Today’s Readings: Psalm 63; Joshua 4:1-18; John 6:1-15; 1 Corinthians 7:1-7; Psalm 47
Now that my parents have gotten older (my mom is 73 and my dad is 80), they’ve gotten more concerned about preparing things for after they’re gone. This means each year when I go back for a visit, I usually return home with something they want me to have. A few years ago, their thoughts turned to more formal remembrances as they were working on their wills. In discussing what of their bigger possessions I wanted, I said: “I only want two things.” I told them the first thing I wanted the first (and only) oil painting that my mother painted in her painting class 30 years ago; and the second thing I wanted was the plaque my father received commemorating his 20 years of service on the local school board. “Why would you want those things?” my mother asked. “Well, the oil painting serves as a reminder of how much you loved me – enough to give up the painting lessons you had wanted for years just so that I could take piano lessons. And the plaque reminds me of the two values most important to dad besides his family: learning and service. That’s why I want those things.” I was reminded of that conversation with my mother when I read today’s passage from Joshua. In that passage, we hear how God instructs Joshua to have the people lay down twelve stones at their camp site in order to mark the lengths to which God had gone to for them. The rocks they deposited – much like my mother’s oil painting and my father’s school board plaque – became tangible reminders of how much they were loved and cared for: things that carried them through the most difficult times of their lives in the desert. If you were to create a memorial that captured the essence of your experience of God’s love and presence in your life when you most needed it, what would that memorial look like? If it’s possible, find some time and space and physically create that memorial. On some days that memorial just might give you the strength to get you through your own desert experiences in life. Til next time…
Now that my parents have gotten older (my mom is 73 and my dad is 80), they’ve gotten more concerned about preparing things for after they’re gone. This means each year when I go back for a visit, I usually return home with something they want me to have. A few years ago, their thoughts turned to more formal remembrances as they were working on their wills. In discussing what of their bigger possessions I wanted, I said: “I only want two things.” I told them the first thing I wanted the first (and only) oil painting that my mother painted in her painting class 30 years ago; and the second thing I wanted was the plaque my father received commemorating his 20 years of service on the local school board. “Why would you want those things?” my mother asked. “Well, the oil painting serves as a reminder of how much you loved me – enough to give up the painting lessons you had wanted for years just so that I could take piano lessons. And the plaque reminds me of the two values most important to dad besides his family: learning and service. That’s why I want those things.” I was reminded of that conversation with my mother when I read today’s passage from Joshua. In that passage, we hear how God instructs Joshua to have the people lay down twelve stones at their camp site in order to mark the lengths to which God had gone to for them. The rocks they deposited – much like my mother’s oil painting and my father’s school board plaque – became tangible reminders of how much they were loved and cared for: things that carried them through the most difficult times of their lives in the desert. If you were to create a memorial that captured the essence of your experience of God’s love and presence in your life when you most needed it, what would that memorial look like? If it’s possible, find some time and space and physically create that memorial. On some days that memorial just might give you the strength to get you through your own desert experiences in life. Til next time…
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