The Mani and Pedi “Cure”

Nail salons have always intrigued me.  I’ll walk by a storefront and peer in to see large groups of women, sitting in chairs and facing other women who are examining their hands. Heavy chemical smells waft through the air, and I can often hear drilling sounds, similar to those at the dentist.  I watch women walk in, hunched over and tired, and walk out standing taller and smiling.  What magic takes place in these little, smelly shops, and what have I been missing?

I’m not what you’d call a girly girl.  As a poster child for self-reliance, I’ve been cutting my own hair for many years now, so the thought of paying someone to paint my nails sounds a little absurd to me.  But, the other day, curiosity finally got the better of me.  When walking around my local shopping center, I made an impulsive decision to experience it for myself.

The nail salon employed three Asian women. An older woman, who apparently managed the place, had the strongest command of the English language, so she greeted me (if “What you want?” can be classified as a greeting). I stammered something about wanting to see a price list, and she pointed her nail file in the direction of the wall on the right, where the prices were scrawled in marker:  $12 for manicure, $20 for pedicure, $20 acrylic, $5 french, $10 design, etc.  “Um, I’ll take the manicure and pedicure,” I said, not knowing what the other words meant. 

A young woman, probably in her early 20’s, appeared at my side and pointed to a row of bottles on wall.  “Choose,” she said.  I hadn’t realized that this process was going to involve so much choice.  Avoiding the various shades of blues, greens, and purples, I selected two colors that seemed to suit my mood, a light pink for my nails and a more dramatic red for my toes.  After handing the bottles to the woman, I was escorted to a chair with a bucket at its feet.  Once I sat down in it, I realized that the chair was vibrating, which increasingly gave me the urge to urinate, especially since my feet were being placed in very warm water.  

The young woman silently gestured for me to give her one of my feet. I hesitated for a moment, thinking about the fact that I’d walked a couple miles in sandals to get to the shop.  My response wasn’t so different from Peter’s, when Jesus wanted to wash his feet (John 13:4-17).   Humbly, I lifted a foot out of the water, and she took it and began inspecting it.  She repeated this process with the other foot, and then began removing my badly chipped, self-applied nail polish.  My toes felt embarrassed.  She produced various tools to trim away my cuticles.  I’ve always seen products designed to rid oneself of cuticles: various clippers, shears, and serums for dissolving them.  For all this attention, you’d think cuticles caused gangrene, the plague, and host of other serious ailments. 

The pedicurist took a file to the bottoms of my feet to attack the calluses, built up from running, no doubt. Funny.  I thought those calluses were useful, helping me avoid getting blisters.  This particular step tickled quite a bit, and I had to keep from squirming in my vibrating chair.  The woman saw my struggle and smiled, but she was quick to suppress it.  I’d first thought she was just being polite, but I realized that she was very careful not to show her teeth when she smiled.  She was missing some, and they were badly stained and very crooked.  I remembered another woman that I’d seen before, a few months back, with a similar tooth situation.  The woman at the Spaghetti factory couldn’t stop from smiling, and she didn’t want to (see my post on the topic).  Perhaps my pedicurist spent so much time focusing on making people conform to standard images of beauty that she had a hard time embracing her own, unique smile.

After she slathered lotion on my feet and legs and painted my toenails red, my pedicurist became my manicurist.  I shuffled in plastic flip flops to her nail table, where she sat facing me and began the familiar process of examining my hands.  One after another, she would hold my hands and examine them, file them, massage them, trim back the cuticles, and finally paint them.  For the entire time, we never once exchanged one word.  The language barrier made it impossible.  But she held my hand for an entire 30 minutes.

When’s the last time someone held your hand for 30 minutes?  As I sat there, I thought how strange it was that I couldn’t speak with this person, but I had such a strong sense of fellowship with her during that window of time. 

I think we sometimes forget about the healing power of a simple touch.  Especially in today’s society, we can spend all day, not touching a single person.  I know that without human touch, infants will die.  How many of us are dying a little bit each day without this vital connection?

Jesus recognized that people often need to be touched to be healed.  In his day, lepers were forced to live outside the towns, away from their loved ones, away from human contact and all physical touch.  When Jesus saw them, he met their physical and their emotional needs:

While Jesus was in one of the towns, a man came along who was covered with leprosy. When he saw Jesus, he fell with his face to the ground and begged him, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.” Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. “I am willing,” he said. “Be clean!” And immediately the leprosy left him (Luke 5:12-13).

Jesus didn’t need to touch the man to heal him. With one word, he could have cured the man from afar (see example in Luke 7:1-10).  But Jesus knew that the man also needed the healing that the physical touch itself could bring.

I think I found the secret of nail salons.  They employ a modern practice to meet an age old need.  No, it’s not vanity, but I can’t argue that it plays a part.  It’s something much deeper, something that has more to do with the people working at the shops than the paint in the bottles.

As I stare down at my fingernails on the keyboard, I notice that my nail polish is chipping.  I think it’s time for another appointment.

Spinning in Circles to Impress God

Do you ever find yourself working so hard to please God that you never stop to ask, “Does God really care that I’m doing this?”  Better yet, do you ever find yourself frustrated because there’s some sort of work you think you must be doing for God, and you can’t do it?

Several people in my life, myself included, seem to be struggling with this particular issue at the moment.  A character a book I’m reading right now is also dealing with this problem.  I know, this isn’t a real person, but hey, I take books seriously.  So, she might as well be real.  Anyway, Katy, a young mother and homemaker in the mid 1800s, is having a typical day.  The chores are overwhelming, people keep dropping by and distracting her, the kids have a lot of needs, and she can’t do all that she wants to accomplish.  She says, “This whole day has been frittered away in the veriest trifles.  It isn’t living to live so.  Who is better for my being in the world since six o’clock this morning?” (Stepping Heavenward 298).  Aside from sounding like a real Debbie Downer, you can tell that she’s really struggling with priorities and disappointment about her role.  She has one idea about how to serve God, and well, her life isn’t allowing her to do it the way she wants.

Here’s another example.  A good friend of mine has been recently hospitalized.  The doctor has told her to rest, and well, she really doesn’t want to.  She’d rather go home and do her work.  She’s frustrated that she has to stay longer than she expected.

As for me, I’m trying to figure out if that guilty feeling about the pile of dirty dishes is more from God or from my perfectionist tendencies.  Somehow, I really don’t think, in the whole scheme of things, that God really minds the dishes that much.  But I don’t know about the unfolded laundry… 

Finally, there’s Milton, the blind poet from the 17th century, whom I’m including on my syllabus for next semester.  He wrote a poem about his frustrations with this issue:

When I consider how my light is spent,
     Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
     And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
     My true account, lest He returning chide;
     “Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
     Either man’s work or His own gifts. Who best
     Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed,
     And post o’er land and ocean without rest;
     They also serve who only stand and wait.

Milton, endowed with brilliance from the Almighty, wanted to use his mind for God’s glory.  But, being blind, he was a bit limited by what he could do.  Yes, he was frustrated, but he was willing to accept that God knew what he was doing.  Even as a blind man, he could serve God.  His last line recognizes that God often calls us to serve him in ways we might not expect.  We, in our weakness, don’t have to be busybodies.  We can also serve him by merely standing still.

“Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

A Ben and Jerry’s Pint Addiction: A Spiritual Perspective

  A little known medical condition recently revealed a lot to me about human nature.  In a recent feature article in the New Yorker Magazine, reporter Richard Preston describes a bizarre and rare medical condition called Lesch-Nyhan syndrome.  Lesch-Nyhan sufferers, always men, cannot control their bodies and are “uncontrollably driven to harm themselves” (31).  Their hands will fly into their mouths, and unless stopped, they will bite off their own fingers.  If they like someone, they’ll curse them.  If they hate someone, they’ll praise them.  They’re seemingly bent on self mutilation, even if their conscious desires are otherwise.

According to Dr. H.A. Jinnah, a Johns Hopkins neurologist, we all have within us some extent of “self-injurious behavior” (35).  At one of the spectrum, we find eating a whole pint of Ben and Jerry’s in front of the television (Phish Food is my poison of choice) or biting your fingernails.  Some people take it a step further and bite their cuticles.  At the far end, you have people with Lesch-Nyhan, uncontrollably biting off their fingers.

The person who bites his or her fingernails often doesn’t want to do it, but well, it’s often a hard habit to break.  We all have our disgusting little habits that we want to avoid (smoking, picking our nose, eating what we got out of our nose, etc).  At some point, all of us can sympathize with these Lesch-Nyhan patients, who can’t control their own bodies and their own words.

Long ago, the Apostle Paul recognized this dual nature in ourselves: one part that wills to do one thing, and another part that doesn’t want to listen.  He says, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do” (Romans 7:15).  Paul was doing exactly what he didn’t want to do, but he couldn’t stop himself.  Keep in mind that this is Paul, the guy who we credit with spreading the gospel all over the place, and the guy who wrote a huge chunk of the New Testament.  From this description, he doesn’t sound any better off than a Lesch-Nyhan patient.

Paul doesn’t end his discourse on the topic in utter frustration.  He searches for meaning in his actions. He realizes that there’s a battle being waged inside himself. The battle is between his sinful nature and his will to do God’s good: “For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within my members” (Romans 7:22-23).

Eventually, Paul realizes the way to win this battle.  Someone has already fought on our behalf:  Jesus. 

“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death. For what the law was powerless to do in that it was weakened by the sinful nature, God did by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful man to be a sin offering. And so he condemned sin in sinful man, in order that the righteous requirements of the law might be fully met in us, who do not live according to the sinful nature but according to the Spirit” (Romans 7:1-4).

We, who can’t behave ourselves, who can’t act as we would like, have a champion to fight for us.  God sent his Spirit to battle our sinful nature.  We can’t win the battle alone.  The battle belongs to the Lord. 

Google Reader Changed My Life

I thought I’d take a moment to call your attention to a few new site features that I’ve added. 

 I’m a Google Reader addict, and I’ve decided to share the love with all of you.  In the “Blogging 101″ page, I’ve added a link to teach you how to use Google Reader.  You can also access it here: http://amyletinsky.wordpress.com/blogging-101/how-to-use-google-reader/ .  This mini tutorial will have you using Google Reader in no-time.  Think of it as a way to read all of your blogs and news feeds (most major news organizations have RSS feeds) in one handy place.  It saves you time, and it also gives you a nice way to organize your reading material.  If you’re new to blogs, don’t let these fancy terms overwhelm you.  Google Reader is easy to learn.

Another new feature is my “Postroll.”  Similar to my blogroll, this is where I list recent posts that I’ve read (through Google Reader, of course), and I want to share them with you.  They are often thought provoking or humorous.  Not everything I post there is something that I agree with 100%, but it’s often something that really intrigued me.  You’ll find the link on the right column, but you can also click here to read it: http://www.google.com/reader/shared/12004672386972169247 .  You can also subscribe to this as a separate feed.  Once you set up Google Reader, add this address: http://www.google.com/reader/public/atom/user/12004672386972169247/state/com.google/broadcast to receive regular updates from my shared posts. 

Happy Reading!

Proud Sister Moment

 The County Fair is in full swing back home, and I’m proud to announce that my sister came home with a massive ribbon!  She won her division in digital photography in “best computerized.”  She managed to capture a bee on a flower.  The colors are incredible.  Way to go Ellen!

Don’t Judge the Coffee by its Cup

 A few weekends ago, my sister and I were out cruising late one Saturday night, and we decided to stop for some coffee at a downtown ministry that we occasionally visit.  The Three Trees Coffee House is located in downtown Bellingham, Washington, surrounded by bars and night clubs.  When we pulled up, we could hear the band returning for a second set.  Frequently, local performers put on free concerts at the unassuming coffee spot.  I’d heard the lead guitarist before (Mitchell Senti), and my sister informed me that the drummer used to teach at my old high school.  Small world. 

When we walked in, my eyes took a moment to adjust to the semi-dark atmosphere.  A handful of people lounged on couches and at tables, calmly taking in the music.  On my right, a couple slouched on a loveseat conspiratorially, huddled together with their earthy colored caps covering their eyes.  I kept a wide berth as we walked to the back of the shop to procure our caffeine. 

Although the coffee shop is run by Christians, it keeps a low ministry profile.  Walking in, you don’t see signs that scream “Jesus,” and you don’t get hit over the head with a Bible before you can purchase a cup of joe.  Local churches support the coffee house, in its effort to serve the community in tangible ways.  Many days, you’ll find a smattering of homeless people wandering in, looking for prayer and advice on finding a job or a place to eat.  These couch people, with no coffee in sight, seemed to be homeless, there to get out of the cold and listen to the band, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

While we were ordering our coffee and chatting with the barista and barrister (what is the masculine form of barista anyway?), one of the homeless couch people walked up to the register.  The young woman looked like she was just around 20, the same age as many of my college students.  I’m ashamed to admit that I was immediately relieved that she didn’t smell.  I didn’t want to stand next to a smelly person.  She produced a map, obviously torn from a phone book, and asked all of us if we knew how to get to the nearest train station.  I backed away because, honestly, I’m the worst person to ask for directions.  My sister stepped in and helpfully pointed to where she assumed it would be.  The girl told us they were planning on camping tonight, and she wanted to know if there were any places near the station to camp.  I thought about KOAs and National Parks, but everyone else realized that she wasn’t talking about pitching a tent at an official campsite.  She and her traveling companion wanted to sleep somewhere they wouldn’t be disturbed, somewhere that didn’t cost anything and was away from the prying eyes of police officers.

We got our coffee and found a seat to listen to the music for awhile.  I sat and reflected on the young lady and man and their situation.  Why were they on the move?  What tragic circumstances faced them?

After a few songs, the young man got up and walked to the counter to speak with the barista.  He spent awhile up there, head down, seemingly talking about serious things.  The young woman remained on the couch and listened to the music.  Eventually, their conversation came to a close, and he walked to the young woman, who joined him in leaving the coffee house.  Were they asked to leave, I wondered?

When the next song ended, the barista interrupted one of the musicians.  “Do you know how to write a receipt?  That guy just gave us a $100 donation, and he’d like to have a receipt mailed home.”  I was floored.  The two “homeless vagrants” had quietly donated a significant sum of money to the ministry, and then they silently left.

I stared into my inexpensive cup of incredibly good espresso and shamefully recognized my own folly.  How quick I am to judge others.  I can spew all sorts of verses about how God hates it when we are so quick to judge, but in practice, I’m the worst offender. 

I came to this coffee shop, knowing that despite its less than desirable location and clientele, it’s got some of the best coffee and music in town.  Just like I knew that good coffee sometimes comes in strange packages, I should have remembered that people are often packaged the same way.  God takes this perspective when he looks at all of us:  “The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (I Samuel 16:7). 

Sometimes good coffee comes in ugly mugs.

The Death of Narnia?

 There’s great news for all of us C.S. Lewis lovers:  Disney recently announced that it will produce movies based on the remaining six books in the Chronicles of Narnia (click here to read an article about the announcement in Christainity Today).  In May of 2008, we can expect the next installment Prince Caspian, and if Disney is sticks to schedule, we’ll have a new movie each year from then on. Even though I have great affection for the books, I am excited to see these stories played out on the big screen.  I’m no purist who thinks that books should remain books.  Good stories can translate well across many different media, and Narnia will thrive in theaters as well as on video game consoles (click here to see a preview of the Prince Caspian video game).

That said, I’d heard a disturbing rumor that made me hold off on the celebrations. My sources told me that local schools were getting rid of their copies of Harry Potter books because once the movies came out, kids were no longer interested in reading the books anymore.  I asked the first school librarian I encountered if she would verify this.  She told me that the books gathered dust, so they simply made room for others.

This bothered me.  I’d been under the impression that movies often sent kids back to books, not away from them. I became worried that movies based on beloved books would lead to the books’ eventual demise.

Fortunately, not everyone agrees that movies kill books.  In a recent article in a Philadelphia newspaper, The Bulletin, a reporter interviewed local librarians about children’s interest in the Harry Potter books after watching the movies. The librarians overwhelmingly indicated that the books grew in esteem after the movie’s release (indicating that children must be somehow different in Seattle and Philly, or maybe I just need to do some more fact checking here): 

“According to these librarians, the release of the movies has not hampered children’s interest in reading the books. “We don’t see kids viewing the movies as a shortcut or a substitute,” claimed DuBois.

Many times, people will watch the movie and then come into the library to check out the book. They like to find out for themselves that the books reveal more about this world,” added Wright.

The movies and books seem to work hand-in-hand rather than fight each other, as evidenced by the unprecedented excitement surrounding the release of both the fifth movie and seventh book within 10 days of each other this summer. “Whenever one of the movies comes out, the books become best-sellers again,” Sodano pointed out” (Zauzmer 7/27/07).

Award winning journalist and educator, Jim Trelease, cites impressive statistics that indicate that children and adults alike continue to read books after their movie adaptations are released:  

“In December 2001, six months before the movie debut of “The Fellowship of the Ring,” book sales began to rise for the 65-year-old classic. By the time the film opened, four of the J. R. R. Tolkien books were on the bestseller lists. Even more remarkable was the attendant rise of The Hobbit, a precursor to the Ring trilogy. As a result of movie interest, The Hobbit had its best sales year since its debut in 1937 and increased its annual sales by 500 percent” (http://www.trelease-on-reading.com/harry_movie.html#elvismitchell).

Trelease has also compiled an impressive list of beloved books that have survived movies, sometimes multiple versions.  Among them are such beloved books as To Kill a Mockingbird, Little Women, Charlotte’s Web, and A Christmas Carol.   

One book has been adapted more times than most and stands far above them all: The Bible.  Yes, how could we forget that this one book has been turned into movies great and small, from triumphs of motion picture achievement (The 10 Commandments) to flops of epic proportions (just about anything with Noah in it).  Yet, somehow, even though we’ve seen it hundreds of times, we keep reading it.

Although movies can amplify our experience of biblical stories (for example, Charlton Heston parting the Red Sea and Mel Gibson’s depiction of Jesus’ suffering), no movie will ever substitute for reading the Bible. God’s Word is “living and active,” and we need those powerful words to penetrate the heart and divide the soul and spirit (Heb 4:12). 

What about the Narnia books? Are they, along with the Bible, safe from annihilation by movie adaptation?  So far, they’ve survived a few movies, and at least one radio drama.  Plus, they have the hidden staying power of God’s Word, nestled lovingly within their pages.  I predict a long shelf life for these books.

Greetings and Peace, Beloved Ones!

I’m rapidly approaching the end of the book of John.  Jesus has now died and risen again, and I’m in the 20^th chapter, where the disciples finally see their risen Lord.  No doubt because of all the persecution they faced, the disciples were hiding in a room with the doors locked.  Suddenly, Jesus showed up, and “stood among them and said, “‘Peace be with you!’” 

Because I’m forcing myself to slow down and read this book slowly, verse by verse, I’m reading meaning into phrases that I’d merely glossed over before.  This time, I focused on Jesus’ greeting.  This type of greeting still exists in Israel today.  The modern equivalent is “Shalom.”  It’s their version of “hello.” The first thing Jesus said to them after he rose from the dead is the equivalent of “Hi guys.”  I was struck by the immense understatement.  I mean, the guy just conquered death, for heavens sake, and what did he do? He said a typical “how do you do?” to everyone. 

We can’t forget that this typical Middle Eastern greeting also wishes goodwill and peace. This sort of makes Jesus sound like a hippy, I know, but the “peace” Jesus was talking about wasn’t the “make love not war” kind of peace.  Personally, and this isn’t exactly written in the text, I think he was trying to keep the disciples from wetting themselves when they saw a formerly dead guy walk into their midst, complicated by the fact that he managed to enter their secure, locked room.  He was telling them “peace” as in, “Hey guys, it’s just me, and I’m greeting you like I always greeted you, it’s cool.” 

There’s another layer to this peace that he extends to the disciples.  Eternal peace.  Spiritual peace.  When Jesus tells you “Shalom,” he’s making a promise.  Maybe, we should hear it as a question.  “Peace?  Do you want peace?  I’ve got peace for you.  Come and get it.” 

It made me realize how much I dislike our typical American greeting.  “Hello” sounds more like, “I send you greetings from the gates of hell” than “I send you peace.”  I have other gripes with the English language, but I’ll keep it to “hello” for now. 

I have a friend who is a recent refugee from the Congo.  Her native language is French, and she gives me the best greetings.  She tells me “bonjour,” which means, “good day,” but better yet, she pronounces my name in the French way.  In French, Amy is spelled Aimée, and it means “friend,” “loved one,” and “beloved.”  The verb for love in French is aimer (pronounced the same way as my name).  So, when Hélène greets me, she says “Bonjour Aimée” (Good day, beloved friend).  That’s a greeting that anyone would like!

But did you know that every day, Jesus greets you the same way that my friend Hélène greets me?  He calls you his beloved.  He offers his Shalom.  Song of Solomon 6, verse 3 says, “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine” (ESV).  As I did on my wedding day, Jewish brides say this verse to their grooms (ani l’dodi, v’dodi li).  It signifies the bond between God and man, just like the bond between a bride and her groom.  

Jesus calls you his beloved, his loved one.  He calls you Aimée, or if you’re a guy, I suppose, Aimé. He offers his Shalom.  It’s a question.  How will you respond?

Today, greet somebody in a significant way.  Send them Shalom (peace).  Let them know that they are beloved (Aimée).  Impart wishes of a good day (bon jour).  Skip the hello, and convey something significant, a blessing to your friend. 

Everything’s Coming up Daisies

Basil Plant Update:  It’s alive!  Praise God!  Contrary to popular belief and against all previous experience and expectations, I have single handedly managed to keep a basil plant alive on my window sill for well over a month (click here to see my first basil post).  What’s my secret?  I water it every other day, give it heaps of Miracle Grow, and I talk to it.  Dan says that trash talking my plant shouldn’t help, but apparently, it works wonders (It seems to do best with a sprinkle of belittlement and a hint of malicious sarcasm).

Although he might disapprove of my methods (he doesn’t relish explaining to our neighbors why I’m vehemently dissing our plants), Dan offers regular praises for my thriving basil crop.  I’ll pinch off a few leaves to season our dinner, and he’ll proclaim that the food tastes better than ever.  He even polished off my pathetic attempt at homemade basil (somebody better bail me out and help me with a good recipe). 

So, I suppose I shouldn’t have been so surprised when he came home last week with flowers. At first, I didn’t recognize them as flowers because they didn’t come wrapped in tissue paper and plastic.  No, these were potted flowers, Gerbera Daisies to be precise.  The sunny, petite flowers were thriving in a little pot, just waiting to join my basil on the window sill. 

Dan told me that he was proud of how well I’d handled the basil plant.  It hasn’t died.  We haven’t been poisoned from eating it.  I haven’t thrown it out or given up on it.  Best of all, I didn’t turn it over to him to rescue.  So, he decided to reward me by giving me another plant. 

At first, I didn’t know if I could handle the responsibility.  I had a pretty full plate, regularly watering and yelling at my herbs.  Now, he was adding flowers to the mix (How do I know if Gerbera Daisies thrive on mockery and distain as much as basil does?)  But, what was I to do?  There they were, all lovely and delicate, needing a hefty dose of my tender loving care.

God, our Master Gardner, likes to give us Jr. Gardeners plants.  He’ll entrust us with a small amount, and then he’ll see how we do with it.  If we’re faithful, and we take good care of his garden, he’ll often give us more plants to tend to. Jesus demonstrates this same principle with the parable of the talents (Matthew 25:14-30).  A man went a way on a journey and left three servants in charge of his property.  To each servant, he gave five “talents” (roughly equivalent to $5,000).  Two servants invested the money and got good returns, but one servant was lazy and buried his money in the dirt.  When the master got back, he praised the two servants who took good care of his property and made it prosper.  He told each of them, “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things.  Come and share in your master’s happiness!’ (21). But he fired the lazy servant, who didn’t invest and didn’t even earn 1% interest in a savings account! 

When we are faithful in the little things that God gives us, we shouldn’t be surprised if God decides to give us more gifts and responsibilities.  Sometimes, it might seem a little overwhelming, but God knows how much we can handle.  He promises to never give us a burden bigger than he is strong (Philippians 4:13).