Food for thought...

I just started reading A Year with Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and already I've encountered some passages that resonate deeply. They don't seem to need a lot of preamble or explanation. So, here they are:

God loves human beings. God loves the world. Not an ideal human, but human beings as they are; not an ideal world, but the real world. What we find repulsive in their opposition to God, what we shrink back from with pain and hostility, namely, real human beings, the real world, this is for God the ground of unfathomable love.

and

While we exert ourselves to grow beyond our humanity, to leave the human behind us, God becomes human; and we must recognize that God wills that we be human, real human beings. While we distinguish between pious and godless, good and evil, noble and base, God loves real people without distinction.

It's kind of amazing isn't it? That human is just what God created us to be. And as much as we rail against this human life, this is what God intends for us. God even joined us here, to redeem us...we human beings. We are where God's love is revealed, this world. We have borne witness to Love itself. "...this is for God the ground of unfathomable love."

Myself Less

I stole this quote from my friend Jessica at One Wild and Precious Life...

“The Christian gospel is that I am so flawed that Jesus had to die for me, yet I am so loved and valued that Jesus was glad to die for me. This leads to deep humility and deep confidence at the same time. It undermines both swaggering and sniveling. I cannot feel superior to anyone, and yet I have nothing to prove to anyone. I do not think more of myself nor less of myself. Instead, I think of myself less.” -Tim Keller, The Reason for God (emphasis mine)

I just love that.

That's all.

Get a Life

(the following is (another) response to a recent sermon. It may only make sense to me, but I needed to get it out of my head and in writing. I'm working through some things. Feel free to ignore me.)

It's a little stone, it's a little mortar. It's a little seed it's a little bit of water...
in our hearts, in our hearts this kingdom's coming. - Sara Groves

There is still hope.

We may look around, disgusted by the disgusting things people are doing in the disgusting world.

But there is still hope.

We look at it, we see no end to the pain and depravity, the lost and the broken, the ugly and the wrong. We can see no end to it. And then we're tempted to say, no this is not going to get better. I will not be so clueless as to say that the world can get better. I mean, after all, the Bible says that it will get worse and worse in the end times...so I guess I'll just ride this out because I'm one of the chosen who belongs in Heaven. I'll be right here waiting for that because it's not going to get better anyway...it's just hopeless.

Many of us really do believe that at least at some level, and we're wrong.

Sure, the truth is that there isn't an end to it. There's not supposed to be an end to it, not in this life. But if we simply say that it cannot get better, what are we doing here? If we cannot be positive, if we cannot say there's hope, why don't we just throw in the towel now?

I heard the words, if you think that way (believing that the world can change and get better) you need to get a life.

OK. I will get a life. A life of hope in the getting better.

When we turn our noses up in disgust, when we see something we cannot stand that goes against our personal beliefs, we are doing nothing to bring that hope. If we stay in our small circles with people just the same as we are and we talk about how wrong everyone else is, it's true, there is no hope. But you know what? The things we see as disgusting, they are a result of a poverty of the soul. The death and destruction, figuratively or literally, the kind that's brought on by man? That's a poverty of the soul and of the spirit. And it calls for acts of love.

When we step out in love, stand in the face of injustice, and serve the world around us...well, that's kingdom work, hopeful work. It is getting a life.

Heaven is still touching Earth in everyday miracles large and small. People are still reaching out and living in a freedom that is so contagious, it changes things, and it changes lives. Lives that looked so hopeless and are not.

There is hope.

When you speak of the world with such a lack of hope, it makes me want to stop caring about the world. I don't want to stop caring. So please don't tell me to get a life.

"See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland." Isaiah 43:..18 & 19

Last Sunday and it's seven numbers

"Cursed is everyone who does not continue to do everything that is written in the book of law."
Galatians 3:10

I start to get angry. Then I stop. I take a deep breath and grab a pen and write my thoughts. I listen to the sermon. I look up, I look around, and the words just keep coming so I write them down in response to the listening. No one else is looking around. It's like they're scared to be seen while they hear about their complete and total depravity from the pulpit.

I want to stand up and say STOP please stop, where is the redemption, where is the grace, where is the healing...

Because so often, in so many congregations and so many denominations, it is left at this:
1) you are nothing but depraved
2) God hates sin
3) you are hiding your secret sins
4) God can see your sin
5) God hates your sin
6) stop sinning
7) the end

It's dangerous, I think. If we leave it at that, what are we leaving out? And maybe even more importantly, what are we adding in?

I've listened to more sermons than I can count that followed the numbered steps above, and only those numbers. So at some point in my life, I started to believe I was nothing but bad and that God could not possibly want anything to do with me. I don't think that's just me, partially because I have many people in my life who tell my same story.

When we hear something that's left at the end over and over, we fill in the blanks with a whole lot of shame, shame that leaves us stuck in our pits, afraid to look up, to be found out. It leaves us alone.

When I began to face my internal beliefs, things deeply rooted through years of words like those from Sunday, I saw that the complete focus on sin had back-fired. Because if I believe that is all that I am, I live out that which I think I am. Failure, ugly, shameful, unworthy...

dangerous things to live out.

I don't want to live there. I want to live in the freedom that Christ came to bring for this life and the next. I want to love because He loves me like mad. I want to try because He loves me like mad. I want to stand up and say NO, that is not who I am, THIS is who I am, and then I want to live that out.

I don't want to focus on me and fixing me and then focus some more on me and what I'm getting right and what I'm getting wrong.... That leaves no room for living out my faith in the world around me because I'm never thinking about them.

But how do I do that if someone is telling me sin is all that I am?

It seems that many Christian leaders are afraid that we'll forget the seven numbers. Maybe some people do forget, and of course there are some that have never heard the gospel message. But for the most part, I think we already know. Let's face it, most preachers are preaching to a congregation that is mostly Christian. There aren't many non-Christians who find the church appealing.

As one of those Christians sitting in church, longing to be fed some life, I am already fully aware of the seven numbers because I'm the one wading through my own troubled mind and life just like the rest of the world. Of course, I may now and again need a good bonk over the head, reminding me that I've got a long way to go, but for the most part I'm keenly aware of that long way on a daily basis.

What I'm looking for is teaching that reminds me I can do all things through Christ because He loves me the way that He does, and then I want to live the joy that revelation brings.

Because you know what?

If I do that, if I really GET that love...all the other stuff, the shameful horrible stuff we're focusing on, will fall away in it's time.

the end

I wanted so badly for this sermon to end differently. (and to be fair, it's a four part series, so maybe it will end differently, I hope.) But it didn't on Sunday. It ended with the end.

I wanted to walk to the front and grab the microphone. I wanted to add what I think He would say to me...

8) I'll never let you go
9) I'm crazy about you
10) there is no the end to that.

"Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us."
Galatians 3:13

I want to believe that fully, and then love other people with that kind of love...

(I wanted to share a video here because it says what I'm trying to say, but embedding it on a blog is not a possibility. You can still check it out on YouTube: How He Loves by David Crowder. Thank you.)

Red Light, Green Light

Sunday~ October 4, 2009



The other day I was sitting at a stop light, fingers drumming the steering wheel, leg bouncing. The boys were being watched by a neighbor that I was anxious to relieve, and the light seemed extra long. Well, it actually was quite long because it's that light. The light that seems broken, leaving a person to sit in a row of thirty cars, only ten of which will be the lucky ones to make it through the next small chance at conquering the intersection.

The light finally turned green and I inched forward, small jerking movements, attempts at teleporting myself through the sea of bumpers in front of me, hoping hoping hoping c'mon c'mon c'mon I need to make it...

There were still ten cars ahead of me when the light turned red again. UUUGH!

Just moments after we were beckoned to go, we were stopped again.

Well! Just kidding, I said to myself, sighing and settling in for some more wandering thoughts while staring at red. I shut down, zoned out, gave up. Fine, I'm never going to make it.

I laughed at my grumptified self a little then and started to think about how life is a lot like waiting at a stop light. How I'll be chomping at the bit to do something, to change something, to make something happen. I'll be motivated and ambitious and ready, tap-tap-tapping at the gas, revving my engine. I'll see just what I want on the horizon, my hopes will rise with the green light of a seemingly obvious answer, and then...

Yellow light.

Oh no, I'm not going to make it. Why are there so many people ahead of me? Why can't I be up there with them? I need to go now!

Anxiety. Impatience. Discontent.

Red light.


I thought about this again today as I drove the two hours back from my parent's house. We weren't stuck in traffic, we were on the freeway, moving along without a hitch. I thought about how often that's the case in my life, this fast moving pace filled with only small problems like a sticky steering wheel and the annoyance of stopping for gas.

But I still have a tendency to get focused on the times I'm given the signal to wait. I shut down, zone out, give up. So quickly.

He's not sleeping through the night (whine stomp) When will I ever have time for me (fingers drum the steering wheel) When in the world will they sleep past 6 in the morning, I'm so tired (leg bouncing let's go let's go let's go) Look! I think I saw God open a door! (concentrating hard to teleport myself through bumpers) I really want to move, WHY can't we sell our house? (more whining and stomping)

In those times, I'm only thinking about me, how I should be the first one to go when the light turns green, how I should never have to wait.

But today as I drove, though I may have learned the lesson a thousand times, it hit me full force...

There are drivers around me who are truly suffering, they are stuck in a line of traffic much longer than thirty cars at a light that never turns green. I have been in their shoes. I know how it feels, and I know what got me through the worst kind of traffic jams. Other drivers, ones who weren't so self-obsessed that they passed on the right and kept going. They were the kind of drivers that looked out for me, those were the people that got me through. Grace people.

Some of the hurting commuters are in my life and I love them, and now I want (and need) to pull up alongside them, get out of my car, and climb in their passenger seats. Or drive. Or sing. Or tell a funny story. Or just sit. Whatever they need, I want to do it. I want to do what has been done for me. Whatever the cost is to my valuable time, I want to be there, doing.

When I forget myself, I'm not irritated by things like traffic lights. I'm much lighter, with less nail biting and leg bouncing. Suddenly, all those distant open doors and hopes off on the horizon are right there with me, in a much better form than I'd imagined.

It's good, getting what you needed instead of what you thought you wanted, because you gave of yourself.

Green light.


(photos courtesy of flickr)

I'm going to have to hug her...

Amidst the overstuffed boxes of memories sat a stack of notebooks, the kind I started to use as journals or for school and then somehow quit. The first couple of pages were scrawled with words I can't remember writing, and then nothing, page after page of empty.

I set them aside and continued to pour over things I've kept over the years. I knew I was taking a risk, leafing through notes from a first love, scanning cards and letters from family and friends, staring long at pictures of a girl I hardly know, and yet know all too well.

With a pit in my stomach and a lump in my throat I asked myself why walking down memory lane is so painful for me. I realize that traumatizing things did happen in my more youthful years, some brought on by me and some brought on me. But it seems like other people can look back and say Water under the bridge, no big deal, I was young and that's over now. Live and learn. Move on.

Not me. Starting at a young age, I did take a whole lot of detours, creating pot holes of pain all over my memory lane, and I haven't really been able to let it go even though I know it all serves it's purpose in making me...me. And I'm okay with me...now. Mostly.

But it's still as if I made a choice to attach my past to my ankle and drag it around as some sort of punishment. Which ironically, leaves me living in many of the same behaviors that bring me that feeling in the pit of my stomach, the one that seems so big, I'm terrified it won't ever go away, that pit that leaves me depressed and impatient and distant.

Because it's attached to my leg, the past always seems very close, pulling me from the here and now and leaving me back there, somewhere very lonely, since everyone else seems to have left it all behind, moved on...grown up.

Here I am, 34 years old, stomping my foot and begging God to work some kind of miracle in me, one that would change me, making me more peaceful and less moody, more joyful and less melancholy. Like yesterday, after a particularly difficult road trip with the boys in which I totally lost my cool, I actually resorted to begging God to hurry up and zap me, change me with that instant miracle I've been waiting on my whole life. But He didn't.

(What He did choose to do that very moment was to paint a rainbow across the sky. That was nice, and it did bring me some tears of relief, thinking on how He does still keep promises, but I still wanted to be zapped.) (Just saying.)

Then today I talked with a friend who could be me if we were allowed to share the same body. I told her about the notebooks, the ones filled with things I feel like I'm still saying all these years later, and the ones that are mostly empty. I joked about how those notebooks are a great analogy for my life. How I've wasted so many chapters on what seems like nothing and how it makes it feel like I'm never going to just get over it and change already.

To which she said, "I want to shake that old me. I want to slap her."

ME TOO. (not her, me.)

That's when we both got it at the same time.

I want to be able to say that if I could go back in time, I would hug me. I would forgive me. I would somehow love me no matter what I was doing.

I haven't been giving her that grace.

One thing I know for sure is that God loved me despite all of it, and He still loves me now.

Instead of doing the same, I've looked back in disgust, shaking my head and feeling a whole lot of shame, whether I think I've worked through it or not.

Being hard on yourself for things you cannot change is just as much a waste of time as not forgiving others.

Then my friend said, "I think this is more about love than it is about change."
The change will come with love. Love is a change magnet. Like a rainbow to the rain.

We joked then about how we're not quite ready to hug our former selves.

"Maybe tomorrow," she said. "For today, let's just go with a high five."

Yeah, I guess that's a good place to start, better than a slap or a kick anyway.

Perhaps the next time I sit down with the old notebooks, instead of cringing, hating that young me for what she did or what she said or what she didn't do, I will look at her differently, forgive her, and then leave the pages behind. I hope so. I'd like to love her so she can stop effecting my present.

That would be just the miracle I'm looking for, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to hug her first.


(If you would like to read another redemptive story brought on by the notebooks from my past, I wrote more about them here.)

My Part

Miles called me back to his bedroom.

"I'm scared."

"I'm right in the next room, what are you scared about?"

"Remember that guy with the slurpy tongue? That big guy who ate up people by slurping them in the cave?"

"No, I don't remember that. I don't know what you're talking about, but if you feel scared, why don't you talk to God about it, ask Him to take those thoughts away so you can sleep."

A few minutes later, I'm back to sorting through piles and piles of paperwork, and from the monitor I hear, "GOD, GIVE ME A CHANCE HERE AND MAKE.ME.STOP.THINKING.THAT. UUUGGGHHHH!"

I feel a tinge of recognition, a pain in my heart. I can relate to his frustration and fear.

Moments after that, he's calling me back to his room again. He tells me (with his exasperated-I'm-trying-to-sound-like-a-grown-up-voice) that God is not listening to him. He says God won't take away the scary thoughts.

Then the words just poured from me and I found myself standing there talking to my boy and myself about something very important.

"You have to do your part, Miles."

I went on and attempted to explain that God can give him the strength, but he needs to make a choice to think about something else too. He needs to decide to think a different way, like maybe about Curious George, something good or funny.

Oh, how I too want a magic wand experience with God. World peace - Pazow! An end to world hunger - Whamo! Healing for the sick- Kaboom! Overcoming my own demons - DONE! Patience and peace with a touch of a zen-like state - YOU GOT IT! BOOM! Money tree - IT'S YOURS!

Maybe it works that way sometimes, and I'm sure that's awfully nice. But for the most part, I think it's a two-way street. To be honest, most of the time I wish it were not. I don't want to have to do anything but believe. I want to sit back and watch goodness come from my wanting of it.

Then I remember what would be lacking.

If God always responded with immediate relief, the relationship and refinement that comes with doing my part would disappear. When I listen, when I pick myself up and do what I know I need to do, I finally take a good look at those purposes.

What we're working on here, together, is my heart.

I haven't been doing that lately. I'm standing in doorways and preaching to my child, but then on the other side of the wall I am fists tight and a stomping foot. I am shouting, "GOD, GIVE ME A CHANCE HERE AND MAKE.ME.STOP.THINKING.THAT. UUUGGGHHHH!"

I see the child that I am standing there, and I know I've got work to do. I just don't really feel like doing my part.

What amazes me is that my heart continues to grow and change despite myself, ever so very slowly, even when I don't want to try.

Grace.

Miles somehow accepted my advice without an argument or a sound. He was sitting up, shoulders slumped in the dark and after hearing what he needed to do, he let himself fall back to his pillow. To try again. To rest.

Sometimes that's all we can do.