The Significance of Insignificance

I wrote this story several years ago simply to express what I was feeling but chose to keep it to myself as it felt, in the writing, that I was feeling somewhat sorry for myself.  Looking back, however, I can see the beauty of what God was allowing me to experience and the necessity of being able to share real feelings even when those feelings are not warm and fuzzy.  I hope you will be able to see the beauty in the sharing of the significance of insignificance as it relates to your own journey.  

Sometimes we are led on a journey that feels very much against our better judgment to embark upon.  We are led through the desert sands; surrounded on every side by desolation and barrenness. The journey is one of great loneliness with views of scorched ground and probing wind as far as the eye can see.

Life appears to be happening all around me during this season of walking the desert; yet the green paths are not accessible to me as my path leads further down into the dry desert sands.

Others pass by as they veer to the left or to the right onto paths leading to lush green landscapes, bubbling brooks and cool shade; but I am not given permission to follow others on their journey.  

Instead, I must press on and feel the full heat of the sand on my feet and the afternoon sun on my face.  I fear I may not make it through another day.

Life becomes unbearable as each day attempts to knock me down and keep me down.  There is no end in sight.  My plans and goals for the future are forgotten as I simply strive to survive the next step in front of me.  Gone are dreams; instead, one word forces its way past my dry throat and parched lips—“insignificant.”

There was a season when I felt God’s favor and blessing on everything that my hands touched and my eyes beheld.  Blue skies and green pastures filled my vision from every mountain top experience.  Seasons have a way of changing; if we are not paying attention they can catch us unaware.  I am slowly learning that I must embrace each season without questioning the One who not only made the seasons but whom also set forth the time and length for each season.

As my Maker gazes upon me and beholds me from His panoramic view, He refuses to turn His face away from His creation.  Even in the Valley of Despair, I feel His gaze.  Through my weak faith and small spirit, I beg Him to not turn away from me.  

He has shown me that He is doing a new thing.  I see only desert and feel only loss.  He has told me that never will He leave me or forsake me; I feel only loneliness.  

He shows me through His Word that He can take that which is insignificant and make it a vessel that He can use to bring glory to His name.  

This insignificant life must be emptied before it can be used to bring significance to the One for whom my heart beats unashamedly and desperately.   

I will lift up mine eyes to the Maker of all the seasons.

Stay the Course...

Sheila

Devastating Storms

Exactly 35 years ago today Wisconsin experienced one of the worst natural disasters to ever hit the Chippewa Valley- a devastating storm with winds over 100 mph and ten brief tornado touch downs.

Not to give away my age, but I was 14 years old at the time.

Our family resided on a dairy farm in the farming community of Fall Creek.  Like thousands of people, I will never forget that fateful night.  Our parents shouted for us to get to the basement as my older sister and I were instructed to grab our younger brother and sister who were asleep.  We dragged their sleepy bodies down two flights of stairs into the musty basement of our farm house as the window in our dining room shattered to pieces.

Me and my five siblings huddled together with our parents in the creepy, spider webby basement. Noises I had never heard before filled my frightful ears.  Mother instructed us firmly stating that if we had never before prayed, now was the time to start.  I don’t think I quite knew how to pray in that moment.  Instead, I stood as quiet as I could stand with the hopes that my good behavior might somehow make the madness stop. 

A large oak tree in our front yard fell to its death; thankfully falling away from the house.  The following morning brought a quiet eeriness as families emerged from their homes to survey the destruction.  Damage to agriculture and crops was devastating. Although my dad didn’t say much I knew he was deeply concerned for what lie ahead both for our family and for many families in our community.

As disasters have a way of doing; our community banded together to clean up and salvage all that we could salvage.  Neighbor helping neighbor.  Perspectives were changed over night; I felt thankful to be alive.

Devastating storms have a way of either drawing us closer to our Maker, opening our eyes to our own mortality or pushing us further away as we question why storms must be faced at all.

All these years later I am able to recollect many storms that have been faced in my own life, some literally and others spiritually, financially or physically.  And I am thankful for the lessons brought by each storm that have been forever engraved upon my heart.

In the Gospel of Luke, we enter into a literal storm with Jesus and His disciples as they are crossing the lake in a boat.  The “boat was being swamped, and they were in great danger.” (Luke 8:23)  The disciples freaked out and woke up Jesus saying, “Master, Master, we’re going to drown!” (vs. 24)

After waking up and rebuking the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided.  Jesus asked His disciples, “Where is your faith?” (vs. 25)

The storm offered the disciples two choices: respond in fear or respond in faith.  

Within each one of us, each disciple of Jesus, lies the option to respond to storms with the fear of a 14 year old who can’t remember how to pray or the faith of a soldier who understands that  devastating storms are necessary to grow us more into the character of the One who will never abandon us.

Unlike the early disciples, we do not need to run around looking for Jesus on the boat of our storms; He has given us the gift of His Spirit, a trusted Companion who is with us always.  If we don’t know how to pray we can simply ask Him and He will teach us and will intercede on our behalf.

Faith always overcomes fear as we learn to trust our Maker in the midst of our storms.

Stay the Course…

Sheila

Where The Spirit of The Lord Is

I gaze out at the airplane wing surrounded by white clouds en route to Alaska having just left a place that I once called home, a place filled with extraordinary people whom I love - Wisconsin.

As it goes with most trips, the primary purpose of the trip was accomplished.  However, often a truer purpose finds it way into our hearts slipping in from different angles along the way in the process of accomplishing one’s intended primary purpose.

Each person that I spent time with while on my trip was a person with whom I shared something invaluable; a rich history of memories that we had collected together over the expanse of time.  Both the good and the painful memories have made me and my family who we are today.

Not only did I feel the presence of God in many of my encounters with cherished friends during the trip; but not being caught up in my daily routine, I was able to see the glory of God in normal every day occurrences as well:

The sight of an old barn, cows grazing in a pasture, rolling countryside, the sound of birds chirping and the way a subtle, silent cloak of darkness hides the light of day at day’s end.  Alaska summer days begin and end with lightness— I had forgotten that Wisconsin summer nights provide a finale of darkness like a curtain closing to make certain that we know the day has come to an end.

As I stood to worship in a church I had been actively involved in many years earlier, with a dear friend whom I have known for the same length of time, I heard a soft whisper, “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”  I looked into my friend’s eyes and knew that the Spirit was speaking to her heart too.  

Instead of closing my eyes, I took in the environment the way a small child takes in the awe and wonder of his or her first carousel ride or first push in a swing.  As a gift to me in my desperate prayer of the last five years, “Father, what is church supposed to look like?” time stood still as I beheld a room full of faithful servants freely expressing their love to God.  Like no where else on earth, these were people with whom I shared history, life, laughter, tears.  These beautiful weathered saints had stayed the course, survivors of voracious storms bent on pulling them away from the four walls of the church.  Together they stood.  The pastor, more passionate and bold than I remembered, led God’s church with humility and a dose of social awkwardness. I smiled remembering his quirks as well as his faithfulness to preach God’s Word.

Where the Spirit of the Lord is there is freedom.  Freedom to be bold, to be awkward, to be the imperfect picture of the full perfection of Christ.  To be made strong in weakness, to stand together even when it would be easier to turn and run.  To be accountable to one another and to commit to staying committed regardless the valleys forged along the journey.  

The sound of the plane rumbles in my ears, I am full of joy knowing that God will continue to show me what His church looks like in answer to my prayer, and more importantly how to live out church in such as way as to reach those who are without hope in a dark lost world.   

God’s church is no respecter of geography; whether Wisconsin or Alaska or wherever God has placed each person geographically; His church must stand united across the continents.

Church is a place where we come together to express our love to the Creator of the mountains and of the valleys.  As we pour out our praise and worship to our King, the Spirit fills us with freedom that cannot be contained.  A freedom that is downright contagious, never intended to be kept within the walls of a place called church.

Stay the Course…

Sheila