Bob

I was Bob's client long before I was Bob's friend. And he intimidated me from the very moment I met him. 

Bob is one of those guys who is extremely knowledgeable - not just in book learning, but in life experience. He has an extremely good intuition and an insight that has developed over decades of putting his passion into practice. When you talk to Bob, you feel the gap between everything you thought you knew and the gift that a lifetime of experience has to offer. 

Not on purpose. I mean, not because Bob is in any way arrogant about it. In fact, he is a great teacher. It's just that...well, maybe it's my own insecurities that get in the way. (I know that it is.) 

After many years of being his client, Bob and I had the opportunity to become friends, by virtue of worshiping together in the same church. That automatically made us brother and sister, and Bob took that seriously. There's not a member of the church who is not Bob's sibling. But...I don't think I spoke to him for the first several years. 

Bob and I actually share many of our passions. We both love God. We both love humans. And we both love dogs. And Bob has always been willing to share generously on all of these topics. 

For me, I always worry about others thinking I am taking advantage of them. I worry about developing one-emphasis relationships. I worry about feeling like a leach or coming across as needy. I worry about...well, I worry about a lot of things. 

But when I really needed Bob, when my dog was struggling beyond my capacity to provide for her, Bob was right there. He offered freely from his wisdom and helped me navigate some really tricky terrain - first with an epileptic dog, then later when she developed diabetes. When I had ankle surgery and couldn't take my best friend for a walk for a few months, Bob came up and walked her for me a few times. He even took her out for ice cream. 

When her seizure medicine was backordered and I couldn't seem to get my hands on any, Bob used his credentials to get us what we needed.

You would think, then, that in her final months (which I didn't know were her final months), when we were really struggling all over again, Bob would have been my first call...but he wasn't. The truth is that even in all these years of worshiping together, learning together, loving together, serving together, I have never gotten over my initial intimidation. That's on me, not him. 

Because when we were really struggling again, Bob called me. He provided his wisdom again. He offered to help again. He reminded me to call him whenever I needed again. 

I don't think he knows the things I wrestle with in my heart when I talk to him. Again, those are my issues, not his. But he continues to be so generous with his wisdom and his love. That's who he is. 

I find myself in a similar position. I have a number of persons in my life in this season, as I have in many seasons past, who are intimidated by me for one reason or another. Because of my knowledge. Because of my experience. Because of my faith (I hope). Because of whatever. I have a number of persons who I know feel that gap when they talk with me, and because of the way that I feel when I talk with Bob, I am keenly aware of it. 

The challenge that I give myself, then, is to live like Bob. To live so graciously and generously with what I have to offer that it's clear that the hindrances are not from my side. At the same time, to be so gracious and generous that when I know there's a hindrance there, I'm the one to pick up the phone. 

It bothers me to think that anyone might be intimidated by me. I hate that. It's not something I do intentionally, and I do everything I can to not be intimidated, but to be gracious and welcoming and loving and encouraging and all of the things that Bob has been to me over the years. And yet, I know so well that it just still happens. 

One of the regrets that I have in my life is that I don't think I took advantage of the opportunities that God had for me in the seasons in which Bob was a more prominent factor in my life and my faith. But I'm thankful that even in missing that chance, I am still learning a lesson. A lesson that will hopefully make me more, ironically, like Bob. And a better friend to those around me. 

Thanks, Bob. Honestly. 

God With You

I talk to God a lot more when I'm scared. That's just the truth. 

Whenever I'm doing something that requires more than I think I have in me, I become keenly aware of my desperate need for God to not only be God, but to be near. 

I remember the first couple of times I made inter-state drives by myself. I would periodically look at the mile markers I was passing and the odometer on my car, take a breath, and pray, "God, together, we have gotten this far. No matter how far we get, You have to get me home." And every time, He did. 

Before a number of my surgeries, I have prayed for God to comfort me, to give me peace, to give my body the rest that it needs to recuperate. 

On difficult days, I have to stop and remember that I do nothing in my own strength. 

And when I'm stressed, exhausted, or burdened beyond my measure and the worst parts of me start to come out, I remind myself that God is with me and that what I'm doing is unbecoming of a child of God...especially in the very presence of her Father. 

Every year as Christmas approaches, this is the very thing that we prepare our hearts and minds for - the coming of Christ, the presence of God, Immanuel. It is the greatest promise - and fulfillment - of God. 

God with us. 

But God with us is not just the promise of Christmas; it's the promise of God's entire story. 

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. He filled them, then He walked in the garden in the cool of the day with Adam and Eve. On the banks of the Jabbok River, He wrestled with Jacob. At the burning bush, He met with Moses. His glory filled the Tabernacle and later, the Temple - a visible, tangible glory. 

And then, the exile. And then, trouble. And then, the Temple is lying in ruins. And then, for too long in Israel's history, it was so hard for them to understand, to believe, that God was still with them. 

That's why the words of Haggai are so powerful. The prophet reminds the people not once, but twice, that God is with them (1:13, 2:4).

And just like me when I'm scared, this long period of silence and alienation and uncertainty and fear was exactly when God's people needed most to hear that. It's when they most needed that reminder. 

It's probably when you most need it, too. 

God is with you. Whatever you're facing, whatever this day brings, however much you think you're missing, however quiet the heavens sound, however far from home you feel, whether we're approaching Christmas quite yet or not, if you need this reminder today, then here it is for you. Say it with every emphasis that you can. 

God is with you.

God is with you. 

God is with you. 

God is with you. 

And He will never leave you nor forsake you. That's the promise, and you can count on it. 

God's Sacrifice

I have never killed anything. (Well, bugs.) I have never been hunting. But I watch a lot of survival shows, so I've seen some other folks do it. 

It's messy. 

And I've read the Old Testament, every word of Leviticus, and it sounds hard. I mean, I find it difficult to trim a piece of meat I just bought from the store that the store has already trimmed but left a little too much fat on for my liking. I never seem to have a knife sharp enough. I can't get the meat to stay still enough to get the fat off. All of a sudden, there's blood everywhere (some of it might be mine), and I decide, you know, it's fine. 

When I'm reading the Old Testament and thinking about the sacrifices, it's hard for me to switch my brain sometimes and realize just how much blood there was. The beautiful altar and table and tools that were made for the Temple would have lasted exactly one use before they were blood-covered. The garments for the priests? Blood-covered. I once joked about how everyone likes a good hog roast (except, apparently, God, since pork was unclean) and how roasting meet smells so good, but have you ever smelled that much blood? 

I work in healthcare. Trust me, you don't want to smell that much blood.

The point is - the sacrifice is tedious, messy work. It's nauseating for most of it. It's bloody and gooey and requires the sharpest of tools to do it well. Separate the fat from one lobe of the liver and the kidneys? It takes a certain skill...and an iron stomach...to prepare a sacrifice. 

And remember - the people of God were doing this themselves. The priest's job was to offer the sacrifice, not to prepare it. The Levites might have helped sometimes, but the Bible repeatedly tells the people to prepare their sacrifice. Even the big one - the Passover - every family was to slaughter their own lamb, smear their own doorframes with blood (again, the smell...).

This was a distasteful task that every (male) Israelite was responsible for. But I think that was the point. I think God wanted His people to understand how dirty and disgusting and laborious and messy this whole process was. I think He wanted them to be good and familiar with it, down to their bones. 

And then...

And then along comes a prophet who says God has prepared a sacrifice (Zephaniah 1:7). He's done the dirty work. He's got the sharp tools, the right knife. He's separating the fat from the organs. He's draining the blood at the side of the altar (some of it might be His...okay, it is His). He's smelling that awful smell. 

It wasn't the first time. When Adam and Eve sinned and found themselves in shame, it was God who slaughtered the first animal to make them coverings of animal skins. It was very early on in our sin that the smell of that blood hit our noses...and God's. 

But it would be the last time. 

Praise the Lord. 

God of the Unbelievable

What is something that could happen in the world right now that you wouldn't believe it if I told you? 

Ask that question, and your mind might go to any of a number of negative things. That's the way the world has wired us, I guess - to expect the worst of things. Maybe you're thinking about world wars or atomic bombs or rapists or murderers or all kinds of things that make headlines. 

But I'm talking about the good things. I'm talking about the cool things. I'm talking about the things that don't seem possible, not that seems unthinkable. 

I'm talking what it must have felt like to be around when the first ships crossed the ocean, when the first spacecraft came back from orbit. When we finally get the flying cars that the Jetsons promised us. 

...when cancer finds a cure. When addiction is broken. When families are restored.

I'm talking about that moment when you put glasses on a baby and their face lights up because they finally see what their momma looks like. 

I'm talking about the unbelievable. 

What is the miracle you're waiting on? What doesn't seem possible right now? 

Got it? Okay, good. 

What if I told you that God was already working on it? 

Maybe not that specific thing. We don't get to know His timelines. We don't get to understand His ways. 

But I am telling you that right now, God is working on something you wouldn't believe if I told you. You wouldn't believe it if He told you. Like Sarai, you might even laugh a little. 

The Bible is full of these stories, sure, but these aren't Bible times. Friend, these are still God's times, and He's still the same God that wrote every one of those stories. He's the God that's writing yours. 

Habakkuk tells us that God is doing things in our lifetime that we won't believe (1:5), and it's true. If you live with your eyes of faith open, you'll see all kinds of things that are beyond our wildest imagination, the hopes we've had, the miracles we've been praying for, and they are happening. 

Have you seen any of them? Maybe you've lived one or two. 

God is doing it. The same way He came to Sarai and made a nonagenarian pregnant, the same way He came to a virgin and implanted in her the Savior of the world...God is pregnant with the unbelievable, and He's giving new life every day into a world that least suspects it. 

So what are you least suspecting? Is it possible He's already working on it? 

God's Anger

God is slow to anger; you've probably heard that somewhere. But another way to say that, the way that Nahum presents it, is that God is not quick to anger (1:3). 

That difference is important.

When we say that God is slow to anger, we imply that the anger gradually builds up inside of Him over a long period of time. That His anger builds in small increments, every little thing adding onto the last thing and the thing before that and the thing before that. He remembers them all, and they're building on each other until God just finally erupts into anger and then, you've had it. 

Like that person you just pester and pester and pester and tease and provoke until finally, they've had it, and all of a sudden, it's like...whoa. 

Then, we say, God is angry. God has had it. He's fed up with us. He's done. He's finally going to smite us the way He's always wanted to; He's just been biding His time until now, but now, we've done it. 

I think a lot of us have had that image of God at some point in our journey. Some of us may still have that image now. It's actually a pretty common one - God is secretly angry and can't wait to come down on us, but He "has" to be patient. 

But if you read this passage another way, if you read it the way this translation struck me and you read that God is not quick to anger, it paints an entirely different portrait. 

It gives us an image of God who doesn't want to be angry. He's not packing everything away in some mental file in His head that's just building Him toward more anger. He's not being patient with us; He's being consistent with Himself. He's trying actively to not become angry because He's not a God of anger; He's a God of love. 

He's forgiving by nature. His first instinct is to treat us with grace. Remember when He found Adam and Eve naked and ashamed? The first thing He did was to make them garments to cover themselves...garments way better than their raggedly ol' fig leaves they'd tied together. He made them durable, lasting coverings of animal hide. Because that's who He is.

He was heartbroken, but He wasn't angry. And I think that's the God we need to have more of in our heads and in our hearts. At the core of it, there are probably a thousand other adjectives we could use before we could use angry because angry is the last thing God wants to be. 

He's heartbroken. He's sad. He's grieving. He's compassionate. He's gracious. He's merciful. 

He's not quick to anger. 

He's not slow to anger because the anger isn't just building all the time like that phrase implies; He's simply not quick to anger because angry is the last thing He really wants to be. 

That's the God who loves us. 

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.