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Always Wanting More

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It’s a common theme in women’s ministry: Don’t play the comparison game. Don’t compare yourself to others, we often say, because you are great just the way you are. You are devaluing yourself, we claim, when you don’t think you’re as awesome as the woman who lives up the street. In most cases, when the comparison problem comes up, we think of it in terms of what we are saying about ourselves, and we pat each other and we coach and we say, Don’t do that to yourself.

But, I would argue that there is a bigger issue at stake than our own self-esteem. We aren’t just devaluing ourselves when we compare. We are turning another woman into an ideal to be possessed. We are looking at our own friends and neighbors and wanting what they have. There’s a name for that. It’s coveting.

We don’t generally think of coveting in terms of other human beings. We think of houses and cars and fat bank accounts. Yet, even in scripture when God gives the Ten Commandments to Moses, He specifically directs men not to covet their neighbor’s wife. God is speaking in terms of a man wanting to have someone else’s wife for his own. But how is it really any different to look at another man’s wife and wish that we had her legs? Or her hair? Or her talents and abilities? Think of how many women we see on a daily basis that cause an ache inside of us because we wish we could steal parts of them for our own?

The problem with comparison isn’t that we don’t think enough of ourselves. It’s that we think too much of ourselves. We want more glory. More attention. And we have swallowed this world’s lie that the way to get all of those things that we want is to be physically beautiful with talent to spare.

The world is always going to try its best to wrestle our minds away from what is true and right. It’s going to try to tell us that we aren’t enough and that we should want more than we have been given. It is trying to breed dissatisfaction in a heart that has already been perfectly satisfied by the Savior. Why do we continue to listen so intently to the noise?

In Christianity, we get the benefit of a sacred sisterhood–women who know and love our Savior, who are running this race with us, arm in arm. It would be a terrible thing to let our coveting pull each other down into the mire. Let your sister flourish in her gifts. Don’t envy her the things that God has given her. She is so much more than legs and hair and talents, and so are you. Trust the Lord in what He gives and in what He doesn’t. Rest in a satisfied heart and stop letting the world tell you that you need anything more than Jesus. He is enough.

Don’t Become Weary in Doing Good

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She is a gifted artist who has traveled all over the world, painting beauty as she saw it, an easel dug into the sand on a beach someplace or perched at the top of a hill overlooking a quaint Italian village. She is a singer, a guitarist, a devoted mother and wife, a meticulous dresser with a penchant for wearing berets. She is up in years now, but you wouldn’t guess it when you watch her bebop around the church, a smile always on her face. Enthusiasm seems to come easy for her, and it is contagious–her encouragement and her effortless laugh brighten the spaces she inhabits. She isn’t loud, but she is always there, and her expression says that she is pleased to show up, delighted to be a part of it all, this life and this church and this weary world.

I sat with her earlier this week and learned a stunning fact. This dear woman with so much life in her has been teaching preschoolers in our church for 56 years. Let that sink in. She started wrangling preschoolers in what we call “the basement” of our church in 1962. And today, on any given Sunday, if you descend the steps to that bright and cheery spot where preschoolers wriggle and giggle and get their first taste of who God is and what He does, you will find her there, singing and crafting and loving someone else’s babies just because the Lord has given her a great gift for it.

I can’t think of a better example of one who refuses to grow weary in doing good.

When rewards are handed out in Heaven, I wonder if, alongside the great preachers and evangelists, alongside the martyrs and the missionaries, there won’t be a whole congregation of women who spent a lifetime pouring God’s love into little spirits and hearts and minds. Women who determined that, while they could do many things for the Lord, they would not neglect the care and keeping and spiritual formation of those little babies who need to know just how much Jesus Christ adores them. Women who didn’t give up. Women who determined that even when they were weary, they would not, could not stop doing good for the kingdom of the Most High God. Even in the basement. Even for 56 years.

If you are one of those women, God sees you. What you are doing matters.

Do not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time you will reap the harvest if you do not give up. Galatians 6:9

What Christine Blasey Ford is Teaching Christians About Worldview

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Regardless of how you feel about Brett Kavanaugh or the whole debacle that is his confirmation hearing, one thing is certain: worldview matters.

I remember sitting at my desk at school as a young teenager, reading the last few pages of Anne Frank’s diary. I wondered how this dear girl, after witnessing so much tragedy and terror, could have possibly maintained her belief that “people are still good at heart.” We all love Anne Frank for her optimism and her honesty. But, the truth is that despite Anne’s heartwarming deduction that deep down we are all good, the Bible paints a painfully and drastically different story.

All over scripture we learn that our hearts are wicked and deceitful, that we are bent toward destruction, and not one of us is righteous. We are all dead in sin and sick at heart and evil in ways we can’t even admit to ourselves. Thus, our need for a Savior is clear.

Yet, the majority of this world wants the story to be different. People don’t want to hear that they need Jesus. They would much rather believe that they can be their own heroes, and throughout history the idea has persisted that people are basically righteous. Human beings keep proving otherwise, yet the sentiment holds in all corners of our society: people are good.

On the heels of the #MeToo Movement, though, we have seen a new shift in this worldview, and we see it clearly on display in reactions to Christine Blasey Ford’s accusations against Judge Kavanaugh. In many ways #MeToo has opened our eyes to things that we needed to see. It has granted courage and healing to women who needed to tell their stories, and I don’t think anyone would deny that all of us needed the wakeup call that has come from the movement. It’s important to recognize what many women have endured at the hands of men, simply because we are typically smaller in stature, with less muscle mass, and we are easily victimized by men who intend to do us harm. This is a truth and a widespread problem that needed to come to light and one that can impact our world for the better.

But, a disturbing and dangerous thought pattern that is emerging after #MeToo is the idea that women are good, and men are not. Articles are being written as I type that are urging all people to just believe women, and classifying anyone who doesn’t believe every word a woman says as part of the problem. And Christians are torn as to what they should do in these situations. Should we blindly believe every woman because we don’t want to re-victimize her if she has been a victim of sexual assault? How do we respond with sensitivity to those who come forward without automatically condemning men who have had no opportunity to defend themselves?

I believe the balance can be found in recognizing that we have a different worldview. Men and women are both capable of all kinds of evil, so the Bible tells us. As Christians we must live according to that worldview. When we see ourselves and each other through this lens, we can sympathize with and comfort and support women who come forward while also proceeding with caution, knowing that no one is good, not one, and women are not an exception to that truth. False accusations do happen. And, if there is a man in this world that you love and you aren’t concerned about the emerging women-are-good worldview, then you aren’t paying attention.

Christian men and women must stand up for victims of all kinds (men, women, and children), and we must never lose sight of the truth that we are all bent toward doing exactly the wrong thing at any moment in time.  No woman is perfect. No man is perfect. And we all need Jesus desperately.

Very Good

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Through the forest, past the twisting, singing brook, beyond the dancing vines and under the mossy ridge of a fallen oak tree sat a tiny caterpillar. She was green, like most caterpillars, and she had the most delightful smattering of freckles that seemed to cheerfully shimmy down her fuzzy back. She, having no memory of where she came from or who she was to be, was content to travel around her small area of the forest, admiring the beauty all around her.

One of her favorite places to sit was near a little grove of spring flowers, where the butterflies met each day, showing off their amazing colors and their graceful ways. The caterpillar did run across other animals who seemed useful or nice, but the butterflies were her absolute favorite. Soon she became completely obsessed with butterflies.  She determined that they were the only animals in the forest who really mattered because, after all, what could be more important than being beautiful? They brought so much glory to God with their gorgeous colors and their special ways. She thanked God for blessing the world with such beauty, and she prayed that one day He would turn her into one of these lovely creatures, admired by all for her colors, her grace, her beauty.

The little caterpillar could hardly wait to grow up, so sure as she was that she would someday become a gorgeous butterfly. Finally, the day arrived and she closed herself up into her snug cocoon. She was so warm and cozy, and she fell asleep dreaming of the brightly colored wings that she would soon be able to show off down at the flower grove.

At last she awoke from her big sleep, and she could tell that she had grown up. She began to wiggle and push her way out of her little room, in such a hurry to race to the brook and see her beautiful new self in its shiny surface. As she tried out her new wings, she was amazed by how fast she was, how lovely she already felt, and how much God must love her to create her this way, with a butterfly destiny. When she made it to the brook, she stopped short of the water, landing on the bank and bracing herself for the incredible beauty that she was about to behold. She inched one delicate foot forward, then another. Finally, she looked at her reflection.

She watched her own face as its expression shifted from excitement to shock to anger. Where were the beautiful colors that she had felt destined for? She was brown. Not just brown, but ten shades of brown. Brown like dirt. Like dusty cobwebs. Like all of the non-beautiful, boring, plain jane things in the forest. She thought God was going to bless her with amazing beauty, grace, butterfly talent, but what she got was just okay. Sure, she had wings. Brown ones. Sure, she could fly. Big deal.  She could never go to the spring flower grove looking like this! She was not a glittering butterfly. She was a moth. Yes, she had to admit it. She was a tiny, doesn’t-matter-to-anyone, brown, ugly, nuisance. This is who she grew up to be. How could she be of any use to God now? She really didn’t understand why He had made her this way.

So, she asked Him.

And He answered, in His patient way: “My sweet little one, let me show you how I see you.”

Hopeful, the moth looked into the water once more, and she could hardly believe her eyes. She looked…exactly the same. The same tiny brown wings. The same boring shades of beige and tan and ecru and eggshell. The same lack of beauty. The same unremarkable form that she had been so disappointed by just moments before. She didn’t understand.

“Don’t you see?” the Lord whispered in the breezes that swirled around her ruffled wings. “I made the rich brown earth where flowers dazzle the eye and where tiny earthworms tunnel their intricate paths.  I made the fuzzy spiders in the forest who decorate the trees with their exquisite webs. I made the fine grey mist that covers the craggly tops of mountains. I made the mud puddles where happy birds splash after a rainstorm.”

The little moth did love the grey misty mornings. She did enjoy watching her feathered friends play after a rain shower. Mud puddles aren’t bright and beautiful. Earthworms certainly don’t shimmer in the sunlight the way butterflies do. Yet, God made them. Could it be that mud and mist and spider webs and earthworms and even little brown moths can bring God glory, too?

“When I look at you,” the Lord whispered, “I see YOU, just as I made you. My creation. And I say: very good.”

Just then, a bouncing black bug landed on the water, breaking up the little moth’s reflection into dozens of ripples.  She thought about what God had said. When the water stilled again, she noticed for the first time the intricate patterns etched in brown on her delicate wings. She noticed the cute little spots of white that splashed across her back. She saw how God had made one of her tiny antenna slightly longer than the other, and she giggled at the way her teensy mouth turned down at the corners just slightly. The longer she looked at her reflection, the more she began to see the hand of God in the unique way that He had formed her, with love and care and creativity.

Suddenly she felt blessed to be here, in this beautiful forest, just a little brown moth with wings, small as they were, to carry her from place to place.

If you travel to the forest you may see the little moth, although you probably won’t notice her.  She still enjoys watching the butterflies at the grove of spring flowers.  But, she doesn’t have much time to sit and admire them anymore.  She is too busy doing the special jobs that God gave her.  She learned that she doesn’t have to be red or blue or shimmery purple to bring glory to her Creator. She is exactly the size, shape, and color that He wanted her to be, and when He looks at her, He loves what He sees. Now when she slows down for just a moment and catches a glimpse of herself in the brook, the little brown moth can’t help but smile. She remembers God’s words and repeats them happily to her reflection: “Very good.”

A Prayer for My Children, Growing Up in Troubled Times

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Dear Father,
Thank you for the gift of motherhood. I praise you for bringing so many things about myself into clear focus as I so imperfectly work to disciple my children. I thank you for the ways that You are sanctifying me through motherhood and for the never-ending grace and patience You have for me as Your own child.

Lord, my children are growing up in a world that hates You. They are bombarded every day with ideas that run counter to Your word. Father, please give them clear minds so that they can see what is true. Give them tender hearts so that Your Spirit can mold them into true Christ-followers who don’t waver or falter or live in fear of what this world can do to them. Give them courage to speak truth. Make them leaders who aren’t easily distracted or lured away from the narrow road. Lord, I pray that You would give each of them compassion, humility, kindness, boldness, and an ability to see and appreciate and understand what others can’t. Help them to recognize what matters. I pray that You would give them spiritual eyes to see how You are working and how they can be a part of it.

Lord, I ask that You would save them from the heartache of sexual sin. Protect them from the pornography industry and from sexual abuse and from sexual addiction. Protect their future spouses, too. I pray that they will understand that their worth has nothing to do with their sexual experience or desirability, but that their worth comes from You alone, You who made them and loves them just as they are. Please help them to clearly see the pitfalls of sexual sin and give them the strength to resist temptation.

Father, in a world of meanness and selfishness and self-centered action, please give my children kind spirits and broken hearts for those who are hurting. Help them and their generation to change the way that people communicate on the internet and in real life. Give them a distaste for cruel and biting rhetoric and help them to speak the truth with love and tenderness instead of self-righteous pride.

Most of all, Lord, please give my children an insatiable desire to know You more. Help them to seek You first, and gift them with the rare ability to understand that eternal things are the only things of importance. I want them to be happy, Father, but if their happiness were to lead them away from You, then I would pray more earnestly for their deep reliance on and trust in You. The kind of trust that brings joy and peace, even when happiness is just out of reach.

Lord, I acknowledge my own weaknesses in every single area that I’ve mentioned here, and I pray that You would help us all, as a family, to love You with all of our hearts, souls, minds, and strength. Grant us wisdom, Lord, and help us to stay faithful until the very end. All of these things I ask with a humble heart before Your greatness and goodness and mercy and grace. Amen.

Is There Room in Your Faith for Your Imperfect Child?

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I could tell from across the parking lot that she was upset. Her posture was slumped. Her head was down. She barely glanced up when I pulled the car up next to the curb–she just slowly walked to the passenger’s side and slid into the seat. No greeting departed from her trembling lips as the tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks. What’s wrong? I asked, expecting to hear about the latest girl drama.

But this was different. She began telling me the story of a mistake she had made. One little bad choice that was not such a huge deal, yet surprised me all the same. The tale poured out of her while her tears flowed faster, and I couldn’t even be upset with her because I know this feeling all too well–the feeling of deep conviction over sin. The heaviness of regret sitting on your chest like an anvil.

In my younger years, I might have put on a big show of disappointment. I might have spent the next thirty minutes lecturing her. I  might have piled on her already troubled conscience. It is embarrassing, isn’t it, when your kids make mistakes? In some way it hurts your own pride when you realize once again that your child isn’t perfect, and many times in the past, I have shown my pride by thinking of myself and how her behavior reflects on me more than I thought about her and her spiritual state.

When you are parent, your faith must be wide and deep enough for the whole family to dive in. If you aren’t growing, if you aren’t gaining more perspective about how far you are from the holiness of God, if you aren’t spending time in His word where you learn again and again how much mercy and grace that it took to save you from yourself, then how will your faith ever be big enough for you to look on a child with grace instead of gall? With understanding instead of despair? How will you ever get past the position of just wanting your child to make you look good as a parent?

When parents grow in faith, children benefit. It doesn’t mean an end to punishments or consequences. It doesn’t mean letting kids run wild. It means seeing each imperfection in our children as fertile ground for growing spiritual truth. It means that even when we are shocked by some behavior that we never saw coming, we rely on the Lord for counsel instead of defaulting to our pride.  And then we, as imperfect parents, can respond as disciple-makers instead of prideful dictators.

I sat there in the car, looking at my daughter’s tear-stained face, knowing that she will have many experiences like this in her lifetime. I patted her arm as we drove away and I wondered if she feels like there is room in my faith for her precious, imperfect self. She smiled wearily at me, and I loved her more deeply than ever.

Paul McCartney, Art, and the Real Meaning of Life

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I’m a huge Beatles fan. When all of my friends were chasing after boy bands and big-haired pop stars, I was sitting in my room soaking up every sonic delight of John, Paul, George, and Ringo. I suppose all Beatles fans have a favorite, and mine will forever be Paul McCartney. A few years ago I had the chance to spend an evening with Paul in Cowboys stadium with tens of thousands of other huge fans, and I’ll never forget the way that gigantic metal dome seemed to melt into a sway as we all sang “Hey Jude” together at the top of our voices. Paul, already nearing 70 years old, performed brilliantly for hours, and to be perfectly honest with you, it was one of the greatest nights of my life.

I suppose with art we have a tendency to try to separate the art from the artist. We don’t want to go to an art museum and know everything about the artist–we just want to look at the art and enjoy it on its own merit. Yet, artistic expression can be terrifyingly revealing. The Bible tells us that out of the mouth the heart speaks, and perhaps the same is true of the paint brush or the guitar chord. Think of David’s psalms, so raw in revealing every tormenting thought and every lilting praise. We want to separate art from the person of the artist, but the truth is that art is a reflection of its creator, and, in many ways, a person’s art is a reflection of what is inside of them. Apply this concept to the Beatles and you may determine that what was inside of them was a bunch of nonsense. Yet, songs like “Yesterday” and “Let It Be” or even “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” speak to us as human beings because we know loss and pain and heartbreak, all consequences of the fall of humanity, even though John and Paul and George probably weren’t thinking about that when they wrote their lyrics.  When we hear these songs, we identify with the longing and the strife, and it moves us. Art very often disturbs or inspires us, and it’s because we know that it is an outpouring of something inside someone else, and many times we see ourselves there, too.

Paul McCartney is now 76 years old, and he is about to release his first new album in several years. In preparation for its debut on September 7, he has released a couple of singles, including “Come On to Me,” a basic rock song about seeking out a sexual encounter, but it has to be “discreet” because the singer and the object of his desire can’t be seen together. The song itself, if I may be so bold as to be a music critic in this moment, is just okay. But, something struck me about the lyrics that I can’t seem to stop thinking about. Here is Paul, a man who has lived the human life for almost 80 years. He has experienced all sorts of joys and heartbreaks, has surely learned lessons through the years, gained insight. Yet, here is his art, and we see no evidence of growth. We see no hints of wisdom gained. If he has learned great life lessons and has discovered what really matters and what doesn’t, we certainly don’t see that played out in his artistic expression here.

I sat in my car and listened, head cocked to one side in an effort to concentrate on the words that my favorite Beatle was belting out. I don’t know how much wisdom Paul has gained through the years. I don’t know how he has grown as a person or what sort of battles he has fought within himself. But, when I heard his art pouring out of the speakers of my minivan, I identified with the way he completely misses the point.

As far as anyone knows, Paul has never professed to be a believer. He has dabbled in religions, at times calling himself an agnostic, or saying he isn’t religious but is spiritual.  Only God knows the condition of his soul, but I don’t expect him to write songs that are about Jesus. Jesus, as far as I know, is not on Paul’s radar. But, without Christ it is no wonder that at 76 years old he still doesn’t have a grasp on what is really meaningful, at least according to his art.

What about me, though? What about you? What is pouring out of us? I just turned 41. As I age, is it clear that I am growing, or am I still singing about the same things that I thought were important in my youth? Do my words, both on paper and in daily conversation reveal that I really understand what this life is about, or is it all vacuous, like an old man’s song about a meaningless affair with a stranger? Those of us who know Christ are without excuse–this life is about Jesus and His glory. It’s about faithfulness, fidelity, about shepherding and stewarding well the things that God has given us. It’s about speaking words and creating things that bring honor to God.

Many times I miss the point. I focus on things of little to no importance. I worry about things that belong to the Lord. I have a heart that is so quick to stray–what is pouring out of it? What is washing over my children and my husband and my friends as I open my mouth and let my wandering heart speak? I pray that I will grow. I pray that when I am 81 you will see a different kind of faith in me, one that has lasted through every desert and every hurricane of life.

There’s still time for Paul. Through the years I have often prayed that God would rescue him from himself. From the curse that he carries around like a heavy chain on his soul. I know what that’s like, and I know that it’s only by God’s mercy that I am free. What would a Paul McCartney worship song sound like? Maybe one day we’ll know. In the meantime, I pray that the Lord would grow and stretch you and me so that whatever pours out of us is what glorifies and honors Him.

Your Husband’s Porn Problem is Not About You

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She pulled me aside to confess her painful secret: she had accidentally discovered that her husband was looking at porn. She was hurt and confused, and her question dropped into the church hallway air between us like a deflated helium balloon: “Why?”

I could see it in her face. In her posture. In her balled fists and her furrowed brow. She was wondering why she wasn’t enough for her husband. She was trying to wrap her troubled mind around what this discovery means about her marriage, about her husband’s love for her, about her physical appearance and her sex life. She was trying to decide how to think about what she could only describe as a betrayal. And she was desperately searching for someone who could explain it all to her.

The black-hole-like pull of pornography is complicated and yet so simple. Men and women alike are drawn to it for various reasons and keep coming back to it because sin is like that—it always seems so glittering and alluring while it kills us little by little. Like all sin, it hurts. It hurts us and it hurts those closest to us. Marriages everywhere are struggling to stay afloat in the middle of the vast ocean of pornographic material that is so readily available. Women often want to know what they are doing wrong to cause their husbands to keep going back to the source of the shame and the failure.

I looked into her precious, worried face, and I told her one thing that I have learned about pornography through the years: Your husband’s pornography problem is not about you.

In fact, it has very little do to with you. It isn’t about how you dress or how you look naked. It isn’t about how you treat your husband or whether he feels loved by you. It isn’t about which sex positions you’re willing to try. And, even if your husband says it is about any of those things, it isn’t.

Your husband’s pornography problem is about one thing. It’s about how sin is always crouching at our door, waiting to devour us. Pornography is such a quick and easy temptation, and it’s everywhere. Your husband wouldn’t be normal if he didn’t struggle with the desire to look at pornography. He didn’t suddenly develop a taste for lustful thoughts and images when he married you. Chances are, he has struggled for most of his life with this issue, and despite what many think, even a happy marriage isn’t a cure for the desire to look at what can be so easily found on the internet.

You may be the sweetest, most doting wife in the world. You may be attentive in the bedroom. You may be in great shape. You may be none of those things. But, nothing you have said or done and nothing that you are or aren’t has driven your husband to look at pornography.

I’m not saying it doesn’t affect you. It does. Very much so. His private struggle is also yours. His failure in this area hurts you deeply. You can help him in many ways as he deals with this temptation, but ultimately it is his battle to fight, and his failures are not yours to own.

Wives, be prayerful. Be gracious. Be tender. Be tough when you must. But, don’t believe for one second that your husband’s pornography problem is about you. Pornography robs a marriage of lots of things: trust, intimacy, openness. Real choices lead to real consequences. But, don’t forget that this is ultimately a spiritual issue, just like your own struggles with sin. It isn’t about your husband’s level of satisfaction with you.

In most cases, pornography is a source of terrible shame for a Christian husband. You can be a great ally for him in this area. I know it’s difficult. I know it’s heartbreaking. But, the more you recognize that your husband’s feelings about you are not the source of the problem, the easier it will be for you to help him gain victory here.

Three Words

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She was nervous. It was first-day-back jitters–the kind where you wonder if your friend circle has shifted over the summer without your knowledge. When you’re not entirely sure how things are going to be when you walk through the school doors. I remember that feeling so well. Eighth grade is not a place I would ever want to be again. I hugged her tight in our cozy kitchen.

When I was younger I used to wonder what I would say to my children as we parted ways for the day. Back then, when they were all in our little nest, underfoot all day long, my buddies, it was hard to imagine what it would be like to send them out into the world. And then the world changed. How could I have possibly dreamed up THIS world, this place where my 13 year old, even with no access to social media or the internet, deals daily with kids her own age who are questioning their sexuality, who are suicidal or self-harming, who are already beginning to struggle with addictions, who have no frame of reference for who Jesus is or how things could be different? This, in small town America. The world has certainly shifted right underneath our feet.

All of those little phrases I used to imagine saying to my kids as they skipped off to school just don’t seem sufficient in the spiritual and moral turmoil of our day. In the lostness. In the wandering. So, this morning when my first-born stepped out of the car for her last first day of junior high school, I looked into her beautiful, clear blue eyes and said with a little smile, “Just honor God.”

It’s the most we can ask of each other.

It’s what we must ask of our believing children. And it’s what they should be able to see in us. These are days for courageous obedience. For fierce faithfulness. For total surrender.

“Just honor God,” I told her, and she nodded, turned, and disappeared into the crowded hallways of her mission field.

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