where waves grow sweet

God said, “I command the ocean to be full of living creatures….” So God made the giant sea monsters and all the living creatures that swim in the ocean. Genesis 1:20-21

About 5 years ago, Cole and I drove down to La Jolla to spend the day on the beach where my cousin, Janelle, and her family were vacationing. They had purchased a couple masks and snorkels for the trip, which didn’t initially excite me… after all, we were in California, not Hawaii. But there was a group of scuba divers who kept submerging themselves in shoulder deep water, and my curiosity was piqued. Janelle’s husband, John, explained that there were leopard sharks cruising around in the shallow water. He assured us of their gentle nature, and enthusiastically encouraged us to get out there and see them.

It seemed like an opportunity that shouldn’t be missed, so we popped up off the sand, grabbed some snorkels, and headed toward the water with Janelle and one of her kids. There were plenty of boogie boards lying around but I insisted that I was big enough to handle four feet of water on my own. So I waded out about waste deep, pulled the mask over my eyes, and leaned into the water. I didn’t see anything but sand and a few fish, so I swam slowly forward, glancing to the left and right to catch a glimpse of these little spotted landlubbers.

I’m not sure exactly how it happened but I looked down and saw directly beneath me, separated from my skin by mere inches of water, six or eight or ten large sharks swimming in snaky circular patterns like they do on the Discovery Channel when they are going to eat someone. In the time it took Rita to shove me toward the croc (see previous post), I jerked my head up from the water, screamed through my snorkel, and leaped on top of Janelle’s 12 year-old daughter, Alyssa, nearly shoving her off her boogie board. She displayed her athletic prowess by hanging on through the assault which made me glad, even though it was apparent I would have sacrificed her to save my own delicate skin and tender flesh.

I decided I was not nearly brave enough to handle four feet of water on my own, so I swam back to shore and humbly grabbed a boogie board. I paddled back out to my last shark sighting and was delighted to experience the most stunning display of nature I have ever seen. Long, elegant, exquisitely patterned, and perfect; these sharks were glorious. I floated there in wonder as I took in the remarkable scene. The most beautiful thing of all was the foam that separated me from their sharkly forms, and the fact that the flesh they would devour belonged to crunchy little sea creatures… and not me.

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:37-39

When I was 14, I showed up to a school dance drunk. Stupid drunk. A guy on the hockey team took advantage of the situation, and I lost my virginity in the backseat of his friend’s car in the school parking lot. On Monday, I had “slut” written across my locker in magic marker, a girl determined to beat me up, and the whole school aware of my indiscretion. Probably not my best week ever.

I wanted to be a worldly person who didn’t care about these trivial matters, so I bucked up and acted that way. But I was destroyed. It all came back to me and my bullheaded rebellion. It was my shame to own, my bed to lie in. I believed with all my heart that I had disqualified myself from a happy life, from good things, from God’s love and acceptance. I lived accordingly for many years, settling for the bottom of the barrel in my view of myself and in my choices.

But God changed all that. He lifted my head and drew my eyes to his where I could see the warmth of his love and forgiveness. What I considered a permanent disfigurement was, through the purity of his vision, just a bruise that he could heal with his gentle touch. He has been so faithful to redeem the experience and all that came out of it; to give me beauty for ashes.

I’m sharing this because I think so many of us have felt disqualified from the abundant life of Christ. Somewhere under the surface, we have felt undeserving and ashamed. We’ve thought our sins are beyond forgiveness, our mistakes too numerous for his patience, our selfishness, greed, anger, or apathy an affront to his kindness. The thing is we’ve all fallen short. There is no way we could ever begin to deserve what he has so freely given. It is why the pure blood of Christ was required – to cover our every impurity. When God looks at us, he sees the righteousness of Jesus instead of the filthy rags we have to offer. This is the ridiculously beautiful message of grace.

Because of this grace, you are qualified for all the riches of heaven. You are not disqualified from any measure of his goodness or from any degree of his acceptance. There is nothing you could ever think or do that could separate you from the greatness of his love. My encouragement to you today is to lay down your filthy rags, receive this unbelievably good news, and rise up to take the place established for you in the kingdom of God.

Whoever gives heed to instruction prospers, and blessed is he who trusts in the Lord. Proverbs 16:20

Before owning a phone with gps, a good portion of my time was spent driving in circles, wandering about on self-inflicted detours, and making more u-turns than I care to remember. Which led to my biggest frustration on the road… those long stretches on which a driver is forbidden to make a u-turn, or sometimes even turn left or right. All one can do is march proudly forward, as if going straight will always lead to a desired destination. My goodness – do the people who plan these cities never make mistakes?

One mistake-ridden evening, after a long day, I pulled into the parking lot of a 7-11 to grab a drink, regroup, and turn around… again. As I pulled to the edge of the driveway to head out, I noticed a sign that said “No Left Turn” which, of course, was exactly the direction I needed to go. Exasperated by the commands of the unmerciful rule-makers and with a clear road before me, I decided to ignore the sign and make a left. It was not a second later that my lights hit the median, which I had been unable to see in the darkness. That large hunk of cement interfered with my goal of crossing the street and I had gone too far to change directions. So I found myself heading in the general direction I wanted to go, but doing it on the very wrong side of the street.

This could have turned out to be enormously bad for me and others, but I am happy to say it didn’t. I came across only a few confused cars that made way for the oncoming headlights. I finally found somewhere to pull off so I could start breathing again and then continue my adventure. I have no idea where I was going that night, but I must have made it one way or another… fortunately with my both my body and car in tact.

I’m happy to say that I now have a greater reverence for street signs. (Although on desperate days, even with a gps, I still ignore “no u-turn” signs.) But a bigger lesson hit my heart through this. I have often disregarded what has been intended as helpful instruction. I’ve ended up in dangerous, often life-threatening situations, as well as those that are just slightly compromised and inferior to the best choice. It turns out that boundaries aren’t just to deprive and frustrate, but to help and protect. Who knew?

Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. John 15:13

About ten years ago, I was in Costa Rica with a group called YWAM. After being cooped up in a classroom for a couple months on a beautiful, but isolated hill outside Heredia, some friends and I were ready for adventure. We finally found it in an overnight trip to the coast with no cumbersome schedule. Aaah, the joys of freedom.

I hopped in a jeep that wasn’t particularly roadworthy with a few friends from the group and three kids in tow. After a breakdown near town and a grand fixit job in the garage of a local, we got back on the road and began our 2-hour trek to Jaco Beach. It was inexpressibly glorious to have the wind in our faces and the dusty open roads before us.

At one point along our journey, there were several cars stopped on the side of the road near a bridge. We got out and joined them in watching the water to discover the point of interest. It all seemed very uninteresting until we noticed that some of the logs floating in the water were moving – at a strikingly slow pace, but moving nonetheless – and that as they rose to surface, they bore a striking resemblance to crocodiles. Because, of course, they were. And in great enough quantity to occupy a scene in Indiana Jones.

We stayed there for a while watching those eerie creatures move about, and then moved on toward our happy destination of the Costa Rican shoreline. We arrived without incident, despite the worrisome local driving style our friend used to get us there. It was lovely to feel the sand, play in the water, watch our Hawaiian friend climb palm trees, eat seafood. It was everything it should be.

After a full day, we headed over to our hotel. My friend, Rita, and I put our kids to bed and left them with her husband, while we grabbed a pina colada and went out to wander the grounds. The waves crashed loudly but were hardly visible by the dim moonlight. As we meandered, we came to a dark and swampy outlet of water.  It was strangely quiet. At the same moment, we both saw the terrifying shape we had seen only hours before beneath the bridge. I hesitated for a moment too long. Before I could react, Rita had pushed me toward the crocodile while she ran the other way.  It was fortunate for me that I was at a great enough distance not to be devoured in that moment. It was also fortunate that it was a sculpture of a crocodile.

Hysterical laughter ensued that night and for days to follow. Truth be told, had I not been so darn slow, I would have tossed Rita to the crocs and saved myself.  I have another story to prove this… which I just might share tomorrow.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. Phillipians 4:6

This year, my family and I have been learning a new (well, new to us), ridiculously effective approach to prayer. Instead of harassing the heavens with the same request day after day, we have been asking God to meet whatever need it is, thanking him that he is going to meet it, and leaving it there in his hands (as opposed to talking to him about it and then walking away with it tucked neatly under our arm). We then go about enjoying his company. When tempted to beg for that same thing as though he didn’t hear us the first – or tenth – time, we go back to thanking him.

There does seem to be a need for persistence, but it’s got to be persistence of the right sort. The sort that decides we are going to rejoice in the Lord always (have you ever noticed how many freaking times the bible tells us this?). I don’t really get everything that goes on in the spiritual realm when we do this, but it feels like, through faith, a pathway to heaven is cleared and God is freed up to do the work he does so well.  Not only do things get accomplished, but we get to rest all the way. To illustrate, I would love to share a few delectable examples from our household during the span of one week this summer. They may be a bit strange, but are most certainly true.

My mom’s watch went missing. She is not attached to many material things and would be fine without her watch, but she really loved it and didn’t want to have to buy another one. There had been cleaners in our house the day it disappeared, but she refused to point the finger. Instead, she presented her request to the Lord and then thanked him that he would show her where it was. Every time she was tempted to ask again or strive to find it, she came back to thankfulness. In a dream a night or two later, she saw her watch tucked in the cushion of the armchair in our living room. She woke up the next morning and went straight to the armchair she saw in her dream, expecting to reach down and feel the silver links but, alas, it wasn’t there. Instead of griping or doubting, she went back to thanking God. A short while later, it struck her that we have an identical armchair sitting across the coffee table from the one she checked. When she reached behind the overstuffed cushion of that chair, lo and behold, there was her watch tucked away just as she saw in her dream.

I was doing some online grading for a high school. Though I was familiar with the program, I couldn’t remember where to find my team of students so I could grade the right assignments. I felt thwarted, annoyed, and frustrated. And perhaps a bit dull for not remembering. I was driving myself mad recklessly checking every nook and cranny of the seemingly relevant tabs. As a very last resort, I decided to ask God to help me. I sent up an unemotional thanks that he would work it out, and took a nap. As I was waking up from a luscious sleep, I saw in my mind a picture of my computer screen and my eyes were drawn to the second tab from the left which said “Rosters.” I thought, “Of course – rosters!!” So I flung off the blankets, grabbed my computer, and opened the program. To my dismay, the second tab from the left was called “Communicate.” Having nothing to lose, I clicked on the tab. Right there, before my very eyes, was a link to Rosters, which turned out to be very thing I needed. Now it would be easy to say that it was in my mind all the time, and maybe it was. But what I know is that I was wearing myself out trying to get there. Instead I was able to rest, quite literally, and let my daddy provide.

Last story. My (human) dad was going to order something one night over the phone, and realized his wallet was missing. He prayed and had and immediate impression that it was in the trash. It was late and my mom, who rises before dawn, thought it could wait until the morning when she could help look. But Dad felt an urgency. Unfortunately all the wastebaskets had been emptied into the big ones outside and rolled to the curb for an early morning pickup. Bless dad’s grimy hands for going through those trashcans out on the curb in the very dark night – vertigo, jacked up spine, and all. He found his wallet, exactly where he knew he would, and was kept from a whole lot of unenviable work and needless trouble.

So the moral of the stories seems to be that when we put things in God’s hands, we can rest knowing he will lead us in just the right way at just the right time. The end.

All Scripture is inspired by God and is useful to teach us what is true and to make us realize what is wrong in our lives. It corrects us when we are wrong and teaches us to do what is right. 2 Timothy 3:16 NLT

In a world where everything is relative, it is hard to define what is right. We are given free reign to choose our own brand of goodness, our own version of truth. Even what is real seems up for grabs. There is no solid ground to stand on in this world, where even our own hearts deceive us. It is no surprise so many of us are confused, anxious, depressed, and tormented. We keep insisting on our rightness, continuing on our own paths, and are surprised when things keep turning out the same crappy way. Good old Albert Einstein called this insanity.

If you’ve ever watched a show called Hoarders, you’ve probably been alternately intrigued, baffled, and saddened. It is hard to comprehend how someone could be grieved and panicked to get rid of a rotten pumpkin, a broken toilet seat, or a collection of malnourished cats. It is clear to an onlooker that something in the thinking of these people that has gone awry and interfered with their ability to live a healthy life, but in the hoarder’s view their actions seems right, the need to keep the toilet seat easily justified.

We are often just as guilty. Our homes may be in order, but our minds are cluttered with things as stale as the four year-old cat poop on a hoarder’s floor or as putrid as the bloated milk carton on their table. We consider certain thoughts and viewpoints, which have brought about nothing good, as treasures to be guarded rather than trash to be tossed. The bigger the mental garbage heap grows, the more tightly we cling to it. All the while, our relationships are sacrificed and our lives compromised.

Since, as Einstein so simply stated, “we cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them,” we’ve got to change our thinking. The only thinking based on something higher than human understanding is the Bible. It’s not just about the words on the pages that wash our crusty minds and renew our thinking, but of the living Spirit inhabiting those words who ignites our hearts and sets our imaginations on fire. I can’t encourage you – and me – enough to grab that book, read it, soak it in, chew on it, and ask the God of the universe to reveal his perfect, unchanging truth.

To God’s elect… who have been chosen according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, through the sanctifying work of the Spirit, for obedience to Jesus Christ and sprinkling by his blood: Grace and peace be yours in abundance. 1 Peter 1:1-2

The point of Christianity is not self-denial. Really. Truly. I got stuck there for a while and it was miserable. I wouldn’t have wished my faith on anyone because it was such a constant drudgery of sacrifice and dying. I always thought the hardest possible route was the one that God wanted me to take.  How that got into my head, I’m not really sure, but I thank my good and gracious God for straightening out that very skewed thinking.

Sacrifice for its own sake isn’t true surrender. Surrender is giving up; yielding, so we can be obedient to what God asks us to do. God is not impressed with our altered versions of obedience, no matter how holy and sacrificial they look. I knew a woman who was a hard worker, passionate and committed, staying late to get things done. The only problem was that she didn’t do the tasks her supervisor asked of her. Instead, she poured her heart into projects of her own choosing, which were often completely unrelated to her job. Her actual work was left undone, and her reviews did not go well. She was baffled because she had worked so stinking hard. Go figure.

Let me tell you that the moment you do things your own way, the grace of God in your life will evaporate. You will have to carry that cross by yourself, and you will wear yourself out. I can pretty much promise that you will become embittered toward God for his lack of help, and toward others who are living abundantly in his grace. I make this promise based on extensive personal experience. There is also a subtle clue in the Bible where it says that God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble. There is no greater pride than doing Christianity our way. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like the thought of the creator of heaven and earth opposing me.

The other side of this is the joyful, glorious, amazing lifegivingness of true surrender. It has taken me a lot of years to be able to say that, and I don’t exist there all the time. But holy moly it is so worth anything he asks us to do. If he asks us to forgive someone (FYI, he asks us to forgive everyone), it is because it will bless us, it will bless others, and it will bless him. And we will not have to carry what we weren’t meant to carry, which means that we can be carefree and trusting like little kids. When Jesus said that his yoke is easy and his burden is light, he meant it. But it is only true when we are choosing his thoughts, plans, and ways… and receiving his peace, hope, and joy  🙂

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:9

If I had to pick an archenemy, I imagine I’d quickly spout “satan and his evil entourage!” – that awful clan of darkness that suffocates the truth of God in the hearts of His children and buries them alive in bondage. But as riled up as I can get about satan and his bedfellows and however much I’d like to hate them most, what I really hate is weakness.

Weakness in me, that is. It’s such a fine and beautiful thing for someone else. It looks so earthy and true, even sweet, from the outside. It’s when it’s inside – trespassing the reasonable boundaries of my person – that it loses its poetry. It then feels ugly and intrusive. Like something that should be quickly eradicated by large and violent weapons. It inspires in my depths the fervent opposition I’d like to have for other things more worthy of my passions.

Beyond the great expanse of anger and a determined will, I always seem to find fear. A terrified and trembling panic at being uncovered, made vulnerable, seen for who I really am. In weakness, the things I’d like to believe about myself seem to slip away and leave me with the unedited version of myself. But it wouldn’t matter if I were to believe what I know. That my value is not in strength or independence. Not in beauty or ability. Not in goodness or rightness. So what if my unedited self is often tired, ugly, useless, and mean? But, oh, it has mattered so much. Which is why weakness matters more. Without it, I might actually believe that I had a gram of strength in my natural self or some shred of ability to save myself. I would never reach the end of my flimsy resources and find myself in the infinite resources of an eternal God. I would never step out of lifeless beliefs and into the warm, breathing vibrance of Christ living in me.

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

I had a dream about 10 years ago that really stuck with me. While I realize that most people aren’t interested in reading the bizarre nighttime thoughts of others, I’m going to take a risk and share it anyway.

There was a little toy monkey holding onto a wire and flipping around it incessantly like a gymnast on speed. It was an old-school sort of toy where each time you squeeze the supporting bars, the monkey is set in motion. Even though there was no hand to squeeze life into the tiny creature, he continued to spin frantically, his little wooden joints rattling as his limbs flailed about.

The dream panned out to reveal me… an enormous, perfect, ripe nectarine, much like the giant peach James inhabited on his journey.  I had no arms, hands, fingers; no legs, feet or toes. I was incapable of motion and could only sit in my big, juicy flesh and watch the crazed monkey. Despite this apparent limitation, I cannot express the peace I felt. There have been few times in my life – awake or asleep – when I have known such wellbeing and contentment.

Even so, the monkey’s movement and energy had an appealing draw. I was tempted to set my desire on a similar freedom. But there was a deep sense of knowing that the monkey was striving; that to have his kind of freedom would mean foregoing the overwhelming peace I knew in perfect stillness. It was clearly a poor tradeoff. So contentment won out, the dream ended, and I awoke with a hankering for fresh fruit and a pressing desire to live from a place of rest.