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The Things You Learn When You’re a Mother

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From the day your children are born, you begin the letting go.

You, who miraculously sheltered them inside of your own body for nine months, suddenly must hand your tightly swaddled wonders over to visitors, to grandparents, to doctors and nurses. Your heart feels like it could shatter just to look into a tiny face that is at once so foreign and so familiar.

You live difficult and long and exhausting nights, sitting alone in the dark with a restless squirmer in your arms, wondering how it could be that you are a mama, that you are the one who is supposed to figure this out, that you have been entrusted with the awesome, terrifying task of training this child in the way she should go. In one long, draining night you drift between wanting to shove the baby in her father’s arms and wanting to cling to her desperately, willing yourself to remember exactly how little she feels laid there on your shoulder in the peaceful, lonely silence of three in the morning.

You are so tired.

And then children grow. With every new milestone you are forced to let go just a little bit more. Crawlers become walkers who become runners, and crying drop offs turn into casual waves goodbye. Soon you are standing at a kindergarten door, watching your child’s eyes, wide with excitement, and you see he is convinced that his life is finally beginning.

More and more, you are driven to your knees, finding yourself begging the God of the Universe to stay close, to hold your children in His perfect hands, to hover when you can’t. You learn how weak you really are. How anxious. How much is out of your control. You learn to trust Jesus more. You learn to wrestle with the what ifs, and you ask again and again for the gift of more faith, praying that if in the end all you really have is Jesus, that will be enough.

Meanwhile, every day they come home. Every day they grow more and learn more and become more of who they were created to be. And, you just keep white knuckling every new step along the path to their growing up. Somehow, every move shows you more about God’s love and care. Each inch forward helps you relax your grip on your children and tighten your grip on your Savior.

And, maybe that is the real gift of motherhood. In all of the letting go, there is the desperate need to hold on. To cling to Christ and admit that He is the only unchanging thing. The only constant. In a life of never-ending change, in a life of unspeakable joy and inevitable heartbreak, in a life that is as much wrapped up in your children as it is yourself, you are pushed toward the admission that all of it is really about Jesus. And that’s how you let go when you have to. That’s how you allow your children to be who they are. That’s how you survive every phase and every exhaustion and every worry.

From the day your children are born, you begin letting go. And you learn to hold on. Jesus never moves, never changes, never disappoints. These are the things you learn when you’re a mother.

Raising Persecution-Ready Kids

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I remember reading about Felix Manz when I was in college. I read about how he was taken out to a freezing river in the middle of a bitter Zurich winter, how he was tied up and thrown into the frigid waters, the “third baptism,” they called it, for the Anabaptist who had dared to teach adult baptism. Like most Christian young people, I was fascinated by the stories of the martyrs and spent quite a bit of time reading the dramatic accounts of their steadfast faith, even to the point of death. I suppose when you are a young, spoiled American Christian, it can help put things into perspective for you to read about what Christians through history have endured. And, today, to see what kind of persecution is so rampant all around the world. It will cause you to sit up a little straighter. To consider how easily that you are distracted and led astray. It will cause you to wonder what you would really do if it were you. You, kneeling on a beach someplace, about to be beheaded for believing with all your heart that Jesus is real, that the Bible is true, that real truth is worth dying for.

Yet, it wasn’t Felix Manz’s death that intrigued me so much. It was a different part of the story that has caused his last day to stay firmly planted in my mind for all these years. While Felix was being led through the streets of Zurich to his certain death, his mother was nearby, watching the nightmare unfold. And, all the while, the crowd that had gathered could hear her crying out to her precious son, encouraging him to stand firm, to remain true to Christ is this hour of such great temptation. There she stood, I imagine, in horrible agony as she watched them tie his arms to the stick they had jammed up behind his knees, singing out all the while for him to go into his cold, watery grave with complete trust in Jesus. And, then she watched as they tipped him into the water, disappeared from her life forever. I wonder how many scenes of his childhood pulsed through her mind at that moment? Yet, she never wavered. She knew, as she had taught her dear son, that a man is no fool who gives what he cannot keep in order to gain what he cannot lose.*

It takes an all-consuming faith to produce Christians like Felix Manz and his mother. It takes a singular focus. It takes soul-encompassing commitment to living a life that sings out the refrain every day: This is all that matters. This is all that matters. Unless we beg God to transform us into people who are passionately driven to glorify Him in every move, then I fear that we are not becoming and are not producing in our children the kind of Christians who would stand for Christ to the difficult end of a persecuted life.

Lately I have felt such a sense of urgency. Why are Christians continuing to treat this faith as if it is a poorly producing side business in the middle of a hugely prosperous life? Why are Christians abandoning their church families so their kids can play baseball on Sundays? Why are Christians refusing to teach their children the hard truths of Scripture, and why are they reluctant to learn them themselves? Why are Christians satisfied with a faith that only vaguely informs their decisions, that only mildly affects their thinking, that only produces warm feelings and never heart-crushing, soul-wrenching grief over their sin?

It’s probably because many who claim to be Christians actually aren’t. When real persecution comes, those people will fall away quickly. Their half-hearted attempts to live as Christians will turn into no attempt at all, and they will no longer identify with the Bride of Christ.

But, the rest of us. We must think about where the trajectory of our current faith life will lead us and our children. Are we giving ourselves over completely to the God who saves, saying with our every breath that He is all, that He is worthy of our life and our death and anything else in between? Are we beginning now to build a faith within our family that will truly be able to withstand harsh and terrible and cruel and unreasonable persecution, should it come knocking at our door? Are we teaching our children how to live for Christ and how it is an honor and a joy to suffer with Him, even to die for the glory of His name? If we should ever be called to sacrifice our lives for this Truth that we know, will our hearts and souls and minds be prepared, because of an all-consuming, life-long obsession with Jesus Christ, to die for His sake? To cheer our children on to stand firm if they are called to lay down their precious bodies that we love?

I fear that most of us are so far removed from that type of faith that we hardly even understand what it would look like.

Our children are facing a different world than we have known. Their faith is going to have to be real and alive and immune to the mesmerizing but useless distractions of this world. Our children are going to need a faith that devours their entire lives, that dominates every thought, that changes the way they see and hear and understand everything around them. We simply cannot continue to categorize our lives, badly arranging our priorities around things that don’t last. If we keep sending the message that this faith is just part of our lives and not the only thing that matters, then our children will continue to believe us.

They will settle for a version of Christianity that will not stand. That will not speak. That will not mean much more to their lives than a basic hope of being rescued from Hell. And, when persecution comes, it will be a faith that doesn’t lead them into obedience and courage and self-sacrifice, but rebellion and fear and self-preservation. And, the truth is that such a faith offers little hope of salvation. Is it possible that we are leading our children into a counterfeit faith?

We love our comfort too much. Our entertainment. Our popularity. We prioritize happiness over Godliness. We see no joy in suffering. We see no reason to deny ourselves. And, we are thrilled if we make it to worship twice a month.

It will show. When persecution comes. It will show.

Now is the time to decide that this faith is all or nothing. This is how we lead our children into holiness, into steadfastness, into perseverance. We live it now so that we can live it on the day that persecution comes. We live it now so that one day when we are long gone, if our children are called to lay down their lives for this great and glorious faith, they will still hear our voices crying out: Stand firm. Remain true to Christ, even in this hour of great temptation.

Don’t Be a Cynical Christian

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Last night at church, we hosted Hilarious Hair Night in our children’s ministry. I am the one who plans our theme nights, and I’m pretty sure I love them more than anyone. I love getting dressed up in a silly costume or wearing my clothes inside out or going to church in my pjs and a robe. I just think it’s fun. And, there’s nothing I love more than when I find fun people who will dress up crazy with me.

I have made it one of my goals in life to teach my kids not to be too cool for anything. In fact, last night at church I gave all of the kids a big speech about it, because I truly feel that if you think you’re too cool for things, you’re going to miss out on loads of fun. Be the one who isn’t afraid to do funny motions with songs in church. Be the one who knows that the key to a really good costume is not being afraid to look unattractive in it. Be the one who is always game to do the silly stuff, because the truth is that in the end the ones who aren’t too cool to be silly are the people that everyone gravitates toward. They are fun and happy and having a good time. Everyone loves to be around fun people.

These are the kinds of things that I preach to my kids.

But, the truth is that I realized sometime last year that I had become too cool for some things. I’m not talking about silly songs or theme nights. I had become too cool for certain types of Christianity. For particular testimonies or kinds of worship or ministries. I had become cynical about a lot of the things that would have gotten me incredibly excited as a young Christian, and I had begun to look down on those things as inferior.

I remember when I first moved away from my small hometown to go to college. My Baptist college wasn’t big, but for me it was a whole new world and way to think. I went there brimming with positivity, genuinely moved by many things all the time that I could see God was doing in my life and in the lives of those around me. I loved the Christian culture and church life and everything that had to do with Jesus. I was a Jesus freak.

But, I was also coming to adulthood at a time when we were beginning to see that some of the things that we had grown up experiencing in our churches were just sort of ringing hollow. We started becoming critical of Christian culture–not hateful, but skeptical in a way that might cause us to roll our eyes when we heard certain phrases or sigh impatiently when the same old ways were held up as the only ways. We were sentimental for our old youth group days, but we were quick to label things as lame or shallow or stupid if they smacked too much of youth group culture. We were still sweet little Baptist kids who loved Jesus, but we had lost some of our joy. We were trying so hard to figure out how church should work and how Christians should be, and we gave up some of our sheer delight in being a child of God.

I know full well that the church needed some examining (and still does). I know that we were feeling some of the effects of the great big, comfortable, easy, we won’t ask anything of you, let’s burn our secular tapes and feel like awesome Christians, rather soft 70s, 80s, and 90s churches that we were raised in. I know that we felt the need for something deeper. And, I know that in most ways a discerning and sometimes critical eye is a necessary part of the Christian faith. It’s one way that we hold each other accountable and help the church operate for God’s ultimate glory and our maximum growth.

But, something happened to me during those times (and maybe to some of you, too) that I recently realized has followed me for all of these years. The cynical spirit that I developed in my late teens and early twenties never went away. And, to be completely honest with you, I hadn’t really even noticed.

Then Chad and I started getting this stirring in our souls, and it happened almost simultaneously, which is so gracious of God to do. We started to have a deep longing for a closer connection to the Holy Spirit. We wanted to be a part of what He is doing, and I quickly realized that I have probably been missing ways that the Holy Spirit has worked in my life and in the lives of those around me because I had grown cynical and skeptical and critical. Gone were my teenaged years when I saw God’s hand everywhere I looked. Oh, I haven’t missed everything. But, there were sure a lot of things that I never noticed or wrote off as coincidence because I had developed a pattern of thought that rolled its eyes at what some might call a “God thing.”

I had become too cool for all that stuff.

Oh, it grieves me that I let a cynical heart and mind flourish inside of me, choking out the truths that were evidenced everywhere. The truth that simple faith is beautiful. That the Holy Spirit is working everywhere in a million different ways. That Christian music and movies and books and the whole culture, while flawed, is filled with sincere, godly people through whom the Holy Spirit does things that I don’t always understand. That the church, while flawed, is filled with godly, sincere people who have real interactions with the Holy Spirit that are different from my own. That I have so much to learn from those people.

God has been so patient with me.

I don’t want to be a cynical Christian. In many ways, just giving up that too cool attitude in my spirit has restored to me the joy of my salvation. That delight that I remember feeling when I was a teenager, loving so many different aspects of God’s people and the ways and purposes of His Bride.

I’m still a work in progress.

And, I still recognize the need for a discerning eye, especially in these times. Don’t misunderstand me: there are segments of the church that are flying off the rails at high speeds at the moment. It’s so important to test every spirit and cling to the Word of God. We must be diligent in making sure we remain firmly planted in His word, and we should judge everything that emerges from church culture through that lens. But, if someone wants to tell me that they’re too blessed to be depressed, if they want to play me some Michael W. Smith from the 90s, if they want to tell me about the way that God miraculously rescued their cat from the waiting jaws of a German Shepherd, then I will praise God with them, with great joy, and I will sing louder than anyone else.

Because I’m not too cool for any of that stuff.

Maybe We’re Raising World-Changers

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I want to do big things! And I want to do them now! Adelade gave a passionate speech in the car on the drive home from dance class. At twelve years old, she feels like her life is being wasted on the utterly ridiculous pursuit of running around a track in P.E. She truly can’t believe that she is squandering her life in math class when she should be tackling all of the big dreams that she has laid out for herself. I laughed at her flushed cheeks and her animated plea for room to do something huge.

She thinks big, and I have no doubt one day she’ll do big things, but first she needs time to grow. She needs time to build character (in P.E. class, maybe), to gain wisdom, to learn from others. She wants to skip over all of the hardest parts of becoming a useful member of society because she just can’t wait to make her mark.

I understand how she feels. I often try to run ahead of where God has me. I think I should be more, do more, make more impact, and I want to pass over all of the hard work of growing in my knowledge and understanding of Christ. I want to speed right by all of the life experiences that teach patience, wisdom, kindness, joy, gentleness. The truth is, the day-to-day job of sanctification can be painful. But, it’s essential to my formation as one who can be of use to the Kingdom of God. I want to do big things. Badly.

But, maybe for now I just need to keep plugging away at the little things God has entrusted me with. This is where I learn to be more like Him. This is where He shows me how real love operates. This is where He demonstrates that His glory is all that matters. And, who knows? Maybe one day He will do something big through me.

Or maybe He already is, I thought, as I watched my firstborn’s eyes dance at the idea of changing the world.

Inseparable

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In the fall, Chad and I started doing something we’ve never done before, in all of our almost eighteen years of marriage. We started praying together every day.

Thanks to his diligence, we haven’t missed a single day since we decided to try it after attending a marriage conference. I think it’s safe to say that this mission of praying together and for each other has revolutionized our marriage in more ways than one. We have never been more spiritually in tune with one another.

We have always had a solid marriage. Not every day has been absolute bliss, but every day has been meaningful. Even on the bad days, we have managed to go to bed at night knowing that we are committed to each other, that even in moments when the like isn’t quite there, the love always is.

We have always talked about spiritual things. We’ve talked about things we read. We’ve passed articles back and forth. We’ve debated endlessly about the best ways to do church, and we’ve spent time reading books together, listening to sermons together, and serving in the church together. All of those things have been good for us and have helped us grow as individuals and as a couple. The intellectual spark that flows between us has been a source of great interest and fun in our marriage because for the most part we enjoy talking about the same things and have similar interests.

But, none of those things has impacted our soul connection in marriage the way praying together has.

In the past three months, we have become more vulnerable to each other, spiritually. We’ve been more likely to get excited about what God is doing. More likely to notice where He is working. We have teared up together as we see Him working in our lives and in our kids’ lives. We have been more likely to pray over meetings before we leave the house, to pray about situations on the spot, to open up about where we feel God is leading us. We’ve been more likely to ask for prayer from one another. And, we have heard each other’s heart as we agree in prayer in sleepy voices at bedtime.

A few nights ago, Chad prayed for our marriage, as he often has during the past several months. He prayed that God would make us inseparable. I still get chills now even typing those words as I think about the power behind them. Chad prayed to the God of the Universe that He would keep any powers of this world or the wickedness in our own hearts from ever coming between us. He prayed that no one and nothing on this planet could separate the two of us. There is pure might behind words like that, prayed from a sincere heart to the Lord of Everything. When a husband and wife are clinging tightly to one another and even tighter to their God, crying out for oneness, for a impenetrable force field of His power to surround their bond, their marriage and family are sure to blessed by it.

What if we all made that the war cry of hearts, in a time when marriage seems to be valued less and less every day? In a time when people are considered disposable? In a time when every meme on social media is about what I can get for ME in a relationship, instead of what I can give to someone else? What if Christian couples everywhere decided that the way they are going to fight for their marriage is to ask God daily for the blessing of inseparability? I wonder how our families and churches would be revolutionized?

It’s such a simple concept, to pray that we’ll be inseparable. But, what strength can that one little word lend to a marriage in a dark and confusing world? Only God knows. But, I have my suspicions. Pray together. Pray that nothing in this world will come between you. And, watch God bless and bless and bless. I’m thankful for a husband who teaches me so many things, just by being a sincere follower of Christ and a true friend to his imperfect wife. May we never, ever be separated.

Beauty and the Christian Girl

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I remember reading the Sweet Valley High books when I was in elementary school. The books were full of the high school adventures of twin sisters named Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield, both blonde bombshells who are described at the beginning of each and every book as “a perfect size six.” Even though I read the books long before I wore a bra or even thought much about my size, that vision of blonde-haired, blue-eyed, size six perfection stuck with me all through my growing up years.

And, that’s not all.

Through the years I have been told a great many things by friends and strangers about what my appearance should be. Back when I was a tiny high school girl, I was told that my hips were too big. I have been told that my lips are too thin. That my eyes tilt downward when everyone knows you want your eyes to tilt upward at the outer corners. I have been told that my freckles are ugly. That my neck is too long. That my chest is too small. When I was an adorable 25 year old, I was told that I look old. I outgrew that perfect size six. The celebrities on television told me that if that happens then it means I’m lazy and undesirable. Or they told me I have bad genes.

And all of these things, plus much, much more, I handled with kidgloves, like they were precious treasures, and hid them away in my heart and mind, safely stored there so that I could pull them out often, reminding myself that I am not good enough. Not pretty enough. Not thin enough. Not athletic enough. Not sexy enough. Not cool enough.

At times I have been downright obsessed with my appearance. At times I have despaired about my lack of blue-eyed, blonde-haired size six perfection. At times I have truly despised my own face. My own body.

In women’s ministry circles, we like to talk about self-esteem, about confidence, and we like to tell Christian women that all we need to do is believe that we are beautiful, and then everything will work out fine. But, what about the days when we just can’t believe that? What about the days when we can’t do anything but glare at our reflection in the mirror and wish for a magic pill that will fix everything we hate?

As Christian women, we have been taught that spiritual maturity is achieved when we look in the mirror and see the beauty of Christ in our reflection. But, I can’t think of a more shallow litmus test for Christians. There are plenty of ways to grow into a real knowledge of our worth in Christ, and exactly none of them have to do with liking the texture of our hair or loving our acne. It is entirely possible to hate your nose and still love Christ with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. Because this faith isn’t about physical beauty. It doesn’t revolve around who has the most pleasing physical features. Sin and hell and death are not respecters of gorgeous hair or long legs. Jesus doesn’t love only those who have pretty faces and shapely bodies.

This faith isn’t about physical beauty. It’s about soul beauty. And, soul beauty comes from Christ alone.

That being said, at all of those times, in all those days of over-thinking my face, in all those hours of lamenting about what I lack, I went spiritually blind. I can’t obsess over my physical flaws without losing all sense of my faith, of my purpose as a Christ-follower.

The truth is that some of us were born with more physical beauty than others. I doubt you’ve read that on any blogs lately. But, it’s a hard truth of being human. And, the Bible tells us that even if we are gifted with physical beauty, it simply doesn’t last. So, if I cradle every negative thing that has ever been said about my appearance, if I cling to every criticism of my physical body, if I turn them over and over in my hands until they are worn smooth while I obsess over them, then I have turned my entire life into an exercise in futility. I have stunted my own faith because I can’t get past the physical in order to really delve into and grow the spiritual. I don’t have to believe with all my heart that I am physically beautiful. God doesn’t call any of us to do that. But, I do have to let go of my obsession with my face and my body so that I can focus on what is truly the most beautiful of all my features: my rescued, redeemed soul, crafted by God, made rare and precious by Jesus Christ, hailed as lovely by all who get the chance to see the Holy Spirit work there.

The truth is that this world doesn’t understand what real beauty is. It has nothing to do with shape, size, or numbers. We don’t have to love our shape, size, or numbers. But, we do have to realize that physical beauty is much more insignificant than we tend to believe. And, so are all those painful criticisms that we like to keep as pets. Let’s let go of our obsession with our faces and bodies, and let’s dive into an fresh, beautiful love for the One who made us, the One who loves us, the One who sees our real worth.

The Harmless Sins are the Most Dangerous of Them All

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Once more social media is filled with the news of Christian Grey. I watch with interest as Christian women plan evenings out that revolve around the new movie. They joke about how eager their husbands will be have them home afterward–their sexual passions stirred by an actor who isn’t their husband, portraying a twisted, cruel character who isn’t their husband. And, I suppose the prevailing attitude is that men don’t care by what means their wives get in the mood for sex, so long as they get in the mood.

But, if this is how we think of our husbands, we’re wrong. Men do care if their wives are ogling other men, even if those men are actors who live a thousand miles away in a different world. Even if lusting after a man you aren’t married to is generally considered harmless these days.

The harmless sins are the most dangerous of them all.

They are the ones we explain away with a little shrug, a wave of the hand, a joke. They are the ones we justify over and over again. They are the ones that are so easy to fall into. And, they are ones that are killing us.

But, I’m not just picking on 50 Shades of Grey. Temptation to sin is everywhere, and one thing that makes sin so appealing–one thing that convinces us that it is irresistible–is that we honestly consider most of it to be no big deal. Pornography, gossip, jealousy, hatred, dishonoring our parents, lust. All of these can seem utterly harmless to us when we are in the thick of temptation. We tell ourselves that it won’t hurt anyone, but we are wrong about that, too. Sin always hurts. We hurt ourselves and we hurt other people and we grieve God. No sin is harmless. There is always harm done. Always.

But, we aren’t left with no hope of conquering temptation, no matter how fiercely it tries to drag us into the pit. There is always a moment before sin in which we choose. That moment is where the battle for purity and holiness is won or lost, many times a day, every single day. Left to our own willpower, we would choose sin more often than not. But, if we know Christ, then we have been emboldened and empowered by the Holy Spirit to resist temptation in all its forms. If we think through all of the choices that we make in a day, we will get a fairly clear picture of what kind of faith life we’re leading. How often do we give into temptation with little or no fight? How often do we forge ahead with our sin, barely pausing to acknowledge that a real choice is being made?

Just a few days ago I started to write Chad a private message about an old acquaintance of ours. I was set to describe all of the ways that this person was annoying me on Facebook. The message was completely devoid of any kind of grace or kindness, and looked nothing at all like Jesus. Just before I made the conscious decision to hit send, the Holy Spirit miraculously opened my eyes to the fact that I had accidentally written this message to the person I was talking about. I quickly deleted the whole thing and walked away from my computer, knowing that I had just been given a precious gift of mercy that I didn’t deserve. I was horrified at the thought of this person reading what I had written. Yet, I was perfectly fine with God seeing it and with my husband seeing it, even though I knew it would likely hurt my husband spiritually and grieve my God.

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen my wicked heart more clearly than in that moment.

We all make choices every day. Are we giving into temptation, or are we fighting, with the help of the Holy Spirit, to live a life that pleases God? Because, even though I was humiliated at the thought of this old friend of mine reading what I wrote about her, how can I forget that one day everything I’ve done will be made known? How can I ever feel proud of my goodness when I know how often that I very clearly choose to turn from God’s way and dive right into sin?

I’m so grateful that we have a God who can sympathize. We have a Savior who knows what temptation is like, even though He always made the right choice.  His blood was spilled for our harmless sins. But, no big deal, right?

A Prayer for Our Times

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Father in Heaven,

I praise you because you are great and wonderful and gracious and good. You are the One True God, the Beginning and the End, the Great I AM. I believe in you, Lord. I worship you because I am allowed to know you, and I adore you because you care to know me. You are the reason that the sun rises each day, you’re the reason I have a heart beating inside of me, you’re the reason that every dear and precious gift in my life exists. You are the reason for everything. Thank you, my good Father, for loving me.

I come before you now, humbly asking you to strengthen me. Strengthen my generation and those to come. You have designed a trying landscape for us, Lord. Give us the faith to endure in our love for you and in our commitment to your word.  Give us the courage to cling to you instead of bowing to the opinions of men and women. Give us the wisdom to act when we should and to remain silent when we should, and give us an all-consuming need to glorify you instead of ourselves.

Father, you know I have never been all that interested in how the end of time will come about. I have always imagined that every generation feels they are the last one. It’s easy, while living in this wicked world, to begin thinking that things couldn’t get much worse, that you must be just about to give the signal that will send all of Heaven breaking through the clouds on an otherwise ordinary day. But, when I read Matthew 24 I get chills, thinking about how much our times resemble the beginning of the end that Jesus describes. Are we already seeing a great falling away from the faith, Lord? Your word shows us that much worse days are ahead for some generation, if not ours, that many will be persecuted and killed for their faith, and that many will turn away from it and hate and betray those they once called brothers and sisters.

Yet, your hope always prevails. In the very same breath, Jesus reminds us, “Those who stand to the end will be saved.” Will you help us, Lord? Whatever your calling is for our generation–whether we are to stand to the fast-approaching end, or whether we are to prepare our children and their children’s children to stand, will you show us the way? Give us clarity in an age of mass confusion. Grant us pure thoughts and motives. Help us to weed through all of the noise of this world to hear your voice alone. Lord, increase our faith and help us to experience you anew. Show us how to live only for your approval and only through your power, and give us a supernatural ability to give grace and mercy and all of ourselves for your great name’s sake.

Lord, teach us how to be living sacrifices in these times.

Thank you for your comfort and peace. Thank you for being a God who is worthy of every single minute, every single heartbeat, every single breath. May we give all of it to you. Now and forever.

Amen

Remember Your Hope

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I see plenty of things on social media that I hate. Like the pictures of Jesus that say, “If you love me, share this.” Or fake news. Or arguing about politics. But there’s one thing that I’ve seen, especially lately, that I hate seeing more than all the Jesus-themed chain letters in the world: Christians who speak as if they have no hope.

It seems to be a running theme these days. Christians who are distraught about the state of our country. Christians who just don’t see a way out of whatever their issues are. If you stop and take a close look at what your friends are saying online, you will likely see the theme of hopelessness come through over and over again.

And, frankly, it’s getting old.

We, of all people, Christian friends, should be facing the future with eyes fixed on the King of this universe, who happens to be the Creator of all things, who happens to be our Savior, who happens to be the very Word of God. We, of all people, have every reason to cling to Him with all faith that He is ruling our world with calm, careful, perfect goodness. We, of all people, should be showing the world what it looks like to really trust God. We, of all people, should know that when things look bad He is working it all out for good.

We, of all the people in the world, should be waking up each morning with these words on our lips and in our hearts: I trust you, Jesus.

With this country.

With my wayward kids.

With my health.

With my job.

With my broken heart.

With my sin problem.

I trust You with any and all of it.

Because Heaven knows that when humans get ahold of things we wreck them big-time. But, we aren’t trusting in humans or offices or laws or people who agree with us or people who don’t. We trust in the name of the Lord our God.

What does a lost and dying world see when it looks at Christians? Does it see hope or dread? Does it see assurance or panic?

What kind of messages are we sending about our faith in Christ when we put so much stock in the decisions of mere human beings? Do we have more faith in what we fear is going to happen than we have in what He promised is going to happen? He is mighty enough to handle our worries. Trust Him. And, stop filling the internet with a bunch of pointless hand-wringing. Fight for what’s godly, but trust Him with the outcome. He knows exactly what needs to happen. Have confidence that He will set everything right in the end.

Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God. Psalm 20:7

Trust in the Lord with all your heart. Do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight. Proverbs 3:5

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?  Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? Matthew 6:25-27

She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. Proverbs 31:25

Believing in the Somehow

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We could hear the woman wailing before we saw her.  Chad and I were wandering around the store, browsing while Emerald was in dance class down the street. We had had an easy, leisurely morning, enjoying Chad’s day off. Emerald had looked adorable in her little dance leotard, with unreasonably long braids hanging down her back, skipping into her class just a few moments earlier. The older kids had smiled in spite of themselves on a Monday morning before they left for school. And, Chad and I were happily chatting about whatever came to mind while we roamed the aisles of the grocery store.

Then we heard the unmistakable sound of human anguish.

We walked over a few aisles and saw her sitting there, surrounded by a small crowd. Her weathered hands covered her face, and beneath her fingers, twisted with age, she cried out. A tall man came toward us, pushing his cart. He could see that we were concerned. I think she just got a phone call, he said. Someone has died. She’s okay. He smiled at us wearily and continued with his shopping. Still she moaned there on the bench, rocking back and forth like a mama trying to soothe an inconsolable child.

Chad walked over and sat down beside her. She was shaking her head in disbelief. She sobbed, He can’t be dead! He can’t be dead! Her grief poured out. Her eighteen year old grandson had been found dead in his home. Oh, I can’t believe it! she groaned, and Chad patted her arm. I’m a pastor, he said, Would you mind if I pray with you?

She begged him to pray. And, right there in the grocery store, a broken old woman, a pastor and his wife, some store employees, and a couple more strangers circled up and cried out to the God of all Life in this moment of unspeakable pain. The grieving woman nodded in agreement while Chad spoke, yet every few seconds she would stop and cover her face, shaking her head no, willing her own tired mind to realize that this was really happening. She had outlived her precious grandson.

The prayer ended, and the store employees ushered her to a back office where she could wait for her daughter to come and take her home. She never did stop sobbing. But, when Chad said amen, she looked up at him and said through her tears, I know God will get me through it somehow.

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Chad and I picked up the few little items that we had been carrying in our arms when we heard her cries, and we walked away, back to a good day. Back to a reality that is all cute kids and funny stories and dance leotards. But, I couldn’t get the wounded grandmother off my mind. I kept wondering how many times in her long life that God has already proven that He will get her through this. Somehow.

In the next few days, she will comfort her grieving son. She will cook for her family. She will think of things that no one else has thought of yet. Things that need to be done. She will care for her frail husband. She will stand beside her grandson’s casket, and she will mourn. Deeply. With a pain that is only known by those who have wailed next to the gaping grave of a child.

I will be playing Chutes and Ladders with Emerald. Picking up the kids from school. I’ll be looking for new crockpot recipes and waiting with anticipation for Chad to come home from work. God willing. But, there is a certain privilege that God grants us sometimes: the privilege of being there during someone’s worst moment. Of witnessing what it looks like when Christian people face trials of all kinds—the very worst kinds—and choose to trust God through it all. It’s an honor and a wonder to be present when someone’s faith is forced to grow and stretch beyond what we think it’s capable of. Yet, today we saw it, on a cold metal bench in the back of the grocery store, in the trembling voice of a terribly distraught white-haired grandmother: I know God will get me through it. I doubt that her mind really believed that in the moment. The brain inside her head, that little white head that kept shaking no in disbelief, couldn’t know for sure that she is going to survive this. But, her soul knows it well. Because the Holy Spirit was already whispering this truth to her in ways that only He can. And, she chose to believe it, soul-deep. God will get me through it.

I doubt she will ever know how much it meant to this naive little pastor’s wife today, watching an old woman’s faith grow. And, I doubt she will ever see how being there caused my faith to grow, too. One more leaf sprouted on a still small and tender tree. I thank God for the privilege of being there. And, for the ways that He never fails to show me how good it is to know Him, on our best days and on our worst.

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