Growth by subtraction

Since we moved, I've been working hard at building.

I've been building a functioning living space for us in our home, a new community of friends, a new routine, a new circuit of resources....grocery stores, restaurants, dry cleaners....building a new life for my kids and my family.

I guess it's human nature to see growth as dependent upon our building. We see growth as upward only. Brick upon brick.

Even in my faith, I start to see growth as simply a process of adding. Character AND serving AND ministry AND godly motherhood and so on are all bricks I keep layering to build an elaborate structure that maybe impresses God a little bit. Maybe I believe that.

I mean, I don't believe that, in my mind. I know that nothing I can do - good or bad - can ever cause Him to love me any more or any less that He already does and always has. I know that's what the Bible says. But in my effort to serve Him and respond to His love in obedience, I can get ahead of myself. I can let the high school overachiever in me loose and try hard to assemble this impressive building. I may even start to believe I am the one holding it together, with my mortar of trying.

God thinks it cute, I guess, like I think my son's latest Lego creation is. Almost daily, my 8 year old constructs something of which he is very proud: a fragile structure with childish engineering that usually crumbles within minutes. It's adorable. And I pretty much do the same thing to God.

But lately I'm realizing I have it all backwards.

(God's ways are usually like that: completely counter-intuitive, counter-culture, wholly counter to my human logic.)

The best kind of growth happens by His disassembling. By His breaking, pruning, cutting off. It's growth by subtraction.

How He comes up with these ideas, I do not know. It sounds crazy. It is crazy. But if Jesus is our ultimate example, we can see it is true. Jesus, of course, didn't need to "grow" but God needed to break Him since He was going to be punished in our stead.

There are a handful of ideas in the Bible that have regularly haunted me. Notions like when Jesus says, "If you want to follow me, take up your cross." "Lay down your life." "To live is Christ and to die is gain." There is a motif of suffering for the believer in the gospel of Jesus. If you really read it - really take it seriously - we cannot get away from the fact that within the process of growth, suffering and death are essentials. And Jesus modeled it. Fun times.

Growth by subtraction. Stuff in me needs to be killed. Lots of stuff.

I've always cringed when I've heard others say, "I want to marry someone that doesn't want me to change." And "I'm not going to change for anyone." Which is the same as saying, "Take it or leave it, I am who I am." Like Popeye. These statements could not be more against what the Bible says our attitude should be. I should eagerly want to change! If my husband doesn't think I need some serious changing, then either there is something horribly wrong with his judgment (like a starry-eyed cartoon character that swoons, "You're just purrrrrrfect!"), or He just doesn't know me at all. (Neither are true; I assure you, my husband is well aware of how much I need to grow.)

I desperately want to be more Christ-like, and feel I'm still so far off. It will take a lifetime for me to inch towards sincere, consistent godliness. There is nothing in my heart I want to cling to so tightly that God cannot have, if He asks for it. (Well, there probably are things that I just don't know about yet.)

Whereas growth by addition, me stacking a bunch of great things into my life, leads to pride, growth by subtraction leads to humility. It is humbling to suffer, to let go, to surrender my heart yet again into the hands of the Author of this story.

It's humbling to bow my head in prayer and say nothing. To allow Him to give and to take away, without complaint. To trust that He knows what He's doing, and that His plans are good, when they really don't seem good at all.

 

The bottom line is that Jesus loves me too much to let me stay the way I am. And growth by subtraction is anywhere from uncomfortable to straight painful.

I know this is an abstract post. But I'm hoping you're following me. I think you know what I mean. Oswald Chambers can put into words the essence of truth so well. Of being pruned by God, He writes, "It is better to enter into life maimed and lovely in God's sight than to be lovely in man's sight and lame in God's."

It's so tempting to try to look lovely for the world. I'm sure I do it more than I realize. Who really says, "Hooray, God! Start breaking me down and making me suffer so I can get rid of all these sinful attitudes, worldly desires, selfish thoughts, and fleshly habits!" No one. We all fight growth through suffering. We all try to keep it together; we frantically manicure our pride.

Look at the value we put on these statements: She really has it all together. She seems good at everything. She has such a huge ministry. I can't believe she can handle all that so well! She looks amazing in every picture. Her kids always look so cute. She has incredible taste and such a beautiful home. She and her husband seem to have the best marriage.

Now think about these phrases: I am such a mess. I can't handle my kids. I am hurting. No one really sees me. If only they knew what I looked like on the inside. I'm broken. I'm needy. I'm not sure how God can solve all these problems. I sure can't.

Which set of phrases do you strive for? Me too. Which set of phrases do you actually relate with most? Me too. In this world, being humble and messy is very unpopular. In God's world, it's exactly where He wants us to live.

 

The older I get, the more I notice that I have not yet come close to attaining the posture of Jesus towards suffering. I'm not in the same zip code as He is when it comes to humility. I say, "Not my will, Lord, but yours," but then sometimes I really prefer my will.

I want to be more like Jesus, I do. And at the same time, I'm afraid of the cost. Because I've read the Bible, and the cost is my life: all my ideas, all my wishes, all my rights, and all of the still-wrong beliefs I hold so dear.

But all He asks for is my surrender right now, just in this moment, in my immediate issues. He doesn't require I grow up into perfect in one day. He is patient and kind to me.

And that kindness is all I need to say "Okay, Lord. I'm yours.


{If you have a quiet moment, think about how you may be suffering in this season. Is God trying to work in that place? What can you perhaps surrender? Where can you say, "Okay, Lord. I'm yours."}

For the unfamiliar road (a printable)

You know that road?

The one you don't seek out. Instead, you find yourself on it. Where you look around and don’t recognize anything.

You’ve never been down it before. You can’t see what’s ahead. And the road itself - something about the road - is lonely and dark, and deep down your heart hurts.

It hurts because your questions are still unanswered. .
A sickness just won't improve.
A relationship just won't heal.
The money just won't come in.
The baby just won't stop crying.

It appears as if things are going to stay the way they are forever and the biggest question is how on earth you could tolerate that.

So like every human, you teeter on the edge of panic, mustering that valiant human effort to hold yourself together.
Look for the silver lining.
Keep calm and carry on. 

I've tried that too. Mustering it up. We women are good at that. But once, I tried listening.

And in a dark place, God gave me this verse.

I will lead the blind in a way that they do not know.

In paths they have not known I will guide them.

I will turn darkness before them into light,

The rough places into level ground.

These are the things I do,

And I do not forsake them.

Isaiah 42:16

It’s a fantastic promise. Its words have comforted me many times in the last couple of years. I’ve since committed it to memory so my heart can reach for it at any time. But what never ceases to stop me is the last pair of lines:

God says, “These are the things I do.” Not, “These are the things I will do," or,"These are the things I am doing.” He is not promising a particular action for a particular moment.

He is saying, “This is who I Am. This is how I roll.”

What He does is lead us on those roads we’ve never been down.


What He does is guide us with love and with truth.


What He does is bring light into our darkness.


What He does is level the ground so that we can walk securely.

And in case we’ve forgotten, He seals it with a reminder:  “I’m not going anywhere either.”

What He does is promise us Himself.

"I will not forsake you.

No matter how much you fight me.

No matter how often, in your discomfort and blindness, you sit down, stop walking, and pout about the unfamiliar road. 

When you’re angry with me.

When you decide I don’t have your best interest in mind.

When you try to grab back what you've surrendered.

When you question every good thing I’ve given.

When you turn your back on me to embrace your fears.

When you provoke me to my face.

I will not forsake you.

And when you’re ready to stand back up, I'll be holding out my hand.

When you’re ready to listen, I'll be speaking.

And I will outwait you.

Just try me.

My patience runs deeper and my love is greater than you could possibly understand.

This is how I roll.


The fierceness of His loyalty keeps me walking.

The whisper of His favor keeps me brave. 

Here is a printable for you, made iPhone-sized, by my pal Julie.

Pin it to your bulletin board, or save it to your phone

in case you someday need a reminder of

His loyalty and His love

to help you take another step.

Grace on a Thursday: in the 'even thoughs'

At the retreat I went on last weekend, we studied Habakkuk. I guess I've never really read Habakkuk for what it is. Or maybe God hadn't opened the eyes of my heart to its meaning until this weekend. Regardless, it's quite the powerful book for only three chapters, filling about two pages of my Bible. It met me right where I am. {Don't you love it when God does that?}

Here's the outline. Habakkuk is the prophet to the people of Israel who have turned their backs on God and are involved in all kinds of wrong ways. He pleads to God, asking how long He will wait to answer his prayers for revival. He complains,

"How long, oh Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen." (1:1)

God answers (in my summary), "Oh, did you think I wasn't paying attention? Well I am. And guess what. My response is not what you're expecting. Instead, I'm going to allow the most brutal nation on earth to bring war on you guys. That is what I'll use to discipline my children and bring them back to me."

Habakkuk is one emotional guy. I love him for that. With beautiful candor, he complains again to God, saying, basically, "Seriously? Seriously, God. THAT is your plan? That sounds really, really not like what I'd do." In my Bible, the heading actually says, "Habakkuk's Second Complaint."

But then. There is this beautiful verse. Habakkuk says:

"I will stand at my watch, and station myself on the ramparts;

I will look to see what he will say to me." (2:1)

He pulls himself up out of this pit of complaining and despair and weariness from the Lord's silence in his life. He goes up, lifts his eyes to heaven, and he waits, in faith. He watches. And he expects the Lord to act.

In His faithfulness, God answers yet again, and assures Habakkuk that He is indeed just. That His discipline does not last forever, and that the evildoers will be repaid for their pride and violence against Israel. His last statement seems to say, "Remember who you're talking to, here."

"But the Lord Almighty is in his holy temple;

let all the earth be silent before him." (2:20)

Yet the bad news hasn't changed. Destruction will come. That's God's choice. It is here that Habakkuk offers a final prayer, which is all of chapter three. He spends almost all of it listing out the past, ways God has shown faithfulness to Israel. He is showing us the power of remembering God's goodness in our lives when we are in tough times. He writes it all down. I get the sense that he feels better for a bit, while recalling God's mighty acts on behalf of His people.

And at the end, Habakkuk gets back to the current reality. The land and the people will be devastated. It is a sobering truth. Read the last three verses of the entire book: 

Even though the fig trees have no blossoms,

and there are no grapes on the vines;

even though the olive crop fails,

and the fields lie empty and barren;

even though the flocks die in the fields,
and the cattle barns are empty,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord!
I will be joyful in the God of my salvation!
The Sovereign Lord is my strength!
He makes me as surefooted as a deer,
able to tread upon the heights. (3:17-19)

His attitude is absolute grace. Nothing else could allow him to rejoice and find such strength in the Lord than God's grace buoying him up in light of the challenging season to come.

I have to ask myself, "What are MY 'even thoughs'?" Where am I still down in the pit of complaining over areas in my life that I did not expect? What are the areas of devastation that may indeed be allowed by the hand of God for a good reason?

Where might I turn these disappointments into opportunities to rejoice, even when there is not yet light at the end of the tunnel?

Which are your 'even thoughs'? I'm sure many of us will face each of these at some point.

Even though my husband lost his job...
Even though we haven't been able to conceive...
Even though my parents are gone...
Even though my friend betrayed me...
Even though my marriage is broken...
Even though I'm sick...
Even though I can't seem to hear God's voice...
Even though I've made horrible mistakes...

Can you answer like Habakkuk? Yet I will rejoice in the Lord?

I'm trying. I really am.

Because the sovereign Lord is my strength. In His grace, He makes my feet like the deer's, and helps me go up to my high places.

Grace on a Thursday: February and expectations

Yesterday I posted about my favorite February idea, the Valentine Advent calendar, where each person in our family writes down something he or she loves about each other person every day from February 1st to the 14th. (If you do the math, that means each of us, in our family of four, writes 14 x 3 = 42 love notes.) I came up with this about six years ago, and my family has grown to love this tradition.

So here's what's funny. Well, I'm trying to see it that way.

This year, the advent calendar idea is just not going to work for us. We needed a variation, something less demanding. God has been whispering this to me, and He knows I don't like change all that much. God knows I can hold on to things, even when they aren't the best choice, in the name of tradition or commitment. Well, we all know there is nothing wrong with a tradition or a commitment, until the cost outweighs the benefit of keeping it.

And I knew a few days ago, as we approached February 1st, that this was indeed the case this year. I'm not saying it was easy for me to let go of my expectations. My personality is a loyal one. I commit. I hold fast. I don't love to flex. (And perhaps that is exactly why God is asking me to practice just that.)

So is my post from yesterday a big sham? You can choose to think so. But my heart is the same, and we have come up with our 2012 version of sharing love and affirmations with one another.



Target dollar bin mailboxes and a bowl of valentine notes are out on display. They look adorable in my display. Anyone can write a love note for anyone's mailbox, any day of the month.

In this family, we are trying not to put rules or traditions or any activities above the good of the people themselves that those things seek to serve. We are trying to choose grace.

Grace leaves room for individuality in a home.

It leaves room for seasonality in a relationship.

It leaves room for weariness, or sickness, or circumstances that just are.

Grace sees people, accepts them where they stand, and flexes when necessary. It's favor, for no other reason. And that favor is at the heart of true love.



How on earth could I even say I'm celebrating love this month by neglecting to offer those around me grace, even when they don't want to do what I want to do?? I'm challenged and convicted by that thought in light of this month. Loving someone else is defined not only by my expression of love, but by what communicates love from their vantage point.

Perhaps letting go of the advent calendar tradition this year is the most affirming thing we can do for one another. (God, just let me bring it back in 2013! Just kidding. Not really.)

301 and counting

Guess what? This is my 301st post!

Woo Hoo. In February, top of the page will be 2 years old. And honestly, I'm pretty sure all these words have meant more to me than to you all. Blogging has been a way for me to hammer out my thoughts and beliefs. Root them more deeply in my spirit. In a sense, it's been an amazing way for me to exercise my faith like you exercise a muscle. Working out, pushing yourself, sweating and sometimes simply enjoying the fact that it has grown stronger. I'm thankful God has taken me on this journey here, with you.

And you have added so much more to it than I could have imagined!! Thank you for all the times you've encouraged me, shared your heart, and laughed with me. Or at me. Whatevs. I'm so grateful for all of you, for the time and love you've invested here with me.

I have to tell you again, though, that whatever I'm talking about here is only what God is working on in me at that moment. In that day. I'm always compelled to tell you about the most recent thing He's either trying to rip out or plant into the garden of my heart.

And I have a little story from today to share with you. Something that woke me up a bit.

We have some friends who are going through a really hard time. We really love these friends, and have tried for over a year now to be a consistent source of truth and encouragement to them. I felt extra burdened for them this morning as I drove to church alone in my car after hearing of a recent low point in their family. I felt like maybe I should turn off the music and pray for them right then. Call on the power of God to intervene. But I didn't. I shoved it off, and thought, What's the hurry? I'll pray for them later. 

Right away, I felt a heavy sense of conviction. The Holy Spirit was like, "Hmm. Because I thought you loved them. You say you love them. How much do you really love them? Or more importantly, how much do you really believe in the power of my name?"

Awkward pause.

That sort of shut my excuses up. Perhaps the thought going through my head that I needed to pray for my friends was not the same as the thought that I needed to make a grocery list for the week. The Holy Spirit was not okay with me putting it off.

I turned off the music, and pushed through my ridiculous sense of embarrassment from speaking out loud in my own car even though I was alone. And suddenly I was doing it. I was boldly asking God to reveal Himself in a mighty way to our friends this morning. Then tears started, because He overwhelmed my heart with compassion for them, and I asked that He would assemble His warriors in the heavenly realms to battle their enemies and fight on their behalf when they had no fight left in them. I asked in the name of Jesus for healing. And I asked that He would draw together that which had fallen apart. I never even said Amen.

But do you think God answered those prayers? When He initiated them, He spoke them into my heart into the first place, and He willed them? There is no question in my mind.

Once I did a Bible study on prayer and I learned that Spirit-led praying for others, also known as intercessory prayer, is simply opening up the door for God's will to go into effect. He doesn't need to use us for that to happen. And sometimes He will go around us when we are disobedient. But He gives us the privilege of being a part of His plans. I experience a great sense of blessing when I do obey Him and take part in His plans on this earth. It is so humbling to be asked in the first place, and so fulfilling when I step out in faith to act on those little promptings.

My days are filled with little promptings, aren't yours? The tricky part is staying peaceful enough on the inside to be able to deciper which are from the Lord. That, my friends, is a constant work in progress.

I'll close with a great passage. In fact, it is what we chose for my daughter's life verse. Well, verses.

I have not stopped giving thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers. I keep asking that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know him better. I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people, and his incomparably great power for us who believe.
Ephesians 1:16-19

And that pretty much sums up the way I feel about all of you too.

Have a happy Monday.

Grace on a Thursday: Spills

This post is subtitled: The Mod Podge Sadness of 2011.

Your mother always said not to cry over spilt milk. But I'm pretty sure she knew that it is perfectly okay to cry over spilt Mod Podge. Especially when you discover the spill one hour after it happened. And when you discover it was spilled all over the pile of clean laundry. Someone small failed to mention the bottle launching out of the craft pantry and bursting onto the ground next to my mountain of clean linens.

Good thing the spill in the Gulf last year was oil and not Mod Podge. Those poor ducks were better off than my sheets. (You didn't think there was a silver lining in that oil spill cloud, did you?) Apparently when Mod Podge on sheets goes into the washer, it converts the substance to cement instead of washing it out like it would white glue. I'm actually considering myself lucky the stuff did not ruin my washer after seeing what the mess turned into after being washed and dried.

Also a big plastic box of beads launched out of the pantry, sending a zillion beads to all parts of the room. And mixing with the spilled Mod Podge sitting unattended on the stone floor of my dining area. It was an awesome sight to come home to after my trip to the grocery store. I'm gonna keep it short and say that I didn't handle it well.

The night o' spills (which was Monday) served to remind me that my plan is getting thwarted. My plans to have my house perfect, the laundry all caught up, and my family organized before school gets out...um...today at noon (!!!) aren't working out. And I'm etching this notion of things going awry into my head for summer itself.

I have big dreams and bigger expectations for summertime. Memory-making, special outings, time with grandparents and friends we rarely see, tons of art, tons of reading, some workbook study to keep our brains working, family vacations, and heaps of happiness are just some of my goals off the top of my head.

SO I NEED TO REMEMBER: SPILLS MAY HAPPEN. My plans may not work out. In fact, they probably all won't. I don't simply need to organize my craft supplies and beach bags to prepare for summertime. I need to stock my house with grace. I will need it handy to dole out to myself and my kids when things don't go as planned.

I can have my ideas, all five thousand of them swirling around in my head, for how my kids and I may want to spend our time. I just can't let my ideas become the only "right" way to spend it. And I'm not even saying that I want a full schedule. I totally do not. But sometimes even our plans for downtime don't work out. Sibling rivalry, or emergencies, or something else throws off our time of rest.

Today, I'm claiming grace on a Thursday for having a still disorganized house, still heaps of laundry, and still feeling ill-prepared for summer that is now basically here. Life skips along, whether or not I'm feeling prepared. I dont. At all. And I really need grace to feel OK about that. Spills and other interruptions happen, and I long to be a more flexible, gracious person when things don't go my way. But when I'm not, on the average day where I'm simply doing my best and even that doesn't seem to be good enough, I need grace to accept myself. My imperfect, inflexible, unprepared, overreactive, underslept, distracted self.

Because He accepts me, and loves me to pieces. Somehow that truth wipes away all my spilt-milk tears, and gives me the strength to stay standing. 

The hardest 8 words

At night, tucking in my little guy is often a long process. Settling into bed takes a long time for him. His limbs are constantly in motion. Kicking, wiggling, tossing, playing. He can barely focus on my goodnight words, much less find his way toward sleep.

To lead him toward rest, I play this game. Usually, after we've played this one. I start always at the toes, placing my hand as softly as I can on them. I whisper, "Be still, little toes." Then, "Be still, little legs. Be still, little knees..." gently placing my hand on each joint and limb. He loves me to quietly command them to be still. And each part obeys.

We end with stilling his eyes, and his thoughts, as I softly touch his face and head. If I forget a part, he wiggles it exaggeratedly so I'll notice. So I'll give the command, and it can finally come to a rest. He doesn't have a hard time with the idea of going to bed. He just struggles to find rest on his own, once he's in his bed.

Today, I realized how much I am like him. The other day, I read of one woman's heart on how saying "Yes" to God is the hardest thing, that ultimate submission of one's life to His leadership. For me, it was not so. I was always a rule-follower. I took pleasure in making the good choice, and since I was in church from day one, following God came more or less naturally.

But obeying these 8 little words is a whole different story:

"Be still, and know that I am God." 
Isaiah 41:10

The words are almost too familiar. They must be read slowly, a couple of times. I recognized today how restless my heart can be, like a little boy, wiggling in bed for far too long. I don't fight the Lord's leadership, but at times, it is very difficult for me to rest in the Lord on my own. For me, that resting comes down to living like He doesn't need my help.

I act like God needs my help sometimes in my anxiety. Or in my planning. In my ruminating on past conversations and what was said. In my hastiness. In my preoccupation with managing my relationships. In my reliance on my own understanding, and my failure to consult His. In my prayerlessness.

There are two life-changing commands in this short verse, both quite difficult. Both whispered, as Jesus places His hand on our restless hearts and minds. "Be still," and "Know."

"Be still" is a command of stopping. Ceasing to move, to juggle. The thoughts and movements in one's spirit come to rest, and the eyes of the heart open to hear and see Him clearly. And "Know" is a command to agree. When I know that He is God, I am agreeing with my whole being that I am not. Knowing is an act of the will.

I'm so thankful I have help in finding rest. I have a good Father. He sits next to me and whispers, "Be still, little heart. Be still, little mind. Be still, little hands and feet. Close your eyes. Rest in me. And know that I am God."

Lord, may I remember to practice daily the stopping and the willful agreement that You are God, You are at work, and You do not need my help. Amen. 

On being available

Today at A Holy Experience, Ann is hosting her usual "Walk with Him Wednesday," this week revolving around the theme of living a life that is "Christ-centric."

It's funny because I have been weighing and kneading this post in my heart for the past week like a ball of dough. What has been on my heart aligns perfectly with Ann's theme. For me right now, the lesson the Lord is impressing upon my heart is that to live a Christ-centered life means to be available.

This past week, my husband and I have been helping a family, dear friends of ours, going through a hard season. And it has meant time talking, praying, thinking, texting, and emailing. I haven't wished away one second of it. It has been such pure joy to be used and to be helpful, to feel equipped, when someone else needs the help (Lord knows that I've had seasons of feeling helpless, so to be the one serving instead of the one needing to be served for a change feels good). The time and energy I've had to give has been amply, graciously provided by the Lord, and I know He's wanted me right where I was. I am certain of that. But from the outside looking in, I've been reminded: Love takes time.

Think about your most precious commodities. Surely they are money, time and energy. Right? Many times, I feel like I don't have ANY of these three to give. But I think, if I'm honest with myself, I'm the most possessive, most selfish with my time.

I don't mean to be. I'm sort of passively selfish, meaning I am in the habit of hoarding time for my own agenda. I feel entitled to my time, in some way. The evidence is on my calendar. It is filled with my ideas of how I think my family and I should spend time. And I am a planner, friends. I'm thinking you know that already. But in case you don't, I am someone who feels secure and happy when I know what to expect.

Where is all that getting me? It's still sinking in....oh my. Jesus has a lot of work to do in me yet. I feel the result, and breathe it out of my own self-induced exhaustion. When will I learn that His burden for me is light, and my own is unbearable? Still, I insist on creating and carrying my own burdens. I fill up the calendar. I hurry my children. I don't remember how critical it is to be available for God's agenda, God's assignments.

The only solution, I'm thinking, is to plan to be available, which means intentionally leaving time where there is no plan. Being available to love and serve another means you can't plan the when or how. I am not talking about simply being willing to be interrupted in the midst of my plans; I'm talking about having ample amounts of time where I have no plans but to possibly be used.

I'm also not talking about being available to our children or husbands, in this particular post. I know that is a huge part of living a Christ-centered life, of course. They are our priorities. But this past week, I've been focused more on the friends, the neighbors, the extended family members, the widows, the less fortunate in our society. Do you realize how much responsibility we as followers of Jesus have to the hurting ones in our lives? The way I live my life is the only Bible some of the people in my life will ever read.

My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.
John 15:12-13

Of course the Lord does not desire to overwhelm us, but He surely desires to use us. He hasn't placed those people around us for no reason. And I am sure of this: if we offer up some unplanned time to be used by the Lord, He will fill it with holy calling. Someone you know will need an encouraging phone call. Someone may need a handwritten note. Someone may need childcare, a meal, or a knock at the door followed by a hug. 

You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last—and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you. This is my command: Love each other.
John 15:16-17

Living a Christ-centered life means being in the business of relationships. If I were to ask others if help is needed, most people would say, "No, it's okay. We're fine. But thank you anyway!" Most people don't want to be needy. And many, many people are. So I want to show up. Give. Love. Isn't this how Jesus lived? He didn't stand on the street corner and say, "Hey, if anyone needs anything, just let me know. Seriously guys. I wanna be there for you." He acted. He touched the untouchable, loved the unlovable, and whether it was food or forgiveness, always took the time to look someone in the eye and meet a need.

I have to keep asking myself, How can I respond to God's call to love His people if my most precious resource - my time - is all used up?

But I trust in you, LORD;
I say, “You are my God.”
My times are in your hands..."
Psalm 31:14-15 

Erased

My chalkboard got erased today.

I had written up a bunch of great plans. Starting with a quiet morning to myself, I then had a lunch date with a new friend over Mexican food and possibly shopping. I even had *childcare* for after Kindergarten let-out. It was all very promising - like, I almost laid out an outfit promising - until a tiny voice woke me up at 6:00 a.m. yelling, "MOM! I think I'm gonna do throw-ups!"

God took a big giant eraser, swept back and forth through my plans, knocked the chalk dust off, and waited for my shock to disappear.

Clean slate.

After I took care of my little guy and he fell back asleep, I started to stack all my crafting ideas up in my mind. I got excited thinking about my clean slate of a day. Oh, you have no idea how many projects I have piled up on the back burner. I started to think: Wow, I can finally finish my drape panels, I could sew the pillows for my friend's birthday, I could do that other project...oh, but I need some more Mod Podge...I need to make more hair accessories to sell, how's my stock of book pages....wait, Bible pages...I need an old Bible for that project....yeah, that will be awesome....

And so I went off into my own mental craftland. And darn it! Remember what I wrote...when was that?...oh yeah, YESTERDAY? Remember my conviction and the truth that was speaking to my heart? Well, I soon remembered:

My life is not my own. I was bought with a high price.

And then, I knelt upon my green couch, my face pressing into the seat cushion.

Lord, what is YOUR list for my day? What will give me lasting satisfaction at its end? Show me how I might serve you with my time.

{Clearly, this issue, my burden to use my time wisely has been at the forefront of my heart. I also wrote about it last week, after thinking of an hourglass and how the sand keeps spilling, doesn't wait for me.}

So I held them up, my empty hours, and asked Him to lead me. Funny that my first thought was to make a list. I knew I needed to write down the things God would speak to me. Of course, He did. {It's not audible, you know, right? It's more like impressions, thoughts I'm not smart enough to come up with. The Lord's "voice" to me is always calm, orderly, and reasonable.}

I wrote down six or seven things, and then no more ideas came. They ranged from writing someone a note, to changing my sheets and cleaning my room, to emailing a teacher. Of course it included down time with my sickie too. All practical and important. When the list was done, I knew, I just somehow knew, that then it was time for my projects. Sort of like my free time to use my hands and find joy in the making.

I just finished two pillows for my friend. The Lord knows what I need, and He provides it.

Overall, can I just say I had a great day? Despite my plans shifting and my little guy being sick, it rocked. The only reason is because when we walk with Him, we are filled up, aren't we!? It is the best feeling to be obeying and serving. I never expect it, but those feelings of satisfaction come every time. He blesses our faithfulness like crazy. And how often do I miss out, ending my day feeling defeated and as if I've failed at everything just because I don't stop to ask how I should spend my time? My precious, precious time.

So let's talk about Jessi, my new favorite blogger who writes at Naptime Diaries. I really love her blog a lot. And she has this Wednesday thing going on. I am IN LOVE with this, people. She calls it 1% change. She seems to feel as passionately as I do about taking small steps towards growth while letting go of our feelings of inadequacy in the process. Yes please!

{Jessi, can you tell how into your program I am right now??}

So here is my 1% change:

Asking God to write my to-do list. Asking what He has in store each morning. Asking how I can best serve Him with my time, one day at a time.       

Lord, help me make it happen!

What if you knew

This year, we're trying to read through the Easter story nightly, as we lead up to Sunday. We started last night. On Bible Gateway, I signed up to receive emailed devotionals, which contain basically just the passages, to read this week.

We gather around our Easter Garden and light a new candle each night along the path to the tomb. Tonight was night two. In both the readings, and visually in our garden, we anticipate the cross.

After tucking my kids into bed, I wondered what it was like for Jesus on Monday night. He was fully man and fully God and knew, on a night much like tonight, He had only three days to live.

What if you knew you were going to die on Friday?

What would you do for the next three days?

Ya know, the typical answer to that question is the "live like no one's watching" philosophy. Go all out. Do all the things you've never gotten to do. In a word, indulge.

I thought about it. My answers were not much different. The first thought I had was that I'd eat whatever I wanted. Which is pretty funny, since I eat most of what I want anyway. I guess I'd just eat more expensively.

But Jesus turned his meal into a lesson.

I'd want to say goodbye to everyone I knew. I'd probably send out a mass email and do a long, emotional Facebook status update to reach those I couldn't take the time to call.

Jesus spent his time with his closest friends, those He knew would honor his memory best and longest. He made sure they knew what He was all about. 

I'd want to make sure all my stuff was in order, like who gets what, especially for the sake of my children. I'd also leave a note with all my passwords. (I'm not kidding. These are the thoughts I had when I was really honest with myself.)

Jesus knew none of the stuff mattered at all! The Bible doesn't mention a single possession that he took time to manage, particularly in his last days.

I'd hug my family and not want to let go. I'd soak in my relationships with my husband and children and parents and brother.

Jesus kept pouring out truth, teaching, washing feet, healing, ministering to the lost, taking only brief account of his family. He assigned the care of His mother to His friend John. Otherwise, He taught and led and served. Oh, how He served until his last breath.

Probably the last thing I'd do would be pray and read my Bible. Because I'd be seeing God face to face in three days, right? I'd think that conversation could wait.

Jesus prayed. And prayed. And prayed.

The truth is, I don't know how many days I have left on this earth. I'm not guaranteed a tomorrow. It's startling to notice how I spend my days compared with Jesus. Of course, I can't be Him. I'm not called to be the Savior of the world. But I can certainly inventory my priorities. I can reflect on whether they align with His, in my own life's version.

Selflessness. Service. Discipleship. Prayer.

This verse rings in my ears these days.

Don’t you realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who lives in you and was given to you by God? You do not belong to yourself, for God bought you with a high price.
I Corinthians 6:19-20


It's only true if we have asked Jesus to live in us. If we accept his gift of grace and salvation, it is as if we are bought, with His blood sealing the deal. Does that sound a little weird? I think it would to me, if I didn't know the Lord better. If I wasn't keenly aware of his crazy love for me that meets me in my darkest hour, I would not want to be bought by anyone. I'd want to be a free agent. Being bought means you are a slave, right?

Well, here's the thing. It just depends on what you want to be bound to.

Jesus replied, “I tell you the truth, everyone who sins is a slave of sin."
John 8:34

Yep, so that's me. And everyone else in the world. We are or were all slaves of sin until Jesus severed our chains.

Still on the horizon this week, the one thing that rescues me from my slavery to sin is His blood.

That is a high price, one for which I'm so thankful God paid.

And so, if I belong to Him, if my life is not really my own, then I must ask:

"What, on earth, am I doing?"