I wasn't in the best mood on Wednesday morning. At all. Traffic on the 10 fwy had been especially horrific (it took me 50 minutes to drive 7.8 miles), and when I finally arrived at work 20 minutes late, I had several unpleasant e-mails waiting for me in my inbox. It was enough to send me straight into the hallway, tears ruining my not-so-carefully applied mascara, as I begged God to help me out a little. (Or a lot.)
The bad start to my day sent me into the sort of funk that I didn't think could be eradicated by anything. Except for maybe winning the lottery or a fabulous trip to someplace exotic or tropical (I could really use a tan).
Then, later in the morning, I had to go pick up a gift certificate from Burke Williams Spa in Santa Monica. As I left the building, certificate in hand, I noticed a Leonida's Belgium Chocolate shop just down the block. Pushing aside the nagging voice in my head that told me 11 am is too early for chocolates, I popped in to check out the loot. The cheerful girl behind the counter immediately welcomed me into the nearly empty chocolatier and seemed completely happy to wait for me to hem and haw over my pivotal purchasing decision.
By the time I finally decided on the "Louise," a milk chocolate covered caramel-flavored praline, I was convinced that I'd driven her half-way to crazy with all my questions about her favorites, the most popular, etc. Yet, she continued to be as sweet as the candy in the display case and didn't reveal a hint of irritation at my indecisiveness. Instead, she told me that they also carried the "Louise" in dark and white chocolate and asked if I'd like to sample one. This was an easy one -- of course, I wanted to try the dark chocolate! She put the dark and milk chocolates into a small plastic sack, and as I reached for my wallet, she waved me away.
"No need to pay -- you can just take them." She said.
I stood agog, not quite sure how to respond to her kindness. I finally found my voice, a bit shaky with emotion, and said, "Thank you. I've had the worst day, and you've made it so much better."
She gave me a shy smile in return and sent me on my way with wishes that it continued to get better.
And it did. Her simple act of kindness quickly turned my sour mood around. The whole situation reminded me of my grandmother who was also fond of those small gestures. She was constantly baking pies and cookies for her friends, knitting dishclothes for them, or sending little notes to brighten their day. I'll always remember her for those small acts of kindness and the twinkle she'd get in her eye when she'd turn to us and say, "I've done my good deed for the day."
Her words and the chocolate shop girl's actions are reminders that the Lord doesn't always answer prayers or make His appearance in a grandiose manner. His presence is often most apparent in the humble displays of kindness -- like a couple pieces of chocolate, a smile from a stranger or a hug from a friend.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Missing the Mustard Seed
I'm just going to go ahead and say it. I zoned out at church today.
I didn't mean to. I had the pew pencil in my hand so I could take notes and even managed to scribble down something about government being created to combat anarchy and distribute wealth. See? I was totally primed to get something out of this morning's sermon at Bel Air Pres!
But then the pastor started talking about some rulers from the eleventh century (or was it the seventh?) and my stomach started rumbling, and before I knew it I was fantasizing about the quiche I was going to get with my mom for lunch after church. I managed to get my head back in the game when we were asked to turn our Bibles to Matthew 3:31, and I confidently chimed in with the rest of the congregation as we read about how a great big tree with lots of branches can grow from just a tiny mustard seed. (Point being - just a little bit of faith or a little good deed can reap great things.)
"Okay," I thought, "this is good -- I can relate to this parable."
Happy that the pastor was quoting the New Testament and the always entertaining Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, I was back at full attention. Or at least I was until he started up with the First Crusades and read us some propaganda that was circulated about the Muslims during that time. Suddenly, my focus went AWOL again.
I was eager to leave the church as soon as the service ended so that I could get started on my hour drive down to Orange County, but I knew I'd have to go to the bathroom before I began my trek down the 405. I contemplated going before the sermon ended so I wouldn't have to go after and get stuck in all the crazy parking lot traffic, but I didn't want to be the "Excuse me, pardon me, can I just get by?" girl who makes everyone move during the pivotal moment of spiritual enlightenment. I might not be getting anything out of the sermon, but that didn't mean that my pew friends weren't!
Before I knew it, the pastor was wrapping things up, and TJ and the band were heading back on stage.
"That's it?" I thought. "But wait! I didn't get anything out of that! I already knew about the mustard seed!"
My silent protests were futile -- it was too late. I'd missed the boat, missed the message and missed out on an opportunity to grow a wee bit closer to God. Yes, it was just one sermon out of the 52 I hear every year, but it still could have been a mustard seed for some sort of action in my life. While I'm not a ruler and am not living in anarchy, there is still loads of anarchy going on in my head!
So here I am. At home in OC, wondering what it was that Pastor Mark Brewer said when I was so busy worrying about getting to that quiche and my mom as quickly as possible. The quiche was good, but it would have been just as good if I'd eaten five minutes later. In the grand scheme of my life, it was inconsequential. I ate it, it was satisfying, and then it was gone. God's word is never gone. It is a living word that never passes away, and like that little mustard seed, can grow into something truly magnificent.
Next week, I'll be listening. And I'll be sure to eat a bigger breakfast.
I didn't mean to. I had the pew pencil in my hand so I could take notes and even managed to scribble down something about government being created to combat anarchy and distribute wealth. See? I was totally primed to get something out of this morning's sermon at Bel Air Pres!
But then the pastor started talking about some rulers from the eleventh century (or was it the seventh?) and my stomach started rumbling, and before I knew it I was fantasizing about the quiche I was going to get with my mom for lunch after church. I managed to get my head back in the game when we were asked to turn our Bibles to Matthew 3:31, and I confidently chimed in with the rest of the congregation as we read about how a great big tree with lots of branches can grow from just a tiny mustard seed. (Point being - just a little bit of faith or a little good deed can reap great things.)
"Okay," I thought, "this is good -- I can relate to this parable."
Happy that the pastor was quoting the New Testament and the always entertaining Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, I was back at full attention. Or at least I was until he started up with the First Crusades and read us some propaganda that was circulated about the Muslims during that time. Suddenly, my focus went AWOL again.
I was eager to leave the church as soon as the service ended so that I could get started on my hour drive down to Orange County, but I knew I'd have to go to the bathroom before I began my trek down the 405. I contemplated going before the sermon ended so I wouldn't have to go after and get stuck in all the crazy parking lot traffic, but I didn't want to be the "Excuse me, pardon me, can I just get by?" girl who makes everyone move during the pivotal moment of spiritual enlightenment. I might not be getting anything out of the sermon, but that didn't mean that my pew friends weren't!
Before I knew it, the pastor was wrapping things up, and TJ and the band were heading back on stage.
"That's it?" I thought. "But wait! I didn't get anything out of that! I already knew about the mustard seed!"
My silent protests were futile -- it was too late. I'd missed the boat, missed the message and missed out on an opportunity to grow a wee bit closer to God. Yes, it was just one sermon out of the 52 I hear every year, but it still could have been a mustard seed for some sort of action in my life. While I'm not a ruler and am not living in anarchy, there is still loads of anarchy going on in my head!
So here I am. At home in OC, wondering what it was that Pastor Mark Brewer said when I was so busy worrying about getting to that quiche and my mom as quickly as possible. The quiche was good, but it would have been just as good if I'd eaten five minutes later. In the grand scheme of my life, it was inconsequential. I ate it, it was satisfying, and then it was gone. God's word is never gone. It is a living word that never passes away, and like that little mustard seed, can grow into something truly magnificent.
Next week, I'll be listening. And I'll be sure to eat a bigger breakfast.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The Pearl Necklace
The thought of spending another hour in my car was daunting. It was cold outside (for LA), I'd just finished a lovely glass of Zinfandel, and all I wanted to do was curl up in my new blue fuzzy sweatpants, eat the frozen brownies I have stashed in my freezer, and watch "Fringe" with my roommate.
But then I heard it.
"You should go, Diana. You can't drive an hour for God?" It said.
I wanted to ignore it, but I knew in my heart that I needed to go to the Foundry, Bel Air Presbyterian's youth group, that meets on Tuesday nights. I quickly responded to my friend's e-mail asking if I wanted to join her.
As usual, that pesky little voice that I often try so hard to drown out, was right. I really did need to be there last night. Without going into an exorbitant amount of detail, an opportunity presented itself to me yesterday, and I was struggling to decide whether I should grab hold of it with all my might, or drop it like a hot potato. In the end, I went for the hot potato method.
While it would be nice, neat and Hollywood cute to say that I made my decision all because of the story that the guest speaker preached to us last night, I already knew in my gut that the opportunity wasn't right for me. Regardless, the story struck a chord with me -- so much so, that on my 30-minute drive home last night, I relayed it to my mother. And now, I will relay it here (with a few of my own dramatic embellishments).
----
Once upon a time, a young girl named Sammie and her father were having dinner at Cici's Pizza, a pizza buffet-type restaurant that is apparently absurdly popular in areas other than Southern California. As Sammie was polishing off a greasy slice of their pepperoni, she noticed the arcade section tucked away in the corner of the eatery. There was the usual Pac-Man, some sort of race car game that did not appeal to her feminine sensibilities at all, and "the Claw."
Sammie abandoned her pizza and approached "the Claw" game. She peered through the glass and saw a beautiful pearl necklace in the middle of the mostly egregious pile of toys. Her eyes grew large with desire, and she begged her dad to let her play. He agreed, and Sammie immediately beginning feeding her hard-earned allowance into the machine. Yet try as she might, she couldn't seem to catch the necklace. Her dad was beginning to grow impatient, but Sammie was so enamored by the necklace that she couldn't walk away. Finally after 30 minutes had passed, she was down to her last quarter. This was it. Her last chance to get the necklace.
She slipped the quarter through the slot and narrowed her eye in concentration. She moved quickly -- pushing the controller so the claw stopped just above her coveted prize and held her breath as she watched it drop. Please, please, please, she thought as the claw closed around the necklace. Maneuvering the claw over to the exit hole, her heart nearly exploded in joy -- she'd won it! She'd won the beautiful pearl necklace!
For the next few months, Sammie wore the necklace every day. It went with her everywhere she went -- the park, school, even to the swimming pool. As time passed by, the necklace started to show its age. The paint was chipping off, the thread was wearing thin and it no longer had the lustrous sheen it did when Sammie had first seen it at the arcade. Yet despite its appearance, Sammie still loved it -- it was her most prized possession and she never took it off.
During this time, Sammie's father had begun a strange ritual every night when he tucked her into bed. He would always ask her the same question -- "Sammie, can I have your necklace?" and Sammie would always give him the same answer -- "No Dad, I worked so so hard for it and I spent all my allowance on it and I love it so much! I can't give you the necklace."
After months of this back-and-forth, Sammie started to think that maybe she should give her dad the necklace. If he kept asking for it, he probably had a good reason to want it. One night, before he came in to her room, she decided that this time when he asked she would give it to him. Her trust in him was greater than her love for the necklace.
When her dad came in, he again asked her, "Sammie, can I have your necklace?" and Sammie looked up at him, at his wise compassionate eyes, and nodded. She slowly took the necklace off and slipped it into his hand. Her father smiled, patted her head and took a velvet bag out of his pocket. He reached in and pulled out the most beautiful real pearl necklace that Sammie had ever seen -- better than anything she could have ever imagined or ever bought for herself with her measly allowance. It was perfect.
-----
The message that comes across here is one of sacrifice -- giving up something that we think is important to obtain something more amazing than we could ever imagine from God. To me, the beautiful pearl necklace signified the opportunity I am meant to embrace -- not the crusted, tattered one that I wanted to be the right thing earlier in the day. Even if the connection isn't picture perfect or, as I mentioned earlier, "Hollywood cute," I still felt as though it was somehow relevant to my crisis.
Today, as I set on my couch drinking another glass of red Zin, I felt perfectly at peace. I know that God has a plan for me, and I know that it will be better than I can even begin to imagine. I just have to trust Him and give myself fully to His grace.
----
Once upon a time, a young girl named Sammie and her father were having dinner at Cici's Pizza, a pizza buffet-type restaurant that is apparently absurdly popular in areas other than Southern California. As Sammie was polishing off a greasy slice of their pepperoni, she noticed the arcade section tucked away in the corner of the eatery. There was the usual Pac-Man, some sort of race car game that did not appeal to her feminine sensibilities at all, and "the Claw."
Sammie abandoned her pizza and approached "the Claw" game. She peered through the glass and saw a beautiful pearl necklace in the middle of the mostly egregious pile of toys. Her eyes grew large with desire, and she begged her dad to let her play. He agreed, and Sammie immediately beginning feeding her hard-earned allowance into the machine. Yet try as she might, she couldn't seem to catch the necklace. Her dad was beginning to grow impatient, but Sammie was so enamored by the necklace that she couldn't walk away. Finally after 30 minutes had passed, she was down to her last quarter. This was it. Her last chance to get the necklace.
She slipped the quarter through the slot and narrowed her eye in concentration. She moved quickly -- pushing the controller so the claw stopped just above her coveted prize and held her breath as she watched it drop. Please, please, please, she thought as the claw closed around the necklace. Maneuvering the claw over to the exit hole, her heart nearly exploded in joy -- she'd won it! She'd won the beautiful pearl necklace!
For the next few months, Sammie wore the necklace every day. It went with her everywhere she went -- the park, school, even to the swimming pool. As time passed by, the necklace started to show its age. The paint was chipping off, the thread was wearing thin and it no longer had the lustrous sheen it did when Sammie had first seen it at the arcade. Yet despite its appearance, Sammie still loved it -- it was her most prized possession and she never took it off.
During this time, Sammie's father had begun a strange ritual every night when he tucked her into bed. He would always ask her the same question -- "Sammie, can I have your necklace?" and Sammie would always give him the same answer -- "No Dad, I worked so so hard for it and I spent all my allowance on it and I love it so much! I can't give you the necklace."
After months of this back-and-forth, Sammie started to think that maybe she should give her dad the necklace. If he kept asking for it, he probably had a good reason to want it. One night, before he came in to her room, she decided that this time when he asked she would give it to him. Her trust in him was greater than her love for the necklace.
When her dad came in, he again asked her, "Sammie, can I have your necklace?" and Sammie looked up at him, at his wise compassionate eyes, and nodded. She slowly took the necklace off and slipped it into his hand. Her father smiled, patted her head and took a velvet bag out of his pocket. He reached in and pulled out the most beautiful real pearl necklace that Sammie had ever seen -- better than anything she could have ever imagined or ever bought for herself with her measly allowance. It was perfect.
-----
The message that comes across here is one of sacrifice -- giving up something that we think is important to obtain something more amazing than we could ever imagine from God. To me, the beautiful pearl necklace signified the opportunity I am meant to embrace -- not the crusted, tattered one that I wanted to be the right thing earlier in the day. Even if the connection isn't picture perfect or, as I mentioned earlier, "Hollywood cute," I still felt as though it was somehow relevant to my crisis.
Today, as I set on my couch drinking another glass of red Zin, I felt perfectly at peace. I know that God has a plan for me, and I know that it will be better than I can even begin to imagine. I just have to trust Him and give myself fully to His grace.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)