Hosanna  --  Celebrating Because I Need Saving  (Palm Sunday Reflections)

I grew up in the church. I took part in pageants and reenactments of Bible stories. So I’m familiar with the word “Hosanna”. But I have to admit, my familiarity with the word did not necessarily mean I had an accurate understanding of the meaning of the word. I made assumptions. When we were kids, we would wave palm branches and shout “Hosanna” and we knew Palm Sunday represented a time of jubilance, celebration, and happiness. So I guess I always assumed that the word meant “Hallelujah” or “Praise”. Surely it had something to do with worship.

It was just a few years ago that I learned the literal meaning of the word “Hosanna” – it means save us now. Save us, God. NOW. Or if we are trying hard to be good, polite Christians, we might say “now, please.”

I was reminded of this translation again at church today. And it has me thinking. A lot. There is an urgency to the word “Hosanna”.  . .  “save me, God. But please don’t wait. Save me now.”

I want to live within the tension of that urgency. My salvation is secure and nothing can change that. By grace I have been saved through faith (Ephesians 2:8).   But every day aren’t there countless things that I need Him to save me from?

Mostly, I need saving from myself. I need saving from the me who, on the hard days, wants to just pull the covers over my head and stay in bed.

I need saving from the me who, on the good days, thinks “I’ve got this, God” and then goes on to live my life completely independent of His Voice, His Grace, and His Love.

I need saving from the voice in my head that says I’m not good enough, smart enough, Okay enough to be loved and valued.

  

I need saving from the part of me who stays in the shadows, unwilling to take risks, afraid of what other people are thinking.

I need saving from the part of me who is now worried that this post has become “all about me” and therefore will be judged as such by others.

I need saving from the me who thinks I don’t need saving. Truth is I am desperate to be saved. Not just in the eternal sense, although that is obviously of utmost importance. I need saving in the everyday sense. 

Maybe shouting Hosanna is the ultimate form of worship. It is announcing to the world and to ourselves how utterly dependent we are on Him saving us.  Every. Single. Day.

 I need saving now.  Hosanna, Jesus. Save me. Save me now.

Please.

(see, this good, people-pleasing girl just couldn’t resist putting that last please in. It’s okay. He understands.)

Safe or Not?

Safe or Not?

Sometimes I feel like I have the best of both worlds. I LOVE being a Mom, and everything that goes along with it. I love going to volleyball games and choir concerts. I love being the one she wants to come to when she is giddy with excitement or devastated by a loss (I don't love the loss part, just the "being the one she wants to come to" part). I love taking her to school in the mornings. I’m pretty sure we have had our best conversations in the car. There have been times when we have come pretty close to solving many of the world’s problems while sitting at stoplights or in the parking lot that masquerades as a “freeway”.   At other times,  we’re both in pensive sort of moods and we just enjoy listening to music together.  I love being able to pray both with her and for her about what the day holds. I wouldn’t trade those times in the car for anything. 

When John’s schedule allowed him to start sharing the morning drive-to-school time with me, I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to give that precious time up.  Allison is almost 15 and I am painfully aware of how short the time is until she will be asking for the car keys instead of getting in on the passenger side.  But, I am reluctantly learning to let her Dad share in that time with her.  And I have managed to find ways to use those few extra minutes in the morning after I send them off with a hug.

Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I actually go back to bed. I have even been known to get completely ready for work, including putting my shoes on,  and then I crawl back under the covers. Fully dressed and ready, I know I can sleep until two minutes before I have to walk out the door.  I usually jolt awake just at the right time, smooth out my clothes, brush my hair, and somehow feel like I have gotten away with something decadent. (I know, if that is what I consider decadent, I lead a very simple life.)

On other mornings, the ones following a better night’s sleep, I use this  time to check in on Facebook. This option has its own little routine attached to it. A can of Diet Coke moves from the fridge to the freezer. After about eight to ten minutes, it is at the perfect point of icy coldness. Some caffeine lovers look forward to the sound of their coffee percolating in the mornings. For me, it is the sound of that metal pop-top flipping open that says “today just might turn out okay after all.” I carry my slightly frozen treasure into the office and sit down at the computer.

There are several reasons why I enjoy checking in on Facebook first thing in the morning. Several special friends post Bible verses almost every morning and I can usually find words of encouragement and joy there. Also, I’m pretty sure that’s the time of day when my favorite author/”friend-who-I’ve-never met”, John Lynch, usually posts.  His writings almost always make me cry because they speak of God’s grace in ways that I am just now, at the age of 51, learning to breathe in. Sometimes his whimsical descriptions of things make me laugh. You can read his musings for yourself at www.truefaced.com.

So on a morning not too long ago, I was excited to see a post from him. And I was even more excited when, upon glancing at it, I noticed that he was quoting one of my favorite passages from C.S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  In this excerpt, the young girl Lucy is asking about Aslan the lion, who represents Christ.

 "Is he—quite safe?" she asks.

 "Safe?" said Mr. Beaver.  "Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good.”

 (Chapter 8 of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe)

 

After quoting this passage, John Lynch goes on to say that he has always liked this quote, but now is finding it doesn’t feel right.  Because the Jesus He knows is always, ultimately safe.

At the risk of sounding a little bit dramatic, my world felt slightly shaken. I have loved that passage since the day I first read it and have even used it when telling “my story”.   But there was a part of me that also resonated with what John was saying.

So I began to wrestle with this.  Is God safe or not?  He must be one or the other, right?

I, like John, have found Jesus to be so very safe. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that He is always protecting, always loving, always nurturing. Always.  When the Bible describes Him as a refuge, a strongtower, a shelter, a shield . . . those aren’t just words to me. I have experienced Him that way. That is who I know Him to be, beyond a shadow of a doubt.  And there is never a time when He is not those things. Never a time when He is not safe.  So why do C.S. Lewis’s words, “Course He isn’t safe, but He’s good”, resonate so deeply with me?

I think it is because, I have to admit, there are times when Jesus doesn’t feel safe to me. And not just in the sense that we live in an unsafe, fallen world. Sometimes the very things He seems to be calling me toward feel unsafe. Sometimes I actually hear myself saying to Him:  “Are you kidding me with this?”  Jesus asked Peter to step out of a boat onto a raging sea. Yes, Jesus was ultimately safe, and it was the sea and the storm that were unsafe, but it was Jesus who was calling Him out into that, right? How safe is that?

Most recently, this “unsafeness” (not a real word, I know) has manifested itself in my life in my husband’s health issues . . . a diagnosis with an uncertain, possibly scary, future. This diagnosis doesn’t change my love for my husband, but, I must admit, it makes me want to put brick walls up around my heart. “Maybe it won’t hurt so badly if I just protect myself a little bit.” But Jesus, the safe yet unsafe One, is asking me to love like I never have before, recklessly. To open my heart up even more, knowing there is risk, knowing it will hurt, knowing the future is uncertain and may not be pretty.  I must admit, it’s not feeling very safe.

It’s kind of reminding me of a time a few years ago when Allison was twelve. She had signed up for a beginning guitar class and was doing quite well. Well enough, in fact, that the teacher asked her to come to a “gig” at a restaurant and play and sing a Taylor Swift song. (Hmm. . . a twelve year old girl in a guitar class so of course it was going to be Taylor Swift, right?)  Allison was very excited and agreed wholeheartedly. That was Wednesday. The gig was Saturday. Plenty of time to practice . . . or . . . plenty of time to get cold feet. Saturday arrived and Allison suddenly began begging, pleading, and cajoling me to allow her to back out of her commitment. She didn’t want to go. She was afraid. I told her she had to go because she had committed to it. Then the tears came. Real, heartfelt tears. The kind that break a Mom’s heart.  The begging continued. I probably would have been tempted to give in and let her stay home,  except for the fact that a few months earlier, she had signed up for a school talent show and ended up backing out of it at the last minute after some stupid kid told her she couldn’t sing. (Sorry, but when you’re a Mom, and someone hurts your kid, you’re allowed to refer to them as “stupid”.  Ask any Mom.)  I was really concerned that letting her back out again would become kind of a self-perpetuating cycle of letting her fears get the best of her. I knew this cycle too well from my own experience. So I stuck to my guns and told her she had to go to the performance and she had to sing and that I would be there and I was sure it would be fine.

It was a really quiet ride to the restaurant. I am sure Allison was not seeing me as a safe person at that point. And I really wasn’t safe. I was asking her to get out of the boat and into the storm. And neither of us could be sure what the outcome would be.

While she was waiting to perform, I did my own version of begging. I pleaded with God to let it go well. I could picture my daughter, if it didn’t go well, sitting on a therapist’s couch ten years from now saying, “My life was pretty good until my Mom made me perform when I didn’t want to. Then all hell broke loose.” But somewhere deep down I knew that no matter how the performance went, we would be okay. We would have a safe place to land. Is it possible I was experiencing Jesus as both safe and unsafe simultaneously?

Well, the performance went better than we could have imagined, and Allison has gone on to perform in many gigs at restaurants, fairs, and on a cable television show.  Recently,  she is focusing more on worship than on Taylor Swift, and she is helping to lead worship in several different areas.  To watch her is to witness someone who appears to have found her calling at a relatively young age. The girl worships with abandon. And she draws others into God’s presence along with her.

I do not want to take credit for this recent development in any way, shape or form, but I do wonder how differently the path might have looked  if I had allowed her to give in to that early case of “stagefright”.   If I had played the role of “safe parent”, she might never have gotten out of the boat.

We all face situations that feel unsafe. And often it is God Himself who is calling us out further into that unsafe place.  For my family right now it is medical uncertainties and all of the implications that go along with that. I used to, when faced with things that felt “unsafe”, spend a lot of time contemplating whether God caused the situation, or allowed the situation, or had nothing to do with the situation.I thought that understanding which of those was true might help me cope with things more effectively.  Honestly, I don’t have the mental or emotional energy for that kind of pondering anymore.  And far greater minds than mine have wrestled with these questions and come up lacking.

But this I do know:  the same God who called Peter out of the boat into the unsafe storm, also leads His children beside calm, still waters and quiet, green pastures. And He promises a peace beyond human understanding. So the storms can rage, and the mountains can crumble, but we will always be held safely in the palm of His hand. No matter what.

Perhaps He can be both unsafe and safe in the best possible ways. And perhaps that is enough.

 

Messy Midlife Crisis, Eternity in My heart, or a Little of Both?

I knew it had been a long time since I blogged . . .but when I logged on and saw it had been over a year . . . really?? I had no idea it had been that long. It actually took me awhile to remember how to log in to post a new entry. The main reason I haven't posted for so long . . . truthfully . . . is I have felt a bit of a mess lately. You know, those periods of time when you can't make sense of your own thoughts or emotions, let alone share them with someone else? But the other day I was going back and reading old posts by one of my favorite authors/bloggers, Ann Voskamp (www.aholyexperience.com) and read this:  "This is what I blog. Because this is who I am. I am a mess – who often doesn’t want to get out of bed.  Who struggles and preaches ugly self-sermons to herself and some days just really doesn’t know how to go on. I don’t have it all together. I blog about not having it all together. And you know what? I’m almost willing to hazard a guess that there are a whole lot of others out there like me who are a bit of a mess and who don’t know how to get out of bed some mornings and who have to fight. Hard. For. Joy." (Oct. 23, 2012)
So I decided to just go ahead and write.
If you are still reading, would you make me a promise? Will you read this entry to the end? Because my biggest fear right now is that you will get halfway through and think "This girl is way too depressing. How quickly can I press that little "x" box that will get me out of here?" And if you do that, I will be really, really sad.  (okay, I won't even know that you did that, so it's not true that I will be really sad, but you will have missed my point if you stop halfway, and I really don't want that to happen). So if we have an agreement that you will read until the end, then you can continue reading . . . :-) . . . here it is . . . my own personal "mess" and the sense I have made of it so far . . .
I'm pretty sure I might be having a midlife crisis. I haven't gone out and bought a new sports car, or scheduled a facelift. My crisis is more internal . . . you see, I've been thinking a lot about death. There, I said it out loud. Well, actually, I wrote it, which is the same as saying it out loud. . . or maybe worse. . . anyway . . .
I envision some of you wanting to stop reading now. Perhaps even deciding, subconsciously, not to ever go to lunch with me again, at least until I'm over this little preoccupation.  And that's why I haven't written about it before now. But it has gotten to the point where I can't not write about it. (does that mean I'm actually becoming a real writer?)
As I reflected back on where this preoccupation began or was coming from, I thought back to one of the first psychology classes I ever took. The teacher had us take a bunch of personality tests and quizzes, and one of them was Hans Selye's stress scale.  You may be familiar with it -- you are given a long list of life events each assigned a point value based on how stressful they are perceived to be. You end up with a final total that gives you a numerical idea of how stressed you are.
I decided to evaluate the last 18 months or so of my life in light of specific events I have experienced. Here are some of the things I came up with -- some are wholly positive, some wholly negative, and some a mixture.  (This may seem slightly self-indulgent -- but bear with me, I do have a point. And remember, I'm having a midlife crisis, so if you stop reading now, I may cry, throw something, or go ahead and schedule that facelift.)
          1.  January 2012 -- I turn 50 years old.  Enough said.
(by the way, somewhere around my 50th birthday, I told my husband I thought I might be having a midlife crisis and his loving reply was "Well, technically, you're already past midlife." Gotta love a good reality check.)
          2.  May 2012 -- Our only daughter graduates from junior high. Not a big deal for some families.  For us it was big. She had attended the same small school from Kindergarten through 8th grade and literally grew up with the same group of kids, families, and teachers. Graduation meant many good-byes for her and for us, and the closing of a chapter of our lives.
               2a.  The decision of where she would attend high school was not clearcut.  There was some significant stress involved in thinking through and praying through where the best place for her would be. God has proven incredibly faithful in guiding us in this area.
           3.  June/July 2012 -- my husband underwent extensive testing for a rare muscular disorder and the diagnosis was confirmed. I camped out in denial for quite awhile . . . and I must admit I still visit my campsite there every once in awhile when things get a little too hard.   
          4.  Feb./March 2013 -- my Mom moved to a beautiful retirement community. We are in the process of going through belongings and memories in the house where we grew up and where she lived for over 40 years.
          5.  Feb./March 2013 -- my dear friend Wendie was diagnosed with cancer and began treatment. She is one of those friends who you can go months without talking to, and then the second you hear her voice, it is like no time has passed at all. She called to tell me she had undergone a hysterectomy and was getting ready to schedule chemotherapy and radiation. She has three young children. I told her "If you need me to come and help you, there is no place I would rather be." I meant it.
                     5a.  On my way to the airport to spend a week with Wendie and her family, I realized that I have developed a pretty significant fear of flying. I started telling my husband that maybe I shouldn't get on the plane, maybe I am not supposed to go. He calmly tells me that I am supposed to go and that I need to get on the plane. While sitting waiting to board the plane, I came pretty close to having a complete panic attack. More about that a little later . . .
          6.  March 2013 -- my brother-in-law undergoes surgery. A call on a Monday night informed us the surgery went well.  On Wednesday morning of that week, there is a message on our machine from his daughter that says "It doesn't look good." My husband leaves work to go to the hospital . . . Tim is unconscious before John gets there and he passed away a few hours later. Tim suffered from the same genetic disease that John has been diagnosed with. He had several other significant health issues that John does not have, so at this point, it seems that those difficulties played more of a role than the disease itself. This may be the complete truth, or it may be complete denial on my part, or it may be a mixture of both. In any event, it is my way of surviving and I think I may be entitled to a little denial if it helps me keep going. (Sorry if that sounds dramatic . . . )
          I went to my writers' group the night Tim died. I knew things did not look good at that point but had not yet learned of his passing. Every week, we are asked to journal about the topic of the sermon from the previous Sunday.  This week's topic was about dreaming. When I had listened to the sermon the Sunday before, I had been inspired . . . dreaming big dreams for God . . .it all sounded good and hopeful and happy.
          But that had been before this last blow. Now things felt hard. And I found myself dwelling on things like disease, death, pain, goodbyes. And, honestly, I kind of wanted to shake my fist at God and ask Him "How dare You ask me to dream when there is all this mess going on?"  I wrote in my journal:  "My heart doesn't feel much like dreaming tonight. Too much heaviness around me, too much sadness, too much pain . . . Dream, you say? Sorry but I am finding that difficult."
          Then I turned my thoughts to My Father. He is always as close as the air I breathe, even when I am shaking my fist at Him. I wrote: "God, You became a man and walked this earth. You know what it is like to feel Your heart breaking, to watch loved ones suffer. To see pain almost everywhere You turn. But I believe You are a dreamer. So show me how to continue to dream. How did You do it?"
           I heard Him nudge me. "Start writing down reasons why you can still continue to dream.  Just start writing. You can find reasons if you look for them."
(One of my current favorite worship songs is Matt Redman's 10,000 Reasons. One of the lines says "For all Your goodness, I will keep on singing . . . 10,000 reasons for my heart to find."  I have been intrigued by the idea that reasons to be grateful and dream do not always just jump out at us . . . . sometimes we have to search for them.)
         So I began to search my heart and mind for reasons to continue to dream. Here is what I came up with . . .
      --  I can dream because I know my Father's heart is always good and always loving.  He holds my future in His hands.
     --  I can dream because I have a beautiful 14 year old daughter who is a dreamer herself. She has a gleam in her eye and a brightness in her voice whenever she talks about her future. She needs me to keep dreaming too.
     --  I can dream because I know ultimately, there is a Home we are headed toward where there are no more tears, no more pain, no more disease, no more sucky phone calls, and no more sorrow.      no. more.
     --  I can dream because I know the Author of this story.  And I know He wins. And I know He brings good out of everything.
         You see, if I choose to focus on what is wrong and difficult and painful in this world, I can easily, very easily, get stuck there. When I was trembling with fear that my plane was going to crash, I was thinking about all the things that could go wrong:  the engines could fail, there might be a terrorist on board (because L.A. to Denver IS one of those frequently traveled terrorist routes), there could be a blinding snowstorm, etc. etc. etc.  At some point in the midst of my panicking, I realized this one thing:  God has already determined the exact number of my days. If I had chosen, out of fear, not to get on that plane, but it had been my time to go, I would have gotten hit by a car or dropped dead of a heart attack. And if it wasn't my time to go, there was no way there was going to be engine failure, or a terrorist on board, or any of the other crazy scenarios that my mind was rehearsing at the time. He is in complete control over how long each of us is going to live here on this earth. And it is the EXACT right number of years or days, no matter how it might appear from our perspective. How comforting is that?
          So maybe this preoccupation with death isn't such a bad thing. Because in addition to giving me a new glimpse of His sovereignty, it is also teaching me how precious each day is. What a gift this life is. I don't want to miss anything . . .
          And don't get me wrong, I intend to live at least another 30 or 40 years. But whether I die tomorrow, or end up holding a world record for longevity, I want to be ready . . . ready to live and to grasp each wonderful moment . . . and when He does call my name, I want to run to His arms, and sit at His feet and gaze forever into the face of the One who has captured my heart, redeemed my life, and made every moment worthwhile.

Trusting Him with every tomorrow,

Lauren

"He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end."  Ecclesiastes 3:11

"Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom."  Psalm 90:12

 

         

Questions

"What are you living your life for?"  This question was posed to us in church this week and I have to admit I don't have an easy answer to it. My pastor didn't have an easy answer either . . . that's one of the things I think I most appreciate about my pastor.
So, anyway, what am I living my life for? I can come up with several different answers depending on how I phrase the question.
What should I be living my life for? God, of course.
What gets me out of bed in the morning? I know my kid needs me.
What takes up most of my time? Endless, often mindless, details of life.
What do I want to live my life for?  I want to live my life for Jesus and to reflect His beauty and His glory. But I have been a Christian long enough to know that sometimes it is easy to just parrot back the  "correct" answers so that everyone will believe that my life is on the right track and I am appropriately spiritual.
Yes, I will admit I want to have the right answers whenever questions are posed to me. Especially if they are spiritual questions. As if I can somehow prove my salvation by answering someone's questions correctly.
And yet . . . questions like these can be important. Questions from someone who loves us, questions that see into our hearts . . .
We don't have to read far into the Bible to see God's first questions. I read about them a few weeks ago. . . which leads me to a confession. . . I wanted to read through the Bible this year. I have wanted to before; in fact, I have before. But I fear I may have done it in the past out of some desire to make God more pleased with me. This year, I wanted to read it all the way through, through what author John Lynch calls "the lens of grace".  Well, it is March. Guess where I am? Genesis 3. Yep, the year is almost 1/4 over, and I am in the third chapter of the first book.
Now, of course, I could rush to tell you that I do other reading too, through Bible Study, devotionals, etc. But even if I had only read those 3 chapters so far this year, I would be okay with that. Because I am pondering those chapters. I am letting those words sink in. I am seeking to hear my Father's heart toward me. And I am finding it in Genesis 3.
****Disclaimer****:  I am not a theologian. I do not know, speak, read, or write Hebrew. I have not read a bazillion commentaries on this passage. These are simply the reflections of my heart. If you choose to critique them, please tread lightly.
God poses His first question of mankind in Genesis 3. He asks Adam "Have you eaten from the tree whose fruit I commanded you not to eat"? Shortly thereafter, He asks Eve "What have you done?"
Something hit me about those questions this time through. In my years of teaching parenting classes to foster parents, one thing we always told them was "Do not ask your children questions that begin with the word 'Why'." Why questions immediately put children on the defensive and can cut off further communication. So I found it interesting that God didn't ask "Why" questions here. At least in the translation I was reading. (see Disclaimer above).  He asks "Have you eaten . . ." and "What have you done?"  I wonder if His questions are designed to draw them into conversation, to invite them to share their hearts with Him, to bring them out of their hiding and restore their relationship with Him?
Reading further in this passage, I find that God doesn't ask the serpent any questions. The serpent was acting in a way that was congruent with his character. The Enemy desires to rob, kill, and destroy (John 10:10). But Adam and Eve . . . God created them for so much more. For relationship, for companionship, for life. And so, rather than just pronouncing judgment on them as He does with the serpent, He asks questions first. It is as if He is saying "You were made for so much more than this. Don't hide. Don't make futile attempts to cover yourselves. Don't run. Talk with Me. I am here. I understand."
I believe any question God would ever ask is designed to invite us into deeper, fuller relationship with Him.
So, when the question is posed: "What are you living your life for?", I know. I am living to follow Jesus, closer and closer every day. I know following Jesus means dying to myself. I used to think that meant obliterating every part of myself -- that I should have no opinions, no original thoughts, no personality. But maybe . . . just maybe . . . dying to myself mostly means dying to my pretend self . . the one where I put on masks and pretend everything is okay and happy and perfect because I am living my life for Jesus. The one that knows all the "right" answers to all the questions.
Maybe it means dying to that pretend self and allowing God, who created me to be me, to resurrect the real me, the true me, even the messy me. You know her . . . sometimes she snaps at her husband for no apparent reason. Oftentimes she doesn't get up early enough to have a "quiet time". But Jesus is changing her heart, nevertheless, day to day.
So maybe I can allow Him to reflect His glory, not in spite of me, but because of me. Those of us who struggle with issues like insecurity have learned to say "oh, yes, God can use me in spite of myself." BUT maybe He can use me because of myself. I was His idea. I was born in His heart. This is a truth that I try to impart daily to my daughter and pray she believes. Maybe it is time I believe it for myself.

So, what am I living for? To become more real, more transparent, more fully alive  . . . more of the person He created me to be, to reflect His glory in me. His glory in me . . . that is what makes all the difference.
Choosing a jubilant life,
Lauren

I'm back . . . and I'm a little angry!

     It has been several months since I last blogged.  Of course, all the normal excuses apply:  life got so busy once school started, there are so many other projects to be worked on, etc., etc.  But the truth is I have let the old thought patterns have free reign again – the ones that tell me that God’s promises of freedom and abundant life somehow don’t apply to me.  And if they don’t apply to me, how dare I write about them?  I would get a nudge to write.  But there would be a whisper that said “Nobody is really interested in what you have to say.”  I would try to fight the whisper and follow the gentle nudge to write what is on my heart.    But the whisper grows louder:  “No one will notice.  You can let your blog just die quietly.” 

     So days go by and I don’t write.  Worse than not writing, though, is that I start to forget . . . . I  forget how desperately I want to live freely and abundantly.  I forget that this is my Year of Jubilee.  I forget that my Savior loves me and woos me and invites me to dance.

     Forget really isn’t the right word though.  I can’t forget what He has promised me and how real that felt a few short months ago.  But I bury it.  I bury it because I am afraid. What if I decide I’m “all in” and nothing changes?  What if I talk openly and transparently about wanting to be free of these chains and still remain imprisoned by them?  WHAT IF . . . God doesn’t show up like I am trusting Him to in my own tremulous way?

     How much of my life I have spent in fear about the “what ifs”.  Fear that God’s promises don’t apply to me.  Fear that I am just “too unworthy”.  Fear that God is not going to show up.  When the reality is I don’t even need to ask Him to show up.  He is here, as close as the air I breathe.  He didn’t leave me when things got hard, He didn’t turn His head in disgust when I messed up.  If anything, He has held on tighter during those times. 

     I know this is true . . . so here is where the anger comes in.  Why do I let my fears and insecurities, which I know to be untrue, overshadow God’s promises, which I know to be true?  My conclusion:  I have a very real Enemy who is very much alive and wants to rob me of my security, my joy, and the abundant life God wants me to live.  “A thief is only here to steal and kill and destroy.  I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of.”  (John 10:10, The Message).  I am not usually one to talk a lot about Satan, or to blame things on Satan.  But this internal battle I am fighting is strong enough and intense enough that I can’t come to any other conclusion.

     You see, he can’t rob me of my salvation. He knows that.  So what’s the next best thing?  He can keep me ineffective, paralyzed, and incapacitated by fear and insecurity.

     This began to come more to light for me in recent weeks as we were challenged in church to fast from something for a 5 week period leading up to Thanksgiving.  A couple things crossed my mind. . . I could fast from Diet Coke . . . but those headaches would be killer and I don’t want to be cranky and miserable.  (And I could quit Diet Coke anytime I wanted to.  . . really I could).  I could fast from Facebook . . . but that is my only way of staying in touch with some of my friends.  (And I could quit Facebook anytime I wanted to . . . really I could.)  Nothing I considered fasting from seemed meaningful to me.  Until I felt God nudging me.  “Fast from your negative, condemning thoughts.”

     “Oh yeah, God, that’s a real sacrifice. Do you realize how crazy people will think I am if I say I’m fasting from criticizing myself?  That doesn’t even make sense.”

     I was pretty sure I was hearing wrong.

     Until I realized how pervasive these thoughts had become.  How they interfere with my ability to relate to God and others authentically and transparently.  How comfortable, believe it or not, these thought patterns had become for me.  And what hard work, and, yes, sacrifice, it would take for me to battle them.

     So, I began writing Scripture verses on index cards that I keep with me throughout the day.  And when I catch myself with a fearful, negative, critical, or worrisome thought, I grab my index cards and hear God whisper to me.  (I have paraphrased some of them so that they are God speaking directly.)

     “I will keep you in perfect peace because you trust in Me.”  Isaiah 26:2

     “I broke the yoke of slavery from your neck so you can walk with your head held high.”  Leviticus 26:13

     “I will not abandon you and I will never forget you.”  Deuteronomy 4:31

     As you might imagine, my battle has intensified the more I actively try to fight the lies of the Enemy.  Sometimes I want so desperately to just “get by” and not rock the boat.  I didn’t know it was going to be such a hard fight.

     While driving home the other night, I was feeling particularly discouraged.  I was tired, physically and emotionally.  My prayers had felt kind of empty lately.  God felt distant.  Tears welled up as I began to pour my heart out to the One who knows me best.

     “God, things just feel so hard right now.  I know that you are calling me to walk away from my fearful way of living.  I know that freedom doesn’t come easy.  But I get so tired.”

     Somewhere along the way, I stopped talking to God and began directing my comments to Satan (Oh, please don’t think I’m crazy as you read this.)  I’m not sure why.  Like I said, I’m not the type to usually pay him much attention.  But I found myself telling him that I was not going to give him another minute of my life.  That he could go after me all he wanted, but that I was secure in my Father’s love for me.  That I had seen him try to go after my daughter in the area of insecurity and that it would be over my dead body that he gets a foothold in her life.

     When there seemed to be no more words to be said, I knew what I needed to do.  I pulled out my index cards, already rough-edged and a little tattered, and began reading Truth.  Truth about me and Truth about my God.  (Don’t worry, I had pulled over at this point.)

“I have not given you a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love, and of self-discipline.”  II Timothy 1:7

“God can do anything – far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams!  He does it not by pushing us around but by working with us, His Spirit, deeply and gently within us.”  Ephesians 3:20-21, the Message

     When I was ready to get back on the road, I was still tired.  Still a little discouraged.  Nothing magical had happened.  But I felt the teeniest twinge of . . . . what is this unfamiliar and strange sensation?  Could it be hope?

     I don’t know what you are battling right now, but I do know we all have a battle to fight.  Mine is currently with fear and insecurity.  Yours might be with a relationship struggle, a physical illness, grief, or pride, or countless things in life that tend to throw us a curve ball.  Whatever your battle is, know that I am side-by-side with you in the fight.  God intends for us to live fully and freely in His love and grace.   I intend to get to the place where I can do that without reservation.  I may have a few bumps, bruises, and scars when I get there, but I will get there.

Choosing a Jubilant Life one minute at a time,

Lauren

Fear Cripples; Love frees

Fear . . . perhaps it is going to be my biggest obstacle to overcome during this year of Jubilee.  It has been my constant companion for so long.  Usually it's just a subtle, nagging, recurring thought that I am somehow not good enough, not measuring up to some standard that, in my mind, everyone else seems to measure up to.  But sometimes it's not so subtle; sometimes, it screams.  Sometimes it tells me that if you really knew me, you would not find anything loveable about me, nothing of value.  Even as I write this, there is the fear that says "You are a basketcase. No one else is ever going to be able to identify with this."
But my year of Jubilee is about facing my fears, hearing God's voice, and sharing what I hear from Him with others who He puts in my path.
Back in May, I wrote the following during a journaling exercise with my writer's group:
"As I rush into the sanctuary a few minutes late, downing the last sip of my morning caffeine, something prompts me to slow down for a minute.  I hate being late, I hate missing even a minute of worship, but I deliberately slow my pace and ask You to please speak to me this morning. Really, what I should have prayed was that I would hear You, because I know You are always speaking to me.  I smile to myself . . . why don't I remember to pray these words every morning . . . "Lord, I know You are speaking. Help me to hear you." (In other words, "Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief." Mark 9:24)
As I settle into my seat, these words are being sung: "You are peace, You are peace, when my fear is crippling."  Tears form in my eyes, threatening to spill over.  You have already answered my prayer and it is not even 5 minutes into the service. 
"You are peace when my fear is crippling".  I see a picture in my mind of someone who is crippled.  Everything is more difficult for them.  Even the simplest tasks take an inordinate amount of time.  There is so much they cannot do.  I hear You gently whisper:  "That is what you are allowing fear to do to you, my Daughter.  It interferes with everything you do.  It slows you down.  It prevents you from experiencing the abundant life I have for you, prevents you from using the gifts I have given you, and it holds you captive in a place where it is difficult for you to experience My love."

Part of the adventure of my year of Jubilee is going to be refusing to let fear cripple me anymore.  This is a moment by moment choice for me.  The voices of fear and condemnation are always perched at the doorway of my mind, waiting for the slightest crack that would allow them to enter.  But God's voice is louder, and stronger, and by His grace, I am learning to listen.  Here is what He says:  "I am calling you to lay down your fear.  Let me heal you from its crippling disease.  My perfect Love casts out fear."
I John 4:17-18 in The Message version of the Bible says it this way:  "God is love.  When we take up permanent residence in a life of love, we live in God and God lives in us.  This way, love has the run of the house, becomes at home and mature in us, so that we're free of worry on Judgment Day -- our standing in the world is identical with Christ's.  There is no room in love for fear.  Well-formed love banishes fear.  Since fear is crippling, a fearful life -- fear of death, fear of judgment -- is one not yet fully formed in love.  We, though, are going to love --  love and be loved.  First we were loved, now we love.  He loved us first."
I am so thankful that He loves me and that His love, well-formed in me, will banish every fear.  I am in awe of that kind of love.

Choose LIFE

We get many opportunities to choose between life and death.   Although we tend to think of the phrase “choose life” in terms of big, major life issues, I think we also get the chance to choose life or death each day.   In each waking moment, each decision, each word spoken, I have a choice – am I going to embrace life, savor each moment, use my gifts and talents to encourage others? Or am I going to let my worries and insecurities keep me in a defeated, lifeless, state, almost by default choosing “death”?

In the Old Testament (Deuteronomy 30), God, through Moses, told the Israelites:

¹⁵ Look at what I've done for you today: I've placed in front of you Life and Good. Or Death and Evil. . . . .: I place before you Life and Death, Blessing and Curse. Choose life so that you and your children will live, really live, (live exuberantly, blessed by God, your God, in the land you are about to enter and possess.)   And love God, your God, listening obediently to him, firmly embracing him. Oh yes, He is life itself . . . (Deuteronomy 30, the Message)

Here’s an interesting thought:  I bet some of those Israelites chose to stick with the familiar and comfortable, even if it meant “death”.  I wonder if, even with life and prosperity and blessing set before them, some of them said, “No, thanks. Change is scary. Choosing life involves too much risk. At least with the old way (death), I know how things work, what to expect.”  Some of them no doubt  chose to stay with the familiar comfort of their former life . . .  even though it was a life of captivity and bondage  . . a life of death, if there is such a thing.

Once again, I can relate to those Israelites who may have chosen the old and familiar.  My life was good pre-Jubilee . . . but there was that nagging sense that maybe it could be better.   Is God calling me to make a conscious choice toward life . . .  abundant life, free life?

This daily choice toward life and away from death has a sense of urgency for me lately. You see, I’m not the only one with a milestone birthday this year. My daughter became a teenager this week.  And she will need a Mom who is as free from emotional “bondage” as possible.  It is hard work to face down your fears and insecurities and whatever it is that keeps you from living life to the fullest.  It can be scary.  And there are days when I’d much rather just stick my head in the sand and say “Things are pretty good the way they are. Why rock the boat?”  And if it was just me by myself, I’d probably be able to live with that.  But there is a wonderful, beautiful 13 year old in my life who calls me “Mom”.  And she  deserves a Mom who is not afraid, who is not held captive by worries and insecurities.  A Mom who is fully alive, who faces each new day with reckless abandon.  Even when some days the most reckless thing I can manage to do is paint my toenails red! (I am using the word reckless here in its most positive connotation).

There is a song I love called “In My Daughter’s Eyes” by Martina McBride.  The line that has completely captured my heart is this:  “The truth is plain to see, she was sent to rescue me.”  You see, I may not have had the courage and boldness to embark on my year of jubilee if it were not for my daughter. So in a sense, I feel that God is using her to rescue me from a life of complacency and ineffectiveness.  Being her Mom and wanting to be the best Mom I can be is giving me the courage to say “Set me free, Lord. It’s okay if it’s hard.  It’s okay if I end up with a few bumps and bruises from the journey. I want You, Lord.  I choose life.”

When we were on our girls’ trip last week (a group of moms and daughters who get away for a few days every summer), my sister-in-“love” was reading my first blog entry to her Mom.  Amidst my discomfort while hearing my own words read aloud by someone else, I had forgotten that my daughter was getting ready in the bathroom of the hotel room. (Now that she is a teenager, “getting ready” has reached a whole new level of intensity!)  When Debbie finished reading, Allison peeked her head out and said “Mom, you wrote that? It’s really good!”
So I will keep putting one foot in front of the other on this journey, even when it’s hard and scary, if for no other reason than my teenager thinks it’s “really good”.

Allison was at church camp the week of her birthday so I sent a letter to arrive (hopefully) on that day.  I so often tell her I’m proud of her because of the different things she is doing.  In this letter, I wanted to focus on who she is as a person.  I’m sharing it for two reasons:  1) it’s her birthday and I want to honor her.  2) I hope it might inspire you to do something similar for your loved ones.

Dear Allison,

I know I tell you I’m proud of you a lot. Maybe sometimes you even get tired of hearing it.  That’s okay. But I wanted to take a little time on your 13th birthday to tell you in a little more detail why I am proud of you.  So here goes—

You are such a caring person. I see how deeply you care about people – your friends, your family, people who are hurting.  You do such a good job when you are working with young kids.  At VBS a few weeks ago, I watched you play with a little girl.  All of a sudden she wanted to tell  you something important, and you immediately got down on your knees so  you were looking in her eyes and were on her level. You wanted her to know you were listening and you cared.  I was so proud of you in that moment.

You are such a giving person. I have seen you be unselfish over and over again.  You are willing to sacrifice for others.  You have a heart for people who are hurting and you are generous.

You are forgiving.  It broke my heart that you went through the difficulty that you did.  But I have watched you be willing to deal with the pain that it caused you.  I am in awe of the way you were able to offer forgiveness and grace to the people who hurt  you.  You are allowing the hard times you went through to make you stronger and better.  And you are using what you went through to help other people.  Alli, God can do AMAZING things through someone who is willing to let Him use the hard times for good.  You are doing that.

I could go on and on because there is so much to be proud of: your musical giftedness, your perseverance when learning something new, your volleyball playing, your good grades, your love for God. I am proud of all of that but am even more proud of who you are – your heart, soul and mind. You are beautiful inside and out. You shine – you always have.

People say the teen years are difficult. But, believe it or not, I am looking forward to them – because it is a joy to be your Mom and God will be with us.  And "if He is for us, what could ever stop us? And if He is with us, who can stand against us??”

13 years ago my life felt complete when I became a Mom. And it has only become more complete with each day since.

You are a gift and I love you with all my heart. Happy birthday, sweetheart.

Love. Mom