“Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done”
Jesus let go . . . to do His Father’s work
He let go so that the Father, whose arms were open wide, could wrap them around more of His children.
Jesus opened his arms wide on the cross, to suffer a mother’s terrifying, heart-wrenching nightmare, so a world of me’s could find their way into the wide open embrace of His father.
Jesus let go . . . for me
“Love your neighbor as I have loved you,” (John 13:34)
Loving our neighbors somehow seems a little distant. Maybe because neighbors today do not know your mama, your granddaddy, your great-aunt Ruby. There’s no history, no connection. So live it this way; Love people like you love your children: fiercely, uncompromisingly, self-sacrificingly.
I hold my children, encircled in the love of my heart, wrapping that love around them like hugging arms. I need to stretch this heart, to let others inside, wrapping that love around them like God does, like Jesus did, arms wide open, ready, waiting.
Letting go means loving more.
Are you ready, willing to give that father love or mother love, or even daughter/son love to those outside your home, both those easy and uneasy to love?
5 sons. 1 daughter-in-law. 1 husband. 1 scardy cat. That makes 8 different ways for me to communicate. 8 different schedules. 8 different moods. 8 different needs. 8 different responses. There are 5 love languages that need mastering and 7 Spiritual Gifts to interpret.
Prayer for 8. Dinner for 6. Clean socks for 5.
I can get absorbed in my family. In my reactions to my family. Into the mysteries of my family. My. My. My. My.
“If anyone would come after me, they must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. Whoever tries to save his life will lose it, but whoever will lose his life for me will save it” (Luke 9:23-24)
Yes, sometimes, I need to let go of my to embrace His . . .His children, His love, His spirit, His word, His Fatherness, His schedule.
Letting Go of my to be His laborer
Today, in the grocery store my cart filled with Mama Rosa’s cheese pizzas for my littlest guy. Shrieking noises wafted over the aisles. My cart and I continued on. High-pitched squeals moved closer, not happy squeals – out-of-control squeals. Chicken to make soup for my biggest teen. Futile mother shouts encroached. Salsa for my Joyful one, mechanical pencils for my fire and power son. Running feet closed in, noise moving passionately invading my reverie. Pelegrino for my thirst.
As I was just reaching for enchilada sauce a little boy appeared with the shrieking voice. You know the kind of sound – the sound a little 4 year old makes when he thinks he is playing a game of tag and keeps slipping from your touch, evading. At least, I think he was 4.
Racing down the aisle, weaving between customers, he stopped in front of my cart. Grabbing hold, he stepped to stand on the end, just like my boys did when they were little, wanting to ride. But he was not my boy.
I could just see the headlines, “Boy flips cart, critically injured.” Or maybe, “Woman accused of imminent child-theft” all because he was suddenly wanting to ride my cart.
Treading carefully – because he wasn’t mine to scold, I told him he needed to step off the cart. He did. I kept looking for his mother, expecting her to call him. Nothing. In a quandary, I calmly pushed the cart forward. He decided to go with me like he was my boy.
“You need to go back to your mom. You shouldn’t be here with me,” I suggested.
“Do you think I’m going to hell?” he asked, making eye contact, stopped still in front of me.
My world stopped. Letting Go of my concerns, I looked at him squarely in the eye. Wanting to say so much, wanting to say it so right, but only having grocery-store aisle time, I finally said, looking back at him straight in the eye, ”You can go to heaven if you want to.”
“Can I go home with you?” he asked. If my spirit had arms, which in this case, I think it did, well those spirit arms pulled him into my heart, into the circle of my family. Prayer for 9 now. Still 5 pairs of socks for matching, but prayer for 9.
“Then little children were brought to Him that He might put His hands on them and pray, but the disciples rebuked them. But Jesus said, “Let the little children come to Me,
and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt. 19: 13-14)
His mother and grandmother came around the corner then. He took off, lots of noise, lots of energy followed by lots of parental hollering.
“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24)
Letting go of my thoughts, my reverie, my concerns, my challenges. I prayed. That God would send laborers across this little boy’s path. That his eyes would be opened to the truth – that he is a child of God. That heaven is his for the asking. That angels would encamp about him and protect him. That healthy boundaries would be set for him. No matter how much little boys balk at having healthy boundaries set, they cry out for someone to love them enough to set them.
Letting go of my
To wrap God’s love around His
All because Jesus let go first for me.