And He who sits on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Revelation 21:5

I have this do-hickey thing as a staple in my various kitchens over the years. Much of its history is a mystery to me. What I do know is that it belonged to my Mama, and before that it was her Mama’s.

When I was younger it used to be a staple in my Grandmother’s kitchen. All I knew about it then was, it was near the kitchen sink, it sort of looked like a funnel but not really, so it couldn’t be useful for much, and it was ugly. As I have gotten older, my vision has progressed. While my contact prescription continues to be an ever present indicator of my increasing age, my perspective has changed dramatically.

This one time useless, unattractive, piece of kitchenware is not what I once thought it to be. In recent years I have begun a new kitchen adventure, one that is almost cathartic in nature. I have discovered that I like to can, pickle, and preserve foods. It is odd to me that after all these years, the little gadget would be resurrected to a new life. It lay dormant for many years, yet as I have begun to use it I am often comforted by it and left to wonder. I wonder as I pickle okra if I resemble my Mam-maw in any way and it occurred to me, that I must. I ventured into the kitchen at the end of a good but long day, that came rolling in with such swiftness I had hardly recovered from the day before. It had been marked with sadness for me, for reasons I do not even fully understand and as I went to bed that night I was heavy hearted. I awoke and began the day at breakneck speed, before 8am I was jolted into the reality of the world I live in, when Shelton had a complete meltdown over a siren alarming on a generator. Ears covered, leg bloodied, and crying, he stood frozen on an asphalt sea of nothingness. Thankful for an older sister who seems to comfort him better than I can somedays, I continued on with my tasks.

As the day continued to speed by with the same pace as it began, I found myself looking at 5:30 pm and dinner time disdainfully. As I ventured into the kitchen to prepare dinner, I chose the leftover dinner option and got to work on pickling those 7 quarts of okra. I suppose it was an attempt made in the hope of relinquishing some of that distress I was carrying.

Early that morning I was asked the question “What are you thankful for?” My honest answer at the time was “Air-conditioning.” As the day was drawing to a close I found myself thankful for this do-hickey, likely called a canning funnel or something like it. I am thankful for a busy day, dirty dishes, and tons of dirty laundry for they are the evidence of a full life. I am thankful for the sound of Ball jar lids sealing in the kitchen. I am thankful that as I prepare for bed at night, I can wake up again the next day knowing the absolute Truth that mercy comes new with every sunrise.

Just moments before I snapped the picture of the balloons headed Heavenward I was sitting in a somber service of remembrance. I was moved by the courage of the Mama and Daddy. They’d lost their precious one and they were making a public plea. Their Dear One had been a recent victim of distracted driving and they had made the most of the opportunity and occasion and implored those present not have cause to experience the pain and hurt they were in that moment.

There are times in life when we are given a captive audience and we can make the most of such an opportunity or not. I sat in awe of their courage, strength and dignity. The Mama and the Daddy, in that moment, they were proving themselves trustworthy. They’d asked those in attendance to avoid distractions while driving. They were speaking to the loved ones seated around them asking them to reconsider picking up their phone the next time it begged for their attention while they were driving.

I listened intently as I sat amongst a dozen or so people, all of whom I share a genetic makeup, as we honored the life of a precious one, who also had running through her body a common DNA as those people surrounding me, the same thread as her Mama. I marveled at these dozen or so people. To my right, my cousin, Dinger as she is best known, more of a sister-like figure to me than actual cousin. To my left, my Mama. A few moments ago I’d heard a statement from her sister Nancy that I already knew.

“You look just like Mama.”

As the service ebbed and flowed and the sting of tears sat just beneath the surface words of joy and remembrance filled my ears, memories filled my mind and I held my Mama’s hands. As my eyes looked back and forth, I noticed Mama’s hands looked just like the ones slightly to the left in front of me, propped up on the back of the chair, they looked like the ones to the right of Dinger, and the set directly in front on me. Those hands, were my Mam-Maw’s hands.

I distinctly remember them wrapped around a Hull Brown Drip Pattern coffee cup. She would use those hands to pull weeds, feed animals, quilt and sew. Those rugged hands would hang up clothes to dry and hug tiny frames, they’d wipe tiny hands and faces with scalding hot water and Clorox saturated dish rags. Those hands could make a sweet tea that I only wish I could replicate. I’m quite sure when Mam-Maw made it to Heaven Jesus would have declared that she was in charge of the Sweet Tea making. Despite not having had it in 30 years my mouth still longs for that Devine sweet nectar.

As I sat there and listened, I looked at the ones seated around me I thanked the King. I thanked Him for good childhood memories that dozens of cousins, aunts, and uncles filled. Long summers of adventures and fun. I thanked Him that I never eat a kraut and weenie that I don’t think of my Aunt Sis and the summer my sister and I had deduced that she must’ve been pregnant because all she ate was kraut and weenies and she’d recently purchased a high chair. Two coincidences developed from some lean economic times and a practical need being met. We cleaned her entire house that day. We figured she didn’t need to be on her feet in her condition and advanced age. We sat on the steps leading to her den, formulated a plan befitting a seven- and five-year-old.

I thanked Him that the one physical feature that all of us share are early onset crows feet and laugh lines. They are evidence of our good sense of humor and laughter. We are a funny lot, those that share the name and genetics of that side of my family.

I thanked the King for the life of the beautiful young lady who had left our world way too soon and tragically, but I did so knowing that she would not be forgotten. She had not died in vain for the message was given, and the warning heeded. I thanked Him for allowing me to be made up of good, strong stock. His word says that laughter and a cheerful heart are good like a medicine and I thanked that He has abundantly gifted me with those very things.

I get stuck sometimes.

And when I get stuck, my responses are revealing.

Sometimes I get stuck in traffic, and instead of trusting God’s timing, I let resentment grow and give birth to anger at others I blame for dictating the pace of my journey.

Sometimes I get stuck because of my own choices. Instead of choosing the path of wisdom, I let a craving for adventure send me rushing off the path, only to find myself spinning my wheels in mire and mud.

Sometimes I get stuck in ruts and routines. Instead of navigating my day with purpose and awareness, I just go through the motions, failing to notice beauty or need.

When I find myself feeling trapped by the actions of others or by my own choices, the real-time condition of my heart is revealed.

Anger, rebellion, or apathy in my attitude or actions are signs that I’ve neglected my heart, that I’ve gone headlong into my day rather than stopping to spend time with my Father.

I need a love refill.

And sometimes I find myself paralyzed by a sudden health or relationship crisis, not knowing what to do next. When I find myself caught in circumstances out of my control, fear can freeze me in place.

I need a love reminder.

So when I get stuck, what do I do?

I turn to God’s Word.

I remind myself that God’s love is available to me not because of what I can do, but because of what Jesus did for me on the cross. This perfect love reached me not when I was at my best, but when I was at my very worst — trapped in my sin, helpless, with no way out. The unfailing love of my Father rescued me not when I was worthy or making progress or doing good things, but at the right time, when my need was the greatest, when I was stuck in my sin. God’s amazing love never fails.

But God proves his own love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
Romans 5:8 CSB

I remember Jesus’ words to a group of believers who were stuck, who were doing the right things, but had neglected this first love.

I know your works….But I have this against you: You have abandoned the love you had at first. Remember then how far you have fallen; repent, and do the works you did at first. 
Revelation 2:2, 4-5a CSB

So, when I get stuck, I do these things:

I stop and examine my heart.

I listen for my Father’s voice.

I remember the height of His unfailing love, a love that can reach me no matter how far I fall.

I turn around and choose to go God’s way rather than my own. I repent, confessing any anger or apathy or self-reliance and ask my Father to renew my heart.

And I do what I did at first.

I do what I did when I was first intoxicated with the love of God. In those days, a friend showed me a simple way to start my day with God’s Word. I look at the date on the calendar and read the Proverb that matches that number. Then I read the same chapter number in Psalms, add 30 to the number and read that Psalm, then keep adding 30 until I’ve read five Psalms. (For example, on the 16th I would read Proverbs 16, Psalm 16, Psalm 46, Psalm 76, Psalm 106, and Psalm 136.)

Like me, the psalmists got stuck and cried out for help. The psalms remind me of the character of God, and they remind me to rely on His unfailing love rather than spinning my wheels trying to rescue myself. The psalms give me words to shape my worship and my prayers when I can’t find my own. And the proverbs show me the difference between foolishness and wisdom and help me choose God’s way.

This return to Psalms and Proverbs, to the rhythms of the Bible’s songs and practical wisdom, allows me to re-establish habits of the Spirit that restore my heart and help me find my way once more to the path of joy.

What can you do when you get stuck?

Stop.
Listen.
Remember.
Turn around.
Do what you did at first.

When you get stuck, tend to your heart.

Spend time with your first love like you did at the beginning. Read God’s Word and listen to His voice. Ask Him to show you what to do. Trust His unfailing love.

You don’t have to stay stuck.
Your Father will make a way out for you.
Follow Him.

Let me experience your faithful love in the morning, for I trust in you.
Reveal to me the way I should go because I appeal to you. Psalm 143:8 CSB

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you. Psalm 32:8 NIV