More About Jesus

by Tricia Brown

I often pray while I ride my stationary bike. Since I am not athletic in any sense of the word, I need all the help I can get. After praying, “Lord, help me get through the next 70 minutes without dying,” I usually proceed (in between huffs and puffs) towards my more serious prayers.

Recently during such a time, God brought to mind an old worship song I hadn’t heard in years. Even as I hummed the tune, I could remember only a few words… "More, More About Jesus." Somehow, as so often happens, the song began to create in me a prayer. I began to ask God to make me more like Jesus.  

“Lord, help me to be more like Jesus. Help me to think like Jesus. Help me to act like Jesus.”

(Well, that’s a little generic. I should probably be more specific)

“Lord, help me to have more patience.”

(Hmm, I definitely need that. But I probably shouldn’t pray for patience. You know what they say, pray for patience, and God will give you things to test yours.)

“Well, Lord, help me to forgive more easily.”

(I don’t think I need to forgive anyone right now, but that’s always a good one, right?)

“Yes, Lord, help me to be more forgiving.”

(What about when someone cuts you off in traffic or snags your primo parking spot at the grocery store? What about when you feel as if your son is being mistreated or made fun of by another kid? Hmm, maybe I should move on. What other attributes did Jesus have that I need to develop?)

“Lord, help me to recognize sin.”

(Sin is easy to recognize—in others. What about my own? That’s kind of a dangerous thing to pray…)

“Lord, help me to be bold in my testimony and witness to others.”

(Yea, that’s a good one. I can pray that. I should speak up more. Moving on…)

“Lord, help me to love others more.”

(Love is always good. OK, but what about those people that I don’t know or really care about? What about the immigrants I see at Aldi? What about the homeless who are always asking for money on the side of the street? What about people who hurt me? What about those who are simply unlovable? Do I really want to love them more? Do I really need to love them at all? I know God wants me to love them, but…)

“Lord, help me to be more self-sacrificing.”

(WHAT? Wait a minute! Self-sacrificing? This is taking things a little too far. I don’t know about that one. Sorry, Lord. I take that one back. I didn’t really mean to say that. I don’t think I really want that, even if it is like Jesus.)

The more I prayed, the more objections I heard myself making. One prayer to the Lord, one statement to myself about the prayer. When I came to “self-sacrificing,” I almost choked on the words. I almost sent myself over the handlebars. I seriously almost retracted my statement.

My reaction gave me cause for thought.

It’s true. I do want more of Jesus in my life. I do want to become more like Him. But when I begin to really dissect what that means, I find that I am not quite as willing as I might think. I mean loving more, forgiving more, self-sacrificing more?   

The Bible makes it clear.

John 15:13, “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

Philippians 2:4, “Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too.”

Romans 12:1, “And so, dear brothers and sisters, I plead with you to give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice--the kind he will find acceptable. this is truly the way to worship him."  

And John 13:35, “Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples.”

When I am honest, I have to admit, I don't want to sacrifice any more of myself than absolutely necessary. As a mother, I am a servant. There is no question about that. I serve my husband, my children, our pets, daily. The question isn't whether or not I serve, it's whether I serve joyfully. And hence the dilemma. When it boils right down to it, I am just as selfish as the next guy or gal. And giving up my own interests for the sake of others--especially others that I don't readily know or love--doesn't come easily.

But it’s what I am called to do, and it’s something that I must do if I want to be more like Jesus. Like Paul said in Romans 7:18, “ I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don't." I am a creature full of contradictions. I say I want to be like Jesus, but then I say I don't want to do the very things He did. That's why I need the Holy Spirit to help me in my weakness (Romans 8:26) and guide me into truth (John 16:13). I cannot do it on my own. 

I need the Holy Spirit to give me love for others, a love that goes beyond the typical “feel good” emotions, a love that extends beyond my front doorstep, into my community and even beyond, a love that loves the unlovable. I need the Holy Spirit to help me forgive those who hurt me or my family, intentionally and unintentionally, and to go beyond a superficial forgiveness into a conscious choice to let grudges and grievances go. I need the Holy Spirit to help me not only serve but to serve with joy, to help me willingly give more of myself every day to my family, my friends, my church, and my community, even strangers.

Somehow this terrifies me. If I continue to give more of myself away, will I not at some point disappear altogether? Am I not losing myself in the process of self-sacrifice? Yes, yes in a very real way, I am. But that’s the mystery of God’s formula for life. As we empty ourselves before Christ, He fills us up with Himself. There’s only so much space inside of me, and Jesus is a gentleman. He won’t force Himself into my life.  So, if I want more of Jesus, I have to make room. And as Jesus pours Himself into me, I can be assured that my life in Christ will be “abundant” (John 10:10) and full of joy (Psalm 16:11) and so full that it will be like a jar pressed down, shaken and running over with good things (Luke 6:38). It is a mathematical equation that doesn’t make sense to the world. But in giving up myself, I am not losing anything; I am gaining so much more.  

“So, Lord, help me to be more like Jesus.

Help me to think like Jesus. Help me to act like Jesus.

Help me to have more patience, even when it’s hard.

Help me to forgive more easily, even when it hurts.

Help me to recognize sin, especially in myself.

Help me to be bold in my testimony and witness to others, even when it’s uncomfortable.

Help me to love others more, even when I don’t feel like it.

Lord, help to be more self-sacrificing, even when I am sad or angry or tired or scared, even when I balk at the very prospect.

Help me to understand the great gift of yourself that you are offering in return and gladly make the exchange.”

More, more about Jesus, (Less, less about me)
(Help me die to myself daily) so more of His saving fullness I’ll see,

More, more about Jesus. (Less, less about me)

(Give me a heart like His so I’ll know) 

More of His love who died for me.

Kitchen Memories

By Tricia Brown

“Every time I think of you, I give thanks to my God. Whenever I pray, I make my requests for all of you with joy.. So it is right that I should feel as I do about all of you, for you have a special place in my heart.”

Philippians 1:3-4, 7

Today, after frying bacon, I began to scrape the grease into a bowl using a small spatula. Instantly, I was transported back in time; I was a little girl, probably no more than 5 or 6, standing in a commercial kitchen behind my Granny. The griddle was huge, and I had been strictly warned not to touch it. I don’t remember what she was cooking. For all I know, she may have just finished making me a grilled cheese sandwich. But I remember watching with fascination as she methodically pulled her spatula up and down that grill, pushing the grease into the catch tray.

Thinking about Granny brings to mind how she used to give me a quarter for the jukebox in the restaurant where she worked or when we broke beans together on her front porch. I remember calling her and telling her I was “starved” and how she cooked chicken tenders and fries and walked them half-way up the hill from the restaurant to where I was working an after-school job. I remember how, at my request, she fixed fried chicken and chocolate pie and sent it with my parents when they came to visit me at college. And I remember sitting in the floor of my dorm room sharing that treasured meal with my friends.

Funny how scraping bacon grease can conjure up so many memories.

But, for me, the kitchen is a museum of memories.

When I fix lasagna, I think about the first time I made it for my then boyfriend (now husband), how I had to call my mom for the recipe and how I cried because I was so afraid I would mess it up. “I should have learned to cook!” I said. And I smile because so many years later, cooking has become such a large part of my life.

I shake my head when I make potato soup and laugh because I remember how often my mom still calls me for that recipe she can never remember.  And I marvel that so many years later, I still can’t make baked beans or macaroni and cheese taste as good as hers. I can’t cook a ham, no matter how big or small, without thinking about mom’s holiday feasts, and I’m filled with overwhelming gratitude for the blessing of a close-knit family with whom to share them.  

On the rare occasion that I make a breakfast dinner, I patiently and slowly stir the chocolate gravy and  am reminded of my good friend Mrs. Sherry who introduced me to that delicacy. No matter the season, my mind takes me back to winter slumber parties where multiple families were camped out on her floor after a night of sledding. And I remember waking up to the smells of breakfast and the sound of laughter in her kitchen. 

I have a friend who calls her garden a “memory garden.” I had never heard of that before and was fascinated when she would point to one flower or plant after another telling me where she got and why it was special. She doesn’t buy plants. She gets seeds or cuttings from people and places that mean something to her, and so her yard is adorned not only with vegetation but more importantly with memories.

That’s the way I like to think about my kitchen. When I open up my recipe book, it’s as if I am cracking open a photo album, but the pictures are inside my head. 

A casserole recipe reminds me of friends I haven’t seen in years. I remember the first time I ate it was when they had us over for a meal.   A well-loved soup recipe reminds me of a relative who shared that same recipe with us on the day we moved into our new house. When I make scoop-and-bake cookies, I recall two different friends, both named Amanda. I remember one Amanda bringing her children over on a wintry day and taking my boys out to play with them in the snow while I stayed in and made hot cocoa and cookies to enjoy upon their return. The other Amanda enjoyed many evenings with me, sitting together eating cookies and drinking milk after an active day helping chase my four boys.

Food opens up a way to recollect good times, celebrate special moments, and make good memories.

Of course, many times cooking is a chore, something that I do because it has to be done. With four hungry boys and a husband to feed, there’s a lot of cooking and eating in my house. But often, when I let myself savor the moment, cooking becomes a trip down memory lane, a way to remember, and an opportunity to give thanks—not only for the good food that feeds our bodies but for the people in my life who have for so many years nourished my soul.

  

Butt-Prints or Footprints—You Decide!

by Tricia Brown

“So encourage each other and build each other up, 

just as you are already doing.”

1 Thessalonians 5:11

“You can’t leave footprints in the sands of time if you’re sitting on your butt. And who wants to leave butt prints in the sands of time?”—Unknown

This was the opening quote in a handmade book of quotes that my dear friend, Annette, gave my boys this past weekend. It was a truly awesome gift of encouragement, perfectly suited to her cheerful disposition and life-affirming personality. As we read through the inspirational but hilarious quotes, we smiled and laughed and thought of her and her family.

I am a big fan of encouragement. Even when our lives are chugging along rather smoothly, daily living can suck the joy right out of us. Stressful jobs, busy schedules, cranky kids, household responsibilities and bills can make us feel as if life is nothing but a grind. And then there are the times when the real storms come, when the doctor gives the diagnosis, when the company makes cutbacks, when our teenagers rebel. Let’s face it. Life is, in one way or another, hard.

That’s why we need encouragement. Encouragement is “the action of giving someone support, confidence, or hope." It is helping someone else persevere, presumably under difficult circumstances. It's something we all need, and it's something we can all give.   

When I was in high school, I suffered from depression and a very low self-esteem. In an effort to feel better about myself, I signed up for beauty pageants. I will never forget one particular pageant. I had to leave very early in the morning to head to Nashville for a day full of interviews, practices, and primping. As I hurried down the stairs from my room, I was met with a wonderful gift. My younger sister, Nancy, had covered the door with construction paper notes filled with encouraging words like “You are beautiful!” “I love you.” “No matter what anyone says, you’re a winner to me!” Thirty-something years later, I still remember those words, and even more importantly, I remember how they made me feel.

Years later, as the married mother of very small but very temperamental young boys, I remember receiving a letter from her. I still have it folded up in a special place. In it, she told me a story about the building of cathedrals, how it is a time-consuming multi-generational process, how the workers often die without seeing the completed project, but how they pour their lives into the building anyway, with faith that what they can’t yet see will one day be complete and beautiful. She told me that a mother’s job is sometimes like that. She encouraged me to believe that the work I was doing was contributing the beauty of my boys’ lives, even when I couldn’t see it. Nancy is a good encourager. But, I am blessed to have many good encouragers in my life.

Encouragement is when a father drives an hour to mow the lawn for a son-in-law when his job is taking him away from home. It’s when a mother leaves home in the middle of the night to pick up her love-sick daughter from college. It’s a sister who is never too busy to take a call and listen. It’s a good friend from college who brings funny videos for our sons to watch and shares his life lessons with them. But encouragement isn’t just for those we know and love.

Once, I was shopping in Kroger. I didn’t have my boys with me that day, which was unusual in itself. I don’t remember why. But I do remember feeling tired and ugly, very ugly. Life then was busy with four sons. I didn’t have a lot of time to “doll” up. So, I was extremely surprised when a woman stopped me in one of the aisles. She smiled and said, “I love your green headband. It is so pretty and matches your shirt perfectly.” And with those words, she lifted my spirits. She made me feel not quite so frumpy, somehow a little more beautiful. Is it silly that a stranger’s words could make such a difference? Maybe, but they did. And it’s something we all need to remember.

Encouragement can be life-changing, and it really doesn’t take much—just a little thought and a little effort. There is a meme that circulates on social media. It says something to the effect of “Be kind. Everyone is fighting a battle that you know nothing about.” It’s so true.

Once I paid a couple of dollars on someone’s bill in front of me at the cash register. She was a little short, and I covered it. I didn’t think much of it until I walked out to my car. She had started towards her vehicle and then came back to me in tears. She gave me a big hug and thanked me. Turns out she had lost her job that day. In all, it had been a pretty rough week for her. She told me that she felt my small act of kindness was God’s way of telling her everything was going to be OK. And, to think, I was just trying to get through the check-out line a little quicker.

Do you want to be used by God? Do you want to be His hands and feet? It’s a lot easier than you might think. Encourage each other. Build each other up. Take a look around you; watch the people that you know and the people that you don’t know. Love enough to say something kind, to show up when needed, to bring a meal, to clean a house, to give a hug, to send a card (or text), or to hold a hand. Don’t be silent. Don’t feign ignorance. Don’t be complacent. Listen. Smile. Hug. Care. Like my friend, Annette, would say, “Get your butt out of the sand and do something!” Be an encouragement today.

Tell me about a time when you were encouraged!