Dying and dyeing

Funny that these two things go together at Easter time. Funny that we celebrate the dying Lord (and risen of course too, but I'm trying to make a parallel here) with dyeing eggs. I've never thought about this before. And I'm not really in the mood to analyze it now. But I had to share that I love this season. I love remembering and teaching my kids the truth that Jesus dying means life for us. And I love dyeing eggs. I don't know exactly why. This year, we bought 36 eggs to dye and I wish I had double that. I always forget how much I could go on and on with these suckers and so I always under-buy. Part of the problem was that I only allotted myself 6 to color and the rest went to the kids. So I didn't get enough turns. Next year, will someone remind me to buy a neat 18 all for myself?

So try to take time to dye some eggs (kids or not), and have a pretty plate or basket to put them in. It will make you feel like you have sunshine inside of yourself. And be sure to tell your kids about Jesus this week. Read the Bible story to them (click here for the "early reader" version in simplified language) and help them understand that at Easter, this kind of dying means living. And this kind of dyeing means lots of beautiful decorations on your table, not to mention the sunshine in your heart thing. It made for my favorite day in a long time. And I don't even like pastels.

From the files: Good Friday '08

I came across this article I wrote two Easters ago, and thought I'd post it here just to get our hearts going in terms of what the upcoming "Passion" week is all about. If you were on my email distribution two years ago, you may have read it before, but since I could barely recognize my own thoughts and sentences, I thought you may enjoy a fresh read as well.


Yesterday was Good Friday. As much as it is common to happily anticipate the Easter season, it is hard to look forward to Good Friday. It is a somber day, and a time I usually commemorate by going to church to be reminded of the horror brought upon our Lord for our sake. Honestly, I like to go in a way one likes to get an annual physical – it is not something pleasant, but understood as necessary to stay healthy. Basically, I need to go to the Good Friday service because it keeps me in check. After all, Jesus tells us to carve out time to remember what He’s done for us on the cross. So I go every year, knowing there is no spoonful of sugar to make this medicine go down.

And every year, I am a little disturbed as the account of the crucifixion is retold. The brutal violence, the senseless and angry mob, the evil men in authority…really it is all hard to imagine. I am usually left thinking, “I get that this had to happen, but really how did this happen? Who were those people?” So much of the story is so shocking.

Then, the service always implies that WE are the ones who crucified Jesus because He died ultimately for our sins. Again, I understand the connection and have known my need for a savior my whole life. But in my heart of hearts, I try to put myself in the shoes of all the evil characters in the story and come up at a loss in terms of being able to relate. Would I have been Judas, betraying a friend for a buck? Never. Would I have been in the angry mob? Would I have been screaming, “Release Barabbas! Crucify Jesus!” Can’t imagine it. Would I have been the spineless Pilate, letting a gross injustice (the death of someone he found innocent) slip right by me? No way. I’m sorry, I just can’t identify with any of those people.

So let’s go to theology. This year, the screen in the service was slowly flashing up reasons why we are the ones who crucified Jesus. The first said, “We are sinners by birth.” I get that. We had no choice; we came out that way. (And here I go in my mind…Would I have really bitten into that apple like Eve? I think I would have been pretty content in the garden of Eden, and yet she slaps me with the sentence of a lifetime. Thanks.) Next reason on the screen: “We are sinners by nature.” I get that too. We are imperfect pieces of flesh, another sort of imposed sentence, in my mind, something I didn’t buy into and something I can’t cure as long as I’m on this earth. Then a third reason flashes up, the one that startles and stops me: “We are sinners by choice.” I immediately want to protest, “No, I have no choice because of Eve, because of my nature, because I was designed to fail.” All these arguments sound solid from a philosophical standpoint. But they are not telling my whole story.

I sat in my seat, now totally unaware of what was happening in the service, weighing my own heart. How much am I choosing my sin? A mother must similarly weigh the heart of her child when deciding how to discipline; is he or she simply making childish mistakes, or is the child being truly defiant? It is a very important question for a parent; the answer determines the consequence. But now I am in the position of the child. I do indeed make many mistakes based on my lack of maturity, but I also know there are times when my sin is truly my defiance, my choice.

I let this realization boil down in my heart: I am not a victim of my nature, I am a willing partner. Not only do I at times choose to sin, but if I am brutally honest with myself, I know there are times when my rebellion is bold and prideful and senseless and shocking and I can look at me and say “Who is that woman?”

Yes, I am sometimes the child who makes mistakes. But I am also a sinner by choice. I choose it, regularly, even if just in my mind. Sometimes it is an indulgent, horrific conversation in my mind that I never plan to have, sometimes it is an attitude of entitlement, or superiority, or self-centeredness. These are ugly things that I can freely embrace, partly because I know each person has his or her own things. I may not ever choose what Judas did, or any of the other evil people in the Good Friday scene, but turning my back on Jesus just once in defiance qualifies me for desperately needing His payment for my forgiveness. Let’s just face facts that my bad choices, and yours for that matter, put Him on the cross because He couldn't stand to live without us.

At the end of the service, I stood listening, absorbing the music. I closed my eyes and I saw a picture of myself standing on the earth. All my sins and weaknesses were ropes and chains connected to the ground. A tangle of them surrounded my legs. But my chin was tilted up toward the sky and I was full of joy because every single one of them was severed. My sins and weaknesses existed but I was bound by none of them. I stood there in the service, having been given this picture of my freedom, and it was a beautiful thing.

Tomorrow morning, Easter, I feel humbled and privileged to be able to celebrate God’s love for me, that while we were still sinners, Christ set us free (Romans 5:8). He didn't wait for us to change or come looking for Him. He just came, in our hour of deepest need. He paid the price we owed, and then called us by name. I pray today you’ll walk with me through this Easter season feeling a deep sense of gratitude that, if you know Him, you’re free indeed.

[photo from www.freefoto.com]

Lessons from my garden, Part 6

Lesson #6: Even the most beautiful flower cut from its vine will be dead in a very short time.

I like short cuts.

Yesterday I was trying to find ways to teach my daughter her multiplication facts without having to resort to flashcards and mundane repetition. I asked friends with older children and checked the office supply stores for something more "fun." But I had no success. I'm settling with the truth, yet again, that for some things in life, there are no shortcuts.

At least in my head, I know that's a good thing. Discipline goes against our nature to choose the easy way. It needs to be learned, slowly whittling away at our laziness and love for comfort. Even a child needs to be taught that certain skills are acquired through painful repetition, working the same problem over and over and over again until no work is required to answer it. Hmm. I know these things to be true as I type them, and yet inside a subtle distaste lingers (remember how efficiency is just my favorite?).

There are no short cuts in our life with God. If I'm honest, sometimes I wish there were. Sometimes I wish the Bible had Cliff Notes. Sometimes I wish I could stock up on the Holy Spirit's empowering. I want to streamline my spiritual life. I want to collect more manna than one day's worth so I don't have to do it again tomorrow. (Exodus 16 tells us about the Israelites who try to streamline God's program for feeding them with manna. Not good.)

So when I lack the self-discipline to spend time connecting with God on a given day, I am as good as a flower cut from the vine. I can look good for a very short time, but an ugly demise follows; graceless parenting, and careless words are the first signs of my wilting.

John 15:3-5 says, "You have already been pruned and purified by the message I have given you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. For a branch cannot produce fruit if it is severed from the vine, and you cannot be fruitful unless you remain in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” Oh, I can do something. I can complete tasks and accomplish a whole day's worth of activities and interactions with others. I can drum up a whole story of how important my jobs are and how well I've met the demands on me. But my focus starts to be on my greatness. Self-sufficiency is a very shallow well from which to draw. Through my own strength, all my efforts are lifeless instead of being life-giving.

More than I want short cuts, I want to truly love and serve people in my life. I also want to spend my energy on the tasks God has ordained for my day, and to do so without anxiety. I don't have time or energy to waste, and I believe we often tackle many things on our to-do lists that aren't on God's. So today, I'm going to remain in Him - pray, read, listen and be filled up by His strength - knowing there are no short-cuts to blooming.

More thoughts on Part 5

John 8:1-11

At dawn, Jesus appeared again in the temple courts, where all the people gathered around him, and he sat down to teach them. The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. They made her stand before the group and said to Jesus, "Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?" They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.

But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, "If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her." Again he stooped down and wrote on the ground. At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. Jesus straightened up and asked her, "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?" "No one, sir," she said. "Then neither do I condemn you," Jesus declared. "Go now and leave your life of sin."

It is first thing in the morning. Most people are just waking up. And somehow, the religious leaders know when and where a woman is in the midst of an adulterous act. They apprehend her and drag her to the temple, knowing Jesus will be there. Some suggest she was set up to be caught at that very hour. However, in their scheming, the religious leaders overlook the fact that they are using a human being. She is probably half-dressed, crying, disheveled, and drawing much unwanted attention. Embarrassment, shame and humiliation cover her as she is forced through the public square. Can you imagine this scene? The men also carry with them large rocks, intent on killing her with them...just as soon as Jesus gives them the green light.

But the malicious plan goes awry. Instead, Jesus traps them. Many suggest that what Jesus stoops to write in the dust is a list of their own sins. Whatever it was, it was powerful enough to stop the whole operation in its tracks. The eldest leaders drop their rocks first, convicted by their own guilt. The rest follow suit until none are left. In my imagination, the public upheaval melts into silence, except for, perhaps, the woman's sobs. And what she is offered next is revolutionary, not only in those days, but it would be today as well: mercy, and forgiveness, and freedom.

The religious leaders see just a glimpse of what is taking place in this woman's life. They see the small spring of mint poking out of the ground. Jesus doesn't even seem to notice the obvious. He sees beyond the surface. He sees how brokenness has twisted and turned inside her, year after year, growing into a disastrous tangle that she couldn't fix. He sees the "why". He sees her, and loves her with a love that she has never known. His love does not turn a blind eye to her sin, it washes it away. And the recipient of that kind of love, that flavor of mercy can only do one thing in grateful response - walk away from her old life.

Lord, help me to remember this story of your great love and unsearchable perspective on us all. So many things fall under the category of "matters too great for me to grasp." Remind me of my limited understanding. And when I begin to collect rocks, intent on condemning someone else, remind me that it is your kindness that leads us to repentance (Romans 2:4). Thank you for seeing past my exterior and offering me forgiveness and freedom in all my mistakes. And let me recall your example of love and mercy when it comes time to look past the obvious in someone else, and offer them the same.

Lessons from my garden, Part 5

Lesson #5: Some roots are so far traveled, it is impossible for me to see how to completely remove them (or, The problem with mint)

My husband has created a really cool herb garden in our yard. It is the only cool thing about our little yard. It is a container herb garden, meaning all the herbs are growing in containers. Each of 6 very large, modern-looking square pots can hold 3 or 4 different herbs. They are all individually watered with tiny dripping sprinklers, they all drain into a framed floor of pebbles, and not only does the arrangement look cool, the herbs are yummy and healthy and we cook with them almost daily.

But once upon a time, mint entered our garden. Mint was not a bad idea. We love mint - in drinks, on berries, and in lots of other deliciousness. But mint is to a garden as a virus is to a preschool class. It spreads so rapidly that you can't tell where it came from or is going to go next. Everything is just suddenly dominated by it. I don't really know where the mint was originally planted. I believe it started in a container, but somehow jumped down to the main floor of the garden. I am certain, however, that when I began to try to uproot the unwanted portions, which had sprouted up in about 10 different spots, I quickly realized that it was completely out of my control. Unless I was to literally rip up the entire garden, I was not going to be able to pull up all the roots.

In the same way, I know that there are plenty of issues inside myself and my loved ones that we truly have no idea how to uproot. Some hurts or habits run so deep inside our hearts that only God can see their origins. While I am a major advocate of knowing oneself and living an examined life, I also know that there is a boundary line I cannot cross in understanding humankind. That is why this post is necessarily short: I don't have much to say about that which I do not and cannot understand.

I do know these truths, however, and they help me let go of trying to manage issues inside myself or others that I really can't grasp. This first one is a prayer that I need to remind myself of my own ignorance:

Search me, O God, and know my heart.
Test me and know my anxious thoughts.
Point out anything in me that offends you,
and lead me along the path of everlasting life.
Psalm 139:23-24

The next passage assures us that if we have given our lives to Jesus, we have Him in our hearts to advocate for us when we don't have a clue. I love that I don't have to know the answers or even the questions. I can just "be," and He knows what I need, knows what the cries of my heart are about:

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will.
Romans 8:26-27

The last passage is my favorite of these, because it is so direct. David is the one who wrote these words, and titled this as a "song for pilgrims." The whole psalm is only 3 verses long, and has a single point - God is God and I am not.

Lord, my heart is not proud;
my eyes are not haughty.
I don’t concern myself with matters too great
or too awesome for me to grasp.
Instead, I have calmed and quieted myself,
like a weaned child who no longer cries for its mother’s milk.
Yes, like a weaned child is my soul within me.
O Israel, put your hope in the Lord—
now and always.
Psalm 131

Elizabeth Elliot writes, "The depths call only to God." There are some things we can work on with God, and some things He has to heal in His timing, in His ways. I may see a problem, have a theory about its origins, and see some evidence that this problem is getting out of control. But that doesn't mean I am capable of uprooting it myself. I took such a firm whack at the mint only because I thought I could manage it. From the surface, it looked simple. Above the ground, the mint had grown up in very small shoots at places. Surely, I could pull it right up. Well, the photo below which captures one portion of the roots I managed to rip up will show you that I was concerning myself with something too awesome for me to grasp, and fail I did.

These thick white roots were like an aerial view of the L.A. freeway system, all just millimeters below the surface of the soil, and sometimes stretching several feet away from any sign of mint itself. And the few leaves of mint that were above the surface paled in comparison. Yet, I kept hacking, yanking, digging, and following the trails. Some pieces were pulled up and severed, but I never got it all. Not even close. Think of this image, when you begin to hack at (or complain about) a problem in yourself or someone else. Do you really know where that thing is rooted? Do you really have a grasp on how far traveled a problem it may be under the surface? Sometimes I just need to put down the trowel, let God handle the mess, and trust that He is a way better gardener than I am.

Underwhelmed

Wait a minute. Hold the phone. I have a mid-day five minutes to myself and I am actually underwhelmed! That means that I am not overwhelmed by the crazy number of things around me to do. The laundry is done. The kitchen is clean (and I mean really deep down clean). Both kids are occupied outside of my space. Not every stack of paper has been addressed, but if you don't count the scrap booking of my son's first 4 years of life, I am actually CAUGHT UP. I need to take note of this because I usually wouldn't appreciate it for what it is. Even when I am normally underwhelmed, the circumstances don't get celebrated. I just look for the next thing to do.

It is like my unbirthday - it is more the rule and not the exception so every unbirthday passes by quite unnoticed. My birthday is the equivalent of being overwhelmed (except I wish that happened only once a year). Anyway, I tend to invent probably more drama than necessary when I am feeling overwhelmed on a given day. That is when I feel the need to "let it out" by writing or inventing a multitude of other tasks to do as therapy for my little self (which helps for a minute, but really makes the matter worse since I'm not covering any of the ground that is overwhelming me).

Not today. I'm choosing to dramatize and celebrate this underwhelmed moment, before someone interrupts it or asks for something to eat. Ahhhhhhh. Thank you Lord.

I'll get back to my gardening lessons soon. I just needed to exhale with this post and encourage you to do the same. The next time you are underwhelmed, though it doesn't mean things are perfect, appreciate it for what it's worth. The moment may not come around again for a while.

I think I'll share a photo or two of another underwhelmed friend. I took many photos of this guy and his buddies on a recent trip to Lake Arrowhead with my husband. These shots were all off the balcony of our room overlooking the lake. The blue jays were shockingly beautiful against the scenery and I couldn't get enough of them. Have a happy day.

Lessons from my garden, Part 4

Lesson #4: EVERYTHING needs pruning.

This is really a combo lesson of two truths that came to mind while gardening. Unhealthy plants need pruning to help them grow, and perfectly healthy plants do too. Cutting the dead and weak parts off the unhealthy plants makes sense to me, and is easy to see how that is nurturing to a failing plant. I'm eager to remove the yucky stuff and leave a healthier, well-groomed little version of the struggler. But it is so hard for me to understand WHY it is good to cut back a thriving guy. After waiting to see growth for so long, after finally seeing some beautiful blooms on it, why on earth would I want to cut some of it away? Isn't that just moving backwards? Isn't the very best thing in life to always be moving forward? I have a suspicion that in God's story for us, the clear answer is "No," at least from our perspective.

Like a good garden-parent, I took my shears to the healthy guys. I had to tell the plants in my head, before I clipped, "This is for your own good!" Snip snip snip. Ouch. I feel the parallel in my own life way too closely. I think perhaps God feels this way when he prunes us, even when we're walking closely to Him, checking off the boxes, doing the jobs He's given us. It is never too long before the snip, "Here's one more thing we need to work on," He says. OK, Lord (eyes squeezed shut). Cut away.

My perspective is so limited because I see life on a sort of linear continuum: there is a backward, a present, and a forward. I only like moving forward (it's that efficiency thing again). But it seems to me that God doesn't know about the continuum. He takes a crazy, illogical path to get me from one stage to the next, and then takes 12 stops along the way to teach me stuff - maybe even the same exact lesson, 12 different times. He'll cut me back in one area, again and again, until the little bonsai in my heart looks just right to Him. I want to be pruned and hemmed in and rounded out. I do, deeply. It's just that I can never anticipate where God wants to take me on my journey with Him, and that feels unsettling. I have to constantly expect the unexpected. Of course He's set it up that way. It's not a cruel joke. It is so that I learn the most important thing I can learn: to completely depend on His plans for me, or I will begin to resist them. I have to trust that my Father knows what's best for me.

There are so many great verses to support these truths. I love Romans 8:28, Hebrews 12:5-11, and this one. These are the words of Jesus, using the same analogy of the garden, and speaking to me every time I'm in mine:

"I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful."
John 15:1-2

A loss of a few flowers now means an abundance of them later. So I'll keep going at my plants with the shears, and try to see the loss as moving forward in the long run. That is the irony of it all - even after the pruning, the healing, the painfully slow growth we experience, and then more pruning - it is all moving forward in God's eyes. His only goal is Christ-like character in me, no matter what path He and I take to get there. I'm joyfully along for the ride; I just sometimes wish He'd let me see the map.