Grace Across Borders: Biblical Lessons and Global Legends

Faith. Life. Culture. Grace.

Weekly reflections to read or listen to, wherever you are.

Author: Tameka Edwards Gooden

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I am a life long learner who is committed to learning and empowering others.
  • Grace To Use What You Already Have

    Grace To Use What You Already Have

    🎧 Prefer to listen? Hear this week’s reflection below.

    Hi I am Tameka and welcome to Grace Across Borders.

    It’s Thursday.

    This blog is already late.

    I’m supposed to be preparing for class right now as I write,

    But this morning, my heart was heavy.

    Not necessarily sad. Just full.

    I’m still recovering from surgery, lying here with plenty of other things I should probably be doing, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to write this first on my phone while it is fresh in my mind.

    Maybe that’s because what God placed on my heart didn’t seem concerned with my schedule.

    And maybe this blog isn’t late after all. Maybe I’m writing it exactly when I needed to.

    Because this morning, I keep hearing one question:

    What do you have in your hand?

    So class prep will have to wait a little while

    But before I dive in, I want to say thank you so much for your prayers and well wishes during this season of my life. I am so grateful for all of my family and friends who have checked on me, prayed for me, and encouraged me. I am especially thankful for my husband and our children for everything they did to keep me grounded, cared for, and supported through the procedure and now through recovery.

    I don’t take any of it for granted.

    Thank you. ❤️

    Scripture

    Exodus 4:2 – “Then the LORD said to him, ‘What is that in your hand?’ ‘A staff,’ he replied.”

    Before we get to the staff, let’s back up just a little.

    Moses was born during a dangerous time for the Israelites in Egypt, because Pharaoh had ordered the death of Hebrew baby boys. His life was spared, and through some extraordinary series of events, he was raised in Pharaoh’s household by his own mom hired as the nanny.

    Years later, after killing an Egyptian who was beating a Hebrew, Moses fled Egypt and settled in Midian. The man who had once lived in Pharaoh’s household was now tending sheep in the wilderness.

    That’s where God met him.

    At the burning bush in Exodus 3, God told Moses that He had seen the suffering of His people, heard their cries, and was going to deliver them from Egypt. And then came the part Moses wasn’t expecting:

    God was sending him.

    Moses had questions.

    Who am I to go to Pharaoh? What should I tell the Israelites? What if they don’t believe me? What if they don’t listen?

    Moses could see plenty of reasons why he wasn’t equipped for what God was asking him to do.

    And in the middle of that conversation, God asked a remarkably simple question:

    “What is that in your hand?”

    A staff.

    It was an ordinary shepherd’s tool, probably something Moses carried every day without giving it much thought. God instructed him to throw it down, and it became one of the signs through which God demonstrated His power and assured Moses that He would be with him.

    And that’s important, because the power was never in the staff.

    The larger story makes that clear. Moses still worried about his ability to speak and even asked God to send someone else. God provided Aaron to help him, but He did not withdraw Moses’ calling.

    That ordinary staff would later appear throughout Israel’s deliverance from Egypt, but it wasn’t Moses or the staff performing the miracle.

    It was God working through what Moses surrendered to Him.

    Maybe that’s why this question has been sitting with me differently:

    What is in your hand?

    Folklore

    Across the world in Chinese folklore is the story of Ma Liang and the Magic Paintbrush.

    Ma Liang was a poor boy who loved to draw and dreamed of becoming a painter. There was only one problem:

    He couldn’t afford a paintbrush.

    Still, Ma Liang drew.

    He practiced wherever and however he could, using what was available to him rather than allowing what he lacked to keep him from developing his gift.

    One night, Ma Liang dreamed that an old man gave him a magical paintbrush. When he awoke, the brush was there, and Ma Liang soon discovered that whatever he painted with it came to life.

    But Ma Liang didn’t use the brush simply to make himself rich. He used it to help those in need, painting things that could make their lives better. And when a greedy emperor learned of the brush and wanted its power for himself, Ma Liang refused to allow his gift to become merely a tool for someone else’s greed.

    The boy who once didn’t even own a paintbrush eventually found himself responsible for deciding how he would use the one placed in his hand.

    Of course, there is an important difference between folklore and Scripture. Moses’ staff wasn’t magical, and the biblical story isn’t teaching us to believe in the power of objects.

    Moses’ power came from God.

    But this old Chinese tale gives me a beautiful picture of something I needed to remember:

    Sometimes what matters isn’t everything you don’t have. Sometimes what matters is what you do with what has been placed in your hand.

    Reflection

    This week, that lesson became very personal.

    A friend has been encouraging me for some time to make motivational videos, and I’ve had every reason in the world why I wasn’t ready.

    What am I going to say that hasn’t already been said?

    Maybe when I feel better.

    Maybe when I have the right equipment.

    Maybe when the setup looks right.

    Maybe later.

    Then, while recovering from surgery, with my medication kicking in and sleep calling my name, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to make the video.

    Just do it.

    So I did.

    Then I went to sleep.

    Around 3 a.m., I woke up and looked at my phone.

    I was overwhelmed.

    There were messages across Instagram, Facebook, WhatsApp, Snapchat, and other places. Family, friends, and even strangers were reaching out personally to tell me how something I said had encouraged them or met them exactly where they were.

    Then yesterday, still tired and recovering, I recorded a podcast for my Genesis class.

    I didn’t even have to wait an hour for the grade.

    100%.

    My professor wrote:

    “There is nothing that I could change about this podcast.”

    His response gave me the push to make the second video.

    And again, people responded.

    That’s when I started paying attention.

    Because this wasn’t just about one video or one podcast.

    A teacher once took Grace Across Borders, which began as a class assignment, saw something in it, and encouraged me to keep writing.

    A friend kept encouraging me to make videos when I wasn’t convinced I had anything worth saying.

    People responded when I finally did.

    My professor affirmed something in my voice when I was physically at one of my lowest points.

    Then today, with this blog already written and me still wondering whether this was really what I should be talking about, I joined our 11 a.m. PUSH prayer time.

    And what did we spend time discussing?

    Matthew 25.

    A servant had been entrusted with something, but fear led him to bury it instead of using it.

    At that point, I almost had to laugh.

    Okay, Lord. I’m listening.

    There’s a Jamaican saying I’ve known practically all my life:

    “Tun yuh hand mek fashion.”

    Use what you have. Work with what’s available.

    Apparently, I could understand that wisdom for everybody except myself.

    But I also realized my hesitation wasn’t only about equipment or timing.

    There was a time when I talked openly about what God was doing in my life. If He answered a prayer, I talked about it. If He opened a door, I talked about it. I loved giving praise reports because I wanted people to know:

    Look what God did!

    Somewhere along the way, though, I became quieter.

    I heard comments like, “You don’t have to talk about everything.”

    It wasn’t one person, one comment, or one experience. I’ve talked before about other things that contributed to me losing pieces of my voice. It happened gradually.

    My praise reports became safer.

    Smaller.

    More generic.

    I never stopped seeing God move.

    I just stopped talking about it the same way.

    And perhaps that’s what God is doing in me right now.

    I’m not simply learning how to make videos.

    I’m finding my voice again.

    Jesus said that people don’t light a lamp and then put it under a bowl. They put it on a stand so it can give light to the house (Matthew 5:15).

    For too long, I worried about whether the people around me would understand, approve, or even want to hear what I had to say.

    But maybe they’re not always the audience.

    Maybe somebody I’ll never meet personally will hear something at exactly the moment they need it.

    And if God gives me something to say that could encourage that person, why am I letting somebody else’s opinion decide whether I say it?

    So I looked at my own hands.

    I have a phone.

    I have a voice.

    I have a story.

    I have Scripture.

    I have an education.

    I have experiences I didn’t ask for but survived.

    I have praise reports I stopped telling.

    I have a testimony.

    And before you think this is only about me, look at your own hands.

    What do you have?

    Maybe you can cook, teach, sing, write, fix things, organize, listen, or encourage.

    Maybe you’ve survived something that could help someone else survive it too.

    Maybe people keep recognizing something in you that you keep brushing aside.

    Maybe you’ve been praying for God to give you something while He’s been saying:

    Look at what I’ve already given you.

    Pay attention.

    Not every gift needs to become a business.

    Not every talent needs a platform.

    Not every open door means you have to walk through it.

    But what God has entrusted to you deserves more than being buried because you’re afraid, insecure, waiting for perfection, or worried about what somebody might say.

    And as if I needed one more reminder, before I finished putting this blog together, my sister-in-law sent me information about a Seventh Day Baptist media and communications internship.

    The deadline is August 31.

    So apparently, I have a few more days to decide whether I’m still young enough to be somebody’s intern. 😂

    I don’t know what I’ll decide.

    But I noticed the door.

    And then I discovered something else.

    Remember the class I was worried about preparing for when I started writing this?

    It’s tomorrow.

    Not today.

    And there I was worrying that following what was on my heart was putting me behind.

    I had to smile.

    I don’t know where all of this leads, but I don’t think I need to know yet.

    I’m grateful that I’m finding my voice again.

    And as long as God puts words in my mouth, I want the courage to say them.

    So maybe the question isn’t, When will I finally have everything I need?

    Maybe it’s the question God asked Moses:

    “What is that in your hand?”

    And once you’ve answered that, perhaps there’s one more:

    What are you going to do with it?

    Prayer

    Let us pray.

    Holy, righteous, and eternal Father God, we give You all the glory and honor that is due unto You. Thank You for being an on-time God and for never being too tired to hear from us.

    Lord, You deserve to be recognized, worshiped, and adored in this space simply because of who You are.

    Sometimes we look at what You’ve placed in our hands and decide it isn’t enough. Sometimes we even look at ourselves and decide we aren’t enough.

    Help us to see differently.

    Help us recognize the gifts, experiences, talents, testimonies, and opportunities You have entrusted to us. Give us wisdom to know how to use them and courage not to bury them because of fear or the opinions of others.

    Lord, whatever You’ve placed in our hands, we surrender it back to You.

    If You can use our words, use them.

    If You can use our stories, use them.

    If You can use even the painful chapters we would never have chosen, use them too.

    And whatever comes from it, You get the glory.

    Help us to stand on Your promises and step out in faith, trusting that You are able to do far more with what we surrender than we could ever do on our own.

    In Jesus’ name,

    Amen.

    Thank you for being here and for sharing this space with me. If this reflection spoke to you, please don’t forget to like, share, comment, and/or subscribe. And as always, feel free to share what God is placing in your hands. ❤️

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  • Grace to See the Angel Selling Cigarettes

    Grace to See the Angel Selling Cigarettes

    Hi I am Tameka and welcome to this week’s Grace Across Borders. Before we begin I want to give a big shout out to my little big brother Jerry! Continue to enjoy the blessings of God on your life. I used a photo showing less gray hair to give you a little bliss.

    Let’s dive in…

    My husband often tells me something his grandmother taught him growing up. If someone is preaching and then offers to pray for you, no matter how they look, bow your head and receive the prayer. You never know who God may be using.

    There is wisdom in that which goes far beyond prayer.

    We have a way of deciding what someone being used by God should look like. We expect the pastor, the preacher, the church mother, the person carrying the Bible, the one with the title, the testimony, or the reputation. We expect God’s messenger to look like somebody God would use.

    But what if they don’t?

    Hebrews 13:2 says:

    “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

    That word unawares has been sitting with me.

    They did not know.

    Encounters like these may not be as rare as we think. Maybe we just need the grace to pay attention.

    And that reminds me of an old lady who used to sell me cigarettes.

    But before let’s look at the scripture.

    Scripture: Before Samson – Judges 13

    Judges 13 opens during another dark period in Israel’s history.

    “And the children of Israel did evil again in the sight of the LORD; and the LORD delivered them into the hand of the Philistines forty years.”
    — Judges 13:1

    If you have been following the book of Judges, you know the pattern. Israel turns away from God. Oppression comes. Eventually the people cry out, and God raises up a deliverer.

    But something is different in Judges 13.

    There is no recorded cry.

    Israel is under Philistine oppression for forty years, but the chapter never tells us that the people asked God for deliverance.

    God moves anyway.

    Before Israel asks for a deliverer, God is already preparing one.

    We are introduced to Manoah and his unnamed wife, a woman the text tells us is barren. Yet she is the first person the angel of the LORD approaches.

    “And the angel of the LORD appeared unto the woman, and said unto her, Behold now, thou art barren, and bearest not: but thou shalt conceive, and bear a son.”
    — Judges 13:3

    That son would become Samson.

    But before Samson’s story begins, his mother has an encounter she does not fully understand.

    She goes to her husband and tells him that a “man of God” came to her. She says his appearance was like that of an angel of God, but she does not know where he came from and does not know his name.

    Manoah prays for the man to return.

    God answers.

    Interestingly, the messenger appears to the woman again while Manoah is not with her. She runs to get her husband, and Manoah comes and begins talking with him.

    He asks questions.

    He receives instructions.

    He offers hospitality.

    And still, he does not know.

    Scripture makes sure we don’t miss that detail:

    “For Manoah knew not that he was an angel of the LORD.”
    — Judges 13:16

    Manoah was already in the encounter before he understood the encounter.

    It is only later, after Manoah prepares an offering and the angel of the LORD ascends in the flame from the altar, that Scripture says:

    “Then Manoah knew that he was an angel of the LORD.”
    — Judges 13:21

    Then.

    Recognition came afterward.

    Only after the conversation. Only after the instructions. Only after the encounter unfolded did Manoah understand who had been standing in front of him.

    Sometimes we recognize an encounter only after it is over.

    The Woman at the Stall

    My first experience with cigarettes actually goes back to childhood.

    My grandmother was a chain smoker. She could go through a carton of cigarettes in a day, although she rarely smoked an entire cigarette. She would smoke half or three-quarters of it and flick the rest out the back door.

    And we, her grandchildren, would lie in wait.

    Yes. We were doing exactly what we had no business doing.

    We would take turns retrieving those discarded cigarettes and experimenting with them. Thankfully, these were summer visits, and smoking never became a habit for most of us. When the summer ended, so did our foolishness.

    Years later, after graduating from high school, I moved to Hanover and enrolled in Hospitality Management at a HEART Institute boarding school. The program was supposed to last a year, but it was unexpectedly cut short after six months. I graduated at the top of my class and decided I wasn’t going back home.

    After a series of crazy events, life eventually took me to Montego Bay. I found a little studio apartment above a business and began working at the beautiful Ritz-Carlton Hotel & Golf Course when it first opened.

    I quickly discovered that my personality worked well on the golf course, and the tips weren’t bad either. Before long, I was promoted to supervisor.

    The promotion also meant long hours.

    By the time I finished work, there were nights when I couldn’t get a taxi from the square to my apartment. At eighteen or nineteen years old, I was apparently young enough to think walking home alone late at night was perfectly reasonable.

    Along my route, I passed a housing area. Outside was an elderly woman sitting at a little stall.

    She was there no matter how late I passed.

    She didn’t have much to sell. I remember mints and the only two brands of cigarettes I knew: Craven A and Matterhorn.

    I felt bad for her.

    Here was this elderly woman sitting outside so late at night trying to sell these few little things. I wanted to patronize her.

    So every night, I bought one Matterhorn, the milder of the two cigarettes, and continued my walk home smoking my one cigarette.

    I wasn’t craving it.

    I wasn’t buying a pack.

    I was buying one cigarette because I wanted to put a few coins into Grandma’s hands.

    We developed our own little routine. We greeted each other warmly each night. I bought my Matterhorn, and I continued on my journey home.

    This went on for several nights.

    Then one night, Grandma looked at me and said:

    “Little girl, you too pretty to be smoking.”

    I paused.

    And if I’m telling the truth, I was upset on the inside.

    Why would she say that?

    I was saving those coins to patronize her. I wasn’t a smoker. I hadn’t smoked since those foolish childhood experiments around my grandmother’s back door. I was doing this because I felt bad seeing her sitting there every night.

    I thought I was helping her.

    But when I looked at her face, I saw sincerity.

    And all I could say was:

    “OK, Grandma. No more smoking for me. Thank you.”

    And I walked away.

    I never saw her again.

    At first, I became concerned that maybe she had stopped selling. I was fully prepared to continue giving her the cigarette money and simply stop taking the cigarette.

    But she never returned.

    I had a friend who lived in the very housing complex where she had been selling. When I described her to him, he told me my description didn’t match anyone he knew.

    Even stranger, he sometimes came home late himself.

    He had never seen her.

    Yet night after night, Grandma and I had greeted each other warmly on my journey home.

    Who was she?

    I don’t know.

    Reflection: Who Gets to Be the Messenger?

    I have carried that story with me for years.

    Was Grandma an angel?

    I cannot tell you that.

    And yes, I recognize the irony of wondering whether an angel was sitting at a stall selling cigarettes.

    But perhaps that is part of the point.

    The Hebrew word often translated “angel,” mal’akh, carries the basic meaning of a messenger. The focus is not always on wings, halos, or the images we have learned to associate with angels. A messenger is one who is sent with a message.

    I cannot tell you who Grandma was.

    But I can tell you that night, she was a messenger to me.

    What strikes me now is that I thought I was the one helping her.

    I saw an elderly woman sitting outside late at night with very little to sell. I had a job. I had a few coins. So I decided to patronize her.

    In my mind, I was the giver and she was the recipient.

    Until she gave me something I didn’t know I needed.

    A message.

    And I almost rejected it because I misunderstood our roles.

    Maybe that is something we still do.

    We look at status. We look at appearance. We look at education, position, denomination, age, finances, reputation, and sometimes even someone’s past, and decide who is qualified to speak into our lives.

    We can become so busy examining the messenger that we never receive the message.

    Sometimes we are even afraid of the message itself, because receiving a message may require something from us.

    It may require change.

    It may require surrender.

    It may require admitting that the person we thought needed something from us actually has something God intends for us to receive.

    Manoah spoke with the angel of the LORD without knowing who was standing before him.

    Hebrews reminds us that some have entertained angels unaware.

    And an eighteen-year-old girl walking home late at night in Montego Bay once thought she was helping an elderly woman by buying one cigarette at a time.

    I thought I was there to bless her.

    Maybe she was there for me.

    This story had been coming back to me all week. Yesterday, during an appointment, I was asked about my faith, what guides me, and whether I believe in angels. Grandma came to mind. I shared the story and let it go.

    Then this morning, it came back again.

    While listening to the early morning prayerline, I heard reminders that it isn’t status that determines who can carry the gospel and that sometimes we are afraid of the message.

    And I knew I needed to write this.

    Not because I can prove Grandma was an angel.

    I can’t.

    But because someone may need the reminder that God is not limited to the messenger you were expecting.

    Your messenger may not have a title.

    They may not have a platform.

    They may not look particularly spiritual.

    They may not even realize themselves that God is using what they are saying.

    And sometimes, you may not understand the significance of an encounter until long after it is over.

    Maybe the question isn’t always, “Was that an angel?”

    Maybe the better questions are:

    Did I hear the message?

    Did I receive it?

    And what did I do with it afterward?

    I made Grandma a promise that night.

    “No more smoking for me.”

    I honored her message.

    All these years later, I still don’t know who she was.

    But I am grateful I had the grace to listen.

    And maybe that is the grace we need: not the ability to identify every angel, but the humility to recognize that God can send a message through someone we never would have chosen.

    So the next time God sends something your way, don’t be so quick to dismiss the messenger because of how they look, where they come from, what they have, or what they don’t have.

    Pay attention.

    You never know who God is using.

    And you never know when you might be entertaining an angel unaware.

    Prayer

    Holy, righteous, and eternal Father God, we just want to give You all the glory and honor that is due unto You. Thank You for waking us up this morning, keeping us in our right minds, and for the many blessings You continue to give us.

    Lord, we are humbled by the messages and messengers You have sent throughout our lives. Thank You for loving us enough to speak, warn, redirect, encourage, and sometimes send someone to confirm what You have already been telling us.

    I thank You personally for the messenger You sent me this week. While she was praying, Lord, I did not understand everything she was saying, but Your Spirit was confirming something in me. When she later explained the message, I may not have responded the way she expected because I was honestly in shock, watching how intentionally You have been working in my life. Lord, I am grateful.

    Today, I commit my family, my church family, my friends, and everyone connected to us through prayer, conversation, love, and support into Your hands. You know what each one is facing.

    Lord, send the messengers they need, but also prepare their hearts to receive the message.

    Sometimes we ask, “Why wouldn’t God just tell me Himself?” when You have been speaking all along and we simply haven’t wanted to hear. Sometimes we need another messenger to confirm what You have already been saying.

    Thank You for every person brave enough to speak when You call them, because it will not always be an angel You send. And when You choose to use us as the messenger, give us the courage to obey.

    Continue to guide us and help us recognize Your voice however You choose to send the message.

    In Jesus’ name, Amen.

    Fediverse reactions
  • Grace is in the Neighborhood

    Grace is in the Neighborhood

    Hi I am Tameka and welcome to this week’s grace across borders.

    For years, whenever I read the story of Abraham preparing to sacrifice Isaac, I somehow read “thine only son Isaac” and pictured Abraham with his only child.

    Then recently I stopped and thought, Wait. What about Ishmael?

    I knew Ishmael was Abraham’s son. I knew his story. Yet somehow, in this particular passage, I had completely forgotten about him.

    That little discovery sent me digging deeper into what “only son” meant. But it also started another thought: How often do we look at what God is doing in someone else’s life and wonder, “What about me?”

    And that question led me straight to another story Jesus told, about some workers in a vineyard.

    Scripture: Matthew 20:1–16

    Jesus tells the story of a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire workers for his vineyard. He agreed with them on a day’s wage and sent them to work.

    Throughout the day, he went back and hired more workers. Some came in the morning, some around midday, some later in the afternoon, and some when there was barely any working day left.

    When evening came, the landowner began paying the workers, starting with those who had been hired last.

    And he gave them a full day’s wage.

    When the workers who had been there since morning saw this, they assumed they would receive more.

    But they didn’t.

    They received exactly what they had agreed to.

    And they were upset.

    “These last have wrought but one hour, and thou hast made them equal unto us, which have borne the burden and heat of the day.”
    Matthew 20:12 (KJV)

    That verse catches my attention because their complaint wasn’t that they received nothing.

    They received exactly what had been promised.

    Their problem was that somebody who hadn’t worked as long, hadn’t carried the same burden, and hadn’t endured the same heat received the same thing.

    Suddenly, what had once been enough didn’t feel like enough anymore.

    Folklore: The Envious Neighbor

    There is an old fable told in different forms about two neighbors and an unusual offer.

    One could ask for whatever he desired, with one condition: whatever he received, his neighbor would receive twice as much.

    It sounded like an incredible opportunity.

    Until comparison entered the picture.

    Knowing that someone else would receive more made his own blessing difficult to enjoy. In one version of the story, envy becomes so consuming that the man asks to lose one eye, knowing his neighbor will lose both.

    Imagine that.

    He was willing to lose something just so someone else could have less.

    His problem wasn’t that he hadn’t received anything.

    His problem was that he couldn’t enjoy his portion after seeing somebody else’s.

    Reflection: He’s in the Neighborhood

    What makes the workers in the vineyard so relatable is that they weren’t unpaid.

    They were tired.

    They had carried the burden and heat of the day, only to watch people who worked one hour receive the same wage.

    Sometimes that’s where comparison catches us too.

    It’s not always, “God, why did they get it and I didn’t?”

    Sometimes it’s:

    “God, why did it take me ten years to get what they received in ten months?”

    I prayed. I waited. I cried. I knocked on doors. I stayed faithful. And then somebody else seemed to walk right into the very thing I fought so hard to reach.

    We can be grateful for our blessing and still wonder why our road had to be so hard.

    But the workers’ wages didn’t become less valuable because someone else received the same amount more quickly. What changed was how they saw what was already in their hands.

    And that brings me back to Ishmael.

    Isaac had a unique place in God’s covenant promise, but Ishmael wasn’t forgotten. God heard him in the wilderness. God provided for him. God was with him, and God kept His promise to make a great nation from him.

    Isaac’s portion was different from Ishmael’s, but different did not mean forgotten.

    Maybe that’s something we need to remember when we look at what God is doing for someone else.

    A few years ago, a sister named Sandy gave a testimony and said something I have never forgotten:

    “If God is blessing your friends, it means He’s in the neighborhood.” — Sandy

    I love that because it changes the way I look at someone else’s blessing.

    It doesn’t mean that whatever God gave them is automatically coming to me next. It means I don’t have to interpret God’s goodness to them as His neglect of me.

    And maybe that’s the real challenge.

    Can I rejoice when you receive quickly what took me years?

    Can I celebrate your open door without needing to explain how many doors were slammed in my face?

    Can I hear your testimony without comparing it to mine?

    Because grace was never meant to become a competition.

    My longer journey doesn’t make me more deserving, and your shorter journey doesn’t make your blessing less meaningful.

    And perhaps there were things God did in me along the long road that I wouldn’t trade now, even if I could have reached the destination sooner.

    And let us not become like the neighbors in the folklore, so consumed by comparison that we would rather hurt ourselves if it means the person next to us will suffer even more.

    That’s what envy can do when we allow it to grow. It can take “Why do they have more than me?” and turn it into “I’d rather neither of us have it.”

    What a terrible way to live.

    I don’t want to lose an eye just because my neighbor has two.

    I don’t want somebody else’s blessing reduced so that I can feel better about mine.

    I want to learn how to thank God for what is in my hands and still clap when He puts something beautiful in yours.

    I may have arrived tired. You may have arrived quickly. But we both arrived by God’s grace.

    And when I see God blessing someone around me, I want to remember Sandy’s words:

    He’s in the neighborhood.

    A Question to Sit With

    Can I celebrate God’s goodness when it shows up at someone else’s address, especially when their road there seem easier than mine?

    Prayer

    Holy, righteous, and eternal Father God, we come before You giving You all the thanks, honor, and praise that is due unto Your holy name. We thank You because, as You declared in Exodus 34:6, You are the LORD: merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and abundant in goodness and truth.

    Knowing who You are gives us confidence as we come before You today. Lord, as we continue to wrestling with this concept throughout the week, we pray that Your Holy Spirit will guide us, strengthen us, and keep us. Teach us how to respond when others are being blessed, even while we are walking through our own trials and tribulations. Help us to remain faithful, humble, and content in every season.

    Thank You for reminding us that even when our road seems longer than someone else’s, You have never left us, nor have You ever promised us an easy journey. Instead, You have promised to be with us every step of the way. Help us to trust You completely and to genuinely rejoice when we see Your goodness and grace at work in the lives of others.

    Keep us sheltered in Your loving hands and covered under Your tender mercies. Continue to mold us into people who reflect Your mercy, grace, and love.

    In the precious name of Jesus, we pray. Amen. 🙏🏾

    Thank you for being here. Take a minute to let me know if you are enjoying these. Don’t forget to check on your family, neighbors, and friends.

    This has been Grace Across Borders where we see God’s grace in everything.

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  • Grace, Grace, God’s Grace

    Grace, Grace, God’s Grace

    Hi, I’m Tameka, and welcome to Grace Across Borders!

    If you’re joining me for the first time, thank you for being here. Almost two years ago, I started this blog as part of a class assignment. As I wrote, I found myself returning again and again to the stories of the Bible and discovering how many of their timeless truths are echoed in folklore. What began as an assignment soon became a passion.

    Each week, I pair a biblical account, a piece of folklore, and a personal reflection, hoping to encourage others through God’s amazing grace.

    Before we begin, I’d also like to take a moment to honor my parents as they celebrate 44 years of marriage. Mom and Dad, congratulations! Thank you for your example of love, perseverance, and God’s faithfulness. May the Lord continue to bless you with many more years together. It is also my father’s birthday this weekend as well.

    Over the last few weeks, I have found myself in conversations with both my conference and my church about what comes next. Not before I finish school, but after. We’ve been discussing the path toward ordination and chaplaincy, and it has been an interesting whirlwind of information, prayer, and reflection.

    Through it all, I have been humbled by the way God has been leading me. Every conversation has helped me see the road ahead a little more clearly. One of the recommendations I received was to begin preparing my Statement of Belief.

    In full transparency, I have not yet heard back from my church, so I cannot speak to that process. But as my mentor began explaining what a Statement of Belief should include, I realized it was far more than a theological document. It is the story of how God has revealed Himself in your life. It is your testimony woven together with the truths of Scripture.

    As I listened, I realized something.

    God has been preparing me for this assignment long before anyone ever asked me to write it.

    Scripture: Grace That Silences Stones

    John 8:1-11

    Early one morning, while Jesus was teaching in the temple, the scribes and Pharisees interrupted Him by dragging before Him a woman caught in adultery. They placed her in the center of the crowd, not because they cared about her soul, but because they wanted to trap Jesus. According to the Law of Moses, she deserved to be stoned. If Jesus condemned her, they believed they had trapped Him. If He released her, they believed He would be ignoring the Law.

    Instead of answering immediately, Jesus stooped down and wrote on the ground.

    Then He stood and spoke words that have echoed through history:

    “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” (John 8:7)

    One by one, beginning with the oldest, every accuser walked away.

    When no one remained, Jesus asked,

    “Woman, where are those thine accusers? hath no man condemned thee?”

    She answered,

    “No man, Lord.”

    Then Jesus replied,

    “Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more.”

    Jesus never excused her sin.

    Neither did He allow condemnation to have the final word.

    That is grace.

    Jamaican Folklore: Anansi and the Magic Pot

    One day Anansi came into possession of a magical pot that produced whatever food he desired. Instead of sharing the blessing with his family and neighbors, he hid it high in a tree where only he could reach it. Convinced that the gift was safest when no one else knew about it, he climbed the tree day after day, protecting what he believed belonged only to him.

    As he struggled to climb with the pot tied awkwardly in front of him, his young son called out that it would be much easier if he carried it on his back instead. Embarrassed that a child had seen what he had not, Anansi became angry. In his frustration, he lost his grip. The pot fell, shattered, and the gift was gone forever.

    The blessing he tried so desperately to keep for himself was the very blessing he lost.

    Grace is different.

    God’s grace is never meant to be hidden away. The more we receive it, the more we are called to extend it to others.

    Reflection

    As I prepare to write my Statement of Belief, I realize I am not simply listing doctrines. Every sentence has been written by the grace of God long before I ever type it.

    When my mentor began explaining what a Statement of Belief should include, I realized it was much more than a theological exercise. He asked me to think about my salvation, my journey, and the experiences that have shaped what I believe. He reminded me that I could be as transparent as I chose to be, but that I should also be prepared to answer questions.

    As I sat with those words, I realized something.

    God has been preparing me for this long before anyone ever asked me to write it.

    Then, at about 2:30 Tuesday morning, before this blog was even due, I woke with one verse repeating over and over in my mind:

    “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone.” (John 8:7)

    Immediately, I was no longer thinking about ordination or chaplaincy.

    I was back in my childhood church.

    I was old enough to understand what was happening. A young woman in our church had become pregnant. She was asked to stand before the congregation and publicly apologize. I remember watching her carry a burden that seemed far heavier than anyone should have to bear alone. I do not know what became of the young man involved. I do not know what consequences he faced, if any. I only remember her.

    I remember how deeply it hurt me.

    I remember silently asking, “He that is without sin, cast the first stone.”

    That moment has stayed with me for years.

    Recently, I saw a picture of the child she carried all those years ago. I smiled. That baby is now grown. Yet seeing that picture carried me right back to that sanctuary.

    Then another thought crossed my mind.

    How many young people, fearing public shame more than anything else, have chosen abortion because they feared church hurt? How many believed that hiding their sin was safer than bringing it into the light?

    My heart broke.

    Jesus never asked anyone to destroy a life in order to preserve a reputation. When the woman caught in adultery was dragged before Him, guilty and exposed, He did not throw a stone, nor did He hand one to anyone else. He extended both truth and grace:

    “Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more.” (John 8:11)

    May God have mercy on us all.

    Today, I cannot judge the people who were there. I do not know what they believed. I do not know whether they thought they were protecting the church or simply following what they understood to be right. Only God knows their hearts.

    But I do know what God was doing in mine.

    Looking back now, I realize He was already preparing me.

    Preparing me to understand grace.

    Preparing me to wrestle with truth.

    Preparing me to wrestle with my own story.

    Because there are chapters of my life that I have wrestled with for years. There are failures, painful decisions, broken places, and seasons that almost convinced me I was no longer worthy of serving God.

    I remember when I married my now ex-husband the first time. Our marriage was shattered by infidelity. Another woman became pregnant, and the situation escalated to the point where my life was threatened because she was determined to have my husband.

    In the midst of that pain, I turned to the church for guidance. I was told I was too young to divorce and that if I left, I would spend the rest of my life alone. I believed them.

    Then someone quietly opened the Scriptures with me and showed me what God’s Word said. For the first time, I realized there was a difference between God’s voice and the voices of well-meaning people.

    When my life was falling apart, I discovered that my final authority had to be God’s Word, not simply the most confident voice in the room.

    I chose to forgive and reconcile, but reconciliation requires two willing hearts. My husband eventually walked away, carrying burdens that were not mine to bear.

    The irony is that all of this was unfolding while I was answering God’s call to ministry. I had just begun studying Pastoral Ministry and High School Counseling at Jamaica Theological Seminary. On the outside, it looked as though I was stepping into God’s purpose. Yet behind the scenes, my personal life was falling apart.

    For a long time, I struggled to reconcile those two realities. How could God be calling me while my world seemed to be unraveling? I wondered if my circumstances had disqualified me from the very ministry He had placed on my heart.

    For years, I questioned myself. I questioned my worth. I questioned my calling. More than I questioned God, I questioned whether people would ever see me the way God did.

    Looking back now, I can see what I could not see then. God’s calling was never dependent on a life without hardship. His grace was already at work, not only preparing me for ministry, but sustaining me through the very seasons that made me question whether I belonged there at all.

    Yet every step of the way, grace met me when I didn’t deserve it.

    Grace carried me through seasons I never thought I would survive.

    Grace corrected me when I wandered.

    Grace opened doors I could never have opened myself.

    Grace closed doors that would not have been good for me.

    Grace has never promised me an easy road, but it has promised that I would never walk it alone.

    As conversations about ordination and chaplaincy continue, I am reminded that a title does not define my calling. A degree does not establish my worth. Even a Statement of Belief does not create my faith. It simply gives words to what God’s grace has already been writing on my heart for years.

    There are still parts of my story that I have not shared. Not because I doubt God’s grace, but because I still remember that young woman standing before a congregation, vulnerable in ways that could never have been taken back.

    Sometimes we say we want transparency, but we are not always prepared to receive it with grace.

    Perhaps that is why God has spent years healing me before asking me to tell my story.

    So today, my prayer is not simply for courage to tell my story.

    It is for wisdom.

    Wisdom to know what to share.

    Wisdom to know what to hold until God says, “Now.”

    And wisdom to remember that before anyone else speaks over my life, God already has.

    Before I ever write my Statement of Belief, God had already written His statement over my life:

    “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9, KJV)

    Perhaps that has been my statement of belief all along.

    Grace, grace, God’s grace.

    Grace that is greater than all my sin.

    Prayer

    Gracious loving Father,

    Thank You for Your amazing grace.

    Thank You for never giving up on us, even when we are ready to give up on ourselves. Thank You for meeting us in our brokenness, our questions, our failures, and our fears. Thank You for reminding us that Your grace is always greater than our sin.

    Lord, if there is anything I have learned through this journey, it is that Your voice must always be louder than every other voice. Help us to know Your Word for ourselves, so that when life falls apart, we will stand on what You have said and not simply on what others have told us.

    Forgive us for the times we have judged instead of loved, condemned instead of restored, or forgotten that we all stand in need of the same grace.

    Help us to become people who reflect the heart of Jesus. May our churches be places where truth is spoken in love, where repentance is met with restoration, and where broken people find hope instead of shame.

    Lord, as I continue to write the story You have been writing in my life for so many years, give me wisdom. Wisdom to know what to share. Wisdom to know what to hold close. And above all, help me to always point people to You and not to myself.

    Today, I also thank You for my parents. Thank You for blessing them with forty-four years of marriage and for another birthday for my father. Continue to strengthen them, bless them, and let their lives continue to be a testimony of Your faithfulness.

    May we never stop marveling at Your grace.

    In Jesus’ name,

    Amen.

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  • Grace Across Borders

    Grace Across Borders

    Grace in the Small Stuff

    Because If It Matters to You, It Matters to God.

    Hi, I am Tameka and welcome to Grace Across Borders.

    What a full week it has been.

    We returned home from Conference with grateful hearts after spending time praising, worshipping, learning, and fellowshipping with brothers and sisters in Christ. It was a week filled with reminders of God’s goodness and faithfulness, and I thank Him for allowing us to gather together in His presence.

    On Monday, we celebrated David’s youngest daughter, Monica, as she marked another birthday. Then yesterday, David and I celebrated four years of marriage. Looking back over the week, my heart is full of gratitude for all God has done and continues to do in our lives.

    Yet, as I settled back into everyday life, I realized something.

    It wasn’t one big trial that was weighing on me.

    It was all the little things.

    A comment here.

    A disappointment there.

    A misunderstanding.

    A lingering question.

    Situations that, by themselves, didn’t seem important enough to bring before God. I found myself thinking, I’ll handle it. It’s too small to bother God with.

    But little things have a way of piling up.

    Before we realize it, what seemed small has become heavy.

    As I sat quietly with the Lord this week, the Holy Spirit gently reminded me that I wasn’t meant to carry any of it alone. Then He led me to one of the most overlooked miracles in Scripture, a borrowed axe head that floated.

    In that moment, I realized something I had forgotten.

    The world says, “Don’t sweat the small stuff.”

    God says, “Bring Me the small stuff.”

    Scripture

    2 Kings 6:1-7

    The company of the prophets had grown, and they needed a larger place to live. Together they went to the Jordan River to cut down trees and build a new dwelling. As one of the men was working, the iron axe head flew off the handle and disappeared beneath the water.

    His immediate cry was,

    “Alas, master! for it was borrowed.” (2 Kings 6:5, KJV)

    His distress wasn’t because the axe head was expensive. It was because it belonged to someone else. He had been entrusted with it, and now it seemed impossible to recover.

    Elisha simply asked where it had fallen. He cut a stick, threw it into the water, and by God’s power, the iron floated. The man reached out and took it.

    This wasn’t the parting of the Red Sea.

    This wasn’t fire falling from heaven.

    This wasn’t a dead man being raised.

    It was one borrowed axe head.

    Yet God stopped everything to care for one anxious man.

    God could have solved the problem in many different ways. He could have provided another axe head. He could have sent someone with the money to replace it.

    Instead, He restored the very one that had been lost.

    That miracle tells us something beautiful about the heart of God. He is not only concerned with the great moments that fill history books. He is also concerned with the quiet moments that fill our everyday lives.

    Folklore

    Growing up with Jamaican folklore, this story reminded me of an Anansi tale.

    Anansi had proudly announced that he was going to grow the finest yam crop in the village. The only problem was that he didn’t own a hoe, so he borrowed one from Brother Goat, who kindly agreed, asking only that Anansi take good care of it.

    Everything went well until Anansi became distracted and left the hoe beside the river. When he returned, it was gone.

    Panic filled his heart.

    Instead of telling Brother Goat the truth, Anansi searched through the grass, beneath fallen branches, and along the riverbank, hoping he could recover it before anyone noticed. As the day wore on, he realized he had spent more time hiding the problem than solving it.

    Finally, with a heavy heart, he admitted what had happened.

    To his surprise, Brother Goat didn’t become angry. He simply smiled and said, “The tool mattered, but your honesty matters more. Come, let’s look for it together.”

    Before long, they found the hoe caught between the roots of a tree.

    Sometimes the greatest step toward restoration is simply being honest.

    Sometimes the help we need is waiting on the other side of our confession.

    Anansi thought he had to solve the problem by himself. Instead, he discovered that admitting his need opened the door for someone to walk beside him.

    How often do we do the same thing with God?

    Reflection

    Years ago, during what I often call my “do everything to survive” season, I sold insurance. I was actually pretty good at it, and for a while I thought it might become part of my future.

    One thing constantly frustrated me, though. The expectations were always changing. We would be told the plan was one thing, only for it to become something completely different a short time later.

    I am the kind of person who values consistency. If you tell me something today, I expect it to remain true tomorrow unless there is a good reason for it to change. Constantly shifting expectations left me feeling unsettled.

    One day, one of the leaders handed me a book titled Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff.

    If I am being honest, I never read it.

    At the time, it felt less like an invitation to understand me and more like a subtle way of telling me to change without anyone taking the time to understand why I saw things the way I did.

    That memory came rushing back as I read the story of the floating axe head.

    The world says, “Don’t sweat the small stuff.”

    God says, “Bring Me the small stuff.”

    At first, I thought this passage was simply reminding me that God cares about the little things.

    Then I realized it was saying even more.

    The little things add up.

    It wasn’t one major event that weighed on me this week. It was one little comment. One disappointment. One misunderstanding. One closed door. One lingering question. By themselves, they seemed too small to pray about. Too insignificant to bring before God. So I convinced myself that I could handle them.

    But the Holy Spirit kept whispering to my heart, “No. That’s not how I asked you to carry this.”

    The Anansi story teaches another lesson we should not miss.

    Anansi spent so much time trying to fix the problem on his own that he almost lost the opportunity to recover what had been lost. It wasn’t until he admitted the truth to Brother Goat that help arrived.

    Isn’t that often how we are?

    We hide the small things.

    We push them under the rug.

    We tell ourselves they are not worth mentioning.

    We convince ourselves we can handle them without anyone knowing.

    Sometimes we even act as though we have to hide them from God, forgetting that He already knows.

    But God is not waiting to shame us.

    He is inviting us to come honestly before Him.

    Bring Him the little worries.

    Bring Him the quiet disappointments.

    Bring Him the conversations that still hurt.

    Bring Him the mistakes you are embarrassed to admit.

    Bring Him the doors people have tried to close.

    Bring Him the burdens others call petty.

    Because if they matter to you, they matter to Him.

    There are so many things that happen in our lives that make us feel disqualified from the plans God has for us.

    Sometimes it is our own mistakes.

    Sometimes it is the opinions of other people.

    Sometimes it is the way someone has treated us.

    Sometimes it is a door that seems to have closed.

    If we are not careful, we allow those moments to write our story. We begin to believe that people have the authority to determine our future.

    They do not.

    God does.

    The miracle of the floating axe head reminds us that God does not only care about eternity. He cares about Tuesday afternoons by the river. He cares about borrowed tools, anxious hearts, honest prayers, and the burdens everyone else overlooks.

    He could have told the prophet to replace the axe head.

    He could have provided the money for a new one.

    He could have sent someone with another axe.

    Instead, He restored the very one that had been lost.

    That tells me something beautiful about the heart of God.

    He does not always replace what is lost.

    Sometimes He restores it.

    So today, I leave you with the same reminder the Holy Spirit gave me this week.

    The world says, “Don’t sweat the small stuff.”

    God says, “Bring Me the small stuff.”

    Do not carry what God never asked you to carry.

    Do not allow little things to become heavy burdens because you thought they were too small to pray about.

    Bring Him the questions you think are too small.

    Bring Him the disappointments others tell you to “get over.”

    Bring Him the mistakes you have tried to hide.

    Bring Him the dreams that feel like they have sunk beneath the surface.

    Bring Him all of it.

    Because if it matters to you, it matters to God.

    And if it matters to God, it is never too small for His grace.

    Prayer

    Heavenly Father,

    Thank You for reminding us that nothing is too small to bring before You. Forgive us for the times we have tried to carry burdens You never intended for us to carry. Forgive us for believing that our concerns were too small for Your attention or that we had to fix everything on our own.

    Thank You for being a God who cares about every detail of our lives. Thank You for seeing the burdens that no one else notices and hearing the prayers we are sometimes afraid to pray.

    Teach us to trust Your voice above every other voice. Help us not to allow the opinions of people, the disappointments of life, or the mistakes of our past to define our future. Remind us that You alone have the final word.

    Give us the courage to come honestly before You, knowing that Your grace is greater than our fears and Your love is deeper than our failures.

    May we leave every burden, great or small, in Your hands, confident that if it matters to us, it matters to You.

    In Jesus’ name,

    Amen.

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  • Grace Across Borders

    Grace Across Borders

    The Helplessness of Love

    “Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.”
    Galatians 6:2 (KJV)

    First, let me begin with another heartfelt apology for my blog being late. Thank you for your patience, your prayers, and the grace you continue to extend to me. This week I am away attending our church’s annual conference, and while the days have been filled with worship, fellowship, and ministry, my heart has been somewhere else.

    My thoughts have been on my son, DJ.

    Like many young adults, he is navigating a season of life that every parent eventually has to watch from the sidelines. There comes a point when our children no longer come running to us with scraped knees asking us to kiss their boo-boos. Instead, they face challenges we cannot fix, decisions we cannot make for them, and battles we cannot fight on their behalf.

    Yesterday, I watched a teenager walk up to her father and say, “Daddy, I have a boo-boo. Will you kiss it?” I smiled. I couldn’t tell whether she was teasing or completely serious, but it reminded me that sometimes we are not looking for someone to fix the pain. We simply want to know someone cares enough to walk through it with us.

    DJ was never that child.

    One of my favorite memories still makes me laugh. He wasn’t even two years old when I finished giving him a bath and reached for the baby powder. He quickly backed away, covered himself with his little hands, and, repeating the words of a popular Jamaican song, declared, “Mommy, dem a go seh yuh powder man!” From that day forward, getting powder anywhere near him became almost impossible.

    Even then, he had already decided who he was.

    Looking back, I realize it wasn’t simply independence. Even as a little boy, there was something in him that wanted to stand strong, to protect, and to carry himself a certain way. As the years passed, that same heart grew into a young man who often tries to carry more than he should, including concern for the people he loves.

    As parents, we eventually learn that some of our children’s battles cannot be fought with our hands.

    They must be fought on our knees.

    Earlier this week, during a quiet moment with the Lord, I experienced something I still cannot fully explain. I don’t know whether it was a dream or a vision while I was awake, but I remember hearing the question,

    “Do you want to know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

    Without hesitation, I answered,

    “I just want the baby to be healthy.”

    As those words returned to me throughout the week, I realized they had become the cry of my own heart.

    “Lord, I just want my son to be whole.”

    Everything else is in Your hands.

    Scripture

    Moses Learns He Was Never Meant to Carry It Alone (Exodus 18)

    After leading Israel out of Egypt, Moses spent his days carrying the burdens of an entire nation. From morning until evening, the people came to him with every disagreement, every complaint, and every difficult decision. He loved God’s people, so he carried everything he could.

    Jethro watched and lovingly asked, “Why are you doing this all by yourself?”

    He reminded Moses that God never intended for one person to carry every burden alone. God had already prepared others to help shoulder the load.

    Moses wasn’t failing.

    He simply needed to trust that God could work through other people.

    Sometimes God’s answer isn’t to remove the burden.

    Sometimes His answer is to send helpers.

    Folklore

    The Old Woman and the Pumpkin Vine

    One of the beloved Caribbean folk tales tells of an elderly woman facing a long and difficult journey home. The road is hard, and she cannot make it by her own strength. Along the way, unexpected help appears. What seemed impossible becomes possible because others step in with kindness and compassion.

    The story reminds us that no one is meant to travel life’s hardest roads alone. Help sometimes comes from family. Sometimes it comes from strangers. Yet those unexpected helpers often become the very answer we didn’t know we had prayed for.

    Like Moses, the old woman discovers that burdens become lighter when others are willing to help carry them.

    Reflection

    Later that day, members of our church family who had arrived late for the conference realized they had missed lunch and were still hours away from dinner. We made a trip to Walmart so they could buy food, bottled water, and the supplies they would need for the rest of the week.

    By the time we returned, everyone had bags in their hands. They were tired, hungry, and faced a long uphill walk to the dorms.

    Before anyone asked, four young men from another conference group simply walked over.

    “Let me help you.”

    They picked up bags, asked where we were staying, and walked beside us without hesitation.

    As I watched them, I couldn’t help but smile.

    Not because our bags were lighter, but because somewhere there were parents who had raised young men to notice people, to serve without being asked, and to help without expecting anything in return.

    Later that evening, I was driving one of the campus golf carts, taking people across campus. It had grown dark, and many of the dorms were a considerable distance away.

    On my way back, I noticed two young men walking.

    “Would you like a ride?” I asked.

    They gladly climbed aboard.

    The farther we drove, the farther I realized they needed to go. I could have stopped halfway and said, “This is as far as I can take you.”

    Instead, I drove them all the way.

    When we arrived, one of the young men thanked me over and over again. He asked my name, looked me in the eye, and expressed such genuine gratitude that it touched my heart.

    I smiled and simply said, “God bless you, young man.”

    As I drove away, the Lord gently connected everything that had been on my heart.

    The four young men who carried our bags were not the same two young men I later gave a ride.

    Yet through all six of them, God was speaking.

    He reminded me that He is still raising young people with compassionate hearts.

    He is still placing helpers exactly where they are needed.

    And if He could place these young men in our path at just the right moment, then surely He is able to place the right people in my son’s life when I cannot be there.

    Then another thought settled into my heart.

    Even Jesus accepted help carrying His cross.

    If the Savior of the world was willing to receive help when the burden became too heavy, then surely we don’t have to carry every burden by ourselves either.

    In that moment, I realized God wasn’t simply showing me kindness.

    He was reminding me that love sometimes feels helpless—but faith never is.

    A Letter to My Son

    My son, if you ever read these words, I need you to know something.

    One of the hardest parts of watching you walk through this season is seeing you worry about me while you’re carrying your own burdens.

    That has never been your job.

    It has always been mine.

    God entrusted you to me—not so you could carry my worries, but so I could help carry yours.

    Your strength has always been one of the things I admire most about you.

    But strength doesn’t mean carrying every burden alone.

    I don’t need you to have all the answers.

    I don’t need you to have everything figured out.

    I don’t need you to shoulder every burden by yourself.

    I am simply grateful that God has spared your life.

    Everything else can be worked out.

    Everything else can be healed.

    Everything else can be redeemed by the God who loves you even more than I do.

    Sometimes I wish I could let you see your life through my eyes for just a moment.

    Better yet, I wish you could see it through God’s eyes.

    If you could glimpse the future He is preparing for you, the purpose He has placed inside you, and the plans He has already written for your life, I believe today’s burdens would not have the final say over your heart. What feels overwhelming today is not greater than the God who walks beside you.

    If I could carry this burden for you, I would.

    Since I can’t, I’ll do the next best thing.

    I’ll carry you to the One who can.

    Perhaps that is the helplessness of love.

    Not loving someone too little to help, but loving them so much that the only place left to carry them is into the presence of God.

    Prayer

    Heavenly Father,

    Thank You for loving our children even more than we do. Thank You for every person You place along our path to encourage us, strengthen us, and remind us that we are never alone.

    For every parent watching a son or daughter navigate life’s challenges, grant us the courage to trust You with what we cannot control. Help us release our fears into Your hands while never ceasing to pray.

    Raise up young men and women who notice people, who serve with humility, and who become answers to someone else’s prayer.

    And when we experience the helplessness of love, remind us that nothing is ever helpless in the hands of an all-powerful God.

    In Jesus’ name,

    Amen.

  • Grace Across Generations

    Grace Across Generations

    Hi I am Tameka and welcome.

    First, I would like to apologize for this week’s blog being late. Thank you for your patience, your reassurances, and your prayers. They were well received and deeply appreciated.

    This past week also marked the end of another wonderful Vacation Bible School. While we didn’t have as many children as we had hoped, we had exactly the children God intended to be there. Sometimes we measure success by numbers, but God measures faithfulness. Even if only one child walks through the doors, that one child is worth every lesson prepared, every prayer prayed, and every hour invested. It was truly a blessing to spend the week ministering to them.

    What a whirlwind these past couple of days have been! This month has been a special one for our family. On the 12th, my baby girl, Dominique, celebrated her 16th birthday, a milestone that fills my heart with both joy and amazement. Happy Birthday, Dominique! This month also marks the birthday of David’s firstborn daughter, reminding us once again how quickly the years pass. Watching these young women continue to grow into the people God is shaping them to be is both exciting and emotional. As parents, we celebrate these milestones while quietly wondering where the years have gone.

    Somewhere in the middle of it all, I was blessed to take a boat ride around the Statue of Liberty. As we passed several Navy ships, I couldn’t help but laugh. After serving three years in the Navy, I joked that this was probably the closest I had been to a Navy ship in years. Life has a funny way of bringing back memories when you least expect it.

    To top it all off, I completed another seminary course this week. While Dominique was at her driving lesson, I sat in my car putting the finishing touches on my final assignments. By God’s grace, another class is complete, and now I prayerfully wait, hoping for that “A.”

    Needless to say, it has been a full season, filled with celebrations, ministry, school, family, and more blessings than I can count.

    Yet, in the midst of all the busyness, God was quietly preparing my heart for a lesson I wasn’t expecting. It didn’t come through a sermon or a classroom lecture. It came through an ordinary conversation that left me asking a question I haven’t been able to shake:

    Who is discipling the next generation?

    Scripture: Paul Meets the Athenians

    (Acts 17:16–34)

    When Paul arrived in Athens, he found himself surrounded by a city full of idols. Everywhere he looked, people were devoted to something, yet they did not know the One True God. Rather than avoiding the city or condemning its people from a distance, Paul walked among them. He observed. He listened. He took time to understand the culture before speaking into it.

    Eventually, Paul was invited to the Areopagus, also known as Mars Hill, where philosophers and curious minds gathered to discuss the latest ideas. Luke tells us that the Athenians “spent their time in nothing else but either to tell or to hear some new thing” (Acts 17:21, NKJV).

    As Paul looked around, he noticed an altar inscribed, “TO THE UNKNOWN GOD.” Rather than beginning with condemnation, Paul began with something familiar to his audience. He proclaimed that the God they worshiped in ignorance was the Creator of heaven and earth, the One who gives life and breath to all things. Paul explained that God does not dwell in temples made with human hands, nor is He served as though He needed anything. Instead, God desires that all people seek Him, for “in Him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28, NKJV).

    Paul concluded by calling the people to repentance because God had appointed a day when He would judge the world through the Man He had raised from the dead, Jesus Christ.

    When the people heard about the resurrection, their responses were mixed. Some mocked Paul. Others said they wanted to hear more. Still others believed his message, including Dionysius the Areopagite, a woman named Damaris, and others with them.

    Paul left Mars Hill much the same way he had entered it, faithfully proclaiming Christ. Some rejected the message, some remained curious, and some believed. The results were in God’s hands.

    Folklore: Stories That Stayed With Us

    Growing up in Jamaica, our elders rarely handed us a lecture. Instead, they handed us a story.

    Through Anansi, through proverbs, and through tales passed from one generation to the next, they taught us lessons about honesty, humility, perseverance, wisdom, and respect. Long before I understood the theology of discipleship, I experienced what it meant to have truth passed down through stories.

    Many evenings were spent listening rather than reading. Stories were shared on verandas, around kitchen tables, at family gatherings, and sometimes around a campfire. Long before stories were written on pages, they lived in the hearts and memories of those who told them. In many ways, our stories became our classrooms.

    As children, we often laughed at the cleverness of Anansi or listened intently as an elder recounted a story from long ago. We didn’t always understand the lesson. Sometimes, we thought it was simply entertainment.

    Then life happened.

    Years later, we would face a difficult decision or walk through a painful season, and suddenly those stories would come rushing back. What once sounded like a simple tale became a lesson in wisdom, perseverance, humility, or integrity.

    Perhaps that was the beauty of folklore. It was never just about telling a good story. It was about shaping a people, preserving a heritage, and passing on truths that could be remembered long after the storyteller’s voice had grown silent.

    Reflection

    As I reflected on Paul’s visit to Mars Hill and the storytelling traditions of my own childhood, I couldn’t help but notice something they had in common. Both recognized that people are shaped by the stories they hear and the voices they choose to trust.

    A few weeks before Vacation Bible School, my daughter asked if she could visit a friend’s house. Like most parents, I wanted to know a little about the family, so I reached out to her friend’s older sister. Out of curiosity, I visited her social media page.

    To my surprise, I found a young woman using her platform to answer questions about God. She wasn’t trying to gain followers or become an influencer. She was simply sharing her faith and pointing people to Christ.

    I remember smiling and thinking, What a beautiful way to use a platform that is often criticized.

    A few weeks later, during Vacation Bible School, a young man asked me, “What’s the difference between us and Catholics?” As we continued talking, he shared that much of what he knew had come from TikTok and Instagram.

    His question stayed with me.

    Not because he was asking questions. Questions are often where faith begins.

    What stayed with me was this: If that is where he is searching, who is meeting him there?

    As I continued to reflect, I realized this isn’t just one young man’s story. Many congregations today are praying about how to reach the next generation. Some have thriving youth ministries. Others have only a handful of young people. Still others are wondering how to reconnect with a generation that seems increasingly absent.

    That realization brought me back to the same question.

    Who is discipling the next generation?

    Growing up in Jamaica, our elders understood something we sometimes forget. Stories shape people. Through folklore, proverbs, family conversations, and shared experiences, they passed along values, wisdom, and lessons that remained with us long after the stories had been told. Many of us didn’t understand those lessons as children. It wasn’t until life presented us with difficult choices that we suddenly remembered a story we had once laughed at and realized, That’s what they were trying to teach me.

    Today, our young people are still listening to stories.

    The storytellers have changed.

    The gathering places have changed.

    But the need for truth has not.

    Perhaps we spend so much time asking whether social media is good or bad that we miss a more important question: Where are people searching?

    Paul found people searching in Athens.

    Our ancestors found opportunities to teach around kitchen tables, on verandas, at family gatherings, and around campfires.

    Today, many conversations begin with a swipe of a finger.

    The methods have changed.

    The mission has not.

    Paul did not change the message to fit the culture. He carried the message into the culture. He entered the place where people were asking questions and faithfully introduced them to the One they did not yet know.

    Perhaps that is what God has been impressing upon my heart these past few weeks.

    Not, “How do we get the next generation to come to us?”

    But, “How can we faithfully go to them?”

    As Moses reminded the people of Israel:

    “And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up.”
    —Deuteronomy 6:6–7 (NKJV)

    The places where we sit, walk, and gather may look different today than they did in Moses’ day, or even in our own childhoods, but God’s calling has never changed. We are still called to place His Word on our hearts and to faithfully pass it on to the next generation, wherever we find them.

    Please pray for our youths and for God to show us how to reach them.

    Fediverse reactions
  • Grace & Accountability: Where Was the Man?

    Grace & Accountability: Where Was the Man?

    Hi, I’m Tameka, and welcome to Grace Across Borders, where we discover that God’s grace knows no borders.

    As I sat down to write this week’s reflection, I was convinced I already knew what God wanted me to share.

    While traveling, my daughter became ill, and we found ourselves in the emergency room. There, I watched two nurses respond to the same situation in two completely different ways. One interaction left me deeply troubled. The other reminded me what compassion truly looks like. I was certain that experience would become this week’s blog.

    But God had another lesson waiting for me.

    The very next day, I had the privilege of teaching a group of teenagers at Vacation Bible School. Our lesson came from John 8:3–12, where Jesus declared, “I am the Light of the World.” As we worked through the passage together, one simple question changed the direction of our discussion.

    “Where was the man?”

    It wasn’t a question meant to excuse the woman’s sin.

    It was a question about accountability.

    Scripture

    John 8:3–12

    The scribes and Pharisees dragged before Jesus a woman caught in adultery and demanded to know what should be done with her. According to the Law of Moses, they said she deserved to be stoned.

    For years, whenever I read this passage, I assumed the woman was standing there simply because she had committed adultery.

    This time, I noticed something different.

    John tells us they weren’t really interested in her.

    They were interested in Jesus.

    They were looking for a reason to accuse Him.

    The woman was guilty.

    But she had also become a pawn in someone else’s agenda.

    Jesus refused to play their game.

    Instead, He stooped down and wrote on the ground.

    Then He stood and said,

    “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.”

    One by one, the stones fell.

    One by one, the accusers walked away.

    Finally, Jesus looked at the woman and said,

    “Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more.”

    Notice what Jesus did not do.

    He did not declare her innocent.

    He did not pretend sin no longer mattered.

    He extended grace.

    He called her to accountability.

    That is the beauty of the gospel.

    Jesus never asks us to choose between grace and accountability.

    He offers both.

    Folklore

    There is an old Jamaican tale about Anansi and a farmer whose mango tree was heavy with ripe fruit.

    One day, Anansi convinced a few friends to help him gather “just a few” mangoes.

    Together they climbed the tree.

    Together they picked the fruit.

    Together they laughed as they filled their baskets.

    Then someone shouted,

    “The farmer a come!”

    Everyone ran.

    Everyone…

    …everyone except Anansi.

    Greedy as ever, Anansi couldn’t bear to leave even one mango behind. While everyone else escaped, he stayed behind trying to gather every last fruit.

    By the time he looked up, the farmer was standing over him.

    For weeks, the village talked about Anansi, the mango thief.

    Few remembered that others had climbed the tree.

    Few remembered that others had eaten the mangoes.

    Few remembered that others had run away.

    Anansi became the face of the crime, while everyone else disappeared into the crowd.

    Reflection

    As I reflected on the lesson afterward, I couldn’t help but smile.

    If I’m being honest, I walked away feeling like I hadn’t been fully present with my own students.

    Before class even began, my mind was occupied with something else. I kept wondering how the lesson on the woman caught in adultery was being taught to the younger children in the other Vacation Bible School classes. I was so concerned that the subject might be too grown for them that I wasn’t fully engaged with the teenagers God had entrusted to me.

    After the classes ended, I heard how the lesson had been taught to the younger children.

    It was beautiful.

    Simple.

    Age-appropriate.

    Completely centered on Jesus.

    In that moment, it was as though the Holy Spirit gently whispered,

    “See… I’ve got this.”

    God didn’t need me worrying about another classroom.

    He simply needed me to be faithful in the one He had entrusted to me.

    And isn’t that just like Him?

    Sometimes we’re so busy carrying burdens He never asked us to carry that we almost miss the lesson He’s trying to teach us ourselves.

    The next morning, I woke up around 4:00 a.m.

    Sleep escaped me, but the Holy Spirit did not.

    As I lay there in the quiet of the morning, God began unfolding the lesson He had been teaching me all along.

    One question kept echoing in my mind.

    “Where was the man?”

    At first, my mind wandered to other examples of selective accountability. I thought about how, when a woman becomes pregnant, people are often quick to ask, “Are you getting married?” Yet far less often do they ask the father the same question or hold him to the same standard.

    But the Holy Spirit wouldn’t let me stay there.

    This wasn’t meant to become a discussion about men versus women.

    It was something much deeper.

    God was inviting me back to John 8—not to search for another person to blame, but to discover what Jesus was trying to reveal in every heart standing in that courtyard… including mine.

    As I reflected on both the Scripture and Anansi’s story, I noticed a striking similarity.

    Anansi was guilty.

    The woman was guilty.

    But neither story was really about guilt.

    They were about who carried the blame.

    In both stories, one person became the face of the wrongdoing while everyone else’s involvement quietly faded into the background.

    Justice seeks the whole truth.

    Selective accountability settles for a convenient target.

    Please don’t misunderstand me.

    This reflection isn’t about finding the man.

    It isn’t about searching for someone else to blame.

    If we leave John 8 looking for another guilty person, we’ve completely missed what Jesus was doing.

    The crowd wanted someone to condemn.

    Jesus wanted everyone to examine themselves.

    The crowd practiced selective accountability.

    Jesus practiced perfect justice wrapped in perfect grace.

    It is easy to become the person holding the stone while convincing ourselves we’re simply defending what is right.

    But Jesus reminds us that before we point at someone else’s failure, we should first allow His light to examine our own hearts.

    That stopped me.

    Because if I’m honest, sometimes it’s easier to recognize what needs changing in someone else than it is to recognize what needs changing in me.

    Left to ourselves, we don’t always see ourselves clearly.

    We cannot transform a heart we cannot fully see.

    That is why we need Jesus.

    The Light of the World doesn’t simply expose the darkness around us.

    He shines His light into the darkness within us.

    He reveals the pride we’ve excused.

    The bitterness we’ve protected.

    The unforgiveness we’ve justified.

    The self-righteousness we’ve mistaken for holiness.

    Then, in His grace, He invites us to change.

    Not because He wants to shame us.

    But because He loves us too much to leave us where we are.

    The question isn’t simply,

    “Where was the man?”

    The deeper question is,

    “Am I judging fairly, or am I only holding accountable the person I’ve already decided to blame?”

    And perhaps the deepest question of all is this:

    “Am I moving toward the Light… or am I drifting toward the darkness?”

    Every day we move in one direction or the other.

    There is no standing still.

    The enemy is real.

    Sin is real.

    Heaven is real.

    Hell is real.

    Eternity is real.

    Those truths aren’t given to rob us of hope.

    They’re given to awaken us.

    The enemy would love nothing more than for us to believe that sin has no consequences, that tomorrow is guaranteed, and that eternity can wait.

    Jesus lovingly tells us otherwise.

    He warned about judgment because He loves us.

    He stretched out His hands on the cross because He doesn’t want anyone to perish.

    That is why I’m writing this today.

    Not because I want anyone to live in fear.

    But because I don’t want anyone to be lost.

    The Light of the World didn’t come merely to expose our darkness.

    He came to lead us out of it.

    So today, don’t just ask,

    “Where was the man?”

    Ask instead,

    “Lord, what in me still needs Your light?”

    Then have the courage to walk toward it.

    While His invitation still stands.

    Prayer

    Heavenly Father,

    Thank You for Your grace and for loving us enough to hold us accountable. Thank You for shining Your light into the places of our hearts that we cannot see on our own.

    Forgive us for the times we’ve been quick to judge others while overlooking what You want to change in us. Help us to put down our stones before we pick them up.

    Lord, remind us that the enemy is real, sin is real, and eternity is real. Never let us become so comfortable with this world that we forget the world to come. Keep us close to You, walking daily in Your light and trusting Your truth.

    If there is anything in us that does not reflect You, reveal it. Give us the courage to repent, the humility to change, and the faith to follow wherever You lead.

    And if anyone reading this has not yet chosen to walk with You, may today be the day they step out of darkness and into the marvelous light of Jesus Christ.

    In His precious name we pray,

    Amen.

    My heart broke knowing I’ll never have another Mother’s Day with Bro. Pusey pinning a rose to my dress as I walked into church. Such a simple act, yet one I’ll always cherish. 🌹

    To the Pusey family, my heartfelt condolences. Praying that God surrounds you with His comfort, peace, and strength in the days ahead.

    Rest well, Bro. Pusey. You will be deeply missed.

    Happy Birthday to all the ladies celebrating this month, especially Sis V, who celebrates today❤️ To everyone celebrating this month, may God richly bless you.

    Fediverse reactions
  • Grace Beyond Delay

    Grace Beyond Delay

    When Good Things Become a Substitute for God’s Assignment

    2:03 a.m.

    Sleep had given up on me long before I gave up trying to find it.

    My medications still needed to be packed. My hair wasn’t done. My daughter’s hair still needed attention. My hands ached, reminding me that fibromyalgia doesn’t care how carefully I plan my day. Every hour ahead was already spoken for, doctor’s appointments, meetings, responsibilities, and the ordinary demands of life.

    So I did what seemed logical.

    I sat down to write.

    Except…I didn’t.

    Instead, I spent the next two hours researching things that suddenly felt more urgent than the blog sitting in front of me.

    Then, in the middle of my distraction, one word quietly settled into my spirit.

    Procrastination.

    At first, it made perfect sense. I’ve been a lifelong procrastinator. I could have written about unfinished projects, unanswered emails, unpacked suitcases, or even the blog I was avoiding.

    But something didn’t sit right.

    This felt different.

    God wasn’t talking about my schedule.

    He was talking about my calling.

    The beautiful thing about the Holy Spirit is that He rarely speaks into just one moment. Instead, He gathers conversations, memories, convictions, and seemingly unrelated events until suddenly they all point to the same truth.

    That’s exactly what happened to me this week.

    Scripture

    The book of Haggai opens during a hopeful yet frustrating season in Israel’s history. God’s people had finally returned home after years of exile in Babylon. They had been given a fresh start and a clear assignment: rebuild the Temple, the place that represented God’s presence among His people.

    They began with excitement.

    The foundation was laid.

    The people celebrated.

    Then life happened.

    Opposition arose. Discouragement settled in. Priorities shifted. Years passed.

    Little by little, rebuilding God’s house stopped being the first priority.

    Instead, the people focused on rebuilding their own homes, restoring their livelihoods, caring for their families, and putting life back together.

    None of those things were sinful.

    In fact, they were understandable.

    The problem wasn’t that they were doing bad things.

    The problem was that they had allowed good things to replace the first thing God had asked them to do.

    So God sent the prophet Haggai with a question that still speaks today.

    “These people say, ‘The time has not yet come to rebuild the LORD’s house.’”
    — Haggai 1:2

    Notice what they didn’t say.

    They never said, “We will never rebuild it.”

    They simply said,

    “Not yet.”

    “Not yet” can sound very spiritual.

    “When life settles down.”

    “When the children are older.”

    “When my health improves.”

    “When I have more money.”

    “When the timing is right.”

    Then God lovingly challenged them:

    “Give careful thought to your ways.” (Haggai 1:5)

    He wasn’t inviting them into guilt.

    He was inviting them into reflection.

    Had they become so busy rebuilding their own lives that they had quietly postponed the assignment God had given them?

    As I read those verses this week, I realized God wasn’t just speaking to Israel.

    He was speaking to me.

    Folklore

    We’ve all heard the saying,

    “The longest journey begins with a single step.”

    But we rarely talk about the longest delay.

    It begins with a single word.

    Tomorrow.

    Tomorrow I’ll start.

    Tomorrow I’ll apply.

    Tomorrow I’ll write the book.

    Tomorrow I’ll answer God’s call.

    Tomorrow I’ll finally take that first step.

    One tomorrow becomes another. Days become months. Months become years. Before we know it, what was meant to be a brief pause quietly becomes a permanent detour.

    The truth is, procrastination isn’t always laziness.

    Sometimes it’s fear.

    Sometimes it’s disappointment.

    Sometimes it’s perfectionism.

    Sometimes it’s waiting for the “right season.”

    And sometimes…

    it’s something even more subtle.

    Sometimes we don’t reject God’s assignment.

    We simply replace it with another one.

    Reflection

    Earlier this week, I met with several pastors and chaplains. Most of our conversations centered around seminary, internships, and the road ahead. Yet almost every meeting began with the same two questions.

    “Tell me about yourself.”

    “What has God called you to do?”

    No matter who asked, my answer always seemed to begin in the same place.

    Jamaica.

    That was where God first placed pastoral ministry on my heart. I had already begun preparing for pastoral ministry and high school counseling when life took an unexpected turn. My son became ill, and what I thought would be a temporary interruption became a completely different season of life.

    I came to the United States.

    I joined the military.

    Life kept moving.

    While serving on active duty, I worked tirelessly to earn my master’s degree in Early Childhood Education. It was one of the most demanding seasons of my life, but by God’s grace I finished in record time with a perfect 4.0 GPA.

    When I was medically retired, I naturally assumed that degree was the direction God wanted me to go. It made sense. I had worked hard for it, and I believed He had opened that door.

    Except every door I tried to walk through kept closing.

    Every conversation seemed to end the same way.

    “You’re not ready to return to work.”

    Between doctor’s appointments, treatments, and the unpredictability of my health, no one encouraged me to pursue employment. Instead, every path seemed to point me back to school.

    For a while, I couldn’t understand why. I thought it meant doing a doctorate…

    Then one day, as clearly as I’ve sensed the Holy Spirit in a long time, one thought settled into my heart.

    “I provided the funding.

    Go back for pastoral ministry.”

    At the time, I simply accepted it as God’s direction and enrolled in seminary. I didn’t realize He was bringing me back to an assignment I had slowly drifted from.

    During one of my meetings this week, I shared that while I believed God had called me to pastoral ministry, I wanted to pursue chaplaincy.

    The pastor listened and then asked a simple question.

    “If that’s what God called you to do, why aren’t you doing that?”

    Then he added,

    “That sounds more like the job you want than the calling God gave you.”

    His words stayed with me, but I couldn’t quite figure out why they affected me so much.

    Then came this morning.

    At 2:03 a.m., I sat down to write this blog.

    Instead of writing, I found myself doing everything except the assignment in front of me. I researched. I wandered. I filled my time with things that somehow felt more important than what I had planned to do, none on my to-do list.

    Then the Holy Spirit whispered one word.

    Procrastination.

    At first, I thought He was talking about the blog.

    But as I sat quietly, those conversations from earlier in the week began replaying in my mind.

    That’s when everything connected.

    The unfinished blog wasn’t the lesson.

    It was simply the doorway God used to show me something much deeper.

    For years, I had convinced myself that I was choosing the easier path.

    But when I really stopped to think about it, chaplaincy wasn’t easier at all. It required graduate education, ordination, endorsement, Clinical Pastoral Education, certification, interviews, and continuing education. In many ways, it demanded even more.

    That’s when I realized the issue wasn’t really procrastination.

    It was substitution.

    Somewhere along the way, I had quietly exchanged God’s original assignment for one that made more sense to me.

    Suddenly, Haggai looked different.

    The people weren’t refusing to rebuild God’s house.

    They simply kept saying, “Not yet.”

    They stayed busy doing good things, but good things had replaced the first thing God had asked them to do.

    As I sat there, I realized I wasn’t so different.

    I never stopped loving God.

    I never stopped serving.

    I never stopped preparing.

    But somewhere along the way, I became comfortable working on an assignment that felt more practical than the one God first placed on my heart.

    Sometimes we spend years avoiding the assignment God gave us, only to discover we’ve created a far more difficult assignment for ourselves.

    Maybe life interrupted what God asked you to do.

    Maybe you’ve been faithfully busy doing good things while quietly postponing the first thing He asked of you.

    If so, don’t mistake His conviction for condemnation.

    His grace is still inviting you back.

    Back to the assignment.

    Back to the place where He first spoke to your heart.

    When you become still enough to listen, His whisper won’t be, “Not yet.”

    It will simply be,

    “Come back.”

    Please pray for His leading…
  • Grace Beyond Words

    Grace Beyond Words

    Sometimes Giving Someone Jesus Begins with Listening

    Welcome to Grace Across Borders.

    Hi, I’m Tameka, and each week we pause together to reflect on God’s grace in everyday moments, drawing wisdom from Scripture, lessons from folklore, and reflections from life’s journey.

    This past Sabbath, I had the privilege of preaching a sermon called Show Us the Father. As I reflected on the message afterward, I found myself wondering how God might continue to use it in my own life.

    What I did not expect was that a few days later, God would preach the message right back to me.

    Sometimes the lessons we teach are the very lessons God is still teaching us.

    Let’s dive in.

    Scripture Reflection: The Road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35)

    One of the most beautiful stories after Jesus’ resurrection is the account of the two disciples walking on the road to Emmaus.

    These men were heartbroken. They had believed Jesus was the Messiah, but then they watched Him suffer and die. Everything they thought they understood seemed to have fallen apart. Discouraged and confused, they left Jerusalem trying to make sense of their pain.

    As they walked, Jesus Himself joined them.

    What amazes me about this story is that Jesus did not immediately reveal who He was.

    He listened.

    He asked questions.

    He allowed them to tell their story.

    He gave them room to express their disappointment, confusion, and grief.

    Only after walking alongside them did He begin explaining the Scriptures. Only later were their eyes opened to recognize who had been with them all along.

    The risen Savior could have started with a sermon.

    Instead, He started with presence.

    Before He taught them, He walked with them.

    Before He corrected them, He listened to them.

    Before He revealed Himself, He entered their pain.

    Sometimes ministry begins the same way.

    Sometimes people need our presence before they need our answers.

    Folklore Reflection: The Rabbi’s Answer

    An old Jewish tale tells of a village that often wondered why God seemed distant whenever people were hurting.

    One winter evening, a widow’s roof began leaking during a storm. Before she could even ask for help, several neighbors arrived carrying blankets, food, and tools. Together they repaired the roof and made sure she was safe.

    Later, one of the villagers asked the rabbi, “Why doesn’t God come Himself when people are suffering?”

    The rabbi smiled and replied,

    “Who do you think sent the neighbors?”

    The lesson is simple.

    God often chooses to work through ordinary people.

    Sometimes the answer to a prayer arrives in the form of a listening ear.

    Sometimes it arrives in the form of compassion.

    Sometimes it arrives in the form of a neighbor willing to stop what they are doing and care.

    My Reflection: Giving Someone Jesus

    A few days after preaching Show Us the Father, I was reminded of that truth in a very unexpected way.

    The week before, while rushing around making final preparations for a trip, I noticed several neighbors gathered outside speaking with a woman who lives across the street. There were hugs, conversation, and concerned faces, but I did not know what was happening. I simply waved and continued with the many things that still needed to be done before leaving.

    Several days later, after returning home from my trip, our flight was delayed and we did not get in until around 2 a.m. Later that same morning, we had an 11 a.m. appointment.

    Running on very little sleep, we stopped at Trader Joe’s on the way home before finally heading back to the house.

    I had not been inside a Trader Joe’s in a very long time, and certainly not since moving to Illinois. It felt like a small, ordinary stop at the end of an exhausting day.

    We only bought two items: a half gallon of lactose-free milk and Trader Joe’s Korean Style Beef Short Ribs that I was genuinely looking forward to trying.

    As we walked toward a cashier who had no one in line, he stepped away from his register and called another gentleman over. The man looked more like him and not like us, and he had a full basket of groceries. He seemed surprised and even responded, “It’s their turn. They were here before me.”

    The cashier insisted that he come anyway.

    I remember standing there thinking, “Did that really just happen?”

    It bothered me.

    My husband noticed it too. He also noticed the staff who showed up in every aisle we walked.

    For a moment, I considered responding differently. I could have called attention to it. I could have let my frustration grow. I could have carried that feeling with me for the rest of the evening.

    Instead, we went to another cashier, paid for our groceries, and continued on our way.

    I still do not know what was in that cashier’s heart. I only know what I experienced.

    And I know that I had a choice about what I would do with that experience.

    Would I carry irritation into the rest of my day?

    Or would I leave it there and move forward?

    At the time, I had no idea that choice would matter only a short while later.

    When we arrived home, I expected to grab the groceries and head inside.

    Instead, before I could even open the car door, the same neighbor from across the street walked over.

    “How are you doing?” I asked.

    “I’m not doing good.”

    She shared that her dog of thirteen years had passed away.

    The pain in her voice was immediate and unmistakable.

    As she spoke, I finally understood what I had witnessed several days earlier. I remembered seeing neighbors gathered around her, hugging her and talking with her before I left town. At the time, I had no idea what was happening. Now I understood they had been comforting her through a loss I knew nothing about.

    What I expected to be a brief conversation became nearly an hour.

    I listened.

    I found myself silently praying that God would guide my thoughts and words and give her peace.

    As we talked, I realized that her grief was about more than the loss of a beloved pet.

    There were deeper layers.

    Loneliness.

    Family concerns.

    The reality of returning to an empty house.

    What began as one story unfolded into many.

    This neighbor is Jewish. Out of respect, I have always tried to be thoughtful about how I share my faith with her. Yet whenever I speak about God or tell her that I am praying for her, she receives it graciously.

    As I sat there listening, I realized something.

    Sometimes giving people Jesus means listening long enough for them to tell the whole story.

    I never preached a sermon in my driveway.

    I never opened a Bible.

    I never even prayed out loud with her.

    But I hope she left knowing that someone cared.

    And perhaps that, too, is one way God allows us to reflect His love to the world.

    By the end of our conversation, her countenance had changed.

    The circumstances had not changed.

    Her loss was still real.

    But she seemed lighter.

    She seemed heard.

    As I write this reflection, it is nearly one o’clock in the morning.

    In fact, it was while writing this blog that I suddenly remembered something.

    The groceries.

    The milk and the Trader Joe’s Korean Style Beef Short Ribs were still sitting in the car.

    My husband forgot them.

    I forgot them.

    Everyone in the car forgot them.

    So here I am, standing in my kitchen, pouring milk down the drain and throwing away beef short ribs that I was genuinely excited to try.

    And yes, I am disappointed.

    The groceries mattered.

    I wanted those ribs.

    I still need milk.

    But as I stood there thinking about the day, another thought crossed my mind.

    Earlier that afternoon, I had a choice.

    At the store, I could have carried frustration.

    Later, in my driveway, I could have carried exhaustion.

    Instead, by God’s grace, I was able to be present for someone who needed to be heard.

    That does not make me special.

    It simply reminds me that we all have choices.

    Every day.

    Every encounter.

    Every interaction.

    We do not always get to choose how people treat us.

    But we do get to choose what we carry into the next encounter.

    And sometimes that choice determines whether people experience our hurt or experience God’s grace through us.

    This week, God reminded me that sometimes people see the Father through the way His children treat them.

    Sometimes they encounter Jesus through compassion before they hear His name.

    And sometimes giving someone Jesus is as simple as staying long enough to hear the real answer when they say,

    “I’m not doing good.”

    Prayer

    Heavenly Father,

    Thank You for the opportunity you place before us each day to reflect Your love.

    Help us to slow down long enough to notice the hurting people around us.

    Give us ears that listen, hearts that care, and wisdom to know how to respond.

    Teach us how to carry grace into every encounter, even when we ourselves have been hurt, overlooked, or disappointed.

    Help us to be people who reflect Your compassion in our words, our actions, and our presence.

    May others catch a glimpse of You through the way we love them.

    In Jesus’ name,

    Amen.

    Continue the Conversation

    If you would like to hear the sermon that inspired this reflection, Show Us the Father, I have included the church service video below.

    I am always learning and growing, and I welcome your thoughts and feedback.

    Have you ever experienced a moment when God used an ordinary conversation to remind you of His presence?

    Click here to watch

    Fediverse reactions

6 responses to “Grace To Use What You Already Have”

  1. Avatar
    Anonymous

    Tamike! If im permitted I’ll say, ” DELICIOUS!” It’s like I’ve just eaten a good satisfying meal. In light of the present SDB conference theme, I think the prevention is a timely one.
    KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK. 👍 I wish you speedy recovery.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
    1. TEdwardsGooden Avatar
      TEdwardsGooden

      Thank you so much! ❤️ “Delicious” made me smile! 😂 I truly appreciate your encouragement. I hadn’t even considered how this reflection connects with the present SDB Conference theme, so thank you for pointing that out as well. I’m grateful that it spoke to you and that God continues to use Grace Across Borders in ways I don’t always see when I’m writing. Thank you also for the well wishes as I recover. God bless you! 🙏🏾❤️

      Like

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  2. Avatar
    Anonymous

    Sis Tameka, I have been listening to your grace across borders for a while now and each time I listened I’m truly blessed.
    May God continue to use you for His glory as you make yourself available to Him. God bless you and your family.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
    1. TEdwardsGooden Avatar
      TEdwardsGooden

      Thank you so much! ❤️ This truly blessed and encouraged me more than you know. I am learning more and more to simply make myself available and trust God with whatever He places in my hands. Knowing that Grace Across Borders has been a blessing to you reminds me why I need to keep going. Thank you for listening, for your encouragement, and especially for your prayers. May God continue to bless you and your family as well. 🙏🏾❤️

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply
  3. Avatar
    Anonymous

    Very lovely thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
    1. TEdwardsGooden Avatar
      TEdwardsGooden

      Thank you for being here. I appreciate you!

      Like

      Reply
  4. #graceacrossborders Avatar
    #graceacrossborders

    … reposted this!

    Like

  5. #grace Avatar
    #grace

    … reposted this!

    Like

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