Every Part, Connected

Two shows. Clipboards carrying different agendas. Bus after bus. A handful of talented actors playing many parts, ushers, staff, countless technicians—and a magnificent venue. What did we all have in common? What brought us together? I came to do my part. As the day unfolded, I began to see the whole.

More than 1,400 children, from over age 5 through middle school, came to Gallagher-Bluedorn for Frindle, with more than 12 buses arriving for each show. All three levels—orchestra, mezzanine, and gallery—were occupied. It was cold outside. In our usual white and black uniforms, my fellow ushers and I helped the children and their leaders reach their seats. I was one usher among many, seeing the day from the inside out—starting with my own part and noticing how it fit with everyone else’s.

The show’s story centers on inventive fifth grader Nick Allen and Mrs. Granger, his strict, dictionary-loving language arts teacher.

Nick’s friends carry his new word for a pen from person to person, helping his idea reach others. From my place among the ushers, I saw words doing their work, too: a bus number on a clipboard, a direction to a teacher, a quiet reminder from a counterpart. Each message connected someone’s next step with someone else’s. What I could see from my own role opened onto a larger whole—ushers, teachers, leaders, drivers, actors, and staff, receiving, responding, and passing something on.

As messages passed along, the schedule came to life: groups found their doors, teachers guided students, ushers led the way. My thoughts darted, too. Which doors? Which staircase? Which seats? I was taking it all in while keeping us on course.

My last group: about 50 students, several teachers, one usher. Me. Route in mind, I headed toward the building with my clipboard—instructions and group information on the front, bus number on the back. Another usher tapped it. “Your group is kind of slowly getting out of the buses,” he said. I looked back. Some children were still getting into line. I’d had my eye on where we were going; he’d noticed who was still behind. His attentiveness met my planning.

Oh. We stopped.

We stood in the crisp autumn air, breathing it in while the others caught up.

Our group paused, but the day kept moving around us. Other groups streamed through different doors, teachers and leaders showing them the way to staircases and seats. What had scattered my thoughts now came together before me: separate entrances, separate groups, one moving puzzle.

We smiled at each other. I was grateful for that quiet help. I adjusted our route, dropped off the bus group’s name and number, and led everyone to their seats. Around us, teachers, leaders, and a principal or two were smiling and gently settling the children. Those squiggling bodies had found their seats; sitting still was another matter.

At a quick lunch, the actors fit easily among the ushers. Comments passed between us, and smiles answered smiles. There was joy in that easy company, and kindness in the generous way they joined us.

No stage between us now, just a shared pause. Their gift was bringing the story to life; ours was helping the children reach it. At lunch, we offered one another something beyond our jobs: company, warmth, a welcome. I was grateful for what we gave and received.

After lunch, we returned to our parts for a second show—another 1,400 children. With the morning’s experience, the familiar rhythm began again: buses, groups, doors, staircases, seats.

As I thought back over the day, Christ’s light seemed to bring that moving puzzle into focus: each person mattered. Ephesians 4:16 came to mind—growing together in Christ, “as each part does its work.” Ephesians 4:2 named the humility, gentleness, and patience I’d seen in our exchanges.

The gifts weren’t all alike: the actors’ storytelling, the teachers’ patient guidance, another usher’s attentiveness alongside my planning. Aides, traffic personnel, drivers, and staff brought their own skills. I was grateful for what each person offered—and for what we could learn from one another.

Ephesians 4:29 calls for words that build others up according to their needs. Ours were often simple—instructions, bus numbers, directions, a reminder. But they reached from one person to another and kept our different gifts connected.

Nick’s word needed people to carry it. So did our day.

The quiet reminder and lunch smiles became my prayer: Lord, open our hearts to hear one another and join our gifts through care.

Help me trust that You bring us together for a reason, not by accident—for the good of the whole and the glory of the ONE bringing us together.

While You Are Waiting… God Is With You

Doesn’t it feel a bit like Noah’s ark around here, fellow Iowans? Another early-morning thunderstorm has rolled through, and now everything is glistening. Even the rusting black railing around our front porch is shining. Rain can make almost anything look renewed, can’t it?

Meanwhile, our half-painted blue house sits there—waiting. The unfinished side, still white and dappled with bare spots from the power washer, seems to be waiting right along with us. Rain beads on the protective plastic covering the front windows and shutters. Our beautiful bay window has disappeared behind it all. So, what do we do? We sigh, watch the clouds, and wait for the painter to return.

Waiting at the Window

Then, a few days later, the painter finally removed the covering. Oh, what a happy day for our dear old Rascal! He had his favorite front window back—the place from which he faithfully guards the house. We open it just a little, and once again he can take in the world outside. His sight is limited now, and the dark street frightens him. But that familiar window? It helps him feel safe.

And isn’t that where many of us are sometimes—waiting at the window, hoping something will change? Patience is hard. We want answers now. We want the rain to stop, the work to begin, the door to open. But Scripture gently tells us, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). Breathe, friend. Our plans may not be God’s plans, and our timing may not be His timing. When we cannot see the whole path, we can still trust the One who can: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5).

I see the same lesson when we walk Rascal. He may want to go straight ahead, but we can see a small hole in the path that he cannot. So we guide him around it. He may tug toward the direction he chose—perhaps wondering why we are stopping him—but we know what lies ahead. Could God be doing the same for us? A delay or redirection may feel frustrating, yet it may also be loving protection. “In all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight” (Proverbs 3:6).

Safe in the Shepherd’s Care

Rascal has a way of accepting the day as it comes. He uses his other senses, loves his humans, and knows we love him. How does he know? By the gentle hands, the regular meals, the twice-daily walks, and the familiar voices telling him he is safe. He may fear what he cannot see, but he is surrounded by care.

Yes, he bumps his nose now and then. He misses a step. His legs are a little frail. But Rassy shakes it off! He runs, barks, plays, eats, drinks, and goes looking for the next wonderful sniff on our walks. Watching him reminds me that weakness and uncertainty do not erase the goodness still right in front of us.

Friend, God offers us that same steady presence: “Do not fear, for I am with you” (Isaiah 41:10). That promise does not mean every delay will suddenly make sense. It means we are not abandoned while we wait. We are seen. We are guided. We are loved. And as Isaiah 40:31 reminds us, those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.

Grace for This Day

Our friends in the South are praying for rain, while here in Iowa we might gladly box up a few clouds and send them along! Isn’t it interesting? What feels like an interruption to one person may look like an answered prayer to another. Maybe that is one gift hidden in the waiting: we learn to hold our plans a little more loosely, notice the blessings already around us, and trust that God is working beyond what we can see.

Lord, when I cannot see the way ahead, help me trust Your loving guidance. Give me patience in the delays, courage in uncertainty, and gratitude for today’s small joys. Remind me that I am safe in Your care—and that I am never alone. Amen.

Return Jesus to the Center

What runs through your mind every day? How much of it is focused on you—how you are seen, how you are doing, how you are measuring up, and how you relate to the world around you? Scripture invites us to “set your minds on things above, not on earthly things” (Colossians 3:2), reminding me that the direction of my thoughts shapes the direction of my heart.

It is easy to become absorbed in our own thoughts. We replay conversations. We worry about what others think. We chase comfort, entertainment, approval, and control. But when my mind is full of myself, there is less room for Jesus to be at the center of my life. Jesus said, “Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness” (Matthew 6:33), and that calling exposes how often I seek first my own security, image, or ease.

The Question Beneath Every Moment

What is the goal of each day and each moment? That question has started to confront me. Jesus went to the cross moves toward me when my brain and only hides, moves away. His grace covers all my sins. Is my goal simply to be entertained, understood, affirmed, comfortable, and protected from failure? Or is my goal to remain close to Christ, attentive to His presence, and willing to follow Him even when my own desires pull me elsewhere? “Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men” (Colossians 3:23) reminds me that even ordinary moments can be directed toward Him.

I have become aware that I have been attached—maybe even addicted—to movies, television, YouTube, shopping, and the world’s opinion of me. These things may seem harmless on the surface, but they can slowly become places where I run for escape, comfort, identity, and distraction. Paul’s warning that “all things are lawful,” but not all things are helpful, and that he would “not be dominated by anything” (1 Corinthians 6:12), gives language to this struggle.

The Noise That Competes with Christ

Distraction does not always announce itself as rebellion. Sometimes it looks like one more episode, one more video, one more purchase, one more attempt to numb the ache inside. But over time, the noise trains my heart to avoid silence. It teaches me to fear stillness, because stillness reveals what I have been trying not to face. Jesus’ words to Martha echo into this kind of busyness: “You are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary” (Luke 10:41–42).

In the quiet, I begin to notice the tension within me. There is a light burning brightly in my heart, drawing me toward God. But there is also a part of me—my distracted mind, my secular desires, my longing to be taken care of without surrender—that wants to be lost, unseen, and unable to keep up. It wants to avoid the risk of saying the wrong thing, failing, or being exposed. Yet Jesus calls me not to hide, but to come: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

The Way Back Begins with Silence

I am beginning to see that becoming free from these attachments does not start with more noise. It starts with silence. It starts with observing my thoughts instead of being swallowed by them. “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10) becomes less like a command to perform and more like an invitation to stop running.

Sometimes the way back begins outside—watching the trees move in the wind, hearing birdsong, feeling the sun on my face, or noticing how quietly the earth receives God’s care. Nature slows me down enough to see what I have been missing. It reminds me that God is present without hurry, and that I can turn back toward Him gently, one breath at a time. Jesus Himself “often withdrew to lonely places and prayed” (Luke 5:16), showing that quiet withdrawal can be part of faithful return.

Silence gives me space to remember that I am not my urges, my fears, my distractions, or my failures. I am loved by God. I am invited to return. I am called to let Christ become the center again—not just in theory, but in the tiny choices of each day. “Abide in me, and I in you” (John 15:4) names the deeper goal: not merely to manage distractions, but to remain with Him.

A Daily Practice of Returning

Maybe the goal is not to never be distracted. Maybe the goal is to notice when I am distracted and return. To pause before opening the app. To sit quietly before filling the room with sound. To ask, “Jesus, where are You in this moment? What are You inviting me to see?” This kind of returning echoes the invitation, “Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you” (James 4:8).

Every moment can become a doorway back to Him. Every temptation to escape can become an invitation to pray. Every ache for comfort can become a reminder that my deepest need is not another screen, another purchase, or another opinion—it is communion with Christ. “In your presence there is fullness of joy” (Psalm 16:11), and that joy is deeper than distraction because it is rooted in Him.

So today, I want to practice returning. Returning from noise to silence. Returning from self-focus to surrender. Returning from distraction to presence. Returning from the world’s conception of me to the truth of who I am in Jesus. “Let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus” (Hebrews 12:1–2).

Prayer

Jesus, help me notice what keeps You out of the center of my life. Teach me to be still without fear. Help me observe my thoughts without becoming trapped in them. Lead me away from noise that numbs me and toward silence that awakens me. Let each day and each moment become an opportunity to return to You. “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me” (Psalm 51:10). Amen.

Your Wound Is Not Your Identity

Love is patient. Love is kind. Love never fails.

Yesterday felt like a grounding for the day. The clouds seemed to carry an image of prayer, as if heaven was bending low and inviting me to look up again. After church, the presence of Jesus lingered with me in a deep way. The words kept returning: love is patient, love is kind, love is not irritable or rude, and love never fails.

Those words are not just beautiful language for a wedding or a Sunday morning reading. They are the nature of God’s love toward the wounded places in us. His love does not rush the hurting soul. It does not shame the tender place. It does not roll its eyes at the wound that still rises up into today. Love is patient enough to sit with what still aches, and kind enough to call us forward without condemning us for bleeding.

When the Wound Rises Up

Some wounds do not stay neatly tucked away in yesterday. They rise up into today—in our thoughts, our bodies, our relationships, our reactions, and even in the way we pray. A wound can come from a physical injury, a social relationship, a disease or illness, betrayal, rejection, loss, disappointment, or a place in life where we expected comfort but received pain.

When a wound is deep, it can begin to cough up into the present. It can affect how we hear people, how we respond to love, how quickly we protect ourselves, and how easily we expect rejection. It can make us cautious, guarded, defensive, tired, or prayerful in a desperate way. Sometimes the wound becomes so familiar that we start to mistake it for who we are.

But your wound is not your identity. It may explain part of what happened to you, but it does not have the authority to define who you are. Pain may describe an experience, but it is not your name. Illness may describe a season, but it is not your calling. Rejection may describe someone else’s failure to love you well, but it is not the measure of your worth.

The Woman Who Reached Through the Crowd

The woman with the issue of blood had been bleeding for twelve years. For twelve years, her body carried pain. For twelve years, her condition affected her community life, her worship, her relationships, and likely her sense of belonging. She had spent what she had, tried what she knew, and still she was not better. Her wound had become public enough to isolate her and private enough to exhaust her.

Yet somewhere inside her, hope was still alive. Scripture tells us she heard about Jesus and came up behind Him in the crowd. She said, “If I may touch but his clothes, I shall be whole.” Before her hand touched the hem of His garment, faith had already touched her heart. Her body reached outward because her soul had already begun reaching upward.

That detail matters. She did not come with a polished speech. She did not come with proof that she had handled everything perfectly. She came with need, faith, and courage. She reached for the edge, the fringe, the hem—the place that represented covenant and promise. She reached because something in her knew that Jesus carried what her wound could not cancel.

And Jesus did not call her “wound.” He did not call her “unclean.” He did not call her “problem,” “interruption,” or “too much.” He called her daughter. In one word, Jesus restored more than her body. He restored her belonging.

Love Does Not Shame the Wounded

This is where love becomes more than a concept. Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is not irritable or rude. Love never fails. The love of Jesus does not shame us for still needing healing. It does not demand that we pretend the wound never happened. It does not blame us for the places where pain has made us tired.

At the same time, love does not leave us curled around the injury forever. There is a holy tenderness in Jesus that both embraces and frees. It is the kind of love that can hug the wounded heart and still whisper, “Come forward. You are more than this. Get up from the place that tried to name you.”

Sometimes healing begins when we stop blaming, stop judging, and simply look to Jesus—the One who made creation, the One who understands dust and breath, blood and spirit, sorrow and resurrection. My go-to is prayer. Not because prayer ignores reality, but because prayer brings reality into the presence of the One who can redeem it.

Bring the Wound, But Do Not Become the Wound

There is a difference between acknowledging a wound and building an identity around it. Acknowledging says, “This hurt me.” Identity says, “This is who I am now.” Acknowledging brings the pain into the light. Identity can make the pain a permanent address.

Jesus invites us to bring the wound without becoming the wound. Bring the grief. Bring the disappointment. Bring the diagnosis. Bring the relationship that broke something open. Bring the memory that still presses on your chest. Bring the place where you are tired of being brave. But do not hand your whole name over to what hurt you.

You are beloved before you are bruised. You are called before you are confused. You are seen before you are strong. You are daughter. You are son. You are His. And the love that names you is stronger than the wound that tried to define you.

Love Has the Final Word

The woman in the crowd reached for Jesus, and Jesus turned toward her. That is the hope of the gospel for every wounded place in us. We reach, and He responds. We come trembling, and He speaks peace. We bring what has been bleeding, and He calls us by a name deeper than pain.

Love never fails. Not because life never wounds us, but because the love of Jesus is greater than the wound. His love is patient enough to heal slowly, kind enough to draw near, strong enough to restore identity, and faithful enough to keep speaking when pain tries to have the last word.

Prayer: Jesus, I bring You the places in me that still hurt. I bring You the wounds that rise up into today and the names pain tried to give me. Help me receive Your love without blame and without judgment. Teach me to reach again in faith. Remind me that I am not my wound. I am Yours. Let Your love have the final word. Amen.

@2026 Bonnie L. Smith-Davis

Dusting Off the Gift

Remember the gift God gave you, and keep using it so it grows stronger—like a small flame becoming a fire. — 2 Timothy 1:6

What gift has been quietly gathering dust in your life? Maybe it is time to bring it back into the light, place it in God’s hands, and let the music play again.

There it sits, tucked away under the table, quietly gathering dust: my old boom box.

At first glance, it appears to be in great condition. Nothing is cracked, broken, or missing. It still looks capable of doing exactly what it was created to do. And yet, it has not been used in quite a while. Time passes, dust settles, and something once full of sound now sits silent.

Surely, someone could use it. Surely, there is still music in it. Surely, it was not made simply to be stored away and forgotten.

Its volume was impressive. Its tone was clear. It was portable, simple, and dependable. It carried entertainment, information, memories, and joy from one place to another. It was designed to fill a room, accompany a gathering, teach a lesson, or brighten an ordinary day.

But none of those qualities matter much while it sits unused. Its potential remains present, but untapped. Its purpose remains real, but unfulfilled.

Life can be like that. God places gifts within each of us—talents, wisdom, compassion, creativity, encouragement, courage, and faith. Yet sometimes, without even realizing it, we allow those gifts to be tucked away beneath the table of routine, fear, busyness, or discouragement. We may tell ourselves the season has passed, the opportunity is gone, or the gift is not needed. But God does not waste what He has placed within us. What He gives, He gives with purpose.

Sometimes what we call ordinary is actually God-given capacity. Sometimes what we overlook is still valuable in His hands. Sometimes the very thing gathering dust is the very thing He intends to use to bring joy, encouragement, knowledge, comfort, or hope to someone else. Our gifts are not meant only for us; they are often part of how God ministers through us.

Maybe the question is not whether the boom box still works. Maybe the question is whether I am willing to take it out, dust it off, plug it in, and let it do what it was created to do. In the same way, perhaps God is gently inviting us to bring our gifts back into the light, place them in His hands, and trust Him to make them useful again.

And perhaps the same question belongs to us.

What gift have you placed under the table? What part of you has been waiting—still capable, still meaningful, still needed, and still ready to be used for God’s purpose? Maybe today is not a day for shame, but for surrender. Maybe it is not too late. Maybe the dust is not the end of the story.

It may be time to clear away the dust, surrender the gift back to the One who gave it, and let the music play again—not for our own applause, but for His glory.

Prayer

Lord, thank You for the gifts You have placed within me. Forgive me for the times I have allowed fear, busyness, or discouragement to keep them hidden. Help me dust them off, surrender them back to You, and use them in ways that bless others and bring glory to Your name. Amen.

@ 2026 Bonnie L Smith-Davis

Finding the Hand of God in the Midst of Pain

“For I am the Lord your God. I am the one who is holding on to your right hand. I am the one who says to you, ‘Do not fear. I myself am helping you.’” — Isaiah 41:13

One of my favorite old pictures is of a Mother Basset Hound being plagued by her pup. The little one is unceasingly yanking playfully on her ear, and the caption reads: How long can this go on?

Do you think Mama Basset is grateful for that pain? Do you ever wonder “why the struggles?”

Bills to pay, relationships to mend, insurance matters to navigate… once you are in the challenge, how do you face it? How do you get beyond it? Usually, the first attitude that springs to mind isn’t gratitude. It’s a mental search for an exit: Why now? How can I get free?

A Season of Thorns

Recently, I found myself in a procedural chair once again. This time for hours. Quite honestly, I was tired. My family had just endured three difficult, unexpected heart surgeries in less than a month. My husband had nearly coded at the start of a back surgery, leading to 18 straight days of hospital decisions.

Amidst this series of crises, I learned I had progressive skin cancer—stretching from my eyelid across four places on my face. My body seemed to sink. But through faith, a focus on Jesus, and the love of others, I kept breathing and moving forward.

Fast forward to the procedure. Cancer. Heart issues. The “Why?” started to drift through my mind again. I touched the edge of the cheek flap—a “pedicle” the doctors created to provide blood and nourishment to the area where the cancer was removed. It is a vital, life-flowing connection, but the process of getting there requires grueling patience.

Strength in Weakness

As the lidocaine needles pricked and the hours ticked by, my mind wandered to the Apostle Paul. He dealt with a “thorn in the flesh” and pleaded with God to take it away.

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9

I realized that we only know who the biblical Ehud was because God used his weakness. The story isn’t really about Ehud, just as my story isn’t really about me. It is always about God.

One of my heroines, Joni Eareckson Tada, once said that if all were calm in our lives, there would be no opportunity for our faith to be strengthened or our love to swell with devotion. Gratitude is the tool that allows God’s light to shine through the cracks of our brokenness.

Letting Go of Control

During the eight-hour surgery, the doctors worked tirelessly, checking biopsies over and over. Not clear. More needed. The stubborn streak in me tried to take control, but control is a phantom. I am gradually learning that control was never mine in the first place. When it escapes me, I am forced to reach out in prayer.

Prayer is the bridge between our conscious and unconscious lives. To pray is to connect these two sides of our lives by going to the place God dwells according to Henri Nouwen.

Under the hum of Christmas music and the sharp stings of numbing shots, I felt it: the sensation of Jesus sitting there, holding my hand. I breathed in the words of Isaiah: I am the one holding your right hand. I myself am helping you.

Reflections in the Mirror

Now, in the aftermath, I am covered in bandages. I find myself wanting to hide, not wanting to be seen by the world in this state. I wonder: Can I accept what I look like?

But then I look at my 17-year-old dog, Rascal. His deep brown eyes say, “I understand.” I look at my husband, Roger, who tells me I am beautiful even without the bandages. They don’t see the “defect”; they see me.

Perhaps that is how God sees us. We are so conscious of our “coverings” and our imperfections, but we each have God’s glory to show in our own unique way.

A Final Thought

If you are in your own “procedural chair” today—whether it is medical, financial, or emotional—reach out. Focus on Jesus. He will give you peace. It is not easy, and the “all clear” might take longer than you hope, but each hardship is an opportunity for your gratefulness to worship your Father who created with utmost Love the universe and each hair of your head.

Stay focused on Jesus. He is holding your hand.

Bringing Jesus to the Table: (Embracing Every Moment)

Day One. Observe with Gratitude. Presence of Christ into Daily Life

Shopping on Amazon, ordering groceries online, watching streams of events. Are these ways to put chaotic moments aside? No, rather it is to “bring Jesus to the table” is to make every interaction an opportunity for grace, love, and transformation.

As I was looking for a wreath for our front picture window in a box store recently, I looked up, up, up to spy a humongous Santa looking across the landscape from twenty feet over my head. It was late November. But all around me LCD frosty characters and objects glow with glittery light. So, Where was Thanksgiving?

Somehow, I got the feeling that Jesus would just shake his head with a slight smile and knowing look from behind the Snoopy doghouse and Charlie Brown Christmas pageant.

Vintage Christmas trees selling at a premium cost, bringing back the large bulbs and Norway Pines (artificial of course).

SO, a family friend told me that in his opinion that the Spirit of the Christmas season seems 98% missing. Silently, my hopeful heart cannot accept that. So, what can my hopeful spirit do to start shining the Light?

Why not start sharing ways to shine the Light.

So, I begin with Gratitude: sharing moments to pause before meals, meetings, or decisions to offer thanks.

How could this look like?

Let’s see.

When I wake up, I sometimes have swirling thoughts trying to run rough shod over this brand-new day.

Wiggling my toes, throwing the covers aside, I start doing exercises like leg lifts and arm stretches. This gets my attention away from the parade of ideas.

So, I start looking around the room, sometimes closing my eyes, and visualizing all that is good and beautiful.

My warmth covers in a warm bed in a warm room in a warm house. So grateful. It’s snowing outside, a blizzard. Placing my hand on my husband ‘s shoulder, I felt his breath rising and falling gently. After a difficult series of health issues, it was good to see him resting comfortably.

Observing is key. As I pad down the hallway, my Rascal’s big brown eyes and his waggy long happy tail asked me to pay attention…although seventeen he acts like a pup doing zoomies around the house and yard. So, love the joy he brings into our lives and the lives of others he visits for pet friends at college destress days.

As the day progressed, I prayed that the Spirit would tap my heart whenever the chaotics of the world would invade my attention, causing anger, anxiety or anything else that disturbed my Peace.

Christ whispers to us through the trees, the smiles, the warmth of a nourishing meal, the moment when compassion meets you and you find strength to go on. After all, as Genesis 1:1 said… in the beginning God created. Life. And he lives through us all.

Addiction to Service

How much should you give of yourself?

There is beauty in generosity, and dignity in service, strength in boundaries, and freedom in choosing when—and how—you give. To find balance is not to abandon others, but to honor oneself as part of the circle of care.

If you find yourself “addicted” to doing a lot for others, as I have realized in my life, know that you are not alone, and that change is possible. Your worth does not depend on your usefulness. You are allowed to rest. Over time, I have found saying “No” has been much harder for me, than saying “yes”.

Jesus set the example for us…going off on his own – deliberately woven into the rhythm of his ministry. Solitude, for Jesus, was not merely absence from others but presence with God—a space for renewal, listening, and aligning with the Father’s will.

Jesus’ time alone was primarily spent intimate, sacred moments with God where he sought guidance, poured out his heart, and reaffirmed his mission. His prayers were not hurried; they were deep and sustained, revealing the depth of his reliance on God in preparation on for his ministry, giving himself rest and restoration- not only for himself but also for his disciples. In Mark 6:31, he invited them, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” These moments of retreat were times to breathe, reflect, and recover strength.

This brings into play an understanding of the boundaries you must set for yourself to appreciate the wake up calls of some of your friends who have seen you diminish.

There is a difference between saying “yes” when you don’t compromise your health, your family or friends who truly need you with a perceived opportunity to serve, when others could fill in the need. Just step back to consider the “why” in your “yes”.

Yes, you can undoubtedly do it, but what compromises must be made in order to do so. If you can answer with confidence that it is a balancing (change of pace) for you of your stressors with a focus on something beneficial to others, perhaps yes is in order.

Some examples for me might be my choices to work at our local botanical gardens and arboretum or play music for others/visit with patients at hospitals or be a liturgist/lay leader at a church service.

I can do these things and not have to feel more stressed out. Along with taking care of my family who have a lot of health concerns right now. I do work out, go on walks and play my piano to relax as well and visit needed health professionals. I wish to be the best me present for them. So, I still am learning to say “no” in ways that respect others needs and my own.

Just recently there was a lapse in imperfect me’s boundary setting when I let myself be assigned to two major commitments on a given Sunday: a tech person, and leader for the worship in two different services on the same day. Too much. Two caring friends assisted in helping work through this. So much on my mind, overrode my self-care boundary – too willing over a period of time to not say yes. I didn’t step back spontaneously and look as I should have and relearned this lesson. The job had to be done, so I thought I was the only one that could do it. I guess I wanted to be the answer to each problem, a need partly filled. I was clearly incorrect and the Holy Spirit and the administrative secretary tapped me on the shoulder to remind me.

My family -parents and sibling -of community leaders have taught me the importance through example to step up …to step up. But I started at some point to serve with addiction, without my totally being aware. Perhaps you could identify a bit with the heroine of the movie, “Ordinary Angels”, or know someone who would.

People can unknowingly become addicted and compromise themselves. I recently saw a great video called “Ordinary Angels” with a clear look into an addicted life of a well-meaning, struggling hairdresser named Sharon- in this non-romantic true story -stemming from not feeling worthy of just being in this world, taking on too much and not taking time to think about why.

In this story, a young Christian family loses a wife and has a very ill child. The town pitches in to help the family but at the cost of overwork (inspired those it was) of the hairdresser who dedicates MOST of her time, and ALL her resources to that family. Sharon didn’t realize how much she was causing stress on those who loved her and wasn’t willing to find peace and joy in being caring self. (A bit of me twinges here). There are many lessons to be learned in being aware of one’s own self. Joy inside. Not inner peace and Joy SIDELINED by hiding by keeping busy.

You are allowed to receive. And in learning to do so, you may discover that the greatest gift you can offer—to others and to yourself—is the example of a life lived in gentle balance, where care flows both outward and inward, sustaining all and healthier, sustainable connections can emerge, built on mutual respect and care.

Ultimately, I am not a psychologist or counselor to advise you, but simply a more aware Christian who plans to more open to saying “no” and taking even more vulnerable, healthy care of myself and others … I believe it is important not to stop caring for others, but to care for oneself as well as Jesus illustrated for us. Scriptures say to love your neighbor as you love yourself in Leviticus 19:18. You can be generous without being depleted, helpful without being consumed.

Practice mindfulness: Pause to notice your own needs, feelings, and boundaries.
Reflect on your motives: Ask yourself why you feel compelled to help and whether you are acting from obligation or genuine desire.
Seek support: Therapy, support groups, and trusted friends can help you untangle old patterns and build new ones.
Celebrate small acts of self-care: Rest is not selfish; it is necessary. Inner peace and joy are not indulgent; they are vital.

Lilac Stands its Ground

Ephesians 4:29

Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.

Leviticus 25:35-38

“If your brother becomes poor and cannot maintain himself with you, you shall support him as though he were a stranger and a sojourner, and he shall live with you. Take no interest from him or profit, but fear your God, that your brother may live beside you. You shall not lend him your money at interest, nor give him your food for profit. I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt to give you the land of Canaan, and to be your God.

1 Corinthians 10:13

No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.

Our aging vibrantly purple lilac bush stands its ground in the corner of our yard. For as long as I can remember the fragrance of spring lilacs has come wafting up to meet us on the porch.

Just as challenges invade our lives, somehow two trees were seeded in its space and are making the effort to unseat the valiant lilac. Heart shaped leaves.

Yard workers men have tried on own to cut out its competitors for space, sunshine and nourishment. But, persistent, lovely but misplaced elm and mulberry trees still send roots deeper and deeper into the ground and branches competing with power wires work their way into the sky.

This invasion can disrupt the lilac’s growth, flowering, and overall health taking away much needed provisions to the bush.

We look at the small, but thriving parts of the lilac which still stand pulling in, with God’s help, all the nourishment possible. Are we like that?

What are we doing to pull in nourishment, stand up in the face of what is trying to root itself in our lives?

Bits of digital data bombards, clutters of family treasures, persuasive coaxings of how you can be better, change yourself. Credit cards do their exercise with machines to comfort a long day’s work …mindless games and offerings of this diet and this deliver to the door meals to make things better…

Choices with each cut of the moment…focus on, what must you do to bring peace, love and joy to your lives…to live strongly with purpose?

Cutting back the interfering elms and mulberry leaves. Feel that strong feeling that moving to open the way for nourishing light to fill the beings and life space. Not perfectly but making the effort to try. Gives the light inside me strength and focus.

As I took a pruning tool to the trees recognizable by their leaves, the trees gave way very slowly. Not wanting to lose their space in the sun. Pulling and twisting the sturdy branches that cut out the sun, I slowly glimpse the bright sunshine filling the space vacated by the trees and falling onto the leaves. A lilac need at least 6 hours of sunlight a day to nourished well.

The brightness lifts my heart as I know the strength of the leggy lilacs will increase with room to grow.Just as our spiritual strength increases along with that of our brothers and sister as we lift each other up with the nourishing light of God as said in Leviticus. Just take time to be with someone who needs you, for a period of time. Let the sun shine in.

Encouraging words written by Paul to build up a person as fits the occasion…that it may give grace to those who hear. In the world today communication is more instantaneous and far-reaching than ever before. Social media, emails, and texting have made it easy to speak without thinking

Visualize what Paul was saying as a way to use words as tools in your daily life, building and maintaining strong relationships at work and home. make every conversation a blueprint for positivity and support. Picture your speech lifting others as a foundation of kindness and strength. to construct a more uplifting, compassionate world?

James 3:10 echoes this idea, “Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be.” Similarly, Proverbs 18:21 tells us, “The tongue has the power of life and death.” These verses collectively highlight the profound impact our words can have, either for good or ill. For example…a fellow worker can make a mistake in a workplace scenario. A harsh critique can demoralize, while constructive feedback can motivate and guide. Standing up for another can to help him even in a small way can make a huge difference. https://godsbless.ing/commentary/ephesians/ephesians_4_29/#

Like the pruning the lilac…perhaps I don’t have the exact words, but with a little care, perhaps some light will come in through the power of the Holy Spirit. . Taking a moment to listen actively. To be present in that moment for another. The beauty of love, caring and compassion for another will yield far more than you think. Help that lilac stand its ground.

This Photo by Unknown Author is licensed under CC BY-NC

Backseat Rider

By Christine Kaplunas, Guest author

It’s your car. You know how to drive it. You know where you are going. But for whatever reason, someone else is the driver, and you somehow ended up in the backseat.

What’s the first thing you notice? The backseat is kind of…dirty. And stuffy. And you bumped your head on the car just trying to get in. Then you notice how aggressively the driver takes the turns. “Could you turn on the a/c up there?” No one says anything. You lower your window, but the driver suddenly closes it, because it’s making a loud flapping noise. [Um…excuse me, but that’s my window.]

“I’m really hot back here. Can I have some air?” The front passenger turns on the air, but you still can’t feel it. “Would you turn the vents toward me?” Fumbling. Unsuccessfully.

“Oh, it was still on defrost. Sorry.” Finally, you won’t faint.

Does your kid usually have to deal with this when YOU are driving? Did you ever realize the back seat can actually be quite comfortable when the a/c is on? Did you ever notice that pretty blue house on the block? Wow, what a garden! Kids you’ve never seen are playing with a vaguely familiar dog at your neighbor’s house. “I guess I never see this when I’m watching the road.”

Congratulations! You have entered the experience of the “backseat rider.” Your perspective has shifted into solidarity with the people who usually ride in your backseat. Have you made sure the a/c was working when they needed it? Did you fuss at them when they opened the window? And similarly, have you spent any of the last 7 years noticing any of these wonderful things about your neighborhood? Did you notice the trees and the playful dogs and delightful children?

When I started interim pastoral ministry with my current congregation, we created (from scratch!) an after school strings program for 4th and 5th graders at the behest of the local principal. I did so much work to set up and run the program. I taught the students. I did the fundraising. I hired and trained the other program teachers. I spent hours on the phone with administrators. I built support in the denomination and community. I talked with parents and received important tidbits from school teachers. The program wasn’t universally embraced, and there were occasions I went to bat for it. A certain teacher worked quietly and jealousy to convince the school system to withdraw their support for it. It was difficult ascertaining quantitative progress markers. Money came with strings attached, but not the ones that vibrate.

On the other hand, I accepted a lot of help…from everyone. The school district gave us the space and the instruments. The local luthier made repairs. I had volunteers from across my congregation. They checked in students, gave them snacks, dried a few tears, cheer-led their progress from the sidelines, observed teachers (many of the volunteers were retired educators), developed tools for success at every step; the lead teachers and student teachers taught class, identified student progress, helped develop the curriculum, and nurtured the children themselves as they learned violin, viola, and cello. Congregation and community gave donations, memorials, a few bucks here, a $10,000 grant there.

So…long story short, COVID was a major setback. I conducted 14 funerals at my church in 2020 alone. Former volunteers became full time caregivers to family. School returned to session before there was much knowledge of COVID or access to a vaccine, and I was not willing to put my people’s health at risk. My own son spent 2020-2021 in an online-only classroom. I was busy with 100 new ways of being a pastor, and I found online music lessons an exercise in madness. We ended the strings program, but it took time to close it out. I was honestly burning out. I never wanted to be a YouTube pastor, hiding behind a mask like a bandit, editing videos for hours every day, but there I was.

Fast forward to 2023, and my son joined a 5th-8th grade string orchestra through the local Suzuki program. Part of me longed to teach an orchestra again. Part of me was still nursing the grief from before. What happened was weird though: I became a backseat rider.

The conductor was younger than me, still finishing a music education degree. He played percussion, with only the experience of string methods in his degree program. I was shocked when I remembered that, in normal school programs, one teacher alone conducts a whole classroom. My church can’t even get insurance coverage if we don’t keep 4 adults in the room with the children (yes, our insurance requires that 2 non-related adults walk a child to the bathroom).

My first impressions of this “different” string program led me to ask, “Should a parent be in the room as an ‘unrelated adult’ during rehearsal?” “What if a student needs their instrument tuned mid-rehearsal? There’s no one but the conductor if I don’t stay.” “What if a student has a question about bowings and fingerings? This is my specialty!”

At the root of this anxiety was: “Can I backseat-drive this class?” And…” how much can I say before I drive this poor conductor crazy?”

Slowly, I learned something valuable: I learned to just sit there, with all my thoughts and grief and insecurities, and OBSERVE. Out of this practice, I learned:

The conductor is very good at dealing with the ADHD-style disruptions. Why have I always demanded a strictly quiet classroom during rehearsal? He was patient, and the students never *needed* to be yelled at. Have I missed an important lesson for ALL these years?

There’s something important about learning alongside your students; the teaching is mutual. There’s a different sort of respect: the conductor is not an “authoritarian,” but a “authoritative partner” with the orchestra. I’m not sure I’ve ever really tried that when I was the conductor. Most of my own youth conductors were powerful and stern. I feared them, respected them, and learned never to play in the rests. But did my students actually improve when I was strict with them?

As an observational partner, I was welcomed to contribute when students needed a little of my help. But I tried never to make them feel like they couldn’t do something. Tuning strings…let’s do it together. Play through an excerpt…how can we improve this? Then I asked myself: Did I NEED to be needed as a teacher? Did I relish being a “fixer” for every problem? That’s a terrible idea in both teaching and pastoral ministry. Was I ready to learn this difficult lesson?

Could I begin and end a rehearsal with gratitude, rather than anxiety? Maybe we don’t learn everything as well as I’d like. Is it the end of the world though?

Ultimately, riding in the backseat of my own car shifted my perspective and offered me a chance to learn how I might do things differently in the future. Will I conduct another youth orchestra one day? Probably. (I’ve been sucked in many times before.) Will I bring new tools and ideas with me? Most definitely!

Will I occasionally put myself in the back seat in other aspects of my ministry and leadership? 100%.

Rev. Christine Kaplunas serves as the Pastor of Unity Presbyterian Church in Waterloo, Iowa. She plays violin in a string trio with her husband, Daniel, and 12-year-old son, Jacob. She loves new ideas, helping people heal, and Jesus.