Helen

I've known Helen almost my whole life, off and on. When I was an elementary school student, she worked at my elementary school. As I grew up through the rest of the grades, I kept seeing her. She was a lunch lady and, occasionally, a custodian, and always had that certain way about her. 

When I became a lunch lady myself and walked into the high school cafeteria on my first day, Helen wasn't there. But she showed up a couple of hours later for her shift. Every day. Thirty-plus years after I had first walked through my kindergarten doors, I walked through the back doors of the kitchen and Helen was still there. 

And she knew her stuff.  She had been around long enough that she knew just about everything. And, as with most persons in her generation, had an opinion about everything. She was more the boss of that kitchen than the actual manager. 

At first, Helen made a lot of complaints about me, I think. The manager kept coming to talk to me, telling me I was doing things wrong, or that I should be doing them a different way. It always bugged me that Helen wouldn't just tell me these things herself. I mean, we were both adults. Talk to me like an adult and tell me that you prefer things a certain way. Not a problem. 

But as time went on, Helen warmed up to me, and she started taking me under her wing a bit more. She started showing me some of her tricks. She started winking at me when she'd bend the rules a little. 

One day, I took a heavy load of dishes from my work line back to the dish room, where Helen was busily working to keep up. She took one look at my pile as I unloaded it from my cart, looked at me, and said, with that knowing smile of hers, "You're lucky I like you." 

And indeed, I was. 

Over the next few years, Helen would say that to me often. "You're lucky I like you," then smile a little. Maybe even chuckle a bit. It got to the point where I would beat her to it. I'd run into her in the grocery store, put an arm around her shoulder, and say, "You know, I'm lucky you like me," and she'd smile. 

It's been four years since I worked with Helen, and my life has taken me in a different direction since then. These days, I'm one of the persons at work who has been there the longest, even though I haven't been there very long at all. I've been in the business, though, for quite awhile, and I have a breadth and a depth of knowledge about a lot of things, about how we operate. 

In other words, I'm quickly becoming Helen. 

I'm becoming the person who knows how to do it. Who has the experience to be a good help. Who is the person that all the new persons, all the young persons, are looking up to. Who low-key sometimes kind of runs the place...not on purpose. 

And I admit, there are times I just take these young persons and feed them right up the chain. Tell management that they need to have a talk with the new one. Need to set them straight. Need to get the ground rules right. 

But I warm up to them, too. I enjoy mentoring and teaching and helping. I enjoy working with them, not just for work stuff, but for their lives, too. They come to me and say, "Can you help me with something?" And I think about that little ol' cart overloaded with dirty dishes, and I get a little smile on my face. 

The other day, I might even have said to one of them, "You're lucky I like you," and laughed a little. 

I am so lucky Helen liked me. Truly. Helen was such a tremendous blessing in my life for a very long time - as a student, as an employee, as a friend. And now, I'm becoming Helen. I'm becoming that person. 

Helen's friendship made me feel like one of the luckiest young women in the world. I can only hope my friendship does the same for these young folks around me. 

God Redeems

If you've ever watched horror movies, thrillers, or even true-crime documentaries, you know that the instinct of the captive is to run first and ask questions later. See an opening? Take it. Lost in the woods now? That's still better. Overestimated your endurance? At least you have a head start. 

You always see someone hiding behind a tree, trying not to be noticed by the psychopath who is pursuing them. Diving into a ditch. Ducking into an abandoned whatever. (Not smart, by the way, but here we are.) There's one thing in the captive's mind: 

I'm never going back there.

But what if "back there" is the only place you can ever truly find freedom?

Our instinct in life is to run. To get away. As far as we can as fast as we can. We'll make the rest of the plan later. 

But no one ever found true freedom by running away. You spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, always afraid it's coming back to get you, always wondering what's lurking around the next corner. Overreacting to every little noise, every flicker of light, every change in routine. You can never truly be free by running. 

But you can be free in Christ. 

And when God sets you free, He goes "back there" to make sure it sticks. Micah puts it this way: God goes to the place of your captivity to buy you back (4:10). To redeem you. To set you free. 

God goes to where your body is most broken and starts the healing there. God goes to where your relationships have failed and starts the healing there. God goes to where your life is falling apart, and that's where He starts putting it back together. 

God goes right to where the psychopath who is trying to hold you captive dwells, looks that enemy straight in the face, shoves death back into his hands and declares, "This one's Mine." 

Then He walks you away from that place, truly free. 

It's the only way. 

God of the Ruins

Have you ever seen a weed in the cracks? 

These things will grow anywhere. You're walking down a beautiful sidewalk and right there in the middle of it is a beautiful...dandelion. Around my area, the little maple tree seeds fall in their helicopters and bloom right wherever they land. We've got little tiny wannabe trees popping up in the oddest of places. 

And they'll grow right through the fence, too. See, my neighbor has weeds. But a few of them have reached through the millimeters of space between my fence boards to say hello to my yard, too. Weeds, I might add, that are growing in the 18-inch-wide patch of dirt between his garage and my 6-foot fence, where there's no such thing as sunshine and barely any rain falls and how on earth does anything grow here?

But it does. 

Sometimes, I wonder the same thing about my life. Especially in the more desolate seasons. 

In the times in which I have lost so much, seemingly everything. When the hits keep coming. When the paycheck isn't quite as big as the bills. When the food goes rotten in the fridge long before its expiration date. When the dog gets sick. When the car breaks down. When my health falters. When my faith falters. When it seems like everything around me is lying in ruins and I feel a little bit like Job, looking around for shards of the life I used to know to at least scratch the unbearable itch while my skin and my eyes weep over the troubles of this fallen world, this broken life. 

But then, a sprout. A tiny little thing. A speck of green, of new life, peeking through the cracks. 

Taking root. 

This is what our God does. He grows things in the places it doesn't seem like they would grow. Micah says He plants vineyards in the ruins (1:6), and that's true. It's not just weeds; it's flowers. And it's branches. And it's fruit. 

If I'm being honest, the fruit isn't always a comfort. Sometimes, it's bitter. When I look around the ruins of a life that seems to be falling apart, the last thing I am amused by is some little fig starting to form. Like, cool, I'm starving to death but here's one bite of fructose. Yippee. 

It's like being on a survival show and finding a grub on day 11. Fantastic. 

Yet if I'm also being honest, every time I'm out and about and see one of these little weeds that has popped up in the most unexpected place, one of these trees that's starting to sprout in a weird spot just because it doesn't know anything else to do, one little branch of a vine waving at me through my fence, I marvel at how resilient life is. At how amazing it is that even in what looks like the worst of all circumstances, something is growing here. 

Because God made it to grow. 

He plants vineyards in the ruins and we reap a harvest of the finest wine. 

That's God for ya'. 

God Sees

One of the fun things about being an adult in a middle school was catching the kids in all kinds of moments they didn't think anyone was watching. I'd just be walking down the hallway and end up walking right through some crazy handshake, some weird dance-off, some conversation that doesn't make sense unless you happen to be 12 years old. 

One of the challenges was knowing that no matter what I came upon, I may still have missed something. It's the moment you catch a normally good kid doing something totally out of character, but you missed whatever the bully did that provoked her. You see a kid ripping some toy out of another kid's hands, and it's tempting to want to step in and correct the behavior, but what you missed was that the other kid ripped the toy out someone else's hands first. It can be a lot of pressure to think you're the witness. 

It takes a lot of humility to confess that you might not know everything about what you see. 

(Honestly, I don't even know anything about any of the handshakes that I saw.) 

And I confess there have been many times in my life where I have wanted to defend myself, too. Where I have been caught in half-a-story, in a scene that doesn't quite portray the truth of what's been going on. Where what I'm seen doing doesn't seem to make any sense, but if you only had a little more context.... 

One of the comforts that we give ourselves when the world wrongly judges us is that "God knows." God knows what's really going on. God knows our hearts. God understands the whole situation. 

He saw everything. 

The prophet Jonah confirms this. God sees what people do, he says (3:10). 

God sees the thing that started it all. He sees the quiet moments that put it all in perspective. He knows what one thing has led to another. 

God sees the thing that looks totally out of character, and He knows how you got here. He doesn't have to confess He might have missed something; He saw it all. 

But what's cool about this is that God sees my good moments, too. He sees my goofy moments. He hears the little joke that makes me smile. He witnesses the secret handshake that maybe I'm just working on with myself. He sees the little bounce in my step when I'm trying something new. 

It's cool to think that as many neat moments as I've had walking the halls of a school, God has those moments all the time. And He has them in my life. 

It makes me think about what I want Him to catch me doing. What I want Him to see. It makes me think about what it means to be walking the same hallways of this world as God Himself does and knowing that at any moment, He might see something I wasn't even thinking anyone might be watching. That He might hear something that only makes sense if you've lived my life. 

Impromptu dance-off! 

God Judges

If you're paying attention to the news, you know about Israel and Gaza and you know about Russia and Ukraine. If you've got a little bit wider spread, you might be aware of what's happening to Christians in many parts of Africa. A little bit closer to home, you probably have a keen awareness of how your brother has always gotten away with everything or how your one toxic coworker seems to continue to have a stranglehold on the whole workplace. 

Face it - the world is full of broken things. Upside-down things. Things that make us wonder if God is really good, if He's really in control, and if He's ever going to do anything about the things that are so wrong in our world. 

Rest assured, friends. 

He is. 

As I think about what it means to be a person of faith trying to live in this space, in this already-but-not-yet of brokenness that hasn't been redeemed, restored, or even revenged (wouldn't that be nice?), it's easy for me to be asking the same questions as everyone else. What is God waiting on? 

I'm learning the patience. I'm learning the prayerfulness. I'm learning to wait and to try to live my own life and mind my own business and worry about me. I'm doing the things that I'm told, or that I believe, are the right things to do - trying to be faithful and figure out what faith looks like in this space and take responsibility for what it looks like to be a Christian here and now, but if I'm honest, it feels like that always falls on me. Like I'm always trying to turn these opportunities into ones for personal reflection and growth. Like I'm always putting the burden of "better" on my own shoulders as I try to just keep being faithful. 

And I wonder why it is that the burden has to be so heavy for those of us who most expectantly wait for God to step in.

Then, another verse, this one out of the New Testament, straight out of the mouth of Jesus Himself, comes to mind. "Take care of the plank in your own eye before you try to remove the speck from your brother's." 

In other words, a reminder that God has always had a higher standard for His people than He has for everyone else. A higher expectation of believers than of the non-believing world. 

We're supposed to love each other first, then worry about all the rest of the stuff that's out there. 

And when it looks like the broken world is winning, like things are falling apart and will never come back together, like hate is greater than love, like we'll never find common ground to stand on, like God isn't coming to fix things, remember that we were called to be His people first. 

So yes, what's happening in the world is tragic. It's heartbreaking. It makes us question what God is doing in the world. But perhaps the most troublesome things of all aren't the ones in the headlines; they're the ones in our heart. They're not the ones happening half a world away, but just down the street. Or maybe even in our own homes. 

As Obadiah says, the day is coming. God's judging is coming to the nations (Obadiah 1:15). 

It just starts with us. 

Susan

We weren't supposed to even know each other. When the university had started assigning roommates, we were not paired together. We weren't even in the same building. 

I was assigned to the freshman girls' dorm, but as I looked into what would be my new home, it became clear that it wouldn't work. It was a dorm without climate control and due to some health issues that we had not quite pinned down for certain, it was recommended that I have a residence with air conditioning. And with a doctor's note, they couldn't deny me. 

So a few months before my freshman year of college, they made a switch, moved me out of the freshman dorm and into the girls' hall across campus, and sent me a letter introducing me to...Susan. 

We started talking on the phone sometime around April. Our chats were friendly and full of nervous laughter, the kind of laughter you have when you're not really friends and you're not really sure of each other, but you're trying. We were always trying. 

Susan moved in a week before I did; her academic program required her to come early. So when I got to campus on the official move-in day, I wasn't sure what to expect. It was a tumultuous time for me and of course, like any freshman, I was full of nerves. By the time I got to campus, my anxiety had the best of me and I was, shall we say, a little grumpy. A little unsure. A little ready to quit before I even got started and just go home. 

Then, I passed this girl on the sidewalk on my way up to the dorm. She was at least 8 feet tall, towering over everything, and very sober-faced. Not smiling. Not really engaging. 

"That's her," I thought. "That's my freakin' roommate. I just know it." 

I was not thrilled. 

I was nervous about living with someone bigger than me. It's something I had already thought about. I am small and fairly quiet by nature, not taking up a lot of space. I was never one to take up my space. And I had nightmares about what it would be like to live with someone who took up a lot of space. Dorm rooms aren't big; they already give a little space. And from talking on the phone, I already knew that Susan was more extroverted than me. More outgoing. More socially skilled. And now, I saw this giant of a young woman on the sidewalk and all my fears about being overwhelmed in a space were coming true. (And for the record, I didn't know if that was her or not. But if it was, I was ready to go home. Seriously.) 

Susan wasn't in our room when I got there. Her side was all decked out, all dressed up, as it should have been. She'd already been there a week. My side was starkly naked in contrast. 

Except for a Care Bear, new in box, and a handwritten note on the little flimsy whiteboard they gave everyone at orientation. Basically, "Welcome" and "I thought you could use a friend." 

It's more than 20 years later, and I still have both. The Care Bear and the note. 

It turned out that the 8-foot giant I'd seen on the sidewalk was, in fact, Susan. And the crying mess of a grumpy, mopey, somewhat unnerving freshman she'd passed, and been just as uncertain of, was me. And we became good friends, friends who have talked almost every day for 22 years...and counting. 

But I think a lot about that little gift, that little thing in the nakedness of my new season, and how the smallest things can make the biggest differences.

I am someone who is blessed to be somewhat established in this season in my life. I've been at my job, for example, for longer than most of the persons on my unit. I'm someone that others go to for help, for advice, for guidance. And I think about what it means to be the person who has moved in first. The one who is already settled. The one who knows what the empty space looks like and has the opportunity to prepare it for the person who is about to walk into it. 

It may just be the gift they need. 

On Being Thankful

Today is a day on which many Americans will pause to be thankful. 

We will look around our tables, look around our lives, look into our mirrors and push aside all of the negative things, if only for just a breath, that have taken our breath away this year and use one strong exhale to embrace what is good. 

We will sit around with one another and ask each other, "What are you thankful for?" And we will receive answers that look very common, no matter what table you're at. For family. For friends. For jobs. For healing. For food. For pets. For victories. 

But for many of us, as we speak those words, they will feel a little empty. A little forced. A little fake. 

Because some of us aren't in a good season. Some of us have been fighting battles that others can't even fathom. We've been stuck in a pit of darkness, swirling down into greater and greater troubles and griefs like we're stuck in some kind of horrible whirlpool. We cannot escape. 

The season we're in has maybe taken so much from us. We've lost someone we love. We've lost multiple someones we love. We burned through our savings. We got a new diagnosis. We were laid off at work. Worse, we were fired altogether. We are looking at an empty chair across from us at the table - a parent who died, a partner who is separating, a child who has grown up. 

For all kinds of reasons, the heaviest thing at the table this year might not be our plate; it might be our heart. 

And yet, there is still this pressure to push it all aside, plaster on a smile, and claim one good thing we're thankful for. 

Like Jesus. Maybe Jesus. That's always a good answer, right? 

Sure, I guess. Unless in your dark season, you're struggling to be thankful for Him right now. Unless you're struggling to believe. Unless you have questions that haven't been answered yet. 

Listen, I'm not saying we shouldn't look for the good in our lives. Of course, we should. But what I am saying is that we have to be honest about the bad, too. We have to be honest about what's real for us in this season. 

Remember, we didn't ask for this season to be this season, and we didn't plan for it to come at Thanksgiving. But it is what it is and we are where we are and we're dealing with what we're dealing with. 

And I don't think we have to be thankful only for the good things. 

I think one of the measures of our faith is how we can be thankful for the bad ones, too. How we can hold onto thankfulness in a season when we don't really feel it. How we can choose to embrace what is unknown and unwelcome and not push it aside, but embrace it with thankfulness. Like Paul's thorn in the flesh. He was thankful because of the way that it changed his perspective. He didn't pretend it didn't exist.

He reframed it, if only for a moment, as a gift. 

So if today, you're in a season, and someone asks you what you're thankful for, think long and hard before answering. Let your season settle in your heart for a moment and ask yourself what kind of gift it might still be giving - even if it's a gift you didn't ask for or one you don't particularly want or one you haven't unwrapped yet. Ask yourself if you're thankful for your hard days and, if you can be thankful for them, share that. 

And if you can't be, then share that, too. 

There are no bonus points in heaven for plastering a fake smile on your hard days and pretending this life has to be good all the time. Only God is good all the time; the rest of us live in seasons. 

And some of those seasons are hard. 

And that's okay, too.  

God's Plumb Line

You've probably heard of a level. It's a tool you use to make sure things are perfectly straight across. Things like a shelf, which you would need to hold things and not have things roll off of it. And these days, most good levels come with multiple bubbles that will help you get things just right horizontally, vertically, and even on an angle. Just flip that level around whichever way you need it, and there you go. 

But there's another tool that craftsmen have used much longer than our modern levels, and that's the plumb line. Some folks call it a plumb bob. Not really sure how bob ended up with a plumb named after him, but here we are. 

A plumb (for short) is basically a line with a weight on one end and you can hold the loose end at the top of your space, and the weight pulls it down into a straight line with gravity. Then, you can make sure whatever you're working on is perfectly up and down. 

That it's straight. 

The prophet Amos says this is how God makes measure of the world. He holds a plumb line from up on high (7:7-9). And when He does, the weight of His glory holds it straight down to the earth so that He can see just how straight His creation is. 

Spoiler alert: we're not that straight. 

But because of His glory, because of His standard, because of the way He patiently holds the line until it comes to settle just the way that it needs to, we have a guide that can help us be straighter. 

I live in an old house. A really old house. As I write, it is approaching the century-old mark. So needless to say, plumb lines don't do me a whole lot of good. Or so you would think. I'm not sure that there's a single stud or beam left in this house that would pass a plumb test. 

Kind of like my life. I'm not sure if there's anything straight enough sometimes to stand up next to God's plumb line. 

And yet, one of the tricks when making repairs in an old house is figuring out how to get something straight to fit in a crooked hole. How to put a new door in plumb in a jamb that's leaning slightly left. How to use saws and shims to reshape what's a little wonky. Because as tempting as it may be to just throw the door in at the same angle the rest of the house has settled, it doesn't work. The new door was built plumb, and it will take all kinds of time to make it crooked. You just can't get those angles right. 

So you have to bring the off-angles into line with the new plumb. You have to do your best (and sometimes, it takes a bit...or a bit more) to get that old space plumb enough to take a new door. Otherwise, you're going to end up with big gaps where the door is square but the hole is not and now, you've got a draft and a great place for insects to come find refuge in your climate-controlled environment. 

The same is true about God's plumb line. It can be frustrating at times. Discouraging, even, to see how far off our lives have gotten. But the purpose of the plumb line is to help us build up our crooked spaces to take something new that's already plumb. To hold something that's straight. To put one new thing in one old place and know that, no matter how the rest of our lives have settled, this is the way it ought to be.

To the glory of God. 

Thanks, bob. 

God of Light

One of my favorite times to be outside is the time of astronomical twilight. This period of time happens twice every day - once in the morning, between the first hint of light and the actual sunrise, and once in the evening, between the sunset and the last hint of light. In other words, it is the time in which it is both dark and light at the same time. 

Both and, somehow, neither. 

And friends, if that is not the story of my life. 

This life I live is somehow both darkness and light and in the same breath, it is neither. Because I understand how it is that God works all things together for good, how my own knowledge and perspective is finite, and how things turn at the most unexpected places in any story.

I have lived my life for long enough to never believe this scene will go unedited. To never think that today has the final word on how this season will be written in the final book. To understand that tomorrow really can put a new spin on today that I never saw coming, one that I can't explain, one that I can't even fathom right now. 

What feels like a letdown might be a setup. What feels like a failure might be a victory. What feels like a closed door and a disappointment might be keeping me from something worse...or leading me to something better. 

See, what I know about my God is that He is always working. And because He is always working, things are always subject to change. 

As Amos says, God makes light into darkness and darkness into light (5:8), and my life has been such a living testimony of that that there's not a day that goes by that I don't believe it. 

It's a tremendous gift, or so I've been told, to have the kind of faith that can hold onto something like this. To have a faith that can keep believing in the hard times. To be able to believe in the things I have not seen, as surely as I believe in the things that I have, based on nothing more than knowing that this is the very character and heart of God. He is always doing this. 

For me, this life we live - this life of faith - is just the long version of my favorite time of day. It's astronomical twilight all the time, that beautiful time when it is both dark and light and at the same time, neither. It's that cool time when all the amazing colors are plastered across the sky and the reds, oranges, and purples overtake the blue that we can sometimes feel so confident in. And at any moment, God can flip the whole thing and it will totally take our breath away. 

It's a truly beautiful space to live in. With the grace and glory of our God who tips the scales and turns things on their heads and edits this scene over and over and over again until the darkness and the light are so intermingled, so intertwined, that all these beautiful colors have overtaken everything. 

And it is both daybreak and it is not. And it is both sunset and it is not. And it is both darkness and light and it is neither. Until God speaks it. 

And then, it is glorious. 

God is Safe

In a world in which we are all just walking each other Home, we're also all looking for safe spaces along the way. Shelters in the storm. Refuges from the weary brokenness of this world. And, quite honestly, someone who is just walking us home. 

And we have all been wounded by folks who have turned out not to be safe at all. 

Folks who couldn't keep our secrets. Who used our story as fodder for gossip. Folks who don't actually have an interest in us but have a great interest in knowing things and who build their reputation on always being in the know. Actually, that's why we gravitate toward them; they always seem to know what's going on, so we think that makes them a reliable source of confidence when, in fact, some of the persons who are always in the know are quite toxic. Knowing, not loving, is their thing. 

Folks who thrive on drama. They love inserting themselves into everything because it fuels them. And they have this unique ability to blow everything up in their mind and make mountains out of molehills...and then instantly be willing to die on them. They create their big stories out of your little one and there's not an ounce of anything you can tell them that will change their mind. They take your life and they run away with it and all of a sudden, you're completely out of control of your own being. Forget being safe; you just want your story back. 

Folks who are so distracted by their own story that they can't invest in yours. We live in a world that listens to respond more than it listens to love, and this is true in the ways that we relate to one another. Sometimes, we think we've found a kindred spirit and a safe person, but if we look at it a little closer, we realize that we're just trading war stories; neither one of us is doing anything about the foxhole we're in. 

Yes, sadly, safe persons are hard to find. We're all so laden with our own baggage that it's hard to find someone who is able to push it all aside and truly be the kind of refuge we need (unless you're willing to pay a professional for the privilege, but even then, it's not a guarantee). 

But on this journey we're all making Home, we do have one good Friend along the way. One truly Safe Space. One set of arms into which to fall, one heart to hear beating, one embrace that makes all things well. 

God, the prophet Joel says, is a safe place for His people (3:15-16). 

In the darkest of days, in the hardest of times, when the sun and moon go dark and the stars no longer shine and thunder roars and the whole earth trembles, God will be a safe place. 

A shelter in the storm. A refuge from the weary brokenness of this world. A strong fortress on a shaking ground. The whole earth may tremble, but God's hold on us is strong. He takes us in His hands and covers us. 

Loving is His thing. 

He doesn't share our secrets; He whispers love into our ears. He doesn't thrive on our drama; He restores our soul. He's not so distracted by being God that He can't invest in us; we are His treasure. In all the ways that we fail each other and are failed by each other in this world just looking for one safe place, God never fails. Not once. 

And that's how, the prophet continues, we know He is the Lord. 

Unnamed

I have been sharing stories of persons who have shaped my life - the way that I think about things, the things I think about myself, the ways that I interact with the world. And until today, I have named each one of them. But today, I am not going to use a name. 

I want to, but things still feel a little fragile with this person (which is probably entirely me and not them), and I don't want to put the weight of a single moment on it right now. I am mindful of the ways in which telling my story, especially where it intersects with others, is to also tell their story. And doing so can change a dynamic. 

But I've been thinking about this person, and this moment, a lot lately. It was a moment in which my confidence got the best of me. My confidence and my woundedness. 

It was one of those moments that started with me feeling like I wasn't being taken seriously. Like I wasn't being given credit for being as capable as I am. Yes, it was one of those moments that started with an omission - not an outright rejection, but an omission. 

I wasn't asked to do something. 

I wasn't asked not to do it. I wasn't told not to do. I just wasn't asked to do it. And in my indignant little soul, I was standing there completely offended. I'm just as good and capable as anyone else. Doesn't this person know who I am? Is it because I'm a girl? 

And it seemed stupid. I mean, I was asked to go do another part of the task that would put me right adjacent to the part of the task I was not asked to do. Meanwhile, someone else would be waiting until I finished my part of the work to come and do the thing I wasn't asked to do. Doesn't it make more sense for me to just do the whole thing, since I'm going to be standing right there? Makes sense to me. Makes more sense than for me to walk all the way over to where I need to do my part, then walk all the way back to inform someone else it's time for them to walk all the way over there to do their part, which would bring them right back to where we both already started. 

And I was totally capable. It was a simple sort of thing, the kind of thing I had done a thousand times, though not in this particular situation or with this particular piece of equipment. But...I got this. So I'm going to surprise them all, cut out the middle man, and come riding in like a triumphant little soldier on a victory lap. 

Until I didn't. 

Until I got stuck. 

Until part of the task took me by surprise and caught me in a way that I wouldn't have expected. And, suddenly completely unsure of myself, I stopped mid-task and left the whole thing in a very precarious place. 

And I never heard another word about it. Not then. Not since then. It's been almost a decade since that moment, and this person has never brought it up. In fact, I think the only thing said at that time was a little lesson about how I could have gotten through that little trouble spot and could have done it. 

This person gave me the grace to fail...and then to just move on. And for some reason, I have been thinking about this moment a lot recently and thinking about what a tremendous gift it is. 

If I hadn't been in a position to fail, I wouldn't have been in a position to succeed, either. You never succeed at anything you don't try, and you don't learn anything new without trying. For example, that day, I learned that I wasn't as capable as I thought I was and that maybe others had more understanding about certain things than I did. But I also learned how to do it better next time, if there ever is a next time, and I think that if there is, that person would tell me I could do it - even with all the evidence to the contrary. The fact that, when I took the chance that wasn't given to me, I couldn't do it. The next time there's a chance, it might be given to me. By the very same person. 

And I want to be that person. I want to be that person that's safe to fail around. I want to be that person who will let you try, embrace the teaching moment, and then throw you the keys the next time it comes around. I want to be a teacher full of grace and encouragement as much as wisdom and knowledge. 

I thank this person for that example. Which, by the way, they keep setting for me, even now.  

God Pays Back

Some seasons of life are harder than others. They require more, they take more, they leave less behind. They put us in a mindset where every day is a grind, where we aren't sure whether we'll make it through...or what we might look like if we do. Everything that we have is put on the table, and then it feels like Jesus flips that table, and we're left wondering what on earth is happening. 

What in the heavens is happening. 

I have known many persons who have encountered such tough seasons. I think nearly all of us have. Struggle seems to be universal in a fallen world, just as Jesus promised it would be. (In this world, you will have trouble.) 

But what is also true is that struggle doesn't last forever. And when it finally comes to an end, God pays us back for the times of trouble we've had (Joel 2:25). 

That's been God's story from the very beginning. From slavery to the Promised Land. From exile back home. From the pile of ashes to the life of abundant blessings. If you read God's story, every chapter comes back to a tremendous blessing that is built on the former burden. It's just the way God works. 

Now, of course, there are some exceptions here. There are persons who get so addicted to the drama that they don't know how to function without it, so they keep running their lives off the rails because that's what feels most comfortable to them. They never experience the blessings of God because they're too busy stuck where they're at to come out of it. That's not on God; that's on them. 

And I've worked with enough hospice families to know that we don't always get God's return investment in the seasons in which we want it. Our loved ones still die. We still suffer. Life is hard. Pain is real. Grief is overwhelming. But I've also had the opportunity to run into a handful of these families just a short season later, and I can see it - I can see how their lives are coming full again. 

And that's really it - when we say that God pays back for times of trouble, what we're really saying is that God makes full the things that this world empties out. When you've poured your last pour from what was once an overflowing cup, God overfills you again. When you hear the pain echo through the hollow halls of your aching heart, God puts a new song in that empty space. 

Over and over and over again, we're living lives where God keeps patching the cracks, gluing the pieces back together, and filling us up...just when the world thinks it's shattered us beyond repair and laughs at the mess of our lives that has spilled out all over the floor. 

Nah, world. You just made room for more. And God...the Lord my God...has always been a God of more. 

So if you're going through a tough season, know that God is already working on it. He's already building the treasure He's going to pour back into you. Read His story again if you have to and see how He's done it again and again and again and again, for persons just like you. 

That first drop hits like water in the desert and then, before you know it, your cup overflows again with all the goodness of God who does not leave His people empty. 

God of Kindness

There are persons in this world who believe that the world is a dangerous place. Certainly, it's nothing like it was 30 years ago. The things that we used to do as kids, most parents today would never let their kids do - things like stay out all day without some kind of tracking device (or cell phone), ride their bikes all over town, knock on neighbors' doors, etc. It just doesn't seem safe. I mean, have you seen this world? 

Social media is full of unproven stories about suspicious persons following shoppers through the stores, eyeing young children, lurking in parking lots. Almost every single one of these stories has been proven false, with no actual police record to document any such occurrences, but it doesn't stop the stories from striking fear and gossip in the hearts of those who fear this world. 

The thing is, if you're really paying attention, there's more kindness in this world than there is anything else. 

There are more persons willing to pull an item off the top shelf for an elderly shopper than there are thieves waiting to steal her purse. More persons willing to take that shopping cart off your hands in the parking lot than try to carjack you. More persons who will pick up the little toy your toddler just dropped and hand it back to him than are looking to take him out of your hands. More persons who will hold a door for you than slam one in your face. And the numbers aren't even close. 

Kindness in this world is at least 10,000 to 1 over evil. 

And for good reason. 

Because God leads people with human kindness (Hosea 11:4). 

Kindness is one of the gifts God has given us to give each other. It's one of the ways He is reaching out to us. It's how He is guiding us to better things, to be better persons, to trust a little more, to accept love, to treasure grace, to do what He's called us to do in this world - to "one another" one another. 

And if your life has ever been touched by kindness, you get it. You know how it draws you a little bit closer to your neighbor, and a little bit closer to God. You know how it strengthens your tired hands to take a new grip on a weary life. You know how it encourages your heart. You know how it prompts you to take that next big step, trust that next big thing, try something new. 

One small act of kindness coming into your life makes you feel like you can do anything, at least for the next little bit. It makes you feel like you can go one more minute, one more day, one more mile. One more smile. It makes you want to reach out to the person next to you, and them to the one next to them, and on and on until kindness spreads through the world. 

And all of a sudden, it doesn't seem like such a scary place any more. 

Because it isn't. 

The world is full of kindness. It is God's gift to us, and His gift for us to give one another. It's how He leads us through this broken life - one anothering with one another, walking each other Home, on our way back to Him. 

God Strengthens

Most of my friends know that I'm a runner. I enjoy running, and I will push myself to great lengths to do it every chance that I get. 

But being a runner isn't just about running. That is, if all you ever do is run, you won't be very good at it, you won't get faster, you won't be able to go further, and you'll probably get injured. A lot. You might make progress in some of these areas, but your progress will be slow and small and, at times, incredibly discouraging. And, if you're running for fitness, then running alone is unlikely to dramatically change your body composition. At least, not in the ways that you want it to. 

If you want to be a good runner, you have to be a cross-trainer. You have to invest yourself in strength and resistance workouts just as much. You have to give your body some definition across all muscle groups if you want to use most efficiently those muscle groups that power your running. And doing so gives your body the kind of definition that you're looking for, too. 

Strength and resistance training are kind of tough. It's not just about lifting weight; it's about lifting weight over and over again. It's about doing it once, then doing it twice. It's about doing it more tomorrow than you did it yesterday. It's about getting in reps, and then doing those reps in more sets.

That's not numerical; it's not a statistic. It's about tearing your muscles a little bit at a time so that they can fill back in with muscle. It's about tearing them again so they can put a little more muscle there a second time. It's about moving them in a bunch of different ways so that you're opening up all kinds of spaces for new muscle to grow. It's about doing something, letting your body feel it, then doing it again to remind your body what it feels like. 

The repetition is key. Our bodies depend on it. 

So does our faith. 

As Hosea was working his way through an unfaithful marriage and through chasing his wayward wife down again and again, proving his love, redeeming her, chasing her, demonstrating God's faithfulness, he reflected that God trains and strengthens us (7:15). And the way God does this is the same way that we do with our bodies. 

He does it through repetition. Through stressing and straining and creating spaces for bigger faith muscles to fill in, then stressing and straining all over again. Through giving us opportunities to do it all over again, to keep believing, to keep hoping, to keep loving, to keep praising. Through letting us feel it, then letting us feel it again.

Because only when you start to feel it again do you start to understand how strong you really are, how strong you're getting. 

If all you ever do is the same thing you've always done, you won't be very good at it. You won't get faster nor go further, and you'll probably get hurt. A lot. Whatever progress you do make will feel so small and so slow as to be discouraging, and you won't see the kinds of changes in your life that you want. 

That's why you have to cross-train your faith. Not just persevere in the same practices you've always had, but invest in new things. Engage in strength and resistance. Let your faith stretch you, tear you a little bit. Let it create spaces in your life to get stronger. That's how you get the kind of life of faith that you want. 

And God is good to do it. He's always right there cheering you on, pushing you, inviting you to pick it up and do it one more time, one more time, one more time. 

Believe. Trust. Hope. Love. Live. 

That's how we get stronger. 

God Saves

Recently, I had the opportunity to give a cardboard testimony - one of those silent videos where you write your former life on one side of a piece of cardboard and then flip it over to reveal your new life in Christ. As I thought about what I wanted to say in such a small space in such a short time to a world with such a short attention span, I wrestled. 

I wrestled because God has done so much for me in my life. I wrestled because how do you shrink a whole life down to one little piece of cardboard? I wrestled because I wondered what part of my testimony is the most powerful, which is the most important, which would most need to be heard by the audience, which was most relatable. 

As I struggled to figure out what to write, I realized that one particular message was taking shape in my heart. Just one. It didn't matter what my starting point was, what life circumstance I started with, what scenario I wanted to share, what scene of my story came to mind, the outcome was always the same: 

The thing that has changed my life the most, the thing that makes my today a today instead of a yesterday, the thing that has shaped me in the most powerful way is God's love for me. 

Whatever I decided to use as my starting point, my ending point had to be "Beloved," for that is the only thing that has truly mattered. 

When we think of God and all the ways we want Him to change our lives, all the ways we want Him to fix things for us, love is rarely our first choice. 

Honestly, most of us are looking for the God of the Old Testament, not the new one. We want the God who comes blazing in with pots of fire and swords and slingshots. We want the God who smites those who stand in our way. We want the God who cuts the foreskins off of our enemies. We want the God who has a promise and keeps it, come hell or high water (literally), who parts the seas and tears down the walls and marches His people out of slavery and exile and back to a place called home, no matter what the powers that be say. 

We want the God of lightning and thunder, the God who shakes the foundations of the world.

But Hosea says that's not our God. Our God doesn't save with war or with weapons (1:7). 

He saves with love. That's this prophet's whole story, and when I look back on my life, it's mine, too. 

And that, my friends, shakes the foundations of the world. 

Delbert (Again)

Several months ago, I wrote about Delbert, my elementary school principal who demonstrated hard work in the face of adversity and the quiet kind of spirit that I aspire to have. At the time that I wrote that reflection, another encounter I had with Delbert came to mind, and I would be remiss if I did not share that one, too. 

This one happened when I was a full-grown adult. (I'm still a full-grown adult, but I mean this in contrast to my elementary school years and young life from whence the last reflection took place.) 

I was one of those kids who routinely went back and visited my teachers. Truth is, I still needed the encouragement in my life that they provided, and it was the one place I very rarely felt judged. My teachers saw all my best qualities, and even though they were aware of my struggles, too, there was something about the way they always made me feel stronger that kept me coming back. Add to that that Delbert was, after all, a friend of the family, and our connection was just so profound. 

Especially after working together on those construction projects for so long, too. 

Delbert had retired by this point, but I'd gotten wind that he was going back to the old elementary school to help put out the annual Christmas decorations - a tradition for this little school. So, of course, I drove over to say hey and lend a hand. The two guys who decorated those school grounds every year were the kinds of men that I needed in my life, and I took every chance to see either one of them. This would give me both. 

I showed up and walked into the shed where they were pulling out cut-outs of angels and singers and Christmas trees and all the trimmings, and I just hopped right in and started helping. It took a few seconds, but they recognized who I was and a happy reunion ensued. Once we got everything loaded up in the back of Delbert's pick-up truck (a fairly new-looking truck compared to what I'd known him to drive previously), he very casually threw me the keys and said, "I'm gonna ride back here and hold these decorations down. You drive." 

He hadn't seen me in a few years, at least, but here he was, throwing me the keys to what I'm sure was at least a $50,000 truck, maybe more, and wholly trusting me to get us where we were going. 

Honestly, I chickened out. I've always been a very good, safe driver, and I can drive pretty much anything on wheels. I was the designated driver for some of my summer work because everyone else was too scared to try a cargo van or a 15-passenger, but I got this. But there was no way I was risking at ALL messing up Delbert's truck. I didn't want to be responsible for anything that might go wrong. Honestly, I couldn't afford to be. So I handed the keys back to him and told him I'd ride in the back and keep things steady, and he could drive. 

He agreed. 

That moment has stuck with me. Obviously, the trust that he had in me after a lifetime of relationship was meaningful. It still is. But something about how that relational asset that we had built together trumped the value of his worldly goods has stuck with me even harder. As a person who has lived on very little, depended on the kindness of strangers, taken care of my stuff, and struggled to have some of what we call "material comforts," it's hard for me to think about putting something I own in jeopardy. It's hard for me sometimes to be generous with my things because I've felt the scarcity of life without them.

But that moment with Delbert reminds me that things are things and persons are persons and to never confuse the two. Relationship, human beings, persons are the greater gift, and especially when you've built up that relationship for a good measure of time, you have to learn to hold the things of this world with open hands so you can embrace the better thing - the person - that is right in front of you. 

I'm working on it. And you know what? I've been finding that being generous is really fun, too. Living with open hands brings so much more richness into my life. 

I bet Delbert already knew that. That's how he could just do it so easily, just toss me those keys. 

Given the chance again, maybe I'd drive. 

God Plans

You know what they say about the best laid plans...

...but they're wrong. 

Oh, they're right...in worldly terms. In terms of the things that we try to do for ourselves, that we try to work out, that we try to organize. 

I'll be honest with you: I am not an organizer. I don't know what it is, but I have the unique ability to get everyone all excited about something and then have everyone back out at the last minute. 

A few years ago, one of my neighbors mentioned to me that she was planning a garage sale and asked if I had anything I wanted to add. I told her that I had also been working my way toward a garage sale, so I would try to have my stuff ready by her date, and we could just have a double garage sale. A day or two later, I caught another neighbor out on the porch, and I told her we were having a garage sale in a couple of weeks if she was interested. She said she was also working toward a garage sale and had been planning one the week after that, but would love to try to do something if we were all doing it together. 

By the end of that first week, I had at least 5 neighbors on board for a single-date, street-wide garage sale. Someone was making signs. Someone else was going to run an ad in the paper. The long-term weather forecast looked good. 

We ended up having 3 separate garage sales on 3 separate dates with 2 families backing out altogether and just taking their stuff to charity. 

This is the story of my life when I'm the one trying to make plans. They just never come together. 

Thankfully, that's not true for everyone. And most thankfully, it's not true for God. 

What God plans to happen will happen (Daniel 11:36). 

Period. 

He plans it, and it will come to pass. He puts it in motion, and it will come through. If it's on God's calendar, you can mark it on yours because He knows what He's doing and since He works all things together, He knows how they're working, and it's set. It's a done deal. 

That doesn't mean it is coming in our time frame. That doesn't mean it's going to look exactly the way we want it to look. It doesn't mean we aren't speaking a whole different language sometimes than God is. But it means that if God has planned it, it is happening. If God has ordained it, it's on its way. If God has willed it, it's as good as truth for you. Might as well start living like it. 

And I love that. 

Because as often as my plans have fallen apart in this life, His promises never have. And I need that kind of confident assurance in my life. 

God is Great

I can tend to be a very insecure person, made worse by times of stress or illness. Something in me seems wired to embrace most fully, and obsess over, my failures and flubs instead of my successes. As soon as I have a bad day, or a bad week, or a bad season, I tend to fear that my reputation is ruined forever, that no one will remember anything good about me, that I'll never get a second chance (or maybe, I've already had one, and I just blew that, too). 

On my best days, I can remember that this mindset is a lie. That it's a byproduct of some of the experiences that I've had in my life. That I don't consciously choose it, but I can consciously choose against it because it's simply not true. Reasonable, rational human beings do not simply start despising you because you had a bad day; they are capable of holding more in their memory of you than your last worst moment. 

But I confess that our culture doesn't really help much, either. We live in a world so set on division. On judgment. On calling each other out and calling it "honest" or whatever. We're "being real," and what we're "being real" about is that you're an idiot, a failure, a moron, a danger to society, whatever. A quick read through nearly any comment section reminds us that too many of us are more willing to speak a word of hate, division, rejection, or judgment than support or encouragement. 

And, honestly, the plethora of negative words can actively discourage us from speaking positive ones. 

Hey, we don't want to be on the "wrong" side of this thing, do we?

The way that our culture works, and the insecurities that we have developed as a result, extend not just to human beings, but also to God. This world has an overwhelmingly negative, judgmental, condescending view of God (the culture, not the church), and they're willing to say all kinds of things against Him just because it's en vogue to be outraged and upset and condemning of everything. 

It doesn't matter how many good things come out of God's love in the world, as soon as there is one perceived negative thing with God's name attached to it, the whole world seems to forget, to lose its mind, and to condemn God Himself to the pits of Hell. 

Maybe that's why I'm so insecure about it. If the world can condemn God so quickly.... 

And if you ask the world who God is, they'll tell you - He's no good. He's judgment. He's condemnation. He's smite-y. Just look at the Old Testament, where He's killing folk for no good reason except that He wants their land for His own people. Granted, the world doesn't have a good look on God, and it's easy for us to feel torn as Christians. I mean, what do you do?

But Daniel says that these are not the things God is known by. And...he's right. 

God is known by the great things He's done (Daniel 9:15), no matter what else the world tries to remember of Him. 

When the people of God tell His story, they tell the story of creating the world, giving the promise, saving the remnant, leading the people out of slavery, bringing them back from exile, being born in a manger, crucified on a cross, and walking out of an empty tomb. They tell the story of the God who gives sight to the blind, sound to the deaf, and a name to the forgotten. They tell the story of the God who talks to women, who rains manna from heaven, who makes all things new. And that's the difference. 

God is known by these things, no matter what other narrative tries to creep in, and as the people of God, we don't forget that. That is the story we keep telling because it's the one we know is most true. It's the one we know carries the heart of God in it. 

So maybe there's hope for us after all. 

God of Miracles

Daniel is one of those really cool guys who, when you read his story, never seems to have lost sight of God. He just is always locked in on faithfulness, on God's heart, on God's will, and he seems to have the strength to stand up to whatever just to do what is right and holy. 

(I think Daniel probably had his moments, just like the rest of us, but his story is one of strength, courage, and steadfastness, overwhelmingly.) 

So when Daniel, who knew exile and fire and lions and persecution and hard choices and, I assume, the sometimes deafening silence of God, speaks about who God is, I listen. 

One of my favorite things that Daniel says about God is the proclamation, the prophetic reminder, the absolute assurance that God is doing miracles in heaven and on earth (6:27).

It's tempting to read this and to want think that God is moving the heavens and the earth for our sake, that the miracles that He's doing in heaven are the ones He's sending to earth, that He's preparing everything ahead of time for us and sending it down through one of those tube systems like they use at the bank. Miracles in the heavens, for the sake of the earth. 

But when I read this passage again recently, I had an entirely different image run through my head, and I love it more. 

I envisioned a God - Creator of all, Love embodied, all-knowing, all-powerful - sitting in the heavens, playing. 

Doing miracles just for the fun of it. 

Violating the established rules of creation to break through with fun, with goodness, with love, with whimsy. Pushing aside the laws of nature just because He can, just because He's, as we'd say around here, fiddlin' around. I picture a God who is doing miracles just fiddlin' around. 

He can, you know. He can do exactly that. The God who created the structure of everything can break it whenever and however He wants, for whatever reason He wants. Even if that reason is just to have some fun. I picture Him in the heavens doing all kinds of things that simply delight Him. For no other reason than the pure joy of it. 

Which is, by the way, why He created you in the first place. For the pure joy of it. 

It gives me a whole different vision of God. As Creator, yes. As Father, of course. But as joy and fun and fiddlin'. 

And I think we need that image of God sometimes. Or...a lot of the time.

I know I do. 

God Saves

There is no shortage in this world of things that claim they will save you. Refinancing companies, the latest gadgets, new medications, off-label usages, even "natural" remedies for things you didn't even know you had. It seems that everywhere you turn, there is someone or something offering you some solution for some trouble, real or perceived, something intended to make your life better. 

And, as we know, most of these things amount to nothing more than snake oil. 

They may have the intended effect, but they don't address the deep-down issues that come along with our brokenness. They might restore the body or the bank account or the circumstance, but they do little to touch the soul. They might put out the fire, but you definitely still got burned. 

Then, there's God. 

It's one of the most well-known stories in the Bible. Three faithful men of God - Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego - are thrown into a fiery furnace, a furnace so hot that it killed the men who were responsible for throwing them in there in the first place. And yet, they are seen just walking around in the fire, no longer bound by the ropes that were once tied around their hands, not even a hair on their head was singed. And there was an extra Man in the fire with them. 

After he orders them to come out of the fire, Nebuchadnezzar issues a decree that everyone should worship the God of these men, the Lord. "For there is no other god who can save like this" (Daniel 3:29). 

Only the Lord lets you walk in the fire and not get burned. Only the Lord uses the fire to burn away the chains of the world. Only the Lord uses a death sentence to set you free. 

I'm not sure if this is what the world is still seeing about our Lord, by our witness, but it's what they need to see. 

This world needs to see our God saving us in this way. They need to see Him walking around in our troubles with us. They need to see our chains broken and our ropes burned. They need to see not a hair on our head is singed. They need to see that we don't even smell like smoke. 

That doesn't mean we can't smell the smoke; of course, we can. It means it doesn't get on us and sully us. It doesn't soil us. It doesn't leave the kind of mark that the world thinks it ought to leave. And certainly, it doesn't kill us. 

The world needs to see our God who uses a death sentence - the crucifixion of Christ - to set us free. 

For if the world was seeing this, if this was the witness that we were living, if our lives somehow found a way, in God, to rise above the roar and the fire and the flame and the rage...what other conclusion could there be but the one Nebuchadnezzar came to thousands of years ago? 

We must worship this God, for there is no other god who can save like this.

Joyce

Joyce was never my teacher. Not in the way that she should have been. The year that I would have had her, I had other things going on in my life that prevented me from being part of the program that she took over teaching that year. 

But that didn't stop her from greeting me with joy when I used to go back and visit my old elementary school. 

From the moment we first met as grown-ups, it was like we were old friends.

Joyce has the ability to speak encouragement and life into me in a way that very few others in this world do...and she's happy to do it. At various points in my journey in adulthood, she has been around with a reminder of how strong, how capable, how good I am and how very much I have to offer and how very much I've made it through already. 

There are persons who sometimes say these exact same words to me, and I don't even hear them. I don't believe them. I don't think they understand, and their words kind of anger me. How can they say that? They don't know. It doesn't matter. 

But when Joyce says them, they stick. They mean something. They don't feel empty; they feel full. Full of hope, of love, of compassion, of faith. Somehow, she believes in me. Against all evidence and all the ways I've messed my life up and all the things that have come against me and all that I've had to fight and all the battles I've lost, there's this very authentic absolute faith that comes across when this woman speaks to me. 

She has this way of putting perspective into things, of helping me to learn to see things in a new way. To think in new ways. To reflect in new ways. 

To be more gentle with myself. 

She was never my teacher; not in the way that she should have been. But she's been teaching me forever. 

And I am so thankful. For that and for our friendship. 

On my best days, I hope I'm that kind of encourager. On my lesser days, it's still who I aspire to be. I want to be gentle in spirit and powerful in truth and the kind of person that others find rest in, even when I am still pushing them to grow. I want to be that voice that comforts, inspires, and challenges all at the same time. I want to speak words that never feel empty, but always feel full - full of hope, full of love, full of compassion, full of faith. I want to believe in you so much that you can't help but believe in yourself when you're around me...and maybe even a little bit after you leave. 

I may never be your teacher, but I want you to learn something good from me. 

God Permits

In tough seasons, when nothing seems to be going right, when brokenness is heavy and the darkness seems to have settled in and the losses are piling up, it is easy to think that God might be testing us. That God has put us in a hard season to see what we're made of or to build something new or to make us stronger or to prepare us for whatever. 

Or maybe we think that maybe God Himself is losing. That this world really is falling apart. That Satan has the upper hand. 

Or maybe we think that God just doesn't care. That He doesn't love us. That He's not real. That faith..doesn't matter. That our lives are built on a lie. 

Then comes along that one friend who reminds us that God doesn't cause all of the things that happen in our lives. Sometimes, He just allows them. 

It's easy, when we're thinking about this idea, to think about Job, but that's not always the best place to go. Job was stuck in a cosmic battle between God and Satan, who thought he could find the upper hand, and I don't think it's realistic to believe that we are all suffering in this world because Satan wants to prove a point (and so does God). That's not helpful for most of our day-to-day struggles. 

But Job isn't the only story in the Bible with this theme. The story of Daniel also starts this way. 

Stuff just happens. 

God just allows it. (Daniel 1:2)

It's just the way it is. 

The only real question is what you're going to do now. 

I'm reminded of dinners where I didn't get a say as to what was on the table. (Young folks, this was the way the world worked for a very long time. You didn't get to throw a fit and get some special chicken nuggets made just for you.) There was something that was prepared, a meal that was cooked, a portion of it heaped out onto my plate, and a plate placed in front of me. This was dinner. 

I could eat it or not eat it. But if I didn't eat it, I was going to be hungry later. I'd get another opportunity to eat it the next time the table was set, but the sneaky little truth about that was that I wasn't going to get a say in what was on that plate, either. 

So the question is - do you eat what is in front of you or do you go hungry? 

God always eats what's in front of Him. 

God always makes the most of whatever is on the plate.

You've probably heard the verse about God working all things together for the good of those who love Him, and that's true. God can take a meal He didn't cook, a meal He didn't even choose, and use it to nourish you anyway. To make you stronger. To build you up. He may never convince you that you like it, but He can bring you to a place where you're thankful for it. It might not be the meat and potatoes He planned for you, but canned asparagus has its place, too. (I mean, I assume...or they would have stopped making it by now.) 

So the next time you're in a tough season, remember that the question to ask yourself is not necessarily why God is doing this to you, but rather, what God is doing to you through this. It may not have been His plan A, but He's allowed it, and He's going to do great things with whatever is on your plate. 

God's Sacrifice

I don't think there's a person among us who has ever believed the Gospel, even a little bit, and not ended up neurotic about sin...at least, to some degree. It is lectured into our heads and our hearts that we are sinners, through and through, and that if we look in the mirror, we see a sinner looking back at us and that even if we're tempted to think we are "not that bad," we are the worst of the worst because if you've broken the smallest letter of God's law, then you've broken all of it. 

And I think that I speak for nearly all of us (if not all of us entirely) when I say that when we at first hear this, when we at first take seriously the deathly nature of sin and accept the fact that we are not actually perfect, we enter into a sort of hypervigilance for a season - viciously examining everything we do and looking at our hearts and praying deep, desperate prayer because we felt like we were still good persons today, but somewhere, the truth keeps ringing in our hearts that nope...we're still sinners. 

Even if we cannot think of a single terrible thing that we did. 

(A side note on sin: once we come to understand the true heart of God, we understand that even that one little thought that passed briefly through our head reveals that we are not a perfectly God-centered as we thought we were. For out of the depths of the being, these thoughts arise, and that means that something in us is not quite right. But then again, we're human - we know we're not quite right. That's the whole point of the cross.) 

For those of us who have wrestled with this, and those of us who still wrestle with this, there is good news and there is bad news. 

And that news is this: God has a sacrifice for the sin you don't even know about. (Ezekiel 45:10)

This is bad news because it confirms our worst fear about ourselves - we really are sinners. We really have done things we don't know about. We really have messed up more than we think we have. We have, in fact, broken not just God's law, but God's heart. We are sinners. 

But this is also good news. Because it reminds us that God knows the things we don't know, understands the things we don't understand, and has already loved us ahead of time by giving us the blood of His Son that covers all our sin, including the stuff we don't even know about. Including the stuff that a thousand years of introspection might not ever make us conscious of. Including the stuff we simply haven't accounted for. 

The cross is not merely sufficient, although that would be enough; it is also gracious. The blood of Christ flows beyond our conscious understanding and covers all of our being...because God desires so thoroughly to be with us. 

And that's good news, no matter how you look at it. 

God's Glory

In a vision, the prophet Ezekiel is taken into the inner court of the Temple, and "behold! The glory of the Lord filled the space" (43:5). 

This is not the first time we have heard this. When the Lord's presence filled the Tabernacle in the wilderness of Sinai, it filled that place. When He came to dwell in His temple, His glory filled that place. He led the Israelites by cloud and by fire, and we are told that when He came to dwell, the cloud was so thick that nobody else could enter in. God's glory took up literally every square inch of His space and even had some overflow - it could be seen from outside His holy space, as well. 

Friends, I don't think we understand just how big God is. 

We look at the skies and think He must live up there somewhere. Maybe He lives in the whole up there somewhere. Or we look at the church and think maybe He lives on that corner. Or we look in our lives, and we know we have a space for Him. 

But God isn't content with a space. He's not content to be in a place with limits; the presence and glory of God has no limits. He fills every square inch of His holy space. 

And guess what? 

All of creation is His holy space. 

And that includes your heart. 

Do we understand this? Do we get that God is not just in the heavens? He's literally spilling over them. He's not just in the church; He radiates out of it. He is not just in us; He oozes out of us. His glory is the kind of glory that spreads out and takes up every bit of space and seeps out over the edges and declares itself. 

The Bible says it this way: The whole earth is full of His glory. 

And you know what happens? When we get above the earth, when we get out of our own orbit, when we see this sphere from the heavens, it takes our breath away. Because it is so glorious, we see Him seeping out of it. Oozing over the edges. Totally filling the space and then some. 

The question we have to ask ourselves, then, is if others can see this same thing in our lives. If we're living like the holy God and His glory take up all our space and ooze over the edges. The question we have to ask is if we can see the same thing in our lives. Do we get that we are literally overflowing with the glory of God? 

Are we living like it? 

If not, perhaps it's time for us to get a vision like Ezekiel, where we are whisked away into the inner courtyard of the temple of our hearts - for don't you know that you are a temple of the Lord? - and let our sanctified imaginations see what it is like to have the Lord fill that space. Fill it so full, to every corner and every crack and every crevice, that even from the outside looking in, it's unmistakable that the glory of the Lord is here. 

God's Holiness

Whether you know it or not, the world is watching. 

They're watching for some kind of sign that God is real. That Jesus is real. That He really does love them. 

And they're not watching the heavens. It's easy for us to think that the world is watching itself for signs of God. We do that, too, sometimes. We look for rainbows, pray for rain. We see the miracle in a flower opening up for the first time or try to count the stars that light up the night sky. We examine every square inch of our circumstances, trying to figure out how the pieces come together, looking for places where a divine hand must have orchestrated it. We put every square inch of our lives under a microscope looking for even the smallest evidence that God is real, that Jesus is real, that He really loves us. 

So we just assume the world is doing the same. 

But God isn't so subtle. Yes, He works in the details. Yes, the smallest minutiae of our lives are His. Yes, if we look under the microscope or into the heavens or closely at the flower, we will find Him. But while these are ways that God shows Himself, He has always revealed Himself through His people. 

That means what the world is really watching...is us. Because that's where God is drawing their attention. 

It was true when He led Abraham into the promised land before it became the promise. When Abraham encountered other persons, it was clear that the Lord was with him; everyone knew it plainly. It was true when He led His people out of Egypt, when the most powerful army in the whole known world at the time drowned instantly in a river that only moments before had been a bed dry enough that God's people didn't even get stuck in the mud; all the peoples on the other side of that river knew the Lord through what He did at the Red Sea. It was true when He brought His people back from exile and became the God who restored them to His holy land. 

It was true when He died, rose again, and put His Spirit on His disciples, who followed His commandment to go out and make more disciples from all nations. Those nations saw what He did through eleven ordinary men, and through them, they saw Him. 

God has always used His people to show His holiness (and His heart and His love and His goodness and....) (Ezekiel 39:27).

It stands to reason, then, that He is still using His people the same way today. 

And there are plenty of opportunities for us, as His people, to show His holiness today. 

Through not being afraid of the way the world is going. Through being generous and reaching out to those in need. Through living in confident assurance in the face of uncertainty. Through being a people of peace in the midst of great contention. Through love in a world divided by hate. The list goes on and on; the opportunities are many. We are still the way God is showing Himself to the world. 

And the world is watching. 

So what are you showing them? 

Carley

I met Carley back in late May of this year. It was a chance meeting, and an even chance-r conversation. She was one of the physical therapists filling in on my unit in the hospital, picking up a weekend shift as a very part-time employee. I overheard her speaking with one of the patients near my desk about vertigo and dizziness and balance. 

When she came out, I asked, "Do you do some vestibular therapy, too?" 

I haven't really had many conversations with our part-time therapists. Almost none, actually. And for the most part, I tend to keep my personal medical needs out of my work relationships. Yes, I work in medicine; no, that doesn't mean I get to cash in for free. (Most of my coworkers know the battles I'm fighting, but I'm not soliciting them for help.) 

I wasn't really soliciting Carley, either. I had done vestibular therapy a few years prior, and it wasn't the best experience for me. That is, it was the one round of physical therapy that I'd had that hadn't seemed to have done anything. But I was trying to establish connections with my coworkers, to be more diligent about reaching across departments (something that had come up in a recent conversation with my manager), and I thought...here's something we can talk about. 

I told her I'd done some vestibular therapy myself. It hadn't really worked for me, but I understood it as a very neat specialty, and it was cool that she was into that. 

As it turns out, not only was she into that; it was her job. Like, her regular job. She worked at a specialty neurological/vestibular therapy center, so this was the kind of patient she saw all day, every day. She was more than happy to give me her contact info and tell me to try it again, to come see her, to check out the advanced stuff they had there that I might not have had in my previous experience. 

I kept that post-it note on my desk for months. 

But I never made it to see Carley. A week or two later, I met the surgeon who was supposed to fix my vertigo; a few weeks after that, had surgery; a few weeks after that, was doing amazing and was learning to drive again. I always appreciated that she had reached back out to me, but things were finally seeming to turn and it looked like I wasn't going to need her. 

Until things turned again and I ended up more crippled than I'd ever been by my vestibular issues. 

By that point, my hospital had hired Carley. She had begun seeing patients at our outpatient center. And when I followed up with my surgeon and he suggested more therapy to help me get back on track, I mentioned that we'd actually just hired one of the therapists that used to work closely with his patients. 

"You have Carley!" he exclaimed. "You've got to go see Carley." 

So I went to see Carley, who I had not seen, not even once, since that one shift when I had tried to be better about reaching across departments, and Carley remembered everything about our one conversation. Not only that, but she brought her amazingly specialized set of skills to bear on my situation, and now, we're working together toward all the things that seemed like only a dream just a few months ago. 

It reminds me that no encounter in our world is random. God puts the right persons in your life at the right time, and you may not even know it. 

And not only that, but He puts you in the lives of others at just the right time. Have you ever stopped to consider that? 

Who would have thought that one chance encounter on one weekend shift with one new person I had never met would turn into the hope that I so desperately needed just a short breath later? 

I don't know if Carley knows that she is that one new person for me in this season. But then, I don't know who I am that one new person for in this season, either. Whose life has God put me into for such a moment as this? 

Because of one seemingly-random conversation before I even knew what was happening, I am living with eyes wide open to that possibility. For perhaps we are all somebody's Esther.  

Embrace It

Getting honest about what's broken in your life and what it's taken from you...and threatening to take...is the first step toward healing, but to be honest, there's another very important step that is closely related to that. 

You have to embrace it. 

You have to embrace what's broken in your life. You have to let it be broken. You have to live to the best of your ability within your limitations and let yourself feel what it's like to have those restrictions around you. 

That seems defeatist. That seems silly, perhaps. It definitely runs counter to the "I'm fine" culture that tells us to put on a brave face, wipe our tears, live our lives, and not let anything be any less than everything we want out of it. 

But here's the thing: most of us can't swim upstream. Not for very long. We're throwing our energies away and leaving ourselves with nothing left to fight with, and we're losing not just our battles, but the war. 

And I think there's a certain value in being able to simply say, this is what I can do right now. This is what I'm capable of and this is what I'm not capable of. There's value in learning to say no to the things that are beyond your capabilities. There's value in learning what it's like to be a person of limited abilities. 

That value is (at least) two-fold. First, it gives you an appreciation for the life that you have. You learn to like things more. You learn to savor them, to enjoy them. 

Second, it tells you what you want. It helps you figure out what's important to you. It's like figuring out all the empty places in front of you and getting to decide what you want to fill them up with...if anything. 

Maybe you discover that your brokenness creates spaces in your life that you really like. That you suddenly have margin for the first time, margin that you would never have recognized if you had still been using all of that space to try to fight. To try to get back what used to be there. 

Maybe, as it turns out, you like having that space and it becomes precious, if not sacred, to you. Suddenly, it becomes part of the shape of your new life and you find that you're willing to do a lot of things to protect it. Like...maybe not even want to get back some of what you lost. Maybe you're okay simply losing it. 

You don't know what your life is or what it can be or what it feels like unless you're truly living it, and you aren't truly living it unless you embrace it. All of it. The good and the bad. The successes and the failures. The triumphs and the troubles. The well places and the broken places. 

Oh, we should talk about the wells. (Maybe later...) 

The point is...get honest about your brokenness and then, embrace it. It's the best way to figure out where your life is really at and where you want it to go from here. 

Only then can you begin the true work of real healing. 

With the help of the Lord, of course. 

Getting Honest

We are good at compensating for our brokenness, but often, we're doing more damage to ourselves than we understand, even when our compensations are subconscious.  

We are also good at pretending. 

We are good at pretending that we're not ask broken as we are. We are good at pretending that we understand what's happening to us, that we've planned for every contingency, that we're "fine." We're good at pretending that we're making it. 

But pretending isn't helping us, either. 

What pretending does is it puts one more thing on your plate. One more draw on your energy. One more task on your weary soul. It requires more than you really have to give, and one of the reasons you're not getting better is because you're using all of your energies to cover yourself up, so you don't have anything left to tackle the actual problem. You don't have anything left to fight the actual fight. Your tank is perpetually empty because you're pouring it out on the grass that everyone can see, trying to make it greener, all the while really wishing you were growing flowers just a few feet away. 

We've all been there. We've all done it. Some of us are doing it right now. We're broken, and in response to our brokenness, we're breaking ourselves down. 

We don't start healing until we start getting honest. Until we acknowledge our limitations. Until we learn to say that right now, we just can't. 

Can't do that. Can't manage that. Can't add that to our schedule. Can't keep pushing through. Can't do this on our own. Can't overcome. Can't whatever.

We have to be real about the toll that our brokenness is taking on our lives and be real about the ways that it is shaping whatever season we're in. 

Only then can we be honest about the problem. Only then can we be real about what's going on.

Only then can we start to heal. 

I believe you have to let yourself feel the losses in your life. You have to let yourself feel the limitations. You have to let yourself be burdened by your brokenness so that you understand exactly what kind of box it's putting you in, how it is restricting you, how it's keeping you from what you want to do, all the things it's already taken away and the things it's threatening to add to its list. You have to let yourself feel the full weight of what it's like to be broken so that you know what you're facing. 

And when you do, you start to see how your life is built. You start to see how you want to build it. You start to understand the pieces that are important to you, the ones you want to get back, the ones that are the foundation for other things you want to build and to have and to grow in your life. 

You can't start healing until you know these things. Until you can name them. If you can't name them, how do you know what healing even looks like? How will you know when you get there? 

Healing starts when you're honest about what you're missing...and what it means to you.