Scattered Seed Books

Tag: Deeper Soil

  • Remove the records

    Remove the records

    In 1814, America was at war again.

    It had taken some time for the enemy to assemble since the last war.

    From atop a hill, near the sea, Monroe watched. An army of enemy soldiers disembarked and headed straight for Washington. Not full of remorse, but pride.

    Quickly, the President scribbled a note to his clerk, the keeper of the original documents. The record of things done right.

    A decision was made.

    Remove the records, the note said.

    And so they did.

    Under stars. Carefully handled.  Wrapped in cloth. Pushed  out into the struggling world. Eventually to return.

    There was a war in Heaven once.

    But something much more valuable than land or merchants was at stake.

    Some might say, a war that saved your life.

    Lucifer assembled an army. 

    It had taken some time to convince an entire third.

    And it would not be the last time he would lie to get his way.

    Even after, he approaches Heaven. Not full of remorse, but pride.

    With the results of roaming back and forth on earth.

    And he would wave a record around. Your record of things done wrong. Accusing.

    Until  a baby.

    Under stars. Carefully handled.  Wrapped in cloth.  Pushed out into the struggling  world.

    Some might say, a Redeemer that saved your life.

    To remove the records.

    That baby became the man

    Nailed to a cross

    Buried in a tomb.

    Risen on the third day.

    Now seated on the throne.

    Eventually to return.

    And your records?

    Removed. 

  • A Pocket Full

    A Pocket Full

    Over the weekend, my husband and I joined up with a group from our church to hand out food.

    And each time a transaction took place.

    While we lifted bags into back seats, they deposited chronicles of heartbreak at our feet.

    While we passed gift cards through car windows, they left whispered tales of broken homes at our fingertips.

     Tears streamed, unashamedly, on both sides of the door that day.

    And then she showed up.

    From her large truck, a small woman looked down at us, waved an aged spotted hand, signalling us to stop and spoke.

    “I want for nothing, I have all I need. Yet, I have something for you.”

    An uncertain pause to our outreach hung in the air around us.  No one knew what to do. We eyed her suspiciously, until another volunteer approached her truck and timidly held out a gloved hand. She released a handful of small, plastic Jesus figurines.

    We pocketed them and giggled awkwardly.

    It was during my last car, that I remembered the figurine. As the car pulled away, my husband reached into his pocket and handed his Jesus to the woman behind the wheel.

    And she hesitated, just a second, as if wondering what to do with Him.

    “”Don’t you know that you can’t just give Jesus away,” I teased my husband as we walked back to the table.

    “I thought that’s what we were doing,” he said.

    He’s not wrong.

    As we handed over bags of apples, we were giving away Jesus.

    As we asked for Divine Favor in their situation, we were giving away Jesus.

    As we ministered to the weary and heavy laden, we were giving away Jesus.

    And you know what else..

    When we offered them Jesus, some eyed us suspiciously. 

    When we gave them Jesus, they weren’t sure where to put Him.

    When we placed Jesus in their hands, they didn’t know what to do with Him.

    And maybe that’s on us.

    Maybe He has sat too long in our pockets for us to feel Him, or clutched too long in our gloved hands for us to work with Him.

    I never did catch her name. I wish I could thank her.  I wonder if she knows just how important those words have become.

    The next opportunity to give Jesus away might look different on the surface, yet the internal need remains the same. 

    The need for a lifted load.

    The need for some gentle joy.

    The need for a Savior.

    “Come.” Jesus says, “Come.”

    He has something for you.

  • Sinking Moments

    Sinking Moments

    If you hang around with me long enough, I’m going to let you down.

    You’ll leave our interaction, confused or upset.  

    I might even make you mad.

    It’s inevitable. 

    Oftentimes, my missteps come from a place of care and concern.

    Sometimes from a place of fear.

    But, always, I will feel much worse about what I’ve said or done than you do.

    I’ll leave our interaction replaying, dissecting, and feeling disappointed in myself. Perhaps you can relate. It’s a perfect storm on a tumultuous sea, leaving me feeling defeated. I recognize those waves. Their sole purpose is to drag me down.

    Until recently, when I opened my Bible one morning, hoping that the planned verse would speak comfort to me after a stressful conversation the night before.

    Bleary eyed, I looked at the words jumping off the page.

     “For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many.” (Mark 10:45 NKJV)

    Wait. 

    Where were the uplifting verses?  The ones that pull me out of my mire-y muck? Where was the deep truth meant to hug me like a life vest? I know they exist.

    There must be some mistake. This one won’t work for today’s schedule. I’ve got some wallowing in the swamp of self pity to do, and I’m already running behind. Serving will have to wait.

    At an invisible urging, I began to look back upon previous devotional and sermon notes, and I came across a question asked in a recent sermon.

    Can sinking moments become sacred moments?

    And I found the well-worn story of Peter and his storm from Matthew 14:30-33.

    “But when he saw that the wind was boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink he cried out, saying, ‘Lord, save me!’” Matthew 14:30 (NKJV)

    Reading this brought me back to my own morning.

    I noticed that it wasn’t the morning after Peter started to sink that Jesus showed up. He didn’t just toss Peter a well-timed life jacket stuffed with verses during their morning one-on-one time. We know that the One Who Walks on Water was there to immediately lend a helping hand to his soaked and newly defeated friend.  

    Immediate help, because He was already there.

    The lifeline Peter sought was already in the storm, waiting on the surface, to lift Peter and return him to the boat. Peter called out to his Savior because they had cultivated a relationship.  There was trust, connection, and routine.

    And just like Peter, the lifeline I sought was already there.

    In my consistent morning devotional time.

    In my daily prayers.

    In my steady church attendance.

    Trust, connection, and routine.

    And so…

    If I truly believed that God was growing something in me that would outlast my struggle, I would know that we learn the most during our storms, despite all the anxious seaweed entangled around our legs.

    If I truly believed that my story was being written in ways that would bless others, I could have confidence that God could use all of me, even my faults, and would be free to shrug off all that wet self-loathing.

    If I truly believed that God’s mission moved forward on prayers, I could swim with His current and contribute more completely to that divine momentum. 

    It’s not lost on me that the now dry disciple, Peter, goes on to deny Jesus three times.

    And I could easily quip, 

    “But Lord, at least I’m not as bad as that guy.  As far as broken vessels go, he’s the leakiest.”

    That might momentarily reassure me.

    But I don’t want to be comforted out of my discomfort anymore.

    In the story of the potter and his clay, from Jeremiah 18, the potter did not abandon his clay creation when it came out a little wonky. He didn’t placate the lumpy mess, dismissing its flaws as inherited and excusable. There was no attempt to chastise the sharp angles away. Instead, the mistakes were made over. The bumps were blended in. The imperfections were improved.

    Not abandoned, but restored.

    Not forgotten, but remembered.

    Not forsaken, but remade.

    While everyone remembers the denial, they sometimes forget how Jesus, now risen from the grave, appeared to his downcast disciple, Peter, and asked him three times if he loved Him.


    “He said to him the third time, ‘Simon, son of Jonah, do you love Me?’ Peter was grieved because He said to him the third time, ‘Do you love Me?’ And he said to Him, ‘Lord, You know all things; You know that I love You.’” (John 21:17 NKJV)

    Restored.

    Remembered.

    Remade.

    Do you recall my early morning, unsuitable Bible verse that admonished me to serve?

    Well, maybe I was wrong, and it wasn’t there by mistake. Perhaps it’s a gentle reminder to continue to serve despite the kelp and barnacles. Or could it be a nudge to not become stagnant in my own bog? The real problem could be being stuck in that quagmire that follows all my muddy thinking.

    Just like Peter.

    The Bible tells us back in John 21:3, that before Peter could be restored, Jesus had to find him. And where was Peter? He was out at sea, fishing, and coming up empty-handed.

    Stagnant.

    Stuck.

    In the sea, yet again.

    Did Peter replay the events of that important day? 

    Was he dissecting his last conversation with Jesus?

    Could Peter have possibly felt a little defeated?

    Did he recognize those waves?

    After the drama in the water, the denial, and the restoration, Peter went on to serve Jesus and spread the Gospel.

    So tell me…

    Can sinking moments become sacred moments? 

    Is a verse advising me to serve, an anchor for today? Is it designed to keep my thoughts from drifting too far from the shore? Or, is it meant to be a buoy to a message I’ll need in the future? 

    After all, Jesus is already there.

    I need only to take His hand and let Him lead me back to the boat.

    Because my Savior walks on the water, and He is calling me to serve.