Flipping through my mental archives recently, and I uncovered a thought I created somewhere in my high school or early college era: "I know most of what there is to know about Christianity." I distinctly remember thinking I had reached my peak in understanding the inner workings of my faith. To clarify, I wasn't silly enough to believe I had a complete knowledge of the Bible or of biblical history, but I was content in my understanding of what Christianity was all about,what being a "believer" entailed, and what to say when questioned about Christianity. I had taken world view classes, attended a world view camp, and discussed Christianity and other belief systems with friends, that on top of all the usual church activities. My faith seemed pretty well-rounded to me. I was stunned at this recollection and lectured my former self on her youthful hubris (not the last time I will offer that lesson, I know).
This retrospect was originally triggered by a church small group discussion centered around the question "How would you briefly explain the Kingdom of God to someone?" Ugh. I've always hated that question. Give me two hours and I'll still feel like I've answered inadequately--think of the failure that's possible in two minutes! Before writing down my answer, I recalled what I would have said eight, five, maybe even three years ago: "God created the universe and everything in it. Adam and Eve disobeyed God, and therefore separated themselves from Him. In order to save humanity, God sent Jesus to earth to live a perfect life and die on a cross as a sacrifice for sin. Now everyone who believes that Jesus is the Savior of the world is free from sin and will live with Him for eternity after they die." A pretty standard answer, and none of it isn't true, but it felt hollow and impersonal. The facts were right, but there wasn't any heart to it. I queried, "what about the gospel captures my affections?" and tried to summarize my answer as best I could:
"The kingdom of God is about restoration--restoring humanity to God, people to one another, humanity to the earth. It's a place of boundaries created to strengthen these relationships and secure our identities in something far more steadfast than our transient selves. It's a realm in which our souls can be free of the muck of our self-loathing, self-righteousness, self-pity, and complete self-absorption. We can accept our faults and glories without defeat or conceit because we know neither are the end of us. Because of this freedom, we can become more ourselves and better serve others to the glory of our King."
I liked this answer better, not because it discards the truth in favor of feeling, but because it fills out the facts and more thoroughly answers the "why" of the Kingdom of God. I often settle into the "what," the descriptors, but why the Kingdom exists is the true motivator. And the motivation found in the purpose of God's kingdom is the prodding I need to remember that I don't know it all. My understanding of God's heart will always be deepening and expanding, stretching to include possibilities to which I was previously blind. I'm thankful for His vastness, for though it's intimidating, it builds a greater hope than I dared to believe existed.
Thursday, September 7, 2017
Friday, October 30, 2015
Fresh Fruit and Old Houses
In a previous post, I mentioned my sin of self-loathing (which is just another side of self-obsessed, in my case) as it relates to feeling inadequate in the social media world. But this self-hate has threaded itself through my life in many areas: disappointment when I didn't perform in school, disgust when I looked in the mirror, frustration when I upset a friend, etc. I know I am not unique in these self-hate outlets. I think my self-deprecation began as an attempt to be humble, because humility is good, right? We're supposed to be wary of pride and the "I can make it on my own" attitude. But somehow "humility" turned into something very unholy and hurtful.
I've most recently seen the hurtful side of my "humility" in talking with my now husband. I would lament, "I'm so fat," or "I'm the meanest person in the world--I know everyone actually hates me," and he would respond with something kind and encouraging to the contrary. But instead of listening and trusting that he could see me, I would retort, "Well I know that you believe that, but it doesn't mean it's true. You're just biased and don't see the ugly parts as clearly as I do." I wasn't trying to hurt his feelings, but I'm sure that made him feel like his opinion was worthless.
Seth and I have had many such conversations, usually about my physical appearance. But the most destructive conversations are silent ones between God and me: "I'm so sinful, God, why can't you just change me? Look at how proud I am? How could you ever use me for good in anyone's life? I may not be benefiting people if I keep to myself, but at least I'm not hurting them or making myself look worse." In essence, I'm telling God the same evil lie I tell Seth: I see myself better than He does. Never mind these words like "beloved" and "bought with a price" and "treasured." I see who I am and all I see is "useless."
Why I ever pretend to be wiser than God--well, only God knows. But He's been loosening my grip on my opinion of myself through a book borrowed from a friend. In her book, Cold Tangerines, Shauna Niequist retells a time in her life when she felt worthless, stripped of her identity, broken. She had recently purchased a fixer-upper for its old-house charm, but in her despair she could only see the fixer-upper parts of the house instead of the charm that had originally allured her. One day she had a revelation: she was very much like the broken-down house. She and the house were not in pristine condition, and in some ways they were both ugly, messy and undesirable. However, she still loved her house, no matter how tattered it remained. Through her house, she began to see how God loved her. She practiced going through her home, looking at its imperfections, and accepting that they would not be fixed immediately. Then she thought about God, loving her in her imperfections, knowing she wouldn't be perfect, and still loving her, as-is.
If often takes removing us from ourselves to see ourselves. Obviously, God's love for His children is greater than anyone's love for a house. But Niequist's story provides a helpful window into God's heart. For me, this story showed me that my opinion of myself isn't about being right, it's about trusting that God does know, that He does see me, and yet He loves immeasurably. He desires my holiness, but He bought me when I was broken. He has no illusions concerning my sinfulness--He fully understands my darkest corners. So I have to trust that I am more than my sin because He Himself makes me more.
Further teaching came this week from one of my favorite hymns, "I Asked the Lord." The songwriter recounts asking God to make him grow in "faith and love and every grace . . . ." He hopes that God will bestow him with these gifts and release him from his sin immediately. Instead, God lets the songwriter feel more heavily the weight of his sin, and it appears that God has completely abandoned him. But the final verse brings relief when God says: "These inward trials I employ/From self and pride to set thee free/And break thy schemes of earthly joy/That thou mayest seek thy all in me." In my discouragement over my sin I reveal that I am still trying to find my all in me. If I were left to myself, I would have every reason to be distraught. But, God does not leave us to ourselves. He gives us Himself. He gives us His Son's righteousness. I am broken and worn-out, but Christ and Christ alone makes me effective for His Kingdom. I cannot hate what Christ has filled, so it's time to let go of "humility" and push into Christlikeness, where hope lies.
I've most recently seen the hurtful side of my "humility" in talking with my now husband. I would lament, "I'm so fat," or "I'm the meanest person in the world--I know everyone actually hates me," and he would respond with something kind and encouraging to the contrary. But instead of listening and trusting that he could see me, I would retort, "Well I know that you believe that, but it doesn't mean it's true. You're just biased and don't see the ugly parts as clearly as I do." I wasn't trying to hurt his feelings, but I'm sure that made him feel like his opinion was worthless.
Seth and I have had many such conversations, usually about my physical appearance. But the most destructive conversations are silent ones between God and me: "I'm so sinful, God, why can't you just change me? Look at how proud I am? How could you ever use me for good in anyone's life? I may not be benefiting people if I keep to myself, but at least I'm not hurting them or making myself look worse." In essence, I'm telling God the same evil lie I tell Seth: I see myself better than He does. Never mind these words like "beloved" and "bought with a price" and "treasured." I see who I am and all I see is "useless."
Why I ever pretend to be wiser than God--well, only God knows. But He's been loosening my grip on my opinion of myself through a book borrowed from a friend. In her book, Cold Tangerines, Shauna Niequist retells a time in her life when she felt worthless, stripped of her identity, broken. She had recently purchased a fixer-upper for its old-house charm, but in her despair she could only see the fixer-upper parts of the house instead of the charm that had originally allured her. One day she had a revelation: she was very much like the broken-down house. She and the house were not in pristine condition, and in some ways they were both ugly, messy and undesirable. However, she still loved her house, no matter how tattered it remained. Through her house, she began to see how God loved her. She practiced going through her home, looking at its imperfections, and accepting that they would not be fixed immediately. Then she thought about God, loving her in her imperfections, knowing she wouldn't be perfect, and still loving her, as-is.
If often takes removing us from ourselves to see ourselves. Obviously, God's love for His children is greater than anyone's love for a house. But Niequist's story provides a helpful window into God's heart. For me, this story showed me that my opinion of myself isn't about being right, it's about trusting that God does know, that He does see me, and yet He loves immeasurably. He desires my holiness, but He bought me when I was broken. He has no illusions concerning my sinfulness--He fully understands my darkest corners. So I have to trust that I am more than my sin because He Himself makes me more.
Further teaching came this week from one of my favorite hymns, "I Asked the Lord." The songwriter recounts asking God to make him grow in "faith and love and every grace . . . ." He hopes that God will bestow him with these gifts and release him from his sin immediately. Instead, God lets the songwriter feel more heavily the weight of his sin, and it appears that God has completely abandoned him. But the final verse brings relief when God says: "These inward trials I employ/From self and pride to set thee free/And break thy schemes of earthly joy/That thou mayest seek thy all in me." In my discouragement over my sin I reveal that I am still trying to find my all in me. If I were left to myself, I would have every reason to be distraught. But, God does not leave us to ourselves. He gives us Himself. He gives us His Son's righteousness. I am broken and worn-out, but Christ and Christ alone makes me effective for His Kingdom. I cannot hate what Christ has filled, so it's time to let go of "humility" and push into Christlikeness, where hope lies.
Monday, August 17, 2015
"Does anyone get me?" And Related Concerns
Being understood is overrated.
That sentence is an ironic one to read in this “public diary” of sorts. Isn’t that a primary goal of the blogosphere? To be understood and to make others feel understood? To give people a bit of ourselves to grab onto so they can say, “Hey, me too!” or “Well I’ve never thought of it that way, but you’re right!” We measure our thoughts into words and bake them into the molds of DIY tips, nutritious (or not-so-nutritious) recipes, and general life musings, questions, or advice. These are not bad practices, to be sure, and the camaraderie they can foster is immensely beneficial. The community built on this sharing of minds is beautiful and encouraging. However, my quest to make others understand me has worn me out. Forcing people to see me in my desired light is a taxing pursuit. It takes much maneuvering, posing, shuffling, manipulating, and staging. All that movement has exhausted my energy and left me nothing but frustrated and still undecided on my favorite filter.
Fortunately, my current lowly state has made me realize how great of an idol my need to be “understood” or “known” has become. Friendships are precious, and unexpected acquaintances through the digital world are rewarding, but my need for approval from loved ones and strangers alike has become dangerous. I fight fiercely for my voice to be heard and my perspective to be shared, but I let despair overtake my heart when I don’t receive those things. I indulge in the darkness of “nobody cares,” “I’m worthless,” and “what’s the point?” My heart not only settles into self-loathing, but also into bitterness toward those who *make me feel insignificant (*I’ve always loved a good martyr complex). No matter how hard I try, I am not, nor cannot be, understood fully by my peers.
The issue at hand is not the corrupt underbelly of the blogosphere and its conspiracy to beat down the weakest links (a fun piece of future fiction?). The problem is the very real corruption in my heart. My desire and (dare I say it) expectation to be worshiped and lauded is out of control. I forget I am not Creator or Sustainer, Savior or Justifier. Additionally, I forget that I am known completely by the One who does hold those titles, and His is the knowing that matters. His knowing is always for my good. His knowing is always sincere. His knowing is always true. He understands my faults and my strengths, and He is capable of using both for His glory and my fulfillment in Him. And this is the solution: pursuing a life of humble holiness for God because He accepts me as His beloved child. I have no approval to gain from Him, no favor to increase in His eyes. He has freed me for a life of following Him. What other approval do I need?
The last few days I’ve been praying lines from a song we sing often in church: “Deliver me, O God . . . from the need to be understood/ . . . And I shall not want, no I shall not want/When I taste your goodness, I shall not want.” God’s goodness is sweeter than human acceptance and understanding. Do I still crave that acceptance? Absolutely. But do I know that God is better? Do I know He’s stronger than my logic? More triumphant than my won argument? More beautiful than my skyline snapshot with X number of likes? Yes, yes, yes, I do. He will spend the rest of my lifetime proving this to me over and over, faithfully turning my heart to Him. I am thankful for these lessons, as uncomfortable as they may be. God's goodness is good, even when it hurts.
That sentence is an ironic one to read in this “public diary” of sorts. Isn’t that a primary goal of the blogosphere? To be understood and to make others feel understood? To give people a bit of ourselves to grab onto so they can say, “Hey, me too!” or “Well I’ve never thought of it that way, but you’re right!” We measure our thoughts into words and bake them into the molds of DIY tips, nutritious (or not-so-nutritious) recipes, and general life musings, questions, or advice. These are not bad practices, to be sure, and the camaraderie they can foster is immensely beneficial. The community built on this sharing of minds is beautiful and encouraging. However, my quest to make others understand me has worn me out. Forcing people to see me in my desired light is a taxing pursuit. It takes much maneuvering, posing, shuffling, manipulating, and staging. All that movement has exhausted my energy and left me nothing but frustrated and still undecided on my favorite filter.
Fortunately, my current lowly state has made me realize how great of an idol my need to be “understood” or “known” has become. Friendships are precious, and unexpected acquaintances through the digital world are rewarding, but my need for approval from loved ones and strangers alike has become dangerous. I fight fiercely for my voice to be heard and my perspective to be shared, but I let despair overtake my heart when I don’t receive those things. I indulge in the darkness of “nobody cares,” “I’m worthless,” and “what’s the point?” My heart not only settles into self-loathing, but also into bitterness toward those who *make me feel insignificant (*I’ve always loved a good martyr complex). No matter how hard I try, I am not, nor cannot be, understood fully by my peers.
The issue at hand is not the corrupt underbelly of the blogosphere and its conspiracy to beat down the weakest links (a fun piece of future fiction?). The problem is the very real corruption in my heart. My desire and (dare I say it) expectation to be worshiped and lauded is out of control. I forget I am not Creator or Sustainer, Savior or Justifier. Additionally, I forget that I am known completely by the One who does hold those titles, and His is the knowing that matters. His knowing is always for my good. His knowing is always sincere. His knowing is always true. He understands my faults and my strengths, and He is capable of using both for His glory and my fulfillment in Him. And this is the solution: pursuing a life of humble holiness for God because He accepts me as His beloved child. I have no approval to gain from Him, no favor to increase in His eyes. He has freed me for a life of following Him. What other approval do I need?
The last few days I’ve been praying lines from a song we sing often in church: “Deliver me, O God . . . from the need to be understood/ . . . And I shall not want, no I shall not want/When I taste your goodness, I shall not want.” God’s goodness is sweeter than human acceptance and understanding. Do I still crave that acceptance? Absolutely. But do I know that God is better? Do I know He’s stronger than my logic? More triumphant than my won argument? More beautiful than my skyline snapshot with X number of likes? Yes, yes, yes, I do. He will spend the rest of my lifetime proving this to me over and over, faithfully turning my heart to Him. I am thankful for these lessons, as uncomfortable as they may be. God's goodness is good, even when it hurts.
Friday, April 24, 2015
I Need Thee Every Hour
March 25th was one of the better days I’ve had in awhile. Actually, it was the best day of my life thus far. March 25th, my sweet Seth asked me to marry him. I don’t recall with any precision my response, though I believe it consisted mostly of ecstatic screaming and hopping. Regardless of the exact exchange, we decided to get married October 17th of this year. With a not-so-far-away date, we* immediately jumped into planning mode (*may be translated as “I”). The last month has been a swirl of celebrating with loved ones, emailing vendors, and trying to remember that normal life still needs to be lived. The adrenaline hasn’t equalized yet, and I don’t expect it to any time soon.
Weddings are one of my favorite celebrations to attend, so I was thrilled at the opportunity to plan my own. However, I quickly noticed it’s not what I imagined. Rather, I’m not the person I imagined I would be while planning a wedding. I’m not saying I’m a bridezilla, though that may come later, but I’m something more destructive. This planning process has exposed how stony and untrusting I’ve let my heart become. I’ve heard myself whisper, Well what’s the point of doing that or asking for this when it’s not going to work out anyway? Rather than being excited and positive, I tend to despair when the logistics of an October wedding become complicated: All the best venues are booked? Well, I guess I’ll be a troll bride and get married beneath the 71 overpass. And why not serve goat for dinner while we’re at it? Why do I immediately drain my wedding of all hope? I’m sabotaging myself and making my fiance and family miserable.
Unfortunately, my negative attitude is rooted in something deeper than my being a zealous planner or a perfectionist. Instead, my negativity is motivated by my lack of trust that Jesus wants to take care of me. I find myself believing He doesn’t want me to be happy. Yes, I know He wants me to find my joy in Him and Him alone, but I often translate that into meaning He’ll punish me if I’m “too happy” or “too excited” about my wedding. If I’m excited about this it will become an idol and then He’ll take it away from me, says my fear. I have to keep my excitement in check or I’ll end up with no wedding or husband at all. I coach myself to expect the worst so anything I receive is miraculous. I drive myself to the bottom to avoid potential disappointment.
But this doubt doesn’t align with what I know to be true about God. Certainly, I am capable of glorifying any good thing in my life above my Creator, but that doesn’t mean He doesn’t want me to enjoy the good things. They are gifts from Him, given freely and with love. Not enjoying them means not trusting His goodness and generosity. When I peer at God’s gifts suspiciously, as if they are a test for me to pass or fail, I don’t view them rightly. His gifts are reflections of His character, meant to direct my heart to Him. So while I shouldn’t be happy merely in the gifts themselves, I have the freedom to enjoy them because Jesus purchased that freedom for me. He gives me spiritual life through Himself, and in the same way, He fills my physical life with wonderful reminders of who He is and what He has done. Yes, I will have struggles and sorrows in my life, but that doesn’t mean Jesus doesn’t care for me or doesn’t desire my happiness. God isn’t a God of tricks, but of truth.
So then, if God exists in truth, my thought process must change. Instead of asking, Am I too excited about getting married? I ought to ask, What truth about Himself is God revealing through my marriage? Through my wedding? Through choosing the perfect linens? In the same way I must also ask, Will everything be OK if I don’t get the perfect linens? The most beautiful wedding? The most peaceful marriage? Of course, the answer is always Yes! God has already secured all that I truly need through the blood of His Son. For this security I am most thankful, and because of this security I am able to accept God’s blessings without skepticism or fear.
Even in my rejoicing I need redeeming;
My best days still require Jesus’ cleansing blood.
Through lowest and highest His saving is steady
His care never wains, His truth never less true.
Weddings are one of my favorite celebrations to attend, so I was thrilled at the opportunity to plan my own. However, I quickly noticed it’s not what I imagined. Rather, I’m not the person I imagined I would be while planning a wedding. I’m not saying I’m a bridezilla, though that may come later, but I’m something more destructive. This planning process has exposed how stony and untrusting I’ve let my heart become. I’ve heard myself whisper, Well what’s the point of doing that or asking for this when it’s not going to work out anyway? Rather than being excited and positive, I tend to despair when the logistics of an October wedding become complicated: All the best venues are booked? Well, I guess I’ll be a troll bride and get married beneath the 71 overpass. And why not serve goat for dinner while we’re at it? Why do I immediately drain my wedding of all hope? I’m sabotaging myself and making my fiance and family miserable.
Unfortunately, my negative attitude is rooted in something deeper than my being a zealous planner or a perfectionist. Instead, my negativity is motivated by my lack of trust that Jesus wants to take care of me. I find myself believing He doesn’t want me to be happy. Yes, I know He wants me to find my joy in Him and Him alone, but I often translate that into meaning He’ll punish me if I’m “too happy” or “too excited” about my wedding. If I’m excited about this it will become an idol and then He’ll take it away from me, says my fear. I have to keep my excitement in check or I’ll end up with no wedding or husband at all. I coach myself to expect the worst so anything I receive is miraculous. I drive myself to the bottom to avoid potential disappointment.
But this doubt doesn’t align with what I know to be true about God. Certainly, I am capable of glorifying any good thing in my life above my Creator, but that doesn’t mean He doesn’t want me to enjoy the good things. They are gifts from Him, given freely and with love. Not enjoying them means not trusting His goodness and generosity. When I peer at God’s gifts suspiciously, as if they are a test for me to pass or fail, I don’t view them rightly. His gifts are reflections of His character, meant to direct my heart to Him. So while I shouldn’t be happy merely in the gifts themselves, I have the freedom to enjoy them because Jesus purchased that freedom for me. He gives me spiritual life through Himself, and in the same way, He fills my physical life with wonderful reminders of who He is and what He has done. Yes, I will have struggles and sorrows in my life, but that doesn’t mean Jesus doesn’t care for me or doesn’t desire my happiness. God isn’t a God of tricks, but of truth.
So then, if God exists in truth, my thought process must change. Instead of asking, Am I too excited about getting married? I ought to ask, What truth about Himself is God revealing through my marriage? Through my wedding? Through choosing the perfect linens? In the same way I must also ask, Will everything be OK if I don’t get the perfect linens? The most beautiful wedding? The most peaceful marriage? Of course, the answer is always Yes! God has already secured all that I truly need through the blood of His Son. For this security I am most thankful, and because of this security I am able to accept God’s blessings without skepticism or fear.
Even in my rejoicing I need redeeming;
My best days still require Jesus’ cleansing blood.
Through lowest and highest His saving is steady
His care never wains, His truth never less true.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Bite-Sized Community
Today has been full of people. Full of strangers with quirky wisdom and full of friends with stories to share. As much as I dislike chaos, there are few ways I'd rather spend a Saturday morning that sitting at a cramped table at Succotash, chatting, observing the collection of characters buzzing about with steaming coffee and heaping plates. These moments remind me that other people exist. Actually exist. They're not mere obstacles in my life, obligatory conversations to be had when I order or small-talk generators when I stand in line. They have lives much like mine with hopes and fears and families and struggles. I'm saddened that I need this reminder. Of course, I know people are people, but I fall into a rhythm of disregarding their souls and hurting hearts. I'm not rude, but I simply forget that people have the power to impact me and I them. Thankfully, God uses many methods to remind me of this truth.
While waiting on my nails to dry at the salon, I sat across from a woman who immediately began relating her whirlwind wedding story. She planned a wedding in three weeks, bought a dress for $300, and held the ceremony outside in the middle of December. "All girls should get married between Thanksgiving and Christmas because everything is on sale," she instructed me. I nodded in agreement, knowing I would imitate none of these practices if were to plan a wedding. But before I completely disregarded her story, Jesus gently reminded me that this was her life, her most special story, and she wanted to share a bit of it with me. I suddenly realized I should be honored to hear what she had to say. I tell stories so others can participate in my life. She was doing the same. To experience others' excitements and sorrows, even if seemingly inconsequential, should be a joy. How often do I view it as a bother?
Though my salon experience was far from life-altering, it's those kinds of proddings that make me thankful we have a personal God who made us personal beings. He draws us to Himself and puts people in our lives to which we can draw near. How disrespectful of His design is it for me always to wish people would leave me alone? God created us for togetherness with Him and one another, and I selfishly prefer silence and solitude much of the time. Small encounters with strangers are gifts for me to enjoy and learn from. Through others I learn more about God and His children, His care for them and His creativity in their design. God is a good and patient teacher, and I'm thankful He uses Saturdays for such sweet lessons.
While waiting on my nails to dry at the salon, I sat across from a woman who immediately began relating her whirlwind wedding story. She planned a wedding in three weeks, bought a dress for $300, and held the ceremony outside in the middle of December. "All girls should get married between Thanksgiving and Christmas because everything is on sale," she instructed me. I nodded in agreement, knowing I would imitate none of these practices if were to plan a wedding. But before I completely disregarded her story, Jesus gently reminded me that this was her life, her most special story, and she wanted to share a bit of it with me. I suddenly realized I should be honored to hear what she had to say. I tell stories so others can participate in my life. She was doing the same. To experience others' excitements and sorrows, even if seemingly inconsequential, should be a joy. How often do I view it as a bother?
Though my salon experience was far from life-altering, it's those kinds of proddings that make me thankful we have a personal God who made us personal beings. He draws us to Himself and puts people in our lives to which we can draw near. How disrespectful of His design is it for me always to wish people would leave me alone? God created us for togetherness with Him and one another, and I selfishly prefer silence and solitude much of the time. Small encounters with strangers are gifts for me to enjoy and learn from. Through others I learn more about God and His children, His care for them and His creativity in their design. God is a good and patient teacher, and I'm thankful He uses Saturdays for such sweet lessons.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Yesterday and the Many Tomorrows
Love is pretty silly until you know what it is.
Growing up, I didn't think about boys much. I had my tomboy years of flannel shirts, black jeans, and braided leather belts, but even when those passed I didn't notice not having a boyfriend. High school brought interests but nothing serious developed. College brought dating but nothing lasted. I began to think I'd be single my entire life. For me, that wasn't a despairing thought, but more an avoidance of hassle. Boys are tough, and relationships with them are tougher. I was fine on my own, and it was easier for me to rely on myself and do what I wanted than have someone else to answer to and care for.
But in my first year of grad school I met one of my brother's goofy friends. The first time we hung out his hair was disheveled from a nap and he was wearing an old sweatshirt. Not trying to impress me, I noted. We drank coffee and probably laughed about movies or discussed our favorite beers. We had fun. And I liked that he was weird and I was weird, and our weirdness didn't bother each other.
Tomorrow that goofy guy and I will celebrate two years of dating. That's weird. Sure, two years isn't that significant when shuffled into the rest of life, but the last two years have been life-altering. I have lived in more extremes than I knew were possible, and I have seen glimpses of the much deeper extremes to come. I've felt more happy, angry, loved, frustrated, and cared for than I knew I could. I've seen unconditional love demonstrated more tenderly and fiercely than I thought possible from a person. That's what's been most incredible: actually experiencing what love does to you. Seth doesn't love me because it's easy. I'm a handful, and he knows it. He doesn't love me because it's fun. I'm a brat, more often than not. He doesn't love me because he gets anything out of it. On many occasions I return his sweet words with sarcasm. No, he loves me because he chooses to. He loves me because God empowers him to choose my good every day. This is amazing.
While I'm still a handful, a brat, and a sarcastic sourpuss, I see the way Seth's love has changed me. I'm able to trust him better. I'm able to hope in good things more fully. I can empathize with others more sincerely. Seth's love has changed me because in it is freedom. Freedom to be messy me and know I'm still loved. More than anything, Seth's love points me to God's love. God loves us so well, so perfectly, and though Seth is far from perfect, God has blessed him with a great capacity to love as He loves. Through Seth, I have learned that some of the sweetest joys and heaviest sacrifices come inside a loving relationship.
So, after two years of dating, I've decided that love is worth the hassle. It has to be worth it. Seth is worth all the arguing and misunderstanding and hurting that comes with relationships. He's worth it because we are better people together. We are stronger workers for the Kingdom together. We witness God's grace more vibrantly together. I don't think love is silly anymore. I've seen what it can do, and I have the greatest hope in what it will do.
Growing up, I didn't think about boys much. I had my tomboy years of flannel shirts, black jeans, and braided leather belts, but even when those passed I didn't notice not having a boyfriend. High school brought interests but nothing serious developed. College brought dating but nothing lasted. I began to think I'd be single my entire life. For me, that wasn't a despairing thought, but more an avoidance of hassle. Boys are tough, and relationships with them are tougher. I was fine on my own, and it was easier for me to rely on myself and do what I wanted than have someone else to answer to and care for.
But in my first year of grad school I met one of my brother's goofy friends. The first time we hung out his hair was disheveled from a nap and he was wearing an old sweatshirt. Not trying to impress me, I noted. We drank coffee and probably laughed about movies or discussed our favorite beers. We had fun. And I liked that he was weird and I was weird, and our weirdness didn't bother each other.
Tomorrow that goofy guy and I will celebrate two years of dating. That's weird. Sure, two years isn't that significant when shuffled into the rest of life, but the last two years have been life-altering. I have lived in more extremes than I knew were possible, and I have seen glimpses of the much deeper extremes to come. I've felt more happy, angry, loved, frustrated, and cared for than I knew I could. I've seen unconditional love demonstrated more tenderly and fiercely than I thought possible from a person. That's what's been most incredible: actually experiencing what love does to you. Seth doesn't love me because it's easy. I'm a handful, and he knows it. He doesn't love me because it's fun. I'm a brat, more often than not. He doesn't love me because he gets anything out of it. On many occasions I return his sweet words with sarcasm. No, he loves me because he chooses to. He loves me because God empowers him to choose my good every day. This is amazing.
While I'm still a handful, a brat, and a sarcastic sourpuss, I see the way Seth's love has changed me. I'm able to trust him better. I'm able to hope in good things more fully. I can empathize with others more sincerely. Seth's love has changed me because in it is freedom. Freedom to be messy me and know I'm still loved. More than anything, Seth's love points me to God's love. God loves us so well, so perfectly, and though Seth is far from perfect, God has blessed him with a great capacity to love as He loves. Through Seth, I have learned that some of the sweetest joys and heaviest sacrifices come inside a loving relationship.
So, after two years of dating, I've decided that love is worth the hassle. It has to be worth it. Seth is worth all the arguing and misunderstanding and hurting that comes with relationships. He's worth it because we are better people together. We are stronger workers for the Kingdom together. We witness God's grace more vibrantly together. I don't think love is silly anymore. I've seen what it can do, and I have the greatest hope in what it will do.
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Blood Speaks a Better Word
One of my greatest sins is allowing myself to believe that my insufficiency is more powerful than God's love and forgiveness. This mindset is something I've fought against for as long as I can remember. It's manifested itself in different ways as I've gotten older, but it's always present in some form. When I was younger I was terrified of God's punishing me for being disrespectful to adults or speaking harshly to my siblings. In middle school and early high school, I sobbed after reading Jonathan Edwards' resolutions because I knew I could never be that good. I could never want those things or love Jesus as passionately as Edwards. In college I felt guilty for not being as open-handed with my life as those who were going into foreign missions. And now I find myself looking at my selfishness in my relationships, my easily agitated temperament, and my overall self-absorption, wondering why I can't be patient, giving, loving. Wondering why God would want anything to do with me. But that thought is what discourages me most. How proud am I to believe that my sin can keep God from working in me and through me? How much do I cheapen His grace by declaring I am beyond help and outside of His righteous reach?
I've been constantly ruminating on these questions, these worries, the last several weeks. I've been sad and horrified with myself. But God has always refused to leave me to my lies. He proved this once again while I was reading Hebrews one evening. I got to chapter 12 and He gently unfolded the truth:
18-24 "For you have not come to the mountain that may be touched and that burned with fire, and to blackness and darkness and tempest, and the sound of a trumpet and the voice of words, so that those who heard it begged that the word should not be spoken to them anymore. (For they could not endure what was commanded: 'and if so much as a beast touches the mountain, it shall be stoned or shot with an arrow.' And so terrifying was the sight that Moses said, 'I am exceedingly afraid and trembling.') But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are registered in heaven, to God the Judge of all, to the spirits of just men made perfect, to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling that speaks better things than that of Abel."
Yes, I am riddled with sin. But God has not left me to that. He has not left me at Mount Sinai to suffer under the yoke of the Mosaic law. He does not demand I live in fear and vulnerability of His glory, which may strike me down at my next selfish action. Rather, He has led me to Zion, the city of His Son. Not because I earned it, but because I'm His.
God further confronted me with this truth last Sunday at church. We sang "We Come to Jesus," which is based on the Hebrews passage above. I swear the song was written by an older and much, much wiser me. The song speaks so directly to my fears, it's uncanny. The first verse begins, "We have not come to the mountain of dreadful awe to tremble in darkness/But to the city of Zion, the house of God, the city of Jesus." I have exchanged trembling as an outsider for welcoming as a son. I reside no longer in the shadow of the fiery mountain, but rest and rejoice at the foot of the empty tomb. Jesus bought me that freedom. How can I still live in my fear?
The song gets even better. The best comes in the second verse: "I turned to see my Lord/ . . . /And He spoke with power/'I am He who is alive/And behold I died/To save the ones I love/To raise them up to life/Now you are Mine/And I am yours/Night has passed/Let us go to greet the bright eternal morn/ . . . /Come stand with Me at last/Alive forevermore.'"
Whoa. Just, whoa. What else can I say? Jesus Himself died to save me, whom He loves, for no reason that I can see, so I can be alive with Him. Whoa. This truth changes everything. I am His. I don't belong to sin anymore. How can I hear that and not rejoice? How can I wonder if God still accepts me when I wrong Him? He just told me He bought my life so I could be alive. That doesn't leave room for believing I am outside the power of His grace.
God has been tossing pebbles of truth at my window: "Hey, I'm the one in charge. This isn't about how greatly or frequently you sin. This is about how radically I can change you and use you for My glory. Stop crippling yourself with doubt. It's time to come outside and see what I can do. It's time to live freely in My love."
This invitation isn't one I plan to pass up. With his constant gentle coaxing and encouraging, God is showing me He's trustworthy. He's powerful and He's not letting me go, despite my shortcomings. I'm beginning to see more of Him and less of me. This is a good thing.
I've been constantly ruminating on these questions, these worries, the last several weeks. I've been sad and horrified with myself. But God has always refused to leave me to my lies. He proved this once again while I was reading Hebrews one evening. I got to chapter 12 and He gently unfolded the truth:
18-24 "For you have not come to the mountain that may be touched and that burned with fire, and to blackness and darkness and tempest, and the sound of a trumpet and the voice of words, so that those who heard it begged that the word should not be spoken to them anymore. (For they could not endure what was commanded: 'and if so much as a beast touches the mountain, it shall be stoned or shot with an arrow.' And so terrifying was the sight that Moses said, 'I am exceedingly afraid and trembling.') But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are registered in heaven, to God the Judge of all, to the spirits of just men made perfect, to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling that speaks better things than that of Abel."
Yes, I am riddled with sin. But God has not left me to that. He has not left me at Mount Sinai to suffer under the yoke of the Mosaic law. He does not demand I live in fear and vulnerability of His glory, which may strike me down at my next selfish action. Rather, He has led me to Zion, the city of His Son. Not because I earned it, but because I'm His.
God further confronted me with this truth last Sunday at church. We sang "We Come to Jesus," which is based on the Hebrews passage above. I swear the song was written by an older and much, much wiser me. The song speaks so directly to my fears, it's uncanny. The first verse begins, "We have not come to the mountain of dreadful awe to tremble in darkness/But to the city of Zion, the house of God, the city of Jesus." I have exchanged trembling as an outsider for welcoming as a son. I reside no longer in the shadow of the fiery mountain, but rest and rejoice at the foot of the empty tomb. Jesus bought me that freedom. How can I still live in my fear?
The song gets even better. The best comes in the second verse: "I turned to see my Lord/ . . . /And He spoke with power/'I am He who is alive/And behold I died/To save the ones I love/To raise them up to life/Now you are Mine/And I am yours/Night has passed/Let us go to greet the bright eternal morn/ . . . /Come stand with Me at last/Alive forevermore.'"
Whoa. Just, whoa. What else can I say? Jesus Himself died to save me, whom He loves, for no reason that I can see, so I can be alive with Him. Whoa. This truth changes everything. I am His. I don't belong to sin anymore. How can I hear that and not rejoice? How can I wonder if God still accepts me when I wrong Him? He just told me He bought my life so I could be alive. That doesn't leave room for believing I am outside the power of His grace.
God has been tossing pebbles of truth at my window: "Hey, I'm the one in charge. This isn't about how greatly or frequently you sin. This is about how radically I can change you and use you for My glory. Stop crippling yourself with doubt. It's time to come outside and see what I can do. It's time to live freely in My love."
This invitation isn't one I plan to pass up. With his constant gentle coaxing and encouraging, God is showing me He's trustworthy. He's powerful and He's not letting me go, despite my shortcomings. I'm beginning to see more of Him and less of me. This is a good thing.
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