Let Nothing Be Wasted

We deliberated for many months as to what we should name Mason. It wasn’t so easy to agree on anything. When we finally decided we both liked the name Mason, it was then on to, “Now what should his middle name be?”

And Anthony said, “What about Andrew? I have always liked that he was known as the disciple who brought others to Jesus.”

So through my pregnancy, I prayed this namesake over Mason and trusted that God would be faithful to use him to bring others to Jesus.

And then honestly, I kinda forgot about it. Or maybe I didn’t forget but thoughts of him bringing people to Jesus were drowned out by desperate pleas for sleep. And my prayers were less concerned with his future and more consumed with surviving that first fussy year of his existence.

And then, 6 years later, when my world shattered and darkness engulfed me, there was only one source of light. In those heavily oppressive days after Mason died and suffocating pain overpowered sleep, I was driven to God’s word. I would open to Psalms and read and read. A discipline developed over the years became my only source of oxygen and that daily practice taught me how to survive tragedy.

Just 3 days after he died, after a particularly difficult night, I sat in the chair where I used to rock him with his blankie in the early hours and, desperate for hope that seemed impossible, I opened my bible to Psalms. And I felt the Lord telling me to turn to the New Testament.

So I turned to the book of John and started reading about the word becoming flesh and dwelling among us and the light shining in the darkness but the darkness not overcoming it. Good stuff, but definitely not the comfort I was looking for.

But then, I read the next subheading in my bible that said, “The Calling of the First Disciple.” And I knew.

“Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, was one of the two who heard what John had said and who had followed Jesus. The first thing Andrew did was to find his brother Simon and tell him, ‘We have found the Messiah’ (that is, the Christ). And he brought him to Jesus.” -John 1:40-42

And as I wiped fresh tears from my overly saturated eyes, I was reminded of a prayer I once prayed over my little boy. And I knew why God brought me to the New Testament that morning. And I knew I wasn’t at the end of hope. And I knew God’s sovereignty would prevail over every dark turn in my painful valley.

And in that moment, I felt God saying, “Mason’s life will bring people to me.”

I never imagined when I claimed this promise for my son so many years ago it would be fulfilled through his death. Or that the suddenness of him leaving would gather the attention of those around us and the shock of it all would be some sort of microphone that would beckon others to hope and to truth. But I knew in that moment, watching the sunrise on a new day without my little boy, that God would use it all for his glory.

I cling to this promise, this reminder of hope and redemption. God has indeed used Mason’s life to bring people to him. In ways I have seen and in so many ways I will never see until eternity. I know this because he is faithful. And he does this not because of me or because of Mason. But because He is good. And holy. And sovereign. And he takes the prayers we pray and the faith we proclaim and the sacrifices we offer him and he is glorified.

My dad once pointed out to me that Andrew is mentioned another time in the bible. In John’s account of the feeding of the 5,000, Andrew is the disciple who brought the boy with the lunch to Jesus. (John 6:1-15)

I read this passage often. The hesitant faith of Andrew, Here is a little food, but even that, I mean… will it even make a difference? How can this one boy’s sacrifice meet the needs of thousands?

That little, insignificant lunch, made a difference. Certainly he was not the only one there with food that day, but he was the one willing to give it up. To hand it over, for a purpose bigger than his own.

My favorite part of this miracle is what comes after everyone has had their fill. Jesus said, “Gather up all the leftovers. Let nothing be wasted.”

Let nothing be wasted? 12 baskets of food that no one even needs?

Every single morsel had significance for God’s kingdom. He wastes nothing. Every part of every sacrifice, every aspect of every heartache when surrendered to God is precious and valuable and he doesn’t waste it. Even when it appears everyone has had their fill of truth, every piece leftover matters to the kingdom.

I feel God continually whisper to me, because my memory is short and my emotions will waver, that he is not wasting a thing.

He is multiplying for his glory.

And when the years stretch on and it often feels that Mason is a distant memory in the minds of others, God reminds me over and over that he wastes nothing.

He does not waste a single tear. He will not waste the lonely ache that pierces the heart. He does not waste a mom’s faith that says, “God is good,” even when life is anything but.

I often think of that little boy who so eagerly handed over his lunch. Was he generously sharing the little he had and expecting to go hungry? Or was he preparing for a miracle? What was he thinking? Even if his expectations included some sort of miracle I wonder if he anticipated a full stomach and baskets of leftovers.

I like to wonder, did he get to take any of the leftovers home? Did Andrew, whose own faith no doubt grew massively that day, hand over his basket and say, “Hey, thanks for sharing.” And did that little boy run home with it to a mom, a family, a village… sharing a story of a miracle worker?

God used his sacrifice for something truly magnificent. How drastically that must have shaped his life. Whenever he again felt the Lord saying, “Will you give that to me? Watch what I will do,” I imagine he gladly released his tightened grip and trusted the Creator with what felt sacred to him.

The sacrifice can be unbearable. It can feel impossible. It may be a small lunch. But sometimes its great pain. Years of mourning and grief. Deep longing and hurting. And it takes faith in the sovereignty of an Almighty God that he is good and he will use it for something so much better.

I know I will never hear all the many ways God has used Mason’s story to pull on the hearts of those who hear it. But I do get to see little glimpses. I hear testimonies from friends and get emails from strangers. I hear how our brief time in the hospital had great impact on doctors and nurses. I see pictures of the precious faces of girls at a home in India, established in his honor. 105 girls call Mason’s Place home. 105 girls have a bed to sleep in tonight and food to eat tomorrow. They are marginalized, at risk, many are orphaned, and many have been rescued from a life of unimaginable horrors. And now they find security and love. They receive an education and the opportunity to learn how precious they are to the God of the universe.

They now live a life of hope.

When I see these faces I know with certainty, God wastes nothing.

And then there is my own life. Before my son died, I certainly never longed with such eager anticipation for eternity. When my son entered heaven I was given a new filter to view this world and it has changed me. It has changed the way I parent and the way I desire to share truth with others. And yes, it has changed me in other ways too… the sadness of grief and loss of a child doesn’t wear well on this earthly body. But the eternal perspective I have now is so crisp and clear that I long for the return of Jesus more than anything else.

This morning I was reading Hebrews and I got teary at the Great Faith chapter. About those of whom the world was not worthy. How they longed for a better country, a heavenly one.

And when I read that they didn’t receive the things promised before they died, but “they welcomed them from a distance…” I am reminded to look through that lens to eternity. And I am reminded that all I need is faith. Faith to hand over my little lunch so God can feed thousands. And while I maybe will not see that feast here on earth, while my soul rumbles and longs to be filled and my heart yearns for redemption and hope… I can rest knowing that a mother’s prayer that started with something as simple as a middle name can matter greatly for eternity. And someday in eternity maybe I’ll get to see my own basket bursting with leftovers.

Because… he wastes nothing.