Handmaidens - Essays & More

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Praying for Patience Little Johnny had been misbehaving and was sent to his room. After a while he emerged and informed his mother that he had thought it over and then said a prayer. "Fine", said the pleased mother. "If you ask God to help you not misbehave, He will help you." "Oh, I didn't ask Him to help me not misbehave," said Johnny. "I asked Him to help you put up with me."	Cover Page Christian Comedy Education Essays, etc. Health Home Marriage Stewardship Parenting Poetry/Art Sites to See Work Extra

What's My Line?
By Staff Writer Marsha Jordan Executive Director of Hugs and Hope

Remember that old TV show where contestants questioned three guests to determine which were imposters and which one was really who they all claimed to be? Sometimes I feel like I’m living in that game show! There are so many sides to me that come out in different circumstances, I wonder which personality is the real me. I can act in ways that go against everything I believe in. I often surprise and disappoint myself, doing things I later regret.

Have you ever wished you could go back in time and do things right? I’m still feeling guilty for the time I was rude my neighbor two years ago. I hate it when I discover personality traits within myself that I detest in other people. I feel at times as if multiple personalities are battling for control of my body. I want to yell, "Will the real Marsha please stand up!"

But if the real me could stand up, would I even like her? Would she be anything like what I think the real me is?

I like to believe that I’m perfect and I certainly want others to believe that I always have the best motives and intentions; but the truth is that no matter how good I try to convince myself or others that I am, I’m imperfect. I goof up and let my selfishness get the best of me when I want what I want when I want it. I forget to think of others, and I run over their feelings like an army tank. When I get frustrated, words come out that astonish me; and I wish I could suck them back in before they reach anyone’s ears.

Just who am I really? I may never fully know myself; but God does. And the good news is that He loves me no matter how much I fall short of His desires for me. Of all the things Jesus was called in the Bible, my favorite is "friend of sinners." He said in Matthew 9:13, "For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners."

It doesn’t matter who the real me is. Instead of fretting about that, I’m learning to focus on learning who HE is – the God who not only knows my name, but who has counted the very hairs on my head.

God Lives Under the Bed
Author Unknown, Submitted by Carol Holmes

I envy Kevin. My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed. At least that's what I heard him say one night.

He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped to listen, "Are you there, God?" he said. "Where are you? Oh, I see. Under the bed..."

I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin's unique perspectives are often a source of amusement. But that night something else lingered long after the humor. I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.

He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he's 6-foot-2), there are few ways in which he is an adult.

He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our tree every Christmas and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them.

I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different.

Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life?

Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, return to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.

The only variation in the entire scheme is laundry, when he hovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child.

He does not seem dissatisfied.

He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple work.

He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day's laundry chores.

And Saturdays - oh, the bliss of Saturdays! That's the day my Dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside.

"That one's goin' to Chi-car-go!" Kevin shouts as he claps his hands.

His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.

And so goes his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips.

He doesn't know what it means to be discontent.

His life is simple.

He will never know the entanglements of wealth of power, and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats. His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they may not be.

His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when he is working. When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it.

He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it is finished. But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax.

He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others. His heart is pure.

He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue.

Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry. He is always transparent, always sincere. And he trusts God.

Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he comes as a child. Kevin seems to know God - to really be friends with Him in a way that is difficult for an "educated" person to grasp. God seems like his closest companion.

In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity I envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith.

It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions.

It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap...
I am. My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances - they all become disabilities when I do not trust them to God's care.

Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn? After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of God.

And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his bed.

Kevin won't be surprised at all!

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