I'm a runner--of sorts. Not the half-marathon-constantly-training-cool-running-shoes-kinda runner. I'm more of the sleep-in-my-sports-bra-roll-out-of-bed-shove-on-my-shoes-jog-for-thirty-minutes-come-back-drink-coffee-kinda runner. I do it because I need exercise. I try to run five days a week. On the sixth day, I try to take a walk, and on the seventh day, I rest. Recently, though, I've read several articles and even listened to my doctor discuss the current research that suggests running every day may not be the best thing for your body. And part of me is like, "Really, ya think?" A pulled hamstring, a pulled oblique muscle, grouchy knees and strained tendons this year are just a few of the reasons why I have a sneaking suspicion there's probably some validity to the idea that daily pounding the pavement may not be what our bodies were designed for. (And for all you veteran runners out there. Shut your pie holes. I know you're supposed to stretch, wear good shoes, etc. I'm gonna start that tomorrow!) But in truth, sometimes I feel like my entire world is the same--constantly pounding the pavement. And I can't help but wonder if we have a few pulled muscles, a few strained tendons because of it.
It is like we are a train at full tilt, an airplane careening through the heavens, a full on battle charge complete with war whoops, galloping horses and the pounding of hooves. Always pounding hooves. My husband's, my children's, my own. The constant cacophony of crazed feet keeping time to an even crazier schedule. Whatever I liken our life to, it must be in constant full-throttle motion to be even remotely accurate. We are a family on the move. And I know we aren't unique. In fact, I think we probably appear to be in slow motion in comparison to other families. Just the other day, I overheard a conversation where one mom admitted to another mom that she hadn't looked at her daughter's homework in weeks because they had been so busy with other activities and responsibilities that she simply hadn't had the time. I wanted to whisper in her ear, "I feel your pain, Momma. I feel your pain!"
I wonder though, if motion is one of Satan's greatest allies in disabling a follower of Jesus--not just any motion, but motion without a refined, focused purpose. After all Jesus did call us to be 'doers of the word and not hearers only.' So motion itself isn't wrong, and that's good since I'm perpetually moving. But what seems to happen is that we buy into a mindset that insists activity and entertainment are our divine purpose and right. We have this notion that good parents enroll their children in everything. If our kids are interested, give them the chance to explore it fully. And it doesn't sound wrong even as I type it, does it? And for goodness sakes, we mustn't forget that good kids are busy kids, so we arrange sleepovers, parties, and play dates. Our youth ministries are overrun with game nights and lock-ins because we need to keep our kids out of trouble, right? (Yet apparently almost 90% of them will leave church within their first year of college. So how's that working for us?) It's the motion movement we've bought into; yet we're all limping along with pulls and strains; and man alive are we ever thirsty. So are our children. Thirsty for the Living God.
"Why do you search for the living among the dead?"
It was a question the men at the tomb asked the women who came to treat Christ's dead body with spices. See, they were behind the eight ball. They came to treat a dead body. It wasn't until the men asked the women that question that scripture says the ladies remembered what Jesus had told them about His purpose. He would fall into the hands of sinful men, be crucified, and rise again the third day. He was done with the dying and onto the rising. Jesus had a focused plan, and he stuck to it (Luke 24). But we aren't aware of His plan, or like the women, we've forgotten it. The result is that we too are searching for the living among the dead.
And I'm left to ask not "What is my plan," but . . .
What is God's plan for our family?
What is God's plan for our sports-loving-book-inhaling-thirteen-year-old?
What is God's plan for our tree-climbing-animal-adoring-ten-year-old?
We say we "just want the very best for our kids," but I wonder if we really mean it. Because isn't the very best synonymous with God's plan? And if we're really wanting to cut to the chase, aren't we a little too busy pursuing the very best to stop and ask God what His plans are for our children?
Wasn't Francis Chan onto something when he said, “Our greatest fear should not be of failure but of succeeding at things in life that don't really matter.”
In the end, maybe daily running on the treadmill of a society that is convinced that more is more, that bigger is better, that lessons and sports and clubs and involvement equal success, is causing more damage than good.
Could it be that we're missing God's plan while we act like hamsters in a cosmic cage?
Could it be our children don't need to be entertained, rather they need to be enlightened?
Could it be they need to know they weren't placed on earth to get great grades, go to great colleges, embark on promising careers, marry, make babies, buy a house and live happily ever after? (And don't misunderstand me here, I'm not saying those things won't happen along the way. I'm just asking if it is possible that we missed the main point?)
Could it be?
Could it be we ourselves need the same enlightening?
Because there is an entire world out there in desperate need of our assistance, and if we are busy balancing a life on a blasted treadmill, we can't help them. We're incapable of doing both.
So while we run . . .
While we race . . .
While we entertain . . .
While we keep busy . . .
While we give our children opportunities . . .
Almost half a million children in the US live in foster care. 100,000 of them cannot return home. Ever.
More than 150 MILLION children have lost one or both parents to AIDS, disease, poverty, etc.
At least 3.5 MILLION children die each year because of malnutrition related diseases.
55 million unborn children are killed every year via abortion, 105 per minute. 3 per minute in the US.
Approximately 15 people die per minute due to nutrition related illness.
209 MILLION people do not have any scripture in their language.
. . . people die, and they don't know God.
But, in the meantime, our kids got into the right University because they had a great transcript, lots of activities, and high SAT scores.
We're busy chasing the proverbial American Dream and teaching our children to do the same. In short, we're the guy in Jesus' parable of the talents that buried his in the field. We're burying the greatest resource God has given us--our lives--under a mound of worldy pursuits and earthly treasures. But it is never enough. We're never satisfied. We hunger and thirst for more.
"My food," said Jesus, "is to do the will of him who sent me and to finish his
work.(John 4:34)
Are we hungry and thirsty because we aren't eating the right food?
And just what is the will of him who sent Jesus? Really?
We have come to know love by this: that Jesus laid down his life for us; thus we ought to lay down our lives for our fellow Christians. But whoever has the world's possessions and sees his fellow Christian in need and shuts off his compassion against him, how can the love of God reside in such a person? Little children, let us not love with word or with tongue but in deed and truth. (I John 3:16-18)
We have come to know love by this: that Jesus laid down his life for us; thus we ought to lay down our lives for our fellow Christians.
And for whom have I laid down my life? For whom have I said, I'll forgo what I want so they can have what they need? For whom? Because if I'm gonna be honest, there's a part of me that doesn't want to raise my hand and volunteer as a foster parent. I'd rather not go back to diapers and diaper bags, bottles and burps. I'm finally past that. And what if they have problems? What if they're disturbed because of what they've been through? It could get messy, could get inconvenient.
Carrying the cross wasn't convenient for Jesus, and yet . . .
But whoever has the world's possessions and sees his fellow Christian in need and shuts off his compassion against him, how can the love of God reside in such a person?
And for whom have I surrendered my possessions? I wonder what inheritance Jesus left for his siblings to divide? I'm kinda guessing none. Yet isn't that the thing that concerns us if we're being truthful? We want to amass some little something here on earth so we can leave it for our wee ones. We want to save enough to go on trips, to travel the world . . . or at least to Florida. We want to add a pool, pave the driveway, buy, consume, take, hold for ourselves.
Storing up treasure in heaven means surrendering earthly treasures . . .
Little children, let us not love with word or with tongue but in deed and truth.(I John 3:18)
And isn't this the crux of it all? The answer to the motion problem? It isn't that God has told us to remain inert. Indeed, He called us to action. But the focus, the purpose of that action?
Should not our strides be specifically aimed? Should not our motion be in the direction of Love?
Love won't leave us with pulled muscles, in fact it will expand our muscles, expand our hearts.
Love won't leave us with strained tendons; it will be a balm to the strains of others.
Love won't leave us with aching knees; it will lift a world brought to their knees by a life apart from God, to their feet.
Love walks.
Love runs.
Love prays.
Love builds.
Love gives.
Love feeds.
Love refrains.
Love pays fairly.
Love mends.
Love translates.
Love sacrifices.
Love lays down one's own life.
I wonder about those two bombers in Boston. I wonder if they ever came in contact with love. I wonder if there was a free camp like the one here in the mountains where my family is privileged to help during the month of July--a place where children come and experience the unconditional love of God--would it have made a difference? Had one person brought LOVE to them, could it have changed everything?
Because in a world where people are constantly running, love moves too. Moves hearts. Moves lives. Moves people to step off the treadmill of American Dreams and into the reality of lives lived for eternity. One accomplishes nothing that will last. The other accomplishes things imperishable.
Once, Joseph and Mary lost Jesus as a youth. When they found Him, He spoke the now infamous line: "Don't you know I'm to be about my Father's business?" (Luke 2:49)
Our Father's business is The World. And He deals in only one currency. Love.
Father, help me to move in your wake, to move in focused, purposeful ways. Help our family to have the sole goal of being about your business. Redirect, guide,hem us in, and strengthen our limbs for the journey. Amen.
Showing posts with label our purpose. Show all posts
Showing posts with label our purpose. Show all posts
Friday, April 26, 2013
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
The Mothering Chronicles 9: Beyond Picket Fences
Of course I've thought it myself, but others have let the word form on their lips, in their raised eyebrows, in their silence. Craziness.
To sell the home that hands and hearts hinged together nail by nail, surely that's madness. To walk away from that place you built together with friends and planned on remaining forever, surely that's insane.
There's no other place like that in the county. In the country, for that matter.
Crazy.
But the moments are few, and this home, she drinks them like there has been a drought insisting on having more than her fair share. Insists on sending a Father to work over 85 hours a week to quench her thirst for months and long, long months. Insists on demanding this homeschooling momma work two other part time jobs. She's gotten greedy, this home.
And we've walked many miles in these shoes. Our souls are thinning.
Just because we can afford, does that mean we should afford? And maybe the 2.2 children and one lovely white picket fence thing is a little overrated when there is a world beyond that fence and millions of children with no fence, and no bed, hearts and bellies hungry for real food, real love. And really? They're out there, and I'm cutting my kentucky blue grass, clinging to an American dream? Who's clinging to them?
And where is God in homes and finances and godly people just trying to make their ends come together? Godly people obeying the directions their Father gave. Where is God's heart when Daddy is working another double and Momma's back is to her children, working again? Where is God when we cling to bricks and mortar, and our children's frames stretch for the sky, and the number of years they will remain with us is now fewer than the number of years we've already shared?
Because they do grow up.
And we don't have them forever.
And when all is said and done, what is truly the important thing in life?
What truly matters?
What is the best thing we can give to our children?
Are not these children the first stewardship we have?
And who can have a marriage who doesn't have time to share with their beloved?
And is home really this moon-yellow colonial farm house, or is it the place where we four gather?
And is the view from living room windows that I love best really the dusty-red dogwoods in early October or the dyed red hair of a 12 year old and the nappy long locks of a 10 year old while they conquer an invisible world when school's done? And if home and view are the latter, then don't they exist wherever we are?
Don't they?
And wouldn't it be crazier to stay? To eek it out when we could have taken less of this world to gain more of the things that truly matter?
What message do we send, when we hold to the temporary, insisting to our children that it is of some great value?
Because what they value is our eye contact, our heart contact, our time. Us with them. Daddy home. Mommy undistracted. Daddy and Mommy together, hands tangled, hearts twined, mouths laughing. Football in the backyard, full contact solitaire in the loft, Little Men on rain soaked afternoons.
Do we confuse them when we quote, "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth where moth and rust destroy, and thieves break in and steal . . . " (Matthew 9:16) and then turn around and continue to work at storing up, holding on, clinging to these earthly treasures?
And what did He say about the man who wants to serve two masters?
No man can serve two masters.
And what did He say about the church that tried to have it both ways?
Luke warm.
And what did He say about the man who asks God for wisdom, but doesn't take that wisdom and live by it?
Double minded. Tossed about like a wave of the sea.
And sometimes it is just dadgum hard not to have it both ways, if you want to know the truth. That's the truth.
The truth of how I feel, but feelings change, and if my truth is based on my feelings, than my truth is not constant. But then, I know The Truth.
And He--The Truth--says, "I am the way . . . I am the life. What does it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul? Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
Yet I know how those disciples felt, the ones that said, "This is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?" I know how they felt when they turned and walked the other way. The broad way.
A path well trod is easy on feeble feet, but it takes faith to place feet in foamy waves and trust that, keeping your eyes fixed on Him, you will not falter.
Could less really be more?
Could we live that out and see it to fruition?
Could we look the Jones Family square in the face and tell them, you win. We're not racing anymore. We're satisfied with loving each other and our children instead.
Could we lead the charge that insists status quo is not good enough, and picket fences may mean cages, and freedom may be found in letting go of them and clinging to Christ.
Is faith really the substance of things hoped for, the evidence not seen?
Because our forever home is sold, and we are two weeks away from a closing with no other sure thing on the horizon.
Evidence NOT seen.
Faith.
When you step into the water, leaving the safety of the boat--the safety of a home you know and love, a life you're comfortable with--you better believe He is good. Better have that Truth to place timid, tentative toes upon.
And I do.
Believe He is good.
Believe He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.
Believe He is able to keep us from falling.
Believe He never leaves, never forsakes.
Believe He is a strong tower.
Believe He knows the plans He has for us, that they are good, hope-filled.
Believe He will keep in perfect peace him--little me--whose mind is steadfast on Him.
Believe He will give peace that passes understanding as a sentinel to guard this frightened heart.
Believe He has never, not one single time, let me down.
Believe me,
I do.
Pray with me: Father, you are the one who is able to keep us from falling. You are the God who promised that 'in our hearts we would plan our course, but YOU would determine our steps.' You are the substance of our faith. Determine our steps, Father. May we have your heart, your priorities. May you be our gain. May you be our home. May you be our forever. Amen.
To sell the home that hands and hearts hinged together nail by nail, surely that's madness. To walk away from that place you built together with friends and planned on remaining forever, surely that's insane.
There's no other place like that in the county. In the country, for that matter.
Crazy.
But the moments are few, and this home, she drinks them like there has been a drought insisting on having more than her fair share. Insists on sending a Father to work over 85 hours a week to quench her thirst for months and long, long months. Insists on demanding this homeschooling momma work two other part time jobs. She's gotten greedy, this home.
And we've walked many miles in these shoes. Our souls are thinning.
Just because we can afford, does that mean we should afford? And maybe the 2.2 children and one lovely white picket fence thing is a little overrated when there is a world beyond that fence and millions of children with no fence, and no bed, hearts and bellies hungry for real food, real love. And really? They're out there, and I'm cutting my kentucky blue grass, clinging to an American dream? Who's clinging to them?
And where is God in homes and finances and godly people just trying to make their ends come together? Godly people obeying the directions their Father gave. Where is God's heart when Daddy is working another double and Momma's back is to her children, working again? Where is God when we cling to bricks and mortar, and our children's frames stretch for the sky, and the number of years they will remain with us is now fewer than the number of years we've already shared?
Because they do grow up.
And we don't have them forever.
And when all is said and done, what is truly the important thing in life?
What truly matters?
What is the best thing we can give to our children?
Are not these children the first stewardship we have?
And who can have a marriage who doesn't have time to share with their beloved?
And is home really this moon-yellow colonial farm house, or is it the place where we four gather?
And is the view from living room windows that I love best really the dusty-red dogwoods in early October or the dyed red hair of a 12 year old and the nappy long locks of a 10 year old while they conquer an invisible world when school's done? And if home and view are the latter, then don't they exist wherever we are?
Don't they?
And wouldn't it be crazier to stay? To eek it out when we could have taken less of this world to gain more of the things that truly matter?
What message do we send, when we hold to the temporary, insisting to our children that it is of some great value?
Because what they value is our eye contact, our heart contact, our time. Us with them. Daddy home. Mommy undistracted. Daddy and Mommy together, hands tangled, hearts twined, mouths laughing. Football in the backyard, full contact solitaire in the loft, Little Men on rain soaked afternoons.
Do we confuse them when we quote, "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth where moth and rust destroy, and thieves break in and steal . . . " (Matthew 9:16) and then turn around and continue to work at storing up, holding on, clinging to these earthly treasures?
And what did He say about the man who wants to serve two masters?
No man can serve two masters.
And what did He say about the church that tried to have it both ways?
Luke warm.
And what did He say about the man who asks God for wisdom, but doesn't take that wisdom and live by it?
Double minded. Tossed about like a wave of the sea.
And sometimes it is just dadgum hard not to have it both ways, if you want to know the truth. That's the truth.
The truth of how I feel, but feelings change, and if my truth is based on my feelings, than my truth is not constant. But then, I know The Truth.
And He--The Truth--says, "I am the way . . . I am the life. What does it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul? Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
Yet I know how those disciples felt, the ones that said, "This is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?" I know how they felt when they turned and walked the other way. The broad way.
A path well trod is easy on feeble feet, but it takes faith to place feet in foamy waves and trust that, keeping your eyes fixed on Him, you will not falter.
Could less really be more?
Could we live that out and see it to fruition?
Could we look the Jones Family square in the face and tell them, you win. We're not racing anymore. We're satisfied with loving each other and our children instead.
Could we lead the charge that insists status quo is not good enough, and picket fences may mean cages, and freedom may be found in letting go of them and clinging to Christ.
Is faith really the substance of things hoped for, the evidence not seen?
Because our forever home is sold, and we are two weeks away from a closing with no other sure thing on the horizon.
Evidence NOT seen.
Faith.
When you step into the water, leaving the safety of the boat--the safety of a home you know and love, a life you're comfortable with--you better believe He is good. Better have that Truth to place timid, tentative toes upon.
And I do.
Believe He is good.
Believe He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.
Believe He is able to keep us from falling.
Believe He never leaves, never forsakes.
Believe He is a strong tower.
Believe He knows the plans He has for us, that they are good, hope-filled.
Believe He will keep in perfect peace him--little me--whose mind is steadfast on Him.
Believe He will give peace that passes understanding as a sentinel to guard this frightened heart.
Believe He has never, not one single time, let me down.
Believe me,
I do.
Pray with me: Father, you are the one who is able to keep us from falling. You are the God who promised that 'in our hearts we would plan our course, but YOU would determine our steps.' You are the substance of our faith. Determine our steps, Father. May we have your heart, your priorities. May you be our gain. May you be our home. May you be our forever. Amen.
Friday, May 11, 2012
The Mothering Chronices 7: Preparing the Way
People often think of my mom as a saint. Her smile is very big, and she rarely gets worked up. She has no idea how to cuss properly, how to get mad, or even how to think a mean thought let alone speak one. A single mom, she raised five precious-tender-hearted-never-get-into-a-fight-and-kick-the-door-in-or-come-home-smelling-of-Camels-or-listen-to-Bon-Jovi-way-too-loud girls. Our budget was tighter than my britches after Christmas, and she was lucky if at the end of the month she could afford to rent one VHS from Video Unlimited. Dresses she stitched while we toddled and tumbled over her treadle sewing machine hung for years on misshapen wire hangers because she couldn't afford to buy something new. She was and still is one of those people. (The kind I wish I could emulate, but somehow always come up short.) Now mind you, she's not perfect. If you wanna see her get worked up suggest a "bring your own picnic" day at Vogel for Mother's Day. Wrong words. Let.Me.Tell.You. She likes her food (Read: she eats a five course breakfast every single day, and don't you dare get in the way of her tea!) and she's sure not making her own picnic on Mother's Day.
A few weeks ago, when the air turned up its temperature and the flowers started stretching their necks above the ground, she danced for Palm Sunday at church. Something happens when Mom dances--everyone notices it. The men and the ladies, the dresses and the ties, the earrings and the perfume, they all disappear. She smiles this smile that you'll never see in any of her adult photographs. But if you dig out the old albums--the ones with cock-eyed black and white photos stuck on parched pages--you'll find the same smile. It's the one she used before life came and took, before life came and gave, before her father died too young and her mother lost to cancer, before a husband came and left, and five daughters pulled and took and pushed and needed, the smile she used when she was an innocent child. It's a girl dancing before her Father. And just seeing that, I know how she made it through. Because He loved her. HE.
And she drank from His Living Water.
Every.
Single.
Day.
I remember one line from the song she danced to--
Prepare ye the way of the Lord.
And there's this image etched like carvings in a piece of maple that marks my heart. It's of mom dancing on the Sunday we celebrate the people laying palm branches down for the coming Messiah, and I think how she would have been there with all those crowds of curious people on that day. She would have waved spring-green palms and placed them on the earth before he crossed her path.
And two-thousand years later, she did the same thing. Prepared the way. Prepared the way of the Lord. That was her crowning achievement as a mother. She prepared the way of the Lord for us girls. She is the one who did that for us. Did that by drinking from His Living Water. Did that by clinging to Him as her hope. Did that by depending on Him alone. Did that by never quitting God when by all physical evidence it would have seemed (if I'm being honest) like He might have quit her.
She couldn't come to every tennis match. She worked. Sometimes multiple jobs. She scrubbed other people's toilets so I could eat her homemade lentil soup, and she worked nights at the Golden Pantry when old stinky men with cigarettes lodged in their mouths would want to talk to the pretty raven haired single lady, so we could get a new outfit for back-to-school. She missed some things, it's true. But when I wanted to talk at three in the morning, and she hadn't slept, she talked. She propped herself up on pillows and prepared the way while I sat Indian style on the green afghan that footed her bed. And maybe it was an angel that held her eyelids open because now that I'm a mom, I know what it means to be dog-tired, and I am sure she was far beyond that kind of tired.
And isn't this the great crux of the mothering we do? That we would prepare the way of the Lord for our children? Isn't this the thing they most need? And when Mary chose the more excellent thing, the thing that was needful, was it not that she just made a way for Jesus in her life?
Because sometimes life--that old great giver and terrible taker--sometimes he just brings us to our knees. Sometimes he demands so much, and we are left dizzy and uncertain what to do next. Us moms. We get left that way sometimes, don't we? I remember once, when I was a senior in high school, we had a pep-rally game called Dizzy Bat. I was selected to represent my class. My instructions were simple, and honestly, I thought I was rocking them out.
Hold the bat touching the floor.
Put your head on the top of the bat.
Spin around.
Ten times.
Fast. (That's the part I was rocking out.)
Run.
In a straight line to the other side of the gym.
In front of the entire high school.
I ran.
One step.
Then I fell, flat on my back.
Entire high school.
Dizzy.
Life gets you the way, doesn' it?
And when you get done spinning and think you're ready to run, you have no clue which way you are going.
Mothers.
We have one direction with our kids.
One focal point.
One way to run.
Jesus.
Prepare the way for them to love Jesus, to know Him, to trust Him, to count on Him, to seek Him, to abide in Him.
In Him is fullness of life.
In Him.
And I get this backwards. I spin in circles chasing American Dreams because I have spent thirty-five years steeping, like dehydrated mint leaves in steaming water, in a culture that insists there is a right way to raise a child.
Educate them well.
So we do. We send them to pre-school and then relocate our family to a town with the best school systems. We spend hours making sure their third grade camouflage salt dough and vinegar volcano is The.Coolest.One.Ever.
Give them opportunities.
So we do. Piano. Soccer. Football. Art lessons. Gymnastics. Horse Camp.
And we work more jobs to afford more opportunities.
And we hire a house cleaner to clean our toilets because we aren't home and don't have time to do it ourselves. Since we aren't home, we probably haven't peed in them anyway, so it's kind of an exercise in futility, but we do it anyway.
Keep them entertained so they stay out of trouble.
So we do. Sleepovers every weekend. Trips to the movies. To the skating rink. To the park. More play dates. Big vacations.
Don't let them want for anything.
So we don't. (God knows this one taunts me.) Because I remember not having when others did. And please God, I don't ever want my children to know that ache. So we buy the name brand. We do. As if a name brand can save a soul, can heal a hurt, can carry a child into a lifetime of happiness.
Take them to church.
So we do. And to all the activities the church offers because surely they need to know about Jesus and the tired Sunday School teacher can reach them in ways we can't or don't know how to.
Or are too tired to even attempt because we've been busy.
Busy spinning.
And though there isn't anything wrong with any of these things, somehow we abdicate our one single shot to do the preparing. We divvy out our chance, our stewardship, our few, finite years with these beautiful beings to name brands and complete strangers when God hand picked us for the preparing.
And some of us do have to work, and some of us can't homeschool, and some of us don't work and do homeschool, and still we sacrifice this one precious act--the preparing act--because we're too busy on facebook and texting. And I'm talking to myself here, so just ignore my ranting.
This really is the question. What precious moments do we have, and what are we doing with them?
Because the needful thing is to prepare the way.
Not for a great college,
not for a great job,
not for success in this life.
The needful thing is to prepare their hearts for The Way,
for The Truth,
for The Life,
for His Kingdom,
for success in their eternal life,
for fullness of life.
For Jesus.
And if you are like me, and you get to spinning so fast that when you finally stop you have no idea which way is up or down or left or right, then perhaps you could sit with me and watch Mom dance.
Watch her move before the God that carried her through all the good--the births of beautiful brown eyed babies, the walks through fields of daisies in spring, and lazy summer days at the lake in the heat of summer. Watch her make famous the name of the God who gripped her with relentless strength when the angst of life swallowed her marriage, her parents, her siblings, her dreams. She's still just preparing the way for Him.
If we live to give things or opportunities to our children, we will miss it.
Miss the needful thing.
Miss the chance to prepare.
Our goal as parents, my goal as a momma of sweet, wild, wonderful boys is just this:
To make the name of my God so famous before my children that they know He is the source of life.
In Him is abundance.
In Him is fullness of joy.
In Him is hope.
In Him is peace.
In Him is healing.
In Him is satisfaction.
Mother's Day is declaring her arrival on a one inch square in my May Calendar. Every year she insists I stop and pause long enough to ask, Am I worthy of the spoiling I know I'll get? Do I deserve the honoring, the loving that my men will wash over me?
So often, I'm not.
I'm not a saint like my own momma.
I fall so short.
I fall.
Often.
Period.
And I question God.
Why, God, did you give them to me? There are a thousand better mommas. A thousand who never raise their voice, who never space out and fail to hear their son calling out, a thousand who smile more, who play more, who . . .
But He chose me.
He chose you.
"Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them." (Psalm 127:3-5)
And heritages and rewards and blessings are not randomly tossed from heaven to land like dandelion seeds where they may. They are selected sovereignly by God for specific recipients.
Recipients like you.
Recipients like me.
And isn't He able to keep us from falling?
And isn't preparing the way partly about teaching a child, modeling for a child the ability to humble oneself and admit we are sinners, admit we too mess up, admit we need Jesus, need His forgiveness. Isn't that the greatest ushering of a child into the presence of God that we could ever do?
It's never too late to begin afresh.
Never to late to begin the dance before our Father.
The dance that will mesmerize the minds of our children,
will captivate their attention,
will make God famous in their hearts.
May your Mother's Day be of the dancing kind.
With love,
S
And she drank from His Living Water.
Every.
Single.
Day.
I remember one line from the song she danced to--
Prepare ye the way of the Lord.
And there's this image etched like carvings in a piece of maple that marks my heart. It's of mom dancing on the Sunday we celebrate the people laying palm branches down for the coming Messiah, and I think how she would have been there with all those crowds of curious people on that day. She would have waved spring-green palms and placed them on the earth before he crossed her path.
And two-thousand years later, she did the same thing. Prepared the way. Prepared the way of the Lord. That was her crowning achievement as a mother. She prepared the way of the Lord for us girls. She is the one who did that for us. Did that by drinking from His Living Water. Did that by clinging to Him as her hope. Did that by depending on Him alone. Did that by never quitting God when by all physical evidence it would have seemed (if I'm being honest) like He might have quit her.
She couldn't come to every tennis match. She worked. Sometimes multiple jobs. She scrubbed other people's toilets so I could eat her homemade lentil soup, and she worked nights at the Golden Pantry when old stinky men with cigarettes lodged in their mouths would want to talk to the pretty raven haired single lady, so we could get a new outfit for back-to-school. She missed some things, it's true. But when I wanted to talk at three in the morning, and she hadn't slept, she talked. She propped herself up on pillows and prepared the way while I sat Indian style on the green afghan that footed her bed. And maybe it was an angel that held her eyelids open because now that I'm a mom, I know what it means to be dog-tired, and I am sure she was far beyond that kind of tired.
And isn't this the great crux of the mothering we do? That we would prepare the way of the Lord for our children? Isn't this the thing they most need? And when Mary chose the more excellent thing, the thing that was needful, was it not that she just made a way for Jesus in her life?
Because sometimes life--that old great giver and terrible taker--sometimes he just brings us to our knees. Sometimes he demands so much, and we are left dizzy and uncertain what to do next. Us moms. We get left that way sometimes, don't we? I remember once, when I was a senior in high school, we had a pep-rally game called Dizzy Bat. I was selected to represent my class. My instructions were simple, and honestly, I thought I was rocking them out.
Hold the bat touching the floor.
Put your head on the top of the bat.
Spin around.
Ten times.
Fast. (That's the part I was rocking out.)
Run.
In a straight line to the other side of the gym.
In front of the entire high school.
I ran.
One step.
Then I fell, flat on my back.
Entire high school.
Dizzy.
Life gets you the way, doesn' it?
And when you get done spinning and think you're ready to run, you have no clue which way you are going.
Mothers.
We have one direction with our kids.
One focal point.
One way to run.
Jesus.
Prepare the way for them to love Jesus, to know Him, to trust Him, to count on Him, to seek Him, to abide in Him.
In Him is fullness of life.
In Him.
And I get this backwards. I spin in circles chasing American Dreams because I have spent thirty-five years steeping, like dehydrated mint leaves in steaming water, in a culture that insists there is a right way to raise a child.
Educate them well.
So we do. We send them to pre-school and then relocate our family to a town with the best school systems. We spend hours making sure their third grade camouflage salt dough and vinegar volcano is The.Coolest.One.Ever.
Give them opportunities.
So we do. Piano. Soccer. Football. Art lessons. Gymnastics. Horse Camp.
And we work more jobs to afford more opportunities.
And we hire a house cleaner to clean our toilets because we aren't home and don't have time to do it ourselves. Since we aren't home, we probably haven't peed in them anyway, so it's kind of an exercise in futility, but we do it anyway.
Keep them entertained so they stay out of trouble.
So we do. Sleepovers every weekend. Trips to the movies. To the skating rink. To the park. More play dates. Big vacations.
Don't let them want for anything.
So we don't. (God knows this one taunts me.) Because I remember not having when others did. And please God, I don't ever want my children to know that ache. So we buy the name brand. We do. As if a name brand can save a soul, can heal a hurt, can carry a child into a lifetime of happiness.
Take them to church.
So we do. And to all the activities the church offers because surely they need to know about Jesus and the tired Sunday School teacher can reach them in ways we can't or don't know how to.
Or are too tired to even attempt because we've been busy.
Busy spinning.
And though there isn't anything wrong with any of these things, somehow we abdicate our one single shot to do the preparing. We divvy out our chance, our stewardship, our few, finite years with these beautiful beings to name brands and complete strangers when God hand picked us for the preparing.
And some of us do have to work, and some of us can't homeschool, and some of us don't work and do homeschool, and still we sacrifice this one precious act--the preparing act--because we're too busy on facebook and texting. And I'm talking to myself here, so just ignore my ranting.
This really is the question. What precious moments do we have, and what are we doing with them?
Because the needful thing is to prepare the way.
Not for a great college,
not for a great job,
not for success in this life.
The needful thing is to prepare their hearts for The Way,
for The Truth,
for The Life,
for His Kingdom,
for success in their eternal life,
for fullness of life.
For Jesus.
And if you are like me, and you get to spinning so fast that when you finally stop you have no idea which way is up or down or left or right, then perhaps you could sit with me and watch Mom dance.
Watch her move before the God that carried her through all the good--the births of beautiful brown eyed babies, the walks through fields of daisies in spring, and lazy summer days at the lake in the heat of summer. Watch her make famous the name of the God who gripped her with relentless strength when the angst of life swallowed her marriage, her parents, her siblings, her dreams. She's still just preparing the way for Him.
If we live to give things or opportunities to our children, we will miss it.
Miss the needful thing.
Miss the chance to prepare.
Our goal as parents, my goal as a momma of sweet, wild, wonderful boys is just this:
To make the name of my God so famous before my children that they know He is the source of life.
In Him is abundance.
In Him is fullness of joy.
In Him is hope.
In Him is peace.
In Him is healing.
In Him is satisfaction.
Mother's Day is declaring her arrival on a one inch square in my May Calendar. Every year she insists I stop and pause long enough to ask, Am I worthy of the spoiling I know I'll get? Do I deserve the honoring, the loving that my men will wash over me?
So often, I'm not.
I'm not a saint like my own momma.
I fall so short.
I fall.
Often.
Period.
And I question God.
Why, God, did you give them to me? There are a thousand better mommas. A thousand who never raise their voice, who never space out and fail to hear their son calling out, a thousand who smile more, who play more, who . . .
But He chose me.
He chose you.
"Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them." (Psalm 127:3-5)
And heritages and rewards and blessings are not randomly tossed from heaven to land like dandelion seeds where they may. They are selected sovereignly by God for specific recipients.
Recipients like you.
Recipients like me.
And isn't He able to keep us from falling?
And isn't preparing the way partly about teaching a child, modeling for a child the ability to humble oneself and admit we are sinners, admit we too mess up, admit we need Jesus, need His forgiveness. Isn't that the greatest ushering of a child into the presence of God that we could ever do?
It's never too late to begin afresh.
Never to late to begin the dance before our Father.
The dance that will mesmerize the minds of our children,
will captivate their attention,
will make God famous in their hearts.
May your Mother's Day be of the dancing kind.
With love,
S
Monday, April 23, 2012
The Great Gain
The wind sucked and swished my hair around like a vacuum first then a twister. "35 miles per hour winds, Sarah," my neighbor admonished. "Should we cover our plants? The temperature's gonna drop." It did drop. And soccer practice went long on the one night when the temperature plummeted, and the wind raged her fury. I was cold. We walked--my son, his friend and I--to keep warm. Nate shared his too-small-for-me black fuzzy gloves, and I gladly accepted the woolen warmth of his giving heart.
Still chilled in our bones with the kind of cold that doesn't give you goose bumps, but leaves you stiff, corpsish even, we elbowed our way through the entrance to our home. Our 70 degree home. The temperature was set. I had keyed in 70 degrees earlier in the day thinking what was the use in freezing to death when I didn't have to. I have that choice.
I thought of pouring a steaming bubble bath and using some of my 9 year old green-tea bath salts my sister gave me after Cort was born. I hoard them for special moments because they smell like spring and heaven and grass and rivers, and I want to have them for as long as I live. We keep our thermostat for hot water set HOT. I like hot water. Tepid water doesn't clean, doesn't warm, doesn't refresh. I have that choice.
Taking the red kettle mom gave me for my birthday, I filled it with a steady stream of water from our tap. I turned the storm-grey knob on our gas stove and watched as flames licked the belly of the kettle. A mug of clear, hot water blanketed me from the inside out. I had that choice.
Dinner hour had long since slipped away. Suppertime too had slipped beyond the grasp of our busy Monday schedule. We were all hungry. We'd agreed ahead of time on the menu for the week. All of us had said we were in, but when the moment came . . . we may have regretted our zeal. Beans and rice. One small scoop of each at supper. For the week. It's true, chicken, sausage, beef roast, ground chuck, fish, hot dogs, pork chops, bacon, and a myriad of other choices clogged my cavernous freezer. We had that choice.
I told the boys to chew slowly. Don't rush, there are no seconds tonight. And I looked in my eldest's eyes. Disappointment. He knew he wouldn't be full. I knew he wouldn't be full. You don't have to do this; you know I know your heart. I don't expect this from you. He wanted to. But his face showed what his lips refused to speak: shock at the reality of hunger. The first night in his life he will have gone to bed hungry. He had that choice.
But not everyone does. Have that choice. Have a home with temperature set just so. Have clean water to drink much less pour lavishly into an antique claw-foot tub. Even have beans. Even have rice. Not everyone has that choice.
My first month of SEVEN is winding down. I've chosen to focus this month on food in an attempt to wrap my senses around world hunger, around the reality that 18,000 people die every day just from hunger, and that's not including those who die from lack of clean drinking water. Some will call me crazy, and I'm okay with that. What I can't seem to be okay with, though, is the reality that while I've cushioned my backside with a pantry three feet deep and then gone out and bought bigger pants to contain my greed, children were dying every five seconds. I needed a radical realignment. This month has been a good beginning. A good beginning.
Not having my usual comfortable foods has forced me to remember the faces of children I've never met--children who have never had a single comfort. It's caused me to think of the anguish that must swallow their mothers' and fathers' hearts in single gulps when they look into hungry, pained eyes and can do nothing to help them. I want to be a part of their hope.
"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in . . .I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' " Matthew 25:3,40
Did it for Him. The nameless children of hundreds of destitute regions are not just someones children. They're God's creation, His masterpieces. He formed them in their mother's wombs, knows the number of hairs on their sweet heads, and you know what? Forget the number of hairs on their heads. He numbers the ones that flitter and flutter to the ground as their scalps bald from malnourishment. They're His babies, and he planned for them to be a part of this wonderful world He worded into existence. When I withhold, hoard, keep for myself, I keep from Him. And when I open palms and purse, release plans and purpose, I do it unto Him. And wasn't it He who specifically said, "Whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God." (II Corinthians 10:31) All of it. For His glory?
And while Marie Antoinette cries out, "Let them have cake . . ." am I just the same as she? A Christian bellowing in holy tones, "Let them have Jesus." Let me not insist all they need is Jesus and ignore their bellies bulging with starvation and mud cookies made with oil and water. Jesus himself did not ignore the physical needs of the people He loved. What of manna, and fish and loaves multiplied? He made us physical beings. Dare I ignore His sacred creation's needs under the shiny-cellophane packaging of "purely sharing the gospel and leaving their physical needs to some other organization?" We are that organization. We. The Church. Me. I'm broken, undone by that reality. I'm just one person; we're just one small family. Could we actually make any difference? A dent in all this suffering?
In the early moments of day's breaking, before school lessons and ringing phones, emails and music lessons, I read from I Timothy 6. "But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. "
If we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. With just that?
Are you, Sarah?
Am I, God?
Because godliness with contentment is great gain, and the Greek meaning of this word gain is the best thing you can procure for yourself. It must be important.
I hear of people's investments yielding great gains, but what if we have missed it? What if while we build our fortunes and pad our retirement funds we have missed The Great Gain? Is it possible in our haste to be financially responsible citizens, in our hurry to build comfortable, seeker friendly churches with pleasing, paved parking lots, in our fervor to give our children every opportunity, we have somehow missed our purpose? What if our comfort costs someone else's life?
What if The Great Gain is discovering the sufficient nature of a God who promised to supply all our NEEDS according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus, and realizing He Is Enough?
And if the best thing I can get in this life is godliness with contentment, then this, THIS is The Great Gain: That we cease to search for the next best high and realize The High lives within us. We have all we need pertaining to life, to godliness. We have HIM. In HIM is life. In HIM is satisfaction. In HIM is contentment. "And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work." (II Corinthians 9:8)
And when we gain this contentment it is for a purpose--so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work. We are not blessed to spend on ourselves but to abound in every good work. Every. In all things. At all times.
I can't help but think about Timothy's words again. Content with food and clothing. Is that how you define Paul's words, having all that you need?
Just food? Just clothing?
Which food? Rice and beans? Every day? Surely not. We've been given all things to enjoy. Haven't we? Where is the cap? Where do we stop? When do we say we have given enough? Can we really ever say, "This much is for you God, and no more. The rest is for me."? Can we? Do we all go out and buy 1990's-hunter-green-water-proof-Ozark-Trail tents from Walmart, sell our homes and find a field to squat in, giving the rest to Haiti or Africa? Is this what we do?
These are the questions that wash ashore in my mind like waves on the Atlantic coastline. They've repeated themselves a thousand times a day this month, and I don't yet have answers. This I know, Jesus said the path is narrow and few will choose it. Speaking of sacrifice doesn't sit well with me. I'd like to cut a check for ten percent and call it a day. The rest I can find plenty of good uses for. I've got a bucket list, plans for a fifteenth wedding anniversary romantic getaway. And could I say, if I dared, that perhaps we who call ourselves Christians have created some form of Jesus-following that doesn't really follow Him at all? Are we not really just white-washed, sweet-speaking selfish hearts? Some of us? Me? (I don't dare say it. Sorry I mentioned it.)
Too though, I know this. Jesus came to freely give us that thing we lost in Eden--that abundant life. That walking in the garden with God in the cool of the evenings. That unlimited access to all the splendor of His creation without fear, without sickness, without pain. In Him we get that abundance. I haven't suffered this month. Not once. Giving up coffee had to be like losing my right arm--maybe even both arms. And sugar? On dear Lord, please restore to my the joy of my sugar . . . I mean salvation. (Ps. 51. It's in there.) What I have seen is that I miss the abundance of God because I'm too busy feeding myself. And not just with food do I fill. It's television, computer, people, activities, events, projects, things . . . oh dear things. So many possessions. And this filling creates a numbness. I don't feel my great need of God, nor do I feel my great blessings of God. I miss The Abundance. The Great Gain.
It is a beautiful journey--this walking with God--and I'm too distracted by the choices I have to notice it.
Tonight at bedtime, my eldest prayed, "Lord, thank you that we can feel what it is like for the starving children. Please help the ones in Haiti and Africa . . ." Thank you for hunger? Yes, I too am thankful. Somehow the hunger awakens my sleeping senses to the heart of God. I'm still searching for answers. We're ambling, embarking, seeking, learning, and stumbling through. But for now, at least we are glimpsing some of The Great Gain.
Pray with me: Jesus, you are life. YOU are life. Teach me to seek fullness in YOU. Align me to your heart. I'm sorry I miss the way when it is YOU who IS the way. Help me to see YOU are the GAIN. Help me to hunger not for more stuff, more food, more places to go, more mountains to conquer, but for the person of YOU. Fill me. Amen.
Still chilled in our bones with the kind of cold that doesn't give you goose bumps, but leaves you stiff, corpsish even, we elbowed our way through the entrance to our home. Our 70 degree home. The temperature was set. I had keyed in 70 degrees earlier in the day thinking what was the use in freezing to death when I didn't have to. I have that choice.
I thought of pouring a steaming bubble bath and using some of my 9 year old green-tea bath salts my sister gave me after Cort was born. I hoard them for special moments because they smell like spring and heaven and grass and rivers, and I want to have them for as long as I live. We keep our thermostat for hot water set HOT. I like hot water. Tepid water doesn't clean, doesn't warm, doesn't refresh. I have that choice.
Taking the red kettle mom gave me for my birthday, I filled it with a steady stream of water from our tap. I turned the storm-grey knob on our gas stove and watched as flames licked the belly of the kettle. A mug of clear, hot water blanketed me from the inside out. I had that choice.
Dinner hour had long since slipped away. Suppertime too had slipped beyond the grasp of our busy Monday schedule. We were all hungry. We'd agreed ahead of time on the menu for the week. All of us had said we were in, but when the moment came . . . we may have regretted our zeal. Beans and rice. One small scoop of each at supper. For the week. It's true, chicken, sausage, beef roast, ground chuck, fish, hot dogs, pork chops, bacon, and a myriad of other choices clogged my cavernous freezer. We had that choice.
I told the boys to chew slowly. Don't rush, there are no seconds tonight. And I looked in my eldest's eyes. Disappointment. He knew he wouldn't be full. I knew he wouldn't be full. You don't have to do this; you know I know your heart. I don't expect this from you. He wanted to. But his face showed what his lips refused to speak: shock at the reality of hunger. The first night in his life he will have gone to bed hungry. He had that choice.
But not everyone does. Have that choice. Have a home with temperature set just so. Have clean water to drink much less pour lavishly into an antique claw-foot tub. Even have beans. Even have rice. Not everyone has that choice.
My first month of SEVEN is winding down. I've chosen to focus this month on food in an attempt to wrap my senses around world hunger, around the reality that 18,000 people die every day just from hunger, and that's not including those who die from lack of clean drinking water. Some will call me crazy, and I'm okay with that. What I can't seem to be okay with, though, is the reality that while I've cushioned my backside with a pantry three feet deep and then gone out and bought bigger pants to contain my greed, children were dying every five seconds. I needed a radical realignment. This month has been a good beginning. A good beginning.Not having my usual comfortable foods has forced me to remember the faces of children I've never met--children who have never had a single comfort. It's caused me to think of the anguish that must swallow their mothers' and fathers' hearts in single gulps when they look into hungry, pained eyes and can do nothing to help them. I want to be a part of their hope.
"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in . . .I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' " Matthew 25:3,40
Did it for Him. The nameless children of hundreds of destitute regions are not just someones children. They're God's creation, His masterpieces. He formed them in their mother's wombs, knows the number of hairs on their sweet heads, and you know what? Forget the number of hairs on their heads. He numbers the ones that flitter and flutter to the ground as their scalps bald from malnourishment. They're His babies, and he planned for them to be a part of this wonderful world He worded into existence. When I withhold, hoard, keep for myself, I keep from Him. And when I open palms and purse, release plans and purpose, I do it unto Him. And wasn't it He who specifically said, "Whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God." (II Corinthians 10:31) All of it. For His glory?
And while Marie Antoinette cries out, "Let them have cake . . ." am I just the same as she? A Christian bellowing in holy tones, "Let them have Jesus." Let me not insist all they need is Jesus and ignore their bellies bulging with starvation and mud cookies made with oil and water. Jesus himself did not ignore the physical needs of the people He loved. What of manna, and fish and loaves multiplied? He made us physical beings. Dare I ignore His sacred creation's needs under the shiny-cellophane packaging of "purely sharing the gospel and leaving their physical needs to some other organization?" We are that organization. We. The Church. Me. I'm broken, undone by that reality. I'm just one person; we're just one small family. Could we actually make any difference? A dent in all this suffering?
In the early moments of day's breaking, before school lessons and ringing phones, emails and music lessons, I read from I Timothy 6. "But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. "
If we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. With just that?
Are you, Sarah?
Am I, God?
Because godliness with contentment is great gain, and the Greek meaning of this word gain is the best thing you can procure for yourself. It must be important.
I hear of people's investments yielding great gains, but what if we have missed it? What if while we build our fortunes and pad our retirement funds we have missed The Great Gain? Is it possible in our haste to be financially responsible citizens, in our hurry to build comfortable, seeker friendly churches with pleasing, paved parking lots, in our fervor to give our children every opportunity, we have somehow missed our purpose? What if our comfort costs someone else's life?
What if The Great Gain is discovering the sufficient nature of a God who promised to supply all our NEEDS according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus, and realizing He Is Enough?
And if the best thing I can get in this life is godliness with contentment, then this, THIS is The Great Gain: That we cease to search for the next best high and realize The High lives within us. We have all we need pertaining to life, to godliness. We have HIM. In HIM is life. In HIM is satisfaction. In HIM is contentment. "And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work." (II Corinthians 9:8)
And when we gain this contentment it is for a purpose--so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work. We are not blessed to spend on ourselves but to abound in every good work. Every. In all things. At all times.
I can't help but think about Timothy's words again. Content with food and clothing. Is that how you define Paul's words, having all that you need?
Just food? Just clothing?
Which food? Rice and beans? Every day? Surely not. We've been given all things to enjoy. Haven't we? Where is the cap? Where do we stop? When do we say we have given enough? Can we really ever say, "This much is for you God, and no more. The rest is for me."? Can we? Do we all go out and buy 1990's-hunter-green-water-proof-Ozark-Trail tents from Walmart, sell our homes and find a field to squat in, giving the rest to Haiti or Africa? Is this what we do?
These are the questions that wash ashore in my mind like waves on the Atlantic coastline. They've repeated themselves a thousand times a day this month, and I don't yet have answers. This I know, Jesus said the path is narrow and few will choose it. Speaking of sacrifice doesn't sit well with me. I'd like to cut a check for ten percent and call it a day. The rest I can find plenty of good uses for. I've got a bucket list, plans for a fifteenth wedding anniversary romantic getaway. And could I say, if I dared, that perhaps we who call ourselves Christians have created some form of Jesus-following that doesn't really follow Him at all? Are we not really just white-washed, sweet-speaking selfish hearts? Some of us? Me? (I don't dare say it. Sorry I mentioned it.)
Too though, I know this. Jesus came to freely give us that thing we lost in Eden--that abundant life. That walking in the garden with God in the cool of the evenings. That unlimited access to all the splendor of His creation without fear, without sickness, without pain. In Him we get that abundance. I haven't suffered this month. Not once. Giving up coffee had to be like losing my right arm--maybe even both arms. And sugar? On dear Lord, please restore to my the joy of my sugar . . . I mean salvation. (Ps. 51. It's in there.) What I have seen is that I miss the abundance of God because I'm too busy feeding myself. And not just with food do I fill. It's television, computer, people, activities, events, projects, things . . . oh dear things. So many possessions. And this filling creates a numbness. I don't feel my great need of God, nor do I feel my great blessings of God. I miss The Abundance. The Great Gain.
It is a beautiful journey--this walking with God--and I'm too distracted by the choices I have to notice it.
Tonight at bedtime, my eldest prayed, "Lord, thank you that we can feel what it is like for the starving children. Please help the ones in Haiti and Africa . . ." Thank you for hunger? Yes, I too am thankful. Somehow the hunger awakens my sleeping senses to the heart of God. I'm still searching for answers. We're ambling, embarking, seeking, learning, and stumbling through. But for now, at least we are glimpsing some of The Great Gain.
Pray with me: Jesus, you are life. YOU are life. Teach me to seek fullness in YOU. Align me to your heart. I'm sorry I miss the way when it is YOU who IS the way. Help me to see YOU are the GAIN. Help me to hunger not for more stuff, more food, more places to go, more mountains to conquer, but for the person of YOU. Fill me. Amen.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
A Mug of Boiled Water
I can promise you, I'm not happy. I have only two habits--one of which is extremely annoying--that have stuck throughout the years. Playing with my hair (that's the annoying one which leaves both my husband and my brother-in-law cringing and renders my hair perpetually uneven in length due to the breakage caused by said habit) and drinking coffee first thing in the morning. Rain, shine, spring, fall, 100 degrees or twenty, I.drink.coffee. Preferably two mugs. Supersized ones. Period. I have exchanged vanity for coffee stained teeth, and frankly (because I'm sure you'd like to know this) it prevents me from ever needing to buy Metamucil. So, that's the redemptive thing behind the habit.
When spring climbs her way into the north Georgia mountains sprinkling her colors, her drops of green and blackberry-foam purple on violets, her salmon and sangria on the tulips, I like to be present. I do not want to miss one millimeter of growth, of new life exploding as she passes by. I have a routine.
Wake up.
Look out the window and thank God for another day.
Acknowledge Nathan. (who is already awake no matter how early I rise)
Make coffee. (I'm not telling you how many cups. I already told you about the Metamucil)
Get the dog leash. (By now, Jango is shoving me out the door)
Pour coffee.
Walk Jango . . . while sipping coffee.
View Spring as she drips and drops about the hills . . . while sipping coffee.
Examine her work closely in my garden . . . while sipping coffee.
That's it. The rest of the day may not commence until I've done this routine.
So I am sure you will understand my dilemma when I tell you that the first month of my personal SEVEN is food. (If you're wondering what in the world I'm talking about, read my blog post from a couple days ago.) And guess what God just insisted I give up first? Yeah, redundant, I know. Coffee.
Hence the first sentence of this little post. I'm in an extremely agitated-would-bite-someones-head-off-if-I-wasn't-also-in-deep-brain-fog-due-to-caffeine-withdrawal state. Did I mention I have a headache?
For seven months I will commit to seven different themes. The purpose will be in essence a fast with the chief aim being to empty myself that Christ might fill me with His thoughts, His desires, His plans, His goals. Because I really feel strongly about being characterized by what I do and not what I don't do, I've phrased my list for this first month--The Food Month--in this slant. These are things that, after some prayer and good old fashioned honesty with myself, (Yes, self, you are indeed a greedy glutton.) I want to commit a month to pursuing.
1. Do eat organic/unprocessed foods (With a budget that lacks wiggle room, the organic part is going to have to be a little flexible, but I will give it a hearty attempt. Does anyone know if Ramen Noodles come unprocessed and organic?)
4. Do walk away from caffeine. (I’m going to die, starting now.)
5. Do walk away from all sweeteners. (This month has nothing to do with dieting for me. There have been times--like when Cort left a few of his infant pounds in my stomach after he was born--when I needed to kick sugar to the curb from a calorie standpoint. This is different. I'm leaving sweetness, period. I think to live in hunger must be a very bitter thing, and I don't want to sweeten this month artificially, organically, or any other way. I love sweets. Have you ever seen my pictures? My profile picture on facebook was a cake for 2 months for crying out loud! Ignoring that box of Krispy Kremes, the homemade sour cream coffee cake, and the two logs of double chocolate cookie dough in my freezer will be a very...VERY constant reminder of the blessings I have, and the hunger of over 85% of the world.)
6. Do eat before 7PM (I chose 7 PM for obvious reasons—seven. Also, because it gives us time to get late dinners in. We aren't much of a schedule family so I’m not going to be legalistic about supper. The real reason I'm choosing to do this is because I want to cull the savory snacks I treat myself to when the boys have finally settled under their IKEA comforters for the night. I hesitated on this particular one because I didn't want it to be about not eating after seven. You always hear you shouldn't do that if you are dieting. But this is NOT a diet. The bottom line is this is a snack I don't need--a luxury--and there are children in the world who don't get snacks period. I want to feel that. I want to go to bed a little bit hungry. I want, somehow, in some small, microscopic, way to understand what it means to go without something I want.)
7. Do read either In Defense of Food: An Eater’s Manifesto or Animal Vegetable Miracle: A year of Food Life (I did the Omnivore's Dilemma thing and it was great for about the first three chapters. Then I started falling asleep. He made his point . . . more than once. I'm hoping these books will give me a little more understanding of the reality of what we eat and its impact on the world as a whole and on my family's bodies too.)
I also hope to visit or view online a processing plant for meat. And I intend to take one day each week and attempt to eat like the poor of Haiti, Honduras, Guatemala and Ecuador. These are four countries that pinch at my heart. This part I will do with the boys; we'll go online to learn more about the conditions of these particular nations. And speaking of the boys, so far, they've been very kind. I had anticipated them giving me the mom, you are going to slowly torture us for an entire month? look, but they haven't. Already, they're willing to quit the processed/fast food stuff for the month, though one of them is begging for the remaining Dr. Bob (I know, I'm cheap) that's been sitting on the counter over a week.
I do live in North America ,and I have so many choices that I no longer understand what it means to live without any choices. Here we are in what some call Holy Week . . . those sacred days that we've placed on the calendar to remind us of the brokenness of Christ. Surely Jesus ached with thoughts of what He would face, what He would endure that we might have life.
"For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich." (II Cor. 8:9)
He became poor. Gave up. Sacrificed. Relinquished.
When spring climbs her way into the north Georgia mountains sprinkling her colors, her drops of green and blackberry-foam purple on violets, her salmon and sangria on the tulips, I like to be present. I do not want to miss one millimeter of growth, of new life exploding as she passes by. I have a routine.
Wake up.
Look out the window and thank God for another day.
Acknowledge Nathan. (who is already awake no matter how early I rise)
Make coffee. (I'm not telling you how many cups. I already told you about the Metamucil)
Get the dog leash. (By now, Jango is shoving me out the door)
Pour coffee.
Walk Jango . . . while sipping coffee.
View Spring as she drips and drops about the hills . . . while sipping coffee.
Examine her work closely in my garden . . . while sipping coffee.
That's it. The rest of the day may not commence until I've done this routine.
So I am sure you will understand my dilemma when I tell you that the first month of my personal SEVEN is food. (If you're wondering what in the world I'm talking about, read my blog post from a couple days ago.) And guess what God just insisted I give up first? Yeah, redundant, I know. Coffee.
Hence the first sentence of this little post. I'm in an extremely agitated-would-bite-someones-head-off-if-I-wasn't-also-in-deep-brain-fog-due-to-caffeine-withdrawal state. Did I mention I have a headache?
For seven months I will commit to seven different themes. The purpose will be in essence a fast with the chief aim being to empty myself that Christ might fill me with His thoughts, His desires, His plans, His goals. Because I really feel strongly about being characterized by what I do and not what I don't do, I've phrased my list for this first month--The Food Month--in this slant. These are things that, after some prayer and good old fashioned honesty with myself, (Yes, self, you are indeed a greedy glutton.) I want to commit a month to pursuing.
1. Do eat organic/unprocessed foods (With a budget that lacks wiggle room, the organic part is going to have to be a little flexible, but I will give it a hearty attempt. Does anyone know if Ramen Noodles come unprocessed and organic?)
2. Do eat only whole grains. (Sadness. I'm baking fresh WHITE bread tomorrow for a friend's birthday, and I would normally double the batch and keep a loaf for us.)
3. Do eat fruit/veggie with every meal, and only fruits and veggies for snacks. (Here I will try to use things from my garden every day. We are in salad season, so this will help offset some of the organic cost since I keep my garden pretty much organic.)
4. Do walk away from caffeine. (I’m going to die, starting now.)
5. Do walk away from all sweeteners. (This month has nothing to do with dieting for me. There have been times--like when Cort left a few of his infant pounds in my stomach after he was born--when I needed to kick sugar to the curb from a calorie standpoint. This is different. I'm leaving sweetness, period. I think to live in hunger must be a very bitter thing, and I don't want to sweeten this month artificially, organically, or any other way. I love sweets. Have you ever seen my pictures? My profile picture on facebook was a cake for 2 months for crying out loud! Ignoring that box of Krispy Kremes, the homemade sour cream coffee cake, and the two logs of double chocolate cookie dough in my freezer will be a very...VERY constant reminder of the blessings I have, and the hunger of over 85% of the world.)
6. Do eat before 7PM (I chose 7 PM for obvious reasons—seven. Also, because it gives us time to get late dinners in. We aren't much of a schedule family so I’m not going to be legalistic about supper. The real reason I'm choosing to do this is because I want to cull the savory snacks I treat myself to when the boys have finally settled under their IKEA comforters for the night. I hesitated on this particular one because I didn't want it to be about not eating after seven. You always hear you shouldn't do that if you are dieting. But this is NOT a diet. The bottom line is this is a snack I don't need--a luxury--and there are children in the world who don't get snacks period. I want to feel that. I want to go to bed a little bit hungry. I want, somehow, in some small, microscopic, way to understand what it means to go without something I want.)
7. Do read either In Defense of Food: An Eater’s Manifesto or Animal Vegetable Miracle: A year of Food Life (I did the Omnivore's Dilemma thing and it was great for about the first three chapters. Then I started falling asleep. He made his point . . . more than once. I'm hoping these books will give me a little more understanding of the reality of what we eat and its impact on the world as a whole and on my family's bodies too.)
I also hope to visit or view online a processing plant for meat. And I intend to take one day each week and attempt to eat like the poor of Haiti, Honduras, Guatemala and Ecuador. These are four countries that pinch at my heart. This part I will do with the boys; we'll go online to learn more about the conditions of these particular nations. And speaking of the boys, so far, they've been very kind. I had anticipated them giving me the mom, you are going to slowly torture us for an entire month? look, but they haven't. Already, they're willing to quit the processed/fast food stuff for the month, though one of them is begging for the remaining Dr. Bob (I know, I'm cheap) that's been sitting on the counter over a week.
Basically, I've chosen to do food for a few reasons. One--I'm a glutton, and I know it. Two--every five seconds a child dies from hunger or preventable disease. I need to get my head wrapped around that from a compassion standpoint. I also need to process that fact in light of the fact that I just might be able to sponsor a child from Compassion if I am willing to eliminate/drastically reduce consumption of things like coffee. Three--Jen Hatmaker says in her book Seven that we get to vote every day with our fork. And we do. I do. I'm guilty of supporting some not so great, definitely not ethical (But who cares about animals and the environment...right? Apparently God.) practices when it comes to growing and butchering meat. When I eat foods laden with high fructose corn syrup, again, I'm voting. And I need to explore that from a stewardship of my body and the earth standpoint.
I have no idea where I will land, and I'm not making any granola'ish promises that I will become a wild mushroom, poke salad eating vegan. That's pretty unlikely. Some of you may think I'm a little off my rocker and others of you may be thinking my SEVEN are pretty lame. No matter--you don't have to read :-) I really debated even posting any of this. Do they even care about this sort of thing? Do they want to read about my addiction to coffee and sweets? Does anyone read the blog at all?Probably not. But, maybe, just maybe there are a few of you out there who understand where I'm coming from. See for me, food can be my life, and my only concern is that I don't get too fat. (What? I'm being honest.) So, if I eat what I want, have a jog, and can still fit in my Ann Taylor jeans, then it's all good. But is it? Really? Because for some people in our world, food really is their life. And they haven't any. And Jesus said He came that they might have life. Dare I withhold the very thing Christ came to give? I stole this Thomas More quote from a friend's facebook page because he says it better than me. “It's wrong to deprive someone else of a pleasure so that you can enjoy one yourself, but to deprive yourself of a pleasure so that you can add to someone else's enjoyment is an act of humanity by which you always gain more than you lose.”
A theme for me this month will be this verse.
A theme for me this month will be this verse.
"Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; 20 you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body," (II Cor. 6:19-20)
You are not your own.
Really? Because I'm afraid I've been eating like I am entirely my own and that I'm entitled to have what I want. I'm afraid I've eaten from a vain perspective instead of a tending of the frame that God crafted approach.
Therefore honor God with your body.
The choices I make either honor my God or mar His image. Just because I can get away with eating whatever I want from a physical standpoint doesn't mean I have honored God. And if what I eat causes another person to have less, than I have in fact, dishonored Him.
So, here I am beginning. Already today while sipping my boiled water from a Tim Horton's (the best coffee place in the world for my American friends who don't know) mug, I doubted this entire thing. Why would anyone want to torture themselves? God allowed me to be born in North America; He must have wanted me to have these things. At church tonight I had to bring my own supper because I wasn't very confident that their meal would be SEVEN approved. Someone immediately noticed my organic Greek yogurt and said . . . and I kid you not, "Yogurt? Really? You live in North America with all these choices and you pick yogurt?" (She had no idea I was doing this . . . otherwise she'd have been a thousand percent supportive.) But, it proves my point exactly.
I do live in North America ,and I have so many choices that I no longer understand what it means to live without any choices. Here we are in what some call Holy Week . . . those sacred days that we've placed on the calendar to remind us of the brokenness of Christ. Surely Jesus ached with thoughts of what He would face, what He would endure that we might have life.
"For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich." (II Cor. 8:9)
He became poor. Gave up. Sacrificed. Relinquished.
That I might gain the riches of eternity.
May I become poor that someone else may gain those same blessings.
Amen.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
SEVEN: A New Kind of Fast
I like to blame things on my parents. They gave me their genes--wide feet, chubby cheeks (all four), and the-caterpillar-for-eyebrows. Thanks for that, Mom and Dad. They nurtured me too. That meant tea parties with Mom, endless hours soaking sun at the lake (so yeah, that's gonna mean skin cancer), loving food, loving the outcasts and misfits (never a holiday where we didn't sit elbow to elbow with some eclectic conglomeration of people who may not have had any other place to celebrate that year), and loving Jesus. With Dad it has always been about the underdogs of the world. His heart is tender; he cries over chickens squashed in cages and about went bankrupt feeding stray cats who I swear migrated from all six other continents when they heard he was filling Rubbermaid bins with food for them. He is color blind for real, but it wouldn't matter if he could see color correctly. He still wouldn't see it. The world, for him, is shaded by justice, inequality/equality, and thinking critically about what we believe to be true. So, what you are about to read is entirely their fault. You've been warned.
I just can't accept status quo. I can't NOT rock the boat. Not in my nature. I think about things. (I explained this in the first paragraph.) For quite some time now I've been uncomfortable with a few things--namely, I don't go hungry, nor do my children, but starvation manages to murder a child every five seconds, I live in a large, comfortable, 72 degree house while almost 1.5 million (can't even fathom that number) were without shelter in 2011 in the US alone, and a few pesky verses like that one about how religion that's pure and faultless tends to look after widows and orphans, and there are something like 15 million without mother or father in the world. So, while most of us are thinking about where we are taking our annual beach vacay, I'm haunted by the justice gene, the loving of the downtrodden gene, and I can't manage to pull the trigger on all the new GROUPON vacation bargains to viva la Mexico. Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad.
In reality, I'm a tough nut to crack. God has to peel back the scales that seal my eyes to the truths of His Word and how He intended them to be applied. If I'm being honest, both spiritually speaking and economically speaking, in comparison with the rest of the world, I'm a saturated sponge. Completely saturated. I grew up in church, learned to read using the King James Bible as my primary text, and I've never gone hungry a day in my life. Never. So, that puts me in a privileged category. Privileged and so full, I can't always fathom what it means to need, to want, to hunger, to thirst. And in a spiritual sense, I've read the red words of Jesus so many times, heard the sermons so many times, sung the songs, that they have become like white noise in the background. So, God has to peel back these scales, cause a bit of a ruckus until I'm raw, squeeze the sponge until it thirsts again for Living Water.
Enter a chance post from a dear Canadian friend (Hi, Dani!) that linked me to a random blog that tugged at scales like you tug at a Band-Aid when you're trying to rip it off fast. Ouch and Wow! It was here, at Jen Hatmaker's website that I first saw her book Seven: an experimental mutiny against excess. (Leave me alone grammar police; she didn't capitalize the letters in her title, and she has an editor! K?) Jen's premise? We have far more say in what happens in our world than we realize. We vote everyday with our wallets, with our forks, with our garbage, with our time. We are called to love God and love others, and we are doing a shoddy job at best. She started with herself and decided to commit seven months to purge seven specific areas of excess in her life.
Her words: "I started praying about what God wanted; what would move me closer to His agenda and further from mine? How could this be meaningful, not just narcissistic and futile? What areas needed the most renovation? How am I blind and why? Where have I substituted The American Dream for God's kingdom? What in my life, in the lives of most westerners, is just too stinking much?
I approach this project in the spirit of a fast: an intentional reduction, a deliberate abstinence to summon God's movement in my life. A fast creates margin for God to move." (pg. 4)
How am I blind and why? Mmmm. Most people unable to see are aware of their deficiency, but I'm afraid I've been a blind gal thinking she knew where she was going. And when Jesus said, "Seek Ye first the Kingdom of God," (Matt. 6:33) I'm afraid I understood Him to mean, "As long as you seek me a lot, squeeze in everything else you possibly can, Sarah."
Where have I substituted the American Dream for God's kingdom? Okay, I'm reading Radical for the second time through. This whole American Dream vs. God's kingdom business? Just.Starting.To.Sink.In. Just starting. I don't even know if I should say it's sinking in--remember the saturated sponge problem? We can spend so much time listening, reading, hearing about God loving us that we become sopping,heavy, wet with love and yet it is that very love that "compels us" (II Cor. 5:14) to motion. Mary, sweet Mary (I kinda hate her) may have chosen the more excellent thing when she sat, soaking at Jesus' feet, but I can promise you that if she remained at his feet, he would have eventually told her to get up, go pick up her cross, and FOLLOW Him. Surely He didn't praise her choice because she was sitting; I have to believe it had to do with the fact that she was filling herself up. But, fellow Americans, our threshold for fullness is broken. We are so prone to excess we no longer even know how to stop feeding. We are a engorged people. I am an engorged woman.
Follow Me. "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me." (Luke 9:23) Jesus called us into action, motion. And in truth, He modelled it for us, didn't He? At the cross? Like dressing the the sun or the moon, Christ clothed his holiness in the cloak of mortality, and walked among wayward, willful, wandering humanity. And though there were only a few steps up the Golgotha's hill where carried his crucifixion cross, he had carried it his entire earthly life, hadn't he?
So I'm thinking of His words--the follow me words--and wondering, where? Where will I follow Him? When I was young I thought the ultimate test of my willingness to follow would be geographical. Would I go to Africa? Would I? But now I'm not so sure. It turns out Africa might have been easier for me than denying myself here in the have-it-your-way-right-away culture of North America. In fact, it turns out, you can run clear across the globe shouting the salvation of Jesus and never once pick up your cross and follow Him.
And what, my friends, if that's me? Plucking at keys and yakking in small groups and I'm only a resounding gong, a clanging symbol whose sound causes Christ to cringe?
What if when we post Joshua's Words in walnut frames on the walls of our homes, "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord..." (Joshua 24:15) we are foolish enough to think that our commitment to go to church on Sunday, maybe teach a Sunday School class, attend a small group, and tithe exactly ten percent reads as a life of solidarity with the man who obeyed God in CRAZY ways (Would you fight a battle by walking around some city walls in silence repeatedly, day after day?) when in reality we are really hiding behind a modern version of the Mosaic Law? Solidarity? I'm thinking not.
What if I raise my hands in worship on Sunday, but my life is a pair of hands clenched into fists grasping, gripping, groping for my American Dream when the world is hungry for true worship. The worship of a life lived out of love. A life of motion. A life that sacrifices in this life to gain that which cannot be taken in the next life.
What if I'm a part of a corporate body of Christ that has gone into a sugared-life induced coma and we lay, lifeless, motionless while the world dies?
What if my two cup of coffee a morning habit is the cause of a Compassion child NOT being sponsored because I say there's no room in the budget. I mean are you kidding me? I can't give up coffee in this temporary life so a child will have a chance to live, period? To one day hear of Jesus' love? I mean don't the rivers flow Columbian brew in heaven? Could I not wait 'til eternity to continue the habbit? Yeah, what if?
I read her entire book in a very short amount of time. (Okay, it may have been a good distraction from the ten million pages of our Family Book Club book, Atlas Shrugged. Sorry, guys, I'll get back to it, I promise.) You should too. (Read her book--The verdict's still out on Atlas) Go here to find out more about SEVEN. Three words in and I knew I'd have to do this. Knew I needed to do this. Knew God brought me to this. And the timing is perfect. One week before Easter, I'm a little late for Lent, but maybe I'm right on time to Follow Him into the Garden. I see Him there, praying. I see his face, washed red with blood vessels broken--a foreshadowing of what would come. I see Him there, releasing every single ounce of personal ambition and desire. My Savior, planting surrender. My Savior, watering it with drops of bloody sweat so it would grow into a ransom for my muddy mired heart, and not just for mine, but for mankind's.
I too want that level of surrender, and I wonder if a fasting time might not be the way to train myself. In her book, Jen Hatmaker says, "After saying "no" to things I wanted for nearly a year, I guess I gained some control over my emotions and impulses. God used fasting as a tool to curb my appetites and regulate my reactions. It was a concise realization: "Something in me has deeply changed."
Perhaps this is why Scripture calls us to the practise of fasting--from food, from greed, from selfishness, from luxuries. It isn't just the experience; it's the discipline. It changes us. Fasting helps us develop mastery over the competing voices in our heads that urge us toward more, toward indulgence, toward emotional volatility. Like consistent discipline eventually shapes our children's behavior, so it is with us. Believe it or not, God can still change us. Not just our habits but our hearts. Say "no" for a year and see for yourself." (Seven, pg. 219)
I'm going to see for myself, friends. Along the way, I hope to share with you what I'm learning, what I'm seeing. For now, I'm standing aware of the thousands of competing voices demanding I seek them first, but my hands are open, my ears are strained. I'm listening for the still, small voice.
Pray with me:
Lord, what are my SEVEN?
I just can't accept status quo. I can't NOT rock the boat. Not in my nature. I think about things. (I explained this in the first paragraph.) For quite some time now I've been uncomfortable with a few things--namely, I don't go hungry, nor do my children, but starvation manages to murder a child every five seconds, I live in a large, comfortable, 72 degree house while almost 1.5 million (can't even fathom that number) were without shelter in 2011 in the US alone, and a few pesky verses like that one about how religion that's pure and faultless tends to look after widows and orphans, and there are something like 15 million without mother or father in the world. So, while most of us are thinking about where we are taking our annual beach vacay, I'm haunted by the justice gene, the loving of the downtrodden gene, and I can't manage to pull the trigger on all the new GROUPON vacation bargains to viva la Mexico. Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad.
In reality, I'm a tough nut to crack. God has to peel back the scales that seal my eyes to the truths of His Word and how He intended them to be applied. If I'm being honest, both spiritually speaking and economically speaking, in comparison with the rest of the world, I'm a saturated sponge. Completely saturated. I grew up in church, learned to read using the King James Bible as my primary text, and I've never gone hungry a day in my life. Never. So, that puts me in a privileged category. Privileged and so full, I can't always fathom what it means to need, to want, to hunger, to thirst. And in a spiritual sense, I've read the red words of Jesus so many times, heard the sermons so many times, sung the songs, that they have become like white noise in the background. So, God has to peel back these scales, cause a bit of a ruckus until I'm raw, squeeze the sponge until it thirsts again for Living Water.
Enter a chance post from a dear Canadian friend (Hi, Dani!) that linked me to a random blog that tugged at scales like you tug at a Band-Aid when you're trying to rip it off fast. Ouch and Wow! It was here, at Jen Hatmaker's website that I first saw her book Seven: an experimental mutiny against excess. (Leave me alone grammar police; she didn't capitalize the letters in her title, and she has an editor! K?) Jen's premise? We have far more say in what happens in our world than we realize. We vote everyday with our wallets, with our forks, with our garbage, with our time. We are called to love God and love others, and we are doing a shoddy job at best. She started with herself and decided to commit seven months to purge seven specific areas of excess in her life.
Her words: "I started praying about what God wanted; what would move me closer to His agenda and further from mine? How could this be meaningful, not just narcissistic and futile? What areas needed the most renovation? How am I blind and why? Where have I substituted The American Dream for God's kingdom? What in my life, in the lives of most westerners, is just too stinking much?
- Food
- Clothes
- Possessions
- Media
- Waste
- Spending
- Stress
I approach this project in the spirit of a fast: an intentional reduction, a deliberate abstinence to summon God's movement in my life. A fast creates margin for God to move." (pg. 4)
How am I blind and why? Mmmm. Most people unable to see are aware of their deficiency, but I'm afraid I've been a blind gal thinking she knew where she was going. And when Jesus said, "Seek Ye first the Kingdom of God," (Matt. 6:33) I'm afraid I understood Him to mean, "As long as you seek me a lot, squeeze in everything else you possibly can, Sarah."
Where have I substituted the American Dream for God's kingdom? Okay, I'm reading Radical for the second time through. This whole American Dream vs. God's kingdom business? Just.Starting.To.Sink.In. Just starting. I don't even know if I should say it's sinking in--remember the saturated sponge problem? We can spend so much time listening, reading, hearing about God loving us that we become sopping,heavy, wet with love and yet it is that very love that "compels us" (II Cor. 5:14) to motion. Mary, sweet Mary (I kinda hate her) may have chosen the more excellent thing when she sat, soaking at Jesus' feet, but I can promise you that if she remained at his feet, he would have eventually told her to get up, go pick up her cross, and FOLLOW Him. Surely He didn't praise her choice because she was sitting; I have to believe it had to do with the fact that she was filling herself up. But, fellow Americans, our threshold for fullness is broken. We are so prone to excess we no longer even know how to stop feeding. We are a engorged people. I am an engorged woman.
Follow Me. "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me." (Luke 9:23) Jesus called us into action, motion. And in truth, He modelled it for us, didn't He? At the cross? Like dressing the the sun or the moon, Christ clothed his holiness in the cloak of mortality, and walked among wayward, willful, wandering humanity. And though there were only a few steps up the Golgotha's hill where carried his crucifixion cross, he had carried it his entire earthly life, hadn't he?
So I'm thinking of His words--the follow me words--and wondering, where? Where will I follow Him? When I was young I thought the ultimate test of my willingness to follow would be geographical. Would I go to Africa? Would I? But now I'm not so sure. It turns out Africa might have been easier for me than denying myself here in the have-it-your-way-right-away culture of North America. In fact, it turns out, you can run clear across the globe shouting the salvation of Jesus and never once pick up your cross and follow Him.
And what, my friends, if that's me? Plucking at keys and yakking in small groups and I'm only a resounding gong, a clanging symbol whose sound causes Christ to cringe?
What if when we post Joshua's Words in walnut frames on the walls of our homes, "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord..." (Joshua 24:15) we are foolish enough to think that our commitment to go to church on Sunday, maybe teach a Sunday School class, attend a small group, and tithe exactly ten percent reads as a life of solidarity with the man who obeyed God in CRAZY ways (Would you fight a battle by walking around some city walls in silence repeatedly, day after day?) when in reality we are really hiding behind a modern version of the Mosaic Law? Solidarity? I'm thinking not.
What if I raise my hands in worship on Sunday, but my life is a pair of hands clenched into fists grasping, gripping, groping for my American Dream when the world is hungry for true worship. The worship of a life lived out of love. A life of motion. A life that sacrifices in this life to gain that which cannot be taken in the next life.
What if I'm a part of a corporate body of Christ that has gone into a sugared-life induced coma and we lay, lifeless, motionless while the world dies?
What if my two cup of coffee a morning habit is the cause of a Compassion child NOT being sponsored because I say there's no room in the budget. I mean are you kidding me? I can't give up coffee in this temporary life so a child will have a chance to live, period? To one day hear of Jesus' love? I mean don't the rivers flow Columbian brew in heaven? Could I not wait 'til eternity to continue the habbit? Yeah, what if?
I read her entire book in a very short amount of time. (Okay, it may have been a good distraction from the ten million pages of our Family Book Club book, Atlas Shrugged. Sorry, guys, I'll get back to it, I promise.) You should too. (Read her book--The verdict's still out on Atlas) Go here to find out more about SEVEN. Three words in and I knew I'd have to do this. Knew I needed to do this. Knew God brought me to this. And the timing is perfect. One week before Easter, I'm a little late for Lent, but maybe I'm right on time to Follow Him into the Garden. I see Him there, praying. I see his face, washed red with blood vessels broken--a foreshadowing of what would come. I see Him there, releasing every single ounce of personal ambition and desire. My Savior, planting surrender. My Savior, watering it with drops of bloody sweat so it would grow into a ransom for my muddy mired heart, and not just for mine, but for mankind's.
I too want that level of surrender, and I wonder if a fasting time might not be the way to train myself. In her book, Jen Hatmaker says, "After saying "no" to things I wanted for nearly a year, I guess I gained some control over my emotions and impulses. God used fasting as a tool to curb my appetites and regulate my reactions. It was a concise realization: "Something in me has deeply changed."
Perhaps this is why Scripture calls us to the practise of fasting--from food, from greed, from selfishness, from luxuries. It isn't just the experience; it's the discipline. It changes us. Fasting helps us develop mastery over the competing voices in our heads that urge us toward more, toward indulgence, toward emotional volatility. Like consistent discipline eventually shapes our children's behavior, so it is with us. Believe it or not, God can still change us. Not just our habits but our hearts. Say "no" for a year and see for yourself." (Seven, pg. 219)
I'm going to see for myself, friends. Along the way, I hope to share with you what I'm learning, what I'm seeing. For now, I'm standing aware of the thousands of competing voices demanding I seek them first, but my hands are open, my ears are strained. I'm listening for the still, small voice.
Pray with me:
Lord, what are my SEVEN?
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Unraveling Our Rows-Us at the Plow
It's a passage I've read, thought I understood, and read again--maybe fifty times. I always felt it was the verse that sort of targeted the "Lot's Wives" of the world--those people who are rescued from their sinful selves and yet they look back. With a harlot's heart, I've longed for what might have been, what used to be. I've been one of those gals. Yeah, more than once. But, recently, I was listening to this missionary from Australia and he expressed something further, something more than that longing for what might have been. Looking back can also be the longing for what is. "How," he asked, "can you plow a straight row if you are looking back?"
Not a bad question, and I know from experience, you can't. Gaze straight ahead, Sarah . . . Mom always told me to look straight because if I stared at the tractor trailer in the oncoming lane, I'd inevitably veer towards it. A veerer. That's a good word for me, maybe for all humans. Veer comes from virer. A French word from the 16th century, it means to turn. Turners. The veering kind. I wonder, when God molded the heart of man, did he think I will give them the ability to turn, to change course, to choose, to go to the left, to go to the right. I'll give them head-eyes to see physical things, and heart-eyes to see spiritual things, the eyes that will allow them to long for things and people and ME.
And I see myself, hands hoisted on worn wood handles, eyes tunneled straight ahead, plowing. The words of Hebrews 12:2 vibrate in my heart, "keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith . . ." My eyes are fixed, and I'm plowing this row. Not just any row. It's my row, the row God chose for me when he placed my soul in the womb of a Jesus loving hippie thirty-five years ago. He knew then, chose for me then, the place, the position of this row. Knew my row would have four biological sisters and a passel full of spiritual sisters that keep me tethered to sanity, knew my row would have a dad who thinks hard on life, a mom who has the Jesus-Spirit, and eventually a husband who would mirror God's heart to me. He knew my row would get filthy when two tumbling, bumbling, boys started littering it with their giggles, their footballs and wiggling worms. He knew. And he knew I'd get bogged down in the thick of loving and living. He knew I'd start looking at all the living loves in my row and forget The Pioneer, The Perfecter. Knew I'd forget the gazing straight ahead. Yeah, I'm the veering kind.
When a wheel turns over and over in the same place (veers completely, repeatedly) we call it spinning our wheels. And is it possible that just by loving the blessings more than The Blesser, we plowers can plow ourselves into a rut? Never blatant sin. Never adultery or murder or drugs. Just loving creation more than The Creator. (Shhh. It's called idolatry, but I don't like to think of myself as that.)
Just the other day I had to drive The Marshmallow--Jeff's white F150--onto a lawn and turn it around. I'm careful with that old tank. It's always had a grudge against me, that truck, it insisted on getting stuck. Naturally, the wheels started to spin on the wet grass and red clay, and my cheeks, sensing their predicament grew as red as that spattering mud. See I've gotten that dadgum Marshmallow stuck more than once, and we've had to dig out with a shovel and stick a board under the wheel to get traction again. So, I knew better than to get myself spun into a hole I couldn't get out of. I put her in park and hailed down the first camouflage-hat-Justin-Roper-boot wearing guy in a four wheel drive truck I saw.
It's in our (the row-plowers, follower of Jesus) nature, we can tend to spin our wheels sometimes, and we don't even realize we're doing it. We fall in love with a man and forget The Man. We begin a career, make a decent salary, and forget The Provider. We get busy with life and forget The Alpha and The Omega-Beginning and End. We become absorbed in causes, in needs and forget that apart from ME you can do nothing. We want a fancier home, and we forget we Aren't Home. We look at our neighbors row and covet. We see sites along the way and start creating our own agenda. (Come now, let's be honest. We plan for our retirements, our vacations, our income tax refunds based on our personal goals, and forget that Jesus gave us clear direction--The Great Commission.) We start deciding why we are here, where our row will go. We do that. We veer. We do.
Sometimes, though, we are like those people Paul talked about in Romans when he said, "For although they knew God (And I do know Him, don't I? I've known Him since I was a gangly girl and he held a heart broken by divorce, when I was a tender teen and He held a heart broken by a red-haired boy, when later He provided for husband and I because the money envelope we kept in my hand-me-down bureau was empty,when He healed though we thought death had come to take my physical body. Yes, I have known this God.) they did not glorify him as God or give him thanks, but they became futile in their thoughts and their senseless hearts were darkened. (And I have been senseless, haven't I? Forgotten it was God who provides and not my husband, not the toil of our hands, but the God who gave us hands. Forgotten it is God whose children these boys really belong to, and mine is just the honored position of steward. And who built this house we live in . . . really? Jeff and I for fourteen and sixteen hour days? Or The Sustaining God that strengthened the arms and feet and sent help along the way?) Although they claimed to be wise, they became fools and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for an image resembling mortal human beings . . . They exchanged the truth of God for a lie and worshiped and served the creation rather than the Creator, who is blessed forever! Amen." (Romans 1:21-24)
They exchanged the truth of God. I am the way, the truth . . . Yes, I spin sometimes because I forget that the things I see along the plowing journey--the people, the contents of a full life--are all merely images, reflections of the truth of God, but the truth? The Truth? That is God and God alone. And this idea of gazing straight ahead takes on real meaning.
"Let your eyes look directly in front of you and let your gaze look straight before you. Make the path for your feet level, so that all your ways may be established. Do not turn to the right or to the left; turn yourself away from evil." (Proverbs 4:25-27)
Look directly in front of you. That word look? It means to consider, to see, to rest one's hope in. It isn't a mere taking in, it's a stopping, a gazing at something long enough to attach a sense of trust or hope in the reality of a thing. And for a follower of Jesus, we don't get the luxury of attaching reality to anything but the face of our God. We do get to love, we do get to enjoy, we do get to embrace all the beauty that fills our rows, but our hope, our reality? God. Just God. And that guy that put his hand to the plow and looked back that Luke talks about? Luke used a Greek word that means to look at long enough to know by experience. If we choose to experience the created and know it better than The Creator, we're not well suited for the Kingdom of God because we'll be strangers in the place that was truly our home all along.
To plow straight, we need to look at God long enough to know Him by experience. We need to know Him more than the other loves in our lives. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, your soul, your mind, you strength . . . (Mark 12:30) And how can we love Him if we don't know Him by experience, and how can we know Him by experience if first we don't gaze. Gaze straight ahead, my friends, straight ahead at The Pioneer, The Perfecter of our faith.
Pray with Me:
Truth, My Reality, unravel my row. Father, draw me to your face. Teach me to hunger for You above all else. Straighten my row for your name's sake. I love you.
Listen with Me:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OD6Z1-e7UgU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0mJFFrVnczE
Sunday, February 19, 2012
To Make Him Heavy
"Does your life make others desire God?" Meant for the Converse and skinny-jean wearing teenagers, it was a question posed by the man who pastors the youth of our church--my eldest included. But God meant it for me. At first listen, the seven words were not unique, not something I couldn't have read in some learn-how-to-be-a-better-Christian kind of book. But, The Still, Small Voice repeated them, droned them over and over, until my soul ached with their sound.
Does MY life make others desire God?
Does it?
Well?
And when honesty finally out-wrestled pride, I could admit the truth: probably not. At least not all the time. I'm too busy, too quick tempered, too impatient, too proud. Paul complained of one thorn in the flesh, and surely, when God fashioned me, he rolled me out first in some blackberry patch with a thousand thorns. And though I know I am indeed a new creature, with a new heart, those thorns prick still.
Does my life make others desire God?
Hmmph.
Isaiah told us why we were created: for God's glory. (Isaiah 43:7)
For HIS glory.
God--the great artist's--intent when He molded this frame that would stretch and grow to 68 inches high with brown eyes, brown hair, and a cackle for a laugh, was singular. I am made for His glory, that's it. But that word, glory, has always bugged me. People throw it around too much--give the glory to God, honor and glorify God--and I'm left feeling the meaning is like weak depression tea.
The Hebrew root word surprised me, confused me a bit at first. A verb, its root means to make heavy. To make heavy.
Other times in scripture, the same word is translated splendor or precious, and I think of gold. Gold is heavy. The more pure it is, the more dense it is, and the heavier it is. That's what makes it precious--it's purity. And that too, is what makes it heavy. And this same root goes with my purpose--to glorify God--to make Him heavy.
Earthly air stung my lungs some thirty-five years ago for a single reason--to make God heavy. Somehow, I think I understand that. When weight is placed on my value, I am to see that value's source and return it there. God. Making Him the heavy one. Making me light and Him heavy. James knew where to place the weight of things when he wrote, "Every good and perfect gift is from above..." (James 1:17) All that is good, then, about me, came from the hands of a good and perfect God. This must be the way to bring glory to Him--recognizing Him as the source, the giver of all that is good.
Paul himself counseled the Romans with these words," For by the grace given (It is all given, isn't it? Even grace.) to me I say to every one of you not to think more highly of yourself than you ought to think, but to think with sober discernment, as God has distributed to each of you a measure of faith." (Romans 12:3) God distributes. I just receive.
Somewhere, though, deeply rooted in North American culture, there is this sense that we are self-made men and women. If we work hard. If we study hard. If we try hard. We can do anything. We. But there are those words in John and Philippians--apart from ME you can do nothing, and WITH GOD all things are possible.
In his book, Radical, David Platt adds, "God delights in using ordinary Christians who come to the end of themselves and choose to trust in his extraordinary provision. He stands ready to allocate his power to all who are radically dependent on him and radically devoted to making much of him."
Making much of him. Making him heavy. But when I think of placing the weight on God, I see I'm dancing near a precipice--a cliff, that stepping off of, may prove the greatest abandoning of my personal ambitions I've ever known. What of His desires? Do I place more weight on them, than my own? Because let's just be honest, most of us are more interested in picket fences than going to Africa to share His love. And there are the haunting words of James, "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." And just how much weight will I place on God's clearly displayed heart? Love your neighbor. Turn the other cheek. Give him your cloak. Forgive seventy times seven. Present your bodies as a sacrifice--alive, holy and pleasing. God, grant me strength, grant me courage to trust that stepping from this precipice is not a foolish free fall, but a forage of faith.
If I am about this business--if this is the motivation behind my living, then how could anyone not desire God? Not because of something they see in me, but because in everything about me, there is God. God is the forgiver and healer of the thorny places. And there are many. But look! God's mercy is greater than those places. He is the source of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control. When they are evident in my life, they come from Him. And when they are absent, forgiveness comes from Him. Much of him, less of me. John said it too, "He must increase, but I must decrease." (John 3:30)
In America, we are obsessed with losing weight, but what of losing spiritual weight and placing it all--the good and the bad--on God? This, I believe is the key to a life that somehow, despite our humanity, causes people to say, "If it is God she has, I want Him."
Does my life cause people to desire God?
The answer lies in where I place the weight of my life.
Pray with me:
Father, teach me to make much of You. Teach me to place the weight of my life on You. When people see me, Father, let me just be an arrow that points to He Who is ALL, He Who is Good, He Who is Strong, He Who is Able, He Who Heals, He Who is LOVE, He Who is Enough, He Who is God. Amen.
Does MY life make others desire God?
Does it?
Well?
And when honesty finally out-wrestled pride, I could admit the truth: probably not. At least not all the time. I'm too busy, too quick tempered, too impatient, too proud. Paul complained of one thorn in the flesh, and surely, when God fashioned me, he rolled me out first in some blackberry patch with a thousand thorns. And though I know I am indeed a new creature, with a new heart, those thorns prick still.
Does my life make others desire God?
Hmmph.
Isaiah told us why we were created: for God's glory. (Isaiah 43:7)
For HIS glory.
God--the great artist's--intent when He molded this frame that would stretch and grow to 68 inches high with brown eyes, brown hair, and a cackle for a laugh, was singular. I am made for His glory, that's it. But that word, glory, has always bugged me. People throw it around too much--give the glory to God, honor and glorify God--and I'm left feeling the meaning is like weak depression tea.
The Hebrew root word surprised me, confused me a bit at first. A verb, its root means to make heavy. To make heavy.
Other times in scripture, the same word is translated splendor or precious, and I think of gold. Gold is heavy. The more pure it is, the more dense it is, and the heavier it is. That's what makes it precious--it's purity. And that too, is what makes it heavy. And this same root goes with my purpose--to glorify God--to make Him heavy.
Earthly air stung my lungs some thirty-five years ago for a single reason--to make God heavy. Somehow, I think I understand that. When weight is placed on my value, I am to see that value's source and return it there. God. Making Him the heavy one. Making me light and Him heavy. James knew where to place the weight of things when he wrote, "Every good and perfect gift is from above..." (James 1:17) All that is good, then, about me, came from the hands of a good and perfect God. This must be the way to bring glory to Him--recognizing Him as the source, the giver of all that is good.
Paul himself counseled the Romans with these words," For by the grace given (It is all given, isn't it? Even grace.) to me I say to every one of you not to think more highly of yourself than you ought to think, but to think with sober discernment, as God has distributed to each of you a measure of faith." (Romans 12:3) God distributes. I just receive.
Somewhere, though, deeply rooted in North American culture, there is this sense that we are self-made men and women. If we work hard. If we study hard. If we try hard. We can do anything. We. But there are those words in John and Philippians--apart from ME you can do nothing, and WITH GOD all things are possible.
In his book, Radical, David Platt adds, "God delights in using ordinary Christians who come to the end of themselves and choose to trust in his extraordinary provision. He stands ready to allocate his power to all who are radically dependent on him and radically devoted to making much of him."
Making much of him. Making him heavy. But when I think of placing the weight on God, I see I'm dancing near a precipice--a cliff, that stepping off of, may prove the greatest abandoning of my personal ambitions I've ever known. What of His desires? Do I place more weight on them, than my own? Because let's just be honest, most of us are more interested in picket fences than going to Africa to share His love. And there are the haunting words of James, "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." And just how much weight will I place on God's clearly displayed heart? Love your neighbor. Turn the other cheek. Give him your cloak. Forgive seventy times seven. Present your bodies as a sacrifice--alive, holy and pleasing. God, grant me strength, grant me courage to trust that stepping from this precipice is not a foolish free fall, but a forage of faith.
If I am about this business--if this is the motivation behind my living, then how could anyone not desire God? Not because of something they see in me, but because in everything about me, there is God. God is the forgiver and healer of the thorny places. And there are many. But look! God's mercy is greater than those places. He is the source of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control. When they are evident in my life, they come from Him. And when they are absent, forgiveness comes from Him. Much of him, less of me. John said it too, "He must increase, but I must decrease." (John 3:30)
In America, we are obsessed with losing weight, but what of losing spiritual weight and placing it all--the good and the bad--on God? This, I believe is the key to a life that somehow, despite our humanity, causes people to say, "If it is God she has, I want Him."
Does my life cause people to desire God?
The answer lies in where I place the weight of my life.
Pray with me:
Father, teach me to make much of You. Teach me to place the weight of my life on You. When people see me, Father, let me just be an arrow that points to He Who is ALL, He Who is Good, He Who is Strong, He Who is Able, He Who Heals, He Who is LOVE, He Who is Enough, He Who is God. Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
