the treasure of Christ

You know all of Jesus' "the Kingdom of heaven is like..." talks? I've heard them a lot, so sometimes I stop hearing them. But the other day I heard one of them with new ears. I was reading about the guy who found the treasure in the field.

"The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field."

I've read that passage quite a few times in my life, but this time I saw something I'd never seen before. The man found the treasure and then hid it again. For the first time, I asked myself why he didn't just take it.

Selling his stuff and buying the field proved the value the treasure held for him.

It was worth more than petty larceny. It was worth all he had, and his actions demonstrated that.

Yes, he could have just pocketed the treasure, walked off with it and no one would have known. But he decided it was worth more than that.

Worth so much, in fact, that he hid it again, went and sold all his belongings, and then came back and bought the field.

He didn't buy the field for the field's sake. He bought it for the sake of the treasure.

The field had value only because of the treasure it held.

And I have value because of the treasure I hold---Christ in me, the hope of glory.

The treasure of Christ is freely mine for the taking, but if I truly value that gift, I will sacrifice to lay hold of it. To lay hold of Him.

Too many days I just pocket the Treasure. Or worse, I leave it buried.

I want my life to show the value I place on the Treasure that is Christ.

i'm talking to the devil

I had lunch with a friend a few weeks ago, and with tears in my eyes I told her I didn't know why I was having such a rough time. As we talked, she quoted this passage from Psalms: "He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes who were too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the Lord was my support."

She reminded me that the enemy of my soul is ruthless.

He confronts me in the day of my disaster. He kicks me when I'm down. He comes at me from all sides when I'm feeling like I'm at my lowest.

I know she's right. I've seen it. I've lived it.

While there are many Christians who blame the devil for far too much, I know I don't blame him nearly enough.

I need to get better at recognizing his schemes.

I've got to realize sooner when he's attempting to steal, kill, and destroy in my life.

I need to catch on quicker when he sends my heart spiraling with false accusations.

Because I can't fight an enemy I don't acknowledge.

And though I've been fighting, I haven't actually been fighting against the enemy as much as I need to be.

So I'm gonna be talking to the devil more than usual today.

I'm gonna call him out for the thief and liar that he is. I'm gonna remind him of the truth God says about me. I'm gonna look him in the eye and declare, "Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen, I will rise."

This battle's not over yet.

And I'm staying in the ring.

speak up

I keep thinking about this much-familiar verse--- "They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony."

I've never really thought much about the phrase "word of their testimony" before now.

I think I always just took it to be synonymous with simply "their testimony".

But there is a key difference.

Having a story of redemption and deliverance isn't enough. It's the telling of my story that brings victory.

As I put words to what God has done in my life, I continue to overcome.

But if I keep it to myself, God doesn't get glorified in it and I don't move forward in my own healing and restoration.

We have to put words to our testimony.

You've got a story to tell.

Tell it.

even greater things

I've seen God do some incredible things through me in my lifetime. He used a poem I wrote as a nine-year-old girl to bring my separated parents back together.

On my mission trips as a teenager, He spoke through my faltering words to lead people to salvation.

I've stepped out in faith for eleventh-hour financial provision, and had money miraculously show up at the last minute.

In my early years of living in Africa, I rubbed cataracts out of a woman's eyes.

I saw a man's leg grow out six inches as I prayed over him.

I pulled a lame man to his feet and watched him take his first steps.

I get goosebumps just thinking about the amazing things God has done. And I feel humbled that He's chosen to use me.

But it all feels like ancient history.

It's been a very long time since God's done something supernatural through me.

But I know it's not because He's changed.

I think somewhere along the line, I stopped believing Him for the miraculous.

My faith grew dim.

I got "busy".

And I stopped actively trusting.

But I want my faith back. I want to trust Him for the miraculous again.

I want to trust Him for even greater things.

That feels like a huge risk right now. My battle-weary heart is scared to hope, to believe.

But every mighty move of God in my life has required an act of faith.

And, Lord knows, I need Him to move mightily.

Not just through me, but in me.

So I'm asking Him to strengthen my faith and fill me with the assurance that He is trustworthy.

Whether He ever does another miracle through my hands or not, I want to live with heart-risking trust that He can.

i'm still not sure about this one

I meet new people all the time. And there's often a point in the conversation that goes something like this:

OPTION A Them: Where are you from? Me: New York. Them: How'd you end up in Atlanta? Me: Well...

OPTION B Them: What do you do? Me: I'm the founder of a ministry in Africa. Them: Oh wow. What are you doing in Atlanta? Me: Well...

OPTION C A variation of A or B.

And then I have to try to follow the "Well..." with some sort of explanation.

It's got me thinking about the words I use to sum up my current life situation.

I'm short and sweet and to the point. I certainly don't unload my two-and-a-half-year heartache on them.

I don't answer with bitterness or anger or resentment. There is sadness in my words, for sure. There's grief in my eyes.

And I simply state the facts.

But now I'm wondering if I still say more than I actually should.

My six-sentence answer usually includes:

1. I've been married for 9 years.
2. My husband and I ran a ministry in Africa.
3. He had an affair.
4. He decided he wants a divorce.
5. I'm living in Georgia for a season of restoration.
6. I'll be going back to Africa.

And all of that is true.

But I wonder if I'm hiding behind #s 3 and 4. Because I feel like I have to mention the affair and point out that he left me.

But I wonder what my motive is.

My unconscious thought in that moment is that simply saying I'm going through a divorce leaves the question of why. And they might think I cheated. Or assume I'm the one who chose to leave.

So I seemingly take on a defensive position right from the get-go. I fight to maintain my image right from the start.

And maybe I shouldn't.

Isn't that just plain ol' ugly arrogance? Or at the very least, insecurity?

The fact that I am the head of a ministry adds to the complexity of this for me. I don't want people to wonder who left who when I'm asking them to trust me to lead Thrive.

But maybe I need to let truth speak for itself.

And let God defend me.

Right from the get-go.

I don't know. I'm still trying to figure this one out.