Mustard seed – Marilyn R. Gardner

Pakistan

I’ve always loved band aids. Ever since I was a little girl and I had a doctor set I’ve loved band aids and bandages. There is something surprisingly comforting about a small strip of adhesive with a soft middle. Maybe it’s the clean – treat – protect mantra, maybe it’s the care with which the band aid is placed on the wound, maybe it’s the thought behind the band-aid — I’m not sure, but I love them.

When it comes to our hurting world, most of us only have the ability to offer a band-aid. Most of us are not in positions of power and authority, where we can change decisions of nations and governments to protect their people, not hurt them. Most of us are not in places where we are responsible for far-reaching policies that affect the poor and needy, that can change how water and food are distributed. Most of us don’t have a reach much beyond our neighborhood. Realistically, most of us can only offer a band-aid.

And here is truth – a band-aid does little to stop the pain and hurt of the oozing, painful ulcer that is the world and it’s too-many-to-count problems.

But band aids make a huge difference to the person who has the wound. Band aids mean something. They mean that someone took the time to care, to clean, to treat, to protect. They mean that someone stopped what they were doing and came to the aid of another. A band-aid may be small, but small things for the Kingdom matter.

There were five loaves and two fishes for five thousand people. It was a fraction of what was needed to feed hungry people. Jesus took what was there and he multiplied it abundantly. They were band aids to the need of the day – but he made the band-aid matter.

I think that’s what he does with our band aids. The small things we offer to our children, our neighbors, the stranger on the street — he takes them and multiplies them and we never know what that band-aid might mean to the one who wears it.

Last November I had the opportunity to go to Turkey for a short time. One of the things I did while there was go to a refugee camp near the Syrian and Iraqi borders. When I got back, I wrote this to a dear friend, Rachel Pieh Jones:

“I’m back – and it feels so small.”

She responded with this and as long as I live, I will never forget her words:

“It is small. And you are just one person. But a mustard seed is small. That’s the way of the Kingdom. May we always delight in being part of small things.”

So today, offer a band-aid. You never know what God can do with that band-aid.

loaves

Big and Small; Small and Big by Robynn

I just got off the phone with a childhood friend. This friendship is rare and very precious to me. Kiran remembers me when I use to wear hot pink and I liked babies. She knew my first crush and my second. We were roommates at boarding school more times than I can recount. For years we lost touch, but close to two years ago she found me and we made a phone date! It was like picking up where we’d left off…only now we were both mothers and wives and responsible adults. Our metabolisms were on strike , we were both battling middle age and teenagers galore. Since that first phone call we try to make contact every two or three months or so. Sometimes it’s just a message exchange on WhatsApp, other times we talk on the phone. Those phone calls bring me back full circle. I can’t quite explain how vital these types of friendships are when the place of our childhood is so far away.

Kiran represents a whole community. She proves that I once was young. She has endured similar griefs and losses. She struggles with similar agonies. We grew up with the same scenery. There’s just so much about me she understands without me elaborating.

During today’s call we chatted for a bit about our longings to have a global impact, to make a broader, wider difference. We grew up in families where both parents worked hard. Her parent’s are both doctors. Their successes are obvious and countable. My parents ran a hostel for girls and a technical training and Bible school for young men. They too could see students come and go, grow and succeed. They too could keep track of the differences they were making.

Kiran and I are both homemakers and stay at home mothers. Our circles of influence seem small; our lives seem small. Kiran bemoaned that smallness. Her life hasn’t turned out the way she imagined and sometimes she wonders if she’s made any impact. Has she wasted her life?

As we chatted it struck me how all the things we think are small Jesus says they’re big. And the things we think are big and significant, he shrugs his shoulders, and says they’re really quite small.

Faith the size of a mustard seed? We say tiny. He says huge.

Least in the Kingdom? We roll our eyes and sigh. He rolls out the red carpet and says Welcome!

The Big wig from down town? We primp and prep and usher and accompany. He’s not terribly impressed but he looks deep inside their eyes and sees the places they feel small…and in those places he scoots over and makes room for love and grace and acceptance.

Children? We say pipe down noise makers. He says, Kids: my favourite! Why can’t you all be more like kids?

Two coins? We say, “why bother? Really? That’s all you have?” He sees her empty purse and marvels at how she’s the most generous person he’s come across!

Two fishes? Three loaves of bread? We brace ourselves and think, Well. This is awkward. Jesus receives the gift and says, Just perfect! Exactly what I needed! This is just enough! And he says thank you for the very big lunch, and prays a blessing over it all and uses it to feed a very big crowd.

His perspective is completely upside down from ours. His ruler is irrational, his scales unbalanced. But when we take our small wounded hearts off our sleeves and hold them up to give to him, he looks down and sees big intentions and big dreams. He takes us up, in our smallness, and he squeezes us into his bigness and loves us in the big way that our small selves can’t ever begin to fathom.

This is huge!

Photo credit: http://pixabay.com/en/bread-pastry-roll-tile-studio-565911/