nuggets

death and life

This weekend makes me mindful of death and life. I can't help but think of all the ways I need to die to myself.

I'm stuck on how much I need to decrease so that He can increase. I keep thinking about the things I need to let die in my heart and in my thinking. There are so many things Jesus died to free me from that I unnecessarily take back onto myself. I need to leave those at the cross once and for all.

I also can't help but think of how badly I need His resurrection power to have its way in me.

I need to allow His truth to come alive inside me. I can't fully live until I embrace who He says I am. I need the fruit of His Spirit, the depth of His character, and the passion of His purpose to awaken inside me like a radiant new dawn. I am desperate for the newness of His living water to spring up in me. And to spring out of me.

Death.

Life.

I'm embracing both this weekend.

Just as He did.

,

beholding beauty

,

Photobucket When my friend Sarah asked me to write a post about beauty, I knew it would be challenging. But I had no idea how hard it would actually be. I labored over this post. I backspaced entire paragraphs. I started over completely. Twice.

I certainly felt the weight of penning thoughts for Sarah's blog. She has an incredible way with words, poignantly extracting glimpses of grace from her everyday experiences. Sarah has big writing-shoes to fill.

But even more than that, I was forced to come face-to-face with nagging insecurities and fears. My heart had to struggle through it in the process of writing it.

And hours later, this is what I ended up with...

: :

I see beauty all around me.

I find it in painted sunset skies and majestic mountains. I recognize it in the joy-filled eyes of the poor. I discover it in the authentic sharing of hearts.

I see beauty all around me.

But I can't see it in the mirror.

Click here to read the rest of my post on Sarah's site.

, ,

the death of dreams

, ,

I don't understand why we’re allowed to dream dreams that will never be. But we are.

And we do.

I've heard it said---and have even said it myself---that God wouldn't give us passions and dreams, and then not fulfill them. I used to swallow that whole, but I don't really believe it to be true any more.

Once you factor in free will, sin, and natural consequences, there is no way every hope, dream, and longing can be fulfilled.

Even when we do everything "right", life simply isn't fair. For reasons we may never understand this side of heaven, not every prayer is answered and not every dream comes to pass.

Consider a little league baseball tournament where boys on both teams dream of winning the championship.

You dream of a promotion at work. So do three co-workers who are competing with you for the position.

I dreamed of a restored marriage, while my husband dreamed of a new life with another woman.

It is simply not possible for every dream to come true.

I've had to come to terms with that truth in my life. It sucks. And it hurts. And I'm not totally sure what to do with it.

All my deferred hope has left my heart sick.

I miss those dreams that will never be. I miss the future that is no longer possible. I miss what could be and should be, but won't be.

I have to surrender those to God, trusting that even when it doesn't seem like it, He has my highest good and His maximum glory in mind.

I'm wrestling with the balance between surrender and hope.

I want to live surrendered---fully embracing what I'm given, rather than longing for what I'm not.

And I want to live with hope---faithfully trusting God's promises and believing Him for what I cannot see.

But how do I do both at the same time?

How do I hope while embracing what I'm given?

,

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.

,

i'm sorry, Lord

,

Lord, I’m sorry for thinking You love me the same way others do. For assuming You’ll withhold affection until I’ve paid penance or until You’re “over” whatever I may have done.

For imagining that You hold me at arm’s length and invite me in only when You want to want me.

For thinking You view me through eyes of disappointment, seeing only how far I am from all I could be and should be.

For presuming You only love me because You have to and not because You want to.

For guessing You hold my mistakes against me, just as I do with myself.

For acting as though You think I’m discardable and unwantable.

For forgetting that You love me for who I am and not for who I can be.

Lord, I want to believe. Help me overcome my unbelief.

,

are you tired?

,

As we started this new year, I became mindful of my tendency to wear myself out for all the wrong things. You see, I was reading along in Isaiah when I tripped over this phrase: "You have not wearied yourselves for Me, O Israel." I knew exactly what God was talking about. And I knew I was just as guilty as Israel was.

After over eleven years in full-time ministry, I know full-well what it's like to weary myself. I've put in the ridiculously long hours. I've juggled an impossible schedule. I've reached the point of burnout and lived to tell about it.

And as I fall in bed exhausted at the end of a long day week month year decade, my heart sighs, "I'm weary..."

If I listen closely enough, I hear God's voice, ever loving and gentle. "But you haven't wearied yourself for Me."

Without even realizing it, I've been wearing my exhaustion like a badge of honor. My demanding schedule and ever-growing to do lists became my identity. As if fatigue is the mark of an accomplished missionary.

If I'm most honest, I wearied myself because I thought my value lay in my productivity. I mistook accomplishments for significance. I bought into the lie that busyness is the telltale sign of successful leadership.

But while I was getting stuff done, and even---by God's grace---impacting lives, I was ultimately toiling for the wrong reasons.

The work of discipling young leaders in Africa is worth every ounce of my effort and energy. I want to tire myself out doing what I love. But I need to keep the motives of my heart in check. Wearying myself for some self-serving purpose is just plain tiring.

So as I look out over the horizon of 2010, this much I know is true: I want to weary myself only for Him.

Is this something you've struggled with? What are some practical ways we can keep this in check?

Originally a guest post on Catalyst's blog...

His nail-scarred hands

I just saw something in the Resurrection story that I've never noticed before. I don't know how I've missed this my entire life, but I did. Jesus died a horrible, brutal death on the cross. And then He was divinely and supernaturally raised from the dead.

He received the ultimate healing.

All of His organs and bodily systems were revived. Though His heart hadn't beaten for three days, it sprang to life again.

He was fully restored. Completely whole. Totally healthy.

But His scars remained.

We know because He showed them to His followers as proof that it was really Him, back from the dead. He even invited Thomas to touch His scarred hands and feel His marred side.

Jesus certainly didn't need to bear scars. The power of God that raised Him from the dead could have easily removed the visible evidence of what had killed Him.

So there must be a reason He chose to keep His scars.

I don't presume to know what that reason is.

But I can't help but wonder.

Maybe He kept His scars so I would know it's okay that I still have mine.

, ,

authenticity isn't found in the rearview mirror

, ,

I’ve often prided myself in my ability to share openly about things I've gone through, things I've struggled with. But then I realized it was only because they were past tense. I am being open and honest, but about my then, not my now.

It's easier to share my weaknesses after I've strengthened them. It's safer to talk about my failures once I've bounced back from them.

But it's not really authenticity if it's after the fact.

Genuine authenticity is transparent and unguarded and vulnerable.

And while there is some level of that in sharing about past struggles, nothing is quite as authentic as sharing about current struggles.

No matter what else I do in this year of risking more, nothing will be as hard as the risks I take with my heart.

But they are risks I want to take.

I desire the intimacy and closeness that comes with true authenticity. I crave the matchless relational connection that's borne out of putting my heart on the line.

Even though it leaves me feeling exposed and vulnerable.

I'm learning that with those I trust, I can be naked and unashamed.

So I'm stripping down and working on being more authentic in the moment.

And hoping the "unashamed" part will follow.

we've gotten it all wrong with the prodigal son

I shut my eyes tightly as worship started, forcefully trying to block out the thousands of others around me. I desperately needed to connect with God in a way I hadn't allowed myself in far too long. And as I asked Him to meet me in that place of brokenness, the Prodigal Son came to mind.

The story seemed to unfold behind my closed eyes, and a tear trickled down my face as I saw the father run out to embrace his son. God reminded me that it was Him running out to meet me.

No matter how far I've wandered, no matter how broken and messed up I've become, no matter how grimy and soiled I am, He runs out to meet me.

I saw with fresh eyes as He wrapped His robe of righteousness around me. He put His ring on my finger to remind me of the seal of His Spirit in my heart. And He didn't just call for the fattened calf. He sent His prize Lamb---the perfect Lamb of God---to be sacrificed for me.

I think we got it all wrong in calling this the Story of the Prodigal Son.

I think it's actually the Story of the Prodigal Father.

Prodigal means recklessly extravagant, lavishly abundant.

And that is the perfect description of the love the Father embraces His broken children with.

,

thank God!

,

It's really hard for me to remain thankful in all things. In moments of disappointment, hurt, anger, frustration, impatience, whatever, it's often impossible difficult to lift my eyes and say, "I will thank You anyway." And as if that weren't a sufficient enough challenge, I'm not just instructed to be thankful in all things. I'm commanded to be thankful for all things.

"Always giving thanks to God the Father for everything..."

Sigh.

That means I need to live from a heart that readily says---

  • Thank You for my husband's infidelity.
  • Thank You for his decision to leave me.
  • Thank You for this loneliness.
  • Thank You for yet another high-pain day.
  • Thank You for the uncertainty and the unknowns.

I need to start thanking God for my "all things". Even before they work together for good.

Thanking Him even for what hurts and confuses me, develops trust. It helps me acknowledge that He's in control, and that He has even this---whatever this may be---in His hands. Thanking Him for what makes my heart ache, builds my faith.

And my faith sure needs building.

But, to be honest, I'm nowhere near there yet. I don't know when I'll be able to say with a sincere and genuine heart, "Thank You even for this."

But this week I am going to start praying, "Lord, I want to want to thank You, even for this..."

,

denying myself

,

Jesus said, "Deny yourself and follow Me." But instead, I've denied myself for everybody but Him.

I've sacrificed myself to follow my husband. To lead my ministry. For the sake of my family. For the love of my friends.

I've gotten really good at self-sacrifice. So good, that I readily throw myself under the bus to keep peace. I take responsibility for others' wrongdoing when they're not willing to own it themselves.

My life has been marked by the belief that I am third, which translates into putting myself last---always. I've spent my entire life apologizing for being me.

I've been denying myself.

But I haven't been denying myself to follow Christ.

I've been denying myself to follow others. To simply be seen, rather than invisible. To receive love. To avoid rejection.

And in doing so, I handed the reins of my life over to everyone around me. I surrendered the control of my life to others.

I'm tired of denying myself for all the wrong reasons.

I want to live surrendered. But I want only to surrender to God.

He is the only One worth denying myself for.

,

casting my cares

,

"Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you." I know that. Cognitively. He cares for me. He cares about what I care about. I should cast my anxiety upon Him. All too often, though, I subconsciously take the word cast to mean the same as it does in fishing. I give it to God, but I'm still hanging on to the other end. As far as I throw it, as much as I give it over, it's still attached to me. Because I'm holding on tight.

"But I gave it to God..." I try to convince myself. Meanwhile I'm poised and ready to reel it back in whenever I want. And reel I do. I decide to take it back from God's hands. Which means I think it's better off in my capable hands than in His.

Oh to be so smug.

I looked up the word cast in the dictionary. When it's not referring to fishing, it means to get rid of, to discard, to throw off or throw away; to hurl or fling.

I need to let that sink in a bit. I need to let it sink in a lot.

When I give something to God, I need to hurl it at Him (He can handle the blow), get rid of it (forever), throw it off me (with as much vigor as I can muster). And then I need to leave it there. For good.

Sigh...

"Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you..."

I'm trying...

[originally posted on this day two years ago]

,

nothing is wasted

,

Yesterday I did something I've never done before. I locked my keys in the car. To make matters worse, I locked my phone in the car too. Right there on the seat. Next to my keys. I don't know a single person's phone number here in Georgia. Not a one. The joy of technology is that I don't have to remember. Until I have to.

After many frustratingly futile attempts at getting assistance, a sweet woman swooped in to rescue me. She drove me home to pick up my spare key and then drove me back to my car. An angel indeed. With a southern accent. They grow 'em warm and hospitable down here, that's for sure.

Did I mention that on Monday I left my purse in a restaurant? And only noticed 30 minutes later? Yeah. (Another first for me.) Thankfully once again integrity won the day. I recovered my purse. With everything in it.

But seriously? I had these big firsts two days in a row?! C'mon!

Sigh.

Now it's today... And today there's an undercurrent of ache in my heart. It's another one of those days that I wonder if I'm the only one who remembers. Or maybe just the only one who cares.

And on top of that, today I'm on a plane bound for DC to have a meeting I shouldn't even have to have. Yeah, that current of ache grows stronger even at 30,000 feet.

Maybe even more so at 30,000 feet.

But here on this plane I'm reminding myself that God doesn't waste a thing.

God doesn't waste a thing.

Nothing---neither the best nor the worst that I've known---is wasted. Ever. Everything can be made new. Everything can be redeemed. Everything can be made whole.

Nothing is wasted.

Not even the frustrations of yesterday.

Or the ache of today.

fixing my thoughts

God was very clear. "Fix your thoughts on what is true," He said. But I've been doing the exact opposite.

I spend a lot of time thinking about things that are untrue.

My mind gets stuck on the myriad of lies I believe about myself. Like I'm not enough. And It's always my fault when things go wrong. And I'm not lovable.

Oh, the list goes on and on.

Lately I've been challenged to listen more closely to my internal commentary. To pay attention to the lies that are stuck on repeat. And to replace them with truth.

It's time to fix my thoughts.

By fixing them on what is true.

,

God's heavy hand

,

I can't get Psalm 32 out of my head. Or maybe it's my heart that it's stuck in. It speaks of the overwhelming relief I experience when I finally throw myself at the foot of the cross and seek God's forgiveness. It describes so well God's heavy hand that weighs on me until I reach that breaking point of surrender, and the freedom that awaits me on the other side.

It describes a place I want to always be quick to come to. Always.

And it's a place someone I love needs to get to.

I've been praying, begging, for God's hand to be so heavy that he breaks under the weight of it. For God's kindness to be so overwhelming, he can't help but run to it. For the Lord's unfailing love to take him captive. Until all he can do is fall on his knees in repentance, and let God's forgiveness roll over him like a sweet summer rain.

Because I know the freedom that awaits him on the other side...

,

the hem of His robe

,

The woman bled for 12 years straight. Physician after physician shrugged his shoulders. She’d given up all hope of ever getting better. But then she heard about Jesus: the miracle worker. Desperate, she knew she had to get to Him. As she clawed her way through the crowd on her hands and knees, she carried with her much more than her illness. She carried shame. As if in a bag over her shoulder, she dragged along a heavy burden of rejection and fear. She's referred to as the “woman with the issue of blood”, but her issues ran much deeper than that. Her physical ailment made her an outcast in her own culture. Her emotional hurts and scars were far worse than her physical ones.

Finally catching up to Jesus, she reached out and frantically, yet faintly, grabbed the hem of His robe. Immediately, she was healed. Jesus turned around and faced the crowd. “Who touched Me?”

She told Him the whole truth. She told why she had touched Him and how she had been instantly healed. Jesus cared enough to listen to her story. The long version. He just let her talk. He was on His way to heal a dying girl. People were rushing Him. Pressing Him. Insisting He keep going before it’s too late. He silenced them long enough for her to tell her story.

When she finished talking, He responded by calling her Daughter. It’s the only time recorded that He addressed someone that way. The love she felt in that one simple word must have been overwhelming. After pouring out her heart, He'd responded with pure affection. Gentle but aggressive love.

If Jesus’ aim was simply to heal her, He would have kept walking after she touched Him, for she was healed instantly. If that was all He was concerned about, He wouldn’t have stopped, turned around, asked the question. He wouldn't have looked straight at her, talked to her, listened. But He did all those things. He wanted to let her talk. To tell her story. He wanted to call her Daughter.

For that is when her heart was healed.

He wanted to heal more than her body. His aim all along was to heal her heart.

I can picture Him looking her in the eyes as He talked to her. And making her look into His. The healing began as, face-to-face, His love was visible, and it resonated within her soul. It broke down walls. Shattered barriers. Smashed through the defenses she’d lived behind for so long. His love broke through with a simple gaze, a listening ear, and undivided attention.

It wouldn’t have helped if He healed her physically, but left her to still carry the hurt from her 12 years of rejection and disgrace. Despite her physical healing, she probably would have continued to stay holed up in her house. She would have been the same cowering little girl she always was, still dragging her bag of shame behind her. But as Jesus looked into her eyes, He saw the woman He created her to be, and He wasn’t content to leave her drowning in her pain.

The greatest healing isn’t the miraculous cure of her incurable disease. It is the passionate healing of her heart.

God’s primary concern is still the condition of hearts. Physical health and a blessed life pale in comparison with a restored soul. God’s heart hurts for our hurting hearts.

He still brings love, grace, and healing through a touch of the hem of His robe.

And we are the hem of His robe.

[originally posted this day two years ago]

,

but there is a God in heaven

,

"No mere human can solve the king's mystery, I don't care who it is---no wise man, enchanter, magician, diviner. But there is a God in heaven who solves mysteries, and He has solved this one."

-Daniel 2:27-28

I don't have all the answers. Honestly, in my search for some, I've just ended up with more questions.

The past year has been filled with more uncertainties, more shifting sand, than I've ever imagined possible. It's felt as though everything in my life has a question mark after it. And I so want to start finding some periods. I desire conclusion. I want certainty and understanding. I long for things to simply make sense.

But they don't.

Not only is my future a mystery, much of my present is as well. And while I love a good mystery in print or on screen, right now I'm really not enjoying the mystery that is my life. I'm burdened by the ambiguity of my situation and by my paradoxical emotions. My own heart is an enigma I can't make sense of.

My life---my circumstances, my understanding, my way forward, my very heart---is a mystery. One that no mere human can solve, I don't care who it is.

But there is a God in heaven who solves mysteries. And He's solved even this one.

the God who restores

God will restore me. That short sentence packs a serious punch. I keep finding myself repeating it with the emphasis on each word. And the significance of the statement changes for me each time. God will restore me.

God will restore me.

God will restore me.

God will restore me.

The truth of all four of those statements is wrapped up in this one verse:

"And the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast."

I am desperate for God's restoration in my life. And I need to trust that He's already in the process of restoring me, even when it doesn't look or feel like it. He is the God who restores.

He says He will restore---

God will restore me. And then I will be strong, firm, and steadfast.

And that gives me hope.