Devotions – Milinda Jay

Sending our Babies off to School

At new faculty orientation today, I sat with a table full of young professors just beginning their academic careers.

“I just sent my oldest child to kindergarten,” one of them told me, his eyes filled with sadness.

“I remember those days,” I say. And I do, especially today, because today, I sent my youngest child to college.

I remember my son’s first day of kindergarten. How proud I was that he could count past one hundred, how happy I was that the teacher greeted him with a big smile, and the little girl next to him with a big hug. Happy butterflies flitted across the wall in between cheerful ABCs. The room was an altogether happy place.

Still, I walked from that room with tears streaming down my face and an ache in my heart.

Today, I didn’t get to meet my son’s teacher; I didn’t get to walk into his classroom. I didn’t get to meet his classmates.

I realize that my son is perfectly capable of being happy and successful in college.

But my heart aches. Just as it did thirteen years ago when I left my chubby faced cherub in kindergarten that first day.

I want to say to this young professor siting across from me, to relish every moment.

When you drop your child off at kindergarten, the years stretch before you, and you can’t even imagine high school graduation, and certainly not this first day of college.

But you blink, and it happens. Your blue-eyed baby boy turns into a strong, smart, handsome young man who stands head and shoulders above you.

This should have gotten easier for me. I’ve already sent four children to college. Yet each leaving rips a little piece of my heart.

Yesterday, my best friend and I leafed through pictures of when the children were little with cone-shaped birthday hats on their heads, their happy smiles stained bright blue with birthday cake icing. We laughed and cried together.

My best friend sent her youngest child to college today, too.

The Bible tells us to give thanks, and it’s times like these that I must.

And I do. I give thanks for all the joy this child has brought to me. I give thanks for the times he made me laugh, the fun I had making friends with parents at all the little league games and Vacation Bible Schools, the football games and the band concerts.

I trust that God’s gentle hand will ease my grief, and the grief of all the other mothers who on this day are sending their babies off to school.

The Halloween Gift

Yugio, our Brightest Star

…You will shine among them like stars in the sky. Philippians 2:15

The little fairy with pink wings and glitter on her face reached her stubby hand into our candy bowl. She grabbed as many dum dums, starbursts and skittle packets as she could hold, stuffed them into her light-up bag, and then reached for more. Satisfied, she turned and walked down our steps, across the lawn and out into the street where her parents waited in their shiny red pick-up truck.

“Most of them are really sweet,” my husband said, smiling. “They only take one, and I have to encourage them to take more. Only a few take as much as they can get by with.”

I laughed.

It was true.

Most of the zombies, lady pirates, goddesses and vampires who traipsed across our lawn were incredibly polite, “Thank you,” they said, smiling shyly, their teeth glistening beneath fake blood face paint.

We were on our sixth jumbo bag of candy, and the bowl was getting low.

The children had come in a steady stream for two solid hours.

And then came Yugio.

He was about seven or eight years old, dark brown hair, and matching chocolate brown eyes. My husband studied the child’s bright blue costume and asked his standard question, “Who are you?”

“Yugio,” the little boy said, then explained apologetically. “He is an old one. But look,” he said, and pointed to his wrists,” these are star chips.”

And sure enough, his wrists were encircled with gold glittery stars.

“I like them,” I said. “Our bowl is getting low,” I said, apologizing for our meager offering. I knew soon we would have to turn off our porch lights, and go in for the night.

Yugio took one dum dum. “Thank you,” he said, and before we could offer him more, he turned and sped off across the lawn.

A few minutes later, Yugio was back.

My husband looked up. I could see the words forming on his lips, “Back for more?”

Before my husband could speak, Yugio emptied an armful of candy into our bowl.

I looked up at him. He smiled, then sped off across the lawn again.

“That’s a first,” my husband said.

The child had gone back to his Halloween candy bag, pulled out a big armful of not just the treats he didn’t want, but his best treats, and deposited them in our bowl.

It took me a moment to react to Yugio’s sweet surprise.

“Thank you!” I called out after little Yugio-with-star chips, “That is the nicest treat anyone has ever given us!”

But he didn’t look back. He leapt into his parent’s golf cart, and off they sped.

Little Yugio.

Shining like a star.

On earth as it is in heaven

Our Pastor, Craig Carter, preached a pretty powerful sermon this morning. He took the well-worn theme, “God calls ordinary people to do extraordinary things,” and breathed new life into it.

Here’s how.

Craig placed us with the crowd in Acts 3:11-12 who saw the miracles Peter performed. The crowd was surprised and amazed.

We modern day Christians are more like the crowd than we are like Peter and John. Rather than expecting the mighty power of God to be present in our lives, rather than expecting His will to be done, we are surprised by even ordinary miracles—people calling us when we are down, a child’s surprise hug when we most need it.

But we are made for miracles. God yearns to work in and through our lives to bring the kingdom of heaven here on earth.

How can we help make this happen?

The answer is simple: to see God, we must first repent. (Acts 3:19, Mark 1:15, Revelations 2-3)

Those of us raised in the church are as familiar with the notion of repentance as we are with the fact that God is Love.

But what, exactly, does it mean to need to repent?

Isn’t repentance for folks who are thieves, adulterers and liars?

Something Craig said made me rethink this notion of repentance.

He said that the onlookers who were amazed at Peter’s miracles were in strong need of repentance. They had, after all, killed Jesus.

And I wondered. Have I killed Jesus, too?

After some thought, it became painfully clear.

I kill Jesus when I am in a hurry and don’t have time to pay attention to my husband.

I kill Jesus when I am so busy on a project that I don’t take time to visit my mother.

I kill Jesus when I talk more than I listen.

I kill Jesus when I dwell on the wrongs done to me rather than giving thanks for the blessings that came my way in the midst of bad times.

I kill Jesus when I think about what my dog needs more than those in need.

I kill Jesus when I am driven by my need to be recognized for the good I do rather than simply doing good because that is what God calls me to do.

I kill Jesus when I am impatient with anyone for not doing something the way I think it needs to be done.

I kill Jesus when I confuse self-righteous anger with righteous anger.

I kill Jesus when I hate the person rather than the evil.

I kill Jesus when I think I am always right.

I kill Jesus when I am blind to my own wrongdoing.

I pray for the courage to repent of my sins, to so yearn for the face of God that I can turn around.

If I can do this about-face–so that God rather than sin is what my heart yearns for– God’s power for healing and making good out of bad will flow through me, will allow me to stand calmly in the presence of the miracle that is God in me.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. On earth as it is in heaven.

I pray that God will use the ordinary vessel that is my life to do extraordinary things for His kingdom here on earth.