spiritual stuff

In one of my six meetings I had today, we were talking about our group of offshore workers.  I won’t bore you with the details of the meeting but there was a small detail that came up I keep thinking about.

Offshore workers work in shifts to accommodate the time zone differences for the companies with which they work.  It’s advantageous for us to work with the workers on the second shift as they are getting off work just as we are coming in.  We have at least a few hours to make the exchange of information of what work was completed while we were sleeping the night before.  In the meeting, my manager made the remark about a female that just started working with us but she’s a first shift worker as no females are allowed to work the second shift.

I have no idea why females aren’t allowed to work the second shift.  I’m guessing it has something to do with their protection.  Because I’m just guessing somewhere along the way things aren’t the same for females as it is for males. 

So as I sat in a conference room with a 3 to 1 male to female ratio where I was every bit as respected by the 3, my heart went out to that worker around the world that at the end of the day, wasn’t being treated the same as her coworkers.

Me, (safely) in New York for work 

I picked up my Bible to straighten up this evening as DSS is making their biannual home visit in the morning and as I walked I randomly opened it to read.  I “just happened” to turn to this passage in Matthew where Jesus was talking about His return.  Things are going to get bad and then He says this:

How dreadful it will be in those days for pregnant women and nursing mothers!

I love that out of all the things he could communicate about that time, He took a moment to speak His soft spot for women.  The world is ending and He’s thinking of us in particular.

I love that He feels that way and I love that He took the time to remind me.

Ladies, don’t ever forget you are every bit as valuable as the men around you. We’re different, for sure. But I don’t care if you work or you don’t. If you have kids or you don’t. If you’re a girl, a woman, a lady, you’re important and loved.

The girls’ devotional tonight was based on Romans 12:11-13: 

Don’t burn out; keep yourselves fueled and aflame. Be alert servants of the Master, cheerfully expectant. Don’t quit in hard times; pray all the harder. Help needy Christians; be inventive in hospitality.

So much to unpack there but this is what stuck: 

When I was little, I couldn’t wait to wear a wedding ring.  Mom would take us in Belk or Claire’s–it didn’t matter–the diamond-look-alike would be promptly fitted to my ring finger.  I’d imagine the man that would put it on my finger.  I always imagined him tall, dark and handsome, if you must know.  But what I really imagined was how I’d feel when I’d get the ring. 

Loved.

Protected for life. 

Desired.

Chosen out of a crowd.

One summer night at only 18, my handsome man kneeled low and put a gold ring on my finger.  I remember the sand in my feet and the waves breaking just behind him with the moon hanging high.  I was his.

Another summer, many moons past that one, hangs its hat tonight and the school year of our children rises with the sun in the morning.  Tonight I came in from work tired with a to do list miles long.   We had lunches to pack and outfits to pick out and showers to run under and hair to cut and rooms to clean. 

I couldn’t help but notice the package in the foyer though.  Just after dinner, before we started attacking the list, I unpacked it, knowing what was inside–a necklace I snagged for just a few dollars on a special last week. Even at that, it felt like a splurge after a Summer of 7.

I put it around my neck and looked at the leaf, perhaps off a Giving Tree, and then turned it over, “I am His”.

I am His.  The phrase turned over in my mind while we cleaned and packed lunches and cut hair and picked outfits.  Reminding me.

I am loved.

Protected.

Desired

Chosen.

I asked the youngest at bed time before prayers if she’d read my necklace.  She said yes and I asked, “Whose am I?” I expected her to say Daddy’s but she said Jesus and the eldest shouted God’s! from her bunk.

I am His. 

It’s just a couple dollar necklace but it brings the same feelings of the ring on the beach and the imposter one in the store.

I am His.  And forever will be.

After an hour-long conversation over coffee, two ladies shuffled around their table to leave and the louder woman said, “I know there’s a purpose, I just don’t know what yet.  You know that saying ‘God never gives you more than you can handle?’”

The other lady laughed as they walked out the door and said, “Yeah, sometimes I wonder if we should just be weaker.”

That quote has always bothered me.  ‘God never gives you more than you can handle.”  I guess I get what that quote is supposed to get at, but sometimes, I’m afraid it communicates the wrong idea.

Maybe it’s just me, but from what I can tell, God ALWAYS gives you more than you can handle. 

In fact, I think maybe the point of our circumstances is to show us we can’t handle it. 

And maybe it’s just me, but knowing ahead of time I’m not smart enough, strong enough, patient enough, wise enough or loving enough frees me up from the worry of how to get through it.  It’s only weak little me through Christ that handles anything.