Skip to main content

The Slow Martyrs


I have a heart for the persecuted and for the martyr.   Movies like "Brave Heart" stir up a fire within me that makes me want to yell, "Freedom!"   To die for a cause and for a reason.  

To live and die so that others will be able to say, "Wow, their life meant something." 

People with fortitude and grit and dedication, even to death, inspire me.  

Please know that I am not minimizing the martyr by any means.

It is the boring, mundane and unsung life that frightens me.  

What if my entire life consists of standing on the land that God called me to stand?  What if I'm only a wife and a mother?  What if I'm only a Pastor's wife or a teacher?

What about the slow martyrs?  Those faithful and dedicated and unsung martyrs.  The faithful saints who sacrifice their health and life for the work they believe in?  Great and noble men and women who lay themselves on the altar. 

This thought was running through my mind over and over this week at Kids Camp.   My job was dishes, and I lived a little of the life of the Camp Director and family.   

These people work tirelessly and from morning until night preparing food, unplugging toilets, cleaning and repairing.  Working hard, hot and long hours.  They are heroes!  Unsung. 

I met an older couple living in a RV, traveling the country to volunteer where no one else will go.  This couple skipped the golf retirement, for service.  They doggedly fixed and cleaned and volunteered.  

 Don't let the sweet old woman fool you; she still has fire coming out of her eyes kept the dishcloths and towels washed, painted and cleaned.

The director, dorm leaders and volunteers who have spent a month here at camp giving and serving so kids have the best week of their lives.  

The world is full of unsung heroes and slow martyrs.  

Lives spent on serving others.

Look around.  There are true heroes among us.








Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Starting a Journey

September 3, 2010 Originally posted How to Begin a Journey 1. Pick a destination or simply start. 2. Plan a detailed itinerary or just take the first step. 3. Pack everything or travel lightly. I am choosing to just begin. To leave behind the baggage, pick up a day pack, and go. Several nights before we moved to Ogallala, I was praying about the transition when I heard that still, small voice of God. In that moment, I knew He heard my Heart's Cry. He hears every whispered plea, every unspoken longing. If I truly sit with that truth, it humbles me. What courage, boldness, passion, and decisiveness I have when I remember: He never leaves or forsakes me. He provides for my every need according to His riches in glory. My hope is to encourage you He hears your Heart's Cry too.

1940 Canned Apple Butter: Family Root Cellar

I loved exploration as a child.  From opening the door and going down the stairs to get something from my Grandma's root cellar or exploring old homesteads while checking cows.  I credit my Mom with teaching us to appreciate those things that represented the people who had gone before us. When I moved with my husband and boys to a house on the family ranch-I began exploring immediately.  This was the house my Aunt and Uncle lived in during my childhood.  My Grandparents had lived there and many other families dating back to 1900 when it was built.   With two little boys in tow, I made my way to the root cellar and found a treasure cove.  Old text books belonging to the original family who had been a teacher, the original medicine cupboard, tools, trash and memorabilia.   I felt like an archeologist sifting through layers of debris representing generations and culture.  And I was.  I hauled truckloads of trash to the dump (some...

Diabetes-Opened to Disease OR Open to Connecting to my Strengths

I've tried living in denial for two years after the big D diagnoses was handed over.  Honestly, I just don't want to talk about it.  Outwardly seemly calm and disconnected from it.  Inwardly terrified. As a plant that is stressed is open to disease, injury and death so to our bodies are.  I opened myself up to this.  Stress, lack of sleep, bad nutrition, overweight and lack of exercise.  For some reason I believed that if I ran fast enough and worked hard enough, I would outrun my family genes.  The tiny room in the back of my brain locked with a key has kept the fear of this disease at bay even though I could hear its screaming when life quieted down. My Aunt died piece by piece to this disease.  First a heart attack and quadruple by-pass.  Then a toe.  Next a foot.  Legs came next along with more heart attacks.  Kidneys shutting down.  She died very young. When I was little, my Aunt Ally gave herself s...