Salt Shakers...and Grinders

I love Word of Life. I love their philosophy. I love their emphasis on God’s Word. I love their heart for missions. I have more than a few friends who are missionaries with Word of Life…and I am one of their fans on Facebook. Yesterday, “wolmissions” (Word of Life Missions) posted the following quote as their status: “Salt was not made for the salt shaker. It was made for the soup.” (Dr. Chris Gnanakan) 

I’ve been thinking about that quote tonight…as I looked at my own salt shaker. Well, it’s not a shaker, so much as a grinder.  I have this fancy salt – I think it is Himalayan Sea Salt.  Whatever it is, it’s certainly not the Morton’s iodized salt that comes in the big round container with the pour spout on top.  You know, the cheap stuff? No, MY salt shaker is part of a matching bamboo salt/pepper grinder set that sits on a little bamboo tray and looks pretty…which is why I have the fancy salt.  It goes without saying that a fancy salt shaker needs fancy salt.  Dr. Gnanakan wasn’t talking about salt literally, of course. He was referring to us – believers – who are called to be the “salt of the earth.”    And I get what he was saying. What good does salt do if it never leaves the salt shaker? That’s not its purpose. It’s not made to sit on the table. It is made to season food.  This is true for the church. We weren’t purchased out of sin to sit in our fancy churches – to look pretty.  But isn’t that what we want to do?  We go to church to sing about Amazing Grace, but never tell anyone outside of those walls about what is so amazing about it. We sing hymns and songs about “how great is our God” and how we want all to see it, but do we ever really stop and share that with anyone on Sunday afternoon? Or Monday morning? God saved us by His grace so that we would take that message out into the world…to find other sinners who need that grace as well. 

I like the picture of my salt grinder even better than a salt shaker. You know why? Because that fancy salt doesn’t do a bit of good sitting in that fancy shaker until something happens to it…it gets crushed. Broken into tiny pieces. It can’t stay the way it is and be useful.  I’m like that fancy salt sometimes. I need to be broken.  Why do I have to be broken?  What keeps me from being used? My preferences. My prejudices. My pride. My pre-conceived notions of how I think God should work. (Look at that alliteration – I didn’t even plan that!)  As long as I hold on to those things, I’m too swelled up with pride – too big to make it out of the salt shaker.

I learned this on my first mission trip to work with Word of Life in Guatemala.  I had previously been on trips to England and to Mexico, but there was something about that first trip to Guatemala that God used to teach me a lot of lessons about what missions is really all about.­­ Basically, when it boils down to it, I shouldn’t have had to go all the way to Guatemala to figure this out – because missions should begin here at home. In my neighborhood. In my community.  But for whatever reason, it was in Guatemala that I remember for the first time truly seeing God work – in ways I did not expect, among people I did not expect, and in spite of anything I had to offer.  You know what I learned? God could care less for my preferences.  And He delights in working in and through the people the world (and sometimes the church!) would deem unworthy or unqualified.  He doesn’t need what we classify as the best education, the best training, the best methods or materials. He doesn’t need multi-media presentations or expensive buildings or impressive programs. He needs willing hearts. Hearts that are surrendered to Him. Hearts who have made His passion – reaching the lost – their passion as well.  It was in Guatemala that I first started to figure this out.

It was through another Word of Life missionary that this thought was driven home again – this time in the States. His name is Daniel Gonzalez, and he was visiting with a fellow-missionary, Jimmy Shankula, from Word of Life Ecuador.  I have a profound love and respect for Daniel and his family.  When I knew that he was going to be in our area, I made plans for him to spend time with my family.  I want my children to be exposed to missionaries as much as possible – to learn that they are just ordinary people who are sold out to an extraordinary God.  I wanted to be a blessing to the missionaries as well. We actually were able to spend time with them a couple of times on this particular visit.  There was one night when we went to Ryan’s – a buffet restaurant. It seemed like Daniel stopped to talk to anyone and everyone to tell them about Christ. But the best lesson came later in the week.  I still remember where we were – we had taken Daniel and Jimmy to Concord Mills, a local outlet mall, and we were standing in T.J. Maxx. Jimmy and Daniel were shopping for a few things to take back as gifts, and again, Daniel was talking to everyone.  He even started talking in Spanish to an Indian couple that he mistook for Hispanics.  When Daniel and Jimmy were ready to check out, my son Josh was standing in line with Daniel. He couldn’t have been more than about 7 or 8 years old.  The lines were somewhat long, and I was getting a little nervous about how all of these people would feel if Daniel started to hold up the line.  Sure enough, when it was his turn, Daniel introduced Josh to the sales associate. I don’t remember his exact words, but it started something like this, “This is my friend, Josh. He loves Jesus.  Do you know Jesus?”  I started to get embarrassed. What would people think?  But fortunately the Holy Spirit was at work, and­­ just as quickly, I began to feel shame as I saw the hypocrisy in myself.  I claimed to love Christ. I claimed to have a heart for missions. But what about the people around me?  I was surrounded by people who needed the Lord, and I was worried about holding up the line? What did it matter what these people thought? Daniel wasn’t concerned about holding up a line; he was concerned about the soul standing across from him. And he was doing exactly what I had secretly hoped – he was teaching my son (and me!) that anyone can be a missionary…and anywhere. English is not his native tongue, and yet he shared the love of Christ. What was my excuse? I prayed that God would forgive me for my attitude. We did some more shopping, we went to Nascar Speedpark, and a Mexican restaurant. My children still remember driving go-carts at the Speedpark with Daniel and Jimmy. They each had their favorite, and to this day, still remember that time with them.  I vaguely remember the Speedpark. I remember vividly, however, the check-out line at T.J. Maxx.  It was there that I was humbled once again, and gained a better understanding of what it means to be a “fisher of men.”

I still do not have the boldness I saw in Daniel, but I am becoming more and more bold in my witness.  I am trying to not stay comfortable on display in that salt shaker. I am trying to offer myself up to be broken and used – to do what I was created for. I am learning that salt, when used correctly, really makes a difference. I am trying to make a difference too – in the people with whom I come into contact every day.  I have prayed and prayed to be able to go to the mission field. I truly have a heart for foreign missions, and I think after two visits to Guatemala, that a part of my heart remained there.  But God hasn’t chosen to send me back there yet…or to any of the other countries that I want to help reach with the Gospel. Obviously, there is more I need to learn, and I must wait on His timing. In the meantime, there are plenty around me who need the Gospel just as much as those in other countries. The question is, will I be willing to be broken and poured out on them? 

What about you? Where are you? In the salt shaker? Or in the soup?