Lord, Remind Me

Christmas time brings so much beauty.

Beauty in the landscape--bare, silent, frosty mornings that make us beg for the cozy warmth of thick blankets and hot chocolate.  In the lights that twinkle and signal happiness down most streets.  In the warm window lights when passing homes in the evening, allowing passersby to steal glimpses of their neighbors' trees, their excitement, their memories, their joy.

Beauty in the way we reach out to others.  There are food and clothing drives, angel trees and Operation Christmas Child.  We tend to feel more charitable.  We take time for family and friends to celebrate our love for one another.

Beauty in the sounds--the jingle bells in the background of every radio song.  A Christmas tune on the lips of most, for they've been hearing them since the day after Thanksgiving.

 

It really does feel like the most wonderful time of the year, but I only really look forward to it every other year.  One of the hardest things about being divorced is that I only get to spend half of my Christmases with my daughter.  And while we make the most of what time we have leading up to the big day, there is a void left when she isn't there on the 24th and the 25th.  When I can't tuck her in and tell her excited little spirit to calm down so Santa can come.  When she isn't next to me for the Christmas Eve candlelight service in her pretty Christmas dress.  When there isn't a pile of unrecognizably designed Christmas cookies, where she got bored with decorating and decided to just lick all of the frosting out of their containers.  When there's an empty spot on the floor where we open our gifts on Christmas morning.  I am so blessed with wonderful family and traditions, but no matter what I have surrounding me, if she isn't there, it doesn't quite feel complete.

 

It sucks.  I've been dreading this December for months now because I knew it would be hard.  Some days, I can talk myself through it, that it could always be worse, and then other days, I give in and throw myself a pity party.  I'll cry or be angry and ruminate how none of it was my choice to ever be separated from her, how it isn't fair.  I'll get mad at God sometimes, unfairly so.

 

But even when I'm mad at God, I still want Him to teach me something because I never want feeling this way to be for naught.  And while He's allowed me to make loads of Christmas memories to carry me through until she leaves tomorrow for almost two weeks, last night, He finally started to give me a lesson to take with me when she's gone.

 

I went to hear some dear friends, Jon and Valerie Guerra, perform some of their Christmas music the other night.  They are wildly talented, and I've enjoyed getting to watch them grow and evolve over the last few years while Brooks has managed them.  One night last year, while they were staying at our house, they played us a song they had written called, "Lord, Remind Me."  From the moment I heard it, God greatly impressed some of the lyrics on my heart, and every time I listen to them sing it, the freshness is still there with which I receive its message.  And on Friday night when they performed it, God allowed the chorus and the bridge to teach my heart how to keep moving through this anticipated holiday.

 

~~

 

Lord, remind me

Lord, remind me

That the shepherds heard the angels break the silence in the field

That the wise men found a baby and they could not help but kneel

That the One who heard our weeping became a child in a manger sleeping

Lord, remind me

Cause it's Christmas, and I want to remember

 

Tell me how He loves me

Tell me how He wants me

Tell me the story like I've never heard before

And I'll sing it like the angels

Sing it with my whole heart

Sing it to Him who's worth a thousand songs and more

 

Glory in the highest

Glory in the lowest

Glory that shines when nothing seems to shine at all

 

Glory in the highest

Glory in the lowest

Emmanuel

 

~~

 

I remember the first time I heard Jon sing "glory in the lowest" at our house and thinking, huh.  All we ever sing at Christmas time is about giving glory to God in the highest.  It speaks to His magnificence and splendor, His greatness and position over us.  Glory to God in the highest!

 

But then--glory in the lowest, too.  

 

The phrase was so unexpected, and I sat and pondered it for several minutes.  Glory in the lowest?  At first, I took it to mean that we give glory to God on high in the heavens and also glory to the tiny baby in the manger--the lowliest way He could have possibly come to us.  

 

I began to wonder if maybe Mary, sore and pained from labor, looked at the muck and grime around her, peered at her perfect new Son lying in a feeding bin, then turned toward heaven and said, "Really?? Is this the best you can do, God?"  Was she disappointed, or did she feel like complaining that God had selected this disgusting setting for the birth of His Son?  Did she, if even momentarily, focus on how God had done His miracle instead of the miracle itself?

 

And as I pictured myself sitting in the hay alongside the Lord's tired new mother, I honed in on the manger.  The cradle that heralded Jesus.  No, it wasn't good enough, not even for a regular baby.  But here was how God was making His impact.  By meeting the world in the lowest.  In a single wooden manger, God had managed to speak volumes--how great He is that He can make even a dirty barn lovely and purposeful, and yet that He is not too great to join us in the mud and manure.

 

God gave me a little nudge.  Stop concentrating on the manger.

 

What?

 

The manger.  The way I choose to come to you.  Stop looking at the manger.  Look at Me.

 

And I realized, that's exactly my problem.  

 

You see, God drew near to me and presented himself to me most visibly in my divorce.  My divorce is my manger.  The ugly, crude, splintered backdrop that seemed out of place for anything wonderful to happen.  And yet, it was.  It was the very thing that caused me to bend my knees.  To fall at His feet, to understand what I couldn't before.

 

It brought Him to me and me to Him.

 

And the painful facet of being separated from Harlow every other Christmas (and other times) also serves as a manger.  Anytime it gets uncomfortable, anytime it doesn't make sense.  Anytime it feels so low--that's when He shows up again.

 

The manger--how He chooses to draw near to me--it matters, but it doesn't.  It matters in that it's very telling in what it takes for us to pay attention to Him.  But yet, it really doesn't matter how He comes.  It only matters that He does.

 

That He left the highest so that we don't have to be alone in the lowest.  That He gets uncomfortable right along with us.  And when she leaves tomorrow for the longest stretch of time we've had to be apart, I sense that He's nestling in the hay beside me.

 

Like the wonders of the night sky that get drowned out by the lights of a city, God knows we tend to need darkness for us to see Him most clearly.  That, like the song says, He might shine when nothing seems to shine at all.

 

Maybe your manger isn't really present at Christmas.  Maybe it's in the spring or the summer, or maybe you haven't quite come to a manger yet.  But sooner or later, He tends to invite you to a barn so that He can offer Himself to you.  Sometimes the manger seems really big, and Jesus can feel really small.  But I pray that no matter the setting, you will find yourself able to move past how He chooses to come and look inside at what He's trying to show you.

 

He's here.

 

Lord, remind me.

 

He's here in the highest.

 

Lord, remind me.

 

He's here in the lowest.

 

Lord, remind me to give glory either way.

 

For it's Christmas, my heart is quiet, the void is there.

 

And I want to remember.

Fifty Shades of Grace

It was bright and sunny that day.  A perfect summer afternoon, ripe for sitting on the back patio and catching some rays while a one-year-old Harlow took a nap.  I gathered my towel, and placed my hand on the sliding door handle, but could barely give it a nudge once I looked in the backyard next door.

It was my neighbor.  Normally not without a smile on her face, she was loudly sobbing as she sat on her knees in the middle of her garden, raking her tools through the dirt with an anger and despair that proved to weaken her strokes.

Just days before, she had told me that she and her husband were going to divorce.  Although it appeared to be a necessary move in her situation, she was utterly heartbroken, livid, and devastated.

It came at a time in my life when I naively turned my nose up at the idea of anyone getting a divorce--not out of compassion or empathy, but out of disdain for the seemingly ungodly ending to a godly institution.  In my opinion at the time, divorce never really had to be an option.  It was for people who didn't try hard enough, who were selfish.  People who didn't put their children first.  People who didn't care what God thought.  And if divorce came to pass?  Well, then they deserved every bit of the pain that would ensue.  That deserves shame.  That deserves a heavy conscience.  That deserves punishment.  And I didn't know that it deserved much grace.

I watched carefully, making sure my breathing was quiet and even, as though she could hear me from 50 yards away.  She continued raking, each movement becoming more worn out than the last, until she abandoned the pretense and let her tool fall to the ground before leaning her head back and releasing an unstifled cry.

What should I do?  I pondered for several minutes.  Maybe I should go sit with her?  Hmm.  The thought bristled against my introverted personality.

No, maybe she just wants to be alone.

Or was it mere cowardice that wanted to assume that she desired to be alone?

Look at her, I thought.  She is miserable.  She looks so alone.  She has no one out there with her. 

I hesitated another minute or so and then opened the door.  I walked gingerly through the grass, so as not to frighten her, and as I drew near, she glanced my way and gave a get-it-together sniff, followed by another reflexive sob.

She was filthy and tear-stained, and my heart tore.

It was the first time I had ever seen the ugliness and destruction of divorce up close.  I lost the ability to judge her, and all I wanted was to be there for her.

And so I sat.  Right there in the dirt with her.  And she cried more and told me of her hurts, and I had no idea what to say back.  I really don't know if it brought her any comfort at all, but I just kept sitting until the moment seemed to lessen for her.

And sitting in the dust and grime and remaining quiet taught me more about releasing my judgment than a sermon ever could. Even though I didn't yet understand her pain, I understood from hearing and observing her pain up close that there was more to arriving at these "undesirable" situations than I had originally thought.  

It was something I couldn't experience from just praying for her safely from a distance.  It was an understanding that only came from getting the dust on my clothes with her.

And oh, if only I could have seen that only a month or two later, I would be in a similar spot, sitting in my own pile of dirt and needing someone to get dirty on my behalf, too.

I have a lot on my mind lately.  I posted a series several months back about ways we falsely advertise Jesus, grace, and forgiveness.  I have become exceedingly passionate about finding ways to speak out against the norm of shunning people for certain lifestyles and mistakes and making them feel unwelcome in the church.

And while I felt empowered to write and share those things with my readers, I have become extremely disheartened over the last few months--especially the last two weeks.  The topic of abortion has brought about a rage in my Facebook newsfeed, mostly from Christians who, obviously, proclaim the pro-life stance.

The posts make me so sad.  They are condemning and judgmental and full of hatred.  They scream how people who choose abortion are "dead inside."  "If you are pro-choice, YOU should have been aborted!" they shout.  They cry that these pro-choicers are "evil," "vile," "corrupt," "heartless."

They admit, it's because they don't understand how anybody gets to that point.

They don't get it.  Take any issue--a gay lifestyle.  Abortion.  Divorce.  Pornography addiction.  Premarital sex.  Being a Democrat (wink wink).

It's easy for the world to be black and white and to pass black-and-white judgment when you've really only experienced the white.  Those who've never experienced a stigma from a life circumstance, choice, or mistake.  You know exactly the kind of people I'm talking about.  The ones who've never really done anything all that wrong.  Sure, they've forgotten a Bible study here and there or skipped a tithe a few times, or maybe they've told a white lie when their wives asked them if their pants made them look fat.

The people who have never really experienced the dirt.  The lowliness of life.  The dirt and grime of sin and painful outcomes, whether self-inflicted or not, whether deserved or not.

They have never had to lie awake at night and wonder if God will ever forgive them, especially if the church won't.  They have never had to wonder if God still loves them after what they've done.  If when Jesus died, he could have really died for this.  If their life can ever be something worthwhile.  If they should abandon their faith now, for what's the point?

You are lucky if you've never had to be there.

But (and as speaking as one who lived in the black-and-white judgment mindset for most of my life) I do find it to be a hindrance.  When you never experience the depths of sin and brokenness, it makes it easy to judge the world by what you've been able to avoid.  It makes it nearly impossible to fathom how someone comes to the choice of abortion (or fill in the blank).  Having been in church my whole life, I understand that there tends to be a certain group of "downtroddenness" that is exempt from the harshest degrees of judgment.  We help the homeless (think Room in the Inn) which is wonderful and helpful to many people.  We support the people who have come back from the depths and are making their lives right again.

But where is the outreach for prostitutes and exotic dancers? For unwed mothers who can't stop having children with different men? For those on drugs? For those having affairs?  And on and on and on?

We SUCK at helping the people who are really in the middle of sin.  We don't sit in the dirt very much.  We stand in our houses far away and pray quietly.  We may open the door and yell that they deserve the pain.  We may only welcome them when they've cleaned themselves off and are repenting for God's grace and mercy.

No, it is rare that we volunteer to show up in the dirt with them.  To live it with them.  To be there.  To listen.  To offer support. 

You see, the dirt is where God often finds us. Remember the prodigal son?  The pig pen is where the testimony STARTS.

And it's where we're least likely to jump in.

Is it possible that as Christians we only want people at the END of their testimony instead of being there for them in the beginning and seeing them through?

We are so focused on the choice or the circumstance that we often forget the soul that's lost inside it.  The one who needs guidance.  The one who turns away from Christianity because, well, they can't help.  They just want to judge.  They only want me once I've got it together.  And what if I've never got it together?

And for some, I offer grace where the sin or circumstance feels "unforgivable" because of events in their own lives.  I understand the women who lash out against abortion because they suffer with infertility or have lost one or more children of their own.  I get it.  I have my own "unforgivable" that I have to work on.  I don't for one second understand infidelity or people who arrive at that decision.  I don't get people who walk out on their spouses who beg them to stay and fight.

But as distasteful as it is for me to learn, there is another side.

There is ALWAYS another side.

There is a way people get to the choices you don't like.

AND GOD WANTS THEM JUST AS MUCH AS HE WANTS YOU.

He wants the girl who had an abortion in high school just as much as He wants the girl who was a virgin until her wedding night.  He wants the man who had an affair as much as He wants the woman that was cheated on.  He wants the gay man, the lesbian, the pornography addicts, the preachers, the sinners, the atheists, the die-hard evangelicals, the Republicans, the Democrats, the prideful, the weak.

He wants the son who didn't do anything wrong.  And He wants the prodigal who got nothing right.

Just because you haven't lived a life of doing a lot of wrong doesn't mean you've lived a life of doing a lot of right. (And let's be honest...there are people who get a lot wrong and still do a lot of stuff right!)

The right comes in how you respond to the world around you.  In how you help the ones who make the "vilest" and "dead-inside" mistakes.  In how you sit in the dirt.

You think you are winning a battle, but you are rapidly losing a war.  And forget the idea that taking in these people is merely a method of rationalization for wrongdoing.  That is a cop-out.  Maybe the choice is wrong.  Maybe they deserve the consequences.  The outcome isn't for you to decide for that person.  But it is our job to help them have the best chance at coming out of it for the better.

Dare to reach out when it's ugly. Dare to find compassion when there is nothing but judgment.  Dare to see the world less as black and white or wrong and right, and more as a million shades of circumstances, journeys, and testimonies that are all wrapped up in God's marvelous grace.

Stop looking at the people who have jumped or fallen overboard and deciding whether or not they're scared enough before you jump in and get them a raft.  Stop being so hateful!

We are the hands and feet of a God whose love doesn't run out. And until we learn how to make loving people more important to us than yelling about the things we don't wish to understand, the world will continue to sit in the dirt alone.

May those who need Him most succeed in their life and faith because of us and not in spite of us.

For no matter what we stand for or what we believe, none of it matters at all without love.

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don't love,

I'm nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.

If I speak God's Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day,

and if I have faith that says to a mountain, "Jump," and it jumps,

but I don't love, I'm nothing.

If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr,

but I don't love, I've gotten nowhere.

So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do,

I'm bankrupt without love.

1 Corinthians 13:1-7, The Message

False Advertising: It's Easy

Is being a Christian easy?

 

The Christian faith is far from easy!  It's a daily dying to self!  It's full of sacrifice!  You must adopt a nature that's foreign to you!  It's a marathon, not a sprint!

 

Okay.  Great.

 

But your ad for Jesus here indicates that that might not always be true?

 

I'm told being a Christian is as easy as just believing God and accepting His grace.  And all of the people in the church seem to act like being holy is so easy, but I've tried, and it isn't.  I hate having to try to be holy, and I mess it up all the time.  So what gives--am I just weak?  Or is being a Christian much harder than a lot of people make it look?

 

~~

 

You've cut me off at the knees with these posts, you might say.  I'm just supposed to sit quietly by as the world does things I don't like?  I'm supposed to bear it all with peace and a smile?  No way!  That's too hard!

 

I get it.  I'm with you 100%.

 

We all have areas where we struggle to look like Jesus.

 

Take it from me.  I'm messy.  When my circumstances got ugly, I got fed up like anyone would.  And then, I have had to take steps to clean up my anger and frustration, folding them and stacking them according to color and size, and then with little warning, I've yanked them back out and tossed them around the room.

 

One step forward, two steps back.

 

I've had the habit of undoing what I've done, for at times the cleaning up felt helpful to my sanity.  At other times, letting it all come undone is what kept me from losing my sanity.

 

I've struggled with notions of unfairness. I've experienced consequences I didn't deserve, and it sucks.  There have been days where I have wanted to yell and scream and cry instead of putting on a good little holy face.  I've wanted to be mad.  I've longed for justice and for God to smack my situation into a state of eternal rightness.

 

I've struggled with applying forgiveness to a seemingly unforgivable situation.  I've vowed that even if God were to provide me a forgiveness paint-by-number, I still wouldn't be able to figure it out.

 

And boy have I bucked when God has pricked my heart to be the bigger person when it makes my skin crawl.

 

I've had to remind myself constantly that this is what I signed up for as a Christian--rarely easy, mostly hard.  It's like being an older sibling who sees a younger one get away with everything while experiencing consequences for the most minor of offenses, all in the name of being the one who knows better.

 

I do.  Being His child, I know better.  I know I'm not supposed to exist with grudges or unforgiveness.

 

I know all of that.  I have no problem knowing better.  But I can't always do better.

 

There have been days it has brought me to my knees because I've understood how lowly I am beneath Him.  How futile my efforts are without Him.  That I could have never been the one to be whipped and tormented for the sins of the world when I've barely been able to muster the words "I forgive you" to someone who wronged me.

 

And then there have been days I've wanted to raise my fist to the skies and shout, "KNOCK IT OFF, GOD!" Because surely He gets that I've sometimes reached my limit when He allows another heaping helping of gross onto my plate.  I've been mad when I consider that He could choose to wipe hard things away, and He doesn't.  And I've thought about all the times He let a deliberate amount of justice come to pass upon people who did a bunch of wicked things in the Old Testament.

 

I've wondered, where is the God who struck down cities?  Who fell a nasty giant with a stone?

 

Many days, I want turning-over-the-money-tables Jesus.  I want the Jesus who can scatter pompous naysayers with a stick and some fresh sand.  I want the Jesus with edge. With fire.  With spunk.  And instead, I tend to get the zenned-out seventy-times-seven Jesus who sits calmly on a hillside telling me to love my enemy.

 

And quite frankly, most of the time, I don't want to.

 

Tell me to do anything else.  I won't cheat on my husband.  I won't kill anyone or steal my favorite lip gloss from the nearby MAC store.  I won't worship fourteen-carat horses or demand Aquafina from a rock like Moses.  I can follow those all day long.  All day every day.  Not a problem.

 

But have grace and forgive?

 

Nope, sorry.  I can't do that.

 

It is hard--so, so hard--to be what He asks of us.

 

Our nature is to look out for and protect ourselves, and when we invite His nature to be a part of us, the two often crash.  Our priority is us; His priorities focus on others.

 

There's a tug of war that persists.  Sometimes, He wins out, and others we refuse to budge.  And then, maybe we let Him win enough times that we think we've got it down! And then He throws us a curve ball that can make us feel like we're back to square one.

 

It is a marathon.  It is a journey.  And an imperfect one at that.

 

But don't let the hardness of it keep you from experiencing the greatness of it.  Those moments when you finally understand what He meant by the "peace that surpasses all understanding."

 

Those moments you find you're able to lay something down at His feet.

 

Those moments you find you can forgive what you thought you couldn't.

 

Those moments you find joy when there is an overwhelming push to be discontent.

 

Those moments that someone else finally notices that you're different.

 

You are different, and what a beautiful, broken, and redeemed kind of different it is!  It reminds me of the picture our friend Jon Guerra paints in the song "Stained Glass":

Show me what you see when You look at me

Show me what is real more than what I feel

We are stains, it's true

But when Your light shines through

We all look like stained glass windows to You

 

We are only different when we let His light shine through our brokenness.

So no.  I can't lie, friend.  The Christian life is a doozie.  You'll mess it up and watch it all come back redeemed.  You'll wish for it to be easier and then be proud of yourself for enduring.  You'll strive and push against the faults in this world, and you may think things could never be different.

 

And then one day, you'll wake up and realize that something is different.

 

And that thing will be you.

 

~~

 

So go out, friend, and take heart.  You are trying your best, no doubt.  But as the days carry on, I hope for great success for you.

 

I hope that people look at you and don't just see someone who wants to be right.

 

I hope that people look at you and don't just see someone who follows the rules.

 

I hope that people look at you and don't just see someone who hopes they get what they deserve.

 

I hope that people look at you and don't just see someone who thinks that they're better.

 

I hope that people look at you and don't just see someone who can't be offended.

 

I hope that people look at you and don't just see someone who makes it look easy.

 

I hope the world looks at you.

 

And I hope they see Jesus.

False Advertising: Only the Holy

Can Christians only be around holy things and people?

 

Certainly not!  We are to be in the world but not of the world!  We can't witness to the sinners if we aren't in their presence!

 

Okay.  Well, but your ad here for Jesus indicates that that might not always be true?

 

Because Christians don't seem to be able to tolerate "unholy stuff."  In fact, they seem to parade around yelling that anything and everything and everyone offends them.  What gives?

 

~~

 

This is certainly one of the most vocalized false advertisements I've seen lately.

 

There have been many changes in the last few years with the advent of different lifestyles and passing of laws, and many Christians are none too impressed with such social and cultural shifts. 

 

And the response is quite....how do I say it kindly? Lacking in maturity.  There is covering of ears and eyes, stamping of feet, and cries of, "Don't allow that!  I'm offended by that!  YOU'RE PERSECUTING ME!!"

Kim Davis cried "persecution" when her job suddenly required her to issue marriage licenses to homosexual couples.  It didn't matter that she could have graciously and humbly and QUIETLY abdicated her role as county clerk because she didn't feel right about the new law.  She was being "persecuted" because the rules suddenly weren't what her specific religion condoned.  No one beat her for her beliefs or tried to murder her or anything of the sort.  She was expected to follow the law or remove herself.  Instead of doing the hard thing and resigning, she shut herself in her office and refused to comply with the new law in an attempt to force her county to do things the way of her belief system.

 

Persecution this is not.

 

There are folks who run bakeries who feel "persecuted" because now they must bake cakes for gay weddings or risk losing business by publicly indicating that they don't serve homosexual customers.  It's not fair!  They're infringing on my beliefs!  I shouldn't have to sacrifice my profits or my convictions!

 

Persecution this is not.

 

We aren't being persecuted because certain things that align with our faith didn't win out in a fair vote. 

 

We are offended because the world doesn't play by our rules.  The world isn't acting holy enough, and we can't handle it.

 

WAKE. UP.

 

We can decide to be offended or not.  And I find it amusingly necessary to have to remind us all (including myself) that Christians shouldn't have to be babied! 

By the nature of our beliefs, we swim upstream.  It is a path we chose, and we should anticipate--nay, EXPECT!--opposition.  If we're too busy cowering under the claim of pretend persecution, how will we ever be able to be a shining light for Jesus?!  No one said this would be easy!  And we aren't expected to be alone!

 

But we are expected to handle it better than we have.

 

The Bible tells us to be joyful always, especially when things are difficult and oppose us, not to cry and run away!

 

If you are firm in your convictions, great!  What strength you must have!  And you should never place yourself in a situation that is likely to cause you to fall.  But you are not completely excused from dealing with offensive situations. 

Dealing with vomit makes me ill to no end.  But what kind of mother would I be if I refused to take care of Harlow when she got a stomach bug?  What if I cried offense every time she was sick or did something wrong?

 

What kind of nurse would I be if I refused to ever take care of a patient who was infected?  What if I refused to care for anything but people who were well?

 

The same kind of Christian I would be if I only dealt with people who had it all together and saw the world exactly as I do.

 

Worthless.

 

My job as a mother entails taking another human being who has no idea about the ways of the world and teaching her, nurturing her, and caring for her.

 

My job as a nurse is to help those who are unwell become healthy.

 

And my job as a Christian is to point the lost to Jesus.

 

We can't be comfortable all the time.  If we are, the chances are high that we're not doing our job.

 

Consider when we are sick--no it isn't fun, and no we don't seek out sickness, but it isn't something we can avoid either, and in the end, the experience isn't worthless--we build antibodies and often immunities against it.  Our bodies learn how to be prepared for it and handle it when we encounter it again.  Our bodies gain wisdom from being in the presence of things that are toxic.  No, it isn't the state our bodies are intended to be in, but it doesn't mean that the experience is entirely evil either.

 

What if being around someone or something "offensive" allowed you to gain insight into where that offense comes from?  What if it put you on another level with the person?  What if it allowed them to open up to you?  What if it produced vulnerability?

 

Are we willing to be kind and gracious to someone even when they are offending us?

 

I think often of Elisabeth Elliot and her incredible testimony.  She and her husband Jim were missionaries, and Jim was killed in 1956 by the Auca tribe in Ecuador while attempting to reach them for Christ.  Instead of being angry or offended or crying persecution (which, in this case, it actually was persecution), she went there herself and took over ministering to the people who murdered her husband.

 

Were they holy?  Nah.

 

Were they offensive?  Yes.

 

But did she use those as reasons to write them off and stay away?  No way.

 

I understand.  I get that you don't enjoy when people curse.  When they drink in front of you or talk about all of the sex they've had.  When they talk about all of the social issues you can't support.  When they're crude and vulgar.

 

I understand how easy it is to want to turn away and tell them to knock it off.  To run away.

 

But if you can just look past it--endure it for a time if possible--you might see the soul beneath the offense.  The one that deserves to be loved and deserves a chance.  The one who needs to see someone live something better.  The one that needs a hand to hold until they are well.

 

Don't be the Christian who only sits with the well--they don't need you.

 

Find ways to do your job--wherever that may take you.

 

I read a blog post recently about a woman who was invited to go to a strip club with the ladies of her church.  They would take the dancers hot meals, give them smiles and warm words and leave.  Eventually, the ladies placed a box for prayer requests backstage, and they started a Bible study for the women who worked there.

 

What's typically seen as a dirty and unholy place to Christians was seen as an opportunity to love on an oft-forgotten and shunned group of women.

 

There were no cries of offense or persecution for their scandalous lifestyles.  They put aside whatever discomfort they might have felt for the purpose of loving others.

 

To be clear, I understand that there are certain situations that are triggers or much too tempting for certain believers, and you should take care to be wise in what areas of "offense" you choose to visit.

 

Otherwise, don't be afraid to dwell in the "depths," all while doing your best to keep true to your convictions and remaining as blameless as you can.

 

So, you find something offensive?  Okay, then don't you do it!  But don't necessarily stay away from the people who do.

 

Go where you find offense, and be what that offensive situation needs--someone who can show the light, love, and grace of Jesus.

False Advertising: I'm Better Than You

How do I compare to super pious Christians?  Are they better than I am?

 

No!  We are all equal in God's eyes!  All of us are sinners and in need of God.  There are no favorites!

Okay.  Great.

 

But your ad here says that might not be true?  The way I hear things from Christians, I'm not as good as those who don't struggle with anything or those who have been saved much longer than I have.  I'm not as good as those who are Sunday school teachers or deacons or elders.  I don't offer a lot of money, and I'm not on any committees.  I'm not as good as the people who are visibly and clearly going above and beyond.

 

So what's the deal--are super religious Christians better than everyone else or not?

 

~~

 

76 to pass.  That was all anyone needed to become a nurse at my school.  It didn't matter if you failed one test but passed all of the others--

 

76.  That was all you needed.

 

Me?  I wanted better than that.  I pushed myself because "just enough" wasn't just enough for me.  I wanted to graduate at the top of my class.  I wanted all As! Summa cum laude!

And even though I worked my tail off--working on 20-page care plans on Friday nights, waking up at 5:00 am to go to clinicals, memorizing every side effect of every drug that ever existed--I received my diploma no differently from those who squeaked by with a 76.

 

And today?  No one I take care of knows what I made on my Pharmacology tests.  They don't know if I aced all of Health Assessment or if I bombed a few quizzes or tests.

 

Because it doesn't matter.  I met the requirement of what I needed to, and because of that, I am an RN.

 

Was it fair that I spent all of my free time working toward the As when others partied all night and escaped with Cs?

 

Aiming higher for my own personal sense of accomplishment was my choice.  No one asked anything further of me.  But there were times I resented those who got by.

 

And when it comes to matters of the faith, is it true that we do the same?

 

If we take the Bible for what it says--if it's really about what we believe and not what we do--then we have no choice but to believe that a person can live his life with total disregard for the Lord and then make a commitment of faith on his death bed and go to heaven.

 

And those of us who spend our whole lives being "good"--yes, those of us who say we hope everyone will be reached with the good news of salvation--don't we resent a little bit the people who get by with that last-minute profession of faith?

 

Don't we resent the people who don't try so hard?  Who slack off and take full advantage of grace?

 

Boy, do I ever--and admittedly, that's a sour attitude to have.

 

Do you ever feel that way, too?

 

How?  you may ask.  How does God give the same reward to people who give such varying degrees of effort?  How could He give equal benefit to such unequal lives?

 

Consider that you long to have a child for the first time.  Perhaps it is difficult to conceive, and you have to undergo fertility treatments--drugs, IUI, IVF.  Perhaps you need a surrogate or to adopt.  Perhaps your baby comes early because of complications.  Perhaps everything goes normally until the very end, when your delivery doesn't go exactly as you had planned.

 

And then.

 

Then.

 

The time comes when you hold that precious baby in your arms for the first time.  She smells of that newborn smell.  She coos her soft coos.  She smiles as she drifts off to sleep.  She grabs your finger tightly in the palm of her hand.

 

And things feel so complete.

 

At that moment, is your first thought Boy, I wish you'd found some other way of getting here.

 

Or rather, However you got here, I'm just glad you're here.

 

I don't at all mean to gloss over the truth here, in that God plainly calls His children to live lives set to a higher standard, to aim for blamelessness, to be kind and compassionate and forgiving and full of grace.  In no way do I mean to encourage slacking off in a relationship with God or taking advantage of His marvelous gift of grace.

 

If anything, I hope to give your heart pause for consideration when comparison comes to steal your joy.

 

You aren't better.  They aren't worse.

 

And at the end of this life, you may be standing beside one another in heaven.

 

And being in heaven at all means you've all met the requirement of what He's asked of you.

 

Grace is the great equalizer.

 

Have you ever (secretly, of course!) hoped that some people won't make it into heaven because--as you saw it--they just didn't deserve it like you do?

 

I'll go first--I've absolutely had thoughts like that!  Not necessarily that I would ever condemn someone to hell (okay, okay, maybe on my WORST day), but maybe just not prayed as hard for them?

 

Do you ever think that? Being completely honest with yourself--are there people you'd be disappointed to see in heaven because it would reflect a truly warped sense of all that is good and holy?!

 

This topic comes up regularly with me and Brooks whenever one of us has to deal with frustrating relationships, and one night he provided me with a pearl of wisdom.

 

"What if," he began, "when we get to heaven someday...we're enjoying to the fullest all that God has to offer.  It's wonderful and beautiful and perfect.  And then...what if we witness those people we struggle with make it to the gates of heaven.  What if they make it and we see the looks on their faces when they finally understand it all.  Would it not be more rewarding to us to see them get to heaven and say, 'We had no idea.  We had no idea what we were doing, and you prayed for us anyway.'  Wouldn't that be an infinitely better reward than seeing them suffer?"

 

I softened and pondered deeply.

 

I saw his point, and it broke a barrier within me.

 

God isn't rooting for me to win and anyone else to lose.

 

He's rooting for all of us.

 

Like the Tortoise and the Hare, I've blown past what I've deemed unworthy opponents with my sights set on a finish line.

 

And what I would never expect are dark horses creeping along, making mistakes but pushing through.

 

There isn't meant to be a winner.  We can take it slow, we can take it quickly.  We can make all As or just a 76.

 

We can make mistakes and keep going.

 

And in the end, there's a finish line that He's hoping we will cross.

 

First?  Last?  Perfect or not?  Who cares!

There is no better, no worse, no point in drawing a comparison.  It never really mattered anyway.

 

For however you got here.  However.

 

He's just glad you're here at all.