He was separated...So I never have to be
"Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." Romans 15:13
What in the world do we have to hope for? When I turn on my computer or television I am bombarded by the evil and darkness in the world. Girls kidnapped and held in a basement for 10 years. A disgusting 10th grade teacher seducing and taking advantage of some of her students. The rise of sexual assault within the military. It's yucky out there. Then there's the story of Bella. She's been fighting cancer for the last 6 of her 10 years. Her parents already lost their son to cancer 5 years ago...Bella and her brother in hospital beds side by side...fighting...their parents...now in the business mode of fighting cancer...every day...for ten years. Unfathomable. So are we just silly because we try to wake up each morning and be filled with joy and peace in believing? Are we just silly dumb Christians who have our pet verses that we throw out so as to not face the stark and terrible realities that hit us every day? The answer is no.
There is hope. It is real. It is powerful.
Yes...it is tough to see sometimes...really tough to believe sometimes. But it is real.
I just finished a study on the Gospel according to Mark. When we got to the part of Jesus' crucifixion, something hit me right between the eyes...maybe for the first time. Let me set the scene:
Jesus has had a three year ministry of healing, freeing people from demons, and trying to explain to His disciples that He is the Christ...the long awaited Messiah.
The disciples are Hebrews. They are expecting the Messiah to come as a conquering king and setting them free from the tyranny and oppression of Roman Empire.
He tries to tell them...many times...that the Messiah must be delivered into the hands of the Romans and be killed...and rise on the third day. They aren't getting it. And now it's happening. They've captured Jesus. Passionate and loyal Peter has denied knowing Christ three times for fear of losing his own life...the disciples are scattered and terrified for their lives.
The Romans beat and scourge...spit on...mock...and torment Jesus in unspeakable cruelty. Now he hangs on a criminal's cross...hands and feet nailed in. Roman soldiers still mocking...gambling with his clothes...Jesus' own mama watching and wailing at his feet with just a few followers...still not getting it...horror and crushing defeat...so they think.
Then something amazing happens. The sky darkens...like a solar eclipse of historical proportion and scientific significance. Jesus says the most powerful words of what He did for us: "My God, My God...Why have You forsaken me?" And it's happening. Jesus is being torn away from His father. Think of it. Jesus is one of the three in the Holy Trinity. He's being ripped from the other two. This God in three persons is splitting within Himself. The beauty of the trinity is that it is perfect union and relationship of God Himself. Now...one is being separated. All of creation is feeling it. And guess what? Those who are there...the disciples, Mary, the Roman soldiers...they start getting it. Even as Jesus is being ripped away from God, man is being reunited with Him.
He was separated from His father. Can you stretch your mind for a bit to try to fathom that? Try to wrap your head around the idea of you being ripped from yourself...this is even worse. Jesus, sinless, spotless...is now in hell and separated from his father.
Then, a Roman centurion says, "Surely this man was the Son of God." A Roman centurion gets it. Hardness of heart softened...incredible! One criminal on a cross next to Jesus had already gotten it, and was promised paradise that very day. Then, the veil in the Hebrew temple is torn in two. Powerful picture of all that had separated sinful man from a Holy God...removed. We are separated no more.
He was separated from His father...so now...we never ever have to be. And if I am NEVER separated from God, then what is there to fear? What dread can this world throw on me? Jesus endured the worst so that I never have to.
And then...three days later...like He said...Jesus rose from the grave. All historical accounts testify that this is true. It's not something made up...they never found His body. And He appeared to all 11 disciples...even Peter who had denied Him...and 500 others...in flesh and blood...with the holes from the nails still in his hands. He did it! He conquered death! No one ever in any religion ever did this before or has done this since. It's what sets Christianity apart. Proof that it isn't a myth? Every single original disciple...plus other witnesses of this...all went to their own gruesome death proclaiming that this story is true. They didn't make it up...they saw it with their own eyes. Why would they go to their own death if they knew it wasn't true...if they never did see Him alive after His death? No one would go to those lengths for a myth...or a cover-up. They saw Him and touched His flesh...then went through all the world spreading the story.
Now...we never have to be separated from the God of the universe ever ever again.
"The Lord is my light and my salvation; Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the defense of my life; Whom shall I dread? When evildoers came upon me to devour my flesh, My adversaries and my enemies, they stumbled and fell, Though a host encamp against me, My heart will not fear; Though war arise against me; In spite of this...I shall be confident." Psalm 27: 1-3
We have hope.
I can't explain all the horrors of this world. I don't have the answers to all the "whys". But I know that we have God who was separated from himself and who conquered death. Of that I am certain. He did this because of His great love for me...for you. And now...He is always with me.
This God of hope can fill me with all joy and peace in believing, that I may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
There is hope. Rejoice!
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Blessed are the Poor in Spirit
Poor in Spirit…needy…weak… as Eugene Peterson puts it in
“The Message”: “You are blessed when you’re at the end of your rope.” Can’t count on your own strength…ready to
give up…not knowing how you’re gonna get through the day…poor.
It’s a very interesting concept. You have to be at the end of your rope…the
end of yourself to have the kingdom of God.
I know we all get this in terms of our salvation. Anyone who has accepted Christ as savior and
Lord, had to be near or at the end of their rope in some way or another. But I think this is more than just the recipe
toward salvation. It seems to me that
Jesus wants us to live like this…every day.
Poor.
I have spent a good deal of time rich in spirit…feeling
in control, feeling strong, I had the answers,
I could plow through. I have also
spent a good deal of time trying to pretend I was rich in spirit…don’t tell me
how to solve this problem…I know…I can handle it…but really feeling like I was
caving in.
This year…God is making me poor in spirit. He’s yanking up fears and anxieties…long held
insecurities…tearing it out and laying it next to the stress, the mistakes, the
failures and…the worst of it all…the “what ifs” and “what does it means”. He’s forcing me to look at it all…over and
over until I reach my own poverty.
I am absolutely nothing and have absolutely nothing
without you, Jesus. This…is the start of
the kingdom of God.
Because, as Jon’s life group discussed, all the rest has
to start here. Once you’re poor in
spirit then you can:
Mourn
Be gentle
Hunger and
thirst for righteousness
Be merciful
Have a pure
heart
Be a
peacemaker
Be the salt
of the earth
Be the light
of the world
And if you take many a misstep in any of those…stop being
those things…it all has to go back to the beginning…being poor.
He tells us that we’re blessed when we’re persecuted,
blessed when men cast insults because of Him…to consider it joy when life
sucks. But it doesn’t work unless we’re
poor in spirit.
I think poor in spirit changes everything. If you read verses like “Rejoice in the Lord
always” or again, “consider it all joy my brethren when you encounter various
trials”, or “be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer …with
thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God” without the poor in
spirit, you think that a true Christian never doubts, never worries and always
“chooses joy! (Insert happy face)”.
But I think the poor in spirit part negates that. Reading those verses with poor in spirit says
this instead.
This life is brutal and you can’t do it. You won’t have
the strength or the confidence, and most of the time it’s just a lot of hard
work. But…rejoice…remember…hope…you have
the kingdom of heaven which means I am with you, I will help you and I am
making it all into a beautiful tapestry of glory.
Isn’t that what “theirs is the kingdom of heaven”
means. God’’s kingdom at our fingertips,
right by our side. Unfortunately we
misunderstand what that means and how that feels. I don’t think it is supposed to feel that
good…and certainly it doesn’t feel that comfortable. We’d much rather feel strong and confident,
yet the kingdom of God…the power that raised Jesus from the dead…the grace that
brings life from death…the hope that soothes the wounds…that belongs to the
poor in spirit.
If I think about it, I am much more likely to have
patience with the little old man going 20 mph on the freeway in front of me, or
much more able to empathize with another’s pain, even shedding tears at the
sound of their pain, or much slower to anger when confronted with another’s
weakness and demands when I am at the end of rope.
When I am not…when I am confident, strong, ready to
conquer the world, I am much less patient, empathetic and quick to anger.
And I think when we are poor in spirit, somehow all the
burdens we carry start to fall from our shoulders. We know we can’t handle them, so lay them
down.
I
think it’s what Jesus really wants from us…more than joy, more than confidence,
more even than perfect assurance of our faith…He wants us poor…
at the end of
ourselves…
laid out before Him…
ready to let Him fill with all things good…
to have
the Kingdom of Heaven.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Some Thoughts on Being a Christian
Alright....here it is:
Our Christian walk is not about us. It's not measured by how we feel...if we felt joy today then we walked closely with the Lord, if we were pissed and afraid, then we were far away from Him and not walking with Him.
That's the heresy..plain and simple.
It's about loving others. It's about are we living the righteous path not because we are joyful and feel like it but because...what else are we gonna do with what we know about Jesus...are we loving others and meeting them in their need with love and tenderness so that they can feel the hands of Jesus?
That's it.
It makes me think of how C.S. Lewis said, "I don't think God is particularly concerned with our happiness. What He really wants is for us to grow up! He wants us to love and be loved!"
So if that's true, then He would never measure our closeness with Him based on our joy. I do think that when we get to really dark places, we need to cling to Him...pursue Him...His word...others who will not try to fix but will bring us to His lap by just rubbing our head and saying, "Me too."...because while He uses those dark places...He would never want darkness to control us.
The discipline of going to Him when we're dark is where Ann Voskamp's "One Thousand Gifts" comes in...naming the gifts, slowing the moments, remembering who He is.
But I think the biggest mistake that many Christians make is that they think trust and clinging to God looks like joy and feeling good.
In my life, the closest I ever felt to Him is when I am just plain desperate for Him...I can't eat enough of His word, cause it's the only way to get the darkness to back off...and I cry and pray and try to remind myself of who He is...but it aint fun and it sure aint what I would call joy.
On the contrary, when I am light-hearted, feeling easy going...lots o stuff going well...that's when I may be farthest from Him.
Besides, didn't Jesus start His most important sermon with the words, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." And doesn't the rest of the sermon on the mount depend on this first assertion?
Funny.
I think the old women at CBS, who have genuine smiles, warm hugs and greetings to all who come to them have found the secret balance of the Christian walk. They've spent years clinging to Christ, desperately eating His word, forging storms...they have the wrinkles and the Christ-gleam in their eyes to prove it. And now they just pour out love, cuz they've learned...it's not about me...it's about Him.
Our Christian walk is not about us. It's not measured by how we feel...if we felt joy today then we walked closely with the Lord, if we were pissed and afraid, then we were far away from Him and not walking with Him.
That's the heresy..plain and simple.
It's about loving others. It's about are we living the righteous path not because we are joyful and feel like it but because...what else are we gonna do with what we know about Jesus...are we loving others and meeting them in their need with love and tenderness so that they can feel the hands of Jesus?
That's it.
It makes me think of how C.S. Lewis said, "I don't think God is particularly concerned with our happiness. What He really wants is for us to grow up! He wants us to love and be loved!"
So if that's true, then He would never measure our closeness with Him based on our joy. I do think that when we get to really dark places, we need to cling to Him...pursue Him...His word...others who will not try to fix but will bring us to His lap by just rubbing our head and saying, "Me too."...because while He uses those dark places...He would never want darkness to control us.
The discipline of going to Him when we're dark is where Ann Voskamp's "One Thousand Gifts" comes in...naming the gifts, slowing the moments, remembering who He is.
But I think the biggest mistake that many Christians make is that they think trust and clinging to God looks like joy and feeling good.
In my life, the closest I ever felt to Him is when I am just plain desperate for Him...I can't eat enough of His word, cause it's the only way to get the darkness to back off...and I cry and pray and try to remind myself of who He is...but it aint fun and it sure aint what I would call joy.
On the contrary, when I am light-hearted, feeling easy going...lots o stuff going well...that's when I may be farthest from Him.
Besides, didn't Jesus start His most important sermon with the words, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." And doesn't the rest of the sermon on the mount depend on this first assertion?
Funny.
I think the old women at CBS, who have genuine smiles, warm hugs and greetings to all who come to them have found the secret balance of the Christian walk. They've spent years clinging to Christ, desperately eating His word, forging storms...they have the wrinkles and the Christ-gleam in their eyes to prove it. And now they just pour out love, cuz they've learned...it's not about me...it's about Him.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
A Sleepover, A New Bra, and Lunch
Hey Jenn,
Would you like to spend the night this weekend? Whatever night is good for you is fine for me (but either Fri. or Sat. night Ian Ailer and I might be going out, but I'm not sure...so I'll talk to Scott Brownsberger and see)...but the other night we can - eat, reminisce and just play around. Please don't be bummed about Bobby and Michelle. You're such a cutie pie - you shouldn't fret over that! Don't worry, God has someone soooo special for you!!! (That's what I keep telling myself :)) Who do you think you'll ask to Winter Formal? There are so many cuties out there that I would love to go with , but I don't know if they would want to go with mua! Oh heck! It's not easy being a lonely lover in the 1980's.
Well, I better go! Love ya!
Trish
For some weird and wonderful reason I have held onto this little note that my dear friend, Trisha, wrote to me almost 26 years ago. I completely crack up everytime I read it...especially the part about being a "lonely lover"... Trish may never speak to me again for posting this on the world wide web, but it is part of a very important story in my life. Trish is a friend that I've had since high school...a best friend, really. We saw each other through college, were in each other's weddings, and while I couldn't have babies, she was generous enough to share hers with me, then celebrated like no other when I finally received my miracles. We've walked through trials, pain, and loss together. And we've laughed hysterically along the way. Trish is a friend who knows me well, knows where I've come from, knows my family, and has loved me through my best and worst times. There's something about a friend like that that makes you feel really solid.
While trying on one top after another only to have Jaime say, "No, take that one off...it's no good.", she finally broke the news to me. "Okay, I have to tell you something", she said. "What?" I asked, dying to know why I couldn't seem to find anything that looked good on me. "You need a new bra." Only my friend Jaime would have the courage and the fashion savvy to tell me such a thing. I was both grateful and completely humiliated. We left that store without anything because we didn't have time to shop for a new bra. I don't know about you, but I hold onto a bra until it disintegrates off of my body. And I usually then go to Target to replace the one no longer visible. I later told my big sister, Karen, the humiliating story of needing a new bra and she gave me some big sister advice. Go to Nordstrom and have them fit me correctly (fitted for a bra...who knew you were supposed to do that?), spend the $60 on one beautiful bra, then return to Target to buy any others.
So, of course, I had to take Jaime with me to Nordstrom. We walked into the store...really, she was dragging me into the lingerie section, like a terrorist being taken to an interrogation room, because I was suddenly certain that what was about to happen was going to be more traumatizing than a pap smear. "She needs to be fitted for a new bra", Jaime said with utter confidence. I was standing there shaking from nervous humiliation, smiling like an imbecile. "Come on, Jif, it's not like their taking you into a gas chamber" I coaxed myself, "they're just going to measure you for a bra." For those of you who don't know me in person, I have to tell you something about myself...I have large breasts. I blame prayer. When I was little, for some reason, I prayed for big boobs and the Lord said yes to that one. I was always proud of my bra size: 34 C...it was one of my best features. But with the passage of time and the addition of some pounds the 34 has gone up to a 36 and, according to Nordstrom, the C has gone up to a D! The very snooty saleswoman wrapped her tape measure around my chest and whisked out of the dressing room before I could hear the bad news. An instant later, she brought in bras that would be suitable for the bride of King Kong. I kid you not, you've never seen bras as big as these before. I thought Jaime was going to pee her pants laughing. We were staring at them like it's not even possible that anyone needs a bra this huge. So I tried on bra after bra...modeling them for my friend...enduring the humiliation and my white fat stomach hanging out...until I found the perfect one. It was not as grotesquely huge as the others, and looked really good on me, if I do say so myself. The bad news was that Jaime liked the bra so much, and the saleslady had pushed her so much, that she tried one on too. Now...just so you know...my friend Jaime has an upper body to be coveted. She has the most beautiful, petite, skinny upper body, complete with a perfectly flat tummy. I was ready to kill her when she said, "Wow! I've always worn a 34 A...but they measured me at a 32 B!" And very unfortunately for me, we both decided on the same bra. Jaime laid hers down onto the delicate wrapping paper at the register...it was a thing of beauty. And while we were both admiring her lovely new purchase we were interrupted by the sound of the forklift carrying my bra onto the table. They dropped my bra down...caboom!...right next to Jaime's. It was a moment of horror I'll never forget. I looked at Jaime and said, "My bra is going to kick your bra's ass!" You can only laugh at such a time. I stood there with my dear friend who loved me in spite of my white, not as thin as it used to be, body...and we giggled endlessly. The best part came after that. We took my new bra immediately down to the women's clothing section, where I tried on one new top after another hearing my sweet, sickeningly lovely, honest friend say, "Yes! You have to get that one!" Everything I tried on looked great. "I look amazing in this bra!", I announced to the world. I felt like a supermodel. And it was all because my friend had the courage to tell me the truth. Jaime wouldn't have been a true friend if she had just let me spend money on tops that didn't flatter me. I will never shop without her again. And... if she has the courage to tell me things about my undergarments, I trust she won't withold even more important hard-to-hear truths from me. How lucky I am to have such a friend.
"She changed her mind." I choked out between sobs. "She's keeping the baby...she can't go through with the adoption." There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then Paula said, "I'll be right there." We had been waiting for our second child for over a year when we finally were chosen by a young girl to adopt her baby...and it was a girl. She was due to deliver any day. We had even become confident enough to put the bassinet back together and wash some lovely baby girl clothes. Nothing was as enjoyable to me in those days than folding freshly laundered baby clothes...the smell, the feel...the thought of who would wear them...I just loved it. And now, it was all crashing down. This is the big downside of adoption...the birthmom may change her mind...and who could blame her? I hung up the phone and went to my kitchen window feeling like someone had just punched me in the stomach. "Now how long will we wait?" "This must be what a miscarriage feels like". These thoughts were drowning me in sadness and darkness. My only hope was a small, squeaky, desperate and not-so-sure prayer, "You do everything well...You do everything well...You do everything well..." I said it over and over, hoping the darkness wouldn't take me over. It really sucks building your family at the mercy of some flakey and irresponsible teenager.
Thirty minutes later, my sweet friend was at the front door with two big grocery bags. "Jif...I have no words...so I brought food." She came in, crawled into the pit with me, and we ate and cried. It's my favorite story of my friend, Paula. She is the friend who always has words. She has words of wisdom, words of encouragement, words of discernment. It was rare that she wouldn't know what to say or do in a certain situation. But this time, she had the wisdom to know, there were no words. No words would help, so she just needed to come with food. And it helped more than she'll ever know.
I have been blessed with amazing girlfriends. It wasn't always like that. When I was a kid, even into high school, I had a habit of tying my boat to the boats of girls that weren't trustworthy, weren't faithful, were basically pretty selfish, wouldn't stand during the storms. It wasn't until the Lord brought me Trish that I learned what a true friend looks like. We were like two peas in a pod...loved the same things...had the same sense of humor...loved being together...perhaps we were separated at birth. But the best thing about Trish is that she is a true friend. She walked with me even when I wasn't living according to God's best for me. She listened to my deepest pains and hung around. She put babies in my arms when they were empty. And my favorite thing...we laugh and laugh and laugh together.
You can tell the difference between pathetic friends and, as our pastor used to call them, prophetic friends. Pathetic friends will want your good until it's inconvenient for them or threatens them somehow. Pathetic friends will let you buy outfits or makeup that look terrible on you because it's too hard to say the truth. Pathetic friends will let you rag on your husband and fuel the fire of your frustration. But prophetic friends do the hard work. They point you back toward your husband and why you married him. They gently point out that maybe the answer to this marital issue is something you need to do. They point you to the Lord ALWAYS. Prophetic friends will love you when it's inconvenient. They will carry your pain to the Lord in prayer...again and again...until he answers. Prophetic friends will not try give you superficial easy words to get you out of that pit, but will climb down into it and sit with you for awhile...it's not enjoyable for them...but they do it anyway. Prophetic friends know when to shut up and just listen. Prophetic friends are there to help you stand, when all you feel like doing is falling.
Here's a confession: I have been a pathetic friend more times than I'd like to admit. Miraculously, I've learned the joy of being a good friend, by having them. I've learned the blessing of carrying a friend's load...walking the extra mile with them. We all need our girlfriends. We need those who will laugh until it hurts and cry until there are no more tears. We need girlfriends to hold us up, listen to our stories, and lift us in prayer. It's how we're made...to need each other. We all know when we've tied our boat to crappy friends...don't settle for that. Find those who will be prophetic friends, not pathetic ones. The blessing is eternal. Even if they do tell you it's time to get a new bra.
Would you like to spend the night this weekend? Whatever night is good for you is fine for me (but either Fri. or Sat. night Ian Ailer and I might be going out, but I'm not sure...so I'll talk to Scott Brownsberger and see)...but the other night we can - eat, reminisce and just play around. Please don't be bummed about Bobby and Michelle. You're such a cutie pie - you shouldn't fret over that! Don't worry, God has someone soooo special for you!!! (That's what I keep telling myself :)) Who do you think you'll ask to Winter Formal? There are so many cuties out there that I would love to go with , but I don't know if they would want to go with mua! Oh heck! It's not easy being a lonely lover in the 1980's.
Well, I better go! Love ya!
Trish
For some weird and wonderful reason I have held onto this little note that my dear friend, Trisha, wrote to me almost 26 years ago. I completely crack up everytime I read it...especially the part about being a "lonely lover"... Trish may never speak to me again for posting this on the world wide web, but it is part of a very important story in my life. Trish is a friend that I've had since high school...a best friend, really. We saw each other through college, were in each other's weddings, and while I couldn't have babies, she was generous enough to share hers with me, then celebrated like no other when I finally received my miracles. We've walked through trials, pain, and loss together. And we've laughed hysterically along the way. Trish is a friend who knows me well, knows where I've come from, knows my family, and has loved me through my best and worst times. There's something about a friend like that that makes you feel really solid.
While trying on one top after another only to have Jaime say, "No, take that one off...it's no good.", she finally broke the news to me. "Okay, I have to tell you something", she said. "What?" I asked, dying to know why I couldn't seem to find anything that looked good on me. "You need a new bra." Only my friend Jaime would have the courage and the fashion savvy to tell me such a thing. I was both grateful and completely humiliated. We left that store without anything because we didn't have time to shop for a new bra. I don't know about you, but I hold onto a bra until it disintegrates off of my body. And I usually then go to Target to replace the one no longer visible. I later told my big sister, Karen, the humiliating story of needing a new bra and she gave me some big sister advice. Go to Nordstrom and have them fit me correctly (fitted for a bra...who knew you were supposed to do that?), spend the $60 on one beautiful bra, then return to Target to buy any others.
So, of course, I had to take Jaime with me to Nordstrom. We walked into the store...really, she was dragging me into the lingerie section, like a terrorist being taken to an interrogation room, because I was suddenly certain that what was about to happen was going to be more traumatizing than a pap smear. "She needs to be fitted for a new bra", Jaime said with utter confidence. I was standing there shaking from nervous humiliation, smiling like an imbecile. "Come on, Jif, it's not like their taking you into a gas chamber" I coaxed myself, "they're just going to measure you for a bra." For those of you who don't know me in person, I have to tell you something about myself...I have large breasts. I blame prayer. When I was little, for some reason, I prayed for big boobs and the Lord said yes to that one. I was always proud of my bra size: 34 C...it was one of my best features. But with the passage of time and the addition of some pounds the 34 has gone up to a 36 and, according to Nordstrom, the C has gone up to a D! The very snooty saleswoman wrapped her tape measure around my chest and whisked out of the dressing room before I could hear the bad news. An instant later, she brought in bras that would be suitable for the bride of King Kong. I kid you not, you've never seen bras as big as these before. I thought Jaime was going to pee her pants laughing. We were staring at them like it's not even possible that anyone needs a bra this huge. So I tried on bra after bra...modeling them for my friend...enduring the humiliation and my white fat stomach hanging out...until I found the perfect one. It was not as grotesquely huge as the others, and looked really good on me, if I do say so myself. The bad news was that Jaime liked the bra so much, and the saleslady had pushed her so much, that she tried one on too. Now...just so you know...my friend Jaime has an upper body to be coveted. She has the most beautiful, petite, skinny upper body, complete with a perfectly flat tummy. I was ready to kill her when she said, "Wow! I've always worn a 34 A...but they measured me at a 32 B!" And very unfortunately for me, we both decided on the same bra. Jaime laid hers down onto the delicate wrapping paper at the register...it was a thing of beauty. And while we were both admiring her lovely new purchase we were interrupted by the sound of the forklift carrying my bra onto the table. They dropped my bra down...caboom!...right next to Jaime's. It was a moment of horror I'll never forget. I looked at Jaime and said, "My bra is going to kick your bra's ass!" You can only laugh at such a time. I stood there with my dear friend who loved me in spite of my white, not as thin as it used to be, body...and we giggled endlessly. The best part came after that. We took my new bra immediately down to the women's clothing section, where I tried on one new top after another hearing my sweet, sickeningly lovely, honest friend say, "Yes! You have to get that one!" Everything I tried on looked great. "I look amazing in this bra!", I announced to the world. I felt like a supermodel. And it was all because my friend had the courage to tell me the truth. Jaime wouldn't have been a true friend if she had just let me spend money on tops that didn't flatter me. I will never shop without her again. And... if she has the courage to tell me things about my undergarments, I trust she won't withold even more important hard-to-hear truths from me. How lucky I am to have such a friend.
"She changed her mind." I choked out between sobs. "She's keeping the baby...she can't go through with the adoption." There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then Paula said, "I'll be right there." We had been waiting for our second child for over a year when we finally were chosen by a young girl to adopt her baby...and it was a girl. She was due to deliver any day. We had even become confident enough to put the bassinet back together and wash some lovely baby girl clothes. Nothing was as enjoyable to me in those days than folding freshly laundered baby clothes...the smell, the feel...the thought of who would wear them...I just loved it. And now, it was all crashing down. This is the big downside of adoption...the birthmom may change her mind...and who could blame her? I hung up the phone and went to my kitchen window feeling like someone had just punched me in the stomach. "Now how long will we wait?" "This must be what a miscarriage feels like". These thoughts were drowning me in sadness and darkness. My only hope was a small, squeaky, desperate and not-so-sure prayer, "You do everything well...You do everything well...You do everything well..." I said it over and over, hoping the darkness wouldn't take me over. It really sucks building your family at the mercy of some flakey and irresponsible teenager.
Thirty minutes later, my sweet friend was at the front door with two big grocery bags. "Jif...I have no words...so I brought food." She came in, crawled into the pit with me, and we ate and cried. It's my favorite story of my friend, Paula. She is the friend who always has words. She has words of wisdom, words of encouragement, words of discernment. It was rare that she wouldn't know what to say or do in a certain situation. But this time, she had the wisdom to know, there were no words. No words would help, so she just needed to come with food. And it helped more than she'll ever know.
I have been blessed with amazing girlfriends. It wasn't always like that. When I was a kid, even into high school, I had a habit of tying my boat to the boats of girls that weren't trustworthy, weren't faithful, were basically pretty selfish, wouldn't stand during the storms. It wasn't until the Lord brought me Trish that I learned what a true friend looks like. We were like two peas in a pod...loved the same things...had the same sense of humor...loved being together...perhaps we were separated at birth. But the best thing about Trish is that she is a true friend. She walked with me even when I wasn't living according to God's best for me. She listened to my deepest pains and hung around. She put babies in my arms when they were empty. And my favorite thing...we laugh and laugh and laugh together.
You can tell the difference between pathetic friends and, as our pastor used to call them, prophetic friends. Pathetic friends will want your good until it's inconvenient for them or threatens them somehow. Pathetic friends will let you buy outfits or makeup that look terrible on you because it's too hard to say the truth. Pathetic friends will let you rag on your husband and fuel the fire of your frustration. But prophetic friends do the hard work. They point you back toward your husband and why you married him. They gently point out that maybe the answer to this marital issue is something you need to do. They point you to the Lord ALWAYS. Prophetic friends will love you when it's inconvenient. They will carry your pain to the Lord in prayer...again and again...until he answers. Prophetic friends will not try give you superficial easy words to get you out of that pit, but will climb down into it and sit with you for awhile...it's not enjoyable for them...but they do it anyway. Prophetic friends know when to shut up and just listen. Prophetic friends are there to help you stand, when all you feel like doing is falling.
Here's a confession: I have been a pathetic friend more times than I'd like to admit. Miraculously, I've learned the joy of being a good friend, by having them. I've learned the blessing of carrying a friend's load...walking the extra mile with them. We all need our girlfriends. We need those who will laugh until it hurts and cry until there are no more tears. We need girlfriends to hold us up, listen to our stories, and lift us in prayer. It's how we're made...to need each other. We all know when we've tied our boat to crappy friends...don't settle for that. Find those who will be prophetic friends, not pathetic ones. The blessing is eternal. Even if they do tell you it's time to get a new bra.
Monday, September 13, 2010
God's on Vacation in Idaho...and Can't Be Reached
My sister Tami has a way with words...in case you didn't notice. We recently sat on a beach, while on vacation at my mom's house this summer and were talking about life. Tami was feeling pretty down and somehow the Lord was mentioned. "Well He and I are not on speaking terms right now", she said. "He's on vacation in Idaho and can't be reached." I chuckled...Tami cracks me up. See, Tami has been saying stuff like this ever since I met her. It used to scare me cuz I wasn't used to Christians talking that way. But now...I just love it. I love it because it's real and it's raw. And honestly, I think the Lord loves it too. He'd rather have us coming to him in real anger, than having us put on a pretty face and pretending.
And let's face it...doesn't it sometimes feel like He's on vacation and not to be reached. I had a pretty crappy week this week. My son's reading ability has apparantly plummetted since last year, my husband got raked over the coals by the parent of student he taught two years ago, and we might be looking at a seriously financially tight year. Not to mention ending the week with a playdate from hell with 3 of my daughter's friends who could do nothing but fight, whine and manipulate each other for three hours...Carly being the queen of the "pains-in-the-butt". And to add insult to an injured psyche, we woke up Sunday morning to a bathroom drain clogged with hardened candle wax that Carly thought would be cool to pour out when it was a hot liquid...there goes another $200 that we don't have. Yeah...I can relate to the feeling that God is busy tending to and blessing another family somewhere else (which is how Tami placed God in Idaho. A friend of hers was sending her emails filled with praises to God for the many blessings He was pouring on her family...while Tami was feeling utterly alone)...and there are many times in my life when it felt like God wasn't available to take my call and was passing me over to tend to his other children.
And let's face it...doesn't it sometimes feel like He's on vacation and not to be reached. I had a pretty crappy week this week. My son's reading ability has apparantly plummetted since last year, my husband got raked over the coals by the parent of student he taught two years ago, and we might be looking at a seriously financially tight year. Not to mention ending the week with a playdate from hell with 3 of my daughter's friends who could do nothing but fight, whine and manipulate each other for three hours...Carly being the queen of the "pains-in-the-butt". And to add insult to an injured psyche, we woke up Sunday morning to a bathroom drain clogged with hardened candle wax that Carly thought would be cool to pour out when it was a hot liquid...there goes another $200 that we don't have. Yeah...I can relate to the feeling that God is busy tending to and blessing another family somewhere else (which is how Tami placed God in Idaho. A friend of hers was sending her emails filled with praises to God for the many blessings He was pouring on her family...while Tami was feeling utterly alone)...and there are many times in my life when it felt like God wasn't available to take my call and was passing me over to tend to his other children.
Even King David and later on, Christ, using the same words, had moments of wondering where the Lord was and why wasn't he answering the phone. "My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me?" I doubt that God the Father looked upon the two of them and tisked, "...Now, now, now,...you know I will never leave you nor forsake you...you really must not be that far along in your walk if you're saying that...where's your joy?" No...He was silent in those moments. And we can discuss all the theology that explains why the Lord is silent some times. Some say it's because there's some "unconfessed sin blocking our path of communication" or that our faith isn't strong enough. There's scripture that can back that up. But more often than not, I believe, when it feels like He's not hearing you or responding to you it's because...sometimes He is just silent. Now, do I believe that He really is on vacation? Of course not. But that's how it feels. And one of the things I've learned from my sweet, real, and raw sister is that we are absolutely allowed to and Biblically encouraged to crawl into our Daddy's lap and pound on his chest. We can get mad, we can cry out, we can beg him to pay attention to us. It's the nature of His relatiohsinp with His children...the word "Israel" itself means "to wrestle with God". And it's one of the most miraculous aspects of the gospel. Through Christ's death and resurrection, He gave us the opportunity to have the intimate relationship with His Daddy that he has. And that relatiohsip...is what it's all about. It's what the Creator of the universe wants more than anything and why He sent Christ on our behalf. He longs for a real relationship with us. He knows as soon as we get in His lap and pour it all out, we can't help but see Who He is compared to who we are....and we can bring him all our junk...not hide it away in pretty little "spiritual" packages deep within our heart...but get it all out and dealt with.
The morning after Tami's "vacation" comment, we were sitting at my mom's kitchen table for breakfast. "I read the coolest thing in this devotional your mom has, written by Tozer", Tami said sleepily as she sipped her coffee. "Oh..." I responded with a big sister smirk on my face, "Then you are on speaking terms with Him." "Well...", Tami cried, "I keep reading...hoping He's gonna send me a postcard." Brilliantly put, sistah!
"All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth to such as keep His covenant and His testimonies." Psalm 25:10.
Mercy and truth...it's what we always get from him...eventually. So keep crawling into that lap and pound away...and keep on the look out. You never know when He'll throw down a miracle, move a mountain or two...or at least...send you a postcard.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Forgiveness - Oh Yeah!
I’m doing a Bible Study this summer with three ladies from my BSF class. It’s on how to love people. Hmmm. Sounds easy, does hard. This week we are studying forgiveness, and they asked the question, who are you finding it difficult to forgive. Well, naturally, the first person that comes to mind is—my husband! Yes, that person you spend most of every day and night with. Yeah, that one. I guess it would beg credibility if you didn’t have a few ups and downs with the person you’re with practically 24/7.
Like for instance this morning—all I did was ask if before he left town for two days he could please take care of the stack of boxes and stuff that he has been “storing” directly in front of my washer and dryer for the past five days. Well, you would have thought I’d asked him to dig up the driveway and install a new sewer line. According to him, my world is so small and he has so many more important things on his mind, etc, etc, etc. After slamming out the back door because I didn’t really feel like kissing him good-bye, he roared off for the next two days. Probably just as well. I don’t know about him, but I’m over it and will forgive. He’ll come around sooner or later. Hope it’s by Friday night when he returns.
Okay, so God has me in a study about why it’s so important to forgive those who hurt or offend you. It’s one of those things that you know is right, but you don’t feel like doing right away. What you feel like doing is saying, “What a jerk!” Which of course I’ve already done and I’m over it. Yes, well, we are all jerks at some time or another, aren’t we? And God so inconveniently says, “If you do not forgive your brother who sins against you, your father in heaven will not forgive you for your sins.”
There’s a whole lot more to this in this study I’m doing, stuff about humbling yourself, not condemning others and freeing yourself from the garbage of resentment and bitterness. Yes, yes, the last thing I ever want to be is a bitter old woman. And there are a lot of them. And many of them are in churches. As my pastor would say—“Yes, they are.” So, okay, let’s take a big breath. Gary does have a lot on his mind, especially getting ready to leave for a big business trip, and yes my world is a bit smaller than his. Of course, that doesn’t give him the right to yell at me over a simple little reminder. But so what. How important is this—really?
There was a quote at the beginning of my lesson today, it said:
“Love is never letting a problem to be solved become more important than a person to be loved.”
Okay, God, I hear you, and I do love him—heart, soul, mind and body. Thank you, Lord for teaching me one more time how to be more like you. I’ll never get it right this side of heaven, but then you already know that, too, don’t you.
Like for instance this morning—all I did was ask if before he left town for two days he could please take care of the stack of boxes and stuff that he has been “storing” directly in front of my washer and dryer for the past five days. Well, you would have thought I’d asked him to dig up the driveway and install a new sewer line. According to him, my world is so small and he has so many more important things on his mind, etc, etc, etc. After slamming out the back door because I didn’t really feel like kissing him good-bye, he roared off for the next two days. Probably just as well. I don’t know about him, but I’m over it and will forgive. He’ll come around sooner or later. Hope it’s by Friday night when he returns.
Okay, so God has me in a study about why it’s so important to forgive those who hurt or offend you. It’s one of those things that you know is right, but you don’t feel like doing right away. What you feel like doing is saying, “What a jerk!” Which of course I’ve already done and I’m over it. Yes, well, we are all jerks at some time or another, aren’t we? And God so inconveniently says, “If you do not forgive your brother who sins against you, your father in heaven will not forgive you for your sins.”
There’s a whole lot more to this in this study I’m doing, stuff about humbling yourself, not condemning others and freeing yourself from the garbage of resentment and bitterness. Yes, yes, the last thing I ever want to be is a bitter old woman. And there are a lot of them. And many of them are in churches. As my pastor would say—“Yes, they are.” So, okay, let’s take a big breath. Gary does have a lot on his mind, especially getting ready to leave for a big business trip, and yes my world is a bit smaller than his. Of course, that doesn’t give him the right to yell at me over a simple little reminder. But so what. How important is this—really?
There was a quote at the beginning of my lesson today, it said:
“Love is never letting a problem to be solved become more important than a person to be loved.”
Okay, God, I hear you, and I do love him—heart, soul, mind and body. Thank you, Lord for teaching me one more time how to be more like you. I’ll never get it right this side of heaven, but then you already know that, too, don’t you.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Neighbors! Gee Wiz!
Anybody else find it hard to love thy neighbor? Kids in Ethiopia, I'm all over that, the homeless guy down town, I'll give 'em a buck. Troubled teens, bring them on. But the lady who lives next door who hates kids and has a mean yappy dog...well, she's just plain unlovable.
"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?"
Jesus replied, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it, "Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."
Gnarly. There's no loop hole...I've looked...but still all the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.
So earlier today when the "Mean Lady"(as she has been not-so-affectionately labeled by the neighborhood kids) approached me, wagging her finger and hollering complaints and annoyances, clearly I had not only a responsibility, but was actually commanded by the creator of the earth and skies…to love her.
I told her that if she didn’t like it here she should just move out.
She pointed her finger at my face and told me I was evil and my children were evil and that she didn’t know what sorts of things I was being taught at my so-called church but that I wasn’t a very good Christian.
She said that to me and stared me down with her beady little eyes…while over a dozen kids sat out in the driveway watching.
Well, this just made my Russian blood boil!
In my defense, for the past two years since the Mean Lady moved in, she’s done nothing but scream and yell and complain and alienate every neighbor on our street. And in all this time, I’ve never had so much as a single unkind word with her. But she’s been so unbearable for so many of my friends that I figured this time, she had it coming.
Or did she?
Two commandments, Love God, love your neighbor. The first is the greatest, but the second is like it? So you mean to tell me that loving this Mean Lady is like loving God?
Gee Wiz!
So the drama continued with just about half a dozen ticked off neighbors gathering to talk smack while she huffed and puffed and took pictures of the kid’s scattered toys and sidewalk chalk drawings. She said she was gonna get us all restraining orders. A few of us said we were gonna get em for her too.
Then she stormed into her house and we let off all the steam we could muster. We said, “Yeah, you’re right…she’s mean…she’s crazy… you don’t deserve that…”
Then a moment later, she came back. She was shaking with big-baby tears pooled in her eyes. “We should talk,” she says.
Now I reckoned that this was a divine appointment.
So me and two of the other Christian moms stood with our arms tightly folded across our chests. And then she hollered a bit more and then we hollered back…nobody really listened much. But somewhere in the messiness of all the “she said, she said”…the Gospel shone through.
She said, “I just feel like you all just hate me,” which wasn’t entirely untrue.
But then she said, “I just wish we could have a fresh start.”
Ahhh..so there it is…the loop hole…a fresh start. Loving God and loving your neighbor is in it’s very nature all about screwing up and having the graceful opportunity to try again. And somewhere in the messiness of it all, is truly where the magic of God’s love is glorified.
“Well,” I told her, “we are actually all about fresh starts.” Then we talked for a good while about the healing and restorative power of Jesus Christ of Nazereth and then we even prayed together …and like balm to a wound, things softened.
Eventually, we came to some compromises on her demands and we all promised to wave and be more friendly. Turns out, although her list of gripes was long, at the very top of that list was that she felt unloved.
I wonder if now would be a bad time to tell her that her yappy dog woke me up at the crack of dawn this morning?
"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?"
Jesus replied, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it, "Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."
Gnarly. There's no loop hole...I've looked...but still all the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.
So earlier today when the "Mean Lady"(as she has been not-so-affectionately labeled by the neighborhood kids) approached me, wagging her finger and hollering complaints and annoyances, clearly I had not only a responsibility, but was actually commanded by the creator of the earth and skies…to love her.
I told her that if she didn’t like it here she should just move out.
She pointed her finger at my face and told me I was evil and my children were evil and that she didn’t know what sorts of things I was being taught at my so-called church but that I wasn’t a very good Christian.
She said that to me and stared me down with her beady little eyes…while over a dozen kids sat out in the driveway watching.
Well, this just made my Russian blood boil!
In my defense, for the past two years since the Mean Lady moved in, she’s done nothing but scream and yell and complain and alienate every neighbor on our street. And in all this time, I’ve never had so much as a single unkind word with her. But she’s been so unbearable for so many of my friends that I figured this time, she had it coming.
Or did she?
Two commandments, Love God, love your neighbor. The first is the greatest, but the second is like it? So you mean to tell me that loving this Mean Lady is like loving God?
Gee Wiz!
So the drama continued with just about half a dozen ticked off neighbors gathering to talk smack while she huffed and puffed and took pictures of the kid’s scattered toys and sidewalk chalk drawings. She said she was gonna get us all restraining orders. A few of us said we were gonna get em for her too.
Then she stormed into her house and we let off all the steam we could muster. We said, “Yeah, you’re right…she’s mean…she’s crazy… you don’t deserve that…”
Then a moment later, she came back. She was shaking with big-baby tears pooled in her eyes. “We should talk,” she says.
Now I reckoned that this was a divine appointment.
So me and two of the other Christian moms stood with our arms tightly folded across our chests. And then she hollered a bit more and then we hollered back…nobody really listened much. But somewhere in the messiness of all the “she said, she said”…the Gospel shone through.
She said, “I just feel like you all just hate me,” which wasn’t entirely untrue.
But then she said, “I just wish we could have a fresh start.”
Ahhh..so there it is…the loop hole…a fresh start. Loving God and loving your neighbor is in it’s very nature all about screwing up and having the graceful opportunity to try again. And somewhere in the messiness of it all, is truly where the magic of God’s love is glorified.
“Well,” I told her, “we are actually all about fresh starts.” Then we talked for a good while about the healing and restorative power of Jesus Christ of Nazereth and then we even prayed together …and like balm to a wound, things softened.
Eventually, we came to some compromises on her demands and we all promised to wave and be more friendly. Turns out, although her list of gripes was long, at the very top of that list was that she felt unloved.
I wonder if now would be a bad time to tell her that her yappy dog woke me up at the crack of dawn this morning?
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