by Roseanna White | May 21, 2020 | Thoughtful Thursdays
In last weekend’s sermon, my dad preached from Luke 14, and as he went through the Scriptures, something interesting jumped out at me.
First is something that has struck me many times before, in many different passages. Jesus, often about some other task, comes across someone in need. Sometimes He’s at dinner. Sometimes He’s traveling. Sometimes He’s on his way to heal someone else. And what does He always, inevitably do when He sees this other hurting soul? He stops. He heals them. Why?
Because He loves them. Because He feels compassion for them. Because He’s moved.
I tend to think of these things as human emotions–and they are. But I wonder if maybe they’re also the reflection of the Divine in us. Because Jesus, operating solely as man, might have instead resented the distraction or the complication or the delay. If He weren’t perfect, He might have rolled his eyes or grumbled or even muttered under his breath, “Seriously? Another one?” But He doesn’t–ever. Because these things–love, compassion, empathy–are considered virtues, are in fact the Fruit we’re supposed to bear as believers, for good reason.
They’re a reflection of God himself, who is Love.
But we see another side to this too, in that same chapter as well as other places in the Gospels. The places where Jesus warns us that the cost of following Him is high. When He tells us that choosing this Way means abandoning others–that embracing God as Father may mean a break with our earthly one. Where He says that He will come between mother and child. And here, He even says that following Him means hating your family (or “loving them less” as the word means in Greek).
I’ve long since reasoned out that what He’s saying here is that He has to come first. Loving God before anything else is crucial. And if we love other things more–our spouses, our kids, our extended families, our house, our things, our life–then He may well ask us to give those up. Because nothing–NOTHING–should come between us and Him.
Here’s the interesting twist though. How do we show our love for Him, how do we reflect His love for us?
By loving, serving each other.
You see the conundrum? LOL. We have to love what is OURS less than Him…so that we can love what is HIS without reservation. Now, there are surely overlaps–because our spouses and kids and parents and cousins are His too.
But am I willing to serve only them in certain ways? Will I take the food from another child’s mouth to give it to mine? Do I consider these people in my life more mine than His? To do so is natural. Human.
To not do so is, I think, divine.
Don’t get me wrong–God created families, and they’re a crucial part of His plan. He calls us to protect them and preserve them and keep them in good order, as building blocks of His Church. But He also calls us to define “family” through His eyes. To see mothers and fathers, sisters, and brothers everywhere there is faith in Him. To love the stranger, the neighbor, as much as we love ourselves, our own. To prove our love for Him by loving them.
I tend to hold my emotions close, my thoughts and fears, tight. I am, as the English of eras gone by would have said, “reserved.” But I’m praying that God will work on my heart in this way. That I will learn to make myself vulnerable so that I can see friends–brothers, sisters–everywhere I turn.
And so that when I see them hurting, I can’t help but stop. And do everything in HIS power to make them whole, with no thought to myself.
Maybe it’s not a conundrum after all. Just a challenge. One He put forth oh so succinctly. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind. And love your neighbor as yourself.
by Roseanna White | May 18, 2020 | Word of the Week
Originally published 10/15/2012
Okay, y’all, I originally posted this seven and a half years ago, and my call for actual evidence to support the claim below netted me nothing but others who were curious, LOL. So I’m trying again–because this claim has since even appeared on Big Bang Theory, touted by Sheldon. So, seriously, people. Someone defend the claim, or I shall be forced to call Sheldon a liar. 😂
So here’s the deal. I’ve heard from quite a few sources that we moderns are misusing the word nauseous. That it ought not to mean “to feel sick or queasy” but that it rather means “to cause a feeling of nausea.”
Now, I’ve heard this from sources I trust, but they never quote their sources, and I’m now on a quest to figure out why in the world this is touted as grammatical fact and, more, as a “modern mistake” when every dictionary I look it up in says that nauseous has carried both meanings (“to feel sick” and “to make sick”) since 1600-1610.
One dictionary I found says “careful writers will use nauseated for the feeling of queasiness and reserve nauseous for ‘sickening to contemplate.'” I’m okay with being careful, really I am, but I’m still unsure why grammarians are saying that using its original meaning is “a mistake of the moderns.” It is, in fact, the first definition of the word in the OED.
So. Calling all grammarians! 😉 If you learned it this way and could point me to a source (not just an expert like the wonderful Grammar Girl, mind you) that states this as fact, I would be very grateful. I don’t mind changing my ways to be a “careful” writer–but I’m a
Johnnie. I don’t ever accept an expert’s opinion without checking out their sources. 😉
by Roseanna White | May 14, 2020 | Throwback Thursdays
I’ve blogged several times over the years about JOY. What it is, how it’s action and choice and not emotion, how it compares to happiness. In some ways, this post from six years ago started it all, so I thought we’d do a revisit. =)
Last week the small Bible study group I belong to began a study focused around James. I’ve always loved this little book of the Bible, so I was pretty happy to learn that’s what we would be studying. My hubby’s leading us this time, and I know he has always loved James too. We had a great discussion centering around this:
“”Consider it
Joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.”
I memorized this verse as a teenager. I’ve known it for years. I think about it fairly often. But I’d never examined it like we did on Friday.
Consider it comes from a verb that carries a lot of weight. It doesn’t just mean “name it.” It doesn’t just mean “say it is, whether you think it or not.” It means to dwell on it, to journey through it, to arrive at it, to bring it to
Joy. It’s a process, one that involves our minds.
Another key word there is when. Not if. When we fall into trials. We’re going to, that’s not a question. In this world, trouble and sorrow find us no matter whether we’re wicked or righteous. (On a side note, I’ve also been reading the book of Job, and the commentators have been stressing how Job’s assertion that a good man could suffer like he is flew in the face of the Wisdom doctrine of the day.)
Which led to another good point in our discussion, when one of our friends related how someone had just that day asked, basically, “But why? Why do bad things happen to good people?”
It’s an age-old question. Such an age-old question that I’d pretty much stopped considering it and figured everyone else in the world had too, LOL. But obviously it still bothers people. It was pretty silly of me to think otherwise. Because yes, we always ask why. We always ask what we did to deserve a bad turn. We always get angry when someone we love is hurt or dies, or when we do everything right and still seem to be punished. When we lose our jobs. When we suffer injury or illness. When, when, when…
But something hit me while we were talking about that. Not a new thought, I’m sure, but a striking one.
How are we defined, if not by how we react to those trials? What makes us who we are if not whether we stand or fail in the face of adversity?
It isn’t about bad things happening to good people. Bad things happen to everyone. It’s how we respond to them that makes us good or bad.
(“Good” and “Bad” probably aren’t the right words there, actually…)
See, life isn’t about being happy. That’s part of it, and obviously a part we love. But
Joy is something more.
Joy isn’t about circumstances. If it was, then how could James have possibly told us to consider trouble and trials a
Joy? It would be insensible.
But
Joy is that something-deeper we can arrive it. It’s that knowing that, even when we don’t
feel it, God is good. That even when we’re in the valley, the mountain top is waiting. That even through the pain, there’s Someone holding us and loving us.
Joy is finding the beauty in the clouds of the approaching storm (inspired by that photo above I took at the beach last summer).
Joy is knowing that when something is yanked out from under you, it’s because God has a different plan.
Joy is in the journey of trusting Him, that long road where you learn so much.
Joy is in looking back and realizing that if that terrible thing hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t be who you are today.
Joy is in trusting that day will come even when you’re still in the terrible thing.
Joy isn’t easy. It isn’t supposed to be. But the things worth fighting for are just that–
worth fighting for. We need to fight for our
Joy. We need to stop focusing on the things this instant-gratification world tells us will make us
happy and start focusing on what will make us
better. On what will make us
stronger. On what will make us raise our hands and praise Him through the storm.
You know that phrase we sing to that hand-clapping, upbeat melody? We bring the sacrifice of praise…
It’s a sacrifice. That means it’s hard. It’s rough. It’s supposed to hurt. That’s what praise is. Praise is giving Him that shout when we don’t feel it. When we can’t understand it. When the questions are bigger than the answers.
Praise is considering the
Joy. Considering
it–that trial, that trouble–a
Joy.
Nope, it’s not easy. But that’s what makes it beautiful.
by Roseanna White | May 11, 2020 | Word of the Week
Originally posted 8/20/12
Mean is one of those words that I knew well would have been around forever, but I looked it up to see about some of the particular uses. And as usual, found a few surprises. =)
As a verb, mean has meant “intend, have in mind” even back in the days of Old English. No surprise there. It shares a root with similar
words in Dutch and German and various other languages, perhaps from men,
which means “think.” But the unexpected part–the question “Know what I
mean?” is only from 1834! Of course, that’s as a conversational question, a saying. I daresay the words were uttered as a particular question before that. Know what I mean? 😉
As an adjective, it began life as “low-quality.” Like “a mean hovel”
that the poor dude lived in. But it also carried a meaning, rather
related, actually, of “shared by all, common, public.” And presumably, if something were shared by all, it wasn’t really high in quality, eh? So
“inferior, second-rate” was also a natural progression for the word and came about in the 14th century.
I knew this definition would be the oldest but, when I looked it up, was more interested in when the most common meaning if mean
(meaning of mean–ha . . . ha . . . ha…) came into play. It acquired the “stingy, nasty” implication in the 1660s, and was then pretty strong. We Americans had to come along to give it a softer side
of “disobliging, pettily offensive,” so that didn’t come about until
1839–again, there’s the surprise!
And
an interesting note on it too. The inverted sense of “remarkably good,”
(think “wow, he plays a mean piano!”) is from 1900, most likely from a
simple dropping of a negative, like “he is no mean piano player,” (
mean here being either “inferior” or its
other meaning of “average.”)
Have no mean Monday, all! 😉
by Roseanna White | May 7, 2020 | Thoughtful Thursdays
Let me share a few stories with you. You’ve probably heard them before. They’re stories about some of the Great Men of Faith in our recent history. First, one of my favorites about George Muller. One morning at his orphanage, he was informed by a panicked house mother that there was absolutely no food left. What were they to do? How were they to feed the children?
Well, George instructed her to have all the children sit at their places at the table, plates and cups before them–empty. And he proceeded to pray. Thanking God for the food He would provide. Thanking him for the empty plates that were an opportunity for Him to provide in an amazing way. Well, soon after he finished praying, there was a knock at the door. The baker stood there, rather grumpily, saying God had woken him up and told him to bake bread for the orphanage, so there he was with enough to feed them. Not long after he left, there was another knock at the door–the milk cart had broken down right outside the orphanage, and the milkman said they’d better take all the milk, because it would spoil before he could get back to fix the axle.
The Lord provided.
Let’s switch to a D. L. Moody story. They were trying to start the Moody Institute, and they had their plans ready…but it was an expensive undertaking, and they didn’t have the funds for it. In a meeting of the board of directors, they were praying, and one of the members cried out, “Lord, you own the cattle on a thousand hills! Can’t you sell a few to provide for us?” Well, minutes later, there was a knock on the door. A local rancher stood there, with a check in his hands. He’d felt this urging, you see, to sell off part of his herd and give the money to them.
The Lord provided.
And that’s what I’ve always focused on–that the Lord provided. That the prayers of faithful men who were staring down the barrel of NOTHING produced SOMETHING.
But there’s a crucial part of those stories and others like them that I often overlooked. The Lord provided…through other people. Someone else had to knock on the door. Someone else had to listen to the Lord. Someone else had to sacrifice for these Great Men’s Great Visions to happen.
And those Someone Elses had to do it before the men even prayed.
Generally when I read or hear those stories, I always imagine myself in the place of the one asking, right? The one with the vision. We cast ourselves in the role of the person who has the calling and who calls out to God. In fact, we’ve done that. We’ve cried out, and then waited for His answer.
But what if they don’t come? Has God failed?
Or have we? Not the we who does the asking…but the we who were supposed to do the answering. The we who were supposed to be listening. The we who should have been willing to do the work, make the sacrifice, knock on the door. The we who God meant to use to provide for that Great Thing.
I’ve been pondering this so much lately. It’s easy to be passionate about our own callings. To be willing to sacrifice or suffer for it. But how do we become so passionate about someone else’s, to the point that we’re willing to sell off our possessions, rise in the middle of night, or do the thing that seems a little crazy in order to provide for someone else’s dream?
We were talking about this in our Bible study and someone said, “Well, we have to exercise our hearts so that they’re ready.” I’ll be honest–I don’t know what this looks like. But it strikes me as true. So the question, then, is how do we do that?
Well, I have to think it means listening daily for the smaller ways He’d have us reach out and help others. Maybe that means something simple like getting up a few minutes early to have coffee ready for our spouse. Maybe it means stopping what we’re doing to make a phone call or send an email or drop a card in the mail when the Lord brings someone to our minds and hearts. Maybe it means skipping that meal out and instead sending a gift card to someone you think could use it. Maybe it means lending someone your car so they can go and do the thing you know they need to do–or even driving them to it.
Maybe it means listening, really listening when we hear about others’ dreams and callings, and earnestly asking, “Lord, what can I do to help them?” Even when it’s not our calling. Even when it’s not something we are passionate about.
This, I think, is how the church builds true community. And it’s also how we grow–as individuals, and as a body. It’s how we bind ourselves together and value the foot and the ear and the nose as much as the hand or eyes.
I tend to give a lot of thought to where God might want me to go. But now…now I’m also going to be listening to what doors he might ask me to knock on for someone else’s going.
Roseanna M. White is a bestselling, Christy Award winning author who has long claimed that words are the air she breathes. When not writing fiction, she’s homeschooling her two kids, editing, designing book covers, and pretending her house will clean itself. Roseanna is the author of a slew of historical novels that span several continents and thousands of years. Spies and war and mayhem always seem to find their way into her books…to offset her real life, which is blessedly ordinary.