Of Dry Bones

Yesterday I was in the car and a familiar tune came on, one our youth choir had just sung beautifully in Sunday's service over the weekend. I'd sung along to the chorus so often, I knew it well.


But somehow that moment in the car was the first time I made the conscious decision to think through the verses. And what I heard broke me.

"Through the eyes of men it seems
There's so much we have lost
As we look down the road 
Where all the prodigals have walked . . ."

Y'all, I'm serious when I say I made the conscious decision to think through this, I was picturing the words Lauren Daigle's voice was working through. We, as the church, see through our broken lenses that we have lost so much - we're looking down this path those who have turned away have chosen to follow. We, as the church, are losing them, these prodigals, by droves, and we're just watching them go. That's hard. And her next words are where I just broke into tears right there behind the steering wheel - not slow, sweet tears, but real, hard tears.

"One by one
The enemy has whispered lies
And led them off as slaves."

Because this unfortunate, heart-wrenching truth is one that has been tearing me apart for a long time. Our enemy is devouring our culture and he's doing it through crafty little lies. The ones that sound so beautiful and so noble, but are LIES. And through these lies he is carrying the prodigals of the church away as slaves. Can you picture it?! Because that mental picture is what brought my tears. Brothers and sisters in Christ chained to the lies they've been told, carried off to be slaves - to fear, to sin, to brokenness. They have been captured.

And we're not fighting back.

We are a church of dry bones.

Bones that have dried up through yet even more lies. Lies that say this life is all about me, and my comfort and my safety. Lies that say my time is mine, my body is mine, my money is mine. Sometimes they're veiled with words like, "I just need to think about my family" or "I need to protect my time." And I'm not saying those are never valid points - but maybe they've sometimes been used as excuses to keep us from doing the hard stuff - the stuff that makes life a little more difficult than we'd prefer or require a little more of our time, energy, resources than we're really comfortable with. Things that demand we look someone else in the eye and say, you are worth everything I am and everything I have on the sole basis that you are a human being created in the image of God and He has called me to serve and not to fear. But as we take the wide path, around the broken and hurting, we take the path that leaves us dry and useless.

If you're not sure where this reference to dry bones comes from, it's a fascinating portion of the Old Testament - the kind of text that makes people say, "Wait, that's in the Bible?!" The passage can be found in Ezekiel, chapter 37, verses 1-14. Read it all, if you have the time. Basically the Spirit of God brings the prophet Ezekiel into a valley filled with bones. On God's command, Ezekiel prophesies to the bones and, the Bible tells us, the bones rattled together, bone to bone, developed sinews, and flesh and were covered with skin. Verse 10 says, "So I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived and stood on their feet, an exceedingly great army."

In case you missed it - he was in a valley of dead and broken bones that grew flesh and stood, alive, as an army. I mean, this happened, y'all. That's crazy and awesome.

And what's more, the Lord does this as a visual for Ezekiel to share with the people of Israel. They are these dry bones that will be breathed into with the breath of life and they will live.

This is what the song is stating when it says, "So with the faith you've given us we'll step into the valley unafraid . . . up out of the ashes let us see an army rise. We call out to dry bones, Come alive." As the prophet Ezekiel did, let us call out the dry brokenness of our Church and breathe the breath of God over them.

And this is what our Church today - the body of Christ - needs so desperately. We need this breath of life. We need to allow God to flesh us out so we can stand as an army. There is a battle to be waged. There are prisoners of war enslaved to the lies whispered to them and we, as the Church, as an army, need to stand up and not be afraid to do the hard living that battles what culture is telling us is right. Let us call out these lies and rescue the captives in Christ's name.

"O dry bones, hear the Word of the Lord." - Ezekiel 37:1-14

Of Being the Love

The other night, in the wake of a sleepless night brought upon by thunderous storms crashing outside our windows, shaking the walls, lightning flashing in endless succession, a similar storm, the kind that seem to come when I'm too exhausted to continue absorbing life, raged within me.

I found myself in endless tears and sick of it all - convinced I was rejected and worthless, but mostly feeling useless in a world where a truck barrels through crowds in a country you feel connected to through those you know, who have walked and lived in its streets, and twelve hours later a military is striking a coup in a country you feel connected to through those you know, who have walked and lived in its streets. And these are real places and real people dying in real ways. And this world is falling apart and all I could think is, "What's the point?!"

Why are we all still here? Why does any of this matter anymore when it feels like it's all just a matter of time, and by time, I mean months, or weeks, or just days, before it all just hits the fan. And we're in the middle of this mess that we can't seem to find our way out of. In a time when we can't even make statements as audacious as "All Lives Matter" because we're silencing a voice that deserves to be heard, even though it is beyond absolutely true that we sit here with hearts breaking and grieving for all lives. Because Black Lives Matter. Because French Lives Matter. Because Cop Lives Matter. Because Turkish Lives Matter. Because Christian Lives Matter. Because Syrian Lives Matter. Because Homosexual Lives Matter. Because Muslim Lives Matter. Because Black is not the only color hurting right now and their house is not the only one burning. The whole world is burning - and it will go straight down as long as the divisions continue.

And as I sob myself to sleep in the face of this hopeless darkness we call our world, all I can think are the words to a song that have been running through my head for a week:

"People killing, people dying,

children hurt and you hear them crying,

Can you practice what you preach? 

And would you turn the other cheek?

Father, Father, Father help us, 

need some guidance from above.

'Cause people got me, got me questionin'

'Where is the love?'"

And I wake, better rested and able to think, though still with this song in my head, on my heart and I feel God asking, in response, "Where are you?" Because God, Himself, is love and we, the church, are His hands and feet. And this love is only going so far as we carry it. And while I've been breaking into pieces in a seemingly hopeless situation, what has been brewing in my heart hasn't been love - it's been judgment, anger, frustration, sadness, hurt. 

And when I feel attacked, all my mind can process is a mental defense, even if it's never launched. When I feel rejected, I curl up and cry. When I feel worthless, I want to be done. But where is the love? Truly, can I practice what I preach? Can I be love when it feels like all is lost? Can I truly turn the other cheek to a world that seems ill-content to simply slap one and the other, but is ready to destroy for the sake of semantics? How far has my love gone?

Because the kind of love God personifies is an unconditional love. The kind that says, even when it's all falling apart. Even when the world despises. Even when we're trampled upon, mocked, beaten, wrongfully accused, sentenced to die, we love. We say, "Father, forgive them." We humble ourselves to the point of death. 

Is this the kind of love the church is known for? Is this the kind of love that could make a difference?

Maybe not to the point of eradicating terrorism or racism or bigotry or hate, but it could make a difference to one. Or maybe two. Maybe the only answer is softening our own hearts and choosing to respond with love, in every situation - both the big ones, terror attacks or racial discrimination, and the little ones, such as the tiny terrorists in our homes or the friend who cancels plans. 

When love, in the mundane and in the monumental, becomes a habit for us, the church, perhaps a new kind of fire can spread.

Of His Job

In the grand tradition of parents enslaving their children - because when I was younger, there was a time I was certain the only reason my parents had kids was so we could be their servants, because that's what it felt like when I was in the middle of my fourth episode of Saved by the Bell for the afternoon and I had to turn it off to go set the table (so what if my mom hadn't sat down since she got home from work and was now slaving over the hot stove - I had to watch Zack take Kelly to the picnic-table prom in their jeans, for the fourth time, since, of course, I'd already seen every episode in triplicate) - we have also given our servants children chores.

We've eased into it, so now that they've been used to emptying the kids' plastic dishes from the dishwasher, we've given our eldest the task of fillling it at the end of the day (and when she complains, I almost never pull out, "When I was your age, we didn't even have a dishwasher!" - almost never). The thing is, though, even though we've given her the task, I still haven't grown accustomed to not doing that portion of my job - it's still second nature to contiue clearing the counter of dishes throughout the day, so that by the end of her first day on the job, as she approached, down-trodden at the thought of this menial manual labor, she discovered a counter void of dishes and a dishwasher half-full of dirty ones. 

"Mom, did you put the dishes in the dishwasher?"

Thinking nothing of it, because I hadn't necessarily gone out of my way, but merely had done what was habit at this point, I responded, "Yeah, I guess I did."

A smile slid out and she said with genuine gratitude, "Thank you!"

It occurred to me that I had done nothing more than I've been doing regularly for the past seven and a half years of her existence, yet this was the first time she had even thought to thank me for putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher.

And it felt good.

Because it wasn't until the task became her own that she stopped to appreciate that someone else would do that instead. It never occurred to her that it had always been me doing the dishes instead of her, because it had never been "her" job before.

It was a sweet moment. 

And I realized as I contemplated this encounter that it's exactly what God did for His creation. When the first two humans were in the garden, it was His job to watch over them and take care of them, to protect their righteousness. They didn't even have to worry about deciding what was good or evil - their sole task was to simply be and to simply be with God as he strolled with them through the garden daily.

Unfortunately, they were deceived and they made wrong choices and from there it was and is a continual story of man trying to watch out for himself, trying to make himself "good," not even recognizing much of the time that God has always been there rescuing and upholding them with His righteous right hand.

So, they built a tower to try to get to Heaven on their own, because they really thought they could do it. And He thwarted their efforts, recognizing they would never be happy so long as they were trying to do this on their own. Because they didn't realize He was already there. He already wanted to be with them. He'd wanted that all along.

And eventually, as though He were saying, "Fine - you want this to be your job? This job of being righouteous enough to be mine? I'll show you what you need to do," He gave them laws to follow. Tablets filled with laws. This is right, this is wrong. Do your hair this way. You cover your head, but you don't cover your head. Do this. Don't do that. Eat this. Don't eat that. Laws. Everything that would be required to be righteous enough to belong to Him.

Because they never trusted He could do it for them. And all along, He had a plan to show them. It was always Him.

After centuries, the plan came to fruition. God Himself came down as a man and completed the task we'd been trying to do on our own all along - He made us righteous. 

"For as by one man's [Adam's] disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man's [Jesus'] obedience the many will be made righteous" (Acts 5:19)

"Out of the anguish of his soul . . . shall the righteous one, my servant, make many to be accounted righteous, and he shall bear their iniquities" (Isaiah 53:11)

And it wasn't until the job had been ours - this job of making ourselves righteous through our own actions - and we felt the weight of a task we were inadequate to fulfill, that we were finally able to see that someone else was holding us up all along. At this moment of redemption, we recognize that the task of being made righteous was completed by the Son of God who hung on a cross, and we turn with a smile on our face and say, "Thank you." Thank you for being there all along. Thank you for completing the task we were unable to complete - the one that we were never designed to complete in the first place. 

Gratitude is the only response to the undeserved righteousness poured over us at the cross.

Thank you.

It's His job. It always has been.

Of Being Fed

We're still in Mark. Last week we covered Jesus feeding five thousand men and their families with five loaves of bread and two fish. Today I read about His feeding four thousand with seven loaves and a few fish. A pair of well-known stories, but what amazes me are the reactions afterward - particularly of his disciples, who still don't quite seem to understand Who this man is that they're following.

As if almost any interesting teacher can turn five loaves of bread and two fish into enough to feed five thousand men with 12 baskets of food leftover.

You know, they see that every day, which is why it's such a shock to see a man walking on water. Because there's something that can't be explained (I mean, I know it's shocking - but what make it the final straw, really?).

Seriously, guys?

So, after he feeds the four thousand, the Pharisees approach him demanding "a sign" - an undeniable indication that He has actually come from Heaven - because all these other party tricks - healing lepers, casting out demons, feeding multitudes, raising the dead - anyone could do that. Well, Jesus isn't about proving Himself to the eyes - He's interested in a heart-deep understanding. And if hearing what He has to say has no effect on their understanding of Him, seeing what He can do won't do much for them either. So He denies their request.

Later, in the boat with His disciples, He warns them of "the leaven of the Pharisees and the leaven of Herod." To which they respond in their eloquent wisdom by arguing with each other over the last loaf of bread - because Heaven knows there's not enough to feed those 13 men on that one boat. 

In fact, Heaven does know exactly how much bread they have. And Heaven knows they just watched this man they're following feed a total of nine thousand men with a grand total of twelve loaves of bread and they still don't get it. They still don't get, as my ESV study notes put it, that this man in the boat with them is "none other than the eternal creator and giver of life." 

They still think He's talking about food.

And they still don't get that if it's the food they're worried about, He'll always be able to provide for it. He is always willing and able to provide for the physical needs.

But His priority, as He proves time and again - not the least of which in feeding these throngs of people through a miracle rather than sending them away so they can all be sustained with nutrients and rest, seeing that the sustenance they need can only be found in His presence, in His words - His priority is to meet the spiritual needs of the people.

And what Jesus is warning them against in speaking of the leaven of Pharisees and Herod, is about taking to heart the worldly wisdom of even "religious" leaders and kings. The puffed up teachings about the outward life that do little to sustain true life. 

Do we hear that warning?

Do we truly understand that God is so much more concerned with what goes into our hearts than what goes into our bodies?

Do our prayers reflect His priorities? Or how much of what we fall on our knees about pertains to our physical needs, comfort, safety? And, conversely, how much of what we take to His feet regards the spiritual needs of our friends, our family, our nation, our planet, ourselves? Does our ratio reflect His?

And in this culture of organic, un-processed, clean, trans-fat-free, non-GMO, no-artificial-sweetener obsession, how concerned are we, by comparison, by what is entering our hearts?

Because we gladly fill ourselves up with the puff of this world - what the news articles tell us, what the entertainment industry feeds us, what the blogs list for us - knowledge, knowledge, knowledge. Leaven, leaven, leaven. And while we're watching every morsel that enters our mouths we're missing the boatloads of trash that are entering our hearts.

And Jesus is saying, "Do you not yet understand?!"

Let our hardened hearts be softened to the true message He came to give. No amount of physical provision and outward change can ever satisfy what our hearts truly crave - the nearness of the eternal creator and giver of life.

Beware the leaven.

Of the Purpose of This Redeemed Life

The women's Bible Study group I am so privileged to be a part of is currently working its way through the gospel of Mark - reading the story of Jesus through the hurried words of a man who got His telling of Jesus straight from the mouth of our brash and beloved disciple, Peter.

This morning, I was in chapter five, where we see Jesus addressing a demon-possessed man living among the tombs of Gerasene - naked, screaming, with the strength to break all chains and shackles. He can't be restrained, but he can't be free.

Jesus comes to him, speaking not to the man himself, merely the host for the legion of demons within, but to those who possess him, casting them out to nearby pigs, so they may have their destructive desire fulfilled on at least some portion of God's creation - just not the portion so precious and prized as a human soul. Because a human soul is worth so much greater than two thousand pigs.

And as people come running to see what the commotion is about, they see this unrestrained man really, finally, free, sitting, clothed and in his right mind. Clothed, because after Jesus restored his spirit, He restored his dignity. And "in his right mind" because, as the ESV footnote states, he was "properly functioning again as an image-bearer of God."

And isn't that what we are all called to? To be cleansed, dignity restored, properly functioning as image-bearers of God? Because though we may not all have the physical demons within, we all have inner demons with which we wrestle - particularly before coming to Christ - that destroy our ability to properly bear His image, as we seek the temporary fix - greed, vanity, lust. And as we are restored to our original function - to serve as image-bearers, we are to take on the characteristics that define Him - love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness and self-control. We are to be in our right mind.

And once we're there, we can suddenly recognize there is only one place we want to be, just as the redeemed former-demoniac of Gerasene recognized, and that's with our Redeemer, our Rescuer. We long to be with Him.

As I was emerging from the fog of depression only about a year or so ago, this was the one thing I wanted. Because if this world was so ugly, why couldn't I just depart and be with Him? Wrapped in His beauty, singing His praises for all of eternity?

Yet, that's not where He wants us. Not yet.

For those of us who remain, He has one command, "Go home to your friends and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you" (Mark 5:19).

It is interesting to note, this is the first time in Mark's account that we see Jesus actively encouraging someone to tell others about Him. Previously He had been very adamant about not spreading the news. He had silenced demons against speaking His name and had told a healed leper, "See that you say nothing to anyone."

Yet this man receives the command to go forth and spread the word. Why?

Of course I can't tell you with 100% certainty what Jesus was thinking, but I wonder if it was because this man redeemed of his demons had a true heart for Jesus - recognizing that with his new healed state, he could live a free life and all he wanted to do with that new life was follow after Jesus.

And this is the kind of testimony Jesus wants told.

He wants hearts that are completely for Him to draw others to Him, not for a spectacle of displayed power, but for the true healing and mercy found only in Him.

This redeemed life isn't about me - it's about making His name known.

Of the True Presence of God

A friend recently told me that my finest quality was my willingness to stand by my convictions despite the consequences.

It was one of the most meaningful compliments of my life, though I doubt how strongly I stand by my convictions at times. I appreciated that somehow, despite what I consider failures, someone has seen this in me.

As I pondered this statement, it occurred to me that while I don't always stand proudly for things I believe are right, but I have a tiny twinge of doubt about, there are some things to which I hold firmly: that every life is valued, wherever or however it originated; that it is the Christian responsibility to protect life of any kind; and the reason I care about life is because I believe, without a shadow of a doubt in the One Who gave us life - God. And I believe He is intimately involved in the details of these lives He created.

While I have believed, as long as I can remember, this God existed, and while I have read His Word nearly daily for two decades now, I can point you to the exact moment I knew without one shade of questioning that He was there and that He has His hand constantly near to His creation.

It was the last day of August, 2004.

I had spent the entire summer working at a Christian camp for girls (an absolute dream) - which meant I had spent an entire summer in "worship" services that consisted of the camp theme song for that year and various other child-relatable songs. Perfectly wonderful for them, not quite enough to scratch my own soul-itch, though.

I longed for the type of worship service I had become accustomed to: contemporary songs, dim lights, hands raised high as I praised my Creator.

And on that last day of August, back in school again, our university hosted their first worship night of the new semester. I was so thrilled to be there.

Yet, in the dim-ness of our small campus chapel - the historic building that evokes the quaintness of 100 years of worship - surrounded by fellow students raising their hands to sing to God, I could not put my heart in that place. I felt stifled, surrounded by bodies, oppressed by heat and with a sudden urge to just escape.

So, I did - pushing gently past those lost in song, climbing over others bowed to their knees in prayer and heartfelt adoration, just shoving toward the door.

I stepped outside and breathed deeply. Fresh, cool air.

I had the sudden realization that the soul-drink I truly needed wouldn't be found in a room filled with bodies and sound, but in the quiet alone-ness of my own heart.

I walked across our dark, mostly deserted campus, to the steps of the much-larger chapel, the one in which the student-body gathered weekly as a mandatory qualification to attend this school.

I climbed up the steps, sitting near the top, looking out over the large marble cross towering over the walkway leading up to the building. In the distance was the small white chapel from which I had just escaped, and from which emanated softly the sounds of the continued worship set.

I held my Bible in my lap and I sat in silence. Listening. Waiting to hear God speak, as I had longed to learn how to do for many years after I once and for all invited Him into my life, to lead me as I followed.

And in the quietness of my soul, I heard "Habakkuk."

Now, I knew this to be an obscure book of the Bible - one of the "minor prophets" - a two-page book toward the end of the Old Testament. I knew that much.

But I didn't know anything else. I didn't know where, exactly, to find it - between which other small, obscure books it was sandwiched. I didn't know what it said. And I had certainly never thought to look there before.

For all these reasons, I felt maybe it was God asking me to turn there now. But, then there was that part of me that always speaks up when I think I hear His soul-whispering: Was that God? Or just one of my own random thoughts?

But, then, who randomly thinks of Habakkuk?

As I contemplated, I began to slowly sift through the pages of my Bible, vaguely trying to find my way there.

Of course, I was in Oklahoma - and we all know what comes sweeping across the plains of Oklahoma. And as I meandered through the tissue pages, the wind came along and began fluttering them swiftly by. I leaned back on my hands, simply watching the flitting pages of my Bible resting on my lap, wondering, bemused, if maybe the wind would carry me where I needed to go.

The pages stopped.

I looked at the top of the page on the left. Nahum.

Well, that's not Habakkuk. And that's where I was headed, right? So, I gently lifted the right side of my Bible, hoping the still-blowing breeze would pick up the pages once more to continue turning to wherever I felt called to be.

The pages would not move.

I wiggled the book a little more forcefully. Tried to slightly lift a page to give the breeze something to cling to, but there was nothing.

Still, the pages would not move.

They were held fast in place.

Well, fine, I guess my fingers would have to do the work.

The fingers of my hand began to lift the page on the right and I stopped.

Right there, opposite that final page of Nahum I had seen on the left, was the large, bold title of the next book.

Habakkuk.

I tremble as I type this now, as I do every time I tell this story, as I'm sure I did in that moment, when all I could do was sit in shocked silence, not even attempting to find a verse or passage, but giving the moment the full weight of what it was.

The God of the universe had come down, or at the very least, commanded the wind itself, to turn the pages of the Bible sitting in my lap to the exact place He wanted me.

Me.

I have never in my life felt as small as I felt in that one moment. I looked out over the darkness and saw tiny insect wings in flight, as is common on a late-summer evening, recognizing He designed every detail of that seemingly insignificant insect. His fingers formed the grass and placed the stars in the sky. And He knows them all by name.

And He knows me.

Who am I? Who am I that He would care to carry me to the place in Scripture He wanted me to be?

I was completely, entirely, humbled.

And in that moment everything I had ever believed was finally and ultimately confirmed. There is a God. And He is intimately involved in the workings of His creation. And He deeply cares for His children.

I am a child of God.

I know that I know that I know this - and I will cling to this truth for all of my life.

Now, a side-note, because while, for me, the importance of this event in my life is so much more about the way God showed Himself than the words I read on the page after, I know others will be curious.

Habakkuk, if you ever open your Bible to read it, is not an uplifting book.

There is a reason no one has heard of it.

It doesn't have the pretty poetry of the Psalms or the wisdom of the Proverbs. It doesn't tell a great story like Jonah or give us insights into the life, death or resurrection of Christ.

It's about destruction and despair and violence. It's a man crying out to God for vengeance for His people.

And it's in the Bible for a reason, but it's not a typical book to turn to when you're in need of some soul encouragement.

However, He did point me to Habakkuk 1:5 - which was the only verse I'd heard from the book up until that point:

“Look among the nations, and see;
    wonder and be astounded.
For I am doing a work in your days
    that you would not believe if told."

Again, this doesn't quite hold the same meaning in context as it does when it's read right there, all by itself. Because what God is referring to regarding what will happen among the nations is, yes, destruction of them. BUT - there is an amazing feeling knowing there are still things happening among the nations that we would not believe if we were told. Some wouldn't sound that great. But some would. And God is still working.

In fact, the very next day, on the heels of this passage, and of this humbling that fully convinced me to go wherever He would lead, He sent me on a journey I would have never predicted or seen, one that carried me all the way to Russia, where I fell in love with a people that most of the western world doesn't understand.

And, finally, at the end of the short three chapters of the entire book of Habakkuk, there are these verses, a prayer of the prophet who just delivered these words of destruction to God's people, verses to which I still cling, especially on the hard days:

17 Though the fig tree should not blossom,
    nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
    and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
    and there be no herd in the stalls,
18 yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
    I will take joy in the God of my salvation.
19 God, the Lord, is my strength;
    he makes my feet like the deer's;
    he makes me tread on my high places.

So, there you have it - these are the words that most spoke to me that one dark evening in August - unexpected words of encouragement tucked deep in the Old Testament.

But mostly what spoke to me that night on the cold stone steps was the real, tangible presence of God, right there in our midst.

Of Failure and Focus

I've been anticipating the snow. I love waking up to fat flakes falling on the ground. Our fireplace is fully functioning, again, so a day curled up in front of the fire with my favorite littles and white snow on the ground sounded lovely. So when I peeked out my window this morning and saw all my dreams coming true, I was happy to go see if the children had thought to look out their own windows . . .

"Mommy! It's snowing!" Yep, she'd seen it. As I attempted to greet her enthusiasm with my own, it started, "And you said, if it snowed . . ."

Oh no. What did I "promise"?

" . . . Callie would come over and we'd play in the snow!"

No. Wait. No. I distinctly remember this conversation. I distinctly remember indicating that if there were snow on the ground, her best friend's mom would most likely not be interested in driving her across town to play in the snow. Not to mention that which wasn't said: it stresses me out enough having my own three tromping in and out of the house all covered in freezing wet-ness, let alone three extras. No, I most certainly did not ever agree to a play-date in the snow.

"Well, baby, I don't think that's going to . . ."

"Well, we can at least go play in the snow! I can't wait!"

At this point I had to walk away. I could no longer handle the excitement. Because her snow day dreams and my snow day dreams just had a head-on collision and I couldn't handle the impact.

And this is when living in a semi-depressed state* makes living just hard. I suppose I can't guarantee it, but in my little, deluded brain, other people can handle this. Other people can hear the excitement of their kids and get excited right along with them. They can hurry them back into their rooms and get them bundled up to play.

All I can do is curl up in a ball on the couch and cry.

Because suddenly this snow day took on a whole new meaning.

Failure.

These children have so many excited expectations to what it means to see snow out their windows. And try as I may to make their dreams come true. I will falter on some minor detail and then these blessings will turn to monsters quicker than I can imagine. And their world is ruined and it's all my fault.

You think I exaggerate, because you can see in the above scenario she handled the change quite well, because they often do, to the surprise of us all. But, depending on the level of exhaustion in these little ones, I am guaranteed at least a handful of arbitrary melt-downs a day - from their favorite food on the wrong-colored plate, to having to take a five-minute break from coloring so they can empty the dishwasher, to not having the right pajama top to wear with their favorite bottoms. It seems that no matter how much parenting success I have, failure is always quick on its heels. Or, at least, failure in their eyes.

Mom has failed me because . . .

On an intellectual level, I understand. This failure is in their heads. The plate color is irrelevant and in no way makes me a bad mom. Doing chores is an important life skill and in no way makes me a bad mom. Clothes are sometimes in the laundry, and their not wanting to wear the clean clothing actually available in their drawers does not make me a bad mom.

But for some reason, in that moment of tears and yelling, all I can do is hear the words, "You have failed me." And all I can manage in response are my own angry words.

Because that fixes the situation.

Which brings me back to the couch of tears as a blanket of white envelopes the backyard. And I can see a future of crushed dreams and Mommy-failures and angry words and hot tears. And I'm crushed before the day can even begin. And all I can know is that I need to be back in bed, saving up energy to handle these crises well, while really hiding from the world so the failure can be pushed aside for at least another hour.

And then He reminds me of the lesson He spoke into my heart just yesterday:

"Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men." (Colossians 3:23)

And not because this is a new verse or because it helps me at all, or is any less burdensome, to feel like I'm supposed to have a worshipful heart in all these endeavors to make them happy, but because it means all these endeavors are not to make them happy.

All these endeavors are for the Lord.

Every action I perform as a mother isn't with the end goal of producing happy children who rise up and call me blessed, but for pleasing the Lord.

So, if I serve them food with love and they react with harshness, it does not matter. I am working for the Lord, not for them.

If I ask them to serve their family and they respond with anger and bitter words, it does not matter. I am working for the Lord, not for them.

If I have presented them with pajamas they don't wish to wear, it does not matter. I am working for the Lord, not for them.

If I have the energy to bundle them out to go outside, but not the energy to bundle myself up and join them, I am not condemned. I work for the Lord, not for them.

Their response should never dictate my own. In my response to their anger, tantrums and disrespect, I am to honor the Lord. Even when it feels like they don't deserve my kindness.

And this rule applies to all people, not just the little dictators living in my home.

Not to say this thought doesn't overwhelm me, either. But I can know my heavenly master is much more forgiving and understanding than the little ones on earth.

So I can breathe deep. And I can face this day. Because as I go about my day with a compassionate heart, kindness, humility, meekness and patience, I can know I am doing this for the Lord, as one of His chosen ones, holy and beloved. I do this for Him. Not for them.



*I say "semi-depressed" because a) I am in a much better place than I was a little over a year ago, but those days of darkness continue to knock on the door of my mind and b) I have never been officially diagnosed with Depression and I do not want to put myself in the same category as others who have most likely struggled with far more than I. Yet I am there, somewhere, wading through this fog.

Of Faith, Hope, and Love

A friend texted me this week, mentioning how she lost her book, For the Love, the day before our much-anticipated book club (well, she’s a mother of three and care-taker of a fourth, so, let’s be honest, it was lost long before then). I offered to share, no worries, before she corrected herself:  it was the book What Love Is – our morning Bible Study book - that was lost. 

“Lol – there’s a lot of love going on!”

And it couldn’t be closer to the truth. You could definitely say, God is speaking to my heart about a lot of things lately – but the greatest of these is love.

After working since January to memorize my way through Colossians chapter 3, I was inspired to study the rest of the book – because when the chapter starts with, “If, then, you have been raised with Christ,” it leads one to wonder, well what brought us to this point? How did we start this discussion about being actually raised, brought to life, with Christ, or, more accurately, in Christ – where my life is now hidden, as the verses go on to say.

And so I duped my small group into studying it, too, so I would have more motivation to follow through. Because that’s what small groups are for. And you know it’s God’s will for this study to happen when one member of your small group says, “Actually, I wrote the study notes on Colossians for the Holman Christian Standard Study Bible when I was in seminary.” Because of course he did.

And then, I cracked open my study Bible, aforementioned study notes, and journal and spent an hour and a half on four and a half verses – two of which were Paul and Timothy introducing themselves, which you know is weird when the man who earned that doctorate in New Testament something-or-other, the one who literally wrote the notes on the subject asks, “An hour and a half? Really?” Yes, really.

But that wasn’t enough, apparently, because God has been confirming this lesson continually in the past week and a half, so because we cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard (Acts 4:20), I’m going to share this lesson with you – in a whirlwind of a blog post that will hopefully be much shorter than an hour and a half, so buckle up.

It all starts in Colossians 1, verses 4-5(a) – “since we heard of your faith in Christ Jesus and of the love that you have for all the saints, because of the hope laid up for you in heaven.”  I noticed, after reading these verses, in both sets of study notes I had in my possession, this sequence of attributes was a favorite topic of Paul – faith, hope, and love. Which sound pretty and look all spiritual on our walls, and may have been turned into fancy wire ornaments by, well, me. But I didn’t know this was a specific Pauline (see? I totally could have gone to seminary) theme. I needed to know more about this, because as another small group member stated, when someone in authority mentions something multiple times, it’s important to them (We have a lot of smarties in our small group).

So, I looked up every cross-reference listed* in the notes and made a three-part list, to see what, exactly, Paul had to say about faith, hope, and love and what they actually meant for him, other than a great theme for wall décor.

If you happen to have spare time, I highly recommend this activity, but if you don’t, I boiled it all down in my journal to this:

“Faith, Hope, and Love are the foundational pieces of genuine Christianity. Faith in Christ Jesus, Love for others (pouring/overflowing from the love poured into us by the Holy Spirit [Romans 5:5]), based on our one hope of salvation and righteousness awaiting us in Heaven.”

So, this love, that is a strand in this cord of Christianity, isn’t just a love for Jesus, which is wonderful and necessary, but a love for others – as 1 Corinthians 13 says, our faith and our acts of service are useless without it. And this love partners with our faith, based on the foundation of hope.

I wrote more (shocking, I know):

“What’s beautiful is, according to 1 Thessalonians 5:8, faith and love protect our hearts in spiritual warfare, while our hope protects the head. Hope is the knowledge we have of what’s coming. Faith and love are the emotional outpouring stemming from that knowledge.”

So, this knowledge, this hope is what protects our minds from the attacks of the Enemy, while our faith in Christ and resulting love for others protect our hearts.

I don’t know if this is exciting or interesting to anyone else, but it was surprisingly mind-blowing to me.

But, then, let’s go back to 1 Corinthians 13 – as I considered this in Bible Study the day after verbally vomiting all of the above on our small group, I was reminded of the final verse, “Now these three remain, faith, hope, and love – but the greatest of these is love.”

Well, but, really?

Our hope, our knowledge of salvation, and our faith in Christ, are inferior to love?! And, specifically, as Paul emphasizes multiple times, love for people? Not our love for Jesus?

As I pondered, the truth hit me, or, more accurately was whispered to my heart. Our love poured on others – that love that was once and continually poured into us by God through the Holy Spirit – is the outward demonstration of that inward faith and hope. That is how we show what we believe and what we know to a world that can’t see our hearts or our minds – and, more importantly, can’t see God. 

But they can see our love.

And it’s that love that will draw others into Him – as they gain their own hope for salvation and faith in Christ.

Love is the key to all of this – it’s the seed we plant for others.

And, let’s remember, as another beautiful friend pointed out, our outward demonstrations of love look different for each person. Remember The Five Love Languages? Those are important – so don’t think that just because you’re not good at showing self-less acts of service or maybe your words of encouragement aren't as eloquent as someone else's you have failed in this regard.

You show love to others the way God designed you to do, so long as it comes from a heart of faith and mind firm its knowledge of salvation.

And, so long as it’s a pure love reflecting the love of Christ – the kind of love that lays down its life for another – which doesn’t always mean stopping a bullet for someone else, but it may mean sacrificing your “me” time (not always, but when necessary, yes), sacrificing your possessions, your money, your self-righteous need to speak out in defense, your culture-driven need for perfection. Sometimes it means not having a clean house because a child needs some personal attention. Not getting the sleep you so carefully planned out because a friend needs someone to talk to. Not living in comfort so that someone else can just live.

This kind of love – the love that so perfectly reflects the love of a Father Who sent His Son into a dirty, dying world so that this loved Son could be the replacement for these dirty, dying people in their death. This kind of sacrificial, self-dying love isn’t just what draws the world to Him, it’s the pure evidence of Christ in us.

It is not optional.

As that author of WhatLove Is so beautifully put it, while discussing 1 John 3:23, “We can’t separate loving others from our belief in Jesus. Both are intertwined. Our confession of Him will lead to action, and true love in action will result from our knowing Him. Belief without love can make you a Pharisee. Love without belief can make you a humanitarian. But if you have both, you’re a child of God” (Kelly Minter, p 103).

I couldn’t have said it better.

*For your own study, these are the cross-references I looked into:
Romans 5:1-5; 1 Corinthians 13:13; Galatians 5:5-6; Ephesians 1:15, 4:2-5; 1 Thessalonians 1:3, 5:8; 2 Thessalonians 1:3, Philemon 5 

Of Being Fully Known

Recently, a favorite artist of mine, JJ Heller, released a new album. And along with it, journals highlighting lyrics from said album. Without having listened to any of these new tunes yet, I chose based on what these words spoke to me. And this is the cover I opted to receive:

"Fully known by the Author of space and time."

It was a few days later, after receiving the package in the mail (half the fun of on-line shopping, am I right?!) and putting that CD on repeat in my kitchen (yes, I still listen to CD's as my primary form of musical consumption - which is why most of what plays in my kitchen is 90's/00's Christian pop/worship/hip hop - you know, whatever I managed to find under the "Christian" tab in the Wal-Mart CD aisle), and hearing that song multiple times that I finally realized why the words meant so much to me.

I have always had a fascination with filling out surveys. Questionnaires, worksheets, forms.

I like paperwork. I know, that makes me a freak, but if you give me a blank line to fill out, I get a little giddy. And if you're asking for information about me? Well, watch out.

I mean this. Really. You know those hour-long meaningless email forwards that used to make the rounds (back in the days before Facebook almost obliterated email)? "What's your favorite color?" "What time is it now?" "Ice Cream or Popcorn?" "If you owned a purple elephant in Madagascar, what would you name him and what color would his tusks be?"

Yeah, those ones.

I did every. single. one.

Because I loved it. As an introvert with an extrovert side she tries to hide because she thinks others just aren't interested, the opportunity to reveal parts of myself that I find fun, quirky and interesting, while not overtly boring others (hey, it's their choice to read through the answers) is a win.

Notice: I have my own blog.

I haven't changed.

I still like the idea of telling others about me while not forcing myself. If I'm speaking to you, you feel compelled to listen, and worse, yet, I might be able to tell if you wished I would just shut my mouth or are put off by what I've said or who I am (because I've seen the look a time or two). If my written word bores you, you can look away and I wouldn't even know. Which is good, because you may have already done so.

And underneath all of this, this eagerness to share myself quietly, and with many (many) words, to others, is a desire to be known. To reveal who I am, what I've done and things I enjoy, in the hopes that others will accept me and think I'm someone worth knowing.

Yet, here is this God.

The One, True God.

Creator of all the universe.

The Author of space and time.

The One Who formed me in my mother's womb.

And He knows me.

I am fully known. I didn't need to fill out a survey or tap into my witty side (that I like to pretend is there). I don't need to forward the answers to 20 people or send Him a link to the words I've spent the last hour typing.

He knows me.

And still loves me.

Because it's not just the cute, quirky stuff. The odd talents and fun facts, fascinating experiences or interesting tastes. He knows the ugly. The stuff I paint over and try to hide with my bubbly banter. He knows the depths.

Fully known.

And He still loves me.

And if I have this, this love from the One who formed me, Who has seen my ugly. Who has not just seen the ugly, but has picked me up, brushed off the dirt, washed it in the blood of His own Son, and declared me beautiful - if I have this love. From the one who knows me fully and chooses me anyway - why am I still seeking the approval of anyone else?

Whose opinion on this wide, roaming world, filled with sinners - liars, cheats, gossips, back-stabbers - sinners, like me, could possibly matter anymore than the one who has already declared me worth knowing?

Thus, I choose to live loved, in full recognition that I already have the love and acceptance - all I could ever ask for - from the One who knows me inside and out - deeper than any being on this earth.

It's this love that has freed me, to be the real me, uhidden and unpainted. Just me. Loved and accepted.

By the Author of space and time.

Of Our Redemption

I hate people.

Or, at least, that's what I told my husband, numerous times, as we traipsed across Europe, people everywhere (apparently August is the height of tourist season in Paris, which maybe extends to all of Europe? - which clearly makes it the ideal time for crowd-despising individuals like ourselves to make a visit). People shoving, people looking out for their own interests, even if it clearly interferes with what someone else is trying to do, people just being people.

As an introvert, there is definitely a large part of me that hates people, particularly en masse. But as a believer in Christ, there is a large part of me that loves people, or wants to love them.

Yet, there has been an overwhelming reminder lately, in our lives, in the lives of dear friends, in the lives of those in our church, and even now, reminders in the media, that people fail. They fail in big ways. In hurtful, devastating ways. People we would have regarded as examples or pillars of faith, as family, friends, or even someone in the distance to admire. They have failed. They have failed in ways we would never have imagined or believed if we'd been told (and in some ways we didn't want to believe, even after we were told).

And part of me just wants to declare it once again: I hate people.

But the truth of the matter is, when I hear about these people and the choices they have made that bring shame to themselves, their families and, most importantly, to the name of God, I don't hate the people. I hate Satan.

I hate the lies he has whispered in their ears. I hate the victory dance I imagine is happening even now as yet another warrior and champion for the cause of Christ has been tried and found guilty. He is delighting in the downfall of those who have brought others to the Lord, who have discipled and encouraged godly living. The downfalls that will, undoubtedly, cause some to question all they know about God when the person they learned it from has let them down. He is celebrating stolen innocence, broken homes, fallen tears, and shattered hearts.

He is having the time of His life.

And I burn with hatred.

Yet, in this moment, this moment when it feels like there are no good people left in the world, we have to remember:

We're right.

But that's because the one good person in this world died two thousand years ago. The rest of us have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23). We have been tried and found guilty. We are unworthy to carry His cause or His name. Even those of us in the church, who have embraced our redemption found in the old rugged cross, but who have found it difficult to put to death what is earthly in us (Colossians 3:5).

Some of us have our flaws publicly declared, our names dragged into the Colisseum of public mockery and scorn. The rest of us are secretly glad no one can see what is happening behind our closed doors.

And if we are not. If we have become so puffed up as to believe that we have nothing to hide, or nothing in our lives that could bring us shame, let us be aware that this is exactly where Satan wants us. Because when we have decided we are above it all and "would never do that," that's when he knows he has us. When we are not on our guard, constantly aware of what is broken in us, constantly clinging to Christ and begging he would cleanse our putrid hearts. Daily asking, because this process of sanctification, being renewed in knowledge after the image of our Creator (Colossians 3:10), is just that - a process, a daily, sometimes tedious, sometimes heart-wrenching, process, which will not be completed until the day of Christ. When we are not in this place recognizing, but for the grace of God, there go I. When we are not whispering in the ear of God, when we have become weak in our own strength, leaving the smallest opening for the whispers of the enemy, that is when we fail to notice where our path is going - where those whispers are taking us.

And when I see that this is me. This person who has taken one more step, and then another and then another toward that one feeble calling I have heard before and been tempted to follow. In that moment of recognition, I find myself unworthy.

And I find Him worthy. The One who stepped down from His throne to walk the earth among these people. These throngs of crowding, mocking people. To subject Himself to humiliation and scorn on behalf of all of us who have brought shame to His name, so that He can bring us out of this pit and He can embrace in love those of us who would so easily be consumed by hate. He was pierced for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities, and by his wounds we are healed (Isaiah 53:5).

Because we all, like sheep have gone astray. We have turned - every one - to his own way. And the Lord has laid on Him (on Him, the only perfect one, undeserving of wrath) the iniquity of us all (Isaiah 53:6). Yet, out of the anguish of His soul he shall see and be satisfied; for He has made many to be accounted as righteous (Isaiah 53:11).

Our boast is not in the strength of flesh and bone, but in the costly wounds of love. We all are weak, yet He is strong. And He welcomes all of us, failures that we are, into the righteousness that is only found in Him. Into the redemption provided for all of us. At the cross.

Of Painting the World

Last fall I began a project. We had been given (ok, I'd begged for) fence panels that had been destined for the fire with the hope of bringing them new life. I had a vision of using one of these for a wall-sized mural of the earth. The vision of where this mural would be located and for what purpose it was to be created continued to morph, but the vision remained. I would paint a map of the world and write across it some version of John 3:16, "For God so loved the world . . ."

So last fall, I laid my hands on one of those panels and hauled it across the yard in which our children ran rampant while Mommy was distracted and leaned it haphazardly in front of one of the windows to our den. It didn't matter that it would block some light because this project would be finished soon and quickly be moved to its proper place (which I had now decided would be the barren brick wall along the front porch). And I determinedly started painting.

But then the paint didn't apply as easily as I'd hoped on those rough boards. 

Sweat started dripping; it was hot in that afternoon sun.

And then the countries started seeming disproportionate and, altogether, kind of wrong.

I decided to take a break and come back to it another day.

Days later, I was out in the yard and saw my project, leaning in front of the window, from a distance and realized, "I can tell it's the earth!" - it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd thought. Maybe I would finish it.

Someday.

Someday soon.

But not today. It's too hot. I have other things to do during nap time (that precious time in which Mommy can do things Mommy needs/wants to do). 

I'm just not ready.

And so it went. For nearly a year.

It's too hot.

It's too cold.

I'd have to change into painting clothes.

I have other things to do.

I just don't want to.

I'm just not ready.

Until today. When I sat down, still in my church clothes, ready to sink into the Sunday paper and unwind while everyone else rested. I settled into the den and for the umpteenth time since I started that danged project I mourned the darkness of the den and thought to myself (as I do nearly every other day), "I need to finish that so we can get some light in this room again."

But today was different. Today I finally thought, "This is the day."

I didn't bother changing out of my "nice" clothes, but just marched myself to the craft cabinet, grabbed some paint and a paintbrush and stepped up to the fence. 

Long white skirt flowing, I slapped green paint in all the faded white borders painted months ago. Recklessly and without abandon, I painted broad strokes over the whole earth.

And in that moment, God spoke to me.

Go paint the world with His love, and don't be afraid of getting your church clothes dirty.

Sometimes it's uncomfortable. Sometimes we have to change. Sometimes we have to give up the plans we had for ourselves. And sometimes we have to GO. Even when we don't feel "ready."

Because the world is dark and it's waiting. He didn't send His Son to save us from the fire so we could rest in comfort, adjusting ourselves to the dark, rather than moving the world to allow in His light. 

It might get messy.

It might not be as easy as we thought it might be in the rough-ness of the world, the one that sometimes just seems so wrong. 

But it's His. And it's loved. And we need to tell them.

Because that is what we have been called to do.

Until it is finished.

Of Paper Cuts

Remember my post about keeping a positive attitude no matter the circumstances, or how poorly I perform? Yeah, me, too. Unfortunately, it's easier to remember the words than it is to put them into action.

Thus, when my daughter announced she lost a precious toy, AFTER we'd already found it once, because it had already been lost once, and AFTER I'd paraded she and her younger siblings all through the church on that search and then through the parking lot and then squeezed everyone into their carseats (because our behemoth vehicle was tightly parked next to two fellow family-lugging behemoths) and was clicking the last buckle so we could FINALLY get home to daddy, that new wail of, "I lost him again!" might have made me lose it, too.

And I may have been yelling at my six-year-old daughter about making smarter choices, like putting said toy in a pocket or holding it tightly, right in the middle of the church parking lot.

I might have been that mom.

Maybe.

But God is so good. Because even when I'm that mom, I know he's whispering in my ear, "Calm down. I'm still here and I'm still good." And even when I'm kicking myself for failing, once again, to display for my children grace under pressure, I know he's telling me we'll have another chance. This isn't the end. He's not done with me, yet.

Each time this explosive eruption of boiling words comes from within me, I get even more hard on myself remember how so many others have it so much harder when their challenges rise from more than a lost toy, a crying child, or just the repetition of, "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy . . ." There are those battling big things, scary things, things that give one the perfectly good right to lash out at the world around them.

And I wonder how I think I could possibly handle the real storms of life, even with God by my side, when I can't even handle the drizzle.

And this where we die by a thousand paper cuts. Because when the big hurts come, the ones that cause gaping wounds that bleed openly, we tend to those. We see them, we know their cause and we address them. We bind them tightly, we turn to the Healer and we are renewed.

That's not exactly how paper cuts are handled, though, are they? A thin sliver of nothing slices us in just the right way so as to inflict pain, leaving little outward evidence. You can't even see it unless you know where to look. And it's so miniscule it would be laughable to bring it to the attention of a medical professional. Maybe we bandage it, but mostly not. We brush aside, work through the pain and move on. And in our daily lives, we do this again. And again. And again. Until we're covered in wounds that seem so inconsequential, but when added together can make it unbearable.

But God is so good.

He is ready to heal no matter the circumstances. Big and small. We don't need to wait until we lay dying, whether outwardly or in the pain of our souls, to cry out to him. No pain is too small.

And if we can't trust him with the small hurts, when will we decide something is big enough to give over to him? When we're in over our heads? Or curled into a defeated ball of tears? Or, even when our limbs are cut off and we're bleeding helpless, will we still be crying, proudly, defiantly, "It's just a flesh wound!"?

It may be hard in this season of small things, because the world, our lives, our families, don't always allow us to take a break and mend, but we need to recognize our need for the Healer, turn to Him and allow Him to do His work in us. Because He will be faithful to complete it. Even when the papers keep flying.

Of My Performance (and How it Doesn't Matter)

The other day, I was considering McKayla Maroney, specifically the meme that the gymnast "is not impressed." Remember this moment?

If you don't, or just don't happen to follow the Olympics, about three years ago, this adorable teenage girl gave the most amazing Gymnastic Vault performance anyone had seen. It launched her team to Olympic gold and made her a shoe-in for the next day's individual competition (well, to the viewer with no real background as to what is currently happening in today's gymnastic world - I'm sure to those who actually know who's who in that realm, she had been a shoe-in for much longer). That vault was the entire reason she was in London in the first place. She had one purpose and, for her team, she accomplished that purpose. But the next day, when it was her turn to shine on her own, one slight misstep or muscle twitch was all it took for her to land on the wrong end of those legs and send her slipping back to a silver medal.

And in one day she goes from being known around the world for one thing - her mad vault skills - to being known for something else - that disappointed scowl.

And who can blame her? She was basically a child, and, in the world of competitive sports, when it has been assumed, and known, for so long, that you are the best at what you do and something goes wrong the one day you get to prove that to the world? Disappointment is a given and it might not always be masked well, particularly when one has little experience with it.

It got me thinking, though. Because we all clearly saw her vault the day before. She was outstanding. And, by her account, she had landed that same vault on her feet every attempt for four months solid. Landing on her rear was an anomaly. An anomaly that happened on a really bad day. Thus, it's probably still understood by most watching in those days, that though the gold medal was around another neck, it did not necessarily reflect the true hierarchy of the vaulting world.

So what does an Olympic Gold Medal represent? In many cases, exactly what it's supposed to - the owner has excelled in their chosen field to be called the best in their time. But, even then, what it always says is that person was the best at what they did on that day. For that moment.

Sometimes what it means is that someone else wasn't able to show up that day. It means someone's shoelace broke or they got tripped off the line. It might mean someone else had a leg wrapped too tightly or they were too sick to perform their best. Sometimes it is a facade. Representing that one moment the bearer was better than someone else who might be able to out-perform them any other day.

Its shining status represents one fleeting moment in time.

I've seen it in my personal life - one day (about once in four years - that's all it takes for a gold medal, right?) I feel like a rockstar Mom. I feed the kids something they all like for each of the three main meals (actually, this is what a perfect day looks like in my head, which may not actually reflect anything that has ever happened in reality). I rock snack time, too. I fill our days with activities we can do together. We spend moments snuggling in sheer bliss on the couch. I kiss them all good night and mentally pat myself on the back. We did great that day!

And then I facebook about it. Because that's how I get my gold medal (hello, the world has to know!).

The next day? I wake up to poop falling out of someone's diaper, complaints about breakfast (and lunch, and dinner, and even dessert). I yell more than I should. I cry in my room. I consider myself a failure as a mom. The previous day completely wiped from memory. And, thankfully, unlike McKayla Maroney, I don't have anyone photographing me in those worst moments to broadcast for everyone. (And let's be grateful for that, because my bad attitude days are much uglier.)

But also unlike her, those bad days? The ones with a million mistakes that add up to one bad attitude on display for my family to see - an attitude that only really reflects my disappointment in myself and my failures. Those happen more often than not.

I don't get gold medal performances in practice for four months straight. I land on my rear far more often.

But this, too, is a fleeting moment.

This, too, like those moments at the top, shall pass.

And wherever I find myself today - in that shining moment in the sun, or with a scowl of disappointment threatening my countenance, I must remember - that gold medal, that winning facebook status or even that self-congratulation is not where  my worth - as a mom, a woman, a wife, a friend, comes from.

My worth - in my good days and my bad - comes from Christ alone. His victory brings me to my knees, at His feet, every day.

And my attitude, whether I performed my best or sadly faltered, should reflect my value as His daughter in every moment. Even when my world and the tiny little people in it, are crying out my failures or stripping me of the accolades I want to deserve,

"My worth is not in what I own, or in the strength of flesh and bone, but in the costly wounds of love, at the cross.

My worth is not in skill or name, in win or lose, in pride or shame, but in the blood of Chist that flowed, at the cross."

Whether at my best or sadly slipping, I remain His. And I rejoice in my Redeemer.

Of the Fool

A couple weeks ago, I was reading through Proverbs, in chapter 26, to be exact, and I found myself amidst verses I had heard many times before. All those ones talking about a "fool" - you know, that other guy, the one who just doesn't get it. Here is a sampling:

"Like snow in summer or rain in harvest,
    so honor is not fitting for a fool.
2 3 A whip for the horse, a bridle for the donkey,
    and a rod for the back of fools.
4 Answer not a fool according to his folly,
    lest you be like him yourself.
5 Answer a fool according to his folly,
    lest he be wise in his own eyes.
6 Whoever sends a message by the hand of a fool
    cuts off his own feet and drinks violence.
7 Like a lame man's legs, which hang useless,
    is a proverb in the mouth of fools.
8 Like one who binds the stone in the sling
    is one who gives honor to a fool.
9 Like a thorn that goes up into the hand of a drunkard
    is a proverb in the mouth of fools.
10 Like an archer who wounds everyone
    is one who hires a passing fool or drunkard.
11 Like a dog that returns to his vomit
    is a fool who repeats his folly. " (Proverbs 26:1,3-11, ESV, emphasis added)

Right around this time, after eleven verses going on, and on, and on, about how useless fools are and how little hope they have in the world, I was kind of done. I am not just being overly dramatic when I say, literally, at this point in my reading I thought to myself, "Ok, we get it."

And then came verse number 12, one I had heard before, but, when read in the context of the previous eleven tiring verses, was rather a sucker punch to the gut:

"Do you see a man who is wise in his own eyes?
    There is more hope for a fool than for him."(Proverbs 26:12)

Say what now? Now I'm awake.

Because if ever there was a person who was wise in his own eyes, I'm the girl. I'm the one who can pass any test, solve any riddle. If you have a problem, I guarantee I have a solution (not that I'll share it, because I don't necessarily need to tell you what to do, I just like the satisfaction of knowing that I know). And if you're not solving it the way I would have, I will have an opinion about that. I probably won't share that opinion with you, but, trust me, I've definitely shared it with someone (probably my husband because we kind of shame spiral together into gossip and petty judgments - it's totally a healthy bonding experience).

Wise in her own eyes? Yep, that's me.

And, yet, here it is, plain as day - there is more hope for a fool than for a person like me.

A fool.

You know, that one who deserves no honor, but, rather, a rod to the back. The man whose mouth is not even worthy to hold a wise saying. The one who is like a dog returning to his vomit in the way he continues after the filth of this world.

This man has more hope than I.

Let it not be true. May my eyes be torn out before they continue to see wisdom in my own frivolity, petty thoughts or belittling opinions.

May I see the worth and value in the hearts of others, in the opinions of others. May I no longer seek my own honor or the worthless validation that comes from thinking better of myself than of those around me.

May there be hope for me yet.

Oh, Lord, that you would humble me to hear the words of others more than my own voice. Grant me your eyes to see those around me and ear to hear Your wisdom alone.