Hasty conclusions about my pasty skin

I love going to the fruit stand up the street here in Costa Rica.  I usually walk up in the morning to grab some green beans, an apple, or a pepper to take with me for the day.  The other day when I went to the stand, an old man was there buying his own produce.  I did the friendly (socially acceptable) thing- I smiled and then looked away.  This man, however, did not.  He smiled, but then stared at me for a good 2 minutes or more.  All I could think was, "how rude!" and "this is NOT polite."  I did my best to ignore him and turn my head so he couldn't stare.  I know my pasty white skin is a rare sight around here, but this was getting ridiculous.

It was at this moment of me thinking the worst of this man that I realized he was trying to pay for the apple I wanted to buy.  Embarrassment overwhelmed me.  How dare I think the worst of this man when he was attempting to show me love?

John 7:24 reminds us, "do not judge by appearances, but with right judgement." 

Far too often I make assumptions.  I make assumptions based on appearances, limited knowledge, and biased judgments.  And far too often these assumptions are wrong.

Things are not always as they seem.  Maybe I shouldn't jump to hasty conclusions about my pasty skin attracting unecessary attention.  Maybe I just shouldn't jump to conlcusions at all.  Maybe I should leave that up to God and mind my own business.

When you walk into my room

When you walk into my dorm room, you will see bookshelves filled with textbooks entitled “Elementary and Middle School Mathematics,” “Teaching Exceptional and Diverse Children,” “The Craft of Christian Teaching,” “Tools for Teaching,” and other such “teachery” titles.  You will also see several children’s books scattered around the room.  Chances are you will probably see my “Corban Education Work Sample Guidebook” open on my desk.  You will find a drawer filled with Crayola products.  And if you open up my wardrobe, you will find a bucket of colorful “centimeter cubes,” used for teaching math. 

When you walk into my room, it should take a mere few seconds to determine what my major is: elementary education.  I would assume that upon walking into any other education major’s room, you would find similar items leading you to the same quick conclusion about their major of choice.  If I were to walk into a health science major’s room, I would probably find books about anatomy, physics, and chemistry.  They might have lab goggles hanging on the wall.  And they probably have an intimidating calculator sitting on their desk alongside intimidating looking equations. 

I would hope that if someone walks into my life, they would quickly see where my faith is.  Is the way I live, the things I say, and the way I build relationships indicative of the main purpose of my life?  In other words, would someone who does not know me be able to see I have dedicated my life to Christ by simply observing the way I live?

“By their fruits you will recognize them.  Do people pick grapes from thornbushes, or figs from thistles?”  (Matthew 7:16)

The fruits in our life declare that which is most important to us.  Do your fruits point to God, or do they point to something else?  Like the items in my room point directly to my major, I hope my life points directly to my Creator. 

Left with a barren orchid

I love flowers.  I love receiving flowers, putting them in a vase, placing them on my desk, and smiling every time I see them.  They bring me joy.  So what else would my sister bring me on my birthday but flowers?  She has bought me flowers on my birthday for as long as I can remember and this past year, she even bought me a living orchid.  It was stunning.  At one point and there were over 30 flowers and buds on the branches.  I was careful to follow the instructions that came with the orchid (place by a northern facing window, water every 7-10 days, don’t overwater, etc.) to prolong the life of this beloved birthday present.

I loved my orchid.  I loved seeing it on my desk everyday.  I loved knowing Sherry had thought about what I would like to have sitting on my desk while I worked on lesson plans, read books about “exceptional and diverse students,” and wrote papers about my philosophy of education. 

Somewhere in the chaos of packing my bags to go home for Christmas, I forgot about my orchid.  I did not take my orchid home, so it sat on my desk waterless for nearly a month. 

Upon arriving back at school, I saw my orchid and panicked.  Surrounding the pot and scattered on my desk were sad white flowers and buds.  I quickly watered my plant and tried to revive it during the ensuing days back at school.  It was a futile effort.  Slowly but surely, the remaining buds fell off the branches and I was left with a barren orchid. 

The orchid now sits on my desk with sad, brown, wilted branches.  It no longer brings me joy like it used to.  In fact, it makes me a little sad.  I am sad I failed to give it the attention and nurturing it needed to survive. 

I decided to do some research on how to bring my orchid back from the dead and discovered that I must cut off the dead branches.  They no longer bear me joyful white flowers, but only hang there with a sense of hopelessness.  According to what I found on google, by cutting off the dead braches, the orchid will use its energy and the nutrients it draws up to produce a new branch which (in time) will bring me flowers again.

Sometimes there are things in our lives that start by bringing us joy.  These can be hobbies, relationships, lifestyles, or other supposedly “good” things.  But sometimes these things turn from bringing us fruit in our lives to becoming a life-sucking branch. 

As hard as it is to face, sometimes we just need to cut off the branches that have stopped bearing us white flowers.  “I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener.  He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful” (John 15:1-2).

Let’s be honest here, sometimes cutting off those branches that used to seem so good can be extremely painful.  It took me a couple minutes to muster up the courage to cut off the dead, brown branches of my orchid.  How much more courage will it take to see the “branches” in my life cut off?  Even though these metaphorical dead braches hang in my life with the same sense of hopelessness that my orchid has, I hesitate to see them go.  The best thing we can do is to realize the benefit that will come from pruning.  By pruning away what has become unfruitful, we are given more strength to bear fruit where we can. 

When God prunes you, do not become bitter or resentful, but embrace what He has in store for the new life it will bring.

“He has made everything beautiful in its time” (Ecclesiastes 3:11).