Not in My Own Strength

Focal Verse: "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me" (2 Corinthians 12:9).

After a busy weekend with working, church activities, and other responsibilities, I looked forward to this afternoon when I got home from church. It was my first chance all weekend to take a breath. Drew would take his usual 2-hour nap, and I could study for my Wednesday night Mom's class and relax.

Except it didn't turn out that way. Drew refused to take a nap, and in the middle of the day I had an allergy attack. Since my husband is working nights and was asleep in our house, I couldn't get any relief from my sneezing, stuffiness, and itchy eyes. I was simply exhausted and was becoming very irritable.

When Matt finally woke up, I vented to him about how exhausted I was. Looking back, he was very gracious considering he has been the one working the 12-hour night shift. He shared with me - in the most loving way - that he thought I had overcommitted myself, namely at church. And because I was so overwhelmed, I was snappy at my son and irritable altogether. I could see where he was coming from, but I told him that I felt that God had led me to minister through each activity I was a part of.

As I was thinking about how nice it would be to leave church after I finished the class I was teaching -- just so I could get a break before I begin my workweek tomorrow -- God whispered, "Jill, I didn't ask you to do all this in your own strength. I am the strength you need."

Encouraged, I headed to church. My spirit was strengthened by the message and I went home with an energy I haven't felt all weekend.

I was amazed at how easy it was to default to doing everything in my own strength, without realizing that it's just not possible. I've always heard it said, "When God calls, he always equips." Tonight I learned a new dimension of God's call: When God calls, he calls us to that which is impossible to do in our own strength, so we'll never forget that we must depend on him.

You see, it's not about what I can do for God. It's about what he - and only he - can do through me.

Silence

Focal Verse: "After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. (1 Kings 19:12)"

My husband Matt was working the night shift, and I had just put Drew to bed. I started washing some leftover dishes when it started to drive me crazy.

Silence.

I wanted to turn the TV on simply for some noise, but I had decided that this night the TV was staying off. Then I was about to turn on some new [Christian] songs I downloaded on itunes, but that may have woken Drew up. And of course, my ipod and headphones were in the car. So there I was left with what was driving me crazy. Silence.

At our Mom to Mom class last night, one of the moms mentioned how every time her family is home the TV comes on, sometimes just for noise. I could definitely relate because our house is the same way. I've become so accustomed to the TV lulling in the background that when it's not on, it feels like something is missing. I'm the same way in the car. I've always got to have music on. It just doesn't feel right to have the audio system in the "off" mode.

So tonight when I was washing dishes, I decided I would make the best of the silence that was driving me crazy. I started praying for someone who had been on my heart all day. God started impressing on my heart how I should start handling some things a little better. I started praying for every person God put on my heart. I started giving my worries to God and praying about them.

What had been a miserable silence turned into a heart dialogue with God. Just in a matter of minutes, I had new perspectives on many of my worries, and God gave me a peace about things I had been burdened about all day. I was able to lift up prayer requests from last night's Mom to Mom group that I may not have remembered otherwise. All in just a matter of minutes while washing dishes.

I wonder how many of those moments do I miss because I just can't stand silence. How many times would God love to talk to me, but he can't get through?

Of course I'm not going to go chunk my TV in the garbage, but I am going to rethink when I push the "on" button. If I can start weaning myself off of the need for noise, I might just hear more of God's voice through the silence.

Dedaddy

Focal Verse: "So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal" (2 Corinithians 4:18)

On Tuesday I lost my Dedaddy. I'm not sure how I started calling him that as a little girl, but I did. And because I was one of the oldest grandchildren, all of the other grandchildren called him Dedaddy, too.

He was one of the most loving, giving men I've ever met. He worked hard his whole life to provide for his family. He fell in love with my grandmother, 14 years his junior, and treated her three sons as his own. But he also wanted his own child, so he and Mema had my dad's baby brother.

My memories of Dedaddy and Mema are as heart-warming as most children's memories would be of grandparents. I always looked forward to visiting them. Though they lived a modest life, their home was full of love.

But five years ago, my Mema passed away during a risky but necessary surgery. I'll never forget his grief when the surgeon told us. His heart was broken, and he was never the same. These past five years were miserable for him, and sadly, he succumbed to deep depression. Most recently, he realized that his cancer had likely returned, and he had had enough. On Tuesday he took his own life.

It has been difficult to accept. Last night as I lay in bed, my mind started flashing to memories of Dedaddy and Mema like scenes of a movie. Scene 1: Mema picking peas from her garden and showing me, just a little girl, how to shell them. Scene 2: Dedaddy grilling fish and hush puppies in the back yard on a summer evening. Scene 3: All the grandchildren playing with our Christmas presents in the back yard. Scene 4: Dedaddy giving me a kiss as I arrive at their house and saying, "Hi, Sugar!" And then Scene 5: Dedaddy so full of grief that he took his own life in the same backyard where we shared so many good memories.

And then it hit me. It doesn't matter how many good memories you make if you don't have a hope for life after death.

All of those wonderful memories seem so futile now. As Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, says in Ecclesiastes 1:2, ""Meaningless! Meaningless!"says the Teacher."Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless."

Tonight, my husband and son and I went out to the house we are building. The frame just got up and we were able to walk through what would be the rooms of our future home. Excitement poured through me. As Drew ran through the house, I pictured him growing up in it. I envisioned another child someday in his or her own room. I thought of Christmases being spent around the fireplace. The promise of the family memories we would make in our new home was overwhelming.

Yet even these things will pass away. All that matters is if we have hope for eternity. Where there will never be a tear. Where there will never be depression, despair, or hopelessness. Where there will never be sickness, disease, or disability. Where we will never again be hindered by our sinful nature. Where we will be the perfect individuals God had intended us to be when he created us. Where we will have fellowship with those we love without fear of losing them. Where we will be in the presence of the Savior who loved us so much he couldn't bear to spend eternity apart from us.

I just hope with all of my heart that even in Dedaddy's despair, he found that hope and cried out to God, even if it was in those final moments.

Because I really want to see him again.