Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

He must have been devastated! How could this be true? His hopes had been so high when he came running up to Jesus. His background was impeccable. Wealthy family. Community respect. Social status. His religious life was worthy of commendation. Perfect synagogue attendance. Verbatim law recitation. Religion seeker. His social life was above reproach. No criminal record. Admirable relations with family and neighbors. Commandment keeper. His heart began a jubilant dance when Jesus listed commandment-keeping as the way to Heaven. He’d been keeping those all his life. He was done. He had arrived. Yet niggling doubt made him ask, “Is that all?” Jesus’ answer halted his quickly spreading grin. “Sell everything. Give the proceeds to the poor. Come. Follow me.” (Matthew 19:16-21)

What?! Was He serious? A glance at the disciples’ solemn expressions answered that question. Sell it all. Give up everything. That was the answer. Was it worth it?  Did he want Heaven that much? Sadness clouds the young man’s countenance. His shoulders droop. His head bows. He’d been so close. Wordlessly, he turns and walks away. His identity was too deeply rooted in his social status, bank account, and elevated lifestyle for him to leave them behind. The cost of Heaven was too high. He wanted Heaven and everything on earth too. (Matthew 19:22)

It is not just the young aristocrat who believes the price of Heaven is too high.  It is the people in Judah asking Jeremiah to query God concerning travel to Egypt. They want to go. Egypt seems full of plush, peace, and plenty. God said, “Stay put.” They went anyway. (Jeremiah 42-43) It is the Children of Israel crying out for relief and rescue from slavery in Egypt, only to be rescued but murmur, complain, and make trouble the entire journey. (Exodus 15:22, 16:1-4, 32:1-10) It is you. It is me. Falling to our knees, crying, “What do you want me to do, Jesus?” then running away when the answer isn’t what we want to hear.  

Years ago, when I was entering Middle School, we were living in a lovely two-story house in Pennsylvania. Each of us kids had our own room for the first time in my memory. For once, we lived close enough to have visits with cousins and grandparents and regularly attend church camp. My dad was pastoring an adorable little white country church, complete with steeple and bell, full of sweet people. In his prayer time, Daddy was praying diligently for a pastor to fill a vacancy at a church in Montana he had previously pastored. One day, in the middle of his prayer, God answered. He said, “I want you to go.” Surprised by the answer, Daddy said, “But my name isn’t even on the moving list.”  God simply said, “I want you.”  

When Daddy discussed the possibility with the needy church, the news was disheartening. As much as they wanted him to come, their financial straits were desperate. They could offer only a single-wide mobile home with a built on addition and $25 a week if we cleaned the church. No salary. No real income. How does that work? How does one raise a family with no income? Further complicating matters was the fact the church was located 30 miles outside of town at the end of a dirt road nestled into the base of a mountain. The little town across the river had a small, high-priced grocery, a couple bars, and a state liquor store. No jobs. No job market. By the time our move was complete, it would be too late in the year to start a garden or establish residency for a hunting license. The conundrum of food and clothing remained unanswered.  

Thankfully, no situation ever stymies God. He had more answers. “Call Gary.” Gary was the owner of a furniture restoration and repair business. Dad had worked for him before. It was work he could pick up and take home without needing to spend gas money on a daily commute. Daddy made the call. Gary was overjoyed. Work was already available. And just like that, God was making a way.

So we packed up the things in the cute little house, loaded the truck, said “Goodbye” to family and friends, the lovely church people, the close shopping, the ability to see grandparents and extended family with any regularity, and moved to a little mobile home in the woods 2,000 miles away. Little income. No security. Nothing to fall back on. We left everything comfortable, familiar, and easy because Jesus said, “Give it all up. Come. Follow me.” 

The fondest memories I have are from Montana.  We worked hard gardening, canning, preserving, hunting, butchering (eww!!), hauling wood for heat. We ate well from garden, fruit trees, and wild berry bushes blessed by God’s hand. We played hard. There were trees to climb, rock slides to investigate, and the mountain behind us to explore. I have no regrets that Daddy chose to leave behind the comforts of the world and follow Jesus. 

Today I ask myself if I could do the same. I hope the answer is, “Yes.” I want it to be. I don’t want to hold on to the things of the world so tightly that I risk Heaven for the world. I don’t want to be so comfortable in my nice home and easy lifestyle that I’m not willing to sacrifice for Jesus. I don’t want to be the girl who wants the house, the car, or the hair color so much that I choose them over Heaven. Those things aren’t even in the same league with Heaven. I want to hear and do when Jesus says, “Come. Follow me.”  

And just as He spoke those words to that young man so long ago, Jesus speaks the same words to us today. “Get rid of the excess. Invest in me. Love me more.” In this one command, Jesus sets the record straight. More is not always better. Earthly goods are worth nothing at Heaven’s bank. There’s no corner office in Heaven. The thrones are already occupied. So lay it down. Give it up. Stop striving. Stop stressing. Loss on earth is gain in Heaven. Because Heaven…is for losers.  

Think I’m kidding? Listen to Jesus as he tells the disciples, “If you want to follow me, stop following yourself. Give up your own desires. Quit the worldly pursuits. Pick up your cross. Let’s go. If you lose your life in me, in following my commands, you will gain eternal life. If you don’t, you’ll lose it.”  And He caps it with the question that echoes down through time to you and me, “Is there anything in the world more important than securing your eternity?” (Matthew 24-26, Mark 8:37)

Sometimes we answer that question far too quickly. We say, “No,” with our mouth, but, “Yes,” with our actions. We put our hand to the plow, then we look back. Back at the things, the status, the excitement. We falter. You won’t get to Heaven that way. (Luke 9:62) So ask yourself, is there anything that means more to you than Jesus? Earthly treasures. Money. Followers. Would you give them up for Him? Do you love Him that deeply, desire Him that strongly, or is it just a passing acquaintance?  Would you sell out to follow Jesus? Everything. Is He worth it? What would you do to gain Christ, to inherit eternal life? (Philippians 3:8) Remembering that loss is gain in Heaven’s bank book, ask yourself, what does it matter if you win the whole world, but lose your soul? Jesus is calling. What’s worth more to you than Him?

How amazing must the Garden of Eden have been? God’s personal garden designed to delight Himself and nurture His creations.  My imagination has no trouble envisioning such a place. Lush, green grass, free from quackgrass and clover, created for bare feet and grazing oxen. Breathtakingly gorgeous flowers scattered in wild abandon. Star-gazer Lilies, Orchids, Hyacinths. More variations than one could count or catalog. Colors that dare the rainbow to challenge their hue. Pathways lined with beautiful, healthy trees. Graceful maples. Stalwart oaks. Bowing willows. Stately crepe myrtles. Fragrant magnolias. And the orchard! Row upon row of heavily laden trees bearing fruit of every kind.  Peaches. Apples. Plums. Lemons. Not one dead limb.  No withered leaves. No weeds. No blossom end rot. God’s perfect garden.  More fantastic than my wildest imaginations.  

Pulled from my reverie, I look out the back window at my meager garden boxes. Obviously not Eden! Although the peppers and tomatoes appear to be doing well, there’s a plant damaged beyond repair from a recent hail storm. Its first crop will likely be its last. The herbs, beets, and lettuce are all shots in the dark. The cilantro was looking a bit peaked before I cut it off.  We’ll see if it grows back. The last box is ridiculously, embarrassingly overgrown. The cucumbers are running everywhere. The cantaloupe is fighting for space. And the eternal battle between myself and the zucchini rages on…as does the blossom end rot. Sigh. 

Over the years I have spent hours pouring over articles and methods, reading what causes holes in fruit, white spots on leaves, and yellowing of vines. I’ve been educating myself concerning bigger, better producing plants. I’m still researching. Still learning. Still reading. The one thing I know is that gardening, at least the vegetable kind, requires a lot of self-discipline.  Preparing the beds, boxes, or plots. Planning the layout. Planting. Fertilizing. Watering. Weeding. Waiting. The harvest takes a while to come. Sometimes I get tired and a little disillusioned along the way. I don’t feel like hauling water, staking plants, or weeding. I really don’t care to see what isn’t working out! Yet I rarely allow myself to miss a day of checking. Missing a day isn’t an option. When I miss, things get out of control, begin to rot, or die completely. It’s not worth it. 

Admittedly, God used my garden to point out how often I am tempted to skip or shorten my daily time with Him. Pull back on the Bible reading. Limit the prayer. Stop looking inside myself to see what is flourishing (good or bad), what is failing, and what has already faded away. I don’t always want to know what is in there. I bet you recognize that struggle. You know that reality. You’ve been there too. Maybe you are there right now.  

Some days it takes an immeasurable amount of self discipline to sit down, open the Bible and listen to God speak through His Word.  I don’t know why we feel this way.  Like  the weight of obligation has pulled too heavily at our conscience only to be assuaged by the drudgery of sitting down and reading a Book meant to encourage, enlighten, and edify. Why are we so hesitant?  Is there a better place for comfort? A better book for guidance?  A more worthy tome ensconced on your dust filled shelf in which you will find words of wisdom for your current situation? Of course not. We know this. Yet still we sigh as we sit down to do our “duty”.  

Two days ago I found myself wrestling with some seemingly impossible situations beyond my control. I sat at my desk and turned to the first chapter I planned to read that day, Jeremiah 32.  On the edge of the page, quoting a passage from that very chapter, were the words, “I am the Lord.  Is anything too hard for me?” (Jeremiah 32:27 NLT) My heart knew in an instant it was no fluke that I read that chapter on a day I was struggling with impossibilities. I know nothing is too hard for God, but I wanted answers and resolution as soon as possible.  Then I turned to the book I am reading simultaneously, Lamentations. Chapter 3. “Wait quietly for the Lord’s salvation.” (Lamentations 3:26)  Accident? Coincidence? Absolutely not. That was God at work. Everything I needed to find peace in my moment of struggle was right there in front of me. How much greater would my struggle have been without the reminder that God is omnipotent, God is sovereign, and His timing is impeccable?  What if I had chosen not to read my Bible that day?

What if I chose only to read my Bible occasionally or just catch a verse on a Bible app every now and then? What happens when other doctrines that aren’t quite Biblical, but sound good, come along? Would I be swept up in an unreality? Social media keeps us inundated with myriad versions of truth. There’s a quote currently floating around that appears to quote a passage of Scripture, but conveniently leaves out the last bit, thus manipulating the meaning by eliminating the context. The quotation sounds good, even right. It took me several sightings to pick out what bothered me. How easily I could have been swept away on a current of “sounds good” if I wasn’t acquainted with Scripture. If I hadn’t been so intentional about Bible reading and studying, I would have missed it. I almost did. It was close. (Psalm 119:11)

See, just like reading and studying about gardening helps my plants, reading and studying God’s Word helps my soul. It places a hedge around me. Personal knowledge of God’s Word helps us know when what we are seeing, hearing, or doing is untrue, unsound, or un-Godly. It keeps us from sin. It draws us to Christian maturity.  It guards against being pulled from one appealing doctrine to the next. When in doubt or indecision, knowing God’s Word is paramount. How imperative it is to give earnest attention to knowing and remembering God’s Word so we don’t slip away.  Away from truth.  Away from holiness.  Away from God. (Hebrews 2:1) Don’t quit reading. 

And with your reading, pray. Constantly. This is my final, continual, most urgent part of gardening. Every year I pray over my garden–and continue to pray over it. When the wind, hail and driving rain roll in, I pray. When the sun shines, I pray. Every year my garden succeeds.  Those prayers make it happen. My garden wouldn’t make it without those prayers. 

Our souls won’t make it without prayer, either. The Apostle Paul instructs us to pray continually. (I Thessalonians 5:17). Driving to work. Mowing the lawn. Cooking dinner. Folding laundry. Jogging the neighborhood. Pray. Waking up. Falling asleep. Pray. Tempted to worry. (Philippians 4:16) Tempted to fear. Tempted to stray. Pray. Always. (Psalm 105:4)

In a world where we are distracted by so many things, where the siren call of the temporal is so much louder than that of the eternal, may we turn our minds and spirits to seek the Lord. (I Chronicles 16:11) May we be intentional about knowing God, His Word, His voice, His heart. Read. Pray. Learn. Constantly. May we learn to live in a spirit of prayer with a mindset firmly rooted in the truth of God’s Word.  Then, when hail and wind and heavy rains beat on our souls, we can rest in our knowledge of what’s in the Book and trust the Master Gardener to ensure our gardens grow. (Matthew 7:24-25)

They arrived unexpectedly. Droves of iridescent winged, whirring devourers descending from the heavens in a terrifying cloud of wrangling destruction. Some thought it looked like a cloud of snow, but that would be unusual since it was July in Kansas. Over some regions, the sun was blocked out for hours, reappearing only to illuminate horrific carnage in the land below.  Crops were ravaged, cupboards ransacked, curtains and clothing ruined.  

Nothing was safe. The animals were harassed. Sheep’s wool eaten from their backs.  Horses’ harnesses devoured from their heads. General havoc reigned as the locusts–those little, insignificant hoppers–had their say.  

And have their say they did. They stayed for days, single-mindedly wreaking havoc and terror. Farmers tried everything to destroy the locusts. At least everything available in 1874. Fires, exploding gunpowder, shotgun blasts and beating at them with boards or farm tools all failed to dispel the pests. Some ingenious folks created a device to harvest the locusts. It failed. Another mastermind invented a suction machine to vacuum them up into a bag, but it worked only marginally. All avenues of defense were useless. The locusts were eating their year. 

Eventually the nasty pests moved on, but the damage left in their wake was devastating.  Families didn’t have food to see them through the winter. Many were forced to return to the East, their dreams of a new life in the West dying as the locusts moved to the next stop. Others were held in place by debts. Some couldn’t bear to leave the loved ones they’d buried on the frontier behind. Still others simply refused to give up, called in resources from the federal and territorial governments, family and friends, even mortgaged their properties.      

The devastation was far-reaching. Not everyone survived. Neighbors tried to help neighbors.  Some tried to provide food by hunting and trapping. Others gathered old buffalo bones and horns from the prairie to sell at railroad hubs. Yet entire families died for want of food. Things were desperate. 

Finally, good news came. Aid came from the East. Seeds, money, and supplies arrived. The federal government made exceptions to the residency requirements so landowners could leave to work and better their situation without worry that their land would be lost to another.  Soldiers distributed coats, boots, shoes, blankets, food and other items to families across four states and two territories. And when the spring of 1875 came and the multitudes of eggs laid by locusts the previous year started to hatch, God sent a snowstorm and hard frost that killed most of them and allowed farmers time to replant their crops.  (1) Because when it is all said and done, His promise forever stands, “…I will restore the years the locust has eaten…” (Joel 2:25) 

I’ve never seen locusts come in droves, destroying everything in their wake. You likely haven’t either.  We are, however, living through a pandemic that is wreaking similar havoc on our lives.  Like the settlers of 1874-75, people are losing their livelihoods, savings, stability, even their sanity. Some have lost their lives. It has been devastating. For businesses, families, educational institutions, the year seems ruined. Although we are starting to poke our heads out of the proverbial turtle shell to which we ran, recovery seems a distant dream. If the memes on social media are to be believed, the virus has eaten our year.  

Admittedly, it feels that way.  We are nearly halfway through 2020.  The year feels a bit of a waste. It makes me wonder if we’ve spent our quarantine in proper pursuits.  Bogged down in the worry, anxiety and fear the whole mess has brought, have we vowed to believe that God is still Sovereign?  Have we sought Him more?  Have we intentionally cast our cares on Him? Do we trust Him? Is our hope for the future in God’s power or human machinations? 

I’m sitting here on my back porch with my Bible, coffee, and computer. The sky is cloudy, somewhat stormy. The wind is blowing. My mind and fingers are typing.  A storm is raging in my heart. Two years ago God made me a promise. He didn’t give me a time frame. He simply promised. In December, we got a phone call that seemed like He had finally fulfilled His promise. (Not a moment too soon, in my opinion.) Then, last night, we received an e-mail explaining that because of some effects of the virus, our answer had been waylaid. It might be another year or more in the making. The virus ate my answer. I’d be lying if I said my faith isn’t a little shaky right now.  

Somewhere, on another porch or maybe at a kitchen table, someone else is bent over a smaller than usual bank statement trying to figure out how to pay the mortgage, the electric, the water, and still feed the kids. The effects of the virus strike again. Behind a dimly lit desk, at the back of a storefront darkened by stay-at-home orders, someone is desperately juggling numbers, hoping against hope they can ride out the closure and keep their business afloat. The virus takes another bite. All around us we see and feel its devastation. Children are hungry because the meals they normally get at school are no longer available. They are enduring abuse that could be caught if teachers, some of the main reporters to abuse agencies, were still seeing them in classrooms every day. Where things have been tight and frustrating before, the virus has made them untenable.  It feels like the virus is eating our year.  

In sympathy, empathy, and camaraderie, my heart wrestles with these issues in our lives.  My eyes overflow. I find myself raising my tear dampened face to the sky and crying, “God, aren’t You still sovereign?” The answer is immediate, echoing back words from Exodus 3:14, “I am.” And I know it is true. I also know Malachi 3:6 is true. God does not change. Ever. So as I read how God rescued His people from horrendous circumstances through a series of wildly unheard of events–bloody water, hordes of frogs, gnats, flies, dying animals, seeping boils, hail, locusts, darkness, and death–I also remind myself that God does not change.  (Exodus 1-14) He is planning a rescue, a respite, a restoration. Just like He did for the Israelites. Just like He did for the settlers in 1875. God is still at work and we can trust Him. 

We can trust that our concerns matter to God. Our children matter. Our circumstances matter. (Matthew 6:25-33)  He wants us to bring these concerns to Him. (I Peter 5:7) He wants us to trust Him to hold us up and bring us through. (Psalm 55:22) He wants us to put all our eggs in His basket.  Our burgeoning hope, our shaky faith, our wavering confidence must be in Christ alone. (Psalm 20:7, I Chronicles 5:20) Because God is still Sovereign, He never changes, and His promises to His people forever stand.  (I Chronicles 29:11-12, Hebrews 13:8, Numbers 23:19)  

So a virus tried to eat our year. Are we going to let it?  Or are we going to look back at all the tough times God has brought us through, gather the last vestiges of our faith, and step trustingly into a future secured by our Sovereign, trustworthy, unchanging God?

(1) Lyons, Chuck (6 May 20). 1874: The Year of the Locust. Retrieved from https://www.historynet.com/1874-the-year-of-the-locust.htm

It is completely unthinkable.  Who does that, anyway?  Who makes someone wait until their twilight years to have a long-desired child then asks them to sacrifice him on an altar like some animal?  It boggles our minds.  Thousands of years later, just reading the account of God asking Abraham to sacrifice Isaac on a rock altar up the side of a mountain when he had plenty of sheep and goats available puts our backs up on Abraham’s behalf.  Even though we know the end of the story, we feel indignant.  We think it unfair.  

How must Abraham have felt?  For years he and Sarah had prayed for a child. They’d waited.  Nothing happened. Slowly but surely, they gave up hope. They were old. They were tired. Even the voice of God announcing the soon arrival of a child, failed to sway their skepticism. Sarah laughed. Abraham probably wanted to laugh too. Who has children at 90 and 100 years old?  But it happened. The long desired, long-awaited, promised child with the wife he loved finally came. Isaac was born. The descendant to give them all those promised descendants had come. Things were finally coming together. (Genesis 18:1-15, Genesis 21:1-7)

Then God threw a curveball.  He sent Abraham into Moriah, up on a mountain with one express purpose–sacrifice Isaac.  What? God spent all this time making miracles happen to give Abraham and Sarah a son–to sacrifice?  Really?  Again, even knowing the outcome, we sit in astounded incredulity.  Abraham must have been astounded too, yet there is no Biblical record of any words spoken to God about the command.  There is only a record of obedience.  Abraham is silent.  

Stoically and silently, Abraham readies for the journey. A donkey. Two servants. Wood.  Isaac. They travel for three days. Three days over which no words are significant enough to be recorded. Abraham is verbally silent. But he’s human. It is safe to say his internal conversation was spectacular. Why was this happening? Had he somehow disobeyed God? Had he misunderstood something? What about that nation God was going to establish through Isaac?  How would that happen if Isaac was dead? What about those promises, those covenants?  Would God keep them? And, most importantly, was obedience really better when it was calling him to sacrifice his beloved, long awaited, only son ? 

Clearly, the only question we know Abraham answered was that obedience to God is always better. No matter the sacrifice. No matter the pain. No matter that you can’t see the next step. Remaining faithful to God is most important. That knowledge is why he’s making this trek when he wants to stay home and pretend God never invited him up this fateful mountain. Finally, Abraham leaves the servants and donkey to wait, takes Isaac, and heads up the mountain even further.  

If Abraham was waiting for God to stop him, he was disappointed. It is apparently God’s turn to be silent.  When he came to the place of sacrifice, Abraham built the altar.  I wonder how long it took him to build it.  My humanity would have made me take my time. Maybe Abraham was the same.  It couldn’t take forever, though.  Once the altar is built, he stacks the wood, ties up his son, and places him on top of the wood.  How heart-wrenching would that be?  Imagine the questions Isaac was asking.  He’d already deduced there was no sacrifice.  As the ropes were tied around his body, was he crying out, “Why are you doing this, Daddy? Please don’t do this! Don’t you love me?” 

As the questions from his son reverberate across the mountain, echoing the questions Abraham has been asking God for the last three days, he hardens his breaking heart, allows himself one last long look at Isaac atop the altar, takes a deep breath, raises his knife high in the air…and then it comes. Thank God, it comes! The reason he’s been keeping his mouth shut and his ears open.  The angel of the Lord says, “Abraham! Don’t kill your son! You have proven your faithfulness!” (Genesis 22:1-13)

As I sigh in relief at the outcome of the story, I find myself asking, what if Abraham hadn’t been listening for God to speak? What if Abraham had been weeping, wailing, cursing the circumstances, throwing a tantrum over the unfairness of the situation and making too much noise to hear God’s voice? What if Abraham had been too bogged down in anger, grief, and justifiable pain that he hadn’t been able to hear God speak? We should know the answer to these questions. We do it all the time.  

The things God asks of us are not always pleasing. Some of them are just plain hard.  Sometimes God asks us to leave everything we know and start out on a journey we can’t explain. It is painful. It is difficult. If we allow ourselves to get caught up in the angry self-pity we think we deserve, we’ll be so busy lashing out that we miss it when He speaks. That could be disastrous. If Abraham had been too wrapped in self-pity to hear God speak, he would have killed his son as a sacrifice. The stakes are just as great for us. Possibly greater. We could be sacrificing our souls. 

Faithful obedience to God is more than grudgingly doing what God asks. It is not whining compliance. It is consistent plodding. Staying the course. Quietly seeing it through until the voice of God says otherwise. It probably won’t be easy. It will absolutely be worth it. Obedience to God always is. Ask Abraham. He’s done it before. There was a previous trek across miles of foreign country to get to a Promised Land he’d heard of only from God’s lips. No matter what else he might have thought, wanted, or hoped, Abraham packed his camels, left everything familiar and familial behind and started walking. Quietly. (Genesis 12:1-9)

In a world that encourages us to verbally express ourselves with no regard for others or God, it behooves us to take a page from Genesis–Abraham’s story–and be quiet. Obey God, even when you don’t understand, when it seems diametrically opposed to what you thought, or hoped, He was doing.  And while obeying, be quiet. Listen for Him to speak, because He will speak.  Words of love. (Jeremiah 31:3) Words of courage. (John 16:33) Words of direction. (Psalm 32:8) Words of rest and peace. (Psalm 37:1-7)   

The Psalmist says, “Be still and know that I am God.”  (Psalm 46:10)  Calm down.  Stop ranting and raving. Stop whining and wailing. Take a deep breath. Be quiet, even if you don’t feel like it. Obey. And while you are obeying, listen. God may be silent, but He is still there. (Deut. 31:6) God has not gone on vacation. He has not left you alone while He walks the beaches of Tahiti. (Psalm 37:25,28) God is right beside you as you struggle to do His will, even when you don’t understand it. (I Chronicles 28:20) And He’s fixing to speak. There is nothing you are doing, wanting, or dreaming that is more important than hearing God speak. And what will you sacrifice if you fail to hear Him when He does?   

In my home I have a little sign that reads, “Eat, Sleep, Play, Repeat”. I bought it a couple of years ago thinking it was a cute turn of phrase. I didn’t know it would become a lifestyle. Sequestered in our homes, not allowed to socialize,  no work, no school, no coffee meetups, I find myself living those exact words. Every day we wake to more of the same. More eating. More keeping the kids from maiming one another. More wondering what will happen next. More hovering over the news. More pointless television. More sleeping.     

It all feels mindless. The days have run together. I have to check the calendar to be certain of the date.  I’m struggling to keep the kids busy. Struggling to keep myself busy. Fighting the current of social angst and terror the media wants us to ride. I don’t like it, this helpless uselessness. I dislike days that lack purpose. I abhor the growing feeling that nothing matters, there’s nothing to do, and the bleak look at a foreseeable future that remains the same.

 A couple of days ago, in the middle of my self-indulgent pity party, God reiterated to me the question Martin Luther once posed, “What will you do in the mundane days of faithfulness?” Now Martin Luther isn’t a guy that conjures up images of the mundane.  Writer of the 95 Thesis giving birth to the Reformation. Bible translator. Church builder. Dean of Theology. Writer. Preacher. Inspiration. Hero. Nothing mundane there.  But his well-worded question incited some questions of my own. Questions I needed to ask.  Questions I needed to answer. 

 What am I doing with all this time I have to be quiet and still?  What am I doing with the extra time I have with my children?  What are we doing to minister to others when we can’t leave our home?  And what should we be doing?  

Just like that, I’m back to the little sign, third word…but what if it said “pray” not “play”? That is the answer! The most important thing I can do is pray more. See, prayer changes me. It changes my outlook on the situation. It encourages trust in God who already has this situation in hand. Prayer centers my soul and gives me extra strength to cope with tempers flaring because we’ve been in the same space with the same people for far too long. Prayer draws me to a place of clarity and peace. It allows me to talk to God, to bring my concerns, my complaints, my confessions to Him. It also allows God to talk to me, to point out the places I’m slipping, some changes I’ve been avoiding, some encouragement I wouldn’t have heard if I hadn’t used the quiet stillness to listen.   

It also gives me time to read.  Not that I don’t ordinarily read my Bible every day.  I do.  But having no real schedule to keep allows me time to read more casually, absorb the words, hear the promises.  My children are also being more intentional about reading their Bibles and devotional books.  Often we talk about what we read that day, a question they have, or some clarification of the details surrounding the Minor Prophets. We don’t always have this. School starts so early and homework ends so late. Our normal schedule often doesn’t allow for leisurely Bible chats. So while we plod along through our mundane days, we are blessed with moments together with God that we otherwise might not have gotten.  

The ministry part of this leaves me frustrated.  There is literally nothing I can do but pray.  So I do.  I pray for our leaders to be wise, but not ridiculous.  I pray for our people to be strong, but not crazy.  I pray for those I know who are high risk to stay safe.  I pray for an end to this illness.  Mostly, I pray God’s will be done.  It’s the hardest prayer I have ever prayed.  

Daily I long for something more exciting. I don’t want to be on lockdown for the next 6 months. I want to do something. Feed people. Offer hope. Give help. Ease loneliness. Defeat despair. I want to do something for God.  I want to brighten the world, not just my house.  Surely there is something I can do besides what I’m doing. Sitting at home praying feels so small.  So insignificant.  So…mundane.  

 In times like these, we need the faithfulness.  The constant refusal to give up, to quit, to turn aside.  The consistent pursuit of the goal.  Down the same path in the same plodding manner, even when the scenery doesn’t change, when it seems no one even knows you exist, your work is pointless, your faithfulness meaningless. In the middle of your mundane, you are tempted to turn aside, let up a little, take a day off from the faithful grind.

The writer of Hebrews penned words we need to hear now more than ever before, “So we must listen very carefully to the truth we have heard, or we may drift away from it.” (Hebrews 2:1-2, NLT)  It would be so easy to be lulled to sleep performing the mundane tasks of our current situation.  Easy to stay up late, sleep in, lose our drive.  The inability to physically attend church makes it easy to let up spiritually.  Less Scripture.  Less Prayer.  Less Jesus.  Easy drifting.  Drifting into complacency.  Drifting into sin.  We really can’t afford that.  The price is too steep.  (Hebrews 4:1,11)  Don’t drift. Keep Praying.  (I Thessalonians 5:17)  Keep the faith.  (Mark 11:22)

Because God needs you. Right now all you are doing seems boring, mundane, maybe even pointless.  But God needs you. Not because He is incapable of doing His work on His own, but because He chooses to delegate some of it. He tells us to be light and salt in a dark and unsavory world. (Matthew 5:13-16)  He calls us to go out into the world preaching and teaching the Gospel.  (Mark 16:15-16) He commissions us to be laborers together with Him. (I Corinthians 3:9)  Even if we can’t truly socialize, our attitudes with the people in the grocery store, at the gas station, or the food delivery person can make an impact. We might not be able to go out preaching and teaching, but we can teach our children and study with our spouses so we don’t drift away.  

Laboring together with God doesn’t always look like we think it will. God doesn’t think like we do. (Isaiah 55:8-9) I never dreamed we’d be trying to minister for Jesus from our living rooms. It doesn’t matter. Wherever you are, you are right where God placed you. (Even if it’s your living room.)  Whatever your tasks, they are God-given. (Even four rounds of dishes!) Whoever you speak to and interact with throughout your day, they are your mission field. (Even if it’s only your children.) Nothing you do is mundane if you do it all to the glory of God (Ecclesiastes 9:10).  No word you speak is mundane if it is spoken in love.  (Ephesians 4:15, Romans 12:10) Everything you do is vitally important to God. 

So “what will you do in the mundane days of faithfulness?” Will the “ sameness” of your days lull you into drifting? Or will you pray, read, and strengthen your soul?  Will you be full of Jesus or full of the fear the media is peddling? The mundane is your mission. You were made for this moment. Are you being faithful?