Selections from Birthday Cards for Teckla 2024

Posted on January 5, 2025 by Mark
  • What a beautiful woman you are inside and out. I have always remembered the “Blue House” days, pulling taffy, going out to cut down a Christmas tree, meals at the dinner table, your smile, laughter and tears as a handful of us sat around while you read The Chronicles of Narnia and Pooh.
  • I have always admired how well you get things done, mostly loving others well.
  • When I think of spending time with you, I’m reminded of how you allowed me to be a part of your family and your boys calling me Aunt Jo-Jo. You are forever my friend, and forever family.
  • The one thing I will forever be grateful for is that you were an amazing counselor and confidant to me back in the Blue House.
  • You were and are always someone I loved so much—you had the quietness and grace of a godly woman.
  • I will always remember your warm welcome when I first volunteered at the Pregnancy Resource Center. Thank you for your kindness and help.
  • I don’t know if you remember me (Class of 72), but I remember you, as this sweet, soft spoken and quiet young lady.
  • I so appreciate working with you at the Pregnancy Resource Center; it was so good to see your patience and caring that shined out in all circumstances. I was so blessed to know you.
  • We would meet in Pioneer Park in Walla Wall for prayer, Bible study and fellowship (singing, laughing, sharing). What a special time. Your friendship and love remained in my heart all these many years.
  • We still think about the time when we were homeless, and you welcomed me to live on your enclosed porch even though the house was full. Thank you for loving and caring for us while we were establishing our new marriage.
  • I always loved it when you prayed before my shift at the Pregnancy Center. I would arrive with worries about my ability to do the work at the Center, but somehow when you finished praying, I had no doubt that God had it all under control.
  • You and your family introduced me to the Nazarene Church in Walla Walla. You were instrumental in my accepting Jesus as Savior, and I will always remember your genuine and loving faith.
  • You took me under your wing and in your beautiful, quiet way, taught me so much, not only about volunteering at the Center but sharing your unshakeable faith in God and the importance of giving the day to our lord.
  • You made the WOW [Women of the Word] Bible study really come alive for me. You always had a way of digging deep into Scripture and bringing out truths I had never seen.
  • It was wonderful getting to worship with you; you led us all so well.
  • I will always remember your lovely playing on the hammered dulcimer and how sweet and gentle you have always been.
  • I will never forget that at my wedding, you spoke kindly about my character and my love of God. I have carried your kind words with me since then.
  • Thank you for showing me what a godly woman looks like; you are a Proverbs 31 woman.
  • I remember when you taught my children and me primer Hebrew. You were the best teacher! I will never forget your gracious patience towards me, my children, and everyone.
  • In high school we were buddies. You were so sweet and funny. You always made me laugh.
  • Thanks for the early years of helping me get the tools I needed to raise my son while at the Caring Pregnancy Center. My son is now an officer at the US Air Force Academy in Colorado class of 2028.
  • I remember your gentle and kind spirit. Your smile always made a room brighten up. It made you so approachable. Also, I remember your sweet singing voice.
  • Your sweet prayers always spoke to me. Your quiet, gentle spirit was so much what I wanted to emulate (still working on that).
  • I will never forget how you stepped up to take the president’s job at the Pregnancy Center. You were so faithful to bring board enrichment every month and lead us through the many changes.
  • God has used you to change lives and many of us are so incredibly thankful for your loving obedience, your surrender, and your love.
  • I have missed your sweet, gentle spirit, and remember fondly all our time together at the OYAN workshops.
  • We have enjoyed knowing you with your kind smile and the love you have for Jesus and family.
  • I will always remember your gentle, sweet spirit and your gentle and consistent presence in my life during a difficult time.
  • What we remember best is how special you made us feel. Always ready with a sweet hug, encouraging words, cheerful countenance, and a caring heart. Our encounters with you refreshed our hearts. Your gentleness is evident to all.
  • The very best times were when we prayed. Your heartfelt, deep, wise prayers still mean so much to me.
  • You were always such a bright light and calming influence at the Pregnancy Center. You brought much joy and God used you mightily there.
  • I visited your church [Olathe Fellowship] in 1985, and you were on the worship team. You were radiant for Jesus. It showed me that there was more than I had yet experienced of God. It began a journey that continues today.
  • You were a great spiritual leader in Women of the Word Bible studies and many women were blessed by your love for Jesus. You always modeled a gentle, quiet spirit and your prayers showed that had deep friendship with Jesus.
  • I have good memories of women’s Bible study in the Blue House. Thank you for your encouragement, prayers, and love during difficult years in my life.

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On the Edge

Posted on December 30, 2024 by Mark

I never tired of hiking Oregon beaches. Along this dynamic edge of the continent, everything is alive. Purple sea urchins, sea stars, green anemones, goose-neck barnacles, and muscles cling to wave-pounded rocks. The kelp beds shelter and nourish all kinds of fish. Sea lions bark and roar and harbor seals bob up and down just beyond the surf. Waves of sandpipers fly up and down the beaches while gulls fill the air with their cries.

Even the beach seems alive. Each tide changes its shape. The creeks that snake into the ocean change their course after each storm. Sand moves in and out and up and down the beach, sometimes uncovering gravel beds full of agates that glow in the sun. Cliffs collapse and dunes drift across trails and roads.

I have also learned to love the edges of Kansas. During our first sojourn in the Kansas/Missouri area, I often walked an abandoned railway to the school where I was teaching. The rails not only open the woods to the sunlight, but also transport wildflower seeds up and down gravel bed. Prairie penstemon, blazing star, blue vervain, evening primrose, and verbena grew in the gravel beds on each side of the tracks. Red foxes used the rusty rails to move silently as they stalked their prey through fallen leaves.

The hedgerows at the edges of fields are filled with life. These hedges, planted long ago when the land was settled, are anchored by thorny honey locust, Osage orange trees, and eastern cedar. Here sparrows, finches, and other seed-eaters nest. Hawks and owls perch on the branches as they scan nearby fields for mice, voles, and rabbits. White-tailed deer shelter in the undergrowth of the hedgerows.  

Spiritually, Teckla and I have always lived on the edge. We have walked in the hedgerows that divide holiness and charismatic movements and seen the richness of each field. We have walked the shoreline where faith and reason meet and found it full of life. When we moved across the country and when we adopted four boys, our obedience pushed us to the edges of our faith. Recently, cancer, the death of our oldest son and now dementia has brought us to the edge of our trust in God—but here too life abounds.  

Recently we hiked along an old hedgerow near our house. It marks a ragged boundary between the subdivision and the huge industrial park to the west. The warm fall was ending, and birds were beginning to flock together. Robins and red-winged blackbirds filled the tops of the trees. Teckla and I walked in the shadows cast by the warehouses, but high in the branches the birds all faced west, catching the last rays of the winter sun. Our hearts were lifted up.

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The Porch and Mudroom of Heaven

Posted on December 20, 2024 by Mark

Is this all there is? What happened to all the dreams of revival? All the hopes for our children? I am 71 and it seems like life has gone by in the blink of an eye. So many prayers prayed! So many unanswered. So many hopes have packed up and left town. Like an unrelenting tide, death and time have silently swept away those who mentored me. Is this all there is?

No. This life is only the porch of heaven, a brief time stay on the porch of eternity. My life has been blessed. God’s grace, help, and favor has been a shady porch on a hot Kansas day. His love has been a glass of ice-tea; his voice is the voice of a friend, tried and true.

But as wonderful as the porch is, it is not the house. The winter winds batter the porch and the wooden chairs, even the rockers, are hard after a while. On the summer nights we might delight in the fireflies, but in the winter we long for the hearth. We long for the door to open.

Here on the porch, we pour out our lives in service of Jesus, knowing our story is only one of thousands, and that all these years are only the preface of the book, the porch of the house of God. On the porch we suffer the heat and cold; we long for the rest offered in the house. We long to sit at the table with the Lord of the house and hear his laughter shake the walls.

I believe the last of a believer’s years, as troubled and painful as they can be, are like the mud-rooms of old farmhouses. Sometimes these rooms were connected to the front or back porch. Here muddy boots and wet coats could be kicked off. If on the back porch, there was often a sink and some Lava soap for scrubbing off the grease or manure.

The last years of our lives scrub our souls. The deaths of parents and friends clear away the clutter of worldly values and clarifies what matters. Suffering, especially the suffering of those we love, scours away our selfishness. Our own pains and mortality make us long to enter the house of Jesus—to be absent from this body and present with our Lord. The mudroom of our suffering offers few comforts beyond our cleansing, but it is here that we are made ready for all the joys and comforts of God’s house.

No, this is not all there is. It is hard many days and glorious a few, but it is only the porch. The lights of the house are on; the aroma of the feast fills the air.

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A Tale of Two Tales

Posted on December 17, 2024 by Mark

With great insight and common sense, Sam explains to Frodo that there are two types of tales. The first is the kind Bilbo had when he left the Shire and then returned well and wealthy—tales of “coming home and finding things all right, though not quite the same.” But there are also those who embark upon adventures, and despite opportunities to turn back, don’t, and never come to “a good end.” Sam goes on to say tales with the good endings aren’t always the best tales to hear but might be the best tales “to get landed in.”

I think most believers hope for the good-ending stories where the miracle comes, the marriage is healed, and the prodigal son comes home. We celebrate, rightly I think, how the relentless love of God sets free the son and daughter captive to sin. Yet, we are vaguely aware of the other kind of story. When Sam muses on two kinds of tales, he is on the stairs of Cirith Ungol and about to face his most terrible battle and deepest sorrow. Sam does not know what kind of tale he is in, or even if there will anyone to tell his tale.

Scripture supports Sam’s observation about two kinds of tales. Both kind of tales are mentioned in Hebrews eleven—stories of those who by faith shut the mouths of lions and those who by faith were sawn in half. Most of us like the stories of mighty and miraculous things done by men and women of faith. Hebrews is up front is saying that many of these heroes of faith never received that which was promised (v. 13, 39). We prefer stories where persevering prayer is answered, promises realized, and then glorious testimonies of deliverance shared.

The twelfth chapter of Acts also has both kinds of tales. The unhappy tale is only one verse long: “And he [Herod] had James the brother of John put to death with a sword.” In the next few verses, we get the tale of Peter being arrested. An angel appears, the cell fills with light, the chains break off, Peter walks out past all the guards, and the gates open by themselves. Honestly, I usually read right past the story of James beheading. I keep hoping for Peter’s kind of story.

I named my oldest son Peter even though the boy’s name we had picked out was Luke. I felt that he would end up being more tempestuous than the biblical Luke. In all his wanderings from God, I held out for a tale like the apostle Peter—who denied Jesus but was restored and became an apostle to the Jews. My son struggled with a deadly combination of addiction and type one diabetes. As my son landed in one ICU after another, I held onto the hope of the glorious testimony he would have when this tale was over. Then he died. I was not ready for this kind of tale.

In the church, I had mostly heard the tales where things are hard but then God breaks through and saves the day. God, I pray and hope, did this for Peter the night before he died, but I have no tale (not yet at least) of a prodigal come home, a denier of Jesus restored, a mighty man of God who knows the depths of God’s grace. I would never see Peter fulfill the life-verse engraved on the sword I gave him: “Feed my sheep.” It is impossible, even for a father, to know his son’s spiritual condition. On his foot, Peter had a tattoo that said, “Not all who wander are lost.”

It is dangerous to act as though we only live in a tale with a happy ending. If we think that we will always stop the mouths of lions, we will be unprepared for their bite. If we think every prodigal is coming home, we are ruined when our child dies alone under a bridge. The Israelites (Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego) thrown into the fiery furnace, declared that God was able to deliver them from the furnace, but if not, they still would not bow down to Nebuchadnezzar’s golden idol. They hoped they were in a happy ending story but knew it was possible they were in the other kind.

Pastors and church culture do not prepare believers well for the “if not.” We are always wanting a happy-ending tale like Bilbo’s, not a story of dying alone in Mordor. We want to hear of Peter whose chains were broken by an angel, not James who is beheaded. But I think Tolkien helps us recognize that our lives contain both kinds of tales.

As they trudged up the side of Mount Doom to destroy the ring, Sam and Frodo realized they were without a way out of Mordor. As far as they knew, they were in a tale that no one would hear and from which they would never return. Yet they put one foot in front of the other. Friendship and duty carried them forward in a tale with no happy ending, no hope.

Of course, it turned out they were wrong about the ending.After the ring is destroyed, they sit on the side of the mountain and wait to die. Eagles come and carry them away to safety. They later hear of how great a victory was achieved and how much evil has been undone and vanquished. When Sam discovers Gandalf was not truly dead, with laughter and tears, Sam asks,“Is everything sad going to come untrue?

For believers, there are always eagles, no matter what kind of tale we are in. Whether we see the eagles (angels) in this life or the next depends on how our tale is written. Like Sam and Frodo, we must be ready for either kind of tale. In faithfulness and friendship, we must trudge forward.

My wife, Teckla, has dementia, and as far as I kind tell, dementia never has a happy ending—only death. More prayer, or more faith, probably won’t change the ending. All the prayers and biblical promises of deliverance seem not to apply to tales of dementia. No eagles will come this side of the grave, yet I pray for her healing every morning. I do not think I will wake up and discover everything sad is untrue. But the day is coming when every tear is a tear of joy, and all our tales, sad and happy, are woven into the tale of Christ’s victory.

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Faramir and Hope

Posted on December 3, 2024 by Mark

A line spoken by Faramir, in The Lord of Rings, pierced my heart and grief. Although full of Christian truths and values, The Lord of the Rings is not, Tolkien insists, a Christian allegory. Middle earth is perhaps best understood as a pre-Christian world. There are some mentions of “a change of days” that will someday happen, but it is unclear what this change will bring or whether after death there is any hope of life.

Hope, and often hopelessness, are common themes throughout Tolkien’s work. Before sending Frodo on his way, Faramir tells him that his quest to destroy the ring is “a hard doom and a hopeless errand.” Much of the LOTRs is about doing what is right when there is no or slim hope of success. Gandalf says there is only a “fool’s hope” of destroying the ring of power. Here Faramir agrees with Gandalf and says to Frodo: “If ever beyond hope you return to the land of the living and we re-tell our tales, sitting by a wall in the sun, laughing at old grief, you shall tell me then.”

These words were spoken in one of Frodo’s darkest moments, right before he leaves the safety of Faramir’s protection and enters again into Mordor. Neither Frodo nor Faramir have reason to believe the quest to destroy the ring will succeed. And yet, there is this hope we will someday sit “by a wall in the sun, laughing at old grief.”

I have similar hopes. All my family vacations as a child and a parent have been on the Oregon coast near Yachats. Even in the summer, the north wind whipping down the beach could drive you to seek the radiant warmth of rock wall. I can still point to the rock where my mother nestled as she read her books and knitted her afghans. After playing in the surf, my brothers and I would seek the warmth of rocks on Cape Creek beach in the southern shadow of Cape Perpetua.

We would bask in the sun and retell tales from past camping trips. We would laugh about past mishaps and injuries. We would talk about what had been happy and sad. We would laugh about the trivial griefs of a happy family—a rain- soaked tent, lost toys, falls on wet rocks in the creek. In the roar of the surf under the blue sky, many hard and sad things lost their sting.

I believe in Jesus and the resurrection and a new heaven and earth. I hope to sit in the sun by a wall and laugh at grief with my father and mother. I hope to again walk beside my brother Stanley and rejoice in the glory of God’s new creation. I will again, I hope, walk in the sun with Peter and rejoice at the mercy of God that saved him right before he died. 

Teckla and I will laugh at the days when she could not remember her name or mine. We will laugh at how wonderfully God remembered her when she couldn’t. We will marvel at how much good came from obedience when Jesus was our only hope. In the light and warmth of His glory we will “retell our tales.” Chapter by chapter, we will see how God’s mercy and wisdom ennobled us and prepared all things for the return of the King.

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Boromir and Some Good Thing

Posted on November 30, 2024 by Mark

The “victory” of Boromir in The Lord of the Rings baffles modern folks.  Boromir is one of the more complex and tragic characters in Tolkien’s story. In a moment of weakness, he tries to take the ring of power from Frodo. He was convinced it could be used to save his kingdom, Gondor. He is moved by noble motives to do an evil thing. He also seems to have come under the spell of the ring. But after Frodo puts on the ring to escape him, Boromir is filled with shame and regret. Then he hears the orcs grabbing Pippin and Merry and dies valiantly trying to rescue them. The orcs are too many for Boromir. Although he kills many of them, the orcs run off with Pippin and Merry. So what, exactly, was his victory?

Boromir did not feel victorious. His last words were, “I have failed.” Aragorn takes his hand, kisses his brow, and says, “No, you have conquered! Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace. Minas Tirith shall not fail!” Boromir smiles but says no more. Gandalf remarks later that although in “great peril,” in the end Boromir escaped, in part because of the hobbits he sacrificed his life to save.

Later when talking to Frodo, Faramir says of Boromir, “Of this I am sure: he died well, achieving some good thing.” Faramir says that when he saw Boromir pass by in the elven boat, his brother’s face was “more beautiful even than in life.” Faramir regards this as evidence of a noble death.

I admit when I read this as a teenager, I was not convinced that Boromir had won any victory. We are told that before dying he killed over twenty orcs, but this is nothing since Middle Earth teems with orcs. He fails to rescue the hobbits. The exact nature of his victory is elusive.

However, when we look at all the whole story of the ring, we see the greatness of his victory. It is clear, first of all, that Boromir is truly humbled and repentant after he tried to take the ring from Frodo. Repentance and mercy are extended to Wormtongue, Saruman, and even Gollum—but none takes it. Boromir, however, is quick to repent.

We also see his repentance immediately bear fruit when he rushes to defend Merry and Pippin. Merry and Pippin, as far as Boromir could see, had no strategic importance and could do nothing to save Gondor or defeat Sauron. But Boromir chooses to help them rather than continue his search for Frodo and the ring. Although he had been willing to use an evil means to achieve noble end, Boromir now chooses to what is right and good even though there is no practical end.

Boromir leaves behind all cost/benefit analysis or weighing of strategic value. He simply does the good thing before him. The story of Boromir gives hope for all those who have made a mess of things.  In the end, in ways that no one could have imagined, Merry and Pippin are of tremendous strategic importance. They end up mobilizing the Ents and Fangorn forest against Saruman. But none of this is part of Boromir’s victory. His is a moral victory. He wins back his heart from the evil that gripped it. He dies well, doing what good he can.

Although growing old and closer to death makes this kind of victory seem more important, Boromir’s victory is relevant to any who have failed miserably. Some of us have failed as parents, sons, daughters, husbands, wives, and leaders or disciples. Boromir failed as member of the Fellowship. In the victory of Boromir, we find hope that after failure we can still do what is noble.

All we can do is repent deeply and do the good thing before us—every day. We must do the good things even if they offer no hope of reversing our failure or healing the hurt we have caused. This may seem less exciting than some hyper-spiritual victory that desolates the enemy. We would all rather be Aragorn than Boromir, but if we are honest, most of us probably have more in common with Boromir.  

Aragorn is right to tell Boromir that few achieve his kind of victory.  St. Paul would say perhaps, we are called to die well daily, so we can know Jesus and enter the fellowship of his suffering. Whether young or old, it is never too late to do some good thing.

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Teckla’s King

Posted on November 25, 2024 by Mark

Today Teckla declared me king. This was thrilling and heart-breaking. As her memory loss worsens, Teckla and I have a daily routine. I ask her who she is, who I am, and what my name is. We may do this three or four times during the day since, as many know, the memory-loss is often worse in the afternoon.

On a yellow legal pad, I have jotted down the basic facts of her life to add some authority to my answers to her questions. One of the facts is “I am married to Mark Wilson. He is my husband and I am his wife.” Two weeks ago, her memory loss was more severe, so our oral review of the facts went on throughout the day. She would recite, “You are my husband and I am your wife.” I tried to add, “You are my husband, and you are sexy.” She looked steadily at me and with sweet honesty said, “Maybe once.”

The hardest question for Teckla is, “How are we related?” This is, obviously, an important one, especially around bedtime. Often, I list the choices: brother, cousin, father, husband, nephew. I get a little worried when she says “grandma.”

This afternoon after a walk in the cold and a little shopping, I asked her my name, her name and then how we are related. She first said, “Brother?” I said, “No, but I am your brother in Christ.” Then her eyes lit up and she looked up at me and said, “You are the king.” This was not on the list of choices.

She declared me king with such joy and certainty that I knew it was more than just a random guess. Of course, it is always sad that she does not remember we have been married 46 years. But her declaration thrilled my heart. The tenderness and kindness in her eyes revealed that she trusted me to care for her. In her life, I am king. I am sure this is the only royalty I will ever know, but I know of no greater honor or more blessed realm.

 Teckla is, of course, the queen of my heart.

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Getting Ready

Posted on November 13, 2024 by Mark

In the midst of her dementia, the purity and simplicity of Teckla’s faith makes familiar truths as sharp as a newly forged sword. She has good and bad days. One morning this week she was troubled by a lot of confusion. Teckla asked, “When are we going home?” I explained that we now live with Dylan and Vanessa in Gardner, Kansas. By the time breakfast was over, she remembered my name and that I am her husband. But she was still restless, putting on her coat and grabbing her purse.  

We begin each day reading Scripture and then singing three or four hymns and some worship songs off YouTube. Those deprived of the rich tradition of hymns might not know that the verses of hymns often move through the gospel truths of God saving us, keeping us, and then resurrecting us to be with Him eternally. Teckla and I ended our devotions by holding hands and praying together.

After we had finished praying, Teckla turned to me and said, with a catch in her voice, “Shouldn’t we be getting ready?” I thought she was still thinking about driving home to Myrtle Point or something. I explained we had no place we needed to go today. She said, “I don’t mean that.”  As is often true these days, she struggled to find the words to express her thoughts. She finally said, “Like in the songs we sung.”

This baffled me until with tears in her eyes Teckla said, “Ready for heaven.” She had her coat and purse and was ready to go. I explained that we would probably be here a while longer. With some sadness, she slowly said, “Okay.”

A thousand sermons could not have made heaven as real as Teckla did. Something about her grabbing her purse and coat pierced my heart like a spring wind filled the fragrance of heaven. I felt a quiet thrill at the nearness of the Lord. I wanted to grab my coat too.  

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Grim and Fell

Posted on November 6, 2024 by Mark

I think all I have gone through has left me grim and (to use an archaic word) fell. This may be good. Experience and Scripture have left me realistic (grim) about walking faithfully with God. In the last ten years, I prayed for the healing of my mother, brother, and son. All have died. (Let me know if you would like me to pray for you too.)

 “Prophetic words” I thought I heard have fallen flat. Promises for this side of the grave have evaporated like Oregon fog. The truth that God is with me is encouraging, but I have seldom had any sense of his presence or heard His voice.   

Through all this I have been helped by Scripture. The book of Job gives comfort, but not the feel-good help preachers often offer. Job has some grim truths. First, you may be fighting in a spiritual battle you know nothing about. Second, things can get worse and often do. Third, victory may be nothing more than our refusal to curse God. Fourth, that in all this God may be silent and seem absent. Fifth, friends will often blame you for God’s absence and silence. Job does declare, “And as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives.” However, he also wishes that he had been a miscarriage. This is grim indeed.

The Psalms have also left me grim. David laments:

I have sunk in deep mire, and there is no foothold; I have come into deep waters, and a flood overflows me. I am weary with crying; my throat is parched. My eyes fail while I wait for God. (Ps. 69:2-3).

I feel this way when Teckla wakes up and asks, “Who are you? How did you get here?” Psalm 119:83 uses an especially poignant metaphor, “Though I have become like a wineskin in the smoke, I do not forget thy statutes.”  As I age and watch my skin sag and crack, I daily feel like a smoked wineskin. Again, and again, Psalmists complain about the silence and absence and delay of God, and yet grimly assert their faith in Him.

All this has also left me “fell” in the archaic sense of being fierce and dangerous. Because of Job, I know all the enemy’s energy is aimed at getting me to curse God. Therefore, I bless God with a vengeance. I may be grim, but my insistence on praising God with abandon has made me dangerous to all the schemes of the enemy. I took my church’s training class for praying for the sick, precisely because I know this is something the enemy would hate. I don’t always know God’s will, but I often know what the enemy would hate. Instead of isolating myself in my misery, I seek fellowship. Instead of fearfully holding on to finances, I give. Instead of taking offense, I forgive. Instead of moping, I rejoice. I am dangerous and fierce.

 I am a fell warrior for God is in my determination to be steadfast. When believers drift away from God and become self-absorbed instead of radically obedient, Satan wins more than one soul. Satan rejoices in the ripple-effect of the person’s unbelief and disobedience. Satan hates those who refuse to fall, who refuse to retreat, who refuse to despair. Like the Psalmists I will be grim and honest about all the troubles I face, yet declare, “God’s lovingkindness endures forever!” Holiness and humility that endures brings down the enemy’s strongholds.

As necessary as it now is put on the full armor of God, and even sleep in that armor some nights, I look forward to the reign of the Prince of Peace. Ultimately, vengeance on our enemy, although good, is not our highest motivation. We fight, endure, and persevere because we love Jesus, our King. We long to please Him, and someday be with Him. We exalt the name of Jesus because we love Him, but it is nice to know that this also torments our enemy who has stolen so much.

We can be fell and grim warriors whose greatest joy is the presence of our King.

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Haunted by the Widow

Posted on October 31, 2024 by Mark

Even before I realized it was Halloween, I had this title stuck in my head. Teckla and I have been asking God to use us in Kansas. In the past, I have found the prayer, “God, please use me,” dangerous. The last time I prayed this in Kansas all of heaven and some of hell broke loose. Teckla and I found ourselves opening our home and hearts to a multitude of spiritually hungry and needy people. As we once again pray to be used by God in Kansas, the story of the widow’ mite haunts my thoughts.

The tale of the widow is not a parable; it is a story of Jesus and his disciples watching people give their offerings to the temple treasury. When Jesus sees the widow drop in her two copper coins, he says. “Truly I say unto you, this poor widow put in more than all of them.” Jesus makes clear how different the economy of God is from the economy of this world. She gave more, Jesus says, because “she gave all.”

Each morning Teckla and I give ourselves to God. We ask God to use us, to bless us and make us a blessing to others. For most of our lives the natural place to serve has been with the Church—God’s people. Being a part of small congregations has always made finding a place to serve easy. Teckla has led Bible studies, led worship, printed bulletins, and even served as church treasurer. I have taught Sunday school, led Bible studies, and occasionally preached. The church we now attend has two services and plenty of people eager to serve, so where and how to serve God is not obvious.

And then there is the haunting of my prayers by this widow who Jesus said gave more than all the wealthy people slinging bags of gold into the offering plate. What if when I ask God to use me, I am really asking God to use me some way that feels important or significant? Is caring for Teckla and grandchildren every day being used by God? How does God regard a Saturday spent cheering for the grandchildren at their soccer game? If a couple dozen people read my blog is that being used by God? Am I living for God’s eyes or man’s eyes?

Even more seductive is the temptation to do for God only that which yields quick or visible results.  I may be dead before I see the results of my prayers for my children and grandchildren. Praying doesn’t feel like being used by God, just as dropping two mites didn’t make the widow feel like she had given more than all the others. This widow that haunts my prayers gently asks, “Mark, do you really want to be used by God, or do you want others to see you being used by God?”

The widow who Jesus saw asks us, “Is it enough that God sees?” I look around and see many at my age caring for parents or grandchildren. In hidden places and with little recognition, they serve God daily. Some are caring for a spouse struggling with sickness or memory loss. Others care for those who do not respond or return their love. All these live on the economy of God, hoping only for the riches of heaven.  

This story of the widow’s offering may not seem scary. But it is terrifying if you are committed to living God’s Word—not just studying it. The widow gave all she had to God—trusted her care completely into His hands. This widow haunts all our compromises and pragmatism. She comes in our dreams and invites us to the live a life poured out for Jesus. She challenges us to give all even if no one ever sees our gift

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