Devotions

Growing Up

Megan Breedlove October 20, 2014 No Comments

On October 13, our son Kenny turned ten.

Somehow, he’s now in the double-digits stage of life, despite the fact that it seems like I gave birth to him only last week. I don’t know where the time has gone, but it must have gone somewhere. Because now, instead of being a helpless baby I can easily cuddle in one arm, Kenny is tall and independent. He’s competent and smart. He’s sweet. He’s compassionate.

He’s…ten.

Watching and helping Kenny grow has been an incredible adventure. It hasn’t always been easy, though. From the beginning, Kenny has had some developmental delays as well as other issues that prevented his growing on the steadily upward trajectory I’d always assumed my children would follow.

For us, it was a big deal when Kenny learned to walk—a really big deal. We were so excited when he finally—in the church nursery—walked 11 steps in a row. When he learned to hold a conversation (which he’s still working on), we rejoiced. When he conquered his fear of “buttons, snaps, and zippers” so that he could wear clothing with those items, we congratulated him and told him what a big, brave boy he was.

Each achievement Kenny has made, each milestone he has accomplished on his journey to being the awesome ten-year-old kid he is today, we have applauded—sometimes literally. Not once did we ever say, “That’s no big deal. Everybody should be able to do that.”

We certainly didn’t say, “What’s the matter with you?” and turn away in disgust.

Yet too often, you and I think that that’s the way God reacts to us.

Somehow, we’ve gotten this idea in our heads that God is a little (or a lot) disgusted with us. Or at the very least, unimpressed. We figure that if we want Him to be truly impressed with us, we’d have to be a lot more holy, or skilled, or (you fill in the blank) than we are right now.

The reality, however, is that God is thrilled with us. No, He doesn’t love our sin. But He loves us, and He doesn’t wait until we’re perfectly mature to start loving. Each baby step we make on the road toward spiritual maturity delights Him. He rejoices with us in our accomplishments, and He applauds them.

How do I know? Because any good thing we can do, any ability we have to treat our children the right way, comes from being made in God’s image. If we have the desire to love our children so deeply that we accept them just as they are, and to applaud each of their accomplishments, it’s because we’re in some measure doing what is in God’s character to do. He, after all, is the ultimate Parent.

What does this mean for us? It means we need to consider how far we’ve come in our own lives—and to remember that God has been there every step of the way, cheering us on. Maybe sometimes, our development has been delayed. Even then, God was with us, rejoicing in each accomplishment that may have been small for others but was a big deal for us.

What are you working on now in your life? What needs improvement? God doesn’t condemn you for needing to improve. Instead, He walks with you as you wrestle with whatever it is, and He cheers you on.

It’s been a little more than ten years since I gave birth to Kenny. In those ten years, he’s grown incredibly, and I’ve been privileged to be part of his life and growth.

In those same ten years, I’ve grown, too. Actually, I’ve been growing for 43 years, and God has been with me every step of the way—my biggest fan and biggest encourager, the One who loves me most.

He’s with you, too, in the same way—watching you grow, cheering for you, and always, always loving you.

Never forget that.

Psalm 103:13-14—As a father shows compassion to his children, so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust. (ESV)

It’s Not About the Bikes

Megan Breedlove September 15, 2014 No Comments

This past July, my husband’s bike and Ellie’s bike were stolen off our front porch. In broad daylight. While there was a car in the driveway, and the babysitter was inside with the kids.

I found out by text while I was at the Philadelphia Christian Writer’s Conference, for which I was serving on faculty. The thefts hadn’t even been discovered until my husband got home from work and realized the bikes were no longer on the porch. He called the police, made a report, and then texted me.

I was angry. It was bad enough that they (whoever “they” were) had stolen my husband’s bike, but to steal from my child? Now I was really angry.

Fortunately for me, I was sitting at a table eating dinner with several other faculty when the text came in. These faculty were not only experts in their particular niches, but also men and women of prayer. One precious friend prayed out loud, as all of us bowed our heads, for the bikes to be returned and for God to receive the glory.

To make a long story short, God granted our request. A police officer friend on patrol found the bikes within a couple of days. Along with ours, he found two others that had been stolen from other families, and he had a wrecker come take all four bikes to the police pound. After the investigation was completed, the detective told us she had taken the “hold” off our bikes, and we could go get them. The only problem was that when we called the pound to find out the procedure for recovering our bikes, we were told that we would have to pay $33.75 for each bike (they were dividing the cost of the wrecker among the four bikes that were recovered).

I don’t understand this policy. It seems to me that the family of the teenager who stole the bikes should have to pay the fee. It doesn’t seem fair to me that I should have to pay to get my stolen property back.

And that’s the point. It’s not fair. But it’s also not all about the bikes.

I realized this one day when I had been complaining on Facebook about having to pay the fee. As I was sitting here at the computer, a private message from a sweet friend popped up. “You know, Meg,” the message went (I’m paraphrasing), “I really hesitate to try to teach anyone a spiritual lesson. I don’t want to come across as being superior. But there’s a lesson to be learned here.” She then proceeded to gently explain what God had shown her through my situation.

That’s what I want to share with you: that the lesson to be learned here is not about the bikes. The lesson is about God, His infinite holiness, and His infinite love.

Humanity is God’s creation. You and I belong to Him. Yet Satan slipped into that first Garden and “stole” us, in a manner of speaking, into His kingdom. We were still God’s creations, but now we inhabited the kingdom of darkness. And to get us back into His kingdom, God had to pay a price.

That’s why God sent Jesus to this earth, to buy us back. You read that right—God was willing to pay the price to buy back what was already His.

I, frankly, am not willing to pay the price to get my bikes back. I’m still trying to work out a way that I won’t have to do that. But God was willing to pay to get His property back. He was willing to make a payment He never should have had to make. And He didn’t just shell out $33.75 x 2, either.

He gave His own life.

And instead of trying to get out of the situation, as I am doing, He came right down into it.

My bikes didn’t willingly go off on their own. But you and I willingly departed from God, sinning against Him of our own volition. Yet He bought us back anyway. Even though we didn’t deserve it.

I don’t know whether or not I’ll ultimately have to pay to get my bikes back. I hope not, but I don’t know for sure. What I do know is that I will never forget the lesson my friend pointed out to me: God was willing to buy me back, even when I didn’t deserve it, and even at the cost of His own life.

This really isn’t all about the bikes. It’s about far more.

Colossians 1:13—He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son.

1 Peter 2:9—But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.

You Are Not an Armadillo

Megan Breedlove September 8, 2014 No Comments

Only in Texas (or maybe a few other places) would I have had a recent conversation with Lindsey that went something like this:

Lindsey (running in from playing outside): “Mom! There’s an armadillo in the neighbors’ backyard!”

Me: “Um…okay.”

Lindsey: “It’s scared, and it can’t get out!”

Me (wondering how one can tell if an armadillo is scared): “It’ll probably get out the same way it came in.”

Lindsey: “But what if it can’t find the way out? It might be terrified!”

I told Lindsey that if she wanted to, she could keep watching it through the fence, and she’d probably see it find its way out soon enough. Lindsey went back outside.

A few minutes later, both Lindsey and Jessica came inside. Lindsey told me that she had dug a hole under our fence so that the armadillo could find its way into our backyard. I wasn’t all too sure I wanted an armadillo roaming my backyard, but I was touched by Lindsey’s obvious concern for the armadillo and her kindness toward one of God’s creatures.

Me: “That was very kind of you to dig a hole and show the armadillo the way out.”

Jessica: “And while Lindsey was digging the hole, the armadillo came up and sniffed me. And then he realized, ‘Hey! You’re not an armadillo!’” (Lindsey later explained that the armadillo had gotten confused and thought maybe Jessica was an armadillo because she was down on all fours.)

The girls said that after Lindsey dug the hole, they backed away and went out of the yard, leaving the gate open so the armadillo could see a clear way out. The rest of the evening, Lindsey kept her distance from the armadillo so it wouldn’t get spooked, but she kept watch over the backyard. At one point, she saw the armadillo in our yard, and she was excited that it had made it out of the neighbors’ yard. The next time she looked, the armadillo was gone, and she was satisfied. She had rescued it and helped it make it to safety.

You know, armadillos aren’t very pretty. Actually, they’re ugly. And they don’t really perform any useful function. So there was no real reason for Lindsey to care like she did except that she saw a creature in distress, and her heart was moved to help it.

Which reminds me of a beautiful Bible passage. It’s found in the 10^th chapter of the Gospel of Matthew, where Jesus is sending His disciples out to preach the good news. Before they go, He gives them instructions. “Don’t be afraid,” He says. And then He comes to the beautiful part: “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.”

In other words, He’s telling them, “God will take care of you. After all, He takes care of the sparrows, and you’re much more valuable.”

You’re more valuable than armadillos, too. And if God takes care of armadillos—which, in this case, He did through moving kind-hearted Lindsey to help one escape—then He will certainly take care of you.

In this case, the armadillo’s need was for a way out. That might be your need, too—a way out of temptation or a difficult situation. Or maybe your need is for something else—financial relief, wisdom, or even a friend. Whatever your need, God knows what it is, and He has plans to meet your need. It would be an insult to God’s character to suggest that Lindsey had more compassion on that armadillo than God has on you.

Your need may not have been met yet. But just as Lindsey made escape possible before the armadillo actually walked through the fence and then the gate, so God is arranging to meet your need even before you can see or make use of His provision.

One day, you will walk through the gate into His provision. Until then, remember that He is at work, orchestrating all things to come together at their proper time for you.

So keep checking the fence, and when you find a way under, look for the gate.

Then walk through it.

Matthew 10:29-31—Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.