"It's almost May. So many things are wrong with this picture."
My sweet sister-in-law responded, saying “Spring is definitely an exercise in delayed gratification for you up north, isn’t it?”
Boy was she right on. Spring in the Chicagoland is not for the faint of heart.
She got me thinking about delayed gratification and how absolutely terrible I can be at it. I’m waiting on a lot of things right now, and Spring is the least of them. You're probably waiting too. Waiting for things like the right words, answers to lingering questions, fulfillment of dreams, truth to be revealed beyond falsehoods, justice, healing… the list goes on.
We’re all waiting. But this morning, I was reminded that even when our questions give way to nothing but the bare branches of delay, there is hope. There is peace to be found while we wait in the drenching, saturating rain... The rain that leaks into the depths of our being and somehow makes all things new... The rain that will eventually dissipate under the glow of the warm and shining sun.
"And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing." James 1:4 ESV . . .
"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 NIV . . . "Be still in the presence of the Lord, and wait patiently for Him to act..." Psalm 37:7 NLV . . .
The other day I was driving behind one of those vehicles with the big yellow ‘pyramid’ on top that says “Student Driver.” I feel really sorry for the people in that car. I’m pretty certain they could be suffering from whiplash today. The student looked to be a teenage male, obviously embarrassed by the huge pyramid on the car that outed him as a student, though seemingly getting a kick out of abruptly slamming the car to a stop at each red light.
As the paranoid driver behind them, and eventually next to, and in front of them, I watched with each screeching halt as the student nervously giggled and sneaked a peek in the rear-view mirror, discretely glancing to be sure his chuckling buddies in the backseat thought he was cool, and not inept.
I thought quite a bit about this student driver over the weekend. Something about him stuck with me. Something about him made me sad.
Maybe it’s just teenage antics, but it was sad to me that this boy was seeking a good time and peer approval by his obviously intentional and dangerous actions.
But IS it just teenage antics?
Probably not. Unless we’re all teenagers. Haven’t we ALL been guilty of some measure of this?
Have you ever focused more on what will grab the attention of others, than on living the life you were meant to live? Trying to get approval, acceptance- or maybe even love- from places you weren’t meant to find it? We can so easily lose track of who we were created to be, and instead wander aimlessly in a desperate attempt to be what our emotions or someone else tells us we should be… sometimes, even if it means stripping ourselves of our very moral backing. Excuses are made, judgment is thrown to the wayside, and we cast our pearls before swine, all for a chance to strip ourselves of a label we despise, and “belong” in the eyes of another.
But there is only one place you need to belong. And you already do.
You were thought through, perfectly created, fiber by precious fiber, for something special and unique. God has showered you with purpose, and the person you were created to be is just enough. There is no need to keep looking in the rear-view mirror for the approval of someone else. Embrace and live, instead, the days that were ordained for you from the depths of time.
Humidity hung in the air like a wet towel, heavy and drenched and draped over the clothesline of a sparkling jewel-blue August sky. It was the kind of day that makes your skin long for cool water and a swift breeze. An entire afternoon of blazing sunshine belonged to just me and my sweetheart, and we were on a quest to "get away."
We decided to take a walk and do a little exploring in unfamiliar territory. The sign read "state park" in the dead of summer, but the parking area and adjoining paths were bare as bones.
As we walked, the solid, cool path beneath our feet became lopsided sand, while our sweet conversation and casual gazing at the blanket of shading trees overhead gave way to silent and determined focus. Not only had our firm trail become shifting sand, it had become steep, difficult to traverse, and fully exposed to the heat of the noonday sun.
For quite some time, we hiked. With the heat threatening to smother our desperate lungs and sand plastered to our moist skin, we hiked. And suddenly, as we came over a particularly treacherous hill, we caught an unforeseen glimpse of total and complete heaven.
We had no idea of the beauty that our laborious path was leading us to. All at once we were re-energized and couldn’t move fast enough towards that water. And after a few more dune climbs...
…we were there.
It was glorious.
I could have stayed there for eons. And the heat and unexpected sweat of the journey there made it all the more sweet.
... ... ... ...
Today, I celebrate three years of marriage to my best friend.
I can’t help but think about how our hiking adventure that day so closely resembles how it feels to journey through life with the most incredible man in the world. Many days, the path is less stable and remarkably steeper than we expected, but in God’s goodness, we come over each precipice to see His hand at work in our lives: our son; our calling; God’s always-timely provision. And for a moment, we are propelled forward, catching glimpses of the purpose before us, stealing us away into our dreams for the future.
I love loving you, Jason.
I could stay here for eons. And the heat and unexpected sweat of our journey makes it all the more sweet.
You’d think I’d have the wailing figured out by now. It’s been, what? 8 months already? And he’s been teething for, like, 12 of them. So why is it that I *freak out* every time Jackson is teething? Perhaps it’s because I can’t see what’s going on, and I’m just certain that the discomfort is more than teething and we need to rush him to the urgent care center in case he has some triple-top-secret ailment we aren’t able to see but just KNOW is there behind the flooding tears and wracking sleeplessness.
And then… *POP*
Tooth.
…Inevitably followed by, "Oooooooooh. So THAAAAAT’s why you were shrieking your head off and wouldn’t eat or sleep or chill out for the last three days."
Jackson got teeth #s 5 and 6 this week, and the night before they appeared, you would have thought his brain was exploding. It was unbelievable, the crying. (And Jackson was pretty upset too. Kidding.)
This first time mommy thing has me all jacked up. I HATE not knowing what’s going on. I hate not being able to solve a problem, and I hate not having an answer. I spend so much energy trying to figure out what the issue is and how to fix it, and lo and behold, *pop* goes a tooth, or the diaper was dirty, or the bottle was too cold, or nap time came early- whatever. Something simple. It’s always something simple.
It’s really exposed my tendency to panic and find my own answers. I do that in my spiritual life, too, sometimes. Something rattles me, so I start problem solving, because I can’t see the outcome and I need peace. And then I pray. But in those moments, I’ve got it backwards. Doing what I can do, and THEN talking to God about it is all wrong. Don’t worry- logically, I know that. But there are times that I do it anyway. It’s that "I have to find an answer" thing.
I like plans. I like answers and clear skies ahead of me. I have been known to read the spoilers to my favorite TV shows, or read the last page of a mysterious book first, (I know. I know!) simply because I can’t stand the anxiety of uncertainty. So when uncertainty beyond my control swells into my world like an invisible tooth erupting & screaming under the surface, I panic. I determine every logical solution for every logical (and illogical) scenario, and I start crafting a plan.
I’m not very good at teething.
I’m determined to give up on this "I have to find an answer" thing, and to focus more on finding God in the process- in the middle of the unknown, in the crying, and the discomfort. Heck, I might even stop reading TV spoilers and the end of books first. Logic is good. But prayer is so much better.
So, am I the only one who freaks out with uncertainty?
I love the book of Hosea. Love it. It reminds me that I’m human, that God is God, and that because of those realities, He is just and merciful, and will never stop pursuing me. I’ve spent most of my life in church (second pew, piano side at that). I went to Sunday School, I went to Youth Group, and I even went to a Christian college. But really, it’s nothing to brag about.
I didn’t really learn who God was until I was blocked.
I’m not talking “annoying person on Facebook” kind of blocked. But stuck behind a wall of thornbushes and completely unable to find my way blocked (like in Hosea 2:6).
On the outside, all was well. I was 24 and I was going to get married and move across the country and go to graduate school and get my Ph.D. And then, it happened. I ran headfirst into a sharp, piercing thicket that would capture my lofty plans in one tangled swoop and penetrate my soul and threaten to leave me scarred for eternity.
By the time I made it out of that thicket, my plans were gone. And so was my desire for them. Things had changed drastically, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t have a plan. I was waiting. I’m not the best at waiting… (Remember how worked up I get when waiting messes up my plans?)
This was kind of my wilderness, I suppose. I had been tied up in the thicket, and then led out into the wilderness to have a heart to heart with Jesus (Hosea 2:14). We had a few things to iron out, and the first was that He loves me, always. No matter what. The second was that He has a great plan for my life, and that plan is irrevocable (Romans 11:29). And then He told me to wait. And it was in that waiting that I started to really understand who God was. It was in the waiting that I came to see hope in my “valley of trouble” (Hosea 2:15), and where my relationship with God shifted, matured (v. 16).
So if you’re blocked, tied up in a nasty thicket, consider where it was you were headed that God might be sparing you from. Go ahead and follow Him into the wilderness and have a heart to heart… and wait.
Look what I saw yesterday... I wait for this all winter.
God is always faithful to bring new life. May we never forget, even in the harshest of life's "winters." Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! 2 Corinthians 5:17
Journeying through Holy Week, I was brought back to these thoughts I wrote many months ago.
Today would probably have to qualify as one of the most beautiful days of the year. Taking full advantage of the clear skies, light breeze, and radiant sunshine, I was outside walking and playing fetch with Lady, my puppy. There is a large grassy area with a big hill right behind where I live, and it is one of Lady’s favorite spots to run and play. Several days ago, Lady found a dried up dead lizard in her "play yard," and proudly brought it to me clenched in her tiny jaws. Disgusted, I made her drop it and took her to another part of the hill to play. The next day as we were out walking, Lady found her lizard friend again, and smugly brought it once more to my feet. Still grossed out at this stiff, desiccated reptile, I once again let out an "Eeeewww!" and we promptly retreated to another part of the field, leaving behind her dead and shriveled friend.
Well, Lady is a persistent little girl. She is 5 pounds of pure energy and determination. So, of course, when we went out to play today (hundreds of yards from the last spotting of her reptile friend, mind you), Lady once again made her way to her lizard. Shocked that she found this one tiny little lizard in the midst of the huge field, all I could think was "For the love of God, how do you keep finding this guy?!"
As gross as that lizard is to me, I got to thinking that for Lady, it is just in her nature to hunt and sniff out things like that. That is what she will always do. It is her instinct to sniff out and track down things that are dead, that are dirty, and she will for the rest of her life bring those dead and dirty things to my feet in pride.
Perhaps each of us could learn a lesson from Miss Lady. As Christians, isn’t it supposed to be a part of our nature to go seeking out the spiritually dead and wounded? It is far too often that we stumble upon people who desperately need the forgiveness and love of Christ, and instead of proudly taking them to the feet of God, we grimace and cry out a prideful "Eeeewww!" as we leave their desperate and withered souls in the dust.
Even around such holidays as Easter, THE resurrection celebration, how quickly we forget that God is in the business of bringing life into dead things. May we always take the dried up and dead, the wounded and missing, to His feet.
I have a great appreciation for the story of the Rich Young Man (found in Matthew 19, Mark 10, and Luke 18). Many of us who are familiar with this story have often heard it equated to a love for money and sacrifice for the Kingdom of God—which I am not denying. But, as I read it recently for probably the 100th time, I gathered something else from the words of Jesus to this curious man.
The man wanted to know what he must do to inherit an eternity with God. Apparently, he was a man who obeyed the Law and also possessed great wealth. This is important because riches in that day were thought to be an indicator of God’s favor. Wealth was said to be an index of a person’s spiritual state. Therefore, the man had probably until this time bore his wealth quite proudly as an assurance of his salvation.
And then came the unexpected announcement of Christ: Sell it. It’s worthless. It’s not what I’m looking for.
In fact, Jesus went so far as to say that a camel could more easily pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter his Kingdom.
There is much debate about this analogy, but I find it quite interesting that the “Eye of the Needle” was also a phrase used to describe a small entrance in large gates for passengers on foot. The large gates were opened only for pack-bearing animals (i.e. camels carrying a large load). For one of these animals to even have a hope of fitting through this small, single-person entrance, it would have to remove all of its packs.
The Rich Young Man had loaded his life with his own idea of “spiritual indicators.” He was like a camel, bearing his hefty load with pride. Much like him, we often stack our backs high with good deeds, the “right” words, and dutiful devotion times—packing for our self-navigated trip into the Kingdom of Heaven. We compose man-made indications of our spiritual relationship to God, and we follow them like a script. We put on our suits and ties and our best Sunday dress, we set our timer and pray until it dings, memorize our bible verses, and promise to save one more soul. With our checklist, we dutifully pack our bags for eternity.
And then God says, “Unload the camel.”
It’s not the way in. The loads we attempt to bear are often endured in vain, and to get through the eye of that needle, we have to let it all go.
I am not discounting the relevance of spiritual discipline, nor the importance of intentional sacrifice for the Kingdom. But I have to wonder at times if we have mistaken these things as a means to an end. When we unpack our camels, what is left? What are we without the things we do? To be more clear, what is in our hearts? What is our heart’s attitude towards God? What is our heart's attitude towards the ones we love... and even those we don't?
Do we love from the deepest corners of our heart... or do we spend our time looking for more self-serving novelties to pack away in the luggage of our soul?
God has really challenged me to unload my camel and examine my heart underneath. More than anything else, I want my heart to be pure before Him. And even if it means stripping my devotion to everything else, I want to be able to fit through that door.
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. (1 Corinthians 13:1-3)
Reposted from my original blog: http://betsywhitsitt.blogspot.com
You may not be familiar with gerbil blankets, so let me introduce you. I once took up crocheting, and much to my surprise, I caught on rather quickly. Moved with passion to create a beautiful scarf for myself all those years ago as winter approached (and hopefully many more for my friends), I sat daily and worked the yarn in and out and up and over in a quest of warm, fluffy splendor. And then something terrible happened.
L . I . F . E .
I was whisked away from my colorful kingdom of hooks and yarn and lured into the world of busy-ness that so consumes us all. This world battled against the kingdom of crocheting, and in as much, my “scarf” was left behind. Too long in length to be considered a “dish cloth,” but not long enough to claim the title of “scarf,” I deemed my creation a gerbil blanket. And if I had a gerbil, I am certain he would snuggle up under it with pride.
I still have my gerbil blanket, and in the last year or so, I have thought occasionally about retrieving it from its pit of abandonment to continue toward its original purpose of being a proud and cozy scarf. Isn’t that, after all, what all little gerbil blankets want- to grow up to be a scarf?
Well, ironically enough, I have suddenly been forced to find the time for such things as crocheting.
One small stint in the hospital with this darling little one, and I’m off my feet and chugging water like there’s no tomorrow. A few hours spent (re-)teaching myself, and I'm in yarn heaven. I must admit, however, that at this point, my crocheting hopes and dreams are leaning more towards a soft turquoise-blue baby blanket than a gerbil blanket-turned-scarf.
Maybe someday little gerbil blanket… Someday your day will come, and I will rescue you from your lonely, tucked away demise.
Until then, my little gerbil blanket reminds me that it’s never too late to grow in purpose, to do the right thing, to make changes that need to be made. That’s the joy of life in Christ. Grace is on our lives to enable us to be who we were created to be, whether we stopped in the middle and took another route, or we got all tangled up in the ever-weaving yarn of our lives. It’s never too late to seek after your God-ordained purpose. It’s never too late to rekindle a friendship that has been left behind. It’s never too late to speak the words “I’m sorry.” And it’s never too late to try again.
A few short months ago, I encountered courage like I had never seen before. And it was not my own. This courage was housed in the battered heart of young girl who has known pain that I could never dream of. As she unfolded story after story to me of sorrow, grief, abuse, neglect, and despair, I couldn’t help but wonder for her, "Why this cross, Lord?" From the pit of her hardened soul she was crying out to me the grievances stricken upon her young and fragile life, repeating over and over that she could never be enough.
Those words pierced my heart like an arrow.
It was something we shared. You might share it with us too. Not good enough.
The journey to be good enough in my own mind was a long one for me, and it reached its peak when I was about 18 years old. I had given up life as I knew it to study ballet, and I struggled to fight toe to toe with other long-legged, stick thin figures to win the prize of a starring role under glistening lights before sold out crowds. I was darkly compelled by the searing blisters on my feet and the gurlgling empty belly of a body that longed to be fed, but was neglected in favor of losing a pound and gaining accolades. But no matter how much of a beating my body and soul took from its master, there was always the continuous nagging of not being good enough. It was relentless. And it was about SO much more than my body or snug fitting pointe shoes and tutus.
For some time, even years after I evaded the world of ballet, the quest to be good enough followed me around like a dark shadow, etching away at my heart and chiseling away any remaining fragments of the Truth that I had left behind so many years ago…
The young girl I met a few months ago left Truth behind too. The demands of her grief and the pain of her world rendered the Truth meaningless in her heart. It was a stark reality that shook me to the core of my being.
"For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago." Ephesians 2:10
Oh, that this young, courageous girl would find hope in the Truth again.
May it be a treasure we all clutch close to our hearts and protect for eternity.
Some of my favorite things require a good stir every now and then:
my coffee
a good homemade soup
a fresh can of paint
What about our spirit? I don't know about you, but I certainly require a stirring of my faith from time to time. And what better way to do so than in relationship?
meet Melissa
More often than not, the stirring of our faith comes from doing life with one another... my friendship with Melissa is no different. I am continuously challenged by her faith and by her ability to be vulnerable with God, even in the most bleak of circumstances.
So when you're challenged to stay put instead of moving forward with God, find a stir. You'll probably find it in relationship, if they're Godly.
Life isn't meant to be done alone. And you never know, your journey may be clearing the path for someone else.
I was driving home late tonight in the middle of one of the most amazing storms I have seen in quite some time. The lightning was spectacular. Huge raindrops were beating against my windshield and the road had that slick, wet glisten on it that makes it hard to see when it rains at night. But I didn’t mind driving slow—I was enjoying the lightning.
The lightning made me think about God, about the way he shows up in our lives sometimes. As I watched the jet black sky abruptly being lit up by bolts of electricity, I remembered all of the times that God has broken into my world—completely out of nowhere, when everything was dark and the rains poured all around me—unannounced, He was there.
With God, things have the potential to turn around in an instant. As I heard one pastor put it, "Trusting in God changes all the possibilities." I have come to realize that I never know just when an answer to my prayers is going to come. Time and time again, God sweeps in and lights up my world without warning.
I wrote this back in 2006, and while it’s been a while since I’ve seen a good lightning storm, I remember that night vividly. And almost four years later, the simple truth hasn’t changed (and it never will): God is waiting at every turn to break into our world.
So if the rains are pouring down, be encouraged. When the sky is dark, and your journey is slowed by the blinding downpour of life around you, turn on your headlights, watch carefully for glimpses of your Savior, and keep going forward. Trusting in God changes all the possibilities.
Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. I couldn't get this verse off my mind today. Much of the reasoning is due to some difficult conversations Jason and I have been having about the struggles of leading a church and dedicating our lives to the calling of God to shepard His sheep. I had never thought before about the fact that shepards live their lives alone with their sheep.
Alone.
It's such a scary word. We've all been alone before.
As I think about this verse, I think about what it is to be alone, and what it is to be the community of Christ - the Church, to one another. To love, to share, to remember, to encourage. Maybe it's just to BE with someone. To help one another to not grow weary.
I think about Rusty, Lynette, and little Olive, and how they need our prayers just as much today as they did in the first struggling moments of Olive's life (you can read the beginning of Olive's story here).
Let us not become weary in doing good...
Olive, Lynette, and Rusty need us to not grow weary... We must press on. We must pray. Like the lone shepard, let us- the Church- tend to the flock given to us.
It’s rather typical to list off all of the things that we are grateful for at this time of year. But this time around, I am grateful for more, and in a deeper way, than I could have ever imagined at this time a year ago.
I am unwaveringly grateful for the incredible journey that the last year has taken me on. Coming out on the other side, it’s easier to say so; there were moments of great sorrow, deep disappointment, and bitter tears that I thought at times would never stop flowing. And nonetheless, there were moments of hope and joy, and the dawning of new friendships that would renew a part of my faith that had forgotten that God truly does care about the little things. And when the weight was too heavy to bear, there was my husband. My precious, God-seeking, devoted partner, softly speaking truth and hope. I couldn’t imagine a better companion on the dusty trails of this life.
This year has taught me to never be led by just my heart, but to be led by Truth confirmed in my heart. With the ups and downs of life, my heart keeps up pace, bouncing up and down in the tidal wave of emotion. But Truth does not change. This year I was reminded that the goodness of God is pursuing me, and no matter how long and exhausting the journey has seemed, God has been waiting to be good to me (Isaiah 30:18, the Message).
Less than three months ago, I was introduced to Evelyn. She was just three days old when I met her. Any newborn has the power to melt my heart, but Evelyn is something special. Evelyn’s life catapulted my faith in God in a way I didn’t even realize until the day I first held her in my arms. You see, Evelyn’s mommy was given the same diagnosis that I had been given during this past year… It involved a mass growing on the brain, and even with proper treatment, one of the many common side-effects was infertility. And yet, on a sparkling late-summer afternoon, there in my arms lay baby Evelyn. The fruit of God’s faithfulness.
In recent months, I stumbled upon another young and miraculous life, swadled in the arms of an old friend and sister in Christ. Her name is Olive Hope. For the last two months my husband and I have prayed for Olive and her parents thousands of miles away, as they bear the weight of the world on their shoulders and watch their little one fight for life on a daily basis. As the world joins with us in prayer, we have seen miracle after miracle, and yet the journey is far from over. Olive has reminded me again that God is faithful, and that God sees a picture that is much larger than the canvas of our own lives. She reminds me that ultimately, God will be glorified, and that alone is reason enough to be grateful for life, in any form or condition.
And here, in the midst of these very miracles, tangled up in prayers for Evelyn and Olive Hope, a new life was created… and this time, against all odds, the life was created and formed within ME. "For this child I prayed; and the LORD hath given me my petition which I asked of Him." 1 Samuel 1:27
Your love Lord, truly does reach to the heavens. Your faithfulness leaps beyond the horizon and into the forgotten corners of my heart. You have pierced my heart with your goodness this year, and to you alone be the glory.
"Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise; give thanks to him and praise his name. For the LORD is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations."
Psalm 100:4-5
Sometimes we get stuck in this self-defeating mindset of “waiting around.” All we can think about is how we’re waiting for God to do this, waiting for God to do that… waiting, waiting, waiting… poor pitiful us.
I certainly don’t think waiting is always a bad thing. In fact, I would call it a skill, even a discipline. But it is only such when our hearts are expectant of God’s move. Wait in misery, and we find ourselves doubting that God will ever show his face. But wait in faith, and there is hope. I’m a firm believer in the concept “You can’t walk in hope if you’re thinking in defeat.”
When I read Isaiah 30:18 today, I realized we’re not the only ones waiting… God waits too.
God's not finished. He's waiting around to be gracious to you. He's gathering strength to show mercy to you. God takes the time to do everything right—everything. Those who wait around for him are the lucky ones. (The Message)
God is not afraid of waiting. He’s not afraid to take his time. And he is certainly ok with waiting on us if it means we will eventually see his face.
What good news. He was waiting on me long before I was ever waiting on Him. If I’m worth waiting on, so is He.
Waiting on God brings to mind the story of Louisa Stead and her famous hymn, ‘Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus…
As the story goes, Louisa Stead had always felt a calling to be a missionary and go to China. But due to fragile health she was kept home in the US. She married Mr. Stead and had a daughter named Lily. When Lily was 4 yrs old the family went on vacation to a nearby beach. While there, relaxing and enjoying their vacation, they saw a young boy drowning in the ocean. Mr. Stead swam out and tried to rescue him, only he was pulled under by the boy and both Mr. Stead and the boy drowned as Louisa and her daughter watched from shore. Louisa was left without any means of support except for God's care. She and her daughter were in dire poverty - one day when there was no food in the house and no money to purchase any, Louisa opened the front door to find someone had left groceries and money sitting there for her. That same day she sat down and wrote "Tis so Sweet to Trust in Jesus...". She later became a missionary to Africa, remarried and once again was forced to stay in the US due to her health. But once recovered she went back into the missionary field in Rhodesia and later died in Zimbabwe. Her daughter Lily married and became a missionary as well.
Today Jason and I taught a leadership class for new leaders of the LIFEgroups we are launching in the fall. The concept of these LIFEgroups (or small groups if you will) is completely foreign to much of our church community, and creates the perfect opportunity to reiterate the mission statement of our church:
Find God. Together. Reach Lives.
I'd have to say that my favorite part of the conversation was the discussion on how the early church wasn't something people went to- it was a way of living in relationship, with God and with others.
I wrote some time ago about my dog and her lizard friend... and how I was reminded of my responsibility to take others to the feet of God (you can read the original post here):
Today would probably have to qualify as one of the most beautiful days of the year. Taking full advantage of the clear skies, light breeze, and radiant sunshine, I was outside walking and playing fetch with Lady, my puppy. There is a large grassy area with a big hill right behind where I live, and it is one of Lady’s favorite spots to run and play. Several days ago, Lady found a dried up dead lizard in her “play yard,” and proudly brought it to me clenched in her tiny jaws. Disgusted, I made her drop it and took her to another part of the hill to play. The next day as we were out walking, Lady found her lizard friend again, and smugly brought it once more to my feet. Still grossed out at this stiff, desiccated reptile, I once again let out an “Eeeewww!” and we promptly retreated to another part of the field, leaving behind her dead and shriveled friend.
Well, Lady is a persistent little girl. She is 3 pounds of pure energy and determination. So, of course, when we went out to play today (hundreds of yards from the last spotting of her reptile friend, mind you), Lady once again made her way to her lizard. Shocked that she found this one tiny little lizard in the midst of the huge field, all I could think was “For the love of God, how do you keep finding this guy?!”
As gross as that lizard is to me, I got to thinking that for Lady, it is just in her nature to hunt and sniff out things like that. That is what she will always do. It is her instinct to sniff out and track down things that are dead, that are dirty, and she will for the rest of her life bring those dead and dirty things to my feet in pride.
Perhaps Lady isn’t so different from each of us. As Christians, isn’t it supposed to be a part of our nature to go seeking out the spiritually dead and wounded? It is far too often that we stumble upon people who desperately need Christ, and instead of proudly taking them to the feet of God, we grimace and cry out a prideful “Eeeewww!” as we leave their desperate and withered souls in the dust.
How quickly we forget that God is in the business of bringing life into dead things. May we always take the dried up and dead, the lost and missing, to His feet.
Today was one of those days… you know, the kind of day where you are just certain that five more precious minutes of sleep will be just what you need to spring out of bed in glee, ready to approach to the waiting world. “Just… five… more… minutes…”
I am not a morning person. I am a wanna-be. I get up with my husband at 5 a.m. and hit the gym (on a good day), but let me assure you, I do not speak at that insane hour of the morning. And lest you assume I must therefore be a night owl, let me also clarify: I am not. I would be perfectly happy if my life allowed me to go to bed at 10 and wake up on my own (sans alarm) at 7 a.m. every morning. Something about a beautiful nine hours of sleep free of a wretched alarm clock… my body craves it.
Back to my five minutes.
I’d be fooling you to say it really was only five minutes. It was several desperate five minute post-waking naps before I finally hauled myself out of bed and into the shower (no gym, my five minutes lasted too long). It was a battle of the minds to stay awake as I initiated my morning routine of sipping coffee while watching my favorite cable news network for the nation’s happenings and for any sign of my dear friend and favorite correspondent, Carine-Bean.
When I finally made it out the door, my 8 mile commute was abruptly interrupted with bumper to bumper traffic. This is not unusual in the Chicagoland. My daily 8 mile journey takes an average of 25 to 30 minutes each day. But today was different: I was late! I had no time for traffic! Someone forgot to send the memo, and I was ticked.
I decided promptly that I would not let the traffic get the better of me, and like any intelligent person, I turned off onto an innocent side street. I sailed for about a quarter of a mile before I was brought to a screeching halt.
Teeth clenched, arms crossed, and lips pursed, I sat waiting for a morning’s portion of eternity until the train passed. Then, because we hadn’t been waiting long enough I suppose, “friendly driver guy” ahead of me decided to let every car from the cross street in front of us into the line of traffic ahead of him. You know the guy I’m talking about, (and yes, he was very kind, but he didn’t get the memo either). I AM LATE BUDDY! And we have stop signs for traffic regulation, so enough with your friendly antics!
I was in rare form. (And by this time, I was certain I could have made it to work in a more timely fashion had I just sat in the traffic jam). The traffic, train and friendly driver guy had ruined my morning. Or had they?
Oops.
It’s never fun when our own choices come back to bite us. Not only was I not the best version of myself this morning, I was the perpetrator of my own tardiness (you already knew that, I know), and it was up to me to deal with it. Not the most advanced lesson in life, but it got me thinking about how quick we can be to hold out anger and frustration at others for situations that are actually a beast of our own making.
A relevant reminder, and a lesson in ownership for sure.
Of course, if I’d had just five more minutes of sleep, I probably would have been fine.
I spent last night with an absolutely amazing set of people. As we talked, joked and laughed until we cried, I couldn't help but think about what it means to be "friends." I've been thinking about that a lot lately. I think I am coming to understand more and more the responsibility of the dynamic we call "friendship."
The more life I live and the more people I meet, I come into a deeper understanding of the impact one human life has on another. I would dare to say that, far too often, we fail to recognize the responsibility we have for how our life impacts the people placed in our world. A person may walk into our world for just a small window of time, but even then, it is a life- a relationship on some level- to be valued. Or maybe it is someone that has been around for so long, we take it for granted. This is nothing profound or new. It's just a pattern of thought that I've been having over the last several days about the value of people. To be a friend is to take stock in the heart and soul of another person, even when it's uncomfortable, and especially when it's hard.
PEOPLE MATTER MORE THAN OUR FEELINGS, MORE THAN OUR PLANS, AND CERTAINLY MORE THAN OUR FEARS.
When we forget that, we hurt the very people that have been placed in our lives by God for a very specific purpose. Thank you to those of you who encourage me to be a better friend, and to those who model what a good friend is. Your lives are invaluable.
Sometimes we get stuck in this self-defeating mindset of “waiting around.” All we can think about is how we’re waiting for God to do this, waiting for God to do that… waiting, waiting, waiting… poor pitiful us.
I certainly don’t think waiting is always a bad thing. In fact, I would call it a skill, even a discipline. But it is only such when our hearts are expectant of God’s move. Wait in misery, and we find ourselves doubting that God will ever show his face. But wait in faith, and there is hope. I’m a firm believer in the concept “You can’t walk in hope if you’re thinking in defeat.”
When I read Isaiah 30:18 today, I realized we’re not the only ones waiting… God waits too.
God's not finished. He's waiting around to be gracious to you. He's gathering strength to show mercy to you. God takes the time to do everything right—everything. Those who wait around for him are the lucky ones. (The Message)
God is not afraid of waiting. He’s not afraid to take his time. And he is certainly ok with waiting on us if it means we will eventually see his face.
What good news. He was waiting on me long before I was ever waiting on Him. If I’m worth waiting on, so is He.
Reposted from my original blog: http://betsywhitsitt.blogspot.com/
I read a quote today by Lily Tomlin that I found fascinating:
"The best mind-altering drug is truth."
There is something so powerful about truth.... especially when truth has been concealed, and it is finally brought into the light.
One thing I pray regarding all of my relationships with the people I care about is that hidden things be brought into the light. And trust me, that is not always a fun thing to pray... I have landed some answers to that prayer that I never expected to hear.
But there is such a grace that comes with truth, even when it's painful. More truth has been exposed in my life lately than I care to say, but when it comes down to brass tacks.... I wouldn't have it any other way.
Truth can be painful... and that's why so many people choose to conceal it. We hide who we really are, what we really think about, our struggles and our fears... perhaps because we are afraid of what we might lose. We are afraid of what will happen if we expose the truth.
The illusion seems more liveable than reality.
Could it be, in essence, that we are lacking in our trust of God... that He is bigger than the pain our truth might reveal?
In the last several days, I have become so grateful for the light of God that has forced truth out of the darkness. I am grateful that God has shattered illusions, and that my eyes have been opened to something bigger... something honest.
