Jo Saxton

Author Archive

I live in a desert.  It’s very apparent here that water is life.  Rain is infrequent, and I’m always amazed at the tiny weeds and wild flowers that spring to life after the slightest drizzle.  However, anything with any more staying power than a weed must protect itself if it wants to survive in the desert.  I once took a desert survival course where the instructor recommended always carrying a knife and some gloves whenever you go hiking; because if you ever were to get lost and were without water, you could cut a slice of cactus and suck the water out.  This, hopefully, could buy you some time to be rescued-if, of course, you could get past the cactus needles.  This is why desert plants are so guarded-fortressed by needles, prickles and spines. They protect themselves from wildlife that would otherwise suck the life right out of them. Even an innocent passerby gets the message “Stay away! There isn’t enough here for the both of us.  If you try to take what’s mine, you’ll certainly regret it.” 

I can relate.  Lately I’ve been feeling a little prickly. I feel the weight of all my responsibilities, both those that are legitimate and those that I’ve put upon myself without reason, and cry “there just isn’t enough!”  As an introvert whose not been taking adequate time alone, my internal resources feel as scarce as water in the desert, and everyone seems to want a piece of me-husband, kids, home, employer, church, the kids’ schools, family, friends-even the dog needs something from me!  So, out come the prickles. I want to lock myself in my room and scream “Leave me alone!”  Relying on my own resources to make sure everything turns out alright, I start to hoard what I perceive is mine, storing it up to get through the brutal dry season.  I guard my time, my emotions, my energy.  I lash out at my family because I’m afraid that despite how hard I’m working, it may not be enough, and I will be found inadequate. 

 Contrast this with a description of a man (or woman) found in Jeremiah 17:7-8

 But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him. He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream.  It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green.  It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.

This tree has no need for prickles.  Yes, its bark provides some protection from evaporation, bugs and animals (it would be foolish and grossly unhealthy to have no boundaries whatsoever), but since its roots are fed by a continual stream of water, those things are no lethal threat.  It can afford to lose a leaf or two. Heck, it can probably afford to lose a limb or two.  It benefits people with shade and fruit, even in the dry times.  A person such as this can afford to be generous with her time, energy, and money.  She can risk loving others, truly loving them the way Jesus loved, without regard for whether or not she will receive anything in return because she gets what she really needs from the source of life.

What’s the difference between the cactus and the tree?  The verse says trust. When I worry and choose to “just take care of” all the things I’m not trusting God for, I set myself up as a little goddess over my own little world. I substitute business and striving for the time alone with God that He designed me to need. When I inevitably realize that I’m not cut out for this goddess gig, I start to fret, to cultivate fear and resentment, exiling myself to the desert. Far from the streams of living water that could provide me with the very things I crave, I have two choices: grow spines and survive the wilderness; or humble myself to rest and repentance, quietness and trust, and let the water start to flow.

A co-worker recently gave me a potted peace lily as a gift, apparently unaware that I am the angel of death for green things.  I displayed it prominently on a table visible to passers-by, and vowed to keep this one alive. Despite my best efforts, I came in one Monday morning just a week later and found the poor thing wilted and splayed out over the table. The center stalk with a bud just ready to open was not only bent, but kinked, with every single leaf hanging in a limp ring around that bent stalk, looking more like cooked greens than a living thing.  Longing for a miracle, but preparing for the worst, I doused the poor thing with water and prayed, hoping the person who gave me the plant hadn’t already seen it, and been insulted that I didn’t care enough for her gift to tend to it properly…which got me thinking about gifts. 

As much as I would love for God to give me purely self-serving gifts–ornamental or comfortable ones, like jewelry or fuzzy slippers, the gifts that God gives are curiously more like housewarming gifts–practical gifts, gifts that must be used or tended to. He does hint that one day He’ll bestow jewelry (or at least crowns) on his beloved; but in this life, His gifts are to be used for the benefit of others (see 1 Cor. 12:7)  Now, I’m one of those who has taken awhile to discover what gifts God has given me, and then used false humility as an excuse for not using them (Me? Have talent? Discernment? Teach others? Pshaw…) Refusing to acknowledge or use the gifts God has given me for the good of his people because I don’t feel confident or strong is not humble.  It is sinful. When we allow the gifts God has given us to atrophy, a part of us atrophies along with hem, because they are woven into our personalities-tiny bits of God’s image written into our DNA.

In 1 Timothy 4:14, Paul warns young Timothy not to neglect the gift that was given him.  The context seems to indicate that this gift was some sort of commission, a duty assigned specifically to Timothy by God through prophetic intercession. This is why Timothy was at this certain place at this certain time- to fulfill God’s will in a way he was specifically gifted to  do.  Most of us aren’t so blessed as to have our callings clearly articulated by prophets.  We have to look for them. The most fulfilled, most grounded people I know are those who have identified their gifts and are busy using them in a way only they could.  I’ve seen them work from a seemingly endless reserve of energy because the passion for whatever it is they are doing and the satisfaction of seeing fruit of their labor spurs them on.  Could the fact that I’ve been feeling as limp and listless as my peace lily have anything to do with the fact that I may be spending so much of my energy on the wrong things? Could that vague sense of restlessness and discontent be a gift of God that is crying out for water and sunshine? This is the journey I’m on: to figure out what God has put in me that is useful for building others up and bringing glory to Him, and finding ways, no matter how small, to start putting it in to practice. 

My little peace lily made a brave comeback.  Within twenty four hours of proper hydration and a bit of sunlight, the only sign of its near death experience is a blackened edge along its very first bloom that resembles a bruise. Rather than cut it off to destroy the evidence, I left it there as a reminder, not only to water the thing, but also to honor the Giver by honoring the gift. 

For Reflection:

A good place to start reading is Romans 12:4-8 or 1 Corinthians 12:7-30.

1. What puts fuel in your tank?  When you had free time as a child, what did you do?

1. What ways of helping others have you found enjoyable?

1. What breaks your heart?  What is your Holy Discontent? As you look around the community, church or world, what a) concerns you the most  and  b) do you think you can do something about?

1. What strengths do others see in you? (Really, ask those who know you what they see in you.  You may be surprised that several of them see the same thing.  That’s a really big clue)

Sarah lives in Phoenix, Arizona. She is wife to Johnny and mom to Lily and Claire. She works in administration at a large church, and privately struggles to sift the reality of God from the business of church. While she’d like to claim that she writes out of a passion to teach, the truth is that it’s more a form of personal therapy. She loves to sleep late on a Saturday, rooibos tea with a just a splash of chocolate milk, debating both sides of a controversial issue, hunting for bargains at second-hand stores, and reading with her kids. This year of her life seems to be about taking more risks, and taking herself less seriously.