Category Archives: Invitations

On Being Dead (Part 1)

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I’ve noticed there are people who catch on to what Jesus is up to more quickly and completely than me. They get the death-to-life thing, the rebirth, the salvation. They speak with confidence about their wholeness and joy, about Jesus and His ways, about life. Meanwhile, I mainly have a lot of questions, I don’t know what to tell my kids about God, and I’m still wondering what in heaven’s name brings about transformation and the fruit of the Spirit in a person’s life.

Over the last year, death has been a recurring theme in my journal. Not the stop-breathing kind of death, but the spiritual one. An awful lot of verses in the New Testament use death as an analogy for … well, I’m not sure what. Something spiritual. In the book of James, which I zealously underlined the entirety of as a teen, there’s this sin-leads-to-death verse: “But each one is tempted when he is drawn away by his own desires and enticed. Then, when desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, brings forth death.” (James 1:14, 15) As I read this poetic life-cycle illustration—conception, birth, growth, death—I wondered, Do I have desires that “draw me away”? Two came to mind: my desire to appear without fault to everyone (including, and maybe especially, myself); and my desire for life to be happy (or at least predictable). Have these desires conceived and given birth to sin? Heck, it sure feels like giving birth. Conceiving is the easy part. Giving birth is brutal. But, once conception happens, birth is inevitable.

I have enjoyed too much time in bed with a lot of lies, allowing my desire to be without fault to lead me to conceive and birth a child who reminds me every day of my indiscretion. This child is Judgement, Idolatry, Pride (defensiveness), Angry Outbursts at those who inconvenience me, and, well … a bit of Death.

Late last summer I noticed I had a pallor of death. I was seduced by my desires, blind to the fact they fed the lies I tried to stamp out. I made an effort to imprison the lie that my (and everyone’s) value is in productivity and performance, all the while tossing bread crusts into the prison cell. I fought with the sin-child I had conceived—who was growing rapidly—while still getting back in bed with desire.

The thing about dying is that it’s painful and we’d rather not look directly into it. It’s hard to watch death claim anything or anyone—especially when you have carried that thing in your very center for nine months and given birth to it. But when death does take place, there is a sense of finality. When I realize my desires are dead and I have been in bed with a zombie, when I stop tossing bread crusts to the skeletons in the prison cell, then Life leaps to my side almost as if it had been waiting. Words like “spring” and “abundance” move from Biblical vocabulary into experience.

“There is therefore now no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus, who do not walk according to the flesh, but according to the Spirit. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has made me free from the law of sin and death.” Romans 8:1-2

My desire to be without fault has held me in constant condemnation. I have been in bondage to the “law of sin and death,” seeing myself as one giant aberration from righteousness. I have been living always in weakness, meditating continually on all the ways I fall short. I have made life-giving Jesus a sick joke. Hey, you know why Jesus died? Uh, for my sins? No, because God couldn’t legally kill you, so He killed His own Son. That is the voice of condemnation, of damning. Constant meditation on how I fall short siphons Life out of me, leaving me empty and dry. Jesus invites me to Love—a life unadulterated by the habit of constantly looking behind me, keeping tabs on my “progress” and the impression I leave behind.

Living with my mind preoccupied by circumstances—my physical and emotional experience (the desire for life to be smooth), worries about all my interactions with people (the desire to be without fault), and trying to get things right and be in control—is death. And when I say that, I don’t feel I have somehow been naughty for choosing death, but more a sense of relief at having a proper diagnosis. I have felt dead, going through days shackled and gray, a slave to my desires and impulses. I want to be alive.

One evening my husband, Michael, and I read together from Dr. Tim Kimmel’s book, Grace Based Parenting (pro tip: don’t read parenting books). The chapter was about the importance of secure love for children, and what secure love looks like. The next morning I wrote in my journal, “Not only am I a lot dead, I am also blind. I realize I let my kids get away with selfishness and meanness, but come down hard on them for normal kid (human) stuff like making messes or forgetting, because I am blind. If I saw clearly I would act differently.”

Every autumn we have an influx of flies in the house. They start out perky but gradually slow down until you can easily pick them up with your fingers. (I don’t recommend this. I picked one up thinking it was dead, and was scared half to death when it started buzzing in my fingers.) Often I’ll see flies lying upside down, randomly twitching. One morning as I sat praying, I noticed a fly on the windowsill, lying on its back, letting out a spastic buzzing every once in a while. And I thought, My life has been like this fly on the windowsill, alive … but not really. There is no shame in this; instead there is understanding, because that is exactly how I have felt. And just as I have authentically experienced being half-dead, I may authentically experience being fully alive. I was made for this.

“For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit, the things of the Spirit. For to be fleshly minded is death, but to be spiritually minded is life und peace.” (Romans 8:5-6)

Emmanuel Mystery

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On school picture day I was at the private Christian school my girls attend, waiting with my youngest daughter to get her school picture taken. Friday chapel happened to be at that time, so I sat in on it. The guest speaker told the story of a family committed to Sabbath-keeping who was experiencing a plague of grasshoppers that would devour their fields. They stood to lose tens of thousands of dollars because the company spraying for grasshoppers refused to spray their field when asked to work around Sabbath hours. Amazingly, the power lines the length of their property were covered with solid rows of birds Sabbath morning, which descended and ate all the grasshoppers, saving their fields and fortunes.

Stories like this trouble me. Especially when we share them with elementary school children. What exactly are we trying to say? That if we trust God He will make sure everything works out in our favor? That we can pray and expect Him to take care of things in a way that preserves us? What about all the things that don’t work out? And why would God save a field of grain but not save little girls from brothels, or a wife from her husband’s affair, or a Christian from torture and death?

Often my reaction to my inability to see and understand the ways of God is to reduce God’s provision to a cosmic “everything will be alright in the end” platitude. Clearly He’s not making everything alright now, so He must mean that His care and protection are for the race as a whole over the arc of history, and not really for individuals. He must mean that my soul is safe – not my body, or my possessions, or my relationships. He has redeemed me and I trust in Him for my eternal provision, so at least if I am tortured to death, I know my soul is safe with Him. (Unfortunately, I happen to like my body and my life, and I don’t like the idea of being a pawn in a cosmic game.)

But this really feels like a cop-out to me. How can I possibly enjoy an intimate relationship with a Being who I believe doesn’t care for my well-being today? And how do I explain my own experience, that He does care for things as minute as my to-do list and whether I have time to take a shower? How do I explain the times He has provided perfectly the intimacy I was missing in my marriage, or the words to connect with my distraught child? The longer I respond to Him, the more I am convinced that He desires to be present in every moment of my day, every cell of my being, every thought, every need. But while He does provide for me often, He seems more interested in being with me than in fixing everything. This is puzzling to me, because I place high value on things being fixed. In fact, God and I have had some serious altercations about why He has not made me good yet.

So where does this leave me? Certainly I have not answered the questions that millions have been asking for thousands of years. Truthfully, I think God is beyond understanding. His goodness is beyond understanding and I’m certain He is a little crazy for loving me. And when I think about all the badness that is beyond understanding, I just don’t get it. I explain to my kids the story of Satan’s fall, our own fall, and the importance of humans having the power of choice even though it hurts us. But still the evil in the world is unsettling.

For me, in this season, there are two beliefs that comfort me when I think about pain. The first I have already touched on, and that is God’s desire – and His promise – to be with us. I want to be crystal clear that pain is real, and sometimes so deep and raw it threatens to destroy us. It cannot be spoken away, “faithed” away, hidden away. It is part of our experience, and we will feel it, and we will know that we cannot escape it. Sitting in pain, the most comforting, affirming, burden-lightening experience is to have someone sit in it with us. Most of us have a friend or friends who are quick to offer advice, solutions, and fixes for everything in our lives, and we quickly learn not to share struggles and pain with those people. The times I have felt the most safe in my own emotional skin are the times when I was allowed to be in pain, when my experience was affirmed and I knew someone was with me. This is a rare gift.

God is Emmanuel: God with us. He has an incredible capacity for feeling, and He enters into our feelings as an intimate friend. One of my favorite authors, Ty Gibson, calls Him omnipassionate. He is able to feel deeply with each of us. He is present in our pain. There is no pain outside of His desire to be in it with us. He sits with us in deep sorrows, and He is present in the passion of misplacing my phone for the seventh time today. I’m starting to wonder if this is actually better than Him fixing everything. It irritates me just a little to even say that, but my spirit says yes to a God who is with me just to be with me. A God who holds my pain with tenderness and affirmation, and holy presence. A God who is not immune to my pain, but actually feels it with me because He is one with me by His grace. A God who became human so He actually knows what it is like to feel pain as a human.

The second belief that comforts me is that God can somehow undo our pain in the future. If believing God’s presence in pain is hard for me to grasp, trying to understand His ability to work backwards and “undo” pain is even more of a mystery. In the book “The Great Divorce” by C.S. Lewis, one of the characters says, “That is what mortals misunderstand. They say of some temporal suffering, ‘No future bliss can make up for it,’ not knowing that Heaven, once attained, will work backwards and turn even that agony into a glory.” I believe that God’s redemption is for all time. His sacrifice on the cross saved the first humans who breathed, just as it saves us. And if the cross can reach backwards and forwards, maybe heaven can, too.

Consider this passage from Ephesians: “Even before he made the world, God loved us and chose us in Christ to be holy and without fault in his eyes. God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure. So we praise God for the glorious grace he has poured out on us who belong to his dear Son. He is so rich in kindness and grace that he purchased our freedom with the blood of his Son and forgave our sins. He has showered his kindness on us, along with all wisdom and understanding. God has now revealed to us his mysterious will regarding Christ—which is to fulfill his own good plan. And this is the plan: At the right time he will bring everything together under the authority of Christ—everything in heaven and on earth. Furthermore, because we are united with Christ, we have received an inheritance from God, for he chose us in advance, and he makes everything work out according to his plan.” (Eph. 1:4-11, NLT) 

I am ignorant, sinful, selfish and blind, observing an infinite God through a finite lens. My understanding is weak, but I am drawn by Holy Mystery – a God who is here right now, desiring the intimacy of knowing my own feelings as they emerge naked and timid from my heart; a God who desires to extend His love and grace, passion and power to us in order to bring all things and all times under the healing power of His love. We are not left empty handed, holding only a promise, and neither are we held in the moment with no anticipation of future healing. It’s just like Him to offer comfort right now, and hope for the future. 

Maybe I feel unsettled about the farmer and the grasshopper-eating birds because I’m focused on the wheat. I assume God is placing value on the wheat and the money, when in fact He is placing value on His child. He is present in the experience of the farmer. His presence could be birds, peace, wisdom, money. It doesn’t really matter how He shows up. It matters that He shows up. Because He loves you. Emmanuel Mystery.

Give and Receive

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I am guarded with God. As much as I don’t want to admit it, it becomes painfully clear in those moments when I try to trust Him and end up exploding in anger. I’m still not sure He’s safe. Perhaps I am in a lifetime of recovery. Just as alcoholics are forever recovering, perhaps so are sinners.

I keep thinking God is expecting something from me – a life of service perhaps – and He keeps saying, “Let Me provide.” Why am I so convinced He wants to take, when all He has done is give? (And how presumptuous to think that I have anything of objective value to offer the God who made me.)

Always He is present. Always He is safe. Always He wants to be with me and love me, even though it makes no sense. “He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not also with Him freely give us all things?” (Romans 8:32)

Perhaps this giving is an invitation to me to receive. Receiving is different than taking. God is not a shelf from which I can select whatever I need and take it. He is a lover, pursuing me with gifts – blessings – and each time I receive I am entering into intimate relationship with Him. God bless this holy mystery.

Still

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“Be still in the presence of the Lord, and wait patiently for him to act.” Psalm 37:7a

Stillness and I do not have a good relationship. I am a girl who does. While this has benefited me in the workplace, church volunteer positions, and even friend groups, it can be a real thorn in the side of my relationship with God.

I grew up in a home where hard work, productivity, and efficiency were highly valued. Our family rhythms were built largely around work, with rest and play languishing on the sidelines. More than fifteen years after moving out, I am less a slave to productivity, but still a product of my upbringing. As I sit here writing on the porch swing, a hot cup of tea beside me, I can feel the tension of the un-done things, but I also know the pleasure of taking this time to breathe the fresh air, feel the keys beneath my fingers, and enjoy writing and sipping tea (actually, I tend to let my tea cool and then chug since that is more efficient).

Over the last couple of years I have courageously cleared my schedule and said no to many things I would have said yes to before. I have come to enjoy a day with nothing on the calendar (this was previously terrifying). While I am tremendously grateful for this journey away from doing for the sake of doing, sometimes I am not sure what I am moving toward. Often I feel even the unscheduled days rush by without me in them. I have created space, but I don’t know how to live in it. I don’t know how to be still.

As I wrestled this past week with my monthly allotment of female hormones – which often send me back to the comfort of being productive – God invited me to be still. The word “invited” is intentional, because for do-ers like me, advice or requests ruin intimacy. I will run off to perform and miss the opportunity to connect. Jesus knows me, and He speaks words of invitation to my trembling, ready-to-please soul, that allow me to be still: “Let Me be your provider. My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness. (2 Cor. 12:9) You don’t need your kids and husband and other people around you to keep you happy, or your performance to be your reward. Bring everything to Me. Let Me be your provider. Be still. Wait on Me. Give thanks. Hold fast. Find contentment in watching me provide.”

There is something about believing God will provide that frees me to be present. If He is providing, then I don’t have to get everything right. If He is providing, worrying and planning can step down from their positions as chairman and CEO in my brain. If He is providing, I can be still. Stillness is still a discovery for me. Sometimes it is sitting in the quiet of the morning, in front of an open window, listening to the leaves rustling and the birds chirping. Sometimes it is recognizing my brokenness and talking to Jesus about it. Sometimes it is singing “He’s got the whole world in His hands,” and replacing “whole world” with whatever it is that is worrying me. Often is remembering that He loves me. For no good reason, really. And He even likes me. There is something restful about being loved and liked.

Maybe faith is letting God be God. He loves me crazy. He owns the cattle on a thousand hills. (Psalm 50:10) What makes me think I need to exercise or manipulate Him? My part is to thank Him, praise Him, worship Him, watch Him, and be still. Still so I can feel the wind of His Spirit whisper against my heart. Still so I can hear His voice. Still so I can watch my children playing. Still so I can sit beside my husband and not be doing something. Still so the intensity of God’s love for me rises above the intensity of the unrelenting problem-solving and rabbit-trailing and ugly-worrying going on in my head. Still so I will know when He begins to move. Still because it is the strongest stand I can take against wearing the rags I have earned by my own righteousness. (Isaiah 64:6) Still because sometimes the Lord wants me to have a front-row seat as He fights the battle for me. Still because I don’t need to catch up with God. He is right here. Still because if God isn’t using both hands to hold me strong from my flailing performance of doing and striving, maybe He can do something else for me. Still because running ahead is lonely. Still because squirming and fighting is getting tiresome. Still because He is God and I am not, and what a relief!

Stillness may be the antidote to my perfectionism. Even the voices that scold me for not being present in the spaces in my life must be silenced by stillness. Stillness allows me to feel, but not to be overwhelmed by my feelings. It allows me a measure of comfort in the tension of living life in a broken body in a broken world. It invites me to hope in the good things my Provider has spread before me. It allows me to be as I am. Stillness in the presence of God is safe and holy and intimate.

Today I Can Breathe

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Today I can breathe deep because when tonight comes God will not love me any more or less than He does this morning.

“God loves people because of who God is, not because of who we are.”

-Philip Yancey, in his book “What’s So Amazing About Grace?”

Today I can breathe deep because God is in charge and I am not.

“He’s got the whole world in His hands. He’s got the whole world in His hands…”

-traditional American spiritual

Today I can breathe deep because God is bigger.

“…Just a whisper of your voice can tame the seas
So who am I to try to take the lead
Still I run ahead and think I’m strong enough
When you’re the one who made me from the dust

When did I forget that you’ve always been the king of the world?
I try to take life back right out of the hands of the king of the world
How could I make you so small
When you’re the one who holds it all
When did I forget that you’ve always been the king of the world…”

-from the song “King of the World” sung by Natalie Grant

Today I can breathe deep because I am already victorious and righteous in Christ.

“The Spirit of God, who raised Jesus from the dead, lives in you. And just as God raised Christ Jesus from the dead, he will give life to your mortal bodies by this same Spirit living within you.”

-Romans 8:11, Holy Bible, New Living Translation

Today I can breathe deep because it’s not about me. Even if I get everything wrong today, I am still loved and God is still at work.

“The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
His mercies never cease.
Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each morning.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance;
therefore, I will hope in him!”

The Lord is good to those who depend on him,
to those who search for him.
So it is good to wait quietly
for salvation from the Lord.”

-Lamentations 3:22-26, Holy Bible, New Living Translation

Today I can breathe deep because grace multiplies.

“The struggling of fleshly efforts won’t deliver anyone, but God’s grace never fails. If you have big problems, remember that His grace is always sufficient to meet every weakness (2 Cor. 12:9). God does not just offer us grace, but He offers us grace, grace, and more grace. His supply is bountiful; no matter how much we use there is always plenty more.”

Joyce Meyer, in her book ” If Not for the Grace of God”

Today I can breathe deep because I am enough.

“No matter how much I get done, or is left undone, at the end of the day I am enough.”

-Brené Brown

Today I can breathe deep because God will never leave me or forsake me (Deut. 31:6). I will never at any moment be alone.

“I’ve heard a thousand stories of what they think you’re like
But I’ve heard the tender whispers of love in the dead of night
And you tell me that you’re pleased
And that I’m never alone.
You’re a good good father
It’s who you are, it’s who you are, it’s who you are
And I’m loved by you
It’s who I am, it’s who I am, it’s who I am…”
      -from the song “Good Good Father” sung by Chris Tomlin

Fear of Parenting, Part 2

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As I explored in my previous post – Fear of Parenting, Part 1 – parenting has undone me in many ways. The truth is, I was already selfish and overwhelmed and angry, I just didn’t see it until I became a parent. This wide revelation of my inner self often leaves me feeling naked and ashamed. Yet I am confident this is not where God intends me to remain, because He says things like “So now there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 8:1)

When I state in plain words the things I am thinking and believing (the lies listed in my previous post), it gets really clear how far my head and heart are from the truth. This provides the opportunity to explore with the Holy Spirit what the truth is. As I have done that, these truths have emerged:

  • There is not one right answer. Perfect parenting is not the goal. It’s ok. Jesus is here with us.
  • God’s power to redeem is much greater than my power to destroy.
  • Enough faith to come to Jesus is enough faith to be healed by Jesus.
  • I CAN change. But where I’m going is God’s work in me. I am neither a slave to bad behavior or good behavior. I am free in grace.
  • The only thing that recommends me to Jesus is my great need.
  • Mistakes are not preventable. They are normal. They are evidence of showing up and living life.
  • The goal of parenting is to love my children (imperfectly) and model trusting Jesus (also imperfectly).
  • God gave me the full range of emotions. None of them are bad. He experiences them all too. I am made in His image.
  • I am exactly where I need to be. I can rest now (NOT after I become a “better” parent). Jesus’ fullness is the perfect match for my emptiness.
  • I don’t have to be ashamed. His mercies are new every morning. There is grace, grace, and more grace.
  • I can give myself permission to be calm and centered after a difficult day or experience (i.e. parenting fail). I don’t have to wallow in the bad (God has no desire to punish me). I can move on, grateful for grace and the newness of the moment.
  • There will always be problems and unresolved issues in parenting. I can welcome them, knowing 1) they are normal, 2) there is not one right answer, and 3) Jesus is walking me through them.
  • My children are not disrespecting me and acting like brainless wild creatures on purpose. They are weak, desiring my love and guidance.

Isn’t it nice that Jesus doesn’t think I’m acting like a brainless wild creature on purpose, but instead moves closer to me to love and guide me? Every now and then he reminds me not to take myself too seriously. Perfectionism has a way of turning every moment of life into an opportunity to be “right.” That much pressure is bound to make even the best of us into the worst versions of ourselves. When I feel overwhelmed, it helps to imagine my Savior smiling at me and reminding me, “Don’t take yourself too seriously.” No condemnation.

I still struggle with feeling that I am ruining my children. I joke that we have a therapy fund for the hours of therapy they will one day need in order to recover from growing up in our home. But somehow softening the edges of my struggle is the truth that it’s not about me, and it’s not about perfection. Someone Bigger is in charge, and He is God, which means I don’t have to be. He is Big and I am small. He is Creator, I am created. He is Redeemer, I am redeemed. He is Perfect, I am flawed. He is Potter, I am clay. And He is all this to my children as well. I cannot mess anything up so badly that He cannot redeem it. This is truth, this is freedom.

 

Fear of Parenting, Part 1

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I find none of life’s daily challenges as terrifying as parenting. And I’m terrified of being terrified, knowing that as I white-knuckle my way through each day I am teaching my children white-knuckling instead of grace. As a parent I feel inadequate, exposed, undone. I have so many layers of guilt and shame I don’t know where to begin, so I stand helplessly and watch myself flailing in the discomfort of inadequacy. My decisions are often motivated by paralyzing fear, anger, and trying to control all the things that are making me uncomfortable: noises, messes, big emotions, sibling rivalry. I see my imperfections and find myself powerless to correct them as I fumble through each day blindly groping for something that will make me feel acceptable.

In February of this year I wrote in my prayer journal, “I really believe deep inside that I’m going to get it wrong most of the time and there’s nothing I can do about it; and I am extremely fearful and uncomfortable about that. I also think the truth is going to be just as depressing and difficult as the lies. I don’t have much hope to be set free.”

My older daughter will turn seven this fall. This discomfort with parenting has been developing for a significant portion of my life. It has brought about major changes in my spiritual journey and my marriage, and for the most part I view that positively. For some reason, I find it most difficult to face the changes it is precipitating in me personally. I grieve the successful, confident, accomplished person I believed myself to be before I had children. With Paul I say, “Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death?” (Romans 7:24)

Then Paul says, “Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord” (Romans 7:25a). Is it really that simple? Is Jesus really enough for this? After following Him my whole life, I have just expressed that I don’t have much hope to be set free from this parenting mess. I feel trapped: I fear the lies. I fear the truth. I am afraid of the mess that I am, and also afraid of Jesus.

My counselor says to identify what I am thinking. As uncomfortable as it is to wallow in my feelings, it is even more unnerving to enter into my thoughts. However, it is also very revealing, because in my thoughts I find the lies that are feeding my shame and fear. Over time and through a couple of different processes, I have identified over forty of my toxic thoughts about parenting.  They seem to fall into three categories: 

  • HOW THINGS SHOULD BE

  • Most – if not all – of my parenting interactions should be positive and turn out well.
  • Calm, clean and quiet are signs of a good home.
  • The goal of parenting – both in individual interactions and as a whole – is good behavior and happy outcomes.
  • Parenting is the most important thing in life to get right. It’s terrible not to be emotionally safe, empathetic, consistent, good at being present, a fun playmate, etc.
  • Crying is bad. Yelling is bad. Anger is bad.
  • I will have less problems if I get it “right.” There won’t be scary situations or loose ends. Someday I’ll have it all figured out.
  • It is important to feel bad, guilty, and ashamed when I make a mistake or when my kids behave in a way that reflects my unhealthy patterns.

  • I AM DOING IT WRONG

  • I have ruined the identity of my children by giving them so many wrong messages at a young age. I have done a lot of irreversible damage.
  • I get it wrong most of the time, and that is going to have long term (perhaps eternal) consequences.
  • I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to be there for my children.   
  • Interactions with my children are scary. I want to get them “right” but I don’t know how.
  • All the ways my children “misbehave” means something is wrong with me or them and I need to fix it.

  • I CAN’T CHANGE

  • I won’t ever be free or healthy. People don’t change. I’m trapped in bad parenting and its consequences.
  • My success is based on my own merit and abilities – the outlook is dim.
  • Outcomes are the most important thing, and they depend on my being a “good” parent, which I currently am not.

It is these thoughts that leave me feeling deflated, helpless, and less-than. If these are not true, then what is? Is there really hope in Jesus? Can I actually change, or is that just a carrot dangled by religious zealots who want me to follow their God? Is a God who allows me to ruin my children worth believing in?

I’m not sure I have the answers to all those questions, but I have two experiences to share in closing. First, on Mother’s Day this year, when someone told me I was a good mom I didn’t inwardly cringe. For the first time since my daughter was born, I was able to take the compliment, believing it to be true. This to me is evidence of the power of Jesus against all the lies. Second, through a month-long process of combatting lies with truths, I reached this conclusion, not just in my thoughts, but also – on most days – in my feelings: I am able to do this job God has given me. I don’t have to hide behind productivity and to-do lists. I don’t have to be ashamed or overwhelmed. I can give myself permission to be all in. There is something beautiful about having permission to be all in. And maybe if I keep giving myself permission to be all in, my children will learn to come out of hiding too.

[In “Fear of Parenting, Part 2” I’ll discuss some of the truths that are setting me free. To understand more of my journey regarding whether Jesus changes us, and whether hope in Him is well-founded, see pretty much all of my other blog posts! In a nutshell, He’s not really that worried about my good behavior, and the freedom He offers does not consist in me becoming a perfect parent.]

Lies, #4

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I have an addiction to confess. I am addicted to good behavior. If you have read any of my other blog posts, this is probably not a surprise. I have been a Pharisee, and even if I have not kept all the rules as well as Paul and many of the leaders in Jesus’ time, I have longed to. Do not be deceived: this addiction is not less awful than addictions to substances, screens, and all those “bad” things that usually come to mind when we hear the word “addiction.” Spiritually, I find myself as depraved as the worst criminal.

I have tried yearly, monthly, daily, hourly, to leave my perfection and performance mindset behind, and still it haunts me. Still I want to be perfect… or at least better. Still I fall from glimpses of grace back into the comfort of commandment-following. This lie from my childhood still shackles me: Less than perfect is not acceptable. Practice makes perfect. No effort must be spared to reach perfection.

As I first began grappling with this two winters ago, the Holy Spirit’s response to the lie was this: Perfection is a harsh taskmaster and an unreachable ideal. You are already perfect in Me; the rest will come as you follow Me. It is not your job, but Mine in you. Your job is to rest and trust. I will help you remember grace, for yourself and for others. Practice love, not tasks. Over these two years the Spirit has continued to soften my heart and set me free, despite me oscillating between protesting His work and demanding that He do it faster. 

Recently I was reminded of Rick Warren’s opening line in his book “The Purpose Driven Life.” He says simply, “It’s not about you.” When I hear that I bristle. I feel afraid, unimportant, and indignant. Jesus died for me because He places highest value on my life and freedom, didn’t He? If it’s not about me, what is it about? And won’t I get lost and trampled on if it’s not about me?

Slowly, so very slowly, I am learning to trust Jesus. As I trust, I find many of the things that seem unpalatable about His message are actually where soul-deep freedom awaits me. So what is He telling me with “It’s not about me”? It’s not about me in the sense that I don’t have to get my act together in order for God to do great things. God bears fruit through me as I connect to Him. I’ve heard this all my life, but I’ve missed two things: 1) what God has in mind is great – infinitely greater than what I could accomplish in a lifetime, even if He were to make me perfect today; and 2) it doesn’t depend on me becoming a better person – He is able to do incredible things in and through me precisely because it’s not about me. (If it was about me He would never be able to do the things He claims He can do). Rather than that statement being lonely or fearful, it’s freeing. It takes the pressure off. At last I can breath! It’s not about me.

As Joyce Meyer explains so well in her book “If Not for the Grace of God,” we don’t earn salvation – we receive it just as we are – and God’s work in our life after salvation is exactly the same. It doesn’t depend on my merit at all. It is His work. I think this line in Philip Yancey’s book “What’s So Amazing About Grace?” sums it up beautifully: “The opposite of sin is grace, not virtue.” Pharisaical as I have been, I thought virtue was the goal. As it turns out, God is not focused on the mess that I am. He is ready to do great things! And His grace is the power to do those things.

Here I am Lord, weak, willing, desiring Your work more than mine. This is nothing short of a miracle.

Lies, #3

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I find safety in conformity. I feel afraid of diversity. There is something really uncomfortable for me about interacting with someone who may be hard of seeing or hearing, or who has unusual behaviors or a mental disorder. I don’t know what the rules are. Perhaps if love was the rule I could navigate alright, despite my apparent lack of understanding. But I don’t operate well at that level. I desire clearly defined roles and expectations.

One of the lies I have believed from childhood is this: What you think or feel is only ok when it is the same as what I think or feel. Alternatively, if I can understand how you might think or feel that way, there is a slight possibility for it to be ok even if we are not in agreement. But if what you think or feel doesn’t make sense to me it couldn’t possibly be valid. This goes for desires, tastes and preferences, and so on.

And so I go through life judging others, and assuming they are judging me. I believe that what I feel is not valid unless other people share the same feeling, or unless I can logically defend my feeling. (By the way, logically defending feelings has been a fruitless exercise). I question myself, and I feel discomfort within my own self because I don’t follow my own rules and expectations. How do I reconcile with the mess that I am? How will I interact with people who follow different rules than I do?

The Holy Spirit’s answer to my lie is this: What you think, feel, desire, prefer, and enjoy delights me. I love that all my children are different. Your experience is valid. You don’t need to explain or justify to me why you like or dislike something, want to do something or go somewhere, desire or enjoy something, or feel a particular feeling. You do not have to agree with me in thought and/or action in order for me to be pleased with you. I am pleased with you and I delight in you.

Could I let God be big enough that He can delight in me AND in the person who disagrees with me? Is it possible that what seems mutually exclusive to me is not mutually exclusive to God? Perhaps there is more value in the human experience than in its definition. Maybe part of abundant life is living free from the need to measure up, to hustle, to conform. God is pleased with me and He delights in me. I am enough. Today I can rest. Not after I become a “better” person. Right now. You and I are already in His favor. And so are the “others” in our lives.

Small

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Today I failed. One daughter forgot her lunch, and in the disappointment of losing 40 minutes of my morning to fetch a lunch, I lost it. I called her lunch stupid. I said I was angry. I said I didn’t know if I would even go back and get it for her. Of course after the failure came the even worse mire of shame, and the threat of wallowing through it for the rest of my day. As I drove in the quiet, I cursed at God and begged Him for help all in the same breath. I cried. I wished hormones were not raging. I desperately asked for help over and over, because I knew I needed help and that was about all I could get out.

Navigating failure is not my strong suit. But there’s something you should know about God. He’s not limited by our smallness. A prayer for help is powerful. He met me this morning, and He soothed my heart. He held me as I felt the pain of hurting my child with lashing words. He gave me strength to take responsibility so I can apologize. He encouraged me to tell my daughter I am still learning that it’s ok to make mistakes. He helped me let go of those 40 minutes I felt so angry about.

Sometimes I think I am getting better at life. Or faith. Or parenting. Or something. Maybe I’m figuring things out. I think I have done something good. Or gotten something right. I start thinking I have developed some merit and strength, and I lean on that instead of God. The beauty of failing is that it immediately returns my focus to God. It reminds me that every good thing comes from God (i.e. not me).

Let me never think that I have things figured out, that I know what I’m doing, or that I am able to do God’s work. What He is offering me is divine, not human. It will always be His work, because it is a work no human could ever do. May I not make it smaller so I can have the power. May I always let it be as magnificent as it is, and may I always see my smallness. If ever I feel I have figured it out, let that be a sign that I left God behind. I am the created, and He the creator. I will rejoice in failure, because when I remember I am small, I allow God to be big.