Enough

A word often heard in our home is enough... Is there enough bread for sandwiches tomorrow? Enough leftovers to feed six? Enough clean socks for school in the morning? Enough money to pay that big bill at the end of the month? Somehow we always do have enough - enough food on the table, enough rooms for everyone to have their own space, enough clothes in the closet (or in the dryer, at least!) Enough is good, it is right and peaceful. It is contented and satisfied.

A prevalent message from Madison Avenue is that less is NOT more, and sometimes even more isn't more. And yet when I slip into this vortex of want, a song that soothes my heart and feeds my soul is Enough, by Jeremy Camp:

All of you is more than enough for
all of me for every thirst and
every need you satisfy me
with your love and all I have in you is
more than enough.

Thank you Jesus, that your grace is enough, and you give us all that we need. Fill us with contentment and let us rest in the abundance of the moment in every way.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Have you seen the commercial where the dad skips down an office supply store behind his cart singing, "It's the most wonderful time of the year"? The kids of course are dragging behind, faces downcast. The first day of school felt like Christmas to me this year. Not that it was this joyous occasion, but just that it seemed it would never get here. But like every anticipated event, it arrived right on time.

Of course it goes without saying that I love my kids, I adore my kids, I would do anything for my kids. BUT they were tired of looking at my face and each other and my Camp Mama Bag of Summer Tricks was empty, with a capital EM. Nothing like some real bonenumbing boredom, paired with a little sibling rivalry and a lot of rain to make three kiddoes so happy to return to school - not that all of them admitted that, mind you.

The last couple of days have been filled with school supply gathering and labeling, lunch packing, first day outfit selecting and ironing, all the details that needed to be set straight so this morning would go smoothly for the kids. As I get older, I'm noticing the little details of life that point to the brilliance of God, Abba Father. He really thought of everything, didn't He, sorting out this world so that all would go well with us?! One example of his attention to detail is the seasons, the gradual transition in weather, schedule, life space. Each season has so much to offer - I'm not sure I could live in a place with two seasons instead of four. Last year I dreaded this time of year and was full of Mama angst and torment; this year I am filled with peace and excitement, knowing what great things are in store for my first, third and fifth grader. Yes, they are growing up, but it's good, it's right, it's what God desires for them and right now, in this season of their lives and mine, I can embrace that.

"There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven: Ecclesiastes 3:1

Letter to a Grownup Friend

I was blessed to hear from an old friend of mine, a former student who is all grown up, married and finding her way in this mysterious journey with Christ. Here's what I wrote her...

Okay, so my mind is full of questions for you... bear with me... What makes your heart beat fast? If there were no hurdles, no obstacles, nothing to deter you, what would you be doing with your life? When you imagine yourself at your 20 year reunion, what would you like to be able to say about yourself and your lovely life? What do you do currently? What do you love about it? What do you hate about it? What did you do in Australia? What did you love about it? What did you hate about it? Why did you come home? The 20s are possibly the most challenging and amazing lifespace - a paradox of time. You are coming into a fuller sense of yourself, and the intricacies and beauty of the relationships and responsibilities around you. Lean into the process, but also push through it. God uses transition to speak into and through us. The tricky part is knowing how long to linger, and when to power up on the pondering place. If God calls you to something, it's so often a whisper, but will He stop whispering if we don't respond in His timing? I pray not. I do know that He never lets go or gives up, even when our way seems a bit cloudy to us. He disciplines us, too, in these times of waiting because He's crazy for us and knows who we're designed to be. He won't let us stagnate. Have you read Hinds Feet on High Places? A beautiful allegory of our journey with Him. We are finite creatures; He is without end. Yet He adores us and has created each of us to fulfill something unique to our giftings. And yet that's not quite it either b/c it's not about doing, it's about being - His and only His, yet while giving ourselves freely to those around us. Know there are seasons in our lives of full engagement with Him and with our callings, then there are times of quiet and stillness, and even static, like the static of my ancient laptop. By the way, I love your writing. Always have.
Faith, hope & love to you,
-anne

(So much for paragraphs.)

Something's Rotten in our Honda Odyssey

Funky. Our van is funky, and I don't mean in a tie-dye, Woodstock kind of way. The original meaning of this word pertains to an olfactory experience. To put it more simply, a stinky smell. Funky. Our van smells funky. We've searched and searched for the source of the smell, but to no avail. What might be the cause, we've wondered... dirty preteen boy sneakers, dank beach towels forgotten in the trunk after a day at the beach, a spilled homemade latte (guilty!), a banana ripened to a lovely shade of black stuck under the seat. Lovely. Our van smells because life happens in our van, and life is smelly. Thus, our van is smelly. C'est la vie.

Today I heard a sermon about worshipping God. When is our worship a beautiful fragrance wafting up to the Lord and when does it stink? Stink? Sometimes it really does stink. Worshipping the Lord in the traditional sense - singing and making music - is a joy for me. Yet in other areas of my life, where my life could be a living sacrifice for God, an act of worship, I know that my offering stinks. Like searching through the car looking for the source of our stink, I need to be willing to search through the hidden places of my heart and find the source of my stinky worship. And then finish the job by getting rid of the cause. This part may hurt, this part may mean discomfort, confession, letting go.

Give me the strength, God, and the insight to seek and find the source of my stinky worship, so that I can turn it all back to fragrant praise for you.

Suburban Muse

When we pondered leaving Brussels, one of my biggest concerns was falling into a sea of suburban mundacity. Being lulled into neighborhood status quo by strip malls and fast food. That was two years ago. I think I'm there - immersed in a normal world. Nothing's wrong with normal. In fact I was infatuated with our newly rediscovered normal, quiet middle class existence up until recently. Then I spent time reading my poetry from Brussels and I was struck by the intensity of the issues that I wrestled with there. Never before did I feel inspired to write poetry, until my experience became so unique that it seemed the only adequate means to express the inner workings of my heart. My current life doesn't cry for vivid words strung together, but it does cry out for words. How can I give those words life?

My desire is to live here in this life, but be inspired like I was over there in that life. Is that possible? Not so much. But is it possible that God might allow me a direct line to tap into that same level of passion, so that I may be inspired to live, think and wrestle deeply with the bigness of this beautifully messy world around me. Please Lord, give me my Suburban Muse.

Another Old Poem

From Afar

Shards of glass and excrement bathe the cement
underfoot, not to care, I ease the trash aside
descending steps into dankness, the cold swallows me
rumbling down, faded lights, the harried crowds spill out

From afar, your veil reaches my sight,
a common scene along this walk
you sit in unassuming meekness, a tattered cup close by
your graceful arms embrace a sleeping child, rocking

Do I meet your gaze, smile a “bonjour”
fumble in my purse, or extend my Evian?
there are days, I trust a shiny coin to ease your plight
hold your eyes, a pained grin, silent prayer my toll to pass

Other times, my heart clenches at the bother, like my fists,
avert my face, scan a poster on the wall,
pretend I don’t sense your presence there at all
dare I say your pain hurts too much.

You remain brave in your despair,
Awed by your strength to barely exist
Where’s the source of your hope?
A vision of life to come, on earth as it is in heaven

So much more to you than the label of the street,
not just a beggar at our feet.
were you once a treasured daughter in another world?
what heartbreak brought you here to your knees?

And your child…as he sleeps does he dream a child’s dream?
green fields and footballs,
ice cream and Gameboys
a different time, another life, anywhere but here

From afar and too near, Lord, I am shamed to know
You perceive my awkward steps as I plod by –
guilt, pity, fleeting grief, and the vanquishing,
your floundering diplomat of grace

Daughter of Eve, bone of your bone, flesh of your flesh,
my heart longs to show this true, my life reflects this not
yet you love her with your Creator’s heart
teach me to love her as though she’s You

Draw near Lord, draw near, and show us that you’re here
In the unseen faces that surround,
the dismissed,
the disgarded,
the least of these.

- anne d kittrell, May 2006

An Old Poem of Mine

Somewhere Between Here and There

Somewhere between Here and There that’s where I am
No border can say, no stamp can tell,
No language portend, no fashion reveal
Somewhere between here and there

“Come,” you offered. Can I trust your voice?
One foot out, now two overboard
Fixing my eyes through the lake’s mist,
Toward your embrace, and a Belgian kiss
“Follow me,” you whisper, “follow me.”

In one month’s time, Brux intrigued me,
In two month’s time, she deceived me,
After six months’ time, You’ve freed me,
Six months more, who’s to say where I’ll call home,
somewhere between here and there

Wearied by the survival game
Escape seeps in through the clinging rain
Dark mornings the quiet excuse
Ten minutes more drowns my muse
“I am here,” you soothe, “I am here.”

The gate beckons like a gameshow host
What’s behind gate 23? Coast to coast
Back to the future in 9 hours time
I fade in the sea of homogeneity
“You are mine,” you assure, “you are mine.”
somewhere between here and there

Out of the chute into the race
Reunions decry the victor of space
Faces from dreams, realigned hearts,
Where does the old end and the new start?
Somewhere between here and there
Somewhere between here and there


anne d kittrell, jan 2006

Finding Invisible Stanley

I've rediscovered a lost art recently - reading to our kids. The boys have become such proficient readers in the last year or two that I mostly let them read to themselves. But something recently inspired me to start reading with them again. It's so bonding to slouch on the couch together, snuggled up around a good book and each other. Ben and I have discovered the Flat Stanley series. Somehow I missed these books growing up. They're silly books written in the Fifties about a boy who is laying in bed one night and a poster falls on top of him. Voila - he's flat as a pancake. But like all cartoons of that era, his organs still function normally and he's able to walk around even though he's thinner than a sheet of College Rule paper. (A shout out for College Rule Paper!)

In one book, Stanley becomes invisible. No explanation really, he just eats fruit during a storm and poof - he's imperceptible to the human eye. His parents give him a helium balloon with his face drawn on it to carry around so everyone knows where he is. I've heard the warning that you shouldn't talk on the phone during a thunderstorm, but didn't know the dangers of ingesting fruit. Duly noted in my list of mother's paranoid warnings. The cool thing is that he is able to help people, solve mysteries, lend a helping, albeit, undetectable hand. At first he's a bit saddened by his lack of appearance, then he comes to enjoy it. There are drawbacks and positives, just like any other circumstance of life, but he is able to experience things on a new level b/c of this altered state of being.

From a young age, I have struggled with feeling invisible - awwww, poor thing, you might say. Silly, I know, but as a child I dreamed of being an actress so I could never be invisible. At first it was b/c I was shy, then later it was b/c I felt overlooked. Sometimes in life we all feel overlooked. We look at others and think they have it so much better than we do - people love them more, they're smarter, prettier, richer, fill in a superlative. But when we take our eyes off ourselves in comaparison to others, and simply focus on others, something amazing happens. We lose ourselves, but gain so much more. The world tells us to "find ourselves"; Jesus tells us to lose ourselves for the sake of others. Whom shall we believe?

"Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it." Matthew 10:39
"He must become greater; I must become less." John 3:30
"For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain." Phil 1:21
"Honor one another above yourselves." Romans 12:10

How do we find or lose ourselves? One thing that I think is lacking in my own life recently is SERVING. When I think about myself too much, or worry about my invisibility instead of seeing it as a gift, there's a tug on my heart to lose myself for the sake of others. I want to engage more with the world around me, to feel the needs of others more than I feel my own. To help my kids see the importance of caring for those around us whose physical needs far exceed our own. Serving frees us from ourselves. Serving gives us God's perspective on the world. Serving changes us so that we can give w/o expected return. Serving allows us to allow others to care for us in unexpected ways. This is Christ's heart for His creation. This is true freedom.

Use it or Lose it

Why is it sometimes difficult to do the things that we know are good for us? Take exercise... rarely do I feel excited anticipation about the sheer act of exercise. I may be motivated by time with a friend or a kicking playlist that gets me moving or even some alone time (I am an introvert, after all), but the thought of the sheer act of exercise does little for me. BUT, the afterthoughts are GREAT. Endorphins are flowing, muscles are warm, I FEEL skinnier, even healthier. Reading God's word is often like that for me. Writing is also like that for me. Neither of which I do often enough.

God created us in His image, His complete image. Therefore all the components, the elements of our being are holy - I truly believe we are created to be spiritual, physical, emotional, and intellectual. Maybe relational as well, but that does play into the emotional aspect. When we workout, we're focusing on the physical. When we read scripture or pray, we're strengthening our spiritual component. When we cry at a sappy overpriced movie, we're just plain dumb. The Greek playwrights would claim catharsis - or purging of emotions. There is validity to that and I'm not just saying that b/c I'm a girl! :)

So for the sake of my intellectual, spiritual and emotional health, I am writing tonight. Not because I have a great burning desire to pen a beautiful poem or write an inspirational essay, but simply b/c it is good for me, and God wants good things for me and you. I hope that you will do something good for you and bask in the peace of knowing that God wants good things for you b/c You are His and He loves you.

It is what it is...

Lately, I'm spending more time with my pruning shears than I am with my husband. A year ago we moved into a great house with an expansive, wooded lot. Initially it was charming and whimsical in its wildness; lately all I want to do is cut everything back, way back. We're waging war against our shrubbery and guess who's winning? Is "slash and burn" agriculture legal in the US? Probably not...

My dad is a master gardener and so I always appreciate his help in the yard. He has an eye for the potential of shrubs, flowers, trees... how they could look next season given a good pruning this season. In fact, when I intially got antsy to simply raze our jungle and begin anew, Dad encouraged me to give things a full blooming season before I did anything drastic. I unwillingly agreed.

Over the course of a year, we've seen some beautiful and surprising plants come into their glory. We've tried to see the yard more through the eyes of the ninety year old couple who sold us their home and garden of forty years.

As I prune my bushes sometimes down to ugly stubs, I wonder if God isn't doing a work of intense pruning on me. In the book The Shack, there's a beautiful scene where the Holy Spirit character, Sarayu, is working in her garden, pulling weeds, transfering bulbs, moving shrubs around. Mac, the protagonist, walks up and says, "What a mess." In pure joy, Sarayu turns to him and says, "Yes, isn't it beautiful." That's how God sees our lives - a beautiful, messy work in progress. He sees us with gardener's eyes, pruning here, cutting back there, giving us room for new growth, new roots and new blooms that only he can see. "Behold, I am making all things new." Revelation 21:5.

To Infinity and Beyond

Who doesn't love Buzz Lightyear? What a silly guy to think that he could really propel his plastic toy body into outerspace. You have to love his optimism, though. On the topic of infinity, the kids have been contemplating these things lately... outer space, heaven, time. Deep thoughts that hurt your brain, or maybe expanding our brain capacity necessitates deep thinking. No pain, no gain probably applies to neuro fitness as well as physical fitness.

I don't want to give my children pat answers to their deep questions for a couple reasons:
1. There are no pat answers. We are humans who can't fathom the wisdom of God beyond our tiny understanding of His word and what the Holy Spirit reveals to us.
2. Jesus never gave pat answers. He asked questions, beautiful, challenging, brilliant questions. I want to ask more questions.

There are so many things that seem infinite to us - sand on a beach, hairs on our head, stars in the sky. We can't venture to count these things, but God simply knows these things in His omniscience. I believe He doesn't have to count, the knowledge is always there even though the number may change from time to time. What things are INFINITE? The capacity to love perhaps, our capacity to think. Rumor has it that we only use 10% of our brain capacity, but there's equal research that says this is not the case. In which case, perhaps our brain capacity is finite.

Often questions lead to more questions. In the midst of our quest for understanding, I want to point my children always to the richest resource of truth that we have - the Bible. It's God's word, His breath come to life through the pens of men. Fascinating, mysterious, but true. Here are a few things the Bible tells us about infinity..

"Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever." Hebrews 13:8
Jesus is infinite.
"All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be." Psalm 139:16
God's knowledge of my life, past, present and future, is infinite. (omniscient)
"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:38&39

God's love for us is infinite. What more do we need to know?

Where Does the Highway End?

Recently Emma Grace asked me this question, "Where does the highway end?" As you may imagine, this question was enmeshed in our discussion about outer space, heaven, just a few light topics to chat about, huh?! I was reminded of one of Sam's favorite books of poetry, Where the Sidewalk Ends, by Shel Silverstein. Here's the poem:

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

I loved Silverstein's wacky poems as a kid; as a parent, I worry that the creepy face on the back of the book will stalk my children on the internet. Oh, to have the carefree heart of my youth again!

Anyway, back to Emma's question...Where does the highway end? She wasn't speaking metaphorically - she's precocious, but doesn't speak in figurative language just yet. We have to have something to look forward to in First Grade! Well, I know that 95 ends at Key West. What does it look like where it ends? Ben asked. Well, the Caribbean Sea, I suppose. I hear there's lots of chickens in Key West, too. I think I can smell the peppermint wind or maybe that's Key Lime Pie.

More than pinpointing a location, I love that my kids are pondering the infinite things of life, the deep questions of life that we adults think we've figured out, or don't bother thinking about. More on this later...

Seasoned with Grace

One of my favorite meals to cook is soup. There are so many fabulous combinations that make a delightful, satisfying meal... Sausage Tortellini, Italian Wedding, White Chicken Chili, even Gazpacho. One time I made Gazpacho for 125 people. Talk about a lot of Gazpacho! Soup flows through your whole body, bringing a sense of satisfaction without overeating. Soup brings joy to me as a cook because it allows me to be creative. No soup is ever the same twice. I like that. I like wiggle room to experiment with a touch more basil or a pinch less salt. I like the freedom of soup.

Sometimes my mom says I missed my calling as a psychologist. I love to observe and analyze the interactions of those around me. I love to share my analysis with my husband. Sometimes he says I'm wise; othertimes I'm sure he finds me annoying. What I need more of in my analysis is ... grace. Not that there should be less truth, but the truth and the grace should float in a soup together. A delicious soup seasoned with the fresh herbs of God's word, love, and genuine compassion. Sometimes I concoct a bitter soup, a soup with one main ingredient - truth, maybe a little bit of judgment and a dash of smugness. This soup does not flow across the tongue, down the throat and into the heart to bring grace to the soul. This bitter soup is like an elixir to cure a disease. It may be necessary, but it's not enjoyable, burning all the way down. This liquid may bring restoration to your body, but it does little for restoring relationships.

John tells us "The law came through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus." Clearly he's noting a distinction between the two covenants. It's almost as if the semi-colon is a chasm, a chasm between law alone and law with grace. What a chasm Jesus has crossed for us. Jesus came to bring truth AND grace. I pray that my words would spread this same soothing salve to those around me.

Some Things are more Important than Bedtime

"So do we just float around in outerspace when we die?" Emma's question caught me off guard as I sat in the hallway reading them a nightime Bible story. After trying to find the scent of her trail of thinking, I said, "No, we go to Heaven." "Well, where is Heaven? Is it a real place?" wondered Ben. "Yeah, what's it like?" chimed in Emma. It was one of those miraculous moments, moments you want to capture on an indelible film and store away for easy retrieval in the Sundance Festival of our brains. It's a moment you hope for, dream of, but can't plan. When children start asking beautiful questions about the spiritual realm, there's-more-to-this-life type questions. I knew their little minds were really stretching and going in new realms of possibility and I didn't want to miss it b/c some things are more important than bedtime.

"Some things are more important than bedtime." I just read Randy Pausch's book, The Last Lecture," a collection of thoughts and wisdom from a dying father to his children. As a kid in the 50s, he was at summer camp when John Glenn and his crew first landed on the moon. The lunar landing was broadcast on tv, but like all babybirths, it was impossible to predict the time. As the hour approaced 11 o'clock, the kids were hustled off to bed, missing one of the greatest glimpses of history in this century.

This story puts my mommy schedule and task list into perspective. We all have things in mind to accomplish on a daily basis, I set time targets for Kevin and the kids like a businessman's sales goals. What are the markers against which we measure ourselves as parents... "Did we get them to bed on time or early?" Yes - success. "Did they remember to take their anti-biotics, vitamins, brush teeth and hair, pack lunches AND get them into their backpacks, make beds with minimal scrapping?" Not really - failure. How do we balance the necessary evil of our task lists with being available to seize the moment when a beautiful conversation opens like a summer rose?

To be continued...

Parenting Instincts

I found myself in a strange place yesterday... in a townhouse living room with 12 lively kindergarteners, trapped inside by a hurricane of sorts, surrounded by junk food galore and no planned activities - a twilight zone birthday party. I had inklings, I had warnings, but I decided to enter the uncharted territory anyway. It was a weird, wild ride of sorts. Nothing harmful occurred, other than gaining an insider's glance into another's dysfunctional family pain. AWWWWKKKKWARD! A friend of mine back in high school used to say, "I was embarrassed to be a human being." I was a fly on the wall seeing and hearing way more than anyone should have to see and hear.

Instantly it was clear that the mom was a teen mother, not much more than a baby herself. Was it easy to judge? It could've been, but then other dynamics came into view. An overbearing, argumentative grandmother. A strange motley crue of friends and partners, and one little girl excited to be six and the belle of the ball for once. One odd conversation with the bingeing father led to another with Norman with the "mysterious" last name, until I retreated to the one other safe chaperone in the room.

After I'd endured all that I oould - two hours before the party was scheduled to wrap-up - my mommy instinct kicked in. "Grab as many kids as you can!"
I began calling parents and saying, "I can't give you details right now, but I don't feel right leaving your child here." They thanked me and I whisked their kids into the safety of my minivan.

Just like all things, this bizarre-o soiree came to a close and we were all fine, at best a little wiser since we had learned from bad choices. Just because someone lives in a certain neighborhood doesn't make them an immoral person, but when the clues start adding up it's never too late to turn around and re-think an initial decision. I desire my kids to grow up in diversity, having friends of all cultures, all socio backgrounds and coming from all neighborhoods, even. But this TZ party made me realize that some kids have a LOT stacked against them, beyond what my sheltered family can imagine. And they deserve to be loved and cherished, to be the belle of the ball now and then, too.

I Once was Lost

I found my blog today. What a surprise. I started a new one yesterday, then today I found my old one. "Finding" my old blog begs the question... where did I find it? Right where I left it, of course!! :) I read my old words and deep thoughts written when we were in a much different stage of life. We were on the other side of a vast expansive unknown...now I'm on the west coast of that decision. It's good to be on this side, not the deciding side.

I can see pros and cons to our life here and now. It's not what we expected in all realms, but it's good. It's very good, and I feel blessed and thankful that God guided us through the transitions that we made. He thought of every detail, even beyond the multitude of details consuming our brains at the time. He is good and tender to us, loves us dearly, even though we're not missionaries anymore. We're normal people now. Normal Christians now trying to let our faith guide us in this regular place we find our selves in. The world is full of normal people who need to know that Christ loves them and longs to walk with them daily. I pray God would use us to share His grace with the normal people we encounter everyday.

I told a friend before we moved that I was anxious about leading a mundane life in the States. I did not want us to be swallowed in a sea of mundacity... two years later, the waves on this sea are nice. It's not a glassy sea, by any means, but it's a good ride. Choppy now and then to keep things interesting. Maybe we'll ride North Beach waves of faith again at some point in our life, but we're enjoying the gentler pace of our fine sea for now.

A Smidge of Grace

Recently my son Benjamin had a birthday party. One of the party-goers arrived in tears, a surprising way to arrive at a party. "Did my mom talk to you about the present?" She asked. "No," I replied. "Well, I ran out of time to pick something special out for Ben. Is it okay if I get him something later?" "Of course," I replied. Later, I told Ben what had happened. "No problem," he casually responded.

Well, that was two months ago and still no present. Ben hasn't given it another thought; I've given it his second thought and my third plus some. I start off giving the benefit of the doubt...Maybe they just forgot. Maybe they're having financial troubles. Maybe she gave Ben something and he forgot to tell me. Without warning my mind loses its footing and I find myself in a mud puddle. They're doing this to slight us. What evil people they are!!

As these ridiculously petty thoughts muddied my heart today, God reminded me of a story Jesus told in the Bible. It's called the Unmerciful Servant from the book of Matthew Chapter 18. A King goes to settle an account with his servant who owes him a large sum of money. The servant cannot pay up. The law stated that the servant should sell everything he owns and his wife and children into slavery to pay what he owes. In desperation, he pleads with the King for mercy. The King gives him mercy and the servant is off the hook.

Shortly after this life-altering encounter, the servant runs into someone who owes him a small amount of money. The same servant that should be overflowing with the forgiveness he just received, attacks this guy, trying to literally shake the money out of him. Hello? Isn't this the same guy who just was forgiven a huge debt? How can he not extend this same grace to his friend?

It's easy to judge the unmerciful servant, but I see myself in him so clearly. I have been undeservedly forgiven so much by the Lord. Why am I stingy in extending a smidge of this grace to those around me? Who am I to hold a grudge over a $10 kid's toy? I am certain that I have been unknowingly forgiven by those around me countless times for sins of forgetting to follow-through on promises I've made. Please forgive me for my stingy heart, Lord, and thank you for this reminder of your generous grace.