where waves grow sweet

Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. 1 Thessalonians 5:18

I have been planning a wedding – my wedding, in fact. It’s not the sort of thing that suits my strengths or interests and, in all honesty, I prefer the idea of something simple and private. But my heart is for community and feels so joyful to include the people who have shared this long, sometimes difficult road, revealed the grace of God to me, and helped me get to this place. I also happen to have an amazing friend named Sheree who loves me and, despite my complete inability to comprehend, thoroughly enjoys event planning.

Everything was moving forward nicely, thanks to John, Sheree, and an entourage of fun family and friends. I had a groom, bridesmaids, dress, venue, and even some $7 backup bridesmaid dresses from Target in case my shopping trips continued to reveal only stiff, shiny dresses like the one I wore to my prom in the 80’s.

When the restrictions and costs associated with the venue became prohibitive, I got briefly discouraged before deciding it was a perfect opportunity to “rejoice in all things.” Because God is bigger than anything life can throw at me and will use every situation to achieve the good things he wants for me. I had a minor breakthrough that very evening and became excited again for our very special day in December.

What I didn’t realize was the building sense of expectation. Whittling things down to accommodate new, potentially smaller venues provoked unpleasant conversations, like the deep hurts and offenses that followed my first, very small wedding nearly 20 years ago. And an anticipation of who would be hurt this time. The terrible, awful truth is that I can’t invite everyone I love and appreciate or please everyone with my choices. The impending failure felt like a crushing weight on my insides.

An old, familiar rebellion rose up in me. I wanted to throw off everything anyone expected of me, including this wedding. To give John my heart without the fanfare, without the expectations. I whimpered out a feeble “thank you” to the Lord through my anger for this circumstance, and attempted to wrestle down my will so I could hear his voice.

It wasn’t until I was walking around my neighborhood late last night that I realized how personally I had taken the comments; how responsible I felt for the breaches in friendship and offenses taken; how scared I was of causing more. I walked, cried, and talked to John about a private ceremony. He comforted me and said we would talk and pray it through. I went to bed with a soft heart.

There was a sweet reconciliation this morning, but the tears continued. I whispered another “thank you” to the Lord and headed off to my day. The level of emotion seemed excessive and I finally asked God what it was all about. Understanding came. This weekend was a perfect picture of the rebellion I displayed so vehemently as a teenager. I hated myself for it, thinking I was a wretched person – a bad girl, a black sheep – hell-bent on destruction. I don’t mean to excuse the behavior or blame anyone but the truth is that I was hurting, crushed by the weight of expectations I didn’t think I could meet.

Through this understanding and his pervasive presence, the Lord touched my heart, unearthed something more true of myself than my behavior, showed me he loved me no less during those awful years – or on days like yesterday, and spoke healing into me. It was not remotely what I was expecting to get out of frustrated wedding plans and weak rejoicing, but that is just how big, how strong, how loving, and how faithful he is. To take whatever we’ve got and make it into something beautiful. Not only do I get to step into marriage with a lightened load and better understanding of God’s love for me, but with a greater trust in his ability to bring good out of every circumstance and an increased vision to see past actions and into the hearts of his people. Go God!

X marks the spot

Ah, the neighborhood kids. They used to gather on the corner across the street from our house, all shapes and sizes, sitting on the sidewalk in front of the cranky couple’s house, talking and laughing ‘til the sky was black. Sometimes they would wander around the neighborhood, hang out at one of the kids’ houses, or maybe walk to Moon Park.  But mostly they sat on the corner being kids.

This went on for several happy years, right where Indiana Ave. meets Illinois. And then something began to shift. Cole said things were different. Dylan started working out with his older brothers. Katie started high school and was buried in homework and dating. Corbin’s stepdad died of a drug overdose and he moved away. The group of kids shrunk and shrunk until the corner was empty. I felt sad like the Giving Tree when her favorite boy grew up and moved on. A year or two passed.

When I came home last night, there they were, sitting on the corner being kids. Katherine jumped up and wrapped her arms around me. Corbin, who had recently moved back to the neighborhood, towered over me with his 6’2” frame and melted me with his warm smile. Chicky was lying on her stomach chatting sociably with Alexa and Riley, next to the street sign that marks their old haunt. They energetically filled me in on their sports injuries, the schools they are going to, the way they hardly recognized Cole when they saw him. I listened happily, filling myself full.

It wasn’t the whole crew, but I know that community draws others to itself, so I’m pretty sure there will be more kids there tonight. If not, I’ll just be grateful for the joyful remembrance I got last night. And for the young neighborhood kids who are now taking up community the way they learned it… on the corner of Indiana and Illinois.

When people do not accept divine guidance, they run wild. But whoever obeys the law is joyful. Proverbs 29:18 NLT

I don’t have stellar eyesight, but didn’t realize it until a few years back when a coworker pointed out that my face was close enough to my computer to kiss it… and I was still squinting. My handy Costco optometrist discovered the problem: astigmatism, which means that my eyeballs are football shaped instead of volleyball shaped. In practical terms, it means that everything is slightly distorted or kind of soft and fuzzy. Not the sort of issue that interferes much with life, and actually lends a nice impressionistic look to things. There are times, however, when it proves to be quite ineffectual. Say, for instance, when I’m on the freeway trying to make out the words that would tell me where to get off.

When I got my glasses, the soft glow of life found definition. As it turns out, I don’t look nearly as young as I thought. No wonder I don’t get carded anymore. And things I thought were clean, like bookshelves or the corners of my room, apparently were not. So I restricted the wearing of my glasses to special occasions. Like at work while trying not to romance my computer. Or on the freeway while trying to avoid another accidental crossing of the Mexican border. But on other occasions, like looking in the mirror or taking in my surroundings, I pretended that reality is what I perceived through imperfect vision. It seemed to spare my vanity unnecessary grief.

Lame, I know. But I don’t think I’m totally unique here. We tend to like the edges of our lives softened. We feel better about ourselves that way. The world likes us better that way. It’s not that we don’t want truth. We do, but the purity of the Word can bring some shocking definition to our thoughts and desires. It’s not always such a pretty image. So we seek it out only in small measure. Or in certain circumstances, like when we’re in crisis mode on the freeway, and not in others, like when we’re standing in front of the mirror.

I now wear contacts, which is a good thing because it’s inconvenient to take them out every time I want to avoid something unpleasant. I’m able to see things I couldn’t see before and make some good changes. Like choosing to accept who I am and what I look like. Or clean things that are dirty. I was particularly glad this morning when I looked in the mirror and was able to quickly identify and remove the cheese on my eyebrow before heading into work. I’m also happy to report that I’m learning to enjoy the vision the Word is bringing, as it helps me to accept some things, clean up others, and most definitely get me where I need to go.

Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”Matthew 22:37-39

I wanted to expound on my last post but it was late and, since I had wake up at o-dark-thirty to get Cole to sailing lessons before work, I posted what I had and drifted into dreamless slumber on my striped pillow. What I shared I believe to be very true, but there is more.

Focusing on the truth about ourselves is like one side of an Oreo; tasty but incomplete. Focusing on the truth about others is like the other side; still tasty but still incomplete. What really sets an Oreo apart and holds everything together is that mysterious white stuff in the middle. Let’s pretend for the moment that the mystery has nothing to do with lard, but with recognizing the authority of God.

As discussed in the last post, we are called to fix our eyes on what is real (what God says about us) rather than on what is counterfeit (what we, others, or the enemy say about us). Our shortcomings do not change our identity or God’s view of us, ever. Who we are is fact, as established by the Creator himself. As this becomes our focus, our lives will naturally reflect it.

God didn’t just create us with a true identity, but he did the same for all his people. So we, as loved individuals (see previous paragraph), are called out of our natural understanding of the people around us and into a supernatural understanding. “How does such a thing occur?,” you may ask. Once again, it is by focusing on their value (what God says is true) rather than on their shortcomings (what we perceive to be true). What will naturally follow is that our hearts will see beyond behavior and love others for real.

As you may already have realized, we can’t stand firm in any of this if we haven’t recognized God’s authority. So, really, our first step is to fix our eyes on what he has said about himself and let the purity of that truth corrode every shadow, doubt, and accusation we have against his character. If ever there was solid ground on which to stand, this is it. It also happens to be the tasty mystery that holds everything else in its place.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable–if anything is excellent or praiseworthy–think about such things. Philippians 4:8

I remember being told that when bank tellers are trained, they become so intimately familiar with the feel of real currency through the intentional handling of legit bills that they are able to recognize the feel of a counterfeit bill. I have no idea if this is true, but it’s a great example. If you think about it, there are many ways and materials by which fake money can be produced and it would follow that each would feel slightly different. Yet there is one way to produce the real thing and every bill will always be the same. So it makes sense that the surest way to identify the countless things that don’t belong is to recognize what does belong.

A friend and I have both struggled with self-condemnation and perfectionism, wanting so desperately to please God and feeling a persistent sense of failure. We have both come far, but not to the point of the issue being found only in our personal history books. During a prayer time together today, the above verse came to mind, expanded in my heart, and became so suddenly clear to me.

We were never called to focus on our sin. To acknowledge it, yes. To receive forgiveness and turn from it, absolutely. But to fix our eyes there is like trying to learn every single form of counterfeit money. There will never be an end because it will always pop up in some new form. Talk about an overwhelming task and persistent sense of failure.

Instead, we were called to focus on what God says is true about us. It is simple, genuine, and unchanging. As we set our minds to the intentional handling of the truth based on the authority of God himself, we will be able to recognize it as authentic. It will become so familiar, that any thought or action that is not from our new nature will be exposed for the counterfeit it is. Not only will we learn to reject it, but will become so confident that we call the cops and have the lie hauled in. Best of all, there will be joy because we are becoming people who recognize the truth and know our value.

Be still and know that I am God.  Psalm 46:10 

When my boss and I called in for our organization’s corporate prayer time on Friday, we didn’t hear the usual passage of scripture, followed by praise reports and prayer with our small group. Instead, we were read a brief quote on the importance of learning to be quiet and listen to God (or something of that sort; truth be told, I wasn’t altogether listening). We were then told to spend the next 25 minutes in silence. Just as I was thinking I could easily do that while working, Jesse’s voice came from the speaker saying, “Do not go back to work.” “Find a quiet place and listen.” Oh, okay. I get it.

It took me and my boss great restraint to keep from discussing this assignment before actually doing it, holding our lips together really tight like fidgety kindergarteners trying to be good. But we managed and I happily set out to my favorite walking path. Gorgeous day. Birds singing. Peaceful, as always. This assignment was right up my alley, and no doubt one I would ace. But, as it turns out, I suck at being quiet.

I finally got my mouth to stop, mostly. But my mind wouldn’t quit. It was like one of those awful mechanical dogs that bark incessantly when you walk by a toy store. I’d turn off one thought, only to find ten more noisy things yapping at me and demanding my attention. I persisted in the exercise and even extended the walk a bit to give a chance for better mastery, but still ended up back at work feeling quiet on the outside and noisy on the inside.

But as the day wore on, I noticed that my body was more relaxed. And my mind seemed calmer. The things I was sure I had to figure out before getting quiet lost their urgency and fell off my horizon. When I got in my car at the end of the day, I found a stillness I had forgotten existed. There was no desire to save the universe through my mental analyses, distract myself with music or sermons, or even pray with words like I’m used to. I just was. And God was. And we were. It was divine.

It is interesting to me how opposite this is of my life in general. Busy. Noisy. Distracted. Controlled. I don’t mean it to be that way. I’m mostly trying to make the most of what God has given me and what he has put in my heart to do, but things keep getting out of balance and I know it. When I follow the maze back to the start, I always find the same thing: Self-importance. Maybe you’d call it pride.

Instead of letting God figure something out and tell me what to do, I butt in and want to help him figure it out like some obnoxious micromanager. Instead of asking God which people (and when) he wants me to be available for, I want to help everyone all the time and sometimes think – with ridiculous self-righteousness – that they won’t be okay without me. As if I’m the savior of myself or my son or my friends. Getting quiet on Friday reminded me that He alone saves. He alone has the answers. He alone is wise.

He won’t give me more than I can accomplish. Not only that, but he won’t give me more than I can accomplish in perfect peace. As it says in Isaiah, “This is what the Sovereign LORD, the Holy One of Israel, says: “Only in returning to me and resting in me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength.” If I trust God more than I trust myself, I will lay down my thoughts, my agenda, and the ways I seek to affirm myself. I will take the time to hear what is on his heart and what is important to him. I will be refreshed and gain perspective. I will indeed be still and know that he is God.

Cease striving and know that I am God. Psalm 46:10 NASB

Let go [of your concerns]! Then you will know that I am God. Psalm 46:10 Amp

Be at peace in the knowledge that I am God. Psalm 46:10 BBE

Barnes’ Notes on the Bible

Be still – The word used here means properly to cast down; to let fall; to let hang down; then, to be relaxed, slackened, especially the hands: It is also employed in the sense of not making an effort; not putting forth exertion; and then would express the idea of leaving matters with God, or of being without anxiety about the issue. Compare Exodus 14:13, “Stand still, and see the salvation of God.” In this place the word seems to be used as meaning that there was to be no anxiety; that there was to be a calm, confiding, trustful state of mind in view of the displays of the divine presence and power. The mind was to be calm, in view of the fact that God had interposed, and had shown that he was able to defend his people when surrounded by dangers. If this the divine interposition when Jerusalem was threatened by the armies of the Assyrians under Sennacherib, the force and beauty of the expression will be most clearly seen.

And God placed all things under his feet and appointed him to be head over everything for the church,  which is his body, the fullness of him who fills everything in every way. Ephesians 1:22-23

A while back someone asked me what kind of God would care about something so insignificant as helping someone find a parking place on a crowded day at the beach or a lost wallet at the mall, while neglecting the cries of a suffering world. It was a good question. There are oodles of other unbelievers – and believers – with the same doubts, who question God’s character or refrain from asking him any questions they deem unworthy of his time and efforts.

I didn’t have an immediate answer to his question, but found an understanding floating through my head later that day. My mom would give her life for me. There is no question in my mind. She has never had the opportunity to prove this, so how can I be so certain? Because she has demonstrated her care for me. Sometimes in small ways, like speaking kind words or helping me find something I’ve lost. Sometimes in bigger ways, like foregoing sleep to talk me through a hard place or loving me when I am as approachable as a man-of-war. Many of my crises have been pretty unimportant in the big scheme of things, but they have mattered to her because of her concern and compassion for me. I have become so assured of her love that I can stand confidently in it and can trust her with all I am for much greater things.

If we care for our children in these ways, how much more does our Father, who has a far truer love than we do – a perfect love, in fact – care for us? While a lost wallet is not a life or death problem, it’s an opportunity to demonstrate his care for the kids he loves. And while a parking space might not particularly matter to him, we do. As we see his provision in small ways and come to know his kindness, we learn to trust him in big ways and are able to act with authority on the things he’s promised. We also begin to realize that he did lay down his life for us in the ultimate act of love, and can understand more intimately what it took to do such a thing for us ragamuffins who couldn’t yet begin to grasp the significance.

The breakdown often comes with how this translates in our lives. Maybe we don’t learn to trust him for small things and are then unable to look to him for bigger things. Maybe, instead of asking him to meet our needs, we decide what is worthy of his attention. Or maybe we receive his love, wrap it up around us like a down comforter, and snuggle up in the fluffy warmth for a long winter’s nap. But his love is raw, pulsing life that was never meant to stop with us. It has no boundaries. Not of “small” or “big” or “relative to other people’s problems.” Not of a need or person or household or community or nation. It flows freely to the ends of the earth and back again.

On Sunday, in the middle of a challenging and powerful message, my pastor made this statement: “God fills Jesus. Jesus fills the church. The church fills the world, revealing the presence of God in it.” We are the body of Christ. We were given his kindness not only because of his love for us, but because of his love for all the world. Yes, it’s a broken world, and there is hunger, sickness, and pain.  But we are here, as the hands and feet of a loving God, to feed the hungry, heal the sick, and comfort the hurting. Can each of us meet every need? No way, no how. Can each of us be one part of the body, working together to show this broken world what love looks like? Heck yeah!

So here is my confession. I have been stuffed full with the nourishment of God, grown plump in his goodness, and slept soundly in my fatness while others have gone hungry. I’m still a bit groggy with sleep in my eyes, but am starting to wake up to the very exciting truth that God made me because he needs me. He made you because he needs you. He knit us together in love, not so we could be some tight clique that self-centeredly rejoices in its position, but to declare the love of God to a world in need. So that they might be knit together with us, and proclaim with all their hearts the great love of the God who drew them in through the kindness of his people.