Broken never has to have the last word--

 

So I missed you last week!  But we were in the mountains for fall break, and it is impossible to write with little boys bounding around all over.  It was a lovely time.  Restorative if not restful!  We came home a day early, which was wise because when would I have time to buy groceries for an empty pantry if we didn't return until Sunday night?  Monday morning comes so swiftly--

 

Turns out it was a blessing.  We got to worship in our own familiar sacred space, and God had much to say to my restored heart.  The message that morning closed a series called "Pieces:  When Broken Becomes Beautiful."  At the beginning of the series, several weeks ago, the congregation was asked to write their brokenness on a shard of pottery, to bring it forward and surrender it to the altar.  This Sunday all of those broken pieces had been gathered into a mosaic, a new picture of wholeness emerging from the remnants of shattered vessels.  Just to walk into the room, to lay eyes on this work of art, was moving.

 

During the message our pastor spoke of the process--going from scattered remains to beautiful mosaic:  one has to touch the raw materials, hold them; give the process time; quiet meditation is needed, guidance seeking; finally the design comes, but only after asking how the pieces reflect purpose.  Our pastor's punch-line:  "Broken becomes beautiful when it is used to help others."

 

I sat in my seat stunned.  My pastor had just recounted to me the process of God's work in my life for  the last two and a half years.  Two and a half years ago God moved me unexpectedly out of a ministry I believed I would be in forever.  It was a hard, painful time.  Yet in the time since then God has done a work in my heart, healing it, binding me up, bringing me step by step to a new place.  Lately I have felt a joy and contentment coming from deep within, a satisfying sense that everything is coming together.  My memories are no longer painful or wistful or bittersweet.  There is no anguish of loss, simply gratitude.  And a surging hope that all my endings have given me everything I need for what is opening up before me.  I go forth blessed by the very thing that I thought had the power to destroy me. 

 

It didn't.  I am not destroyed.  And the roaring pain of that moment had no power in it to speak a word that final over my life.

 

God's words are always stronger.

 

Our pastor closed the service by speaking of Kintsugi, the Japanese art of mending broken pottery with gold.  It is process that makes the piece more durable and exquisitely beautiful than it was originally.  Screens usually filled with song lyrics showed pictures of delicate china, spider veins of gold coursing through them.  Each evidence of vulnerability transformed into proof of something better emerging from brokenness.  It was like God showing me to myself, this new self, the unveiling of beauty I had not guessed at.  Really, God?  That's how You see me, and all that has happened?

 

The invitation of the morning was to come back to the altar.  Not to lay something down as much as to be commissioned for the new purpose that emerges from our brokenness:  to use what we have been through as the raw material for making the world a better place, to participate in bringing forth the Kingdom of God into the heartache of a world that needs a Golden touch, to embody the hope that is possible when we simply surrender our shattered pieces into Hands that can really heal.  How could I stay in my seat?  I am ready for this new life, this new calling, to be commissioned--

 

As I made my way to the altar, the worship band began to play a song so familiar, but something I had never heard in our services before.  And then they got to the chorus I recognized it:  "Sweetly Broken" by Jeremy Riddle.  It is the song I heard just a couple of days before my good china sugar bowl broke.  It is the one that summed up what ministry meant to me-- that my heart would be vulnerable to the pain of losing those I loved, but always holding the sweetness of that love close.  And it also showed me what it means to give and be given life through brokenness, as a mother and as a child of God.  This song is so personally meaningful that I knew God was moving powerfully in me, and that He was giving me a new picture of what it means to be "Sweetly Broken," one where brokenness is not the last word.  So I came to the altar in tears, not because of a broken heart that would not mend but because of a new hope that cannot be deterred.  God speaks a better word over us that the world ever can. 

 

It's Wednesday.  Since Sunday morning I have been a little sad because I didn't save that china bowl.  How could I have known in 2010 that I would hear about Kintsugi in 2013? Those broken pieces are long gone.  This morning in the middle of fantasizing about how I would send those pieces to Japan to be fused together with gold, I took a moment to look down at the cup of tea I was enjoying with my quiet time.  It is from my last tea party spent with the Wesley Foundation, two and a half years ago.  I gave all of my young lady college students a tea cup as a parting gift from me.  And there was one left over which I kept for myself.   The pattern is that of a mosaic, a colorful picture that seems to be fused together from other vibrantly colored pieces of tile.  A bunch of smaller pieces coming together to make a beautiful new whole.  New life--born at the closing of the old.

 

I think I heard God whisper, "See, you didn't need that china bowl after all."

 



Knowledge Is Power

Last week I spent time helping Noah, my oldest, study for his spelling test.  As a part of it, he had to write sentences with his words, using them correctly.  Since he had received the challenge list that particular week, figuring out sentences to write was difficult:  It's one thing to know how to spell the thing; it's totally different to be able to use it correctly in a sentence.  Pretty soon he was asking me what words meant.  What did I do?  The same thing my mom did to me.

I brought out the dictionary and told him to start looking them up.

What I realized as I watched him do this is that he could not alphabetize.  I had to walk him through step-by-step to think about what letters came next, combing through the words on the dictionary page searching for the match he needed.  My son is a very intelligent boy.  But when you are never required to use a skill, it is never developed.  So when all he has to do is type a word into the computer for an instant answer, he never has to know how to look it up in a dictionary.  Living in a Google culture has stripped us of the ability to understand the placement of words in the English language in the same way that GPS has made us directionally illiterate.  I wonder sometimes what would happen if we had to learn how to navigate once again simply by the light of the north star.  Would anyone on earth ever be able to find their way home again?  These skills are not obsolete.  They are important.  They have meaning beyond the simple task they help us accomplish.

There was much protest, much lamentation:
--"Can't you just tell me what it means?" 
--"Let me just look it up on your phone."
--"Mom!  You are so old fashioned!  Why are you making me do this?!"

I told him I was getting back at my own mother.

I remember my frustration.  Well, I didn't fuss so much about writing out the definitions of my spelling words as a kid.  That was expected, part of homework.  But it drove me insane every time I would casually ask my mother what a word meant, just because I wanted to know, and she would say (each time), "Look it up!"

I didn't realize it then, but my mom was giving me a priceless gift.  She was teaching me how to make my way in life when things don't always make sense, when I encounter problems that do not have ready answers.  Those are times that call for wisdom and informed action. 

Relying on someone else to supply our answers can be a dangerous proposition.  What if they are wrong?  Misinformed?  What if they are fraudulent and self-serving?  What if they are not equipped to understand the subtleties of our need, assuming a one size fits all solution that does not work in our situation?  Isn't it much wiser to do the hard thing, learning truth instead of slipping in someone else's response into our blank places?  Isn't it better to know the right answer because we applied ourselves to the work of learning?

It's not enough to supply  right answers.  We need to know why it is right.  This is the only way that answers stick.  So that we have it readily available when life tries to stump us again.  Easy answers really require more work in the long run.  We will find our selective ignorance has us running all over creation trying to find the same solutions over and over .  Learning something well the first time gives us a storehouse of knowledge that stays with us forever.  And as an added bonus, we know our own worth as one who is able.  Able to meet challenges head-on, able to seek out solutions, able to apply what we find to the real needs we encounter.  These are gifts I want to give my son.

So I taught him how to look up his spelling words on his own.

I am thinking now about knowledge as power--knowing as a way of being in the world that gives us the power to choose and to do in a way that corresponds to the Good Intentions of our creation.  In the same way that knowing how to find the meaning of a word empowers Noah to respond to his academic challenges, this kind of knowing empowers us to overcome adversity and experience the meaningful life we desire.  As we come to know God, we come to know how to live the life we were made for.

The last two weeks I have been meditating on a verse that speaks to this:

¹⁷I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, ¹⁸so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, ¹⁹and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe, according to the working of his great power.  Ephesians 1:17-19

In Greek the word for "know" has the connotation of being a first hand knowledge, one that touches the One being known.  To know this way necessitates personal involvement.  We have to get ourselves into the stuff of trying to live our lives with Him in it, working out what it means to live with the Redeemer while our own personal redemption is being accomplished.  This knowledge can be messy.  It demands much.  It asks something of us that is hard to give.

The crux of this knowledge has everything to do with relationship.  And are we really willing to enter into relationship with God?  To know the Creative Agitator not as we want Him to be, but as supreme Other?  True relating to God cannot be defined not by our wishes.  God refuses to bend His Being and Doing to our will.  In the same way that my son disparaged the effort it cost him to truly know the meaning of a word, we can sometimes get exasperated with the effort this spiritual connection costs us.  I wonder if the source of so much aggravation in our spiritual lives stems from this stubbornness on our part--that we refuse to accept God on His own terms.  We complain that we seem to make no headway with our lives, and yet we refuse the vehicle which makes breakthrough possible.  There are no shortcuts to this kind of God knowledge.  God will not bend to my will no matter how much I pray and plead!

But what if for one second the everyone in the whole world gave themselves to knowing God this way?  What possibilities would become realities?  How would choosing and doing change?  How would the results of these different choosing's and doing's change the world?  The relinquishment of ourselves into this relationship translates into God's power manifest in our ordinary living and breathing.  As the scripture says--we don't just come to know God:  we know the hope of our calling; we know the riches of His glorious inheritance; we know the immeasurable greatness of His power. The same power that brought Jesus back to life from the dead is released into us and through us!

What does it look like, this knowing that changes everything?  It is born of personal encounter.  When I seek to relate to God through my ordinary circumstances, listening for His voice, reading the Bible as a way to allow scripture to search me, wrestling with what it means to show up everyday in my home and place of work as one who follows Jesus, then my knowing takes on life.  It is no longer a theoretical proposition but a verb with the power of motility.  And when I go further, changing my behavior in favor of what I sense God is asking of me, then it opens the door for His Resurrection power to work on my behalf--not just in me, but through me and for me.  Making that connection and acting upon it changes our efforts from useless motion, "a beating of the air" (I Corinthians 9:26), to power-full action.  It is an inner disposition that sets forth transformation.  Our lives literally change from the inside out.

It is as if we opened the door to heaven and the power of the risen Christ pours right in to our very souls.  We begin to understand that there is more at play within us and around us than merely our human, wimpy selves.  We begin to see Divine strength supporting, enriching, directing, and empowering our efforts.  We begin to understand that God is orchestrating a great production in which we play a small but critical part.  Our efforts, our choosing and doing directed and empowered by God, begin to impact the world around us in ways we never could have imagined.

And we begin to know our worth as those who are able.  Able to courageously meet challenges head-on, able to discern solutions to impossible situations, able to translate those solutions into tangible actions change the real needs we encounter.   We find we are able because the Power of God has been made visible within our own messy selves.

Into the Fire

I send a scripture verse to my husband each day.  It's one of the ways I love on him.  I want him to know that I am undergirding him with more than just my own desires for his well being.  I am lifting him up with Strength which comes from beyond me. 

Today's verse:  "The crucible is for silver, and the furnace is for gold, and the LORD tests hearts" (Proverbs17:3).

The Lord tests our hearts, not so that He can see what is within them, but so we can. 

It seems this was God's intention when He sent the Israelites into the desert, rather than sending them immediately into the Promise:  "Remember the long way that the LORD your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, in order to humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commandments. . . .  Know then in your heart that as a parent disciplines a child so the LORD your God disciplines you.  Therefore keep the commandments of the LORD your God, by walking in his ways and by fearing him" (Deuteronomy 8:2, 5-6).

Again and again we see God working through Israel's circumstances to bring them to the place where they recognize the stubbornness of their own hearts, each time asking them to surrender this heart hardness for an authentic relationship that leads to blessing instead of defeat. 

God does the same thing with us.

Silver and gold are refined by fire, in the crucible, the hot place.  Where heat is so intense it melts the elements so that their impurities can float to the surface.  But that which has depth and weight and value settles.  The imperfections are then skimmed from the top of the melted surface and removed.  Once the metal has been purified, the heat is turned off.  As the silver and gold cools, once more taking on sturdiness, what remains is finer, more true to itself than it was before.  It can be melted, reshaped, but it is never destroyed.

I have seen the fire purify and shape my husband.  I am so proud of him for having the courage to stay in the heat, allowing God to reveal and remove those things that needed to go so that he could move forward into God's purposes for his life.  Because he held fast to God, trusting God in experiences that melted his heart, those hugely painful difficulties never had the power to destroy him.  They only made him better, stronger,  more of the man God created him to be.

I think of my own heart tests.  Those places where God has allowed the heat of life to reveal truth to me.  Each time I have melted from the intensity of anguish, sometimes returning to the same ache all over again because the first experience was not enough to rid me of the flaw threatening the good God had in mind.  What I have found in ultimately surrendering to the heat instead of running from it is that I have never missed the thing it removed from my tightly clenched hands.

Early on in my ministry journey I discovered Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk who wrote powerfully about the spiritual life.  In his book New Seeds of Contemplation Merton compares the human heart facing adversity to that of wax exposed to heat: 

Souls are like wax waiting for a seal.   By themselves they have no special identity.  Their destiny is to be softened and prepared in this life, by God's will, to receive, at their death, the seal of their own degree of likeness to God in Christ.  And this is what it means, among other things, to be judged by Christ.  The wax that has melted in God's will can easily receive the stamp of its identity, the truth of what it was meant to be.  But the wax that is hard and dry and brittle and without love will not take the seal:  for the hard seal, descending upon it, grinds it to powder.  Therefore if you spend your life trying to escape from the heat of the fire that is meant to soften and prepare you to become your true self, and if you try to keep your substance from melting in the fire--as if your true identity were to be hard wax--the seal will fall upon you at last and crush you.  You will not be able to take your own true name and countenance, and you will be destroyed by the event that was meant to be your fulfillment.

I have found the fire often brings us to a place where we feel intensely alone.  Like nobody understands where we are and nobody seems to care.  On the surface it may look as if we have been abandoned by all rational forms of help, and we storm Heaven angry that we have been mistreated by the life that was supposed to be our promise.  Yet a spiritual aloneness is often the desert God sculpts  so that we may come to a truer understanding of Him and His purposes for us.

If this is the case, then no one can rescue us from His hand.  And we leave it prematurely at our own peril.  Because God brings us to this lonely place, not for our destruction, but for our salvation--as a way of delivering us to a new place of well-being that cannot be disturbed by external influences, a new solidness grounded not in our human capacities but within His Holiness.  If we allow it, the lesser things of our character burn away, and we learn to hold more fiercely to His Being rather than our own.   The truth of this desert experience is that we can only stand on God's Holy ground shoeless.  We have got to relinquish some things if we are to receive from God everything we need to escape the oppression of our circumstances.

I have found myself there, like Gomer stripped of my idols, painfully aware that everything I had trusted in was nothing.  Idols never have power to save us.  The fire simply reveals their instability.  After a while I discovered that raging at the fire would not bring my idols back.  Only when I was ready to see and accept the truth of my own heart was I ready to be healed and restored.  Then I could turn more fully to God, ready to accept what He offered me instead:

Therefore, I will now allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her.  From there I will give here her vineyards, and make the Valley of Achor a door of hope.  There she shall respond as at the time when she came out of the land of Egypt.  On that day, says the LORD, you will call me, "My husband," and no longer will you call me, "My Baal."  For I will remove the names of the Baals from her mouth  and they shall be mentioned by name no more.  (Hosea 2:14-17)

Surrendered into God's hands, our valleys of trouble bring us to new doors of hope.

The fire reveals, and we get to choose what the fire does in us.  Exposed to heat, impurities always rise to the surface.  We can hold tightly to them, adding bitterness, resentment, and outrage to mix (further alienating us from the life we were meant to live).  Or we can recognize them and surrender them to God's hands, trusting His power to remove them so that we can be more His, more of who He intended us to be.  We can come forth from the experience more of ourselves than before.  Truer.  Stronger.  Sturdier.  Lovelier.  Whole.

How to Wear Yourself Well, or What I Learned From Molly Lou Mellon

Do you feel it?  The tug and pull of opposite forces within: On the one hand there is this radical sense of okay-ness, that my imprint upon the world is necessary, needed.  And then there is another feeling altogether:  Perhaps it was a mistake to show up on this life stage, for who am I to try my hand among so many others who seem more adept at this adventure than me?  How can my presence matter?

The questions are cavernous and empty.  But the assertion that one's humble presence matters gives birth to possibility.  This belief in oneself, even if tenuous,  cracks open experience and gives it the opportunity to expand, to grow bigger than our expectations.  What if we lived every moment squarely planted in this radical sense of okay-ness, letting it become the soil of our lives?  Not the occasional blip in our status quo, but rather the new way of making our way in the world?  I'm not advocating conceit which lifts us up higher by viewing others with contempt.  Instead I suggest gracefulness, extending to all, yet encompassing ourselves. 

The Holy Nudge I feel is quiet, yet persistent, playing its song underneath the busyness of my life.  It's not so much calling me toward a new direction as much as asking me to reorient my attitude toward myself and this already life I lead.

"Have confidence" I hear the Spirit whisper.  "Live in confidence."

As I ponder what it means to do just that, I can't help but reflect on one of my new favorite books; every month Jeremiah receives a new one in the mail.  A while ago we opened up Stand Tall, Molly Lou Mellon.  It is the story of a tiny, buck-toothed girl who is fumble fingered and croaks her songs.  Her grandmother speaks wisdom into her life, teaching her to walk with dignity and joy, seeing her difference as gift rather than obstacle.  In Molly Lou Mellon I see a person who wears herself well, even in new and difficult situations.  I want to be like that.

The word "confident" originates from the present participle form of the Latin word confidere:  from con which means "with" and fidere which means "to trust," "to rely upon."  It is a verb form which implies continuous action.  So to live in confidence means that we are to live continually with trust, with reliance. 

--What exactly am I relying on as I go forth into new and potentially difficult or challenging situations? 

--What belief undergirds my going forth?

--What exactly is confidence asking of me?

These are not empty questions.  They challenge me to dig deep.  I could just say "Jesus" as my answer.  Jesus is who I rely on as I go forth.  My belief in Jesus undergirds me.  To be confident means that I must trust Jesus on each step of this journey.  And all of these are true answers.  But the Spirit asks me to go deeper.  Because it is always easy to give the Sunday School answer.  And we are at a place in our walk together where the Spirit knows and I know that Jesus permeates all.  I sense God is asking more of ME.  And I have to decide if I'm willing to give it.

At this point I want to say that how we answer these questions is very personal.  It is a God conversation, that only God can guide and give illumination to.  Each one of us must enter the Holy Conversation and listen for the Spirit resonating within, knowing that it's expression may differ, person to person.

I'm not sure all my resonating is finished yet.  This answer is just the initial rough draft:

--I am confident that I can laugh at myself.

--I am confident that I will learn some valuable things on this journey.

--I am confident that sloppy, creative joy is a better use of my energy than careful, calculated perfection.

--I am confident that good will come from my failures and disappointments.

--I am confident that while there may be limited opportunities to start something new, there are many opportunities to try again.  And that is why it is okay to boldly start something new, even if I don't have a clue about what I am doing.

--I am confident that this path is drawing out the best from within me, that my life will be richer for it, and that it will produce a deeper quality of blessing for those around me than if I never ventured forth. 

--I am confident that I am being shaped and honed by my experiences for something good.

The truth is that I have no idea where the future is leading, where God is leading me.  But I am absolutely convinced that who I will be, who God is calling me to be, is firmly grounded in the good stuff of who I am now.  And I can put my confidence in that.

It's That Time of Year Again . . . .

During my time as a campus minister I taught a freshman orientation class on campus called University Experience.  This class is designed to assist first year students in making a successful transition to college and to help them establish the good habits early on that will ensure they finish their education.  My teaching strategy was one of joining them on the journey of discovery:  not to lecture them on how they should do college, but to accompany them in the discovery of what works, what doesn't, and why.

Bottom line, folks:  The stuff we learned in that classroom still applies.  Even after the diploma has been mailed.

And here it is early September.  Time for my favorite beginning of the school year activity--The Time Chart!

It is really a simple exercise.  It all begins with a simple grid:  days of the week across the top and hours of the day down the side.  Participants are then invited to label the boxes according to how that block of time is spent.  Next each activity should then be color-coded so that each segment of time can be easily and quickly recognized when it is glanced at throughout the course of the day. 

One such example here:

Fill out one of these and you never have to wonder to yourself, "where does the time go?"  You get to see it, in living color. 

When I introduced this project to my students, I brought in an empty plastic tub of butter and a bag full of toy cars and trucks of various sizes.  (Yes, my props came from my sons' play room.)  After choosing a volunteer, I instructed my "helper" to put all of the toy vehicles into the tub.  Of course they only fit if the big ones go in first.  The moral is that we only get a one size fits all week, one plastic tub of life to fill anyway we choose.  And that tub can fill up pretty quickly with insignificant small stuff, while the really big things that matter get squeezed out.  The great tub-o-life fills up, mostly when we are not looking. 

I find it helpful to open my eyes and really see what's in there.  To ask myself important questions, like: 

-What is the stuff of this life I'm living? 
-Am I spending my life on things that matter? 
-If I could wipe the slate clean and carve out the life I want to live in just the perfect way, what would perfect look like? 
-How can I fit some of this kind of perfect into what I already have to work with?

I am amazed that no matter how many times I do this activity, I always learn something new.  What I've learned this time around is that our life commitments (marriage, children, friendship, GOD!) must show up somewhere.  If they don't, something is wrong.  When they do, something is right, even if it means at the end of the day you are spent.  (Doesn't it make you feel good to know you are spending yourself on the things that really matter?)  The other thing I've learned is that even with a "golden opportunity" to follow my dreams, my time is limited.  I really don't have as much time as I think I do, and I had better use the time I do have well.

I guess at the heart of this activity is one question:  Am I living the life I am supposed to live?  Then there is the important follow up question:  If not, what can I do to change it?  Because all of us have the power to redefine at least some of our tub-o-life boxes.  We can all do something differently that will move us toward the life we really want.  The gift of this simple exercise is that it helps us discover that one step toward a better life that is within our power to do.

GOD Calling

i want to be
ALIVE--
i don't want to
live the dead life.
i don't want to
be the one
who shrunk into the
shadows of fear,
to be kept for safety
and comfort,
Trading
Radical TRUST
for
commonplace anonymity.

i want
to be ALIVE--
with
Wonder &
Spirit &
Courage &
Daring &
the
Outrageous ASSUMPTION
that
My Life
was
MADE
for
SOMETHING
IMPORTANT
BEAUTIFUL
GOOD.

i want to spend
the stuff of
Who i am
in the
Glorious DISCOVERY
of this
Something,

so that
someday
i can smile
at my MAKER,
whisper Joyfully,
"We had a good ride, yes?"

And to feel the
YES
 of
GOD
smile back.

Receive and Release

I felt led to take a walk this morning, at a nearby park.  As soon as I got out of my car the music started, blaring across the grass, and I'm thinking "this is what You wanted me to experience Lord?  this noise?"  And the whisper came to me, "people hear what they want to."

I tried really hard to listen to nature, beyond the too loud music, beyond the too loud musings of my upset.

As I walked I thought, "this is what my life feels like sometimes."  So much noise.  But surrounded by so much beauty.  As a mother of three boys, it's easy to hear only the noise and miss the beauty.  I want to shush them.  But then their noise is part of their beauty.

I catch sight of a butterfly opening its wings.  I think, maybe if I'm quiet enough, silence my phone, I can grab a quick picture.  Funny to me now as I write these words.  The butterfly probably wouldn't have noticed the little click amidst the cacophony of sound pouring out around us.  How sweetly he opened his wings so I could see him.

I am thinking of my son now.  Noah celebrated his birthday yesterday.  He is growing quickly.  It won't be long before he is taller than me.  Yesterday morning he used impeccable manners.  Precious please's and thank you's, never once coaxed from me.  His joy in living his birth day bringing forth his own goodness to make it a good day.  Like the butterfly, sweetly opening his wings so I could see the beauty of who he is. 

There will come a day soon when he will test those wings out.  He will fly on his own.  He will want the opportunity to see what he is made of, and will do so stepping out into the world, making sure I stay at home.  And I hear the clock ticking.  I will have to release him into the world hoping my mamma love has given him what is needed for strong flight.

It's hard doing this parenting thing.  Sometimes we hold on too tight.  Sometimes we push too hard.  We tug and pull in what seems like the right direction only to find out our nagging really just created a gap needing to be filled with Grace.  I think of my mistakes with Noah.  I am so glad in this snapshot of his life he has given me grace.  It reminds me we are held by a bigger Grace.

One particular moment of grace has marked me forever.  I was attending a retreat in a beautiful mountain setting.   It was the summer Noah was preparing to enter kindergarten.  He was so ready, yet he still struggled with one particular area at home that caused us concern.  During one of our retreat sessions I was paired with an older woman.  We were asked to share where we were trying to manage our lives through power over others verses the way of Jesus.  I shared with this dear woman my angst of trying to help my son through his struggle.  I wanted him to overcome the issue he was working on, but I also didn’t want him to feel shame and discouragement from me.  With great gentleness she looked me in the eyes, searching my face, my heart.  “I can tell you love this child,” she said.  “You don’t need to worry.  Love prevails.”

When I think of Noah, and especially of the mistakes I have made trying to be his mamma, I remember this.  I love this man child.  And his very existence reminds me that God loves me:  Our sweet Noah, born as the answer to years of praying for children.  I know that I must receive this time with him as gift.  The moments we get to share are passing.  And even though those moments are often noisy, they are opportunities for beauty.  I can wish away their noisiness, or I can rest my heart in their beauty, and enjoy each one.

 

I know it's not time for him to fly away, to make his own way in the world yet.  But already I can see him testing his wings.  He is the sweet child Tim and I received as our first son.  He is the first one we will also have to release to God's Grace.  I rest in knowing that Love prevails.  Our love, even in its human frailty, is enough to give him the beginning he needs.  And God's Love, is more than enough to hold him while he makes his way into becoming the man God created him to be.

 

Let Love Guide You . . . .

My sweet husband has just embarked on a new adventure as an elementary school principal.  We both know that God has put him in this position.  We also know that as much as it is a huge answer to years of praying, the blessing does not rest with Tim alone.  We know that God's purpose in this adventure moves through Tim to touch countless lives that will be affected by Tim's leadership. 

With the new position comes a new office.  A bare, stark white office.  One that needs some serious attention.  I don't know if he meant it, but Tim invited me to decorate.  I set to work making curtains, bulletin boards, a cover for his tissue box so that it would match.  But with all the effort, there was still one wall that was out of place.  A barren expanse of white-washed wall that sucked the life out of the room.  I told him I would make him a piece of art.

I knew I had to find a way to use the colors in his curtains.  I also knew whatever I created had to be something worth looking at everyday:  an inspiration, a mandate, a word of encouragement.  Here is what came to me:

The original idea didn't look very impressive.  Original ideas never do.  They have not yet had the process of engagement to flesh them out, to make them incarnate, to take what was simply thought and turn it into glorious reality.  The faint sketch barely resembles the outcome.  But the outline is there.  It is just waiting for the process of actualization to become all it is intended to be.

One of my dearest friends used to say to me, "The process is love; don't hinder the process."  As a young pastor in my first appointment I found her words so helpful.  So much happened during that time.  Some confusing things, conflicting things, difficult things.  Her words reminded me that our best answer to the questions we must live always begins with love.  God's love first.  Our love as we walk out His intensions for our lives.

When God began telling us He had plans for Tim, it was during one of the hardest seasons we had ever faced.  Tim knew that he was in a position where his skills and passions were being underutilized.  He ached for something more in life, yet every avenue to pursue that more seemed closed to him.  Into that season God sent this scripture:

"For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope."  Jeremiah 29:11

The King James Version states it like this:

"For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end." 

Truly God has thought this thing through.  The thing that keeps you up at night.  The thing that looks so hopeless.  The thing that feels as if it will drain all the life right out of you.  God has thought it through and knows how He is going to bring you through it to resolution, to peace, to joy, to purpose.   God will not only infuse your present experience with purpose, He is working to bring you into your purpose, the thing He created you for.

When God gave this message to the Israelites, they were in exile.  False prophets all around kept saying God would immediately defeat their enemies and bring them home.  Not Jeremiah, who had God's truth.  Jeremiah told them they would not return home for 70 years.  Yet Jeremiah also brought the message that God had not forgotten about them, that God was intimately connected to what they were experiencing and that He was working on their behalf for good.  Real.  Tangible.  Good.  Something they could recognize as good. 

During those discouraging days it took everything within us to believe God was going to bring His Good back into our lives.  But sure enough He did.  I kept telling Tim, "I'll know it when I see it."  The day he walked in the door and told me he got the principal's job, I fell to my knees.  I knew I had just seen the Goodness of God walk into our lives.

Here is the truth:  While God was working out His plans for Tim, He was also working within Tim, making him ready for this day.  God was loving him into a new place, teaching him gently, giving him to new understanding, opening his heart, showing him what the process of love really looks like.  God was leading him with love into a new place so that he would know how to lead with love, taking those entrusted to his care to God's new place for them.

Here is what I know:  Loving God has to be first in our lives.  If anything else supersedes that, we are heading for heartache.  When we love God with everything we are, God is able to work unhindered in putting His plans into place for us.  And once we love God first, God is able to show us how to love everyone else.  Ourselves.  Our neighbor.  Everything else in our lives finds its proper place.  And all those plans and intentions and hopes and dreams God has for us begin taking shape.  So that one day we see God's Goodness walk right into our lives.

Walk By Faith

 

It's funny how life is.  How it is always changing.  Sometimes you never know when the changes are coming.  I am not opposed to change.  I actually kind of like it because it smells of adventure.  I like the exhilaration that comes with wide open possibilities. 

 

The thing is, new roads often mean leaving old places.  And faces.  This is where I get hung up.  It is not in me to leave.  I can move to the next place, but I can't leave.  And usually God has to close doors for me to understand that it is time to move. 

 

Sometimes those door closings are painful.  Something we would never choose.  And the road leading from the familiar is littered with snot-filled tissues as we walk away from what was, weeping. . .  limping.  I've been there.

 

Two years ago when God moved me out of campus ministry, that's what it was.  I could not see clearly the road ahead because of the tears.  Like Mary at the tomb on Easter morning, I could not see the Hope born of emptiness. 

 

Every time I sat in worship during that season of saying goodbye it seemed Jeremy Camp's song  "Walk By Faith" was on the play list:

    

Well I will walk by faith

Even when I cannot see

Well because this broken road

Prepares Your will for me

 

I would weep and sing.  And pray.  And hope.  And trust.  Beyond feelings I trusted that God could bring something beautiful out of my heartache.

 

God's sense of humor in all of this is that He placed me in a pre-school.  (I say sense of humor because when I was brand new into ministry and barely 26 years old He placed me in ministry with senior adults and the elderly.)  For two years I have enjoyed the honor of teaching  little ones about Him.  In a place full of love, and humor, and grace.  A safe place where my broken heart could heal.  Where I could forget my heartache in the daily grace of teaching ABC's, 123's, and "Yes, Jesus Loves Me."  For each person I met in that sacred classroom, I have deep gratitude.  Each sweet lady who partnered with me in teaching has always been full of goodness, and each one taught me more than they taught our little charges.  I cherish these dear ladies. 

 

Last spring God led me to read a gardening book.  Sometimes I don't understand the nudges.  But I've learned it's always better to follow them.  Especially when I don't understand.  As I read, I began to sense that my life is the garden God is tending.  One passage in particular caught my attention:

"Cover crops.  To obliterate a really pernicious weed, plant a living mulch in the form of a cover crop that grows thick and heavy for one growing season.  Buckwheat works well for this purpose.  As soon as it begins to flower, I use a scythe to mow it down or till the plants into the soil as green manure.  If you mow it, compost what you cut down.  Make a second planting and then mow or till again.  By the end of the season, those weeds should be gone.  And as a bonus, there will be a lot more organic matter in your soil."  The Vegetable Gardener's Bible.  p. 99

I believe God was showing me that another season in my life was getting ready to come to an end.  A sweet season.  A buckwheat season.  Maybe not the thing that set my heart on fire, but a season with a purpose.  A season that was there to bring new life to my broken heart, maybe clear out some stubborn weeds like perfectionism and approval addiction that have been choking out the fruit in my ministry.  And maybe God was using this time of teaching preschool to replenish the worn out soil of my heart. 

Not long after, I began having dreams of being in ministry again.   I would wake up longing for those ministry moments that set my heart on fire.  And I became very restless.  My sweet husband prayed so diligently for me.  One night I told him that I felt like I was waiting for something, something to open up.  The next day he said to me he felt God asking me instead, "What are you waiting for?" 

Sometimes, instead of moving us out of an old place, God simply asks us to come to a new place.   He gives us an invitation to the unknown.  And we can stay in familiar.  No one is moving us out.  Or we can take a leap of faith.  I'm really bad at leaving.  But I am learning how to leap.

The new song on my play list is "Walk on the Water" by Britt Nicole.  When I heard it for the first time, I almost fell out of my chair.  Tim's words to me were so fresh on my heart:

So what are you waiting for
What do you have to lose?
Your insecurities try to alter you
You know you're made for more
So don't be afraid to move
Your faith is all it takes and you can
Walk on the water too.

Here's the difference between this walk of faith and the last one; this one is more invitation.  It's not something that has been chosen for me.  Instead it is something I must choose.  God has been inviting me to go with Him.  I'm not exactly sure where I will end up.  I just know it's the right thing to do.  To open up space in my life where I can follow Him.  I feel like Abraham:  "Now the LORD said to Abram, 'Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you.  I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing'" (Genesis 12:1-2). 

My heart is healed.  My eyes are lifted up.  The limp is gone.  I can see the first few steps of the path before me.

Following God means I won't be teaching pre-school anymore.  I hate that.  I am so, so, so thankful for the Early Learning Center, and all it has given me.  But I also know that I can't put this off any longer.  I don't want to miss my opportunity--

to walk on the water too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Turn It Up!

Last week we celebrated VBS, also known as Vacation Bible School.  Every night we gathered at our church with over 200 children and gads of volunteers to jump and sing and dance and learn about how God is always with us, leading us, saving us, and then working through us to bring His Love and Light to the world.  Once again I got to teach faith skills to a group of children, Kindergarten through fifth grade.

One of the nights focused on the Israelites and the time they spent in the wilderness after God rescued them from slavery in Egypt.  During our faith skills time, we focused on how the Israelites grumbled and complained, and how important it is to let go of our complaints so that we can praise God instead.

I have been sitting with this lesson all week, ruminating on how true it is today, how its truth has been woven into the fabric of my life, how intricately it is linked to seeing God's power burst forth in our own lives.

I'm a practical girl.  I want to see what something looks like.  Theory is fine, but if it can't be translated into actual practice that I can wrap my life around, I'm not interested.  And when you are trying to teach the Big Truths of God to children, it had better be practical. 

During that night at while I taught faith skills, the Holy Spirit brought to mind a simple explanation of praise that is still bouncing around inside of me.  My children have taught me everything I really need to know about praise.

That sweet little one will hold me close at night.  Draped across my lap he holds me close and whispers, "You boo-ti-ful Mommy."

I try to stop and soak up the love, resting my heart in such simple grace.

My middle son jumps into life with both feet.  He is all in or not in at all.  But I love spending time with him because no matter how simple the activity, as long as we are together, he will always come away with an exuberant "That was awesome!"  I love hearing it!  I love sharing awesomeness with him, living the awesomeness together.

And my oldest child?  He is a thinker.  He is constantly reflecting on his experiences, learning from them, taking in the lessons, processing them with endless questions.  And sometimes out of his reflections, after the thing has passed, will come a simple, deeply felt, "Thank you for . . . ."

I treasure those moments.  Because they are rare in an active boy's life.  Because they come from a deep place.  Because they are pure gratitude.

I know life is hard.  I know in my bones how scary uncertainty can be.  I know what it is like to be surrounded by people, yet to feel agonizingly alone.  I know the pain of regret, disappointment, betrayal, rejection.  I know life isn't fair.  I know life is hard.

But what I have found is that no bad place is ever a match for God's Glory revealed in dark places.  Such Glory is always available to us.  God ushers His Glory into our lives as we praise Him.  In the praising we are promoted.

I don't know how else to say it.

As we praise Him, we are promoted to a better place.

As we focus our will and heart and mind on the simple act of . . .
--telling our Lord He is beautiful, seeking and seeing His beauty;
--enjoying His presence and work in our lives, responding exuberantly to His work, declaring His awesomeness;
--reflecting on How He has blessed us, offering a simple, yet deeply held, "Thank You;"
all that is life as we know it is immersed in His Greatness and His Goodness and things become different.

The seed of our transformation is planted, and nurtured, and watered in our praises.  We are changed.  And all around us begins to change.  Our hearts our opened to our Helper.  Our eyes are open to His Help.  Our ears are opened to His Voice speaking into our darkness and calling forth His Light.

And it's not about how we feel.  If we don't feel like it, do it anyway.  This is where the power is.  We push through what circumstances and feelings and the world is telling us to PRAISE HIM ANYWAY.  And when our praise is costly, because it is hard, when it is truly a sacrifice, because it doesn't come easy--God moves in a big time big way.  This is the thing the enemy does not want you to know.  This is the thing the enemy wants to avoid.  You praising God when the only way you can do it is by faith, since the feelings aren't there.

We see it in scripture all the time.  My favorite place is where Paul speaks of Abraham:

"No distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, being fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised."  Romans 4:20-21

Abraham didn't start out strong.  But he grew strong as he gave glory to God.  His belief and trust in God grew strong as he honored, praised, and worshipped God.  It reminds me that when my faith is lagging, there is only one thing I need to do.

Turn it up!