When I’m on fire, I’m filled with faith, hope and love. Others catch my fire and pass it on.
But a few days ago, my fire went out.
Several relatives got together—without me. They “had a great time,” according to the off-hand report circulated afterwards.
Why wasn’t I invited? I wondered. Perhaps there were reasons of convenience. Or not. Perhaps they just didn’t think of me.
I felt rejected. Of no value.
My feelings of rejection festered into plans to pack up and move to a desert town. Get a job waiting tables in a cafe. Do my own thing. Never be heard from again. I’m nothing to you? Fine. I’ll just hike it out of here then.
Problem was, I agreed to bring sliced tomatoes, onions and cheese for the hamburgers my small group would grill the next evening. The group is parents of teenagers, grandparents, and singles of all ages. Organized by our church, we meet once a week to eat together and pray for each other.
I didn’t want to go. Hurting, I wanted to distance myself from people.
Still, the hamburgers needed fixings.
I showed up…and learned:
The Millers are getting good results with the gluten-free diet they’re on. Tom is sleeping better and Sally, their seventh-grader, flies off the handle less.
Eric will pass eighth grade after all. Relief. Joy all around.
Martha, a new widow in the group, agreed to house-sit for the Johannsons the month they are away on vacation.
Bill’s court hearing is Tuesday. We pray and ask God to give Bill mercy with the judge and probation officer.
We pray for Gina’s interview on Wednesday.
I let the group know my son found a job. We offer thanksgiving.
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Driving home, I realize the hurt is less. I’m glad I showed up.
Embers glow once again.
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photo credit: aussiegall (creative commons)
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