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Color Changing Faith

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Color Changing Faith

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe,
for changing light, reminding me that what I see
is both an object, and the light that shines on it.

Blessed are You for trees
green at midday, black at dusk;
for mountains like theater backdrops—
textureless gray, lively blues and browns,
white, or black—a daily show.

Blessed are You for shadows
dividing our world into darks and lights,
for rain that paints everything shiny,
and sun that re-paints with a matte finish.

Blessed are You for shifting colors,
reminding us that what we see—
of You and ourselves, scripture and stories,
human words and action—
changes with the light, allowing nuance
or even black and white.

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe,
for a physical world of changing appearances,
allowing us to release the need
for a spiritual world of unchanging appearance,
to embrace shadows
or the shock of seeing the same thing
in a quite different color,
the beauty of unfolding life.

Books I read in 2022

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Favorite new-to-me Author: Barbara Brown Taylor

  • Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith
  • An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith
  • Holy Envy: Finding God in the Faith of Others

As I review the list of books I read last year, I am reminded of God’s propensity to show up with impeccable timing. My introduction to Barbara Brown Taylor was one such instance. Last year my sister connected me with Writing for Your Life, and I considered attending one of their conferences featuring Barbara Brown Taylor as a speaker. I wasn’t familiar with her so I decided to order one of her books—see if I might like (or dislike) her writing. The book I ordered was Leaving Church, an appropriate title, given that our family had recently stepped down from six years in house church leadership.

When I start writing quotes on note cards, I know I’ve found a favorite new author. I felt seen and affirmed as I read Barbara’s story. Here are samples from my note cards:

“I had kept my soul so hitched to the plow that it stood between the traces even after the harness was off, oiled, and hung on the wall.”

“If you decide to live on the fire that God has kindled inside of you instead of rushing out to find some sticks to rub together, then it does not take long for all sorts of feelings to come out of hiding.”

“I decided to take a rest from trying to be Jesus … Today I will take a break from trying to save the world and enjoy my blessed swath of it instead. I will give thanks for what is instead of withholding my praise until all is as it should be. If I get good enough at this, I may even be able to include my sorry self in the bargain.”

So good.

After Leaving Church, I read An Altar in the World, which again coincided with a turning point in my life—or maybe created that turning point. The final chapter is about blessing, a topic I had never heard of, despite the word’s frequent appearance in Scripture and around the dinner table. Barbara wrote, “The most ordinary things are drenched in divine possibility.” I was captivated. I began writing blessings, beginning each with the phrase, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe.” I have found joy as I discover the divine in dirt and desire, bodies and brokenness, tears and trees. I have written nearly thirty blessings, and post one to my blog and social media every Monday. This has been an exciting journey for me into the world of poetry. Even more amazing, it has opened my eyes to the wonders of the natural world and of daily experiences, in a way I never thought possible.

Next I read Holy Envy: Finding God in the Faith of Others, a continuation of Barbara’s personal faith story, and an invitation to God’s presence in the people and practices of faiths other than Christianity. An excellent read.

Fiction and Stories

  • Run To Overcome: The Inspiring Story of an American Champion’s Long-Distance Quest to Achieve a Big Dream, by Meb Keflezighi with Dick Patrick
  • Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption, by Bryan Stevenson
  • Nobody Don’t Love Nobody: Lessons on Love from the School With No Name, by Stacey Bess
  • Overcomer, by Chris Fabry, a novelization based on the motion picture by Alex Kendrick and Stephen Kendrick
  • Carry On, Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, by Glennon Doyle Melton

Short notes on these:

Run to Overcome My favorite part was the first couple of chapters, detailing the author’s early life in Eritrea, and the determination of his parents to seek out a new life for their large family.

Just Mercy This story demonstrates what compassion and empathy, justice and mercy look like with skin on. I highly recommend it. (The movie is good too).

Nobody Don’t Love Nobody Another flesh-and-blood illustration of compassion, this is a moving story that forever changed the way I view helping others.

Overcomer Enjoyable read. Based on the movie, which I also enjoyed.

Carry On, Warrior One of the qualities I most admire in writing is the ability to put one’s inner world into words. Glennon Doyle Melton has a gift for this. Carry On, Warrior was a funny, refreshing and personally challenging read.

Spiritual and Self-Help Books

  • Barking to the Choir: The Power of Radical Kinship, by Gregory Boyle
  • Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion, by Gregory Boyle
  • Almost Everything: Notes on Hope, by Anne Lamott
  • Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith, by Anne Lamott
  • The Making of a Mystic: My Journey With Mushrooms, My Life as a Pastor, and Why It’s Okay for Everyone to Relax, by Kevin Sweeney
  • Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone, by Brené Brown
  • MOMumental: Adventures in the Messy Art of Raising a Family, by Jennifer Grant
  • The Hidden Half of the Gospel: How His Suffering Can Heal Yours, by Paul Coneff with Lindsey Gendke
  • No Cure for Being Human (and Other Truths I Need to Hear), by Kate Bowler
  • Free From Sin: The Audacious Claim of Gospel Freedom and What It Means for You, by Jonathan Leonardo
  • No Longer I: The Power of the Gospel Like You Have Never Heard It Before, by Jacob Hotchkiss
  • Grace Based Parenting: Set Your Family Free, by Tim Kimmel

I’ve ordered these books by how much I enjoyed them (starting with the most enjoyable). I won’t comment on every one.

Gregory Boyle and Anne Lamott were my favorite new authors in 2021. I continued reading them this year and was not disappointed.

The Making of a Mystic caught my eye because Gregory Boyle often quotes the great mystics, but I had no idea what a mystic is. When I watched this book interview with Kevin Sweeney, author of The Making of a Mystic, I was intrigued. I ordered the book and read with rapture. It is a fascinating personal story, and an invitation to a new way of seeing, well, everything.

Brené Brown is a longtime favorite author. I thoroughly enjoyed Braving the Wilderness. Here is one of my favorite passages, from the chapter titled, “Hold Hands. With Strangers.” (emphasis added)

While we may all be gathered behind the same bunkers of political or social belief and ideology, we’re still alone in them. And even worse, we’re constantly monitoring ourselves. The looming threat of blowback should we voice an opinion or idea that challenges our bunker mates keeps us anxious. When all that binds us is what we believe rather than who we are, changing our mind or challenging the collective ideology is risky.

When a group or community doesn’t tolerate dissent and disagreement, it forgoes any experience of inextricable connection. There is no true belonging, only an unspoken treaty to hate the same people. This fuels our spiritual crisis of disconnection.

MOMumental is a humble and humorous collection of stories about Jennifer Grant’s parenting adventures. It is encouraging, which every parenting book should be if at all possible. I fell in love with Jennifer’s children’s books—especially Maybe God Is Like That Too—which led me to try one of her books for women. This is one of those books I wish I’d read six or seven years ago, when I needed more moments of grace to survive preschool parenting.

The Hidden Half of the Gospel, Free From Sin, and No Longer I were theological reads, with which I developed a love-hate relationship. I found life-giving ideas that resonated with my personal journey. I also found a prescriptive way of speaking that triggered my shame-based, black-and-white patterns of thinking. I take full credit for this, as I would not say any of them endorse shame and legalism. It was simply a manner of speaking that was at times triggering for me.

In conclusion, I am not the same person I was a year ago, and that is due in part to many of these books. Reading good writing is a thrill, as are the “me too” moments, and the “I’d never thought of it that way before” moments. Reading opens me, and oh, how I want to be open. Here’s to another year of reading, another year of intimacy with beautiful, broken people.

On Being Dead (Part 3)

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I remember a moment when I strongly identified with the phrase, “sinner saved by grace.” Yes, I thought, this is the most accurate description of me. I am a sinner. I am also saved by grace. Simultaneously.

Now I’m not so sure.

In the post-gospel New Testament (Acts-Revelation), the words “sinner” or “sinners” are found 13 times. The word “sin” appears 90 times. Perhaps sin is more of a condition than an identity. More of an act than an actuality.

Nearly half (43) of those 90 occurrences of the word “sin” are in Romans, and 39 are in chapters five through eight. The words “dead” or “death” occur 37 times in those same four chapters. Is there a correlation between sin and death? As I read and re-read, highlight, and scratch my head, I notice two distinct connections, one with which I am very familiar, and the other which I have noticed only recently.

The first connection I see between sin and death is that sin leads to, or results in, death. All four chapters (Romans 5-8) speak to this dynamic, including the well-known verse, “For the wages of sin is death …” (Romans 6:23a).

The second connection I notice between sin and death is that death disconnects a person from sin. Dying quite literally makes it impossible to sin. Chapter 6 most fully addresses this:

“How shall we who died to sin live any longer in it?” (v. 2)
“… our old man was crucified with Him, that the body of sin might be done away with …” (v. 6)
“For he who has died has been freed from sin.” (v. 7)
“For the death that He died, He died to sin once for all … Likewise you also, consider yourselves to be dead indeed to sin …” (v. 10, 11)
“For sin shall not have dominion over you …” (v. 14)
“And having been set free from sin, you became slaves of righteousness.” (v. 18)
“But now having been set free from sin …” (v. 22)

What I’m hearing is that Jesus died for me, but not in the traditional sense that he had to “pay.” Rather, death is the only way to conclude sin, and Jesus died to gift me that decisive, deadly conclusion.

I died. I can no longer sin. Therefore my identity is not “sinner.” I am not a sinner. I am dead to sin and free from sin. The only purpose of having an awareness of sin was that it showed me I was turning gray, showed me the morbid path I travelled. Jesus stepped in to my lifeless pallor and saw it through to its end, death. In receiving His death as a gift, I claim my identity of righteous daughter.

Paul suggests I am now a slave of righteousness. I’m not entirely comfortable with such strong language. But I am intrigued by the possibility that the power that sinful behavior previously had in my life has been replaced by the power righteousness now has in my life. I am free—to do what is loving and holy and true. I am free—to not do what is selfish and common, empty and false. I am empowered by the mind and spirit of Christ in me. Righteousness is my impulse, my instinct, the way I am compelled to act.

Christians have a great following with the “you are a sinner” gospel because it is true to human experience, to our flesh. But flesh is really just all the lies we have believed about who we are. Rather than giving life, this gospel affirms that I am what I feared—a broken person who can’t stop behaving hurtfully.

I never once wondered if I was going to heaven when I died, but I wondered every day what the hell was wrong with me. As a “sinner saved by grace,” heaven was the only good I could see coming out of the gospel. Not very many people—and especially not me—seemed truly alive.

Death was my promised certificate of achievement, the consummation of my life lived in lies. But God took my death certificate and tore it up. “Forget that,” He said, “in my house we deal in life. Here is your life certificate.” Beneath “Life Certificate,” written in a glowing script, the paper reads, This is to certify that Tobi Danielle Goff is 100% alive, and her state of being is characterized by abundance, growth, righteousness, and luminescence.

Paul says my lied-to mind was “enmity against God; for it [was] not subject to the law of God, nor indeed [could] be.” (Romans 8:7, emphasis added) I could not remain as I was and be fully alive. I was stuck, wondering how to die to self, not realizing it was already done. As Dan Mohler observed, “Preacher’ll say, ‘This’ll cost you everything.’ Everything you were never created to be! … Why not activate faith and let go of the lie and test out truth? You’ll be wondering why you didn’t die a long time ago, ‘cause living without that is like being dead already.”1

Paul wrote, “… if Christ is in you, the body is dead because of sin, but the Spirit is life because of righteousness.” (Romans 8:10) At this point I get a little confused. Am I dead or alive? Did I need to die, or was I already dead? Or was I already alive and I just didn’t know it? Take your pick. My process seems to have roughly happened this way: 1) I noticed my spirit and life were dead-ish, 2) I realized I was thinking and acting in ways that produce death, 3) I wanted to die but I didn’t know how, 4) God invited me into death and the quietness of the tomb with Him, 5) I realized I didn’t need to do or not do anything—life, death, and resurrection were already accomplished for me, 6) I agreed with God—and continue to agree, over and over— that I am His righteous daughter.

I’ve heard “dying to self” described as a continual, painful process. Maybe it is, but I find that wildly intimidating. Especially if I’m supposed to come up with the courage to die every day. But if, in Jesus, my death was already accomplished, then “dying daily” is simply agreeing with what is already done. It is acknowledgement of a new state of affairs. It is acceptance of a gift.

I often say, “God does the heavy lifting.” If I’m carrying a heavy load, chances are I misunderstand. If the burden isn’t light, chances are I’ve put on my work jeans and pulled the wheelbarrow out for some unnecessary hauling. As Matthew Pierce aptly noted, “Jesus and I can’t both pay the price for my mistakes.”2

“Living in the Spirit” is another way of saying I agree with God. When I agree with God my old view of me (broken, sinner) dies, and I get a new view: righteous daughter. I am meant to be alive in a greater sense than my physical aliveness, and there’s something about wholeness that’s invigorating. Something about finding my God-created spirit buried under lies, dusting it off, and rejoicing because I have found treasure. This treasure doesn’t sustain me from the outside, like money or sunshine or my favorite sweater; it sustains me from the inside, like being chosen first when I’m not the best, like holding hands, like finding out I belong.

Endnotes:
1 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ngfEH7_8FGY&ab_channel=CityCenterChurch
2 https://mpierce.substack.com/p/all-of-my-sins-are-because-of-elon

What I Forgot to Learn From Birds and Babies

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“Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” (Matthew 6:26, NKJV)

“The early bird gets the worm,” we say; but God provides for all the birds. And Jesus lauded them not for getting up early, but for receiving what they need when they need it; not for sowing, reaping, and gathering into barns, but for partaking in the provision of their Creator. “Look at the lilies,” He said, “they neither toil nor spin; yet even King Solomon in all his glory was not dressed like one of these.” (see Matthew 6:28, 29)

“For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you again the first principles… you have come to need milk and not solid food.” (Hebrews 5:12, NKJV)

Feeling offended by this assessment from the writer of Hebrews, I have rushed to grow up, skipping the part where I am dependent on my Father; the part where I trust because trust is all I know and all I have. I am a toddler convinced that I’m 18. I’ve made it out of the house, onto the street with my bag of snacks, and I’m very proud of myself. When a car approaches, I don’t even know to feel afraid until it has nearly killed me—when I feel the rumble of the engine in my chest, hear the screeching tires, feel the heat.

“How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, but you were not willing!” (Luke 13:34b, NKJV)

Perhaps this is when I consider embracing my status as toddler in my Father’s house. Streets can come later. Now is the season of still-warm folded laundry; a booster seat pulled up to a laden table; being carried when I get tired; handed a sippy-cup when I am thirsty. This is a time to relish the dependance that goes hand in hand with abundant provision.

“‘I will be a Father to you, and you shall be my sons and daughters,’ says the Lord Almighty.” (2 Corinthians 6:18, NKJV)

An Unusual Homecoming

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It has been ten weeks since I last posted. I was in a rhythm of writing, Bible study, small groups, and daily responsibilities. Then one of the kids was home sick most of one week, the other kid the next week, and the first kid again the following week. I got Covid and the girls were promptly and unceremoniously sent home from school. Two days later I received a voicemail saying they could come back to school wearing masks.

Ten days after I tested positive, Michael and the girls followed suit, so the kids were home for an entire week. I cleared my schedule. I felt good about the increased flexibility I noticed in myself, which allowed me to be available to the kids. At the same time though, I’d been distant with Michael all month, and wondered why he hadn’t complained. Should I accept this lack of stress in our relationship with gratitude, or worry that something is brewing?

It has been a long two months, unexpected in so many ways—in my heart, my schedule, my relationships. I feel fragile. I feel courageous. I wonder if I am growing up. I wonder at the beautiful people God has placed around me.

I missed (both meanings of the word) prayer group and Bible study because I was sick; then again because the kids were sick; and now we’ve adjourned for summer. Why is it that the loveliness of spring is often painted in the uncomfortable hues of transition and farewell?

Amongst the sickness and schedule upheaval, I took a wild ride in regard to my identity in Christ, shedding some things, feeling in turn brave, naked, empowered, confused. I wondered how all those feelings fit in gospel freedom. I went into a state of near panic trying to receive freedom in Christ. Then I realized in all the trying I had forgotten to sit down, to enjoy the presence of Jesus in me.

One morning I cried tears of gratitude for a deep sense of hope. A lot of mornings I slept in. Am I struggling with depression? Why did I suddenly stop writing? I noticed I didn’t feel the need to plan anything big for my birthday this year. I wasn’t sure if this apparently casual attitude was a sign of grace or depression. Do grace and depression sometimes look the same?

I have sung, cried, read, prayed, hoped, been held up by friends, and gone on a lot of coffee dates. I enjoyed hours of tender care from Nurse Nature while I had Covid, lying in bed listening to the rain and wind, Mother’s Day weekend. When I ventured out of bed I enjoyed the window shelf full of cards and flowers and treats I received for my birthday and Mother’s Day. Evidence that I married up, and also that I friended up.

If the illness and emotions weren’t enough turmoil for me—ever the avoider of change—I also fasted and prayed for three days, and we stepped down from home-church leadership after six years. That was emotional and difficult, but good. Does change cause discomfort, or discomfort cause change? I suspect it’s both.

As I flounder, I reach for certainty, forgetting that it has been a life-threatening taskmistress. But my body and my soul have not forgotten, and they recoil. They panic; I hold on tighter. Until I become acutely aware of this: the apparent safety of certainty is available only if I am willing to hold still and breathe shallow. About the time I get lightheaded, I decide I’d rather breathe deep, even if it requires that I consider alternatives to certainty—curiosity, rest and unrest, a sojourn in the wilderness.

When I become aware that comfort and discomfort are both acceptable experiences—when I allow myself to receive the wilderness—perhaps then belonging finds me. Fixating on comfort has estranged me from belonging. But there was a time I belonged, a time I remember in feelings rather than facts, before I knew that life is hard and before I reached for control to make it better. Today I cannot pretend any longer that control is serving me well, and I allow myself to remember that long-ago place of belonging, the set-your-bags-down feeling of arriving home.

It’s an unusual homecoming; an arrival initially unapparent to anyone, even me. But I remember as a child the feeling of coming home; remember where the spare key was hidden, in the garage, in the glass jar filled with nuts and bolts and little metal pieces that someone found and didn’t want to throw away in case they belonged to something important. I remember the smell of the garage—cardboard boxes and tires. Funny how even the memory of that smell takes me back to what it felt like to belong. To be a child.

I’d like to return there now, find the jar of metal bits and pieces, and carefully extricate the house key. I would let myself in, grateful the house is empty. When no one is home the feeling of belonging is unmarred by expectations. The emptiness is a quiet invitation to sit in whichever room I choose, or to stare out the window for an unacceptably long time. Being alone in a place of belonging is better than any company in a place of performance.

If I unexpectedly slipped from belonging to performance those many years ago as a child, could I unexpectedly slip back now? Could I close the door on all the houses filled with people and noise and endless expectations? I have been accepted in those houses, but so tired. My childhood house of quiet, softened by the hum of the refrigerator, invites me to return. Yet while I relish this memory of belonging, I know I cannot slip back to it.

I will never again be a little child, unconcerned for my safety and unashamed of who I am. But if my childhood won the award for simplicity, my adulthood wins for being brave enough to grow from a seed to a sapling, to risk sun and rain and wind, when they are gentle and when they are terrifying. God’s Spirit was my soil as a child, and it remains my soil. I am okay; I am never alone; I always belong. I belong in comfort and discomfort, known and unknown, well-worn pews or wilderness.

Photo by César Coni from Pexels

Codependectomy In Progress

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Before we explore my codependent tendencies, let me say this: I am not a codependent, and neither are you. We are human beings, made in the image of God, with tendencies to forget who we are.

Often I have believed the lie that I must perform for others because they would never choose to be with me if I wasn’t doing something for them. This belief sits on top of another lie: I am not worthy of friendship, or to be loved and cared for by another human being.

I have spent most of my life feeling like a liability to the people around me, or combating that feeling by behaving well to ensure I’m not a liability. This is a tense and fearful space in which to exist. If I assume I’m a liability when I’m not performing well, I also believe other people are a liability if they are not performing well. Which of course leads to judgement and resentment and all sorts of fun. This is a mess indeed. So Jesus has been helping me disentangle from the space in which I believe I must be thought well of by others to be ok.

My safest relationship—with my husband—is the first to undergo a codependectomy. I write in my journal:

I can’t keep Michael happy, and Michael can’t keep me happy. I am ok without him, and he is ok without me. My identity is not in Michael, and Michael’s identity is not in me. Michael will be annoyed with me, frustrated by me, and hurt by me. Michael will be distracted, impatient, codependent and clingy; and he will keep score, be disappointed in me, and sometimes resent the discomfort I cause in his life.

I feel like the world is not right when Michael is not happy with me. I feel like a liability. I fear that loss of intimacy will leave me free-falling until he catches me again. But when I believe these things, I have given Michael power over me in a way that is damaging to both of us. As long as I think I am responsible for Michael’s happiness, I will feel anxious, worthless, and not-enough whenever he or I struggle.

The truth is, I couldn’t be better. God never expects me to keep another person happy. My identity is wholeness, and “liability” has no place in that. I am not free falling. I am standing on solid ground. My reality does not change when Michael moves away from me. Jesus is always in His room in my heart, and I am always in my room in His heart. This centers me. I always belong. I am always desired.

Michael being pleased with me is not welcome relief from being a failure, nor is it my due as his wife. It’s more like him agreeing with God about me: like they’re hanging out together and they’re both saying how much they like me. I get to just stand there and feel the wonder of it… whether it’s both of them, or just Jesus.

Not being responsible for Michael’s happiness doesn’t look like a cold shoulder; it looks like compassion—for myself, and for him. One morning as I grapple with this, I hear the Spirit say, “you don’t need to do anything to be ‘good enough’ today.” And I think, “what do I do with my family while I’m not doing anything?” They need me, continually, relentlessly, deeply. I am set free in Jesus, but often I don’t know what “free” looks like. (Culture tells me it’s getting what I want and doing what I feel like, and I know that’s not true. It has to be better than that.) What does freedom in the midst of needy people look like? I think Jesus knows, considering His three or so years of being followed around by hundreds of needy, clingy, freaked out and insecure people.

Jesus said to the woman at the well, “Those who drink the water I give will never be thirsty again. It becomes a fountain within them, giving them eternal life.” (John 4:14) And maybe He says this to me: “I know Michael and the girls feel like leeches sometimes, but the life I’m giving you they can’t suck out of you.”

I have been trying to do a lot of things for myself that Jesus is already doing for me. He said, “I will ask the Father, and He will give you another Helper to be with you forever,” and the Amplified Bible adds these words parenthetically after Helper: Comforter, Advocate, Intercessor, Counselor, Strengthener, Standby. (see John 14:16, AMP)

So, throughout my long day of being needed…
God is my Comforter, who eases my grief or distress.
God is my Advocate, who publicly supports and recommends me.
God is my Intercessor, who intervenes on my behalf.
God is my Counselor, who gives guidance for my problems.
God is my Strengthener, who provides additional strength.
God is my Stand-by, who is ready to be deployed as back-up in an emergency.

“All that I have is yours… come in and celebrate,” Jesus says to His children (see Luke 15:28-32). I am rich. I am full. I am righteous. I am daughter. I don’t need to prove who I am, protect myself, or provide for myself. Jesus was tempted by Satan (and others) to prove Himself, protect Himself, and provide for Himself,1 but He knew who He was, and He has gifted me that unshakeable identity.

As Gregory Boyle said, “What saves us in the present moment is being anchored in love and tethered to a sustaining God who keeps reminding us of our unshakeable goodness and the goodness of others.”2

I have to wonder, if I’m not worried about proving, protecting, or providing, then what am I going to do today? I have lived in not-enough so long that I’m hardly aware other spaces exist, and I don’t know what they look like. Maybe this?—Love. Create. Belong. Enjoy. Celebrate.

I don’t need to be doing something to be worth something.
I don’t need to be “put together” to be worth something.
I don’t need to understand myself to be worth something.
I don’t need to be in control to be worth something.
I am full by default. I am worth something when I am wrong, tired, uninteresting, lost (literally or metaphorically), or without reason.

Some days, living in this truth looks like a journal entry:

I don’t need my kids to have affection for me or obey me. I don’t need my writing group to affirm what I write. I don’t need my parents to approve of my choices or opinions. I don’t need my friends to respond to everything I say, or to think well of me. I don’t need my husband to agree with me, or always be kind to me, or do what I think he should do. I don’t need my extended family to think well of me. It’s ok for people to disagree with me, and to misunderstand me. I could lose in any or all of these relationships and I would still be who I am: God’s favorite, the one He is delighted in and to whom He has given His whole self.

Every Friday night our family has a special meal. The food is in actual serving dishes, the table is decorated, and we always have a beverage and dessert. This tradition came out of a conversation with my husband about how to incorporate the Beloved Creed into our family routine. It was his idea to speak it aloud together as part of a special meal. And so we speak:

I’m not what I do.
I’m not what I have.
I’m not what people [think or] say about me.
I am the beloved of God.
It’s who I am.
No one can take it from me.
I don’t have to worry.
I don’t have to hurry.
I can trust my friend Jesus and share His love with the world.

If—like me—you struggle with insecurity, let’s dare to believe we are a good idea, we belong, and we are beloved.

Endnotes:
1Paul Coneff with Lindsey Gendke, The Hidden Half of the Gospel: How His Suffering Can Heal Yours (Maitland: Two Harbors Press, 2014, 2016), 15.
2Gregory Boyle, The Whole Language: The Power of Extravagant Tenderness (New York: Avid Reader Press, 2021), 34.

Books I Read In 2021

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Books By Favorite New Authors:

  • Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, by Anne Lamott
  • Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith, by Anne Lamott
  • Help, Thanks, Wow: The Three Essential Prayers, by Anne Lamott
  • The Whole Language: The Power of Extravagant Tenderness, by Gregory Boyle
  • Dusk, Night, Dawn: On Revival and Courage, by Anne Lamott

Two things changed my life in 2021: 1) the MUK LUKS® my mother-in-law gave me (my feet are the warmest they’ve been since leaving my mother’s womb), and 2) the book The Whole Language: The Power of Extravagant Tenderness, by Gregory Boyle. This book took God right out of the box I had Him in. It pushed me in the best way possible, away from the shallows into a deep, expansive God. It changed how I think about myself and the people around me. It made me laugh and cry. I copied line upon line into my journal:

“God meets our intensity of longing with intensity of longing.”

“We always need to abandon ‘performance’ when it comes to God, and walk instead into the arms of encounter.”

“God is only interested in lavishing us with extravagant tenderness, and yet we are convinced that God is thinking we all could just do a better job.”

“What saves us in the present moment is being anchored in love and tethered to a sustaining God who keeps reminding us of our unshakable goodness and the goodness of others.”

In addition to these legalism-defying snapshots of God, the book overflows with stories of the “homies” Father Boyle works with at Homeboy Industries. These stories of wounded people who wound others—but find themselves always in the good graces of God—paint the most ravishing picture of Jesus. This book gave me permission to say, “I couldn’t be any better,” instead of “I’m such a mess.”

Boyle has written two other books, one of which I’ve already read this year; the other is on my nightstand ready to be imbibed. He spoke at the university here where I live, and I met him afterward. This was long before I had read any of his books, but it still gives me bragging rights (wink).

Another author whom I read for the first time last year, and immediately fell in love with, is Anne Lamott. The first Lamott book I read was Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. It was recommended by multiple friends, and when I finally read it I was hooked. “Good writing is about telling the truth,” she writes, and she is wildly honest. She is refreshing, funny, and deeply real. Special thanks to my sister for lending me several of her Lamott books to feed my addiction.

Fiction and Stories

  • Stormie, by Stormie Omartian
  • Kisses from Katie: A Story of Relentless Love and Redemption, by Katie Davis, with Beth Clark
  • The Bridge, by Karen Kingsbury
  • A Time to Mend, A Time to Gather, and A Time to Surrender (3 books), by Sally John & Gary Smalley
  • The Secret Garden, by F. Hodgson Burnett

I have read Stormie several times. It’s an easy read and a powerful story of God’s redemption in the aftermath of being raised by a mentally ill mom. Kisses from Katie is an unexpected tale of Jesus’ love in the life of a teenage girl who moved to Uganda and adopted 13 daughters.

If you like Christian fiction and haven’t read Karen Kingsbury, definitely give her a try. I’ve enjoyed dozens of her books. The series by Sally John and Gary Smalley was excellent as well.

I read The Secret Garden aloud to my husband—a fun way to revisit a classic. We’ve also read Tom Sawyer aloud together, and The Hobbit.

Parenting Books

  • How To Talk So Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk, by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish
  • Discipline That Connects With Your Child’s Heart: Building Faith, Wisdom, and Character in the Messes of Daily Life, by Jim and Lynne Jackson

Parenting is a tough subject to write about. As parents, we look for answers, but I think we know that no method is really an answer. I appreciated the respectful and emotionally intelligent approach of How To Talk So Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk, as well as the reflection questions and practice exercises.

Discipline That Connects With Your Child’s Heart is my favorite parenting book and the only one I have returned to multiple times. I always refer to it as “the book that sent me to counseling,” which is true. It has a number of suggestions for being safe with our children, such as taking a minute to calm down before responding to a stressful situation. One idea was to keep a small bottle of lotion in your pocket and take time to stop and rub lotion into your hands so you can emotionally re-center before engaging with your kid(s). I read that, and I knew I needed a month on a desert island to re-center… and that’s when it occurred to me that counseling might be in order. I was fortunate to find a counselor whose guidance was in sync with the Holy Spirit in my life. What a blessing that was during the most trying years of parenting preschoolers.

Religion and Self-Help Books

  • In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction, by Gabor Maté
  • The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry, by John Mark Comer
  • God Has a Name, by John Mark Comer
  • All Shall Be Well: Awakening to God’s Presence in His Messy, Abundant World, by Catherine McNiel
  • A Personal Perspective, by Sonya Lang Hackett
  • Love Lives Here: Finding What You Need in a World Telling You What You Want, by Maria Goff
  • Happiness Is a Serious Problem: A Human Nature Repair Manual, by Dennis Prager
  • The Lies We Believe about God: Knowing God for Who He Really Is, by Dr. Chris Thurman
  • The Meaning of Marriage: Facing the Complexities of Commitment with the Wisdom of God, by Timothy Keller with Kathy Keller

I’ve ordered these books from most favorite to least favorite. I won’t comment on all of them. First, let me say that I have received tremendous insight from Timothy Keller’s books and sermons, and I would recommend everything I’ve read or listened to, except this book on marriage. It was unbearably dry, and so long… it may be represented in one or two of my gray hairs.

John Mark Comer was my favorite new author last year and I enjoyed his books again this year. Catherine McNiel is another author I returned to, and would recommend, especially for young mothers.

At the top of the list is a book recommended by my friend Ruth. It’s a longer book (536 pages), but it was such a blessing. It gave me a much broader and more informed perspective on addiction. I enjoyed the stories more than the medical explanations, but both were helpful. Maté writes with authenticity and understanding. He was also featured in a documentary titled The Wisdom of Trauma, which has sparked an ongoing conversation about mental illness and addiction. I’ll close this post with a quote from Maté: “Trauma is not what happens to you. Trauma is what happens inside you, as a result of what happens to you.”

Give or Take

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Journey By Journal

I think God is trying to tell me something, but I’m not listening very well.

Prayer journal, April 28, 2020
Somehow we keep circling back to the same thing: You want to provide for me, and You are able to provide for me from Your riches and abundance. You don’t run out. You don’t forget. You are I AM. The most important thing about me today is that I am loved. Let that be enough. Teach me Your abundance. I’m still trying to be something, to earn. Teach me that You are really Something.

Prayer journal, May 5, 2020
Thomas: “Marry me. Marry me for my money. People do it every day.”
Joanna: “I’m not amused, Thomas, and I have a great sense of humor.”
Thomas: “Then marry me for love.” (from the movie Sabrina (1995))
You want to give me all that You have, but You want to love me first, and me to love You. You want to marry me for love. (Not for what You can get from me or what I can get from You).

Prayer journal, May 8, 2020
I come to You desperate, hoping to wring something out of You to get me through the day. I am sorry. I forgot You are God. Please have Your way in me. Remind me that being humbled by You is better (safer, more real) that being exalted by myself. It’s like You’re trying to make me something, but You can’t because I am so underfoot You can’t work. Please help me hold still and watch You. Teach me stillness again. Help me trust You to take action. You with Your abundant love and grace, Your “glorious, unlimited resources” (Ephesians 3:16), Your upside-down ways, Your crazy love. It’s like I’m blind and You’re trying to touch my eyes, but I’ve got my hands over them. Or I’m trying new potions or routines or seances to cure them. There is no room for You in this place overflowing with filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6). Lord by Your grace I open my hands to You. After that there is nothing left to do. You will see to the blindness, the peace, the stillness, the humility, the abundance. You are worthy. You are worthy. You are worthy.

Prayer journal May 10, 2020
Today I came heavy with all things, and I started talking about how tired I am. You interrupted me and said, “Remember, I’m here to give to you, not take from you.”

Prayer journal May 13, 2020
Humans most often give gifts in the context of celebration: birthdays, holidays, graduations/promotions and so on. You keep on giving gifts when there is nothing to celebrate (or perhaps with You there is always something to celebrate?).

I Don’t Get It

If I know God is so eager to give, why am I so hesitant to sign up? Why do I keep hoping this is some sort of equal partnership in which I know what to expect from Him and He knows what to expect from me? Why do I want things to be “right” more than I want them to be real? I suspect two things.

First, my heart is still on the hard side. Still more stone than flesh (Ezekiel 36:26). I am like the disciples observing Jesus and just not getting it. Remember this story? They’re out in the boonies with several thousand hungry people and Jesus tells them to feed the people; they’re like “with what, Jesus?” So he tells them to round up what they can and they come back with five loaves of bread and two fish. Then Jesus feeds all those people and there are twelve baskets of leftovers. (When Jesus gets ahold of something the leftovers are more than you started with.)

After the mass crowd-feeding they’re still trying to find some peace and quiet (they were in the boonies in the first place to be alone, but that didn’t work out), and Jesus sends the disciples across the lake while He goes off alone to pray. Then He comes walking across the lake in the middle of the night, “but when they saw him walking on the water, they cried out in terror, thinking he was a ghost. They were all terrified when they saw him. But Jesus spoke to them at once. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘Take courage! I am here!’ Then he climbed into the boat, and the wind stopped. They were totally amazed, for they still didn’t understand the significance of the miracle of the loaves. Their hearts were too hard to take it in.” (Luke 6:49-52)

Did you catch that last bit? “They were totally amazed, for they still didn’t understand the significance of the miracle of the loaves. Their hearts were too hard to take it in.” They watched Jesus feed several thousand people with one basket of food, and it went right over their heads. They didn’t even know what happened. That’s me. I just don’t get it. I see abundance, but I don’t really see it. My heart is too hard to take it in.

Receiving – Are You Sure?

Second, I value predictability. God is wild. He is rock (Psalm 18:2), but He is also wind (John 3:8). I cannot manipulate Him. I cannot predict Him. I find this unsettling.

I am like the Israelites asking for a king. God was a divine larger-than-life personality to grapple with, but a king, simply by nature of being human, was understandable. Predictable. “Give us a king to judge us like all the other nations have,” the leaders said to Samuel (Samuel 8:5b). Samuel wasn’t too sure about this plan, but God told him to go ahead and give them a king, “…for they are rejecting me, not you. They don’t want me to be their king any longer.” (Samuel 8:7b)

Then God tells Samuel to warn the people about what it will be like to have a king. The phrase “he will take” dominates the passage (1 Samuel 8:11-18, NKJV). God tells his people that the king will take their sons and daughters, their fields/vineyards/groves and what they produce, as well as their servants and animals. After the warning the people say, “No, but we will have a king over us… that our king may go out before us and fight our battles.” (1 Samuel 8:20) Hadn’t God already been going out before them and fighting their battles? I remember stories of walls falling and pitchers breaking – victories won by God Himself. Why so eager to have a king?

A king is a king, but God is God. I, too, am willing to trade a God who gives, for a king who takes. I know what a king will take, but I don’t know what God will give. In fact, I feel so much more comfortable being taken from than being given to, that I try to make God take from me. I want Him to bargain with me: you do this, and I’ll do that. I beg for Him to take my problems, and fear for Him to take my freedom.

But when I come to His presence I find a God who gives. This is good, and yet unsettling. Perhaps even nonsensical. Why would God be interested in giving to me? To quote the movie Sabrina again:
Linus: “You don’t deserve her, but she appears to love you.”
David: “Doesn’t that worry you a little bit? I mean, about her mental health.”
I worry about God’s mental health. I don’t deserve Him, but He appears to love me. I would feel much better if He would be proud of me for my accomplishments or disappointed with me for my failures. But He is unwilling to engage with me in this way. He insists on loving me. Full stop. No conditions.

Faith To Receive

Could I come to receive? Perhaps I could come to God’s presence to receive and give rather than to take and be taken from. What do I have to give? Trust is a gift. And reverence, and worship, and gratitude. Honesty – letting myself be seen. These are gifts. But perhaps God’s favorite gift of all is when I learn to receive – to accept the gifts He has for me without trying to deserve them first. Perhaps I could be grateful instead of incredulous.

Prayer journal, May 12, 2020
Faith is letting God decide what He’s going to do. Perhaps it’s time to let God give, and maybe I could even receive without arguing.

Growing Pains

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Have you noticed it is hard to be loved by God? It is the end of a long day, and I sit in the quiet of my daughters’ bedroom, tired in every way. Finally they are sleeping, and finally I take inventory of my cowering spirit. I let the discomfort and fear rise to my conscious mind and the falling tears are evidence of despair over my mediocrity. Sometimes I think it would feel better to fail epically than to struggle along day after day, doing what I need to do, but feeling purposeless; being possessed by a nagging ache that I could do so much better. I could be a better mom and wife and friend; a better housekeeper and cook and caretaker of pets.

As I sit in the quiet and feel the discomfort of my own existence, the whisper to my soul is one of love. “How do I go through the coming week?” I wonder. And God says, “Let me love you.” Even as my tears become tears of relief, I realize: being loved is hard too. I don’t know how to be loved. For 34 years I have believed that I must perform. This is so deeply a part of me that an identity based on being loved feels like insanity. I must be crazy. God must be crazy. What is going on? Is He sure He really loves me? Is He sure loving me and not fixing me this week is the best idea? At any rate, shouldn’t I earn His love by doing something good? Or shouldn’t the purpose of His love be to make me good?

And so I find before me a most difficult task this week. Not to become a better parent, or a better wife. Not to hold my tongue, or have a hot dinner ready at 5:30 every day. Not to make fancy after-school snacks and remember everything I need when I go to the store. Not to have the perfect ratio of social time and time at home. Not to always listen attentively to my children. Not to affirm my husband every day. Not to anticipate and care for the needs of my family, friends and community. My task is to be loved.

This is hard because I don’t really believe I am lovable – especially when I am performing so far below my own expectations. But if I am honest, I know in my spirit that love is exactly the right place to begin. Love is transforming. Love is a safe place to be when my own self is a minefield of lies and scoffing laughter at my attempts to be “good.” Love when I don’t deserve it is precisely what nudges me toward healing: what gives me permission to be broken, so that instead of fighting against myself I can embrace brokenness and know the first moments of healing.

God’s love is too good to be true. And haven’t I always been told, “If it’s too good to be true, it’s probably not true”? Well, this time it is too good to be true, but it is nevertheless true. God loves me. He really is crazy. And this really is good news. I can lay down this ungainly burden of must-get-everything-right, and breath some fresh grace-air deep into my bones, my spirit, my identity.

How does this all work? I’m not exactly sure. But maybe one tiny step is becoming aware of my allegiance. Dare I give more allegiance to the whispers of Love than to the well-worn paths of performing and earning? Could I choose to believe that I am loved, having done nothing to deserve it? Could I take one tiny step away from legalism and toward grace: away from starvation and toward abundance?

I learned from Dr. Caroline Leaf’s brain detox program how our thoughts occupy physical space in our minds. When we develop new thoughts they begin as little “bumps” in our brain, which then grow into “mushrooms” and then big healthy “trees,” simply because we think them over and over. Conversely, we can physically remove thoughts from our brain, reversing this process and deteriorating healthy “trees” down into “mushrooms,” then “bumps,” then nothing. Death.

Life or death. Choose this day whom you will serve (Joshua 24:15). This week, choosing to serve God looks like letting God love me, even though it makes no sense. Letting Him hold me after I belittle my children. Letting Him forgive me 100 times in one afternoon. Letting Him give me gifts I do not deserve. Letting Him withhold consequences I do deserve. Letting Him get a little crazy with me. Letting Him decide whether I am worthy, because He already decided on a cross a long time ago, when He was worthy for me so I don’t have to be worthy.

Obedience, Part 4 – What Follows Obedience

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Here we are at Part 4, after an unexpected detour for Obedience, Part Unknown.

Obedience, Part 1 – Turning
Obedience, Part 2 – Agreeing or Trusting?
Obedience, Part 3 – What Precedes Obedience
Obedience, Part 4 – What Follows Obedience
Obedience, Part 5 – Disobedience

Don’t Settle

There are several passages in the Old Testament that outline the blessings that follow obedience to God. One such passage is Leviticus 26:3-13. I love the final verse in this passage: “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt so you would no longer be their slaves. I broke the yoke of slavery from your neck so you can walk with your heads held high.”

At some point I think most of us realize we are slaves. In fact, the nearer we move toward God the more clearly we see our bondage to sin and self-preservation, and our powerlessness. To borrow from Alcoholics Anonymous: “We admitted that we were powerless over our problems and that our lives had become unmanageable.” God allows us to see our brokenness, God brings us out of bondage, and God breaks the yoke. He is able to set us free so we can hold our heads high. He does not want us to settle.

If I may quote C. S. Lewis again, he says this so unashamedly in Mere Christianity:

On the one hand, God’s demand for perfection need not discourage you in the least in your present attempts to be good, or even in your present failures. Each time you fall He will pick you up again. And He knows perfectly well that your own efforts are never going to bring you anywhere near perfection. On the other hand, you must realise from the outset that the goal towards which He is beginning to guide you is absolute perfection; and no power in the whole universe, except you yourself, can prevent Him from taking you to that goal. That is what you are in for. And it is very important to realise that. If we do not, then we are very likely to start pulling back and resisting Him after a certain point. I think that many of us, when Christ has enabled us to overcome one or two sins that were an obvious nuisance, are inclined to feel (though we do not put it into words) that we are now good enough. He has done all we wanted Him to do, and we would be obliged if He would now leave us alone… We may be content to remain what we call “ordinary people”: but He is determined to carry out a quite different plan. To shrink back from that plan is not humility; it is laziness and cowardice. To submit to it is not conceit or megalomania; it is obedience.” – Mere Christianity, pp. 172-173

What follows obedience? More obedience. We will never be done turning toward God; and on this side of heaven He will never be done healing us, delivering us, and transforming us.

Grace To Give Us Ears

In reading just a handful of texts regarding obedience in the Old Testament, a significant list of blessings emerged. Going back to the passage in Leviticus chapter 26, I noted these blessings in addition to the breaking of the yoke of bondage:

  • Abundant provision
  • Peace and safety
  • Exceptional power and influence over enemies
  • God’s favor
  • God’s presence
  • Belonging to God

I find it interesting that the second three blessings appear to be of much greater spiritual value than the first three, but God gives the first three first. Maybe He knows we need to be safe and provided for in order for our feeble hearts to move toward Him. I once heard it said that a hungry child has no ears. As humans we are so starved for worthiness that we are unable to even hear what God is offering. Often I feel ashamed for being weak, for starting small, for wanting provision, and safety, and power over enemies. But God kindly provides those things, thus enabling my ears to hear and my eyes to see His favor, His presence, and His offer of belonging. 

What follows obedience? Blessings beyond our wildest imagination. We cannot even imagine what it is like to live continually in God’s favor and presence, in a state of belonging to Him, perfectly in peace as He cares for us with abundant provision, while enjoying exceptional power and influence over our enemies (enemies that are often not flesh and blood, but spiritual powers working against us – see Ephesians 6:12). “Now all glory to God, who is able, through His mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think.” (Ephesians 3:20, NLT, emphasis added)

Whose Work?

All these blessings are conditional on following, trusting and obeying God – Father, Son and Spirit. Sometimes that makes me nervous; sometimes it makes me proud: depending on how successfully I perceive I am currently following, trusting, and obeying. But when I’m honest I know that I only follow God in His power anyways. The credit is never mine, and the pressure is never on me. Christ took the pressure and gave me His victory as a gift. I will never engage with Him perfectly, which turns out to be a blessing because it keeps me humble.

There is a tantalizing picture painted by two great battlefield examples of God doing the work for His people: the famous battle of Jericho, and King Jehoshaphat’s remarkable encounter with the surrounding nations who came to war against him. When I read these stories (Joshua 6 and 2 Chronicles 20), in my mind’s eye I replace the heathen armies with my current enemies – whether it be my own thoughts, difficulties in marriage or parenting, or overwhelming situations or circumstances. (This can be rote or formulaic, so don’t do it if it’s not meaningful to you. It’s only worthwhile if it grows your friendship with God.)

As the Israelites came to Jericho, the first thing God said to Joshua was, “I have given you Jericho, its king, and all its strong warriors” (Joshua 6:2b, NLT). Then God proceeded to tell Joshua how to battle the city with marching and shouting and the Ark of the Lord’s Covenant, and as you know, the walls fell down on the seventh day in a resounding victory. When we let God be God and we obey Him, He acts on our behalf. He does the work. He provides.

In Jehoshaphat’s story, he is informed by messengers that “a vast army” is approaching. He “was terrified by this news and begged the Lord for guidance” (2 Chronicles 20:3), as well as enlisting the prayers of everyone in Judah. Then he goes to the temple and prays a brave and vulnerable prayer, entreating God to care for them, and ending with these words: “O our God, won’t you stop them? We are powerless against this mighty army that is about to attack us. We do not know what to do, but we are looking to you for help.” (2 Chronicles 20:12, NLT)

In response, God’s Spirit comes upon Jahaziel with a message of deliverance: “‘Listen, all you people of Judah and Jerusalem! Listen, King Jehoshaphat! This is what the Lord says: Do not be afraid! Don’t be discouraged by this mighty army, for the battle is not yours, but God’s… you will not even need to fight. Take your positions; then stand still and watch the Lord’s victory. He is with you, O people of Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid or discouraged. Go out against them tomorrow, for the Lord is with you!'” (2 Chronicles 20:15-17, emphasis added). After this the whole community of people bows to worship, stands to praise, and shouts loudly. Then as the army goes out the next morning, they decide to have singers praising God in front of the army, and “at the very moment they began to sing and give praise, the Lord caused the armies of Ammon, Moab, and Mount Seir to start fighting among themselves” (verse 22). Long story short, those nations coming against Judah all killed each other and Jehoshaphat and his people took the spoil. 

This story is rich with testimony to strengthen us and remind us who God is. What I want to draw from it today – and from the story of Jericho – is that God is victorious for us when we obey. I believe victory follows obedience. I hope with my whole being that victory is real for every Christian. I hope we do not settle. I hope we let the the love of God soak deep into our bones so that we may trust Him. And I hope as we trust and follow Him that our hearts are quickened to obedience; that we do the weird things He asks us to do; that we let Him be everything: our source of life and faith, our Savior, our Lord, our victorious Warrior, and the Hero of our story.

Life

Obedience is a humble path. It happens in the ordinary moments every day. It is an often-quiet, faithful turning. It is letting God do it His way instead of my way.

May I say again that God has great things for us? More than we can imagine, sometimes more than we want, always more than we deserve. Obedience is like a fence along the pathway of life. Only it’s rather like an optional fence. No one is requiring us to obey. But when we do, it keeps us within the life God has for us: we begin to become truly alive for the first time, for real.