We Asked: What's Something New You've Tried During the Pandemic? And You Answered.

It's never too late to try something new. Here's what some of us have been up to…

Getting acquainted and making friends with neighbors that I never seemed to have time to visit before. I made meals for an elderly neighbor who lives alone and whose family resides in another state. She is 94, and we have become friends. Also, reading and learning about autism and language delays in toddlers.
Connie Claybough

I put out an Oriole bird feeder for the first time, after noticing that one was feeding at my hummingbird feeder. I have been walking one to three miles most every day since the lockdown, sometimes joined by a friend or two. I have also joined in on church prayer meetings during the week and on Sunday. These have been so encouraging to hear others pray corporately, and have ministered to my soul. I have also written some notes to friends and family to keep in touch and see how they are doing. Early on, my neighbor and I bought groceries for each other, which has helped me to get to know her better. 
Dawn Sadler

Raised bed and patio Grow Box gardening.
Nancy Tally

I have tried grocery shopping for the first time by ordering online and going to the Jewel pick-up parking area as many of you have done during this lockdown. Of course, until COVID-19 there was not a pick-up parking area at Jewel. Last Saturday, I returned home with someone else's order along with mine own. So for the first time since the "shelter in place" orders, I not only drove back to Jewel but also joined the mask wearing shoppers and went INSIDE to return the bags of groceries that were not mine. I returned them to a very thankful pick-up worker who had just been called by the customer who had missed the order I took home. All in all, you cannot solve problems like this without going face to face and mask to mask to get things wrong made right. It was also the first time I entered Jewel' as a masked man. As online and pickup shopping fades, it will not be my last visit to Jewel as a masked man.
Bill Offutt

A month or so ago, Jessica Hundley decided to film herself reading Karen Kingsbury’s Let Me Hold You Longer (ISBN: 978-1-4143-8987-5, Tyndale House Publishers, 2004) to the class of 2020; she couldn’t have imagined what would follow. Hundley, a library media specialist at Hardin County schools in Elizabethtown, KY, read the highly emotive book in an equally poignant way, and it resonated with viewers to the tune of 1.5 million views in the first 48 hours. The video, which has now been viewed more than three million times, is available here.

As a result of that viral distribution, Tyndale House quickly reprinted the book and sold 63,000 copies in the month of May.
Mark Taylor

My four kids and I have watched hours and hours of Ray Vander Laan videos together (all putting the Bible in cultural context, filmed in Israel). My 14-year-old son suddenly became interested in teaching himself piano and has been focusing on practicing one of Beethoven's sonatas this week. My 17-year-old-daughter is teaching herself Korean (my new job is flashcard point person). We are also regularly doing something called "family dinner." (Family dinners are not a new thing to us, exactly, but as a household headed by a busy lawyer, Regular Family Dinner sure is!) Finally, I am about to self-publish a book, although I can't exactly say this is thanks to the pandemic. I started writing it years ago. But it is still a new step, coinciding with these interesting times. 
Amy Ritter

I am always frustrated when I read a Bible passage and come across a word that catches my attention and causes me to wonder why the writer chose that particular word (this from a former English teacher). My usual modus operandi is to consult various translations to see whether they all use the same word, which, it turns out, is rarely the case. Then I'm caught in the conundrum of wondering which of those words most reliably conveys the author intended meaning. I've been chasing my tail like this for years and finally decided it's time to do something different. I mentioned this resolution to my husband, who attended a Bible school in his early adulthood, and we decided we would undertake a study of Biblical Greek so that we could read the primary text ourselves. I say this here so people who know me will hold me accountable for doing the work. Hopefully, by the time I emerge from self-imposed isolation, I'll be able to read the New Testament and know for myself what those attention-grabbing words mean. 
Patricia Edwards

Learning to play guitar and cooking authentic Mexican food. 
Rebecca Wolgemuth

Having a simple, online checklist of routine daily tasks plus seven once-a-week tasks. Once I've checked them off, I spend the rest of the evening relaxing.
Rebecca Fox

Making no-knead rolls. And blintzes. They (the latter) are crepes filled with a ricotta-cream-cheese-egg mixture, and then fried in oil and baked. Perfect lockdown recipe (so many steps, but the folding them up is strangely satisfying). Many of the new things I have tried involved starting to cook earlier, and even cooking more than I needed at the time and freezing some.
Vikki Williams

I took up crocheting again—for the first time since high school! I’ve finished one lap blanket and started on a baby blanket. 
Lyn Newhouse

Bananagrams. Tim and I have never played games together without our kids. Now, after 60+ rounds of Bananagrams, we aren’t content just to win or lose. The real challenge is to come up with words we’ve never used before: harangue, acquit, ziggurat, quixotic, winsomely, Kindergartner... 
Judy Sattler

Our daughter Hannah, a 2019 graduate of the conservatory at Wheaton College (Music Violin and Third World Issues), is living and working (remotely) at home. She is giving me piano lessons! One of my joys is singing (I only make joyful noises), particularly with others. I am not gifted with a voice that inspires but I love to sing hymns....and now I am learning to play them on the piano! One of the "traditions" we have always had is singing the hymns (that we had sung in church Sunday mornings) on the way home in the car. My daughter has a sweet voice and would set the tone, and I would joyfully sing along. Hannah is a wonderful teacher and so encouraging to me. She records my "recitals" after I have learned a piece, and sends it to two of her dearest Wheatie musical friends for my "jury" review. They, too, are encouraging and gracious in their comments. I am so blessed to be sharing music and time with my daughter. 
Christine Appleyard

Trying to find all the Wheaton alumni here at Shell Point. And  Z.....ing with our Life Group from College Church—one of the blessings of this pandemic has been the ability to "see" our Life Group again whom we hadn't seen since Feb 3. Getting carry -out fried oysters from Sanibel Island and bringing them home for dinner. Don't do it. They are soggy by the time you make it back home. 
Jan Barger

Because I can't get out to replenish my stock of copy paper, I've started to risk confusion by printing on the reverse side of previously used print-outs. 
Wallace Alcorn

My roommate and I baked Auntie Anne’s style soft pretzels from scratch (gluten free!) which required using a baking soda bath. They turned out delicious! 
Alison Tews

I have tried online exercise classes and have really enjoyed the daily routine and the at-home convenience! 
Karen Bagge

All Things New by Wil Triggs

Have you been missing things lately that used to annoy you? When I moved here from California, I remember thinking one thing I would definitely not miss were the six lane freeways filled with cars moving in both directions. Then came the Hillside Strangler and potholes and seasonal road construction. Pretty soon I was missing those toll-free smooth roads.

Living through this pandemic brings its own batch of little things we miss.

But before we go down the road of waxing nostalgic about the busy narthex or parking in the library lot, or those kiddie crafts week after week, or most seriously missed—standing right next to people in line for Sunday morning coffee from Commons Cafe, I want to know: what’s something new you’ve tried during the pandemic?

For a lot of us, the answer might be Zoom. But don’t reply with that. It’s not new anymore.

One new thing we’re trying in an attempt to hear from you is "the question of the week." We can’t see each other. We definitely can't touch each other. but here’s your chance to answer a question. We’ll compile them to share in our church communications. A different question every week.

Here's the first question: What’s something new you’ve tried during the pandemic?

It could be anything. 

A story in The New York Times the other morning, “The Birds Are Not on Lockdown, and More People Are Watching Them,” provides one answer.

“Bird-watching has surged in popularity this year” the article reports. “According to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, birders set a world record on May 9 for Global Big Day, an annual bird-spotting event. Participants using the lab’s eBird platform reported more than two million observations—the most bird sightings documented in a single day—and recorded 6,479 species.”

While it may not be new for him, I've been enjoying the photographs Marr Miller has been posting of the wildflowers he and Mary are seeing on their walks on the trails. That's Marr's photograph of a Prairie Trillium.

In my small group last night, I asked if anyone had been baking bread. I've read that many are curious about it. One person raised her virtual hand and told about a four-ingredient recipe she's using to bake her own bread in her instant pot.

So what about you?

For Mark Caldwell and Dickson Valley Camp a day-camp-only summer is a new thing. “We’ve done overnight camps for many years, but only recently have we done day camps. This year, it’s the only thing we can do. We have had volunteers build hand-washing stations [a pretty creative station as you can see below] and a hand-washing song kids can sing as they wash their hands. The hand-washing song is John 3:16 to the tune of 'Row, row, row your boat.' Our program was already decentralized so we have small family groups for activities. We’ve grown the camp through a network of families. We have a high number of non-church-attending families bringing their kids. People appreciate the Christian focus as opposed to other alternatives. We have a hundred new families a year. For those families, day camp is their new thing. As we get closer and closer to the start of this year’s day camps, questions are coming especially from the new families. The parents are entrusting us and the other families that we are taking the proper precautions.

“Everything the counselors say and do can show that we have a foundation that is beyond the shifting sands of society. We have a firm foundation beyond that. Camps are needed as part of the healing process as we move forward. From the kids’ perspective, just getting out, connecting with other kids and counselors, even with all the restrictions, could be a tremendous opportunity and so much better than what they’ve known these past weeks.”

Let’s pray for the ministry of Dickson Valley’s day camps—for the ministry to children and their parents.

Pastor Moody asked us in last Sunday’s sermon to pray and share the gospel with one person this week. How’s that going? Maybe your attempt is a new approach. We invite you to share that. 

And if you feel like a failure in that department, take heart. We’re all just little pieces of the gospel chain, interconnected in ways that only God can do. Be encouraged by this video of a USC Trojan football player's multiple attempts at sharing his faith. They all seemed like one big fail after the other. Watch his story here on RightNow Media.

Remember that for some people, the “something new” might be God. Imagine that. Pray. Maybe God can use us to help point people to Jesus.

My Hidden Hoarder by Lorraine Triggs

It didn't take this pandemnic to expose my hidden hoarder. That distinction belongs to a low-wattage bare light bulb that hung in the hallway of our apartment in Moscow when we were there in 1993.

The first time it went missing, I assumed it had burnt out and maintenance would replace it. A couple of days later, the bulb was gone, burnt out again? Or more likely removed by another apartment dweller for his entryway, my husband pointed out.

Every evening when we returned from a full day of ministry, I stepped off the elevator, turned down the hall and either breathed a sigh of relief—the light bulb was still there or grumbled because it was gone again.

Strangely enough, I wanted to hoard light bulbs. Why? Well, I never knew night by night whether of not there would be a light bulb there. And by the time we got home, I was tired and didn't want to be missionary flexible. I wanted the light bulb in the socket and shining bright.

It got to the point where I needed a stack of them right inside our apartment door, ready to give one to the woman who zealously guarded the entrance to the apartment building, and apparently, our light bulb as well. We overhead her agruing with someone about the Americans one day, and after that, our bare light bulb stayed put. I guess no one messed with that Babushka. So my hoarder when back into hiding.

But here we are in the middle of this pandemic.

And I find that my hidden hoarder is fond of hoarding more than light bulbs or flour. Under normal cicumstances, two dozen eggs would seem like a lot, but these days, well, you never know, do you? 

And as I think back to the light bulbs on the other side of the world, I realize that there are other kinds of hoarding. I can easily hoard my time, somehow making "me-time" sound spiritual instead of selfish. I turn my focus inward. Well, I self-justifiy, I don't want to burnout or run out of energy, money, light bulbs.

To make things last longer, I tend to fall into a mindset of rationing. Don't use too much of whatever...

If I use less, what I have will last longer. A little goes a long way. Why did I throw out my More with Less Cookbook from the Mennonite Central Committee?

But God doesn't work that way.

A portion of one of the prayers in Wendell Hawley's book A Pastor Prays for His People says: 

Praise be to God, we are never placed on some “quota” system—
You have never said to any of your beloved,
“That’s all the grace you get, lest I run out.”
No, never . . . never!

From his overflowing kindness and abounding grace and mercy, God invites my not-so-hidden hoarder to a feast.

Come to the table and dine. Taste the immeasurable riches of his grace. And that inner hoarder of my mine dwindles under the lavish goodness of God. Goodness that knows no bounds and can't be stopped by any germ or my miserly approach to light bulbs or kindness. When soaking in the light, you don't really need a light bulb anyway.

In this feast, in this light, I am renewed, refreshed and restored.

The Widow's Mite and The Missionary's Joy by Wil Triggs

Jesus sat down near the collection box in the Temple and watched as the crowds dropped in their money. Many rich people put in large amounts. Then a poor widow came and dropped in two small coins. Jesus called his disciples to him and said, “I tell you the truth, this poor widow has given more than all the others who are making contributions. For they gave a tiny part of their surplus, but she, poor as she is, has given everything she had to live on.”  (Mark 12:41-44, NLT)

Jesus’ observation seems almost absurdly out of step with our world. I mean, what financial planner would tell the widow to give the way Jesus praised her for giving? We don’t expect that kind of giving. It isn’t wise, not to mention that her two small coins wouldn’t get her into members-only events at the temple or get her name engraved on a brick or stone.

Did she give because of the well-run temple? Because she liked the priests? Because of the beauty of the temple building itself? Or did she give because she knew someone who was even worse off than she herself? Had she been waiting to give until the priests did things the way she thought they ought to be done?

The gospel writer described her as a “poor widow.” Two strikes against her. She was the one in need. In just a few years, the apostles would focus on caring for people like her in the newly born church. And a few years later, the temple would be destroyed.

That widow was no more in step with the giving of her own time as with ours. Yet perhaps her greatest need at that moment was what prompted her to give, and it didn’t have anything to do with the temple.  

She wasn’t in step with the world she lived in, but she was in step with the heart of God.

When I served with Russian Ministries and we had summer camp ministries in Russia, I got to know an elderly lady, a retired missionary, who attended College Church. She walked her donation for the camp outreach to the mission's office rather than mail it in. She gave enough to send at least one child to camp. For her, this gift was personal and from the heart.

A few years later, I was getting ready to go on one of our STAMP trips as part of that same camping outreach. The retired missionary lady enthusiastically gave toward the trip.

She wasn’t a widow. She had never been married. As I got to know her, I realized what an amazing and unrecognized lifetime of service she had given to God.

But you kind of had to find that out along the way. She wasn’t interested in people knowing the triumphs of her life—and God had used her overseas in some amazing ways. Now, she wanted me to know that she cared. She was genuinely excited about the kids and wanted to give. The gift she gave was monetary, but a lot more. Her humility, excitement to be a part of God’s work and her spirit of service shined brightly.

And there she was, this time wanting to give her gift not to the mission’s office, but into my hands, to give to the trip.

There are many reasons to give or not give. But the spirit of the widow Jesus praised and this missionary who befriended me amaze me.

The widow Jesus praised wasn’t a parable. She was a real person. She gave real money, the last she had, to a real institution. She would be one of the people we would say ought not to give. But maybe it wasn’t the institution she was giving to at all, but the God of all things, her maker, creator, redeemer and friend.

Where did the widow get her next meal? What happened? Is there ever a time when it’s bad to give more to God?

That retired missionary lady has moved away. I think of her often. She had such joy when she gave her money away. I am confident that if she is still alive, she is more and more like Jesus in what she gives away. And that doesn’t even get at her faithful prayer support for us and many others.

I don’t think they teach this stuff in Bible college or seminary. But Jesus didn’t shy away from it.

Think of the rich young ruler who went away sad because of Jesus' admonition to give his wealth away to the poor. Think of the alabaster jar of pure nard that Judas, the keeper of the money, thought should have been sold and given away to the poor. He thought of it as a terrible waste poured out on Jesus before he paid the ultimate price and gave more than any of us ever will.  And he wasn't the only one.

We were watching a news program a few days ago and the talking heads were talking about how a second stimulus check may be coming.

Really? Probably not, I thought at the time. It’s such a crazy time, isn’t it.

As we watched together, Lorraine said, “If that happens, let’s just give it to the church.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Good idea.”

I confess, while her head was going there, I was thinking about using it to get a new front door. If you saw our door, you’d know what I mean. So I don’t have it all figured out. But the spirit of the widow, and the missionary lady, I don’t know . . .

There’s something about giving and living the way they did that doesn’t make sense in this world. Yet their examples are a crying out “Yes” from somewhere that’s not in this here-and-now great and wondrous world, but from a different place than we naturally know.

Like a master washing the feet of his servants.  

Like thousands eating lunch from one boy’s lunch where the baskets of leftovers are far more than the few fish and loaves they started with.

Or like the empty net cast on the other side, filling with so many fish that the net starts to break. That’s crazy. I mean, why?

Most out of step of all, the king of heaven leaving the splendor and wonder of it all to be born in a manger, to die forsaken and alone, some of the last words spilling out of his mouth like the blood from his side, “Forgive them.”

Jesus, help us break the alabaster jar, whatever that means, and pour it out in worship—never looking back, not looking at others, only gazing at you. All for you, sweet carpenter, fisher of people, gentle shepherd. Master. Friend. God who saves us from the cares of this world and walks before us into today and tomorrow and all that is to come.

The Mother Who Chose to Die by Wil Triggs

A few years back, our summer book group read Bryan Litfin’s book Getting To Know The Church Fathers. I had not known much about the people featured in this book. So often I don’t look back in church history, and if I do, I don’t look before the Reformation unless it’s at the lives of the apostles or their contemporaries. Bryan's book opened up the people in between, people I never paid attention to before.

There is one person in this book who was not a church father at all, but a church mother.

Since it’s Mother’s Day tomorrow, it seems a good time to ponder the life of Perpetua, a Christian woman who lived in Carthage and died there at the beginning of the third century.

She was a mother, but barely. Her only child was just an infant when she was thrown in prison. After a time of separation from her baby, arrangements were made to get her baby to her so she could nurse and care for the infant while imprisoned.

Separation from her baby put Perpetua in great turmoil, but that was lifted when her child was brought to her. At that, “I grew strong and was relieved from distress and anxiety from my infant and the dungeon became for me as a palace, so that I preferred being there to anywhere else.”

Only 22 at the time of her death, Perpetua had to choose what to sacrifice. If she gave up her faith in Christ, and recanted, she would be freed. She could return to her family, raise her child, probably bear more children and live a long(er) life.

Her father put considerable pressure on her to choose recantation. After all, her baby needed her. He, in his old age, also needed her. These were natural responsibilities and obligations with family and the culture of the time. How could she turn her back on them for this religion?

And the government itself appealed to her maternal nature. 

“Spare the infancy of your boy, and offer sacrifice for the well-being of the emperors,” the governor pleaded.

“I will not do so,” she replied.

This exchange took place with her desperate father among the crowd watching.

“Are you a Christian?” the governor asked.

“Yes,” she answered, “I am a Christian.”

And with that, the death sentence was passed. Her father took his grandson, and she never saw her baby again.

The more difficult sacrifice was the one she chose. Dare we consider what our answer would be were we to face such a question?

The roles we take on in life, even those that seem so core to who we are—what are they in light of the eternal family? I don’t mean to downplay our families, my wife, my son, those dearest to my heart. What a terrible choice. But Jesus? Can he be tossed away for the call of home? Certainly there were others in her time who chose to do that.

I’m not sure who might be on your list of “spiritual mothers,” but I’m fairly certain that Perpetua would not make the list. Her story is so old and strange to modern eyes.

But she knew well the call of Jesus on her life. That call mattered more to her than her father or her child or even her own life. This is a faith worth emulating and a mother worth celebrating. May we never have to face such a choice, but let’s consider Perpetua in light of whatever circumstance we face today.

“Yes. I am a Christian.”

A Prayer for this Saturday by Wendell C. Hawley

From A Pastor Prays for His People by Wendell C. Hawley

Holy Father, God of our salvation

We take refuge in your divinely appointed sanctuary—

the covert, the asylum—

where we are protected from the condemnation and judgment of sin.

Once upon a time we did not care about our sinful condition.

Sin was fun, righteousness was old-fashioned.

God? Unnecessary.

Salvation? Irrelevant.

But everlasting thanks to you, glorious God,

friend of sinners,

rescuer of the perishing—

You tenderized my heart,

opened my eyes,

enlightened my understanding,

sanitized my desires,

directed my pathway.

And now the God of peace,

the great Shepherd,

through the blood of the everlasting covenant, works in me to do his will.

O let us praise God!

May the praise of your people never cease.

We gladly give thanks for your goodness, which is our daily benefit.

Your provisions for us surprise us continually.

Your mercies refresh us in every time of need.

Praise be to God, we are never placed on some “quota” system—

You have never said to any of your beloved,

“That’s all the grace you get, lest I run out.”

No, never . . . never!

We are promised grace for every time of need.

I shall list all my needs—every one—and still your grace is sufficient

Economic quandaries?

Health issues?

Difficult decisions?

Troublesome relationships?

Sinful allurements?

Failed plans and promises?

Unanswered prayers?

These, and more, we leave with you, assured that as our Great Shepherd

you will care for your sheep.

Evermore do we rest in you, O Lord, our strength and our Redeemer.

Amen

Social Distancing from Death by Wil Triggs

Wil first gave this as a talk at last Wednesday's Men’s Bible Study, when the teaching topic was death and the intermediate state.
Lately when I wake up in the morning, I check my weather app to see if the weather is 50 with wind or 25 with snow. I want to know how to dress when I walk the dog and what I’m in for when I step outside.

The other day, I noticed that the Weather Channel added a feature to its app—the COVID-19 button down in the bottom right corner. I clicked on it and got a Coronavirus graph of how many people have been diagnosed and how many people have died in DuPage County every day for the last seven days. You can get it by county or by the whole state. You can choose infections, deaths or both.

To tell you the truth, it seems a little macabre.

The thing is, COVID-19 is not the only thing that’s killing people. All the other ways people die are continuing unabated—flu, cancer, heart disease, stroke. Wouldn’t it be nice if all the other things killing people just stopped? Is it supposed to make me feel better when I see social media posts that say more people die of the flu than COVID-19? That really is not a comfort. 

When it comes to death, each of us is going to be part of a statistic like that someday. Every single one of us. It strikes me in the midst of this pandemic, that in normal life, death is something most of the modern world would choose to forget. Maybe this is not a modern phenomenon—perhaps it has always been that way. As humans, we do our best to social distance from death. 

But not now. Now, as I check my app every morning, I can’t help it. I look to see how many people died of COVID-19 yesterday in DuPage County. I’m kind of fixated on it. And I don’t think I’m the only one. I mean, they’re talking about mass graves in New York. So 125 deaths as of this morning in DuPage County isn’t so bad. But death is death. 

And since death is on my mind more than usual, I end up thinking about some of my best friends in life who have died.

I think of Jim. The best man in my wedding—and I was the best man in his—he was a youth pastor, magician, puppeteer, trombonist, master of the pun and corny jokes, Christian formation professor at Trinity and Biola Universities. Jim just sort of got me in a way that is hard to describe. People appreciate me. They like me, but with Jim, it clicked. He just got me.

One day he was walking with his wife, and his leg went numb. He thought he was having a stroke. But it turned out to be inoperable brain cancer.

I did my best to walk with him through that, even though I was here in Illinois and he was out in California. I called him most nights, and we checked with each other on how things were. Then, when he couldn’t talk anymore, his wife would tell me what was going on. Toward the end, he said he saw Jesus in the room with him, praying. And then he went to heaven. For me, there’s no replacing Jim.

And there’s Peter. He was the missionary force that God used to put my heart in Russia and Ukraine, to serve the church there. Mostly, though, Peter was a man who wanted to do everything he could to help other people know and follow Jesus. I was part of a handful of people who worked here in Wheaton while he lived in Moscow. Every morning there would be 20-30 sheets of handwritten fax pages telling us the latest news of what was happening and what we needed to do that day on top of our regular work. Then email replaced fax, and 20-30 fax pages became 20-30 emails. We worked to impact legislation on religious freedom, connected church leaders with key partners or directed them away from cult leaders who looked like any other Christian from the West.

Then, out of nowhere, he and his wife were coming home early and heading to Mayo Clinic. His lymphoma was aggressive and fast. He fought hard. and we prayed hard. One of the last things he told me was about our plans to do summer camp ministry with kids in Russia. Go, he said, you need to go. And we did. Peter’s energy, humility and ministry partnership with his wife have shaped me and Lorraine in ways that I can’t even begin to express. For me, there’s no replacing Peter.

Death is the enemy. Even Jesus prayed for the cup to pass if there was any other way. Of course, when we die, we won’t be taking the sins of the world on ourselves as he did, so his cup is a lot different than the ones we will all drink.

Death is with us because of sin. We aren’t supposed to embrace it.

I miss these people more than I can say. My life felt better with them physically here. The grief of losing them doesn’t end. But Jesus called them home. I trust him. Our days are in his loving, nail-scarred hands.

I don’t want to think so much of those dear friends that l lose out on the amazing wonder of the people right in front of me. I mean, every person is a universe of creative wonder, a unique expression from the hand of God.

God’s stamp is on each of us, and it’s not some kind of die-cut cookie cutter stamp. Everyone is different. My table guys at Bible study—Mike and Michael and Val and Rick and Jeff and John—what a gift to walk with them and pray together and look together at the wonder of God’s Word. Seeing their faces in little boxes on my laptop, that’s better than nothing. It’s good. But walking together through life with them—that’s so great. For me, there’s no replacing those guys either.

We aren’t people of death. We Christians are all about life. The hymn isn’t "Jesus Died and So Shall I." It’s "Jesus Lives and So Shall I"—and that means that I will see Jim and Peter again. That means that someday all of us connecting on Zoom won’t have to use the internet and our devices to connect. We won’t have to drive to church and find places to park. That day is going to be richer and fuller and better than we can even imagine, and we’re going to get to see Jesus and one another and Jim and Peter all at the same time and cry out together,

Worthy are you, our Lord and God, 
    to receive glory and honor and power, 
for you created all things, 
    and  by your will they existed and were created.
(Revelation 4:11) 

There’s one more thing. Not everyone’s going to see Jesus and have all this. People we know, people we love, some will go to a different place. Let’s not forget that and do all we can to show them the fountain of God’s love that none of us deserve but we all get to drink from because of the wondrous flow from the Lamb of God.  

Come. Drink. Live. 

Back to the Basics by Heather Owens

Heather and her husband, Daniel, and their two sons are College Church missionaries, serving the Lord in Vietnam.

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. (1 Corinthians 13:4-7)

We are embarking upon week ten of closures and social distancing here in Hanoi. In the past two weeks, I haven’t left the house at all except to walk a few hundred yards to the corner grocery to buy vegetables and eggs. We live in an up-and-down house in a row of up-and-down houses facing an apartment block, so we don’t have a yard or a place to be outdoors. We also don’t have a car, and now that public transportation is shut down, we couldn’t go out even if we wanted to risk being fined. My teenager told me he wishes he could just hibernate.

Our family is used to spending a lot of time together. We homeschool even when we don’t have to, and Daniel works part-time from our house even when the college is open. We always eat dinner as a family and often lunch as well. We like each other. We like spending time together. However, we are not immune to the irritation generated by these long days in each other’s company. Did I mention this is week ten? Our fuses are all a bit short and my threshold for annoyance is suddenly very slim. I’m wondering if I need a room to call my “growlery” like Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House.

Somehow I never seem to graduate from Kindergarten when it comes to living and loving well. I keep having to go back to the basics. Be nice. Don’t be mean. Treat others the way you want to be treated. First Corinthians 13 is famously read at weddings, but its instructions certainly don’t end at the altar. These basic reminders spoke to my conscience this week.

“Love is patient and kind” even when towels are left crumpled on the floor or there is a sticky mess around the trash can. Love is not “arrogant or rude” forgetting that I too have grating habits and personality quirks. Love “does not insist on its own way” or declare the rest of the afternoon “me time.” It is not “irritable or resentful” when expected to provide the third meal of the day for the umpteenth day in a row. Love does not “rejoice at wrongdoing” or self-justify or make excuses. It speaks hard truth to my rotten attitudes. Love bears quarantine, believes God is in control, hopes for the good that will come, and endures quietly while we wait. 

Heather first posted this on her blog, In This Meantime.