No, thank you.

Thanks for the invite, but I can’t.

I’ll have to get back to you on that.

Sorry, we’re busy.

No. Just no.

I like saying no because I’ve got a lot of cozy things going on. Like, my zone, people. You know what I’m talking about because you’ve got one, too.

The Comfort Zone.

Blessed are the comfortable. As hard as I squeeze my eyes and wish, it’s just not in there. 
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Jesus said, “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven … Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account” (Matthew 5:10-11).
No, thanks.                                            
Sigh.

Sometimes we forget this: Even Jesus pled with His Father for a different, easier path. Christ wasn’t excited about the cross. Scripture is clear. He came to the Father on the night of betrayal, fell on the ground, and prayed for a less brutal option:
“… going a little farther, he (Jesus) fell on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him.  And he said, ‘Abba, Father, all things are possible for you. Remove this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will’” (Matthew 26:39).

Ultimately, though, Jesus sought obedience over comfort. Obedience meant suffering in ways we’ll never know. Ever. And He did that for us. For silly, self-centered, petty me. The one who complains about long lines at the grocery store and my sticky kitchen floor. The one who deserves nothing but has been freely given everything because Christ obeyed the Father’s will. Because Christ stepped into brutally uncomfortable territory for me.

And the cross was the Father’s will, so Christ submitted. He obeyed perfectly. Sometimes, we aren’t excited or enthused about the path He’s called us to. Obedience isn’t about excitement; it’s about surrender.

Unlike Christ, we’re sinners. I don’t always obey my Father’s will. God, through His Spirit, opens my eyes to the path: what to do, where to go, what to say to this person, how He’d like me to forgive that one. And it’s going to be hard. So, maybe I choose to stay in the Comfort Zone and reply with a No, thanks.

There is no blessing there. I can tell you that. It’s easy, but it’s not blessed. Disobedience never is.

So, instead, I close my eyes and whisper, Okay. If You say so. If you really want me to. I’m scared, and I don’t want to do this. I can’t do this. But, yes. 

Yes.

Me and Jesus. You and Jesus.
Yes.

Word of the Day: Yet not what I will, but what you will. (Matthew 26:39)

Prayer: Father, You know. You know my weakness, my frailty, my fear. You know these things and love me through them. You’ve placed things before me and ask me to do this work for Your sake and glory. Hear me, Lord. Fill me with Your Spirit that I might face discomfort with Your courage. With You, I can do all things. Thank You, Jesus, for being the perfect model. And thank You for walking each step with me. In Your precious name, Amen.

Author:  Melissa Bronson

Human beings are into big stuff. Big is good and bigger is better. This is the world’s message. So, we work hard to attain the big bank account, build the big house, and sign the big whatever. The successful ones almost always go big.

We Christians kinda get it. Our God is huge. He’s able to do monstrous things, and He sometimes calls His children to go big, too: Big ministry. Big sacrifices. Big discomfort.

Trouble comes when we blanket the idea and assume the Kingdom’s like the world: big is good and bigger is better.

Because of this, we feel good about the big callings. Like we’ve somehow reached rank, and we think, even in the smallest corner of mind or heart, God trusts ME with a ‘big calling.’ I must be special.

The good ones, the holiest ones, get the big God calls. Like Joseph and Moses and Ruth and Paul.

Big names. Big sufferings. Big callings.

So, what happens when God leads me into a smallish-feeling calling? Does that mean I’m not holy enough? Not good enough? Not trustworthy or faithful enough? What if He points me to the elderly woman  who needs a hand with her coffee? Or if He instructs me to comfort my child? What about a comfortable suburb dweller quietly ministering to the hurting neighbor?

Sometimes – much of the time – God asks me to do this: the next smallish thing.  And when the world’s got me by the wrist and is pulling me into its lie, the call to small service feels insignificant. It feels silly and nonsensical. Dare we say it?  Don’t you feel it?

I do.      
                                                                          
But, then, He comes to me through His precious Word and speaks Truth. Truth is not fantastical in the world’s light; Truth is fantastic in His Light. Only there.

Importance lies in the Great Father and my willingness to follow where He leads. The bigness lies in the smallness of my hands and the out of proportion hugeness of God’s love to me.

I need not be wildly uncomfortable in order for my calling to be real and honest. He might call me into the deep and thrashing waters, but He might not. Proof of commitment is found in my heart and not in the interpretation of His calling. My responsibility is to seek my Father’s face, listen to Him speak, and lead through Word and Spirit, and accept the jobs He places before me with willingness.

Even when they’re not dramatic. Even when they are.

So when He asks me to write a little piece on a little blog, it’s good. When He calls her to minister to a grieving daughter in a quiet coffee shop, it’s good. When He calls you to hold your child’s hand, it’s good. When He calls us to hold the door open for someone or help pick up scattered coins or pay for his coffee, that’s good, too.

Because He is good. And we have been designed to fill His purposes – big and small.  None of it is more or less good or important when rooted in authentic desire to serve the King.

Listen and obey. Don’t be ashamed to do the next smallish thing.
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Word of the Day: Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord …  (Colossians 3:23)
Prayer: Let me hear You, Father, above the noise. Bring me to an understanding that Your ways are not the world’s ways. Heal my heart from pride. Lead me to and equip me for the next thing you have for me —big or small. Cover me with Your mercy that I may cover others with mercy. In Your name and for Your sake, Amen.

Author:  Melissa Bronson

I fell over the other day. Right to the floor.
My littlest one was telling me about a video she’d just seen. It was about a snake and a boy. Someone else asked me to get something from the kitchen, and I was thinking about the elusive paper. It had to be returned to school the next day, but I couldn’t remember whose class it was for or which pile I’d put it.
Thus, my brain and body were in overdrive, and I fell on the floor.
Lucky for me, I’m only five feet tall, so it wasn’t a long fall, but it’s a hard floor.
Oddly enough, the little one didn’t seem to notice my rapid and drastic change in posture.  She kept talking about this enthralling video about a snake and a boy. I tried to respond with interest, but in my mind, I was thinking,  Are you serious? Can you not see I have fallen, Child?
My husband, however, was concerned.
“What just happened?” he said.  “Are you okay?”
“I’m not sure,” I said.                   
Nothing shattered, nothing sprained.  That was good, and I was grateful.
Here’s what happened – way too much.
My brain was too engaged in the paper hunt. I was trying desperately to give my child the attention she needed; obviously, this video was very important to her. I needed to get into the kitchen, and frankly, I forgot to pick my foot up before heading in that direction. Rubber catches, you know, and in this case, my rubber sole caught on the flooring, and I went down.
Right in a pile on the floor. I’d fallen, and praise God, I could get up.
Now, this is a silly illustration of a serious lesson. Falling is no picnic. Trust me, I’m prone to it. I’ve fallen in many places and spaces; I’m not very coordinated. I take a quick inventory and get back up.
I have also fallen emotionally.
That’s a bit trickier.
Hearts and minds aren’t visibly fallen. Faces, with much effort and determination, appear on the ups. Arms and legs function just fine. But, the soul’s caught on life, and down it goes. So desperately, we want someone to notice, to offer a hand or ask, “Are you alright?”  
We want someone to care enough to listen.
If I’d slowed my mind and body in the kitchen that day, I wouldn’t have fallen over.  And, if we, collectively, with the help of our Good Father, slowed ourselves and committed to investing in one another’s lives, we would notice when our sister had fallen. When her soul caught and stuck. When she needed our help.
And, we could say, Are you alright?  Please, let me help.
Maybe she just needs to tell you about a cool video she saw that day. One about a snake and a boy.
So, you’d help her up, and you’d listen.
Verse:  
… let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak … (James 1:19)
Prayer:  Glorious God, thank You for gifting me with friends. Thank You for placing each one around me in different seasons of life and for shepherding me through these friends. Please slow me down, Lord. Help me see my friends’ needs and listen to their words. When they are stuck, help me see them. Grant me grace in my words, and Your love in my heart. In Jesus’, Amen.

Author:  Melissa Bronson

Grandma lived through the Depression; she never had many expensive things. But, she collected a lot of things over the decades. My mother, sister, and I have spent several hours at my grandma’s house over the past year. There is a lot of stuff to sort, and we’re sifting through it – one shelf at a time.

She kept hundreds of greeting cards handed and sent to her by friends and family. We also found colored pictures, brittle with age, given by children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Cracked shells. Anniversary cards. Hundreds of photographs, dated and explained.

We can’t keep everything, I know. And, it’s just stuff.

But, each of these things meant something to her. She kept them not because they were valuable in a monetary sense, but because they were priceless in a memory sense. With each new finding, I feel like we’re tapping into an undiscovered piece of her. Pieces of her mind and heart wrapped in tissue paper, set in a box, and placed on a shelf.

Dementia broke through her protective pane. It stole things from her. She couldn’t live in her home anymore and had to leave most of her treasures behind. She didn’t remember the box with all the pictures or the anniversary cards Grandpa had given her throughout the years. She couldn’t recall the shell I gave her, or the picture my sister colored, or my brother’s favorite truck.

She remembered us, though. Her face lit every time we stepped into the room. She asked about our children and all we’d been doing. She was always interested and loved us with all her heart. It wasn’t the stuff she treasured – the cards and pictures and everything else; it was the memories they represented. Each a treasure.

And she loved the Lord. He was her greatest treasure.

He’s helped me through so much, she’d say. I can always talk to Him.

Dementia’s got nothing on our Jesus or the love He infuses into His children – for one another and Himself. He helps us remember the important stuff when our flesh fails.

He covers us, draws us beneath His protective wings, and says, I’m here. I’ll help you. Just rest.
​
After her body quit and she flew free, my sister and I boxed up the things in her room.

A whole life, I thought.

This is what’s left. Hand lotion and Kleenex and more greeting cards. But, she left so much more and took so much with her.

She left a legacy of love and faithfulness.

She left hearts full of love for her, and with her she took her heart full of love for us.

Eternal treasures.

Word of the Day:

Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven … for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.  Matthew 6:19-21

Prayer:

Good Father,
You come and offer treasure. Eternal, priceless treasure. Keep our eyes on You. Let Your extravagant love distract us from the fleeting vanity of this world. Give us wisdom to see and hear and love the gifts from Your merciful hand. Thank You.  In Jesus’ name and for His sake, Amen.  

Author:  Melissa Bronson