Yielding to the process

     Graciela is learning to read.  Actually, she has been learning for 16 months.  The 100 Easy Lessons that had my other kids reading in 6-8 months have not proved as effective with my baby girl.  Remembering the difference between short "a" and long "a" has been agonizing.  After a year of "two-steps-forward-one-step-back" progress, in January Gracie was still sounding out words like "the" and "and".  I am not a reading specialist and years of homeschooling have not equipped me for Graciela's learning challenges.  All I 've known to do is to be faithful and patient.  Take the step backwards; reteach the concept again; express the belief  that "you can do this, you are so smart!"  All the while I'm woefully aware of my inadequacies, wondering if we are really making progress. 

     But a week ago, Graciela made that significant step of reading a real book:  Dick and Jane, that old time favorite that was my first reader!  A little chapter in that book launched Graciela forward.  All the frustration is receding as she is seeing that she can read!  Little words joining together into sentences that become a story.  The process has been excruciating, but she is bathing in the triumph of being able to read. 
    This little girl victory has been God's reminder to me that growth is always a process: one that can seem interminable and excruciating.  In the middle of any process it is easy to forget that the struggle will give way to triumph, that all those baby steps are really leading somewhere significant.  This is not a new lesson,  and yet, it is a lesson that I don't readily accept.   Can't life's obstacles be overcome by smart strategies, hard work and good communication?  If life gets too big, go to a friend or a minister or a counselor.  Get advice and make good choices and those problems will be conquered. 

     But now I am a parent of teenagers and God is revisiting this lesson with me.  He is exposing my "parental work ethic" as wholly inadequate.  In bold print He is writing these words on my heart:  GROWTH CANNOT BE HURRIED.  Yes, I am a player in my kids' lives, but I am not the shaper of their hearts or the director of their decisions.  I cannot orchestrate their lives so that they avert angst or jump over pain.  What I am in this season is a faith partner, whose primary job is to hold out truth and trust and invite my kids partake. Of greater impact than my words to them is my prayers.  The Holy Spirit who resides in my heart is the great engine of all growth.  He alone can access their heart and stir a soul appetite for God.  My role in this process is to BELIEVE.  I am to camp on soul-nourishing truths like, "He who began a good work in you (my kids) will be faithful to complete it;" (Philippians 1:6) and "For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do."  (Ephesians 2: 10) The faith that I long to see residing in my kids' hearts is what I need to nourish in my own heart. 

Too often, however, I yield to momentary panic and frustration.  I try to fix, persuade, demand, convict.  I push for conversations that I hope will bring change.  I live as if I can push my kids through this growth process and then we can all live happily every after.  I tell my kids that God can be trusted with the details of their lives and then live as if He can't be trusted.  I push for premature resolution, not leaving room for God to do the deep, soul work of redemption. 

Faith is a mystery and so is growth.  God's timetable is not my own.  But His heart beats for my kids.  He wants them to know His love and purpose even more than Mark and I do.  These are the deep waters of faith:  relinquishing my kids, believing that God is able to redeem every detail of their lives and use it all to bring them to a place of spiritual wholeness and renewal.  To this I yield. . . the process of growth in the hands of a Savior who can be trusted.

Surrounded by God

"Those who trust in the LORD are like Mount Zion,
     which cannot be shaken,
        but endures forever.
  As the mountains surround Jerusalem,
      so the LORD surrounds His people,
         both now and forevermore." 

I am surrounded by God.

God before me. . . paving every new moment, creating opportunities, clearing obstacles, making roads and sometimes throwing down roadblocks.
God behind me. . . redeeming my mistakes, erasing my regret,  weaving my small story into His bigger story of redemption.
God beside me. . . holding my hand, bandaging my wounds, assuring me with His presence, steadying me when I falter, reminding me that I belong to Him.
God beneath me. . . holding me up, being my strength, anchoring me to His truth.
God above me. . . lifting my head, reminding me of my destination, pulling me beyond momentary pain to glimpse eternal joy.

God surrounds me.  I am held.  I am safe.  The only requisite for this gift is TRUST.  A heart yielded to God.  A child putting her full weight into her daddy's arms.  Hands upturned, arms outstretched, a heart of hope and a life crying out, "God you are good.  I put my trust in You."  My paltry trust offered to the God of the Universe, who sends His Spirit through the backdoor of my heart to unload truckloads of more trust, more belief, more faith. . . more than I could ever conjure up by my own efforts.  God supplying what I need to walk with Him.  God lavishing me with spiritual wealth. 

Why I love Lent

       Today is Ash Wednesday. . . a significant day on the Catholic church calendar.  Not growing up Catholic, this day has meant little to me for most of my life.  But this morning I feel all the anticipation of a child starting the Christmas season.  This day begins the season of Lent:  forty days leading up to the celebration of Christ's resurrection on Easter Sunday.  Over the last few years, Lent has become an increasingly beautiful season for me.   
     Appropriately, Lent means spring.  It symbolizes a time of renewal and rebirth, of things being made new.  Spiritually, Lent invites us to focus on the centerpiece of Christianity:  the death and resurrection of Christ.  At Christmas we remember the fact that Jesus really was born, Son of God into this place of humanity.  At Lent we remember the fact that Jesus really died and He really rose from the dead.  These facts are startling, disruptive, extravagant.  They should make us sit up, take notice, even jump up and down!  But most of the time we forget their significance.  We read our Bible, we go to church, we pray. . . and internally we yawn, because the startling has become stale.  The beautiful has become ordinary.  The miraculous has become mundane. 
    Lent is an invitation to remember the significance of Christ's claims.  I love what Ty Saltzgiver writes in "40 Days of Lent":  Lent is a time to "celebrate Jesus and to let His Death and Resurrection be central in our lives.  Lent is a time for sacrifice and self-examination, for increased self-awareness and God-awareness, for spiritual refocus and renewing of our conversion, for seeing our own need for Grace, and for opening our hearts to be more captured by Jesus' love."
    I love the practices of "giving up" and "taking on" during the Lent season.  We give up something that is difficult and sacrificial, in order to remember Christ's sufferings and ultimate sacrifice.  What I give up is almost always some type of food, because food is something I love.  Whether celebrating or struggling, I run to food for my comfort.  Giving up desserts or bread or caffeine always leads to repentance on my part.  I am a comfort creature, who will let other things usurp Christ's place in my life.  On a hard day, I can be placated with a plate of chocolate chip cookies and never turn towards the Savior who offers me so much more.  "Giving up" something of power in my life, puts a spiritual magnifying glass on the state of my soul.  I see the idols that compete for the centrality in my life that belongs to Christ alone.  I repent.  I am renewed.  I am reconnected with Christ.
   I also love "taking on"a practice that will nurture my soul in a special way.  Usually for me it is a special devotional guide or a book.  Some years I have prayed on my knees every morning.  This year, I want to keep a "thankfulness journal," writing down something I am thankful for each day.  Whatever I choose, it heightens my awareness of Christ.  It leads me to contemplate and worship Him as my Savior.
    But what I most love about Lent is how it prepares my heart for Easter!  After six weeks of intentionally focusing on the life and death of Christ, I am ready to celebrate his resurrection.  Easter morning breaks like a sunrise over my heart.  I am filled with awe and gratitude at this God, whose hearts beats for redemption and who gave everything to make me His child.  The mundane becomes miraculous!

Daily Bread

     Last week I read a soul-stirring devotional written by a dear friend's husband.  The topic was on praying for God to give us our daily bread.  He made the comparison of us receiving daily bread much like a hungry child consumes a meal -- taking big bites, scarfing it down quickly with no time to savor, eating as if she will never see food again.  In my house, the chief goal of completing dinner is to get to DESSERT!  Just as children can be greedy consumers, so can I.  As quickly as I receive God's provision in the midst of a crazy day, I often go on to act like He won't provide for tomorrow's problems.  So I worry and stir the waters of anxiety in my soul.
     Part of the problem is not taking "small bites", not savoring what God gives and letting it nourish trust in my starved soul.  But a bigger problem for me is not liking God's provision.  I want to hurry through the unpleasant to get to dessert.  Let me learn my lessons fast, so God will bring me blessing.  I'm not willing to savor the ongoing process of God nourishing my soul over time.  I want the quick and tasty spiritual blessings of peace and joy and love! ( Forget longsuffering, self-control and patience!)
    As I was processing this devotional the other morning, God brought a phrase from Psalm 23 to mind:  "You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies."  The meaning for me was instantly clear:  God is providing for me even when I feel oppressed.  Oppression is my enemy and is often accompanied by Despair, Anger, Unforgiveness and Self-Pity.  When difficulties  mount and pain swells, I am quite sure God is not providing for me.  I want my daily bread to be sweet, yummy and easy to swallow.  Anything less and I question the goodness of the One offering it. 
     But what if daily bread sometimes comes packaged differently?  What if God is actually nourishing my soul with a crazy diet of frustrated goals, relational pain and unmet longings?  To be perfectly frank, what I really want is to feed myself.  I would love a spiritual "meal planner" that left me inspired, motivated and more righteous.  I would like a 7-point plan for following God and having victory.  But I don't want to be reduced to a place of neediness and total dependence on God's provision.  That feels scary and very out-of-control.
      But I am suspecting that is precisely why God brings a crazy diet of dashed dreams, disappointments and pain.  He is bringing me to the end of feeding myself.  He is reducing me to a place of need, so to give me the spiritual food that really satisfies.  He is giving me the faith of a child and feeding me with simple truthes.  God is good.  He can be trusted.  He works ALL things to His good.  Jesus loves me.  Nothing can separate me from God's love.  

Best Efforts

    This morning I got out a recipe for soup to make for dinner tonight, made a grocery list and laid plans to cook dinner before the afternoon driving started!  But my efforts at organization were once again FOILED when the recipe disappeared!  A thirty minute search failed to located it!  A quick google search failed to find it!  Where is the black hole in my house that so many things seem to disappear into:  a lone flip-flop, a book of stamps, the dog's choke collar, important papers, a textbook. . . ?!!!
     The lost recipe today seems like such a metaphor for my life:  good intentions --  focused effort -- thwarted outcome.  I am tired of trying and feeling crossed at every turn.  I want control and it continues to elude me.  It happened in school today when the boys whined, complained, evaded, distracted, disrupted and teased.  What I want for them is good.  Why is it so hard to achieve?  Why does gratitude and self-discipline seem to disappear down that black hole with my recipe?
      I was so tired and defeated by 3:00, I actually did something that is normally unthinkeable in the middle of the day.  I pulled out a Bible and let it fall open to the first chapter of James:
       Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing 
       of your faith produces steadfastness.  And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be 
       perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.  (verses 2-4)
     What I hate more than losing things is feeling like my best efforts don't matter.  And here is James saying, "take another look at these hard things. . . they matter. . . they serve a purpose. . . . they are re-making you and bringing wholeness and hope into your life.  Look at trials in the right light and you can actually be thankful for them, even joyful." 
      Bring it, Lord.  Change my perspective.  Help me embrace the black hole as an instrument in Your hand.  Let me believe that in "taking away" you are working to complete me.  Give me joy in the midst of hard.
      (The funny thing about the lost recipe is that it forced me to make the soup from memory.  I had to "wing it" and the result was surprisingly delicious.  Mmmmm. . . . I think God was highlighting the message for me.)

A Word for the Year

     For me, a new year  usually begins with fresh resolutions. I love  the blank page and the newness that suggests a better year.  More organization, discipline in exercise, healthy eating, reading good books:  these are common themes that I can energetically rally around in January of each year.

     But this year a dear friend suggested to me choosing a word for the year, instead of composing a list of resolutions.  This word would incorporate a character quality that I would try to practice throughout the year.  Mmmmm. . . . this intrigued me and I was immediately besieged with a list of characters qualities I would like to have more of:  patience, gratitude, humility, etc. . . !!  How to choose?!

     God scooped out a space in my heart.  I wanted a word that I could plant and nurture and grow.  Five days later as I sat in church, God dropped the word like a seed into the soil of my heart:  YIELDEDNESS.  I didn't hear the word in a song or the sermon.  It's not a word I use.  And my spell check does note even  recognize it!  But in the stillness of a worship service, God pressed this word into my heart.  

     As God is so capable of doing, He had already been doing groundwork to prepare me.  The day before was one of the last days of Christmas vacation and I had designated it to be my "workday".  Mark agreed to take the kids and I planned to work on lesson plans.  I was staring down a demanding January and February and desperately needed to get some advance planning accomplished.  I had two places I needed to go and the rest of the day at my disposal.  But these were not simply places to go; they were people to visit.  Five minutes at my parents became an hour of conversation.  Ten minutes with a friend became a lengthy intervention about her health challenges.  No doubt, I was meant to linger at each place.  But my "work time" was largely sacrificed.  As I drove home, I could feel anxiety rising and God speaking, "You can trust me with this.  This was my plan for you today.  Trust me." 

      I didn't get my work done that night and the next day God spoke the word "yieldedness" to me.  Immediately, I knew that this was a variation on an emerging theme in my life:  radical dependency.  A few years ago I finally figured out that life really was too big for me.  I didn't have enough organization, enough energy or enough wisdom to "make life work".  Every day was big and unpredictable and I pictured myself as a toddler holding both of her daddy's hands just to walk across the room.  Life was big and I needed God to be bigger in my life. 

       Yieldedness means laying down my desires every day.  It means offering up my "to do" list and submitting my agenda, however good, for God's agenda.  Yieldedness is laying down my tendency to control people and circumstances in an attempt to keep my life manageable.  Yieldedness may look impractical and inefficient and even foolish.  It is not a formula, but more of a posture.  Yieldedness is rooted in the belief that God's ways are better than my ways.  It comes from a heart that doubts my own wisdom, but trusts God's.

     Yieldedness is a tall order for this girl who loves control and competency.  It's like falling out a plane day after day.  But what I'm really doing is falling on my Father day after day.  The fall is scary, but the landing is sure.  His arms are safe, His ways are trustworthy. 

     The day after "the word,"  I opened my Bible to begin reading through Psalms.  I read these words in the first Psalm:  "Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of wicked, or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers.  But, his delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law he meditates day and night.  He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season. . . " (v. 1-3)  This was God's sweet confirmation of "the word for the year" and His encouragement that "yieldedness" is not only hard work, but a brings sweet fruit. 

Rules for Relationship

  Christmas seems to juxtapose the holy and the hectic, gratitude and grumbling; reflective worship and stressful frenzy.  I so desperately want to keep my focus on the gift of Christ.  Yet Jesus drifts to my periphery while demands and tasks occupy my focus.  I'm a first born "Martha" who works like crazy in the kitchen, doing all the responsible stuff and resenting those who seem so nonchalant, relaxed. . . and unhelpful!!  Yesterday was Christmas Eve and my prayer from the moment I woke up was "Jesus, let me worship.  I have a mountain of work to do, but let me worship You even as I work.  Let me not succumb to stress and driven-ness."

      But, there is a crazy prerequisite to worship and that is repentance.  I suspect that my reluctance to worship is rooted in the my reluctance to repent.  You see, even though I want to worship Jesus, there is something that I love more than Jesus:  my rules.   Although grace has freed me from the rules of religion, I am still imprisoned by the rules for relationship that I have created for myself.  Ironically, these rules are never more apparent than at Christmas!  Somehow that toxic mix of family togetherness, expectations and busy-ness often brings more disappointment than joy, anger than gladness, isolation than intimacy.

     My rules are subtle and seem justifiable, and not easily recognized.  But, when anger and judgementalness rear their ugly heads, I can follow their trail and find they originate in my rules for relationship.  Here is just a sampling:  "It must be nice for ________ to sit and watch t.v., while I have been on my feet all day."  "Why am I the only one working?"  "After all I've done, not a single person has said thank you."  "I'm just a commodity -- people only value me for what I do."  "I can't believe how selfish _______________is!"

      I don't think my rules are unreasonable.  (Don't all reasonable people keep these same rules?!)  But, when these rules are broken, even inadvertently, by those close to me, I explode or escape.  Sadly, those closest to me experience my anger as I try to shame them into living by the rules.   But just as ugly is when I am silent.  I retreat with my "friends" self-pity, resentment and cynicism.  I isolate myself and let my heart shrivel under the urging of my false friends.   I choose the seeming safety of self-protection and withdrawal, but it is death to my heart.  I am imprisoned by my rules. 

     I need to be rescued.  And THIS is the essence of Christmas:  Jesus came to rescue me. . . from my failures, my hurtfulness, my sin AND from my rules.  Jesus came because rules are not enough.  The Ten Commandments could not save the Jews and my "rules for relationship" cannot save me.  Paul says it so clearly when he writes to the Romans:

      "Therefore no one will be declared righteous in his sight by observing the law (RULES!); rather 
       through the law we become conscious of sin.  But now a righteousness from God, apart from law, 
       has been made  known to which the Law and the Prophets testify.  This righteousness from God 
       comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. . . . for all have sinned and fall short of the 
       glory of God, and are justified  freely by His grace through the redemption that came by Christ 
       Jesus."  (Romans 3:  20-24)

     I think I like living by my rules, because it makes me feel in control.  I get angry when my rules are broken, because I'm not in control.  To repent and receive grace is to lose control.  It feels like jumping out of a plane without a working parachute.  Such helplessness seems crazy, ill-advised, foolish!  But I am never jumping alone.  Jesus is taking the jump with me and guiding me to a safe landing.
      So on Christmas Eve, as my heart was filled with a the pressure of "things to do" and a litany of injustice done to me, I felt Jesus pulling me out of the plane.  I didn't want to repent, but I did want to worship.  I wanted to exchange my critical spirit and anger, for joy and peace.  And Jesus so kindly replayed for me how I constantly violated His rule of love.  Simply by judging others, I was a rule-breaker.  I repented -- "Jesus I am sorry.  Show me how to love.  Show me how to serve without expectation."  I jumped out of the plane and landed in a sweet place of worship.

    And it occurs to me that Jesus not only came to save me from my rules, but He came in a way that broke all of the rules.  It wasn't fair that He  had to come to earth to save people who had repeatedly turned their back on God.   He didn't deserve being born into a poor Jewish family in a barn.  He didn't deserve the scorn of religious leaders and the rejection by so many people.  Ultimately, he didn't deserve death.  But Jesus loved mercy more than justice.  He broke the rules, so I could have a forever relationship with God.  The realization makes me want to worship again and again.  I'll keep jumping out of the plane of my safety to know a God who loves me that much.

       "Joy to the World, the Lord has come;
        Let earth receive her king;
        Let every heart prepare Him room;
        And heaven and nature sing, and heaven and nature sing,
        And heaven, and heaven and nature sing.

        He rules the world with truth and grace
        And makes the nations prove.
        The glories of His righteousness
        And wonders of His love, and wonders of His love
        And wonders, wonders of His love."