Seek-and-Find Him

Today is our last official day of work before Christmas... I should be excited, relieved, in celebration mode, but I'm a little hesitant to hear the gunshot that starts the fourteen day race ahead of us. With so much to do in such a short time, how do we keep "the Gift" of Christmas in perspective? How do we keep Christ  our focus when we are in the middle of this holiday mess? 

And in my pondering, the Holy Spirit reminded me of something my sister-in-law, Lori, suggested just a few days ago. Even though the discussion wasn't about our here and now, her suggestion is resonating in my heart and soul this morning. 

"Make it a seek and find." She said.

So, that is what I will do. As we are out and about these next two weeks, I will search for Him. I will look for Him in the faces of the people we see, on the shelves of the stores we shop, in the miles of roads we travel, in the conversations we overhear as well as the ones we speak. I will search for Him in the gifts we purchase and in the ones we wrap and unwrap, in the home we have yet to decorate, in the letters I read and in the lines I write. I will search for Him in the foods we bake, in the songs we sing, in the laughter of the little ones, and in the tears of young and old. 

What about you? Will you make this a season of "Seek-and-Find" too? 

Have You Prepared a Place for Him?

I spent the biggest part of day one of December thinking about what's coming in these next 24 days, and instead of feeling overwhelmed with a list of things to do, events to attend, gifts still to buy and wrap and deliver, I felt this uncharacteristic sense of peace and hope. I caught myself staring at the glow of the Christmas tree throughout the day and reminding myself to do whatever it takes to not lose focus this year. 

It's so easy to do, to get caught up in the lists and the "need tos" and the "have tos" and the "I shoulds." I imagine that's what it must have been like when the people gathered in Bethlehem to pay their taxes. With so much to do on their visit to the city, so much to experience, trades to make, things to see, family and friends to visit, and, of course, taxes to pay, they weren't even aware that right there in the midst of them in a meager stable, the King of Kings made His debut. A brilliant new star appeared in the sky; hosts of angels broadcast His arrival; shepherds with their flocks came to worship, and yet, the overflowing population of the city was completely unaware that the One who would reconcile God and man had entered their broken world. 

So last night, as I was staring at the glow of the tree that was almost mesmerizing, I heard Him beckon me, to stop the planning, to stop the fretting, and to let my heart remind my head that this season isn't about buying the "perfect" gifts, about attending all of the events, about decorating houses and yards. It isn't about finding the best sales, and it isn't even about seeing all my friends and family and making the best of memories. It's about celebrating the King of Kings, the Perfect One who chose to come into my world of brokenness, knowing that He would be rejected, wounded, broken, and crucified. Yet, He chose to come anyway. This season is about preparing a place for Him and about helping others prepare a place for Him in the middle of their brokenness. What better gift can I offer than the gift of Jesus, the One who came and the One who is coming again? 

Season of Change

Here I am at day 7 of November, my FAVORITE time of the year, in the midst of this beautiful season of fall, the month of Thanksgiving, and I find myself feeling a little ungrateful. In recent years, my newsfeed on social media was inundated with posts of gratitude which helped me stay focused, but this year there are just a few sporadic posts. I am assuming many who have participated in the past are either too busy to make such posts or have the "been there done that" attitude. After all, how could we possibly come up with anything fresh and original at this point?

As for me, I'm struggling with my own little reality, the battle between being "content in all things" and this deep desire for change, drastic change. If I were asked to list the things I would like to be different in my life, I could fill an entire journal. Then again, for every single aspect I am unhappy with in my life, I could list 10+ blessings.

So I pause and ask myself, what is it about the negative things that demands so much of my attention? And the answer is clear. It's what I give myself to, where I choose to let my thoughts stay, and how I allow those worries and concerns to become the meditation of my heart. Changing my attitude begins with my taking authority over my thoughts. As I cast down those thoughts of ingratitude and refuse to yield to a grumbling and complaining tongue, I can overcome this toxic attitude that makes life less exciting and robs me of my joy.

Right here, as I sit under the blow drier at the salon, I'm choosing to cast down every negative thought, worry, or concern and stifle every grumble and complaint, and instead, focus on what an incredibly blessed woman I am. Because the truth is I am infinitely blessed beyond measure.

"Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." --Philippians 4:8

Celebrating November with a Smile

Because November days just make the troubles in everyday life seem insignificant with cooler weather ushering in this fresh perspective on my here and now, I love November. I love everything about her.

And today I celebrated her arrival with a smile. Early, early this morning, I knew she had arrived when I felt the need to pull the quilt up to my chin, tuck the covers a little tighter, and I couldn't help but smile. I wanted to shout, "November is here! She's here! She's finally here!" But I didn't think the sleeping masses would appreciate or share my enthusiasm. At lunchtime, I celebrated her arrival by having an impromptu picnic on the front porch with the man I love the most, and I smiled when the coolness of the breeze made me shiver just a bit. And this evening, as I took a short walk and peered into the heavenlies, I felt this overwhelming desire to sing songs about the greatness of my God. The tears in my eyes were simply a response to the smile of my heart. 

Welcome Sweet November. How I have anticipated your arrival! And thank you, Papa God, for the wonderful days of November!

Reserving Grace for Those Who Deserve It

 

A few years ago, I read a book and fell in love with a little girl named Jessica and with a grouchy old man who became her hero. I couldn't wait to read the second book. I knew it wouldn't take me long to devour the pages and then pass the book to a friend who was just as enthusiastic about this new find as I was. However, in the midst of reading the continuation of this beautiful story, my heart nearly stopped beating as I discovered the most wicked villain being offered the gift of grace. This book that I was certain I would read in one evening, I slammed shut and tossed across the room unfinished. 

I thought about the contents of that story for hours. When I went to bed that night, I thought about it, and I woke up thinking about it. The next day as I was driving to work and home again, I continued to ponder the disappointment I had discovered in this book; then I began to wonder why this bothered me as it had. 

Grace. I have no problem extending it to the ones that I love the most, and I have no problem seeing those that I love accepting it. I love hearing others testify about grace, how it transformed their lives. I talk about it often, and I am ever-so-grateful for the grace that I've been given, that from God and that from others. 

But some people just don't deserve it. Like this terribly vicious character in the unfinished book, certain sins are not grace-worthy. They just aren't. People who wound the ones I love -- not grace-worthy. People who hurt defenseless children -- not grace-worthy. People who selfishly deceive and destroy others -- not grace-worthy. People who abuse and neglect the elderly -- not grace-worthy. People who lack compassion and empathy -- not grace-worthy. People who continue to make the same stupid choices over and over and over again -- not grace-worthy. 

Grace should be reserved for people who deserve it, for people who earn it. Grace should be only granted to those who try, sincerely try to be good and obedient. It should be only given to those who are keepers of the law, those who keep failures to a minimum of ____(insert a "fair" number here). 

And if grace were reserved for only those who deserve it, where would I be? What about you? Where would you be? Have any of us done anything to earn grace lately? Ever? Perhaps it's a good thing I wasn't on the committee to establish "The Guidelines of Grace" for mankind. 

A few days later, I picked up the book and finished the story. Truthfully, I wasn't thrilled with the ending. This evil character did not deserve a happy ending, and it still annoys me when I think about it. (I certainly never read that book a second time.) However, in reading this frustrating book, the Holy Spirit taught me an unforgettable lesson about grace, a lesson that I thought I had learned years and years ago. 

The beauty of grace is that it is free. Absolutely free. It isn't withheld because of the size of my sin, the number of my failures, the ugliness of my heart. The gift of grace isn't based on anything that I've done or promise to do for the rest of my days. Grace doesn't require me to be grace-worthy. Grace is the extension of the Creator's hand that lifts me out of the filth, pulls me from the darkness, and up to a higher, brighter place. And when I stumble and fall, grace does the same thing all over again. 

When I'm living in grace, life is glorious. Incomparable. Oh-so-beautiful. Awesome. 

And when I'm living in pride, I think grace should be reserved for those who deserve it. Is there any sin uglier than pride? 

Alice -- Why I Do What I Do (Written by my mom, Jo Ann Stone)

My sister-in-law posted this story on a social network site a month or so ago, and as I was reading it, tears streamed down my face. I had previously read this account and had even had the pleasure of hearing it expressively told by the storyteller herself just after it happened. However, today, after a difficult few weeks of doing what I do, this story served as a reminder, a reminder that I desperately needed to read/understand/let penetrate my heart. Whether you are struggling with the "getting weary in well doing" or you are needing some encouragement/inspiration to step out and do something, anything, to impact your world, this post is for you.

Written by my mom, a woman who continues to dream amazingly big dreams, a woman who presses forward to make those dreams become reality as she impacts the world around her. 

I stepped inside the door of Silver Hills, and there she was, sitting by the window as if she were waiting for someone, anyone to notice her. Alice is always sitting near the door, as if she is hoping that some day, someone will come in that door just to see her! I can't help but wonder does anyone ever visit, does anyone really care? Or is Alice like so many seniors who one day was dropped off and forgotten?

I have written about Alice before... I remember the first time we met her, how she appeared to be a hard woman, maybe carrying a few battle scars of a difficult life, a woman of few words, kind of private, not wanting to share with us too much about her past. It's been a few years since our first encounter, and Alice has softened a little; she even smiles at the mention of chocolate.

Yesterday was different... When I said "Hello, Alice," she threw her arms up to hug me and flashed her biggest smile! She actually talked with us, and when we asked if she would be joining us for the service,  she nodded yes and smiled! I can only remember one other time when she attended a service. That day I shall never forget;  it was October 21, 2012. I am convinced on that day, a new name was written down in Heaven. It was Alice. My heart was filled with joy that day when I heard her repeat the sinner's prayer! Yesterday, I asked if she had a need that the grandkids and I could pray with her about. She smiled and said, "Well, yes, I do." and told us the need. I watched as Jaedyn, Paityn, and Josiah gathered around her, putting their little hands on her, and as we prayed, my heart rejoiced to see even our youngest team members join us in doing Kingdom Business! When we finished praying, Alice said, "You know you can pray for yourself, but it means so much more when others pray for you."  As we said our goodbyes, she smiled and said, "God bless you!"
  
You ask why I do what I do? It's people like Alice that change an ordinary Sunday into an extraordinary story on Monday! I am convinced that in Heaven I will hear the rest of the stories! That my friends is.. Why I do what I do! It's Kingdom Business!

JACSTONE
7/21/2014

Self Analysis: Boring or Passionate?

Recently, I had a conversation with my 10 year old and 8 year old nieces about how boring, or as one of them said, "BOORRRINNG!" their parents are, and their observations caused me to do some self evaluation. First of all, I must confess that I'm confident given an opportunity to express themselves, my 20, 17, and 12 year old stepsons would express the same opinion of me and my husband. Although, most likely it would be with a little less dramatic emphasis, since our boys just aren't as expressive as these two little girls.

A few days before this conversation, I made an abrupt S.O.S. phone call to one of my dearest friends. I knew she would be in the middle of her workday and more than likely wouldn't answer her cell phone. I called anyway, thinking, if nothing else, I could leave a long, not-so-thought-out desperate plea of a message. To my surprise/relief/delight, she was on her lunch break and answered. That's when I spilled out my desire to "just get away, go somewhere, anywhere, I-don't-care-where. Some place where we don't talk about our jobs, our stress, our kids, our bills, our whatever-makes-us-adult worries. I want to laugh. I want to laugh until I see spots." When it came to the "when" part, it got complicated, "Not this month, or half of next, or half of the next-next either..." And at that moment, I thought about this commercial from my childhood of a woman, in the middle of her chaotic life, shouting, "Calgon, take me away!" In an instant, she's in a tub full of bubbles surrounded by the most peaceful things of nature.

However, instead of being whisked away to some place where birds are chirping or soft music is playing in the background, I would prefer to be surrounded by laughter. Whether someone is laughing with me, at me, about me, I don't really care. I just love the sound of laughter, the kind that is unrestrained, uncontainable, authentic, and contagious. 

Not only do I love the sound of laughter, I love to laugh. And when laughter catches me unexpectedly, I've been known to spew things from my mouth, up and out my nose, across a table and all over complete strangers. I have laughed until I've seen stars/spots/nothing-but-black, until my face hurt, until the pressure in my head felt like it was going to explode, until the pain in my stomach, neck, chest lasted for days afterwards. 

As I was replaying my nieces' comments and evaluating my here and now, it occurred to me that even though my husband and I do share a whole lot of laughter, recently I've let the world, my world, conform me into this terribly boring adult. I thought back to my childhood and teenage years and wondered if the child I was then would be pleased with the adult I am now. (Ouch!) The spontaneous, adventurous, larger-than-life, everything's exaggerated me would wonder where my zeal for life had gone. The truth is that I get so caught up in the day-to-day routine of life, I forget to enjoy this day and this moment. In my heart, I know that when I live life passionately, I'm not only happier with my life, but I can tell I make the people around me happier too. 

It has taken me a while to get here, so there are some habits I need to change, most of which include a renewing of the mind, but I am determined to live life passionately again. 

You may not ever enjoy the experience of me showering you with soda, but if you happen to be in a public place and hear the sound of ridiculously loud laughter, stop being annoyed; smile or maybe laugh a little yourself; look to see if it's me; and whether it is or it isn't, let it serve to remind you to live life passionately. He gave us this life, this moment, this here and now to live life to its fullest, to have and enjoy life in all of its abundance! Start living passionately today. Let yourself laugh out loud! 

Green Bean Issues

I don't like green beans. In fact, if I were to name my least favorite food, green beans would be listed in the top five. Yet, if you've ever been to a restaurant with me, and green beans were an option as a side, you have undoubtedly heard me order them. My husband snickers and shakes his head every time I tell the server, ". . . and, um, (long pause) I guess, green beans." 

And when my plate comes out, the first thing I taste, without hesitation, is the green beans. I know. I know; why on earth do I order them if I don't like them?!

Self analysis time. 

I've never liked green beans. Never. I tolerated fresh green beans from my grandparent's garden, but tolerable does not equal palatable. Then, around the age of ten, I was visiting my aunt who insisted I not only try her canned green beans but eat the entire portion that she dished on my plate (which happened to be half a can... HALF a can of green beans is too many green beans!) So I sat at the table long after she had finished her meal and put away her dishes, and I ate green bean after green bean, fighting the urge to gag and puke with every swallow. It was one of those experiences of my childhood that was unforgettable for all the wrong reasons. (No disrespect meant to my aunt. She obviously didn't understand how much I disliked green beans.) From that experience throughout the earliest of my adulthood years, just the thought of green beans made me gag. 

I can't remember trying green beans again until I was a young adult visiting Disney World for the very first time. Grown in the air, these soilless veggies, so vibrant in color, were the most beautiful vegetables I had ever seen. And the moment I saw the green beans, I just knew I had to try them. Surely, these Disney green beans were going to taste as wonderful as they looked. So I ordered them, and I ate them. To say that they were delicious would be an exaggeration; so I'm just going to say they were tolerable. In other words for the first time since the awful green bean experience of my childhood, I didn't gag. 

So for more than twenty years now, instead of avoiding the mere thought of green beans, if green beans are an option on the menu, I choose them. Oh, my taste buds haven't changed. I still don't like them, but I don't hate them any longer either. Forever optimistic one day I will grow to like them, but even if I never do, I have learned that if I try the green beans on my plate first, it makes the rest of the food on my plate taste that much better. 

Reflecting on my issues with green beans, I can't help but think about the difficult things in my life, the people that I find the most challenging, the personal struggles that I try so desperately to avoid/hide/bury. And I find myself wondering if instead of trying to eliminate them from my life, I should welcome them and work on those areas first. What if by first tackling the difficulties in life, the other experiences of life would be even more enjoyable?

Just another random thought that might not be worth a heel of beans... 😉

Lost Again

A few weeks ago, I was making a quick trip home from work, and I got lost. By the time I realized I was surrounded by unfamiliar territory and sought the help of the gps to tell me what town was nearby, Siri informed me that I had traveled more than an hour west of my destination. Home is a straight line NORTH of work, but at the halfway point, I took 35W instead of continuing on 35E. I've traveled this road countless times. Countless. So this wasn't an unfamiliar route. There wasn't road construction or high traffic forcing me to detour. Honestly, I just wasn't paying attention. Distracted by my thoughts and my telephone conversation, I just went the wrong way. And then, I just kept going the wrong way for miles and miles. My one hour trip home turned into a three hour life lesson.

That happens to me more often than I would like to admit. I start off on the right path. I set a destination, a goal; I map it out, make a plan; and like a race car, I take off, headed for the finish line. But somewhere along the way, I get distracted, and by the time I come to my senses and realize I'm off course, it seems I'm always way off course. Way, way off course. I find myself, more often than not, wondering where I went wrong and how I got to this unfamiliar territory. 

Distractions. They come in all sorts of ways. People. Thoughts. Fears. Procrastination. Life. Boredom. Busyness. Disappointments. Self defeat. Fun. Work. Criticism. Pride. Slothfulness. Impetuousness. You name it; I've been distracted by it. 

Whether I'm looking at the numbers on the bathroom scale, the beautiful but unfinished quilt, the abandoned remodel project, the amount of money in my savings account, the blank pages of my journal, another notification from my MapMyWalk app, or the you-name-it-idea now forgotten that once seemed so brilliant, none are more important than the destiny He has chosen for me. The destiny that calls me to walk with Him, talk with Him, pursue Him... And in doing so, discover and become the me He created me to be. 

When I come to the end of my life, I don't want to look around and discover I'm in unfamiliar territory, wondering how I got off course or where I went wrong. I don't want life to happen when I'm not paying attention. I want to live life intentionally. No more coasting through, going wherever the road leads, no more cruise control, letting life lead me. Instead, I want to focus on the goal, not the goals I set for myself, but the mark for the prize of the high calling of God which is in Christ Jesus. So when I pull in the driveway, it won't be Siri's voice that tells me I've arrived at my destination, but the voice of my Father who will say, "Welcome Home!" 

Egypt Never Looked So Good

This is not what "the dream" looked like. It wasn't supposed to be one battle after another, one more frustration, one more defeat, one more challenge, one more struggle. I didn't sign up for this. This is not the destiny I had envisioned for myself.

I want out.

Egypt never looked so good.

Every time I hear, read, study about the children of Israel and their journey to the Promised Land, all I can think about is how ungrateful and faithless they were and how unpleasing they must have been to The Lord. Ingrates. He blessed them time and time again, worked miracles to free them from the bondage of slavery, parted the Red Sea, provided food and water for them supernaturally. Yet they grumbled and complained and doubted and grumbled and complained and doubted. 

Me too.

I am an ingrate. 

I've seen the hand of God do some pretty incredible things, some things seemingly more miraculous than the parting of the Red Sea. Still I find myself in disbelief, grumbling, complaining, doubting that He is even in this "dream" at all, and desperately wanting to turn tail and run like the wind back to Egypt. (What? You can't picture me running?! I can run. Maybe not like the wind, but I guarantee you if I run I can create a wind.) 

What I really want is an easier journey, a smoother route. I want a first class trip on a luxury jet, but the path He has laid for me is on foot, bare foot through the thistles and thorns. Mountain after mountain, I have to climb. And going down the mountains, the trail is steep, with jagged edges, covered with dampness and muddy puddles. So, I slip often. Scraped and bruised, I fall into the mud, and I linger there. I wallow in it. And there, covered in the muck and mire, I'm so "me focused" I don't notice the beauty that surrounds me, the wild flowers brilliant in color; the branches of the majestic trees swaying in the wind; the sweet serenade of the diverse bird choir; the puffy white clouds (the footprints of my Creator) splattered across the vast blue sky; the occasional rainbow sent to remind me of His promise, His mercy, and His grace; or the star-filled sky on the darkest of nights that's shouting, "The thoughts I think of you are more numerous than this!"

In a moment of desperation and humility, I cry out to Him. And in an instant, that is where He finds me. There, covered in filth, He lifts me up and cleanses me. He heals my scrapes and my bruises, whispers the sweetest of secrets in my ear and sets me on my way, His way, the way that isn't paved in velvet or comfortable, leather seats, but the way that leads me to a better me and a greater destiny. 

If I can do this, so can you. Let's do it together, encouraging each other along the way. The Promise Land awaits. 

I Just Wish You Knew

I wish you could realize how delightful you are, how you can change the mood in a room with your smile, how you make others laugh, really laugh without even trying, how you have this inexplicable way of making others feel loved and special just by being you. 

I wish you could see yourself as others do, the complete package of an amazingly created you, woven together with such a special personality, a perfect blend of humor and enthusiasm, with just the right amount of silliness mixed with seriousness. 

I wish you could feel, truly feel how much He loves you, and notice how He romances you, trying to get your attention, pouring out His blessings on you, pursuing you, never giving up on you. 

I wish you could believe that you are worth so much more than anything any man has to offer, that your beauty is authentic and runs deep, that your value isn't found in the attention of a man, but in the intention of your God. 

I wish you knew how honored I am to be a part of your life, right here, right now, watching you as you face difficult challenges and learn that through Him you have what it takes to overcome them. 

I wish you could comprehend how when you hurt, He hurts, and I hurt too, how your wounds and scars don't confine you or define you, how He paid the price to set you free from them, all of them. Every last one of them. 

I wish you could not only hear the words I speak over you but hear the thoughts He thinks of you, as countless as the stars that fill the sky, as innumerable as the leaves upon the trees, how those thoughts are to prosper you and not to harm you, to give you hope and a future. 

I wish you could know as I know that the you He created you to be is enough. You are smart enough, pretty enough, tall enough, thin enough, lovable enough. You don't have to try harder, be better, or do more to gain His favor. He loves you and accepts you just.the.way.you.are, because, truly, truly, you are enough. 

I just wish you knew... 

Happy Daddy's Home Going Day!

Eight years ago today, I was holding my daddy's hand as he left the pain and suffering of this world and stepped into the beauty of eternal life. So today, I'm remembering him, and choosing to celebrate today in a special way. 

Just as we celebrate spring's new life, seeing the signs of life budding on the bare branches of winter's fury, and realizing what appeared to be dead and gone was very much alive; it is with hope, that we anticipate the beauty that is certain to spring forth. And it is with confidence that we know that all those who, before leaving this life, accepted the free gift of salvation through the sacrifice of Jesus, we will embrace again! 

And next weekend, as we gather to celebrate a new life that is soon to be making his or her debut, my daddy's first great grand child will remind us that even in the natural world, the enemy doesn't destroy the seed. He doesn't win. 

Happy Daddy's Home Going Day!

I Miss Kindness

I miss kindness. 

It seems she got lost somewhere

Between sarcasm and abruptness,

Where busyness affords a quick, blunt response, and the sharp tongued is celebrated with laughter and smirks.

I miss kindness.

I miss her gentle embrace, the warmth of her smile, the softness of her whisper, and the peace she ushers in when the storms of life are violently raging.

I miss kindness,

Abandoned by a society who has lost perspective, a society who has forgotten that people need people not more possessions or activities; people need a soft answer, a meaningful gesture, compassion, and love. 

I miss kindness.

Lost she is, but not suffocated, not defeated nor completely annihilated.

Kindness lives in the hearts of those who dare to look beyond themselves. She resides in that selfless moment, waiting to shine her light in the darkest of places. Her smile extends hope to the hopeless, mercy to the mess, and grace to those who will receive it.

Ephesians 4:32

"And be ye kind one to another, tender hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you." 

Silently Frustrated

I have concluded that the greatest ill of society is not the fault of sinners who sin; after all that is their nature. The greatest ill is when Christians remain silent, when they hesitate to share the only truth that can set the sinner free.

Some say we should let the sinner be, let them bask in their sinful life and all it has to offer them, let them live the life they choose to live, and hold our tongues, our judgments, our words of wisdom and words of life, only offering truth to those who come seeking it. 

Others say we should despise the sin, separate ourselves from the world and all that is in the world, and socialize only with those who are like-minded. 

And my favorite group is those who say we should embrace the sinner, accepting their lifestyle and befriending them as they love to point out, "That's what Jesus did."

But did He?

What I remember about the stories of Jesus and His friendships is quite different from that. Don't get me wrong, Jesus loved the sinners. When He was "friendly" with the woman at the well, He spoke truth to her and changed her life. One conversation with Jesus converted an adulteress, sinful woman into a minister of the Gospel. She left Him and immediately began sharing the good news that the Messiah had come. 

And when He became the hero to the adulteress woman who was going to be stoned to death, with the words that He spoke, He set her free... "Woman, where are your accusers? Go and sin no more." I'm not sure that's the same thing as befriending/embracing/accepting the sinner. He told her to go and sin no more! He didn't tell her to go and carry on with her life as she had been living. He didn't ask her to go hang out at the coffee shop with Him or play a round of pool at the local pool hall. He showed her love by speaking truth to her. "Go and sin no more." 

And even Zacchaeus, the sinner who was so desperate to see the Christ that he climbed a tree to see over the crowd... when Jesus told him He was coming to his house, it was a momentary encounter that brought immediate repentance and salvation.

I think too of the disciples, how He disrupted their lives by telling them to lay their lives down, leave their occupations, their lifestyles, their families, and follow Him. He didn't just ask them to partner with Him. He asked them to lay their lives down and live life differently. He asked them to walk away from what they knew and were comfortable with and live a whole new way, His way. 

He didn't have to spend days, weeks, months, a lifetime with people who were deep in addiction, pursuing immorality, spiraling out of control, heading for destruction before He shared the Gospel with them and set them free. He didn't have to embrace them, accept their lifestyle, wine and dine them before He asked them to leave their sinful lives and follow Him. 

Maybe I'm amiss. Maybe I am way off base, but it seems to me that we make a lot of excuses about why lives aren't being changed, and it seems to me that we are either too cowardly or too complacent or too compromised to do what He has called us to do.

I'm tired of excuses. I'm tired of tiptoeing around the truth, trying to make it more palatable for those who are lost in sin. I'm frustrated. Frustrated that the encounters I have with the lost aren't life-changing. Frustrated that so many in the church are living in bondage to sin too. 

And I'm frustrated with those who know the truth but remain silent. 

I'm frustrated with myself. 

The Power of Words

Funny thing how we remember what people say about us, how we ponder those words, how we give them a place in our hearts, how we let those words effect how we feel about ourselves.

I was in the second grade when a neighbor boy called me a hippo. Everyday, as I stepped off the school bus, he was waiting to throw something at me, call me a name, and then run home to his mother who was waiting to open the screen door and rescue her little darling. His words usually weren't so bitter and cruel, but that day, "hippo" cut deep. So deep, in fact, I didn't chase after him. So, he came back for more, taunting me, like a mockingbird pesters a cat. Trying to ignore him, I continued to walk home with my peers until I reached the corner just in front of his house. Then for some reason, I stopped and stood there on a large stump of an old tree, and I listened to him sing a song about hippos.

And I cried.  

He was a pest. He was always a pest, a scrappy little guy, with a mouth as big as the sky, who spent the better part of his childhood stirring up trouble on our double culdesac. Looking back, I can see now that he was terribly lacking in the social skills department, and his daily ritual of calling me names and throwing things at me was his way of getting attention... maybe it was even his way of trying to make friends. Regardless of the reasoning behind his behavior, the issue is that I gave place to those vicious words. In fact, here I sit, some 38 years later, remembering his words and how they made me feel.

I wasn't a spoiled princess, a pampered child whose parents lavished praise upon her. I don't recall being told I was beautiful or smart or precious or valuable or special. I just believed I was. I never thought any differently, until the day I stood on the tree stump and learned I wasn't. 

And the war with my self esteem was waged.

Since that day, there have been a lot of words said about me, some of them good, and some of them not-so-good. In the last couple of years, I've been called the "B" word -- the five letter one -- more times than I can count, but I've also been called the nine letter "B" word, so it should all balance out. Yet, it doesn't. The hurtful words carry a sting that doesn't go away; they seem to reverberate, echoing internally and eternally. They cut so deep, leaving wounds that sometimes fester and spread; and even when we allow the wounds time to heal, the scars are there to serve as a reminder of the pain.

I wish I could say that the moment I stood on that old stump of a tree, I learned a lesson I would never forget, and that I have never hurled such ugly words at someone, that I have never been the pest with a mouth as big as the sky, that I have never said hurtful words with intent to wound and scar. But the fact is that I have. Like lava from a volcano, I have spewed words from my mouth that I wish I could suck back in, and while I have tried to make things right, somehow, apologies fall oh-so-short.

Because words have power. They have the power of life and death.

Think about it. God created the worlds with the spoken word. He spoke it, and it was. If then, we are created in His image, then what power do we possess in the words we whisper about others, about ourselves? In the words we spew in anger, in jealousy, in sarcasm, in vain? 

It has taken me all of my 45 years to realize that the words and opinions of man are not only limited to what their eyes can see, but also tainted by the eyes with which they see me. While their words still seem to sting a little more than I care to admit, I've learned that their words don't trump who His Word says that I am. Likewise, the thoughts that I think of myself don't trump the thoughts that He thinks of me. 

And to me that means I'm not a hippo or the five-letter-b-word, not even close.

Proverbs 18:21  Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof.

 

Choosing to Love (But it is totally NOT what I want to do)

I'm just going to be real. There are moments when I wish I could just take my Christianity off, set it to the side, and fight, fight dirty and ugly and not feel a twinge of guilt about it. I would do it all for the sake of defending someone I love, so instead of guilt, I would feel this sense of righteous indignation, a sense of loyalty and pride. I find it so easy to take on the offenses of others, especially those who won't fight for themselves. I am confident that I would be fabulous at fighting dirty because I think the meanest of thoughts and have the sharpest of tongues.

Honestly, sometimes, walking under the banner of Christianity is just so terribly difficult. Walking in love when I just want so badly to be unkind and hurtful feels like torture. Love is a struggle for me. It is sometimes impossible for me to hold my tongue, extinguish my opinion, and turn the other cheek, especially when it isn't my cheek that's being slapped, but the cheek of someone I love. I want to be like Peter, draw my sword and start swinging it. If I slice off an ear, so be it. I'm certainly not going to pick it up and re-attach it. And pray for those that hurt me or hurt the ones I love? Are you kidding me? Uh, no. That is not what I want to do... Well, pray for their destruction maybe.

But every time I think I might just break out and do it, I'm faced with the reality of who I am and who He's called me to be -- a peacemaker, a minister of hope and goodness, kind and gentle with patience, happiness, and joy, not easily offended, not an offender, and not someone who takes on the offenses of others, regardless of how much I love the one who is wounded. He's called me to love. Love my enemies, love the ones who spitefully use me, love the ones who hate me, and yes, even love those who hurt my friends and my family.

Then I remember why He's called us to walk in love. If for no other reason, that He would be glorified is reason enough. Oh that others will see love, authentic love, in me. If it means I bite my tongue until it bleeds and turn my cheek when it's stinging with pain; if it means I respond with kindness when what I really want to do is kick them in their shins, then I will choose to walk in love so that they can see a glimpse of Him. 

I just wish it wasn't such a difficult task.

John 13:34-35 A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another.  By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Matthew 5:43-45 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’  But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven; for He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.

Luke 6:27-28 “But I say to you who hear: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, and pray for those who spitefully use you.

1 Corinthians 13

Our Rex

This is Rex. He is an Anatolian Shepard mix. We rescued Rex from a kill shelter two days before his time was up. His sole responsibility in life is to keep the coyotes away. He lays out in the sun with his front paws crossed and lazily lifts his head when he happens to hear a curious noise. And if the noise is curious enough, he will ever so slowly stretch himself up on his feet, and leisurely make his way to investigate. More often than not, he simply lays his head down again and continues on with his slumber. He is perfectly content in his dream world. 

Well, that's the Rex that I see when he doesn't see me, but the moment I journey into the backyard, Rex becomes a bouncing ball of energy. He bounces and pounces with the energy of a five pound puppy. If I don't immediately greet him with a "Sit, Rex," and reach down to pet him, he will pounce on me and gently grab my hand with his mouth to get my full attention. If he sees the light in the bathroom come on at night, I can hear him at the window, waiting to greet me, because he knows I'm sure to call him by name and talk to him before I make my way to bed.

Sometimes as I'm just coasting through my routine life which at times seems so mundane and monotonous, I wonder how differently I would be living if I saw my Master step into my yard or heard His voice call my name. I wonder if I would leap up from the mountain of laundry I'm buried under, drop the cell phone, run from the computer and just pounce on Him, embracing Him with the strength of all that I have. Or would I even recognize Him? Would I know that it was his voice that was calling me by name? And then it occurs to me that just as I am watching Rex when he can't see me, so is my Master watching me. So I wonder, is He pleased with what He sees? Does He watch me in the midst of my routine and smile as I do when I watch Rex? Do I give Him things to smile about or is He shaking His head in disappointment because I'm so wrapped up in my own agenda or so consumed with the dark that I fail to notice the Light that He's turned on to get my attention? Are there times when I am in such a deep slumber that He calls my name because He wants to greet me and talk to me, but I never even hear Him?

I so desperately want Him to smile as He watches me, and I want my ears to be ever so ready to hear Him call my name. I want to be watching and waiting for Him to step into my yard and not be caught slumbering when He calls me by name.

John 10: 3b-5 ". . .and the sheep hear his voice: and he calleth his own sheep by name, and leadeth them out. And when he putteth forth his own sheep, he goeth before them, and the sheep follow him: for they know his voice. And a stranger will they not follow, but will flee from him: for they know not the voice of strangers."

Book Review 2: Don't Waste Your Life

One of my greatest fears is that I will come to the end of my life and realize that all that I have done has been in vain, and that I've wasted the time God has given me, wasted it on acquiring things, seeking temporary instant gratification, and experiencing pleasures in this life that are worthless in eternity. 

In the book, Don't Waste Your Life, John Piper addresses the wasted life. He sites a couple who retires at the ages of 51 and 59 to spend the rest of their lives boating, playing softball, and collecting shells. Piper tells the reader to imagine what judgement day will be like for that couple, when they stand before the Lord and say, "Look, Lord. See my shells." And he calls it tragic.

Piper spends a great deal of the text sharing his personal story which explains why he is determined not to waste his life, and how, as Christians, we can pursue the purpose and plan of God and experience true fulfillment and joy. He also cautions the reader that a life with passion isn't carefree and suffer free, that there will be trials and tribulations; there will be risk, great risk.

While parts of the book were difficult to plow through, there were some nuggets of wisdom that I found worthy of re-reading, notating for future reference, and meditating on, especially in the wake of the fresh beginning that every new year ushers in. 

If you are in need of a reality check, a refreshing of your perspective concerning eternal business, consider adding Don't Waste Your Life to your reading list, but be prepared to be convicted. Piper is clear about the Christian's role in this world which is to be in it not of it. He offers some candid questions that will help you evaluate whether you value the temporal things of this world or the eternal things of "home."