Category: gifts


In the 2011 thriller “Unknown” starring Liam Neeson, Dr. Martin Harris (played to perfection by Neeson) is an American bio-tech wizard who suffers a head injury as a result of a car crash while in Berlin for a series of summit meetings. After lying in a coma for four days, Dr. Harris wakes up in a German hospital to find that he still knows who he is. Unfortunately, his wife does not. Neither does anyone else from his personal or professional life. Without divulging all the twists and turns in case you haven’t seen the film, Dr. Harris embarks on a vigilant journey to prove he is who he remembers himself to be. At one particular turning point, his German doctor attempts to comfort him by offering that who he remembers himself to be may be, to his dismay, nothing more than who he wished himself to be prior to the accident.


With the weight of his very identity teetering precariously on his frustrated shoulders, Dr. Harris turns to his doctor and remarks, “It’s like a war between being told who you are and knowing who you are.” And then with the desperate fear of utter madness closing in he asks, “which one do you think will win?”

Hmmm…being told who you are or knowing who you are? If asked for a show of hands, almost certainly the vast majority of our society has at one time or another been told they are something that, in fact, they are not: Lazy. Stupid. Fat. Incompetent. Ugly. Uncoordinated. Too short. Too tall. Clumsy. Pathetic. No good. A mistake. An accident. While any of these adjectives may be unhealthy or unproductive ways in which we live, they are in no way representative of who we are

The bad news is this: we humans are complex physical beings with a complex system of emotions. We thrive (or deteriorate) on relationship, community, and a sense of belonging. And because of this God-designed need for relationship – the Bible tells us that God observed it was not good for man to be alone – we embrace what we are told about ourselves. We soar to unattainable heights because someone believes in us; we plummet to unfathomable depths because another does not. Fragile characters indeed.

The good news is this: God makes it abundantly clear in His Word that human beings were made in His image. We are the only part of all His creation which He referred to as ‘very good’ (Genesis 1:31), “made in the image of God.” An image is defined as ‘an imitation, representation, or similitude…; a physical likeness or representation…; an optically formed duplicate’. Look around. What does that tell you about God? God is short and tall; God is blonde, brunette, and red-head; God is freckle-faced and olive-complected; stocky and statuesque; curly, straight, and bald. While we are daily bombarded with being told what we are, it is vitally important that we know who we are. God doesn’t make mistakes. In spite of the fact that we often misuse (or don’t use at all) the gifts and talents we’ve been given, the simple truth is that we are who God created us to be.

When I look in the mirror there are plenty of things I don’t like staring back at me (and I won’t elaborate on them on the off chance that you haven’t noticed them). But what would happen if when we looked in the mirror we saw what God sees? Far beyond the physical reflection, what if we could see His image? His likeness? How would it change what we are told we are if we filtered it through knowing who we are?

God gave us an incredible, extravagant gift in the person of Jesus. He gave him in the form of a human baby. In the image of God; in His likeness. I can only imagine the things Jesus must have been told about himself as a growing boy….conceived out of wedlock (shameful and humiliating); born in a stable among smelly animals (you don’t really think they cleaned up just because a baby was coming, do you?); raised by a carpenter (not exactly the most prestigious job in town); different; strange; downright weird. But Jesus knew who he was and it didn’t matter what people said about him.

You may say, “you’re right, Dawn, but he was God’s son after all…of course he knew who he was!” Ah, but wait a minute. The Bible also tells us that he was fully human, embracing all the traits (a/k/a weaknesses and limitations) of man. He was thirsty and hungry; He was tired; He felt physical and emotional pain; He was tempted. He suffered. But he kept his focus on what he knew to be true, not what others told him.

At this Christmas time of year, I’m reminded once again that God doesn’t make mistakes. He knew exactly what He was doing when he offered Jesus to the world through a tender young woman and a brave young man. And for all the ways He could have chosen to send us a savior, He opened wide the door to eternity through the fragile cry of a newborn.

Being told who you are or knowing who you are? Learn the truth. And win the war.

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An anonymous poet once said, “The pouring of compassion, combined with the mixing of gifts and generosity, blend together to serve miracles.”  The first time I saw this printed in a magazine, it was the artwork that caught my attention.  The artist had captured an old world feel, something between Renaissance and Renoir.  I read the words again, promptly tore the page out of the magazine, and taped it up on the wall where I could read it daily – sometimes several times a day.  In light of Mother’s Day I would like to tell you about a very special woman who epitomizes every word of this short but powerful prose – my Mom.
The pouring of compassion… my Mom feels things deeply and even though her strong Southern upbringing won’t always allow her to show it, her heart is as tender as fresh biscuit dough.  She will be the first volunteer to provide a meal for someone who’s sick or recovering from surgery.   When she and my Dad travel, she always tucks away the complimentary shampoo, conditioner, bath gels, and lotions from the hotel so she can deliver them to a local ministry helping underprivileged women.  Whether she’s praying (I’ve heard her) or writing in her journal (I’ve read a few entries), nine times out of ten it’s about someone else and their needs.  When I had breast cancer and was overwhelmed by everyone wanting to take care of me, she touched my arm and said gently, “Sweetie, they love you.  Let them.”
Combined with the mixing of gifts and generosity… my Mom has many gifts and she happily, generously shares them with anyone and everyone.  She has the gift of beauty but you won’t find one vain bone in her tiny frame.  She has the gift of hospitality and can instantly make anyone feel at home, ready to put their feet up on the sofa and stay a while.  She has the gift of creativity and can make the simplest meal beautiful and memorable.  She has the gift of music and sings with a joyful spirit.  She has the gift of reading.  That may sound strange but no one – and I mean no one – can read a story to a child like my Mom.  She can literally make time stand still in a story.  I’m thankful my children have been the benefactors of that one!  Everything she does is blanketed in generosity.  She regularly goes above and beyond and finds tremendous satisfaction in making life a little sweeter for others.
Blend together to serve miracles… my Mom always made our house a home.  We may not have had a lot in the world’s eyes but we didn’t know it.  She made birthdays, Christmas, and sometimes a regular old Saturday morning magical – usually on a shoe string budget.  She worked a full time job, volunteered (for everything) at our church, kept our house clean and the laundry done, carted my brother and me to all our social and sporting events, and taught me by example to be a gracious, kind, compassionate woman.  I learned to respect others by watching her respect others.  I learned to do my best by watching her touch everything with excellence.  I learned the deep satisfaction of a ‘Norman Rockwell’ moment by helping to prepare a special meal and gather her family around the kitchen table.  And I learned to be fiercely loyal to my family by understanding that sometimes it’s alright to not keep your mouth shut.
I lovingly refer to her as ‘Miss Daisy’ (when she’s not around), my children call her ‘Honey’, and our friends know her as ‘Mrs. C’.  She pours compassion, combines it with the mixing of gifts and generosity, and blends it all together to serve miracles.  She is simply, beautifully, my Mom.
 
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