Salt and Light

 Her alarm rings. It is Tuesday morning.

She drags herself into the kitchen for a cup of “awake.”

She is tired. Last night she worried about some of her students. But she finds her way to that familiar spot of refuge with the steaming cup, Bible, and journal.

As she prays, she asks God to forgive her for the lack of enthusiasm and the failure to remember those words of Scripture beyond a brief minute. Is she just going through the motions? Why didn’t God send her to be a missionary to China—or at least let her teach a Sunday School class? She wonders, when will she actually be used by God for His Kingdom work?

The caffeinated time with God is over, and it is on.

So much to do.

On the way out the door she grabs an extra sandwich and that sweater she found for Angela. Angela is going through a rough time at home and came to school without a sweater or lunch twice last week.

When she gets to school, there is a substitute in the room next door, so she sticks her head in and helps her find what she needs to do her job today.

The bell rings.

Fifth graders fill the hallway—some loud, some sullen, some excited, some just going through the motions. She notices the attitude of each student as she greets them with a smile, even the ones who, for whatever reason, really wish they were in the more popular teacher’s class today. She realizes that thought was from the enemy and shakes it off.

Some of today’s lessons go well, and some fall short. She makes a mental note of each student’s understanding and how to improve it tomorrow. New ideas and tried-and-true techniques mingle in her mind while she notices student interactions and heads off issues before they surface.

She dries tears, fixes wardrobe malfunctions, redirects the mean-girl group before they can go on the attack, and attends ARD meetings for her students with special needs. She also finds a moment to discreetly give Angela the sweater and sandwich.

Then she remembers—Tuesday means lunch duty. Sigh.

She helps open Capri Sun boxes, locates a missing lunch ticket, and strikes up a conversation with Sam, the lonely new boy. She quietly nudges one of her kindest students to include him.

The bell rings, and the afternoon continues.

It rings again. The class day is done. Next is bus duty. She smiles and waves at impatient parents in the long line of cars, stopping to tell Jesse’s mom what a great friend he was to the new boy today.

Finally, the workday is over. Blessed peace. She checks on the substitute again and thanks her for helping a coworker on baby leave.

Time to gather her things, stop at the store, and head home. She remembers she needs to cook extra tonight so she can send a meal to her sick mother-in-law. And she needs to check the spare bedroom—family is passing through tomorrow and will need a place to stay.

Dinner is finished. Dishes are done. She grades a few papers in front of the TV, puts them in her bag for tomorrow, and falls into bed for a well-deserved night’s sleep.

⸻

The alarm rings. It is Wednesday morning.

She drags herself into the kitchen for a cup of “awake.”

She is tired. But she finds her way to that familiar spot of refuge with the steaming cup, Bible, and journal.

As she prays, she asks God to forgive her for the lack of enthusiasm and the failure to remember His Word beyond a brief minute. She talks to God about Angela and Sam. She asks again why He didn’t send her to be a missionary—or at least let her teach in a Christian school where she could share Bible stories and quote Scripture.

She wonders, When will I actually be used by God for His Kingdom work?

And somewhere between the prayer for Angela…

and the concern for Sam…

and the quiet obedience of showing up again…

the answer has already been given.

She is.

⸻

“You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world.”

—Matthew 5:13–14

Recalibrating

My guilty pleasure is watching Survivor. To win that show, everyone must lie. And those being lied to must become lie detectors. Sometimes the lies are so interwoven that I cannot imagine how the contestants sort out the truth. I watch as each person clings to what they believe is truth—only to be blindsided and voted off the island.

Lately, I’ve begun to see Survivor played out in real life. When I get focused on the issues at hand, I can become frustrated, frantic, worried, or even angry. Living in this world is hard. We act atrociously and believe lies. We pick “our truth” out of the pile and cling to it as if we are the only ones wise enough to see it. Then we draw lines in the sand and throw rocks at those who believe differently. So…who gets voted off the island?

While reading Isaiah 40, it occurred to me that redirecting my focus to God gives me a handle on those indiscernible lies—and on my own destructive thoughts. How long has it been since I stopped my negative thought process just to look at God? And what is the point of it?

I know He is unfathomably big, all-powerful, and all-knowing. I understand that. But have I stopped to consider just how big?

How does that benefit me?

Ah…that’s the thing. It wasn’t written merely for my instruction—it was written for my state of mind. It points me in the right direction. It is praise. And praise helps me visualize truth. Praise changes me.

So let’s take a moment in the middle of a busy day to step into the room next to God. Let’s peek around that golden curtain.

In the Bible, many passages try to describe Him. Maybe it’s time to stop and wonder at what they say. And by wonder, I mean imagine. Imagine the sights and sounds of His majesty.

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From Isaiah 40

12-15,17-18,21-26 NIV

Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens? Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket, or weighed the mountains on the scales and the hills in a balance?

Who can fathom the Spirit of the LORD, or instruct the LORD as his counselor? Whom did the LORD consult to enlighten him, and who taught him the right way? Who was it that taught him knowledge, or showed him the path of understanding? 

Surely the nations are like a drop in a bucket; they are regarded as dust on the scales; he weighs the islands as though they were fine dust. Before him all the nations are as nothing; they are regarded by him as worthless and less than nothing. 

With whom, then, will you compare God? To what image will you liken him? Do you not know? Have you not heard? Has it not been told you from the beginning? Have you not understood since the earth was founded? 

He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth, and its people are like grasshoppers. He stretches out the heavens like a canopy, and spreads them out like a tent to live in. 

He brings princes to naught and reduces the rulers of this world to nothing. No sooner are they planted, no sooner are they sown, no sooner do they take root in the ground, than he blows on them and they wither, and a whirlwind sweeps them away like chaff.  

“To whom will you compare me? Or who is my equal?” says the Holy One. Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created all these? He who brings out the starry host one by one and calls forth each of them by name. Because of his great power and mighty strength, not one of them is missing.

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Now how do you feel?

Do you feel a little less important?

Do those shouting different “truths” still matter as much?

Did some of that multitude of worries melt away?

This resets my hard drive.

My challenge:

Pick a passage that speaks of the greatness of God and place it somewhere you’ll see it throughout your day. Then maybe—just maybe—it will become part of you…a way to settle your mind when you feel lost in this world of lies, fear, anger, or frustration.

The Sanctity of ALL Life

Sympathy for children in the womb is warranted. Unlike all of us who have been born, they have not faced challenges they failed. They are blameless.

They have never had to choose whether to run from those who would hurt them or submit and hope for the lesser of two evils.

They have never had to choose which child gets food today.

They have never been picked on for being different.

They have never had to find a job and a place to live with a felony on their record.

They have never had to get an education in a school that is underfunded. 

They have never had to live in foster care, waiting for someone to step up and love them.

They have never run for their lives from mercenaries in a hostile country.

They have never suffered from a preventable disease.

They have never struggled to walk, talk, or achieve like others their age.

They have never been captured and sold as a slave.

They have never suffered from Alzheimer’s.

Voicing Opinions

Perhaps one of the greatest losses was recorded in just a few sentences in the Bible. Joseph of Arimathea did not agree with the execution of Jesus of Nazareth. He watched the death of one who was blameless, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was in the minority.

Luke 23:50–51 says this about Joseph after the execution of Jesus:

“Now there was a man named Joseph, a member of the Council, a good and upright man, who had not consented to their decision and action.”

We are told in the other Gospels that Joseph was a rich man and a disciple of Jesus. In John, we learn that he followed secretly because he feared the Jewish leaders.

What can we learn from Joseph? 

I relate to this man more than I’d like to admit. I am very opinionated and want to be heard. Yet I often hesitate to voice my honest thoughts. I weigh the possible outcomes. At best, I might be dismissed by strangers on social media. At worst, I could hurt those I love. And what good would it do? We live in a free country, yet one that has never been free of prejudice and hate.

Does Jesus still love me even when I don’t voice my opinion?

Time has shown that Joseph of Arimathea was right in his convictions. But what would have happened if he had openly confronted the Jewish leaders? He chose not to speak out  and I trust that he had good reason. He may have lost his life. No one was asking for his opinion. And if he had spoken out, would he have had the tomb to offer Jesus? Would he have been able to take His wounded body and give it a proper burial?

What Joseph did do was act with integrity. And that kind of action was not against the law then or now. 

Luke 23:52-53 

“Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus’ body. Then he took it down, wrapped it in linen cloth and placed it in a tomb cut in the rock, one in which no one had yet been laid.”

Sometimes, I weigh my options and choose to remain silent, praying for a day when hearts will change. After all, opinions alone can feel small. What can an opinion do?

But action? Action can do so much more.

Act in kindness. Love your neighbor. Bind the wounds of the broken.