A few weeks ago, at the start of Christmas vacation, every time my five-year-old started getting bored, he would say, "What can I do?" This had happened before, and I knew from experience that every suggestion I made would be met with resistance. In fact, I would not be able to make one suggestion that would be greeted with enthusiasm. And so I said, "You're not allowed to ask me anymore what you can do. You're five. You know what you can do. Decide for yourself."
As the words came out of my mouth, I knew God was trying to tell me something. As adults, we often do the same thing my five-year-old does. We ask God endlessly, "What can I do, God? What should I do?" I think God gets tired of it, just like I do. It's not that it's wrong of us to ask; it's just that God wants us to grow up a bit.
Who knows better than God the dreams, ideas, talents, and gifts that lie inside us? He put them there. He gave us hearts and minds. We have all the raw material. What will we build? Nobody given a pile of Lego bricks will build the same thing as the person next to them.
As Christians, we know our boundaries, just like my little guy does. He doesn't need to ask what he can do. He knows what he is not allowed to do in the house, but what he does is up to him. Those choices will define him as he grows. Will he put on a Zelda costume and swing a sword? Will he build with Legos? Will he play Minecraft? Every choice makes him more and more "him." I don't want to tell him what to do or who to be, I want to discover who he is.
What will you build? Who will you be? Your choices are yours and they define you. Stop asking, and start doing.
Monday, January 18, 2016
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
Breathe with Me
Lately I have been thinking that our minds are troubled because we don't keep pace with the universe. Our lives on Earth are short -- 70 or 80 years -- but eternity is long. God lives on an entirely different scale of time; he takes the long view, and we rarely do. But what if we could train ourselves to enter God time, to breathe with him?
A whale's heart beats an average of six beats per minute, and its breaths per minute is about the same. But a hummingbird's heart beats over 1200 times per minute, and in that time it takes 250 breaths. I think we are a lot like hummingbirds.
Toward the end of the movie Signs, a young boy is having an asthma attack, but he is unable to get to his inhaler, because he and his family are stuck down in the basement of their house while terrifying aliens wander around upstairs. Eventually the father is able to help his son through the asthma attack by holding him and saying, "Breathe with me."
When we are freaking out, worrying that things will never turn out, sometimes I think we need to stop and breathe with God. By reminding ourselves that circumstances don't have to meet our demands and life doesn't have to go at the pace we think it should, we can enter God time. All our fretting and frantic demands won't change anything. Listening for God's slow, deep heartbeat can remind us that he loves us. And breathing with him can remind us to slow down, to recognize our frenetic pace, to trust that God is working things out just as he has promised he would. He breathes more slowly than you and me. We want fast but he works slow. When we learn to breathe with him, we can live in peace.
A whale's heart beats an average of six beats per minute, and its breaths per minute is about the same. But a hummingbird's heart beats over 1200 times per minute, and in that time it takes 250 breaths. I think we are a lot like hummingbirds.
Toward the end of the movie Signs, a young boy is having an asthma attack, but he is unable to get to his inhaler, because he and his family are stuck down in the basement of their house while terrifying aliens wander around upstairs. Eventually the father is able to help his son through the asthma attack by holding him and saying, "Breathe with me."
When we are freaking out, worrying that things will never turn out, sometimes I think we need to stop and breathe with God. By reminding ourselves that circumstances don't have to meet our demands and life doesn't have to go at the pace we think it should, we can enter God time. All our fretting and frantic demands won't change anything. Listening for God's slow, deep heartbeat can remind us that he loves us. And breathing with him can remind us to slow down, to recognize our frenetic pace, to trust that God is working things out just as he has promised he would. He breathes more slowly than you and me. We want fast but he works slow. When we learn to breathe with him, we can live in peace.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Come to Me
Three simple words. I say a variation of them (come here) to my youngest many times a day. I say it when he is upset and needs to calm down. I say it when he needs a hug. I say it when he is acting up and needs to listen and learn. I say it when he is approaching danger. Come here. It carries a slight different meaning depending on the situation, and my tone usually reflects that, but at its root it always means I am here for you. Let me help you.
The good news is that God is always and forever saying the same thing to us: Come here. Come to me. His tone may differ too, depending on our circumstances and what is keeping us away, but he is always and forever holding out his hands to us and saying, "Come to me."
Come when you are grieving.
Come when you are depressed.
Come when you are drinking too much.
Come when you are angry.
Come when you hate yourself.
Come when you hate your mom, your kids, your sister, your friend.
Come when you are hungover.
Come when you are eating too much.
Come when you want to hurt yourself.
Come when you have burned your bridges.
Come when you are trying to control others.
Come when you are failing a class.
Come when you are thinking about texting your dealer.
Come when you have betrayed your spouse, your friend, your brother.
Come when you have no one else to go to.
Come when you are desperate.
Come when you are in debt.
Come when you are sad.
Come to me.
When kids are little, many issues can be resolved with a hug and a snuggle. You disobeyed me? Let's talk about it while I hold you. Someone at school hurt your feelings? Let me hold you. You're angry and frustrated? Sit with me and tell me about it. Physical closeness fosters emotional closeness and keeps little ones safe, in many ways. When kids get older, that physical closeness wanes, and sometimes the emotional closeness does too. In the space between, things spring up that appear to be in the way of regaining that closeness. This happens between us and God too.
But God goes the whole way for us. He has closed the gap. Turn your head. He is right there.
Turn to him in your depression. Come to him in your failures, betrayals, loneliness, and losses. There is no disqualification. That's why the pharisees hated Jesus so much. They were more interested in seeing people disqualified than connected.
My youngest did something wrong the other day--the kind of thing that requires a lot of teaching and correction. But before any of that, I just wanted to hold him, to let him know it was safe to tell me, to let him know that the connection between us is stronger than mistakes or bad choices.
Come to me, God says. It's an always and forever invitation, and we don't have to do anything or fix anything before we show up.
The good news is that God is always and forever saying the same thing to us: Come here. Come to me. His tone may differ too, depending on our circumstances and what is keeping us away, but he is always and forever holding out his hands to us and saying, "Come to me."
Come when you are grieving.
Come when you are depressed.
Come when you are drinking too much.
Come when you are angry.
Come when you hate yourself.
Come when you hate your mom, your kids, your sister, your friend.
Come when you are hungover.
Come when you are eating too much.
Come when you want to hurt yourself.
Come when you have burned your bridges.
Come when you are trying to control others.
Come when you are failing a class.
Come when you are thinking about texting your dealer.
Come when you have betrayed your spouse, your friend, your brother.
Come when you have no one else to go to.
Come when you are desperate.
Come when you are in debt.
Come when you are sad.
Come to me.
When kids are little, many issues can be resolved with a hug and a snuggle. You disobeyed me? Let's talk about it while I hold you. Someone at school hurt your feelings? Let me hold you. You're angry and frustrated? Sit with me and tell me about it. Physical closeness fosters emotional closeness and keeps little ones safe, in many ways. When kids get older, that physical closeness wanes, and sometimes the emotional closeness does too. In the space between, things spring up that appear to be in the way of regaining that closeness. This happens between us and God too.
But God goes the whole way for us. He has closed the gap. Turn your head. He is right there.
Turn to him in your depression. Come to him in your failures, betrayals, loneliness, and losses. There is no disqualification. That's why the pharisees hated Jesus so much. They were more interested in seeing people disqualified than connected.
My youngest did something wrong the other day--the kind of thing that requires a lot of teaching and correction. But before any of that, I just wanted to hold him, to let him know it was safe to tell me, to let him know that the connection between us is stronger than mistakes or bad choices.
Come to me, God says. It's an always and forever invitation, and we don't have to do anything or fix anything before we show up.
Friday, September 25, 2015
Do You Even Know Where You Are Going?
I am the not-so-proud parent of a five-year-old backseat driver. This can happen when you let your little one ride around in the car as you teach your older children to drive, which is exactly what Son4 has done. So from time to time Son4 asks me questions like these: Are your lights on? What does that sign say? Are you going faster than 60? This generally amuses me, except for when he constantly announces the read-out on the speedometer. But the question that amuses me less is the one when he asks me whether I know where I'm going.
The fact that he has an amazing sense of direction only makes matters worse. If you want to get from Point A to Point B around here, you could probably pop him in the car and he could tell you where to turn. That sense of direction is a wonderful thing, but sometimes I like to take a different route, and that's when we run into trouble. That's when he'll ask me: Do you even know where you're going? Just imagine his voice — it is full of doubt and disdain, like, are you the idiot running the show? This is preposterous of course. I mean — does he?! Furthermore, do I have any interest in getting lost? No. The answer is — Yes, I DO know where I am going.
But in life, I think we ask God this question all the time. We look at the things happening around us, and we think, "Dear God, do you even know where you are going? Do you SEE where we are here?" Honestly, it's a pretty arrogant question, isn't it?
The fact that he has an amazing sense of direction only makes matters worse. If you want to get from Point A to Point B around here, you could probably pop him in the car and he could tell you where to turn. That sense of direction is a wonderful thing, but sometimes I like to take a different route, and that's when we run into trouble. That's when he'll ask me: Do you even know where you're going? Just imagine his voice — it is full of doubt and disdain, like, are you the idiot running the show? This is preposterous of course. I mean — does he?! Furthermore, do I have any interest in getting lost? No. The answer is — Yes, I DO know where I am going.
But in life, I think we ask God this question all the time. We look at the things happening around us, and we think, "Dear God, do you even know where you are going? Do you SEE where we are here?" Honestly, it's a pretty arrogant question, isn't it?
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Idiots?
Sometimes when I read the Bible, I am inclined to think the disciples might have been idiots, but usually I remember that they were just humans, without the benefit of hindsight and a New Testament to explain a few things to them. It must have been awfully confusing traveling around with the Son of God without quite understanding who he was or what he was up to. Let's face it: we have the whole Bible and we still don't really understand the Son of God and what he is up to on Earth.
So the poor disciples often appear utterly faithless. They often seem to be freaking out about something that turns out to be nothing -- which means that the poor disciples appear to be a whole lot like us; and though we might think we'd do better if we had some time to hang out with Jesus, Emmanuel, here in the flesh, I am guessing that is just our ego talking and we wouldn't do any better than they did. I recently read these verses from Matthew 14: Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them [the disciples, in a boat], walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear. But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”
It struck me that much of life is just like the disciples' experience that night. We're just doing our thing -- living our ordinary lives -- and the next thing we know, something scary comes our way: sickness, job loss, relationship troubles, kids making bad choices, etc. And our reactions are the same as the disciples: we are terrified. We don't understand that Jesus is out there on the water and that all circumstances present an opportunity to meet him all over again. I cannot explain your sickness or bankruptcy or divorce or depression or your child's drug use. This world is often a desperate and sad place. I don't have the first idea how God will make a way for these objectively terrible things to work for good, as he says they will. That's the miracle business, and God doesn't need us to see it or understand it in order to make it happen.
Like the disciples, we panic when the unexpected comes our way because we don't yet have the benefit of hindsight and because trust is not our strong suit. But Jesus is on the water, walking toward you. This I DO know. It looks scary, yes, it does. But I hear Jesus saying, "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid."
So the poor disciples often appear utterly faithless. They often seem to be freaking out about something that turns out to be nothing -- which means that the poor disciples appear to be a whole lot like us; and though we might think we'd do better if we had some time to hang out with Jesus, Emmanuel, here in the flesh, I am guessing that is just our ego talking and we wouldn't do any better than they did. I recently read these verses from Matthew 14: Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them [the disciples, in a boat], walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear. But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”
It struck me that much of life is just like the disciples' experience that night. We're just doing our thing -- living our ordinary lives -- and the next thing we know, something scary comes our way: sickness, job loss, relationship troubles, kids making bad choices, etc. And our reactions are the same as the disciples: we are terrified. We don't understand that Jesus is out there on the water and that all circumstances present an opportunity to meet him all over again. I cannot explain your sickness or bankruptcy or divorce or depression or your child's drug use. This world is often a desperate and sad place. I don't have the first idea how God will make a way for these objectively terrible things to work for good, as he says they will. That's the miracle business, and God doesn't need us to see it or understand it in order to make it happen.
Like the disciples, we panic when the unexpected comes our way because we don't yet have the benefit of hindsight and because trust is not our strong suit. But Jesus is on the water, walking toward you. This I DO know. It looks scary, yes, it does. But I hear Jesus saying, "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid."
Monday, February 2, 2015
Eyes to See
In less than three weeks now, Glennon Doyle Melton, creator of Momastery.com will be speaking at our church. I am the lucky (terrified) duck who will be on stage interviewing her. Glennon is remarkable because she has a way of making room for people, a way of inviting them into love. Her blog is like a church itself (or what a church should be) -- a place of community and growth and service and love.
Recently she wrote a blog post entitled Cool Ashes Don't Burn about being a witness to others' pain. She talks about how we all need to be seen and heard and that we all need acknowledgment that our pain is real. This idea resounded with me because it's something we do naturally for our own friends and it's something we sometimes need to have done for us. But I wondered why. What makes this so powerful? And then I thought of Hagar.
Genesis 16 tells the painful story of Hagar, slave to Sarah, and ultimately a second wife to Abraham. Sarah could not conceive, and she was tired of waiting for God's promise to be fulfilled, so she let Abraham take Hagar so that a family could be built that way. But once Hagar was pregnant, she began to despise Sarah, and ultimately Sarah mistreated her. What a mess.
Hagar ran away, and when she was on the run, she ran into God himself. God told Hagar to return to her mistress, but he also gave her some promises about the boy she was carrying in her belly. Hagar obeyed the Lord and returned to Sarah, and she also gave a new name to God: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.”
God saw Hagar's situation -- she was a woman without choices. She was a slave, and she was commanded into a bad situation in which the only possible result would be even worse for her. I find it difficult that God didn't really change things for Hagar -- she was to remain a slave. But God did "see" her, and he did give her a son and promise that her descendants would be too numerous to count.
Sometimes we want God to do more than see, don't we? We want him to DO. To FIX. To CHANGE. I am fairly certain he does that too, just rarely as quickly as we want. He is the God who transforms. The God who transfigures. The God who wastes nothing. The God who makes the bad good. The God who gives us beauty for ashes. But first... First he sees. Glennon's post is a great reminder that we can participate with God in this great thing he does: we can see too.
Recently she wrote a blog post entitled Cool Ashes Don't Burn about being a witness to others' pain. She talks about how we all need to be seen and heard and that we all need acknowledgment that our pain is real. This idea resounded with me because it's something we do naturally for our own friends and it's something we sometimes need to have done for us. But I wondered why. What makes this so powerful? And then I thought of Hagar.
Genesis 16 tells the painful story of Hagar, slave to Sarah, and ultimately a second wife to Abraham. Sarah could not conceive, and she was tired of waiting for God's promise to be fulfilled, so she let Abraham take Hagar so that a family could be built that way. But once Hagar was pregnant, she began to despise Sarah, and ultimately Sarah mistreated her. What a mess.
Hagar ran away, and when she was on the run, she ran into God himself. God told Hagar to return to her mistress, but he also gave her some promises about the boy she was carrying in her belly. Hagar obeyed the Lord and returned to Sarah, and she also gave a new name to God: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.”
God saw Hagar's situation -- she was a woman without choices. She was a slave, and she was commanded into a bad situation in which the only possible result would be even worse for her. I find it difficult that God didn't really change things for Hagar -- she was to remain a slave. But God did "see" her, and he did give her a son and promise that her descendants would be too numerous to count.
Sometimes we want God to do more than see, don't we? We want him to DO. To FIX. To CHANGE. I am fairly certain he does that too, just rarely as quickly as we want. He is the God who transforms. The God who transfigures. The God who wastes nothing. The God who makes the bad good. The God who gives us beauty for ashes. But first... First he sees. Glennon's post is a great reminder that we can participate with God in this great thing he does: we can see too.
Friday, January 9, 2015
All You Don't Have
Years of difficult finances and debt have left me somewhat enslaved to counting the dollars and "figuring things out." It's a terrible way to live, and I've felt trapped there by circumstances with no way out despite my endless "figuring." But last Sunday at church I heard God's unmistakeable voice in my head saying, "Stop counting your resources." It got me thinking about Gideon and self-reliance and miracles.
God charges Gideon with attacking the Midianites, but he also says this about Gideon's army: “You have too many men. I cannot deliver Midian into their hands, or Israel would boast against me, ‘My own strength has saved me.’" (Judges 7:2) Gideon started with an army of over 30,000 men, but ultimately God used an army of 300 to defeat the Midianites.
As American Christians, I think we are big fans of the gospel of self-reliance. We love the idea that God helps those who helps themselves, despite the fact that there's no Bible reference for that one. Grace makes us uncomfortable. Lack of personal responsibility even more so.
I am all about personal responsibility. I love it so much, because if something is up to me, then I can make it happen. If it's someone else's job, well they might not do it. But if it's mine, I know I will. Yes, I just might be a bit of a control-freak workaholic, and God just might have been working on that in me for the past decade or so. The reality is that despite my best efforts, I cannot fix my mess. I don't have the resources to do so. And I am not just talking financial resources. I'm talking about all kinds of resources -- time, emotional reserves, ideas, opportunities, wisdom, love... I cannot resource my way to the changes that need to happen in my life. I don't have what's needed, but God is telling me he doesn't need me to.
Transfiguring things is something we cannot do, but it IS what God does. I come with water, and Jesus makes the wine. It is a miracle, plain and simple. This is what I hear God calling me to. He's saying, "Let me transfigure things. Give me your water, and I will give you wine. See what I can do with all you DON'T have."
I lack the financial resources to change our financial picture in any real way. I lack the emotional reserves to not feel pulled down by difficulty, to live life lightly. I lack the time to devote to writing because I am fixated on the financial resources I need to earn. It's the beginning of a new year, and I feel invited to a miracle. What can God do with all I do not have? We shall see. We shall see.
God charges Gideon with attacking the Midianites, but he also says this about Gideon's army: “You have too many men. I cannot deliver Midian into their hands, or Israel would boast against me, ‘My own strength has saved me.’" (Judges 7:2) Gideon started with an army of over 30,000 men, but ultimately God used an army of 300 to defeat the Midianites.
As American Christians, I think we are big fans of the gospel of self-reliance. We love the idea that God helps those who helps themselves, despite the fact that there's no Bible reference for that one. Grace makes us uncomfortable. Lack of personal responsibility even more so.
I am all about personal responsibility. I love it so much, because if something is up to me, then I can make it happen. If it's someone else's job, well they might not do it. But if it's mine, I know I will. Yes, I just might be a bit of a control-freak workaholic, and God just might have been working on that in me for the past decade or so. The reality is that despite my best efforts, I cannot fix my mess. I don't have the resources to do so. And I am not just talking financial resources. I'm talking about all kinds of resources -- time, emotional reserves, ideas, opportunities, wisdom, love... I cannot resource my way to the changes that need to happen in my life. I don't have what's needed, but God is telling me he doesn't need me to.
Transfiguring things is something we cannot do, but it IS what God does. I come with water, and Jesus makes the wine. It is a miracle, plain and simple. This is what I hear God calling me to. He's saying, "Let me transfigure things. Give me your water, and I will give you wine. See what I can do with all you DON'T have."
I lack the financial resources to change our financial picture in any real way. I lack the emotional reserves to not feel pulled down by difficulty, to live life lightly. I lack the time to devote to writing because I am fixated on the financial resources I need to earn. It's the beginning of a new year, and I feel invited to a miracle. What can God do with all I do not have? We shall see. We shall see.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)