What's Your Love Language?

Do you know the love language of your spouse and family members?  What makes you feel connected to them?  How well do you know your own love language?

Gary Chapman’s book, “The Five Love Languages,” describes five basic ways a person feels loved.  As we celebrate Valentine’s Day, it’s good to be reminded how we can help the people in our lives feel loved.   

The five categories that help us identify our love languages are:

• Touch
• Acts of Service
• Gifts
• Quality Time
• Words of Affirmation

I liken these “love languages” to emotional fuel.  Each of us has a love tank that needs refilled from time to time.  When it gets empty, we tend to get grouchy and not relate well to those closest to us.  It brings out the worst in us.  Understanding people’s love language can help keep us from harboring an attitude of offense and bitterness toward them.

A Touch-oriented person needs kind physical touch to feel safe, nurtured, loved, and cherished.  They thrive on an affectionate arm around the shoulder, a gentle touch on the hand, a massage, etc.  Touch is the most invasive of people’s personal space, so if you are not a “touchy/feely” person, you may be uncomfortable meeting this need in others.  The Touch person should communicate his/her needs so both parties can relate well to one another.  The following true story is an example.  [Names were changed]

As they spent the day together, Nancy desired a deeper level of bonding with her sister.  She curled up on the couch next to Alma as they watched a movie together, and after awhile put her feet in Alma’s lap.  Her sister reacted with immediate agitation: “Get your feet off my lap!”  Thankfully, Nancy was aware of the five love languages.  Just because her own love language was touch, didn't mean Alma’s was the same.  It kept her from feeling rejected and taking offense to Alma’s boundary, and she said, “Oh – okay.” 

On Tuesday I was in a women’s group, and a young mother shared an experience about her five-year-old son.  As she rubbed and scratched his back at bedtime, he spoke up and said, “Mommy, when you scratch my back, it feels like you love me!”  Wow.  Out of the mouth of babes.  No doubt about it: his love language is “Touch.”

An Acts of Service person thrives on intentional acts of kindness.  They measure how much they’re loved by surveying their surroundings to see what has or has not been done for them.  A messy environment and seeing what needs fixed irritates them.  Examples are: a TV left on which nobody is watching, clothes strew around, and chores left undone. An unsafe environment because someone is thoughtless or procrastinates in fixing things drains their love tank too.

Gifts people give gifts on a regular basis, and in turn expect to be given gifts as well.  They want to feel that you know them, pay attention to them, and understand them.  The phrase, “It’s the thought that counts,” was definitely coined by a Gifts person.  Their driving thought is, “Do you know me?” and “Am I on your mind?”  Have you ever given a gift to someone who didn't seem to especially appreciate it, and you felt hurt? Maybe her love language was “words of affirmation” or “quality time” rather than gifts. You probably gave a gift because that’s the way you perceived love from someone, or out of habit just assumed she’d want a gift. 

Quality Time people want to know you are interested in what interests them: a hobby, book, sports, a TV show, etc.  They value good conversation and feel loved through personal, undivided attention.  They feel “I’m important to you.”

Words of Affirmation people notice facial expression, body language, tone of voice and choice of words, and feel loved when these are all positive.  They pick up on the “spirit” in which something is said, and feel loved when someone verbally expresses enjoyment of who they are.  A person whose love tank needs words of affirmation can more easily be hurt by angry, critical and negative words, and can easily withdraw into themselves or lash out with their own weapons that wound.  Use the “sandwich” technique when you need to offer constructive criticism to a Words of Affirmation person.  Layer the criticism between the top and bottom layer of affirming comments.  Jesus used this communication style in addressing the seven churches in the Book of Revelation, chapters 2 and 3.

We should not expect our loved ones to automatically pick up on our love language.  We are also responsible to verbalize our feelings and not “clam up” in anger or frustration when our love tank is low, and assume they just don’t care.  Statements such as, “When you say I look pretty, I feel loved,” will let them know what fills your love tank.

For more on the subject of love and relationships, I recommend Gary Chapman’s book “The Five Love Languages” and “Keep Your Love On” by Danny Silk.

“Love is patient, love is kind.  It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It is not rude, it is not self-seeking.  It is not easily angered; it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”  I Corinthians 13:4-7 NIV

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

Ancestor Eli Yoder

The year was 1899: the summer my great-grandfather, Eli Yoder, built a barn on his farm in Aurora, West Virginia.  Henry Mosser was hired to move his saw mill operation to Eli’s property to cut the timber into lumber.  One Thursday as Eli felled a tree, he caught a gray squirrel that fell with it.  Somehow that little creature squirmed around until he bit Eli – through his leather glove – into his thumb at the first joint.

Thinking nothing of it, Eli kept on with his work.  But around midnight of the same day, his thumb became very painful.  The next morning they sent for the doctor, who announced Eli had blood poisoning, but would do his best to treat it.  Someone had to be with him day and night.

In the middle of this entire trauma, Eli’s wife Dora had to cook meals for the saw mill hands, log cutters and haulers.  When Eli was at his worst, he got the news that his father, Christian Yoder, was dead.

Those were the days long before penicillin, and the excruciatingly painful ordeal lasted three months for Eli.  But that was not what killed him.  After the doctor cut his hand open “in a good many places,” it drained and he soon recovered. 

Eli moved his family to Summit Mills, Pennsylvania and was a highly esteemed farmer of Elk Lick Township.  Physically frail at the age of sixty-seven, with his right arm having been paralyzed for some time, he was still able to do some light work and drive the wagon to town.  

One Sunday morning as his family attended the Amish Mennonite Church, he was home alone.  Suddenly two young men appeared at the kitchen door and asked for something to eat.  My great-grandfather was not the kind of man to turn any hungry person away, but he was suspicions of these two.  However, he set about getting them something to eat.  Soon, a noise at the front of the house caught his attention.  Looking out, he saw two more young men carrying crocks of butter and other things out of the cellar.

He immediately went outside to stop them, and the gang of four miscreants began to throw stones at him and threatened to kill him.  He went back inside the house and the four got away with one crock of butter.  He wasn’t hit by any of the rocks.  But the frightening encounter with the ruffians coupled with the memory of his father’s robbery and torture by the McClellandtown Gang twenty-five or thirty years earlier, so reacted on his nerves that he suffered a physical collapse after the vandals left.

Monday (the next evening) three young men, Fiddler, Frickey and Schrock, came to Eli’s house to make settlement, they said, by order of the guilty parties.  The three insisted they didn’t know who the guilty parties were.  Eli and his family said they would not accept any settlement unless the guilty party showed up.  The emissaries finally said they would bring the culprits to make amends the following evening.

But the next day, Tuesday, Eli became much worse, so much so that the family sent for Dr. J. W. Wenzel to administer medical treatment.  Dr. Wenzel said Eli was suffering severely from nervousness and his vital signs were very low.  He tried to do what he could, but to no avail.  Eli died at 7:30 that evening. 

None of the gang showed up Tuesday evening to make amends and Detective M. R. Leckemby and Constable D. R. Cramer began a search that night that ended in their apprehension. 

I see a pattern of trauma, fear and intimidation in my Yoder family’s history; it gives me some insights about my grandfather Claude (Eli’s son) my own father, Edwin (Claude’s son) and myself.  I thank God for the power of the Name and blood of Jesus that breaks every generational curse and stronghold of the enemy in our lives!  Hallelujah!

I am deeply indebted to my son-in-law Keith Yoder, son of Alton J. Yoder of Meyersdale, PA, for making the historical documents of these accounts available to me.  There are no photographs of Eli.

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

Ancestor Christian Yoder

My great, great, great grandfather, Christian Yoder in his younger years

“Tell us where your money is or we will kill you for sure this time.” 

My great-great-great grandfather Christian Yoder regained consciousness to find two gang members standing over him, one with a revolver pressed against his forehead, and the other brandishing a long dirk-knife over his throat, demanding more money.

“I don’t have any more to give you,” Christian croaked…

The notorious McClellandandtown Gang of Somerset County, Pennsylvania, had wrecked havoc for years in Fayette County, to the point that law enforcement officials were intimidated by their threats of vengeance if deterred or captured.  The year was 1889.

On the evening of April 13, four masked thieves entered the home of my wealthy and elderly ancestor, Christian Yoder.  They bound and gagged Mr. Stevanus, the hired man, and all family members except Christian’s wife who was in feeble health.  The thugs demanded money, and threatened to take his life if he didn’t comply.

Christian admitted there was money in a bureau drawer in the next room.  When the robbers counted it, they found four hundred dollars. (That was quite a sum of money those days.)  The gang demanded more, but Christian told them there was no more.

The gang ransacked the house and found fifty dollars belonging to Christian’s wife and eighty-six dollars belonging to Miss Ellen Baker, the hired girl.  They still weren’t satisfied.

In spite of my great, great, great grandfather’s repeated assurances there was no more money, the scoundrels didn’t believe him.  They dragged him out of the house, across the yard into the barn where they started a fire; they threatened to burn the barn down if he still refused to produce the rest of his money. 

Christian stated again there was none, so one of the gang members put a rope around the neck of my defenseless ancestor.  Together with the help of another gang member, they hoisted the rope up over a barn beam and pulled the old man up to hang in mid-air, shoes dangling six feet off the ground.   

When his breathing became more labored and they saw he was half-dead, they lowered him onto the floor and again demanded money.  With none forthcoming, they strung him up again.  The leader of the gang arranged the burning hay and straw directly under Christian, where the searing flames blistered his hands and scorched his clothing.

Again they lowered the feeble old man onto the ground. They threatened him with a revolver and dirk-knife while the other two gang members ransacked his house.  They brought up bread, pies, and meat from the cellar, collected other food they found in the kitchen and spread it on the table.  After stuffing themselves, whatever wasn’t eaten was destroyed.  Christian was tied up as the thieves stole a matched pair of prized gray horses, and the marauders rode away at break-neck speed.

When the hired hand (Mr. Stevanus) didn’t come home at the usual time, his wife sent her two sons to see where he was.  They found the victims and quickly released them.

Fifteen days later, on April 28, 1889, the thugs were captured, led by an armed body of courageous men from the tiny village of Summit Mills; the men were led by ex-Sheriff Kyle of Meyersdale, PA. Bravo!  They did what law enforcement was afraid to do.

The entire McClellandtown Gang was given a hearing before Judge Baer on May 10. 1889, and were convicted on May 30.  They were sentenced to ten years in solitary confinement in the Western Penitentiary. 

This notorious gang had been allowed to pillage and terrorize all of Fayette County for years because authorities were filled with fear.  All their “attempts” at capture had failed.

Whether it’s in our personal or spiritual life, fear paralyzes – produces inaction or the wrong action.  Our intimidator and thief, the devil, roams around looking for someone to devour.  That’s why we need the ammunition of the Word of God: speak it, stand on it, and don’t lose courage.  Fear produces timidity.  Faith overcomes fear every time.

“For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.”  2 Timothy 1:7 (NIV)

Don’t let the devil steal from you.

*My source for the above account is a booklet titled “The Robbery of Christian Yoder by the McClellandtown Gang 1889.”  The booklet was reprinted by my grandfather, Claude Yoder, in 1973.  

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

Rolling With the Punches

My husband and I opened our home for a fellowship dinner for our former life group at 6:30 Friday evening for twenty people. My menu was West African Groundnut Stew from the More-With-Less Mennonite cookbook, and each guest had signed up to bring condiments such as peanuts, diced apples, peppers, scallions, raisins, pineapple, bananas, etc, rolls and dessert.

I did my cleaning the day before, got my tables ready and made the iced tea to save time on the day of the dinner. I put bowls, snack plates and napkins for the hors-d'-oeuvres on my dining room buffet.

By Friday, I still hadn’t heard whether or not Margaret* was coming, and then I remembered she was allergic to beef. So I called her and told her I’d make a chicken Alfredo/broccoli casserole for her, and she was so glad. Margaret asked if she could bring anything, but I told her everything was covered. 

Off I went to the grocery store and bought five pounds of cubed beef and rice plus ingredients for the chicken dish. 

Once home, I checked my e-mail, and Nancy*, who had signed up to bring two pumpkin pies, had e-mailed me and said she was sick, would not be attending, but would keep her promise and deliver the two pies at 5:30. 

After lunch, I checked my e-mail again out of habit, and Nancy had sent another e-mail, saying that as she was putting the pies into the oven, one of them fell on the floor. She was quite distraught because she didn’t have money to buy more ingredients, felt so ill and was trying to do too much, and said how embarrassed she felt. When I called her, she had just finished cleaning up the pumpkin pie mess. I felt so bad for her, and urged her to go lie down, keep the other pie for herself, and put the fellowship dinner out of her mind. Much to Nancy’s relief, I assured her I’d just call Margaret back and ask her to bring some dessert.

After I made arrangements with Margaret for the dessert, I was dicing and slicing and chopping away when suddenly I thought, “How could I forget? Today is the 17^th!  It’s Doug’s birthday!” (Doug is our oldest son who lives in the lower level of our home, and co-owns our home.) I had not bought him a card or gift, and decided I need to at least get him a card. So I dropped what I was doing, got my coat and purse, jumped into the car and headed for the CVS several blocks from us. I got the card and a cute gift (because there was lots of Valentine’s Day merchandise available), came back home, found a gift bag and tissue paper. When Dave got home, I reminded him of our son’s birthday, so he sent Doug a birthday e-mail.

My Groundnut Stew was swelling exponentially by the time I was ready to add the liquid and tomato paste, and I saw it would never begin to fit in the pot I was using. So I drafted hubby to bring in my canner from the garage and he helped me transfer the hot mixture into it. By this time it was 4:00—just two and a half hours before our first guest was to arrive. I had ingredients everywhere, not enough counter space, plus I still had to make the chicken casserole and the rice. I felt hot and prickly all over. Could I pull this off?

With the heat finally reduced to a suitable simmer so it wouldn’t scorch in the lighter-weight, make-shift cooking vessel, I made the chicken casserole, put it in the oven at 250° for a slow bake, and then cleaned up the kitchen and took out the trash. 

Dave called to me from our office: “Hon, this is January, not February. Doug’s birthday is in February.” 

Oh for Pete’s sake—what was I thinking? Sheesh!

I was putting Cheddar Chex Mix, tortilla chips and Chi-Chi’s salsa into bowls on the buffet table when the first guests arrived at 6:20. It was Margaret and her husband with several desserts, and I placed a colorful tray of cheesecake slices on the counter with the desserts and coffee. Bless her heart. The person who signed up to bring the dinner rolls never did show.

Three unexpected guests showed up.

Sharon* told me Cora* was bringing a birthday cake as a surprise to celebrate Francine’s 50^th birthday. At dessert time, I asked Cora when they were going to serve the cake. She replied, “We didn’t bring cake; we brought these,” and pointed to neatly-arranged pudding parfaits in cups. Then she asked, “Who told you we were bringing cake?” I told her Sharon must have been mistaken, and just assumed there would be cake because we were signing a birthday card for Cora. It turned out that everyone was glad Margaret had brought that tall, fancy and fabulous chocolate cake. There was only a teeny slice left.  

Our burgeoning home was rockin’ with lots of noisy love and laughter from nineteen adults as four children shrieked with delight playing air hockey in our game room downstairs. 

Dave got a call on his cell phone from Doug, saying he was going out for Chinese, and, “Would the person who parked across the entrance to my driveway please move his car?”

At ten o’clock and after many hugs and well-wishes that warmed our hearts, the last guest left and we began the clean-up. Paper plates, plastic silverware, cups and napkins had been gathered by my guests and trash taken out before they left. I started the dishwasher but my sink was still full of dirty dishes that would wait until Saturday. Life is good.

And Doug’s birthday gift is perched on my dresser awaiting the arrival of February 17^th.    

*Names have been changed

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

The Little White Church on Beachley Street

Feelings of wistful sadness washed over me as I lay sleepless last night.  I thought of the small white church I attended as a pre-teen and teenager: First Mennonite Church on Beachley Street in Meyersdale, PA.  My throat tightened as memories crowded my mind.

I visualized the center row of long dark benches and two rows of shorter dark benches on either side, creating two aisles.  At the age of eleven, I stood at the end of one of those center benches to publicly declare my faith in Jesus Christ as tears rolled down my face.  And after a number of weeks of instruction, I knelt in front of that church to be baptized by the Mennonite method of pouring.  

I remembered a row of benches against the back wall of the church, too.  I saw the pulpit and the two alcove windows behind the pulpit, with a picture of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane hanging on a narrow wall between the windows.  I remember a door to the outside on the left.  A steeple with a church bell that rang on Sundays graced the church over the entryway.  Tall narrow frosted-glass windows looked like those of churches one sees on Christmas cards.

 

I thought about how that little church gave me the opportunity to develop in my Christian walk. Here in this place, I was asked to teach summer Bible School, Sunday school, and sometimes give a talk on a certain topic Sunday nights.

We had a great youth chorus under the direction of Ray Hershberger, the father of my best friend Maretta.  I remember the weekly practices and chorus programs we gave in churches and at Oakland Nursing Home in Maryland.  I think we sounded quite good!

I recalled the wonderful youth group we had under the direction of Sam and Elizabeth Yoder.  We held elections for a president, secretary and treasurer and followed Robert's Rules of Order in conducting our youth meetings.  I remembered the  mystery suppers, talent nights, hayrides and hot dog roasts, making food baskets at Thanksgiving for needy families, making candy in Elizabeth's (and my mom's) kitchens for Christmas packages, and more. 

I'll never forget my impression of a preacher from the Church of the Nazarene came to First Mennonite to preach for us.  I can still see him walk to the platform, get down on his knees, and pray for a little while before preaching. 

I remembered Ressley Tressler, Norman Teague and Ross Metzler who pastored our little church over the years.  I gave thanks to God for their faithful oversight of our little flock.

When the church disbanded, a group of Spirit-filled “Amish Mennonites” started a Charismatic church there called “Rock Church,” and my husband and I were so blessed to be part of that.  During that time, our first son was born (forty-five years ago) and we dedicated him to the Lord in the little white church.  My parents and Dave’s parents also attended there, and I thank God for their godly influence in our lives.

We drove past the little white church several years ago.  The once-special place is now used for some sort of garage or tire storage facility and the windows are boarded shut.  Overgrown with vines, trees, and shrubs that threaten the thirsty once-white clapboard siding, my dear little church looked forlorn and badly neglected.

I wiped my tears with the bed sheet.  Even though the church is no more, it was once used by God to give me spiritual life.  I felt deeply grateful to God for all the people who entered and exited the doors of the little white church on Beachley Street.

"The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance."  Psalm 16:6 (NIV)

  

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

Recycling Christmas Cards

Christmas time always brings a shower of beautiful cards from friends and family, and I delight in each one, taping them in the doorways to my kitchen and office.  They provide a festive look.  But after you un-trim the tree, take the Christmas lights out of the windows, take down the greenery, the outdoor wreath, store the table centerpiece and nativity set in big plastic tubs, wrap up the strings of tiny clear mantel lights, pack the Christmas stockings, take down the Command hooks, and have hubby stash everything in the garage for next year, what do you do with the cards?  I mean, it isn’t like you can display them again next year.  And they’re so pretty; I can’t bring myself to throw them out.  Surely there is a use for them.

My Amish grandmother, Olive Yoder, always had a basket that fascinated me.  It was made of old Christmas cards cut round at the top, sides tapered, with two cards placed together with their pretty sides facing outward, then sandwiched between two pieces of some kind of plastic cut to fit the card shape.  Holes were punched all around the edges and top, and crocheted together around an octagon-shaped bottom base also made of Christmas cards sandwiched together with plastic.  Each Christmas season, Ollie would bring out that pretty, artfully-crocheted basket and put it on her dining or buffet table and put her Christmas cards in it.  I wonder if she made them to sell or bought them from someone; I never thought to ask.

 A sampling of some of my gift tags

This year, I decided to use an idea I read about last year.  I made lots of gift tags!  I had three year’s worth of cards tucked away, and I spent the better part of three days going through them and cutting out tags.  For shapes, I used the rim or base of differently-sized tea cups to trace out circles, and also cut squares or rectangles around pretty parts of the card.  A hole punch made place to insert a ribbon.  

Another idea is to make Christmas ornaments.  Match the round, identically-sized ones, then glue them back to back and insert a length of pretty ribbon through the hole, then tie a pretty bow to hang on your tree next year. 

The neatest thing about recycling these Christmas cards was that my granddaughter Nicole was spending the day with me and we worked at my kitchen table together – she at her craft project and I at mine.  The largest cup I used was an old one my grandma Ollie gave me one Christmas when I was about sixteen years old.  It brought back memories of her love and kindness and Christmas time at her house.  I had tears as I told Nicole about my grandma Ollie and the cup and saucer gift.  I told her about the scalloped Christmas card basket too.  Such good moments with grandchildren are priceless!

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

Christmas Thoughts, Part Three

The circumstances surrounding the birth of Jesus, God’s Son, show us that God chooses the foolish things of this world to confound the wise.  (I Corinthians 1:27) His Kingdom is not of this world.

Consider the reality of what Joseph and Mary experienced at the birth of Jesus:

·         They were under oppressive Roman rule with heavy taxes

·         Mary had to travel with Joseph to be taxed; there were no airplanes, luxury cars, trains or public transportation.  Mary had a long, bumpy ride on the boney back of donkey, plodding along mile after mile after mile.  It's likely Joseph had a donkey too.  Did they get rained on?  Were they hot or cold?

·         There were no phones, no computers, no Census Bureau that mailed a census questionnaire to their home, no H&R Block and no IRS to collect their taxes.  It was a person to person transaction.

·         Mary and Joseph were far away from home, and she was totally dependent on God and the husband he'd given her.

·         There was no place to stay because all the inns were full.  There was no comfortable Hilton Hotel, and for all practical purposes, they were homeless.

·         No sterile hospital welcomed Mary as she went into labor.  She didn’t have the aid and comfort of a mother or a midwife to attend to her needs.  But God himself helped her; he attended his own Son’s birth!  I believe Psalm 22:9-10 talks about this: “Yet you brought me out of the womb; you made me trust in you even at my mother’s breast.  From birth I was cast upon you; from my mother’s womb you have been my God.”

·         I wonder if Joseph felt inadequate as a man when he couldn’t provide Mary with decent sleeping accommodations.  I wonder if he was terrified at the thought of having to attend to the birth process himself.  Did he feel faint at the sight of blood?  Did he feel helpless in knowing what to do?  

·         Jesus was born in a smelly, unsanitary stable, and Joseph certainly couldn’t boil any water in that stable!  Jesus’ birth came in the lowliest possible way. 

·         There were no baby showers with relatives, friends and well-wishers, no party food or celebration, and no gifts of fine clothing.  But God saw to it that the Wise Men brought Him valuable gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

·         No birth announcements were sent to relatives, yet God announced it from the heavens through the lowest caste of society.

·         Shepherds were at their post, guarding their sheep from wolves and predators in a field at night when an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the brightness of heaven’s presence lit up the entire area around them, and they were terrified by the supernatural occurrence.  Here again, as to Mary, the angel spoke peace to them. “Do not be afraid.  I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.  Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; He is Christ the Lord.  This will be a sign to you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” (KJV)

·         In entrusting His message to lowly shepherds, God elevated them to a place of honor. 

·         God provided a lavish display of heaven’s joy as a great host of angels filled the sky, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”  His Kingdom had made its entrance into the earth with the birth of Jesus, and He was no longer angry with sinful humanity.  His Son would be the sacrifice for their sins.  He considered it done, even before full payment was made. 

·         Those shepherds believed the message from heaven, and were so overjoyed at the good news that they left their sheep and hurried off to Bethlehem to see what had happened.  In leaving their sheep, it shows they trusted God to keep their flock safe while they were gone.  They found Mary and Joseph and the baby lying in the manger, just as the angel had said. 

·         The shepherds became evangelists as they spread the angel’s message about this baby, and everyone was amazed by what they heard.  The shepherds didn’t embellish the message by adding to it, and didn’t leave anything out for fear of offending some.  (I think of Peter in Acts 4:20 where he said, “We cannot but speak the things we have seen and heard.”) 

·         It occurs to me that the humble, simple folk are the ones who can more easily believe God and act on His word.  The intellectual types who rely on human reasoning and what people think have a hard time humbling themselves to accept God’s word.   

I’m fascinated by the statement, “But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.”  (Luke 2:19)  I can imagine as she and Joseph left Bethlehem and made the long trek back home, Mary pondered the enormity of what had happened. But she didn’t talk about it.  She didn’t try to prove her virginity when she got pregnant, and she didn’t tell folks back home what had transpired in Bethlehem.  Sometimes one shouldn’t try to explain the things of God to those of carnal mind. There is great virtue in keeping quiet about some things.  We needn’t say everything we know, or try to prove our innocence and the justice of our cause.  We are to live justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God.  (Micah 6:8)

I can’t help but believe that Joseph was impressed with Mary’s character and her faith in God, and that she indeed was a wife to be trusted.  I think of Proverbs 31:10 – 11:  “A wife of noble character who can find?  She is worth far more than rubies.  Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value.  She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life.” 

God provided for his Son; Jesus was warm and fed, and God saw to it that his Son had godly parents to raise him to become the Savior of the world.  He’d be the One who would take the punishment we deserved when He died on a Roman cross thirty-three years later.  “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life.  For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.  Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because he has not believed in the name of God’s one and only Son.”  John 3:16-18

Receive the Gift of Christmas from God to you; He loves you so very much!

*All scriptures are from the NIV translation unless otherwise noted. 

© 2013 Elaine Beachy

    

Christmas Thoughts, Part Two

Matthew 1:18-25 gives us Joseph’s side of the Christmas story.  In my imagination, it may have gone something like this: 

Joseph finished the table and placed it in the kitchen.  He’d made four matching chairs, and if he did say so himself, the set was a thing of beauty – a wonderful gift for his betrothed.  The polished wood shone from the expert care and skill his hands had given the pieces.  He’d see Mary tonight and show her what he’d made for their home.  Soon he’d bring her home as his wife!

As he made his way to Mary’s home after dinner, he reflected on his bride-to-be.  The past several months since she’d returned home from a three-month vacation to Elizabeth’s home in Judea, Mary seemed different; he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.  She had a glow about her and seemed – well, older somehow. Though he’d never considered her a truly beautiful girl, he was taken with the change in her looks, and thought her lovelier than before.  He thanked God for this blessing of getting such a beautiful bride, especially at his age.  He’d always liked her quiet shyness and the fact that she didn’t giggle like other girls her age.  The arranged marriage would be a good one.

Joseph knocked on the door, and Mary opened it.  Their eyes met as she invited him in.

“I’ve come to take you to see what I’ve made for our home,” Joseph said.  As Mary moved across the room to a sitting area, he noticed her shape was different – she must have put on weight or something.  He tried not to stare, but Mary caught his look. 

As they sat down on a bench, Mary folded her hands tightly in her lap and looked away from him. 

Could it be?  Could the gossip around town be true after all?  His Mary?  Had she played the harlot while she was away in Judea?  Shock and disbelief were followed by anger, and then more shock and disbelief.  Surely he must be mistaken.  But there was no getting around it -- they had to talk about it.

Joseph stood, and Mary looked up at him.  She was silent.  He ran his hands through his hair, and his jaw clenched.  He closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath before he spoke.  So the whispers and veiled comments by customers in his carpenter shop were true after all.  He never would have believed it.  Despair gripped his soul.

“Mary, what am I to think?  Who is it?  Who’s the father?”  Joseph restrained his anger, but his heart constricted as he spoke softly. 

“It’s not what you think, Joseph,” Mary began. “An angel of the Lord came to me and said I was going to give birth to the Son of God – our Messiah.  Then I went to Elizabeth’s house because the angel told me she had conceived a child in her old age, and was six months along.  While I was there, she gave birth to a son they named John.”

“Do you expect me to believe that story, Mary?”  Anger and disbelief rose inside him. 

The unfamiliar anger in Joseph took her by surprise.  “But it’s true, Joseph.  Elizabeth prophesied by the power of the Holy Spirit about the child I’m carrying – God’s Son,” Mary pleaded.  “She confirmed the angel’s message to me.”

Did he really know Mary?  Was she given to making up outrageous stories such as this?  He sat down, then stood up again, and paced the floor. 

“I have to go, Mary.  I need time to think about what I’m going to do,” Joseph said.  He felt her eyes follow him as he strode across the room and let himself out. 

“Dear God, what am I going to do?  What has happened to my sweet Mary?  Please help me!” Joseph pleaded in prayer as he walked home.  He opened the door to his home and saw the beautiful furniture he’d made for Mary.  It seemed to mock him.  He could never bring Mary home as his wife: what would the neighbors think?  They’d think he was the father and that they had…  He willed the shameful thought away.

Over the next few days, he threw himself into his work and found it hard to sleep because of troubling thoughts.  What would he do about Mary? She was young and foolish, but he had no wish to shame her by making a public example of her.  That wouldn’t be right.  He would divorce her quietly; that’s what he’d do. After all, divorce was allowed for unfaithfulness.  He’d get the papers drawn up tomorrow.

Joseph went to bed early and fell, exhausted, into a deep sleep.  Suddenly, he saw an angel of the Lord appear before him who said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.  She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.”

Joseph awoke with a start.  So Mary had been telling the truth!  He had judged her so harshly.  How must she be feeling?  He had to go see her that very day.  He’d bear the gossip and reproach along with her. He wouldn't care what the neighbors or the synagogue leaders thought.  He knew the truth: heaven had spoken! God would be faithful.  He was settled; he’d bring Mary to his home, but wouldn’t consummate their marriage until after God’s Son was born. 

Mary was sweeping the front porch as he approached her house.  His pace quickened, and his Mary stood still, waiting.  As he took her hands into his, the shining look in her eyes was reward enough.

Copyright © 2013 Elaine Beachy

Christmas Thoughts, Part One

Did you ever wonder about Mary, the mother of Jesus, and the kind of person she must have been?  Was she ordinary or someone special?  We know she kept herself sexually pure, and was a virgin.  Was she in love with Joseph to whom she was engaged?  Was she pretty or did she consider herself homely and unattractive?  Did she feel “less than” her girl friends, if she had any?  Did she have an education?  How old was she when the angel Gabriel came to her and told her she would supernaturally conceive a child?

Online research revealed that her marriage was probably arranged.  Since it doesn’t mention her parents, I had to wonder if she was an orphan being raised by a relative much as Esther was raised by Mordecai in the Old Testament.  Were her caregivers eager to “marry her off” due to financial constraints?  Think how that would make you feel.  Some believe Joseph was likely a widower about thirty years old, and Mary was between the tender age of twelve and fourteen. 

I have read that every Jewish virgin hoped to be the mother of Israel’s Messiah, but perhaps Mary had given up that hope, given her lowly circumstances.  We read in Luke 1:48 that she considered herself to be of “lowly estate,” of poor standing in the culture of her day.  However, we know God delights to take what man considers the weak and “lesser” things of this world and give them special honor.  

Whatever her natural circumstances were, we can be fairly certain Mary knew Israel's history: how God delivered Israel from Egypt and all the signs and wonders He performed in their behalf.  I can imagine she longed for deliverance once again as she prayed about her beloved nation and the oppressive Roman rule her people endured.  Like Gideon in Judges 6, perhaps as she called out to God for deliverance, she wondered where all God’s miracles were and why God had seemingly abandoned them.

As I read Luke 1 and 2 recently, I could easily imagine young Mary praying for her nation and herself as she went about her work.  I imagine her in tears as she did the family laundry and washed the breakfast dishes as her mind also turned to wonder what marriage would be like.  Would she be a good wife?  Would she be able to have children?  Her relative Elizabeth was unable to have children all her life.  Did that curse run in her family? 

Just as easily, I can imagine she wiped her tears on her sleeve and bent to her tasks once again.  Suddenly she heard a knock at the door.  On opening it, she found a man who asked if he might come and rest a bit from his journey. Taught to be kind and hospitable, she invited him in and offered a seat.  I don’t think she realized he was an angel, because his appearance didn’t frighten her, but his words of greeting greatly troubled her: “Greetings, you who are highly favored!  The Lord is with you.” 

What was this?  The Lord was for her?  She was highly favored?  Really?   He had to have it all wrong – she was a low-class citizen, and a teenager too; surely he had to know that. What did he want from her?  The shock of his greeting unnerved her.  What kind of man just showed up at the door to pay attention to her?  Was he interfering with her engagement to Joseph?

The gravity of his next words must have convinced her he had a message from God: “Do not be afraid, Mary, you have found favor with God.  You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus.  He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High.  The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.” 

“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?” 

The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.  So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God.  Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be barren is in her sixth month.  For nothing is impossible with God.”

I can imagine her shocked surprise at the startling news that Elizabeth was having a baby.  Old women don’t have babies.  Impossible!  This had to be God.

“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered.  “May it be to me as you have said.”  Then the angel left her.

I can imagine Mary’s head spinning with joy.  She, the lowly one, was to be the mother of the Son of God!  She had to go see Elizabeth.  Surely if anyone was to believe and understand what had just happened to her, it would be Elizabeth.

Mary packed her travel bags and hurried to Judea to visit her relative, and when Mary greeted her, the baby (John the Baptist) in Elizabeth’s womb leaped for joy.  Imagine that—babies can receive divine inspiration from God in the womb!  (Don't ever abort a baby; he/she is God's creation, no matter how he/she was conceived!)  Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and prophesied to Mary that she was indeed blessed because Mary believed that what the Lord said to her would be done.  

Mary responded by the power of the Holy Spirit, “My soul glorifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant…” (Luke 1:46-48)  I like to think it was at this point that the Holy Spirit came on Mary, causing her to praise God and to conceive our Lord Jesus in her womb.  

Do you have circumstances in your life that seem impossible?  Believe that all God's promises in the Bible are for you.  Ask the Holy Spirit to help you find God’s promises for you in His word and declare as Mary did, “May it be to me as You have said.”  I encourage you to give the Lord praise for who He is, and for what He has done for you, even as Mary did. (Luke 1:46-55)   I believe praise and thanksgiving in all things is the seedbed for God’s promises to take root.  Declaring what God does is powerful!  Remember the angel’s words: “For nothing is impossible with God.” 

It’s always darkest before the dawn.  Christmas is all about miracles and angels and the supernatural power of God invading our world.  God has not forgotten you; keep believing, not in Santa Claus, but in Jesus Christ, the One who came to us from heaven as a helpless little baby so as not to frighten us.  The One who walked our streets, got hungry and tired, faced every emotion, every temptation known to mankind, yet was without sin.  The One who is our Savior from the wrong path.  He knows how to help you by the power of the Holy Spirit.  He is not limited to our resources and way of doing things.  Who knows?  You may even entertain an angel unawares.  (Hebrews 13:2)             

A blessed Christmas to you, dear reader!

*All scriptures are from the NIV translation unless otherwise noted.

Copyright © 2013 Elaine Beachy

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

That pesky, negative self-image!  Why does it seem to follow us around?  Can you relate?  We know we do most things well, but when we forget something important or someone makes one negative comment about our efforts, appearance, cooking, children, etc, our spirits sink and we succumb to guilt, heap blame on ourselves, and wallow in misery for hours, or even days.  We have a difficult time seeing ourselves as worthy of love, unworthy of being loved or given grace even by God.  

It’s true we are not to brag on ourselves, for Scripture says, “Let another praise you, and not your own mouth; someone else, and not your own lips,” (Proverbs 27:2) but as Christians, we should have a sanctified self-image and learn to receive compliments with humility. 

Our son Doug has done some studies on Japanese culture and language.  He told me that if someone is given a compliment in that culture, they quickly say, “It’s nothing – it’s nothing!”  And if you leave a tip in a restaurant in Japan, they are highly insulted because they interpret that to mean they haven’t done a good job in serving you.  They’ll think you want them to do more – that the service was bad.  

Recently a friend on Facebook addressed a comment to me: “Mom can never seem to be able to enjoy her own food.  She always frets about it, and is convinced it didn’t turn out good (though it’s always delicious!)  Is this an Amish thing, or is she just unique?”

Being raised Amish is a unique experience in that a lot of cultural importance is placed on growing food, harvesting and preserving food, as well as food preparation and hospitality. I think cooks mentally compare each other's cooking much like women tend to compare their physical appearance to others.

Perfectionist tendencies make us so self-critical. It's okay to not be perfect! The Lord knows I'm not, but I decided several years ago to like "me" anyway!  Sometimes cooking for others is a way we show love, and when the end product doesn't meet our own high standards and expectations, we subconsciously feel a loss of self-worth. We put a lot of pressure on ourselves.

This mother would graciously give kindness and grace to other cooks who thought their food was not good, and find something encouraging to say.  Why not treat herself as she would the other person?  Something to think about.

There are underlying reasons for our thinking processes, and if we know what they are, we can be conscious of them and ask the Lord’s help in changing them.  There are many experiences that shape our self-image as children and adults.

Sometimes a mom or dad thinks they are showing love to a son our daughter by continually pointing out their faults.  One such young man, when asked to describe his mother, said she was disapproving, demanding, impatient and unreasonable – hard to please.  He had become a driven perfectionist who felt he could never please God or be close to him.  Parents can criticize their children to the point of exasperating them, making them feel hopeless and like a failure.  Ephesians 6:4 reads, “Father’s, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.” 

 

As you can see, what we experience as children affects our view of ourselves and, worst of all, our image of God—the only One who can change our self-image.  We must know how much He loves and accepts us in order for us to accept ourselves.     

When someone gives us a compliment, we should humbly say “Thank-you” instead of feeling embarrassed or confused about whether to accept or down-play the compliment lest we be perceived as prideful.  When someone gives me a compliment, and I negate it, am I not telling the other person her opinion is worthless?  How does that make her feel?  

Also, if you repeat negative things about yourself, you reinforce those recorded thoughts and beliefs, kind of like worn grooves in an old LP album.  Remember how it sounded when the needle got stuck?  Sometimes we can get stuck in bad thought patterns.

It seems we in the church have somehow been conditioned subconsciously to be negative.   We don’t give ourselves permission to think of ourselves in a positive light – the light of God.  Instead, we feel uncomfortable when someone says something nice to us.   

Romans 12:3 says to “not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment.”  That is not saying you shouldn’t think well of yourself.  If you don’t love yourself, how can you love your neighbor?

You don’t love yourself by focusing on your faults.  And you don’t love your neighbor by focusing on his, either.  If you’ve been driven to perfectionism because of circumstances in your life, please know it’s okay to give yourself a break for not doing things right all the time.  

I once read the comment, “I can’t afford to have any thoughts about me that God doesn’t have,” and I totally agree.  God loves us unconditionally because He has chosen to give us grace.  Freely you have received – freely give.  Ask the Holy Spirit to help you give grace to yourself and enjoy your life as you rest in Him.  Be of good cheer, and meditate on how much God loves you.  He is the God of all comfort, and oh, how we need to let Him change our self-image!

There’s a wonderful bookmark packed with scriptures titled “I am Father God’s Happy Thought!” available online at http://www.shilohplace.org/products/view/55 that I believe will help you know how God sees you through Jesus Christ.  I do have a limited number of them here at the house if you’d like me to mail you one.  You may e-mail me at elainesplace4@verizon.net to give me your mailing address.

God bless you, dear reader!

I invite your comments where it says “comments” below.  I’ve changed my settings so you don’t need a Google account; you can publish as “Anonymous,” and sign your name with your comment in the box if you want to.  I also invite you to become a member of my blog.

*All Scripture references are from the NIV translation

Copyright © 2013 Elaine Beachy