I'm Often Reluctant to Obey

I am often reluctant to obey. When it’s been a long day, when the kids’ attitudes have been every color under the sun, when I’d rather scroll and veg, when I’ve already spent a day of serving, when I am just people’d out and would rather hide—it’s usually those very ordinary moments that I am faced with an opportunity to obey, or not.

And because I know I should, I do. Pretty robotic of me at times, like today.

"I can save face for an hour or two,” I muse. Meanwhile, my heart is an annoyed mess still thinking about the book I’d rather be reading.


Consequently, my external actions of a smiling face showing up to the park to hand out popsicles to tired playground parents and kids do not tell a truthful story of a servant’s heart that joyfully pours out her time, energy, and resources for the sake of the gospel.

Given my ordinary, mundane Tuesday circumstances, I was really, really reluctant to obey—like in the turn lane about to pull a uey reluctant. But I stayed in the lane. I drove forward to the park.

Because I knew I should obey, so I did.

Because deep down, I knew my excuses were thin and my selfishness was clinging closer than the skin to my bones. I knew saying “yes" to Jesus would bring more joy than whatever lesser joy I would have definitely wasted my time on. I knew from past hesitations, that walking forward in obedience, even when met with inner turmoil and angst, brings lasting joy.

So here I am, I obeyed.  Looking eerily similar to the first son in Matthew 21 who told his father he wouldn’t go work in the vineyard, then regretted it and obeyed.

I’m not sharing this for you to congratulate me on my poor performance of obedience, but rather as an encouragement, that I am there with you crawling on the road of obedience. I want you to remember the tangible joy that is to be had in ordinary obedience of showing up and serving for the sake of the gospel—even when you arrive with a sour heart. Get out of the car, and obey. This is the stuff that eternally matters.

The Lord is faithful to change your heart and renew your mind as you gather alongside other believers who are excited about the mission ahead. He will use the obedience of others—half-hearted or otherwise— to strengthen your joy and reorient your heart. He will use the thankfulness of playground children with popsicles and the laughter from the merry-go-round to humble you and repent of your hardness of heart. He will use the encouragement from a Christian with her great-granddaughter to remind you that your labor is not in vain. He will, time and again as you step out in obedience in a number of ordinary moments, show you that sharing the gospel is the best way you can spend your time—even when it’s at a park with popsicles on a hot Tuesday afternoon.

When I arrived, I got out of the van with 5 children spilling out the side and my heart still unresolved.

When I stepped onto the playground, I knew this was exactly where I was supposed to be as the nations and neighbors gathered at the swing set.

Two hours later, I piled the sugar saturated and sweat soaked children back into the van, and drove off with a full heart and a truthful smile that reflected the thankfulness I had that Jesus would use even me, the first son in Matthew 21, that he would give even me the opportunity to share the gospel at the park today.

I’m glad my mind was changed. It was the Lord who changed my heart. Obedience will always be about belief.

Sure, I obeyed because I knew I should, but when you peel back layers of the war waged inside, we obey because we are compelled to. Because there is a belief that the Lord is good, his commands are not burdensome, and that the gospel transforms lives. Many times this is exactly the evidence of sanctification we have when we look backward. We obeyed, because we know Christ has called us to a greater joy. In fact, he's calling us to himself.

Taylor Swift and Me: How Being Our Brother’s Keeper Points Us to Righteousness

Social media, if we chose to participate, is an extension of ourselves that boasts what we love and where we spend our time; shows what captivates us; and chronicles the growth of families, gardens, and bookshelves. It’s a virtual arm, but rarely do we recognize that. And what we like, share, post, and send matters for the follower of Christ. We are the body of Christ, and as ambassadors, we represent him to a dark world. Sure, we know this, but when is the last time we pondered the affects?  And so, after being forced to think of how what we post online has real consequences, I felt the need to apologize, ask questions, and call believers to righteousness.

Yesterday, I hastily shared an Instagram post that lamented the sexualization of our culture and the Christian’s eager embracing of it by praising Taylor Swift.  I shared the post because in my grief over believers celebrating new music and subsequently having a tempting image flash across my screen a few dozen times, I found the post thought-provoking and worthy of our immediate consideration; however, after I have sat with the post and my initial disbelief (at a Christian sharing a picture, not at Taylor Swift acting like the unbeliever she is) finally subsided, I admit that the post I re-shared did not use gracious language nor a kind tone in which a Christ-follower is commanded to walk (Galatians 6:1). And because social media by default is an extension of our hearts (Matthew 12:34-40) and I am a representation of Christ, I am so sorry for portraying an attitude of harshness by mere association. Harsh, critical, and demeaning language never reflects Jesus Christ. By posting in my Instagram and Facebook  story, it was not my intention to belittle, criticize, or shame another individual for sharing the photo.  I know that there may have been some that were made to feel like a second-rate Christian for your actions, and I just want to say with all sincerity, I am very sorry. I love you very much, and hot-bottom issues like this are always, and should always be addressed one-on-one. If I can apologize to you personally, it would be my heart’s desire to do that.

And this brings me to what I believe are better questions surrounding the new album art.

Question 1: When I post something questionable, why do I get so defensive when a fellow Christ-follower engages is cordial disagreement?

Question 2: Am I actually my brother’s keeper and responsible for what I post?

Let me explain. 

Scenario 1: Christian Girl A shared Taylor Swift’s album art and when asked if she thought it was appropriate to have on her page, she began to justify reasons she posted it, why it was okay to post, and defended the picture as not a big deal. No, very wrong.

Scenario 2: Christian me [Renee] shared a thread bemoaning worldly influences from a source notoriously riddled with snarkiness and uncharitableness, and when asked about the critical spirit with which this account regularly spoke with, Renee started to justify that the post made good points, that those points were undeniably true, and therefore, it didn’t matter how the tone came across. No, also very wrong.

Both are wrong, both Christian Girl A and Christian Renee are wrong. Christian Girl A sinned. Christian Renee sinned. Equally. Equally guilty before the throne of God, equally deserving of death because of our sin. Yes. Death is what our sin deserves and we would be better to think on it more. Unfortunately, each one feeling justified and a little more superior than the other for her decision and defense on social media.

So this all caused me to dig deeper into how—in all things—we are our brother’s keeper, for better or worse.

The Christian life is a life not meant for isolation. It’s a life joined to another growing up into Christ (Ephesians 4:15). A life of fellowship. We are our brother’s keeper by our actions. However, we repeat Cain’s murderous acts in our hearts when we hold our freedoms to post whatever we want when we want it closer than our concern for our fellow believer (Genesis 4:8-10, Matthew 5:22-24)—that goes for the Christian Girl A and for Christian Renee.  In all our posting, we must do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than ourselves. Letting each of us look not to our own interest, but also to the interest of others (Philippians 2:3-4).

So let’s be very clear here and seek what, in faith, pleases God (Hebrews 11).

Is sharing a picture that was designed to stir the desire of the eyes and lusts of the heart an appropriate action for those who profess Jesus Christ as their Lord? Absolutely not. Sexual immorality in every fashion has NO place among God’s chosen people (Ephesians 5:3).

Is posting a thread that speaks harshly, condescendingly, and without concern for the heart while demonizing the person who has sinned an appropriate action for those who profess Jesus Christ as their Lord? Absolutely not. Any talk that does not build up or give grace to it’s hearers—no matter how true!— has NO place among the people of God (Ephesians 4:29, 5:4).

Sin always affects more than just yourself and it is far reaching. A scantily clad picture causes sexual immorality to abound to greater depths than any terms we will come to on our own. Demeaning speech causes boastful and hardened hearts that are consistently against more people than we care to admit. The affects of sin bleed on everyone in our sphere of influence and beyond—boy, girl, man, woman. And the believer is called to live a life of godliness (1 Peter 1, Galatians 5) in both word and in deed while walking in love toward one another (Ephesians 5). “Let no one seek his own good, but the good of his neighbor” (1 Corinthians 10:24)

While we may have (even unknowingly) murdered our brother in our hearts over a ridiculous album cover and spilled the blood of our fellow believer with our hateful and unwise words, the blood of Christ speaks a better word of hope for us (Hebrews 12:24). The Bible is clear that if we confess our sins he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9) because Jesus Christ himself canceled our debt by taking our punishment on the cross (Colossians 2:14). Because blood better than Abel’s—Christ’s very own blood—has been spilled on our behalf, we are free to walk in love toward our neighbor and let brotherly love continue (Ephesians 5:2, Hebrews 13:1, Romans 12:9-21).

May we not let anything stand in the way of fellowship and obedience, including our false sense of freedom to post things that do not please God on a social platform. The problem isn’t primarily Taylor Swift’s picture. It’s our heart’s contentment with impurity. Nor is the problem having a tongue to speak or fingers to type; it’s our heart’s desire to rule over others with an iron fist under the guise of zealousness.

Rest assured, the Lord disciplines the ones he loves (Hebrews 12:6)—and many times it is through the loving kindness of a believer pointing out our blindness to God’s standard of righteousness. For Christian Girl A, and for Christian Renee. May all that we say, do, post, and share seek to build up, encourage, disciple, and lead others closer to the heart of Christ. We are called to be our brother’s keeper loving one another more than we love ourselves. After all, isn’t that what Christ Jesus himself has done for his brothers? He surely keeps them to the end.

In love,

Renee

Loosening Orion's Belt: Silence, Sin, and Suffering

I don’t understand a lot of what happens in this life, though I incessantly try and calculate every event in my broken mind. However, in my restless attempts, I have come to learn that the ‘not understanding’ is a place where contentment grows when we stop trying to rationalize or excuse the ‘why God!?’ away.

There was a meteor shower this week and while I saw only one soaring, streak of light, my breath was taken away for maybe the nineteen thousandth time as I looked again at my favorite winter constellation—Orion—in the wee hours of the night. Immediately my thoughts jumped to Job and the Lord’s gracious response to Job in the midst of his great tragedy and pain. 

“Can you bind the chains of the Pleiades or loose the cords of Orion? Can you lead forth the Mazzaroth in their season, or can you guide the Bear with its children? Do you know the ordinances of the heavens? Can you establish their rule on the earth?” (38:31-34)

No, my Lord. No, we cannot. We are but dust before an infinite God, yet the Lord is remarkably mindful of us knowing our sorrow acutely (Psalm 8). But we don’t get the last word, or really any words at all, in our suffering; however, we are given the Word himself as a hope that springs eternal.

My excuses are flimsy.

My pouting is prideful.

My whining is a noisy gong.

Yet Job remains silent before God. I think this is where the contentment begins to grow—silence before the Lord. Lifting our eyes in wonder, marveling at his goodness and wisdom; because really, what do we have the right to say? (Isaiah 45)

But immense comfort comes when—instead of meticulously dissecting and analyzing why this or that—we acknowledge that every thing the Lord does, causes, plans, purposes is from a place of utmost compassion and unbridled mercy toward those he loves. He draws near to those who are his, even in the midst of evil sin, debilitating suffering, and deafening silence. Contentment’s roots deepen when we recognize that every ounce of suffering is a means of grace for the believer to look more like Christ as we follow him in obedience. It is meant for good. Meant. Planned. Ordained by a good and kind Father. (Genesis 50)

When Job—who suffered not as a result of his sin, but because the greater purposes of God—responds to the Lord, he is led to repent of his sinful reactions to his suffering and confesses of his finitude.

“I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted.
‘Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?’
Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.
‘Hear, and I will speak; I will question you, and you make it known to me.’
I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you...” (42:1-5)

So with Job—instead of making demands of God—may we seek to repent of our sinful reactions in the midst of pain and know as if we have seen with our own eyes, that the Lord’s ways—all of them—are always good and complete to make you more like the Son.  We can’t loose Orion’s belt, but we know the One who can do all things.

SDG.

The Splinter of Sin

I’m always stunned by how much pain is inflicted from something so microscopic. This splinter must have embedded in the arch of my foot days ago, but I only became aware of it yesterday morning when I had unknowingly bumped against it sending a throbbing pain throughout. I got our designated “splinter” tweezers down from the shelf and removed it, knowing from experience that the pain would subside as soon as it was removed. So right there on the floor without a second’s delay, I removed it. And for the rest of the night, the sting of healing from the wound reminded me of the foreign object that once was there.

Isn’t that just like the sin that so easily slides in and embeds in our hearts? We think it’s small enough that no real damage will be done; that it couldn’t possibly cause infection or pain or permanent damage; that there would be no real lasting effects of keeping sin hidden under the layers of skin. (1 Corinthians 10:12, Hebrews 12:1)

But oh, when something rubs against it—exposing the infection that has gone unattended—oh the pain. Sin always destroys, causes pain, and if left untreated, death. And while it’s annoying when something comes along and fans the flame of discomfort by grazing the splinter, the “something” that reveals our sin is truly the grace of God. A person. An embarrassing moment. A verse. A song. A confrontation. A guilty conscience. A child’s rebuke. A caught red handed. A sermon. All of it is God’s grace. All of it. (2 Corinthians 7:20)

And there are lasting scars with sin. I forever wear the scars of some of those bothersome splinters—like the one on my hand I got from a wooden bunk bed at Heather’s 10th birthday party. Oh, I remember the pain, the blood, and now the scar. But though my spiritual splinters won’t now cause me death because Jesus died in my place, the scars of my past decisions are a constant reminder of the propensity and ease with which these sins will try to pierce my flesh again. So while I don’t need to fear walking barefoot—the callouses from walking daily in God’s word provide a source of security—there are areas of my life I must constantly inspect for any splinters, any sin that might have unknowingly lodged in my soul. (Psalm 32:3-5, 1 John 1:9)

Though seemingly tiny, the damage is great. And though exposure is uncomfortable for a moment, the grace of God’s tweezer in Christ Jesus is even greater than what sin left lodged could accomplish. The sting of an ignored splinter brings death, but the pain of removal brings life.  (Romans 5:20, James 4:6, 1 John 3:20, John 3:16).

So if there is a sin you’re ashamed of, a sin that has been exposed, a sin that is growing and the infection is starting to impact other ares of your life—run to Jesus, even if it’s a hobble or a limp. There you will find the balm your soul needs from the Savior who forever bears the scars of your sin on his hands. (John 20:27)

Physical Imbalances and the Trap of "Right Thinking"

I often fall into a trap of "right thinking." I am guessing it's a dangling carrot for you, too.  It's not that I mean to get stuck in a pit, it's just that I want to do what I am capable of doing. And I want to do it the right way. What I mean is that I delude myself into thinking if I just get the right energy levels, if I just get the right micronutrients, if I just have the right support for my immune system, and if I just get the right amount of sleep THEN I will be better, a better person...and only THEN I won't struggle in the ways I hate, THEN I won't cause a domino of carnage with my anger, THEN I will be more presentable to the world, THEN I will be a little easier to love. This is the path I find it easy to wander down.

Now, before you accuse me of throwing caution to the wind. Hear me out! Good sleep and proper eating are in no way unimportant. There are real mental, deeply emotional, and lasting physical consequences for neglecting proper care of and refusing attention to the human body.  Proactive measures that help regulate the physical system are absolutely!!!! essential. We must steward these temporary tents with care, consideration, and wisdom.

But...

often the pull can be to swing the pendulum too far in either direction and trust in those efforts for ease--from "Who cares! We get an imperishable body when we die!" to "These supplements, these foods, these treatments are my only hope." We either neglect good gifts or we make them gods. Getting the perceived "right" amount of external care is important, but it's not the most important thing for my burdened soul. We are body and soul, and right nutrition and supplementation can do nothing to remedy the sickness of sin.

The reason I explode in anger is not primarily due to a drop in blood sugar.
        I am a sinner who is tempted to be the queen of my own kingdom.

The greatest reason for my impatience toward others isn't simply because I got 4 restless hours of open-eyed sleep.
        I am a sinner who thinks I can limitlessly do things better than everyone else.

The reason I wrestle with anxious thoughts and paranoid visions is not primarily because my hormones are imbalanced.
        I am a sinner who cannot stand to have my close-fisted control threatened in any way.

My tendency to procrastinate and give excuses isn't primarily because of deficit disorders.
        I am a sinner who would rather use my time selfishly for my own ends.

My quickness to complain isn't ultimately because I was prevented from completing a workout.
        I am a sinner who hates being told what to do and when to do it.

My behaviors are a mere symptom. A sign post. Pointing out that something here is wrong. And it's my sin nature, and I am 100% responsible for it. This is the curse of being born into a broken body with a broken mind that has a disposition toward self and a bent away from the Lord. The effects of living in a fallen world are devastating and far reaching.  I bemoan that I do the things I don't want to do and I forego the very things I do want (Romans 7). I am a sinner and my weak flesh is an obvious witness. And while the symptoms of physical imbalances and neglect can manifest themselves in outright sinful behaviors, it is not the imbalance itself that is responsible for my reaction. And what's more, if it were possible to be without physical turmoil, we would still experience this deep dissatisfaction from the vast spiritual chasm in our soul. We would wrestle over our inability to still be better, to be enough, to have the "rightest" thinking, to fix our hearts. 

We cannot, like Eve, say that the serpent made us do it.  It was not the caffeine's fault we behaved in such manner.
    It is ours.
        We stand guilty.
And we cannot, like Adam, say that the woman that God gave us made us do it. It is not the overstimulating, unending noises' fault we responded in the way that we did.
    It is ours.
        We are guilty.

And for every sin, we stand guilty and deserving of the just punishment of God's wrath (Romans 6:23).

But there is good news.

Christ took the record of our debts and nailed it to the cross in his body. It was never a possibility that if we could just be right enough THEN we would have been better. We are dead in our sin, unable, incapable. But Christ himself bore the punishment in our place (Colossians 2:14). Those who believe on him are no longer declared guilty, but we are justified by the blood of Christ, receiving forgiveness for our sins, adopted as a son to our Father, and given eternal life in Christ (Romans 1:16-17, 3:21-26). We no longer serve the cruel master of sin, but are free to walk in the Spirit of Christ (Romans 6, 8:1-11). And this is all grace. 

And so we can freely eat nutritious foods. We are free to exercise and free to use supplements and vitamins as we see fit. We are free to abstain from activities or foods would otherwise prod us in the direction of the sin.  We are free to walk away from our sin and throw away excuses for them. Free to make positive judgement calls for our health in wisdom. Our soul has peace with God only through Christ; and though our outer body that is wasting away and groans to be made new, let us be cautious to not confuse the gift of just the right amount of physical care for the Giver of those gifts, let us be quick to distinguish the created elements from the Creator of all things, and refuse to muddy "right thinking" with Christ's imputed righteousness.

Our physical disparities, pains, and differences may not be made right on this side of eternity as we walk in sin-stained creation and feel the affects of living in a broken world. But they are a means of grace to bring us to the feet of Jesus as wait patiently for the day, rest assured, when all will be made new. All that is wrong will be made holy and wholly right (Revelation 21:5).

Even if...

I feel at such a loss

And like no one understands

A hidden, silent suffering

At the will of two small hands.

I sit in the hallway crying

Tears pouring without word

—if only the sights you could have seen

Or the roars you could have heard.

Helpless to even help him

As he flails without control—

All I can do is sob

And provide a mother’s hold

“What have I done that he would be

So different from the rest?”

Holding fast to promises

That this is for my best.

Give me strength O Lord above

To manage one so strong

I know you’re here with me

Even when the days are long.

Explosions come from nowhere

Sprawled out upon the ground

Fist against the floor in rage

For minutes without bound

“He’s darling,” “Not a problem”

“He’s happy as can be”

But why is that not my time

When he’s at home with me?

I know that Christ is working

In the moments I’m so weak

It’s just that in the here and now

The outcome seems so bleak

—But

Christ is strong when I am not

Each trial from his hand

And if no one comprehends I know

That Christ fully understands.

He’s made each one with intent design

For purpose I don’t know,

But He is faithful in each step,

No matter where I go.

O Lord my strength, please heal this boy

And give me eyes to see

That even if this pain lasts long

Like this forever it won’t be.

I love my son, You love him more

A tender Father in all you bring,

If this pain can help me trust

Then bring on all the things.

There’s joy in suffering You say,

Who hung upon the cross

So make me more like you my King

Even if this is what it costs.

(i originally wrote and posted on IG and Facebook january 19, updating and posting on blog february 3)

Christmas on a Sunday : Let Jesus Interrupt You

I have to confess of having a bad attitude when I found out Christmas fell on a Sunday this year. When I checked the calendar some months ago, the roots of irritation had already started growing. The frustration only deepened when neighboring churches posted the cancelling of their Sunday worship services as the impending date drew nearer.

And I was just annoyed, annoyed that, once again, Jesus was interrupting my life; and in this case, my Christmas morning ideal.

Because we are having Sunday morning worship, I knew exactly where I would (and wouldn’t) be on Christmas morning.

I would be in church.

And I wouldn’t be actualizing my cozy, Christmas dream with the children in matching pjs as they patiently, kindly, and without any selfishness in their hearts open presents one by one while the fire crackles on the hearth.  (Snorting as I write this, ohh my stupid little sinful heart)

Here I was, angry that, once again, Jesus was getting in my way of my wants.

Here I was, confronted, once again, with the truth that I am not God.

But two weeks ago, when it looked like ice and frigid temperatures could actually cancel church, my heart cracked. It broke even deeper when one of my children made mention of how terrible it is when any holiday falls on a Sunday. In that moment, I came face to face with my sin—God using both nature and a firstborn son to show me just how desperately I favor it.

But is there anything more fitting for believers on a Christmas Sunday morning than to gather?

We should celebrate the incarnation together; celebrating the Son of God who interrupted and entered time because he loved us. Celebrating the truth of Jesus born and placed in a manger, frustrating all preconceived notions of what the King of Heaven would be like. Should we not rush to celebrate the plan set forth before the foundation of the world?—that God would give an undeserving, sinful people the greatest gift of all, himself. Immanuel, “God with us.” 

It is just like the Son of God to interrupt our family traditions.

Christmas on a Sunday.

It is just like Jesus to inconvenience our plans.

Christmas on a Sunday.

It is just like the Lord to frustrate the dreams we hold so dear.

Christmas on a Sunday.

And why would we shy away from this God who came to live with us, as us, for us? We would want it no other way. Because unless the Lord Jesus Christ frustrates the sin within, puts an end to the dreams you hold dear, and interrupts the trajectory of your life, he will not be your Lord.

You see, this Christmas wasn’t the first time God has used nature and a firstborn son to wake up sinners, like me. But I’m glad that he did, on both accounts. I’m eagerly waiting for Sunday morning, not because presents will be under the tree, but because there is no place I’d rather be than with the body of Christ on a Sunday morning, Christmas or not.

Let Jesus interrupt you this Sunday. It’s worth celebrating.

God Will Provide: A Lesson in Nature from my Kitchen Window

I live in an oasis, and I don’t mean the desert kind. I mean more of a sanctuary for slinking stray tabbys and a jungle gym for squirrels. It’s a feast for your (well, maybe just mine) eyes, because there’s really nothing spectacular about my neighborhood—it’s a typical block of starter homes lined with ranches and cape cods that mirror one another. Many residents moved here nearly 30 years ago when the houses wore their first coat of paint. We’ve lived here for 5 years and though the square footage is fixed, it seems to have decreased with every mouth we’ve gained. I groan because of this reality often, vividly reminded of the discontentment that still rattles my insides. But really, it’s not because of what I do or don’t have that I whine. It’s deeper, beyond the surface of just an attitude. It’s my heart that incessantly fails to believe that God is good, He does good, and has provided all I need in Christ. And I have quite literally seen the Lord’s hand extend in the most tangible and ordinary ways to provide for my lesser needs. But still—Oh, this war within—I gripe.

So when I look out my kitchen window or gaze through the sliding door, I am given a gift that new builds and mansions cannot rival. I am forced to be still, encouraged to listen, and roused to look outward and upward. It’s here, by God’s grace before this wildwood, that I am given decades-old trees that readily proclaim, “God will provide.” I am front row to choirs of birds and symphonies of insects that can’t help but bellow, “God will provide.” The contrast of naked and needly trees and the blue fabric of the sky is enough to steal your breath. The red ribbons of Virginia creeper coiled tightly and my neighbor’s dogwood still coated in the most vibrant carnelian while I catch a glimpse of the willow oak dropping its last threads of gold. “God will provide” the foliage declares as the familiar green is lost.

This morning I peered over the sink and I noticed the dark-eyed juncos have returned to my side yard, bringing with them the chill of winter. It’s an opportunity for complaint as temperatures quickly plummet, but this is creation proclaiming, “God will provide” as it settles into dormancy from its laborious summer production.

In the bushes bordering my yard, the resident cardinal couple darted in and out and then briefly paused on the rocky path below. His astounding red coat and her orange beak so unlike the deadness all around them. The red-bellied woodpecker flickered from branch to branch tapping its flaming head along the bare limb. The blue jays flitted back-and-forth in a chase, with streaks of sapphire quickly painting the brown thicket. Each announcing “God will provide” even unexpected beauty in a brown and barren land.

There was a teeny downy woodpecker—maybe it was the same one that found its way into my kitchen last month—right outside on the oak tree. Near it, a small nuthatch defied gravity on the trunk of a slash pine. The black-capped chickadees hopped from fence post to the next before heading elsewhere to dance. As if a bird’s job isn’t consumed with avoiding the feral felines and finding food, there is yet still time for play. “God will provide” sings playful birds who find time for merry-making among the mundane. There must be time for me to indulge in the good works of the Lord, surely He has provided even this.

Another woodpecker came in like a fighter jet only to land and make aimless, elevated loops at the top of the old poplar before coming to what seemed like a permanent halt. A gray squirrel sat deadly still on the split rail fence while clutching an acorn between his paws. He looked like the kind of animal figurine you’d see in a Cracker Barrel. In unison, each animal professed,“God will provide” through the bitter, lonely, and cold months—whether through meticulous preparation or falling berries and plump larvae, “God will provide” is what all of creation proclaims.

I took this all in within ten minutes. As I stood tippy-toed at my window, two hands on a warm mug, the gift of stillness was given and I saw, that yes, God has provided.  It's like this every day. Day after day He provides. And like that, I smiled and because in those ten minutes of watching creation do what creation does, God provided a moment—to reflect, to delight in an intimate God who sent His Son for me, to be aware of my sin, to find joy in the flora and fauna, to express thankfulness for my warm home and frosted backyard, to stand in awe of every moving part outside and the God who orchestrates it all, and to have confident hope that all will one day be made new.

To hear the muffles of birds still raising their songs when there’s nothing in my bird feeders; or to watch the trees lose the very leaves their limbs gripped so tightly, and they do so without a complaint against their Maker—Oh, it is a gift to see my sin in contrast to a creation that depicts, “God will always provide.”

Slow Death of the Iron Fist

So much of my life, and maybe yours too, is a slow, painful death of having all the things I thought would satisfy my need to feel wanted and fulfill my desire to belong graciously ripped away from me. Every day is a physical reminder that the love I search for in marriage and the overwhelming fullness I feel in motherhood is just not ultimate—yes, it is a gift that has brought immense joy, but time and again I sit with my discontentment and remember that the created wasn’t meant to be my god.

My heart recoils at where I am and how the Lord is still working out the countless kinks in my iron fist—Like shouldn’t I be further along by now? Shouldn’t I be past struggling as I do? Shouldn’t my desires have been totally dethroned by now? Oh this war within.

I’m exhausted. I hate the sin see-saw I find myself buckled into—the playground of looking to lesser things to give me what Jesus alone can offer. He alone satisfies this wandering and weary heart. I know that and yet I still find myself drawn to what I know will consume me.

Why do I keep looking for more creative ways to lessen the loneliness? Dry the tears? Cure the pain? Remove the frustrations?

I say with Paul—"Oh wretched person that I am. Who will rescue me from this body of death?" (Romans 7:24-25)

And then I remember. That’s the tension of the Christian life. To be here and not there. To be now and not then. That all my pain. And all my struggle. And all my sin. And all my hurt. And all my failures. And all my letdowns—that they would be swallowed up in Christ and push me nearer to the Lord who in spite of my frailty will be glorified in my weakness.

Oh Lord, help me sit with the better portion until all things are made new.

*Originally posted on Instagram (12-2-22)

Give the Benefit of the Doubt This Holiday Season

As you go into the holidays with warm family, special friends, and loving neighbors— do make it a priority to generously extend the benefit of the doubt in all conversations. Even where relationships perhaps are broken or strained. You will be softer for it, and as you endure hardships (or even a hard conversation) and yet respond with tenderness and compassion, you look closer to Jesus.

So in preparing for the table talk and couch conversing, look to Jesus.

➳Recount the love, the bond you share with the people around your table.
➳Remember their intent is not to maliciously attack your heart with the words they say.
➳Guard your heart of bitterness from unmet expectations among circumstances and responses.
➳Diligently watch your heart from the creeping anger in their lack of understanding.
➳Give yourself over to gentleness in your responses and wear kindness on your face.
➳Remind yourself that you have nothing to prove if you are in Christ.
➳Run to the suffering Savior who perfectly understands whatever darkness that looms over your head.
➳Rejoice and give thanks for what the Lord has provided, what he has graciously given.
➳Plead with the only Giver who can hear your pleas, move and change circumstances, and give joy while you wait.
➳And thank our good, good Father for his faithfulness to us knowing that wherever we might be, he has ordained, purposed, meant.

Whether it’s persecution or pain, work or weariness, heartbreak or a hollowness, a diagnosis or doubt, loss or lack; the Lord has not forgotten you.

So when curiosity and wondering arise, when conversation moves into murky and uneasy territory—with joy and pain mixed into one—by extending the benefit of the doubt you will coat your heart in gratitude and protect yourself from a pointed distrust and palpable hate in your heart for others, and for the Lord. The Lord is so near. The Lord is so good. And the Lord does and will do all that pleases him for his glory.

Look to Jesus.
Look to Jesus.
Look to Jesus.

Piles of Leaves, Heaps of Sin: 5 Biblical Truths from Your Backyard

Once the temperatures drop and the first leaf hits the ground, I can be found with a leaf blower in my hand most every afternoon. You could say I am meticulous about the way my yard looks, much preferring order and precision over the mass of leaf litter. But I am curious as to why I like to see the lush, green grass underneath. Why is it that I hate watching leaves accumulate on the lawn overnight? Why is it that I take such care to sweep away the sticky pine straw and bag up the yellow and brown foliage? What does this tell me about my spiritual habits? Can I at all connect this to my life in Christ?

And while maintaining my yard, these questions bounced around my mind until it seemed as if the leaves themselves told the answers. Apart from the fact that leaf blowing is cheaper than therapy, here are 5 ways your leaf-laden yard will point you to the Lord, who is sovereign over all--even over where every leaf settles to the the hard ground below. 

WE LUST AFTER LEAVES

We all drool over the change from summer's monotonous leafy green to autumn's rusty, contrasting glow. We find ourselves nearly lusting after the leaves hanging just out of our reach.  When they fall to the ground, they collect and finally make real contact with our lives.  But the color wanes and we are left with muddied tones that don't satisfy. The leaves meet us with potential destruction.  Rain creates the perfect condition for sliding cars atop wet pine straw. Leaf piles host garden pests that sting and bite. A blanket of leaves masks the real dangers lurking underneath. In great masses they are a fire hazard and cause building materials to decompose.  Something that at first glance tantalizes the senses, only disappoints us when we finally grab hold of it.

So often this is like sin in our life. The appealing, deceptively appetizing and beautiful leaf of sin hangs just out of reach, but when we stare at it long enough, we know eventually we will fall. What so easily enticed us from afar now destroys us as we draw near.  It hides the real danger of death, deceiving us, and with it, the seeds of sin take root and produce even more sin. 

LEAVES HINDER GROWTH

Tolerate a thick blanket of poplar, oak, maple, and gum leaves all winter and you will be set back with seeing a green lawn in the spring. Sure, some grass will survive the wet carpet of leaves, but once the sun shines and the turf comes out of dormancy, what's viable will be choked out and opportunistic weeds will thrive. Come spring time when the first robin chirps and the dogwood buds, it becomes obvious who has paid any amount of attention to their yard.  If nothing was done with the passing of time, the growth or lack thereof, will be evident.

If I refuse to remove the leaves from my lawn, or rather if I neglect repenting of the sin I've fallen into, chosen to walk with, relished to sit with, this raises a number of questions; nonetheless, where there is no repentance, there is no growth. Where there is no growth, there is no fruit. Where there is no fruit, there is no salvation. The harvest of righteousness will be evidence one way or the other. Removing the leaves every day gives my lawn full access to the sun it needs to produce.  Likewise, repenting of my sin gives me a right relationship with God through the Son of Righteousness.

ALL LEAVES ROT

And doesn't matter if deciduous or coniferous leaves cascade into your yard.  They all rot. They all decompose. They all return to the ground they were grown in.

And to some extent, it doesn't matter the size, kind, type of sin you commit. It will kill you. Destroy you. And send you to the ground you once walked.

But it doesn't have to be like this. The Lord is the master Gardener, the ultimate Landscaper, the True Vine, the Branch of Righteousness. He can give you a new yard. A new lawn of a heart. A freshly aerated and seeded yard lush with green carpet. But when the leaves fall and we find ourselves content with a leafy lawn, will we blow the leaves off this new plot? Will we resist the rottenness that grows because of sin? Will we bear fruit in repenting?

LEAVES ARE HEAVY

Have you ever tried to carry a black bag full of fallen leaves? Heavy isn't it?  A single leaf isn't all that impressive, but combined with thousands of its twins the weight is substantial. They are burdensome to carry, and after 3 days of strong winds sending the leaves to their demise, a leaf blower runs out of gas before the yard is cleared. More effort, more work, more pain, more sweat, more gas is needed. It feels impossible, hopeless, better off just letting the grass die.  Yet we know that's a lie, but when there are several layers on top of each other, even the leaf blower struggles to move the leaves away.

So why can you find me every afternoon with a leaf blower in hand? Because I'm obsessive and my dad taught me to find beauty in landscaping? Partly yes. But mainly because the removal of leaves today makes tomorrow's removal bearable. The weight of sin is unendurable. Even as a believer who is positionally righteous before God because of Christ's righteousness on my behalf, my present sin hinders the close fellowship, the intimacy, the communion with the Father not because He removes his hand of mercy, but because I choose to pile my sin like a pile of leaves. And while I stand justified, I am still being sanctified as every leaf falls.

A STRONG TEMPEST IS COMING

We know from experience that winter is coming. The leaves will fall to the ground and the trees will stand bare and exposed. The wind will be bitter and the water will freeze. We may get a blustery snowstorm and be without power for days.  Icicles could hang by the foot off the gutters. And while autumn requires a different sort of care than a white winter, I blow the leaves every day because I know what is coming.  I can see there are still leaves on the trees, but without warning, the trees will be bare overnight and coat the ground.  The leaves won't hang there much longer.  I can not stop it, they will fall.

And I know seasons of trial and triumph; pain and progress; struggle and success; discomfort and delight are coming. I can not stop it.  And every day I need the discipline of staying near to the heart of God because I know how prone I am to let the leaves pile up in my heart, consume me, rot my love for Christ, and block out the warmth of Son of God. The toil of life is here, and it will promisingly come season after season.  I must be disciplined now for the moments when picking up my leaf blower, or picking up my Bible, seems impossible. I must be faithful to tend to my heart and obey the Lord's good commands. In the Lord's strength, I carry the leaf blower day after day because in the Christian life that is what picking up your cross looks like.

One day we won't suffer with the falling leaves of sin in our life.  One day the bags and piles will be burned away forever and only green pastures will remain.  But until then, may your life, your home, your neighborhood be ripe with the dull, laborious hum of leaf blowers, of healthy green yards, of repentance, of bearing good fruit, of growing in holiness, of staying near to Christ.  But if you have to choose between a physically healthy front yard or a spiritually healthy heart, always choose the latter.  All metaphors will break down, even this one, but look to Jesus. You will always find him faithful.