It's that time again. It has been a year since I fasted from television. Funny that what was then a sacrifice has become a way of life now. Don't get me wrong. I watch television, just much less frequently than I used to. And let me say for the record, I am so glad. I said it then and I'll say it now. There is so little good television, so little that builds up or educates or glorifies. It is just mostly not good. You know I'm right.
So, today is day one of 21 days of prayer and fasting, 2011 edition. I am so excited about this year because I am actually going to participate in a more traditional fast. I can give you more details if you want, but that part's really not interesting. I have never done this before, in a traditional since. And really, even after last year's experience, I can honestly say I've never been in this place in my Walk, have never felt more called to participate and have never felt closer to my God. I have big faith that He will do big things in me and through my fasting and prayer over the next 21 days... and forever.
Since I don't really know what I'm doing, I decided to follow some instruction and teaching and encouragement. There is so much at my fingertips now that I want to make sure and grab - so much for the taking. I don't want to miss a thing. I will be reading Stovall Weems' book Awakening throughout. After the first day's reading, I can tell you it's going to be good.
I learned in church this morning that fasting is about putting to death your body, and really your soul, in order that your spirit will thrive and grow and takeover control of you. I have never known this about the fast. A key verse I have read and heard is Joel 2.12 - " 'Even now,' declares the Lord, 'return to me with all your heart, with fasting and weeping and mourning.' " The point is to return to your place of salvation. You know, that emotional high that came right as you sealed the deal? For some, I suppose it's the very moment of initial salvation, when you first committed your life to Christ. For me, it happened years later.
When I was seven years old, I "asked Jesus into my heart." I was scared of Hell. I asked him that day in backyard Bible school and I asked him every chance I got after that, just to make sure. I'm not implying that at such a young age I didn't know what I was doing or that I wasn't saved from that moment on. I really don't know about those things. Weird. What I am saying is that after years of church-going and Christian-schooling and Bible-reading and memorizing and prayer-praying and Sunday-schooling, I did not fully grasp the depth of the wealth and the life that was mine because of the immeasurable love of my God.
Read that last sentence again, because it's big...
I was on a medical mission trip to Uganda with a group from Oak Mountain Presbyterian Church in the summer of 2007. It was a dream come true for sure. I had always known that I would be a medical missionary all through high school. I wanted it so badly, but Chemistry and Biology disagreed with me and I let it go. A doctor I would not be. But you better believe I jumped on the opportunity to play one for a couple of weeks.
The trip was too short and lacked the amount of medical clinic I felt we could have provided and that would have satiated my thirst for a dream deferred. Nonetheless, it was magical. I can say to you with every ounce of honesty in my bones that I fell in love with Africa, with Uganda, with those people and their infectious smiles and limitless hope and gratifying simplicity. I would have stayed there, or at least gone back if I had been in a different place in my life. I left a part of me there. A chunk of my heart will always be in Uganda.
I took Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz to read along the way. Great book. Probably not for everyone, but it's right up my ally and happened to be the voice God chose to use to talk to me while I was away. We were on a short bus, driving way too fast down our wrong side of a narrow, muddied, potholed road somewhere on the road to Kagadi from Kampala. A trip that should have taken a couple of hours ended up taking four or five, if I remember correctly. It was nuts - the only time I feared for my life the entire two weeks I was gone. I read to keep my mind off the circumstance. It was in chapter seven, "Grace," that God spoke to me so audibly I could hear the breaths he took between sentences. I wept and underlined and starred. The lines I made resemble a heart monitor's - the road was so rough I couldn't make a straight mark.
At the end of the chapter, at the bottom of page 86, I wrote, "I get it. Uganda. 7.9.07. 12:54 pm."
My life has not been the same since that minute.
I believe truly that was the moment of my transformation. Don't misread. I am not, nor am I almost, transformed. But at that moment, I began to find a God I had not even known existed before. What has become a greater passion and a deeper relationship and a bigger God than I had ever known started in that moment, halfway around the world, in that little bus, amid those potholes and that mud, somewhere on the road to Kagadi.
In that moment, I felt a more real, more intense freedom and happiness and clarity than I had before and have since. That is where I am headed over the next 21 days. I am child-like in my eagerness to "return to [Him] with all my heart." I can't wait to get back there, once my body and soul are defeated and my spirit can soar without the dead weight they offer. There is where my God is. He wants us to live in that moment. I want to live in that moment.
Surely I don't have to go halfway around the world to get back there. Surely God is as much in my Alabama home as he was on the road to Kagadi. Over these next days, my greatest prayer is that I will be as far away from "the world" now, in my own home, as I was then - on the road to Kagadi. And that I would stay there.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Dub-date
It has be way too long since I've told you anything about Waylon! Poor little guy. I'm just so wrapped up in my own imperfection. . . ;)
He is amazing. Still. Fifteen months old now and, really, just a little ol' person. He says lots of words: ball, bye, dog, moon, mama, da, bird, tiger (once or twice). When he wants his cup, he says 'juice' even though he has never really had juice nor have we ever referred to his cup as juice. He 'awww's and 'mmm's appropriately.
He gives lots of kisses and hugs (thank goodness. I don't know what I would do if he were not affectionate. I need his loving.) He gives pats on the back and rubs on the shoulder.
He has entire conversations with nothing but hand motions and babble that imitates the tones of our own conversations.
He pretend-reads, also imitating the tone of our reading.
He is still napping twice a day, sleeping 10-12 hours a night and eating like a hoss.
He is still cutting teeth - his eye teeth now.
He plays basketball, baseball, football, but not soccer. He doesn't kick yet, but the kid's got some arm.
He finally got rid of the mullet. Still has tons of hair.
His big blue eyes still illicit comments everywhere we go.
He is 'looking less and less like me,' in the words of Joey himself. I am pretty sure he was just fishing for affirmation that this adorable child does, in fact, still look just like him. And he does.
He is pushing boundaries more and more, just to see how far he can get.
He has gotten a 'spanking' several times now. This consists of a swift paint stir-stick to the calf. Quick pop. Just enough to get his attention. It's only ugly for a minute.
He is very generous. He shares everything from food and drink to blanket and toys. Until he wants them all back, then they better be given back pronto.
He is a regular in baby church and loves it. Blanket goes every Sunday. No more incidents. (Although last Sunday as we were picking Waylon up after church and all the kiddies rushed the door like puppies at the shelter begging for an owner to love, I saw the little punk that bit him. I pointed him out to Joey, using those exact words and gave the kid the laaaazy eye. Squirt.)
He is a ham to beat all hams. He loves attention. . . for some reason.
Still will eat pretty much anything we put in front of him - except asparagus, zucchini and Brussels sprouts.
Almost every night after dinner, Waylon takes Joey by the hand, brings him to the sofa (if he's not already there), sets him down and proceeds to bring him book after book and magazine after magazine. They read until bed or bath time. This is Joey's new definition of relaxation. He loves it as much as Waylon does.
He is becoming more and more hand fulls of pure, innocent, Dub-tastic fun.
Watching him learn the world is the greatest thing I have ever been a part of.
He is amazing. Still. Fifteen months old now and, really, just a little ol' person. He says lots of words: ball, bye, dog, moon, mama, da, bird, tiger (once or twice). When he wants his cup, he says 'juice' even though he has never really had juice nor have we ever referred to his cup as juice. He 'awww's and 'mmm's appropriately.
He gives lots of kisses and hugs (thank goodness. I don't know what I would do if he were not affectionate. I need his loving.) He gives pats on the back and rubs on the shoulder.
He has entire conversations with nothing but hand motions and babble that imitates the tones of our own conversations.
He pretend-reads, also imitating the tone of our reading.
He is still napping twice a day, sleeping 10-12 hours a night and eating like a hoss.
He is still cutting teeth - his eye teeth now.
He plays basketball, baseball, football, but not soccer. He doesn't kick yet, but the kid's got some arm.
He finally got rid of the mullet. Still has tons of hair.
His big blue eyes still illicit comments everywhere we go.
He is 'looking less and less like me,' in the words of Joey himself. I am pretty sure he was just fishing for affirmation that this adorable child does, in fact, still look just like him. And he does.
He is pushing boundaries more and more, just to see how far he can get.
He has gotten a 'spanking' several times now. This consists of a swift paint stir-stick to the calf. Quick pop. Just enough to get his attention. It's only ugly for a minute.
He is very generous. He shares everything from food and drink to blanket and toys. Until he wants them all back, then they better be given back pronto.
He is a regular in baby church and loves it. Blanket goes every Sunday. No more incidents. (Although last Sunday as we were picking Waylon up after church and all the kiddies rushed the door like puppies at the shelter begging for an owner to love, I saw the little punk that bit him. I pointed him out to Joey, using those exact words and gave the kid the laaaazy eye. Squirt.)
He is a ham to beat all hams. He loves attention. . . for some reason.
Still will eat pretty much anything we put in front of him - except asparagus, zucchini and Brussels sprouts.
Almost every night after dinner, Waylon takes Joey by the hand, brings him to the sofa (if he's not already there), sets him down and proceeds to bring him book after book and magazine after magazine. They read until bed or bath time. This is Joey's new definition of relaxation. He loves it as much as Waylon does.
He is becoming more and more hand fulls of pure, innocent, Dub-tastic fun.
Watching him learn the world is the greatest thing I have ever been a part of.
ohhh...
This will be the first of a couple of posts in a row. I have some things to share, but they are of different subjects and deserve separate posts.
Back to the 'in and of the world' thing...
I am reading my daily devotion just moments ago and this:
What shines forth and reveals God in your life is not your relative consistency to an idea of what a saint should be, but your genuine, living relationship with Jesus Christ, and your unrestrained devotion to Him whether you are well or sick. . . Christian perfection is the perfection of a relationship with God that shows itself to be true even amid the seemingly unimportant aspects of human life. . . I am called to live in such a perfect relationship with God that my life produces a yearning for God in others, not admiration for myself. Thoughts about myself hinder my usefulness to God.
So, this is where I am. . . I think indeed my obsession with living a holy life is for naught. And, thanks be to God for taking the time and the focus to teach me these things in the past few months. I have had it all wrong all along! It is not a need for more Godly living that my life is lacking. In fact, it is a need for more God. It is not my imperfect record that has caused my strife, but my imperfect relationship with God. The more I think that I can live more "Godly," the further I am from the truth. I can and will never attain God's standard for my life through the lack-luster power of my own effort and devotion. I. Will. Fail. Every. Time.
Instead, I am to grow closer and closer to Him in the midst of the fuzzy, un-focused background of my every day life. I am to seek Him, not just encounter Him or stumble upon Him. Really, what does a life look like that is devoted to perfecting a relationship with God? No, no, no. . . That's not what I meant. I don't mean how should I live my life in devotion to God. What I mean is how do I obtain a perfect relationship with Him? The answer seems too simple, clear as it is in every part of Scripture. Isn't it constant two-way communication, death of self, meditation on the Word, praise and worship, all of the things I've read over and over? Surely it can't be that simple.
Let me give it a try and, as always, keep you posted. In the meantime, pray for me on this journey.
Back to the 'in and of the world' thing...
I am reading my daily devotion just moments ago and this:
What shines forth and reveals God in your life is not your relative consistency to an idea of what a saint should be, but your genuine, living relationship with Jesus Christ, and your unrestrained devotion to Him whether you are well or sick. . . Christian perfection is the perfection of a relationship with God that shows itself to be true even amid the seemingly unimportant aspects of human life. . . I am called to live in such a perfect relationship with God that my life produces a yearning for God in others, not admiration for myself. Thoughts about myself hinder my usefulness to God.
So, this is where I am. . . I think indeed my obsession with living a holy life is for naught. And, thanks be to God for taking the time and the focus to teach me these things in the past few months. I have had it all wrong all along! It is not a need for more Godly living that my life is lacking. In fact, it is a need for more God. It is not my imperfect record that has caused my strife, but my imperfect relationship with God. The more I think that I can live more "Godly," the further I am from the truth. I can and will never attain God's standard for my life through the lack-luster power of my own effort and devotion. I. Will. Fail. Every. Time.
Instead, I am to grow closer and closer to Him in the midst of the fuzzy, un-focused background of my every day life. I am to seek Him, not just encounter Him or stumble upon Him. Really, what does a life look like that is devoted to perfecting a relationship with God? No, no, no. . . That's not what I meant. I don't mean how should I live my life in devotion to God. What I mean is how do I obtain a perfect relationship with Him? The answer seems too simple, clear as it is in every part of Scripture. Isn't it constant two-way communication, death of self, meditation on the Word, praise and worship, all of the things I've read over and over? Surely it can't be that simple.
Let me give it a try and, as always, keep you posted. In the meantime, pray for me on this journey.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
the longest year: my trust story
I just read a few journal entries from the end of 2008 and the beginning of 2009. I usually hate doing this. As a matter of fact, there have been many a journal tossed in the trash immediately following one of these look-backs. Mostly I hate remembering where I have been. I have gone through vast wastelands of Godlessness and hopelessness and ugliness. And I wrote about all of it. Writing has always been this release for me. There is so much more I can say with written words than I can say with spoken ones. Somehow I get behind the pen (or the keyboad these days) and am eloquent and thoughtful and fluid. When I speak, I stumble and stutter and forget and start and stop... and edit. Maybe that's the biggest difference - when I write, I don't imagine who will be reading my words and what the reaction will be. I only write - without hesistation or consciousness and sometimes without filter.
Funny though that these entries were actually beautiful. They are too spaced out and unkempt. I wonder what happened in between February 2 and March 9 of 2008. It's only left to my weak memory. But what years were 2008 and 2009 for me! It's too easy to forget them - so freely it slips from my memory where I was and what I've been through and where I am. I'm taking a moment to recall, and to share.
You may or may not know (I'll pretend you don't) that it took me a year to get pregnant. I went off the pill in January of 2008 and got pregnant the very end of that December. I had not before and have not to this day been through anything so difficult. There have been things before; I am from a broken family full of broken people. There have been illnesses and deaths and divorces and tragedies all around me. In fact, there is so little of my childhood bobbing around in my memory that I have to make effort and focus to remember parts of it - and even then, I am not sure what's reality or dream. The difference is that I have not ever had my own tragedy. I have always, always been a supporting role, and I mean that in the truest since of the idea. I have prided myself on my pillar-esque reactions to life. If ever you needed a sholder to cry on, just give me a moment to wipe the tears of the previous mourner away and my sholder's all yours. I felt very little and processed even less. I was strong and steady and wise beyond my years, full of good advice and well-tuned ears.
Until 2008, I had never needed a God, especially not a big one. My life was playing out close enough to how I thought it should. It felt good, mostly. I did the things I was supposed to do - hassle-free high school complete with state championships, attendance at Auburn University, well-reputed sorority, skip a few mirky years, perfect wedding, marriage and on to child-bearing. Only it didn't happen like that. For the first time in my ever, my plan failed. I prided myself on my intense and complete control over everything in my life. It was as though I was going down a life check-list completing each event with one of those glorious marks of accomplishment... until 2008, which became an abrupt halt to all that I had known - praise the Lord.
I knew from forever that I would be a mother. It wasn't until late in high school, into college, that I knew that was all I wanted to do. It became more and more clear to me that mothering was my calling. Everything between where I was and motherhood became one more task to accomplish before I held my own precious baby in my thirsty arms. So, as a matter of fact, it felt to me like I had been trying to have a baby for the better part of a decade.
In September 2006, I was finally married and closer than I had ever been to fulfilling what I had come to believe was my destiny. If it had been my call alone, we would not have used any prevention from night one. In his elderly wisdom (he's six years older than me), Joey convinced me otherwise. So I continued to wait. And pine.
Come January 2008, the time seemed right. . . in our limited, finite sight. What was supposed to have happened right away did not. I was appalled. How could my body fail me? How could it not do the thing it was made to do? How could this be happening to me? Month after month, my hopes would rise so high and fall so far so fast. It was miserable. I hurt more than anything I've ever felt. I felt forgotten by God. It felt like punishment for everything wrong I had ever done in my life. I remember thinking and praying, 'What do I need to learn from this? Please teach it to me quickly so I can have a baby!'
I joined a support group at our church for women struggling with 'infertility' (although after just a year, I would find out, I hardly qualified as 'infertile.') There was one precious woman there who had been wanting to be pregnant for 9 years, all of her marriage. She works at Sav-A-Life as a counselor to mothers who accidentally get pregnant with babies they never wanted. She still hopes. Most of the women in the group had been trying for over a year. I felt silly. But they loved me and prayed for me and ministered to me in so many ways.
During that longest year ever, through all that pain and dashing of hopes and misunderstanding, I found a new God - one that is bigger than any God I had imagined or needed before. I learned lots of staggering statistics about infertility and more about infertility treatments and drugs than I ever wanted to know. But, more than that I discovered a God that not only hadn't forgotten me, but was focused on me - like I was an only child in need of some Daddy time.
One of the things I learned about myself in 2008 is that I have, or had, a problem with trust. I didn't know what it was or what it looked like or how to do it. In all of the journal entries I re-read I talk about needing to trust, learning to trust, what it would feel like if I could just trust. I stopped journalling somewhere along the way and I wish I wouldn't have. I would love to know more of what I was thinking through all that hurting and learning.
I know now how sweet trust is. I am boggled by people, especially married ones and parents, that do life without trusting in the God I know. There is so much freedom in trusting Him and so much peace and so much hope. It's so necessary.
Looking back it seems like such a short period of time, that year that felt like forever. It came and went just like all my other years, but left so much in its wake - almost more than any other time in my life. The only year that has had a greater impact on the person that I am is the year that I have just finished - from September 6, 2009 to September 6, 2010 - the first year of my first-born's life.
Funny though that these entries were actually beautiful. They are too spaced out and unkempt. I wonder what happened in between February 2 and March 9 of 2008. It's only left to my weak memory. But what years were 2008 and 2009 for me! It's too easy to forget them - so freely it slips from my memory where I was and what I've been through and where I am. I'm taking a moment to recall, and to share.
You may or may not know (I'll pretend you don't) that it took me a year to get pregnant. I went off the pill in January of 2008 and got pregnant the very end of that December. I had not before and have not to this day been through anything so difficult. There have been things before; I am from a broken family full of broken people. There have been illnesses and deaths and divorces and tragedies all around me. In fact, there is so little of my childhood bobbing around in my memory that I have to make effort and focus to remember parts of it - and even then, I am not sure what's reality or dream. The difference is that I have not ever had my own tragedy. I have always, always been a supporting role, and I mean that in the truest since of the idea. I have prided myself on my pillar-esque reactions to life. If ever you needed a sholder to cry on, just give me a moment to wipe the tears of the previous mourner away and my sholder's all yours. I felt very little and processed even less. I was strong and steady and wise beyond my years, full of good advice and well-tuned ears.
Until 2008, I had never needed a God, especially not a big one. My life was playing out close enough to how I thought it should. It felt good, mostly. I did the things I was supposed to do - hassle-free high school complete with state championships, attendance at Auburn University, well-reputed sorority, skip a few mirky years, perfect wedding, marriage and on to child-bearing. Only it didn't happen like that. For the first time in my ever, my plan failed. I prided myself on my intense and complete control over everything in my life. It was as though I was going down a life check-list completing each event with one of those glorious marks of accomplishment... until 2008, which became an abrupt halt to all that I had known - praise the Lord.
I knew from forever that I would be a mother. It wasn't until late in high school, into college, that I knew that was all I wanted to do. It became more and more clear to me that mothering was my calling. Everything between where I was and motherhood became one more task to accomplish before I held my own precious baby in my thirsty arms. So, as a matter of fact, it felt to me like I had been trying to have a baby for the better part of a decade.
In September 2006, I was finally married and closer than I had ever been to fulfilling what I had come to believe was my destiny. If it had been my call alone, we would not have used any prevention from night one. In his elderly wisdom (he's six years older than me), Joey convinced me otherwise. So I continued to wait. And pine.
Come January 2008, the time seemed right. . . in our limited, finite sight. What was supposed to have happened right away did not. I was appalled. How could my body fail me? How could it not do the thing it was made to do? How could this be happening to me? Month after month, my hopes would rise so high and fall so far so fast. It was miserable. I hurt more than anything I've ever felt. I felt forgotten by God. It felt like punishment for everything wrong I had ever done in my life. I remember thinking and praying, 'What do I need to learn from this? Please teach it to me quickly so I can have a baby!'
I joined a support group at our church for women struggling with 'infertility' (although after just a year, I would find out, I hardly qualified as 'infertile.') There was one precious woman there who had been wanting to be pregnant for 9 years, all of her marriage. She works at Sav-A-Life as a counselor to mothers who accidentally get pregnant with babies they never wanted. She still hopes. Most of the women in the group had been trying for over a year. I felt silly. But they loved me and prayed for me and ministered to me in so many ways.
During that longest year ever, through all that pain and dashing of hopes and misunderstanding, I found a new God - one that is bigger than any God I had imagined or needed before. I learned lots of staggering statistics about infertility and more about infertility treatments and drugs than I ever wanted to know. But, more than that I discovered a God that not only hadn't forgotten me, but was focused on me - like I was an only child in need of some Daddy time.
One of the things I learned about myself in 2008 is that I have, or had, a problem with trust. I didn't know what it was or what it looked like or how to do it. In all of the journal entries I re-read I talk about needing to trust, learning to trust, what it would feel like if I could just trust. I stopped journalling somewhere along the way and I wish I wouldn't have. I would love to know more of what I was thinking through all that hurting and learning.
I know now how sweet trust is. I am boggled by people, especially married ones and parents, that do life without trusting in the God I know. There is so much freedom in trusting Him and so much peace and so much hope. It's so necessary.
Looking back it seems like such a short period of time, that year that felt like forever. It came and went just like all my other years, but left so much in its wake - almost more than any other time in my life. The only year that has had a greater impact on the person that I am is the year that I have just finished - from September 6, 2009 to September 6, 2010 - the first year of my first-born's life.
Monday, November 15, 2010
in and of continued
A point was made. I took it. Please please, be not mistaken. I am not judging those sweet high school cheerleaders. They don't know any better... ;) I am merely proposing a challenge - to them and to all of my brothers and sisters in Christ. And setting this massive weight on the world wide web (and in your minds) instead of continuing to carry it along on my own shoulders - venting my thoughts. Maybe I was trying to open up a hearty discussion as well.
God, on the other hand, is The Judge. He does and He will.
That being said, I told you already that not a day goes by that I am not reminded of this battle. This is a good thing, I think - the Holy Spirit's work in me. This very morning I am reading Hebrews 12:14, which says, "Make every effort to live in peace with all men and to be holy; without holiness no one will see the Lord." This is what I have grappled with and come to start to understand.
And then... a new word from the Lord!! An answer to my questions and constant debate... An ah-ha, if you will. It comes from Oswald Chambers' daily devotion for today in his book My Utmost for His Highest (which I can not get enough of. If you are looking for a daily, it is amazing.) He writes, poetically and profoundly:
Most of us live only in the level of consciousness - consciously serving and consciously devoted to God. This shows immaturity and the fact that we are not yet living the real Christian life. Maturity is produced in the life of a child of God on the unconscious level, until we become so totally surrendered to God that we are not even aware of being used by Him... A saint is never consciously a saint - a saint is consciously dependent on God.
So you see, this is my battle. I am not passing it on to anyone else. I am searching for a clue and today one was strategically placed in my lap. I do not consider this an excuse to live carelessly or without thought to my actions and their effects on others, especially non-believers. I do, however, consider this a call to focus more on my own surrender and dependence on God and less on my less-than-holy actions. From what I understand, a conscious and complete dependence produces an unconscious Christ-likeness - the closer I am to Him, the more I will be like Him. And thank goodness, because consciously trying to be like Christ has only gotten me so far. The natural ugliness of my heart is a chameleon, disguising itself as irresistible worldlinesses that I can not help but fall for, left to my own inadequate strength. So one part of my answer is here: use His strength; count on His power; have faith in His unfailing...unfailing love and boundless grace in every part of my every day (grocery-shopping and driving, wifing and mothering) and I CAN NOT fall.
I am sure this is something I have heard before, maybe even written about... But today I heard it. And I get it. Praise.
God, on the other hand, is The Judge. He does and He will.
That being said, I told you already that not a day goes by that I am not reminded of this battle. This is a good thing, I think - the Holy Spirit's work in me. This very morning I am reading Hebrews 12:14, which says, "Make every effort to live in peace with all men and to be holy; without holiness no one will see the Lord." This is what I have grappled with and come to start to understand.
And then... a new word from the Lord!! An answer to my questions and constant debate... An ah-ha, if you will. It comes from Oswald Chambers' daily devotion for today in his book My Utmost for His Highest (which I can not get enough of. If you are looking for a daily, it is amazing.) He writes, poetically and profoundly:
Most of us live only in the level of consciousness - consciously serving and consciously devoted to God. This shows immaturity and the fact that we are not yet living the real Christian life. Maturity is produced in the life of a child of God on the unconscious level, until we become so totally surrendered to God that we are not even aware of being used by Him... A saint is never consciously a saint - a saint is consciously dependent on God.
So you see, this is my battle. I am not passing it on to anyone else. I am searching for a clue and today one was strategically placed in my lap. I do not consider this an excuse to live carelessly or without thought to my actions and their effects on others, especially non-believers. I do, however, consider this a call to focus more on my own surrender and dependence on God and less on my less-than-holy actions. From what I understand, a conscious and complete dependence produces an unconscious Christ-likeness - the closer I am to Him, the more I will be like Him. And thank goodness, because consciously trying to be like Christ has only gotten me so far. The natural ugliness of my heart is a chameleon, disguising itself as irresistible worldlinesses that I can not help but fall for, left to my own inadequate strength. So one part of my answer is here: use His strength; count on His power; have faith in His unfailing...unfailing love and boundless grace in every part of my every day (grocery-shopping and driving, wifing and mothering) and I CAN NOT fall.
I am sure this is something I have heard before, maybe even written about... But today I heard it. And I get it. Praise.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
in and of the world: part 2
No comments on part 1, huh? I'm surprised. Did I offend? Not offend enough?
So, part 2 has more to do with me and my battle with being in this world and not of this world. What a bear. What a huge struggle for me. This is one of the most challenging issues that I live out daily. And because you probably know me, you are probably wondering why, because I am not so much a "worldly" person from the world's point of view. God's point of view is a little different.
I have been met with the challenge, in my face, on several occasions lately...something I can only interpret as the voice of God repeatedly fighting for my attention, muffled by my full life. The problem is that I am so comfortable here, in my life, in my little world. And I am not called to be comfortable. I am called to be uncomfortable and different. I am not. I want to be, but I fail miserably.
(The further into this I get, the more convinced I am that I have touched on this before...)
A wise Lolly told me the other day that if the world is ok with who you are and the way you are living and what you are doing, then who you are, the way and the what, are not ok with God.
smack!!
How profound. And how true.
Charles Spurgeon writes it like this: If we were more like Christ, we would me more hated by His enemies. It is a sad dishonor to a child of God to be the world's favorite. It is very dangerous to hear a wicked world clap its hands and shout, "Well done!" to the Christian. He should begin to look to his character and wonder what he has been doing wrong, when the unrighteous give him their approval. Let us be true to our Master and have no friendship with a blind and evil world which scorns and rejects Him. Far be it from us to seek a crown of honor where our Lord received a crown of thorns.
smack!!
But who wants to be hated? Who wants to be rejected or scorned? Who doesn't want to be the life of the party, liked by all? Ms Popularity? Class favorite? Friendliest? Ms Congeniality?
Jesus was hated. Despised. Mocked. Cast out. Crucified.
No fun, right? That's what Satan keeps reminding me. How easy it is to live like everyone else lives, keeping in the back pocket of your mind that when you die you will go to heaven and wondering if they will or not. How foolish. But what does it look like to be "not of the world?" Does this involve fewer possessions? More conservative clothing? More giving? More volunteering? Softer speech? Slower driving? An evangelistic license plate? More cheerful greetings? I mean, if Jesus were here today (though we know he is, in fact...I mean a walking, talking, in-the-body person) what would he live like? Would he be homeless? Wear the same outfit day after day? No cell phone? No computer? No Facebook account? No tattoos? Long, scraggly hair? Live on minimal food? Give away everything he didn't absolutely need to survive? Never spend money frivolously? Surely he would be all these things (maybe not. I don't know. That's why I'm asking.) But is this what I should do??
I mean, the goal is to be different, right? Well, there is NOTHING about me that would make someone who had never spoken a word to me or even some of the people I see on a regular basis know without a doubt that I belong to Christ. Not a thing. I dress like the world. Drive like the world. Eat like the world. Spend like the world. And, what's crazy is that I am so much more "conservative" than a lot of other proclaimed-Christians that I know. (I'm stopping there. This is not about you. It's about me. You know if you live "of the world"because the Spirit's told you so. You're just ignoring it like me.)
I just don't know what to do. This eats me. I think about it all the time, yet I do nothing differently. Now that is foolish. What's worse is that I can't even be a consistently Godly wife and mother. (True, this is indeed much harder than being a Godly grocery-shopper or driver.) I am so ashamed at the spectacles that I make based completely on myself and my own agenda. I fail my husband on a daily basis to live out Christ to him. And my son...my greatest ministry ever and I let opportunities to be Christ to him slip out of my frustrated, impatient hands.
But, ah the grace. Praise the Lord that he is faithful to be the God that he is when I fail. I am ever more awed by his goodness and his love. My prayer and hope is that every person I meet, from bagger boy and waitress to husband and son, will know Him because of me...or will at least see him because they have seen me. Oh, the burden of my heart!
I am going back to the Salon next week. Four hours a day, two days a week, eight total hours in an ideal place to be a black sheep (or a white sheep, depending on how you look at it ;) ). I am anxious for all the reasons I've already listed. I worked there before for two-plus years and failed everyone I worked with, clients I talked with, my self and my God to be light and salt. I wanted to be liked and loved and funny and cool... and I was, to my detriment. My earnest prayer is that this time will be different...I'll be different. I feel different, a little over a year since I left. But the testing is yet to come.
Oh, that the Lord would make me like Him; that He would break my heart for what breaks His; that I would see people the way He sees them; that I would be different enough to be cast out, as painful as it may be.
Praise Him that though I fail, "underneath are the everlasting arms" (Deuteronomy 33.27).
So, part 2 has more to do with me and my battle with being in this world and not of this world. What a bear. What a huge struggle for me. This is one of the most challenging issues that I live out daily. And because you probably know me, you are probably wondering why, because I am not so much a "worldly" person from the world's point of view. God's point of view is a little different.
I have been met with the challenge, in my face, on several occasions lately...something I can only interpret as the voice of God repeatedly fighting for my attention, muffled by my full life. The problem is that I am so comfortable here, in my life, in my little world. And I am not called to be comfortable. I am called to be uncomfortable and different. I am not. I want to be, but I fail miserably.
(The further into this I get, the more convinced I am that I have touched on this before...)
A wise Lolly told me the other day that if the world is ok with who you are and the way you are living and what you are doing, then who you are, the way and the what, are not ok with God.
smack!!
How profound. And how true.
Charles Spurgeon writes it like this: If we were more like Christ, we would me more hated by His enemies. It is a sad dishonor to a child of God to be the world's favorite. It is very dangerous to hear a wicked world clap its hands and shout, "Well done!" to the Christian. He should begin to look to his character and wonder what he has been doing wrong, when the unrighteous give him their approval. Let us be true to our Master and have no friendship with a blind and evil world which scorns and rejects Him. Far be it from us to seek a crown of honor where our Lord received a crown of thorns.
smack!!
But who wants to be hated? Who wants to be rejected or scorned? Who doesn't want to be the life of the party, liked by all? Ms Popularity? Class favorite? Friendliest? Ms Congeniality?
Jesus was hated. Despised. Mocked. Cast out. Crucified.
No fun, right? That's what Satan keeps reminding me. How easy it is to live like everyone else lives, keeping in the back pocket of your mind that when you die you will go to heaven and wondering if they will or not. How foolish. But what does it look like to be "not of the world?" Does this involve fewer possessions? More conservative clothing? More giving? More volunteering? Softer speech? Slower driving? An evangelistic license plate? More cheerful greetings? I mean, if Jesus were here today (though we know he is, in fact...I mean a walking, talking, in-the-body person) what would he live like? Would he be homeless? Wear the same outfit day after day? No cell phone? No computer? No Facebook account? No tattoos? Long, scraggly hair? Live on minimal food? Give away everything he didn't absolutely need to survive? Never spend money frivolously? Surely he would be all these things (maybe not. I don't know. That's why I'm asking.) But is this what I should do??
I mean, the goal is to be different, right? Well, there is NOTHING about me that would make someone who had never spoken a word to me or even some of the people I see on a regular basis know without a doubt that I belong to Christ. Not a thing. I dress like the world. Drive like the world. Eat like the world. Spend like the world. And, what's crazy is that I am so much more "conservative" than a lot of other proclaimed-Christians that I know. (I'm stopping there. This is not about you. It's about me. You know if you live "of the world"because the Spirit's told you so. You're just ignoring it like me.)
I just don't know what to do. This eats me. I think about it all the time, yet I do nothing differently. Now that is foolish. What's worse is that I can't even be a consistently Godly wife and mother. (True, this is indeed much harder than being a Godly grocery-shopper or driver.) I am so ashamed at the spectacles that I make based completely on myself and my own agenda. I fail my husband on a daily basis to live out Christ to him. And my son...my greatest ministry ever and I let opportunities to be Christ to him slip out of my frustrated, impatient hands.
But, ah the grace. Praise the Lord that he is faithful to be the God that he is when I fail. I am ever more awed by his goodness and his love. My prayer and hope is that every person I meet, from bagger boy and waitress to husband and son, will know Him because of me...or will at least see him because they have seen me. Oh, the burden of my heart!
I am going back to the Salon next week. Four hours a day, two days a week, eight total hours in an ideal place to be a black sheep (or a white sheep, depending on how you look at it ;) ). I am anxious for all the reasons I've already listed. I worked there before for two-plus years and failed everyone I worked with, clients I talked with, my self and my God to be light and salt. I wanted to be liked and loved and funny and cool... and I was, to my detriment. My earnest prayer is that this time will be different...I'll be different. I feel different, a little over a year since I left. But the testing is yet to come.
Oh, that the Lord would make me like Him; that He would break my heart for what breaks His; that I would see people the way He sees them; that I would be different enough to be cast out, as painful as it may be.
Praise Him that though I fail, "underneath are the everlasting arms" (Deuteronomy 33.27).
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
in and of the world: part 1
Quickly... I have lots of excuses for not posting in a month and only posting once in October. Feel free to ask about them on your own time. Now I have some venting to do!
A couple of weeks ago (actually, I think it was on my birthday), Dad took Waylon and I to the Briarwood girls' volleyball playoff game. Overall, it was a great experience. Fun, glory-day memories are in that civic center. I played on two volleyball state champion teams in that arena and one almost-champion team. Those were the days. sigh.
Waylon had a big time. Lots of balls. Lots of noise. Lots of crazy (crazy-young looking) high school kids doing crazy things. Lots of Grandpa.
Our day was overshadowed by an unfortunate offense. We noticed the ghastly-short cheer leading uniforms (how could you not) when we trekking from the car to the door. Dad and I were both taken aback at the amount of thigh hanging out of the girls' "skirts". Much to my dismay, embarrassment, shame, disappointment, DISGUST, the front of the uniforms read no other than "Briarwood Christian."
Awesome.
I can not begin to word for you what I was feeling and thinking at that very moment, or even this very moment (though rest assured, I will try.) A flood of things was running through my head then. Among them (beyond what I've already mentioned) was asking the girls how they could wear those uniforms with that name on them and feel like an accurate representation of Christ; or maybe asking, at least, when those uniforms came into play (cause it sure wasn't when I was there); or suggesting they please tie those wind breakers around their wastes as long as we were behind them to protect my one-year-old son's baby eyes from seeing something he shouldn't see for a long, long time; or asking the darling girl with her skirt half-way unzipped what she might be attempting to accomplish with this; or maybe asking at least one of them what, if those skirts could talk, did she think they would say... I had some ideas for her if she couldn't come up with some of her own. There were lots of things, and this was only in the parking lot.
Inside, the games were running over so we were subjected to the faux-pas for an extended amount of time. Now, don't get me wrong. I KNOW this is what EVERYONE ELSE is doing. I KNOW this is how the COLLEGE girls cheer. I KNOW this is probably what PUBLIC SCHOOLS are promoting, without the weight of a CHRISTIAN name to bear and a CHRIST-WITNESS to present. I KNOW these things.
Truly, the person or people I really wanted to approach once we were inside were the cheerleader moms. Yes, the ones holding the extra pom-poms and embroidered bags.
"Excuse me, ma'am," I might say. "I was wondering if you might put into words for me the exact image you think your precious daughter is portraying at this very moment. Could you tell me what you think those skirts might say if they could talk? Cause your daughter couldn't. Or could you tell me, sitting in these stands as a proud parent of one of these doll-girls, that you would love for Jesus to come sit right beside you so you could point out which set of thighs belongs to your daughter. What might his response be? Would he be as proud as you? Would he say, 'My my, those are some handsome thighs. Perhaps she should roll that skirt a time or two so we could see a little more.' Is that what He might say? Do you, ma'am, think you and your daughter and your family and your friends and your school here, or there, or anywhere are accurately representing our Lord and Savior and everything that HE stands for and everything that HE did? Because something in me, actually EVERYTHING in me, says you are not. All of you are not."
I might say something like that to her.
I seriously want to write a letter to whomever is in charge at that blessed school these days. What a pity. What an absolute shame and embarrassment to say that is where I went to school.
What a hypocrite. What an unimaginable way to finally turn away all of the lost whose best attack on the Christian church today is that it is full of a bunch of hypocrites. They would be right about many churches, especially in Birmingham where it is mostly a social scene and an economic fill-in-the-blank of what many church-goers want to appear to be... and they would be right about BCS. And I am so sad.
A couple of weeks ago (actually, I think it was on my birthday), Dad took Waylon and I to the Briarwood girls' volleyball playoff game. Overall, it was a great experience. Fun, glory-day memories are in that civic center. I played on two volleyball state champion teams in that arena and one almost-champion team. Those were the days. sigh.
Waylon had a big time. Lots of balls. Lots of noise. Lots of crazy (crazy-young looking) high school kids doing crazy things. Lots of Grandpa.
Our day was overshadowed by an unfortunate offense. We noticed the ghastly-short cheer leading uniforms (how could you not) when we trekking from the car to the door. Dad and I were both taken aback at the amount of thigh hanging out of the girls' "skirts". Much to my dismay, embarrassment, shame, disappointment, DISGUST, the front of the uniforms read no other than "Briarwood Christian."
Awesome.
I can not begin to word for you what I was feeling and thinking at that very moment, or even this very moment (though rest assured, I will try.) A flood of things was running through my head then. Among them (beyond what I've already mentioned) was asking the girls how they could wear those uniforms with that name on them and feel like an accurate representation of Christ; or maybe asking, at least, when those uniforms came into play (cause it sure wasn't when I was there); or suggesting they please tie those wind breakers around their wastes as long as we were behind them to protect my one-year-old son's baby eyes from seeing something he shouldn't see for a long, long time; or asking the darling girl with her skirt half-way unzipped what she might be attempting to accomplish with this; or maybe asking at least one of them what, if those skirts could talk, did she think they would say... I had some ideas for her if she couldn't come up with some of her own. There were lots of things, and this was only in the parking lot.
Inside, the games were running over so we were subjected to the faux-pas for an extended amount of time. Now, don't get me wrong. I KNOW this is what EVERYONE ELSE is doing. I KNOW this is how the COLLEGE girls cheer. I KNOW this is probably what PUBLIC SCHOOLS are promoting, without the weight of a CHRISTIAN name to bear and a CHRIST-WITNESS to present. I KNOW these things.
Truly, the person or people I really wanted to approach once we were inside were the cheerleader moms. Yes, the ones holding the extra pom-poms and embroidered bags.
"Excuse me, ma'am," I might say. "I was wondering if you might put into words for me the exact image you think your precious daughter is portraying at this very moment. Could you tell me what you think those skirts might say if they could talk? Cause your daughter couldn't. Or could you tell me, sitting in these stands as a proud parent of one of these doll-girls, that you would love for Jesus to come sit right beside you so you could point out which set of thighs belongs to your daughter. What might his response be? Would he be as proud as you? Would he say, 'My my, those are some handsome thighs. Perhaps she should roll that skirt a time or two so we could see a little more.' Is that what He might say? Do you, ma'am, think you and your daughter and your family and your friends and your school here, or there, or anywhere are accurately representing our Lord and Savior and everything that HE stands for and everything that HE did? Because something in me, actually EVERYTHING in me, says you are not. All of you are not."
I might say something like that to her.
I seriously want to write a letter to whomever is in charge at that blessed school these days. What a pity. What an absolute shame and embarrassment to say that is where I went to school.
What a hypocrite. What an unimaginable way to finally turn away all of the lost whose best attack on the Christian church today is that it is full of a bunch of hypocrites. They would be right about many churches, especially in Birmingham where it is mostly a social scene and an economic fill-in-the-blank of what many church-goers want to appear to be... and they would be right about BCS. And I am so sad.
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