WHAT DOES A CADET SAY?

GRACE IN THE MIDDLE...

January 15, 2014 Grace in the Middle Alicia Bruxvoort

"Let us then approach God's throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need." Hebrews 4:16 (NIV)

She is slumped on the couch all grumpy and mad, her lips pursed in a dramatic pout. "Why didn't you name ME Elizabeth Grace?" my little girl asks as she punctuates her big sister's name with a hiss of frustration.

I set down the laundry basket I'm lugging through the living room and turn my head toward my four-year-old.

Her blue eyes churn indignant like a thundercloud on a hot summer's day, and this girl of mine who is never satisfied with the name I chose crosses her arms in front of her chest with a big harrumph.

Trying not to laugh at the theatrics, I move to the couch where my daughter sits sulking. I push back the bangs hanging haphazard across her forehead and slump lower on the cushions so we can perch head to head.

"I didn't name you Elizabeth Grace," I murmur in her ear, "because when you were tucked in my tummy, God gave me the name Magdalene Hope."

I let my words dangle in the air, the sound of Maggie's sniffled breathing ticking off the silent seconds. I hold my little one's hand and say, "And once God whispered that name to my heart, I knew that's exactly who you were going to be. Our one and only Maggie Hope."

My dramatic girl raises an eyebrow and sighs, her vexation melting into sadness.

"But I just want Grace in my middle, Mom. Right between Maggie Moo and Bwuxfort..."

She adds her nickname to the mix and slaughters our fine Dutch surname, but her gaze is so earnest that now I'm not even tempted to giggle.

Instead, I pull my fifth-born onto my lap and rock her ever so slightly. And as I rest my chin on her tangle-haired-head, I understand her wish.

Grace in the middle. Who doesn't need that?

No matter where life on this earth begins or how it ends, we all need a little grace in the middle. We were made with purpose and our Savior promises joy in the end. But making it through the middle? That's a different story.

The middle is where hours creep long and the view wanes dim. It's where the starting block feels like a distant memory and the finish line looms like an impossible dream.

The middle can douse our dreams, derail our zeal, and diminish our faith. It can make us desperate. For mercy. For hope. For grace.

• When the baby's teething and the toddler's tantrum-ing.

• When the dishes pile high and the laundry's run wild.

• When our souls are empty and our calendars are filled, when our dinner

tables are noisy and our accolades are quiet.

• When the bread's burning and our patience has gone up in smoke, when our best isn't good enough and our worst is magnified.

Right in the middle of that darkness, right in the middle of that mess, we need grace.

Grace to take one more step, to utter one more prayer, to risk rejection one more time. Grace to trust in His promises and to cling to His hand.

We linger long there on the couch, me and my girl who wants a new name.

We just rock and cuddle and listen to the patter of rain on the window, the hum of the washing machine a floor below.

And instead of offering my mopey Maggie a lecture on the grandeur of her given name, I simply hold her. Hold her with compassion, right in that middle place of wishing for something different and trying to accept what really is.

And this mom, living somewhere between my beginning and my end, reminds her little girl of one simple truth (Because sometimes we just need to say it aloud for our own road-weary souls):

There is only one name worthy of our wishing, one name deserving of our dreams. And when we keep that name in the middle of our madness, He offers hope in our beginning, glory in our end, and grace for every moment in-between.

Jesus.

Heavenly Father, thank You for being here with me in the middle. May Your grace sustain me in the long days, giving me perspective, courage and hope. In Jesus' Name, Amen.

Numbers 6:25-26, "... the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace." (NIV)

Paying it forward...

One day a man was motoring down a country road and saw an elderly lady, stranded on the side of the road, but even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help- tire puncture!. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her. 

        Even with the smile on his face, she looked worried. No one had stopped to help for the last hour or so. Was he going to hurt her? He didn't look safe; he looked poor and hungry. He could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It was that chill which only fear can put in you. 

He said, 'I'm here to help you, ma'am. Why don't you wait in the car where it's warm? By the way, my name is Bryan Anderson. Let me see what needs to be done here!'  Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Bryan crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt. 

                   

As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from   St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to her aid. 

Bryan just smiled as he closed her trunk. The lady asked how much she owed him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped.  

Bryan never thought twice about being paid. This was not a job to him. This was helping someone in need, and God knows there were plenty, who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way. 

He told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give that person the assistance they needed, and Bryan added, 'And think of me.' 

He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight. 

A few miles down the road the lady saw a small café. She went in to grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't erase. The lady noticed the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her attitude. The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she remembered Bryan.

After the lady finished her meal, she paid by leaving a five dollar bill on top of the receipt, adding five one hundred dollar bills underneath it. The waitress quickly went to get change for her five-dollar bill, but the old lady had slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. The waitress wondered where the lady could be. Then she noticed something written on the napkin. 

There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady wrote: 'You don't owe me anything. I have been there too. Somebody once helped me out, the way I'm helping you. If you really want to pay me back, here is what you do: Do not let this chain of love end with you.

        Under the napkin were five crisp $100 notes. 

Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to serve, but the waitress made it through another day. That night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how much she and her husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it was going to be difficult to make ends meet.... 

She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her, she slipped the hundred dollar notes into his slippers, gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, 'Everything's going to be all right. I love you, Bryan Anderson.'

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Thought Matters, 2014 – Theme Announcement

Posted on January 8, 2014

by bcmnz

Please see below a message from the Tri-Territorial Theological Forum regarding this years conference in Auckland.

THOUGHT MATTERS CONFERENCE, 2014
Keeping you in the loop…

Greetings from the Tri-Territorial Theological Forum.

We are happy to announce that the theme for the 2014 conference has now been confirmed:

“Honour God With Your Body: A Christian View of Human Sexuality”

Christian theology and spirituality has implications for every aspect of human existence, including sexuality. Even though sexuality is given inordinate attention in popular culture it is seldom discussed, in a deliberately theological way, within The Salvation Army. It is hoped that a conference on this theme will allow participants to reflect on their responses to issues of sexuality in their own lives and in society in general.

We are continuing to explore the best Auckland options for a conference venue. For now, please make sure you have reserved the dates in your calendar (29 – 31 August, 2014) and begin to think how you might respond to a Call for Papers which will be issued in due course.

And remember, if you were unable to be in Melbourne last October, you can catch up on some of the happenings of Thought Matters 2013 at our Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/thoughtmatters

Please feel free to forward this information to others you think may be interested. Please ask them to send their details to Thought_Matters@nzf.salvationarmy.org if they wish to be added to our email database.

Thank you.

Garth Stevenson
On behalf of the Tri-Territorial Theological Forum

Re-Gifting Part Two

Having grown up in Chicago myself, and with interest piqued, I asked where in Chicago was their home? “On the north side of the city,” he said. “That’s interesting”, I replied, “because I also lived on the north side, and in fact went to Lake View High School, near Wrigley Field.”

“So did my sister”, he exclaimed! I asked what year was that visit to your home, and he informed me that it was 1960. I asked him to describe the SA Officer who had visited his home and he shared, “he was tall, maybe in his late 30s, and he spoke English with an accent of some kind.”  “Could it have been a Swedish accent”, I asked? And at that moment all of us at that Christmas table realized concurrently, as tears flowed freely, that the man who had brought the gift of Jesus to that young boy, 40 years earlier on a Christmas Eve was my father. The re-gifting of the story of the birth of Jesus, the love of God, to that young boy was the catalyst that was now bringing the name of Jesus to thousands of Russian military men and women, former atheists and agnostics. The Name above all other names was being re-gifted.

My father spoke from time to time through the years about how his father, my grandfather, had brought the Christmas message to Russia as a Salvation Army missionary in 1919. The Salvation Army's presence was short lived as all foreign missionaries were forcibly deported by 1923. I believe my father often pondered whether those early efforts by his father would ever find resolve and be  reconciled with the scripture's command found in Matthew 28:19 (NIV). “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit…”

Although the word re-gifting doesn’t exist officially, I did an internet search and was more than a little surprised at the number of websites committed to teaching re-gifting. And there are already rules of etiquette about re-gifting. There is one rule among several that I want to share. Not only is it okay to regift, but there are times when you are obligated to regift; if someone else could benefit from a gift, you are obliged to re-gift. Is there any greater “gift” that we as Christians can share with the world?


Sven Ljungholm
Former Officer
USA, Sweden, Russia, Ukraine, Moldova
Birkenhead Corps UK

RE-GIFTING

The media can be blamed, or credited, for inventing and providing the general public with many things, among them, new ‘buzzwords’. One such word first popped up on a TV comedy show a few of years ago; re-gifting! It means rewrapping a present one didn't want and consequently, rewrapping it and re-gifting it to someone else, making certain of course, that one doesn’t mistakenly re-gift it to the original “giver”. 

The USA television program suggested that the genesis of the word stems from the ubiquities Christmas fruitcake. Their claim was in fact, only three fruitcakes were ever baked in the USA. The perception that fruitcakes exist in far greater numbers stems from the fact that they are never unwrapped from their colorful cellophane and devoured; they are simply re-gifted..

Even though the word re-gifting is relatively new, the concept and practice is not. Re-gifting began with God, Mary and Joseph, on the first Christmas Eve. One won’t find the word re-gifting in Webster’s dictionary yet. However, both the Old and New Testament provide a definition of re-gifting and are replete with examples and exhortations. On that first Christmas Eve God gifted Himself to us in the form of His Son, gifting Himself as it were, "He hath given all things into the hands” of His creatures. His was a gift designed specifically for you and me, and to all.

Do you remember when you first heard the name Jesus? Perhaps for you, like me, one of the most powerful remembrances was the family Christmas Eve table. It was my SA officer grandparents reading the Christmas story at the table… and some years later my SA officer parents doing the same, on Christmas Eve.

Twenty years ago I celebrated re-gifting at a rather unusual Christmas Eve table. It was in Moscow, Russia, and it served as a powerful reminder of what the consequences of reconciliation and re-gifting can be.

I was privileged to serve as a pioneer SA officer in Russia, immediately following Perestroika- they were busy, heady and often difficult times. One of my favorite monthly activities was leading the Sunday evening devotions at the USA Embassy, a gated community in the center of Moscow with high walls protecting it. A group of some 35-40 expats, Americans living in, or visiting Moscow, would meet to worship. Visitors were always found in our small assembly and one Sunday there were five USA military officers visiting our evening service. All five belonged to the Association of Christian Military Fellowship and had been active for several weeks in seeking to sign up Russian regiments that they might visit. They were given opportunity to share the Gospel with large groups of military personnel, an unheard of witness opportunity in the history of the Soviet military.

Following the service at the Embassy we enjoyed coffee and cake together. The five USA military officers had learned that one of my SA related activities was lecturing weekly at the Russian MilitaryAcademy (Intro to Social Services) They were eager to further their reach into the Russian military and thought I could be helpful in their gaining direct access to the Academy, the Russian equivalent of West Point and Sandhurst.

We arranged to have dinner that week, on December 24. We met at a typical Russian restaurant, a decade prior to any westernization and improvement in the quality of Russkie Stolovayas (restaurants). We heard the Muscovites' exuberance well before venturing inside; the build up of wind swept snow and ice prevented the large front door from closing completely. We entered the rowdy premises, smoke-filled enough to sting one’s eyes. Vodka and champagne was flowing freely; the voices of the Russians boisterous as they sang and toasted each other.

As we entered, dressed in USA military officer uniforms and two of us in Salvation Army uniforms, we must have been a very strange sight; the cold war had not yet thawed completely! The celebrant's rowdiness became a hushed murmur and their glances suspicious - we entered with our caps in hand and presented our overcoats to a startled doorman.

We were escorted to our table and greeted with snickers of 'Hello Yankees' and 'Nazdtrovia', the Russians' courage boosted by vodka , as glasses were lifted and 'clinked'!

Our menus were distributed, drink orders taken and we bowed in prayer…. it was our Christ mass table, thousands of miles from our families, celebrating their Christmas Eve stateside.

Our thoughts and conversation naturally turned to “family”. One of the USA military officers shared that he was born and raised in Chicago, and went on to say that he became a Christian as a young boy. A Salvation Army officer had come to his home on Christmas Eve delivering a parcel of food and toys to him and his siblings. His father, he explained, “had abandoned the family and they were living on welfare. After passing out the Christmas gifts the Salvation Army man asked my mother”, he said, “if he might be allowed to read the Christmas story- we sat at our kitchen table as he read… and then he asked me and my sisters if we’d like to have Jesus living in our hearts- we knelt there in our tiny kitchen, and he prayed with us- and Jesus has been my Lord ever since”.

End part One


Sven Ljungholm
Former Officer
USA, Sweden, Russia, Ukraine, Moldova

Birkenhead Corps UK