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.
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Stones and Shadows
Sometimes I forget how to live. My body still breathes and
moves and creates energy, but my mind refuses to hurdle obstacles or climb to a
higher vantage point. When I encounter struggles or discomforts, my tendency is
more often to freeze and crumble than to fight through. This bent has
manifested itself fiercely in recent months. I have met hard things, and I have
grown rocks into impossible mountains. The more I build my steep ascents the
more I realize that I am the one crippling myself. My fear and hurt become too
heavy for me to attempt the climb. Then I’m stuck, wallowing in self-loathing.
It’s a dark and lonely place.
But Jesus always parts the clouds so I can see that my
mountains are stones and my weights are shadows. His most recent sunbeam came
in the form of a recklessly powerful duo: the Apostle Paul and Keith Green.
These two favorites of mine are faithful tools of my Savior in my
sanctification and encouragement. This
past Sunday I heard a sermon on Galatians 2:15-21, a passage to which I turn
frequently. Verses 20-21 resonate strongly: “I have been crucified with Christ.
It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live
in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself
for me. I do not nullify the grace of God, for if righteousness were through
the law, then Christ died for no purpose.” Such encouragement to hear that I am
not my own. My life and salvation are in Jesus, and I can’t destroy that with
my shortcomings. One comment from Sunday’s sermon that I particularly liked
went something like, “We work from
faith and not for faith.” Any good I perform
is motivated by the salvation freely provided from faith in Jesus and not by a
need to gain that salvation. Jesus has secured my life, and that security moves
me to action. I don’t have to be intimidated or weighted by difficulties
because Jesus has taken care of those.
Following Paul’s theme, Keith Green’s song “When I Hear the
Praises Start” begins with the lines, “My child, My child, why are you
striving?/You can’t add one thing to what’s been done for you/I did it all when
I was dying/Rest in your faith; My peace with come to you.” I can’t help but stop and rest when I imagine
Jesus asking me that simple question: “Why are you striving? You know it’s
pointless and exhausting. Just be still.” I too often forget that Jesus invites
me to enjoy Him and not work for Him. The chorus of the song is also arresting:
“For when I hear the praises start/Oh, and I want to rain upon you/Blessings
that will fill your heart/I see no stain upon you/Because you are My child and
you know me/To Me you’re only holy.” God doesn’t see me as the filthy sinner I
am, but because of Jesus’ blood I am holy to Him. I am justified, free from
guilt, cleansed of shame. I find it
miraculous that God sees me as holy. So miraculous that I can’t stay in a
depression. God’s grace lifts me up and carries me through my obstacles. Jesus
continually reminds me that because my life is in Him, I can live it well. My
shackles are gone, and He has equipped me for much through faith in Him.
Jesus always reminds me how to live.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
A Furtherance of Hope
The last several days have been difficult. Really, really difficult. The aftermath of visitations, endless pound cake, and seas of black have left me overwhelmed and ragged. I know I should say I feel overwhelmed with people's kindness, and I do, but today I am left wanting to avoid most human interaction. I won't let myself be completely emotional around others, and today has been my first slice of solitude since I received the bad news. Therefore, today has been the most tearful day I've had. But today has also been a day of learning what comfort looks like. Being a Christian does not make me numb to loss or blindly happy in the midst of hardship. I don't believe God promises that I will always be happy, and I don't believe He commands that I should always be happy. Rather, to feel the full weight of sin in the world I will be sad and I will hurt. Never being sad would be ignoring reality. However, I do believe God calls me to be joyful in every situation because my joy is rooted in Him, not in my circumstances. God is constant; therefore, my joy can be constant.
I was reminded of this truth today as an instrumental version of a Natalie Grant song floated through the Christmas district of Hobby Lobby. I'm not generally a Natalie fan, but her song "Held" took on new meaning when I recognized the melody and sang the words to myself. I stopped my rummaging through the faux holly berries when I realized how much the message spoke to my current situation. I stopped and I cried in Hobby Lobby amid twinkle lights and jolly Santas and giant red bows. Through the song, God reminded me that He doesn't promise a perfect life free of heartache, but He does promise to be present through that heartache. He promises to hold His children. He promises to be their strength. That's what I felt more fully today--God holding on when I had nothing. Feeling His complete hold freed me to experience the full sorrow of my Uncle's absence. I didn't have to be strong anymore because I knew God was strong for me.
Another way God has ministered to me over the weekend is through 2 Corinthians 4:7-12:
"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you."
This passage is a huge chunk to chew, and I won't delve into it as deeply as it deserves. However, I am exponentially encouraged by the fact that although I am imperfect in many ways, and although my body has been decaying since my birth, God has blessed me with the glorious knowledge of His Son becoming Man. God delights in putting this bright truth in broken, earthen vessels. His truth and power and love shine despite, and because of, my brokenness. This passage makes me think of dying in a different way. Yes, I am dying every day, as is everyone, but in this dying I am being made more alive in Christ. My dying body resembles the death of sin and the death of Death that Christ accomplished on the cross and through His resurrection. I am dead to sin but alive in Christ. I am not under sin's power any longer, but I am free to become more Christlike everyday. Because of Jesus I have hope that one day Death's ultimate death will be manifested, and all will see the True King in His full majesty. What a day that will be.
So though losing my uncle hurts, and though I know I will encounter much more sorrow in the years to come, I know that pain doesn't have to paralyze me. I have in Christ a treasure more powerful than any deadly scheme. To this hope I must cling, for I have no other.
And as He stands in victory
Sin's curse has lost its grip on me,
For I am His and He is mine -
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.
I was reminded of this truth today as an instrumental version of a Natalie Grant song floated through the Christmas district of Hobby Lobby. I'm not generally a Natalie fan, but her song "Held" took on new meaning when I recognized the melody and sang the words to myself. I stopped my rummaging through the faux holly berries when I realized how much the message spoke to my current situation. I stopped and I cried in Hobby Lobby amid twinkle lights and jolly Santas and giant red bows. Through the song, God reminded me that He doesn't promise a perfect life free of heartache, but He does promise to be present through that heartache. He promises to hold His children. He promises to be their strength. That's what I felt more fully today--God holding on when I had nothing. Feeling His complete hold freed me to experience the full sorrow of my Uncle's absence. I didn't have to be strong anymore because I knew God was strong for me.
Another way God has ministered to me over the weekend is through 2 Corinthians 4:7-12:
"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you."
This passage is a huge chunk to chew, and I won't delve into it as deeply as it deserves. However, I am exponentially encouraged by the fact that although I am imperfect in many ways, and although my body has been decaying since my birth, God has blessed me with the glorious knowledge of His Son becoming Man. God delights in putting this bright truth in broken, earthen vessels. His truth and power and love shine despite, and because of, my brokenness. This passage makes me think of dying in a different way. Yes, I am dying every day, as is everyone, but in this dying I am being made more alive in Christ. My dying body resembles the death of sin and the death of Death that Christ accomplished on the cross and through His resurrection. I am dead to sin but alive in Christ. I am not under sin's power any longer, but I am free to become more Christlike everyday. Because of Jesus I have hope that one day Death's ultimate death will be manifested, and all will see the True King in His full majesty. What a day that will be.
So though losing my uncle hurts, and though I know I will encounter much more sorrow in the years to come, I know that pain doesn't have to paralyze me. I have in Christ a treasure more powerful than any deadly scheme. To this hope I must cling, for I have no other.
And as He stands in victory
Sin's curse has lost its grip on me,
For I am His and He is mine -
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.
Sunday, November 9, 2014
Hope in Hopelessness
I don't know what to do with death. There's no answer for it, no remedy, no helpful platitude. Death is one of the few things that will not change. We don't live our lives with permanence in mind, rather we live seasonally. Most things we do have seasons. Teething, awkward middle school stage, college, the flu, pregnancy, some relationships. These are all things we know will end at some point. But not death. You don't think an absence can actually have a presence until you've lost someone. There's no explanation for someone you love dying, and it's hard, nearly impossible, to be content with that fact.
These are the thoughts that have swarmed my family and I over the past few days as we mourn the loss of my Uncle Chris. He passed away unexpectedly Thursday, November 6. Though I'm not brave enough to speak at his funeral on Monday, the following is what I would have said in honor of him.
I have always adored Uncle Chris, but Summer of 2013 I had the opportunity to live in Panama City and work for him at the family's Toyota dealership. Over the summer I witnessed Uncle Chris in many contexts: living with his family, joking with his friends, and interacting with his employees. I want to share the qualities that I was able to glimpse more fully while living in his world.
One cannot ignore the way Uncle Chris loved his family. He and Aunt Kim had a precious relationship; they teased, laughed, argued, all with the most obvious affection for one another. As a visitor, I couldn't feel anything but admiration for them and the way they treated each other. Uncle Chris also fiercely loved his children, Kayla, Bronson and Mia, and his granddaughter, Piper. He was always talking about Kayla's sweet and fun way with Piper, or Bronson's talent in his music career, or Mia's last cheer competition. He loved his children's interests because he loved his children, and he wanted them to feel supported in every way. His family felt the freedom of his love, and they loved him freely back.
The love Uncle Chris showed his immediate family spilled over to his friends and extended family as well. I spent many lunch breaks with Uncle Chris, my great uncle, Mike, and one of Chris's best friends, Watson. The way those three harassed each other was always hysterical. Most days it was difficult to finish my meal between spurts of laughter brought on by their antics. Though the trio teased incessantly, they always did so with a loving undertone. Chris's love was also evident in his relationship with his parents, my Granny and Papa. I loved when he visited their house and we would sit and talk and laugh the whole evening. He always brought a pleasant presence into their home.
Chris also extended his love to his employees. I would often see Chris walk through the dealership, headed somewhere to talk business, but stop and chat to one of the salesmen about surfing or sports or movies. He loved to talk. He loved to know and understand the people who worked for him. He was generous to his employees because he wanted to treat them well, not because he wanted applause. Chris worked behind the scenes because he wanted the good of everyone, not just his own good. I saw him give to charities because he wanted to make a difference. Chris wasn't in the business for the fame. He was in the business so he could change his corner of Panama City. And he did change it.
Uncle Chris's absence is heavy on all of us. We will miss his humor, his zeal for surfing, his intellectual conversations, his nonsense conversations, and his love that he bestowed on so many. But God is good, as He always is. He has provided so many friends and family members who have been immensely supportive. My family and I have felt God's love so strongly through His children the past few days; it's been overwhelming. We are heartbroken, but we are not crushed. We are hurting, but we are not without hope because our hope is in something so much more permanent than our own lives. We look to Jesus, His life and death and resurrection, and we find our peace and eternal security.
These are the thoughts that have swarmed my family and I over the past few days as we mourn the loss of my Uncle Chris. He passed away unexpectedly Thursday, November 6. Though I'm not brave enough to speak at his funeral on Monday, the following is what I would have said in honor of him.
I have always adored Uncle Chris, but Summer of 2013 I had the opportunity to live in Panama City and work for him at the family's Toyota dealership. Over the summer I witnessed Uncle Chris in many contexts: living with his family, joking with his friends, and interacting with his employees. I want to share the qualities that I was able to glimpse more fully while living in his world.
One cannot ignore the way Uncle Chris loved his family. He and Aunt Kim had a precious relationship; they teased, laughed, argued, all with the most obvious affection for one another. As a visitor, I couldn't feel anything but admiration for them and the way they treated each other. Uncle Chris also fiercely loved his children, Kayla, Bronson and Mia, and his granddaughter, Piper. He was always talking about Kayla's sweet and fun way with Piper, or Bronson's talent in his music career, or Mia's last cheer competition. He loved his children's interests because he loved his children, and he wanted them to feel supported in every way. His family felt the freedom of his love, and they loved him freely back.
The love Uncle Chris showed his immediate family spilled over to his friends and extended family as well. I spent many lunch breaks with Uncle Chris, my great uncle, Mike, and one of Chris's best friends, Watson. The way those three harassed each other was always hysterical. Most days it was difficult to finish my meal between spurts of laughter brought on by their antics. Though the trio teased incessantly, they always did so with a loving undertone. Chris's love was also evident in his relationship with his parents, my Granny and Papa. I loved when he visited their house and we would sit and talk and laugh the whole evening. He always brought a pleasant presence into their home.
Chris also extended his love to his employees. I would often see Chris walk through the dealership, headed somewhere to talk business, but stop and chat to one of the salesmen about surfing or sports or movies. He loved to talk. He loved to know and understand the people who worked for him. He was generous to his employees because he wanted to treat them well, not because he wanted applause. Chris worked behind the scenes because he wanted the good of everyone, not just his own good. I saw him give to charities because he wanted to make a difference. Chris wasn't in the business for the fame. He was in the business so he could change his corner of Panama City. And he did change it.
Uncle Chris's absence is heavy on all of us. We will miss his humor, his zeal for surfing, his intellectual conversations, his nonsense conversations, and his love that he bestowed on so many. But God is good, as He always is. He has provided so many friends and family members who have been immensely supportive. My family and I have felt God's love so strongly through His children the past few days; it's been overwhelming. We are heartbroken, but we are not crushed. We are hurting, but we are not without hope because our hope is in something so much more permanent than our own lives. We look to Jesus, His life and death and resurrection, and we find our peace and eternal security.
Saturday, October 25, 2014
I Sing, for I Cannot be Silent
My favorite characteristic of music is that its magic transcends musicality. I am not musically proficient in any sense, but the combination of melody, harmony, and lyrics still constantly rattles and soothes me. I've realized this most recently while listening to Nathan Partain's "A Son of God." Somehow it has become my on-the-way-to-work anthem; nearly every weekday morning, I start my car and the first thing I want to hear is this song. Partain's interpretation of the gospel is simple, powerful, and transforming. Listen with me:
I lie down and rest
Cause I work no longer
I breath in, refreshed,
No more soiled in disgrace
I look up at him
To whom I am kneeling
And I see delight, there in my Father's face.
Yes, the opening doesn't quite meet the criteria for "pump-up song," but resting in Christ's work on the cross is precisely how I must start each day. I let these words wash over me, cleansing me of my need to be noticed and appreciated at my job. I remember I am free to do my best with Jesus' help because He gave me His righteousness. He has made me pure, so I don't have to be burdened by my failures. He died to rid me of both my pride and shame, and I can now work freely for His glory and the benefit of those for whom I work.
The second verse closely follows the theme of the first:
I am last and low
Cause I fight no longer
To be right or good
Or to prove my own worth.
I'm not driven or pushed
Or weighed down with duty.
I am filled with release that Christ did all for me.
This stanza further solidifies the truth that I can do nothing, nor must I do anything to make myself agreeable to God. Jesus has made me His own, and I can rest in that assurance. Funnily, the understanding that I cannot improve my status before God is empowering, not discouraging. Because my salvation is not predicated upon my performance, I can accept being ignored, misunderstood, or mistreated at my job. I don't have to be everyone's favorite or the best at what I do. I can work diligently and fail gracefully knowing I am safe in Jesus.
I love the paradox of the third stanza:
I stand up in faith
Cause I fear no longer
And I pray and wait
For God to provide
I lean all of my weight
On Him who is able
And I set aside every effort of mine.
I can stand up bravely but I can also lean dependently. In fact, these two cannot be separated. In order to stand up, I must lean on Him. How can something so counter-intuitive be so true? I am always slightly shocked by God's upside-down wisdom. So in light of this stanza, I have constructed a simple syllogism I like to speak to myself:
I am not able.
God is able.
I am God's.
Therefore, I am able.
Words to bind on my heart, forehand, and hands.
In the final verse, Partain hits me with eternity:
I know now I'm safe
Cause nothing can harm me
Or break in and take
What's stored up for me
I need not to cling
To dead, helpless idols
They no longer can hold any comfort for me.
Not only am I safe today, but God will keep me for the rest of my life and into eternity. No longer must I look for something else to save me, whether it be myself, a relationship, or a promotion. God has made me His child and will continue to do so forever. My failures and strengths are nothing compared to His grace. In light of this truth, I can be both humbled and exalted at work. God is teaching me to be content in either circumstance because He is my true treasure.
Partain condenses the joy of his song so well in his recurring chorus. I conclude with his potent words, for they are the theme of my days and the hope of my heart.
I'm a son of God, and love is my freedom.
I can ask anything of my Father, the King.
I'm an heir, I'm adopted, and my brother is Jesus.
I'm a son of God, and my soul is at peace.
I lie down and rest
Cause I work no longer
I breath in, refreshed,
No more soiled in disgrace
I look up at him
To whom I am kneeling
And I see delight, there in my Father's face.
Yes, the opening doesn't quite meet the criteria for "pump-up song," but resting in Christ's work on the cross is precisely how I must start each day. I let these words wash over me, cleansing me of my need to be noticed and appreciated at my job. I remember I am free to do my best with Jesus' help because He gave me His righteousness. He has made me pure, so I don't have to be burdened by my failures. He died to rid me of both my pride and shame, and I can now work freely for His glory and the benefit of those for whom I work.
The second verse closely follows the theme of the first:
I am last and low
Cause I fight no longer
To be right or good
Or to prove my own worth.
I'm not driven or pushed
Or weighed down with duty.
I am filled with release that Christ did all for me.
This stanza further solidifies the truth that I can do nothing, nor must I do anything to make myself agreeable to God. Jesus has made me His own, and I can rest in that assurance. Funnily, the understanding that I cannot improve my status before God is empowering, not discouraging. Because my salvation is not predicated upon my performance, I can accept being ignored, misunderstood, or mistreated at my job. I don't have to be everyone's favorite or the best at what I do. I can work diligently and fail gracefully knowing I am safe in Jesus.
I love the paradox of the third stanza:
I stand up in faith
Cause I fear no longer
And I pray and wait
For God to provide
I lean all of my weight
On Him who is able
And I set aside every effort of mine.
I can stand up bravely but I can also lean dependently. In fact, these two cannot be separated. In order to stand up, I must lean on Him. How can something so counter-intuitive be so true? I am always slightly shocked by God's upside-down wisdom. So in light of this stanza, I have constructed a simple syllogism I like to speak to myself:
I am not able.
God is able.
I am God's.
Therefore, I am able.
Words to bind on my heart, forehand, and hands.
In the final verse, Partain hits me with eternity:
I know now I'm safe
Cause nothing can harm me
Or break in and take
What's stored up for me
I need not to cling
To dead, helpless idols
They no longer can hold any comfort for me.
Not only am I safe today, but God will keep me for the rest of my life and into eternity. No longer must I look for something else to save me, whether it be myself, a relationship, or a promotion. God has made me His child and will continue to do so forever. My failures and strengths are nothing compared to His grace. In light of this truth, I can be both humbled and exalted at work. God is teaching me to be content in either circumstance because He is my true treasure.
Partain condenses the joy of his song so well in his recurring chorus. I conclude with his potent words, for they are the theme of my days and the hope of my heart.
I'm a son of God, and love is my freedom.
I can ask anything of my Father, the King.
I'm an heir, I'm adopted, and my brother is Jesus.
I'm a son of God, and my soul is at peace.
Saturday, October 4, 2014
The Importance of Not Being Alone
God likes to be a God of inundation. Quite some time ago He flooded the earth--a light rain couldn't suffice--and He still seems to enjoy pouring Himself out in various ways, most of which are less destructive. Recently I've experienced God's flooding in the community He's given me. Last year I moved back to Kansas City, not knowing many people at my church (Redeemer Fellowship) and not knowing where my niche would be. Since then, I have completed a church membership class, established deeper connections with old friends, and several weeks ago I joined a Gospel community group. I now sense that these small steps will be life-changing.
I certainly love being alone, but I have craved a community of encourage for some time now. Reading Hebrews 10:23-25 reinforced this desire: "Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful. And let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works, not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as is the manner of some, but exhorting one another, and so much the more as you see the Day approaching." Community not only provides immediate encouragement, but it also holds eschatological significance. I need the help of fellow believers to pursue Christ faithfully, but beyond that, we are working together to build His kingdom in anticipation of His return. There is no greater goal and no greater joy.
One thing I've learned in the last year is that I require a community in order to view my life through an eternal lens. When I'm on my own, I'm more than likely thinking about myself. Self-absorption tends to overtake those who have only themselves to consider. But when I broaden my surroundings and interactions, I have a better understanding of my purpose as part of a whole, working toward something much greater than myself. I don't want to be complacent. I want to be joined with people who push me toward ultimate good, who stir up my love for Jesus and challenge my wrongheadedness. Accountability, though often painful and terrifying, is necessary for growth. So though I tend to remain inward, I am excited to experience a new season of togetherness with like-minded and much wiser believers. May we go into the world, the empty tomb at our backs, following Jesus and bringing others in with our wake.
I certainly love being alone, but I have craved a community of encourage for some time now. Reading Hebrews 10:23-25 reinforced this desire: "Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful. And let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works, not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as is the manner of some, but exhorting one another, and so much the more as you see the Day approaching." Community not only provides immediate encouragement, but it also holds eschatological significance. I need the help of fellow believers to pursue Christ faithfully, but beyond that, we are working together to build His kingdom in anticipation of His return. There is no greater goal and no greater joy.
One thing I've learned in the last year is that I require a community in order to view my life through an eternal lens. When I'm on my own, I'm more than likely thinking about myself. Self-absorption tends to overtake those who have only themselves to consider. But when I broaden my surroundings and interactions, I have a better understanding of my purpose as part of a whole, working toward something much greater than myself. I don't want to be complacent. I want to be joined with people who push me toward ultimate good, who stir up my love for Jesus and challenge my wrongheadedness. Accountability, though often painful and terrifying, is necessary for growth. So though I tend to remain inward, I am excited to experience a new season of togetherness with like-minded and much wiser believers. May we go into the world, the empty tomb at our backs, following Jesus and bringing others in with our wake.
Saturday, September 20, 2014
God Loves a Good Paradox
My brother and I have a knack for getting ourselves lost in good conversation. During our most recent trek we found ourselves discussing the applicability of literature over Town Topic's crackling griddles and popping fryers. Though at the time I was dizzy with the smell of grease, I have thought about a particular of our talk for the weeks that followed. My brother had been reading David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest, so he relayed a line to me that he found most astute: "The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you." This line grabbed hold of me then, and its grip lingers still. The more I consider the words the more deeply I see my misunderstanding of truth and its power, especially within the realm of biblical truth.
Examine one of my favorite Scripture passages: 2 Corinthians 12:9-10 "And He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ's sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong." These verses helped me cope with many anxieties throughout my high school years, and they still come to my rescue often. What a comforting thought: "It's OK that I'm not perfect because Jesus was perfect for me!" However, this passage has taken on a new and heavier meaning in light of Wallace's writing.
The sentences that once held so much comfort now present themselves as an opponent in a wrestling match. Yes, it is wonderful that I am not required to be powerful, but I've discovered that I'm not content with not being powerful. I want to be recognized for my greatness. I want to say I've earned the good things I have. I want to know I can be self-sufficient. But these desires are completely counter to the truth of the verses I've held dear for so long. I was too close to see how far I was from understanding. And this is where the wrestling match begins. Though I long for the comfort of resting in Christ's righteousness, I am not willing to give up working for myself. Though I know I'm nothing without Jesus, I don't truly want to see myself as nothing.
And here is where Wallace's words help me view Paul more clearly. For a long time I've only looked at the uplifting side 2 Corinthians 12:9-10, "Jesus is my everything!" But I haven't dealt with what that means for my pride. In order to experience the full freedom Christ offers, I must battle my longing to be exceptional. I must accept my weaknesses before I can be strong in Jesus. Only in realizing my full humanity can I better understand Christ's divine power working in me. These truths cause me sincere and great pain because I fear insignificance. But I've realized that's the point. Blessed are those who know they have nothing to offer because Christ will give them everything in Himself.
What a higher and more glorious reality these verses contain than I previously thought.
So this is what I've learned: truth is seldom easy. Usually, for something to truly change me and grow me, it has to break me first. I have to be broken of my pride before I can walk in the freedom of Jesus' sacrifice. I have to experience the pain of dying to myself so I can live in Christ's power. Hard things lead to the Ultimate Good things, and because of this principle, there can be joy in the pain. Wallace was right: freedom comes after losing the fight with truth. When truth overtakes me, I am then able to be victorious. I hate this reality, but I also love it. Truth is tricky like that.
The sentences that once held so much comfort now present themselves as an opponent in a wrestling match. Yes, it is wonderful that I am not required to be powerful, but I've discovered that I'm not content with not being powerful. I want to be recognized for my greatness. I want to say I've earned the good things I have. I want to know I can be self-sufficient. But these desires are completely counter to the truth of the verses I've held dear for so long. I was too close to see how far I was from understanding. And this is where the wrestling match begins. Though I long for the comfort of resting in Christ's righteousness, I am not willing to give up working for myself. Though I know I'm nothing without Jesus, I don't truly want to see myself as nothing.
And here is where Wallace's words help me view Paul more clearly. For a long time I've only looked at the uplifting side 2 Corinthians 12:9-10, "Jesus is my everything!" But I haven't dealt with what that means for my pride. In order to experience the full freedom Christ offers, I must battle my longing to be exceptional. I must accept my weaknesses before I can be strong in Jesus. Only in realizing my full humanity can I better understand Christ's divine power working in me. These truths cause me sincere and great pain because I fear insignificance. But I've realized that's the point. Blessed are those who know they have nothing to offer because Christ will give them everything in Himself.
What a higher and more glorious reality these verses contain than I previously thought.
So this is what I've learned: truth is seldom easy. Usually, for something to truly change me and grow me, it has to break me first. I have to be broken of my pride before I can walk in the freedom of Jesus' sacrifice. I have to experience the pain of dying to myself so I can live in Christ's power. Hard things lead to the Ultimate Good things, and because of this principle, there can be joy in the pain. Wallace was right: freedom comes after losing the fight with truth. When truth overtakes me, I am then able to be victorious. I hate this reality, but I also love it. Truth is tricky like that.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Remembering (and forgetting) My Chains
Not many childhood memories have carried as much significance throughout my life as those of my dad's listening to music in his home office. My bedroom was directly above the office, and many nights I would lie awake and absorb the Christian music that filtered up through my vent. Two songs in particular remain present and powerful in my mind: Steve Camp's "Unfailing Love" and Steven Curtis Chapman's "Remember Your Chains." Though both artists certainly suffered from an 80's influence, their lyrics have permanently threaded themselves into my beliefs.
"Remember Your Chains" tells the story of a prisoner condemned to a life of confinement in his sin. He looks out the window of his cell, resigned to his eternal captivity. But hope rises with the melody as God's gracious love breaks the prisoner's chains and releases him to a freedom which until now he has not known. Throughout the song, Chapman demands that his listeners "remember [their] chains; remember the prison that once held [them] before the love of God broke through." For me to appreciate the freedom I've received, I must understand the place from which I've been freed. My sin once choked me, rubbed my skin raw, held me hostage. What an ugly image. But this incarceration is where Christ found me and what he destroyed. What a glorious feat. Chapman closes the song with his most profound imperative: "Remember your chains are gone." More important than remembering my past, I need to realize that my past does not control my present or my future.
Steve Camp furthers this theme in "Unfailing Love" with my favorite line: "Help this pardoned rebel just to live in the power of Your unfailing love." That was me. I was the rebel. My only desire, sin; my only future, death. But by a grace that transcends by greatest faults, Christ bent the bars and loosed my chains. I am still a rebel, but God has pardoned me of my treason and granted me a new life of joyful service. This is the banner under which I want to pursue all things. I hated God, yes, and I am broken and undeserving. But Jesus' sacrifice is stronger and wider and greater than anything I could be or fail to be. That is the truth that I want to catalyze my life. I intend to dive into living with a joy that comes from understanding who I am because of what Jesus has done. I desire all I do to be filled with the grace and gentleness of a rebel who has been given a new and full life.
With these truths in mind I conclude with what I wish to be a theme for my future words here: I hope to explore and discover what it means to live like a pardoned rebel in a world that is still rebelling. With God's help, and for His glory, please join me on this journey.
"Remember Your Chains" tells the story of a prisoner condemned to a life of confinement in his sin. He looks out the window of his cell, resigned to his eternal captivity. But hope rises with the melody as God's gracious love breaks the prisoner's chains and releases him to a freedom which until now he has not known. Throughout the song, Chapman demands that his listeners "remember [their] chains; remember the prison that once held [them] before the love of God broke through." For me to appreciate the freedom I've received, I must understand the place from which I've been freed. My sin once choked me, rubbed my skin raw, held me hostage. What an ugly image. But this incarceration is where Christ found me and what he destroyed. What a glorious feat. Chapman closes the song with his most profound imperative: "Remember your chains are gone." More important than remembering my past, I need to realize that my past does not control my present or my future.
Steve Camp furthers this theme in "Unfailing Love" with my favorite line: "Help this pardoned rebel just to live in the power of Your unfailing love." That was me. I was the rebel. My only desire, sin; my only future, death. But by a grace that transcends by greatest faults, Christ bent the bars and loosed my chains. I am still a rebel, but God has pardoned me of my treason and granted me a new life of joyful service. This is the banner under which I want to pursue all things. I hated God, yes, and I am broken and undeserving. But Jesus' sacrifice is stronger and wider and greater than anything I could be or fail to be. That is the truth that I want to catalyze my life. I intend to dive into living with a joy that comes from understanding who I am because of what Jesus has done. I desire all I do to be filled with the grace and gentleness of a rebel who has been given a new and full life.
With these truths in mind I conclude with what I wish to be a theme for my future words here: I hope to explore and discover what it means to live like a pardoned rebel in a world that is still rebelling. With God's help, and for His glory, please join me on this journey.
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