I don't read all of my emails, especially those as long as this one I received today. I'm glad I read this one. I think it is worth passing on. Hope you like it too.

GOD LIVES UNDER THE BED


I envy Kevin. My brother, Kevin, thinks God lives under his bed. At least that's what I heard him say one night.



He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped to listen, 'Are you there, God?' he said. 'Where are you? Oh, I see. Under the bed...'



I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin's unique perspectives are often a source of amusement. But that night something else lingered long after the humor. I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.



He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he's 6-foot-2), there are few ways in which he is an adult.



He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our tree every Christmas and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them.


I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different. Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life?


Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, return to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.



The only variation in the entire scheme is laundry, when he hovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child.



He does not seem dissatisfied.


He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple work.


He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day's laundry chores.



And Saturdays - oh, the bliss of Saturdays! That's the day my Dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside. 'That one's goin' to Chi-car-go! ' Kevin shouts as he claps his hands.



His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.

< BR>
And so goes his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips.



He doesn't know what it means to be discontent.



His life is simple.



He will never know the entanglements of wealth of power, and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats. His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they may not be.



His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when he is working. When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it.


He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it is finished. But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax.


He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others. His heart is pure.



He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue.


Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry. He is always transparent, always sincere. And he trusts God.


Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he comes as a child.. Kevin seems to know God - to really be friends with Him in a way that is difficult for an 'educated' person to grasp. God seems like his closest companion.


In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity, I envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith.


It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions.


It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap. I am. My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances - they all become disabilities when I do not trust them to God's care.



Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn? After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of God.


And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his bed.


Kevin won't be surprised at all!

I'll take the crumbs.....

Off and on for about the last 10 years I've taught an adult Sunday School class when we are not on the road in the RV. One of the best things about teaching is that I learn the most. For me, it takes several hours of preparation to have a 40 minute lesson ready on Sunday. I like to teach from the Adult Bible series material so I don't actually pick the weekly topic. Some of them are so boring even I want to yawn my way through but most are fairly interesting. Once every so often a lesson just really turns me on and this past Sunday's lesson was one of those. The scripture was Matthew 15:21-28. I've read this story before but I really didn't like it at all! I for sure would not have chosen this one to use as the basis for my class but, oh, I'm so happy they did. Here's what I learned.



The story begins as Jesus and His disciples are going to the region of Tyre and Sidon for some R&R. While there a woman approches and asks Him to heal her daughter. The daughter is possessed by a demon and is suffering terribly. Pretty usual story for Jesus up to this point. But here's where it gets tricky. When she approches Jesus with her request, what do you think His response will be? Well, His responses was stoney silence. Not one word. So the disciples step in and say, "Get rid of her. She keeps crying out to us." In other words, she was annoying them so they wanted her gone. They weren't concerned about her or her misery; just give us some peace and quiet. It's about this point in the story that I usually get uncomfortable and confused; well, actually I get angry. Jesus and His disciples are not treating her with the compassion and love I've come to expect of Him. And I'm really not prepared for what comes next.



When the disciples tell Him to get rid of her, Jesus says, "I have come only to the lost sheep of Israel." Now I don't know about you but as a Gentile, and a Methodist one at that, I've loved Jesus a long time and to learn now that he really came only to "the lost sheep of Israel" hurts my feelings because I just don't fit into that category! It would be about here that I'd tuck tail and run if I were her but not this woman. She humbles herself further by falling prostrate before Him and saying, "Lord, help me." Surely He will help her now. He's healed the multitudes and fed the poor and raised the dead and not all of them were jews! Hold onto your hat for His answer to her request this time: "It would not be right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs.: My mouth flies open here! Say it isn't so!!! He did not just call her a dog and refuse her again. ....But He did. Here's where my new understand comes in. I think one very important thing Jesus is doing here is teaching the disciples by role playing for them. You see, He knows what the disciples are thinking and what is in their heart. He also knows what is in the heart and mind of the woman so she gets a test and the disciples get a lesson. Jesus had spent a lot of time trying to teach the disciples that His kingdom was all about loving God and loving people. Even the disciples expected the Messiah to come in power and might and use a sword to defeat Israel's enemies and raise them up in status for the world to see. What Jesus came to do and what the disciple ---and others---thought He came to do where just not matching up very well. The disciples were still bound to the rules of the old Mosiac Law, tradition, and prejudices. Those old traditions told them that this Gentile woman was not worth their time and effort! She is a pagan Gentile and not just a Gentile but Matthew tells us she is a Cannonite; probably the most hated of the Gentiles. So, I think Jesus is saying back to them what He knows they are thinking in their hearts:"I have come only to the lost sheep of Israel" because that's what the disciples really wanted Him to be. "It would not be right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs" because that's really what is going on in the disciples' minds. They don't give a hoot about this woman? They just want her to go away. In a way, I think Jesus is using a little sarcasm here. Might be similar to this: A child tells us we are too old to understand and then come to us with a question expecting us to give them good advice and comfort. Our response could be, "But you said I'm too old to understand." Maybe I'm just seeing it that way because I have such a sarcastic sense of humor but it works for me and I think it works here.

This woman gives the disciples a lesson in breaking down old barrier but also a great lesson in faith. If you remember, Jesus was at times exasperated with the disciples because of their little faith. Every time He had given them a test in faith, they failed. so, let's take a look at the rest of the story. When Jesus said it would not be right to take the children's bread and throw it out to the dogs, she said, "Yes, Lord. But even the dogs eat of the crumbs that fall from the Master's table." Did you hear that???? She's saying, "just give me the crumbs. I'm sure you have enough of that bread of life to give me just a few crumbs." She has the faith that even the crumbs from Jesus' table will be enough for all her needs. WOW! Just give me the crumbs. Amen.

Well, if you know the rest of the story you know that Jesus tells her, "Woman, your faith is great!" And the demon was removed from her daughter that very hour. Can you imagine the look on the faces of the disciples? Can you see the light bulbs go off in their mind/heart? As for me, this story has become a favorite! I'll never wipe crumbs from my table again that I don't think of this woman and her story. First thing this morning I told Jesus, "I'll take your crumbs today, please. Just shower them all over me. And thank You."

I'll be doing that often from now on.

I'm invisible

I recieved the following as an email from a friend this week. I found such comfort in it that I've decided to post it hoping that it may be of comfort to you as well. It is written to the younger mother but those of us who are empty nesters probably can relate more than the younger mother. You know, if there is nothing else to be gained from growing older, we do gain perspective.

Invisible Mother.....

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?"

Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only apair of hands, nothing more! Can you open this? Can you fix this? Can you tie this?

Some days I'm not a pair of hands: I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a saltellite guide to answer "What number is the Disney Channel on? I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."

Some days I'm a crystal ball: "Where's my other sock? Where's my phone? What's for dinner?"

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history, music and literature - but now, they had disappered into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone!

One night a group of us was having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. She had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when she turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she had given it to me until I read her inscription: "With admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four like-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: 1) No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. 2) These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. 3) They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. 4) The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A story of legend in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof. No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees."

I closed the book feeling the missing pieces fall into place. It was almost as if I could hear God whispering to me, " I see you. I see the sacrifices you make every day, when no one around you does."

No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you baked, no Cub Scout meeting, no last minute errand is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.

The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bring home from college for Thanksgiving, "My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for 3 hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would be a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, he'd say, "You're gonna love it there......"

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible mothers.

God Bless!

Dog Biscuits from Stoney

It has been six months today since Stoney went away. There is not a day that goes by without his memory .still vivid in my heart. I wish that I had the talent to write a book so I could document all the lessons I learned from Stoney. Of course the book would be titled: Dog Biscuits from Stoney. It may sound silly but I really did learn a lot from him. I'd have chapters on faithfulness, patience, ,love, loyalty, forgiveness, courage, hospitality and worship. There may be others but these come to mind without effort. Let me just share one story. Since I've been on Facebook I've taken a lot of those little quizzes. I'm really a sucker for them. Just have to know which flower I'd be, or what color, or what decade I should have lived in. So, when I saw a quiz that would tell me what spiritual gifts I have, I took it immediately. Now this is a topic to which I've given some thought and I had decided that my spiritual gifts include mercy and teaching. Guess what my only spiritual gift is according to the quiz? Worship! Certainly would have never thought that on my own. In fact, I considered that a fairly useless gift. Seems like just about everyone would have that one. In the explanation of "worship", the author of the quiz even made the statement that he (or she) didn't know why, but God enjoys our worship. Does that sound special or what! So as you can guess, I blew off that information and didn't give it much more thought. Then Stoney died. I spent hours every day trying to figure out why I was so devastated. He was just a dog. You know, "I had a dog, he got sick and died" and that's that. But as I thought about Stoney all I could remember was how much his happiness depended on my presence. He felt safe with me, he was happiest when with me; when he saw me his whole appearance perked up. When I prepared to leave the house, his eyes asked "can I go?" I was everything to Stoney. In fact - he worshiped me. And that's why I loved him so much. That's why I miss him so much. And suddenly I understood why God enjoys our worship so much. My mother used to say that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. There is probably some truth to that but I'm sure that the way to God's heart is through worship. And I'll bet you can guess that I've decided "worship" is just about the best spiritual gift you can have.
Till next time -
Sharon