Not the Right Way

We had it all worked out -- a buyer for our home, a new house lined up contingent on the sale of ours. Then our buyer pulled out last Wednesday, no reason given. So now we are hoping to find another buyer in time to still get the new house.

Michael has faith and is calm; I am very disappointed and angry at that lame buyer and at God, who either doesn't want us to get that other house or doesn't want to make it easy, neither option being acceptable to me.

The other day I was taking the kids on a few errands. First, the post office. As I drove there, John shouted, insistently, from the backseat: "This is not the right way! It's not the right way!"

I told him I knew how to find the post office. And I did.

We left and I said, "Now, to the park." Again from the backseat: "This isn't the right way! It's not the right way!"

"John, I'm driving this car. Remember how I got us to the post office? Do you think I might know how to get to the park too?"

"Well . . ." John said, "I guess . . . . No. This isn't the right way!"

Logic doesn't help much when you're the one in the backseat and the way is unfamiliar. But as usual, I see myself in John. I would like to trust more in God and the unfamiliar (and unwanted) road he's taking me on.

It's not Christmas yet

Wrapped presents around the house -- an invitation to temptation. Yesterday presents for the kids arrived in the mail from Michael's cousin. I put the presents by the creche. After John pulled down the present for him a few times, I put them on a high shelf. But John keeps asking if he can open his present. "It's not Christmas yet," I told him. "Just don't think about it." Maybe I should put them out of sight. I want, though, for him to learn patience and self-discipline -- to choose to wait, or at least to wait in peace.

Do I do that? Ha! My current obsession is to get a bigger house. I'm not sure when this will happen. But a friend of mine is selling -- well, trying to sell -- her nice, big house.

It is beautiful.

It would be perfect for my family.

It costs more money than we have.

And we don't know if we should move soon anyway, in case Michael gets another job elsewhere. But I want to stay here, and I want to buy my friend's house. So I'm praying about it.

But -- after watching John long for that present -- I see that I am acting like John. I keep asking our Father, "Can I have it? Will you make the finances work out? Will you make Michael's career work out the way we want it to? What are you going to do?" Meanwhile, He is saying, "It's not Christmas yet. Leave the present on the shelf. Don't even look at it. Just trust me that I have something good for you."

An Empty Pot

I don't usually cry at Barney. I don't even watch Barney, most days. But today when John asked me to watch it with him, I did, just because I didn't have the energy or motivation to do anything else. So I saw the story of the emperor:

A Chinese emperor gathered a group of children (at least they were played by kids . . . and the emperor was some dinosaur) and told them that he was going to choose one of them to be the next emperor. He gave each of them a seed, which they were to plant and care for and bring back in one year to show the emperor what they grew.

Ling was a good gardener and excited to grow a wonderful plant. He took home the seed, planted it in a good pot, and gave it lots of water. But nothing grew. All year, he cared for the seed, but had only a pot of dirt to show for it.

When the year ended, Ling took his empty pot to the emperor. The other contestants had beautiful flowering plants. But the emperor announced that Ling would be the next emperor. To everyone's surprise, the emperor said, "I gave you each a rotten seed, but only Ling had the courage and honesty to bring me an empty pot."

At the moment, I too feel like an empty pot with a rotten seed. It is a struggle not to try to come up with some pretty flowers to hide my emptiness and rottenness. But I can go to my Emperor, the King of the Universe, Jesus Christ, with my emptiness. He has put his own life in this clay jar, a light that shines in the darkness of our hearts, "to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us" (2 Cor. 4:6, 7). Who needs some flowers when we can one day reign with Jesus, because of his gracious gift?

I still feel empty . . . but my Father says, "Open wide your mouth, that I may fill it." (Ps. 81:10).

Honoring your parents

John and Sarah's grandfather brought them a book about Noah, "a righteous man," who obeyed God and built the ark that would save his family and a few of each kind of animal. The story ends with the rainbow, God's promise that there wouldn't be another flood. But what about the rest of the story?

In the Bible, the last recorded incident in Noah's life tells how he got drunk and naked in his tent. One of his sons, Ham, saw Noah in this unseemly condition and told his brothers. They -- Shem and Japheth -- "took a garment, laid it on both of their shoulders, and walked backward and covered the nakedness of their father. Their faces were turned backward, and they did not see their father's nakedness" (Gen. 9:23).

I normally don't think of this part of Noah's life often. I only do now because a friend recently discovered her daughters reenacting this scene with their Polly Pockets. Hearing "drunk and naked" caught her attention.

Turns out that the girls' Sunday school teacher "got a little carried away" (his words) while telling Noah's story. He's a seminary teacher, and I guess he doesn't think the Bible needs to be sanitized for kids. (Meanwhile, another friend's daughter, after learning a Sunday school lesson from Daniel, read that passage in her Bible and asked her mother, "What's a concubine?" That part had been omitted in Sunday school. As my Old Testament professor used to say, with gusto, "The Old Testament is earthy!")

Anyway, this is probably the first time since becoming a parent that I've thought about Noah, "a righteous man," lying in his tent drunk and naked. I don't like to think of Noah in this way -- it's so, well, beneath him. But the point of the story isn't that Noah was -- surprise! -- flawed.

Ever since the fall, nakedness has been a point of shame. We don't want everything about us to be revealed -- it's not pretty. The point is that Ham was disrespectful in pointing out Noah's nakedness, while Shem and Japheth properly averted their eyes and covered him up.

Noah, consequently, curses Ham (or "Canaan," his son): "a servant of servants shall he be to his brothers" (9:25). He blesses Shem and Japheth.

We all see our parents "warts and all." No parents are perfect; what will we do with what we have observed from living in intimate quarters with them? I confess that when it comes to my own parents, I am too focused on their flaws, especially the ways that they have hurt me. But the story of Noah and his sons tells me -- it's time to move on. You know your parents' flaws: look away, and cover them up.

We Never Arrive (Yet)

An article on Christian travel -- pilgrimages -- states that the point of departure may be more important than the destination: "Yahweh repeatedly identifies himself as 'the Lord who brought you up out of the land of Egypt,' and rarely as the God who brought the Israelites to the Promised Land." (Christianity Today, here).

I had never noticed that, but once stated the point seems obvious, at least as it applies to us now. I often forget that I'm a pilgrim and that it's ok not to have arrived. The Israelites may have eventually gotten to Canaan, but they never really experienced life in the Promised Land -- and nor do we, yet. But we have indeed left Egypt -- or more specificially, the Lord has brought us out of it. Just because our lives don't yet look like what we expect the Promised Land to be doesn't mean that we are still in Egypt, or even in the wilderness. Wherever we are, we can trust God has brought us here, and that one day we will indeed arrive.

Advent devotional: Prepare the way of the Lord

I gave this talk at the Women's holiday tea at my church Tuesday evening. It's long, but I wanted to share it anyway.

Happy new year! It sounds like I’m jumping the gun – but the church year begins with the season of Advent, so this is the start of the new year. But it’s easy to overlook Advent in all the excitement of Christmas coming. With Christmas carols, Christmas trees, Christmas lights, Christmas parties and shopping for Christmas presents, how can Advent compare? It’s ironic because we do all of these things to prepare for Christmas, but the point of Advent too is to prepare for Christmas – for Christ’s coming. Instead of immediately jumping to Christmas, let’s do as the church year and the gospels begin, with the call to “Prepare the way of the Lord.” All four gospels, before showing Jesus in his ministry, show John the Baptist in his ministry. Luke even tells us about the birth of John the Baptist before Jesus’ birth. From these things, I take it that observing Advent prepares us for the true meaning of Christmas – celebrating the coming of our Savior.

If we want to use Advent as a time to prepare for Jesus’ coming the way the Bible shows us, we will have to turn our attention away, at least for a time, from the Christmas-y things that surround us during this season and listen to John the Baptist. You won’t see him on billboards or commercials, like Santa Claus or snowmen, but his message is the one we need to hear. He says: “Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand.” Repent: turn – change your ways. This is a hard message any time of year, but crucial for preparing for Jesus’ coming.

Lately a couple of images are helping me repent, helping me take the time and effort I need to take (in prayer, self-examination and Bible reading) to be aware of what I need to repent of, to prepare for Jesus’ coming to me. Think of how Jesus came to us in his birth – in the womb of a virgin, and in a stable crib. To me, both of these images show that Jesus needs room, or space, for him. Jesus could have come to be born to a princess, someone important, wealthy, dignified. Instead, he chose a woman who had never known a man – whose womb literally was empty, someone who had room for him to come. This picture of Mary speaks to me not, primarily, about our marital status – but our openness, our willingness to give Jesus space in our lives.

Similarly, Jesus could have been born anywhere – in Herod’s palace, if he wanted palatial surroundings. Instead, he picked a manger in a stable – because it was the one place in Bethlehem where there was room for him. From these two images, I see that Jesus isn’t looking for the finest home to take up residence – he wants our availability, openness, room for him to be there.

I have been cleaning out clutter lately because I’m trying to make room in our home for our daughter, who will be born in March. Our current level of clutter, the way the closets are packed full, is fine for the three of us – but we need to make room for a fourth member of the family. So we need to get rid of lots of stuff, to have room for our daughter to live with us.

I want Jesus to be able to live in my “house,” that is, my life, too – not just the living room where guests come, but all of me, to live fully and forever. But the spiritual clutter in my heart makes it hard for me to make room for Jesus. He is not interested in my trying to make my spiritual home “better,” as if he needed a fancy home – again, he came from his heavenly throne to a manger! Palace or manger, it’s all humble from his perspective. But he can only come to those who actually are humble, who know their need:

Is. 57:14-16

14 And it shall be said,
“Build up, build up, prepare the way,
remove every obstruction from my people's way.”
15 For thus says the One who is high and lifted up,
who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy:
“I dwell in the high and holy place,
and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit,
to revive the spirit of the lowly,
and to revive the heart of the contrite.
16 For I will not contend forever,
nor will I always be angry;
for the spirit would grow faint before me,
and the breath of life that I made.

The person who is “of a contrite and lowly spirit,” who is humble, has room in their heart for Jesus to dwell. It can be hard to believe that the God who lives in “the high and holy place” also dwells “with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit.” We think that we need to be holy, too, at least, holier than we are. For some reason it’s easy for us to start by the Spirit – to rely on Jesus for our righteousness for salvation – but then try to perfect ourselves by the flesh, as Paul scolded the Galatians for doing. It’s hard to continue to live by grace – we think we should get beyond our neediness, our messiness. But when we try to live in our own strength, to make our “spiritual homes” look good with cut flowers and shoving things in closets instead of tackling the spiritual or emotional clutter, then we end up closing off parts of our lives to the presence of Jesus and the healing power we need.

There are a lot of ways we can neglect the spiritual clutter of our lives. Busyness, food, relationships, focusing on what other people are or aren’t doing, being critical – these are just a few things that take up spiritual energy we could better use to look within, to see what thoughts, attitudes, behaviors are unholy and impeding the presence of Jesus in our lives. Let me suggest that this Advent, we repent by changing our ways – stopping the activities that fill up our minds and time and distract us from what is going on in our hearts – and this will prepare the way of the Lord to come to us in a deeper way.

For me, anger is an area of clutter taking up too much space in my heart, keeping Jesus out of my relationships when my triggers are set off. If I easily get angry at my husband, son, myself, and others, then I’m not showing them Jesus and His grace – it’s that simple. In the past I’ve learned that if I’m easily angered, what helps me most isn’t just to keep repenting for getting angry – I need to also look at what’s behind the anger, and that usually is either a fear or a sorrow that I’m not grieving.

I mention anger specifically because I’ve heard from several other women at church lately that they are struggling with anger these days. It’s no surprise – in addition to our usual trials, disappointments and sorrows, we are in the middle of a church situation that practically demands grieving. But grieving is painful, so it’s easier to just get angry, get critical, or eat or whatever our particular escapes may be.

The fact is, though, that it is sad to see our church family getting divided, for people we love to not be here worshipping with us on Sundays or with us this evening. A book I’m reading by a church pastor mentioned that when people move away or leave their church, they’ve realized they need to take time to mourn that loss. How much more have we lost! We’ve lost beloved pastors; we’ve lost members; we’ve lost the stability and security our church used to give us.

Yes, we know that God is sovereign and he works all things together for good and we can trust him – but the Bible teaches us also, in addition to these truths, that “blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” And our primary comfort is from God. He knows we are weak and he doesn’t expect us to be as strong as we think we should be. The Isaiah passage recognizes our faint spirit and his compassion. David, the man after God’s own heart, was also an emotional man, and the Psalms showed him grieving too.

Jesus himself is “a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief,” Isaiah tells us, and there is a kind of fellowship with Jesus that happens only through grief. We may be afraid to get sad, wary of wallowing in sadness, fearful of depression, but not only does Jesus come to us in our sorrows, making room for Jesus through mourning also makes our hearts have more room for the sorrows of other people – making us more compassionate people – making us, in turn, more like Jesus himself. And Scripture tells us “sorrow lasts for a night but joy comes in the morning”: If we will grieve our sorrows, we will have more joy, on Christmas morning, because of Christ’s birth.

A friend sent me a poem by John Newton the other day that I’ll end with because it seems to me to go with what I’m talking about tonight. Let’s pray that God will give us greater faith, love and grace this Christmas.

"I Asked The Lord"

I asked the Lord that I might grow
In faith and love and every grace,
Might more of His salvation know
And seek more earnestly His face.

Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
And He I trust has answered prayer,
But it has been in such a way
As almost drove me to despair.

I hoped that in some favored hour
At once He'd answer my request,
And by His love's constraining power
Subdue my sins and give me rest.

Instead of this He made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart,
And let the angry powers of Hell
Assault my soul in every part.

Yea more with His own hand He seemed
Intent to aggravate my woe,
Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
Cast out my feelings, laid me low.

Lord why is this, I trembling cried
Wilt Thou pursue thy worm to death?
"Tis in this way," the Lord replied
"I answer prayer for grace and faith."

"These inward trials I employ
From self and pride to set thee free
And break thy schemes of earthly joy
That thou mayest seek thy all in me,
That thou mayest seek thy all in me."
Words: John Newton

my two cents' worth

A confession: when people don't meet my expectations, I tend to blame them, not my own expectations. I think they could do better than this, if only they tried harder, or if they were more spiritual. (Condemning, aren't I?) Not that I explicitly think this, but it seems to be my underlying belief. Why else would I be frustrated at them for not doing or being what I want them to do or be?

Probably the only person I don't usually have unreasonable -- i.e. often unmet -- expectations of is my son. He is 22 months old. I expect a toddler to sometimes cry, have a low level of frustration tolerance, and to demand a lot of attention. And most of the time, he is lots of fun. Why, I wonder, is it so easy for me to love him and not condemn him, and so hard with other people?

Jesus' response to the poor widow giving money at the temple offering box shows me the problem with my expectations. After "many rich people put in large sums," the widow gave "two small copper coins, which make a penny" (Mark 12:41, 42). Jesus said to his disciples, "this woman has put in more than all these who are contributing to the offering box. For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on" (v. 43, 44).

How convicting. Jesus knows what spiritual and emotional riches other people have; I don't. Where I see -- and privately condemn -- someone's meager contribution, Jesus sees a heartfelt self-sacrifice.

I've always thought it sounded trite and unsatisfying when someone says about people who let them down, "Well, they did the best they could." Perhaps this is just another way of saying that -- but lately I've found it helpful, when I'm disappointed with someone's behavior, to think, "Maybe this is their two cents."

babies and brokenness

I haven't written in a long time -- since I started feeling fatigue and morning sickness -- being pregnant takes a lot out of me! People talk about writing a book as like having a baby -- I guess for me, it's one or the other: if I'm working on a baby, I'm not working on writing! Anyway, I'm due in mid-March and we are very excited that our family will soon welcome another child.

Just thinking about how when I lived in Japan, I knew people who collected fine Japanese porcelains. In one home I saw a beautiful plate that had been broken and repaired with some kind of gold adhesive; unlike superglue, the fixative showed and, I was told, is thought to add to the beauty of the piece. Such a plate is unique and treasured.

I think God works in our lives in a similar way -- when he tends to our broken places, he doesn't hide the cracks. I mean, we can, of course, try to hide the cracks, even after we've let him work there, and pretend like we've been perfect all along. But our repaired brokenness glorifies him.

Last night I was talking to someone who shared with me an area of imperfection: something she has struggled with, which happens to be something I struggle with. I was so encouraged to hear how God has helped her in this area -- pure gold, much more valuable to me than if I thought success in this came to her naturally.

I usually just throw away broken dishes. It's comforting to think that we are so precious to God that he makes us whole in unique ways and treasures us.

obedience

"Come here, John. John, come here. John. JOHN, COME HERE!!!"

John does not always obey us quickly (or at all). Sometimes, of course, he will do what we ask -- stop touching the CDs; give the pen to Mama; stop hitting Mama with the truck.

But when I give him an order and he does not obey me, then I know that the times he obeys are not because he has an obedient spirit -- it's because what I'm asking him is not too onerous, in his mind. Perhaps it's what he wants to do anyway. So 50% obedience (I'm being generous here) is, to me, no obedience at all, because it only takes one incident of disobedience for me to know that John thinks he knows better than I do what is best for him to do.

I used to think it was unfair for the Bible to say that whoever breaks one little part of the law is guilty of breaking it all (James 2:10; see also Matt. 5:19). Now that I have a child, I am reminded every day that if I'm not rebelling against God at this moment it's just because what he requires of me is not too onerous, in my mind; or, sometimes, I obey because I choose to believe that God knows better than I do. Sometimes, though, I do still disobey, and now I see that my sin is as great as if I had broken every one of God's commands.

Fortunately he is in the business of loving and redeeming rebellious souls. "While we were enemies, Christ died for us" (Rom. 5:8).

submission to God

Finish this sentence:

"The world would be a better place if only _______________ ."

What did you think of? I'm guessing that you did not first think of something you have direct control over.

If God reigns, then shouldn't we believe that the world is actually exactly as it should be, except for things we can change?

Feel free to disagree with me. I'm not sure it's quite as stark as that. But I know I, for one, err too much on the side of being dissatisfied with people, jobs, illnesses, churches, whatever. It's hard to trust God to make all things work for good when some things are so apparently bad.

After reading my post on biblical submission, Michael reminded me that during our dance lessons, I had a hard time following not only when Michael led me, but also the one or two times I danced with our instructor. He dances wonderfully -- graceful, smooth -- and for no good reason I could not relax and follow his lead. "Stop leading," he'd say. I knew he wasn't making any mistakes. But being led doesn't come naturally to me.

Just as dancing with Michael works for me as a metaphor for biblical submission in marriage, dancing with the instructor seems like a good image for submission to God. I know he's doing everything right -- but it's hard to trust him. When I complain about things that seem wrong to me but I can't affect, I suspect that I'm trying to lead God instead of letting him lead me. It takes humility to be led. I want the dance, including the other dancers, to do things right (i.e. my way). God seems to be more interested in my submission to him than in the dance going perfectly.

I vaguely recall from dance lessons that no matter what my partner did -- spin me out, swing me around -- my role stayed pretty much the same: step, rock, step. It seemed to go more smoothly if I focused on the rhythm of my steps instead of on where my partner led me. What steps should I focus on while God leads me?

Recently God has thrown a friend of mine for a loop. Her husband is in the hospital with a brain tumor. This morning the doctor performed a biopsy on it; they won't have the results for another 3 to 5 days. "I'm just not ready for this," she keeps saying. Her friends and I remind her: trust God. Pray. Let others help you and love you. I think that these things are the basic steps to follow, repeatedly, to enter into the rhythm as the true Lord of the Dance leads us.

Biblical submission

When Michael and I were newlyweds, we took a dance class at Richland. I can't remember now if we learned East Coast or West Coast swing, but one lesson is still vivid.

Michael and I were doing a difficult (for us) move, and he didn't quite have it right. I did my part correctly and tried to show him what he should be doing. (We actually had a lot of these little struggles during these lesssons.) The instructor came up to us and told ME that I was at fault -- because I was not following Michael's lead. "It doesn't matter whether he's doing the proper steps. You need to let him lead you."

This seems to me like a good metaphor for that really-hard-to-understand concept of Biblical submission. Obviously (I think) women don't have to submit to truly egregious things like abuse or sexual sin. But my dance lesson reminds me of what 1 Peter 3 says about wives being subject to their husbands: "so that even if some [husbands] do not obey the word, they may be won without a word by the conduct of their wives -- when they see your respectful and pure conduct" (v. 1b, 2).

It's so hard to keep from saying a word! But important: "let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious" (v. 4). To me, that description sounds like the opposite of a woman leading her husband, even if she's right.

John loves "Green Eggs and Ham" -- he frequently asks for "Hammie" -- and I can identify a bit with I-am-Sam, who just won't stop pushing those green eggs and ham on the other guy. What a nag! Even though he's right! The book vindicates his persistence; but it's not exactly the role I want to take in my marriage.

I think that when I try to lead Michael -- not just tell him what I think, but actively try to persuade him, especially in something that really is his business not mine -- I do so because I am afraid that something bad will happen. Peter tells us to follow the example of Sarah, who "obeyed Abraham, calling him lord. And you are her children, if you do good and do not fear anything that is frightening" (v. 6).

In dancing, it is more important that the partners are doing the same thing than that they are following the steps perfectly. I suspect that in marriage too, the most important thing is not for me to focus on whether my husband is making all the right moves, but to focus on how well I am following him, and trust God to lead us both in the right direction. And dancing is a lot more fun when you're dancing with, not against, your partner.

Love of Tractors

I am obsessed with tractors these days. And diggers. I would love to see an excavator in real life, but for now am content with pictures in books and on-line. Boy, am I ever excited when I see a backhoe loader -- two scoops in one.

My love of heavy machinery is quite recent, but probably predictable to most mothers of sons. See, John loves to play with anything with wheels -- cars, trains, trucks, and tractors. And I love John, and so I want to help John indulge in his vehicular love. So now I keep my eyes alert for construction sites when we're out in the car. Michael and I search on-line for pictures and videos to watch with John. I just bought him a couple of truck picture books to go along with the ones from the library.

I am getting a much greater appreciation for trucks -- partly out of exposure to them, but mostly because John loves them.

Last night Michael and I read 1 John 4, and one verse struck me as counter-intuitive: "If anyone says, 'I love God,' and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen" (v. 20). Hmmm, isn't it easier to love perfect, distant, God than your brother, who is imperfect and in your face, pushing your buttons and all?

But perhaps it's like loving tractors -- which are lovable to me because John loves them, I love John, and so I love what John loves. Similarly: God loves all of his children. If I love him, I will love who he loves. And, of course (here's where the tractor analogy breaks down, if it hasn't already), "love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God" (4:7).

Pictures from visiting construction at Richland with John:







recent picture of John:

Adventures in Trust

I recently went to a writers' conference in Marshall, Texas, and met with an editor from a publishing company to discuss the book I've been working on about my experience with postpartum depression. I worked hard on the book chapter I sent him in advance and on a synopsis of the book I brought to the conference. By the day before the conference, I was finished writing, and my most pressing concern was deciding what to wear, especially to meet with the editor.

At my moms-and-boys playgroup, I got input from my friends and finalized this crucial decision. I went home and laid out two outfits: casually dressy, comfortably professional writer-ish clothes. No need to pack them in my suitcase, where they would get crushed. I would drive in my t-shirt and shorts and change at the motel before going to the conference. In other words, I had it all planned out.

Soon afterwards, I packed the car and left. An hour and a half later, I realized that I was halfway to Marshall and had everything except the clothes I had planned to wear.

For a moment, I was quite distressed. Then, I realized: This is an adventure. God does not want me to wear my t-shirt and shorts to this conference, I am quite sure, so he has a plan. I grew excited wondering how God would provide, because I had no idea how it would work out. It seemed unlikely that Marshall would have much to offer, sartorially speaking, and I did not have much time to shop. I drove past the exit for Tyler, where I knew there were plenty of stores but not close to the highway.

Around Kilgore, I saw a sign for Walmart, 3 miles from the highway. One of my friends in the playgroup that morning had been wearing a cute little tennis outfit. When I commented on it, she said she'd gotten it from Walmart. I figured it was worth a try.

The Kilgore Walmart is far nicer than our nearby Walmart: bright, big, inviting, and they had cute clothes, cheap. It didn't take me long to find two nice tops and a pair of black pants. I'll be happy to wear them again. Yea, God. He really came through.

The next morning, I met with the editor and he slammed my book idea. "We don't publish autobiographies unless they're of famous people -- stores don't buy them," he said. "Rewrite your chapter to focus on postpartum depression, not your experience of it." I argued with him about it -- probably not the best way to respond, but I felt so disappointed.

I've spent several months working on this book. I had it all planned out. I don't want to write a different book. Now I don't know how it will work out. I feel rather more discouraged than excited to see what will happen. It's easy to trust God with clothes; will I also trust him with the book? "Be anxious for nothing." I am sure that God wants me to comfort others with the comfort I received while I was depressed. Now I am working on looking at this unexpected turn as an adventure, an opportunity for God to lead me in better ways. God's ways are always much more humbling than my plans. In his Plan, humility is much more important than success.

What the Church Really Needs

What if the church needs your weaknesses more than your strengths?

A friend mentioned yesterday that Joni Eareckson Tada says the weak (or needy, I can't remember) are a gift to the church.

A gift. Not a drain. Not a burden.

How hard this is to understand. When I was very depressed, my family and I needed a lot of help from our church. They gave us prayer, meals, help taking care of John, love, encouragement. They took time from their busy lives to spend with us.

It was very difficult for me to receive all of this love and attention. I want love and attention, but I would prefer it to be for my strengths, for how wonderful I am, how much I can give. In fact, though, I was at that time quite unlovable, angry, bitter, and overwhelmed.

God used that experience to humble me, to show me, through others, his love for me as I really am (as opposed to as I want to be). But God also used that experience to bless the people who blessed me.

They were reminded of God's faithfulness to them in hard times, as they encouraged me to hang in there and trust him. They probably appreciated their own situations more. Helping others puts your own problems in perspective. Then, when God suddenly freed me from the bondage of depression, they rejoiced with me. It was their victory, too. They would have been deprived of seeing God's power at work in my life if I had not gone to them for help in my weakness. (Not that I was brave in being vulnerable; just desperate.)

Needs don't have to be overwhelming to bless the giver. While I was depressed, a friend's sister and her family came to the Dallas area to live here for about six months. They needed some household items for that time. I gathered up some towels, sheets, blankets and other things to lend them. Focusing on the needs of someone other than myself gave me relief from my own pain. I know I received more than I gave.

So why aren't we more open about areas of our lives in which we need help? Pride makes it difficult for us to show how weak and needy we are. It is frightening to risk judgment and rejection. But if we act like we have it all together when we don't, we are denying the church the opportunity to grow and to bear witness to God's unconditional love by loving for us in our needs. "We love because he first loved us."

Lots of churches give parishioners opportunities to take spiritual gifts assessments to help them contribute more to the body of Christ. Why not also a spiritual weaknesses assessment? Like spiritual gifts, everyone has weaknesses.

If we see the good only in the strengths of our members, and not our weaknesses, then can we as a church embody the truth of Jesus' words to Paul: "My strength is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness"?

the price of rewards

I've just come across a great magazine for thinking mothers: Brain, Child. The latest issue has, among other stimulating essays, one by Kathy Gillen arguing against using rewards -- toys, ice cream -- to help children deal with difficult circumstances (i.e., life). The author notes that she needs to stop rewarding herself -- lattes, pedicures -- as well, not to model entitlement.

"Nobody wants hardship for a child, but amazing, life-altering joy can be found in even the dark corners of life. Teaching kids to embrace hardships without the aid of rewards can be the difference between understanding life and just muddling through it." Yes.

I suspect too that turning to treats to compensate for difficulties sends the message that we don't deserve suffering, reinforcing self-pity. Better to give compassion, suffering with another.

Now, Gillen "rewards" a child who's had a hard time at the doctor with "lots of hugs and rounds of Itsy Bitsy Spider." (Read it here.)

This is how our God, Emmanuel, comforts us in our troubles -- with his presence, not by distracting us from our pain with food or toys. I am grateful for this essay's insight, which reminds me that if I give John my presence, suffering with him in his pain, it will be easier as he gets older to teach him to turn to God instead of material comforts in hard times. Then, he will be able to share God's comfort with others to comfort them in their struggles (2 Cor. 1). Isn't that a far greater gift than a toy would be?

"when bad things happen to good people"

Don't we all struggle with the question of why bad things happen to good people? Even if we believe that God is both good and omnipotent, even if we believe the Bible's exhortations to "consider it joy" when we suffer, we may sometimes question why God doesn't do more to help those in pain, or to prevent their suffering all together. We know better, but our theology is challenged by what we and others experience.

Now, the Bible has a lot to say on God's sovereignty -- that his ways are higher than our ways, and he does have a plan, even if we don't understand it. See, for example, Ephesians 1 -- how Paul repeatedly speaks of God's plan and purpose. Will we trust God that his plan is better than our plans?

Reading Ephesians 3 this evening, it struck me that the familiar praise ending this chapter: "Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us . . ." (v. 20), is more than just an acknowledgement that God can bless us beyond what we can imagine. It also speaks to my own frequent inability -- or unwillingness -- to trust that God is both good enough and powerful enough to handle suffering in the best possible way. I want him to do "all that I ask or think," such as healing this person of cancer or restoring that person's marriage; but he is able to do "far more abundantly" than that. What he can do is literally unimaginable. But Paul gives us some clues in this chapter about what God does with his power, and it is good.

It seems that God is most interested in using his power not to relieve of us suffering, but so that we will know him. First, Paul says that he was "made a minister [of the gospel] according to the gift of God's grace, which was given me by the working of his power" (v. 7). Paul's call is to make known Jesus Christ and him crucified -- in other words, to reveal God to us.

Second, Paul prays that "according to the riches of his glory [the Father] 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 . . . and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God" (16, 17, 19). Again, God uses his power so that we will know him.

If we know God well enough, we will trust him even in pain and suffering to use his power for our good. If I didn't know that my dentist both cared about my health and had the power to do what was best for my teeth, I would avoid him. Instead, I submit regularly to the pain he administers for my good. Think of how Paul both suffered greatly and trusted God deeply. Paul knows God, and therefore his suffering is endurable. "So I ask you not to lose heart over what I am suffering for you, which is your glory" (Eph. 3:13).

This is consistent with part of Paul's prayer for the Colossians: "that you may be filled wiht the knowledge of his will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding . . . . May you be strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might, for" -- for productive ministries? prosperity? health? no, but for "all endurance and patience with joy" (1:9, 11), the very qualities we need to know God and to handle suffering. And we are assured that "this slight momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison . . ." (2 Cor. 4:17).

It's hard, in the face of great suffering, to believe what the Bible says. But we walk by faith, not by sight.

relational God, incarnational God

When God reveals himself to Moses in the burning bush, he introduces himself by his relationships with Moses' family: "I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob" (Exod. 3:6). Soon after, God tells Moses to tell the Israelites that his name is "I Am Who I Am," and that "The LORD, the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob has sent me to you" (3:15). He is not an unknown God -- nor even "El Shaddai," God Almighty, as Abraham, Isaac and Jacob knew him. This is the God who has acted in the lives of your relatives, the God whose hand shaped your family tree. True for Moses, the Israelites, you and me.

I find it hard to wrap my brain around the idea of God as Almighty, or Sovereign, or other of his true-yet-abstract characteristics. Don't just tell me to trust God because he is trustworthy or good. No -- tell me what he has done in your life, or remind me of what the God of Abraham did a few millenia ago, the God of David, the God of Paul. Concrete facts, evidence, help me to realize who God really is. I am God's child and have a direct relationship with him, but it's not unmediated through other people. I need to read God's Word (written by people), to worship and pray with people, to be encouraged by other people also walking with Jesus.

Most of all, of course, the Person I need to mediate my relationship with God is Jesus. As God's Son, he is the ultimate example of the Relational Principle. As "God in man made manifest," he is also the ultimate example of the Incarnational Principle. Relationship and incarnation are intertwined. Through Christ, God has made us his children, an intimate relationship. Through Christ, God gives us his power to work for his glory, but as unique human beings we express his power in unique ways. When we serve God, we do it not as automatons or slaves blindly following our Master's will, but instead as partners with God, as in a Father-son business.

I was recently reading (in the March Touchstone magazine) an editorial contrasting the Koran, which Islam teaches was dictated directly to Muhammed (i.e. no human involvement whatsoever) with the Bible, which was inspired by God yet filtered through human minds and hearts. So the revelation given to us by Isaiah is different than that we have from John, and so on. The diversity, yet consistency, of revelation is breathtaking. Our humanity enhances revelation -- as if that were possible! -- because it reveals God's creative ability to work through any vessel, no matter how broken. Imagine a composer who can create glorious works not only for symphonies but even for the kazoo or pots and pans. That's our God.

To me, this responds to a comment that I periodically hear: "God doesn't need me to do his work. He can accomplish anything he wants." To be fair, let me note that this is said with an emphasis on God's sovereignty and our ineptness, and I agree that this statement is probably true. But I don't see anything in the Bible that supports it, and much that tells me that what we do is extremely important to God. Apparently God rarely chooses to act without human involvement. In fact, God chooses to associate with some really flawed folks. (David, the man after God's own heart? Remember what he did? And Abraham, Isaac and Jacob's families could provide plenty of fodder for a daytime talk show.) For whatever reason, the Incarnational Principle is the way he does business.

Nor can I depend on God giving someone else a task that I decide not to do. Not only does God have other tasks for them, but if God wants me to do something, then he wants it done with the gifts, weaknesses, personality that I bring to it. I can trust that he matches person with mission for a reason, namely his glory. God gave Solomon, not Ezekiel, the commission to write Proverbs. What would have happened if Solomon hadn't done it?

Thinking about this has made me realize that I don't really take seriously enough the holy responsibility of living my life for Jesus, wherever that takes me. It's easier to downplay the importance of my bearing witness to Jesus through my life than to accept that my everyday life has eternal consequences. And surely that is exactly as Satan would have it: "they have conquered him [that is, Satan] by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they loved not their lives even unto death" (Rev. 12:11). It is awesome, to me, that testifying to God's work in and through us is given a place in this sentence alongside the shed blood of Jesus as defeating Satan. The God who humbled himself by taking on the form of man -- the God who humbled himself by being known by his relationships with highly imperfect people -- is the God who humbles himself by doing his magnificent work through average sinners like you and me.

letting go of blessings

Reading Gen. 21 this morning, one point stood out. God has just told Abraham to listen to Sarah and do what she says: "Cast out this slave woman with her son" -- Abraham's son -- Ishmael. What caught my eye: "So Abraham rose early in the morning," and made the preparations for Ishmael to leave.

In Gen. 22 as well, when God told Abraham to sacrifice "your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love," Abraham again responded promptly: "So Abraham rose early in the morning," and made the preparations for him and Isaac to leave. The sacrifice of the son of his flesh, while difficult, was only a dry-run for the sacrifice of the child of God's promise.

I became a Christian as an adult. I gave up a lot of behaviors that were the offspring of my flesh, so to speak -- for example, I threw away a lot of music and some books that just weren't godly. There's a lot of movies that I can't watch anymore. Etc. I used to think that I had made a significant sacrifice for the Lord. I never imagined that getting rid of the bad stuff would be only the beginning of what God would ask me to sacrifice. It is much easier to give up things that are obviously bad -- once God has opened our eyes -- than things that are God's good gifts. But God sometimes wants us to let go of his blessings, and to respond with obedience even if it doesn't make sense to us.

Abraham shows us that prompt obedience in giving up sin will help us obey promptly when God asks us to give up good things we love. Also, our prompt obedience in giving up sin doesn't protect us from God asking us to give up good things we love. Sometimes I think that God promises that if I'm a good girl he'll give me nothing but blessings. Not so.

Of course, Isaac didn't die. God often restores to us his good gifts we give back to him -- but I, for one, needed the reminder that I sometimes need to let go of the blessings and not just the sin.