SCRAPS

The Value of What Remains

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.” — 2 Corinthians 4:16 (NIV)

People often refer to we Baby Boomers as “elderly.” That term really irks me. While technically true, it doesn’t feel like a very positive label for simply reaching our seventies and beyond. I much prefer another term often used for this stage of life: “Golden Years.”

But for many of us, the gold has lost some of its luster, tarnished by the losses and limitations that often come with the passing years. Maybe the singing voice that once soared can no longer hold the high notes. Vision may deteriorate until the world appears as though through fog or the steam in a shower. Hearing may begin to fade. Loss of mobility may require the use of a walker or wheelchair to get around. We may no longer be able to work, serve, care for others, or do many of the things that once gave our lives purpose. When we measure what remains against what we once had, it can begin to feel like scraps—mere remnants of the life we once lived.

Scraps are seldom seen as valuable. They are merely leftovers.

But life can leave some with scraps at any age. Illness, disability, tragedy, loss, or unexpected circumstances can change a life. Abilities disappear. Careers end. Dreams change. The future once imagined may suddenly look very different.

Looking at what remains, we may ask: Lord, what could You possibly do with these scraps?

My brother, Tim, had an incredible career in television ministry. For seventeen years, he served as television director for Calvary Church, where the services and programs were televised. He taught television directing, production, and editing at Christ for the Nations, traveled overseas to televise crusades, and became a highly respected director whose work included directing and editing music videos for some of the top names in gospel music. One of his video productions even earned a gold record. He also went on multiple mission trips, including one that involved smuggling Bibles into China.

But Tim wasn’t a giver only through his ministry. He has always had a naturally happy disposition. He reached out to family and friends, opened his home to others, and freely gave of himself. Tim was a giver.

Then Tim inherited from our father a genetic muscle disease that progressively robbed him of the use of his feet and legs. This did not stop his ministry—he went about his work using a motorized wheelchair.

Then the disease took an insidious turn that stripped him of the life he had known. He lost the use of his hands. Then Tim also developed the same eye diseases I have. He is now legally blind and able to see little more than shapes.

Today my precious brother is, in many ways, a prisoner in his own body—sentenced to a nursing-home bed and dependent on others for virtually every physical need. Aides feed him, bathe him, dress him, comb his hair, reposition him, and attend to his most basic personal needs. About the only thing he can still do independently is use his voice to tell Siri to make or answer a telephone call.

And when Tim and I talk, more often than not, I still hear in his voice that same cheerful disposition he had before disease took so much from him. I hear him laugh and joke with the aides who come into his room, talking with them as though they are friends rather than simply the people who care for him.

His circumstances have given him every understandable human reason to become discouraged, frustrated, or bitter. Yet disease hasn’t taken his joy, his faith, or his trust in God.

Folks—that’s not natural!

That kind of joy doesn’t come from a naturally happy disposition, nor does it depend upon life going well. The joy of the Lord is available even in the most dire situations. Its Source remains unchanged, even when everything around us changes.

One day I told Tim that I see him as a modern-day Job. I even gave him a new name: “Timmy Job.”

In the Bible, we read about how Job lost almost everything. Yet in the midst of his suffering, he declared:

“Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him…” — Job 13:15 (KJV)

I see evidence of that same trust and joy in Tim. Could they be among the scraps he still has to give?

His ministry once extended far beyond the walls of a church. Today, his mission field is right there in his nursing-home bed. He can no longer travel across the world carrying Bibles, enter a television studio, or stand before a classroom. He doesn’t have to go anywhere to find people to minister to anymore. God brings them to his bedside.

The aides, nurses, and staff who care for him encounter a man who laughs with them, encourages them, and demonstrates a trust in God that his circumstances have been unable to destroy. They minister to Tim’s physical needs, while he gives them something they might not expect from someone who has lost so much physically—joy, laughter, encouragement, and an unwavering trust in God. But giving does not flow in only one direction.

Tim is also blessed by friends who find ways to minister to him within the limitations of his world. One dear friend calls him every evening and spends nearly two hours with him, playing inspirational sermons and Bible studies. When a telephone is one of Tim’s few remaining connections to the outside world, those nightly calls mean far more than an ordinary phone conversation. Another friend comes every week or two, bringing conversation, friendship, prayer—and usually a box of donuts. Those calls and visits reach into Tim’s very limited world and help keep his spirits high.

Maybe that’s where we make our mistake: We measure the value of the remnant by how small it appears rather than by the difference it can make in someone else’s life.

But God doesn’t need to restore everything that has been lost in order to use what remains.

When I reflect on all Tim has endured and see how he still uses the little he has left to touch the lives of others, I have to look at my own scraps differently. Despite the things I can no longer do, I still have so much more available to me than Tim does.

And what about you?  What do you have available that could make a difference in someone else’s life?

A telephone call to someone who is lonely. A listening ear. A word of encouragement. A prayer with someone who is hurting. A little time—or even a box of donuts.

Don’t dismiss something because it seems small. What seems like a scrap to you may be exactly what someone else needs.

Maybe the question isn’t: Lord, could something this small and insignificant really make a difference?

Maybe the better prayer is: Lord, please use what seems small or insignificant to me to bless someone else.

Because what looks like scraps in our hands may have far greater value than we ever imagined when we place them in God’s hands.

CLOSING BLESSING

May God help us recognize the value in what we have to give and give us willing hearts to place it in His hands. May we never dismiss as insignificant something He can use to touch another life. And may we always remember that little is much when God is in it.

Thanks for reading Hope in the Journey! If this message encouraged you, please click Like, share it with someone who may need it, and leave a comment. I would love to hear how God has used something seemingly small in your life to bless someone else.

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