We Are Healed {Written in Wounds}

Fifth graders are cool. Perhaps you already know this. Perhaps you have the honor of housing and/or loving a fifth grader in your own family.

I don't, but for an hour or so a week, I get to interact with the beings after school. Adopt them temporarily. They meander into our church in steady stream of chatter. They snack with their friends. Then they sing (or don't sing) dorky camp songs with one of the dorkiest people I know- me.

Music has a kind of crazy magic that draws out of a person a wild abandon that just can't be released effectively through speech. Add in dancing and ridonkulous lyrics about baby sharks, and you have wholly different people. So in a way, I'm pretty much a magician. Maybe that's why I have been accepted into the tribe of fifth graders.

I was initiated yesterday. While other kids filed into the sanctuary, a lovely girl and her friend walked up to me to show off their sweatshirts. There wasn't much extraordinary about the shirts themselves, but what was scrawled on them was worthy of notice. I'm still not sure I understand why, but for some reason these girls had their friends sign their shirts. In permanent marker.

I repressed the questions of my inner mom ("And your moms are cool with this?"), and marveled at the creativity and comradery demonstrated in the multi-colored names across their arms and backs. Friends willing to sign off on these girls. They knew them and more than that, they approved of them. And they were willing to testify to that permanently.

"You wanna sign it?" She sounded so cool about it.

"Yes please," I answered. I'm not nearly so cool.

She held out her Sharpie rainbow and I selected my color. I signed her back. Because I have her back. I signed her friend's hood.

I've signed my name before. And I've signed off on the most horrible sins. Music works its magic and draws out my confession in worship:

"Oh, to see my name

Written in the wounds,

For through Your suffering I am free..."

"But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities..."

-Isaiah 53:5a

Yes, I signed off on His death. You can see my signature there. No Sharpie needed. It is written in His blood.

But that's not the end of the story. He loves us too much to end it there.

"Death is crushed to death;

Life is mine to live,

Won through Your selfless love."

-The Power of the Cross, by Keith Getty and Stuart Townend

"...upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed."

Isaiah 53:5b

And it is tonight and in the days to come that we receive admission to witness the most glorious of all paradoxes. The Servant King binds our wounds with His wounds. 

It's not just some cool theological mystery to ponder and solve. 

It's God the Father signing His name, His approval, onto His Son. Then clothing us in Him. 

We have put on Christ. (Galatians 3:27)

And it's more than clothing deep. It cuts right to the heart.

Because we are His friends. (John 15:13-15)

You are His friend.

He made you that way.

Because He loves you.

It is holy week, but Jesus didn't die for this week. He died for you.

So that when we are not enough, when things don't get done, when we say that thing that we shouldn't have said, when we sign our names to Christ's murder over and over again- He shows us the truth.

"I have called you by name. You are mine." 

-Isaiah 43:1

"I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand."

-John 10:28

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A blessed holy week to you all. I'd sign your sweatshirts any day. I pray for you in the days to come. Things have been crazy around these parts. Preparing for Easter, then Kenya. Reading the Bible in 90 days and doing a Beth Moore study simultaneously provides plenty of inspiration, but little time. Oh, and I have kids.

Which is probably why I'm linking late with Simply Beth yet again. But hey, better late than never.

Love you all!

Why I Quit "Helping" God {God is God}

The dog greeted me warmly at the door. I left her loose while I was gone because there was no food out and how much trouble could she get into? I carried the tired toddler into the kitchen and was greeted warmly once more.

By a completely annihilated box of Honey Nut Cheerios. What would possess an animal to jump onto a kitchen table and destroy a box and bag, only to consume a few handfuls of cereal? Yet there lay the accusing debris. As a mother of four with a dirty house, you could imagine my delight.

I set down the kid and reached for the broom. In moments, tiny fingers laid hold of the handle and her words formed, "Mm how. Mm how."

To a foreigner that would mean nothing. To my mother ears it rang clearly, "I help. I help."

I released the broom into her eager hands and watched as she toddled around the kitchen, spreading the cardboard, plastic, crumbs and other junk pell-mell over the linoleum. As a mother of four with a dirty house, you could imagine my delight.

This is precisely why I've quit helping God. I'm as effective as a 1 year old with a broom.

Pray, proclaim, fight, obey, serve, love, forgive, follow. All those things I remember being instructed by God through His word.

"Help me out." Not so much.

Teach, baptize, tell, give, bring, watch, repent.  Those words too come to mind.

"Do me a favor." Not that one.

I'd like to think the absence of those phrases would eliminate the notion from our brains, but I can say from experience that isn't the case. It's tempting to feel some degree of awesomeness in performing a task on behalf of God. Like God must really delight in me, check out this daughter of His I am helping. Check out this hurting brother I am feeding. Feed and clothe the least of these- I'm doing this for you, God.

But the truth is, God doesn't need my help. He's not a frazzled parent, relinquishing His broom to a bossy toddler.

God is in charge. And that's the case always.

So, what's the big difference? What's the big deal if I feel like I'm doing an act to help God or if I'm doing it to help my neighbor? It's precisely this- who is in control?

If I am assuming the Lord is in need of my service, I have some claim to its outcome. Just a little glory, not much, if it all turns out great. I'll give Him most- just hoard a little of the glory to myself, if that's ok.

On the other hand, if it all comes crashing down around me I ask, "God, what did I do wrong?"

I don't want to crawl up onto His lap. I want to crawl up on His throne. I want to grab the reins, and the reign. Just for a moment. Just until He can handle this without me.

Maybe that's not how you think. Maybe you don't feel pressure to make someone believe. Maybe you are content to teach your children the way of the Lord without fretting over whether or not you are going to screw it up and send them to hell in a hand-basket.

Maybe you don't lose sleep over unbelieving family and friends. Or over the starving multitudes. Or the children sold into slavery. Maybe you are content to teach and follow and serve, and know your role.

I have a hard time with that. Overwhelmed with the problems of the world, I forget Whose shoulders can carry it all. I forget that when I visit the poor, teach the children, listen to the lonely, I am not doing God a favor. I am following Jesus where He leads. Nothing more. And I'm sinning all the while. I'm being an imperfect disciple in the hands of the perfect and almighty God, who doesn't need my help, but chooses to use me in His plan.

God delights in me because He created me. He delights in me because He redeemed me and made me His own. And my readiness or reluctance to serve in His name will not diminish or augment His love for me. He loves me because He is love.

Now, are there consequences to withholding my service? Of course. Serious ones even. The Bible is clear on that as well. But not because God needed me and now His plan is going to fall apart because I'm selfish. If that was the case, He would accomplish nothing because I am more often than not a selfish individual. Any glimmers of selflessness come as a result of His work in me.

So I've given up "helping" God. At least for now. I'm sure I'll fall back into the pattern again somewhere down the road and He'll have to remind me that He can handle this whole life thing all on His own and I'm His beloved child, chosen and set apart to work alongside Him, but never in place of Him. I was never meant to carry that load, and that's because He loves us too much to give me His job.

Follow. It's a simple enough command, though difficult in execution. Fight, baptize, proclaim, feed, repent, etc. are all acts that on their own are too complicated for me to accomplish without His power. There's no need to add "Be God" onto the list. So today I start with the simplest of words, Believe, which is a gift in itself, and all the rest will fall into place.

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Linking up today with the always fabulous, Simply Beth for Three Word Wednesday.

Dear Day Ahead of Me, {I Am His}

It is a pretty necklace. Simple. I put it on like a superhero cape- it's part of the uniform today. Sweatpants, sweatshirt, greasy hair, coffee, and this necklace. It reminds me I am His. It is my letter to the day. It says:

Dear Day Ahead of Me,

I think it's best you know right off the bat- I am His.

I have no clue what is going to happen to me today. No doubt you have plans. But bear in mind, at all times I am His.

So when I type at the computer and the baby climbs onto my lap and competes for my attention, I remember I don't belong to this computer. I don't belong to this blog. I am His.

And when fight after fight breaks out even after I have commanded, "Do not talk to your brother. Do not talk to your sister." And it seems that the only way to break free of the conflict is to banish my kids for the next decade, or threaten their lives with poisonous words, I will remember I don't belong to this anger, this emergency. I am His.

And when the dishes pile up, the checks run out, the laundry sits wet and untended in the washer for days, I will remember- I don't belong to my chores. My worth isn't tied to what I can see with my eyes. It is tied to the cross. To the tomb. To the certainty of what I do not see. Because I am His.

And when the words of a friend cut deep and, no matter how hard I try, they just won't vacate the front of mind, discontent to simmer on the back burner, I will remember that I have no control over the thoughts of others and they have no claim over me. I don't belong to human opinion. I am His.

And when I look at the haggard expression on an aging face, and feel the constant ache of arthritic hands, I will remember that I'm not getting old- These seasons are His seasoning. I'm like a well-used and beloved bread pan, carrying in my body the Bread of Life. I am His.

And when I look at the perfect lives of those who can keep their worlds from falling apart with no effort, I will remember that every step I take is an action beyond my means. Beyond my power or my will. Each is gift. I am not supposed to go this life alone and make the best of it. I am with Him because I am His.

When the friendships die and the kids buck hard and I wonder if I'm doing everything wrong, I will remember those relationships have not been formed and glued by me, but by Him. I belong to no human. I am His.

When the accolades skim my presence and land on another, I am His.

When compliments tempt me to pride, I am His.

When the hours are long and the days too short, I am His.

When apathy steals over the church so much that I want to scream, "Doesn't anybody care?!" I remember, He cares. He cares. I am His.

When the threat of an unforeseen future shoves me into an abyss of worry, doubt, anger. I belong to the only One who holds the future. He holds me too. I am His.

When the deadlines rush upon me, and I know my work isn't up to snuff. I am His.

When the loving wife in me is body slammed by the insecure maniac being pulled in too many directions. I am His.

When a "what-do-you-think" invites clueless and arrogant words on my part. Or when words escape me and I'm about like talking to the paint on the wall. I am His.

When stuff breaks. I am His.

When I break. I am His.

When the world is just too messed up. I am His.

When the prayers are clumsy and forced. When my quiet time is no more quiet than the usual din. When I am just too tired to be "holy," I am His. I am still His.

You might say I'm possessed. Nothing is closer to the truth. I carry Him with me- His death and His life. He chose me for that. I'll meet people today looking for somewhere to belong. Someone to belong to. So they'll trial and error their way through, belonging to the feel good. Belonging to the good enough. That's not the case with me. I know where I belong. With Him. I know to Whom I belong. I am His.

So go ahead. You can start now. I'm prepared, if not ready. He'll use it all- every breath for His will. I'm not afraid. I go with the Lord. Patience, strength, mercy, forgiveness will all be needed and provided. No worries. I belong to the Maker of them all.

Let's roll.

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Linking up with the giver of my necklace: Simply Beth! 

Finding What Matters in a Cornfield {You Are Valuable}

I love living in Iowa. Don't ask me why, but there is comfort in the surrounding cornfields. And I didn't even grow up rural.

There's one thing I've learned from living the rural life (well more than one, but I'll try to stick to the point). It's this: when someone invites you to look at their tractors, you just do it. It's like in some cultures where they hand you a plate of food, you have to eat it or you insult them. Doesn't matter if you're hungry, gluten-free, allergic- you just eat it. It's kind of like that with looking at tractors. It shows respect. You are taking time and interest in the other person.

So when our dear friend invited our group out to his sheds to see his antique tractors, we all said, "Yeah, tractors sound awesome" and headed out to the sheds.

Sometimes when you take the time to invest yourself in other people, you learn stuff along the way. That's one thing God showed me that day. Because I learned a lot by looking at those tractors- and very little of it had to do with farming.

Our friend has two sheds of tractors. They are rival manufacturers, so he keeps them separate so they don't fight. Standing amid the antiques, I heard some valuable words about the value of my soul.

1. Size Doesn't Matter. You Are One-of-a-Kind.

The models of tractors were arranged by year and make. But the value of each tractor wasn't based on it's size, it's age, it's horsepower. It was based on it's rarity. The most valuable tractor was the one of which they made the fewest models.

Guess what- that's you. God only made one kind of you that year you were born. There are no replacements. Your value isn't based on your number of Facebook friends or the inches around your waist. It's not about how strong you are or how many kids you have. Your intellect, your personality, your gifts all go into making you the person you are, but they aren't what defines your value. You are one-of-a-kind. No one else can be you, and that's a good thing.

2. Your Maker Matters

Right, duh. But seriously, the things that last are the things that have been well made, at least with farming equipment. There's a reason even city folk know the name John Deere. It made it's name on quality. And people pay big bucks for the name because they know what they are getting.

When we take the time to remember who our Maker is, and that He doesn't make junk, we have to acknowledge that there is huge value in us, and every other human, simply because He made us. With care.

3. Condition Condition Condition Matters

It's why people pour big bucks into restorations- because every collector knows that the condition of the antique plays a huge part in its appraisal.

Your baptism clothed you in Christ- in His death and resurrection, in His perfection. That's how God sees you, through the sacrifice of His Son. That is a big deal. We gloss over it. We forget it. We get wrapped up in the emergencies of right now, and we forget we have been made new. So when our bodies, our tongues, our thoughts fail us, we know that God doesn't look down on us in exasperation. You are no less valuable than your "holy" Pastor's family or that church member who volunteers for everything. You are a child of God. You are made new. God has restored you. He has made you new.

"From now on, therefore, we regard no one according to the flesh. Even though we once regarded Christ according to the flesh, we regard him thus no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation." 2 Corinthians 5:16-18 

One More Thing... 

I know these lists usually work better in three's, but this point had to be made.

4. You Are Worth What Someone Is Willing To Pay

When it comes down to it, any antique is worth what someone is willing to pay for it. You can price it based on what you think it is worth, but if no one thinks it's that valuable, it ain't gonna sell.

No one values you more than God. Not even you. Especially not you. We put price tags on our worth. We price ourselves by what we think the world sees, by what people say to us and about us.

Here's the deal- God was willing to pay. The Father was willing to pay for you with the life of His One and Only Beloved Son. And even if you were the only one on earth who needed it, He still would have done it. I'm not saying He did this because you are so awesome you just earned it. I'm saying He did this because He created you for Himself, and He wanted you. He sees value in you because He made you and because He loves you. He sees more in you than you do because He isn't blind to the care He put into making you.

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. 

Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. 

Psalm 139:14

You are going to base your ideas of your worth on something- either yourself or someone else. How about we base it on the truth? God is truth. Let's base it on what He says. Let's base it on His Word. It might take a trip to the cornfield to remind us where to look, but if that's the case then may this blog be your virtual cornfield. You are worth so much to the King of Kings. More than you know. I pray you see that, know it, believe it, live it today.

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Linking late with the lovely Simply Beth!

For When You Need Extra Incentive to Be Thankful {Messy Monday}

I still don't think he understands how a garage sale works.

He held up an action figure- his action figure. The one I snatched from his top drawer because he NEVER plays with it, and the proceeds of the sale went to send my husband and a church member to Kenya to share the Gospel.

"Yes, you can buy it," I resigned.
"How much?"
"It's free-will donation. It costs as much as you think it should."
"A dollar."
"Fair enough."

He held out his hand in expectation. I guess he thought I paid him to take the toy away. Some days...

After the unsold merchandise was packed up and ready to donate to a local mission, we went home. Moments later, my son was in tears. "He left his toy in the basement," my daughter informed me. It was packed up.

I told the boy, "Go upstairs..."
"I didn't bring it upstairs."
"No, go upstairs, into your room..."
"But it's not up there."
"I know. Let me finish. Go upstairs, into your room, and look around at all the toys you do have. You have lots of toys, Honey. You didn't need that one."

I don't know the typical period of mourning over a lost Transformer, but he was over it pretty quickly. Distracted. The next day, another little boy found the Transformer buried in the boxes, and loved it. My son was more than eager to sell it to him for two bucks- yes, the money went into the garage sale pot:)

I know it isn't always that easy. The typical period of mourning means very little when what you are missing is a who. Friends, family gone into glory. Broken relationships that once meant the world to you.

You'd give everything to have them back. I know that feeling.

I'm not being callous. I try to avoid the "wisdom" of Job's friends. But what I say to you, I say to myself as well: Look around you.

Continue steadfastly in prayer, being watchful in it with thanksgiving. At the same time, pray also for us, that God may open to us a door for the word, to declare the mystery of Christ, on account of which I am in prison—

Colossians 4:2-3

Three things weave together- Prayer, Watchfulness, and Thanksgiving braided into a life in Christ. How would our lives be changed if today, in our own prisons for Christ, we were watchful for His blessings? His mercies new every morning? 

The braid forming a rope to which we cling when the crushing weight of our brokenness threatens to push us into the abyss.

The rope woven into the net that catches us when we just can't hold on anymore.

The net that pulls us into the hands of our Redeemer.

The Redeemer who prays "Thy Will Be Done" to His Father, knowing that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.

The Father, who sends His Spirit into us, making us holy, sacred, and keeping us that way.

So that we can pray, watch, and thank in faith.

Look around you- you have the entire Trinity loving you, holding you. And if that's not a way to see this mess of a world, I don't know what is.  

Praying for you, lovely friends! Praying God gives you reason after reason to watch and be thankful. He loves you. He is faithful. He wastes nothing, working in every single thing for the good of those who belong to Him. He loves you today and every day.

He Plays Beautifully

I don't often admit the thoughts that run through my head during a worship service. I suspect that's because, like most people, my mind isn't always where it belongs. Which is why the fact that I am about to tell you a passing thought I had during a funeral is kind of hard for me.

Maybe it was selfish.

Glenn's guitar sat just two feet from me as I rested on the piano bench. He wasn't there to play it. It was his funeral.

After the music was sung, my eyes wandered back over to the instrument I wouldn't hear him play. They perched there for a moment. Just long enough for me to wonder, wouldn't it be amazing if that was a magic guitar? 

A brief scene coursed through my imagination. Some guy wanders into our praise team loft and sees the guitar sitting in its stand. He ponders it a moment, glances around to make sure no one is paying attention, then picks it up. He sits on the pew behind him and places the guitar on his lap, the back of it resting on his chest. Without explanation, his fingers move exactly to the right parts of the guitar like they have found their home. He leans over the instrument. His body is possessed by a musical talent he never knew he had and, like magic, the guitar makes a guitarist out of the man. He picks beautifully.

But it wouldn't be Glenn. So it wouldn't matter. And there are no such things as magic guitars.

It's just a piece of wood, I remembered.

But for some reason I couldn't let the thought rest there. It's been haunting me these past weeks.

The cross, that was just a piece of wood too. A couple pieces of wood held together by some ropes or something. But in the right hands, it played the most beautiful music I've ever heard. The music of my redemption.

We get wrapped up in the things, but with that guitar there was no doubt that the talent resided in its master. Glenn was good. He was so good. You just couldn't be unhappy while he was playing. It was like magic.
But the most beautiful part of all was that he shared it. His music was a sacrifice to God. He didn't keep it to himself. He just couldn't.

God has done that all along. From the beginning when He breathed out "let there be light" and there was, He showed us that the beauty lies in the Creator. He beckons us throughout His Word over and over to look beyond the nuts and bolts of what we see, and see the Master behind it all. And He plays beautifully.

So why do we doubt His work in us?

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worth of praise, think about these things. -Philippians 4:8

If you are like me, you are more than willing to check off the list above thinking "these things" about other people. She is lovely. He is so commendable.

But the first thing to remember is that Paul tells us to think about what is true.

Here is the truth: you are those things too.

Not on your own of course. Me neither. But God has breathed His Spirit into you, and if He can work wonders on a bloody hunk of wood, then He will work wonders in you. And through you.

You are not ordinary. Not anymore. You might look it on the outside, but the truth is He is extraordinary and what He has done in your heart is the most amazing thing in the world. So amazing the world cannot understand it. So amazing the devil would try anything to ruin it. So amazing that you cannot listen to the worthless lies of the father of lies anymore.

In God's hands there is no such thing as ordinary. He cannot touch a thing without it being amazing just from having been in contact with Him. He might wrap it up in what the world will say is "common," but there is nothing common about following God. Nothing.

You are more than a hunk of wood. You are a precious and beautiful instrument in the hands of the Master Artist. And it's not magic. It's real. There can be no doubt, He plays you beautifully.

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Linking up with Simply Beth for Three Word Wednesday (on this Thursday morning:))

A Christian Response: Why My Kids Are NOT the Center of My World

Just recently, I read an article quite a few Facebook friends posted on parenting titled, Why My Kids Are NOT the Center of My World. It was passionate and challenging. And for that reason I really liked it.

I write this response not because it was wrong, but because it was incomplete.

It was a very strong indicator of a parenting issue I've seen grow by leaps and bounds in my generation of parenting. There's a purposeless people crisis going on right now- fostered by crippling parenting techniques.

So we’ve hopped aboard the parenting pendulum that swings to either “modern” parenting that enables children- thereby disabling them from increasing their skill set and contributing to the world, or “old school” parenting- giving the kids a 24/7 dose of the loving reality that they aren’t the center of anyone’s world.

So as a Christian parent, how do I handle the truth that our Heavenly Father sacrificed His one and only Son so that we could be reconciled to Him? That action clearly indicates that I am worth dying for. I have value. How do I parent my kids and combat the lie that they are the most important person in the world, without swinging into the lie that they really aren’t that special?

By changing the focus. I like to call it our third dimension. Believers get another option. Ultimately, it’s not about us or them. It’s about Him.

Center of the Universe- we simply aren’t it. But that’s not because we aren’t that special compared to the population of the planet. It is because God is so surpassingly special.

I didn’t grow up learning to serve others and love others because that was the way to serve society. I didn’t grow up learning a good work ethic because that was how America was built, or because I owed it to the community around me.

I grew up learning those things because I grew up knowing God first loved me and acted on my behalf.

It’s not discipline that grows good kids into good adults. It’s love. It has always been love.

That doesn’t mean living for your kids. It doesn’t mean living in spite of your kids. It means living with your kids, and living for God.

It means teaching your kids that they have value beyond what the world says. And as a matter of fact, so does everyone else. So it means teaching your kids to treat every single human being as God would treat them- with love. Because everyone- every single person has value. God doesn’t screw up. He doesn’t make mistakes. (1 Cor 1:25-31)

It means teaching them that, while the world may be harsh, while they may be shoved and disregarded by mean people, they have the ability to take all those hurts and anguishes to a God who loves them. Who sympathizes with them because He endured it all. And endured it for them.

It means teaching them that it will all be worth it. That when you die to self and live for Christ, all that other crap isn’t that big of a deal.

It means teaching them consequences. Because God uses discipline to prune out the branches in our life that would block out His presence and shrivel our faith. It hurts- daily- but our faith is strengthened most in the times we realize our need for Him.

It means teaching them perseverance. To not give up. To never quit or grow weary of doing good. It means teaching them to follow through because God has it all worked out and will complete that good work in us. (Galatians 6:9)

It means teaching them thankfulness. Teaching them to pray in thankfulness because every moment is a gift. Every moment has been given to us- good and bad- by a faithful God who never deigns for us to go it alone.

It means teaching them to be prepared. Because attacks will come. They’ll be disguised in human flesh, but the devil is on the prowl. (Ephesians 5:10) And God doesn’t leave them stranded ever. He prepares hearts, and the battle is His alone. They need only be still and let Him do His work.

It means teaching them to forgive like you’ve been forgiven.

It means teaching them that God’s near enough to talk to.

 It means that our lives are all wrapped in to one big story- His story. And that they are so crucial to it because His love for them is one of a kind. His love in their life glorifies His ultimate goodness.

It means teaching them to wait, because God’s timing is always best. (Galatians 4:4)

It means teaching them to live passionately, because there is more to life than working hard and accumulating knowledge. More than skills and money. Even more than faith. Without love from God, you can wipe your be-hind with all good stuff of the world, cause it’s worthless. That’s why it doesn’t fulfill. It wasn’t meant to. (1 Cor 13)

It means teaching them to live by faith, not by sight. It means teaching them to live courageously, because courage looks beyond the trials to the end goal. There will be times when their circumstances seem too much to handle- but godly courage lifts their eyes to the One who holds their future. It may be risky, but God is right there. (2 Corinthians 6:5-7)

It means bringing them to Jesus. Not on Sundays- every day. Because their troubles don't keep a calendar. They don't care what you're doing on Friday night- they might just show up. And if your dear ones are only acquainted with a weekend Jesus- they are going to be lost. Plus, Jesus is just so awesome. Really. And you can grow in your love for Him and each other simultaneously- BONUS!

I'm sure it means teaching my kids lots of other things too. There are oodles and oodles of scripture passages- you are welcome to add any in comments- that I could have used. But see, I was supposed to clean the office when I sat down to write this and I'm not good at multitasking when I type. My bad. But it's ok, because I know my value goes way beyond my typing-tasking prowess. So I won't let it get me down. See how that works? ;)

We will not hide them from their children,
    but tell to the coming generation
the glorious deeds of the Lord, and his might,
    and the wonders that he has done.

Psalm 78:4

It Doesn't Matter

This is not a side note. It's a for-real point I am making: I'm reading Renegade, by Vince Antonucci. I'm reading it faster than pretty much any other non-fiction book on the Christian life that I have ever read.

You should read it. Vince is to discipleship what Ann Voskamp is to gratitude. His humor on par with her poetry. Seriously, put on a diaper before you read it, just in case. He's hilarious. He's also real. He doesn't deny the scariness of discipleship. He calls a spade a spade, a pimp a pimp. (Literally, "But you know what momma always said: a pimp is a pimp is a pimp.") Oh, and he started a church plant on the Las Vegas Strip. Crazy, inspiring, and liberating. His honesty freaks you out, and frees you too. His words hold your hands and guide your mind towards a wholly holy new point of view- right to Jesus. We have so. much. freedom. And I can't wait to share with you all my renegade stories as I embark on some deliberate loving of the lost.

Last night, I read of a sermon he gave that rocked a pimp's world. "It Doesn't Matter."

"It doesn't matter who you are; God still loves you. It doesn't matter why you left; God is still pursuing you, just like the shepherd pursued the one lost sheep. It doesn't matter where you've been or what you've done; God will still take you back, just like the father took back the prodigal son." (Chapter 14)

It doesn't matter.

And I just want to be clear, "it doesn't matter," doesn't equal, "God doesn't care." The hairs on your head answer to God's roll call. Every little part of your life matters to Him, but when it comes to His love for you- all those sins cannot keep Him away. You cannot disgust Him so much that He doesn't desire you by His side forever.

But they matter to us- our sins. They don't keep Him from pursuing us, they keep us from pursuing Him. They keep us from pursuing others. If we, who have the knowledge of a loving God can still feel so unworthy of His love, how much more so do the lost feel it? If we are broken by our sin, and healed in intimate times of prayer with a close Father, how broken are those who receive no healing?

It's a question worthy of an answer. Not because the law requires we convince people, because we have been loved, and can love, with supernatural power. God's love for you, and in you, is so much more powerful than the sinful choices you have made.

So, if you are struggling with the sins that hold you back, take a gander at the sinful woman in Matthew 26 (or Luke 7, which is slightly different, but sooo awesome). After this incredibly sinful woman (whom I now picture as a hooker on the Strip) anointed Christ's feet, the disciples get their linens in a wad over the cash she just flushed down the... whatever facilities they used in those days.

"But Jesus, aware of this, said to them, 'Why do you trouble this woman? For she has done a beautiful thing to me.' " (v. 10)

I'm sorry- but I've just trained myself to believe that those devotions to God, which seem to cost me so much, are incredibly insignificant in the big scheme of things. But Jesus says something different, They are beautiful. Done in love, they are memorable. In Luke 7, Jesus says,

"Therefore, her sins, which are many, are forgiven- for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little." (v.47)

I've been forgiven much. We all have. May our love reflect that today in our real lives. God so values tangible love. That's why Thomas (the doubting one) got to touch Jesus' wounds. He loves us tangibly. Praying His wounds, His resurrection, His love, hold undeniable sway in your life today.

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Linking up for Three Word Wednesday today with Simply Beth. Come join in and read some wonderful writing by beloved and gifted believers!

Messy Monday: Found

Yesterday was a moment to let dishes sit and lunch turn to crusty cement on our kitchen table, because my kids were ready to play outside. I was ready to play too.

 

We headed into the sunshine to run, bike, and roller skate while the men-folk played football in the yard. My three-year-old emerged from the cluttered garage with a packet of cilantro seeds that had apparently been shuffled into the unknown for the duration of the summer, as well as a package of Easter stickers from goodness knows where. She toted both in the woven white and magenta basket on her bike until a moment of enlightenment.

 

An impromptu game of hide-and-seek sprouted organically from our play. I climbed atop the tube slide, pressed against the wooden wall of our church's ark. I heard her giggles as she found her sister and they set off in search of me. One minute later a laughing face shouted, "I found you!" I was caught, but there was a consolation prize. "You want a sticker?" For each time she found me I was given a shiny Easter sticker, and of course so was she.

 

I drove to pick up our pizza, stickers emblazing the fact that I was a proud parent of a preschooler. I owned every bit of it.

 

To bear the marks of my daughter is a gift.

 

To bear the marks of my Savior, immeasurably greater.

 

For the run-down, bone-weary moments, we have a Savior who points to our lives and says,

 

Remember when I found you?

 

When we are tempted to feel failure as our very definition, He points to our lives and says,

 

Remember when I found you?

 

As though we could be emblazoned with days and moments that sing for joy, I belong to Christ!

 

 My soul will be satisfied as with fat and rich food, and my mouth will praise you with joyful lips,

 

As though we could roll out of bed to the sight of our Savior smiling in the morning sun,  Found you.

 

when I remember you upon my bed, and meditate on you in the watches of the night;
 

Remember when you hid behind your pride,

And I found you?

 

Remember when you couldn't see a way out of the darkness,

And I found you?

 

Remember when people were cruel and you cowered inside yourself,

And I found you?

 

Remember when the pain covered you with a patchwork of injury,

And I found you?

 

Remember when your anger was so great you feared it would consume you,

And I found you?

 

 for you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy.

Psalm 63:5-7 

 

Over and over until our whole lives are just enormous testimonies to the Founder and Foundation.

 

Birthday Cakes and The god of Opinion

Last weekend, I had the honor of helping my sister-in-law pour cake batter into a pan. And we joked about it the whole time.

Because when it comes to cake making, we are the odd couple. She is awesome. I am not. Actually, I am horrible at making birthday cakes. Hor-ri-ble. Atrocious really. But my husband encourages, and my kids make well-meaning stabs at enthusiasm, and in the end it is edible and soon gone forever.

But one of the things that makes the shortcoming more palatable is complimenting my sister-in-law on her skills. She loves it and she's good at it, and I would gladly come up with any excuse to celebrate if it meant she would make us a cake.

And when I praise her for her mad caking skills, I take a moment to realize it's not all about me.

Or is it?

I imagine that if I complimented her and she completely disregarded it, or responded with a "tell me something I don't know" kind of comment, I would actually be hurt. Of course, that is completely against her nature, but complimenting anyone and having them treat your praise as garbage can be frustrating. Infuriating even. Because deep down we would like to think that our opinion matters to someone other than ourselves. We'd like to think someone esteems our praise enough to smile or feel heart flutters of fulfillment that warm them the rest of the day at least.

Deep down, it's actually kind of a pride thing.

Now let's stop here- I do not mean this to be a downer. I would hate for anyone to think they give compliments purely out of narcissism, or that everyone who compliments them is doing it for their own prideful reasons. I'm just pointing out a truth- our opinions can become an idol. I mean, you wouldn't want someone's livelihood completely dependent on what you had or had not told them, correct? A lot of pressure there.

And I really point it out only because I so enjoy giving and getting compliments that it takes a deliberate effort on my part to recalibrate what has value in my life.

When things are going well, the recalibrating takes a backseat to the limelight.

When I struggle, that is my godly nudge to remember what matters.

So, when I have the holy task of baking the birthday cakes- even with all the sweet encouragement in the face of my glaring deficiencies- I have to ask what really matters anyway? That my family loves me no matter what? That is a gift I cannot thank God for enough, but it just takes a quick gloss-over of Job to remind me that all flesh is like the grass, and we are all of us certainly flesh here today-gone tomorrow.

My husband's opinion? I sure do love and value his amazing support, but if he's ever not around for a birthday the cake isn't going to set or flop based on his two cents.

My kids' opinions? Ok, it is my goal to be the best mom ever for them, but even the best moms have their shortcomings and chances are cake-making won't be the biggest one they discover about me.

In the end I have to ask, what does God think of it? Because when people are praising or pouting about little-ole-Lauren's words and actions, in the end I only have One opinion that matters. And so it does me all the good in the world to take the focus off me and put it onto the One who cares for me, because His truth is life-giving:

He is My Father and He Loves Me!

See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God;

and so we are. 1John 3:1

 

He is My Everlasting Love!

I have loved you with an everlasting love;

therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you. Jeremiah 31:3

 

He Thinks I am Worth Fighting For!

What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?

Romans 8:31

 

He Has Made Me His Bride, and Rejoices Over Me!

For as a young man marries a young woman, so shall your sons marry you, and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you.

Isaiah 62:5

In this line of work it is amazing to be recognized for the good in the middle of the chaos.

But more than that, it is amazing to be recognized as God's child, His bride, His love.

May God remind us that when we are tempted to fly high or sink in the mire of public opinion, it is His true love of us that makes all the difference.

We Are All of Us Jobs

I ran yesterday. A short run along a country road. Uphill and down. Uphill again. On the way home relentless wind against my steps at least 10 miles per hour. Had I wings there is no doubt the forces against me would have lifted me sky high.

I stagger in to a disorienting blend of Our God's Alive in my earphones and Fox News on the television.

Me running head-on into wind.

Wind running head-on into people and structures and vehicles.

At the same time.

We left in the evening for my daughter's end of the year school program, The Principal and the Pea.

The grace was not lost on me...

 

 

Last night I finished the book of Job to the din of reporters and meteorologists.

 

 

Because when the world offers death tolls and figures, we need some godly poetry to remind us that God's love is a big-picture kind of art, an act of true heart.

 

 

Because when the chaos of a moment takes the life out of a person, we need some godly wisdom to clue us into a perspective that works always for good. Always for eternal and right-here-and-now good.

 

 

Because... When we want to know answers God simply wants us to know Him. -Ann Voskamp

 

 

He gave me some words hard to swallow in my first chapter of reading for the night. Chewing words and truths like gravel in my mouth. I sat long enough to grind it in, "Whether for correction or for his land or for love, he causes it to happen." Job 37:13.

 

He causes it to happen.

 

Job is so appropriate. The Word, the only Wind that can take the destruction of an EF-5 tornado and draw forth blessing.

 

Ever since I lost my babies I have loved Job. What before had been tedious whining I now read as legitimate offenses against a decent and godly life. Did I not make those same claims of the Lord in the face of death?

 

What did I do to deserve this?

Why didn't You stop it?

Where are You?

 

Don't you care?

 

In my heart I cried the words of Job,

                  Behold I go forward, but he is not there, and backward, but I do not perceive him. (23:8)

 

and Mary,

                  Lord, if you had been there... (John 11:32)

 

and I took the company of believers beyond belief.

 

Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?”

John 11:40

 

The fortunes of Job were restored. The dead were raised.

 

I too was raised, as gradually as Job's children were born and as completely as Lazarus' heart beat.

 

But I'll always have that connection. I'll hear those words the Lord spoke out of the whirlwind that blow me back into my place,

 

Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?

 

 God's words, the "know your role" reminder for the prideful Job. You tell him, Lord!

 

But more than that. Our God, who takes and brings life in a single breath, is making more than a point. He is answering Job's, my, most heartfelt questions.

 

Job 38-

"Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding."

Where am I? I am where I have always been. I am here. I am.

 

"Who determined its measurements- surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it?

On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone, when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?"

Do I not care? I took great care in creating all my creation, and I delight in caring for it. I always have. I have never stopped caring. Never.

 

Line by line, chapter by chapter, poetry and wisdom weave a portrait of a God who is not summed up in a formula of our own design. We are unbelievably blessed to have a God whose ways are far beyond ours, but whose heart is known in His word, whose love is known in His Son.

 

Whose Spirit works within us and through us to point the "why's" of a grieving nation to the Whom of the Savior.

First Five Minute Friday

So, it's Friday. Day 3. Ok, technically it's still Thursday Day 2, but it's 11:31p.m. CST and that's close enough to do this post. It's a short exercise to warm up the muscles that don't feel like sleeping, like my brain for instance. You check out a fun blog to find the prompt and write for 5 minutes flat about whatever she puts up there (no tweaking, no editing, just write for heaven's sake)- a nice way to end the week and get the brain working for when I come back to this on Monday.

It's Five Minute Friday and Lisa-Jo's prompt: Beloved.

Did she read my mind?

I'm the one You love.
I'm the one You love.
That will be enough.
I'm the one You love.

My anthem sung by Jason Gray.

Four kids, a trail mix of duties and diagnoses, and sometimes I need Him to tell me once again who I am... to Him.

I stared, gazed even, lovingly at my son tonight. Doing what preschoolers do. Taking me to stations in his classroom where he linked plastic links and used cookie cutters on playdough and matched numbers with dots and just did all those things preschoolers do and he was so proud.

And I was so proud.

And I turned into one of those parents I never could understand, who gushes over their child being able to do the simplest and most mundane of tasks, and I saw Him in him.

I could hear it. That's how I feel about you.

God places a joy and pride and welling-up in us at the accomplishments of those we hold most dear because that is an extension of Him.

That pride and love that can't be restrained. So much so that it spills forth into every moment of our day- His love.

Not because I am so great at my tasks. Not because I do something spectacular that simply no one else can do. Simply because I am His.

And He shows me this and I am to convey in 5 minutes what will take an eternity to grasp and soak in.