Relationships

Giving Cups Of Cold Water

And whoever gives one of these little ones even a cup of cold water because he is a disciple, truly I say to you, he will by no means lose his reward.

Matthew 10:42 (ESV)

Some days, I can only give cups of cold water. Small cups.

However, the cups of cold water given to me are special gifts.

The givers?

The casual acquaintance who stopped her car when she saw me by my mailbox and asked how I was doing during Covid-19.

The friends who checked on me via texts during Covid-19.

The friends who mailed me cards saying I am loved and appreciated.

My co-teacher who carried my bags for me after my cataract surgery—and drove me to my classes.

My son’s tutor who told me my son thrived because of my teaching.

My son who took my hand and helped me climb closer to a waterfall.

My son who drives me to doctor appointments and waits.

My husband who daily brings me ups of cold water—with a splash of orange juice.

And more.

Cups of cold water are on my Christmas list. What’s on yours?

Relationships

Escorts to the Finish Line

I do my best to watch my husband cross the finish line at his races.

After his last race, we returned to the finish line hours later to watch the final runners. At that point, they were so spread out that the names of all finishers were called—until only one name was called when two runners crossed the finish line together. And again, when three runners crossed together. Why?

After watching carefully, we noticed that the unnamed runners waited by the finish line at the bottom of the hill before running to the top of the hill. After a while—sometimes short and sometimes long—they returned to the finish line with a new runner. Why?

Eventually, the announcer thanked the “pacers.” When runners struggled toward the end, at least one pacer was sent to escort them to the finish line. One 81-year-old crossed with three.

We wondered how many miles were logged by people running up the hill and beyond to help strangers achieve their goals. How many volunteers stood near the finish in order to call for help?

I could have achieved more goals with an escort to the finish line. How about you?

Decisions, Parenting, Relationships

I’m Sorry to Disappoint You, But

Along the way, I learned that I can’t

make my child drop a grudge,

make my child stop being shy,

make my child be on time,

make a friend keep promises,

make a frenemy tell the truth,

make a relative show up at a birthday party—OK. I did have success there,

make my children initiate particular relationships,

make leaders listen,

make acquaintances obey the rules.

And I’m sorrier than you are. I’ve wasted too much time trying.

No matter how much I’m nagged or shamed, only my Heavenly Father can mend his children.

Are you hoping or expected to “fix” someone this upcoming holiday season?

Decisions, Relationships

It’s The Little Things That Matter #2

Last week, I wrote about the lasting impact of a snapshot. (See here.) It was the result of three small decisions I made—taking, printing, and sending. However, someone else’s decisions made the moment possible.

A and L told me they would not be at the evening church service because A did not drive at night. I liked these women, and they expressed disappointment at missing the installation service. Therefore, I was sad about their situation, and then, delightfully surprised to see them appear.

What made it possible for A and L to be at church after dark? An elder in the church called and did more than offer a ride. He chose words that were inclusive, welcoming. He said, “My wife and I will pick you up at 6:30.” He implied that their presence was a given and not an imposition.

Why don’t we do more of the little things? Because, although actions may seem “little,” they are time consuming. Who wants to waste valuable time on something that, on the surface, seems “little?”

Along the way, I am learning that the “little things” are remembered the most.

Have “little things” impacted your life?

Memories, Relationships

It’s the Little Things That Matter #1

I feel like crying as I write this. Truthfully, I’m tearing up—over a photo. Or more accurately, what that photo meant to someone.

In 2019, I snapped a photo of two women standing with my son. It was both spur of the moment and posed. I printed two copies and mailed one to each woman. Last week, one of the women passed at the age of 102. That photo was found in her Bible, and her daughter said the photo was of the few things she took with her when she moved to receive fulltime care.

There was much to love about that photo. L was not only standing with her pastor, but also with the friend who drove her to church each week. Part of the church building, which she could no longer enter once she became frailer, was visible. It was also a momentous occasion. It was the day that my son, who had been on staff for almost two years, was officially installed as the church’s pastor.

I almost didn’t take the photo. I wondered if I should mail it. However, those little actions mattered more than I knew, until now.