More Than a Relationship App

The countdown began before day break. The words whispered expectantly from her small mouth...

"Can I play on my tablet?"

Good morning to you too, Sweetie.

It was a Saturday morning, ushering in the weekend and, consequently, electronics. It is a rule around here and the kids don't mind it as long as the weekend delivers their blessed kindle fires.

My oldest was rapt with anticipation because, while she has more games than she will play downloaded onto her divine device, she really really really couldn't wait to download two more. Because they super fun and completely free,

A metaphor for salvation came to mind, but it was more of the American cheap imitation variety.

Salvation is not free. Not like that.

As fun as it would be to visualize clicking the little "FREE" button, however that looks to you, and going about our lives, Christianity is just not like that.

And that is good news. Especially for those of us who look at our lives and think, "This discipleship thing is no joke. I'm exhausted."

When your faith is based on a click and a purchase, you are still in control. Jesus gets organized neatly into a specific system in your life right along all the other morals you pull out on special occasions.

When faith is not "FREE", but "PAID IN FULL" then you realize that you did not buy into Jesus. He bought into you. He is in control.

In our password-saved world, where we can literally purchase anything at the click of a button, or the touch of the screen, it can be easy to lose sight of what it means to purchase something.

Lilly purchased her games because she was tired of the old ones.

You were not born again out of boredom. You won't be discarded or replaced.

Jesus tells a great story of what purchasing means in the kingdom of heaven,

"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls, who, on finding one pearl of great value, went and sold all that he had and bought it." Matthew 13:45-46

Jesus was so brilliantly to the point.

The pearl is you. In full knowledge of your sins and faults, God valued you enough to give up His Son. Jesus willing left His throne. The One more precious and blameless than our little minds can fathom, gave Himself up for us. For you.

That is a love that will not tire and move on. It is a love you can count on. It is a love that confronts us not just on the peaks, but in the valleys where we can't seem to reconcile with our friend no matter how hard we try. Where our kids won't.stop.fighting. in the church pew; at the communion rail. Where we collapse after a day too long, or stay up through a night too long.

Love met us when He formed us out of dust, dug us out of the dirt, and saved our soiled souls. Love still meets us.

So on the days that are just too hard, Love is still there, in your face. Call Him out. You are His. That is a big deal.

All is Redeemed {Lessons and Lunchables}

Ever get pity chips? Not the knowing nod of a veteran parent, bestowing on you some metaphorical badge of honor in the presence of a screaming toddler. I'm talking actual chips. Tortilla chips.

It started with a lunchable. My preschooler earned it by her "good" behavior (we all know the term good is about as relative as it comes) in the grocery store. We managed to make it all the way out to the van before the dessert contents were consumed. Before I even had a chance to buckle her in, the lunchable container was placed on the table between the two front seats. 

Buckled and ready to go, I glanced at the small plastic tray containing untouched meat, cheese and crackers. The only things missing were the cookies. I looked at my daughter, "What's this doing here?"

"I'm done," she informed me. 

"Really? What did you eat?"

"The cookies."

"Did you eat anything else? The meat, cheese, or crackers?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I didn't want them."

Paying a buck and a half for a small snacky lunch, I am okay with that. Paying a buck and a half for two Oreos- I don't think so. I let her know that if she wanted any chance of watching her "Frozen" movie, she would eat two pieces of each of the other items.

So as her fit of rage commenced, I drove us to Chipotle to get my burrito bowl fix.While ordering two burritos and two bowls, my darling child clung tightly to my leg, screaming as though a puppy had been slaughtered before her eyes. Over her sobs and pleading, I calmly conveyed to the food artists which ingredients belonged in each burrito/bowl, every so often looking down and asking her if she was quite done. 

As the young man rang up my meals, he gave my daughter a pitying look. "Would you like some chips?" You can imagine the wail that erupted after his well-meant offer. 

"She's fine," I told him.

He bagged our purchases. "You can just have the chips," he whispered as he handed me the bags.

"You'll need 'em," remarked the helpful woman behind me.

I walked out the restaurant doors and texted my friend, "I have also discovered the trick to getting free chips at chipotle... it involves screaming children."

We then remained in the parking lot until one piece of meat and cheese was consumed. She choked those down along with her cracker under threat of staying in said parking lot until it was gone- overnight if necessary.

I've been pondering this post for two weeks now. Two weeks at least. Trying to figure out just how to put this. Then this past Monday night I listened to Beth Moore assure her audience that every single part of their life had been redeemed. Every part. That's what I've been thinking this whole time!

No one's life is all frosting and chocolate. No one's past is all dessert and sugar.

There are some things we'd rather just put aside and say, "I'm done now."

But the thing is- God has redeemed it all. Every single bit of it. He didn't just purchase the Sunday mornings where the sermon was absorbed, the bedtimes where every kid was tucked in all timely and peaceful.

He redeemed all of it- even the unsavory moments. Those idiosyncrasies we have that drive us crazy. the relapses. The careless, hurtful words. The death glares. The selfish moments. Unsavory, yes. Unredeemable, never.

Those moments in our past where we made the wrong decisions over and over again- when we can't even understand how or why God delivered us into the place we are now. He has redeemed those moments. He can use those for His glory. Every bit of them can be used for His glory.

There is not one part of you that God is willing to throw away.

Does He grieve over sin? Surely He does. As a parent yearns for the welfare of their child. As a husband yearns for the faithfulness of his wife. He is a holy God and cannot tolerate sin.

But our God doesn't revel in our good and tolerate our bad. He bought the whole kitten caboodle. And He can work with and on everything in our lives. Of course love like that would compel us to strive toward the goal of pleasing Him, but never once do we need worry that we don't measure up to His love.

He sent His son to do that.

Believe that. God loves you completely. Nothing is outside His grasp

His love far surpasses our failings, and it always will. Who doesn't need that?

"For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, 

that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, 

so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, 

may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God."

Ephesians 3:14-19

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Linking lately with Simply Beth for Three Word Wednesday!

Just One Day {He Will Deliver}

I can't think of a more appropriate way to begin Lent than an Ash Wednesday morning meltdown.

If you are preparing to read a hilarious account of my children's impetuous hi-jinks, think again. The meltdown was mine. And when you think meltdown, think nuclear. Think Mt. Wild Woman eruption. Think oatmeal expanding in the microwave and running down the sides of the bowl. Yuck.

That was basically it. All because of my own hang ups with the quality of my housekeeping. I guess the good part is that the only one who ended up in tears was me.

"I quit. I'm a horrible mom. I'm getting a different job."

My husband held me, rubbed my back, reassured me that I was a "good mom." But my conscience told me otherwise.

We decided to come up with a plan. My husband is giving up yelling for Lent. I told him if that was the case with me, I would have blown it already. In fact, if I had given up yelling, swearing, or crying, I would have blown all of those in record time.Thankfully, I just gave up coffee.

Wait a minute... "Do you think that's why I'm acting this way?"

"Well..." I could hear the gears turning as he contemplated the best response. "Maybe that would explain it a little."

He reminded me that the company coming wouldn't care what the house looked like. Rebecca would understand. She has five kids and is so full of grace, it just sloshes right out of her every time she moves. (You like that image, Sloshy Rebecca? :) )

"I know," I said. "That's not the point. I'm just asking for one day. I'm not asking for every day. I'm not even asking for every week. I can't get my house together for one day. Just one day!"

So today is the day after and I guess I can only say Thank God.

I wrote about Lent last year. About how its turbulence shakes us out of the inevitable settling in our souls for the comforts of this world. It's about returning to the Lord. Looking to the stone that the builders rejected.

I'll give it to you straight, yesterday was a day where dawn to dusk I had to lean on Jesus to get me through.

And that is a gift.

I was reminded of that it in my desperately needed quiet time this week too. In Genesis 12, God promises to give Abram's offspring the land at Shechem. So Abram builds an altar and worships God there.

The land hadn't been delivered to them yet. It was just at God's word that Abram found reason to worship. There was no "show me the money" attitude that we so often require today when it comes to worshiping God.

Just one day. That's all I was asking. God promises to deliver. Only He will give me days without end. One day my act will get put back together. The tears, the yelling, the poison words- those will be done. There will be no more begging for help, because my Helper will be there.

In the meantime, until that land is mine, I will believe His promise and I will worship. The altar may be a coffee-stained counter, or a laundry-covered basement, or a tear-stained pillow. But He makes beautiful things out of dust.

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Linking late with the always fabulous, Simply Beth for Three Word Wednesday <3

Messy Monday: Schrapnel in the Sanctuary

There was a full-out war being waged during church yesterday morning, and the shot heard round the sanctuary was fired by my three-year-old daughter.

Let me preface this story with some facts pertinent to your grasping of the situation:

 

1. I am the praise team leader, so Sunday mornings can be pretty exhausting with the four kids and worship, and sometimes I feel like I need multi-tasking steroids to power through the service. (I would contend that most parents of little ones feel the same way.)

 

2. If you picture the seating of our sanctuary like a cross with the congregation seated down the middle of the tall beam and the altar at the top, our praise team "loft" is in the left cross beam section and slightly raised. Kind of like where a choir would sing or a handbell choir would play. Since our praise team pews are turned toward the center of the sanctuary, not the altar, my children are able to sit in the center pews just a few feet away and I am able to sit with them while we aren't singing.

 

3. I play an electric autoharp and sing as well.

A warm-up and some run-throughs and the service starts as usual. My husband welcomes the worshipers warmly and invites them to share the peace with those around them. As I don't play the first piece, I settle in to sing one of my new favorites, Take My Life. (A contemporary rendition of the hymn "Take My Life and Let it Be.")

Whether it was her middle-of-the-night excursion that put her into a more volatile mood than usual, or that she was just plain tired of asserting the independence she displayed all by her big-girl-self at Sunday school, I'll never know. But somehow the words to the first verse of our song trigger an immediate hunger, the pangs of which stab her poor tummy to tears, and that whole fifteen minutes since her last cupcake was fraught with carrying Sunday school projects and finding a seat in one of three of our usual pews, so naturally she has worked up quite an appetite that needs to be satisfied immediately. Did I mention IMMEDIATELY?

And as I am mic-ed for this song (and turning the mic off would be a bit obvious), I am forced to deal with the utterly public and nuclear meltdown transpiring before me and the entire congregation with a series of clumsy and ultimately futile gestures mixing baby sign language, mommy sign language, and dull stares by the only helpful child within eyeshot. (The eldest child politely minding her business a few pews back with some friends.) The boy  is staring at me, completely lost. I really need to learn more sign language.

I manage to catch a stray word amidst the singing and sobbing and something sounds like, "I need a snack! I can't find a snack!" I motion to check my bag (keep in mind I am still singing, and now glaring), but she insists there is no food in there. Not one crumb. (There is, and she has literally made no attempt to search its contents, but that's besides the point.) So, desperately and fully aware of the bad decision I am making, I point to the small Tuperware sitting beside my bag on the pew.

The Tuperware filled with cupcakes. The minion cupcakes our dear friend made for my son for his birthday. The minion cupcakes containing the dye that has tattooed many a little face with royal blue five o'clock shadows. "I can have a cupcake?" I shake my head wildly yes as I reach for the autoharp to begin our next song. (Grace Like Rain, my new favorite version of "Amazing Grace.")

I play and sing as my peripheral vision reveals the ruthless tearing open of the container. The invasion of little hands descending upon those pour, unsuspecting minions. Oh the carnage as minions are devoured whole, their remnants smeared on floor and pew. The only evidence of their existence: a smurf-blue lake of frosting ground into the church carpet and bits and pieces strewn down pew cushions.

Confectionary POW's

And all the while we sing, Hallelujah, all my stains are washed away. They're washed away... (No joke.)

The sacrifice is great, but I count it all worth it because the beast has been pacified until the chorus strikes her parched tongue. A scream of "WATER," and I'm back to square one...

  

I am painfully aware of the congregations less forgiving than ours. I hear the horror stories of harsh words spoken to struggling parents by people with a fabricated remembrance of when their children were little. Having forgotten the shame and despair that comes when you feel you have reached the end of your rope, they can't empathize with the exhaustion and feeling of powerlessness in the face of a disobedient child who knows better.

My girl knew better and she still did it. She was disciplined, but I'm not counting on her never faltering again. I love her just the same.

God chose us before the creation of the world. He knew what we would do, but He made the choice to create us.

He knew we would complain. He chose to satisfy anyway.

He knew we would wander. He chose to bring us back- even if we had to feel pain in the process.

He knew we would abuse He mouthpieces. He chose to raise them anyway.

He knew we would reject His Son, beat Him, taunt Him, yell at Him, kill Him. He still chose to send Him.

He knew we wouldn't fully "get" what our salvation truly meant while we were on this earth. He chose to let us live in that salvation and hope even now- not just after we die.

He knew we would bind ourselves to other gods, seek our own wisdom. He gave us His word, His body, His blood, as real-life tangible pieces of Himself to open our eyes to the God He is.

His sacrifice was more than just a mess made in a hasty attempt to shut us up- it was a choice. He planned it. It was messy, no doubt, but it was worth it.

Because I have a new life to celebrate today and every day, and I am full.

Messy Monday: When Everything is Messed Up

I sit with my children upstairs on their bedroom floor. All of us in our PJ's. I've been praying all day. Every single human interaction has breathed fear, anxiety, anticipation as the country waited with bated breath for some news.

That was probably the worst part of the day's drama. The not knowing.

And the faces. The photos of a boy. Not even the 8 year old. The 19 year old. A kid. And he is just as dead as his victims, deader still because his heart cannot feel.

So I read Where the Mountain Meets the Moon, and Trucktown and Disney books with the four when my husband sticks his head through the door. "They caught him." I just want to cry. He is alive, and he is caught, and I feel as though the burning relief in my heart just can't be contained so it just floods and I stare at the words, speak the words, while my mind is in a far off land.

8 hours later Scott's pastor phone blares an electronic tune that is hardly a melody and that churns my heart into panic. An hour later he sits beside two church members, a police officer who just a little while earlier received a call to the scene of an accident; as well as the only survivor of the accident- the officer's wife.

And in nearly 24 hours their daughter will tesify to her faith in Jesus Christ in front of a packed church. Only at that time she doesn't know where her mother and father are. Or what has happened to her mother's uncle.

As Scott listens, consoles, prays, I rummage for breakfast with a prayerful heart and distracted mind. I open the refrigerator that is gradually being clothed in Bible verses my mother and sister and I are memorizing. I glance at the latest Biblical apparel:

Rejoice always, Paul urges.
Pray without ceasing,
Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. (1Thess 5:16-18)

I selected those verses for us 2 weeks ago. If you get a chance, check out their context- crazy applicable.

Rejoice always. Come again, Lord?
The Lord would not tell us to do what He Himself was not capable of accomplishing in us. At the same moment pain and fear and circumstances are crippling a nation, there are those entering the sheepyard of faith, joining the fold. And heaven is rejoicing- not at the expense or in the face of tears, but because when a sinner repents it is just too good not to rejoice. The daughter of the hospitalized woman declared her faith before men and women and children alongside 3 of her classmates just a few hours ago- such cause to rejoice. Your faith-heaven rejoices over that as well, and you should too!

Pray without ceasing.
That one wasn't too hard to swallow this week.

Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.
When my kids are breathing, and running, and singing, and yelling, and nagging, and tattling, and fighting, and laughing... how can I not be thankful?
When my husband loves me like Christ loved the church... how can I not be thankful?
When my family and friends enjoy health and faith... how can I not be thankful?

Yet, while I am beyond thankful for those gifts I absolutely do not deserve, the graces lavished by a generous God for reasons beyond me- the true source of that unexplainable, all-the-time thankfulness is this: There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death... Romans 8:1-2

Rejoice, Pray, Give thanks- and the serving and loving and living will come easier.

RGP people- until this whole messy world is just a memory.

I'm curious...
What Bible verses cause joy and thankfulness to well up in you, even when it seems there is so little for which to be thankful?

What You Can Do When You Can't Do Anything



He must be the father of lies, because when that serpent enticed Eve to eat, he said her eyes would be opened.

 

So why can we see no farther than my three year old on a walk through the park?

 

 

 

Why is swimming in sin described as being covered by darkness?

 

We hear about a blind man leading another blind man.

 

And they both fall into the pit.

 

Is it just me or does it seem like this world is just one big heap of blind men leading each other into pits, and dragging every sorry soul down with them?

 

And we talk to them about finding Jesus. Look at my daughter. Who is she finding? If not for her mother, she would have bit it hard and her face would have found nothing but concrete lickety-split.

 

Find Jesus? Friend, most people can't find their way out of their own circumstances, let alone past them to search for a Messiah they aren't even sure exists. Uh-uh. I've seen people looking. Looking hard. But to be honest, it's only when they are down in a pit so utterly devoid of light that they find Him.

 

Because He found them first.

 

Maybe it isn't that hard for everyone. Maybe it's just me and a select few that have had to grope in the darkness. Maybe there are those people, those women, who one day said, "Ready or not, here I come," and found the Lord right where they were. Maybe.

 

But the scene I'm picturing is more like one in those prison movies. Like The Shawshank Redemption. Being thrown into the "hole." 

 

Steep in that a second. Solitary confinement. It's the particularly egregious sins that land you there. My most flagrant sins had me there. A solitary soul confined to an impenetrable cell of sin.

 

And then the door swings open and the light shines in.

 

And you're either facing the merciless warden from Shawshank who tells you that there is no grace for you. You are a prisoner for life. (Yes, that message does come out of the mouths of those who claim to represent the Light.)

 

Or, you simply face the Light. The blinding light that opens your eyes on a road that would otherwise lead to your utter destruction. The illuminating light that reveals that you never really were solitary in your confinement because, you see, Christ was there with you. 

 

You were never really alone.

 

You still aren't.

 

Some would say that's well and good, but what about those stumbling beggars outside our doors leading parades into pits and leaving others to grieve over their fallen loved ones?

 

And what if I, this sinner-saint, am not really shielding my eyes from the sun, but from the Son?

 

And they are dragging me down too.

 

And I'm tired of fighting.

 

Then take these words. Take this courage. Do not be afraid to open your eyes and stare directly at the Son as you read His lips:

 

The Lord sets the prisoners free;

the Lord opens the eyes of the blind.

The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down;

the Lord loves the righteous.

The Lord watches over the sojourners;

He upholds the widow and the fatherless,

but the way of the wicked He brings to ruin.

Psalm 146:7b-9

 

The Lord. Anyone else think we should leave the worrying to Him? Anyone else think it's time to lay down our weapons, and lay down our palms on the road to honor the King of the universe?

 

Anyone else think it's time to lay it all down?

 

I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind, but now I see.

 

In our passivity- Christ's activity. Who needs the strength of God unless they are weak in themselves?

 

Hope is good only for those who know that all other signs point to hopeless.

 

It's the sick that need a doctor.

 

For those of us who have done the stumbling, felt the ache- to watch those who are where we have been is excruciating. We can't remove the hand they use to cover their eyes. Only the Spirit can lift that veil. If you think that is your job, you will rob yourself of that relationship, and many nights' sleep.

 

If you think that is your job, hear the words of Beth Moore: Fire yourself.

 

But here is what we can do: we can take their other hand. The one that isn't fighting the Son, if there is one. And we can whisper the Son's light onto and into their lives so that, despite their dark vision, they can't help but feel His warmth kiss their cheek.

 

Paul described this Christian life of testimony in tribulation to the Thessalonians:

 

Rejoice always,

pray without ceasing,

give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

~1Thessalonians 5:16-18

 

That courageous, transparent faith in the midst of the dark nights of our days-

that is a witness that cannot be ignored.