Light in the Margins

One of my favorite accessories to bring out at Christmastime is my grandmothers Christmas hankie. With its border of poinsettias and holly scattered across a cream colored fabric, it feels festive and delicate. I don’t like to use it because it is so beautiful, but I do carry it—alongside the hankies that I use often. Those are ones that I purchased or embroidered myself, or more practical ones that my grandmother used.

Ladies’ hankies are a throwback. A relic of the past that I would love to see revived—not just because they are ‘sustainable and reusable,’ but because of what they represent.

A hankie requires preparation. Washing, folding, remembering to carry. They are more than a tissue; there is thought given for tomorrow’s need. A personal item designed specifically for tears. Think of all the items in your purse—keys, wallet, phone—nothing else acknowledges that we cry.

A hankie anticipates tears.

These days, my eyes don’t well up because I am perpetually sad or depressed. But occasionally, a line from a hymn or a truth from a sermon will stir my heart and fill me with emotion that just…bubbles up to the surface and leaks out a bit.

I have learned that I can feel deeply and still function. I don’t have to steel my heart. It’s okay to be tender. My hankies quietly absorb my tears and don’t make a fuss.

There’s wisdom in carrying a hankie. A maturity that says, I know tears will come, but I am prepared for them. I anticipated them.

God is prepared for those tears, as well. According to Scripture, they are precious to Him…why else would He put them in a bottle and keep them in a book?

Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book? —Psalm 56:8

Tears are never wasted, they are kept. Valued, even when they are mixed with thankfulness. Tears and faith are not opposites.

The fact that my eyes still well up a year and a half after losing my mother isn’t a flaw, or a sign of unresolved grief. It simply shows that my heart is still tender.

But life goes on, doesn’t it? We don’t always get the luxury of ‘having a good cry.’ Tomorrow’s checklists exist. But God will meet us there.

I’m thankful that He is not frustrated or surprised by my tears. I don’t need to be ashamed of something that He values and keeps.

That Christmas hankie also reminds me that Christ, too, experienced the full range of human emotion when He came to earth.

For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin. —Hebrews 4:15

I am so thankful that Jesus did not distance Himself from sorrow. He wept with those who were weeping. And His coming was not just to be touched with our grief but to redeem us. He came as a Savior, born to die, born to suffer so that we could have eternal life. And the same God who keeps my tears has promised that some day He will wipe away every one.

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.—Revelation 21:4

Until then, I will wash and fold my hankies and keep a fresh one with me. Not fussing, not seeking pity, just quietly prepared for my tender heart. Even when those tears are mingled with the other joys of Christmastime.

To me, tears testify that Jesus didn’t desert me in my greatest time of need. And He is there for you too, friend, carefully saving each one.

…Lo I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Amen. —Matthew 28:20

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An adapted version of the devotion I shared at our ladies’ Christmas Cookie Exchange on Monday, December 8.

Verses mentioned:

Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another: and so much the more, as ye see the day approaching.—Hebrews 10:25

Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.— 1 Peter 5:7

Cast thy burden upon the LORD, and he shall sustain thee: he shall never suffer the righteous to be moved. —Psalm 55:22

Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.— Galatians 6:2

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour: —1 Peter 5:8

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We are coming in to a very busy season and I confess finding time to write has become more challenging. Holidays and church activities have kept the schedule full, but earlier this week I was reminded of a struggle I had as a young mother, one I want to share with you today.

A Word of Encouragement

Sunday night one of my girls was up several times sick in the night, and it has been a long time since I had such broken sleep. When she woke me at midnight, and again at 2:30, I was groggy—half awake, half dreaming, and not very coherent. When my alarm finally went off at 5:30, nothing in me felt capable of focusing on prayer and Bible reading. I was exhausted.

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So I listened instead. I turned on my audio Bible and listened to a few chapters. Was it my usual pace? Not at all. But you know what? It was sufficient. I was reminded to give myself grace.

I also remembered how ten years ago, when my girls were babies, I struggled terribly with daily Bible reading. If I tried to wake up early, I could only hit the snooze button. If I tried to read when my girls were awake, I was interrupted every two minutes—needs, cries, noise, diapers. Back then, I wish someone had told me, “It’s okay to just listen to a Psalm. It’s okay to hear a Proverb. It counts.”

So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.—Romans 10:17

For years I assumed that verse belonged only in context of salvation. But we all need an increase of faith—whether we are new believers or a veteran Christian. And that faith comes through the Word of God, whether read or heard.

Practical Advice

I will warn you, however, that listening can bring its own distractions. If you’re using a phone app, it can be tempting to turn the audio on and begin scrolling. Don’t do that.

If you need to listen, then truly listen. Turn it on, but put your phone out of reach. Use headphones if you can. If possible, open your Bible and follow along. (Not the Bible app—open the actual pages of your Bible!)

And if a verse stands out to you, pause the tape.

One advantage reading has over listening is its meditative pace. Alexander Scourby doesn’t know if God is speaking to you in that moment, he just keeps reading. Don’t ignore those nudges from the Holy Spirit. Sometimes a verse will stand out to you and that is a treasure. If you can, write it on a notecard or sticky note. Keep it where you’ll see it throughout the day, maybe while you’re making bottles or rocking a sick child.

But his delight is in the law of the Lord; and in his law doth he meditate day and night. —Psalm 1:2

Be Faithful in Little Things

Give yourself grace on the hard days. Hunger and devotion to God’s Word is not measured by how early your alarm rings or how beautifully your prayer journal is organized. Faithfulness is measured in small, steady steps.

The key is this: don’t give up.

A faithful man shall abound with blessings... —Proverbs 28:20a

Some days you will run. Some days you will walk. Some days the most you can manage is one small step. But one step is still movement.

Don’t stand still. Don’t step backward. Don’t quit.

Blessed is the man that heareth me, watching daily at my gates, waiting at the posts of my doors.— Proverbs 8:34

A Closing Caution

Listening can be a lifeline during difficult seasons, but it is not meant to become a permanent substitute for a growing walk with God. I don’t want this thought to turn into an excuse for complacency. We should desire the sincere milk of the Word but keep pressing forward to the strong meat. Give yourself grace—but don’t settle. As life changes, ask the Lord if it’s time to stretch, move on, and grow again.

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When faced with a difficulty, we often try everything. We try to fix it in our own abilities, relying on our own strength and wisdom. We pray, we wait, and still see no breakthrough. We may eventually come to the end of ourselves and say, ‘I’ve tried everything.’ But...have you tried thanksgiving?

This summer I read a story about Henry Frost, missionary to inland China and a contemporary of Hudson Taylor. He tells of receiving bad news from home, and the darkness that engulfed him.

He wrote:

I prayed, but the darkness did not vanish. I summoned myself to endure, but the darkness only deepened. Just then I went to an inland station and saw on the wall of the mission home these words: “Try Thanksgiving.” I did, and in a moment every shadow was gone, not to return.—Henry W. Frost, quoted by E.M. Bounds

Praising God has a surprising power. Bounds said “nothing so pleases God in connection with our prayer as praise and thanksgiving.”

Tomorrow, many of us will gather with family to give thanks. We may sit around the table and take turns counting our blessings from the past year. Being thankful shifts our perspective from selfish desires. When I begin to name all the many undeserved blessings that God has bestowed upon me, why should I ask for anything more? When I think of how merciful and gracious He has been, how humbled I feel! Truly, ‘it is a good thing to give thanks unto the Lord.’ (Psalm 92:1)

But, may I gently challenge us to give thanks for more than just the ‘food on our table and shoes on our feet’? We are spoiled and have much to be thankful for, but blessings do not erase the reality that hard times still come. An untimely death, difficult diagnosis, financial strain or wayward family members can all cast a cloud of darkness that tends to hide the blessings.

Can we thank God in the valley?Can we thank God for the valley?

Giving thanks while walking through the kind of darkness that Frost described requires great faith. To praise God before the blessing comes demonstrates great trust in His ability to do great things.

Bounds refers to Elijah as an example of trusting God’s promises and giving thanks when the way seems dim. In 1 Kings 18, God promised that He would send rain. “Go, shew thyself unto Ahab; and I will send rain upon the earth.” (1 Kings 18:1) Elijah obeyed and showed himself to Ahab. What followed was a showdown on Mount Carmel. Elijah tells Ahab to gather the prophets of Baal and build an altar-- “And call ye on the name of your gods, and I will call on the name of the LORD: and the God that answereth by fire, let him be God.”

Bounds writes:

Elijah had the promise that God would send the rain, but no promise that He would send the fire. But by faith and prayer he obtained the fire, as well as the rain, but the fire came first.

When Elijah was pouring water on the altar, he didn’t have the promise that God would send fire, but he did have confidence in the character of God and faith in His abilities.

Thanksgiving is a powerful tool to demonstrate faith. Sometimes we pray for things God has already promised, or things that are going to happen anyway. Thanksgiving in the midst of trial, however—when the way seems dark—steps out in faith beyond the promise. Thanksgiving is that calling down of fire—not merely asking for what is guaranteed, but believing that God is able to do ‘exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think.’ (Ephesians 3:20)

Maybe you are walking in a valley and Thanksgiving feels a bit hollow. I won’t pretend and say that I have been excited about this holiday. I wouldn’t mind if I could just enjoy a few days vacation without all the expectations and traditions. The difficult truth is that my mom was a part of those traditions. It was her house that we went to, even though I did almost all the cooking. Nothing about the holiday feels the same without her in it.

And yet, the call comes to be thankful. I know how much I’ve been blessed, and feel almost selfish or childish to not be grateful for the many blessings. But what if God is inviting me to be thankful for the things that don’t make sense? Thankful for this unwanted season of life that I now find myself in? What if He has a purpose in the things I never would have chosen?

Can I challenge us, myself included, to surrender what we think would be best and praise God anyway? He is still worthy, even in the dark shadows.

So this Thanksgiving, let’s try what we haven’t yet—

Let’s try thanks giving.

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This past Sunday in church, we sang that beautiful, contemplative hymn, Nearer, My God, to Thee. With most familiar songs, it can be easy to sing the words almost mindlessly, but this time, I found myself meditating on the words. Do we long to be nearer to God? And does it matter how He chooses to draw us?

I can testify that God is true to the promise of James 4:8—Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you. Bible reading and prayer have been crucial in shaping my walk with Christ, but I have been surprised to learn that it has often been the valleys—the things I never would have chosen—that have drawn me nearest to Him.

“E’en Though It Be a Cross”

As we sang, this line was the first to arrest my attention:

E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me…

A cross? No one would choose a cross as the means of drawing nearer to God, would they? The cross speaks of suffering, of pain, of burden. And yet the hymn writer says, even if it’s a cross that draws me nearer, still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to Thee.

Being surrendered to affliction is not a natural response. We don’t seek out trials or difficulties in life. But I’ve learned there is a kind of fellowship with God that you cannot experience apart from suffering. It’s what Paul meant when he talked about the ‘fellowship of his sufferings’. And as Christ said:

…If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me. —Matthew 16:24

The very burden we might refuse may be the very thing that raises us closer to Him. The hymn encourages me to not just survive the suffering, but sing in the midst of it.

“All That Thou Sendest Me”

Another line that gave me pause:

All that Thou sendest me, in mercy giv’n.

With this verse, I sense a shift in perspective. No longer is the writer simply enduring a trial, but there is recognition that even the hard things are sent in mercy. Everything in my life—good or bad—has come from the merciful hand of God.

The world talks about fate or luck, but we don’t serve a God of chance or chaos. We serve a God of order, intention, and mercy. He’s not dealing cards or drawing straws.

In Job, we read:

…What? shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil? —Job 2:10But he knoweth the way that I take…—Job 23:10For he performeth the thing that is appointed for me…—Job 23:14

He knows the path. He knows the portion. And He performs all things with care.

The Psalmist tells us:

The LORD is the portion of mine inheritance and of my cup: thou maintainest my lot. —Psalm 16:5

What does that phrase mean, ‘maintainest my lot’? The word maintain implies care and attention. You maintain a garden by pulling the weeds, you maintain a car by changing the oil—you maintain the things that matter to you. So when the Psalmist says, “Thou maintainest my lot,” it's as though he’s saying he knows that the Lord cares for him and for the details of his life.

When difficulties come and we cry, “Why was this my lot in life?”—we are often forgetting the truth: God carefully chose this for us.

Like Joseph who told his brothers:

But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good… —Genesis 50:20

With God’s help, we can reframe our trial not as punishment, but as an instrument of His mercy. And when we cannot understand why, we can trust Him.

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.—Isaiah 55:8

“Out of My Stony Griefs”

The final verse in our hymnal is the line:

Out of my stony griefs, Bethel I’ll raise;So by my woes to be Nearer, my God, to Thee!

That phrase, ‘stony griefs,’ and a preceding verse that says ‘my rest a stone,’ comes from Genesis 28. In fact, the hymn was written in 1841 by Sarah Flower Adams at the request of her pastor, who was preparing a sermon from this passage.

In it we read of Jacob, who, fleeing for his life, lays his head on a stone and dreams of a ladder reaching to heaven. When he awakes, he calls the place Bethel, meaning house of God. That stone pillow became a place of worship.

Likewise, in our lives—our woes, our trials, can become altars.

I don’t mean that we exalt the suffering itself, but rather we should give our suffering back to the Lord as an offering, and allow Him to be glorified. Altars are a memorial of God’s goodness. Memorials remind us of His mercy. Like Samuel’s Ebenezer stone, Jacob’s altar at Bethel marked a place where the Lord helped and proved faithful.

Every time we share a testimony of God’s goodness—each time we choose to praise the Lord—each time we decide to trust Him—we raise a memorial to God’s mercy and give Him glory.

That this may be a sign among you, that when your children ask their fathers in time to come, saying, What mean ye by these stones? Then ye shall answer them, That the waters of Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the LORD; when it passed over Jordan, the waters of Jordan were cut off: and these stones shall be for a memorial unto the children of Israel for ever. —Joshua 4:6-7

This week, I’d like to invite you to slow down and consider the words of this old hymn. As I look back on my life, I can testify that the hardest times were the very valleys where the Shepherd led me. The stony griefs that drove me to prayer also drew me closer to Him.

If you’ve been called to bear a cross— if your portion includes a grief you never asked for—don’t let it drive you from God. Let it draw you nearer.

And may all your song still be, Nearer my God, to Thee.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lightinthemargins.substack.com

I volunteer as the yearbook adviser at my daughters’ school, and I’ve taken more photos than I can count. Ball games, field trips, plays and concerts—you name it, there’s a folder for it on my hard drive. Not every shot is perfect, but I take hundreds at each event, hoping for a handful of keepers.

This week, I was going through the photos from our season opener volleyball game. As I culled through hundreds of images, I set aside a few of my friend’s daughter. Most were a blur—too much noise and the wrong focal point. Still, I sent them to her anyway, half-joking that we should probably fire the photographer.

A few minutes later she replied, “I love these!!! They’re great!”

I chuckled. “You’re too kind,” I typed back.

Then I paused.

My friend didn’t care that the photos weren’t perfect—her daughter was in them. I had captured a hazy image of her bumping the ball in her very first game. They were special because that was her moment.

And I wondered—could that be how God looks at me?

I spend so much of my life looking at my flaws, wishing I were sharper, clearer, better composed. I replay the moments that didn’t come out right and cringe at the imperfections.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face...— 1 Corinthians 13:12a

Maybe part of why I struggle with my blurs is because I long for clarity. I want to understand the why and see the big picture. It can be easy to forget that in this life, even the best picture is only a glimpse. We’re not able to see everything in perfect focus yet. That obscurity itself is a reminder that one day, in His presence, we will finally see clearly.

God sees what we don’t. He isn’t measuring the exposure or critiquing the color balance. He simply sees His child, and He delights in that.

Like as a father pitieth his children, so the LORD pitieth them that fear him. For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust. —Psalm 103:13-14

He knows how fragile we are. He knows how often our best efforts come out shaky. Yet He rejoices over us, not because we are flawless, but because we are His.

...Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine. —Isaiah 43:1b

Maybe you view your life the way I was studying those photos—zoomed in on every mistake, disappointed with the results. But God the Father is merciful. He sees the effort behind every frame, and says ‘that’s my girl.’

If He treasures His children that way, perhaps we can extend that same grace to others when they fall short. Perhaps we can even begin to view ourselves that same lens of mercy.

If a mom can love a blurry photo of her child, how much more must God love what He sees in us? Even out of focus, He sees beauty.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lightinthemargins.substack.com

It’s a dreary, gray morning here today. After a summer of drought, it’s been awhile since we’ve had many rainy days like this. The house is dim and quiet—a nice setting for peaceful reflection, or better yet, staying tucked in bed with a good book.

But gray days like this can also feel heavy or lonely. If you’re reading this and your heart feels overcast, I’d like to share a simple, encouraging thought: the sun will shine again.

As I watched rain stream down my window like teardrops, I thought how often a day like this has left me down and discouraged. It’s funny how much our moods can change with the weather. Sunlight is so naturally cheerful, isn’t it? And we often take it for granted until a cloudy day comes.

Feelings can be fickle, especially for us women. A bad hair day, an offhand remark, or even precipitation can send our emotions off on a rollercoaster. Faith helps remind us what our feelings often forget: that the sun will shine again. God has not moved and His promises have not changed—even when our hearts are heavy.

Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever.—Hebrews 13:8

Last year, I came across a lesser-known hymn by A.H. Ackley titled The Sun Will Shine Again. Though he is most well-known for the Resurrection hymn He Lives, Ackley wrote hundreds others. On this dreary day, listen to these comforting words:

Whatever life may bring you Is tempered by His love,You are the child of His unfailing care;Then do not be discouraged,But trust this Friend above,And make your wants and wishes Known in prayer

Just as another hymn says, “All that Thou sendest me, in mercy given”—Ackley echoes that truth in saying “Whatever life may bring you is tempered by His love.” These writers knew something of the wisdom and providence of God. All that He does is measured out in mercy and love. And like a friend, we can trust Him.

The refrain continues:

The sun will shine again, The sun will shine again,The cloud that hides it now Is God’s designing;Tho’ day be dark as night, Keep looking for the light,For just behind the cloud The sun is shining.

Even the clouds are His design. Even the burden, even the delay. It is all His design.

It’s been awhile since I’ve flown on an airplane, but I recall no matter how gray and stormy it is on the ground, once the plane breaks through the cloud cover and you’re 35,000 feet in the air—the sunlight is brilliant. The sun hadn’t stopped shining, it was just hidden from earthly view.

I’ve often admired those sorts of people who can always “look on the bright side” and somehow find a silver lining in everything. I’m not naturally good at that, but I’m learning. Because the truth is, the sun is still shining behind those clouds, we need only to look for it. Keep looking for the light.

It sounds cliché to say you can’t have a rainbow without the rain. Even though I know it’s true, oftentimes in the middle of a storm, there can be no hope of a rainbow. Sometimes it feels like the gloomy gray will never end and I confess, sometimes I just want to “waller” in my feelings. But the truth of God’s goodness and love doesn’t depend on my mood.

Ackley ends the hymn with this:

Then smile at all your troubles, Take heart because you knowThat God is on his throne And all is well;Let Jesus give you courage, His confidence bestow,Your ev’ry doubt and fear He will dispel.

Smiling at troubles is a choice. I do not contend that it is an easy one. But prayer helps us make that decision. We can find strength for our weary hearts, and joy and gladness. Like David, we can encourage ourselves in the Lord.

So on this gray morning, I hope I can remind my own heart as much as yours:

It’s all in His control.He knows what He is doing and His way is perfect.God loves you.Ask the Lord to help you look beyond the clouds.And rest on this promise—the sun will shine again.

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.—Psalm 30:5

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lightinthemargins.substack.com

What does it mean to “glorify”?

I was pondering this word the other day for a rather unusual reason—a pop bottle. Not just any pop bottle, and no, not a “soda” bottle or a “Coke” bottle—but a very distinct...green glass bottle.

As the saying goes here in Kentucky, ‘Ginger ale dreams of becoming Ale-8.’ Where I grew up, we have this regional soft drink, and in my experience, you either love it or hate it. Unlike most ginger ales, it contains caffeine and a crisp flavor.

For a long time, the green glass bottles had the slogan “For Bracing Pep” on them, and even earlier than that was the phrase “It Glorifies”. In doing a little research, I came across a 1992 LA Times article that explained “[Ale-8’s] founder sought to hype the drink’s invigorating qualities.” It wasn’t just a refreshing beverage, it made you sparkle.

One day, as I sat in my Central Kentucky kitchen, enjoying a frosty Ale-8 (with a bag of Grippo’s barbecue chips, of course), I was contemplating vintage ads I had seen for the beverage and began thinking...how can a pop “glorify” anything?

The dictionary meaning of glorify is to elevate, magnify, to make something appear to be splendid or worthy of praise. In today’s world, we glorify a lot of things—success, appearances, even busyness. But the Lord calls us to something higher.

For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s. —1 Corinthians 6:20

Whoso offereth praise glorifieth me. —Psalm 50:23

It’s easy to think about giving God glory when we are praising Him in song, whether at church or just humming in our car. Or perhaps when we receive an answer to prayer and exclaim “Praise the Lord!”—that certainly feels like giving Him glory.

But how can we give God glory in all of the whatsoevers?

Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God. —1 Corinthians 10:31

We glorify Him not only in worship, but also in the everyday things:

When we pray over our children as we fold their laundry...When we choose to have patience with a difficult loved one...When we speak a kind word instead of complaining...

We can do all to the glory of God.

To glorify Him is to live, not in a way that draws attention to ourselves, but in a way that reflects Him. When we demonstrate His kindness, mercy, patience, and compassion to others, we make the Lord shine.

Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in Heaven. —Matthew 5:16

That old Ale-8 slogan promised a sparkling pep that would eventually fade as quickly as the fizz in the bottle. But when our lives are surrendered to the Lord, He can fill us with a joy that won’t go flat. When we radiate with His love, we can make our Savior look splendid to a lost and dying world.

So I find myself asking—if a soft drink can boast ‘It glorifies,’ how much more should we, the redeemed of the Lord, glorify Him? Lord, how can my actions shine a little more sparkle on You and less on me?

May it be said of us, not just as a slogan, but as a testimony:She glorifies.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lightinthemargins.substack.com

Do you ever feel like what you do to serve in your church is small or insignificant? Maybe you do laundry for the church nursery, straighten hymnals, or clean fingerprints off a glass door, and it feels like nobody notices. I’d like to remind you today that every act of service is important to God.

Several months ago, while reading the book of Numbers, I was struck by the careful order God gave to the Levites, the tribe set apart for the service of the Tabernacle. Each branch of that family had specific tasks assigned to care for the dwelling place of God. Buried among the long lists of names and duties is a reminder that God has an order and purpose to all that we do for Him.

After the children of Israel fled Egypt, God gave Moses detailed instructions for assembling the Tabernacle. As they journeyed through the wilderness, God provided a portable dwelling place for His presence. Every part had to be assembled in a precise order—the Holy of Holies, the vail, the inner and outer court, all designed and planned by God.

To care for these tasks, God appointed the tribe of Levi. Levi had three main branches to his family tree: his sons Kohath, Gershon, and Merari. (Amram, the father of Moses and Aaron, was a Kohathite.) I won’t bore you with all the details, but I would encourage you to read Numbers chapters 3 and 4 to see how the duties were assigned.

The Kohathite’s service was “about the most holy things”—the Ark of the testimony, the vail, the table of shewbread, the golden altar and more. On moving day, their responsibility was to cover the furniture and put the staves in. They had to be careful in their work. God had commanded no one was to “touch any holy thing, lest they die.” They carried the sacred furniture on their shoulders. (Numbers 7:9)

The family of Merari were in charge of the framework—the boards, bars, pillars and sockets. They were given four wagons and eight oxen to help bear their load. (Numbers 7:8)

And then came the Gershonites—the curtain bearers. The boys who carried the cords and coverings. An important job, but perhaps a little less visible.

Of course, someone had to handle the holy furniture. Someone had to assemble the walls. But someone also had to care for and fold those curtains.

I can’t help but wonder how each group felt about their assignment. I like to imagine how I might feel if I were in their place. Did the Kohathites struggle with pride because their work seemed more important? Our job is special, don’t you see? If we make one wrong move and touch so much as a leg of that table —poof— God will strike us dead! And you boys and your wagons and oxen, why, we carry all that furniture on our shoulders. We’re stronger and more important than you.

Did the family of Merari like to brag about how the whole Tabernacle might fall apart if it wasn’t for them? Why if we hadn’t kept up with every socket and bar there wouldn’t be a place to worship God!

And what about those Gershonites—did they ever feel that their task was small and insignificant? Aw, all we ever get to do is fold and carry fabric. I’m as strong as one of those Kohath boys, I could carry the table of shewbread once in awhile. Why do I always have to be stuck on curtain duty?

Yet every piece was necessary. Every job was important. Without the curtains, the boards would be exposed. Without the boards, there would be no place to hang the curtains.

In church today, it’s easy to fall into a trap of measuring our value by our visibility. The ones who sing a special, teach a class, or play an instrument seem to carry the “holy things” while others are quietly folding curtains—teaching toddlers, emptying trash, moving stacks of chairs.

But the same God who designed the Tabernacle and assigned duties to each family of the Levites also designed the church. And He sets us in the order wherein He is pleased.

But now hath God set the members every one of them in the body, as it hath pleased him. —1 Corinthians 12:18

We can’t all bear the holy things. We can’t all be responsible for the boards and bars. Someone has to be a Gershonite and fold the curtains.

There is no room for pride and likewise, no reason for discouragement.

Whatever place of service the Lord has for you, He provides strength and grace enough to perform the task, just as He provided the carts and oxen for Merari and Gershon.

Even still, there may be some women reading this who feel even less than a curtain bearer. You may be in a season of life where all you can do is care for an infant, wipe little noses, or clean a home that seems to get messy again the moment you turn your back. Your service may not be in a classroom or a choir loft—it may be in your kitchen and laundry room instead. None of your work is unimportant to the Lord.

With good will doing service, as to the Lord, and not to men: Knowing that whatsoever good thing any man doeth, the same shall he receive of the Lord... —Ephesians 6:7-8

In 1847, missionary Adoniram Judson was married to his third wife, Emily Chubbuck Judson, and she took charge of his five small children. They had not been married a full year when she wrote these lines in her journal—

“January 5. It seems to me as though I do nothing but get up, turn round, and then go to bed again! I expected to...go to work in ‘true apostolic style.’ ...though my work is not what I expected, Thou canst bring great results from little causes. It is all of Thy ordering.

January 10. This taking care of teething babies...is really very odd sort of business... But the person who would do great things well, must practice daily on little ones; and she who would have the assistance of the Almighty in important acts, must be daily and hourly accustomed to consult His will in the minor affairs of life.”

Though her tasks seemed repetitive and mundane, Emily Judson recognized there was something sacred in the small tasks. Her “little causes” were no less valuable than her husband’s preaching. Without her to care for his home and children, Adoniram Judson could not have completed the task God called him to do.

The same is true for us. Every small task can be done in service to Him.

Whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men. —Colossians 3:23

We may never carry the Ark, but we can carry the cords and curtains. We can serve with a willing heart and do the small tasks that help hold the work together. Every unseen act of faithfulness is part of the same great calling. Whether in our homes or our churches, we can create a place for God to be glorified.

So keep doing the small, mundane tasks.Keep sending small notes of encouragement.Keep baking cookies and rocking babies without applause.

Keep bearing the curtains.

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It can be easy to have that initial burst of faith when grief or trials come. But what do we do when our faith flickers as the days of grief wear on? When our confidence in God wants to cave under the weight of disappointment? Are there moments we stop praying because the silence feels final? Do we quietly give up hope because the answer is just taking ‘too long’?

Recently my Pastor preached about having hope to get through the difficult seasons when our faith wants to faint. He pointed to Job 19 as a turning point where Job, though in the midst of a trial, was able to grab hold of hope and declare “I know that my Redeemer liveth.” (Job 19:25)

As he spoke, I thought how beautifully his message dovetailed with this passage I had been meditating on throughout the week.

And, behold, there cometh one of the rulers of the synagogue, Jairus by name; and when he saw him, he fell at his feet, And besought him greatly, saying, My little daughter lieth at the point of death: I pray thee, come and lay thy hands on her, that she may be healed; and she shall live. —Mark 5:22, 23

Anytime that Jesus seems “too late” in acting always catches my attention. Mark chapter 5 is full of such stories—a chapter full of storms, interruptions and delays.

A desperate father

Jairus is a ruler of the synagogue, likely a man of respect and composure. But here we see him, falling at Jesus’ feet, worshipping Him and begging Him to come touch his daughter who lay “at the point of death.” The account in Matthew says that she was “even now dead.” (Matthew 9:18)

Truly, the situation is desperate. Time is of the essence.

On the way, the Lord is interrupted by another—the woman with an issue of blood who reaches out to touch His garment for healing. In the background of this beautiful miracle, I wonder if Jairus was growing impatient. Please, Master, hurry! We don’t have time for this delay!

Then, before they can reach home, a messenger comes with devastating news—“Thy daughter is dead: why troublest thou the Master any further?” (Mark 5:35)

Defeating words

I wonder what went through Jairus’ mind when he heard those words. His daughter is dead. Jesus took too long. The desperate situation is now hopeless.

“Why troublest thou the Master?” The word “trouble” means to annoy or bother...to inconvenience.

When do we sometimes feel like a bother to someone?When we think our situation isn’t important...When we feel unworthy of that person’s time...When we assume they have “better things to do”...

Why would anyone think that about the Lord Jesus Christ?

And yet—how often do we act as though we are bothering Him?How often do we decide it’s too late? ‘This has taken too long’—‘what is the point in praying?’Do we feel like He is too busy, that our need is too small or too hopeless?

Why do we act like we are bothering our Lord and Savior?

Satan causes us to doubt when things feel delayed—just like the hymn says,

“Many times Satan whispers, ‘There is no need to try,For there’s no end of sorrow, there’s no hope by and by.’”

There’s no need to try.Why troublest thou the Master?

Deliverance from fear

Jesus heard the messenger’s words as well. I wonder if he could sense the fear and doubts bubbling up. Could He feel the hope leaving Jairus’ heart? Immediately—before Jairus could even respond, He turned to him and said “Be not afraid, only believe.” (Mark 5:36)

That’s the beautiful thing—not only did Jairus seek the Lord when the trouble began, but as soon as the fear began rising, he had remained close enough to continue listening for His voice. And in that moment, Christ spoke louder than the fear and said “Be not afraid.”

He says that to us, as well, in His Word—

What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee —Psalm 56:3

In God have I put my trust, I will not be afraid what man can do unto me. —Psalm 56:11

Again and again in Scripture, He says “fear not.”

To Daniel: “O man greatly beloved, fear not: peace be unto thee.” —Daniel 10:10

To Jeremiah: “Thou drewest near in the day that I called upon thee: thou saidst, Fear not.” —Lamentation 3:57

To Joshua and Solomon: “Be strong and of a good courage.” —Joshua 10:25, 1 Chronicles 28:20

And Paul reminds us:

God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. —2 Timothy 1:7

Fear, worry, and anxiety can be a constant hum in the background of our minds. But that is not where God wants us to live. He calls us to believe, to trust, and have confidence in Him.

Fear steals our peace, but Jesus restores it:

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. —John 14:27

Faith that kept walking

When Jesus reached Jairus’ house and said to the crowd that the girl was only sleeping, the crowd laughed Him to scorn. They mocked the idea that anything could be done. He cast them out. And then He performed a miracle, raising Jairus’ daughter back to life.

I see three kinds of faith in this story:

* The strong faith of Jairus, seeking the Lord and listening for His voice even when all hope seemed lost.

* The shrinking faith of the messenger who said “don’t trouble the Master” when the situation seemed impossible.

* And the scoffers lack of faith, as they mocked and ridiculed the very idea of a miracle.

Which faith do we have when the difficulties drag on? When the Lord ‘tarries His coming’? When the prayers have gone unanswered far longer than we expected?

I want to be like Jairus—to seek the Lord when the difficulty comes, to walk with Him despite delays, and remain close enough to hear Him say, “be not afraid.”

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lightinthemargins.substack.com