Tuesday, December 26, 2017

PAUSE, PLAY

I feel like somebody hit the Pause button on my brain and then misplaced the remote. Drrrrrrpt. I suspect this brain languor springs from a combination of too much food, too much down time, and too much smoke inhalation. I need some fresh air and exercise!

I am thankful for this mental pause at year's end. Next week, a new calendar goes up on the wall, and with the new calendar, all sorts of crazy-busy will leap out of the starting gate.

But today...rest!

What's new on the 2018 horizon?

A new job.
A new writing schedule.
New classes.
Figuring out a new normal weekly family rhythm.
New opportunities.
Who-knows-what-else...

As Steve and I snuggled on the couch and toasted our toes in front of the fire one evening this past week, we talked about how last Christmas - Christmas a year ago - we could never have predicted the events of the year just past. Absolutely NO WAY.

We also realized: neither of us has any idea, really, what is in store for us in the year ahead. That's a little scary; but mostly, it's exciting. This IS a forward race, after all. Whatever lies behind, whatever lies ahead...the finish line is Glory.

Today, I am savoring the rest and relative stillness as I consider a few of the infinite possibilities tucked within a new year. I don't know about you, but I am excited about the year ahead.

Now, where is that remote?!

* * *
Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted.- Hebrews 12:1-3


Friday, December 22, 2017

SHOOTING STARS

SHOOTING STARS
- originally posted December 27, 2011

You don't really look for shooting stars...
They just kind of catch you by surprise.
A white hot blaze against black velvet.
Your heart leaps, you catch your breath,
Transfixed.
Then...
It's gone, and you're left staring
Hungry-eyed into the night.

* * *

It's been six years since I learned I would not meet this precious little one this side of Glory. I am six years closer to the day when I will meet this child face-to-face!

* * *

A friend once told me that heartache is the price we pay for loving. Yes, and it is a price well worth the cost! But I think heartache is also a clarion reminding us that, although this world is so very lovely, all is not as it should be. Heartache clears our heads, wakes us from our sleepy stupor, reminds us that this world is not our home. Heartache calls us to Glory in a compelling way that ease and comfort cannot.

My heart is heavy today with a new sorrow, but this heaviness is a gift. Like a silver moon steadily pulling a turbulent sea into regular tidal rhythms, this sadness pulls my heart toward my Savior, in whose presence I find peace and rest and, yes, even in the midst of sorrow, joy.

Tuesday, December 19, 2017

THIS IS MY NORMAL

I was raised by a talented, gregarious attorney and a passionate, intelligent preacher's daughter. These two people thought seriously about life, faith, family, current events, everything, and they talked about what was on their minds. Conversations around our dinner table each evening were animated, stimulating, intense. (Sometimes, they were downright hysterical.)

My siblings and I grew up thinking it was perfectly reasonable for family conversation to cover the gamut from whale songs to Caesar Augustus to evidence of God's sovereignty in our daily lives. We loved to talk about these things, to talk about everything. (We still do!) Growing up, this was my Normal.

But what about life outside the incubator? What about relationships with people outside the family nest?

My first truly-intimate, truly-significant non-relative friend was a girl named Jill. We met in sixth grade. Even in sixth grade, Jill's faith was an integral part of her regular conversation. She talked about what she believed, and she asked me what I believed, and why. She prayed out loud to Jesus when we walked together down the hall between classes - like she believed Jesus was right there and could actually hear her. Jill was my first best girlfriend...she was my Normal. (I love you, Jill. 💖)

Other dear friends danced in and out of my life over the years. Jane and David, Janet and Ned, Larry and Lisa, Cindy and Ken, Shaun and Shannon. Katherine, Donna, Teresa, Linda, MaryAnn, Jenny, Gayle, Melissa, Alice, Dustin, Joyce, Julie...too many beautiful saints to name! And then there is my new family - Steve, and the seven children God has given us, and the special people these children have added to the family circle. Such a kaleidoscope of personalities, life experiences, faith backgrounds!

Yet all these very-different people have one thing in common - they love to talk about the things about which they care passionately. Gardening, homeschool, books, yoga, family, horses, Boston, music, politics, beer, poetry, jiu jitsu, cheese. And they love to talk about the one thing that excites them more than anything else - Jesus. The Gospel. The implications of faith for daily life. These people, they have been and continue to be my Normal.

I guess every person on the planet has his own definition of "normal," and it makes sense that many of those normals vary greatly from my own. But I am truly thankful - to my parents, to my siblings, to my husband, to my children, to my friends, to my brothers and sisters in Christ, and especially to God himself - for the Normal that has been handed to me.

Tuesday, December 12, 2017

HEART & MOUTH

And he [Jesus] called the people to him and said to them, "Hear and understand: it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but what comes out of the mouth; this defiles a person...Do you not see that whatever goes into the mouth passes into the stomach and is expelled? But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this defiles a person. For out of the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false witness, slander. These are what defile a person... - Matthew 15:10-11, 17-20a

* * *

I read once that you can tell what is inside a cup by observing what spills out when the cup is bumped; that similarly, a person's heart is revealed by what pours out when his heart is "bumped" by difficulties or trials.

A writer at The Christian Working Woman posed this question: "You know, it's not difficult to look good when everything's going okay. But it's at those times when we have to endure some unfavorable circumstances or some unpleasant treatment that we find out what we're like on the inside. I'd like to ask you: When your cup runs over, what spills out?"

When your cup runs over, what spills out?

Ouch! This question stings!

When I am angry or confused, do my words reflect faith in God's sovereignty and goodness - or - do they expose an overwhelming terror that my life is spinning out of control, hopelessly beyond the reach of God's wisdom and power? When someone hurts my feelings or disappoints me, am I able to speak words of truth and grace, words flowing from my identity in Christ - or - do my words smack of evil thoughts, false witness, and slander, words that flow from a need to justify or defend myself apart from Christ?

I would love to think that I am a strong, secure, kind, forgiving, gracious, truth-telling, Christ-dependent woman...but am I really? Never mind the virtuous self-image inside my head...what do the words that come out of my mouth say about me?

Our words are a litmus for understanding what is inside our hearts.

Sadly, my words often reveal that I am not the paragon of faith and virtue I'd like to believe. Rather, my words expose me as fearful, grasping, spiteful, weak-faithed and completely self-absorbed.

What am I to do then?

I could resolve to keep my mouth shut. To simply say nothing at all. Or, I could resolve to speak only positive, happy words, limiting my comments to topics I feel good about and avoiding topics that make me feel angry or afraid.

Only problem with such noble resolutions? The mean, nasty thoughts are still inside my heart and my head, even if I don't say them aloud. And unfortunately, sooner or later, the vomit inside my heart will erupt out of my mouth: I find I cannot not speak it.

So, what am I to do when the words coming out of my mouth are the equivalent of spiritual vomit?! The only thing I CAN do: own the wickedness inside my heart. Don't deny it, don't excuse it, don't try to explain why it's not so bad - just OWN it.

NOT - "I was having a bad day" - or - "He really pushed my buttons!" - or - "She asked for it" - or - "I just needed to get that off my chest."

INSTEAD - "Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner!"

I must own the wickedness inside my heart, and then repent.

When I downplay or deny the wickedness coming out of my mouth, I choose death over life, bondage over freedom, darkness over light.  I choose my sin over Christ's mercy, forgiveness, and righteousness.What a sad, sorry, terrible choice!

But when I own the wickedness coming out of my mouth, when I confess my sin and carry it to the cross, then I find that Jesus is faithful and just to forgive me of my sins and to cleanse me from all unrighteousness. (1 John 1:9)

Jesus takes my dead, rotten heart and my sinful mouth and my bitter, wretched words, and He gives me His righteousness instead. He gives me a living, loving heart, a heart overflowing with "rivers of living water," and He gives me a mouth that speaks truth and grace.

* * *

When your cup runs over, what spills out?

Jesus, please, please, please, let it be You.

Friday, December 8, 2017

WE NEED THE GOSPEL, NOT THE GOSPEL+

A young friend shared with me recently that attending worship, rather than being encouraging, had a depressing effect because the services focused so much on how to be a better person.

We have probably all been served, at one time or another, a dose of do-this-good-thing-and-live. Sadly, the purveyors of this bitter and unsatisfying draught are often well-meaning brothers and sisters in Christ, people motivated by love, who sincerely desire good things for us. Sadly, these would-be encouragers fail to see that how-to-be-happy advice, because it directs us to something other than Christ, often has the opposite effect, that of fostering spiritual depression.

Just as no To-Do list will ever save us, so no To-Do list will ever sanctify us or make us better, happier people. God himself must save us - in Jesus, He does just that! Likewise, God himself must sanctify us, through the power of his Holy Spirit.

In my Romans study this week, I read: "Sanctification does not make us aware of our goodness, but our sinful ways. We cannot become more Christlike by trying harder. Instead, we must depend on His [Jesus's] victory...[our struggle with sin] leads to deeper fellowship with Jesus as we lean on Him as the solution to brokenness."

We cannot become more Christlike by trying harder. This is the same truth my discouraged friend discovered.

The solution to spiritual deadness is new life in Christ. The solution to my need to be a better person is Christ's righteousness on my behalf.

So here we are  back at the Gospel. Back to complete dependence on Christ.

When I am struggling, I do not need to hear how I can be a better person. I need to hear: "Run to Scripture and see how much your Father loves you!" I need to hear: "Pour out your heart to your Father in prayer. He is listening, and He will not turn you away. He will save you."

I do not need to hear "Do this list..." - but - "Jesus covers this, too."

The Gospel doesn't just save me - it keeps me. The Gospel is not only life for the spiritually dead - it is food for the living.

Another sweet sister summed up our situation in the church today this way: "We need the Gospel SO BADLY."

All I can say is: "Amen."

Tuesday, December 5, 2017

A GREAT CALM

The cacophony of voices inside my head of late has kept sleep at bay. Trying to make sense of life events, of the practical living out of this faith, of human thoughts and feelings, of the many ways we engage with and interpret God's Word and try to understand its claims on our lives...

Mental work is physically exhausting. Unfortunately, my brain sometimes forgets to be quiet long enough for my body to rest.

Again last night, I lay awake, trying to quiet my teeming brain. I prayed, "God, what do you want to teach me? Please, Lord, quiet all these voices so that I can hear you."

Still, the tumult.

Then, a verse: "You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you." (Isaiah 26:3)

...whose mind is stayed on you...

As the many voices clamored to be heard, I considered each voice and then, with great effort, set each one aside. "No. I cannot listen to you right now. Right now, I want to hear the voice of my Father." Slowly, the noise subsided. Finally - finally! - a place of quiet, peace and rest. You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you...

Again, this time in the stillness, I prayed, "God, what do you want to teach me?"

* * *

Several weeks ago, one of the deacons at Grace filled in for Brother Billy during Sunday morning worship. Justin preached on the passage in Matthew 8 where Jesus calms a storm. Maybe you are familiar with the story: Jesus and his disciples get into a boat to cross over the sea. A great storm blows up and their boat is in danger of sinking. Jesus's disciples cry out for Jesus to save them. Jesus calms the sea. (See Matthew 8:23-27)

Last night, God brought this sermon to mind again. "Camille, can you remember any of the points that Justin made during his sermon?"

Yes. Yes, I could. Because although I was familiar with the story before that Sunday morning, several of the points Justin shared that morning really jumped out at me. Things like...

  • Several of the men in the boat with Jesus that night were fishermen.
  • They were well-seasoned sailors.
  • Not only were they able, experienced sailors, but they also knew the particular sea on which they were sailing.
  • They knew the weather patterns on this sea.
  • They knew about the sudden windstorms that blew down from between the mountains and across the water, and they knew how to manage their craft in these storms.

These men were in their element. Even in a storm, these men were fully competent for the task at hand, the task of getting their boat safely across the sea.

Jesus took these men into their area of greatest competency, and there, He created an extraordinary storm - a storm so other-worldly that they were forced to turn their attention from the task at hand and from their own competence, to Jesus himself. And when these master seamen did just that - when they looked to Jesus - then...

* * *

As I considered this passage again last night, it occurred to me - this is what Jesus does in the lives and hearts of his followers, over and over again. He takes us into our areas of greatest competency, and He lashes our craft with wind and waves until, in desperation, we are forced to peel our hands off the rigging and fall at his feet, until we cry with his disciples, "Save us, Lord!"

Seasoned sailors - in their element, at the top of their game - begging a sleeping Carpenter to save them from the sea. A carpenter. Seriously?

It doesn't make sense, people. It just doesn't make sense. But then...

"Then [Jesus] rose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm" (verse 26).

* * *

So, all of this is what God brought to my mind in the sleepless hours of the night. He reminded me of this great truth:

The work that God does for me and in me and through me, God does that work himself, without my help.

I want to think that I contribute something to that work, to think that by virtue of my skill set or my experience or the knowledge I possess, I help sail the boat safely across the sea. But over and over, God smashes through my competency. I am distressed to find (yet again) that I cannot cling to the rigging and at the same time cling to Christ.

Over and over, my sailing skills amount to nothing in the presence of the might, majesty, sovereignty, and glory of God.

Does this realization discourage me? No. No, it has quite the opposite effect. Kneeling in the presence of the Carpenter, I find comfort, assurance, and peace, and I am moved to worship.

At the feet of Jesus, the most turbulent storm is dispelled. At the feet of Jesus, I find a great calm. At the feet of Jesus, all the voices are silenced. All that's left is praise.

It doesn't make sense, people, but there it is.

You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you. - Isaiah 26:3