better than you did.”

And that was it.  That was the message.  The Savior had spoken directly to my heart, specifically about the things which are most important to me and of which troubled me most personally – my sixteen year old planning to leave – planning to go forward in God’s Army to who knows where, doing who knows what.  The boy didn’t even know how to wash his own clothes – back up – how to even pick his clothes up off the floor – and was thinking about leaving the next year to go to a foreign land.  Not college?  At least his friends going to college would be able to come home to wash clothes.  Not my son, not if he went into missions work overseas.  God spoke to my heart about the very thing that underneath all other thoughts, was the most worrisome for me, and in an instant, brought me a peace I didn’t know I could ever have.  “…he listens better than you did.”. This is true!  And only our Savior would know this, and be so eloquently simple in pointing out to me how strong his love is for my son – HIS son.

The message was less than a minute or two, but it has brought peace into my heart and allowed me to give my worries over to Him.

That was in October of 2009.  Today, my son has been out of the country for several months, working as a missionary in a foreign field.  I am able to enjoy this time, encourage my son, and know what a blessing it is to have the Savior’s watch over him.  God is always in control, and his plans are far greater than any we can orchestrate ourselves.  Freedom is knowing this, and understanding that God can help us through anything, with abundant love.

p.s.  AND…as my son was telling me via Skype ten days after leaving the country about washing his own clothes, I couldn’t help but smile and look toward the heavens with a wink.  He was doing it, own his own (but not really).  🙂

1 Peter 5:7

In Sunday School last week, our class leader closed with words that were chewy to me.  See, we had been talking about our spiritual gifts, things that God had given each of us.  Everyone has one you know – gifts of music, art, a love for teaching…..  Our class is primarily comprised of educators.  To have the patience and passion to teach elementary school aged children is definitely a gift.  I was not blessed with that one.  Others in our church are gifted with financial abilities – accountants, treasurers.  Some are gifted in the profession of physical healing and treatment – doctors, therapists.  We have some who love babies and spend hours keeping the nurseries.  We have others who are gifted mechanically, donating their time and skills to improving the church campus, building things.

I do not fit in any of the above categories.  But our Sunday School lesson was about “everybody having a gift they can use to witness to others in growing God’s Kingdom”.  We talked about how all these different gifts – skill sets – help us all make up the body of Christ.

Hmph.

The body?
As in parts of Christ?
Come on ,  you’ve heard that before.
“It takes five fingers to make a hand.”

I was left wondering, “what part, exactly, am I?”

I’m not an educator, and although I do enjoy coloring and have an eye for graphics, I am no artist.  I do not have the patience to rock babies for a morning or afternoon of church services.  I’m not a doctor.  Not a lawyer.  Not an accountant.

Certainly all of THOSE gifted persons make up the elite parts of the body.

I work a regular, hourly-paid office job.  I spend my time away from work checking elementary grade homework and enforcing reading minutes.  Cooking dinner.  Washing clothes.  For fun, I read.  Play Scrabble.  Write.

I came to the conclusion that I must be something like the toenail of the body of Christ.  A small, insignificant part.  Barely noticeable.

Those were my thoughts.  But I wasn’t allowed to dwell on this long before God revealed my importance.

He reminded me of a time when my big toenail was ripped off.  Ooooooo.    I was barefoot, moving furniture around in my young son’s bedroom when that Little Tykes toybox slid across the top of my foot.   Losing a toenail from a big toe is not a temporary handicap.  It took months – MONTHS – for the toenail to heal.  That little thing was the most painful injury I had ever experienced.  I couldn’t wear a regular shoe for weeks.  Every time I stepped on that foot, I felt the injury – for months!  When I wasn’t on my feet, I felt the injury throbbing, begging for my attention.

Yes, the toenail is an important part of our whole.  Do not underestimate the value of it.  Often overlooked, with little attention, in it’s absence, you become keenly aware of it’s importance.

I am proud to be the toenail in the body of Christ.  And I realize now that my place is no less and no more important than all the other wonderful, unique parts of the body.  Together, we make one very cool whole.

Now I’m praying about how I can use my very unique gifts to build His Kingdom.  My eye for the unusual, for color, for plumb lines.  My enthusiasm for word games and reading.  My desire to share His glory and grace with others.  I know that I am a useful part of The Body of Christ.

And now, you know the rest of the story behind the toenail.
What’s your place in the body of Christ?

1 Corinthians 12:12-31