Recently, I wrote an essay about our need to rest and establish a “rest routine.” But I also admitted that I hadn’t figured out my own rest routine. In response to my post, my friend Lanna commented, “I think you have found your word for the year!” I’d actually been searching for a word for 2022 and hadn’t found quite the right one, but “rest” seemed obvious after Lanna pointed it out. With “rest” on my mind, I thought back to the beginning of the pandemic in 2020 when everything shut down and I discovered that I enjoyed coloring to occupy my mind during the many days and nights spent indoors. So, I went back to my stash of coloring books and markers and looked for something to work on. When I found a page, I thought “after I get some chores done, I’ll color.” And in that moment, I realized that subconsciously, I believed that I had to earn my rest.  

I assume I’m not alone in that belief even if we don’t acknowledge it. We think that we must do some sort of work before we deserve rest. We must be productive: finish one more step of the project, throw in another load of laundry, make that call or send that email. Whether we are at home or work, we come up with a long to-do list before we will rest. We think we must reach exhaustion before we give ourselves permission to slow down and do something restorative. If we aren’t being industrious, we think we are wasting time. We don’t give rest a chance.   

When I stopped working as a lawyer after our move to Texas fifteen years ago, I had an identity crisis of sorts. I wasn’t bringing home a paycheck anymore to quantify my worth. I started cooking more elaborate dinners for the first time in our family’s existence because I felt I had to prove my value as a homemaker. I wore business clothes to drop my kids off at daycare a few days a week because I didn’t want to be deemed lazy. I felt lost without the demands of work and didn’t know how to fill my days. I was staying home with two young children (with two more yet to be born), but I didn’t feel like I was earning my keep, much less earning time for rest, although I was extremely tired. I couldn’t square the previous version of my life and its constant and frantic (but not very satisfying) pace with the new iteration which was slower and not easily measurable in terms of worldly success.   

In a familiar passage, Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matt. 11:28-30). Jesus didn’t say, come to me only after you’ve completed all your tasks and a long day’s work. He said, “are you weary and burdened?” Check and check for almost everyone I know. We are tired, stressed, and troubled as a people and as individuals. Yet, we just keep pushing ourselves to do more, be more, try more.  God wants us to turn to him and away from all the craziness of our success-oriented culture. Our world that drives us to the brink of exhaustion in the name of productivity is not the kingdom on earth that God promotes. Rest is necessary and important in God’s version of the ideal. 

Why do we resist rest so adamantly? Are we afraid of being quiet and introspective? Of what we might learn about ourselves if we stop pursuing the world’s definition of success? Or have we merely succumbed to the theory that we must earn rest because otherwise we don’t deserve it? Whatever the reason, if we take time to examine our refusal to rest often, we can change. God tells us to come to him so that he can freely give us rest, just as he gives his grace and boundless love. Let us rest and accept all God longs to give us.    

My daughter Riley is the best airplane sleeper I’ve ever known. The second after she buckles her seatbelt, she puts on her eye mask and is out. She will be thirty minutes into her nap before we even leave the gate. Takeoff doesn’t rattle her. She prefers a window seat so that she can lean her head against the wall, but at some point during the flight, she usually pulls the tray down and puts her head on it for a while. Her routine works for her like clockwork – she rests up on the way out of town for the adventure to come and sleeps on the way home to recover from the journey. Riley has established a routine that works well for her.  

Putting routines into practice is the goal of most new year’s resolutions. Eat better, exercise regularly, stick to a budget: almost any new habit requires small steps on a daily basis to make them routine. Creating a routine for rest is not usually the subject of resolutions though. Yes, we talk about going to bed at the same time each night and avoiding screen time before bed, but we often treat rest as a necessary evil or simply a means to an end. We think we need good sleep so we can be more productive or take on more tasks. 

I don’t know exactly what a rest routine would look like yet because I haven’t developed one myself. But I think I need a self-care plan that includes a pattern of rest that goes beyond a good night’s sleep. After this last holiday break, I was depleted physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Instead of realizing that I needed rest, though, I spiraled, overanalyzed, and tried to figure out what was wrong with me. If I had a rest routine, then maybe I wouldn’t be as susceptible to becoming so drained and would also notice that rest was necessary before I got so down in the dumps. Rest will not solve every one of life’s troubles by any means, but maybe it’s the first step.

As we reenter our normal routines at the start of this year, and I recognize the need for some sort of rest routine, the 23^rd Psalm keeps replaying in my mind. David wrote, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul^” (Psalm 23:1-3). The first action that David attributes to God is that “He makes me lie down in green pastures.” When I thought of this verse in light of my fatigue this week, I heard it differently than in the past. It’s as if God must force David to rest. He doesn’t say that the Lord lets him take a break or allows him time to nap or lollygag in the meadow, but that the Lord compels him to rest. David wasn’t so great at taking time to rest as God intended either.  

At the start of one of my favorite books, “Eat, Pray, Love,” Elizabeth Gilbert writes about praying for guidance for the next steps in her life on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. She begged for help, crying, asking God, “Please tell me what to do,” when she felt as though a divine voice told her, “Go back to bed, Liz” (15-16). In that moment, God didn’t give her an elaborate step by step plan but commanded her to simply rest. 

Perhaps we can learn to develop a rest routine because God wants to refresh our souls, and the path to that restoration comes, at least in part, from the rest he longs to give us. When we feel like we have nothing left to give anyone, let us remember that God desires for us to take time to truly rest so that we may regain our footing and find the strength to follow him.          

Our family sat around a big table at a local restaurant eating one more holiday meal together before my brother-in-law Rich and sister-in-law Mary and their kids headed home to Oregon from Dallas the next day. They were discussing their travel plans when Mary asked if they’d be home in time to go to work at their company. Rich said they’d be home too late for him to go in and “start a reaction.” Rich is a chemist, and their company is a lab, so this statement made sense. But I said, “how cool is it to say I’m going to work to start a reaction.”

In the days that followed, that phrase “start a reaction” played over and over in my head. Whether we intend to start a reaction, the bottom line is we will cause some sort of change wherever we go. When we enter any space – at work, school, or home – we will make things different than they were the moment before we came in. And the people around us will react to the way in which we behave, the words we say, or our inaction or silence. My kids probably react most quickly when I go quiet – they immediately ask, “what’s wrong, Mom?”

Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor is a neuroscientist who had a stroke that left her unable to talk or communicate for a period of time in the hospital. She could only sense the positive or negative energy of the people who came into her room. After her recovery, she wrote a book “My Stroke of Insight” and appeared on the Oprah show, which was the first time I heard her say, “Take responsibility for the energy you bring into this space.” Depending on the energy with which we approach any situation, we can evoke very different reactions in the people on the receiving end.     

One of my favorite quotes is from the poet Rumi, who wrote, “Wherever you stand, be the soul of that place.” I appreciate the concept that we can define the essence of a place by our presence. Rumi’s and Bolte Taylor’s words remind me to be intentional about the ways in which I interact with others. That even if I don’t speak or act, I bring energy and can be a healthy or unhealthy influence simply by being in the room.

When Jesus walked the earth, he brought love into every situation. He wanted those at the bottom rung of the societal ladder to know that he loved them despite what the culture said about them. Some people reacted to Jesus’ audacity to love everyone by following him and some reacted by hating him because he challenged the status quo with his radical love. But make no mistake, Jesus started a reaction wherever he went. 

It’s easy to forget that we can make a difference in others’ lives just by going about our daily business. Sometimes, we are so consumed by our own issues that we be become blind to the ripple effects we can cause. Often, we don’t believe we have the power to make a difference. We feel we don’t matter that much and therefore won’t have an impact. Although we may not start a reaction that will change the world, rest assured we are constantly starting reactions that impact others. 

In the new year, I wonder what would happen if we recognized that we can start reactions at any time. I’m not advocating for false cheerfulness or displays of inauthentic happiness because people will see through those demonstrations. But I think God wants us to show genuine caring and compassion for others and, in so doing, start a love reaction that can make a difference in their lives and in ours.   

Our family has a slight obsession with blankets. No matter the time of year, we wrap up in soft, plush blankets on the couch. We tuck ourselves into bed with multiple layers. When we go to the movies, we troop in with our blankets slung over our shoulders like Linus from the Peanuts comic strip. Our road trips are epic for the number of blankets that make the journey. We are blanket people.  

Many times, a blanket comes to represent a special place or time in life. For instance, each of the kids have multiple blankets with their summer camp’s insignia. We each have our favorites, of course, but when someone else tries to use another person’s favorite, our dark sides emerge. “Give me my blanket.” “Don’t get anything on my blanket.” “Who has my blanket?” “Don’t take my blanket.” I wish I could blame the children solely, but each of those phrases has come out of my mouth. We always have another available pile of blankets from which to choose, but we are reduced to toddlers who yell “mine” when our “blankies” are threatened. 

Blankets provide physical warmth, but they also symbolize comfort and security. Perhaps we should more graciously offer our blankets to one another. We could share our blankets rather than keep them to ourselves. Lately, our culture tends more toward possessiveness and less toward sharing. We live in a mindset of scarcity, of mine and yours, of have and have-nots. But our tightfistedness is not limited to physical objects. We have a hard time extending kindness and caring. Simple words or gestures of appreciation are scarce, yet we could freely give them. We isolate from others instead of welcoming people into our communities.  

But God is not miserly with us. Our God is boundless in love and lavish with grace. God wants to take care of us when we hurt and celebrate with us when we are happy. The Psalmist said, “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart” (Psalm 91:4). I imagine God wrapping us in the softest, coziest blankets to shelter us. Then, God pulls us close, puts his arm around us, and comforts us as we tell him what is on our hearts. 

God will never refuse to give us support and reassurance. And God wants us to demonstrate that same type of care to those we encounter. We may not literally provide a blanket to everyone, but we can show compassion and empathy. We can spread kindness instead of being callous or indifferent. 

When we wrap ourselves in blankets this season, let us remember that God blankets us in love every day, always. May we spread the blanket of God’s love wide to cover others so that they too may experience the warmth of God’s refuge.  

Love, 

The Carter Family

2021

Almost every holiday season, a familiar song will strike me in a new way. One of my favorite Christmas songs is “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” When I heard it on the radio recently, the word “ransom” caught my attention. In the song, we adopt the persona of the people of ancient Israel summoning God to obtain their release from captivity. The first verse of the song says:

“O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appears

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel 

Shall come to thee O Israel”

The people are begging God to hear their cry and save them from their exile. In other verses, the people ask God to free them from Satan’s tyranny and save them from the depths of hell. Then they ask God to drive away the night and bring them light. The people ask for God to close the path to misery later in the song.

“Rejoice! Rejoice” repeats in every verse, but the rest of the refrain explains the reason to rejoice: God shall come someday and rescue them. But that day is not today in the song. That day is in the future at an unknown time. The people are hanging their hope on the idea that God will rescue them even though they struggle and live in misery now. In reminding themselves to rejoice that there will be an end to their suffering at some point, they also remind God of his promise to come to their aid.

This Advent hymn, which has origins that span over 1,200 years, is a song of lament in keeping with the tradition of lament found in the Psalms when the authors cry out for God’s intervention. In Psalm 44 (v. 23-26), the author said:

“Awake, Lord! Why do you sleep?

Rouse yourself! Do not reject us forever.

Why do you hide your face
    and forget our misery and oppression?

We are brought down to the dust;
    our bodies cling to the ground.

Rise up and help us;

   rescue us because of your unfailing love.”

The people of ancient Israel didn’t gloss over their hard times but told God directly what was on their minds. Then they claimed God’s goodness and faithfulness by reminding God of his love for them, by recalling how great things had been in the past, or by telling God how faithful they had been to him. They weren’t afraid to be honest with God. And neither should we.

When we sing, “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” we channel the plight of the Israelites of old but can take comfort in their open and forthright relationship with God. We can also express our pain to God in excruciating detail. But then, let us follow the song and the Psalms and hang on to God even in the midst of struggle. We can express our belief that God is ever-present and has not abandoned us. We can rest in the hope that Jesus brought to earth when he was born. We believe that the Son of God, in fact, has already appeared in order to save us.   

We can be authentic and truthful with our God and trust that he hears our cries. We can ask God for comfort and claim the promise of God’s love for us. After all, Emmanuel means “God with us” (Matt. 1:23). Let us call on God to be with us and be involved in our lives in both the good times and the bad. Come, Emmanuel, come.      

Scrolling through pictures on my phone, I smiled at one of my son Alex and my niece from Thanksgiving. They were discussing a video game when I snapped the candid shot to remember the sweet moment in time. Seeing that photo reminded me of another day this year after my daughter Riley’s dance recital. Riley has an eye for photography that she inherited from her grandmother and great-great grandmother, so she is quite particular about photos – lighting, placement, facial expressions, everything. The dancers had taken numerous photos in various groups when Riley said, “Let’s take some candid shots.” She then asked the other girls to join her and said they should all pretend like they were talking and laughing for the photos. I looked at another mom and said, “that’s the exact opposite of candid.” Instead, she’d staged the whole thing as though they were in a marketing ad.  

Candid photos are meant to show reality, in a behind the scenes type of way. The photographer tries to blend into the background and take photos unbeknownst to the people in the shot in order to capture the essence of the situation. Some of my favorite wedding photos are of our guests in conversation or dancing – unposed, unplanned.  Candid pictures portray the truth of what is happening just as candid conversations are supposed to be truthful.

Being candid sounds great in theory, but sometimes, we balk at the idea of living authentically. We would rather put on the masks, stage the scene, and pretend everything is fine. Especially during the holiday season, when stress is high, we just wish everyone would play along and fake it if necessary. We may desperately want a picture-perfect time with family without conflict. We crave the Hallmark movie ending. We dream that the kids will love every gift and not compare their haul with what their siblings or friends receive. We idealize what the holidays should be year after year even if our histories don’t support the fulfillment of such aspirations. We have the script written in our heads, and when our people don’t live up to our expectations, we are disappointed or downright mad. And instead of taking a step back to realize that it’s okay if everything doesn’t go as planned, we may throw up our hands and say, “whatever, I quit” and spend the rest of the season stewing in resentment. 

But what if we could let go of the fantasies, which will ultimately let us down, and focus on forging real and lasting connections? We could abandon our efforts to fit everyone into pre-formed boxes with sparkling wrapping paper and let them be themselves. God doesn’t expect us to be perfect, and we shouldn’t expect that from others or ourselves. When Jesus walked the earth, he hung out with and loved imperfect people from his devoted followers who often didn’t understand him to the outcasts who society considered sinful. They couldn’t create a pristine Christmas dinner, buy expensive gifts, or force everyone to take photos continually until they got the perfect shot. Life was messy for Jesus and his people. I imagine that for them to live and work together out on the road pursuing Jesus’ ministry, they had to be pretty candid with one another. I don’t think Jesus would’ve wanted it any other way.  He wanted genuine relationships rooted in understanding and truth.  The only way to get those types of real relationships is to drop the façades and really, truly communicate with and listen to one another so that we might forge deeper and lasting ties.  

Let us take candid photos this season – the real ones, not the manicured ones – and see what we learn about our people. I venture to guess that we will find happiness and maybe even sadness on the faces of those around us. But no matter what we view through the camera’s lens, we can rest in the belief that being real is the only way to create the candid life we all want.  

My phone dinged indicating I’d received a new text, so I glanced down, saw my teenage daughter Riley’s name, and the first words of her text, “I resent it…” My heart skipped a beat – what had I done that made her feel resentful? Then, I read the rest of the text, “I resent it to you” with a smiley face emoji. She’d sent a new version of a college scholarship essay for me to edit. She’d previously sent me this essay for initial edits and now she’d sent it again.  Her use of “resent” now made sense to me. Why wouldn’t this be the proper word just like “replay,” “redo,” and “repeat?” Yet, without a hyphen (“re-sent”), its meaning was extremely different, and my brain immediately headed down a negative track.

After this wordplay confusion, I felt the need to look up the definition of “resent,” which means to “feel bitterness or indignation at a circumstance, action or person” (lexico.com). And then, being the word nerd that I am, I looked up “bitterness” and “indignation,” and they both involve anger resulting from unfair treatment. Resentment means more than just anger; it’s rooted in the perception or feeling that we’ve been the victim of an injustice. 

The concept that life is unfair has always been a point of dissatisfaction for me. As a “right fighter,” I want justice to roll down like a river. I wish things in life would add up like a math equation: do good, play by the rules, be kind, and all will work out favorably. But obviously, that’s not my experience or anyone else’s. 

I’ve realized that some teachings about God and spirituality that I’ve heard have added to my misconception that life should always be fair. Lessons like those found in popular prosperity gospel say that if one has strong faith and engages in good behavior, then one will be healthy, wealthy, and wise. The theory also implies that bad things happen to one because of mistakes or sin. The trite phrase that “everything happens for a reason” can send an analytical person like me down a scary rabbit hole looking for God’s “reason” behind everything. And the reassurance that God has a plan I don’t understand does not provide comfort in the face of suffering. I feared God’s disappointment, disapproval, or wrath if I wasn’t perfect. And when my best efforts didn’t lead to good results, I felt disappointed in myself because I wasn’t good enough and disappointed, maybe even a bit resentful, in God for not holding up his end of the bargain. 

But God didn’t actually make that bargain with me or anyone. God did not promise a math equation in life that leads directly to reward or punishment. In one instance toward the end of Jesus’ earthly life, a woman named Mary anointed him with expensive oil, and the disciple Judas criticized her saying she could’ve sold the oil and given the money to the poor (even though the scriptures note he didn’t really care about the poor but wanted the money). Jesus rebuked Judas, saying “You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me” (John 12:1-8). To declare that the poor will always exist sounds completely unfair to me, but Jesus understood that in our human weakness, we make poor decisions, uphold corrupt systems of wealth and privilege, and act selfishly. We will never have a perfect world in which everyone gets what they deserve – good or bad. But God asks us to try to make the world a better place on his behalf. To work to cure injustice when we see it, in big or small ways. Life will not be fair, but we can help by lifting others up and showing them God’s love.

I’m not yet free from expecting or yearning for fairness in life for all people, especially those whom I care about the most. Just this week, I’ve told God on two separate occasions that I felt upset because these unrelated and completely different circumstances were both “not fair.” I’m sure God will never be free from my complaining about the lack of fairness. I inevitably ask God why the unfairness I see exists and further ask God what he’s going to do about it. But maybe God looks back at me and poses the same question in return: “You’re right. Life is not fair. Now, what are you going to do about it to ease my people’s burdens and relieve their resentment?”        

My nine-year-old son Alex asked for a cinnamon roll for breakfast.  I gave him a thumbs up and told him I’d replenished our supply of microwaveable cinnamon rolls.  “I know,” he said.  “Did you look in the freezer?” I asked. “How did you know I’d bought more?” Alex shook his head, “No, but I knew you went to the store.” He’d seen the bags from the grocery store the day before and assumed I’d gotten what he wanted.  

His confidence surprised me considering I often forget to put things on my list and thus they don’t end up in my grocery cart. Not to mention some grocery items have been in short supply lately (where are the Lunchables?). In fact, I thought the store ran out of cinnamon rolls until I searched high and low and found them in a different location on another freezer aisle.

While perhaps misplaced when it came to the groceries, Alex’s faith that I would take care of his needs touched my heart. But it also made me realize that I often falter in my faith in God. I rarely demonstrate the same kind of childlike faith that Alex showed me. I don’t always maintain the simple belief that God will take care of me. I lack the earnest conviction that God always has my best interests at heart. I have doubts and fears and worries. I’ve seen enough bad things happen that I don’t always trust God with my whole heart and certainly not my whole mind. 

Recently, I’ve also realized that my doubts have enlarged to encompass my children as they grow older and move through the world in new and different ways. As I must loosen my grip on my children’s lives, I find myself asking, “Can I trust you with my kids, God?” It seems ridiculous to write that sentence because God is God, and I am not.  I know God loves my kids with a greater love than I can even imagine. But that hasn’t stopped the fears from creeping in and spilling over. I see situations in my children’s lives that I would’ve worked out differently if I were in charge and had control. And while I’m certain God will work things out in time and in a way that will ultimately benefit my kids, I worry about the pain and damage to them in the here and now. 

I know this lack of faith hurts my relationship with God. To say I don’t trust God with the most important parts of my life is not a loving response to God’s grace and mercy. But I’d rather acknowledge my shortcomings to God instead of attempting to ignore my insecurities as they simmer beneath the surface, growing hotter and more troubling, just waiting to boil to the top and cause even more damage to my relationship with God. 

All the while, God’s faithfulness, not mine, is what really matters. Apostle Paul wrote, “This righteousness is given through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference between Jew and Gentile, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus” (Romans 3:23-24). Jesus knew we would struggle with faith, and so he made a way for us. God expects we will experience times in our spiritual journey when our faith wavers. But God’s love does not fail. God provides grace, love, and redemption always because Jesus was faithful and redeemed us. We just need to hang on in the times of doubt.  

I wish my faith in God was stronger. I pray that by admitting my failings, my faith will grow and deepen and become larger than my fears. But I know that my God is ever present and able to handle my doubts. God will stand faithful to me, to all of us, pulling us back up on our feet and into his arms when we fall short in our faith, over and over, as long as it takes.  

As part of a road trip this year, my family and I visited with two of my roommates from college and their families. We don’t get to see each other in person often enough even though we text constantly. My birthday happened to be a couple of days later, so much to my surprise, my friends hosted a small birthday party, complete with cake and gifts. One of the presents, a decorative plaque said, “Home is where my people are.” Those words rang true for me because whenever I think about the various places I’ve lived, I first think about the people who were part of my life when I was there. When I think of college, I always think of these friends whom I’ve known for almost thirty years. Of course, my home now is with my husband and children.  While we’ve lived in the same city and the same house for almost fifteen years, my home is not tied to the city or the physical structure, but to my people. 

During Jesus’ ministry on earth, he traveled almost constantly. On one of his many trips, Jesus got out of a boat in the region of Gerasenes when a man filled with an impure spirit met him at the shore (see Mark 5:1-20).  The man lived in the tombs. He’d become so afflicted that nothing could restrain him. He’d even broken through iron chains around his hands and feet. Night and day, he would cry out in agony. He used rocks to cut himself. When he saw Jesus arrive, the man ran and fell on his knees before Jesus. 

Jesus commanded the impure spirit to come out of the man, but the man with the impure spirits conversed with Jesus instead. He said, “What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? In God’s name, don’t torture me!” (verse 7). In response, Jesus asked his name. He said, “My name is Legion for we are many” (verse 9). The impure spirits begged Jesus again and again not to send them out of the area but asked Jesus to allow them to enter a huge herd of pigs. Jesus gave the impure spirits permission to leave the man and enter the pigs who then ran off a cliff into the water and drowned.  

When the townspeople came to see what had happened, they found the man who’d been “possessed by the legion of demons, sitting there, dressed and in his right mind,” and they were afraid (verse 15). They’d become accustomed to the out-of-control man in the tombs. Even though they probably feared the crazy man, they were more scared of Jesus who had the ability to cure the man. Overcome by terror, they pleaded with Jesus to leave their region.  

But not the man whom Jesus had healed. As Jesus was getting into the boat, the man who’d been demon possessed begged Jesus to go with him. “Jesus did not let him, but said, ‘Go home to your own people and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you” (verse 19). So, the man went and began to tell what Jesus had done for him and the people he told were amazed.          

The man who’d been healed wanted to go with Jesus. And why wouldn’t he? Jesus had just rescued him from a life of misery. I wonder if in today’s terms, the man had some sort of mental illness or psychological condition. Whether he was demon-possessed or severely mentally ill, Jesus quite literally saved his life. Legion had been living alone, in a personal nightmare. His situation cut him off and isolated him from everyone. He was homeless and considered an outcast. He’d been a threat to the community. It made complete sense that he wanted to travel with Jesus as an act of praise and worship in response to Jesus’ healing and acceptance. 

I thought that Jesus would’ve welcomed anyone willing to follow along with him and the disciples. I’m sure the man would’ve loyally served Jesus in any way. He’d been through hell and Jesus had brought him through to the other side. He was now a walking, talking miracle. Jesus could’ve made the man who’d been consumed by the legion of unclean spirits his opening act. The man could give his incredible testimony to draw in more crowds before Jesus took the stage.  

Even though the man begged to come along, Jesus refused. Instead, Jesus told him to go home to his own people. The man probably hadn’t been home in a long time. When he left home, he was in turmoil physically, mentally, and emotionally. Now he could return home to the people he’d been forced to leave because of his condition, a new man. Jesus wanted him to rebuild his family by telling them what God had done for him. Jesus hoped he would instill the love of God in his own people.  To help them recover from his absence and build a future based on the grace and mercy of God. Immediately, the man started telling everyone about the amazing things Jesus had done for him, this time with shouts of joy, not despair. When he reached his own people at home, they may have been somewhat anxious at his arrival, but I’m sure they breathed a huge sigh of relief and welcomed him back after he explained what Jesus had done. The man could not erase all he and his people had experienced, but they could forge a new path now that he was home. 

While most of us will never experience the same type of tragedy and epic miracle as Legion, we have all traveled roads that seemed impossibly difficult at the time. Grief, depression, loss, and anxiety are just some of the problems that can fell us. But with God’s help and the help of those people God puts in our lives, we can build a new road–one that does not ignore our hard experiences, but one that acknowledges God’s comfort, support, and guidance. And we can make God’s love the foundation of our homes so that our own people will know to turn to God in the midst of their own darkest times.  

Jesus taught the man formerly known as Legion, and therefore us, that home is where our people are and that we have important work to do by telling and showing them what God has done for us. To explain how we depended on God in our hard times. Telling our loved ones how God has helped us is not always simple or easy, but our people benefit when we share our stories. Personally, I don’t always do a great job of telling my children how God brought me through tough times. But they won’t know unless I tell them. This story of Legion convinces me that I must try to do better.   

Jesus invites us to help with God’s work on earth by creating homes in which our people know that God is our greatest source of help. We have the opportunity to serve our people and God if we are vulnerable enough to tell them how much the Lord did for us in our difficulties. How God has shown mercy to us. By letting them know they are never alone, we can be conduits of God’s love to our own people, in our homes, just as Jesus asked us to do.  

On Mondays, I usually begin to write my blog post for that Friday. Most weeks, I have an idea about the topic of my essay and can promptly start writing, but sometimes, I don’t. In my ideal world, I would have my writing topics planned out for several weeks, months even. That’s not the way writing works for me, and normally, that’s fine because I find inspiration consistently in everyday events and conversations. But I start to panic a little if I still haven’t figured out what to write by the time Wednesday rolls around. While I always pray about my essays, when I am at a loss about what to write, I find myself turning to God with more urgency asking, “God, I need help. What do you want me to write this week?”  

So, even though my lack of imagination frustrates me when it occurs, I can celebrate that it leads me to lean more heavily on God. I’m reminded of the Israelites wandering in the desert when God provided bread from heaven that they called manna. Every morning the people gathered only the amount of manna they needed for that day. If they collected more than they needed and tried to save it for the next day, the manna spoiled and rotted. Only on the day before the Sabbath could they collect enough to last them two days, so they did not have to work on their day of rest (Exodus 16).

I wonder if this set up annoyed any of the Israelite women.  I bet they would’ve enjoyed getting ahead of the required cooking occasionally. They couldn’t bake an extra cake or boil enough for leftovers.  Instead, they depended on God to provide every single day. God reminded them every morning that they needed to look to him for help and support.     

As I recalled the story of manna, I thought about how Jesus included the phrase, “Give us this day our daily bread” when he taught the disciples the Lord’s Prayer (Matt. 6:11). When I go to the grocery store, I don’t buy only what I need for that day. I live in the suburbs and drive a minivan, so I load my cart up with at least half a week’s worth of items. I don’t always give much thought about the ways God engages in the smallest details of my daily life. And yet, I depend greatly on God for all my needs. 

God gave the Israelites what they needed when they needed it, and Jesus told us to ask for daily help as well. When we pray, we should ask God to help us with the mental, emotional, and physical things we need to make it through the day. My writing life reminds me to turn to God when I am at a loss. Let us learn to pray for God’s sustenance in all areas of our lives, not only when we find ourselves lacking, but on a daily basis.