Six
Six
How Can I Bring Him Glory?
Love means doing all we can, at whatever cost to ourselves, to help people be enthralled with the glory of God. When they are, they are satisfied and God is glorified. Therefore loving people and glorifying God are one.
—John Piper
If God chooses to heal me of this two-year wrestling match with continual pain, I will give Him great glory. (Oh boy, you just watch!)
But if for His own good, unfathomable reasons, He chooses to allow the anguish—this sharp, deep, thorn in my flesh—to remain in some form until He finally issues my boarding pass for heaven (I want a window seat), then I will also pour my life into bringing glory to His most precious, saving, healing, holy name.
I will!
But how do I do that? How do any of us do that when we find ourselves in prolonged, unwelcome seasons of sorrow, stress, illness, financial loss, relational grief—or any of life’s sundry valleys and heartaches?
And what does it even mean to “give God glory,” anyway?
In the Old Testament the principle word for glory seems to indicate “weight” or “heaviness.” Its primary uses convey the idea of some external, physical manifestation of dignity, preeminence, or majesty. The principle New Testament word makes reference to “brightness, brilliance, and splendor.”1 There are plenty of textbook definitions out there, and I could give you one of those, but you could look it up just as easily yourself.
Just for a moment, allow me to combine the Old and New Testament concepts of glory to make a simple observation. When we glorify the name of our God, He gives us the opportunity of adding weight or significance—including adulation, respect, and honor—to His reputation. He allows us the unspeakable privilege of showcasing the brightness and splendor of His great name in our dark world.
Oh, so much more could be said about that of course—thousands of volumes with eye-straining print wouldn’t do the subject justice. But just for now, let’s allow my simple definition to suffice.
I believe that my ministries over the past forty years—through writing, speaking, painting, singing, counseling, and being an advocate for disabled people—have brought weight to the mighty name of Jesus. And I am so very glad for that.
But let’s play a little “what if” game here. What if … because of encroaching pain or even more profound disability, I became hindered from doing any or all of those well-loved activities. What then? Could I still bring Him glory? Could I still somehow, in some way, add weight to His most worthy name? Could I still prompt my Savior and friend to smile and nod with recognition over something I might try for His sake and for the love of Him?
Yes, I firmly believe that to be so.
And since I believe there is really nothing more important in all of our lives that we could do, let me suggest just a few ideas on the subject as we move past the midpoint of this book.
How Do We Bring Christ Glory in a Time of Trial or Limitation?
1. Breathe in His presence.
A few years ago I struggled through a long bout against double pneumonia. It would have been a difficult time for anyone, but for someone with quadriplegia…. Well, it was nothing short of a nightmare.
I was hospitalized for nine days, and frankly, there were times when I wondered if this might be the time God would take me home. Try to imagine lying flat and not being able to raise your head and cough when you feel that tightness and gurgling in your bronchioles. Imagine not being able to sit up in bed or at least rise up on your elbows. Sometimes it felt as if there was an invisible hand pressing an invisible pillow over my face.
On some of the worse nights, my wonderful husband put two chairs together in my hospital room and slept by my bed so I could at least quiet my heart knowing someone was there to help sit me up every time I needed to expel phlegm.
One day during my hospital stay my doctor did a very helpful thing. He set up an oxygen tank by my bed so I could breathe a little easier in those moments when I felt like I was being asphyxiated. Never did I appreciate oxygen so much! On nights when I could hardly get a breath, they slipped that oxygen mask over my face and … what relief!
Up until that illness I inhaled and exhaled with hardly a thought. Breathe in, breathe out. Who even thinks about it? But in the hospital I discovered that, whether we realize it or not, we truly live our lives moment by moment, breath by breath.
We breathe in so naturally; it’s a given. But I have learned that it’s more than a given. It’s a gift! Oxygen is the life and breath of our body.
I have to admit, this take-something-precious-for-granted sort-of thing is often the way I relate to Jesus, our true life and breath. Because we live, move, and have our being in Him, as it says in Acts 17:28, it’s all too easy to take His life-sustaining grace for granted. Every day we breathe in His love, breathe in His grace, breathe in His help.
And what do we exhale? A dull forgetfulness of His constant love toward us. The presence of God almost seems monotonous in a way; we become dead to the reality that apart from Him, we can’t do a thing (John 15:5).
People who get into this bored, distracted, shallow frame of mind cease to give God the glory He deserves. The book of Malachi contains the sad, poignant story of a time in Israel’s history when the Lord’s own priests—the very ones charged with protecting and promoting His glory—had so fallen out of love with God that they ceased to honor Him at all. Bored and cynical, they offered sick and diseased animals on His altar—the dregs of their livestock that had no worth or value to anyone. And after offering such things, they would say, “This is contemptible,” or “What a burden this is.” You can picture them yawning or looking at their watches as they took their turns in God’s holy temple. If it had been today, they would have been texting their friends or playing games on their iPhones.
God had to actually remind them that He is “a great king” and that His name is “feared among the nations” (1:14). But these supposed representatives of the Holy One of Israel had become so indifferent and casual about their relationship with Him that He had to seek His glory elsewhere.
We can’t afford to be complacent about God’s glory. The fact is that putting your Christian life on autopilot is the same thing as “walking in the flesh.” When we become unaware, when we take something so precious for granted, our prayers become tedious, witnessing becomes dry, jobs become lackluster, and relationships sag under the weight of selfishness. What’s worse, our communion with our Savior and best friend turns into a chore. The Lord Himself seems to lose vitality in our estimation; He becomes little more than a wooden icon in our hearts, a mere measuring rod for our behavior—someone who purchased our salvation once upon a time, someone in whom we believe in a general, distracted sort of way.
In short, we no longer give Him glory.
How does that happen? It happens when we neglect to inhale His life and breath through our waking hours. It happens when we take our Savior for granted. Oh, how could we take so great a salvation for granted?
Nothing is more mechanical than when we attempt to live a supernatural life apart from God. This is why the apostle tells us in Romans 6:11 to “count yourselves … alive to God in Christ Jesus.” To “count” means to take a daily inventory, to consciously consider yourself alive. I’m alive—we’re alive—to God in Christ Jesus.
Jesus is the breath of life we reach for every moment of every day. Inhale His love—no matter what your current situation or circumstances—and you can’t help but exhale gratitude and gratefulness. This is something I can do even when I am bound to my bed or trying to navigate my way through the narrow corridors of oppressive pain.
I may not be able to do a lot of things when I am suffering intense pain, but I can still breathe in His presence and exhale my thanks. I can still breathe in His grace and forgiveness and exhale my gratitude and love. I can still inhale His kindness and moment-by-moment help; I can still exhale acknowledgment that He is with me.
As I do, though sometimes no one but the angels may see, I am adding weight to His reputation and brightness to His splendor. And that makes my life infinitely worthwhile.
2. Don’t despise the discipline of the Lord.
It’s something I’ve brooded over a lot: Could this pain I’m going through be God’s way of disciplining me? It’s a tough question, and yes, I’m convinced that much of the suffering we go through is God’s way of disciplining us. Notice I didn’t say “punish.” The punishment for all my wrongdoing was taken care of by Jesus on His cross. He endured the wrath of God for my sins so that I wouldn’t have to.
Nevertheless, God loves me too much to let me wallow in my wrongdoing without some sort of consequence. That means I’ll occasionally feel the rod—ouch!—of God’s discipline. We might not like the idea, and we might even despise it. It hurts when we feel the hand of God’s reproof and correction. But Hebrews 12:7–9 has some wise counsel:
Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as sons. For what son is not disciplined by his father? If you are not disciplined (and everyone undergoes discipline), then you are illegitimate children and not true sons. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of our spirits and live!
I often think of that passage of Scripture when I’m at my art easel. The paintings I love the most are always the ones I put through the toughest discipline. I bruise and batter the preliminary drawings with lots of erasures and corrections. I push my brushes to perform impossible strokes on the canvas. I demand a great deal from the oil paints I mix together, expecting colors that are so subtle you can’t even find them on the color wheel. Every painting I love, I put through the wringer. But these are the paintings people most admire once they’re framed and displayed on the wall in the lobby of Joni and Friends.
Not all suffering is God’s discipline, and if you’re like me, you tend to cringe at the idea of God correcting or reproving you. But I’ve got some great advice; or, I should say, God has. It’s “that word of encouragement that addresses you as sons: ‘My son, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines those he loves’” (Heb. 12:5–6).
First, don’t do the extreme of making light of your hardship, thinking that it’s just a small matter that you can handle by yourself and that you don’t need any help, especially God’s. Don’t be a stoic. Or a martyr. It will only make matters worse. Rather, ask God to show you how you can work together with His Spirit to fulfill His purpose in your life.
On the other extreme, don’t lose heart—don’t emotionally crumble or cave in, thinking that God’s out to get you or that He has a short fuse and will stay angry forever. God is not out to get you. He’s not a killjoy, holding out on your healing until you shape up and start living right. He’s not a big ogre, twisting your arm with more suffering until you cry “uncle!” Ask God to remove any tinge of unhealthy fear you may harbor toward Him and His discipline.
So back to my original question: Is my pain God’s way of disciplining me? All I can say is the love of God is only after what is pure and praiseworthy in my life. And when it comes to His discipline, He only has my best interest at heart: that the image of Jesus would beautifully and radiantly shine in my character—in yours, too. So if the pain and discomfort of your difficult circumstances persist, don’t take it lightly. But more importantly, don’t lose heart. God’s up to something pretty special in your life!
3. Stay supercharged.
Not long ago my fellow passengers and I were forced to change planes. Since there was no accessible bus transport to take us to the other side of the terminal, I had to wheel all the way around to the other side of the airport. By the time I got to the gate, my wheelchair batteries were nearly dead. (And it didn’t help that I had forgotten to charge them the night before.)
Believe me, that taught me a lesson: Always keep those batteries powered up!
It’s a lesson that goes much deeper than power wheelchairs. Just as my DieHard batteries have to have full power to take me through the day, I have to live the same way as a Christian. I simply can’t approach the day with a ho-hum attitude thinking I need only so much of God’s power to make it through. The Lord wants me—wants you—to remain fully charged.
“Don’t burn out; keep yourselves fueled and aflame. Be alert servants of the Master, cheerfully expectant. Don’t quit in hard times; pray all the harder” (Rom. 12:11–12 MSG).
Another translation reads: “Let us not allow slackness to spoil our work and let us keep the fires of the spirit burning, as we do our work for the LORD.”2
In other words, don’t let your fuel burn down. Don’t let your light be shaded or covered over. Don’t allow your batteries to be drained.
We see an example of this attitude in Acts 6. The church needed some deacons who would serve tables and distribute food. So they chose seven men, and Stephen was one of them. Now Stephen, in that chapter, is described as a man “full of faith and the Holy Spirit.” A couple verses further on, he is described as a man “full of God’s grace and power.”
In other words, Stephen’s spiritual fuel tank was on “full.” The batteries of his soul were charged to the max. But why? You wouldn’t think a young man who only served tables and distributed food would really need to be supercharged with God’s power. The last time I checked, waiting on tables and handing out food parcels to the widows isn’t rocket science. These are everyday, ordinary sorts of tasks, right?
But Stephen—bless his heart and thank God for his example—didn’t dare go into the day without keeping in step with the Spirit, without feeding on the Word and filling up in prayer. The result? This man was no average deacon. Because God’s power overflowed in his life, his behind-the-scenes service resulted in the chance to revolutionize the church. His witness was so irresistibly powerful that the Jewish leaders could find no way to oppose him. They had to talk others into lying about him, which led to his arrest—which led to one of the boldest, most powerful messages in the entire Bible.
Don’t allow the enemy of your soul to convince you that your tasks today are ho-hum and ordinary, nothing special, nothing extraordinary. Keep your batteries charged and you can’t help but have a powerful influence on others. Fully charged, like Stephen, you will be anything but average.
And you will bring God glory.
4. Keep a humble heart.
Don’t you love the way God finds ways to keep us humble and dependent upon Him?
I can’t say that I always appreciate the process, but I do value the results! You know what I’m talking about here: You’re going along fine, looking good, coming across okay, got your act together, and then—bam!—circumstances knock the props out from under you, and you fall flat on your face. It happened to me (yet again) not long ago.
I was getting ready for a speaking engagement at a prestigious conference. It was one of those exclusive kinds of things, and I knew there would be a lot of corporate executives there—trustees from various foundations and colleges, and presidents of universities. I had worked extra hard on my message, trying to get things “just right.” I not only went out and bought myself a new outfit to wear, but I asked my girlfriend to clean and polish my wheelchair. I wanted this presentation to be perfect.
Three days before I was to leave for the conference, however, something occurred that has never happened before. I was wheeling outside and began to feel a thump-thump-thump-thump. I looked down over my shoulder, and much to my horror, the tire of my wheelchair had split apart. All the foam that was inside was beginning to bulge and spill out like a big, ugly growth on the side of my tire. It looked awful—and I knew if I didn’t do something fast, I’d soon be riding on the rims of my wheels.
When I showed the problem to Ken, he immediately went after his beloved roll of silver duct tape. I looked at him in disbelief. “Duct tape? You’re going to fix my tire with duct tape?” He explained that until we could get a new tire, it was our only option. So he proceeded to tightly wrap my tire in layer after layer of duct tape (seemingly enjoying himself)—round and round my wheel it went until the bulge was contained.
“Okay,” Ken said. “Try wheeling on it.”
I slowly powered my wheelchair forward. It was still going thump-thump-thump-thump, but at least this time the rim was safe. But it looked absolutely tacky. When my girlfriend saw it, she said, “Hmmm. Well, Joni, think of it as, um … tire jewelry.”
I have to confess that my first thought was, Oh, no. I can’t believe I’ve got to go to the conference looking like this—like I’ve got a gross tumor on my tire!
But no sooner did that unworthy thought cross my mind than I realized that this was simply God’s way of keeping me humble. Maybe for other people He allows a coffee stain on their shirt, spinach between their front teeth, or dandruff all over their black sweater. For me, it was a lumpy, uncool, immediately visible duct-tape bandage on my wheelchair tire.
It’s amazing how a silly thing like that can reveal how self-focused you have been. But the Lord was gracious to me in spite of my vanity. Ken was able to make a couple of quick calls, and I got a new tire before heading off to the conference. Was I relieved! But once there, I was ever mindful of Deuteronomy 8:16: “He … [humbled and tested] you so that in the end it might go well with you.”
The simple fact is that I can’t be about glorifying myself—adding weight and luster to my own name and reputation—and the Lord at the same time. In Isaiah 42:8 He tells us, “I am the LORD; that is my name! I will not give my glory to another.”
So if He allows humbling circumstances in my life, I know He does so for good reason. With Peter, I will humble myself under God’s mighty hand, that He may lift me up in due time.3
5. Maintain a childlike wonder about life.
I recently spent the afternoon with a friend who has an eighteen-month-old little boy. Benjamin is a blue-eyed, towheaded, precocious, all-boy kind of child. He loves balls and blocks. But most of all, he loves life.
He knows several words, but the phrase that most often tumbles out is, “Oh, wow!”
Show him a new squeaky toy, and it’s, “Oh, wow!” Or take him for a short stroll down the sidewalk only to discover a caterpillar and, again, it’s another, “Oh, wow!” Everything is, “Oh, wow!” For Benjamin, all of life is new, exciting, and awe-inspiring—like a birthday present just out of its wrappings. Wonders wait around every corner. Objects and animals, grass and sky, other children, and even visitors in wheelchairs amaze and delight him. He seems to gulp down life with extreme gusto!
As I watched Ben’s unfettered enthusiasm over seeing ducks, balls, and bugs on the sidewalk, I thought how great it would be if we could maintain the same, “Oh, wow!” attitude about who God is and what He’s done.
David, perhaps still a young man out in the Judean wilderness with his father’s sheep, gazed up into the Milky Way at night and wrote these words:
When I look up into the night skies and see the work of your fingers—the moon and the stars you have made—I cannot understand how you can bother with mere puny man, to pay any attention to him! (Ps. 8:3–4 TLB)
And again:
The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they display knowledge.
There is no speech or language
where their voice is not heard. (Ps. 19:1–3)
I’m not sure what the ancient Hebrew equivalent of, “Oh, wow!” might be, but I have to believe David breathed those words, lost in the wonder of his God’s majestic handiwork.
Surely the apostle Paul had such a moment when he wrote in his letter to the Romans: “What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?” Then he answers his own question by saying, “Thanks be to God…. There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”4
In other words, “Oh, wow!”
A little bit later in Romans, he writes: “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.”5
That’s another one that has me gaping like Benjamin, thinking, This is too much to wrap my mind around! Wow, this is great!
Cultivating that kind of huge appreciation for life—the kind that seems to come so naturally to little Benjamin—and possessing that sense of wonder is really a gift. You can’t work it up, drum it up, and you certainly can’t fake it. To enjoy—really enjoy—the works of God and His character to the point where “Oh, wow!” comes only one way: The less we make of ourselves, the greater God seems. And the more we make of God, the more we get into His Word and think whatsoever thoughts are pure, honest, and praiseworthy, the more we’ll find ourselves saying, “Oh, wow!”
Cynicism will neutralize that sense of wonder in a trice; a crabby, ungrateful spirit will deny it admittance to our heart. But if we truly set ourselves to glorify our God like David, or like little Benjamin, the sheer joy of living will grow again like a shy, fragile wildflower—even in the most hostile of terrains.
6. Serve wholeheartedly.
This morning when I greeted my girlfriend who came to get me dressed and in my wheelchair, the first thing I said to her was, “Oh, boy! We get to serve Jesus today!”
Dana laughed.
But, hey, it’s the way I have to wake up, pain or no pain. I can’t be glum or sour or peevish, even if I am a little tired of paralysis, and even if I am weary of chronic pain. God’s got me alive—I’m still here!—and that means there’s a purpose for my life, a race to run, and a plan for my life. God has ordained this day for me to bring Him glory as best I can and to serve Him with joy.
So today, in spite of everything, to the best of my ability leaning on Him, it’s, “Oh, boy! I get to serve the Lord today!”
Did you know that kind of attitude is a command? Psalm 100 says, “Serve the Lord with gladness.” In other words, it’s not an option. Serving Him with gladness isn’t a nice suggestion, as if God were saying, “Oh, by the way, when you serve Me today, would you please smile just a little? It would really mean a lot to Me. It would be just great if you could get your attitude in line.” No, serving the Lord with gladness is not something He would like us to do (if we happen to think about it or feel in the mood); it’s something we’re commanded to do.
Whoever you are, whatever your circumstances today, God commands joyfulness in your kingdom service. And that directive applies whether you’re a quadriplegic in a wheelchair, a parent picking up or dropping off kids at school, a student going to class, a resident in a nursing home, or someone getting ready to lead a Bible study. It counts for people in full-time ministry, homemakers, dishwashers, and meter maids. As a son or daughter of God, whatever He has you doing is service in His name. And He says whatever you do, do it heartily (I like that word, heartily, because it means happily) unto Him. Serve the Lord with gladness, with happiness. It’s not an option.
Listen to what God says to His people in Deuteronomy 28:47–48: “Because you did not serve the Lord your God joyfully and gladly … you will serve the enemies the Lord sends against you.”
My friends, it’s not enough that you serve the Lord. You must serve Him joyfully and gladly. He is completely displeased with anything less. I would go so far as to say, given Deuteronomy 28, that He won’t even bless such service when performed with a sour, bored, irritated, or resentful disposition.
As I write these words, I can’t help but think of my new friend, Pam, who lives in a home for girls who are seeking to leave the streets.
The home, in downtown Hollywood, provides a safe place and a refuge for young women who have fled prostitution and drug dealing on some of the meaner streets in “Tinseltown.” Elsie, who runs the home, walks those streets, shares the gospel, and leads these girls to Christ. If these new converts truly desire to change their lives and commit to new responsibilities, they have a place in Elsie’s home.
Pam is one such new believer. Although a Christian with a sweet spirit, she bears the scars of knife fights and heroin needles. Her arms are marred and marked with tattoos. But this is one unusual believer. I was immediately struck by her genuine and overflowing joy when she explained to me her new role in Elsie’s home.
“I scrub the toilets and the bathrooms!” she exclaimed with great enthusiasm. “That’s my job, and I love it!” Pam was so grateful to have structure in her life, safety in her surroundings, and an honest-to-goodness job serving in Christ’s kingdom.
When I watched her go about her duties that day I visited Elsie’s home, I thought of Psalm 84:10, where it says, “Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere; I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked.” I guess Pam could paraphrase, “A day in Elsie’s home is better than a thousand on the street, and I would rather clean toilets under the roof of this godly woman than dwell in the flophouses on the boulevard.”
I was deeply impressed by Pam’s humble, happy spirit toward her job. Her delight in cleaning toilets sprang from a keen awareness of her role in the body of Christ. Few of you reading these words have a background like Pam’s, but every day, each of us rolls up our sleeves to accomplish menial tasks. It could be changing oil at Jiffy Lube, changing ink cartridges in printers, changing the sheets in motel rooms, or even changing a diaper on a little one or on an elderly parent. Like Pam, when you and I consider these jobs as service to Christ, we discover the joy of being “a doorkeeper in the house of God.” It’s just a way of living out Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 10: “Whether we eat or drink, whatever we do … do it all for the glory of God.”
A day of ministry in Christ’s kingdom is far better than a thousand days lived in pursuit of self-destructive pleasures.
And for me (please hear me, my friend, and weigh the import of these words), a day in this wheelchair serving Him, a day representing Him though in the grip of this unrelenting pain, is better than a thousand self-fulfilled days lived pain free and on my feet. It’s a lesson people like Pam and me are learning every day.
7. Pour out your all.
One of my favorite stories in Scripture is the one about Mary of Bethany and how she poured out her vial of priceless perfume on the Lord Jesus.
I have wondered about that perfume….
I wonder how long it had been sitting on the shelf in the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. Was it tucked away in a little wooden chest for safekeeping, like something to bank on for a rainy day? Was it on a shelf covered with a fine film of dust, a shelf so high up that it could only be reached with a stool or ladder? Was it a family heirloom, treasured and protected, handed down from parents or grandparents? Maybe that vial of expensive perfume was being saved for the next generation.
There seems to be no doubt that it was Mary’s alone to give. We read of no objection from Martha or Lazarus when she poured it out on their dearest Friend. It was up to Mary what to do with it.
She could have kept it to herself, of course. It could have remained on the shelf, collecting dust rather than being broken open and poured on the Lord Jesus. But then the Savior would have gone to the cross with no lingering fragrance of a godly woman’s sacrificial love, and Mary’s story would have never been told to numberless multitudes in countless languages and dialects all over the world.
I’m so glad that Mary didn’t save her special treasure for a rainy day. I’m so grateful she didn’t decide to leave it locked in a cask like an untouchable family heirloom. I’m so thankful she broke it open and poured it out on the one and only one who was worth it all and more.
What Mary did with that perfume speaks to me. There is something about “pouring it all out” in service, dedication, and love to Christ that makes your life truly fragrant. And not only your life—you become a fragrant offering, reminding the Father of all that Jesus sacrificed when He walked on earth. There’s something sweet and precious about cracking open your heart and giving your affection to the Savior in the midst of a difficult or painful situation that takes a simple testimony like yours and pushes it over the top. Because there’s nothing like a song of praise rising out of brokenness that brings glory to our God.
In the process, it also opens a wellspring of joy and gladness about life.
Friend, what are you holding onto tightly? What gift or resource or talent have you squirreled away for safekeeping? What are you saving or holding back from being poured out as a sacrificial offering of praise and thanksgiving to the Lord? Yes, I do believe all of us have special, heaven-sent talents we can use to promote God’s name and reputation. In addition, you’ve got some gratitude you can show, thanksgiving you can pour out, smiles you can give, time and treasure you can offer, and words of encouragement you can share with a needy soul.
Don’t bottle them up.
Don’t leave your love sealed, “safe” and placed on a high shelf.
Don’t save your smiles and your friendship for those you know or like or “feel comfortable with.”
Give gratitude in the midst of hardship, and you’ll find it will be like pouring out perfume on the Lord Himself. It’ll be a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving, sweet and fragrant, that will bring great glory to the Savior.
Just recently, as I was reading in Matthew 25, the following little paraphrase took shape in my mind.
Then the King will say to those on his right, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was discouraged, and you gave Me a smile of encouragement and a kind word.… I was grieving and you sent Me a note and bouquet of spring flowers.… I was confused and anxious, and you took me to Starbucks and gave me your counsel over a caramel macchiato.… I was lonely, and you took Me out to lunch at IHOP.… I was frightened about preparing my taxes, but you showed Me what to do and where to go.… I was a child who wanted to get out of the city and go to Bible camp, and you paid My way.”
Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when did we see You discouraged and speak kindly to You? When did we send You flowers or take You to Starbucks or buy You lunch? When did we help you with Your taxes or pay Your way to Bible camp?”
The King will reply, “I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for Me.”
8. Don’t hold back on life.
The other day my friend Karen flew into town from the East Coast to see me.
No big deal, right?
Well, really it is a big deal. Because Karen came by herself, and she is almost completely blind. With a lot of courage and plain old determination, she got on the plane, found a friend to pick her up at the airport, looked me up, and came to see me.
On the night of her arrival, the two of us went out to dinner at a local restaurant. I had thought she was going to ask her friend to join us, but the friend had to get going and explained she was only there to drop Karen off.
It gave me a little pause. There would be no one to give us assistance at the restaurant? A blind woman and a paralyzed woman? This was going to be somewhat interesting. When Karen’s friend took off and left us, I think the staff at the restaurant was as nervous about it as I was.
Karen, however, was all smiles. It was going to be no problem at all.
Once we got settled, I had to give instructions to my friend. “Reach into the back of my pack, get my special spoon, and please tuck it in the little cuff right here on my arm splint. Thanks. Good. And could you put the napkin in my lap, push my glass of water near you where you can hold it to my mouth for me—you’re not going to knock it over, are you?”
I don’t mind telling you that some of the other diners seemed a little edgy watching us get ready for our meal. I saw someone eyeing us when Karen—bless her heart—found the water glass, put both hands around it, and lifted the straw—with my verbal directions—to my mouth.
In spite of ourselves, we had to laugh.
“Is this the blind leading the paralyzed?” she asked.
“No,” I said, still laughing. “This is the paralyzed leading the blind, because I have to tell you where your food is on the plate!”
After awhile, people stopped staring. I think it was because they saw how relaxed we were, despite the circus. I also think they were just a little bit blessed to see a blind woman and a wheelchair-bound quadriplegic enjoying one another’s company. And maybe they wondered just a bit more when they saw us bow our heads and pray out loud to the Father together.
It was a witness, and I believe it brought our Lord glory.
He is our strength, He is our courage, He is our enabler, He is the source of our joy. And yes, we got through the meal without spilling any food on the floor or water on the table. (Although I did have to ask the waiter to take my spoon out my arm splint, wipe it off, and put it in my backpack.)
Life, my friend, is an adventure. Karen said that night, “Joni, my disability is worsening, and I know that one day I may not be able to do this stuff—fly by myself and have a dinner alone with a friend. So I’m going to make the most of the time I’ve got and do what I can with what little I’ve got left.”
In the course of some of these recent days as I’ve fought for just the smallest bits of normalcy and peace in my war with pain, I don’t feel as if I have very much left to offer at all.
But in the final scheme of things, I know it doesn’t matter.
He is the one who will make the most of the little I’ve got. He is the one who took note of the widow’s mite, dropped into the treasury, and affirmed that her little was worth more in heaven’s sight than the offering of those who had given much, but had much more held in reserve.