The Gift of Small Things

The Gift of Small Things

“Who dares despise the day of small things?”

(Zechariah 4:10)

My friends rode bicycles, played basketball, and hung out at the soda fountain. They went to movies, had slumber parties, and roller skated. Playing like kids do during summer vacation, my buddies were having a blast, while I was flat on my back in bed – very sick – for the entire season, watching Batman and Gilligan’s Island and Andy Griffith. In black and white. Ten-years-old, I was not happy about my situation.

A family friend, Aunt Speedy, came to visit me at the beginning of that summer with a big box full of little gifts just for me. But her instructions were clear: I could only open one present a day. The gifts weren’t presents that cost a lot of money, but presents that brought a lot of encouragement. Funny stories, home-made treats, hand-written poems and prayers. Most definitely the “small things” referred to in Zechariah 4:10. Not on the scale of a temple being rebuilt, but definitely on the scale of a life being rebuilt. And certainly helpful to a devastated young girl whose life had been put on hold. Who needed something to look forward to each day.

“Who dares despise the day of small things?” the angel asked the prophet Zechariah, who was faced with a “mighty mountain” of rubble that was once the temple in Jerusalem. Daunted by the massive rebuilding project before them, the people were discouraged. God sent a message: Do not despise these small beginnings” (NLT).

Aunt Speedy wasn’t my aunt; she was that sweet little lady who was everyone’s aunt at our church. But the way she lived her life reminds me today, in the aftermath rubble of Harvey, that helping in small ways matters greatly. Big or little. It’s all the same to God. Even simple words of encouragement.

Hunkering down during Hurricane Harvey

A fly fishing guide in Sedona, Arizona, once told us a story about a flood that battered the area where he lived.

The rain pounded, the wind gusted, the water churned, and the fish hunkered down as the flood ravaged the gorge, the creek, and its banks. But the local fish survived, he told us, because they hunkered down together as the flood waters pummeled the creek.

I took notes while he talked, knowing that God was speaking to me. Hunkering down seemed a good thing to do, especially in a storm.

The people of Houston, Texas, have hunkered down together. Turing off our television sets does not turn off the lingering images of roof-top rescues, nursing home evacuations, and homeless families. For thousands, earthly possessions are lost, future plans are uncertain, yet gratefulness has not been swept away by the storm and hopelessness has not ruled the day. Houston is hunkering down.

One synonym for the verb hunker is kneel. One definition for the verb hunker is to hold stubbornly to a position. To kneel, holding stubbornly to a position. Sounds like prayer to me. Our fishing guide told us that the fish that survived the raging storm swam down deep. Hunkering down, they rode out the storm together. Houston is doing the same.

And not just Houston, either.

“How can we help?” “What can I do?” Our hearts are moved in compassion. And compassion spurs us to action. We want to help.

Hunkering down before the Lord, I’m asking Him one question each day: “What can I do today, Lord, that I normally wouldn’t do?” Help me not to concentrate on what I can’t do, but give me one thing, Lord, just one thing that I can do to help.

Thank you, Lord, for Your Presence, for the desire to help others, and for the gift of hunkering down. In turbulent times, may our faith grow in you and not be swept away by the storms. Amen.