HOLDING IN HIGH ESTEEM THOSE WHO LABOR

Today in my Bible reading from the New Testament book Philippians, chapter 2, the Apostle Paul wrote about two of his close companions in the gospel, Timothy and Epaphroditus.  He had some glowing things to say about them. 

Of Timothy he said:

“I have no one else like him, who takes a genuine interest in your welfare.  For everyone looks out for his own interests, not those of Jesus Christ.  But you know that Timothy has proved himself, because as a son with his father he has served with me in the work of the gospel.”

Paul refers to Epaphroditus as his brother, fellow worker and fellow soldier, who was sent by the church at Philippi specifically to bring a financial gift to attend to Paul’s needs while he was imprisoned.  Epaphroditus became so ill while visiting Paul that he nearly died, but the Lord in mercy, restored his health and now Paul was sending him back to his church with encouragement to the believers in Philippi to “Welcome him in the Lord with great joy.”

The words that struck me most were the words of Paul from verse 29: “Hold such men in high esteem.”  

I immediately began to think of the men and women who had served the Lord in the work of the gospel in my own life and wondered, “Who are the men and women in my life whom I should hold in high esteem because of their Christian character, their interest in the things of Jesus Christ, and their genuine interest in the welfare of others?”

I made a list.  There were the Baptist pastor and his wife who ministered to my family when I was in elementary school.  The pastor counseled my mom who was going through a rough spell in her marriage.  When we moved, my mom no longer kept in touch and it was many years after before we began to long to be part of a church.  Years later, after I had been a Christian for about 10 years, I attended a conference for Christian school teachers and was totally surprised to find that husband and wife leading a seminar.  I introduced myself and they actually remembered us!  How good the Lord was to give those folks some closure on what had happened to us.  They were overjoyed to discover that my brother was a pastor and I was teaching in a Christian school!

Then there was the Sunday school superintendent from another church who took me under her wing and mentored me so that I might teach first graders the Bible. 

The pastor who was the administrator of the Christian school where I taught was unfailingly encouraging and affirming.  I spent a good deal of time observing his wife because I could not believe someone could be so sweet and kind and full of faith all the time.  What I discovered over many years was that she really was a living example of the grace of Jesus – all the time.

Then there was the teaching leader in my Bible Study Fellowship class who saw something in me I didn’t see in myself.  Where I saw complete insecurity, she saw potential.  Where I would beat myself down, she would build me up.  Although I’ll never know why, she invited me to be her substitute teacher and then built into me all she knew about teaching the Bible.  She demonstrated what the love of Jesus looked like, taught me to pray, and gave me advice on raising my girls.  What an encourager she was – and still is! 

And there are the many missionaries, foreign and domestic, who sacrifice time with extended families, live in countries where they don’t, at first, know the language, who face daily challenges in sharing their faith, sometimes in dangerous environments.  Whenever they come home to the US and share their experiences, they never fail to give God glory and then to give us reasons to rejoice with them at what He is doing in the place where they serve.   

Today it’s Christian sisters in Christ who, by their example show me what it’s like to faithfully live out our faith, even through the most difficult circumstances.  There are the pastors of our church who genuinely put the interests of Jesus Christ first, and who care about our welfare – spiritual and otherwise - who have proved themselves to be lovers of God’s Word, prayer warriors, and men of integrity. 

Of all of these, and the many others I haven’t yet thought of, Paul’s words might be applied:  “Hold such men (and women) in high esteem”.

So, how do we hold them in high esteem?

One thing we can do is be an encourager.  Although Paul admonishes us to encourage one another with psalms, hymns and spiritual songs, I confess, while I may think kind and appreciative things about the people above, I don’t always TELL them.  So one thing I could do is make some calls, write some notes, speak some words face to face.  I know how great it is when someone encourages me, it’s time for me to give out those words as well.

I need to also refuse to join in when others are criticizing these men and women who deserve high esteem for their Christian character and service to Jesus Christ.  And I need to bite my tongue when I’m the one who starts it!

I could encourage my pastor and his family with a meal and either invite them over, or deliver it so our pastor’s wives don’t have to cook after a busy day of ministry. 

I can give them gift cards that allow them to do fun things with their families.

I can pray for them, and WITH them.  When our pastor first arrived five years ago, I asked his wife if she’d like to pray together once a week.  I was so blessed to get to know her well and she appreciated having someone to talk and pray with during that first year of transition.

My reading today and all the people the Lord has brought to my mind of whom I might apply Paul’s description of Timothy and Epaphroditus, are speaking to my heart.  I just might need to write some note cards this week!

Who do you know who takes a genuine interest in the welfare of others, whose first priority is the interests of Jesus Christ and not his/her own, who labors to encourage you in the gospel?  

How can you show them that you hold them in high esteem?  

SMALL THINGS THAT MADE A DIFFERENCE

At a time when many of us are frustrated by the deteriorating condition of society, I remember two events from my past where I did a small thing that made a moral difference.  Thought I’d share them.

When Jim and I were first married, nearly 45 years ago now, we lived in North Bergen, New Jersey.  To get from the place where we lived to the main part of town, we had to drive up what everyone in this area calls the viaduct.  The viaduct ultimately leads most people into the Lincoln Tunnel on their way into New York City, but locals also use it to get to Kennedy Boulevard, one of the major north/south roads in Hudson County.  If you’ve ever taken the NJ Turnpike or Route 3 into New York City, then you’ve used the viaduct.

 The viaduct isn’t very attractive.  I’m guessing it was built back in the late 1930’s or early 1940’s, so the roadway is old, some of it is crumbling.  At this time of year it’s probably riddled with potholes, and it’s always clogged with traffic.  The view as you come up from the west is a hodgepodge of advertisements of stores, movies, and cheap motels.  Back in the 1970’s when we lived there, there was one motel that always had a kind of sleazy message, like: “Day rates - $8 an hour”, and much worse things I have since blotted from my mind.**

**At dinner tonight my husband reminded me that the sign that prompted me to finally write said: "Love your neighbor here."  

Several times a week I drove that roadway and that sign always bothered me.  I didn’t really want to be assailed by some slimy message day in and day out.  It offended me, maybe it offended other people.  I finally reached the point where I thought I needed to do something.  So I wrote a letter.

I’m not even totally sure now what I wrote in the letter.  I’m sure I said something about being offended by some of the messages on the billboard, and wondered what effect such a sign might have on people driving from New Jersey into New York along the viaduct for the first time.  Whatever I said, it wasn’t long after that I got a phone call.  The owner of the hotel had received my letter.  He took me completely by surprise when he said he had never thought about the effect his sign might have on the people driving by.  He apologized and said he would change the messages on the signs to be less offensive.  And then I shared my faith in Jesus with him, and he thanked me.  And he kept his word about the sign.

It wasn’t long after when I read that he had died suddenly of a heart attack.  I hoped that encounter had made an eternal difference for that man.

Another time I was in our local Krauser’s store when I noticed a display of Playboy and other girlie magazines right at kid level.  I knew I didn’t want my kids getting an eyeful, so I asked if I could speak to the owner.  He wasn’t there that day, so on another day I went back and asked if he could move the display behind the counter so it wasn’t out front where children could view the photos.  And he did!  That was so easy I don’t know why I didn’t just ask him to remove them altogether!

Small things yes, but they made a difference.  What if we acted on those things that bother us today?  Maybe we could make our own small differences in our own neighborhoods.

FAILURE. . . .IS IT REALLY?

It was not one of the finest periods of my life.  I rarely talk about it and have never written about it, but in searching for topics to jump start my writing I thought about that time and wondered, “Dare I write about it?”

It happened more than 25 years ago now. Within the span of just a few months my closest family members, all of whom lived within a 10 mile radius of us here in northern New Jersey, decided to move – my brother moved 4 hours north, while my parents moved to Florida, and my in laws to California. 

Suddenly all of the things we took for granted when family lived close were a thing of the past.  When the holidays arrived we either spent them alone, just the four of us, either at home or a hotel somewhere, or we traveled to see family.  Gone were the days when Grandmas and Grandpas babysat, or came to plays or sporting events to watch the grandkids perform, or helped to celebrate birthdays.  On one hand, I found the distance kind of liberating.  I was finally going to have to be the grown up and learn to live without the presence of my family close by.  On the other hand, I also found it a bit traumatizing and lonely.

Around the same time we also moved, but not far away, and still in northern New Jersey, but far enough that we had to leave the church where we had been active and friends we had made in our old neighborhood.  Finding a new church was easy, but making new friends was a bit more challenging.  Eventually though, I did manage to find myself part of a group of friends from our church who also had children the ages of mine.  I still missed the closeness of my family, but life was good.

My oldest daughter started elementary school and I volunteered some time in her first grade classroom while my youngest was in pre-school.  Some time that year her teacher suggested to me that I might like to apply for the position of kindergarten teacher, as that teacher would be leaving.  I began to pray about it.  In looking back on it later, I knew I wasn’t really ready to work full time.  Even after praying, I was unsettled in my spirit, but I was feeling some pressure to take the job, from my friends whose kids would be in that class, from my daughter’s teacher, and from the administrator of the school, and so I pushed my misgivings aside and said yes.

At first I enjoyed the job.  I found an outlet for my creativity as I thought of new ways to teach.  I had never taught kindergarten before and it turned out to be so much fun!  I loved introducing my students to books I had read to my own girls.  We had the added bonus of practicing to perform a play in the spring, and I just loved the energy and fun loving spirit of those kindergarten kids!

As that year drew to a close the woman who had been my daughter’s first grade teacher decided to retire and she encouraged me to apply for the first grade teaching position.  I had taught this age group before and thought it would be more exciting to teach reading and other subjects, so I applied and was hired.  It was then that things began to slowly change.

Teaching first grade required a lot more preparation than kindergarten.  I have always been a meticulous planner – maybe too much so?  So, in addition to being on my feet all day teaching, after dismissal and on into the evening I found myself working on lesson preparation.  I began to feel really stressed when my own children came directly to my classroom after school let out.  At the same time I was preparing my own lessons, I was supervising the homework and piano practice of my own girls in my classroom.   Then it was home to cook dinner and finish up my planning before we began the bedtime rituals.  I confess that I wasn’t always so patient when it came to reading bedtime stories or getting the last glass of water before lights went out. By then my calm was seriously unraveling!

And the stress kept mounting.  The school where I was teaching was a private school affiliated with a church and so my first grade classroom was shared with Sunday school classes on Sunday and after school groups on Monday.  So every Friday before I could go home, I would have to rearrange my classroom for the Sunday class.  Then after church on Sunday, my husband and children helped me to set my room up again for Monday school classes.  Then on Monday, I had to leave my classroom before 3:30 so that another group could use it.  That necessitated moving furniture around again! 

As is true for many private schools, we didn’t have any extra money to pay lunch or recess aides.  So, in addition to our classroom duties, all teachers were responsible to rotate for lunch and recess duties.  I hated it.  On those days I had to go from my classroom to choke down my lunch and head for one of these duties, but that wasn’t the worst.  If you’ve ever had to do lunch duty in an elementary school, you know.  The lunch room and playground are chaotic!  On the outside, I was going through the motions of balancing all of this, but inside I felt like a pressure cooker waiting to explode.

Somehow I got through that first year of teaching first grade, but at the end of the first day of my second year I have a clear memory that describes what was going on inside.  I was in the supermarket with my girls when I remembered something I wanted to buy.  I left the girls on a checkout line with our shopping cart while I ran down the milk aisle for the forgotten item.  As I ran I thought, “I hope I fall and break my leg so I don’t have to go back to work.”  Unfortunately, or so I thought at the time, I didn't.

Maybe someone reading this might ask, "Why didn't you just quit?"  For some reason, I didn’t think I had permission to stop working.  Everyone was counting on me – our administrator, the kids and their families, my husband, my kids.  So instead of just saying, “I’m done”, I kept on keeping on, while the inside pressure mounted.  I thought, maybe if I just get up earlier so I can spend more time in Bible reading and prayer, I'll be able to manage.  I got up an hour earlier so I could do that, but it didn't help.

That was the year I also had a parent who was accusing me of not attending to the needs of her son the way she thought I should.  She accused me of making the classroom a place where he didn’t feel safe.  My administrator supported me, so I took it with a grain of salt, but it still hurt and distressed me.  I was working as hard as I could and yet I still couldn't seem to get on top of things.

And then it happened.  It was the spring of that second year in first grade when I just couldn’t do it anymore.  I came into school that morning and cried of river of tears that would not stop.  I went to the nurse and my administrator sent me home. They were suggesting a rest, but I knew I didn’t want to go back, I couldn't go back - ever.  I wanted to run away to a place where I could be by myself and not tell anyone where I was going!  

The family of one of my students took me out to lunch shortly after and tried to talk me into finishing the school year.  I knew they were concerned about their son and the other students who would have to adjust to someone new for such a short time, and I felt terrible having to disappoint them, but I could not do it. 

I felt like a pariah. I was embarrassed to face the parents of my students in church, especially the new friends I had made whose children were in my class.  I felt I had let everyone down.  Some friends began to distance themselves – or maybe, in my shame and guilt, I just thought they had.  In any event, it caused me to isolate myself for a long time and seriously hurt any confidence I had that I would ever be able to do anything of significance again.

I don't know how much of a role not having family around influenced my mind at that time.  I know I felt alone in my pain and didn't really feel free to speak of it while I was going through it.  

That time speaks “failure” whenever I think back on it, but it certainly wasn’t a wasted experience.  Through it, I’ve learned that I don’t handle stress well.  I've discovered, based on other tasks I've done since, that I don’t like assuming a lot of responsibility.  People tell me I'm good at it, but they have no idea of what's going on inside! At that time, alternating my teacher, mom, and wife hats so often in the course of a day, over weeks and months, is not something I did well.  If you are a woman who manages to do all that, then may God bless and provide for you.  I cannot and I’m thankful that the Lord made that clear to me.  On the other hand, when I am asked to take on responsibility and I know the Lord is doing the leading, I'm well aware that He is providing my strength!  Otherwise I truly don't have what it takes!

Failure has also taught me that I should not say yes to something because others think it would be good for me - unless I have the accompanying clear peace of God the Holy Spirit.  I think I’ve learned this lesson well enough that now I am far more inclined to say no when I don’t think I am gifted for something, or when prayer about it doesn’t lead to a yes from God Himself.  My motto now is:  When in doubt, DON’T!  It really is better to say NO at the outset then have to back out later!

Since that experience and others over the years, I've learned that I love working with older children, but don’t really have the same patience for little ones.  I’ve been teaching middle schoolers (6-8^th grade) in Sunday school for 3 years and have worked as a volunteer with our high school youth group – and I love those age groups.  If you have a middle schooler of your own, then you know that working with them IS a God given gift.  Nearly everyone avoids middle schoolers!

I guess the most important lesson I learned is that God really loves me.  In His eyes, what I think of as failure, was not failure.  It was a divine opportunity to learn: how to discern His will,  to please Him alone and not everyone else, to embrace my limitations as well as my gifts, to learn that a single failure – even a big one – is not the end of my usefulness in His kingdom.

In the end, while I did miss my family, I'm thankful to have gone through those years without them to fall back on.  God's nearness was precious in those lonely times.  He sustained me then, and He sustains me now.  

If you're going through an experience that screams, "failure", in your ear, I hope my experience will encourage you.  Everyone experiences failures, but God's love and care for us remains constant.  You are not alone.