Of Grinders and Gratefulness

In everything give thanks ...

I Thessalonians 5:18

I love my coffee.

I frequently tell my students "Coffee keeps me interesting ...". We travelled to the States this summer and, while shopping in a little store, I saw this sign:

I should have bought it!

When I turned 50, a couple who are good friends bought me a nice grinder so that I could grind my own coffee beans (bought at Costco) and use the ground coffee in my Keurig (which actually means "lovely" in Dutch!). Life is good. (... insert contented sigh here ...)

I'm sure you're wondering why I'm waxing eloquent over my caffeine addiction; the reason is this: When we lost our David and our whole world felt like it had been turned upside-down, those same friends were there immediately when we called. I will never forget the simple comfort I received when Chris walked in the door, hugged me with tears in his eyes and a catch in his throat and told me how sorry he was. And Beth was there for my hurting wife.  Then, as we traversed that long and weary week of preparation, and later the visitation and funeral, both they and their children stood by us, day by day, rarely knowing what to say but being there for whatever we needed. Often it was a text, or a call, to remind us they were praying for us. During the three and a half hours of the visitation, they stood by us for the entire night. As I greeted those that came to pass on their condolences, suddenly Beth would be at my elbow with a glass of cold water. We discovered they had been instrumental in coordinating the meals that were delivered to our house. Rarely in the limelight but always there just when we needed them.

Friends like that are rare. People that are so selfless, looking simply to meet the needs. We are extremely blessed to have them in our lives, and I never want to take them for granted.

And so I have taken a very mundane, run-of-the-mill task and turned it into an opportunity to be grateful. About every two weeks, I have to grind more beans to fill my little coffee can. And every time I pull that little grinder out of the cupboard and grind the coffee beans, I take time to thank God for our friends, who were God's hands and feet to bring His love to us when we were so very weak and weary.

I'd like to say the idea was mine; to attach a special significance to a plain and simple item. But the truth is, God did it long before I did. It's called communion, and it's brilliant. Jesus took a very mundane, run-of-the-mill item like a loaf of bread, which can be found in pretty much every culture. He broke it and said, "This represents My body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of Me." Then He took a cup of wine, again something found easily in most cultures and He said, "This represents My blood which was shed for you. Do this, as often as you drink it, in memory of Me."

No hindrances. No matter how rich or poor, whether from lower class or upper class; everyone could partake. His institution certainly leveled the entry, so that any could participate. But what is oh-so-important is that He took something simple, something plain, and attached to it such great significance - the reminder which inspires thankfulness that comes from appreciating what has been done on our behalf, what we were incapable of doing for ourselves.

And so now I look for other simple, mundane, daily things to attach significance to, so that I can use them to remind my heart of the great love of God for me, of the depths to which He was willing to go to rescue me from my own sin, so that I am reminded, even inspired, to be once again grateful for what He has done for me. Maybe as I garden, I am reminded that He has weeded my heart of the unforgiveness or evil desires that were once there. Maybe it's as I wash the dishes that I am reminded of how He washed away every stain and made me clean before Him. And I recognize that none of it was deserved; it's all a gift of His grace.

And that fills me with a spirit of joy and gratefulness far more than coffee ever could!

Beauty From Ashes

To console those who mourn in Zion,
To give them beauty for ashes,
The oil of joy for mourning,
The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;
That they may be called trees of righteousness,
The planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.

Isaiah 61:3

As a teacher, I love summer, but not for the reasons you might think.

Summer provides a break from the rigid schedules, the daily life trapped under the tyranny of a bell. It allows time to breathe, time to rest and recharge, time to sit and just read for enjoyment. It allows for time to spend catching up with friends you haven't seen for 10 months because the demands of teaching monopolize your days, your evenings, your weekends. Believe it or not, I do miss my students, but I know that the summer will allow me to mentally, physically and emotionally recalibrate, so that I come back able to invest in them again. It's what I believe God intended for me to do; the ministry He has called me to for this stage of my life. The summer is my sabbath, and God declared it good.

This summer we had the opportunity to get reconnected with a friend with whom we had lost touch for a variety of reasons. The catalyst for the reconnecting came through David's passing. This dear friend had been through some real struggles on multiple fronts, and we discovered that one of her sons, a friend of David's in childhood, had been struggling with similar battles with substance abuse. It may even have been that the brutal reality of David's death due to his playing with drugs was the event that brought that young man face-to-face with the potential consequences of his choices, and motivated him to get serious about getting help. However all that played out, when he heard that we were planning to come up to visit his mom, with sensitive heart he suggested to her that she perhaps not tell us how well he was doing, as it might be painful for us to hear that.

I have another friend, a colleague, whose son was also in the same age bracket and the same patterns of behaviour. I had shared with him that we had helped David enroll in Teen Challenge, an intensive faith-based program for both men and women designed to help them find freedom from addictions. David had to wait for a period of time before he could begin, and he succumbed to his overdose before that period ended. They were successful in enrolling their son, however, and he is doing really well. At one point in the spring, I stopped by to hear about his son and to let him know I was praying. He teared up. As a dad, he totally understood that my heart would have wanted the same for my son, but that's not how God allowed things to play out.

The reality is that both of these situations bring me joy. Granted, it is mixed with pain and a few tears, but only because I so desired the same for my David.

In this post, I talked about Acts 2, where James, in prison, is beheaded while Peter, also in prison, is miraculously released. Why Peter, and not James? Why these other men's sons, and not my David? Isn't the same God presiding over each of these situations? Is He not equally capable of supernaturally intervening? Was James a worse sinner than Peter? Was my David? Or is God just petty?

No. A thousand times, No.

I may not understand why God acts one way in one circumstance, and a different way in another, but that's because I'm not God. That is very much a "Captain Obvious" statement, but we humans tend to get all miffed when God doesn't do things the way we think He ought to, when it should be so clear that we do not have the full details in front of us. Sometimes we even start declaring He can't exist for those very reasons. I don't truly understand electricity, but I don't start doubting its existence as a result! Man, my beautiful wife is as real as can be, but I don't understand her all the time! (Can I hear an "Amen", husbands? 😏) Doubting God's existence, or goodness, just because we don't understand ... well, that doesn't make sense.

To our friend's son, I would say how glad I am that he is doing well, that he has seen value in himself because God values him. I would encourage him to use his experience, and the lessons he has learned, to help other people, young and old, find their value in the eyes of their Creator. To my colleague's son, I would say the same. I would not wish upon any parent the road I had to walk, though I have learned things about God's faithfulness and love that I likely would not have learned any other way.

And nothing would bring me more "oil of joy" and a "garment of praise", than to see the beauty of a life restored to a relationship with the God who loves them sprout from the ashes of my loss.