Hope is a Tender Thing

“Hope is a tender thing.”

I typed it in a text to a friend, and then began to really think about what I’d written.

Hope is a tender thing. I feel it, and I believe it, even as I hold that hope is also sturdy and strong. We are made for hope, called to hope, and need hope. But we often feel vulnerable when we hope, exposed a bit—somehow not so confident.

Because hope usually has to do with what we cannot control. It taps into our longings and dreams, take us out past our current realities, and touches places in our soul for which we do not have words. In many ways it feels like hope sets us up for disappointment.

Two Bible verses (there may be more), one in the Old Testament and one in the New Testament, link hope and disappointment (also translated as “put to shame”). But Isaiah 49:23 and Romans 5:5 both say that hope—specifically hope in the Lord and hope produced by endurance in suffering—does not disappoint.

Does this mean what I hope for will come true? Does it mean I won’t be hurt when I dare to hope? No, I don’t think we have that guarantee. So what do we have?

The Isaiah 49 passage speaks of redemption, God’s timing, His provision, and His compassion. This is the chapter where God describes His commitment to His people in this way: “See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.” (v.16) Recently I read something that made me think, perhaps for the first time, how our names scarred God’s hands before the nails scarred His hands.

When we hope in Him, our hope is in One whose heart beats and hands ache with compassion for us.

The Romans 5 passage says that hope does not disappoint, “because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.” Somehow even when our dreams don’t come true, when our vulnerable self is left wanting, and when our hearts hurt from suffering, something else is also happening. The love of God is flowing through more crevices in our hearts where, by the Holy Spirit, His love is at home.

When we hope in Him, we end up living more and more in God’s love.

I’ll say it this way: When we keep hoping, hope keeps us tender. 

Hope is a tender thing, and hoping keeps our hearts tender. And that tenderness is not a bad thing—not something that will ultimately bring us disappointment or shame—but a thing of beautiful trust.

It turns out that reality does include so much we cannot control. Longings are doorways to the soul. And vulnerability blesses us and others when it happens in the safety of Almighty and Everlasting Love. And so, we hope.

Come to the Table

Come to the table

Eat here with Me

I know what’s coming

With you I wish to be

Come to the table

Betrayer and betrayed

I will make sure that

The sin is fully paid

Come to the table

With faith and with doubt

I don’t require you

To figure it all out

Come to the table

After I wash your feet

Come and be closer

Let us now eat

Come to the table

Bread and the wine

Body and blood given

To make you Mine

Come to the table

I welcome you here

Come, taste forever Love

Come, have no fear

~Jesus~

Maundy Thursday 2021

©Joyce Schroeder

Maundy Thursday 2020

It was time to get ready for dinner. I was finishing cooking at the stove and my husband, David, came into the kitchen to get the dishes to set the table. Monday of Holy Week, 2020.

He opened the cupboard and then dropped his head to the kitchen counter and started to sob. The action was abrupt and the noise of his cry frightened me. I could tell that whatever he was weeping about was tragic. 

 What did he know that I didn’t know yet? What phone call had he just received with terrible news that he had to tell me? Who had died? What happened? My heart beat fast and my chest suddenly hurt as I walked over to him and put my hands on his back and said, “What is it? What is it? What happened?”

 It took a bit for him to get out the words, “I just watched the news.” 

I couldn’t imagine what had just happened in the world.

He managed then to say, “People are dying everywhere.” Then he sobbed again, shoulders heaving off the kitchen counter, head in his hands, cupboard door still open above him.

Holy Week 2020 is a week of Covid-19. Around the world, in our country, in our state, and in our county, people are very sick and dying from this pandemic. 

 It is tragic.

 And while David doesn’t personally know any of the people who have died from this—yet—he joins the collective grief of the world. 

 I think he also joins God’s heart in this moment, in this week, on this Maundy Thursday as I write these words.

The Gospel accounts tell of Jesus last Thursday evening before He was crucified. He celebrated a Passover meal with his disciples. He predicted Judas’s betrayal and Peter’s denial. He taught, encouraged, and prayed for his followers. He washed their feet. He officially instituted the New Covenant which would be sealed with His blood—the final Passover Lamb—once and for all the next day.

After the meal they went to one of Jesus’ usual places (see Luke 22:39 and John 18:2) on the Mount of Olives, a place called Gethsemane, which means “oil press.”

Jesus told his disciples, “Sit here while I pray,” then took Peter, James, and John with him a little further away.

 It is then that we hear some of the depths of the suffering of Jesus’ heart: “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death” (Mark 14:34).

 Seven hundred years earlier, the prophet Isaiah described Jesus as “a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering” (Isaiah 53:3). And just a few days before, on the Sunday of what we call the Triumphal Entry or Palm Sunday, Jesus had been weeping as he rode that donkey into Jerusalem (Luke 19:41-44). Weeping because these people He loved did not know what would bring them peace—did not recognize that God was coming to them.

 I believe Jesus is weeping with us today. He does not take lightly the suffering of the world. Indeed, He takes that suffering upon Himself. 

 I wonder if the collective grief of this world-wide coronavirus is allowing us to get a glimpse of the sorrow Jesus always feels. Because the truth is that people are dying everywhere, every day, without Him.

This is tragic.

Perhaps what has always been true is now being revealed to us in a new way.

Is Jesus asking us today—in the oil press of global pandemic, in the week of walking towards the cross, in listening to and joining with the weeping lament, and in wrestling again with what will truly bring us peace—“Stay here and keep watch and pray” (Mark 14:33, 38)?

 Stay here—in the reality, whatever it is. God is here with us.

 Keep watch—for God’s purposes, for angels to attend, and for God Himself.

And pray—as Jesus prayed on that Maundy Thursday, that people around the world might “have eternal life—to know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, the one you sent to earth” (John 17:3 NLT).

Celebrate Advent with Us!

David and I wrote an Advent book that Cadence is offering this year titled, Advent: A Candle, A Word, A Friend. We would be honored if you would join us as we wait and prepare together for the celebration of the birth of Christ.

The book includes a short Reading and four personal Reflections for each week of this month. You will also find Candle Lighting Scripture readings for the Prophets Candle, Bethlehem Candle, Shepherds Candle, and Angels Candle. You may download your copy of the book here: https://cadence.org/advent/

Blessings on you this Season,

Joyce

Joshua and the Tent

“Joshua, son of Nun, did not leave the tent.” (Exodus 33:11b)

No big deal, nothing to note. Or . . . wait.

It was the Tent of Meeting, a temporary place Moses constructed outside the camp before the Tabernacle was built. It was a place where people would come to Moses to hear from the Lord. It was a place where the cloud representing God’s presence would come down and stay at the entrance, while Moses went inside and spoke with God “face to face, as a man speaks to his friend.”

It must have been a sight – that dense pillar of cloud could be seen for miles around. In fact, the people of Israel would stop, stand at the doors of their tents, look out at that cloud and worship. God was there, His glory hovered, He was speaking.

“Then Moses would return to the camp.” (Exodus 33:11)

We know some of what Moses’ conversation with God was like because in the next chapter he is led to a place where God shows Moses more of Himself and His glory. God then gives detailed instructions about His covenant with His people and His plans for their future.

“But his young aide Joshua, son of Nun, did not leave the tent.”

Young Joshua was already a witness to mighty acts of God – the parting of the Red Sea, the destruction of the polished Egyptian army, the provision of manna, quail, and water from a rock – all this in care of some two million Israelites called by God to be His people and led by God to His place for their future.

Joshua skillfully swung his sword and, along with other Israelite warriors, overcame the Amalekite army as Moses (with the help of Aaron and Hur) held the staff of God above the battle. (Exodus 17:8-16) And when God asked Moses to chronicle the event and God’s promise about the Amalekites, He said, “Make sure that Joshua hears it.”

Joshua had traveled with Moses and others as far as the base of Mt. Sinai when Moses went into the cloud of the glory of the Lord for a week. And it sounds like Joshua stayed there, while the elders and Aaron and Hur went back to camp and Moses went further up the mountain and stayed forty days and forty nights. (Exodus 24:13-18)

It was Joshua who alerted Moses of the ruckus going on in the camp as they came down the mountain, which turned out to be the corporate impatient and unholy worship of a golden calf. (Exodus 32:35)

Surely all this grand display of God’s care and power and purpose was shaping young Joshua. And several commentaries conclude that Joshua, aide to Moses, was doing his job of caring for the tent in Exodus 33:11 when Moses went back to the camp.

But I believe it was more.

I believe Joshua wanted more.

Joshua not only wanted to witness and participate in the mighty acts of God, I think he also wanted to hear God for Himself.

Hadn’t Moses just been in there talking with God as one does to a friend? Was the pillar of the cloud of God’s presence still there?

Then perhaps this is why Joshua wasn’t leaving. He was staying until He also experienced God for Himself.

The truth is, we can see all kinds of wonders around us, all manner of grand activity God has done on behalf of us and others. We can read the Bible stories, hear the sermons, sing the songs, and do the good works. But have we ourselves listened to God Himself?

And when we hear, what difference does it make?

For Joshua, it meant that when scouting out the land promised to the Israelites, but currently populated with strong and scary foreigners, he determined to not be afraid. Along with Caleb, Joshua took a stand before all the people and begged them to trust the promise, the protection, and the provision of God. Ready to move into the unknown yet “exceedingly good” territory, they urged their community to not rebel against God. They pleaded, “The Lord is with us. Do not be afraid of them.” (Number 13:1-14:9)

For Joshua, it meant that he, along with Caleb, were the only two of that generation who lived long enough to see the Promised Land, because they “followed the Lord wholeheartedly.” (Numbers 32:12)

For Joshua, it meant that when Moses was near death and a new leader of Israel was appointed by God, the one chosen was one “in whom is the Spirit.” It was Joshua. (Numbers 27:18) 

Then God said to Joshua, “As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you. Be strong and courageous . . . Do not let this Book of the Law depart from your mouth . . . be careful to do everything written in it.” (Joshua 1:5, 6, 8)

I don’t think these were new words to Joshua. This was a familiar voice, One he had already heard many times. This Book of the Law was in his heart; Joshua had been listening. His was no hand-me-down faith, no second-hand blessing. And for him, moving into the unknown with strength and courage was not untried.

Because Joshua, son of Nun, did not leave the tent.

K is for Kindness (and Kelly)

Since our grandson, Baby C #3, is due in a month, it’s high time I finally write out this story from when Baby C #2 was born – a year-and-a-half ago!  

She didn’t know all the tense hours we had just been through when she knocked on the hospital room door announcing, “Housekeeping.”

Pointing to her nametag, this diminutive woman almost squeaked in her high pitched voice, “My name is Kelly. I understand you need paper towels. I’m sorry my friend forgot to bring you these earlier.”

It’s true we had requested paper towels hours before, but we’d made it through the night just fine using cloth towels Jake found in the cabinet.

Kerith was in labor with Harper. What at first appeared to be an uncomplicated birth had taken a turn in the night when Kerith’s heartbeat kept dipping dangerously low with every contraction. She would get a little dizzy and have some trouble catching her breath, and then her heartrate would soar right back to normal or above. The monitor looked like a roller coaster ride.

More medicine was given to slow the contractions, and later a cardiology team wheeled in with its high tech equipment. An EKG and an ultrasound on Kerith’s heart resulted in the good news that her heart showed no abnormality and that labor could resume. While still uncertain of the cause of her heart’s irregularity, the best guess was that it was some sort of reaction to the epidural.

While no one panicked in those hours, we certainly prayed. Kyrie and I tried to sleep in the waiting room while the labor was put on hold, and Jake and Kerith waited for cardiology.

I had noticed Kelly in the hospital dining room the evening before. Hardly anyone was there and I remember wondering what her story was and what her job was at the hospital. She looked out of place somehow, though I couldn’t tell you why.

Kelly put the paper towels in the dispenser and spoke to Kerith, still hooked up to machines and in the bed. “Hi Sweetie. Do you know what you’re having?”

Kerith answered with a smile, “a girl.”

“Congratulations!” And then she put her hand to her heart and said, “You’re in my prayers.”

I watched from my spot on the little couch in the room as tears came to my eyes. It was an interchange that lasted only a couple minutes, but it was such an encouragement at that time.

I thought of all the ways Kelly had been kind in those few minutes. She’d walked in to the room with a smile (and paper towels). She did not speak ill of the person who had cleaned the room prior and not refilled the paper towels. She asked Jake and Kerith about the baby, and she cared. She put all her attention on them and shared in their joy. Then she promised to pray.

Did Kelly have children of her own? I don’t know. She wore no rings. Was she one who cleaned rooms? I don’t know. She wasn’t wearing clothes that looked like a housekeeping uniform. She seemed so different – her look, her voice, her manner. Was she an angel? I don’t know.

What I do know is that Kelly’s kindness touched us. It was a soothing sweet spot in a somewhat traumatic ordeal. It brought us back to the celebration of this child to be born. It reminded us of God’s loving care.

Hours later, as Kerith’s labor intensified, I noticed the nurse at the nurses’ station paying very close attention to Kerith’s monitor screen. I mentioned that it was good the baby’s heartbeat had stayed strong, and the nurse gave me a questioning look and she said, “Strong enough.”

When it came time for Harper to be born, the room seemed to suddenly fill with medical personnel. The doctor was there to deliver, plus the nurse who had been watching Kerith, and several others whose roles I didn’t know.

The doctor called it a “double necklace” as he quickly twice swiped the umbilical cord from around baby Harper’s neck before laying her on her mom. A nurse stood close and said to Kerith and Jake, “I might need to take her,” just before Harper let out a wail – then the nurse pulled back.

I surmise there was likely more going on than we had been told, at least with baby Harper. But once Harper started crying, the tension receded and the extra medical personnel left the room.

While many had done their jobs well that day, and our family was blessed with beautiful Harper Grace, the memory of Kelly’s kindness lingered with me. It reminded me that I never know how much my kind words and actions might touch someone – perhaps even reach them when they need it most.

Poem for Politics

Benediction

He was hugging me tightly, tears streaming down both of our faces. The moment had come to say goodbye to Jonathan, our youngest, as we left him at college in California. Somewhere in the few heartfelt words we exchanged, I heard, “The Lord bless you and keep you.”

Our son – putting a benediction on me, his mom, as we parted.

Benediction: from the Latin bene, “well” plus dicere, “to speak” ­– to speak well of – a blessing. For over three thousand years, priests and preachers, laymen and locals have spoken this benediction well, “The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace.” (Numbers 6:24-27) The result of giving this blessing is in verse 28, “So they will put my name on the Israelites, and I will bless them.” Or, as the New Living Translation puts it, “Whenever Aaron and his sons bless the people of Israel in my name, I myself will bless them.”

 When our children left our house, especially during their teen years, I often put my own benediction on them: “Have fun, be safe, be a blessing.” Sometimes I’d hear an echo as they walked to the car, or they would finish the sentence for me, “. . . be a blessing.”

 When I said, “have fun,” I wanted our children and their friends to know I really did care about their happiness. I wanted them to enjoy life. When I said, “be safe,” that was code for “make good choices.” I knew their choices would not only affect them, but also those around them for years to come. And when I said, “be a blessing,” I knew they had so much to offer – gifts, abilities, experiences, and insight that were theirs alone. And the world needed what they had to offer. 

What a great privilege it is to be part of the priesthood of believers. With this sacred responsibility I get to pray and bless – to talk to God about people and to people about God. If someone sneezes and I say, “bless you,” I mean it! When I sign a letter, “Blessings on you,” I’m serious. I trust that as with Aaron and his sons, when I bless you, God will bless you. “You also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ . . . You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.” (1 Peter 2: 5 and 9)

 Earlier on the eve of our tearful goodbye to Jonathan, David and I sat across from him at dinner in the university cafeteria. Our conversation was light, our minutes together quickly ticking by. At one point Jonathan paused, looked right into our eyes and said, “Thank you for my childhood. I loved my growing up.” Then it wasn’t long before he added, “I want to stay here. I think I’m ready.” So tender and courageous. Yes, it was time.

I received Jonathan’s words, “The Lord bless you and keep you.” And before the last hug I said to him again, “Have fun, be safe, be a blessing. I love you.” Then the man-child walked into the dorm without a backward glance.

Benediction.

Truth Telling

It was my day to watch our granddaughters. I had just put 10-month-old Harper down for her morning nap. Then I came back to the living room where 2 ½-year-old Rilyn was sitting on the couch looking at a book. As I gathered her into my arms I said, “You’re tired too. I can tell because your eyes are red.” Rilyn pulled back, then put her face quite close to mine and firmly replied, “Grandma, my eyes not red! My eyes blue!” 

Sarah's Speech

We said good-bye to our youth pastor and his wife recently.  Aaron and Cheryl have served the families of our congregation at Bethany for many years.  There were several events to honor them. We laughed, cried, and shared precious memories and words of thanks with Aaron and Cheryl.  One young woman said, “I am literally alive because of you two.” People of several generations spoke of what this precious couple has meant to them and to their children.

Aaron and Cheryl have been a great blessing to our family.  Aaron led the youth group where our children grew through their teenage years. When we drove a van full of middle school boys to church on Wednesday nights we knew they would have fun and hear about Jesus.  Aaron and Cheryl led our older two children in mission trips to Czech. They shepherded our Kerith and Jake through their engagement and early marriage. David and I enjoyed deep conversations with them as we walked together through difficult and glorious seasons over the past ten years.

And now God has called Aaron out of vocational church ministry into vocational counseling. We have witnessed the hand of God in this transition.

On Aaron’s final day in the church office I got to witness a few moments I hope I never forget.

Because of Aaron’s policy to have another female in the office while he meets with a female teen or adult, I have had the privilege of sitting in on a few conversations with him.  I want to tell you about this particular one with Sarah.    

Sarah is a young woman in our Bridge (young adults) Sunday school class. Over the last few years she has bravely journeyed through the loss of several loved ones, including the passing of her best friend from cancer.  She has opened up about the grief she experienced from the abrupt closure of her beloved church when she was in high school, and the difficult time she had integrating into our youth group when she came as a senior.  She’s worked to heal from the betrayal of a youth pastor in her old church who, after he moved to another location, was convicted of sexual misconduct with girls in his youth group.

How could Sarah trust a minister again after such a betrayal of trust?  What would the long process of forgiveness look like?  How would she go on after suffering grief upon grief? Sarah and I have talked about these questions.

Aaron and others in our church family were also part of Sarah’s journey as she began to share her hurt and ask hard questions. As time went on, Sarah felt more seen, heard, valued and affirmed.

On the last office meeting between Aaron the pastor and Sarah the young adult, Sarah went through her list of questions and concerns as usual and then said, “I can’t let you go until I give you this lecture.”

Sarah stood, walked to the middle of the small office, looked intensely at Aaron, and gripped her notebook with both hands. With flushed face and voice raised she gave him what she called her “Conditions for Leaving.”

You WILL love your family.

You WILL take care of them.

You WILL NOT harm others.

You WILL NOT abuse your authority. 

If you are struggling, you WILL seek help.

You WILL seek God's will in all things.

That's how you will honor us at Bethany.

I cannot describe the power I experienced in the few moments it took Sarah to give her speech.  It was as if a young prophetess had taken some of her pain and hard-won understanding and turned it into a wise warning and a blessing. 

Aaron responded with gratefulness and with a promise to follow these conditions.  I have no doubt that he has, and that he will, live this way.

I also heard Sarah’s speech as a plea for us all.  If we want to honor God, we will love and care for our families, we will not harm others or abuse our authority, we will seek help when we are struggling, and we will seek God’s will in all things.

Preach it, Sarah. Preach it!

Paid Groceries

Recently I got to pay for a lady’s groceries. It was an honor and a privilege.  It was one of those opportunities that suddenly came up and then was over just as suddenly. By evening, I had almost forgotten that it had happened, because the day held much more serious matters.

I went to a funeral in the morning. It was for a young man who died of complications from a car accident.  He was only twenty-two. His girlfriend of three years grew up on our block.  She is heartbroken. He went to school with a couple of our children, and had even been to our house with a group of students for pictures before one of the school dances. The Catholic church was full of young mourners in black. His mother’s sobs could be heard as the casket was brought up the aisle.

Oh God, life and death can be so unfair!

I found myself praying for the precious people in that church, for God to make Himself known to each one.  I asked Him to comfort and carry, to give hope, to bring salvation to those who were grieving without Christ.  Sometimes I’ve described the general look of the people in our community as “weathered.” So many have had hard lives.  

Oh God, this town needs You!

It was after the funeral when I stopped at my local grocery store. I felt strange walking in there right after such a profoundly sad service. But the reality was, I had recently returned from a trip out of town, and our family needed normal, everyday things like eggs, bread, and vegetables.  

Oh God, this is so weird. Life can be so weird!

As I approached the checkout and swiped my loyalty card, I overheard the woman whose back was to mine at the next register. “Well, that is the card I use all the time. I don’t know my pin number; I don’t use it. What am I going to do?” I listened some more and understood that the new bankcard she was using had a chip in it and now she would need to learn her forgotten pin. I surreptitiously turned and glanced at the register display. Her bill was a little over $27.  I said, “Let’s just use my card.” Then I saw the elderly woman’s face whose voice I had been listening to. She had that precious weathered look, and now in distress grabbed my arm and asked, “But how will I pay you back?” I smiled into her light blue eyes and said, “You just enjoy this as a gift from God.”

It got a little awkward then, as it took several steps to use my new bank card with a chip, but we accomplished the transaction. The cashier said several times, “That was so nice of you,” and maybe it was.  I do know it was fun! 

Even as I wondered in my heart if I would have been so spontaneous if the bill had been $127, I thanked God for the opportunity and the pleasure of blessing that woman.

Oh God, You would tell me what to do if the bill was larger, right?  Help me not to worry about that. Thank You for letting me show Your love today.  I needed that too.

From These Fields

Three generations of farmers support two generations of missionaries. Those two generations of missionaries had farmers in their linage, too – for three generations back. The missionaries share the farmers’ faith and they value this work of the land. The farmers live the missionaries’ faith and value their work of ministry. 

Growing up a child of missionary parents, I was aware of the many people who prayed and sacrificially gave so that my parents could minister to military people. I addressed envelopes for the thank you letters, and I understood that a missionary’s thank yous are never finished. I met these dear people, stayed in their homes, heard their stories, and counted on their prayers. In fact, I remember wondering if people prayed for all children like they prayed for the missionary’s children. I hoped so.

I was young when I sensed this missionary vocation was what God had in mind for me. I felt peaceful about it, but also curious. I asked that God would not send me to the tropics because I didn’t think my fine, straight hair would look good there. I knew He cared about my hair. He wouldn’t count the hairs on my head if He didn’t care about them, right?

So far, God has not asked me to live in the tropics. In fact, the most unexpected move, from my perspective, was back to the States twenty years ago. My husband was called to the same mission leadership my dad had carried through much of my childhood. In so many ways, this relocation did not feel like “real missionary life.” But I knew it was – know it is. I know deep in my soul the sacrifice this form of service requires.

And through all these years – through the missionary kid childhood, the living overseas “front line” ministry as an adult, and the Stateside leadership call on my husband – three generations of farmers in Oregon have not stopped farming, praying, living for Jesus, and generously giving in support of two generations of missionaries (including my parents, my brothers, and my family).

From their fields the Gospel has gone across the world. It’s awesome to me how their calling merges with mine. How can I ever express the thanksgiving that is never finished?

I cannot – not adequately. But recently, I was able to capture a few words of thanks in this poem.  I gave it to them, the second-generation farmers – the man in his well-worn overalls. (I think the only time I have seen him in other clothes was at his son’s wedding).  And I gave it to the third-generation farmers – the man holding their fourth child, an infant daughter. I left it for the first generation farmers, along with the Cadence history book – a history in which they have had a part from their fields since the early days of our mission.

In heaven we will know just how far these fields reached.

---

Stirrings and Offerings

I am brand new to blogging. This opportunity is both exciting and a bit frightening for me. I have wrestled with how to organize my thoughts and prepare my methods. 

Two words have emerged as I’ve pondered and prayed: 

Stirrings and Offerings.

Stirrings - I have written short articles infrequently in the past years, for our Cadence team, for retreats, or newsletters. For me, the process of putting in writing those times or lessons I want to remember is so beneficial.  It’s as if the stirrings of my soul can then become an offering from my heart.

My column in the Cadence Mission News is called “Soul Stirrings.” In this blog I will be able to share those writings outside my Cadence family, and I can expand the categories of written expression.

Offerings – Today we have so much privileged access to resources, writings, teaching, and wisdom. Sharing some of my thoughts on a blog can feel to me both like a drop in the bucket and like excess. So what is the point?

In our home I keep a well-stocked pantry. Our children (from about middle school age on) and their friends are welcome to help themselves from the food in there, which I hope is both enjoyable and nourishing. Some weeks hardly any snacks are taken, and some weeks I see three teenage boys walk out of our kitchen with fists full of goodies. These are my offerings – available and accessible.

In this spot in cyber space, perhaps God will take what He is stirring in my heart and make it something that is enjoyable or nourishing for someone else. He can do with it as He pleases. I will make the offering.

Merry Christmas!

A Christmas devotional from Joyce Schroeder. Edit Note: In this devotional I misspoke when I referred to Elizabeth as Mary’s sister-in-law. I didn’t realize I had phrased it this way until a couple days after this one-take filming. In the King James Version, Luke chapter 1 verse 36 names Elizabeth as Mary’s cousin, but most translations simply call her a relative. ~Joyce