He speaks to us strongly through his word. As with most other weeks, I attempt to link these two methods of revelation. This morning, join me as we revisit the scripture that we looked at last week. This is part of a 3 week series on "Bearing Burdens."
Galatians 6:2-3
Share each other’s burdens, and in this way obey the law of Christ. If you think you are too important to help someone, you are only fooling yourself. You are not that important.
Last week we learned about the importance of taking the time to learn someones name that we did not know. I hope that we all were able to make that connection with someone new. It is powerful and comfortable to hear someone call our name. It is a vital touch point for connection and relationship building.
I am unsure if you realize this...but often I am pretty dumb when it comes to sensitivity issues. This is particularly manifest with my wife. This week however, I read something that made the light bulb get power. I heard the "ding" and said "Eureka." In other words..."by George, I think He's got it." Care to hear the story? I hope so, because you are getting it anyway.
"Shmily" by Laura Jeanne Allen
My grandparents were married for over half a century. From the time they met each other they played their own special game. The goal of their game was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was his or her turn to hide it once more.
They dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring. "Shmily" was written in the steam on the bathroom mirror, where it would reappear after every hot shower. At one point, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet.
There was no end to the places "shmily" popped up. Little notes with a hastily scribbled "shmily" were found on dashboards and car seats or taped to steering wheels. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. "Shmily" was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents' house as the furniture.
It took me a long time before I fully appreciated my grandparents' game. Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love-one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection that not everyone experiences.
Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle and word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was, how handsome an old man he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew "how to pick 'em." Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other.
But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' life: My grandmother had breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside.
Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grandfather's steady hand, she went to church with him every Sunday. But my grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore. For a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone.
"Shmily." It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins, and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother's casket and, taking a shaky breath, began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby.
Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.
S-h-m-i-l-y: See How Much I Love You.
Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa, for letting me see.
My grandparents were married for over half a century. From the time they met each other they played their own special game. The goal of their game was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was his or her turn to hide it once more.
They dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring. "Shmily" was written in the steam on the bathroom mirror, where it would reappear after every hot shower. At one point, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet.
There was no end to the places "shmily" popped up. Little notes with a hastily scribbled "shmily" were found on dashboards and car seats or taped to steering wheels. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. "Shmily" was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents' house as the furniture.
It took me a long time before I fully appreciated my grandparents' game. Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love-one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection that not everyone experiences.
Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle and word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was, how handsome an old man he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew "how to pick 'em." Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other.
But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' life: My grandmother had breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside.
Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grandfather's steady hand, she went to church with him every Sunday. But my grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore. For a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone.
"Shmily." It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins, and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother's casket and, taking a shaky breath, began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby.
Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.
S-h-m-i-l-y: See How Much I Love You.
Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa, for letting me see.
Now, this had such a profound impact that Sarah and I have adopted the practice. Instead of SHMILY we are using the #4. In our instance it means...4 keeps. To introduce the idea, I went by SONIC and took Sarah a Route 44 diet coke b the school. Douglas had early dismissal on Friday, and I picked him up. I gave the drink to another teacher, who dropped it by Sarah's room along with a note. She searched the cup, and on the bottom, in red was a #4. Douglas and I went to a movie and I was so excited that I actually "got it right", I understood, I had the "Eureka moment."
This morning we read this story because I think that it is the next step in the process of bearing the burdens of another. Last week, we learned of names....breaking the ice...(sing).."the getting to know you, getting to know all about you" process. Today we are instructed to find creative ways to let each other see how much we love them.
Now this has nothing to do with you all being so good to us. We are showered with love from the congregation often. I am encouraging you to find ways to love...EACH OTHER.
How are we to love creatively? It doesn't have to be expensive. One of the funniest ways that I have been loved creatively is that someone brought a gift by our old spot here on the campground on the day before an important procedure. I was having a colonoscopy, and this dear lady...with my sense of warped humor...brought by a four pack of Charmin. Great stuff!! I had a great laugh and felt great love.
This week, slow down a bit and think...How can I love someone here creatively. Husbands, start with your wives. Wives, you may reciprocate, as well. Then reach out to others in this assembly.
So, now that we know names, and have learned about creative loving...next week we will learn about bearing burdens. This waiting part reminds me of wanting to swim right after a picnic at the lake. Remember...if we jump in too soon, we may cramp up!
Benediction--Lord Jesus, thank you for reminding us of your love. In your word you tell us, in our lives you tell us and we still sometimes forget. Your love is strong, and you still remind us often. Our love for you, and others is weak...help us to be diligent in telling of our love. Help us to be creative, and never grow tired of loving. As your word says, "They will know that we are Christians by our love...one to another." We love you, Lord. Amen
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