Under A Bushel.

There is a man who lives in my neighborhood who never waves.

That seems of minuet concern.

But where it seems catching, is that he is a man who never waves whose profession declares him a Christ-follower.

There's the children song, "This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine... Hide it under a bushel, NO!  I'm going to let it shine...."

So what I can't get past is that...  this man who never waves recites scripture, unpacks parables, KNOWS JESUS and yet never waves.

This man knows the joy of Jesus.  The hope of Jesus.  The love of Jesus.

And yet, he refuses to wave.

I have to wonder if he knows his reflection of Jesus....

"This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine..."  We sing this chorus over and over again, and I think the simplicity of it is what is hard sometimes for philosophers and theologians and thinkers to practice.

To shine can simply be to smile.

Surely, it can be so many other things, on so many levels.  It can be fresh bread baked or dogs walked or flowers planted or sermons preached.

But it simplest form, the light of Jesus can simply be acknowledging people as human, as worth the seconds of the day.

"Hide it under a bushel, NO!"

It's a choice to hide it under a bushel.  To choose the frown, to speak the gossip, to slander the co-worker, to not wave.

This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine.

And I'm going to wave.

Mommy's Dots.

I'll edit/fix/rewrite this later, but wanted to get the thought/gist of it out before I forgot it...

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She touches them with picking fingers, curious.  "Mommy's dots?"  The moles along my neckline intrigue her, dark and bumpy and gnarled and spotty, dotting my collar bone and chest.

What started once as a question, turned into practical belief.

Once she'd asked, "Mommy dirty?"  while tracing the chunky moles on my skin, her nose wrinkled and eyes furrowed with concern.

"No, those are Mommy's dots.  That's how God made mommy."

I said the words, with assurance, feeling slightly sensitive about the brown spots but wanting to give my daughter words for making sense of them.  Just moles, but how to explain a mole to a 18 month year old?  So to clear away questions but give simplified response, I remarked, "That's how God made mommy."

Apparently that was enough.

Childlike faith.

Simple, clear, undoubted.

A few days later, she scratched Mark's cheeks, "Uh-oh, Daddy!"  She was clearly concerned about what was growing on his face.  I smiled at the stubble, "That's how God made daddy."

She looked at the lines on her wrist, "Wash it, Mommy."  She picked at the veins, blue and straight, the connectors of her arms and hands.  "Dirty.  Color."

"Oh Camilla!  That's how God made you!"  I smiled!

She looked up at me, as if that was enough to explain the purple coloring of blood under the skin.  "Mommy's dots.  God made mommy.  Daddy ____.  God made daddy.  Camilla [she pointed to her wrist veins] God made Camilla."

Her little voice perked with each statement, like dancing across connections.  Bright blue eyes reflecting understanding as well as simple assurance that all was well.

I beamed!  Inwardly screaming with joy that she got it!  She so simply grasped God and his creating!  Without question, just in an "of course", practical, way that put it all together.

Then, about a week later, she said again, as turned common, "Mommy's dots?" as she plucked at the moles on my neck.

"Yes, Camilla, those are Mommy's dots.  That's how God made Mommy."

"Noah!"

I couldn't hold the scream inward this time, "Yes!  Noah!  Yes, Noah, Camilla!  Good job!  That's the God who made Mommy's dots!"  I took her on a little jig around the room and twirled, so joyful of this little mystery, unlocking the truths where she finds them.  Her obessesion with Noah (mostly from the Bible DVD) and his sons, Shem, Ham, and Jepath, somehow sunk in to knowing it all was about God, really, and she linked that this was the same God who made mommy's dots.  Oh was I enthralled and joyfilled!

A few months later, we were sitting in our Home Club small group and a few of the newer moms with littler ones, under the age of one, were exposing the feeling of overwhelm to teaching their children about God, Jesus, and the Bible.  The pressure to read every kids Bible, recite scripture, pray intentional prayers, join the right circles, etc. left a weight that so heavy but their Jesus-loving mommy heart's so purposefully beared. Among them, I remember (and know) that feeling, but shared this little story about Camillla and "Mommy's dots" as a beautiful grace of how God goes before us and his Holy Spirit intercedes and does the work with and for us.

As God-fearing mothers, our hearts yearn so deeply for our children to lust after Christ that the thought of it can be paralyzing.  But just as little Camilla's connections of Mommy's dots and Camilla's veins and Daddy's stubble and Noah and God show, the Lord is at work with us for the hearts of our children, and he will lead and guide them to him with us.