What are all these empty jars?

Welcome to my new blog. I felt it was time to start anew and I wanted to share with you what God has been speaking into my heart that has brought this particular blog to life. It comes from a story in 2 Kings 4:1-7

"The wife of a man from the company of the prophets cried out to Elisha, "Your servant my husband is dead, and you know that he revered the LORD. But now his creditor is coming to take my two boys as his slaves." Elisha replied to her, "How can I help you? Tell me, what do you have in your house?" "Your servant has nothing there at all," she said, "except a little oil." Elisha said, "Go around and ask all your neighbors for empty jars. Don't ask for just a few. Then go inside and shut the door behind you and your sons. Pour oil into all the jars, and as each is filled, put it to one side. She left him and afterward shut the door behind her and her sons. They brought the jars to her and she kept pouring. When all the jars were full, she said to her son, "Bring me another one." But he replied, "There is not a jar left." Then the oil stopped flowing. She went and told the man of God, and he said, "Go, sell the oil and pay your debts. You and your sons can live on what is left."

This woman was facing a hopeless future. When Elisha asked her what she had she said "nothing at all". It turns out that she did have a little oil, but I think it's significant that her first response is one of total insufficiency. She has lost her husband, cannot provide for her family, and is going to lose her sons. Whatever else she might have is meaningless to her. She needs a miracle. But before the miracle she is asked to step out in faith, to go to her neighbors and ask for something in preparation for what she must believe would happen.

She was to ask for "not a few" empty vessels to receive this heavenly provision. Did she feel like Noah warning of a flood in a land with no rain? Did they laugh at her, knowing her poverty, when she had to explain that she needed to borrow some empty jars? How many neighbors did she have to ask, how far did she have to go, did she want to quit when her arms were full of this "emptiness" but instead did she go back for more?

The miracle was one that took place in her home in front of her children. They participated in it, gathering jars and bringing them to her, acting in faith, reacting to her faith. It was their lives at stake and they had to believe God together...He was their only hope.

She lifted the little jar of oil that she had and felt it's lightness, its not-enough-ness, as she began to pour it out. She continued to feel that lack of weight as she poured, but it never seemed to change. The oil was flowing in proportion to how many jars she had collected. As she finished one, the boys brought her another. She had to continue to pour, she dare not stop, dare not look to see how much was left, just pour it all out and let all these empty jars be filled.

When the last jar was brought and filled, the oil stopped flowing, and there was enough to meet the needs of her family and to provide for their future. More than enough.

I have been feeling like I have a lot of empty jars in my life. So many places where I am so insufficient. I have FOUR daughters. I come from a family twice this size, so the number doesn't scare me, but oh the needs they have make me feel like there is 20. The crying and yelling and screaming (sometimes of the four of them at once) turns on some kind of chemical sprinkler system in my brain, and in 15 minutes all my emotional resources for the day are drained out of me. That's when I start to sound like this widow, "...I have nothing at all."

It's not that I don't ask God for help. I know that with the answered prayers for these children (that at times we didn't know if we would be able to have) a life lived by faith is required. God hasn't given me all of this because He thought I could handle it, He wants me to come to Him for everything I need. But it seems like I've been asking for help and not really getting it. I have felt like I am knocking around all these empty jars, trying to get through one more day, hoping nothing else goes wrong. Do I have too many jars?

That's where I was when this story found me. I opened my Bible to look for a verse to pray for someone else and there it was. It was mine. I pulled out of it both new hope and further questions. This concept of "not a few" meant that the breadth of my insufficiency was not a problem but an opportunity. It was good for me to have so many places where I could see I needed this "oil". And what was it? Other places in scripture show oil as representing the Holy Spirit. Another writer I stumbled across spoke of the jars in this story as our "Grace Capacity":

"God’s supply of oil is infinite. What was poured out was only limited by the number and capacity of the containers. And so the widow was told to bring “not a few.” When the limited capacity of the containers was reached, the flow of oil stopped. Makes me wonder just how much fine wine Jesus would have made if he had more than those six stone jars (oh that there had been seven!)."

I'm not looking at these empty jars as a problem anymore. In fact, I am asking for more. Not more children (for heaven's sake!) but more awareness of all the places in my life where I need Him. I am coming to you as my "neighbors" saying, "I know I don't have it all together, but I believe that God wants to give me more of Himself and that what I really need is not HELP but HIM." I want to speak this prayer for more Grace in front of you and in front of my children and act on my faith by pouring this Grace out in all aspects of my life.

I will probably write about a very broad range of topics on this blog. I like to write and share all kinds of things, and hope to keep tabs on family stuff here too. They are all places for Grace. I believe that spirituality is not separate from the details of daily life, but that these vessels of earth, jars of clay, are created and blessed to be where God meets us...and where He fills us.

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Flaky Pastry and Parenting

UPDATE 1/29/10: I have changed this "traditional" recipe now to use traditional, real fats: half butter and half coconut oil. My mom and I both did this for Thanksgiving and the pie crusts came out even better than usual. Yum!

I made pastry dough today using a family recipe. It came from my mother's family, I don't know how far back. It may not be ancient, but it makes really good pie. I was amused at how easy it was for me to make compared to other recipes, it seemed like my hands just knew what they were doing, and my fingers knew when the texture was just right. I have been making this pastry since I was little; watching my mother at first and playing with the dough, then trying my own pies and hearing my dad say (with a twinkle in his eye) "It's good... just needs a little more practice!" So now, it's natural to me. I don't get lost in the recipe, I don't forget the ingredients, there is nothing to figure out. The pies come out great, and Dad still says "Just a little more practice!"
While I was mixing my dough today, I was wishing that parenting was more like making pastry. In fact, I used to think that it was. You follow the recipe, you make a good kid. You raise your children the way you were taught (in my case, coming from a loving home) and things will work out fine. Don't have an old family recipe for raising children? Never fear, just choose one from Dr. Dobson, Michael Pearl, or even Super Nanny! Read the books, follow the steps, and the result will be one nice shining kid.
Anyone who is a parent knows it doesn't work like that. I don't even have a great analogy for parenting, I don't think it fits one. My experience with parenting isn't even the same with each child, and yours would be quite different from mine. The closest thing I can think of at the moment is mining and cutting diamonds. It's hard work, messy, takes forever, and then each diamond has to be cut to bring out the radience of the individual stone. The best part of that analogy is that only a diamond can cut a diamond. So both diamonds are being shaped in the process. We are not creating children like we create a pie, we are being used to shape them. And we too, are being changed.
I need my experience with parenting to conform me into the image of Christ. I form my pastry into pie, and pray that I will be as pliable in his hands. But not quite so flaky. Pin It

Brushing Off the Ants

It's very quiet in my house right now. Which is why I'm still up and have the desire to write. I love nighttime quiet, but not morning quiet. There is a difference. At night the silence feels like a blanket settling over me, a tent that gives me a place to think. In the morning, it feels like a blanket weighing me down with a heavy, sleepy promise that the day can wait just a little longer.
One of the reasons I am enjoying this quiet is that Acadia is quite frankly driving me nuts with her constant motion and sound. She's so squirmy and fidgety and nothing is right. It's like being next to a person with ants crawling all over them, you really would like to run in the other direction! Sounds are too loud (or too quiet), the stuff sticks out of the sandwiches too far, her teeth feel like something is stuck in them, her pants are too loose or too tight, her hair is too frizzy, her skin is too itchy... you get the point. Of course I'm supposed to fix all this immediately, but without speaking. I can only say about 5 words before she cuts me off and talks loudly and rapidly over me so that I will not finish my sentence and thereby say something that she already knows. Heavens, it might be redundant, unacceptable to her, or completely uneccasary and we can't have extra words floating about willy-nilly in the air. Sigh...tonight she told me she feels awful all day long and that she needs more attention from me. So I promised it, but right now that is really not what I want to do.
But tommorow I will get up (with a giant heave of the morning heaviness blanketing me) and start again. And the Grace will be there, that is my comfort. I will brush the ants off my daughter, the cobwebs from my mind, and the snarls out of fine blonde hair. I will read and pray and ask Him what my kids need from me today, and for the grace to let go and give it freely, as I have received. Pin It