I used to position myself at the end of the pew, just in case someone I’m not too comfortable with might come along and try to sit down.
It saved us both that awkward conversation where they ask if they can join me and I say “yes” with my mouth but “no” with my body language.
Read the rest here: Move Over, Make Room for the Broken
There are lots and lots of things in life where the distance between “good enough” and “perfect” really doesn’t matter.
I don’t aim for hospital corners while making my bed.
I cook without recipes-adding this or that until the taste suits me.
If I walk 8,567 steps or 10,291 steps I am not going to stress about it.
BUT-there is one thing I absolutely MUST get right.
My understanding of God-Who He is, Who Jesus is-matters for ever and ever.
I want to get it right.
I want to hear from the Holy Spirit and understand God’s Word. I need to figure out the basics even if I can’t fill in all the details because what I believe about Jesus Christ determines whether or not I will join my son in heaven.
I admit that I still struggle with reconciling God’s sovereignty and God’s goodness. I haven’t come up with an easy answer for why bad things happen in the world-often to people who don’t seem to “deserve” it.
But I am absolutely convinced that God is in control.
He is the Creator and Sustainer of this world. He rules and reigns from a place of power and glory and might. He did not make us and then leave us to our own devices. He is active, here and now.
I trust in God’s faithful, enduring love.
It certainly doesn’t always look like what I think love should look like. It includes allowing pain and heartache, dark nights and deep valleys.
Some He saves from the fire and others He gives over to tyrants.
But He also pursues me,
woos me,
strengthens me,
and sustains me.
He does not leave me to my own devices nor abandon me to my sin. He has provided a way where there was no way. His own Son’s blood is the Perfect and Enduring Sacrifice that gives me access to the Throne of Grace.
And I am convinced that the work He began in me-the work He began in Dominic-He is faithful to complete it.
I don’t get to see the finished product yet.
It’s frustrating, frightening and painful to wait for it to be revealed.
But I believe with my whole heart that it will be one day.
Twenty-four hours separate one of the most outlandish global parties and one of the most somber religious observances on the Christian calendar.
Many of the same folks show up for both.
Mardi Gras, “Fat Tuesday”, is the last hurrah for those who observe Lent-a time of reflection, self-denial and preparation before Resurrection Sunday.
It’s a giant party-food, fellowship and fun-a wonderful way to celebrate the blessings of this life.
Ash Wednesday, by contrast, is an invitation to remember that “from dust you came and to dust you will return”.
None of us get out of here alive.
Even where the Gospel is preached every Sunday there are those who forget this life is hard and often full of pain and suffering.
If your experience so far has looked more like Mardi Gras and less like ashes, well, then-be thankful.
But don’t be deceived.
“From dust you came and to dust you will return.”
For some of us it was a similar twenty-four hour turnaround that upset our world, tossed us headfirst into the waves of sorrow and burned that truth into our hearts, not just dabbed it on our foreheads.
Sometimes I feel excluded from fellowship with the saints because I can’t join in the celebratory spirit of a worship service.
When the hymns only focus on our “victory in Jesus” my heart cries, “Yes-but perhaps I won’t see the victory this side of heaven.”
When the congregation claps and dances to feel-good songs that celebrate the sunshine but ignore the rain, my eyes swim with tears because I know the reality of a downpour of sorrow.
Because sometimes praise is a sacrifice.
Church needs to be a place where we can share the pain as well as the promise that Christ will redeem it.
Jesus Himself said, “in this world you will have trouble”.
So I can’t claim allegiance to the Church of the Perpetually Cheerful.
I want to create space for the hurting and broken and limping and scared.
How about a new denomination that acknowledges the truth that life is hard.
Instead of the “Overcoming Apostolic Praise-filled Ministers of Eternal Optimism” I would name it the “Trudging But Not Fainting Faithful.“
By all means enjoy the “Fat Tuesdays” in life.
Drink them in, dance, celebrate!
But remember that it can change in a heartbeat.
And that it HAS changed for many of us.
There is hope.
All is not lost.
But in the meantime, it’s hard.
Reading through the Sermon on the Mount, it’s easy to feel defeated.
Jesus ripped off the Pharisees’ masks. He gave people a peek behind the curtain-unveiling the sin that hid beneath a facade of outward obedience and seeming righteousness.
Jesus also strips away any pretense that I can follow the “rules”.
Sure I may not murder anyone, but hate and malice-how am I supposed to get through this life without calling someone “fool”?
Line after line of impossible standards-righteousness that goes way beyond the Ten Commandments!
I am hopeless and helpless.
Jesus makes just that point-on my own, in my own strength, dependent on my own efforts, I’m lost.
That’s what makes the Gospel the Good News!
God in His mercy and grace has offered the only true hope–the righteousness of Christ, the Perfect Sacrifice and atonement for sin.
When I walk into church and pretend I “have it altogether”, when I refuse to display my brokenness and my need for forgiveness, I obscure the beauty, value and truth of the Gospel.
I raise a barrier between those who need rescue and the very means by which they may be saved.
We are all broken.
We are all lost.
Our only hope is Jesus.
May we be bold enough to be honest.
Yesterday I had to find a lost goat.
I had shepherded the rest into their pen, each one safely home but noticed one was missing.
I left the rest secure and went out searching for Carmelita.
She’s old, half blind and has a hard time following the herd. I knew she would never find her way back if left to herself.
So I retraced the steps they usually make when foraging in the afternoons. Down by the hayshed, up by the woods behind the donkey pen. Made sure she hadn’t followed the lane to the road (like she did one day ending up a half mile away).
I called and called and called.
Her fellow goats bellowed loud and long, the hounds joined in and every now and then the horses and donkeys added their voices.
Nothing.
I walked to the back of the house, called again and heard a faint, plaintive answer.
She was deeper in the woods and more lost than I could have imagined. Way past where the goats go to eat and blocked by a thicket of privet and tangle of vines from getting home.
She was desperate-I could hear it in her pitiful “BAAAAA”.
Blind and lost and tired and frightened-but she knew if she headed toward my voice, she would be safe.
She trusted me.
Because I had proven faithful.
So I made my way in her direction and she made her way toward mine.
I clapped and called and encouraged until I could see her. She stumbled along until she was right next to a fallen log that blocked her way. We were close enough to touch, but she was forced to walk down and around before she felt my reassuring hand on her horn, guiding her the rest of the way to the security of the pen.
Immediately she was calm. Her shepherd was with her. No fear now.
In this life it is so very easy for me to get lost.
It’s easy for me to get separated from the security of fellowship with other believers. My vision is limited-obscured by grief and dimmed by tears. I can find myself deep in the woods and tangled in vines before I know it, with absolutely no idea how to make it back to open ground.
Sometimes I don’t even have the strength to cry out in hopes of being found.
But Jesus calls out to me. He doesn’t let me stay lost and afraid.
He finds me.
And He patiently leads me back to the fold.
No rebuke. No chastisement. Only love and grace.
I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down His life for the sheep in His care.
I give them a life that is unceasing, and death will not have the last word. Nothing or no one can steal them from My hand. My Father has given the flock to Me, and He is superior to all beings and things. No one is powerful enough to snatch the flock from My Father’s hand. The Father and I are one.
John 10:11,28-30 VOICE
I have never subscribed to the theory that the Christian life is free of pain and suffering.
But there are some who do.
Christian bookstores are filled with titles touting the path to joy and happiness, the way to wealth and material success.
Read the rest here: Sparrows DO Fall
I love the idea of Random Acts of Kindness-it’s a beautiful way to spread love and joy in our broken world.
With a few dollars or a few minutes, I have the opportunity to make someone’s day brighter, their burden lighter and remind them that not everyone is “out to get them”.
BUT-as I’ve written before here: Relational Acts of Kindness, it’s relatively easy to do my good deed and walk away.
When I bless a stranger, my work is done.
I feel good, they feel good-it’s all good.
I find it much harder to purpose to be kind every day to the people I actually KNOW-the one who may have said cutting things in the past, the one who consistently rubs me the wrong way, the one I feel is lazy or subversive or just holds opinions with which I disagree.
How about the one I thought would show up to help but didn’t? Or the one who has told tales about me or my family? The one who lets her children run wild at church? The one who makes others uncomfortable with her dress, or language, or lack of social skill?
Being kind to THAT person is hard.
I want to turn the other way. I want to make excuses. I want to pretend that my kindness toward strangers balances my lack of kindness to those with whom I walk daily.
It doesn’t.
I am called to be kind at precisely that place where it is most difficult. I am called to act in love toward just that person who is most unloveable. I am called to lay down my life where it looks most likely to be unappreciated.
Denying myself is the very method by which Christ builds His kingdom.
Offering my body as a living sacrifice is the pressure He applies to mold my flesh into His likeness
But Jesus called them to him and said, “You know that the rulers of the heathen lord it over them and that their great ones have absolute power? But it must not be so among you. No, whoever among you wants to be great must become the servant of you all, and if he wants to be first among you he must be your slave—just as the Son of Man has not come to be served but to serve, and to give his life to set many others free.”
Matthew 20:27-29 PHILLIPS
There are lots of opportunities for offense surrounding the death of a child.
Once your heart is broken open wide with great sorrow, there’s no defense against the bumps and bruises that are a natural product of human relationship and interaction.
- Friends and family that didn’t show up.
- Friends and family that showed up but said or did the wrong thing.
- Friends and family that abandoned me as soon as the casket closed.
- People that make me feel guilty for grieving or question my sanity or my “progress”.
But I’m learning to let go of offense.
Not only because it is too heavy to carry in addition to my grief, but because the Lord has commanded it.
I grew up reciting what’s commonly called, “The Lord’s Prayer” without much thought to the individual phrases or their meaning. It wasn’t until adulthood that I read it in context and continued on to the rest of the chapter.
What I found there was chilling.
These are some of the hard words of Christ that most lay persons and many theologians prefer to gloss over.
“For if you forgive other people their failures, your Heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you will not forgive other people, neither will your Heavenly Father forgive you your failures.”
~Jesus (Matthew 6:14-15 PHILLIPS)
WOW! The plain reading of this text tells me that if I refuse to forgive others, I place myself outside the forgiveness of my Father.
It makes sense though-if my sins were borne by Christ on the cross, then so were yours.
If His grace covers me, it covers you.
If I want to be seen through the eyes of mercy, then I must be willing to look through those same eyes at my fellow man.
At first this feels like bondage instead of freedom.
But the truth is, forgiveness is liberating.
It sets me free to operate in the fullness of who I am in Christ. It forces me to trust Him with my pain, with my sorrows, with my offenses and with balancing the scales of justice.
Forgiveness opens the path to relationship and community. It testifies to the mercy and grace of God.
It shines like a beacon of light in a dark world.
It is the power of Christ in me.
To forgive another person from the heart is an act of liberation. We set that person free from the negative bonds that exist between us. We say, “I no longer hold your offense against you” But there is more. We also free ourselves from the burden of being the “offended one.” As long as we do not forgive those who have wounded us, we carry them with us or, worse, pull them as a heavy load. The great temptation is to cling in anger to our enemies and then define ourselves as being offended and wounded by them. Forgiveness, therefore, liberates not only the other but also ourselves. It is the way to the freedom of the children of God.
~Henri Nouwen
(A psalm by David.)
Listen, Lord, as I pray! You are faithful and honest and will answer my prayer.
~Psalm 143:1 CEV
There are days when I am not interested in a deep dive into Scripture or a lengthy conversation with myself or anyone else about faith.
Days when I’m too tired to try to tease out the meat from the fat or the subtle from the obvious.
On those days I hang on to HOPE by remembering some basic truths:
In my own power I am lost, but God promises not to abandon me to my own resources.
He made me, He called me and He keeps me.
He hears my cry for mercy. He collects my tears. He turns His face toward my suffering and doesn’t look away.
When my heart is overwhelmed, He is my Rock, my Refuge and my Very Present Help in time of trouble.
He will not abandon me.
Exhausted
Worn out
Bone-tired
Ready to drop
Drained
Fatigued
War-weary.
I wasn’t created to carry this burden. I cannot do it.
Jesus invites me to lay it down:
Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Put My yoke upon your shoulders—it might appear heavy at first, but it is perfectly fitted to your curves. Learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble of heart. When you are yoked to Me, your weary souls will find rest. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light.
Matthew 11:28-30 VOICE
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