Month: August 2018

It all started at the pool. It was surprisingly empty for a late summer afternoon. The lifeguard blew the whistle, signaling the start of a mandatory rest period. Children are supposed to stop swimming so adults can swim for 15 minutes without getting cannonballed. I’ll be perfectly honest – there were five kids and 27,000 gallons of water and no one else in the pool. My kids got out and sat and waited. Two parents let their kids keep playing. The lifeguard didn’t say anything. The parents didn’t say anything.

You know who said something? My kids. The ones sitting out while the other kids were playing. How come we can’t get in? Me: It’s the rule. I know those other kids aren’t following the rule, but it won’t hurt you to wait a few more minutes.

It seemed like there wasn’t anything else I could say.  But then I thought about the lesson that was being taught in that very moment. The one that said the rules don’t apply to everyone. The one my kids were learning by observation.

So I spoke up. I asked the parents if they were aware of the rule. When they said yes, I pointed out how hard it is for other kids to follow the rules when they see adults letting kids break them. This is totally unlike me. I’m still not sure if I did the right thing. I can only say that I felt like my kids needed to see me speak up.

We went back to playing in the water. About ten minutes later, I heard the parents telling their kids it was time to leave. Guess what? The kids ignored them. Why should they listen when their parents have taught them that they don’t have to respect people in authority? We make a life out of small, everyday decisions.

If you refuse to discipline your children, it proves you don’t love them; if you love your children, you will be prompt to discipline them.  Proverbs 13:24

The word “discipline” has a bad rap. We’re quick to identify it with punishment. But its root is the Latin word for pupil, or student. It refers to training that shapes and improves behavior. It leads to self-control. Isn’t this what we want for our kids?

I get it. Parenting is exhausting. But we want them to live, so we tell them don’t walk in the road (there are places it’s not good for you to go). Don’t stick the fork in the outlet (there are things it’s not good for you to do). We protect them and shelter them and teach them because we want them to stay alive.

If it’s true about their physical lives, how much more so the life of their soul? Their hearts? Parents are appointed to be Lifeguards, to teach our little ones how to live, “so they will know [how to live and] so each generation can set its hope anew on God” (Psalm 78:6-7).

Following rules isn’t the key to right living. We’re only made right with God by an undeserved gift of grace (Ephesians 2:8). But the Bible says we need to respect those in authority over us (Romans 13:1), and I guess I think God really means it. Even the lifeguard. Maybe especially the lifeguard.

I’ve been fortunate to spend time this summer catching up with family and friends. After we caught up on all the new stuff, the old stories came out. You probably have similar ones – family favorites that are told every time everyone’s together. Everyone listening could finish the story, and yet they’re still told again and again with great delight.

There’s a family story I keep coming back to found in John 6. It’s that time Jesus took the meager offering of one young boy and multiplied it to feed a crowd. The part that’s stuck with me lately happened as the meal drew to a close. John describes it this way: “After everyone was full, Jesus told his disciples, “Now gather the leftovers, so that nothing is wasted” (6:12). He goes on to record that there were 12 baskets of leftovers from what started out as five little loaves.

Now that’s pretty impressive. But there are three little words in the middle that hint at an even bigger miracle than feeding five thousand men and countless women and children – nothing is wasted.

The whole loaf of bread looks good. It’s full of potential, like you can do something with it. But as time passes, our full loaves get knocked about. Pieces break and fall off or are even torn out. Those lost bits and pieces might seem too insignificant to bother about. Just part and parcel of living.

We still cry many tears over the pain of lost wholeness. I tend to mop those tears up and toss the tissue. But God views them differently – “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book” (Psalm 56:8).

Nothing is wasted.

Jesus said nothing is wasted. Not the whole loaf that was offered at the beginning. And not the broken bits that are left at the end. Not the time that you spent or the love that you gave or the kindness you showed. Not the mercy you extended. Not your time on the sidelines, in the nursery, in the sickbed, or even in bondage to the enemy. Nothing is wasted.

He can do something with all of it. He will use all of it to accomplish His good purposes. Those parts that seem lost or insignificant or worthless – the leftovers – He will not waste.

God does more with the broken bread than the intact loaf anyway. Think about it. It was broken bread that fed the multitudes. And when Jesus offered bread to the disciples at the Last Supper, He said, “This is my body, broken for you” (1 Corinthians 11:24 KJV). Not whole. Broken. And it was precisely in the moment when it appeared Jesus had wasted His life, that God used His brokenness to transform, ransom and redeem all things. Including you. Including me.