My least favorite chore is vacuuming.
I actually kind of love cleaning my kitchen and wiping down surfaces and sweeping up crumbs. I like cleaning my bathroom, wiping spots off of the mirror and toothpaste out of the sink. I even kind of like doing laundry, the redundancy of wash, dry, put away, repeat.
I love seeing progress: the dirt wiped away, the counter clean and bright for one, brief moment.
But I hate vacuuming. It takes a whopping amount of energy or motivation for me to lug out our circa 1985 vacuum cleaner, pick up everything off the floor, plug and unplug the vacuum from room to room.
Ugh. It's the worst.
I think that the main reason that I loathe vacuuming so much is because our carpet is awful. It is wrinkly, it is stained, it is ugly. Until we can afford to remove or replace it, we are stuck with it.
Our carpet is so far gone that it is tough to even tell when it has been vacuumed. In essence, it looks dirty no matter how recently it's been cleaned.
Therefore, I don't see any progress or betterment, so it is difficult to enjoy my hard work. Shoot, forget enjoy, it's hard to even justify lugging our vacuum cleaner out of hiding and picking up every toy off of the floor.
Matt doesn't have to help with a single other household chore; if he will just vacuum for me, my heart explodes in star showers of love for him.
At least when I do other household chores, there's an automatic payoff of momentary cleanliness. When I vacuum, I am still looking at ugly. The carpet may BE clean, but if it doesn't LOOK clean, what's the point?
When it comes to growing deeper in my walk with God, I think it can be similar to my vacuuming conundrum.
Whatever progress is made can be indiscernible at times, which makes it tempting to give up or slack off. I often cannot tell that there is a difference in my growth, especially when it feels like I am fighting the same battles daily, weekly, annually. Whats the point? Why lug out the giant vacuum cleaner or the giant study Bible if it makes no difference? If I feel no different? If my struggle feels the same?
For starters, just because something doesn't look clean doesn't mean it isn't. Just because someone doesn't seem clean, doesn't mean she isn't. Psalm 139 makes it beautifully clear that God knows me more than I even know myself. It's a reminder to me that He sees the progress. I was saved and cleaned and made righteous through Jesus' death on the cross. So even when I don't feel it, I can know it is true. 2 Corinthians 5:21 helps me remember, "God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God"
Secondly, retrospect is a great revealer. I may not feel different day-to-day in my walk with God, but when I look back at where I was 2 years, or 5 years, or 10 years ago, I can see how the incremental shifts have added up to abundant change.
Lastly, I need to remember that I don't read my Bible and pray and seek Him because it helps me to feel a certain way. I do those things because I love Him immensely and I want to know Him more.
If the start of this new year is weighing you down more than anything else, and it feels like some struggles will never fall away and your mess remains, I want to encourage you.
Keep pressing in. Keep seeking Him. Keep your desire for Him alive. Stay faithful and you will become fruitful, as He turns those incremental shifts into abundant change. Do the hard work of lugging that metaphorical vacuum cleaner out of the closet and clean away the mess, even if it feels the same when you're done.
He is working. He sees the change. In Him, you are clean.
"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up" - Galatians 6:9
Monday, January 11, 2016
Saturday, December 19, 2015
Love's Learning Curve (Happy 7 years, Shoog!)
Matt and I mark 7 years of marriage this weekend!!! In so many ways, that feels impossible. Like, 4 years, maybe. But, 7??? When did that happen??
He's my best friend. He doesn't make me feel crazy for all my emotions and feelings. He makes me laugh and we are total nerds together. He buys me sweet treats all the time to show me he's thinking of me. I have to believe that he does not do this to fatten me up so I'll never leave, much like the witch did to Hansel and Gretal.
He loves me very well.
My hope at this 7 year mark is that I show him my love half as well as he shows me his.
Because you see, I had to learn how to love him well.
I learned early on that feelings didn't take me very far.
As human beings and reflections of God, love is our foundational language. And while the feeling of love comes very naturally and fluently to us, the action of love is all together different.
The feeling of love stays inside of me and is selfishly serving. I am the only one that benefits from that feeling.
The action of love is what is external and thereby serves the other person.
The feeling of love is easy and makes us feel inspired and valuable.
The action of love can be grueling and breaks down every part of our selfish nature.
It took awhile to realize that Matt does not benefit from my feeling love for him, but only from the action I show him.
This means cleaning up the bathtub toys on Saturday nights because he wakes up so early and it is one less thing for him to do on Sunday mornings.
This means not retreating to pout when we argue or my feelings get hurt, but doing the hard work of communicating.
This means affirming him as a husband and father often, because I know how much encouragement means to him.
These are a few of a hundred examples I could give.
There is a learning curve when it comes to love.
When Ezra first joined our family, our older boys were completely enamored by him. They clearly loved him and wanted to show it. But they had to be taught how to love him well.
Finn wanted to hold him all the time, but first he had to learn how to do that. If he never learned how to properly hold Ezra, then chances are that he would one day accidentally hurt him. He had to learn to cradle and support his head, to be gentle, and to not impatiently push him away when he was done holding him.
Jonas was a bit different. He didn't give Ezra as much attention and would easily forget about his presence (babies DO sleep A LOT). But then when he would see him again and his eyes would light up. He would say, "Aww, Ez-a!!" and want to touch his face and pull his hands. He had to learn that those kind of touches are not pleasant for Ezra, and that it is most loving to touch the top of his head. He also had to learn that laying on top of Ezra is not the best way to show his love as it could potentially suffocate (!!!) what he is trying ignorantly to love.
It's not too different when we as adults are in relationship with each other. We have to learn that pushing and suffocating have no place when it comes to truly showing love to another. When we learn how to love others, it is learning the hard lesson that we best love others when we do what is best for them. We deprogram all those selfish, striving efforts to make ourselves feel comfortable, and lift up the other person through our actions.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8 is our Biblical teaching on love, instructing us how to love each other well:
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."
I have to think that God inspired Paul to write those words because He knew how badly we needed instruction on how to love others well. We are innately selfish and have to learn how to put others first. I can't help but notice that each thing in that passage that we are told to do distinctly puts others ahead of ourselves. It isn't something that comes naturally but only with much practice.
After 7 years of marriage, I hope that I am only getting better and better at honoring Matt above myself. Not because he always deserves it, nor because I always feel it, but simply because I love him. The feeling of love I feel for Matt is all mine and I surely do enjoy it. But the actions I take each and every day are how Matt will know my love, and that is all for him.
Sometimes love is felt and sometimes love is chosen, but to be true it should always be shown.
He's my best friend. He doesn't make me feel crazy for all my emotions and feelings. He makes me laugh and we are total nerds together. He buys me sweet treats all the time to show me he's thinking of me. I have to believe that he does not do this to fatten me up so I'll never leave, much like the witch did to Hansel and Gretal.
He loves me very well.
My hope at this 7 year mark is that I show him my love half as well as he shows me his.
Because you see, I had to learn how to love him well.
I learned early on that feelings didn't take me very far.
As human beings and reflections of God, love is our foundational language. And while the feeling of love comes very naturally and fluently to us, the action of love is all together different.
The feeling of love stays inside of me and is selfishly serving. I am the only one that benefits from that feeling.
The action of love is what is external and thereby serves the other person.
The feeling of love is easy and makes us feel inspired and valuable.
The action of love can be grueling and breaks down every part of our selfish nature.
It took awhile to realize that Matt does not benefit from my feeling love for him, but only from the action I show him.
This means cleaning up the bathtub toys on Saturday nights because he wakes up so early and it is one less thing for him to do on Sunday mornings.
This means not retreating to pout when we argue or my feelings get hurt, but doing the hard work of communicating.
This means affirming him as a husband and father often, because I know how much encouragement means to him.
These are a few of a hundred examples I could give.
There is a learning curve when it comes to love.
When Ezra first joined our family, our older boys were completely enamored by him. They clearly loved him and wanted to show it. But they had to be taught how to love him well.
Finn wanted to hold him all the time, but first he had to learn how to do that. If he never learned how to properly hold Ezra, then chances are that he would one day accidentally hurt him. He had to learn to cradle and support his head, to be gentle, and to not impatiently push him away when he was done holding him.
Jonas was a bit different. He didn't give Ezra as much attention and would easily forget about his presence (babies DO sleep A LOT). But then when he would see him again and his eyes would light up. He would say, "Aww, Ez-a!!" and want to touch his face and pull his hands. He had to learn that those kind of touches are not pleasant for Ezra, and that it is most loving to touch the top of his head. He also had to learn that laying on top of Ezra is not the best way to show his love as it could potentially suffocate (!!!) what he is trying ignorantly to love.
It's not too different when we as adults are in relationship with each other. We have to learn that pushing and suffocating have no place when it comes to truly showing love to another. When we learn how to love others, it is learning the hard lesson that we best love others when we do what is best for them. We deprogram all those selfish, striving efforts to make ourselves feel comfortable, and lift up the other person through our actions.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8 is our Biblical teaching on love, instructing us how to love each other well:
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."
I have to think that God inspired Paul to write those words because He knew how badly we needed instruction on how to love others well. We are innately selfish and have to learn how to put others first. I can't help but notice that each thing in that passage that we are told to do distinctly puts others ahead of ourselves. It isn't something that comes naturally but only with much practice.
After 7 years of marriage, I hope that I am only getting better and better at honoring Matt above myself. Not because he always deserves it, nor because I always feel it, but simply because I love him. The feeling of love I feel for Matt is all mine and I surely do enjoy it. But the actions I take each and every day are how Matt will know my love, and that is all for him.
Sometimes love is felt and sometimes love is chosen, but to be true it should always be shown.
Friday, December 4, 2015
A Treadmill Tale
Almost immediately once Ezra was born, I was eager to get back on the exercise horse. Baby weight does not magically fall off my body, so I was very ready to put in the work to get my body back to where I was before the pregnancy. I am always so tired of maternity clothes and cannot wait to fit back into my "normal" clothes.
About 4 weeks post-pardem, I squeezed into my exercise clothes. I strapped on my running shoes. I dusted the cobwebs off our neglected treadmill. My goal was to "just run a quick mile". I got on and set the treadmill pace at a familiar number that I used to run at before pregnancy.
Ha. Hahahahaha.
My body laughed at me. Or rather, screamed at me. I grudgingly kept pushing buttons to slow the treadmill's pace. I had barely managed half a mile. My expectations were too great and my pace too fervent. Because I had started off at too fast a pace, I was too spent to complete my mission.
I had hopes to hop back on the treadmill after a casual 9 month break and be able to do what I used to do with ease. Those expectations were unreasonable and, ultimately, unkind to myself.
I had forgotten all of the hard work that I had put in to be able to run at that previous pace. I had forgotten the hours I spent building up my ability to be able to run at the rate and distance that I could before the pregnancy nausea and fatigue set in. I had forgotten that I would probably need to start from scratch.
I tackled the treadmill again a couple of days later. That time, I set the pace at a slower rate with the goal to complete a mile no matter what. It wasn't super easy, but because I was moving at a slower pace, I was able to complete a mile.
My battle with the treadmill reminded me that if I didn't run a mile yesterday (or anytime in the last nine months), it's going to be harder to run a mile today. I can't expect to achieve a goal when I didn't invest the work needed to meet it.
I can't expect where I don't invest.
One of the main questions I have been asked since Ezra's birth is, "How is it going with three?"
If you had asked me that 1 week, 2 weeks, 5 weeks ago, I would have smiled and said, "It's going much better than I thought!"
And that was true. That was true.
This week has brought a bit of a six-week slump.
I'm tired, I'm stressed, I'm tired of being stressed and tired. And what's more: there is no end in sight. There is no end to the list of things that need to get done. Boys need to be fed and changed and taken care of....daily. Laundry and dishes and toys need to be cleaned and put away....daily. I need to shower....daily.
When Ezra first joined our family nearly 7 weeks ago, I felt strong right out of the gate. I was eager to prove that I could tackle being a mommy of three and do it well. And I really feel like I did. I remember the feeling as I drove to church for the first time with all three. All three were dressed and changed and happy. Even more, I was dressed and showered and happy. Life was good, man.
But this week something has changed. I feel overwhelmed by the magnitude of the to-do. And I just don't feel like I can. I just can't even.
I realized this morning that, like that first day on the treadmill, I spent these last 6 and a half weeks at a fervent pace. Eager to prove that "I got this", I spent energy that I did not have. I spent my reserve supply, and it has been showing. In my emotions, in my parenting, in my relationships, it's showing.
If there was a slow down button to push on life with three kids, I would be pushing it. Again and again. That's not really an option when it comes to being a mommy, however.
When I run, I hit my stride when I am focused on something other than the fact that I am running. I set a good pace and work on breathing correctly, and then I try to focus on something else completely. A sermon, a song, a problem. Some of my easiest runs have happened because I was trying to work out a problem or bad day in my head. If all I think about is the fact that I'm running and can't wait to be done, I will end my run much sooner than if I'm able to fix my gaze elsewhere.
Focus matters.
So what do I do when I'm overexerted and can't get off the mommy treadmill? Sticking with the running theme, my only option becomes to re-set my pace. Correct my breathing. Fix my focus.
I can slow down and take deep breaths in order to deal with the task before me. But even more importantly, I can fix my gaze onto something greater.
For me, that means fixing my eyes on God through gratitude. I become busy giving thanks and there isn't enough room for the icky stuff to creep in and settle down.
Where I can see my boys' energy as overwhelming, I choose to see it as a reminder that they are healthy and strong.
Where I can see the crumbs on the floor as a never-ending means of visual torture, I choose to see them as a reminder that we have food to feed our family.
Where I can see frustration that my body isn't whipping back into shape like I wish it would, I choose to see the miracle in my arms that it brought forth.
When I do this, I invest in my joy and peace, and can therefore expect to see increased joy and peace throughout my home.
Because I know, I can't expect there to be joy and peace when I haven't done any of the work to invest in it.
A steady pace. A fixed focus. A happy heart.
"God pays no attention to our natural individuality in the development of our spiritual life. His plan runs right through our natural life. We must see to it that we aid and assist God, and not stand against Him by saying, 'I can't do that'. God will not discipline us; we must discipline ourselves. God will not bring our 'arguments...and every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ' (2 Corinthians 10:5) - we have to do it. Don't say, 'Oh, Lord, I suffer from wandering thoughts.' Don't suffer from wandering thoughts. Stop listening to the tyranny of your individual natural life and win freedom into the spiritual life." - Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest
About 4 weeks post-pardem, I squeezed into my exercise clothes. I strapped on my running shoes. I dusted the cobwebs off our neglected treadmill. My goal was to "just run a quick mile". I got on and set the treadmill pace at a familiar number that I used to run at before pregnancy.
Ha. Hahahahaha.
My body laughed at me. Or rather, screamed at me. I grudgingly kept pushing buttons to slow the treadmill's pace. I had barely managed half a mile. My expectations were too great and my pace too fervent. Because I had started off at too fast a pace, I was too spent to complete my mission.
I had hopes to hop back on the treadmill after a casual 9 month break and be able to do what I used to do with ease. Those expectations were unreasonable and, ultimately, unkind to myself.
I had forgotten all of the hard work that I had put in to be able to run at that previous pace. I had forgotten the hours I spent building up my ability to be able to run at the rate and distance that I could before the pregnancy nausea and fatigue set in. I had forgotten that I would probably need to start from scratch.
I tackled the treadmill again a couple of days later. That time, I set the pace at a slower rate with the goal to complete a mile no matter what. It wasn't super easy, but because I was moving at a slower pace, I was able to complete a mile.
My battle with the treadmill reminded me that if I didn't run a mile yesterday (or anytime in the last nine months), it's going to be harder to run a mile today. I can't expect to achieve a goal when I didn't invest the work needed to meet it.
I can't expect where I don't invest.
One of the main questions I have been asked since Ezra's birth is, "How is it going with three?"
If you had asked me that 1 week, 2 weeks, 5 weeks ago, I would have smiled and said, "It's going much better than I thought!"
And that was true. That was true.
This week has brought a bit of a six-week slump.
I'm tired, I'm stressed, I'm tired of being stressed and tired. And what's more: there is no end in sight. There is no end to the list of things that need to get done. Boys need to be fed and changed and taken care of....daily. Laundry and dishes and toys need to be cleaned and put away....daily. I need to shower....daily.
When Ezra first joined our family nearly 7 weeks ago, I felt strong right out of the gate. I was eager to prove that I could tackle being a mommy of three and do it well. And I really feel like I did. I remember the feeling as I drove to church for the first time with all three. All three were dressed and changed and happy. Even more, I was dressed and showered and happy. Life was good, man.
But this week something has changed. I feel overwhelmed by the magnitude of the to-do. And I just don't feel like I can. I just can't even.
I realized this morning that, like that first day on the treadmill, I spent these last 6 and a half weeks at a fervent pace. Eager to prove that "I got this", I spent energy that I did not have. I spent my reserve supply, and it has been showing. In my emotions, in my parenting, in my relationships, it's showing.
If there was a slow down button to push on life with three kids, I would be pushing it. Again and again. That's not really an option when it comes to being a mommy, however.
When I run, I hit my stride when I am focused on something other than the fact that I am running. I set a good pace and work on breathing correctly, and then I try to focus on something else completely. A sermon, a song, a problem. Some of my easiest runs have happened because I was trying to work out a problem or bad day in my head. If all I think about is the fact that I'm running and can't wait to be done, I will end my run much sooner than if I'm able to fix my gaze elsewhere.
Focus matters.
So what do I do when I'm overexerted and can't get off the mommy treadmill? Sticking with the running theme, my only option becomes to re-set my pace. Correct my breathing. Fix my focus.
I can slow down and take deep breaths in order to deal with the task before me. But even more importantly, I can fix my gaze onto something greater.
For me, that means fixing my eyes on God through gratitude. I become busy giving thanks and there isn't enough room for the icky stuff to creep in and settle down.
Where I can see my boys' energy as overwhelming, I choose to see it as a reminder that they are healthy and strong.
Where I can see the crumbs on the floor as a never-ending means of visual torture, I choose to see them as a reminder that we have food to feed our family.
Where I can see frustration that my body isn't whipping back into shape like I wish it would, I choose to see the miracle in my arms that it brought forth.
When I do this, I invest in my joy and peace, and can therefore expect to see increased joy and peace throughout my home.
Because I know, I can't expect there to be joy and peace when I haven't done any of the work to invest in it.
A steady pace. A fixed focus. A happy heart.
"God pays no attention to our natural individuality in the development of our spiritual life. His plan runs right through our natural life. We must see to it that we aid and assist God, and not stand against Him by saying, 'I can't do that'. God will not discipline us; we must discipline ourselves. God will not bring our 'arguments...and every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ' (2 Corinthians 10:5) - we have to do it. Don't say, 'Oh, Lord, I suffer from wandering thoughts.' Don't suffer from wandering thoughts. Stop listening to the tyranny of your individual natural life and win freedom into the spiritual life." - Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
How NOT to Help the Hurting
As my husband made his way to the church yesterday, his attention was drawn to a group of protesters outside the Planned Parenthood building. This is not a new sight to him; in fact, it's a fairly common one.
But something struck him differently yesterday. As he watched, one of the protestors yelled directly at a woman entering the building and waved her sign at her with reckless abandon.
Something in his heart hurt for that woman entering the building.
He parked his car and walked over to the protestors. Emboldened, he told them, "This is not Christ's love! The words on some of these signs are awful. I stand with you guys in your beliefs but the words on these signs and getting aggressively in their faces is not Christ's love. Talking with them and praying with them would show Christ's love more than this."
These signs said words like "Butchers", amongst other things.
I truly believe this is not the way Jesus would be dealing with these women. (Psalm 103:10-11)
Time after time during his years of ministry, Jesus used truthful, yet gentle words with those who were lost in sin and hurting.
To the Samaritan woman in John 4, he invites her to abundant life, then speaks to her in straight-forward fashion of the life she has been leading thus far. He didn't get in her face with a sign, but touched her heart through conversation. Verse 39 tells us that "Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman's testimony, 'He told me everything I ever did.'"
To the adulterous woman in John 8, he cleverly diverts those accusing her and in a moment, lavishes unexpected mercy on her. She expects a stone and receives new life instead. He does not condemn or shame her, but lets grace do its work and tells her to leave her life of sin.
To the rich young man in Mark 10, he answers his questions and when it comes to the moment when he knows the man will meet his stronghold, it says, "Jesus looked at him and loved him" before speaking the words that would make the man turn away to deal with his decision.
To the outcasts and sinners, Jesus abundantly gave love, freedom, healing, and acceptance.
The ones that Jesus spoke the most harshly with were actually the religiously pious. In Matthew 23 he minces no words towards the Pharisees calling them, in swift succession: hypocrites, blind guides, blind fools, blind men, snakes, and brood of vipers. These were men who were representing religion and the law, and they were so busy filling up their minds that they never let the truth of what they learned penetrate their hearts. They were hardened and unmerciful. If they had had a picket sign, they probably would have smacked someone over the head with it.
One of the reasons that what Matt did yesterday hit so close to home for me is because he did something that I was once unable to do. When I was living in Minneapolis, I remember driving past the Metrodome to signs that were shaming and condemning homosexuality. These signs had words so ugly on them that I don't even want to put them here.
I remember driving by with tears in my eyes and a breaking heart. One sign in particular boldly and stupidly declared that God hated homosexuals. I immediately pictured my friend Eric, who is homosexual. Eric and I had grown close. Eric and I talked often about God and I tried to answer his questions as well as I could, a bumbling Bible school student. I had repeatedly and consistently tried to both speak and model the love of Christ to Eric.
It broke my heart and made me angry that he could drive by the lies on those signs outside the Metrodome, and possibly ever believe that God hated him. Though incredibly angered that day, I did not stop. I drove away and let hate have the final word.
A surprising thing happened after Matt's conversation with the protestors yesterday. One of them came into the church and found him. She told him that he was right and that she didn't feel as though they were displaying Christ's love through the measures they were using. He talked with her and prayed with her, and she left with a new strategy to love the hurting.
As followers of Christ, there are absolutely harmful ways to spread our beliefs. These aggressive and selfish tactics only push away the ones that God so desperately wants us to reach.
Micah 7:18 says, "Who is a God like you, who pardons sin and forgives the transgression of the remnant of his inheritance? You do not stay angry forever but delight to show mercy".
If God delights in mercy, then I will seek every opportunity to show it. I am most like Christ when I extend grace and love to the lost and hurting, rather than slinging accusations at those who most need a tender word or gentle touch. Let us invite and invest rather than shame and condemn.
But something struck him differently yesterday. As he watched, one of the protestors yelled directly at a woman entering the building and waved her sign at her with reckless abandon.
Something in his heart hurt for that woman entering the building.
He parked his car and walked over to the protestors. Emboldened, he told them, "This is not Christ's love! The words on some of these signs are awful. I stand with you guys in your beliefs but the words on these signs and getting aggressively in their faces is not Christ's love. Talking with them and praying with them would show Christ's love more than this."
These signs said words like "Butchers", amongst other things.
I truly believe this is not the way Jesus would be dealing with these women. (Psalm 103:10-11)
Time after time during his years of ministry, Jesus used truthful, yet gentle words with those who were lost in sin and hurting.
To the Samaritan woman in John 4, he invites her to abundant life, then speaks to her in straight-forward fashion of the life she has been leading thus far. He didn't get in her face with a sign, but touched her heart through conversation. Verse 39 tells us that "Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman's testimony, 'He told me everything I ever did.'"
To the adulterous woman in John 8, he cleverly diverts those accusing her and in a moment, lavishes unexpected mercy on her. She expects a stone and receives new life instead. He does not condemn or shame her, but lets grace do its work and tells her to leave her life of sin.
To the rich young man in Mark 10, he answers his questions and when it comes to the moment when he knows the man will meet his stronghold, it says, "Jesus looked at him and loved him" before speaking the words that would make the man turn away to deal with his decision.
To the outcasts and sinners, Jesus abundantly gave love, freedom, healing, and acceptance.
The ones that Jesus spoke the most harshly with were actually the religiously pious. In Matthew 23 he minces no words towards the Pharisees calling them, in swift succession: hypocrites, blind guides, blind fools, blind men, snakes, and brood of vipers. These were men who were representing religion and the law, and they were so busy filling up their minds that they never let the truth of what they learned penetrate their hearts. They were hardened and unmerciful. If they had had a picket sign, they probably would have smacked someone over the head with it.
One of the reasons that what Matt did yesterday hit so close to home for me is because he did something that I was once unable to do. When I was living in Minneapolis, I remember driving past the Metrodome to signs that were shaming and condemning homosexuality. These signs had words so ugly on them that I don't even want to put them here.
I remember driving by with tears in my eyes and a breaking heart. One sign in particular boldly and stupidly declared that God hated homosexuals. I immediately pictured my friend Eric, who is homosexual. Eric and I had grown close. Eric and I talked often about God and I tried to answer his questions as well as I could, a bumbling Bible school student. I had repeatedly and consistently tried to both speak and model the love of Christ to Eric.
It broke my heart and made me angry that he could drive by the lies on those signs outside the Metrodome, and possibly ever believe that God hated him. Though incredibly angered that day, I did not stop. I drove away and let hate have the final word.
A surprising thing happened after Matt's conversation with the protestors yesterday. One of them came into the church and found him. She told him that he was right and that she didn't feel as though they were displaying Christ's love through the measures they were using. He talked with her and prayed with her, and she left with a new strategy to love the hurting.
As followers of Christ, there are absolutely harmful ways to spread our beliefs. These aggressive and selfish tactics only push away the ones that God so desperately wants us to reach.
Micah 7:18 says, "Who is a God like you, who pardons sin and forgives the transgression of the remnant of his inheritance? You do not stay angry forever but delight to show mercy".
If God delights in mercy, then I will seek every opportunity to show it. I am most like Christ when I extend grace and love to the lost and hurting, rather than slinging accusations at those who most need a tender word or gentle touch. Let us invite and invest rather than shame and condemn.
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
That One Time Jonas Fell
Last night, my boys had beans so I did what any mommy of bean-filled children does on a nice night: we went to the park!
At this particular park, we typically park on the street because its parking lot is on another planet.
We played, we swung, we had a mah-velous time.
As the time came to leave, my boys took off running toward the car. My competitive boys were racing because, of course. As they got closer to the car, I realized that while Finn knows well enough to stop at the car and not run into the road, Jonas may not.
The worst case scenario ran quickly through my mind and my 35 1/2 week pregnant body started trying to walk a little bit faster. Let's be honest, I hadn't moved that quickly in weeks.
Before I could trick my body into a full blown trot, a beautiful thing happened.
Jonas fell.
I caught up to him quickly, picked him up, and wiped his tears. As I did these things, I thanked God that my son had fallen.
Because even though he had gotten a little hurt, it could have been so much worse.
He fell in the soft grass when he could have fallen on the harsh and unforgiving pavement of the street. I hate even going there in my mind, but he could have been hit by a car.
He suffered a minor wound and was spared a potentially mortal one. That fall, however unpleasant, was a blessing.
Naturally, it made me think about how God allows negative things into our lives. Because He is all good and all loving, it is vital to see our own falls in the grass as pockets of grace that save us from far worse fates.
These past few months have not been the easiest our family has ever seen. There have been stressors of many kinds: financial, physical, emotional, spiritual. It has been easy to become discouraged and beaten down.
Then I remind myself of Who God is: in His very nature He makes no mistakes and everything that comes from Him is overflowing with love, and I cannot despise these difficult days.
Last night's fall o'Jonas reminded me that God will often allow soft trips in the grass, if it helps us to avoid death in the street.
He will allow a heartache if it will prevent a mistake that can't be taken back. He will allow a disappointment if it will prevent a lifelong regret. He will allow a failure if it will prevent us from falling away from Him.
When I look at myself and my circumstances, I see some hard stuff. When I look at Him and His goodness, I see only situations that will arise to bring Him glory.
At this particular park, we typically park on the street because its parking lot is on another planet.
We played, we swung, we had a mah-velous time.
As the time came to leave, my boys took off running toward the car. My competitive boys were racing because, of course. As they got closer to the car, I realized that while Finn knows well enough to stop at the car and not run into the road, Jonas may not.
The worst case scenario ran quickly through my mind and my 35 1/2 week pregnant body started trying to walk a little bit faster. Let's be honest, I hadn't moved that quickly in weeks.
Before I could trick my body into a full blown trot, a beautiful thing happened.
Jonas fell.
I caught up to him quickly, picked him up, and wiped his tears. As I did these things, I thanked God that my son had fallen.
Because even though he had gotten a little hurt, it could have been so much worse.
He fell in the soft grass when he could have fallen on the harsh and unforgiving pavement of the street. I hate even going there in my mind, but he could have been hit by a car.
He suffered a minor wound and was spared a potentially mortal one. That fall, however unpleasant, was a blessing.
Naturally, it made me think about how God allows negative things into our lives. Because He is all good and all loving, it is vital to see our own falls in the grass as pockets of grace that save us from far worse fates.
These past few months have not been the easiest our family has ever seen. There have been stressors of many kinds: financial, physical, emotional, spiritual. It has been easy to become discouraged and beaten down.
Then I remind myself of Who God is: in His very nature He makes no mistakes and everything that comes from Him is overflowing with love, and I cannot despise these difficult days.
Last night's fall o'Jonas reminded me that God will often allow soft trips in the grass, if it helps us to avoid death in the street.
He will allow a heartache if it will prevent a mistake that can't be taken back. He will allow a disappointment if it will prevent a lifelong regret. He will allow a failure if it will prevent us from falling away from Him.
When I look at myself and my circumstances, I see some hard stuff. When I look at Him and His goodness, I see only situations that will arise to bring Him glory.
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
The Anxiety Monster and Singing
When I decided to start a blog 4+ years ago, I wasn't really sure what I was going to write about every time. It ended up normally including some sort of parenting lesson I was learning courtesy of Finn, or commemorating some special event or memory in my life. It kept my love for writing alive.
I never thought that I could write about parenting techniques, because I certainly don't feel like an expert.
I never thought I could write about fashion or makeup, because I'm so not on the cusp of it.
I never thought I could write about tv shows or entertainment, because it feels kind of empty and fruitless.
I never thought I could write about fitness tips or tricks, because come on, let's get serious.
I didn't have any knowledge that could help a reader out.
So I just kind of wrote about our lives, and my personal experiences. I wrote about God nearly every time, because He's intensely personal to me.
Writing helps me process the chaos in my mind, and I guess I share it because truly, I hope others can identify and get something out of what I've walked through. Let's all just be messes together, am I right?
One of the biggest insecurities I have about putting our lives out there is, "Gretchen, do you really think people care? How many stories can you tell about yourself, really? Are you that self-involved that you can't talk about anything else?" The voices of insecurity play on inside my head.
But really, I write about my stories because my personal experience is the only thing I feel like I am an expert at.
However, the other night, I was with my best friend and we got on the topic of how we often go through hard times so that we are able to better help others through similar circumstances (2 Corinthians 1). I shared with her how I've been able to help many of our young adult women through anxiety because it's a monster in my life that I've had to learn to conquer. I've been able to use my personal experience with it to teach others about walking through it in the strength of God.
I said to Chanelle, "I could probably just keep a blog all about anxiety and how to deal with it on a daily basis."
I've dealt with anxiety so much that sometimes I feel like an expert at it.
For the past year and a half or so, my anxiety has flared up every time I am to sing in public. Now, I've always been a little nervous to sing in front of people, but that was just the shy girl in me. Since last February, however, it has been a much more intense, sometimes debilitating fear. So debilitating in fact, that I have been tempted to walk away from it entirely: "Maybe God just never meant for me to be a singer and I'm trying too hard to be something I'm not".
I've never counted myself as the best singer in any room, especially any room that my husband is in, but it is something I have genuinely loved all my life. I come alive when I hear music. I have music going constantly at home. Even when it's silent I'm usually singing whatever song is stuck in my head at that moment. I love to connect to God through music; I love looking at Him through lyrics and singing them, meaning every word with all my heart. I feel His presence in those moments.
But I had allowed the joy of singing to be stolen from me by giving anxiety a foothold - again - in my mind. Every time I was to sing in public, I became petrified that my voice was going to give out on me. I consistently thought that my throat felt scratchy and agitated. For days before singing, I would avoid talking on the phone, having long conversations with my husband, and even reading books to my boys in order to "save" my voice. It began to take over my life on those days.
Nobody has ever argued that anxiety is always rational, after all.
When I realized that I had allowed something I loved very much to be tarnished by anxiety, I began to get angry. It has been my experience that anger can be a healthy antidote to anxiety. It shows a fighting spirit and an unwillingness to back down to the bully that is anxiety.
Anxiety has to be fought. It will not go away on it's own. The more leeway it is given, the more it takes over. One has to be more stubborn than it - choosing over and over again, 100 times a day if needed - to focus on faith more than fear.
I'm still not totally over this particular battle. It continues to be a mental boxing match, but oh, the strides that have been taken. After all, sometimes battles are won slowly.
Each time I get up and sing even when I'm afraid, I put one more nail in the coffin of anxiety.
I now refuse to stifle my voice in the days beforehand, choosing to believe that God will use my voice as long as it's offered, and whether it's tired or not.
This whole singing ordeal has been one more ride on the anxiety carousel for me. Although it has been suffocating and frustrating and humiliating to the point that I only spoke of it with those closest to me, it has taught me more about the anxiety monster and more about the faithfulness of God. I wouldn't trade that for anything.
This past weekend I was leading a song for worship and began feeling anxious as soon as my husband told me on Wednesday evening. Thursday I happened to read this: "Do not be afraid any longer, only believe." (Mark 5:36).
That's God's grace, right there. I repeated that verse to myself over and over again during the next few days. I acted on it, willing myself away from anxious thoughts and focusing on belief. It carried me up to the moment I opened my mouth to sing.
Showing up afraid and singing anyway helps me to defeat the anxiety monster.
I can give you names of sermons I've listened to and books I've read and and verses I've memorized and songs I've heard that have helped me immensely against anxiety.
But, truly, the greatest weapon that I have found in defeating it totally lies in one thing: trusting that God loves me.
When I trust that God loves me, I am able to surrender to whatever His plans are for me.
When I trust that God loves me, I can relax in His ability to care for me.
When I trust that God loves me, I know He works all things - even hard things - for good.
When I trust that God loves me, I honor Him.
Nothing, truly, matters more than that.
I never thought that I could write about parenting techniques, because I certainly don't feel like an expert.
I never thought I could write about fashion or makeup, because I'm so not on the cusp of it.
I never thought I could write about tv shows or entertainment, because it feels kind of empty and fruitless.
I never thought I could write about fitness tips or tricks, because come on, let's get serious.
I didn't have any knowledge that could help a reader out.
So I just kind of wrote about our lives, and my personal experiences. I wrote about God nearly every time, because He's intensely personal to me.
Writing helps me process the chaos in my mind, and I guess I share it because truly, I hope others can identify and get something out of what I've walked through. Let's all just be messes together, am I right?
One of the biggest insecurities I have about putting our lives out there is, "Gretchen, do you really think people care? How many stories can you tell about yourself, really? Are you that self-involved that you can't talk about anything else?" The voices of insecurity play on inside my head.
But really, I write about my stories because my personal experience is the only thing I feel like I am an expert at.
However, the other night, I was with my best friend and we got on the topic of how we often go through hard times so that we are able to better help others through similar circumstances (2 Corinthians 1). I shared with her how I've been able to help many of our young adult women through anxiety because it's a monster in my life that I've had to learn to conquer. I've been able to use my personal experience with it to teach others about walking through it in the strength of God.
I said to Chanelle, "I could probably just keep a blog all about anxiety and how to deal with it on a daily basis."
I've dealt with anxiety so much that sometimes I feel like an expert at it.
For the past year and a half or so, my anxiety has flared up every time I am to sing in public. Now, I've always been a little nervous to sing in front of people, but that was just the shy girl in me. Since last February, however, it has been a much more intense, sometimes debilitating fear. So debilitating in fact, that I have been tempted to walk away from it entirely: "Maybe God just never meant for me to be a singer and I'm trying too hard to be something I'm not".
I've never counted myself as the best singer in any room, especially any room that my husband is in, but it is something I have genuinely loved all my life. I come alive when I hear music. I have music going constantly at home. Even when it's silent I'm usually singing whatever song is stuck in my head at that moment. I love to connect to God through music; I love looking at Him through lyrics and singing them, meaning every word with all my heart. I feel His presence in those moments.
But I had allowed the joy of singing to be stolen from me by giving anxiety a foothold - again - in my mind. Every time I was to sing in public, I became petrified that my voice was going to give out on me. I consistently thought that my throat felt scratchy and agitated. For days before singing, I would avoid talking on the phone, having long conversations with my husband, and even reading books to my boys in order to "save" my voice. It began to take over my life on those days.
Nobody has ever argued that anxiety is always rational, after all.
When I realized that I had allowed something I loved very much to be tarnished by anxiety, I began to get angry. It has been my experience that anger can be a healthy antidote to anxiety. It shows a fighting spirit and an unwillingness to back down to the bully that is anxiety.
Anxiety has to be fought. It will not go away on it's own. The more leeway it is given, the more it takes over. One has to be more stubborn than it - choosing over and over again, 100 times a day if needed - to focus on faith more than fear.
I'm still not totally over this particular battle. It continues to be a mental boxing match, but oh, the strides that have been taken. After all, sometimes battles are won slowly.
Each time I get up and sing even when I'm afraid, I put one more nail in the coffin of anxiety.
I now refuse to stifle my voice in the days beforehand, choosing to believe that God will use my voice as long as it's offered, and whether it's tired or not.
This whole singing ordeal has been one more ride on the anxiety carousel for me. Although it has been suffocating and frustrating and humiliating to the point that I only spoke of it with those closest to me, it has taught me more about the anxiety monster and more about the faithfulness of God. I wouldn't trade that for anything.
This past weekend I was leading a song for worship and began feeling anxious as soon as my husband told me on Wednesday evening. Thursday I happened to read this: "Do not be afraid any longer, only believe." (Mark 5:36).
That's God's grace, right there. I repeated that verse to myself over and over again during the next few days. I acted on it, willing myself away from anxious thoughts and focusing on belief. It carried me up to the moment I opened my mouth to sing.
Showing up afraid and singing anyway helps me to defeat the anxiety monster.
I can give you names of sermons I've listened to and books I've read and and verses I've memorized and songs I've heard that have helped me immensely against anxiety.
But, truly, the greatest weapon that I have found in defeating it totally lies in one thing: trusting that God loves me.
When I trust that God loves me, I am able to surrender to whatever His plans are for me.
When I trust that God loves me, I can relax in His ability to care for me.
When I trust that God loves me, I know He works all things - even hard things - for good.
When I trust that God loves me, I honor Him.
Nothing, truly, matters more than that.
Sunday, August 9, 2015
Gratitude, the Fair, and My Nostrils
I woke up this morning grateful to be able to breathe through my nose. It's something I take for granted too often, these nostrils of mine. But they really are a gift! Like, they just work, open for my breathing pleasure, and I don't have to think twice about it. Miraculous!
The past few days, my nostrils were not working so well. They were totally and completely clogged, congesting my breathing and causing my eyes to spring forth tears like a plentiful fountain. Many times did I protest in that time, "I JUST WANT TO BREATHE!"
I woke up this morning, breathing, beautifully breathing through my nose. It was fabulous, and I actually thanked God for nostrils. I'm not usually cognizant of my gratefulness for nostrils, in fact, I almost always take them for granted.
Being taken for granted is something most parents understand all too well. All of the little things we do on a daily basis go completely unnoticed. Shoot, many of the BIG things we do go unnoticed and thereby unappreciated.
This past week we took our boys to the fair for the first time. We figured Finn would love the rides and Jonas would love the food. Sure enough, the first couple of rides, Finn's face was a bright beam of sunshine and he excitedly and sweetly waited for the next ride.
But then something peculiar happened. Instead of lavishing us in thanks and adoration for the fun time he was having, he began to get a little greedy. He began taking the whole experience for granted. Suddenly his sweet, eager waiting became sour, impatient whining. He became picky about which rides to go on, begging us for whatever looked like the next big thrill.
We had to say "no" to a lot in that stretch of time. Every "no" was for his good.
"No" to the sleazy pirate fun house.
"No" to the funky looking roller coaster.
"No" to the spinning craziness his daddy can't bear to ride with him.
Eventually, due to tiredness or overstimulation or what have you, our boy was a crying, screaming, demanding spectacle. Long gone was the bright-eyed boy who was eager just to get to ride any ride. The joy was gone, the thrill was gone, the gratitude was gone.
It was evident to me in that moment exactly why gratitude is so important to God.
When Jesus healed the 10 lepers and only one returned to thank him (Luke 17), he most certainly noticed, asking, "Were not ten cleansed? Where are the other nine?" The one who returned received a special blessing.
Without gratitude, we become spoiled brats: looking for the next thrill to get our adrenaline pumping, demanding the next big thing as though we deserve it, and forgetting that there is a gracious Hand behind it all.
Like the Israelites after their dramatic rescue from the Egyptians, we begin to whine and complain and focus on all that we do not have.
We take our eyes off of the God who parted the Red Sea for us and center our attention on ourselves.
When we forget to be grateful for the abundance of things He's already given us (breathing through one's nose, for example), we become instantly greedy for the next big blessing. "More, more, more!" becomes the cry of our heart, rather than the quiet beauty and strength of a soul surrendered to Him.
Choosing to be grateful puts us in proper relationship to God, humble before Him, acknowledging that every good thing is directly from His hand and out of His love for us.
It is remembering all that He has already done, the many ways He is presently showing His love for us, and all that He has promised to do.
Gratitude helps us to not take the little motorcycle ride for granted, and reminds us that if we are told we can't ride the Tilt a Whirl, it's most certainly for our own protection.
The fact that Finn acted demanding and selfish did not change my love for him in any measure. However, his behavior did require some discipline and reminded me that maybe he will need a bit more preparation before we try something that grandiose again.
There are reasons we do not have everything our hearts desire. There are reasons we go through times of waiting. There are reasons we feel lousy for being demanding and selfish.
"And have you completely forgotten this word of encouragement that addresses you as a father addresses his son? It says, 'My son, do not make light of the Lord's discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and he chastens everyone he accepts as his son'. Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as his children. For what children are not disciplined by their father? If you are not disciplined - and everyone undergoes discipline - then you are not legitimate, not true sons and daughters at all. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of spirits and live! They disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it." - Hebrews 12:5-11
When we remember to be grateful for all that has been, all that is, and all that will be, our joy in this life is tangible. We honor God, but it's really just another strategy He uses to bless us and make us more like Himself.
That's His goodness, and that's what we choose to remember.
We had to say "no" to a lot in that stretch of time. Every "no" was for his good.
"No" to the sleazy pirate fun house.
"No" to the funky looking roller coaster.
"No" to the spinning craziness his daddy can't bear to ride with him.
Eventually, due to tiredness or overstimulation or what have you, our boy was a crying, screaming, demanding spectacle. Long gone was the bright-eyed boy who was eager just to get to ride any ride. The joy was gone, the thrill was gone, the gratitude was gone.
It was evident to me in that moment exactly why gratitude is so important to God.
When Jesus healed the 10 lepers and only one returned to thank him (Luke 17), he most certainly noticed, asking, "Were not ten cleansed? Where are the other nine?" The one who returned received a special blessing.
Without gratitude, we become spoiled brats: looking for the next thrill to get our adrenaline pumping, demanding the next big thing as though we deserve it, and forgetting that there is a gracious Hand behind it all.
Like the Israelites after their dramatic rescue from the Egyptians, we begin to whine and complain and focus on all that we do not have.
We take our eyes off of the God who parted the Red Sea for us and center our attention on ourselves.
When we forget to be grateful for the abundance of things He's already given us (breathing through one's nose, for example), we become instantly greedy for the next big blessing. "More, more, more!" becomes the cry of our heart, rather than the quiet beauty and strength of a soul surrendered to Him.
Choosing to be grateful puts us in proper relationship to God, humble before Him, acknowledging that every good thing is directly from His hand and out of His love for us.
It is remembering all that He has already done, the many ways He is presently showing His love for us, and all that He has promised to do.
Gratitude helps us to not take the little motorcycle ride for granted, and reminds us that if we are told we can't ride the Tilt a Whirl, it's most certainly for our own protection.
The fact that Finn acted demanding and selfish did not change my love for him in any measure. However, his behavior did require some discipline and reminded me that maybe he will need a bit more preparation before we try something that grandiose again.
There are reasons we do not have everything our hearts desire. There are reasons we go through times of waiting. There are reasons we feel lousy for being demanding and selfish.
"And have you completely forgotten this word of encouragement that addresses you as a father addresses his son? It says, 'My son, do not make light of the Lord's discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and he chastens everyone he accepts as his son'. Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as his children. For what children are not disciplined by their father? If you are not disciplined - and everyone undergoes discipline - then you are not legitimate, not true sons and daughters at all. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of spirits and live! They disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it." - Hebrews 12:5-11
When we remember to be grateful for all that has been, all that is, and all that will be, our joy in this life is tangible. We honor God, but it's really just another strategy He uses to bless us and make us more like Himself.
That's His goodness, and that's what we choose to remember.
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