God’s still working on me |

A Farm, a Garden, and Life Forever

26. June 2012 · 22 comments · Categories: God's still working on me, grief, Spiritual Growth

I’ve seen both the emergence of life and the ending of how life was defined, all in the same place.

As a child, I spent many weekends at my aunt and uncle’s farm. I raced my sister to the silo, grabbing pieces of corn to the throw into the pen. The hogs would grunt and run over to us, leaving hoof prints in the slimy mud. Nudging their snouts at the cobs, they would squeal with delight and quickly gobble up their feast. “Can we get more?” we’d beg our uncle and run back again to the silo to retrieve more ears of corn.

Summers were spent running and exploring the acres of land. I’d stand on tip toes, push my face against the glass of the small wooden structure and watch the feral barn cats play in their little home. They were too wild to pet or make friends with so I simply watched them climb over the all the old furniture in their little barn, scratching and clawing to their heart’s content.

We also enjoyed chasing the dogs, searching for frogs in the pond, rolling in the grass, visiting the barn-all that makes up a childhood spent on a farm.

I remember visiting on a day when piglets were born. I walked into the barn to watch, wide eyes as my uncle helped deliver a wet, tiny, squealing baby pig. To my young eyes, it was both gory and amazing at the same time. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I watched him give those tiny piglets their first shots.

It was my first year of high school when I cried even more while at that farm. We were there for our typical weekend visit when I hear my aunt and my parents talking about something serious. I learned that day that my aunt and uncle were getting a divorce.

Shock and confusion filled my heart. I deeply loved both of them and couldn’t understand why they couldn’t love each other. Though I had plenty of friends from broken homes, this was my first personal encounter with divorce. I began hearing horrible things about my uncle from my angry, hurt, and bitter aunt. The air was stifling with bitterness and anger, suffocating my chest. I remember wanting to shout, “Stop it! Just stop it! This is my uncle you are talking about!”

The innocence of childhood ended abruptly that day. Sweet memories of days spent exploring the farm became tainted by relationships torn apart. My aunt soon moved out and I never again returned to that farm.

Our first parents experienced both the beginning of life and the ending of how their life was defined, all in the same place. They enjoyed days spent exploring their garden, naming animals, and taking walks with God. Their life was innocent and carefree, lived in the moment and without fears or worry.

Then sin entered the world and their relationship with God was torn apart. Life as they knew it changed forever. Never again were they permitted to enter the Garden. Never again would they know life as innocent, simple, and carefree. Sweet memories of that place became tainted by sin and shame.

We all have experiences of joyful, carefree days. And we all have seen lives torn apart by sin. As long as we live in this world, we will continue to experience the cycle of new life beginning and of life ending. But the swords that barred reentrance into the Garden did not end the story of Adam and Eve. Genesis 3:15 promised a rescue plan, a way to bring God’s people back to Himself. Jesus fulfilled that plan through His life, death, and resurrection.

It’s because of Jesus that one day we will return to that Garden and to that place of eternal joy, carefree days, and complete innocence. When that new chapter begins, we will have eternity to explore the New Heavens and New Earth. Relationships there will never be torn apart. Memories will be created that will never be tainted by sin and shame. Life as we once knew it will be changed forever and forever changed for the good.

Do you look forward to that day?

Linking up with:

Word Filled Wednesday, Always Alleluia and Intentional.Me

When the Guilt Lays Heavy

19. June 2012 · 11 comments · Categories: God's still working on me, Spiritual Growth · Tags: forgiveness, grace, mercy

I step out onto our tiny wooden porch, plop down in the plastic Adirondack chair and breathe out a long sigh. We are on vacation, so why am I so tired, irritable, and frustrated?

The day had been long and my patience short. Stingy with grace, I didn’t give out what has been given to me. At dinner, my son prayed, “And God, please help mommy to be patient with us.”

Sipping my coffee, I look out over the railing. There is nothing in my view but the forest. I hear birds softly chirping, calling to one another. Opening my prayer journal, I begin to talk to God. My heart is raw and the words spill forth, overflowing onto the page.

I pause from time to time to soak in the calm serenity of the woods. The wind gently rustles the leaves and the branches sway in a slow dance. I see a pocket of light, a spotlight of remaining sun shining through the woods, highlighting a lone tree.

Wasn’t it a simple tree who carried the Light of the World? Didn’t He carry this guilt that lays heavy in my heart, heavy from a day of arguments, impatience, and frustration?

The Spirit, He moves gently, just as the breeze and causes my own heart to sway in a rhythm of thanksgiving. He reminds me of His fresh mercy and pours His abundant grace over me. The chirping birds remind me that He cares for me and always meets my every need. His promises from Scripture come coursing through my soul, reassuring and reminding me of His unconditional love. I breathe in deep the fragrance of this life and exhale praise.

He’s always there waiting. Why do I take so long to come to Him? Why do I try to walk into battle on my own? Why do I let my day go by, full of distractions, conflicts, and challenges and not stop and seek Him?

Because once I do, I see Him everywhere.

After tucking in my son for bed, I tell him I am sorry for being impatient with him. “Do you forgive me?” I ask. “I always do, mommy. You know that.”

And so does He.

Linking up with:

Word Filled Wednesday and Intentional.Me

Lessons in Faith

05. June 2012 · 19 comments · Categories: Anxiety, God's still working on me, Spiritual Growth

She wears faith like wings and soars above the fear.

When we first met, I was an insecure college freshman, cautious, fearful and shy. A heart full of wounds and battle scars, I often stood on the outside, a mere observer of life. Like a wallflower at the school dance, I watched the world dance around me, because I was too afraid to join in. Despite my flounderings and insecurities, she welcomed me as though I’d always belonged.

Sometimes, redemption from past wounds comes from unconditional acceptance and the open arms of a faith-filled heart.

As a newly wed, I remember listening to her share her testimony to a group of women at my church. She shared her story of deep grief, significant loss, and of an unwavering faith in a sovereign God. My own life’s brokenness was still fresh, yet I hungered for a faith like hers.

It was her gentle love and secure faith that helped me through the uncertainties during the early years in my marriage to a firefighter. When the fires raged, and my fear soared, it was she who encouraged me through it. For it is often those who have been through fires themselves who are most capable of helping others find their way through the smoky haze and to a place beyond the fear.

Recently, she joined us on a family trip to Orlando. Standing in line together for a ride, she shared with us that she used to be afraid of heights. “I used to be afraid of a lot of things. But since the worst thing in my life has already happened, and I survived, there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

Her statement continues to linger, stirring my heart and prompting evaluation of my own fears. She, who lost her husband unexpectedly, when her children were ten and thirteen, knows what it is to experience the worst thing in life. She has gone through the fires of suffering, where her faith was forged and sculpted.

It was faith that taught her that even when your world falls apart, God will catch you. Faith showed her there is a reason for everything and everything is in His control. Faith also revealed to her that God is big enough to take all your cries, questions, anger, and fear.

And it’s her faith that continues to teach me what it looks like to trust God in the face of intense uncertainty. I see how faith picked her up and carried her through to the other side of pain and sorrow. I’ve learned that what frightens me most, cannot break me, because God will not let me go.

It’s faith like that of my mother-in-law that inspires me to trust God in spite of my fears. It encourages me to climb to great heights. And it helps me take that giant leap into the unknown…

and soar with wings of faith in the One who will always catch me.

Linking up with:

Word Filled Wednesday and Intentional.Me

When You Want to Walk Out of the Game

29. May 2012 · 22 comments · Categories: God's still working on me, Spiritual Growth

It was a Saturday morning, the sun was shining, and the sky a clear blue. My son was hot and sweaty as he ran up and down the soccer field trying to score goals for his team. It was a holiday weekend and many teammates were gone, leaving my son the only skilled player on the team. I watched him play many of the positions alone while the other kids looked up in the sky, day dreamed, and wandered around as though lost in a fog.

I watched the tears run down his face and my heart ached for him. When he came over for a drink of water, I suggested that he stop playing. Though angry with his teammates and still tearful, he refused to give up. As he ran back out on the field, I realized something about myself.

I am not very brave.

When faced with a barrier or obstacle in my life, I immediately give up and turn back the other way. When the trials of life hunt me down, I cry with the Israelites and say that life was better in Egypt. If the burdens of my life are too heavy, I just sit down, give up, and refuse to take a step further. And when I experience discouragement, I walk off the battlefield rather than fight all the harder.

But what if I didn’t turn away from every obstacle that came my way? How would my life be different if I simply turned the handle on every closed door and walked on right through? How many mountain top views have I missed because of fear that I wouldn’t make it to the top?

The Bible tells me that God can do more than anything I could ask or imagine. Jesus said it only takes a mustard seed sized faith to move a mountain. What if I actually believed God and stepped forward in faith? What if I trusted Him for the outcome rather than on my own potential failures?

“I can do everything through him who gives me strength.” Philippians 4:13

I have a big game in my own life right now. Some days, I want to just sit on the side lines and watch everyone else play, wishing I were brave enough to join in. Yet, I know God wants me to trust him and believe in the impossible. The very one who created the sun, moon, and stars can handle the weight of my burdens. The One who called everything into being by just the words of His mouth is able do what is impossible for me to accomplish on my own. And He who transformed uneducated fishermen into the first leaders of the church can certainly enable me to do even more than I’ve ever thought I was capable.

I hear him calling me into the game. The timeout is over, it’s time for the final stretches and to tie on my cleats. I say a prayer, placing the game in His hands, as I run right into the middle of the game.

Will I make any goals? Will I fail? Only God knows, but until He calls the game, I will keep playing…

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10

Linking up with:

Word Filled Wednesday and Intentional.Me

updated from the archives

I Will Follow Him

15. May 2012 · 24 comments · Categories: God's still working on me, Spiritual Growth · Tags: Matthew 8:20, Philippians 2:6-8, Philippians 3:8-9

Each time I open my Bible, there it lies. A treasure rarely seen these days, I’ve kept it nestled in the Word for a few years now. This note, written in a dear friend’s own personal scrawl, is part bookmark and part reminder of the One who calls me.

My friend is a gifted artist. I once proclaimed to her that I would love to own a piece of her work. For my birthday one year, I opened an unexpected gift. Inside the package, I found not one, but three paintings. She included the handwritten note to explain why she had painted them for me.

This passage was her inspiration: “Jesus replied, “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” Matthew 8:20

I proudly hung them in a row on the wall in my living room. The irony of it has not escaped me. I have a wall, in a house that I own, on which to hang these paintings. Whereas, my Savior had no home of His own. I live in comfort, yet He left the comfort of heaven to live in discomfort for me.

Jesus made the statement above in response to a scribe who said, “I will follow you wherever you go.” If the scribe had known why Jesus had come, he may not have made such a hasty promise. Following Christ means letting go of this world and living for the next. Paul tells us to imitate Christ, who “did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross!” (Phil. 2:6-8)

We need to hold all things loosely, except Christ Himself.

What that looks like, I am still learning. Each day I have to intentionally lay down my desires and follow Him in obedience. Dying to myself is an ongoing journey which includes lessons in contentment, sacrifice, and servanthood. The more I realize how much Christ gave up for me, the more I am compelled, out of love, to give up for Him.

Whenever I look at these paintings, I am reminded that I am not alone in this journey. God has placed people in my path who walk alongside me. We are learning together what it means to carry our cross and follow Him. We spur each other on and encourage one another to live for Him.

These paintings also remind me of the faith it takes to walk away from all that you know to follow Christ-straight into the unknown. The disciples dropped their nets full of fish to follow Him. They didn’t know where they were headed, they didn’t know the exact cost, but they knew He had everything they ever wanted. He called them and they answered that call to forsake everything for Him.

What am I giving up for Christ? What am I holding onto that I need to let go?

I don’t want to be like the rich young ruler who walked away from Jesus, saddened because he couldn’t do what it takes to follow Christ. I want to have the same heart as Paul, who said, “What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith.” Philippians 3:8-9

One thing I have learned in this journey is that I need the strength of Christ to carry my cross. I need the grace that only He can provide. Forsaking everything for Him, to walk into the unknown, requires trusting in His sight to lead me. I can’t see what’s ahead on this path. It’s in tuning my ears to hear His voice, that I can walk forward, one step at a time.

I don’t have my walk in faith all figured out. I don’t know exactly what it means to follow Him-He who had no place to lay His head. But I do know that wherever He leads, I will follow. And I know that it’s only in Him is where I find everything I’ve ever wanted.

Linking up with:

And Word Filled Wednesday and Intentional.Me

A Life of Repentance and a Reason to Party

08. May 2012 · 8 comments · Categories: God's still working on me, Parenting, Spiritual Growth

I flopped down on the bed and breathed a sigh from deep within. Turning my head, I glanced at the clock and saw that it was 10pm. Two hours! It took two hours to get my kids to bed!

After a long day, I was looking forward to relaxing by reading for a while before I went to sleep. Is that too much to ask? During those two hours of battling over bedtime, I had became increasingly impatient and was not the least bit kind. As I laid there, my frustration started to wane and I began to feel the conviction of sin.

Frustration with myself and my struggles with impatience mounted. Will I ever improve? How long will a believer struggle with a particular sin before seeing progress?

I opened my Bible to Nehemiah. My pastor has been preaching through the book and I remembered a quote from the previous Sunday. The first of Martin Luther’s 95 theses says,“The entire life of believers is one of repentance.”

Our journey in faith is a continual cycle of sin, conviction, repentance, forgiveness, and humble gratitude. Paradoxically, it seems that the longer one is in the faith, the more their sin comes to light. To the outside world, a Christian will evidence change and growth. But from the Christian’s perspective, of looking from the inside out, sin seems to become increasingly abundant.

When Moses came near God, he was told to take off his sandals, for he was standing on holy ground. The closer and closer we get to God in our faith, the more we see His glory and our sin in contrast. We become increasingly aware of just how sinful we really are compared to the majesty and glory of God. That is why the apostle Paul, during the course of his ministry, could go from saying he was the least of all the apostles (1 Corinthians 15:9), to the least of all God’s people (Ephesians 3:8), to the worst of all sinners (1 Timothy 1:15).

One of my favorite passages in Nehemiah comes from chapter 8:

“The Levites—Jeshua, Bani, Sherebiah, Jamin, Akkub, Shabbethai, Hodiah, Maaseiah, Kelita, Azariah, Jozabad, Hanan and Pelaiah—instructed the people in the Law while the people were standing there. They read from the Book of the Law of God, making it clear and giving the meaning so that the people could understand what was being read. Then Nehemiah the governor, Ezra the priest and scribe, and the Levites who were instructing the people said to them all, “This day is sacred to the Lord your God. Do not mourn or weep.” For all the people had been weeping as they listened to the words of the Law. Nehemiah said, “Go and enjoy choice food and sweet drinks, and send some to those who have nothing prepared. This day is sacred to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.” The Levites calmed all the people, saying, “Be still, for this is a sacred day. Do not grieve.” Then all the people went away to eat and drink, to send portions of food and to celebrate with great joy, because they now understood the words that had been made known to them.” (7-12)

Following that stressful evening with my kids, my guilt bore heavy on my heart. I felt the weight of my sin. In Nehemiah, the Israelites had heard the law read to them and came face to face with their sin. They realized just how far they had fallen. They also felt their guilt and grieved over their sin.

Our sin should drive us to repentance and to the cleansing grace found at the cross of Christ. We don’t have to carry the weight of guilt. We don’t have to beat ourselves up over it or buckle down and try harder not to sin. Rather, we rejoice in the grace of God. As the old hymn goes, “Our hope is found in nothing less, than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.”

“The better you know Him, the more you will know the joy of ongoing repentance. Repentance puts you more closely in touch with Him and more fully releases His life through yours.” Larry Crabb in 66 Love Letters

My impatience with my kids is an ongoing struggle for me. The apostle Paul had his own ongoing battles with sin. He expressed this frustration in Romans, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.” (7:15) He concluded by saying, “What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God—through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:24,25)

That’s it! Our sin shows us our continual need for the cleansing blood of Christ. We do not need to grieve, instead we can rejoice. Just like the Israelites, we can party! We can live a life of thanksgiving-for though we are more sinful than we ever thought, we are also more loved and more forgiven than we will ever realize.

Until that final day, my kids will continue to disobey, and I will continue to battle impatience. I will also continue to live out this cycle of repentance until that last day arrives. But thanks be to God, through Jesus Christ our Lord who has rescued me from this body of death!

So, who wants to party with me?

Linking up with:

And Word Filled Wednesday and Intentional.Me

Redeeming Memories

01. May 2012 · 39 comments · Categories: Anxiety, Depression, God's still working on me, Spiritual Growth · Tags: grace, memories, redemption

One of my earliest memories is from when I was four years old. I was playing in the backyard and heard a loud crash. I ran to the front and saw that my mother had backed the car over my tricycle. I remember her pausing just long enough to make sure it was moved out the way before speeding off down the road. I was too young to understand what or why it had happened. I remember being upset, shocked and confused. As I got older, I learned that my uncle was in crisis and my mother needed to take him to the hospital.

As I get older, the more my memories of the past come to the forefront of my mind. Some of those memories are good and others are painful to recall. Can the same grace that redeems me from my sin also redeem my memories? Is it possible to go back to the past and see things differently?

Sometimes, things seem so much bigger when you are a child. Revisiting a favorite park or place of play that seemed so huge and spacious as a child, as an adult now seems quite small. The slide is actually shorter than you remember, the road you lived on, not so wide, and walk to school, not so far.

My memory of my uncle remains in my mind as an image of a large, vociferous man, with a broad smile and perpetually reeking of smoke. He’s a part of many of my memories because he lived with us off and on throughout my childhood. Suffering from mental illness and a low IQ, he struggled to live on his own. As I got older, I realized just how sick he really was. He had tried to end his life twice while in our home. As an adolescent, I remember talking him through his delusions and paranoia, attempting to calm him down. When I was an adult, I visited him in a group home with my first child and realized he wasn’t as big in reality as he was in my memory. As an adult, I saw him for the confused, simply minded, and mentally ill person he actually was.

As a writer, I spend a lot of time editing my words. I look back over what I’ve written and fix spelling errors, cut out sentences, and sometimes change the article all together. Whatever I don’t like or doesn’t sound right gets removed.

I’ve often wished I could do that with my life.

I would like to edit my childhood, removing the anger, rage, stress, and dysfunction from my family’s story. I would like to take away the rampant history of depression, anxiety, and other mental illness from my immediate and extended family. I’d like to change choices I’ve made, things I’ve said, and places I’ve been.

But I’m not the editor or the author of my life. God is. He’s written my story this way for a reason and for His glory. He has used all the dark parts of my childhood to bring me to Himself and to show me my need for Him. God has written me into His story of redemption where I have joined an assembly of other broken, sinful people.

As He changes me, I am able to look back into my memories and see them from another perspective. I see the dark, painful, and difficult experiences differently now. Not just because time has passed. Not because the pain has lessened. And not because my memories are distorted in some way.

God is in the business of redeeming and He can even redeem my memories. He’s showing me things I hadn’t seen before. Like Dickens’ ghost of Christmas past, I can see parts of the story I simply wasn’t aware of.

Most of my childhood, we lived in a simple townhouse outside our nation’s capital. Partly to pay the bills, but maybe more so for ministry, my parents rented out a room in our small house. The renters who lived with us were not average people who kept to themselves. Instead, they were all wounded people who struggled with life and their own demons. In addition to my uncle, another woman with bipolar disorder lived with us. On another occasion, an alcoholic lived with us. I also remember a single mom with a young child. Then there was the friend of the family who was delusional as well as a chronic a liar and a thief.

Most of my life I’ve looked back on those years in disbelief. It was chaotic and not a good environment to raise young children. It was confusing, disruptive and sometimes frightening. For many years, I had an almost nightly nightmare that never went away until I moved away from home.

In recent years, I look back on these experiences and see my parents efforts at trying to help the lost and lonely. I see them reaching out to the marginalized, just as our Savior did. And they still do the same thing today.

I also see those years as preparing me for the journey into the field of psychology. Some days I regret pursuing training in mental health and wish I had gone into journalism or literature instead. But God had a story written for me, one that included me developing an empathy and understanding of the weak and helpless.

My memories are still there, the good, the bad and the ugly. But God has given me grace to see them at a different angle, through the lens of the gospel of grace. I can see His hand at work through all of it and know that “He works all things for good.”

While we can’t go back and edit the dark parts of our life, we can allow God to work through our memories. Ask Him to show you how He was always there, how He never stepped away from your story, and how He always was in control. Ask for grace to see your life the way He sees it: broken yet made whole, wounded yet healed, and lost yet redeemed.

Linking up with:

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Gospel Living, Day by Day

10. April 2012 · 12 comments · Categories: God's still working on me, Spiritual Growth

Winter is officially gone, though it barely even visited my part of the world. Yet even in the tropics of S. Florida, spring blossoms in all it’s fulness. I hear the happy sounds of birds as they work busily making nests for their young. Bunnies are abundant, the Sandhill Cranes walk the streets with their young colts, and the maple tree in my front yard now carries green leaves.

My life however seems to remain in winter. I’m busier than ever and we’ve seen my husband less days than he’s been away traveling for work. Bitterness and frustration bubble up out of my heart all too often. I’ve failed to be consistent in prayer and reading the Word. My “one word” and verse for the year blew away with the last winds of winter. And worry follows me like a crazy stalker.

We’ve celebrated the resurrection of our Lord, yet I feel like I need a resurrection myself.

How many of us have great intentions to be a better mother, wife, friend, and believer? How often do we resolve to be more consistent in reading the Word and prayer? Does it seem like no matter how hard we try, we don’t get very far? And each time we fail, the guilt is there, ready to weigh us down.

Last year, Tullian Tchvidjian preached at my church, and said ”Sanctification is just our getting used to our justification.” I remember writing his statement in my Bible. It’s something I need to remind myself as I look at the new spring growth around me, while I still live in winter.

To ”get used to our justification” means that our growth in holiness is about what Christ has done, not about what we can do. It’s about being humbled and completely overcome by all that Christ did for us at the cross. His life of perfection has become ours and it’s this perfection that God sees when He looks at us. Getting used to our justification means that our everyday life and the realities of the gospel interact everyday. Keeping our eyes focused on Christ, and not on our own abilities, progress, and attempts at holiness, will help us to walk forward one step at a time.

Lately, I’ve been looking down at myself and my own progress. And like Peter, I’ve begun to sink.

I recently stood in my kitchen, preparing dinner and listening to God’s Word read aloud from my phone. It was the book of Colossians, chapter 1. The boys were outside, by some miracle playing nicely, and it was quiet in the house. I prepared food to fill belly’s and Scripture fed my soul. As I listened, I thought, “that’s what I need, that’s my heart’s longing!”

“For this reason, since the day we heard about you, we have not stopped praying for you and asking God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all spiritual wisdom and understanding. And we pray this in order that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and may please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God.” (Colossians 1:9,10)

But how do I move from feeling pulled down by the challenges of life to running in the fresh air of new life?

I read this post recently, where Tullian quoted from Colossians 1:9-14. The apostle Paul was reminding the church at Colossae of how the gospel transforms them. Tullian paraphrases the passage this way, “You will grow in your understanding of God’s will, be filled with spiritual wisdom and understanding, increase in your knowledge of God, be strengthened with God’s power which will produce joy filled patience and endurance (v. 9-12a) as you come to a greater realization that you’ve already been qualified, delivered, transferred, redeemed, and forgiven (v.12b-14)”

The truth of the gospel picks me up out of the pit and into the light of day. The gospel of grace has not only saved me from my sins in the past and those in the future, but also empowers me in the present. It is applicable in my daily struggles of walking by faith. It frees me from the bondage of bitterness, anger, worry, and doubt. The gospel rescued me at the cross and it rescues me each and every day.

When fatigue overwhelms me, I remember the strength that is already in me by the power of the Holy Spirit. When the kids frustrate me and I fail as a parent, I recall all that Christ did for me on the cross. He died for me, knowing I could not be a perfect parent. When I am frustrated about the way people treat me, I remember how I’ve been forgiven for much worse. When I am in despair about the trials in my life, I remember that the Man of Sorrows bore all my pain and will one day take away all my tears forever.

I can’t muster up spring in my heart. I can’t pull myself up out of the pit of winter. I can’t grow in holiness in my own strength. When I preach the gospel to myself everyday, remembering anew all that Christ has done for me, signs of spring appear in my heart. The more I apply what He has done, the more I cling to it by faith, and the more I realize just how much He loves me, I will blossom and grow in the warm light of the gospel of grace.

”And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.” (2 Corinthians 3:18)

“We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.” (Romans 6:4)

“The Christian does not think God will love us because we are good, but that God will make us good because He loves us.” C.S. Lewis

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The Stories People Tell

21. March 2012 · 20 comments · Categories: God's still working on me

I come to this doctor’s office every week and I have for six years now. We are all here to get our allergy shots-two for me, please. There’s a required waiting time after the shot-thirty minutes (in the case of an anaphylactic reaction). While it’s an annoyance to sit and wait, I think all of us gathered here would rather not have a reaction to our shots. So we wait.

The group in the waiting room is always an interesting mixture of people. There’s usually a teacher, a wealthy man or woman from the Island, occasionally a man I recognize from a tv show, mothers, grandparents, and a few kids. Like unfortunate souls stuck in a broken elevator, those who wait here end up sharing their life stories each week.

Today I walk in and the shot nurse is seated in the waiting room with a few other patients, sharing stories from her life. A kind, grandmotherly type, she always greets me each week, asking about my children. She’s been curious about our homeschooling and checks in with me about how school is going. She takes a break from her story to get my needles ready. I sit in her little closet size shot room in the corner of the doctor’s office and await my shots. She pulls a stack of vials from the refrigerator, whose door is covered with photos of grandchildren and drawings from patients, and finds the two with my name. In one vial contains the dust mites and in the other animals, trees, plants and various molds. Once finished, she returns to the waiting room to resume her story.

I’ve missed much of it but quickly gather that she is sharing one of those “fork in the road” stories that we all have. One by one, people starting contributing their own stories. Soon the room turns nostalgic and a gentleman suggests she writes down her stories for her children and grandchildren.

I am reminded of the time my husband and I sat around the table, the dinner dishes cleared, and “interviewed” my grandfather about his stories from the war. I wrote it all down in a journal. It was these stories that inspired us to visit Normandy and the D-Day beaches last year while we were in France. When I stood on Omaha Beach, I looked out into the waters and imagined my grandfather, a young gunner on ship, shooting away at the enemy.

Our lives are a series of stories, written by the Author of life Himself. Some chapters are a difficult read and others we like to read over and over again. As these stories are shared, they become the glue that links generations together. They give each family their unique identity and keep us from being lost in the wilderness of confusion regarding our place in this world.

When my other grandfather passed away a few years ago, I realized how few of his stories I had heard. As we went through the items at his house, I wondered about each one. “What was happening before this picture was taken?” “Why did he keep this all these years?” “Did he use this fan as a young man to keep cool during hot Virginia summer nights?” “What important news did he hear through the speakers of this radio?” Without stories, those questions cannot be answered.

One year I gave my parents a jar with 52 strips of paper in it. On each slip of paper was a question about their childhood and young adult years. I included questions such as “What did you dream about being when you grew up?” “What was your first car?”What characteristics did you most admire in your parents?” “What do you remember about your grandparents?” and “Which teacher inspired you the most?” I also gave them a journal and in it they were to answer one question a week and return the completed questions to me the following Christmas. This journal, with stories written in their own hand, will be passed down for generations to come.

The group in the waiting room continues to reminisce. One tells a story of how she went out on a prom date with a man and never went out with him again. It was years later that she learned he had become a world-famous artist. Another tells a story of a relative who used to exchange conversations with Thomas Edison. They begin to wonder aloud how stories will be passed on now that few people actually write things down. A few share stories of cherished handwritten notes from loved ones long passed. Everyone agrees that their children will want the stories written down. The thirty minutes have passed and each patient leaves to go their own way.

I look at my children, seated next to me in the waiting room. They have been oblivious to the conversation around them, evidenced by their concentration on the game they are playing, sliding their fingers this way and that across the screen. I think about the stories I have told them and those I still want to pass on to them. We frequently tell them about the circumstances surrounding their birth. My oldest knows he is a hurricane baby (and will one day be relieved we didn’t name him after hurricane Jeanne!). They’ve heard about all the pranks their dad pulled on his friends in college. They know about their late grandfather’s career in the fire department. But there are so many stories left yet to be told…

The question that lingers after we have left the office, how well do they understand how all the stories we tell them fit into God’s Greater Story? Do they see their own connectedness in the story of God’s redemption? Later that night, I remind them that God is writing a story in their own lives. I tell them that even now He is preparing them for a special job in His Kingdom, one that’s been selected just for them. He has made them with particular talents and abilities to use for His glory. And one day, they will have their own stories to tell and pass on.

What about you? How do you pass on stories in your family?

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And Word Filled Wednesday

Safe Places

06. March 2012 · 11 comments · Categories: Depression, God's still working on me

“I have an ice-breaker for you. Tell us about your safe place you had as a child.”

We were in our small group, gathered at a friends house and seated around the living room. I sunk back into the deep leather sectional and realized that I couldn’t remember that far back. My first internal reaction was that I don’t have many positive memories from my past. As each person described their safe places, I perused the memory files in my brain. I tried to tiptoe through my memories, trying not to disturb and awaken anything I’d rather not recall. I listened as the others described their neighborhood, their friends houses, and their playgrounds as their safe places. Finally, it was my turn, and instantly I remembered the place I felt safest as a child.

Source

The room was buried deep in the building. Down the stairs, in the basement, it was the last room at the end of the hall. The smell of old magazines and books, musty and perhaps even moldy, permeated the air. It was the room where all the old resources were kept-magazines dating back to the beginning of last century and piles of books that no one cared about.

This was a safe place.

Stacks and stacks of books and plenty of places hide, my local public library was my haven growing up. My mother worked there so I spent countless hours browsing and reading. When I was old enough to volunteer, I helped out the children’s librarian. Conveniently, she was also a children’s book author with whom I enjoyed talking about all her books. When I was even older and could get a job, this library was my first place of employment.

I loved the quiet, and being surrounded by so much that stimulated the mind and the imagination. Everything else in my life was loud, chaotic, and sometimes frightening. This place I knew was quiet and safe.

I came to know exactly where every book was located. Most of them I checked out and read at home, staying up late into the night. Mysteries, fiction, non-fiction, biographies, literature, poetry-all food for my starving mind and heart. Emily was right when she described a book as a frigate, taking us lands away. In my reading, I visited places I’ll never see, shared emotions with imaginary people who understood me, and solved all the problems in the world in mere hours of reading.

I loved checking in the books in the office and putting them back on the shelves. I especially loved having to go all the way into that dimly lit room in the basement where people seldom ventured. Putting away or retrieving old resources was an infrequent job but one I treasured. And the quiet, oh the quiet in that place…

Library Stacks

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God found me even behind the stacks of shelves. He found me hiding out from the world and wishing I could bring all my things, making a nest in the back corner, by the window, next to the 200′s. I always looked at each book before shelving it, a potential world to visit I suppose. In the 200′s I found a number of books that brought the encouragement and hope my adolescent soul needed. Other than the Bible, I had few books of my own at home which were authored by Christ-followers. It was here that I found and read a book by Billy Graham, then one by Joni Earekson Tada, followed by nearly every book in the Christianity section of the library.

During those years, I gathered quotes and scriptures from those books and began filling a journal. Late, in the quiet of the night, I opened that journal and read and re-read the scrawled words of hope. It was those words, hand-copied from borrowed books, that got me through the deep, dark days of adolescence that I learned much later was depression.

God provides us safe places, refuge from storms. And then He meets us there. My favorite name of God is “Strong Tower,” described in Psalm 61. It’s in these places of safety where He finds us, quiets our hearts, and heals our wounded souls.

Friends who know me well joke about the number of books I own and the fact that I am usually reading six or seven books at one time. Yet books have always been part of my safe place. It was in a place full of books where God found me and showed me that He was my true Safe Place.

What safe places have you had in your life?

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