It’s coming upon a fun time of year around here!

For the last few weeks, I’ve been working, with the help of many volunteers, on getting Families Building Faith’s Easter Basket Collection up and running.  Our basement houses the system we utilize to build baskets for children and families in need.  We started this outreach about 12 years ago, and it has built momentum–thanks be to God–ever since.

It is interesting how the mind works.  Many memories have accumulated over the years. The ones that seem to return and beckon for my attention are the ones solidified around loved ones who have gone home ahead of us.  In the beginning of putting away Christmas and digging out Easter, it was easy to stay focused on the tasks and to keep my thoughts busy.  But as the last bits of the system fell into place, my mind began to return to those who were once here but are now no longer.

When I first started FBF, my parents weren’t sure what to think. As the years went by, and the Easter and Christmas outreaches grew, they both offered their support in variety of ways.  My mom liked to help with prepping for outreaches but my dad was more limited in what he could do. You see, he worked as a used car salesman.  His hours were long, and he didn’t have a lot of time to come when we had events.  His day didn’t end until late in the evening, which precluded him from much of what we did. Yet, given the chance, he would load his car with toys or baskets and transport them to varying agencies and food banks. And the more he saw, the more he’d tell others about what we were doing.

Then life changed.  He was diagnosed with esophageal cancer.  We all knew that wasn’t good.  Being in sales, my dad needed to continue to work, but much to our surprise, his application for disability was approved quickly.  In large part, because of the terminal nature of such a diagnosis.  The government and medicine knew he had little time left.

Going from a life of long hours working to an early retirement of sorts seemed like the best scenario for his situation, but my dad was never one who liked to sit around.  Even on his occasional weekends off, he would putter around until the sun set.  He just enjoyed doing something useful whether gardening, mowing the lawn, socializing, doing household chores, bike riding, swimming, or canning vegetables; you name it.  The special thing was he could do it all with an incredibly genuine smile and joyful heart.

Since the beginning of FBF, I have longed for our family to be a part of what we do. And so, as Easter approached after his battle with cancer had begun, my wish was granted. My mom, who had long been helping, convinced my dad to come and see what he could do. Though still recovering from major surgery and treatment, he would make his way downstairs and do the tasks that we laid out. Sometimes it would be wrapping chalk. Other times, it would be sorting through things. All sorts of little tasks. After an hour or so, he’d return to the family room to rest and regain his strength, only to head back down to the basement once his energy had rebounded.

I remember, in those moments, being so incredibly grateful that he could finally see what was happening as he had only ever seen the end result–beautiful baskets.  Though his eyes were often tired, a slow twinkle reset in them.  As we prepared to launch into building, he was soon eager to be present. And indeed he was with me from start to finish that year, the only year he had left in his life here on earth. He became convinced God was doing something amazing–“miracles” as he would call them since he was around to see the donations coming in, the generosity of many, the kind hearts of those helping, and the inexplicable ways it all came together to produce something breathtaking.

And so one day, as I was labeling the candy bins, he was standing near.  As I was struggling with trying to decide how many pieces of each kind of candy should go in the baskets, he said, “Michelle, they need more.“

With a big grin, he smiled, “Kids love candy!!  That’s what I know!  You should put more in the baskets.”

He was right.  Kids do love candy.  Funny thing was I thought they were getting more than enough candy until he said that.  My initial thought was, “What?  They are fine!” But my hesitation to designate more had caught my attention.

It is an interesting thing to ponder the subtle effects of a quiet fear.  You see, I was afraid when I started FBF.  I knew God was leading me to do so, but I wasn’t sure I could do it.  I wasn’t sure anyone would want to be a part or would want to walk more closely with God and His ways on a more daily basis. I had no idea where or what it would lead to. And so, in those unknowns, I was keenly aware of feeling afraid. Yet, I could not bring myself to say no to what was being asked.

When I stepped out in faith–and past the fear–to start it, I knew we needed to reach out to help others in addition to being in His word and holding activities to grow fellowship.  And yet, again, there was trepidation in those steps.  Who could we help? How could we do so? Where would the help arise from when we were tapped out?  What were the ways to take?  Each step often being taken before the end results were ever in view, and believe me, sometimes there were long pauses and great trembling.  But as with before, I knew I couldn’t say “not I…not us.”  It just didn’t seem right to refuse under the misguided thoughts of “You, O God, don’t really need us to reach out to others, do You? You can move anyone, and You really must have meant that call to be for others.  You know the ones who You have given the fine gift of ‘serving’ to. ”  Yet, I knew that wasn’t true.  God was asking us to live His ways, which included helping others.

So, despite many years of building baskets, there I was on the floor taping number tags to the candy bins afraid…afraid to give more than what I could account for at that moment. Afraid of giving away too much. Somehow becoming governed by a quiet fear that wanted to underscore God would not bring enough. Really? The irony of my lack of faith and my father’s faithful encouragement beckoned for me to take a closer look at what I was feeling.

What was I truly embracing in those thoughts?  A fear that was telling me I would fall short; we would be lacking; someone would go without; there would not be enough?  Or, the God Who had been bringing more than enough for so long?  Was I really trusting Him with the potential that we could be even more generous than I had believed? Was I acting in faith by pushing myself to trust in God in that possibility, or was I instead staying put in the status quo so I could avoid having to stretch my faith yet again…

Here we are at that stage again.  I’ve been placing the tags on the candy bins and waiting for the last few empty ones to fill.  Though a couple stand bare, I trust that the candy will rise in them. It’s been six years since I heard those words from my dad. He’s been gone five years now. And each time I walk by those shelves and have a moment to think, I hear him whisper:

“Trust Him and not fear.  Look and see if it might be holding you back in something?  Don’t let it.  Give more; trust more.  You know He is faithful; trust Him to meet you here.  You know He will.”

There was as an amazing freedom gained that day when my dad challenged me to find more faith.  To trust God that He could bring even more than I had dared to imagine. Now four shelving units full.  Grace and happiness continues each season as we watch those bins rise and fall and then rise again.  Trusting that what appears to be gone can be replenished.  Joy and delight displayed on the faces of the builders as they exclaim, “There’s so much candy in this basket!”  And faith being nurtured in the twinkling eyes of the children who rejoice at what they see their taste buds will delight in…

Greater grace abounding from giving freely rather than living in the fear of holding back.

A truth I try to search for and a question I challenge myself regularly with in growing my faith.  Am I embracing God or something else?  A lesson and memory I am forever grateful for.

“Those who cling to worthless idols forfeit the grace that could be theirs.”  Jonah 2:8