I’ve wanted to start writing for months. A new house in Mennonite country meant setting up a home, establishing new routines for our growing family, and working to find an Internet provider in an area… More
A Step Away
This month has been a crazy one. For most of us, I think.
Between election results and backlash and strange swinging weather in the Mid Atlantic, Thanksgiving celebrations and a seemingly slower Black Friday weekend (Cyber Week, yes?), this November has rushed by, pushing us closer to 2017 than I can comprehend.
I can’t help but pray for unity in this season. There’s been so much division, so many soapboxes with so much ranting this year.
But you know what? We’re all trying. There’s unity in that we care. In our activism and quest for justice. We may not see eye to eye, and we might be on opposing sides of the proverbial coin, but we care. We love. We screw up. We maybe talk too much, but we try again. And we’re called to forgive. To converse. To keep loving.
So please, dear ones, stop pointing fingers at the people around you. Don’t vilify your neighbor for checking a box, or label them some derogatory term that simplifies the entirety of their being into a single word. Just don’t.
We’re not Democrat or Republican. Nasty women or deplorables. We can’t be boxed in by our gender, our nationality, our religion. We’re not contained within a noun for sexuality. We’re not just our location, our economic state, or our education. We’re human. In all of our glorious infinite and infinitesimal diversity, complexity and potential. And most of us are trying our damnedest to do this human thing right.
We’re all just a step away. A step away from being an entirely different person in an entirely different scenario.
Our culture pushes us to take pride in “creating ourselves.” But control is an illusion– think about all the factors you didn’t choose for yourself. Your birthplace, the color of your skin, your gender, your parents. Your family. The socio-economic status you were born into. The public school you attended. Or the private one that your parents decided on for you. To think that we did anything on our own for our own is unmerited pride. There are just too many factors in our lives that were written.
But for the grace of God go I.
If you’re angry or agitated with the world around you, first take a look in the mirror and examine yourself. “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23 NIV) We’ve all hated, and spoken untruth. In this age of internet and social media, we’ve helped propagate division and probably told a few jokes at another’s expense. Or laughed at one. Or been spiteful behind some screen that makes us more confrontational than ever before with someone we disagree with at an ideological level.
We accept and join along in the media circus. With the bashing and the division. We allow and join in on the smack talk, and don’t seek answers on policy or push for resolution on some of the biggest issues facing the whole of the American people today: a mountain of national debt, dangerous overspending, an aging population, whose safety net is quickly disappearing, and this strange obsession with the poor and marginalized, either vilifying them for the “choices” they make or elevating their interests to predominate over the common good.
And we let the media distract us. We listen to what we want to hear, don’t fact check and re-peat and re-post without a thought for unity. We allow division and untruth into our homes. We talk about it at our water coolers and over our dinner tables. We unveil and flaunt our most base selves, before our coworkers, our families. Our children.
We embrace the division. Revel in it, even. And talk about how different the “other” is.
Tell that to your babies.
Tell them we need Jesus. That as a society, we dig up dirt and like to point fingers when the problem is in us. That sin is rampant in this fallen world. That politics are supposed to be about policy and philanthropy about loving people. Period. And then. Speak with respect. Listen deeply. Educate yourself. Those little eyes are watching.
Most people aren’t left or right. We’re right here, in the middle. And our states are some blend of purple in these election years. Most of us try hard to treat the person in front of us with dignity and respect, despite our standings and our platforms. We really aren’t all that different.
The answer to our division and brokenness? It has never been outside of us-in a government, or legislation or policy. The answer lies within us. Micah wrote more than 2,500 years ago, “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” (6:8 NIV) We must embrace Emmanuel, God with us, and move forward, walking humbly and understanding His story. We’re all just a step away.
In the Shadow of Death
This weekend there is heaviness. All around us, death looms beautiful in the vibrant colors of autumn.
Today, Saint James and his family said their goodbyes to their 14 year old lab-bear, Otis, who has seen the family grow and change for a beautiful season. The length of his years has surprised all of us- this dog giant with a bigger heart and a certain penchant for pepperoni pizza and a particular gray stuffed kitty.
Tomorrow, my family will seize a moment in time to celebrate my grandmother’s 78th, and probably final, birthday as her health declines. My family will gather to celebrate the blessing she is in our lives, the matriarch of my father’s family. This woman who is selfless and stubborn to a fault, who takes care of her own with ferocity and makes one hell of a mimosa.
We embrace moments of life in this death season that lays heavy on our hearts.
The advent of autumn and cold nights has meant tearing out the garden. The tomato plants were skeletons, working hard to bring their fruit to full-term, while the okra had shriveled in the cold and the peppers were surviving, when I went to work.
I gleaned the remaining fruit off the vine, and pulled the plants up by the roots, marveling at the lack of depth despite a generally bountiful season. And I cried.
I hate change. And while I enjoy fall, I hate bitter wind and ice and darkness and the death that winter entails. The changing of the seasons pains me every year, as the cold closes in and the sun isn’t there to greet me as I rise.
The harvest wasn’t all that I had hoped back in April and May, as we tilled and planted and dreamed. Only a few jars of pickles were made, and I didn’t freeze nearly as much as I wanted. There had been plenty of salsa, and quite a number of tomatoes eaten off the vine, but could I have done better?
I’m certain I could have. Been more faithful with watering, with fertilizer. With careful tending.
By honoring the present moment, we honor death and make peace with it.
Although God-willing, there will be more spring seasons, more gardens, more fruit, I am reminded that we have but one life to live.
I don’t want to live, or to die, with regrets. For myself or the ones I hold nearest to my heart. We must tend carefully. To be faithful in watering right seeds and weeding out that which steals our nourishment and starves our souls. To seize the moments of celebration and mindfulness and prayer.
Death is the only certainty in life. And despite our cultural tendency to avoid talking about it or trying to avoid the inevitable, maybe we ought to embrace it. Maybe if we lived with death in mind, we would embrace the moments more. Maybe we wouldn’t be so afraid in the valley of the shadow of death if we walked a little closer to our Shepherd. If we marveled at the gift of the present.
It never comes conveniently, death. It leaves gaping holes in our hearts while we reel from losing a frail hand to hold, or not having a giant dog to lift down the stairs every morning. We ache to hold the sweet son who enveloped us in his giant hugs or hear another breath from our spouse in the bed next to us. We mourn the loss of our humming mothers, or the children we never got the chance to meet. The lack of presence of our quiet and quirky grandfather never fails to escape our notice. And we never quite get over not being able to pick up the phone, or squeeze a hand or mention one more time how much and how deeply we love.
We cope, and change. The hole will always, always remain.
But if we live intentionally, embracing each moment, there won’t be anything to regret.
Selfless Love
Last month, Saint James and I celebrated our five year anniversary.
Celebrated may not be the proper term. Marched straight through, with a kiss and an extravagant set of jewelry for me on Saint James’ part.
Five years.
While some couples are in the honeymoon stage at five years, Saint James and I jumped into the trenches quickly. Five years has meant two children, four moves and a half dozen jobs between the two of us. And currently, our marriage looks like insanely long work weeks for him and my brain being scrambled and feasted on, answering “Why?” at least 783 times a day with me actually explaining colloquial terms and basic science.
Genesis 2:24 says, “Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.” (KJV) While some couples are learning to live together at five years in, we’ve been working on cleaving together since year one. It’s not always pleasant.
Cleave is an interesting word in that one definition means “to split or separate” and the second means “to adhere or stick.” I have realized marriage is decidedly both, and it’s no accident that a complicated etymology has left both definitions even into modern times.
Marriage is being split, flayed open and hollowed out, like the jars of clay Saint Paul talks about in his letter to the Corinthians. But it’s also being joined together, learning to work on the same team and embrace unity despite our inherent selfish natures. The cloven hoof is what determined the cleanliness of an animal in the Old Testament, and I’m convinced that the hollowing out to be filled with the Spirit is still what makes us “clean” today.
James is surely “earning” his sainthood dealing with my manic outbursts and loving our children patiently, one day at a time. He works hard, loves deeply, and walks faithfully. While unloading the dishwasher and steamvacing after the dog, working sixteen hours to provide for his family and sleeping when he can may not be the romance of film, I increasingly understand and appreciate the truth and power of his selfless, sacrificial love.
Jesus said to his disciples, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (John 15:13 NIV) In fact, each one of the gospels note Christ’s comment to deny himself in order to follow Jesus best. In a culture that embraces self-discovery, self-exploration and self-actualization with no real thought for unity, the message is as bizarre today as it was 2000 years ago.
But I believe we can learn to love selflessly. That when we are born of the Spirit, and with the help of the Paraclete, we can learn to love as God does. That despite our imperfections, despite our lack of understanding, communication and pure communion, that we can learn to love people. That in His sovereignty, God knew our selfishness would make selflessness all the more beautiful. That when we embrace our God natures as fellow heirs of Christ (Romans 8:17), we can love our spouses, our children, our soul friends, our families with a love that is the whole of us, but also all that is not us.
To Life
To Zoe, my little bird, who turned a year this month. To all the world’s children, with love.
Dear one,
You are so loved. Truly.
You are breathtaking.
In all of the world, in all time, there will be never be another like you.
So be you. Be complicated, wonderful you. The one who is teary eyed with joy-pain, who has reminiscent-laughing-anger and a thousand other hyphenated emotions.
Don’t let them tell you you’re not normal, that you’re too much for being painfully, vibrantly alive.
For the times your head is empty except for the sensual rain on your skin or the all-encompassing joy of an embrace, and the times your mind races with opportunities and consequences and eight hundred and seventy-one other thoughts. For every complicated bit, my darling. You are loved. With a deep, real love that knows you are enough. In all that you are and all you will be.
For you are not this moment, or the next, or the next. But a wonderful story that’s only beginning. You are all of the moments, my love. And the story will be glorious, so treacherous, so full of love and joy and pain. It is not one moment that defines you. So do not be afraid.
You are not, now. You stared at me with brave eyes before your first steps in the sand. You throw yourself into our arms, and giggle at crashing waves and big dogs. You stand wide legged and strong, bracing yourself for the upcoming challenges. You grow and explore, and discover and grow.
You are amazing.
There will be days. Days you are not brave at all, but uncertain. And scared. But you are so okay.
Continue, my love. Persevere. True love endures all things.
Embrace the moments. The seasons. The constants and the changes.
I love you. Always.
Saving Grace
Our tomatoes were dying.
I read something on them. Lack of nitrogen, too much sun, not enough water. They were tall and lanky with yellow, spotted, curling leaves at the base of the plant that would shrivel away into brown death. I was upset.
Saint James picked up some fertilizer on the way home the next day, sprinkling each plant around its roots. “They’ll be okay.”
I watered them attentively. We had hot and humid days. A few storms. A lot of sunshine.
They perked up. The cherry and grape tomatoes pushed out maximum fruit, while we received the first of the later tomatoes that were planted. I marveled at their rebound.
Saint James is a faithful gardener, trimming back dead leaves and carefully repotting and positioning plants to thrive. He is patient and loving, and seems to speak life into each leaf as he trims and tends to delicate root structures.
I wonder how many plants he’s saved that I may have just given up on. And wonder at how many aspects of life can be saved with intentionality and careful tending.
This consumerist society we live in doesn’t just end at our spending habits at Christmas. Somehow it’s creeped into our mentalities on just about everything: work, home life, relationships. A socio-cultural mentality that thinks the customer is always right, and post World War 2, that just about darn near everything is made to break and can be replaced.
We think work revolves around what we want to do, and are more concerned with self-actualization than with what the world needs or even what God is calling us to. Many employers don’t seem to be concerned with providing for their employees either. The employee-employer relationship often looks like an abusive relationship these days, with both parties taking advantage of the other for their own profit, and no thought of loyalty or care for the other.
Our home lives revolve around comfort. Our homes are now designed large enough and accommodating enough that we need not venture outside either to stand in awe of God’s creation or to serve a lost and hurting world. We gauge success around how large the house is, and what amenities are offered, instead of the home inside. Our culture has largely abandoned the concept of affordable housing in order to cater to maximum comfort.
We walk away from relationships. Family. Marriages. Children. We say we don’t know how, and give our children over to the world. We say differences are irreconcilable, and turn our backs. We abandon Truth for what we see, and let the world speak over our brokenness and fear, rather than proclaiming Truth even in the darkest places. Even when we’ve neglected these relationships for months, years, we can begin now. With grace and purpose. Some healing will come. Some fruit will be spared.
We are broken. But too many times now, we throw the plant out. Just how much can be saved with intentionality and careful tending?
In John 15, Jesus says, “I am the true vine, and My Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in Me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit He prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.” (John 15:1-2 NIV)
This verse has terrified me in every way for a long time. Cuts off every branch? How long do we get before we’re cut off? How will we know that we’re not producing any fruit? What does that look like?
While our modern translations read “cut off,” the Greek αἴρω, airei, is literally “to raise, take up, or lift.” If we’re not bearing fruit, those in Christ are lifted up and trained, like the cucumbers climbing high on their trellises in the August heat. The verb is later used in describing Jesus “taking up His cross.” Emmanuel, God with us, takes up His cross for those of us who can bear no fruit.
And the pruning part? The Greek καθαίρω, kathairó, means “to cleanse or purify by purging.” And while God does so much pruning in our lives, we also can decide to cleanse or purify by purging. 2 Timothy 2 encourages us, “If a man cleanses himself from the latter (ignoble purposes), he will be an instrument for noble purposes, made holy, useful to the Master and prepared to do any good work.” (2 Timothy 2:21 NIV)
Isn’t that what we want? To be made useful? To have purpose, and be able to do any good work?
We must let God raise and lift up. We were once dying, but are now saved daily. We must meet Him in the cleansing by purging. To abandon some of the noise, the words and worlds that drain us and suck life out of us. To focus on our roots: the Vine we’ve been grafted into, and just how wonderful and sovereign the Gardener is. To focus on how He raises and lifts us up, and then calls us to do the same.
On our own, trying to care for ourselves, we fall short. We don’t find lasting happiness or peace in living comfortably. We must, each day, devote ourselves to learning to trust the Gardener. Trusting His training, His fertilizing, His pruning. He is intentional and tends to us, oh so carefully. He is patient and loving, and breathes everlasting Life into us as He grafts us into His Body, and creates roots for us that go unshaken in every storm.
Our fruit points back to the Living Water, and has the power to change the world.
In His Time
Zay is always hungry. Always.
Without fail, a half hour before dinner, he wants to eat. So does Ms. Bird. Generally, he whines a bit, but settles in, understanding that dinner is just around the corner. She does not.
She screams.
Momma (that’s me), in her finite understanding, knows that both are capable of waiting the few minutes before meal time. I’m just about finished chopping squash that will sauté quickly, and the chicken on the stovetop just got a dose of seasoning. Momma, in her limited capacity, somehow always makes meals too late, because everyone is always hungry. Momma, in her simple ways, knows to put Ms. Bird in her seat and make sure she has food in front of her while Zay says grace.
But. They’re capable of waiting.
Zay, with his growing understanding, prepares himself for the meal. He gets plates and forks out and sets the table. Ms. Bird? She screams.
The big picture means that there’s things that needed tending to before meal time. Naps and gardening, errands and laundry. Playtime with Dad. Meal time depends on his schedule, and what we had going on that day. (I do not have hard and fast times for anything… sorry, world.) There’s a bit of improvisational orchestrating going on each day.
Orchestrating.
God hears us. If the Lord knows “when I sit down and when I rise up” and “discern(s) my thoughts from afar” (Psalm 139:2 ESV), then for sure He hears my prayers. He knows when I am hungry and needing answers. And He is never late.
When I walk in maturity, I say, “Yes, Lord,” and wait (semi) patiently. I do the simple preparing I know how. I ready the horse for the day of battle, but know that “victory rests with the Lord” (Proverbs 21:31 NIV). I trust that my Heavenly Father knows what I need, and wait for Him to prepare it. I know He has divine orchestration prepared, and understand that I can wait.
But sometimes, I scream. I am the youngest and the neediest, the most immature who needs to hear quick that I haven’t been forgotten.
In His time. I’m capable of waiting.
Zay is enjoying picking the tomatoes that are now constantly ripening. Sometimes, under our watchful eyes, he picks them fully ripe, but usually the little cherry tomatoes are barely orange, and he wipes it on his shirt, pops it in his mouth and says, “Hmm, that was pretty good.”
As we grow in relationship with our loving Father, Who is always watchful, we begin to see the beauty of the “appointed time.” He answers, and we are fed. Sometimes, we rush the answer–rush the fruit, and it’s a bit tart and hard to swallow. But in His ultimate sovereignty, somehow, we are fed. Sometimes, we aren’t listening, aren’t attentive, and miss the perfect time. We show up late, and the fruit has begun to rot. It’s mushy and past its prime, and hard to swallow. But in His ultimate sovereignty, we are fed.
In these “off times,” we vow to listen more closely and be more attentive. To draw closer to our Father, who always knows the perfect time. Habakkuk tells us, “For still the vision awaits its appointed time; it hastens to the end—it will not lie. If it seems slow, wait for it; it will surely come; it will not delay.” (2:3 ESV)
I pray we are patient, and “hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful” (Hebrews 10:23 NIV). Let us wait for the fully ripened fruit that God has prepared in His time. I assure you, it will not be late. And we’re capable of waiting.
It will be so good.
God in Politics
The political landscape of 2016 is … discouraging.
One can be easily disheartened following the Republican and Democratic National Conventions, listening to the political ranting and bashing that comes on every network and following the general public’s animosity for the two presidential frontrunners.
Unity seems to be on the back burner.
“Where is God?” people say, and then continue in their rant about the current party system and whatever politician they’re pontificating on.
But, God is here.
In control. Sovereign. In the midst. As He always has been.
Jesus Christ himself, God incarnate, came to us during the reign of Caesar. Caesar proclaimed he was God, ushering in “Pax Romana” with imperial rule: the total squashing of foreign countries and the creation of absolute dependency so that they were unable to resist takeover–culturally, socially, economically. I assure you Caesar’s political moves were much worse than any that would come to us by way of our votes in November.
Despite this, we tend to get discouraged while looking for leadership in the world. We let fear and anxiety take root deep in our souls, and work our minds over with lies of the most dangerous sort. That we are powerless. Hopeless.
We are not. Not powerless, not hopeless. “No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.” (Romans 8:37 NIV)
Our leadership and saving grace doesn’t come from the world.
In Romans 12, Paul tells us, “Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what He wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you.” (12:2 The MSG)
God tells us to call upon His Name. To pray, earnestly and whole heartedly. Praying not our answers or desires, but His. Praying unity.
We are not without help or hope in this fallen, hurting world.
“If my people, who are called by My name, will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.” (2 Chronicles 7:14 NIV)
God is charging His people with the power to change the world. With prayer and obedience to walk in Love, as He walked.
Have you prayed for Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump as much as you’ve posted? Have you begged God to touch Barack Obama? To give them eyes to see, to be changed, and to lead in His righteousness? They need it. Need your prayers, desperately.
Use your voice, please. Pray for God-leading in the lives of the Obamas, the Clintons and the Trumps. 469 seats in Congress are up for election this November 8th. Pray for godly leadership in the lives of those in our Senate and House. Reach out in Love and Unity to the person in front of you the next time you’re pulled into a political conversation.
Render your heart and your thinking to God. He is not surprised or shocked by our candidates. And He won’t be surprised in November.
He is here. God with us. Emmanuel.
I beg you to adjust your eyes and see.
Honor Now
I met God in the bathroom at Costco last week. I wasn’t expecting to. But Saint James had the kids, and I walked in, unhurried and not being screamed at or talked to. Silence. In the bathroom.
He was there.
If I had trusted public restrooms more, I might have taken off my shoes as I recognized this holy ground. It was the first time in a long time I could remember hearing the sound of silence, and I walked slowly and mindfully out of the restroom to find my family. I cried.
I think Saint James thought I was having some kind of mental breakdown during my three minutes away. But that kind of silence doesn’t happen in my day to day.
Seasons.
These moments, these hardships– they’re passing. The constant motion. The stresses. The joblessness, the fighting. Facing uncertainty and anxiety in changing jobs, or moving, or getting pregnant. Disease. Sleepless nights. Decisions on schools and nursing homes, wedding venues and hospitals. Begging God in prayer. Colic and bedwetting, tired mommas. It’s all passing.
And those beautiful moments? They’re passing too. First kisses, first smiles. The 8,047th and the 159,432nd time kissing your spouse, rocking your tired baby, and enjoying the sunshine on a car ride to work. Belting songs you don’t know the words to. Watching a good movie in the rain with a huge bucket of popcorn. The last time seeing a friend with heart ties. It’s all passing.
We must honor the now. We must appreciate the beauty: the smiles and the laughter, the pain and the terror. The heart. Aching. The moments. Of being absolutely alive.
It means we’re here.
It means there’s purpose. There’s plan. But all of it is going so quickly. So, so quickly we might miss it if we’re not mindful.
In his poem “Ash Wednesday,” T.S. Eliot recognizes the power of the moments.
“Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are.”
Amen.
In the Heart of God
My heart hurts.
The news is covered in tragic tales of loss. Fathers and husbands, sons and nephews. All over the web, the newspapers, social media. While there is mourning, there is even more judgment. Hate. Ignorance. People “choosing sides” in what they post and comment on.
The news media digs up back stories as if petty theft justifies a murder. And I can’t help but wonder if it were me, just which “me” would be portrayed.
The 20 year old ace student who drank and worked a lot.
The “lost” and underemployed 23 year old, who grappled with the way the world worked.
The pregnant woman, on top of things with her white collar job and hunger for God.
The stay at home 30 year old mother, the financial wreck and seemingly unstable woman who cries at church and sometimes feels overwhelmed with her three year and ten month old who need her.
All of us have complicated identities.
All of us, every one, are this hodgepodge mess of success and defeat, sin and grace. And we’re all either worthy of death or worthy of redemption. And while the news tries to piece together stories of victim’s pasts for some kind of seamless judgment as sinner or saint, our God says we can be both.
We stand in front of Him, sin-stained and unworthy. Repugnant before the King of Kings. But He reaches down to cover us. He wraps His arms around us as the prodigals, and clothes us in “garments of salvation and (arrays us) in a robe of His righteousness” (Isaiah 61:10B NIV)
We become “His children, (and) we are His heirs. In fact, together with Christ we are heirs of God’s glory” (Romans 8:17A NLT) when we choose Him to stand in the gap for our insufficiency.
We live in this evil ridden world where problems aren’t as simple as the Confederate flag or lack of education, financial inequality or gun ownership. It’s complicated. We’re born into a fallen world where the inheritance is sin.
Sin begets sin begets sin begets sin.
In Matthew 6, Jesus points out that if you’ve ever been angry at your neighbor, you’re guilty of murder. If you’ve looked at a woman with lust, you’re guilty of adultery. With generations of sin introduced to the habitat of sin, we can’t help but be very lost, very hurting and broken sinners.
The world is way more complicated.
One of the greatest successes of Satan is the belief in “End Times” that bring judgment for all sinners and despair for all believers.
When we vilify our neighbor, and simplify and dismiss the world as headed toward the proverbial “hell in a hand basket,” then we’re not concerned with sharing the Love of Christ. We no longer have compassion for our fellow man, or hurt at the suffering of the loss of unity between God and people, and people with one another. In fact, we step away from the Heart of God completely, and begin to think that there are those not worth saving.
Christ came with the clean slate for all who dare to call upon His Name to be saved (Romans 10:13 NIV), “for it is by grace (we) have been saved.” (Ephesians 2:8A NIV).
The person of Jesus reserved His greatest judgment for those holding God as untouchable to those most broken and hurting, and held great compassion for those who have yet to know the Love of God.
As believers, our sin and brokenness are just as despicable, but miraculously we are covered in grace, and our stories need only to be His. We can not stand in judgment over the lost, feigning to know the complete hearts of men, but rather, ought mourn over the loss of Life.
This is when we are in the Heart of God.
Mitigating Weakness
We live in this world where we think we should be perfect. News stories embroiled in controversy and judgment. Instagram filters and photoshop for so many teenagers, let alone magazines. Advertisements shrieking beauty and attention and money, selling the elusive perfection. Expectation, expectation.
Criticism.
We apply for schools, or work, or meet new people, or God forbid, date. And have to give this account of ourselves. Life necessitates us committing to exposing ourselves. Looking for work is terrible: listing your life in blurry dates and bullet points, searching Indeed.com and wondering if your resume is ever actually read by a human being. Character examinations, cover letters and the challenge of explaining your career decisions and gaps in employment in first interviews make us paranoid. We begin to question ourselves for every move we make. We’re afraid to take chances, make mistakes. And dating is even worse.
But life is messy. We are imperfect. And our stories have much more to tell of grace and eeking by than they do high on the mountaintop successes.
As I grow older, I find that God is so patient and loving with my flaws, my shortcomings. My bossiness and a lot of ignorance. My sharp words and fear of confrontation. My hate of change, and a mild inheritance of OCD.
In His infinite wisdom, He created each of us perfectly. All of our character is intricately designed to worship Him, to love Him. To honor Him.
Paul says that “when I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Corinthians 12:10B NIV)
As we mature, we begin to understand that our messiness, our insecurities and our brokenness are capable of honoring Him too. In laying bare all of ourselves– our strengths, our weaknesses, our desires, our fears– at the foot of the cross, Christ can begin to do His transformative work.
Our hesitancy can become intentionality.
Our directness can make us powerful truth speakers.
Our irrational fears can motivate us.
Our neurotic attention to detail can benefit a mindful servant’s heart.
Our ambivalence can be set aflame.
Our uncertainty is transformed to trust.
Love transforms us. Perfect love doesn’t question itself and pick apart the flaws, but flings itself into the ocean of selflessness and is. No beginning. No end. There’s a beautiful poem, “Saint Francis and the Sow,” that says,
“though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing…”
All parts of us can be healed. Can be loved. Can bring light and love to a broken, messy world that is desperate. We are worthy of second interviews, second dates. And lifetimes of commitment.
Ephesians 2:10 says, “For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (NIV) Isn’t it incredible that God, the Creator of the universe and each thing in it, knows our every detail, and loves every bit of us anyway? He knew.
He knew.
In All Seasons 