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Burn Out Refill

Do you ever feel nearly burned out? Can’t really hum This Little Light of Mine with fervor at that moment? Yeah, I know the feeling.

One of my duties at church is to make sure the candles on the altar are filled with  liquid wax/oil so they do not burn out during the service.  Because it is hard to determine the amount of influence the AC vents will have on the burn rate Sunday to Sunday, we always “top them off”… just in case.

Today, as I squirted the liquid inside the cylinders, God spoke to me. “You are running low, Julie. You need to be filled anew. Let Me refill you.”

And I have been. I admit it.  My light isn’t shining as brightly as it should because I have been dimmed by physical pain and a questioning of whether or not I have a secure employment future in this new year. Being a missionary is tough, especially when the funds don’t roll in.

Yes, I know…God provides. But lately my trust has slowly burned down to below normal levels. And that is when the devil can slip into the dark corners of the mind and begin to whisper doubts.

Today, my task at church reminded me of the parable of the bridesmaids in Matthew 25. The ones who kept their lamps primed with oil were the wise ones. They were always ready for the bridegroom.

As Christians, we should strive to always have our lamps filled so we are ready to shine when God calls upon us to do so– and to ward off the darkness where doubt, envy, and pouting lurks.When we shine our light brightly, it not only helps another to see the path but us as well. God illuminates us both, as well as others off to the side whom we may not notice are watching and wondering.

We can be refilled with the Holy Spirit through prayer and by meditating on His Word.  If we don’t do so regularly, our levels of faith will drop. We will shine brightly for a while, but slowly start to flicker and dim.  And when the time comes for God to use us, we  may not have enough in reserve.

So, if you don’t want to risk burnout think about how you can constantly be refilled…just in case. Then ask the Lord to help refill you so you are always ready to shine.

You, Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light.  Psalm 18:28.

 

 

 


The internet is a vast mission field. At Campus Crusades of Canada’s  Power to Change, I edit and write for two websites that draw people closer to God:  Issues I Face  and The Life.   Our free articles and devotionals glean a readership of 500,000 plus a month. Some are believers, others don’t know what to believe. All are seeking. We help them know Jesus, one mouse click at a time.
But as with any missionary organization, we are funded solely through the donations of ministry partners. And at this moment, an anonymous beneficiary will match any and all donations up to one hundred thousand dollars. 
Find out more about my work as a writer and editor at  http://www.juliebcosgrove.com/missionary_support.html 

Words Fail Me

When she saw the indescribable, she slapped her hands to her face as her eyes widened. “Words fail me.”

As a writer, words are my life. But sometimes they just don’t come. I struggle to find the precise one to describe what I want to say.

Words fail in other ways. In times of tragedy and deep grief they fail to comfort. To a close-eared and defiant person they fail to correct. When opposite of the actions exhibited, they fail to convince.

But that is not true of one word – the Word. When foretelling that she would give birth to Jesus, the angel told the young virgin Mary. “For no word from God will ever fail.” (Luke 1:37).   Other translations say that nothing is impossible for God.

God spoke everything into existence in Genesis chapter one, and He continues to speak into our existence today. God’s Word can be trusted to be true. He cannot fail, it is not in His nature.

Down through the centuries, the Scriptures have remained true, and faithful, for each generation. What was written thousands of years ago are as fresh as new ink  dripping from a quill.  People have marked them, highlighted them, memorized them, pondered over them, but most of all relied upon them.

Mary did as well. Her response to the angel that day, according to the King James Version, was “Be it unto me according to thy word.” (vs.38)   Other translations translate it as,  “May your word be fulfilled in me.”

And God took Mary at her word.  John, in writing his gospel, tells us Jesus was “the word made flesh.” (1:14)

Today, the unfailing Word can take on flesh when it lives in us. If we, like Mary, allow it to happen, our lives will change forever.  It is not an easy road living for Christ and having Him live in us according to His Word, but it is a fulfilling one.  At times we may feel as if we are failing at our job, but we aren’t. He can use our blunders as well as our successes to His glory and gives us second, third, and even seventy times seven chances when we humbly repent.

Words may continue to fail us at various times in our lives, but the Word of God never will. May it be fulfilled in you.

 


The internet is a vast mission field. At Campus Crusades of Canada’s  Power to Change, I edit and write for two websites that draw people closer to God:  Issues I Face  and The Life.   Our free articles and devotionals glean a readership of 500,000 plus a month. Some are believers, others don’t know what to believe. All are seeking. We help them know Jesus, one mouse click at a time.
But as with any missionary organization, we are funded solely through the donations of ministry partners. And at this moment, an anonymous beneficiary will match any and all donations up to one hundred thousand dollars. 
Find out more about my work as a writer and editor at  http://www.juliebcosgrove.com/missionary_support.html 

Boxed Up to Share

Happy Boxing Day!  Traditionally, the day after Christmas was when the lord of the manor  let his staff have the day off, and  gave them year-end presents to share with their families as a thank you for the year of service to his family.  Today, Christmas Day is reserved for immediate family, but Boxing Day is a day for gifting to friends, co-workers, employees, and neighbors. It’s a time of sharing and saying thank you.

Here in the U.S., we think of it more as Return Day.  Gather what you got for Christmas and can’t wear, don’t like or would never use, and box it up to go back to the store. If you are lucky, you can get what you really wanted on sale and have a few dollars left over.

December 26th is also St. Stephen’s Day – the day named after the first Christian martyr. He was brought into the band of believers to replace Judas, and was stoned to death for proclaiming the Gospel. You might say he gave the ultimate gift, and in giving it away, received an even greater one.   While they were stoning him, Stephen prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” (Acts 7:59)

What do you do with the gift of mercy and grace that Jesus gives? Do you use it, shelf it, or re-gift it? Do you return it unopened, or share it with others?  Do you hold it tightly to your heart, or share it to someone who needs it?

Because His mercies are new every morning, each day is Boxing Day for the believer. And the cool thing is this: the more you give it away the more you receive to give.

What will you do with the gift of Life today?

Where is Baby Jesus?

Growing up, we had a tradition. Our Creche had a figurine of the baby Jesus that was separate from the manger in which it laid. Mom would hide it and we’d have to find it on Christmas morning. It was fun family game time. But later in life it’s meaning became clearer.

Seek and Find

How often have I had to seek the baby Jesus in the midst of this bustling holiday season? In fact, how often have I had to seek Jesus in moments of stress, anxiety, fear or hurt at anytime in my life? Praise Him that I eventually always find Him.

And how often has He sought me out, or given me neon clues as if to say, “Here I am.”

There have been times I knew Christ was in me, but I wondered how deeply others had to seek to find Him?

By seeking the baby Jesus first on Christmas morning before we ripped into presents or dumped our stockings to discover the goodies inside, Mom was subtly showing us the right priority.

Thanks, Mom, for the lesson. You don’t have to seek Him anymore. You are with Him in eternity.

I know one day I won’t have to seek Him anymore in my daily life either. I’ll be with you, bowing before the eternal throne crying, “Holy, Holy, Holy.”

 

Pieced Together

I have become like broken pottery. Psalm 31:12

The past fifteen months, a huge hammer has repeatedly smashed my world. I once carried my life in a beautiful bowl. A sudden job loss, poor health, and other issues have left what once felt solid in scattered, tiny shards. I didn’t know how to pick up the pieces.

Have you been there? Do I see you nodding?

Contemplating my situation, especially over the past year , I noticed a cross I have hanging next to my fireplace. I bought it years ago at a church festival…long before I turned my widowhood apartment into shades of turquoise. Most of it’s life it hung outside on a patio. But it matched my sofa now, so…

Who knew God would use it to show me He loves me?

It is a mosaic, made of three or four different china or pottery items that have been smashed into pieces. The artist gathered them together, placed them carefully in the cross mold, and then poured in the plaster of Paris to adhere them into a beautiful design.

What someone else might have swept up and dumped as useless trash, she saw as beauty. She could envision the end product. She arranged the pieces just so, and created something new, and stronger, and with new purpose.

I know I am not the first person to make this analogy. But it reminds me of what Jesus said to his disciples after everyone on the mount had been fed with the fishes and loaves.  “Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted” (John 6:12).

With Christ as my mold, the pieces of my life have been transformed into something new. He knew they’d come together in a wonderful way.  But first, they had to be broken to be repurposed. His Spirit has plastered these experiences together and made me stronger than before.

Thank you, Lord that You see the potential in each experience and that You will use it to Your glory and my benefit. Nothing is wasted. As You gathered the pieces of what I once had and began to mold them into my future,  I have drawn nearer to you, wrestled with my pride, and learned to lean on the generosity of others. Most of all, I know anew that You are always with me. Amen.

Double The Gift

Each of you should give what you have decided in your heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. 2 Corinthians 9:7

You have probably received tons of emails. Today is Gifting Tuesday, when many non profits get matching donations. If you give $10 they will get $20.  It seems everyone is clamoring for your wallet today.

Did you know that with God everyday is doubled giving day? Think about it. When I reach out beyond myself to give of my time, talent or treasure to another person, then it also blesses me.

  • I no longer concentrate on, and magnify, my own issues.
  • I feel a sense of purposefulness
  • I develop a servitude attitude that is closer to the way God wishes me to behave
  • I think I make Abba smile, and that makes me smile.

We all like to receive gratitude for our giving. That in itself is a gift. But therein lies the trap. Do we give to feel good about ourselves? Do we desire the admiration, the acknowledgement, the glory? (Notice each bullet point above starts with “I”.)

What happens when we don’t get the thanks we deserve for our generosity?

Jesus warned of this pitfall. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing (Matthew 6:3).

The true blessing that comes from sacrificial giving, the gift we receive in return, is a humble and contrite heart. When we realize it all comes from and belongs to God anyway, perhaps we are less likely to act like two-year-olds grasping our treasures with a pout. Mine. Or less like the three-year-old who constantly calls out, “Look at me.”

The double gift is in the giving. Not because some anonymous donor will match it, but because our Father in Heaven will double bless it– if it is given with the right attitude of expecting little or nothing in return. The return blessing may not come immediately, or in this lifetime.

But if you think about it a bit deeper, you have already been given the gift. It is salvation through grace and mercy.  What more can you expect in return? So, go. Give it away.

 


The internet is a vast mission field. At Campus Crusades of Canada’s  Power to Change, I edit and write for two websites that draw people closer to God:   Issues I Face  and The Life.   Our free articles and devotionals glean a readership of 500,000 plus a month. Some are believers, others don’t know what to believe. All are seeking. We help them know Jesus, one mouse click at a time.
But as with any missionary organization, we are funded solely through the donations of ministry partners. And at this moment, an anonymous beneficiary will match any and all donations up to one hundred thousand dollars. 
Find out more about my work as a writer and editor at  http://www.juliebcosgrove.com/missionary_support.html 

 

The day before President Kennedy was killed in Dallas, my elementary school class lined up along Broadway in San Antonio to view his motorcade. Here is my story…

It was 1963 and school buzzed with excitement. I wore my Sunday best, just as the teacher told us, with two petticoats billowing my skirt like an umbrella, and my lace-edged socks peeking up over my shiny, black patent leather Mary Jane shoes. Mommy made me wear my finest sweater with pearled buttons and roses embroidered on the front.

eureka.org.il

courtesy of eureka.org.il

The bell sounded and, just as we practiced twice, we paraded single file across the playground and through the chain-link fence to stand along Broadway. Fifth graders lined up first, then on down the line to the kindergarteners. I was ten, so my 4th grade class lined up next. Teachers handed out little American flags for us to wave. We waited. The sun bared down on us from a cloudless sky—it was November, and the seventy-three degree temperature meant an Indian summer lingered in Texas. I sweltered in my sweater. Excitement mounted when we heard the roar of motorcycles and the honking horns coming around the bend.

San Antonio, Texas was known for parades because every year there was a celebration of Texas Independence from Mexico called Fiesta Week.  Kind of a Mardi Gras, Texas style. Bands marched as twirlers tossed their batons high in the air. Each year we would line up as King Antonio rode by in his Cadillac convertible and threw Fiesta coins and candy for the school children. But today wasn’t anything like that. It was ten times more exciting. Today, the President of the United States, John F. Kennedy was coming.

“I wonder what color it will be?”  Sherry, my best, and fashion conscious, friend asked.

“What?” I had to yell over the din of the motorcade.

“Jackie’s hat. Think it will be yellow?”

I barely had time to respond when there she was, prettier in person than on television,  sporting a cream colored outfit and a black scarf-like hat, waving next to her husband—the President of the United States. And Governor Connolly, too. I sucked in my breath.

The motorcade stopped. President Kennedy got out, walked over to our class, and shook children’s hands. Jackie followed, smiling. So did men in sunglasses and dark suits. They were not smiling.

The President shook my hand. His smile dazzled me. I dropped my little flag. My teacher picked it up and whispered some stern words. I didn’t care. I still felt his strong, warm grip even though he was now headed back to his limousine convertible.

I had heard about people who meet movie stars and didn’t wash their hand for a week. I figured a president deserved at least a month, but I doubted my mother would approve. Still, she agreed to make an exception and excused me from washing my hand that evening at dinner. When I took my bath before bed, I held my hand on my head so it wouldn’t get wet. The next morning, I didn’t wash it for breakfast either.

When I went to school, I was determined to keep that hand as clean as possible. Since it was my writing hand, I knew that wouldn’t easy. In fourth grade, we were using real ink cartridge pens instead of pencils. I didn’t want to smudge my thumb. When we stood to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, I put that hand over my heart and felt extra proud.

Then, during Spelling time, the principal announced over the loud speaker for all children to report to the auditorium and all teachers to come to his office. Dutifully, we filed into the lecture hall, seated in assigned rows as we always did for assembly.

We sat in silence wondering what was going on. A few students dared to whisper. The wooden curved back of my chair no longer felt cool on my spine. The upholstered seat itched under my knees. I swung my legs back and forth to keep them from tingling. My feet were too short to touch the floor.

The doors to the auditorium opened. I turned and squinted as the light from the hall pierced the darkened room. Our teachers walked slowly down the aisles. Several were crying. My teacher blew her nose into her laced handkerchief and stood silently besides our class. The principal stepped to the stage.

“Children. May I have your attention.” His voice cracked. It didn’t sound like him. He cleared his throat. “Today in Dallas, the President was shot. He is dead.”

Sherry grabbed my left hand. I squeezed back, then looked down. I stared at my right hand and spread my fingers. I turned it over to view my palm.

I remembered the feel of his big, warm hand in mine, and I was glad I hadn’t washed it.

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