Three Scarves

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One end of the scarf I wear during my walk works loose from its shelter inside my jacket. The fringed edge flaps freely in the March breeze, igniting the memory of another scarf from long ago.

A silky, flowered one worn by my mother while retrieving clothes from the line. An equally breezy day in my mind's eye . . .

She tugs her coat closer about her, hurries to unclip a pin, drop it in a bucket, then continues the ritual as I watch from the porch step. With the click of each wooden pin, comfort wells up within me. The simple soothing sound . . . the sight of my mother, ever faithful to her domestic tasks. Present.

Arm loaded with a basket of air-freshened clothing, Mama sweeps past me in a bluster. When she pushes on the door with her hip, the aroma of chicken and dumplings wafts outside, enticing me to follow. The cozy kitchen is Mama personified. I breathe deeply its treasures.

Later, Mama pulls me close to her side for a bedtime story about Jesus and His love for me. Her wind-whipped face smells woodsy as she lowers to plant a kiss on my cheek.

And I'm off into dreamland, only I'm not dreaming, merely reflecting on another scarf.

One wrapped around the head of a Muslim woman, faithful to Allah, yet precious in the sight of the one, true God. A new friend, led to me by Jesus, my Savior, who longs for her to know Him.

So, I tuck in my scarf and remember . . .

Read the Red Words

The tall, thirty-something woman with large eyes and humble spirit chatted with me while watching her two-year-old play on the slide. She was waiting for her six-year-old to step out of Vacation Bible School at a local church as I waited with my daughters to pick up grandchildren. I steered the conversation to spiritual things. When I asked her how she came to know the Lord, she shared her story.

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She did not grow up in a Christian home--far from it. Steeped in relativism and the humanistic thinking of our times, she had no regard for God, until she met a lady who modeled her faith in ways she found captivating and inviting. While she couldn’t pinpoint a specific action, she noted the woman’s winsome ways through simple acts of kindness. Later, another woman invited her to a Bible study. While she admitted she kept going primarily to be with the other women, she identified a pivotal study that initiated a change of mind. At one point, the group showed The Truth Project series produced by Focus on the Family. So compelling was the evidence for God and His fingerprint on every area of life that she could no longer escape the fact that God existed. He was real, and He was truth.

Still, she remained frustrated. She wanted to know more of God, but she simply couldn’t put the pieces together. In her words, she “didn’t get it.” One morning, she woke up still longing to know Him. Before her feet hit the floor, in her mind she heard, “Read the red words.”

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She knew the red words referred to certain sections in a Bible she owned, but she did not know until she read them that they were the words of Jesus. She devoured His teaching and believed His message of love, grace, and forgiveness.

In the telling of her story, she wept, overcome with emotion. “How can I ever repay Him for what He has done for me? What can I do for Him?”

I thought for a moment, gazed at her little son, now moving over the mulch in our direction. “Read the red words to your children. Your kids are your number one discipleship mission. Read them the red words.”

Her eyes brightened, and her shoulders noticeably lifted.

I left that encounter reminded that it is God who sets salvation in motion; He seeks us; He places the desire within us to know Him; and He does whatever necessary to bring the light of His Word to us so that we can receive His gift of forgiveness and eternal life. He is faithful God, true to His Word.

I also left marveling at how often we get the erroneous impression that our service for Him is “out there somewhere” demonstrated in some grand display when often our greatest ministry lies right in front of us as we go about our day. 

How about you, dear reader? 

Do you know God through His Son, Jesus Christ? Do you sense that tug on your heart to know Him? Have you responded to Him? Share your story below wherever you are in your spiritual journey (a seeker or a follower).

Have you ever experienced a time when you longed to serve the Lord in some grand way only to find the “grand” way was right in front of you? Share your story in the comment section.   

   

When I See the Blood

            Shortly after the Muslim call to prayer I hear the koel bird greeting the dawn and an Indian neighbor sloshing water from a bucket. She is sweeping the cement slab with a crude hand broom. It’s familiar for I have watched her most mornings hold up the hem of her sari with one hand while sweeping with the other. When she is done washing the dirt away, another Indian woman holding a small bowl sprinkles a few drops of liquid at various points on the slab in front of the house. A Hindu practice, this ritual serves to bless the home. Beside the front door, a wicked-looking mask is fastened on the house to scare the evil spirits away.

            I breathe a silent prayer for these women whom Satan has deceived. As I sit on the side of the cot, I reach for my Bible. In Exodus, chapter 12, I find the story of the first Passover. God gives instructions to Moses and Aaron for the children of Israel on how to prepare the sacrificial lamb. They are instructed to take some of the blood and put it on the sides and tops of the doorframes of their houses.

            God says, “On that same night I will pass through Egypt and strike down every firstborn — both men and animals—and I will bring judgment on all the gods of Egypt . I am the LORD. ¹³ The blood will be a sign for you on the houses where you are; and when I see the blood, I will pass over you. No destructive plague will touch you when I strike Egypt ” (12-13).

            From this point on, the Israelites are to celebrate and remember when the Lord passed over them. This moving account is a visual aid of what God will provide through the Lord Jesus Christ in years to come.

            My heart is burdened for the Indian people as I close my Bible. I want them to know that they do not need to be afraid of evil spirits, if they will only apply the blood of the Lamb to the doorpost of their hearts.

            After a shower and breakfast I play with my granddaughter, two-year-old Rebekah, on the cool tile floor. Her mother, my daughter, and her father live in India, and this is a typical day at their house. We use a cardboard box for a playhouse. On a flap leading inside the “house,” I print J-E-S-U-S in bold letters. We draw a cross and color it red. This is our blessing on Rebekah’s home. In simple terms, I talk about how Jesus came and shed his blood on the cross, and if we receive Him as Savior, He applies His blood on the doorpost of our hearts. Thus, we are safe from all harm.

I hear my daughter call and Rebekah runs to the kitchen to see what her mommy wants. As she leaves, I push to my feet and watch the neighbor women once more. I think of one of my neighbors in the States who does not post an ugly-looking mask at her door or anoint her sidewalk, but instead has a small Buddha anchored in her garden beside the front porch. Although I have shared the message of Christ’s atonement with her, she chooses to embrace many different religions. I think of a business associate who is burdened that her Jewish mother come to know the Messiah. Together, we pray that her mom will one day understand that Jesus shed His blood to cover her sin. And then, I think of a Christian neighbor who just the other day knocked on my door. While we sipped tea, she shared how she had also been reading the Exodus account of the Passover recently. In our few moments together, we shared a special camaraderie that only two sisters in Christ who have experienced His blood covering can. 

Back at my side, Rebekah bumps me out of my thoughts. Nevertheless, on this sunny May morn, the Lord has given me a fresh appreciation for His blood sacrifice. With new determination, I recommit to share Him with whoever He brings along my path today. 

 ("When I See the Blood" (c) 2008 Eileen Rife)

A Neighbor's Encounter with Christianity

I walked my friend to the door and noticed a Buddha sitting on the porch, welcoming unsuspecting visitors. Inside, incense greeted my nostrils in a room decorated with the sun, moon, and stars. I felt sick inside and quickly made my exit.

Driving back home from dropping my neighbor off at a “meditation” meeting, I struggled with the Lord. In my efforts to be a witness to this woman, I had crossed a line that I knew in my heart I should not have crossed. “Oh, Jesus,” I prayed, “I am so sorry. What do you want me to do to make this right?”

Feeling better, I determined in my heart that I would call Amy and let her know I would not be able to take her to the next meeting. Then I would explain why.

The next morning I got up my nerve, dialed her number, and waited for the voice on the other end.

“Hello,” Amy’s easy-going voice rang out. I closed my eyes, breathing a prayer for grace and the right words to share that would not turn her off, but draw her in.

“Hi,” I quickly replied, beginning to sweat. “How did the meeting go last night? What sort of things did you talk about?” I wanted to be crystal clear about my suspicions before making judgments about her meeting.

“Oh my, we had a wonderful time!” Amy cooed. “In fact, I thought about your missionary daughter in India when the speaker stood up to address our group. He spoke about different religions and how we can pull the best from each one.”

When she took a breath, I jumped in. “Amy,” I gingerly began. “I won’t be able to take you to your next meeting. You see, I offended my best friend by taking you last night.”

“Oh, who is that?” Amy said.

“The Lord Jesus Christ.” I felt a renewed strength surge through my veins. I knew Jesus was with me and proud of my unashamed stand for Him. “I felt so uneasy on the drive home last night,” I explained. “You see, I cannot take you to a place where I know the folks inside are not proclaiming the truth. Jesus says in John 14:6, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’ Amy, Jesus is the only way to make peace with God. He paid a huge price to purchase my salvation. I cannot turn my back on that or on Him. He is my Savior. I care nothing about the religions of the world. What I do care about, and what Jesus came to offer, is a relationship with the Father. That is how Christianity differs from every other religion. It’s all about relationship, not adherence to a religious set of principles. All the other founders of religions are dead and gone, but only Jesus died and rose from the grave, as Paul tells us in 1 Corinthians 15:6. Over 500 witnesses attest to that fact, as well as secular historians, who lived during that time period.”

“But why only Christianity, Eileen?” Amy interjected. “There are so many good things in other religions.”

“Do you think Satan would reel us into a lie by making it look unattractive? He always mixes just enough truth in with the lie to make it look palpable. That is how he can lead so many on the broad path to hell and destruction. Why Christianity, Amy? Because it’s all about relationship with a Person who is alive, who knows me inside and out and has still chosen to love me and give His life for me. It’s about the only Person in the world who ever rose from the dead of His own power! That’s why, Amy. Christianity is the only thing that makes sense. It is a free gift, unlike all the other religions of the world which are based on good works.”

Amy was silent on the other end. I knew she was considering Christianity and I was grateful God gave me the courage to begin a new day planting more seeds for Him.

~~

Eileen Rife, author of Chosen Ones, speaks to women’s groups on a variety of topics. She is currently working on three writing projects, two fiction and one nonfiction. www.eileenrife.com, www.eileen-rife.blogspot.com.

The Body at Work

Alone in the church bathroom. Just a teenage girl and me. She leaned into the mirror and picked at her eye. Curls cascaded down her back. Tight jeans hugged her legs, while a vintage blouse added a feminine touch to her torso.

I dried my hands and tossed the waded towel in the trash, then flashed a smile at the girl. Her head jerked my way. A glimmer of a grin broke out as she adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder. I’d never seen her at church.

“Are you visiting?” I ventured, chewing on the corner of my mouth, almost afraid to ask. Given the size of our congregation, I’d mistaken a parishioner for a visitor on more than one occasion.

“Yes.” Her face turned pink.

What story lay hidden within this lovely young woman?

I cocked my head and said, “What’s your name?”

“Sara.”

“Ah, lovely.” I extended my hand. “My name’s Eileen. Is this your first time with us?”

She nodded.

I felt an odd desire to reach out to this girl. “Would you like to sit with me?” I had no idea if there’d be enough room on the row where I typically sat. I took a deep breath and pressed on, praying the Lord would work out the seating.

“Okay,” she peeped, then trailed behind me all the way to the second row from the front, to the right of the sanctuary.

We sat waiting for the service to begin—a gray-haired grandma in the autumn of her life and a honey-colored teen blossoming with fresh possibility and potential. Yet I sensed something was wrong.

Was she running from an overbearing father? Reeling from a romantic breakup? What propelled her to our doors on a rainy Sunday morning?  

I smoothed a hand over my slacks as chatter filled the room and praise team members took their spots on the platform. “What brought you here today, Sara?”

Her lips twitched as she clutched her purse. “I saw the sign and wanted to try it out.”

“Do you live close by?”

“Yes, not far from here.” Her gaze lowered.

The drummer tapped out a beat with his sticks, signaling the piano, guitars, saxophone, and trumpet to follow. We stood to our feet and joined the praise team in “How Great is Our God.”

All through the songs, the message, and the invitation, I prayed for this young girl—that God would grip her heart and bring her home to His heart. I panned the middle section to identify other teenagers with whom I might connect Sara.

Sure enough, Krissy, Laura, and Reba sat on the front row, eager new converts, their love for Jesus palpable. After the pastor’s final amen, I knew what I needed to do.  

I turned to Sara. “Can I introduce you to some friends?”

A hesitant nod.

I smiled. “Okay, then.” I gently guided her to the circle of girls. Krissy’s eyes questioned me as she stepped to the side, then her lips parted in a wide grin.

“Krissy, this is Sara. She’s visiting today, for the first time.”

Like an ocean wave gently tugging at the shoreline, Krissy drew her in, talking to her as if she’d known her all her life.

The connection made, I withdrew, confident I’d played my part for the present.

A few weeks later, Krissy bounded toward me after the Sunday morning service. “You’ll never guess what happened. The girl—Sara—the one you brought over to me . . . well, after you left I said, ‘Do you want to get together and talk about Jesus? She said, ‘Yeah.’ So we did. And ya know what?”

I shook my head, Krissy’s enthusiasm filling me like soap bubbles rising in a bathtub.

“She invited Jesus into her life. We’re gonna meet again and talk more about Him.”

By now, my husband Chuck was at my side. He pulled us into a prayer circle, and we lifted up Sara and Krissy for the work He wanted to do.

I left that encounter marveling at the Holy Spirit’s leading. When we’re sensitive to His voice, when we pray and watch, He brings people into our lives who need His touch. Christ wants to use His Body, each member, to fulfill His mission. When we cooperate with His plan, we step full circle into celebration.

His Body at work. It doesn’t get more beautiful than that!

~~

Eileen Rife, author of Laughing with Lily, speaks to women’s groups, encouraging them to discover who they are in Christ and what part they play in His amazing story. www.eileenrife.com, www.eileen-rife.blogspot.com, www.guardyourmarriage.com.