Author: Jackie

I am thrilled with the feeling of acheivement tonight…

I left youth floating on air and was nearly giggling with delight before I reached the privacy inside my dear little Belinda car.

If anyone had been with me, I’m sure they’d have said I glowed as I drove home.

So, what was extraordinary about the evening, that has me so excited?

Nothing. Nothing at all was different from any other evening, but it was the last one.

After eight summers, I have officially decided to resign from my career of youth baseball, and tonight was my last game.

As the sounds of my youth group socializing faded behind me, I waited for the regret to kick in. A little bit of uncertainty at least, about whether I should maybe sign up again next spring, just one more year?

But I didn’t feel any indecision, or regret, or nostalgia.

Rather, each step I took away from there, toward my car, felt like I was stepping out into a new chapter of life.

In a sense, leaving youth and moving forward in life is a new, uncharted chapter.

But it’s EXCITING!!!

So often, chapters end and I hold on as tightly as I can, only hearing the sound of the closing door as the finality of all the good within the room I am now barricaded from.

But finality is not always bad!

My friends, I realized tonight, closing a door is sometimes the best thing we can do for ourselves.

Walking to my car tonight, I felt increasingly free. Conciously stepping out of that phase of my life and closing that door allows me to be open to the next doors God would open.

It takes courage to step out of our cozy little familiar rooms, into the hallway, and close the door behind ourselves.

But what if we were stuck in that room? What if that place is hindering us from reaching our full potential according to God’s purpose for our life? What if He intends for us to thrive elsewhere?

A chapter ending is not always finality. It may become a crucial launching pad in your story.

But sometimes we need to be willing to close one chapter before God will open the next.

So – I have officially resigned from youth baseball. Eight summers of it were sufficient for one who doesn’t like the sport, and over the years, my place there was fading.

Young teen me was the life of the party… to one of the group… to an “”older girl,” with no peers to connect with, so I tried to become a sort of “big sister” to those insecure 15-year-olds. Now the youngest youth girls barely even know who I am anymore, my “little friends” are grown up and dating, and everyone seems to know how to go about their routine whether I’m in my spot or not.

To everything there is a season… including a time to step through the doorway and move forward.

So I played my last game tonight, and enjoyed the evening more immensely than I have in years!

Closing doors takes courage, but it is necessary before we can experience positve change.

Less than two weeks ago, I was on vacation with my parents.

The only sounds were trees rustling, the creek flowing over the rocks past our yard, and sometimes, my parents voices as we conversed about sensible, grown up things.

Also, my parents always use indoor voices… even outdoors!

That, however, was then. We left our relaxing, peaceful cabin in the woods, and I knew, subconsciously, that the idyllic days of summer were nearly over.

But two mornings later, I still felt the culture shock as I tried to grasp that the first day of school had arrived.

I was looking forward to it for so long, but I can never quite prepare for the feeling of being surrounded by so many children… especially after a summer of living with my very grown-up parents who always use indoor voices.

The first morning, a stream of excited children and their backpacks (carrying hundreds of markers and countless scented, colored, otherwise “cool” school supplies) enter the building.

I smiled. I said good morning. It felt familiar, comfortable.

Small people were everywhere – many, many small people.

A small blur careened across the parking lot, competing with the speed of sound. (I’m certain that sound still travels faster, I realized later, because we could hear him before he reached us.)

One of the tall people expressed their best wishes and I realized it will be my job to keep the distance between him and his desk to a minimum – for the next ten months.

I quickly grew comfortable among the small people, and by the second day, the possibility of an adult exiting the cloakroom never crossed my mind when I challenged grade four to a race in from recess. Thankfully the littles have a low center of gravity and dodged around the surprised mother who was innocently stepping out of the building. I don’t have that ability, so I was left to come to a screeching halt and breathlessly blurt, “Sorry!” before continuing on my way.

That afternoon, there were balloons. As many balloons as children, and the tall people all shuffling them around – the balloons, not the children – and much loudness echoed in the school. All school activities to kick off the year – to get the students excited, the staff exhausted, and everybody has a delightful time. I may have wondered a time or two how I got involved in this craziness…

On the third morning of school, we sang “Star of the East.” I had forgotten that Christmas runs from September to June here (and probably July and August too, I’m just not at school to sing with them in the summer).

My students seem to think I am always looking out for them. And I am – get me right – but not quite like this:

A student asked to leave class and use the washroom. I said “Yes, but there are only a few minutes until recess.” The child positively beamed at me and replied, “Thank you for telling me, but don’t worry, it won’t take me that long. (Yes… okay. We are glad you will get every minute of recess this way, since you habitually leave class in time to be back just before the bell. That wasn’t quite what I meant…)

My recent google searches include “is there a house built entirely of candy”. This was to settle a lunch debate on the topic, however, before I found the answer, the conversation had moved to other, more weighty topics. Such as, is it really stealing if you can get gumballs out of the machine by kicking it – and they’re only worth 25 cents anyway?

I’m adjusting to eating lunch with 13 self-appointed professional food critics. Every day when I return from microwaving my food, the classroom goes silent. They watch me open the lid. And students in the back row call out to those at the front, “what does she have today?!”

Apparently they thought teachers always have really good lunches, and were amazed to learn that I eat leftovers from the night before. JUST LIKE THEM!!!

So I eat my extraordinarily good leftovers while listening to stories of frogs laying eggs through their mouth (remember that small people act out everything they tell, which can be unnerving). I swat bees, open yogourt, answer a gazillion questions, and try to get my lunch eaten though I am the only one in the room who doesn’t talk with her mouth full.

Life with the littles is never dull…

It’s good to be home.

You know that feeling of reading something and it totally resonates deep in your heart?

Well, I had a moment like that today. They’re always great😊

As I was flipping through a new songbook, trying to find a song to play on my keyboard, I came across a song that I’d never seen before – “Poured Out Like Wine.”

The first verse is a question from Jesus, asking if His people are willing to serve.

“Would you be poured out like wine upon the altar for Me? Would you be broken like bread to feed the hungry? Would you be so one with Me that you would do just as I will? Would you be light and life and love My word fulfilled?”

Those lyrics touched me deeply.

It felt like a personal challenge that requires courage to accept…

But if I desire to pour out Jesus’ love into the lives of others, I need to embrace the fact that broken vessels pour most freely.

The more shattered a jar becomes, the greater the spill grows…

Breaking is painful.

Being poured out can feel like the life is draining from my heart.

And at that place, it’s hard to imagine having anything valuable to offer to God’s kingdom work.

But it’s not those who are living “whole” that are crying for light, life, and love.

It’s the broken who are silently, unknowingly, longing for Jesus.

And how could I walk among the broken if I’d never felt my own heart break?

I’m in awe of the way God works.

How He restores wholeness into a life by calling someone to serve others – He doesn’t wait until we are healed to ask us to give, but He offers us a place to find our healing through giving.

And even on days when we don’t feel like we have much to offer, our little effort can be multiplied into a greater impact…

And the simple rewards are worth it all when little arms encircle you and a soft voice says, “I don’t want you to ever leave, JackJack girl.”

Or a smile lights the weary eyes of a single mom and you know she’s beginning to hope…

When they start to trust, and the walls come down a fraction at a time… it’s worth every little effort to earn that from people who’ve been hurt too often.

And in it all, I marvel that God is working through a very human, very inadequate, very unworthy servant.

He has allowed me to be broken… and is using me as bread to feed the hungry.

He filled my heart with His love for people many years ago, but it couldn’t be unleashed until my heart became broken.

So here I am.

By His grace aspiring to become one with Him, to share His vision for service & spill the light, life, and love of Jesus into every wounded heart I touch.

“Lord, I’m willing to be broken and poured out if it means I may participate in the fulfillment of Your word.”