Creating A Spark

This week we had a fantastic mission speaker at church, Edwina Gateley, poet, theologian, artist, writer, lay minister, advocate, and single mom. The first night she spoke to us about Trust, as in trusting God, walking in faith, walking in trust that all our needs will be met.

She explained how God is always eager to reassure and comfort us so that we might believe in our possibilities and become a holy people. She told us the original word for “holy” in Hebrew meant “to practice,” as in practicing your faith.

Simply practicing our faith makes us holy…doing the right thing, reaching out to those in need. Holy isn’t reserved for only the special few. Everyone’s hands are holy….it’s what we choose to do with our hands that makes a difference. Do we use them to help—or to hurt--others?

The second night she spoke of personal transformation, how the Holy Spirit is always waiting to s-t-r-e-t-c-h us to recognize God’s presence in ourselves and all people. She told story after story of personal transformation in herself and the lives of the people she has worked with in Africa and on the streets of Chicago, where she ministered to recovering drug addicts and prostitutes.

Last night she challenged us to use our gifts to reflect God’s love in our dealings with others, in particular the poor, the homeless, the abandoned and marginalized people in our world. She acknowledged that bad things are happening the world over, but we can’t focus on that, we need to seek out the sparks of light and help those sparks to shine more brightly. Again, she shared story after story of personal transformation.

And she reminded us that every little bit of good we do makes a difference, to someone, somewhere.

So today was soup making day. I got out the stock pot and opened the freezer and filled the pot with leftover pot roast, crock pot chicken, an assortment of savory sauces and gravies made from previously made roasts, three bags of vegetables, and a magic array of spices. Took me three hours to get it to taste “just right,” but in the end, it all came together beautifully…and the aroma…nothing better than the smell of home made soup wafting through the house.

Unless it’s accompanied by the sweet smell of baking. While the soup bubbled, I baked two cakes, and cleaned the kitchen. Then, after the soup had cooled, I put it into the containers provided by the homeless shelter, and delivered it, along with two dozen pairs of socks I bought at Christmas time, but never got around to dropping off.

Tonight, someone without a home will at least be able to enjoy some home made soup, made with real beef and chicken, a piece of cake, and a clean pair of socks.

It’s just a spark, but it counts all the same. Is there somewhere in your life you can create a spark or two?

Judge Not...

One of the cardinal rules of joyful living is that judging others takes a great deal of energy, and, without exception, pulls you away from where you want to be. ~Richard Carlson

Today I’m going to write about judging others. Over the years, several people in my life have remarked on my ability to be so understanding and accepting of others—at least when The Alien isn’t around, which, thankfully, is most of the time :). But the real me is usually pretty open, easygoing, and tolerant, inclined to give everyone and anyone the benefit of the doubt. That often ends up with me being taken advantage of in one way or another, but I’ve decided I’d rather go through life trusting people than not. When they fall down on the job, or fail to come through for me, that’s on them, not me for trusting them to do what they said they were going to do.

Doesn’t make my life any easier when something falls through and I have to scramble to compensate, but at least I know it’s not because I didn’t withhold my trust or support.

But I digress. Like I said, I wanted to write about judging others. I used to judge people all the time. Made me feel superior to them in some way, I guess. I don’t remember now, because now I make a conscious effort not to judge. Why is this? I didn’t have a lightning bolt of awareness strike me one day and do a total turn around in thinking, that’s for sure. My level of tolerance and understanding came slowly. It came as I got older, and it came over time. Eventually, I noticed it came every time I judged someone. Maybe not right away, but eventually, it came.

Funny how that worked. I’d look at someone and think, why on earth would they (do or say whatever it was they were doing and saying) and pass judgment…Good Lord, I’d never do (or say) that…and then, eventually, unfailingly, in God’s own time, I would find myself in that very same situation.

And I would understand. And I would remember passing judgment. And I would feel badly about it.

Fortunately I don’t usually speak my judgments aloud, so I had nobody to apologize to but thin air, but still…

They haunt me. I remember. And I have learned from them.

For instance, I was at a writer’s retreat one weekend, and a group of us were sitting in a room talking about writing, and a woman spoke up and said something to the effect of, “I haven’t written a word since I started having children.” Me, being childless at the time, thought, “Well that’s no excuse. You just tell the kids you’re busy and you write.”

Then I had my own son, who never took naps, and was always so sunny and inquisitive—I used to wish he would be bad so I could put him down for a forced nap and get some writing done—but it never happened. He was awake, lively, endlessly curious, and a joy to be with. Not tired at all. Until the end of the day, and by then I was exhausted, so no writing got done. For years.

Finally, I understood. And when I see that woman’s name on her books now…I remember, and wince a little inside. Because now I know what she meant, and how she felt, and how honest and brave it was of her to speak the truth to that room full of writers.

Another thing I never understood was why women didn’t color their roots a whole lot sooner. I’d see an inch of gray peeking out, and wonder, why even bother coloring if you’re going to run around looking like that?

Then I started coloring. And then I learned. Finally I gave up, and went gray. And for at least six months, while I let the color grow out, I was one of those women I used to judge. And I was aware of it every single day.

Those are only two of thousands of examples I have learned from over the years. Now, because of God’s uncanny ability to show me why people do the things they do when I, in my imagined superiority, thought they should be doing something differently…I’ve learned not to judge people. Any time I find myself slipping back into old thought patterns and starting to judge someone, I’ll catch myself and change direction. Try to find a way to understand their seemingly inexplicable behavior. Not because I’ve developed this wonderful altruistic streak—but because I don’t want to know the answer—at least not from the inside out. If it’s a friend and he or she wants to share with me, I’m all ears.

But I don’t want to have that experience. I don’t want to find myself in their shoes. I don’t want to find myself having to make those same choices. I’d rather stick to my own problems and my own choices.

So I don’t judge people any more. Instead, I trust that they are doing the best that they can with what they have or know or believe at the time, and know that they are struggling right along with the rest of us.

Everyone I know is struggling with something in one way or another. Everyone. With jobs, or lack of jobs, relationships, or lack of relationships, health issues, family issues, financial issues, addictions, choices and decisions to be made….you name it. Financially, spiritually, mentally, physically—people are hurting all around me.

So now, instead of passing judgment, I offer compassion instead. And prayers. Lots of prayers.

Is there someone you can pray for today?


We know nothing of the trials, sorrows and temptations of those around us, of pillows wet with sobs, of the life-tragedy that may be hidden behind a smile, of the secret cares, struggles, and worries that shorten life and leave their mark in hair prematurely whitened, and a character changed and almost recreated in a few days. Let us not dare to add to the burden of another the pain of our judgment. ~ William George Jordan ~