Resting in Belovedness

“May I invite you to drop the old names, come out from under the shame that tries to hinder your intimacy with God and others, and step onto the spacious path. Child of the living God, sing to the living God.”

--Tamara Hill Murphy in The Spacious Path: Practicing the Restful Way of Jesus in a Fragmented World

I wrote a couple months ago about shedding old coping mechanisms to live more intentionally and to walk in truth and today I’m going to write about another. This one has been a longer journey for me, with many iterations. But it ends with a tattoo. 

It began recently as it always does: with an awkward encounter with an acquaintance. 

In the past, I would have left the encounter and verbally berated myself about how weird and awkward I am, asking myself what was wrong with me. Looking back, I am sad about how cruel I was to myself - knowing that if someone else had said to me what I said to myself, it would be labeled abusive. I am happy to say I am past that, as that was a more obvious affront to God and His good work that is me.

But as I fought that old habit, it morphed into the thought that (and this is embarrassing to admit) “Wait until I lose weight, then they’ll want to be friends with me.” It was a mostly sub-conscious thought, but it somehow gave me (false) hope that someday I’d be better and more deserving of people’s love. As I was slowly convicted of loving myself as God’s image-bearer, I again realized that this was not a healthy thought and began to fight this one as well. 

Soon though, the thought turned into the more subtle “well, that was awkward but wait until (fill in the blank) happens” pattern. I had become more comfortable with my weight and physical self, but still wasn’t happy with just being me.

This pattern took me a while to suss out. I had shed the verbally abusive comments, the negative thoughts about my weight, but I still put my hope it a false idea that someday people would love me for my accomplishments. I was idolizing some false ideal to help with the pain and fear of just offering my true self, take it or leave it. But the Holy Spirit is faithful and even revealed this one to me after a while, and I believe it was to bring me right here, to this moment.

After the aforementioned awkward encounter the other day, I started mentally going through different ways I could prove to this person that I wasn’t actually a weird person. I can be fun! I am a good friend! I give good gifts! (Yes, these are literally the thoughts that ran through my head…) I thought of texts I could send or offers of favors I could make. When suddenly it hit me: I am already beloved. I don’t have to prove myself to people. They can just accept me for who I am: broken, fragile me. Because the good news is that I am already beloved.

I am already beloved!

It has taken me a long time to see what a restful truth this is. I can stop my striving to prove myself and rest in my belovedness. Because the truth is, I am a good friend. I can be fun. I do give good gifts! I am a good and beautiful Creation of the God of the universe. And most importantly, I was loved by Him even before I came to be. 

I absolutely love this quote from Tamara Hill Murphy in her book The Spacious Path: Practicing the Restful Way of Jesus in a Fragmented World:

Our parents name us at birth, and God gives us our forever name at the second birth of baptism. In baptism, we step into the water of death with Jesus and are raised with him, the beloved. Because belovedness begins in God, we do not name ourselves beloved; instead, we receive the name—the reality of ourselves, fully seen and loved by God—as a gift. We accept beloved as our name, and we accept ourselves as being loved. Our temptation is to live as if we are beloved without letting the truth sink down into the true state of our souls. We may believe God loves us, but we haven’t allowed that love to help us discover the truth about ourselves. Any rest we feel that doesn’t help us discover the truth about ourselves is a false rest. 

And oh! The rest and freedom that comes in truly believing that I am beloved. No more coping mechanisms after awkward encounters. Instead, I will snuggle into the truth of my belovedness. I’m so grateful that God calls me his beloved. And I’m grateful that my parents gave me the name that means beloved.

And that’s why I got a tattoo, to always remind myself of that truth and find rest. 

Good Friday Testimony

I recently had the privilege of sharing part of my testimony at our church’s Good Friday service. If you know me, this was way out of my comfort zone! But that is all part of the testimony of God’s work in my life. I decided to share what I wrote/shared on here, as well, in case it encourages anyone else. (The service had testimonies that corresponded to the seven last words of Jesus. I was assigned “I thirst”.)

I thirst.

I’m going to start off by reading an excerpt from a blog post I wrote in August of 2021. I often use my blog to try to put into words things that I’m learning or wrestle with the things I’m thinking about, so I feel like this post is a good starting point for what I want to talk about tonight.

______

The fear is a mountain, a living mountain with arms that reach out to me.

I know that the mountain can shrink over time. But it’s not the mountain that goes anywhere. It’s a mountain. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t get smaller. 

It’s just a matter of whether I stay in its shadow or not.

It’s a matter of whether I look at it or not. 

It’s a matter of whether I give it space in my thoughts or not. 

It’s a matter of me saying “God is good.” And then realizing if I really believe that, then fear can have no room in my heart. 

It’s a matter of me saying “Do I trust God or not?”

If the answer is yes, then I can’t even look at that mountain. I can’t even glance that way. My only response is to stare into the face of Jesus and never look away. 

The fear mountain is still there. It is a mountain of fear. A scary mountain with rampaging arms and gnashing teeth. 

But it’s getting easier not to look at it.

I am walking and the mountain that used to loom above me, completely obstructing my path, seems smaller now.

It’s walking with Jesus in the helpless moments that gave me the way around it, and I am slowly making my way towards him, away from the mountain. The mountain never shrinks, it’s just easier not to look at it all the time because I have taken steps away from it.

_____

This journey from fear towards freedom started a few years earlier when I was talking to our pastor about possibly leading a small group. I told him no, I’m not a group person, I don’t feel comfortable speaking up in groups, I prefer one-on-one. I remember the moment very clearly, because he sat back in his chair and sort of pointed at me and said “You can be set free of that.” I think it took me by surprise and I may have even been a bit insulted! I was thinking this is just who I am! I don’t need to be set free of anything! I’m fine, I just don’t like groups, it’s OK to prefer one-on-one!

But I think he must have heard the fear in me that day and I just couldn’t see it. I didn’t even know how trapped in fear and old wounds I was and that God was offering me something better.

But since that day, I have heard God’s invitation with that sentence so many times.

Fear of speaking in groups? “You can be set free of that.”
Self-loathing and insecurities? “You can be set free of that.”
Anxiety over health problems? “You can be set free of that.
Fear for your children and their future? “You can be set free of that.”
Fear of speaking in front of people? “You can be set free of that.” (That one is a work in progress! They all are actually.)

My eyes have slowly and gently been opened to all the ways that I was trapped, and even paralyzed, with fear and I didn’t even know it.

I wish I could say how it works. I think about that a lot. When I hear that invitation to freedom from God, how does it work then to actually make it happen? And I really don’t know. All I know is that I have to say “OK, I want the freedom that you’re offering” and then it happens, God takes care of the rest. Sometimes it’s like I have to cling to that “OK”, but clinging to an OK to God is still way better than being trapped in my wounding and fear.

When Jesus was on the cross and said “I thirst”, he was offered only sour wine. When I echo the Psalmist and say “My soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water” he offers me all of himself. He died for me so my thirst would be quenched and that I would be set free.

My church on Easter morning

He was pierced for [my] transgressions,
    he was crushed for [my] iniquity;
the punishment that brought me peace was on him,
    and by his wounds [I am] healed.

The journey away from fear is the long game and I am not totally out of its grasp, probably in ways I still don’t even know about it yet. But I do know that I am a better friend, wife, and mother now that I’ve been set free of so many things and I know that I want to keep being set free for the rest of my life.

I thirst.

The Hospitality of Jesus

This was a painting that I had painted with houses representing my three words, which I then tried to recreate digitally as seen here. I think it represents the topic of the hospitality of Jesus pretty well.

Occasionally I write about my work as a Director of Children’s Ministry for our church, but I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned our unique worship space. My Christian church meets every week in a Jewish synagogue. And not only that, we have an entire hallway in the building that is just ours, including 3 classrooms, office space, and a sanctuary. The space is perfect for us in more ways than just because the space suits our needs so well: it has also done more for my faith and my understanding of God’s love for us than I ever could have imagined.

One morning, early in our time there, I asked one of the synagogue volunteers if they minded having us there and treating it like it was our building, too. I was quickly assured - completely sincerely - that they love having us there sharing the space with them. I was then offered a tour of their sanctuary, which I had never seen at that point, because they keep it locked. It is very sacred for them, and I was honored to be offered the chance.

We walked upstairs and she unlocked all the doors on the way. I felt the sacredness of the moment and the space. My children were with me, so I was a bit worried that they wouldn’t show the place its proper respect. But I needn’t have worried. As we were shown each beautiful stained glass window, depicting Old Testament scenes, my kids were quick to name every story. I could tell that their knowledge of the stories brought joy to my tour guide’s face.

As I walked around looking at the windows, and ultimately, the ark with the scrolls, I had a brief moment of sadness. I found myself wishing that I had something this precious and old and beautiful to call my own.

That’s when it hit me: this is my heritage and these are my stories, too, because I have been adopted into the family of God. (Remember the old Sunday School song “Father Abraham”?) And instead of pushing me away and declining me this, the people of this synagogue had welcomed me (us!) into their building and their most sacred spaces. And in doing so, they revealed to me more of God’s character and love of His people than I had ever understood before. He is truly the God of love and hospitality and adoption.

My church was welcomed into a Jewish synagogue to worship as Christians and isn’t that the perfect picture of what Jesus did for us? He broke the barriers between God and people and allowed us to enter in to God’s presence and be adopted into His family. My heart swells at the beauty of this and the enormous gift it has been to me, my faith, and my church!

And I am eternally grateful for this Jewish Congregation for teaching me about God, love, and the hospitality of Jesus.

What of Salt?

You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. (Matthew 5:13-16)

These are familiar verses, but a recent conversation helped me to see them in a new way. The idea of light and darkness makes sense to us. We talk about the looming darkness all the time. We focus on the darkness, probably more than we should. So the idea of Jesus being the Light, of us being the light, makes sense. This poor, sad, dark world needs light.

But what of salt? Why do we care about being the “salt of the earth”?

In those days, salt was used more for the preservation of something than for just adding flavor. If we are called to be the “salt of the earth”, what then should we be preserving?

I’ve heard it said that this metaphor is about “good, Christian living”, about being faithful to Christ in the world, about preserving what is good. But I don’t think that’s completely true.

What if being salt was actually a question of remembering our identity? And perhaps helping other people recognize their identity, worth, and purpose as well.

In my life, I have been amazed that the closer I draw to Jesus, the more I want to be like Him, the more I submit to Him, the more I actually feel like my true self! It is one of the greatest mysteries to me of being a Christian: that I can work to emulate someone else, and in turn, become more me. What a gift to feel secure in my identity because of Jesus! Jesus is my salt: the preserver of my true identity. I want to be salt for others: to help them see who they really are in Him.

It’s interesting to me that salt doesn’t actually ever lose it’s saltiness. Then why would Jesus have said that? But if we think of salt as a question of identity - made in God’s image, made to be His children, loved by God - than that can absolutely never change, even whether you believe it or not.

But we can forget.

Or not even know it in the first place.

I don’t think that being the “salt of the earth” is about preserving some sort of Christian sub-culture. That interpretation of the metaphor is far too weak.

Our job as salt is to remind or show others that they are salt, too. Each and every person, whether they know Jesus or not, has been made in God’s image and is loved unconditionally by Him. That is what gives us hope and makes us worthy. That gives us purpose. That is our identity.

Salt and light working together help us to know each other and ourselves better. And most importantly, they point to the true and greatest Light, Creator, and the One in whom our identity is complete: Jesus.

Let’s Notice Together

I think about the book The Art of Noticing by Rob Walker a lot since reading it last year. The subtitle says it all: “131 Ways to Spark Creativity, Find Inspiration, and Discover Joy in the Everyday.” I loved the idea that how you notice and what you do with what you’ve noticed can all be an art form. And that is pretty much what the entire list is about: what people have decided to notice and how. I took some notes and had a few ideas for how I could replicate some in my own life, but none have come to much fruition. Still, I can’t get the book out of my head, because my biggest takeaway was just to take time to notice, well, anything!

For a while, I tried to notice anything odd, and even better, snap a picture of it. I chose “odd” rather than “beautiful” because oddities tell stories and make you curious. The first example that comes to mind is when I saw a motorcycle parked on the sidewalk outside the local library. Immediately questions came to mine and a story formed: Who parked it there? Were they in a hurry for a certain book? What book can make someone that hurried? Is there treasure I should know about? Scavenger hunt? Or maybe it was someone important? I have no idea, but to this day, I wonder!

On another day, I saw a orange traffic cone perched at the top of a tree. How did it get there? Did someone put it there? Was it an industrious squirrel? Or a giant?

These are fun examples, and I hope I can keep up this practice. But it’s actually not the point of this post. The point is that efforts to be present in my every day life, to “eliminate hurry”*, to practice noticing, are worth pursuing.

As a Christian, I actually think I have the same calling: to lift up my head and see life for what it really is. And if I use my lenses of “beauty, freedom, and abundance”, the results can be profound. I really love the idea that not only can noticing be an art form, it can also be a spiritual discipline. (I would argue that creating any art is actually a spiritual practice, which I’ve always known in my soul but have learned more practically from these art classes.)

So I will continue to notice oddities (there may be an occasional blog post), but also every season I want to pursue noticing different things that I set up beforehand, engaging many or all of my senses. For example, this fall, I want to notice anytime:

I see the colors of the trees.

I hear the sound of the leaves on the ground.

I smell and taste fall spices.

I feel soft blankets.

All these things come so naturally in autumn, and maybe that’s why I love this season. Maybe I’ve spent my whole life really noticing fall, and therefore finding the most joy this time of year. That’s good. That’s the whole point.

And it’s also good to start with an easy one!

Will you join me in taking notice, in the hopes that it will keep us really living in the present? What goals would you set for yourself to notice this season?

*This quote is from a chapter I read from the book The Life You’ve Always Wanted by John Ortberg.

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Blessed are those who Mourn

This post is a part 2 to what I wrote a couple days ago. I split the post in half, because the first part felt like it should be poetry. This post is mostly to tie up what I was saying, as well as highlight the words of the amazing Deacon at our church. May we all live by her words.

We make room for lament and grief in the church calendar during Lent, and it is the season that speaks to the depths of my soul. It is missing or overlooked too often in churches. We all know the time for rejoicing is coming - and has already come - but we need to take time to grieve now. 

Jesus models this for us so beautifully when he took time to weep for Lazarus. Why? Why did Jesus do this when He knew Lazarus would be alive again soon? Why is it even recorded in the Bible?

Because we are not meant to skip the weeping. It is part of the process of healing and abundant life. It is hard. But it is good.

Psalm 126:5-6 says,

May those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy.
Those who go out weeping,
bearing the seed for sowing,
shall come home with shouts of joy, carrying their sheaves.

My friend, the Reverend Jan Buchanan says about these verses, 

He does not tell us to stop weeping. We are not told to stop crying so we can get back to work (sowing). We are instructed to go out weeping – to keep doing kingdom work in whatever way our grief allows. The promise of coming back in with joy and with abundance (sheaves) is not dependent on us wiping our faces and getting ourselves together enough to work, but rather the promise is for those who, in their grieving, keep moving forward in the work God as called them to do, in whatever capacity our particular grief allows.

To that I say “Yes, and Amen”.

Mourn with those who Mourn

I wrote this after wondering why I do this to myself sometimes: I just let myself sit and cry, and the grief isn’t always my own. Sometimes I’m crying for friends or family who are hurting, I’m crying for the church, or the world. It feels like a heavy cost, and I wonder what is the payoff? And then I remembered God’s upside-down kingdom, and our prayer to “Let your kingdom come.” Something in me stirred and I realized these tears are kingdom work. I can’t explain it, but this is me trying.

I invite Grief in to sit with me and weep.

Alone, with no one to hear or see,

I cry with those in mourning,

For the oppressed,

And for the suffering.

I know this weeping is good work, 

But I don’t know why. 

I know it keeps my heart soft,

My eyes open, my ears listening.

I know Grief is a friend of mine.

But Grief is more than just for me.

Grief is a warrior.

One who fights for the suffering.

And when I invite Grief in,

I am a warrior, too.

When I sit with the grief of others

I am advancing the kingdom of God.

My tears are doing battle.

I am alone with Grief,

But I am doing the work of God.

I can’t explain it,

But I know it’s good. 

My friendship with Grief is a gift.

A gift I will willingly share with others,

Even though it costs me.

Even when they don’t know,

I share this gift with others

Because I have nothing else to give. 

My tears are the widow’s mite, 

An offering to God.

I invite Grief in to sit with me and weep.

Alone, with no one to hear or see.

I cry with those who suffer,

For those who are oppressed,

And for those who mourn.

An Abundance of Time

If you’ve been reading my blog or looking at my artwork recently, you will already know that the three words that I’ve been meditating on are beauty, freedom, and abundance. These are the three areas I have been trying to live into and see everywhere. And believe it or not, you can find these things everywhere, if you will just have eyes to see them. Sometimes “eyes to see” just means taking the time to look, sometimes it means shifting your perspective, sometimes it could even mean some serious self-care or mental healthcare. 

Today I want to talk about my path of seeing the abundance of God, and even how it relates it to my anxiety. This is just my story, and everyone will have a different story to tell. But I hope it can be an encouragement to someone.

I have heard that anxiety is your body being constantly ready for something to happen, even if there is no immediate threat! I feel this a lot when it comes to time or productivity. My natural inclination when I feel high anxiety is to just go with it and keep doing and doing and doing until I can cross off as many things as possible from my list. Logically, this should make me feel better, right? If I’m anxious about there being enough time to get everything done, then a few hours of high productivity should make me feel better! Unfortunately, that’s never how it works. 

I remember the exact moment it hit me that the opposite is actually true. I was starting to get that panicky feeling. It was getting late in the day and I was tired. I started to notice piles of stuff everywhere (that’s usually how it starts for me: noticing all there is to do). It suddenly feels like I am drowning and I will never be free, never get done, never be good enough. My impulse was to get to work and push through. But then it occurred to me that maybe I actually needed rest, instead.

Now, resting when I am feeling panicky or anxious is really hard! Taking deep breaths, putting on music, taking a walk, playing the piano, or even just sitting outside are all things that have helped me in those moments. Audiobooks help a lot, too. I don’t have it in me to read, but listening can be soothing.

My spiritual director helped me come up with a breath prayer for moments like these as well. I told her about a time earlier that week when I was telling myself “I just have to push through the rest of this day” when a very clear thought came into my head: God doesn’t want me living like this. Every moment is a gift, I don’t want to squander them by just “pushing through”. 

But the truth is, laundry still has to get done, dishes still have to be washed, children still have to be fed. And honestly, those moments won’t just stop coming. So the next time I feel that impulse, praying in the form of deep breaths:

Inhale: Lord, lift up my head

Exhale: To see your beauty

In taking a deep breath, I literally have to change my posture and actually lift up my head. But I am metaphorically changing my posture, too. I am asking for “eyes to see”, even in those hard moments. 

One of my goals this year was to do more things that have no purpose, or that don’t make sense on the outside. And with the aforementioned realization of needing rest instead of more work, it suddenly felt like this goal was the answer! Just taking the time when you feel like there is no time somehow multiplies the time! This is God’s economy at work, friends. This is abundance.

Rob Walker, in The Art of Noticing, claims that taking the time to notice our surroundings in different ways sparks creativity. I say absolutely yes, and so much more. Taking the time to do something different, or seemingly pointless, helps us see the abundance of God! Not just in our time (but that, too!) but in our world! 

And I have found that in making an effort to take that time, my anxiety about having enough time has lessened. 

Surrendering this to God has been hard, and breaking the patterns of 40 years of living is definitely going to be a process - one that I am doing imperfectly (and that’s OK!). I know God is continuing a good work in me and it’s bigger than I can put in this post. But I have been amazed at how much I have been set free in the surrendering, and how much more I can see of the beauty all around and the abundant life He promises.

This is a little infographic to help me remember that God’s economy looks different from ours. Somehow He multiplies where we hoard.

A Harvest of Abundance

I wrote a few weeks (maybe months?) ago about an art journaling class I am taking hosted by my friend, Farrell. In the process of taking this class, three words began to emerge as powerful and meaningful to me: beauty, freedom, and abundance. I’ve noticed how somehow those three words are showing up in every art journal page, so I decided to do a blog series featuring some of my pages, and just explaining my thought process of each.

This page’s assignment was to create a pumpkin, perfect for this time of year. I wanted to paint a teal, knobbly pumpkin with lots of texture. I used a stencil of grapes to make the texture you see all over the pumpkin.

Grapes have become a symbol of abundance for me. And harvest time really is a time of abundance, isn’t it? The harvest is coming in before the winter and all of a sudden it’s easy to see the abundance of food and life. But all too soon, winter sets in and our mindset of scarcity is back. In fact, I would say that most of our lives are lived out of scarcity. Sometimes I wonder if we actually prefer to live in scarcity: there’s always not enough time, not enough money, not enough space, not enough love.

But seeing the world with eyes of abundance is worth fighting for, and I believe it’s what God wants for us! I highly recommend this video by the Bible Project on Generosity. This is exactly what the video talks about: that scarcity is a mindset, and Jesus calls us to live differently.

In this pumpkin I wrote “a harvest of abundance” in the corner, because not only does a harvest imply abundance, but I also want to harvest a mindset of abundance in my life. It takes work; it takes a shift of my thoughts. But I know it’s worth it.

Beauty, Freedom, Abundance

These three words have been on my heart the past few months and I finally realized that this is how I want to see the world, with eyes that seek beauty, freedom, and abundance. I want them to be written on the frame in which I see every landscape, every sorrow, every joy, every face. But sometimes I need the reminder to actively seek these things, and not expect them to just come passing by.

Today I read in The Art of Noticing by Rob Walker that you should take a piece of plastic and point it at a scene. Then describe that scene with markers on the piece of plastic. Now shift the plastic to another scene and see how the words could possibly fit. I thought I can make that work with my three words as well!

So this is the scene I look at from my office, and these are the three things I want to seek in every place I look. It’s easy to see them here. But may I be the kind of person that can find these three things anywhere and then help to show them to others as well.

Musings on the Fear Mountain

The fear is like a mountain, only it’s like a living mountain with arms that reach out to me in my weaker moments. I think the mountain can shrink over time. In fact, if I’m reading the Bible correctly, I think that’s what happens eventually. The fear shrinks and shrinks and then disappears. I’m not sure if that ever happens completely this side of heaven, though. In my experience, limited though it is, the mountain never goes anywhere. It’s a mountain. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t get smaller. 

It’s just a matter of whether I look at it or not. 

It’s a matter of whether I give it space in my thoughts or not. 

It’s a matter of me saying “God is good.” And then realizing if I really believe that, then fear can have no room in my heart. 

It’s a matter of saying “Do I trust God or not?” If the answer is yes, then I cannot look at that mountain. I can’t even glance that way. My only response is to stare into the face of Jesus and never look away. 

Someone once asked me about the fear. I’m sorry to say that my response sounded callous. It is because I have realized that even talking about the fear gives it room in my heart sometimes. But later I revisited the conversation and said “I didn’t mean to sound callous. The fear you mentioned is heavy on my heart. But I just cannot give it room anymore.”

The fear is still there, and it’s a mountain. A mountain of fear. A scary mountain with rampaging arms and gnashing teeth. 

But it’s getting easier not to look at it.

Do I trust God or not? Even with the most precious things in my life, do I trust him? 

Before having children, “trusting in Jesus” was a completely abstract idea for me. I could say that I trusted Jesus, but I was never put to the test, so I’m not sure I actually did. I’m struck that in order to actually trust Jesus, I had to be left feeling completely helpless first. And if having children enter the world doesn’t do that to a parent, I don’t know what will. (I know it’s not just having children that teaches trust, that’s just how it worked for me.)

So do I trust God or not? Even with the most precious things in my life, do I trust him? 

That question has become my mantra. 

It never occurred to me before how much this sounded like Peter walking on water. He had to keep his eyes on Jesus or he would fall. And he did fall. 

I guess I should admit that sometimes I do glance over at the mountain. That is my fall. I imperfectly keep my eyes on Jesus. But I also can see how far I’ve come. 

Maybe that’s a better metaphor. Maybe I am walking and the mountain used to be looming above me, obstructing my path. But walking with Jesus in the helpless moments gave me the way around it, and I am slowly making my way towards him, away from the mountain. Maybe that’s why the mountain never shrinks, it just is easier not to look at it all the time because I have taken steps away from it. But it’s still there, and if I give it room, it can take up my whole heart again. 

I guess the metaphor falls apart here. 

Nevertheless, the fear is a mountain and it hasn’t gone away. But the question “Do I trust God or not?” has made all the difference. That simple, terrifying, surrendering question has made all the difference and I am a new person because of it. Because I can say that yes, I do. 

Reflections on Lament

“You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand there are pleasures forevermore.” Psalm 16:11

During Lent this year, our church* has been gathering together (via Zoom) to “practice lament”. This is an intimidating idea to most people: gathering with others with the sole purpose of being sad together. (Letting ourselves be sad when we’re alone is scary enough!) It sounds completely outside our comfort zones and honestly, maybe, rather pointless. Why should we just take time to be sad? And why magnify the sadness by hearing about everyone else’s?

But surprisingly that’s not what happens. The sadness doesn’t feel magnified. And suddenly we don’t feel so alone. 

I am not a pastor or a leader of these groups. I am a participant, and in speaking to other participants I’ve heard things like “I feel so heard”, “I feel so connected to the community”, “I feel hopeful and safe here.” To hear these statements, a year after the world fell apart, and during/after a gathering on lament, is absolutely profound. 

Our pastor often talks about lament being God’s good gift to us in our healing journey. “Lament”, as opposed to just “sadness”, is offering up our sadness to God. And I would add we offer up our sadness to God in expectation - we want to know what He is going to do about it! Sometimes we get an answer, sometimes we don’t. But it is the process, not the answer, that is important.

I can’t help but think of the Pixar movie, Inside Out.** Joy spends the whole movie trying to keep Sadness away from the control board of Riley’s mind. Riley is even commended for her positive outlook, even when things are hard. But in the end, it isn’t Joy who saves the day. Joy finally realizes that the only path to healing Riley is by letting Sadness do her job and take control for a little while. Only when Riley is finally able to express her Sadness, Joy can reenter the picture. And at the end, there is a beautiful picture of Joy and Sadness, hand-in-hand on the control board of Riley’s mind, as Riley snuggles her parents. 

What a stunning picture of Sadness and Joy, co-mingling in healing. The two often have to work together. There is no life without sadness because our world is broken. Unless we know how to find joy in and through sadness, we will have no hope.

We have to learn how to find the joy in the sadness. 

I am constantly reminded of this scene when I “practice lament” with others at my church.

But what’s even better is that we as Christians are not alone with our sadness. Not only do we have each other, we have a God who weeps with us. And as we lift our sadness up to God in lament, He meets us right where we are. 

So I am saying this to you and I am saying this to myself: please, please stop fearing sadness. It is scary to just let ourselves be sad, because what if it breaks us? What if we can’t ever be happy again? But offer your sadness to God and He will meet you in it. 

He came down to earth and experienced suffering first-hand. This is the week we remember Jesus’ journey to the cross, the ultimate in suffering and sacrifice. Meet Him in this suffering. Let yourselves be sad, offer it up as lament, and He will set you on the path of healing to acceptance, to abundance, to joy, and ultimately, the path to Life.

*Church of the Apostles, Bridgeport, CT. Most of what is written here is what I’ve learned there. Except with less Pixar.

**Why do Pixar movies always make it into my blog posts? Let’s pretend it’s because I work with children - but it’s actually just because I think they are phenomenal! And full of good, deep lessons on life!

Is Wealth a Actually a Curse?

In Sunday School we are studying Solomon, who really is a tragic hero (or maybe cautionary tale?) of the Bible. He had a lot to live up to in his father, King David, “a man after God’s own heart” (1 Samuel 13:14, Acts 13:22). In the beginning, there is such hope: Solomon is given the chance to ask God for anything and he asks God for wisdom - already a wise choice! No doubt a king needs wisdom almost more than anything! So God, as he does when someone asks for wisdom (James 1:5) gives it to him. Solomon, perhaps the wisest man in the Bible, or even all of history, writes several of the “wisdom books” of the Bible: Song of Songs, Ecclesiastes, and Proverbs. But then God does more, he gives Solomon wealth beyond imagining! So much so that the Queen of Sheba - a wealthy woman in her own right - is overwhelmed by his “wisdom and wealth”! (1 Kings 10:4-5)

A picture from our curriculum (The Gospel Project) of Solomon writing his Wisdom books

Sadly, though, the story takes a turn. Solomon strays from the Lord and starts worshiping other gods and His reign marks the end of the united nation of Israel. 

This is one of the hardest stories in the Bible for me. I look at Solomon and see so much hope and wisdom (and that was even before asking God for wisdom!). I wonder what went wrong. But I already know what went wrong and want to pretend that I don’t. Wealth. Wealth is where it all went wrong. 

There is no doubt that money corrupts and the love of money is the root of all evil (1 Timothy 6:10). You can see it running rampant in our society today, even among Christian leaders. We look at these pastors or speakers, who are gaining popularity and wealth, with so much hope. But then we are so disappointed when they fail or the truth they’ve been hiding comes out. But who is strong enough to carry the burden of wealth?

Ironically, Solomon himself seems to know that the pursuit of money and love of wealth can never satisfy. He even says in Ecclesiastes 5:10, “Whoever loves money never has enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with their income. This too is meaningless.” And this is just one of many verses from his wisdom books pertaining to wealth and greed. 

Some may say that Solomon’s downfall was his love of foreign women (or just women in general) and followed his lustful desires wherever they took him. But I would argue that wealth is what brought him there in the first place. Wealth leads to power, and power and wealth together lead to ruin and destruction. Again from 1 Timothy 6 (vs. 9, which immediately precedes the “love of money” verse quoted above), “Those who want to get rich fall into temptation and a trap and into many foolish and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction.”

So I ask myself, why did God do this to Solomon? Why give him so much wealth? I am sure most people who read this think “God was rewarding Solomon for asking for wisdom!” Indeed, even when I was a child, I remembering thinking, if God ever asks me what I want, I’ll say wisdom and hope he’ll give me wealth, too! Wealth looks like a blessing, but is it actually a curse?

This is a simplistic thought. Solomon’s sinful nature and lack of repentance led to his downfall. But wealth made it easier. It is something worth thinking about today and even asking ourselves. You see, when I said earlier that I didn’t want to acknowledge what I already knew, it’s because I see it in me as well. I likehaving money. I like buying, and shopping, and filling my home and heart with the clutter that money can buy. We treat this as a silly foible. But it should terrify us. Jesus said, “You cannot love both God and money.” (Matthew 6:24) And because of that, I am terrified. 

So I ask myself, and I’ll ask you, in our pursuit of wealth, are we pursuing something that will be a blessing or a curse? No one is strong enough to carry the “blessing” of wealth. So if you gain it, or have it, hold your hands open and ask him to take it and use it. And if you are pursuing it, stop. Pursue God instead. Don’t end up like Solomon and end up in ruin and destruction. Trust me, you are not strong enough to hold on to it yourself. I am not strong enough. Just look at Solomon, the wisest man in the world. 

“Command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain, but to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment.” 1 Timothy 6:17

Adding a note here at the bottom to address a few criticisms by my dear husband.

I perhaps did not emphasize that it is not wealth that is the root of all evil, but the love of wealth. The reason I didn’t distinguish these two is because I’m not sure they can be separated. I think it’s impossible to have wealth and not love it a just a little bit. This is what I see in myself (and maybe you’re a better person than I am, that’s fine) and this is what scares me. 

Next, he says, is that I’m asking people to do something that is logically inconsistent: if you love money, how can you hold your hands open and ask God to take it and use it? Well, he’s right, I should have said it this way: you can’t. You need Jesus to even get you to this place. And then you have to do it again every day until either you have victory in this area (which honestly you probably won’t, which is kinda the point of this post), or until you lose all your money, or until you die. But never give in to this struggle (or “logical inconsistency”) because then comes the ruin and destruction. 

And finally, it’s true, we don’t know exactly what led to Solomon’s destruction. The whole post is based on a supposition (hopefully one that doesn’t diminish the truth, though). But I think I’m right and it’s my blog. ☺️ 

Why doesn’t God just kill Satan?

“Why doesn’t God just kill Satan?”

It was another conversation in a car ride. It’s just inevitable. I put on music, I want to lose myself in my own thoughts, but the kids constantly drag me back to the now. And then drop questions on me like this.

“God, give me wisdom,” I think to myself. And I know he does. (James 1:5)

My five-year-old son is obsessed with superhero’s and the bad guys associated with them. In fact, I think there’s a small part of him that’s rooting for the snake in the Garden story! So when he asked this question, it wasn’t in a wistful “I-wish-God-would-just-finish-off-Satan-for-good” kinda way. It was a little more taunting, like “If God is so powerful, why doesn’t he just kill the bad guy?”

I understood this question. It’s one we all ask, isn’t it? Just maybe in a little more mature way: If God is so powerful and good, why is there pain? Why is there sin? Why do bad things happen to good people?

And believe me, I am not here to answer those questions! (Those are questions worth pondering, but I don’t think anyone has all the those answers. And that’s OK.)

By now, my daughter, the rule-follower, picked up the questions out of genuine curiosity and maybe concern. So I needed some sort of reply...

“Well, God will defeat Satan in the end,” I said, dropping some truth on them, while trying to stall for a good answer. “But in the meantime, if there was no sin in the world, there would be no way for us to choose God. Like in the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve knew and loved God, but they still had to choose every day not to eat the forbidden fruit. If they didn’t have that option, it wouldn’t have been a choice to obey God.”

Silence. 

“Do you know what I mean that we have to have a choice?”

Blank looks.

“OK, let’s say Audrey really likes a boy so she decides to make him a love potion. She gives him the love potion and he immediately falls in love with her. But it’s not real love, he didn’t really have a choice. It’s all because of the potion. Now Audrey, would you rather that person love you with the love potion or without?”

For a while there were just giggles and horrified looks at the thought of a boy liking her (or her liking a boy!), but finally she answered: “Without.”

“Why?” I asked. (Honestly this was the hardest part. I want to keep talking, to explain. But I was really trying to get them there on their own.)

“Because it’s not real if he’s had a potion. He doesn’t really have a choice to love me.”

“Exactly! So if God killed Satan and we lived with no sin, there would be no choice but to love and serve God! We would be more like robots than people with minds of our own.”

I think the conversation ended there, but my mind stayed on the topic for a while. I know that sin has consequences, and that is why there is so much pain in the world. But it is also amazing to me how God can even redeem sin and use it for his glory and our good. 

And it’s amazing to me that He shows up in these car rides, when I’m tired and even a little annoyed at all the questions. He still shows up, and the results are priceless.

Lifter of my Head

This is a name for God that feels life-saving to me.

It is for those whose body and soul are bent over, who are trudging through the mire, with tear stained faces, who carry heavy burdens, who are world weary. Those who are dragging one foot in front of the other, not knowing to where, never looking up. 

And suddenly He appears. His very presence washes away the mud that surrounds feet. He gently puts his hand under my chin. He lifts my weary head. He looks into my tear-stained eyes. And finally, finally, hope fills my heart.

He looked at me with love. He drew me out of many waters. He delighted in me. Indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.

And it all started when he lifted my head so I could keep my gaze on him. 

Psalm 3:3. Psalm 18:16, 19. Psalm 16:6.