Friday, June 19, 2015

Let's Hydrate the Homeless

Miss Debbie with her new water bottle
Raise your hand if you've noticed that IT'S HOT OUT THERE. I can tell you for sure: my homeless friends have noticed.

Consider how long you spend outdoors each day (me, not a lot) and how much refreshment you're taking in to ward off the heat. (I always have a glass of water by my side.)


But what if your home were outside . . . and you traveled by foot . . . and you had little to no funds for refreshment? 

That's a very real scenario for my friends on the streets. Think of them every time you take a drink.


I took one of those friends out for ice cream this week. Although he enjoyed the ice cream, he showed considerably more excitement when I told him there was a water fountain in the back. He popped up, grabbed his old Dasani bottle, and made a beeline.

And Miss Debbie had guzzled down half the bottle, water pouring out the sides of her mouth and down her shirt, before the camera was ready. (We asked her to take another drink for the photograph. She happily obliged. :)

I know you've heard it before, but it is so relevant here:


For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in. . . . Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me (Matthew 25:35, 40 NASB).

That's what I'm asking you to do: quench the thirst of the least of them. (And note that little phrase: "to the extent.")

We need various forms of hydration for various living conditions. For some, a cold, disposable bottle of water is the best solution. For others, sturdy, refillable water bottles would be treasured. (They can refill at the library and the Greenway.) And for some areas, a water cooler with disposable cups would be most efficient.

Some ideas: 
  • Rolling coolers (to stay with a nonprofit)
  • A portable water cooler/tank (to stay with the nonprofit)
  • Something like THIS would be so helpful! (to stay with a nonprofit)
  • Cases of bottled water
  • Gatorade (or other sports/electrolyte drinks)
  • Gatorade mix/powder/liquid concentrate (or other sports/electrolyte mixes)
  • Refillable water bottles (New, please. The one pictured above came from Dollar Tree.)
  • Paper/disposable cups
  • Gallons of filtered/spring water
  • Carabiners (to hang bottles on backpacks, etc.) 

But we're not picky--they're not picky. Any method of hydration will do.

Will you help us? And will you ask your church, Sunday school class, youth group, and friends to contribute in whatever way they can too?

If you're around Murfreesboro, supplies can be dropped off at WGNS. You can donate online here (note "Hydrate the Homeless"). If neither of those are convenient, comment below or email meWe will find a way!

Of course, in doing so, we're also providing a taste of living water, water that never will run dry.

Friday, June 12, 2015

Losing My Religion

I’ve got a little hothead in my blood.

My dad was a hothead. His dad was a hothead. And I’m sure you could scan through our Scottish bloodline and find a few others to add to the list.

But thank God, one of the fruits of the Spirit is self-control: "The Spirit produces the fruit of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control” (Galatians 5:22-23 NCV). 

I love loving on people. I’m pretty good at patience and peace. But self-control, that last-listed fruit of the Spirit, is one that I’m still growing.

And when someone attacks my kids or my Christianity, well, that fruit rots and falls flat off the vine.

Like recently.

It doesn’t matter who did what. But I lost it. I said things I shouldn’t have. Loudly. Angrily. Lacking self-control.

Sure, I stomped back over there and apologized. But it was too late. I couldn’t erase those words. No matter how truthful they were. (Okay. See. I’m still working on it.)

When things cooled down, my husband turned to my ten-year-old son. “What were you doing while we were over there?”

He slowly shook his head and smiled. “I was praying.”

“Ethan, really. What were you doing?”

The smile disappeared. “I was praying! Praying that everything would turn out all right.”

And that’s when the fruit of gentleness knocked me in the head. Those sweet words from my living, breathing, ten-year ministry were a much needed, grace-soaked reminder. Even in those moments when I completely lose my fruit, the seeds that I’ve planted will stand strong and continue to grow.

And maybe, just maybe, the occasional rotten fruit will help to fertilize those seeds.

Because our God gets it. He’s amazing like that.

What fruits are you trying to grow? And when does your fruit fall flat?

Thursday, June 4, 2015

Being a Woman Is . . .

Being a woman begins with one little chromosome that sets a swirl of miracles in motion.

Being a woman is entering a world that carries you a little gentler, speaks to you a little softer, then throws you into the real world and expects you to succeed.

Being a woman is overcoming that world in stilettos--or sneakers--and a smile.

Being a woman is learning from an early age to hide regular, crushing pain, and still march on in spite of it. 

It is learning to love that pain because it gives us the ability to carry new life.

It's having the superpower to grow humans in your belly--and being held responsible for that power every. single. day. of your life.

It's having to defend the choice not to exercise that power. 

And it's mourning the emptiness of the loss of that power.  

Being a woman is having the ability to create the purest nourishment for your child, both inside the womb and out--and being held responsible for that ability every. single. day.

Being a woman is a life of giving, listening, caring, nurturing. Wiping noses and kissing boo-boos. Stroking sweaty hair and cleaning puked-on toilets--even when you feel like dying yourself. It's giving until you feel you can't possibly give any more, until you look in the mirror and see smeared mascara and a ratty sweatshirt and gray hair and crow's feet and laugh lines and beautiful memories molded into your face.

It's helping your dad on a bedpan. It's giving your mom a bath. 

It's watching the woman who taught you to be a woman suffer and die from the very parts that defined her a woman--and knowing that it was worth every magical moment.

Being a woman isn't about rewards for service or bravery or heroism--because that's just what we do.

Being a woman is not now, nor has it ever been, about the sum of the parts you see on the outside. It is the ugly, beautiful, individual, vulnerable, powerful, inimitable, phenomenal creation of God.

It is all of those things. And so much more.

Don't ever let this world tell you differently.