Sunday

Hope Finds 10 Year-Old Boys

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After my final attempt at the perfect recipe, I wondered what to do with the plate full of brownies.brownies and sunflowers

Sampled one. Scrumptious! Now what?

Leaving brownies on my kitchen counter would result in constant temptation.

The next day was Sunday, so I decided to take my chocolate offering to the coffee bar at church. I imagined a few folks would sample them, and I wanted to know their reactions to the secret ingredient I added.

At church, I fixed my usual cup of hot tea and placed the brownies in a convenient place next to the coffee. But then…a surprise.

The ten year-old boys were released from their class and converged on the coffee bar. Within ten seconds, every brownie was consumed with comments:

“Mmm – best ever!”

“Lots of yummy chocolate.”

“Are there any more?”

Years after I raised my own boy, I had forgotten how much fun these fellows could be. Chocolate crumbs around their lips. Smacking fingers. Chuckles and shoving each other out of the way.

My brownies were a success with this test crew. It’s unlikely – in fact – nearly impossible any of these boys will read my novel which features a brownie recipe with a secret ingredient.

These boys are not my target audience.

But for a few moments on a Sunday morning, I remembered the joy of adolescent boys and the promise of the men they might become.

Hope thrives in unexpected places. If we watch for it, keep our senses alert for the slightest tremor of hope, we discover delightful surprises.

Here’s to ten year-old boys – the larvae of manhood. Here’s to their excitement for the simplest of joys – something to eat.

And here’s to the encouragement they passed on to this writer.

©2018 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

When my novel, “No Visible Scars” is published, the recipe for Abigail’s brownies will be included in the final pages of the book. Make a note to purchase “No Visible Scars” so you can share this chocolate wonder with your own boys.

Hope Calls The Young

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young peopleOne after another they crossed the stage to receive their Bibles and certificates, their anointing and/or baptism.

Twenty-four of them – young people grafted into the church through the sacraments and boldly proclaiming, “I want everyone to know I’m a Christian.”

Although I knew none of them personally, I watched with a lump in my throat and remembered the day when I, too, publicly declared I would follow this Jesus person and dedicate my life to him.

Did these young people feel that warm glow of gracious love? Their faces certainly shone with the joy of the moment and the end result of being courageous enough to give their souls back to their Creator.

After the service, I felt hope renewed as another generation of young people prepared to step into life with a purpose. These are the messengers of the coming Messiah, the generation that will usher in the King of kings.

They humbled me with their sweet testimonies, projected on the video screen as they talked about moms, dads and friends who persuaded them to consider Jesus.

They excited me as I thought about the opportunities they would have in such a technological world. How many friends might they bring to the Truth just by posting on Instagram, Twitter or Snapchat?

I envy these young ones with their lives ahead of them. While I could share some tips with them, they will learn well from their own experiences. They must walk this road in relationship with the best Mentor possible and listen to the divine whisper for their instructions.

Hope called me young, and what I saw last Sunday in my church spread into ripples of anticipation for what God will do through these young people.

I can hardly wait to see what happens.

©2016 RJ Thesman – Author of the Reverend G books http://amzn.to/1rXlCyh

Rejuvenate with the Holy Nap

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People either laugh at me or stare when I tell them about my holy naps.

I guard my Sabbath. Because I work about 60 hours/week and much of that involves ministry, I need to observe the 4th Commandment. I desperately need rest on Sundays.

Yes, I go to church and then usually, I spend some quality time with my son. The rest of the day is for rest and about an hour of that includes the holy nap.sleeping puppy

Naps are under-rated. We demand them of our young children, because we know that rest helps them grow and thrive.

But why not also for adults? A restorative nap of even 10 minutes can help refresh our minds and hearts.

So what happens during a holy nap? How is it different from a regular siesta in the middle of the day?

For me, it’s more than physical rest. My holy nap also involves handing over to God the burdens that have been placed on me during the week: crises in people’s lives, the uncertainties of our times, Mom’s Alzheimer’s.

We sometimes forget that ministers need encouragement, too. Reverend G reminds us that “Life is a puzzle. As we age, life adds layers to our personalities and our experiences. We learn more about trusting God, then we begin to see the great cycle of history play out in our genes. But Alzheimer’s, dementia and other crises exfoliate us. They takes away the layers of life until we’re back to childhood, no longer wise.”   http://amzn.to/11QATC1

So during my holy nap, I lay down the burdens of the week. I rest in the arms of God, usually starting with a prayer where I ask Jesus to intercede for all the people I know who need prayers.

When I fall asleep, the Holy Spirit takes over and I often wake up with new ideas for writing or a Bible verse to share with someone or a new and creative plan for a coaching client.

Always, I wake up refreshed – ready for another week and more of the ministries God has called me to.

So I recommend it – this small respite on a Sunday afternoon. Say “No” to extra activities on that day and put a guard around your busy heart.

Take a holy nap and be grateful.

©2013 RJ Thesman – “The Unraveling of Reverend G” – http://amzn.to/11QATC1

Living in the Saturdays

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A pocket of time separates Good Friday and Easter Sunday – a day we often ignore because we don’t celebrate that day – we just wait.

We live through Saturday, anticipating Sunday.calendar

After the execution of Jesus, the disciples – both men and women – huddled together in fear. At least one of them, Peter, hid alone, ashamed at his refusal to acknowledge the Lord.

They waited during Saturday, daring to hope and waiting to see what Sunday might bring.

We are often stuck in the same time warp.

My son was diagnosed with a brain tumor. In one moment, an astrocytoma’s ferocious prognosis changed our lives. Surgery, chemo and radiation. Five years of MRI’s, oncologist appointments and medical bills.

A lifetime of Saturdays, waiting, hoping, praying. Then the glorious ending – a miraculous healing.  The Sunday arrived with joy, but the Saturday required guts and perseverance.

A seed germinated in my creative soul – the idea for a novel. Hundreds of Saturdays working, revising, praying and submitting to publishers. Then the good news and more Saturdays until finally – the finished manuscript became a book, “The Unraveling of Reverend G.”

My mother stepped into the shadows of Alzheimers. Thousands and thousands of Saturdays morphed into 36-hour days as she changed from a mature and intelligent woman into a child-like version of herself.

Day follows day and years repeat until one day it ends. We will lower her shell into the ground. She knows this. We anticipate and dread it each day.

The crosses of our lives thrust us into expanded weekends as we experience pain, separation and the perseverance of waiting.

We know on some level that the pain does end, that Resurrection follows Crucifixion.

But it is the waiting during our Saturdays that tends to shove us into discouragement. Our Saturdays seem interminable as we beg God to send us Easter sunrise.

Yet within our Saturdays, as our character is tested and our perseverance questioned, we learn the most about faith.

For hope that endures requires massive faith and teeth-grinding strength for the length of the journey.

Because we must wait through the Saturdays, the end result seems that much sweeter when Easter Sunday finally arrives.

©2013 RJ Thesman