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.

True Life, True Love

I realized while trying to sleep last night... I can't even picture what the blog looks like anymore.

In the midst of moving and major life changes, this blog has fallen by the wayside and in the meantime I have been unsure as to whether or not to continue. In the back of my mind I think "Would anyone care anyway? It's not like you are an Ann Voskamp or Lysa TerKeurst. It's not like you have been signed to a book deal and been endorsed by the rad Jen Hatmaker."

I won't pretend none of that is true. But lately I have been questioning God seriously about purpose. He's opened my eyes to the areas in life where I lack spiritual maturity, and reassured me that He has it all in His control. While I feel like He is scrambling to find a niche for me, He has a plan. He has a place for me. He has a place for each of us and His grace is sufficient. In fact, it is all grace. Grace upon grace.

Plus, I physically feel better when I have worked things out in words.

This morning I intended to visit my own blog and remember the format and ambience once again. The funny thing is I saw this draft waiting in the wings and it's not too far off from how I am feeling. So I am posting it. It's incomplete, but I can fix that. It is my prayer that it speaks to you.

We're all a little too eager to define. Too quick on the draw to place our plastic cutout versions of self on the vehicles of life and add up the sum of our parts to create a version of ourselves that makes sense. So when we hit a bump in the road or a pop-up storm and the sticker starts to peel, fade, crumble, we stare in disbelief.

Really?

Is that all it takes?

And I've abandoned the truth of who I am in Christ for a stick version that shows one face, while I all the time fosters an ugly side, nurturing it toward independence.

I do not need to be independent.

I do not need to be co-dependent either.

But inter-dependent, that is the plan. It always has been.

And self-empowerment is a lie. The worst kind actually. The kind that smacks of truth, but skirts it because it doesn't want to step in the puddle of muddy honesty. Because truth is often simple, and almost always messy.

It is easy to say the words, to chug along life singing the "I can do it" mantra.

Until you can't.

Until your kids will not obey, no matter how you threaten and bribe.

Until you can't tie your hair into a ponytail, or open a cereal bag, or do VBS song motions, because your muscles and joints refuse to cooperate and "I can do all things through him who strengthens me" (Phil 4:13) seems like a verse made for the truly exceptional. Not for the common struggling straggler. To those in the pit of chronic illness, pain, depression, parenthood, sinfulness, the strength isn't always as apparent and potent as we would like.

It could be the humbling that hurts the worst. Because then we admit that the standard we have set is too high (and way off base) even for ourselves.

It isn't that we can't do things, it is that we read "I can do all things" and assume the responsibility of defining "all" as, well, all. Anything. Everything. And that was never the plan. Adam needed a helper. He could do some things. He could do many things and he did them perfectly, which is more than any of us can hope for in this world. But it was still not good for him to be alone.

The temptation is to read the context of our life into the text of the scripture, instead of the other way around. Paul's situation was dire, but he was speaking of contentedness in all situations. In the face of abundance and need He found He had more than enough to sustain Him and His faith. He had Christ.

And the "all things" no longer means American Dream self-sufficiency.

Paul had Savior Sufficiency.

Then on top of that God gifted Paul with the church in Philippi to meet his needs of body and mind.

There were a lot of things Paul couldn't do, especially while sitting in prison. "All things" couldn't possibly mean self-sufficiency because he was so incredibly limited physically speaking. So you shouldn't be surprised when I say: You can't do it all. You just can't. No one can. And while that means you are limited, it also is evidence of even greater truths.

It is evidence of a God who created you uniquely and who is not content to leave you alone.

It is evidence of a servant God who wants to bestow His love on you in new and exciting ways, often through flawed and lacking people.

It is evidence that God doesn't want to put you or your life in a neat box, but wants to add depth within the mess.

It is evidence that God doesn't do cookie cutter relationships, and His interest in you is the most personal thing in your life.

It is evidence that God has prepared good works for you in the lives of others and He has a purpose tailored for you, struggles and all. And those good works are far beyond anything you can imagine.

It is evidence that you are fully known, and God seeks to meet your weakness with His strength so you can enjoy the grace and fully abundant love He has for you. He loves you so very much.

One Word: Resolve

October 2014 was a big month for me. I didn't blog about it, because I honestly don't think I really understood how big it was.

Because it was just food. And this isn't a food blog. I don't share recipes, I share life. And my life doesn't revolve around food.

So in late September 2014 I posed a dietary question on Facebook- curious about the paleo diet in hopes to alleviate some arthritis pain.

Hold on- before I continue- this post isn't about the merits of the paleo diet or any other diet for that matter. It isn't about whole foods and I won't preach about the evils of legumes. This post is about choices. Resolve. So roll your eyes back into your head and keep reading.

A friend from college told me about the Whole30 program she tried and about how awesome it was. Another college friend agreed. I looked it up. Got a bit inspired. Decided to give it a shot. I didn't wait to start on a certain date- I just started. And so began a 30 day adventure in eating, cooking, research. Good days, bad days, but eventually more good days than bad days. And the 30 days left me feeling better than I had in a very long time.

After day 30 I was technically allowed to reintroduce food, but it didn't take long before I was back in the same ruts. The cravings that had disappeared were back with a vengeance and moderation skipped town with my resolve.

So when I entered 2015, I fully planned on trying again. Another Whole 30-this time with thousands of other people around the world. There was just one problem.

I didn't want to do it.

No matter how good it made me feel, I just didn't want to. I would take the pizza topped with pain and guilt because it just tasted so good. I was fully aware that what I consumed had very serious and direct consequences with my health, but the fleeting pleasures of cheese, and sugar, and grains was too much to bear. And what good was a life in which I had to think so hard about my food?

The Whole 30 was nothing more than an empty religion.

So why did I start it again?

Because I heard their voices.

I downloaded their book, It Starts With Food, as part of a free trial on audible.com. I'm...uh... thrifty. Which is why I didn't purchase the book in the beginning. I wasn't sure I was ready to invest. But now that I had the opportunity to own the free audiobook? I could do that.

And that made all the difference.

I was playing the game I see played out in Christianity every day. We settle for the abbreviated, free-downloadable version of Christianity. Enough information to get me started, get me to the deadline. Enough rules to tell me exactly what I need to do. Eat this, not that. Do this, not that.

So is it any wonder that I fall so far the moment a forbidden food crosses my lips?

We all fall for this all. the. time. It is an overplayed, and painfully effective, trick of the devil- to pass off rules and rituals for true love and service. To deafen us to the voice of a loving God who desires to lavish upon us grace upon grace (John 1:16). Who wants us to have a life full of joy (John 16:24) at His own expense.

The laws made in love become the landlords of our heart the moment they upstage the grace and mercy of God. Good intentions are ingratious gods when they attempt to commandeer God's intentions in our lives.

And no amount of resolve can stand under the weight of guilt heaped upon our shaky legs as all our works-laden aspirations crumble around us.

But just as It Starts With Food reminds readers that their health is directly affected by what they shove down their gullet, the Bible reminds us that in everything It Starts With God. Our salvation, our spiritual health. It all begins, and ends, with God.

I was a little nervous to announce my One Word for 2015, because the very word implies testing. It implies affliction and temptation.

It is: Resolve.

But these verses calmed those fears:

To this end we always pray for you, 

that our God may make you worthy of his calling 

and may fulfill every resolve for good and every work of faith by his power, 

so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you, and you in him, 

according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ.

2 Thessalonians 1:11-12

Fulfilled in Him and by Him and for Him. We are more than conquerors in His power and grace.

In the spirit of those in the Bible who resolved to follow the Lord: Daniel, David, Jehosophat, Joseph, I rest confidently in the knowledge that no amount of testing will triumph God's power to accomplish His will in and through me.

And the same holds true for you. Now that's the way to enter the New Year!

The Only Word of Mouth That Really Matters Anyway

Not even sure where to begin with this. So I type and you read and I'm sure I'll get to the point eventually. ;) Actually, the fact that this blog is the flavor of procrastination you choose for these few precious minutes is a blessing to me. You are a busy person. As am I. So when we choose to spend this time together I am thankful.

It's not that I haven't felt like writing. It's just that we are in the "busy season" here as a pastor's family. I contemplated running through the basic list of all the obligations and responsibilities we have, but honestly it was making me a bit nauseus. Best not to think of it.

The Christmas season and end of the year, has a tendency toward the analytical. I can't tell you how many product reviews I have read on amazon and other websites. I've spent even more time reading recipes and comments on food blogs as my family steers their food consumption to a more whole and healthy diet. I've read warning labels on medicine, testimonials on home remedies, book reviews, Pinterest boards, tutorials...

Because in the end I want to know that if I put forth the time, money, effort, that in the end it will be worth it.

Because everything costs something, and I really don't want to waste anything.

So I filter searches, and follow stars. The ones attached to the general opinions of the masses.

And in all the assessment, I assess myself: How many stars would I give myself for the condition of my home? My care of the sick children? My songs in worship? My coaching of the team? My disposition? My generosity? My patience? My cooking? My wife-ing? My mom-ing?

I follow the stars. And they lead me in circles.

Then I open my impulse buy, and reading this stops the spinning and it makes all the difference. 

It reminds me that God's choice to come save, graft-in, this tired, weary soul is the only review that matters. The stars, the ratings I attach to myself- the ones I perceive come from others- those wither and fade.

God didn't seek four-star all-inclusive accomodations to house his flesh-born Son. We marvel that He would choose such humble surroundings, and yet forget that what makes a place spectacular is not the decor and finery, but the One who made it, dwells within it, chooses it.

Like our lives. Surely God could find a more worthy heart than mine in which to dwell. One not so tainted and jaded by sin. A person who can keep it together at least.

But it is the One who made us that matters. It is the One who dwells within us and chooses us as His own that transforms our lives into a beautiful story of His love, power, mercy, grace, forgiveness, and faithfulness. You are amazing, a miracle, because God has made you His own. The shortcomings we possess and can't ignore, they aren't a monument to our failures, they are a living testimony to the greatness of our God.

"See what kind of love the Father has given to us, 

that we should be called children of God; and so we are." 1 John 3:1a

There is only one star we need follow, and it is the one the directs us to Savior. Because the time, riches of heaven, and effort God put forth in His Son Jesus were all worth it to save us. We are worth it and He is worthy.

He says so.

"In the same way we also, when we were children, were enslaved to the elementary principles of the world.  But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!” So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God." Galatians 4:3-7

And that is really the only word of mouth that matters anyway.

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Would it not just be so amazing if I was able to write again before the end of the year? Oh, friends! I'm going to try. I really and truly am. I drive and live and read and think, "I need to write about this!" Then life passes, and I go to bed wondering what I did that day. It wasn't writing. So scout's- honor I will do my best to get to writing because I have so much to share and I really do enjoy our time together. Merry Christmas

Embarrassing Grace

We made it through the first few verses of the passage and stopped to discuss. My daughter and a third grade boy sat across the table from me. They answered the questions I asked them and we looked down at our Bibles to continue reading.

"I already know this story." It wasn't arrogant. Just an off-hand remark from my daughter who indeed knows and remembers the story well.

"I do too," I replied. "But I'm learning something new from it right now."

"Really?"

"You bet." 

I wasn't lying.

I asked them, "Why did Jesus wash the disciples' feet?"
"Because He loved them."
"Ok," I answered, "but why wash their feet? Couldn't He have just bought them something pretty?"
"Jesus doesn't just give pretty things to show His love."

She was right of course. We talked about how Jesus took the place of a servant, the lowest of the servants, and He looked at what made them dirty. He put the nastiness right in His face.

"I see it. I see your filth. And I'm not avoiding it. I'm not condoning it. I'm not glossing over it. I'm not giving you pretty things and ignoring the muck that has accumulated from a life of weary travel. I'm taking care of it."

I wonder how rigorous a cleansing it was. It always looks so poetic and gentle. Clear water cascading down caramel toes. How His hands must have felt.

I asked the kids what they thought went through the disciples' minds as Jesus did this.

"Uh? Okkkkkaaayyy?" I'd agree with that answer.

Peter couldn't handle it. "You shall never wash my feet." (John 13:8)

He was embarrassed. Embarrassed by His rabbi. Embarrassed that the man he followed would do something even below Peter's station. At that moment he probably would have been happier with something pretty.

And I get that. Because after reading this passage and hearing a sermon about a love that never gives up, I wonder why. I don't get it. I'm embarrassed.

Why, Lord? Why do you keep doing this? Day after day. It's the same old dirt. I can't keep it off my feet. I try and try and try. Why demean yourself to wash me when I'm just going to do it again? You are holy, so holy. Don't do this to yourself. I've tried it all already. I'll totally understand if you want to quit on me.

And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way because just an hour later one of the cutest children on the planet (who is not even mine) asked that very question of my husband during the children's sermon. Her three year old brain registered Christ's sacrifice, and her three year old lips questioned "why"?

"Because He loves us so much."

She took that in. "When will Jesus stop loving us?"

"Never. He will never ever stop loving us."

Her foster mother smiled. Eyes around the sanctuary glistened as the mystery of God's love was explained in the simplest of terms to the littlest of souls. Broken hearts in the room swelled with the abundant love of Christ.

That three year old heart bears the pain of abandonment. The people meant to care for her have given up on her. This morning, she was given the knowledge of a love that never ends. Never ever. It's something her mind just couldn't comprehend.

We are so used to giving up. We can't escape it. At some point in our lives someone has given up on us.

We've given up on ourselves.

So when God makes Himself low enough to put His face not into our face, into our feet, and say I will wash and wash and wash. Every day. Because love doesn't give up.

It's just too much.

And He was leading by example. "For I have given you an example that you should do just as I have done to you." His gift of love was one to be shared, never contained.

So who are you going to embarrass today? Who will find a love in you a love that never quits? Step away from the pretty things. It's time to get dirty.

I'm praying for you this week, Sweet Friends. Praying that you are overwhelmed by Christ's love. Praying that His love steps into your life in a way that inspires you to serve others. Praying that you know you will always give up on yourself before Jesus does.

Because Jesus will never stop loving you. Never ever.

Take a Picture

"I should have taken a picture."

His eyes surveyed the kitchen in search of the photographic gem to which I was, no doubt, referring. He found nothing. "Of what?"

"Of this." My arm swept the room. "It was clean this morning."

Really clean. I don't mean clean for a home of 6. I mean, legitimately clean.

But in the battle of stuff and counters. Really, the counters were just outnumbered. And trampled. By the stuff.

And I was tempted, so tempted, to view the morning scrub as a wash. Why? Why, when it's just going to get messy again?

Ever feel like a hamster on a wheel? Always moving- never getting anywhere? Wake up. Shower (maybe). Feed. Eat. Drink...

Fear not, for I am with you...

In a world where my most immediate threat is the flu bug or if the snow pants from last year will fit the kids, those words could threaten hollowness.

But they don't.

Because my most immediate fears come from within- not without.

What if it doesn't matter?
What if I miss something?
What if I can't protect them?
What if they don't need me?

Because, while I feel like my little feet are scrambling over already trodden ground, I see the progression of time. Measured it in foliage, store merchandise, farm machinery consuming the hillsides. Reaping what they sow, I know I will too one day.

What if I screw up?

He answers that fear as clearly as He does every other fear- with His name.

Screw up? Lauren surely will. It's a when, not an if.

But God never screws up. He created me, recreated me, and I bear His name.

But now thus says the Lord,

he who created you, O Jacob,

he who formed you, O Israel:

 

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by name, you are mine...

 

Everyone who is called by name,

whom I created for my glory,

whom I formed and made."

 

Isaiah 43:1, 7

I should have taken a picture. Not because it was so awesome (which it really was), but because this ground that we tread, as worn as it may be, is hallowed ground. The Lord of all creation dwells within us, blesses the messes, and uses it all for His glory.

Praying that your world reflects the glory of your Lord today, no matter how cluttered, dusty, or grimy it may be. The Father chose a trough to hold His only Son, and He has chosen us as well!

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This morning, I am linking up with Simply Beth for Three Word Wednesday! Want to read some wonderful posts on three words? Just click on the button on the right!

Just Call Me "Repurposed" (Messy Monday)

I did some Christmas shopping the other day. Right, it's not Halloween yet. And please don't think I'm on the ball. I'm just a survivalist. Last Christmas nearly killed me from stress, so I've tried to get a few things done before my brain fills up with extras and explodes in cranky words and unrealistic expectations.

 

So, I went shopping last week! And in an effort to do good while we shop, a dear friend and I traveled a little ways to Earthings, a cute Fair Trade Shop tucked snugly in Storm Lake, Iowa. We spent an hour and a half in that store. And it's no Wal-Mart. No huge warehouse, no burning calories pushing a 100 pound cart half a mile to get to the dairy section. A shop. Oh, right, and I had a toddler with me.

 

I bought a few things, some of which are Christmas gifts, so their pictures are omitted. (Sorry, Readers. Haha, Family.) But being a Fair Trade store, every piece had a story. Three of which have described me so often.

 

And maybe you too?

 

1. The "angels with attitude." For if you feel like you're nothing special.

 

Crafted by orphaned students in Northern Zululand, Africa as part of an "extra-mural activity." The proceeds from each angel go to support the students directly.

Now pop cans are valuable in Iowa. So valuable you have to pay a 5 cent deposit just to get one because the state would like them back when you are done, thank you. But really, they're nothing special. You find them everywhere. Most look exactly like thousands or millions of others.

 

And I get that. Feeling like one of a million. Instead of one in a million. Like nothing special- just like all the other mom bloggers, pastors' wives, moms.

 

But this angel. It was crafted with care. And so are you.

 

We are all made of the same material. Dust crafted, shaped, formed into unique gifts. Gifts that serve a purpose. Gifts that bring hope, nourishment, love to those around us. Nothing special? You are handmade, one of a kind. Priceless.

 

For you formed my inward parts;
    you knitted me together in my mother's womb.
 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
    my soul knows it very well.

 My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
    intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
    the days that were formed for me,
    when as yet there was none of them.

Psalm 139:13-16

 

 

2. The Haitian Oil Drum Art. (Not pictured.) For if you feel like you've outlived your usefulness.

 

Craftsmen in Haiti acquire used oil drums and use their hand tools to craft the coolest art you have ever seen. Too bad I can't show it to you. Yet. Wait til January;)

 

So clear at times, our purpose is a driving force in our ability to face the day, love the people.

 

Then it changes. Life. Kids grow. Jobs change. We move. Or we just stay put, and things change around us. That friend doesn't need us. Someone else steps into our position.

 

Purposes change. They don't die. You live and breathe on purpose, for purpose. Maybe your purpose comes with more hanging out and being there for others, than heavy lifting like it used to be, but it is beautiful what God does in you. Beautiful and so soooo cool. And He chose you to do it.

 

3. (Perhaps my favorite.) Mr. Ellie Poo*. For when you feel like a steaming pile.

 

You're either going to think this is really gross, or really cool. But seeing as I'm unsure as to how anyone would receive a gift of stationary made from elephant dung, I declined buying it for Christmas presents, and here is a little picture of my new notepad:

 

 

It's one enormous story of redemption, this one. Just how absolutely like our salvation!

 

A worthless pile of poop, a stinking testimony to indiscretions that ultimately lead to death (the elephants ate the farmland, so the farmers shot and killed them).

 

And yet, someone saw the value of that poop. They cleaned it up. Boiled it, pressed it, and ultimately repurposed it. (And made it quite cute, might I add.)

 

Did it take some imagination and hard work? You bet. But they put in the time and energy, because that meant life. It put a stop to the carnage.

 

Not too hard to see that connection. I look at my notepad, and I treasure it. Partly because it cost so much (I use every millimeter front and back).

 

Partly because it is a reminder to me that there is nothing so horrid that God cannot use it for His purposes.

 

I cannot sin so greatly that I am deemed useless to my Maker. Boiled, pressed, repurposed for His purpose. So He can write His story and His glory all over me. All over every precious millimeter of my soul that cost Him so much. So He could stop the death. The carnage. And bring life.

 

So when people see my life, I can tell them honestly that I was such a piece of poop, and the only way I am here and in this condition of joy is because of the love, imagination, care, hard work, persistence, artistry, and determination of my God to bring life. Because He saw beyond the crap. He saw more. And I am so thankful that He continues to see more, because that crap is a daily battle.

 

What a gift, right? Makes you want to go buy some elephant dung paper? :) I certainly hope so! It's so rad!

 

Praying God opens your eyes to the little reminders of His unending love and faithfulness today.

 

What items in your life remind you of God's faithfulness?

How can you tackle the lies of being just like everyone else,

or uselessness,

or beyond love today?

 

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*Want to know the full scoop on how Mr. Ellie Poo came to be? (Heehee.) Click here.

Laundry

Can anyone please tell me when laundry made it to the list of credentials for a good mom? Like there is some weekly diagnostic test as to the efficacy of my mommy-hood, and laundry is right there at the top.

Sister, I fail.

And I have half a mind to crawl into a little fuel-efficient time machine and do a little rewriting of history.

A few years back, I read a well-meaning blog post from a young mother who really insisted that cleanliness and laundry be at the top of our list of things to do because that was good stewardship. It revealed to the Lord, and everyone else, just how thankful and grateful we are to God for His good gifts. Really, she meant well. We should appreciate His gifts- we really should.

But thankfully, my young mommy self puzzled and stewed and ranted, and finally read and prayed enough to know that not all gifts are created equal.

I simply cannot put clothes on par with kids. And if you want to know my real reason for the epic disaster that is my laundry-littered basement, it's those kids. And the laundry genie I ordered a few months ago still hasn't arrived...

First things first. Priorities. Lessons from motherhood. Laundry shouldn't be its own circle of hell. Laundry doesn't need to be the cruel tyrant in the kingdom that is my life. God is the only Lord I have, thank you. So, if you happen to have to wade through the ocean of clean or dirty clothes in my basement, or smell my shirt and realize I really should have just cleaned it again after I wasn't sure if it sat too long in its own wet after being washed, here is a good idea of the things I was doing instead of watching the washer.

Feeding kids. I do this a lot. Like, every five minutes it seems.
Reading to kids.
Talking to kids
Playing with kids.
Reading to me.
Cooking.
Laughing.
Tickling.
Talking to my husband.
Shopping for groceries.
Shopping for us.
Quiet time.
Talking to sister friends.
Singing.
Dancing.
Writing.
Praying.
Running.
Sleeping.

To get to laundry would take a five minutes all its own. In the meantime, I'm extending grace. To you. To me.
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Today's post is part of a series called Five Minute Friday, hosted by Lisa-Jo Baker over at the Gypsy Mama. A ton of rad writers take her prompts and, for five minutes- or thereabouts- patch an amazing global quilt of God-glorifying blog posts. Click on the Five Minute Friday button and join us! I feel like I should also give a shout-out to the awesome gift that is my husband. I don't raise these kids or do this laundry without a partner in crime- you rock, Scott!

If You Can

 And someone from the crowd answered him, “Teacher, I brought my son to you, for he has a spirit that makes him mute. And whenever it seizes him, it throws him down, and he foams and grinds his teeth and becomes rigid. So I asked your disciples to cast it out, and they were not able.” And he answered them, “O faithless generation, how long am I to be with you? How long am I to bear with you? Bring him to me.” And they brought the boy to him. And when the spirit saw him, immediately it convulsed the boy, and he fell on the ground and rolled about, foaming at the mouth. 

Talk about drama. We all like a little drama in our lives, preferably in a book or on TV- nothing that directly affects us, of course. But man, does my heart break for this dad in Mark 9.

 

 And Jesus asked his father, “How long has this been happening to him?” And he said, “From childhood.  And it has often cast him into fire and into water, to destroy him."

I have four perfectly healthy children. The terror and struggle that gripped this poor man's life are beyond my comprehension. Still, I can think of more than one time I have thought something similar to his next statement: 

But if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.”

If you can.

Now, a good Christian girl like me would probably not dare to say it in those words exactly, but with the despair I have felt in my soul over the plight of others, or hopelessness that has hung about my neck in the face of guilt and unbelief, I might as well have said it verbatim. In straight-up fear, I have asked...

"If you can."

As if I didn't call upon the One who makes all things new. The One who moves mountains, and removes hearts of stone to replace them with living, beating hearts of flesh.

And Jesus said to him, “‘If you can’! All things are possible for one who believes.” 

This is no prosperity gospel. No "have more faith and you can do whatever you put your mind to."

No. But it is truth. I have seen it on the faces of the strongest women I know. The ones who have gone through unspeakable horrors and been refined by the fires of grief, and come out on the other side with a faith stronger than I can describe.

 

Immediately the father of the child cried out and said, “I believe; help my unbelief!”

It is a desperate thing to call out to the Lord when there are simply no other options left, because you know you have tried them all. But that doesn't keep the Lord from helping you. So often our last resort, when He should be our go-to guy, yet He works in us all the same.

And when Jesus saw that a crowd came running together, he rebuked the unclean spirit, saying to it, “You mute and deaf spirit, I command you, come out of him and never enter him again.” And after crying out and convulsing him terribly, it came out, and the boy was like a corpse, so that most of them said, “He is dead.” But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him up, and he arose.

If you are struggling with whether or not God can remedy your circumstance, let me tell you- He can.

If you are struggling because you know God can, you just don't know if He will, take heart. God is not unsympathetic, and His is not far off. In fact, He is just the opposite:

 For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

Hebrews 4:15-16

We do not have a God who sits on His throne making arbitrary decisions about whether or not to please us. We are dearly beloved children of the Great Physician, who works on our broken selves and whispers in our aching ears, "Just keep watching, and wait. It is going to be so worth it."

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.

2nd Corinthians 4:16-18

 

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Messy Monday: Tired, Touched

It's always encouraging to see examples of good parenting in the Bible. Like those dear mothers and fathers who followed Jesus around, bringing Him their kiddos, so that He would touch them.

His touches, unnecessary graces. Grace gifts that awaken senses when nothing makes sense.

The Five Love Languages of Children was wandering wild in my mind too awake late Saturday night. When my joints were achy and I forgot to take my medicine (again), and all those wonderings cropped up in my forest of future, trees I have yet to climb and yet I still can't see past them.

The medicines I will not take- refuse to. Praise God I am in the position to make those decisions.

The tears of frustration wondering when will it be again like it was then?

When I didn't have to worry about the food I ate. Or the workouts I did. Or how I spent my time and money. Or whether or not my wrists would buckle under the weight of the chunkiest gift of squishy-love I'd ever received. I just needed a God-sized hug for my heart-sized fatigue. So. tired.

I pondered those good parents- the ones who brought their children face to face with Jesus. Close enough to touch, and not just on Sundays.

And he took them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands on them. Mark 8:16

It's a love language, physical touch. Jesus knew- He invented it.

It's why a handshake indicates its master's demeanor. It's what makes hugs warm and welcomed, or just... awkward.

And He didn't have to do it. In fact, Jesus didn't really have to touch anyone. People were healed just by touching His cloak (Matthew 9:20, 14:36; Mark 5:27-31, 6:56; Luke 8:44-47). He could raise the dead with just a word (Luke 7:14).

And His eyes say it all. "Who looks on the earth and it trembles..." Psalm 104:32

Still, He touched them. Because He loved them. The children. The leper (Matthew 8:1). The servant of the high priest in the garden. "And he touched his ear and healed him." Luke 22:51 No words of healing, no faith lecture, no snazzy point-and-shoot move with an ear tacked on like a tracking dart. Something tells me that touch said all that ear ever needed to hear.

 

I needed to hear it too. To look forward to the day when the faith meets the physical. When the cross I bear will be traded for a crown I wear, a crown He will place there. Not because He has to, because He wants to. When the only language will be love, and the embrace everlasting. When the pauper will become the princess by the providence of the King, and the only buckling will be the knees of the saved under the weight of the glory and joy and adoration of the Most High, the  Lord who saves us.

One day we will all be touched by Jesus, really touched. Healed. I can't wait. Until then, those unnecessary graces come other tangible forms. Today I pray He gives me the eyes to see, ears to hear, and love to spread the grace around. 

Call Me "Weirdo"

Jesus has been exercising my heart lately- my love muscle, that is.

Because the world can throw all the four-letter-words it wants, but I have one that beats 'em all.

LOVE.

Probably the most abused and misused word in our language, and perhaps that is fitting because Love is amidst the abused and misused, tending in the dark places.

"For your steadfast love is before my eyes..." Psalm 26:13

The easiest word to conjure, but the hardest action to commit.

For Love draws us out of ourselves, and into another person.

So easy to teach and preach- just words, but what about when the walk must accompany the talk?

What about when the object of our love acts just so... unlovable?

That's when our heavenly Father taps us on the shoulder (none too lightly), His words resounding in the air, "I believe you are sitting in My chair." Climbing off a throne that high can be a humbling experience.

We discussed one of the most famous Love passages at Bible study the other night. Luke 6:27-36.

Jesus must have known the "But, what if..." questioners in the crowd, because He left no loopholes:

²⁷ “But I say to you who hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you,

But what if they say mean things to me or about me?
²⁸ bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.

But what if they hurt more than my feelings?
²⁹ To one who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also,

But what if they take advantage of me?
and from one who takes away your cloak do not withhold your tunic either.
³⁰ Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods do not demand them back.

But what if I don't know how to love them?
³¹ And as you wish that others would do to you, do so to them.

Then the part of the passage we skipped in the study, but I find so interesting:

³² “If you love those who love you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. ³³ And if you do good to those who do good to you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. ³⁴ And if you lend to those from whom you expect to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to get back the same amount. ³⁵ But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return, and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, for he is kind to the ungrateful and the evil.

In other words, what good is it to love like everyone else? Then you'll just look like everyone else.

Why not love differently?

Love until your enemies think you are just weird.

Love your enemies until everyone else agrees, you are weird.

Love like a weirdo.

The more eloquent way to encapsulate that love would be to compel you to, "love so that the glory of God is revealed."  But honestly, in the moment, that is usually a bit too lofty for me to grasp.

Love like a Jesus weirdo.

Need something a bit more concrete? Need some extra motivation to get your mind and actions to cooperate? Verse 36...

³⁶ Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful.

Jesus' instruction- take a long look in the mirror: Romans 5...

⁷ For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die—

 ⁸ but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

⁹ Since, therefore, we have now been justified by his blood, much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God.

¹⁰ For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life.

 

He loved and loves me at my most unlovable- never wavering. Never ever.

 

God grant me strength to love others the same way.

 

So to all the unbelievers out there:

Go ahead, call me "Weirdo."

 

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I join many brave and beautiful writers over at Simply Beth's Three Word Wednesday.

Come join us!

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.

 

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: Keeping Score

I've been rocking out a lot since school ended. My seven year old love love LOVES Britt Nicole, which is fine by me because I just can't overestimate my affinity for a good beat. It puts me into some happy, motivated place. And I've needed it recently.

For whatever reason, I have been in a funk lately and just given into it. You know, you just sit there and go, "I know I shouldn't be thinking this, but I don't care. Let me wallow in my baseless whining." So much easier it is to just let myself be jealous or a victim than to intentionally remind myself of who I am because I belong to Christ. (But here's the secret- that's really just a lie. Giving into the "easy" just drains the spirit in the long run, while fighting it and feeding the truth renews our strength like the eagles'.)

So Britt Nicole and the like have been serenading us frequently since my daughter is home from school full time, and as I was cleaning on Saturday she sang a lyric that struck me anew. One of those lyrics that I think, "Oh, I hope my girls learn this truth. Remember this truth," when it's really me that needs to hear it. I guess I haven't outgrown as much as I'd hoped...

Everybody keeps score. Afraid your gonna lose. Just ignore, they don't know the real you.

 

Now to be fair- no one keeps score on me. I keep score on myself. I'm the one who forgets the real me.

 

That's what turns me into my pity-party mess...

 

As soon as the words hit my brain, I realized that's what I've been doing lately. Keeping score- and everyone else is ahead. Better moms, wives, singers, writers, etc. Everyone just seems more worthy.

 

Then a piece popped out of my mental archive. Turns out this must be a recurring theme in my life because I just wrote about it for the church newsletter... So here it is!



It’s Not About the Score

 

There is something amazing about little feet and legs and bodies chasing a ball on a blanket of green. Maybe it is just me, but to watch kids on a soccer field, running with all their might, kicking, passing, scoring, celebrating- my heart just bursts into little pieces when they are exhausted and smiling.

Last year, I remember my son running up to me after every goal their team scored. Jumping, bounding, giving fives. I thought just like our relationship with the Father. It hit me that the pride and joy I felt in both my little soccer players was a gift- a glimpse into God’s regard for His children. His regard for me. The insignificance of my daily chores suddenly became reasons to give God a high five and be reminded that my Coach was right on the field with me, and celebrating my every play!

 

This year started much the same way. The aunts and uncles and grandparents received pictures of their grandkids, niece and nephew, scoring goals and taking names. The grace and beauty of their form and footwork- it was no less than perfect art to me. My heart ached with love as my kids talked nonstop after the games about how they played.

 

Then my son's team lost. Quite handedly. It was one of those games where we wondered if the kids packed their cleats and shin-guards, but not their feet and brains. And you could see it on their faces; they were just as baffled as the rest of us. They were trying. Trying hard. But nothing connected. Like everything we had done the past few weeks was undone in one night.

 One boy was devastated. He probably would have torn his clothes in mourning had he the strength. His brother, on the other hand, did manage to score- and brilliantly-on his own team. But you should have seen his face light up. I just smiled that I-can’t-break-this-kid’s-heart smile and held out my hand. With an “I scored!” he gave me five. I then gently suggested he try scoring in the opposite goal the next time.

 My son wasn’t too rocked by the loss. “We lost 9-1,” he told his Auntie Sarah, and that was about it.

 My son didn’t feel like a loser. He felt Grady Jensen, the soccer player who lost a game. He knew what was really important- that even when he lost, his mother and father still loved and cared for him. It became immediately apparent that the real demonstration of my love was much more significant when he had nothing to “offer” to earn it. His ability to keep things in perspective was an example for me to follow.

 

It is easy to define ourselves by our roles. We rate our job performance on a spectrum from Loser to Winner and determine God’s love accordingly. Then we lose it. Nothing connects. We wonder where we left our mind. Some days I ask God, “How can you love me? I’m such a horrible mom.” I turn myself into a mom who follows God, instead of a child of God who is also a mom. But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ… Ephesians 2:4-5 (boldface mine)

What makes the difference?

 

Relationship. A relationship entirely dependent on a loving Father. A relationship that is not contingent on what we have to offer- which is awesome because, outside of Jesus Christ, there isn’t a human being on earth that has ever made the grade.

 

We all lose, but we are not losers. We are champions in a very literal and eternal sense. All those other vocations we have- those are just gravy. Those are graces upon grace; things we do for the glory of God because we can, not because we have to climb some ladder of success to achieve significance. In fact, it is when we are at our lowest that we are forced to look up, and God’s love reveals itself most faithful …so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God. Ephesians 2: 7-8