I hate change.
And since I'm fairly certain you didn't grasp the fullness of the intensity behind that emotion, let me give you some illustrations to help you understand.
a.) For you Lord of the Rings fans, I hate it like we hate the moment when Frodo tells Sam to go home.
b.) For you Narnia fans, I hate it like we hate hearing Aslan tell the Pevensie children that they don't get to come back to Narnia.
c.) For you Harry Potter fans, I hate it like we hate that evil lady in pink with the horrible giggle.
d.) For you Star Wars fans, I hate it like we hate the fact that we can't combine the actors from the original three movies with the lightsaber duels from the new ones.
(If you're not a fan of any of those movies, come back and finish reading this after you get counseling. ;-)
In short, change makes me want to a.) yell, "NOOOOOOOOOO!", b.) curl up on the floor and cry hysterically, c.) punch something really, really hard, and d.) pout because I can't just combine my favorite elements of both the new and the old and ditch the rest.
...........needless to say, change doesn't bring out the best in me.............
So today when I saw a picture of my adorable little brother, at about six years old, using a curved piece of okra to pretend to be Captain Hook, I thought, "Why, God? Why change? When something is so good just like it is, why change it?"
His answer was simple and, in my opinion, insufficient: "I never change."
I argued with Him. "I know that, God. I know You never change. I'm asking why You choose to change other things--things that are so good and bring so much joy."
"Because if anything else in your world was changeless, you would trust in it instead of Me."
...................oh.
I couldn't argue with Him that time. I knew He was right. There have been times when parts of my world seemed changeless, and I did begin to trust in them instead.
See, I think as humans we crave stability. We long for continuity. We ache for sameness. We pine after the constant. We want the unchanging. He created us that way. And He created the whole of our world to be utterly incapable of fulfilling those desires. He made it that way on purpose and for a purpose:
He made it so that He is the only One who can satisfy our need for the changeless.
Everything else will let us down eventually. Everyone else will go away someday. Everything but Him will change. If we put our hope and our trust in those things and those people, we will be shaken to the core when change happens. They weren't made to be changeless, nor were they made to bear the trust that belongs to something that is.
But. If we put our hope in the One who cannot and will not ever change, we are not shaken when change happens. Instead, when change rocks our world, we stand firm and "we say with confidence,
'The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?'" (Hebrews 13:6)
I don't think it's a coincidence that this verse comes only two verses before the one that so perfectly describes His changeless nature:
"Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever." (v. 8)
In the context of verse 8, I think you could almost reword verse 6 to say, "The Changeless is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can change do to me?"
So when we ache from the change, when want to yell and cry and punch and pout, may it push us ever closer to the Unchanging One and teach us to trust in Him more with every passing change.
...and may we remember that Sam saved Frodo anyway, the Pevensies really did go back to Narnia in the end, the evil pink lady got what was coming to her, and all six Star Wars movies have the same great theme song.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
"I'm in love! I'm in love! And I don't care who knows it!"
I went on a walk with Jesus this evening. Which turned into a run with Jesus, because I wanted to catch a perfect view of the sunset. Which turned into a dance with Jesus, because there was this field that just begged dancing in, and because He invited me.
If you don't believe the title of this post, ask all the people who, if they looked out the back windows of their houses, saw me spinning in circles in said field until I staggered and fell over like a crazy drunk person.
Sorry. I'm getting sidetracked and starting to ramble. But I've learned from observation that those are usually side effects of being in love. :-)
Anyway. While I was in the field, He told me to look at the flowers. So I bent over and examined a simple yellow flower, which some would call a weed, that grew all over the field. As I studied it, I began to see the intricate details that I wouldn't ordinarily notice. I marveled at it and thought, He, the God of the universe, made every detail of this!
Then He told me to look up at the clouds. The whole sky was filled with them. Gray, white, pink; puffy, flat, hazy--every shape, size and color strewn across the sky like so many strokes of a giant paintbrush. And I thought, He made all of those, too!
He pulled my attention back to the ground. This time, I gazed at a stalk covered in blue flowers and noticed a group of the tiniest ants traversing the stem of the plant. And He struck me with the contrast of His creation. From the ground, I picked the smallest blade of grass I could find. Then I closed one eye and held the blade of grass between my open eye and a massive collection of clouds.
They were the same size.
I twirled the grass between my fingers as I pondered that reality. As I did, it broke in two. I stared at the two pieces, and a strange thought struck me: He knows. He knows that blade of grass just broke in my hand. He made those majestic clouds, and yet He knows that the tiniest piece of grass has broken in two.
I took a picture of the grass and the clouds, because I wanted to remember what He was showing me.
See, I think God sees this world much the same way that I saw it when I held the grass in front of my face and looked at it and the clouds: It's all the same size. I don't think He looks at the clouds as big and important, while seeing the grass as small and insignificant. I think He spent just as much time making the grass as He did making the clouds, and I think He takes equal joy in both. I think He pays just as much attention to those ants as He does to the elephants. I think He looks down at His creation and every piece bears equal weight in His eyes, because when He made it all at the beginning of time, He said the same thing about every bit of it: He called it good (Genesis 1).
So where does that put us, as people?
At the Little Light House, the wonderful place where I work, we've been teaching the kids about the Sermon on the Mount. As Jesus speaks to the people, He begins to talk to them about the birds and the flowers and points out how God takes care of them. Then He says, "Are you not much more valuable than they?" (Matthew 6:26)
He created the grass of the field and the clouds of the sky and called them both equally beautiful in their own ways. And then He looked at us--broken, fallen, sinful--and said, "You are much more valuable than all the rest."
And to prove it, He came down here, died on a tree, and came back to life again so that He could spend forever with us.
Seriously: How can you not love a Man like that??? ;-)
If you don't believe the title of this post, ask all the people who, if they looked out the back windows of their houses, saw me spinning in circles in said field until I staggered and fell over like a crazy drunk person.
Sorry. I'm getting sidetracked and starting to ramble. But I've learned from observation that those are usually side effects of being in love. :-)
Anyway. While I was in the field, He told me to look at the flowers. So I bent over and examined a simple yellow flower, which some would call a weed, that grew all over the field. As I studied it, I began to see the intricate details that I wouldn't ordinarily notice. I marveled at it and thought, He, the God of the universe, made every detail of this!
Then He told me to look up at the clouds. The whole sky was filled with them. Gray, white, pink; puffy, flat, hazy--every shape, size and color strewn across the sky like so many strokes of a giant paintbrush. And I thought, He made all of those, too!
He pulled my attention back to the ground. This time, I gazed at a stalk covered in blue flowers and noticed a group of the tiniest ants traversing the stem of the plant. And He struck me with the contrast of His creation. From the ground, I picked the smallest blade of grass I could find. Then I closed one eye and held the blade of grass between my open eye and a massive collection of clouds.
They were the same size.
I twirled the grass between my fingers as I pondered that reality. As I did, it broke in two. I stared at the two pieces, and a strange thought struck me: He knows. He knows that blade of grass just broke in my hand. He made those majestic clouds, and yet He knows that the tiniest piece of grass has broken in two.
I took a picture of the grass and the clouds, because I wanted to remember what He was showing me.
See, I think God sees this world much the same way that I saw it when I held the grass in front of my face and looked at it and the clouds: It's all the same size. I don't think He looks at the clouds as big and important, while seeing the grass as small and insignificant. I think He spent just as much time making the grass as He did making the clouds, and I think He takes equal joy in both. I think He pays just as much attention to those ants as He does to the elephants. I think He looks down at His creation and every piece bears equal weight in His eyes, because when He made it all at the beginning of time, He said the same thing about every bit of it: He called it good (Genesis 1).
So where does that put us, as people?
At the Little Light House, the wonderful place where I work, we've been teaching the kids about the Sermon on the Mount. As Jesus speaks to the people, He begins to talk to them about the birds and the flowers and points out how God takes care of them. Then He says, "Are you not much more valuable than they?" (Matthew 6:26)
He created the grass of the field and the clouds of the sky and called them both equally beautiful in their own ways. And then He looked at us--broken, fallen, sinful--and said, "You are much more valuable than all the rest."
And to prove it, He came down here, died on a tree, and came back to life again so that He could spend forever with us.
Seriously: How can you not love a Man like that??? ;-)
Friday, September 14, 2012
Rain
I love rain.
I love rain when I'm curled up under a blanket by a fire in the fireplace with a good book and a cup of mint tea.
I love rain when I'm piled on the couch with my family watching an old favorite movie.
I love rain when I'm snuggled under my covers about to fall asleep.
I love to sit on the porch and watch the drizzle of a rain so soft you can't even hear it. I love to lie on my pillow and listen to the pounding of a downpour. I love the thunder and the lightening and the clouds and the wind and the puddles.
I love rain.
I also hate rain.
I hate rain when my alarm goes of at 5:30 and the sound of it on the window makes me want nothing more than to go back to sleep.
I hate rain when the clouds cover the sun so it's still dark when I walk out the door in the morning.
I hate rain when it's cold and the wind blowing the drops against my face feels like I'm being slapped with a thousand tiny needles.
I guess you could say I have a love/hate relationship with rain.
I think we do the same thing with rain in our lives--rain and storms that come in the form of trials. We're okay with them as long as they're outside and we're inside. We can look ahead at the possibility of facing trials and be fairly confident. We quote verses about how God works even in the hard things:
"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
"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." Psalm 34:18
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance." James 1:2-3
We know and believe these easily enough when we're safe inside our house, watching the rain at a distance. When we're not in the middle of them, we believe God can work through trials and make good come out of them. At times like that, we might even say we like the rain.
But what happens when we're out in it? What do we believe when the rain is slapping us in the face and chilling us to the bone? If we're honest, in times like that, most of us hate the rain. It hurts. It's miserable. It makes us want nothing more than to crawl back in bed and shut out the world.
The disciples were the same way. Once, they were in a boat with Jesus and it started to rain. They didn't like being out in it.
Matthew 8:23-26,
"Then He got into the boat and His disciples followed Him. Without warning, a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke Him, saying, 'Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!' He replied, 'You of little faith, why are you so afraid?' Then He got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm. The men were amazed and asked, 'What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey Him!'"
The disciples didn't like being out in the rain. It wasn't comfortable. It was scary. And Jesus was sleeping. So they woke Him. They woke Him in faith that He could save them from the rain. And when He did, they were amazed and marveled at His power. That's faith, right?
Not according to Jesus. Jesus said they had "little faith". You see, their faith was based on the rain stopping. But what about when the rain was still falling? What about when Jesus was sleeping? The disciples had not yet learned a very important truth:
Jesus was not any less God when He was sleeping than He was when He was calming the storm.
Do we believe that? We believe in His power and His goodness and His love when He makes the rain stop. But do we believe in that same power and goodness and love when He lets it continue? When it seems like He's sleeping in the middle of our storms, do we still have faith?
This morning when I left for work, it was raining and cold and dark. All I wanted was to go back to bed. As I turned on my windshield wipers and grumbled to myself about the rain, the Lord whispered to my spirit a truth I hope I never forget:
"Learn to love this rain, too."
I love rain when I'm curled up under a blanket by a fire in the fireplace with a good book and a cup of mint tea.
I love rain when I'm piled on the couch with my family watching an old favorite movie.
I love rain when I'm snuggled under my covers about to fall asleep.
I love to sit on the porch and watch the drizzle of a rain so soft you can't even hear it. I love to lie on my pillow and listen to the pounding of a downpour. I love the thunder and the lightening and the clouds and the wind and the puddles.
I love rain.
I also hate rain.
I hate rain when my alarm goes of at 5:30 and the sound of it on the window makes me want nothing more than to go back to sleep.
I hate rain when the clouds cover the sun so it's still dark when I walk out the door in the morning.
I hate rain when it's cold and the wind blowing the drops against my face feels like I'm being slapped with a thousand tiny needles.
I guess you could say I have a love/hate relationship with rain.
I think we do the same thing with rain in our lives--rain and storms that come in the form of trials. We're okay with them as long as they're outside and we're inside. We can look ahead at the possibility of facing trials and be fairly confident. We quote verses about how God works even in the hard things:
"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
"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." Psalm 34:18
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance." James 1:2-3
We know and believe these easily enough when we're safe inside our house, watching the rain at a distance. When we're not in the middle of them, we believe God can work through trials and make good come out of them. At times like that, we might even say we like the rain.
But what happens when we're out in it? What do we believe when the rain is slapping us in the face and chilling us to the bone? If we're honest, in times like that, most of us hate the rain. It hurts. It's miserable. It makes us want nothing more than to crawl back in bed and shut out the world.
The disciples were the same way. Once, they were in a boat with Jesus and it started to rain. They didn't like being out in it.
Matthew 8:23-26,
"Then He got into the boat and His disciples followed Him. Without warning, a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke Him, saying, 'Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!' He replied, 'You of little faith, why are you so afraid?' Then He got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm. The men were amazed and asked, 'What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey Him!'"
The disciples didn't like being out in the rain. It wasn't comfortable. It was scary. And Jesus was sleeping. So they woke Him. They woke Him in faith that He could save them from the rain. And when He did, they were amazed and marveled at His power. That's faith, right?
Not according to Jesus. Jesus said they had "little faith". You see, their faith was based on the rain stopping. But what about when the rain was still falling? What about when Jesus was sleeping? The disciples had not yet learned a very important truth:
Jesus was not any less God when He was sleeping than He was when He was calming the storm.
Do we believe that? We believe in His power and His goodness and His love when He makes the rain stop. But do we believe in that same power and goodness and love when He lets it continue? When it seems like He's sleeping in the middle of our storms, do we still have faith?
This morning when I left for work, it was raining and cold and dark. All I wanted was to go back to bed. As I turned on my windshield wipers and grumbled to myself about the rain, the Lord whispered to my spirit a truth I hope I never forget:
"Learn to love this rain, too."
Monday, August 6, 2012
THAT Mom, THAT Child
Last week, I found myself in a position I never thought I would. It wasn't something I swore I'd never be, just something I never imagined myself as.
I was that mom.
My cousin and I took our two-year-olds to a play zone with glorified McDonald's-type playground equipment. My cousin, with her cute little baby belly expecting her second child next month, her two year old daughter, her mom, and the beautiful diamond ring on her left hand were an adorable scene. People smiled and laughed as "NeNe" chased the spunky toddler through the play zone while her pregnant mommy looked on.
And then there was me. That mom.
I was the mom without the ring. I was the mom who couldn't be more than twenty with a son who was almost three. I was the mom whose son clung to her with frightened uncertainty when we entered the play zone. I was the mom whose son ran up to a stranger and crawled into her lap without hesitation. I was the mom with a son whose development was obviously behind that of his young companions. I was the mom whose son refused to go down the slide sitting up and instead slid feet first on his belly, clinging to the sides of the slide as if he was afraid to leave the top. I was that mom.
Was I judged by those around me? Yes. Good or bad, I was judged one way or the other.
Was I judged harshly by those around me? Maybe, by some.
Did I feel judged harshly by those around me? Yes.
Did I care? Absolutely not.
Because you see, they didn't know the story. What they didn't know is this: I didn't give birth to my son. I chose him. He was actually my parents' foster son who came to live with us at ten days old. He quickly became "mine", and I have thought of him that way ever since. Without prompting, he has called me "Mommy" since he learned to say the word. He lives with his dad and step-mom, but he comes to visit me often and I love our time together. I don't get credit for his developmental delays. I don't get credit for his fear of the play zone yet frightening lack of inhibition when it comes to strangers. But I will gladly accept it.
Because I'm also that mom whose son never once argued or threw a fit at the play zone. I am the mom whose son made friends with another one of those moms, who seemed sad and lonely until my son started playing and sharing with her in the ball pit. I am the mom whose son happily called over and over, "Mommy! Es go! Peeeees! (Mommy! Let's go! Please!)" I am the mom whose son loves to give me hugs. I am that mom. I will gladly accept whatever judgement others will pass on his perceived "issues" for the joy of taking part in the growth of his young character and heart.
And then it hit me: That's my God.
He chose me (James 1:18). He didn't have to. He chose to make me His child because He loved me. But I'm not perfect. I mess up, and I cast a poor reflection on Him. When He leads me to new places, I cling to Him with frightened uncertainty. Most of the time, my spiritual development lags behind where it ought to be. When He places me at the top of a slide, promising the ride down will bring me joy if I just let go, I refuse and instead inch my way down with my eyes cast backward, clinging to the edge because I'm afraid to leave what I know. And yes, I run to strangers and crawl into their laps without hesitation, heedless of the beckoning arms of the only One who truly loves me. I am that child.
Do people judge Him by my behavior? I hope not, but they probably do.
Do people judge Him wrongly because of my behavior? Unfortunately, yes. Sometimes.
Does He care? Not enough to quit loving me and claiming me as His own.
Because you see, I don't fail every time. Sometimes I'm kind to people who aren't kind to me. Sometimes I make friends with people others look down on. Sometimes I'm patient. Sometimes I'm loving. Sometimes I shine His light into the darkness. Sometimes I can set aside my selfish nature for a moment and serve others. Sometimes I obey Matthew 5:16, "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven." Sometimes, I am that child.
And I think my loving and oh-so-patient Father looks down at me and says exactly the same thing I say about my son: "I will gladly accept whatever judgement others will pass on her issues for the joy of taking part in the growth of her character and heart." Because as Proverbs 23:24 says, "The father of a righteous man has great joy; he who has a wise son delights in him." Wisdom and righteousness take time to grow in the hearts of sinful and foolish children, but watching that growth and seeing the product of it is the joy and delight, and ultimately the glory, of the Father.
I am forever grateful that my Father chose me and loves me: that child. And because of His love and choice, I choose and love my son and I proudly wear my badge: that mom.
I was that mom.
My cousin and I took our two-year-olds to a play zone with glorified McDonald's-type playground equipment. My cousin, with her cute little baby belly expecting her second child next month, her two year old daughter, her mom, and the beautiful diamond ring on her left hand were an adorable scene. People smiled and laughed as "NeNe" chased the spunky toddler through the play zone while her pregnant mommy looked on.
And then there was me. That mom.
I was the mom without the ring. I was the mom who couldn't be more than twenty with a son who was almost three. I was the mom whose son clung to her with frightened uncertainty when we entered the play zone. I was the mom whose son ran up to a stranger and crawled into her lap without hesitation. I was the mom with a son whose development was obviously behind that of his young companions. I was the mom whose son refused to go down the slide sitting up and instead slid feet first on his belly, clinging to the sides of the slide as if he was afraid to leave the top. I was that mom.
Was I judged by those around me? Yes. Good or bad, I was judged one way or the other.
Was I judged harshly by those around me? Maybe, by some.
Did I feel judged harshly by those around me? Yes.
Did I care? Absolutely not.
Because you see, they didn't know the story. What they didn't know is this: I didn't give birth to my son. I chose him. He was actually my parents' foster son who came to live with us at ten days old. He quickly became "mine", and I have thought of him that way ever since. Without prompting, he has called me "Mommy" since he learned to say the word. He lives with his dad and step-mom, but he comes to visit me often and I love our time together. I don't get credit for his developmental delays. I don't get credit for his fear of the play zone yet frightening lack of inhibition when it comes to strangers. But I will gladly accept it.
Because I'm also that mom whose son never once argued or threw a fit at the play zone. I am the mom whose son made friends with another one of those moms, who seemed sad and lonely until my son started playing and sharing with her in the ball pit. I am the mom whose son happily called over and over, "Mommy! Es go! Peeeees! (Mommy! Let's go! Please!)" I am the mom whose son loves to give me hugs. I am that mom. I will gladly accept whatever judgement others will pass on his perceived "issues" for the joy of taking part in the growth of his young character and heart.
And then it hit me: That's my God.
He chose me (James 1:18). He didn't have to. He chose to make me His child because He loved me. But I'm not perfect. I mess up, and I cast a poor reflection on Him. When He leads me to new places, I cling to Him with frightened uncertainty. Most of the time, my spiritual development lags behind where it ought to be. When He places me at the top of a slide, promising the ride down will bring me joy if I just let go, I refuse and instead inch my way down with my eyes cast backward, clinging to the edge because I'm afraid to leave what I know. And yes, I run to strangers and crawl into their laps without hesitation, heedless of the beckoning arms of the only One who truly loves me. I am that child.
Do people judge Him by my behavior? I hope not, but they probably do.
Do people judge Him wrongly because of my behavior? Unfortunately, yes. Sometimes.
Does He care? Not enough to quit loving me and claiming me as His own.
Because you see, I don't fail every time. Sometimes I'm kind to people who aren't kind to me. Sometimes I make friends with people others look down on. Sometimes I'm patient. Sometimes I'm loving. Sometimes I shine His light into the darkness. Sometimes I can set aside my selfish nature for a moment and serve others. Sometimes I obey Matthew 5:16, "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven." Sometimes, I am that child.
And I think my loving and oh-so-patient Father looks down at me and says exactly the same thing I say about my son: "I will gladly accept whatever judgement others will pass on her issues for the joy of taking part in the growth of her character and heart." Because as Proverbs 23:24 says, "The father of a righteous man has great joy; he who has a wise son delights in him." Wisdom and righteousness take time to grow in the hearts of sinful and foolish children, but watching that growth and seeing the product of it is the joy and delight, and ultimately the glory, of the Father.
I am forever grateful that my Father chose me and loves me: that child. And because of His love and choice, I choose and love my son and I proudly wear my badge: that mom.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
You Worry About You
Rejection hurts. It especially hurts when you're trying to show the love of Christ and be His hands and feet. When you're trying to be Him and it doesn't end well, you can't help but feel like you failed. Because obviously, He didn't fail. So you must've. You must not have loved well enough. You must not have had enough patience. You must have been too intolerant. You must have expected too much. You must not have given enough. You must not have worked hard enough. You must not have surrendered enough to Him. There must have been something you didn't do enough of. It's a hard feeling to get past when you want so desperately to show Him to those He has placed in your life for you to care about.
In my family and our life with the children who come into our home, we inevitably wrestle with this feeling at times. Sometimes we do our best to love them, to show Christ, to teach them about Him and what it means to have a relationship with Him, to be their family and share our lives with them, and they throw it back in our faces. Sometimes they are so certain we're going to reject them, that they do everything in their power to make sure they reject us first. And when they reject us, we feel like we failed. Somehow, someway, somewhere, we messed it up. Because if we'd done it right, things wouldn't have turned out that way.
Today, God showed me something different.
Matthew 25:34-36,40 says,
"Then the King will say to those on His right, 'Come, you who are blessed by My Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave Me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave Me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited Me in, I needed clothes and you clothed Me, I was sick and you looked after Me, I was in prison and you came to visit Me...whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of Mine, you did for Me.'"
I always envisioned this verse in the ideal context: handing food and drink to a happy, grateful homeless person, giving clothes to adorable children who have none, inviting strangers into your home and becoming best friends with them--in my mind, this story always has a happy ending.
But today the Lord opened my eyes to an important fact:
This verse doesn't tell us the ending.
This verse doesn't say, "I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat and I accepted gracefully and politely."
It doesn't say, "I was a stranger and you invited Me in and everything went smoothly and we became great friends."
It doesn't say, "I was sick and you looked after Me and I fully realized and appreciated everything you did for Me."
It doesn't say, "I was in prison and you came to visit Me and the Lord changed my heart and I was miraculously converted."
This verse says nothing about the response of "the least of these" to the efforts of "the righteous". Nothing. All we know is what the righteous did that caused Him to call them blessed.
They gave.
They invited.
They looked after.
They came.
They gave...whether or not it was received.
They invited...whether or not the invitation was accepted.
They looked after...whether or not they were appreciated.
They came...whether or not they were welcomed.
The response of the least is not the source of the blessing for the righteous.
Let me say that again in case you missed it.
The response of the least is not the source of the blessing for the righteous.
The blessing comes from knowing we're being obedient to what He places in front of us at the moment. When He places someone hungry in front of us? We give them food, and we're blessed by Him. When He places a stranger in front of us? We invite them in, and we're blessed by Him. When they reject our giving and decline our invitation and we feel like we've failed? We trust that we did what He asked of us in the moment, we leave the results in His hands, and we're blessed by Him. If we live our lives gauging our effectiveness in the Kingdom by what we see in the responses of others, we will always end up feeling like we've failed. We must gauge our effectiveness by our obedience and His ability to work in ways that we can't see.
When you were little, did you ever try to...um..."help out" your mom by pointing out something that one of your siblings was or was not doing? If you did, you probably got a response that was something to the effect of, "You worry about you and let me worry about them." I think that's what the Lord expects of us. "You worry about you"--give, invite, look after--"and let Me worry about them." It's a hard thing to do, but it is incredibly freeing to let go of our perceived responsibility for the responses of those to whom we minister. When we let go of our need to be blessed by their responses, we free ourselves up to be blessed by Him simply because of our obedience.
We must obey, and let Him worry about them. Because He will. He's not going to abandon them. He's not going to give up on them. He's not going to let them down or turn them away or forget about them or let them go. He will never leave them or forsake them. He will watch over them. How precious are His thoughts concerning them! When we finally break down and accept that the end of their story is out of our hands, we find ourselves releasing it into far better Hands, where it belongs.
In my family and our life with the children who come into our home, we inevitably wrestle with this feeling at times. Sometimes we do our best to love them, to show Christ, to teach them about Him and what it means to have a relationship with Him, to be their family and share our lives with them, and they throw it back in our faces. Sometimes they are so certain we're going to reject them, that they do everything in their power to make sure they reject us first. And when they reject us, we feel like we failed. Somehow, someway, somewhere, we messed it up. Because if we'd done it right, things wouldn't have turned out that way.
Today, God showed me something different.
Matthew 25:34-36,40 says,
"Then the King will say to those on His right, 'Come, you who are blessed by My Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave Me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave Me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited Me in, I needed clothes and you clothed Me, I was sick and you looked after Me, I was in prison and you came to visit Me...whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of Mine, you did for Me.'"
I always envisioned this verse in the ideal context: handing food and drink to a happy, grateful homeless person, giving clothes to adorable children who have none, inviting strangers into your home and becoming best friends with them--in my mind, this story always has a happy ending.
But today the Lord opened my eyes to an important fact:
This verse doesn't tell us the ending.
This verse doesn't say, "I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat and I accepted gracefully and politely."
It doesn't say, "I was a stranger and you invited Me in and everything went smoothly and we became great friends."
It doesn't say, "I was sick and you looked after Me and I fully realized and appreciated everything you did for Me."
It doesn't say, "I was in prison and you came to visit Me and the Lord changed my heart and I was miraculously converted."
This verse says nothing about the response of "the least of these" to the efforts of "the righteous". Nothing. All we know is what the righteous did that caused Him to call them blessed.
They gave.
They invited.
They looked after.
They came.
They gave...whether or not it was received.
They invited...whether or not the invitation was accepted.
They looked after...whether or not they were appreciated.
They came...whether or not they were welcomed.
The response of the least is not the source of the blessing for the righteous.
Let me say that again in case you missed it.
The response of the least is not the source of the blessing for the righteous.
The blessing comes from knowing we're being obedient to what He places in front of us at the moment. When He places someone hungry in front of us? We give them food, and we're blessed by Him. When He places a stranger in front of us? We invite them in, and we're blessed by Him. When they reject our giving and decline our invitation and we feel like we've failed? We trust that we did what He asked of us in the moment, we leave the results in His hands, and we're blessed by Him. If we live our lives gauging our effectiveness in the Kingdom by what we see in the responses of others, we will always end up feeling like we've failed. We must gauge our effectiveness by our obedience and His ability to work in ways that we can't see.
When you were little, did you ever try to...um..."help out" your mom by pointing out something that one of your siblings was or was not doing? If you did, you probably got a response that was something to the effect of, "You worry about you and let me worry about them." I think that's what the Lord expects of us. "You worry about you"--give, invite, look after--"and let Me worry about them." It's a hard thing to do, but it is incredibly freeing to let go of our perceived responsibility for the responses of those to whom we minister. When we let go of our need to be blessed by their responses, we free ourselves up to be blessed by Him simply because of our obedience.
We must obey, and let Him worry about them. Because He will. He's not going to abandon them. He's not going to give up on them. He's not going to let them down or turn them away or forget about them or let them go. He will never leave them or forsake them. He will watch over them. How precious are His thoughts concerning them! When we finally break down and accept that the end of their story is out of our hands, we find ourselves releasing it into far better Hands, where it belongs.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Content ≠ Satisfied
Camping.
There are twelve people to whom that word brings an instant feeling of peace, joy, and absolute contentment. It's like when you take a deep breath and let it out with a sigh that says, "All is right with the world." That's what that word sounds like to us. And it looks like this:
You see, for the past four years, my family and some of our dearest friends...eh, let's just call them an extension of our family...have spent every Memorial and Labor Day weekend camping in a paradise on my grandparents' land in the Ozarks. You might say we live for camping. We spend countless hours planning our camping trips. We talk about how early we can get there, decide on our favorite camping meals, discuss which campsite we'd like to inhabit, check the weather to see if we'll freeze while swimming (for swim we will, regardless of temperature!), reminisce about past trips, and count down the days (sometimes from triple digits) until the next camping trip. To give you an idea of the extremity of our love for camping, for most of us our favorite holiday is now a toss up between Memorial Day, Labor Day, and Christmas.
Camping. According to one of our favorite camping quotes, it's "a bunch of bad ideas strung together over three or four days." But really, it's three or four days of swimming, hiking, shooting, whittling, eating, four-wheeling, Coke drinking, footballing, whiffle-balling, story telling, laughing, picture taking, Jesus loving, campfireing, and best-friend-quality-time-ing. It's almost perfect.
I don't know how many times we've thought or said something to the effect of, "I could live here forever!!!" And sometimes, we mean it. Even with the bugs and the sunburns and the cow patties and the sweat and the lousy sleep and the occasional squabbles of tired little girls and the allergies and the birds that wake you up at 4 a.m. and the tents that let the rain in and soak your stuff and the campfire smoke that always seems to blow directly toward your chair and the rocks that find their way to your feet no matter which shoes you wear in the creek...even with all the imperfections, we're content there.
But every time we go, my friend Mackie reminds me that being content is not the same as being satisfied. No matter how much fun we're having, Mackie keeps her perspective. Heaven is always in her conversation. It's always in her line of sight. Every single camping trip, she reminds me in some way or another that, "Camping is great, but heaven is better." She doesn't forget that this isn't all there is. She's like Abraham in Hebrews 11:10, "For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God." Mackie loves now, but she never stops looking forward.
Mackie is ten years younger than I am. I think that's why she gets it. See, I think the longer you're around in this sin-infested world, the less perfection is required to attract and satisfy you. The more heartbreak and heartache and imperfection you experience, the lower your standards become for something you consider perfect.
I mean, really? Who in their right mind would consider sleeping on the ground with ticks in a field that smells like cow patties to be eternally attractive?? Sure, it's great for a weekend. And sure, maybe we'd even enjoy living out the remainder of our earthly life right there ('cause yeah, we're weird). But we have to keep our perspective.
We have to keep the perspective of the children. Mark 10:15, "I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." If we want to get in, we have to see it like they see it. We have to see it as the only thing that satisfies. They know it's silly to be satisfied by tick-infested, cow-pattie ground.
Paul, the same Paul who says he learned how to be content in all circumstances, was not satisfied with this earth. He says in 2 Corinthians 5:1-2, "Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling." We long for heaven, for eternity in perfect communion with God, because nothing here can truly satisfy.
Nothing.
Camping doesn't satisfy. A beach vacation doesn't satisfy. A mountain ski resort doesn't satisfy. The ideal career doesn't satisfy. Achieving your goals and dreams doesn't satisfy. Finding your God-chosen spouse and having a loving, happy family doesn't satisfy. And, listen, not even serving God to your fullest potential will satisfy. That is evident in Paul's longing. We know of few who served the Lord with as much fervor and faithfulness and reckless abandon as Paul did, but he wasn't satisfied. He was longing for his heavenly dwelling.
So we find ourselves walking a very thin tightrope. We must be content. But we must not be satisfied. Because camping is great, but heaven is better.
There are twelve people to whom that word brings an instant feeling of peace, joy, and absolute contentment. It's like when you take a deep breath and let it out with a sigh that says, "All is right with the world." That's what that word sounds like to us. And it looks like this:
You see, for the past four years, my family and some of our dearest friends...eh, let's just call them an extension of our family...have spent every Memorial and Labor Day weekend camping in a paradise on my grandparents' land in the Ozarks. You might say we live for camping. We spend countless hours planning our camping trips. We talk about how early we can get there, decide on our favorite camping meals, discuss which campsite we'd like to inhabit, check the weather to see if we'll freeze while swimming (for swim we will, regardless of temperature!), reminisce about past trips, and count down the days (sometimes from triple digits) until the next camping trip. To give you an idea of the extremity of our love for camping, for most of us our favorite holiday is now a toss up between Memorial Day, Labor Day, and Christmas.
Camping. According to one of our favorite camping quotes, it's "a bunch of bad ideas strung together over three or four days." But really, it's three or four days of swimming, hiking, shooting, whittling, eating, four-wheeling, Coke drinking, footballing, whiffle-balling, story telling, laughing, picture taking, Jesus loving, campfireing, and best-friend-quality-time-ing. It's almost perfect.
I don't know how many times we've thought or said something to the effect of, "I could live here forever!!!" And sometimes, we mean it. Even with the bugs and the sunburns and the cow patties and the sweat and the lousy sleep and the occasional squabbles of tired little girls and the allergies and the birds that wake you up at 4 a.m. and the tents that let the rain in and soak your stuff and the campfire smoke that always seems to blow directly toward your chair and the rocks that find their way to your feet no matter which shoes you wear in the creek...even with all the imperfections, we're content there.
But every time we go, my friend Mackie reminds me that being content is not the same as being satisfied. No matter how much fun we're having, Mackie keeps her perspective. Heaven is always in her conversation. It's always in her line of sight. Every single camping trip, she reminds me in some way or another that, "Camping is great, but heaven is better." She doesn't forget that this isn't all there is. She's like Abraham in Hebrews 11:10, "For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God." Mackie loves now, but she never stops looking forward.
Mackie is ten years younger than I am. I think that's why she gets it. See, I think the longer you're around in this sin-infested world, the less perfection is required to attract and satisfy you. The more heartbreak and heartache and imperfection you experience, the lower your standards become for something you consider perfect.
I mean, really? Who in their right mind would consider sleeping on the ground with ticks in a field that smells like cow patties to be eternally attractive?? Sure, it's great for a weekend. And sure, maybe we'd even enjoy living out the remainder of our earthly life right there ('cause yeah, we're weird). But we have to keep our perspective.
We have to keep the perspective of the children. Mark 10:15, "I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." If we want to get in, we have to see it like they see it. We have to see it as the only thing that satisfies. They know it's silly to be satisfied by tick-infested, cow-pattie ground.
Paul, the same Paul who says he learned how to be content in all circumstances, was not satisfied with this earth. He says in 2 Corinthians 5:1-2, "Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling." We long for heaven, for eternity in perfect communion with God, because nothing here can truly satisfy.
Nothing.
Camping doesn't satisfy. A beach vacation doesn't satisfy. A mountain ski resort doesn't satisfy. The ideal career doesn't satisfy. Achieving your goals and dreams doesn't satisfy. Finding your God-chosen spouse and having a loving, happy family doesn't satisfy. And, listen, not even serving God to your fullest potential will satisfy. That is evident in Paul's longing. We know of few who served the Lord with as much fervor and faithfulness and reckless abandon as Paul did, but he wasn't satisfied. He was longing for his heavenly dwelling.
So we find ourselves walking a very thin tightrope. We must be content. But we must not be satisfied. Because camping is great, but heaven is better.
"I know there'll be a moment
I know there'll be a place
Where we will see our Savior
And fall in His embrace
So let us not grow weary
Or too content to stay
'Cause we are not home yet
Keep on lookin' ahead
Let your heart not forget
We are not home yet!"
~Steven Curtis Chapman
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Psalm 46 - FCV (Foster Care Version)
I was reading this Psalm in the NIV the other day while listening to our six-year-old throw a tantrum in the background. As I read, the Lord transformed the words in my mind and made them very real for that moment. I chuckled to myself as His word again became living and active, but in a way I'd never experienced before. If you're a foster parent (or any other parent, for that matter!), I hope this gives you a laugh and speaks to you the way it did to me!
"God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in the insanity.
Therefore we will not fear, though our
patience give way
and we want to toss everyone into the heart
of the sea,
though children roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their
screaming.
There is a river whose streams make glad
the home surrendered to God,
making it a holy place where the Most High
dwells.
God is within it, it will not fall;
God will help it in the crazy mornings.
Children are in an uproar, plans fall;
He lifts His voice, the insanity calms.
The Lord Almighty is with us;
God draws us into His fortress,
and reminds us that we're all on the same side.
Come and see what the Lord has done,
the humility He has brought to the
home.
He makes arguing cease
at the end of the hallway.
He breaks the defiance and shatters the disobedience;
He burns the pride with fire.
He says, "Be still, and know that I am
God;
I will be exalted among the children,
I will be exalted in this home."
The Lord Almighty is with us;
God draws us into His fortress,
and reminds us that we're all on the same side."
"God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in the insanity.
Therefore we will not fear, though our
patience give way
and we want to toss everyone into the heart
of the sea,
though children roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their
screaming.
There is a river whose streams make glad
the home surrendered to God,
making it a holy place where the Most High
dwells.
God is within it, it will not fall;
God will help it in the crazy mornings.
Children are in an uproar, plans fall;
He lifts His voice, the insanity calms.
The Lord Almighty is with us;
God draws us into His fortress,
and reminds us that we're all on the same side.
Come and see what the Lord has done,
the humility He has brought to the
home.
He makes arguing cease
at the end of the hallway.
He breaks the defiance and shatters the disobedience;
He burns the pride with fire.
He says, "Be still, and know that I am
God;
I will be exalted among the children,
I will be exalted in this home."
The Lord Almighty is with us;
God draws us into His fortress,
and reminds us that we're all on the same side."
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