Sand and Feathers

Do you ever feel like every good deed you’ve done, everything encouraging word you’ve spoken, every productive idea you’ve ever had amounts to nothing, as if the years you have spent striving, praying, trusting, yielding, and encouraging are no more than a pile of sand and feathers, easily blown away by a single mistake? 

One impatient moment and you are suddenly the mother who doesn’t listen rather than the faithful sounding board you wanted to be and thought you had been for eighteen years.  One weak moment and you are the teacher who raised her voice and made everyone feel uncomfortable minutes before the start of Christmas break rather than the one who allows her students to start each day with a clean slate without showing favoritism.  One vulnerable confession and you are the one who is too sensitive rather than the one who has kept silent many times out of respect.  One honest observation and you are the critical wife instead of the one who regularly prays for the Holy Spirit’s intervention by other means so that her words won’t be the ones to wound.  

Obviously, I’ve been there (like in the last five minutes), and I’ve asked myself why I even bother countless times.  Sometimes, I fantasize about picking my sister up and taking an open-ended vacation.  Where we would go, I’m not sure.  I do know that we would talk and eat and drive and not worry, for once, about anyone’s needs but our own, and that is where the daydream comes to an abrupt end.  I know I’ll never pick up and go like that, no matter how tempting it might be at times. 

The truth is that I consider it a privilege to be Todd’s wife, Hunter and Hope’s mom, Bob and Karen’s daughter, and a middle school English teacher to the specific students on my roster.  I feel called to each of these roles and, for the most part, get a lot of pleasure out of fulfilling my responsibilities within them.   I also believe, deep down in my heart, that my obedience counts for something, that it is significant.  It doesn’t earn my salvation--God already took care of that--and it doesn’t earn me any kind of spiritual promotion in the Kingdom.  It does, however, make me Jesus' friend, according to Scripture, and He is the best kind of friend to have. 

Patient and kind, God is way more forgiving of my mistakes than I am.  In fact, along with all of the positive in my life, He weaves my mistakes into His master plan.  How does that work?  I’m not exactly sure.  It’s one of the things I can’t wait to find out when I get to Heaven, but I have given it a lot of thought.  This is what I’ve come up with so far. 

If you are like me, then you tend to praise yourself when you do well and keep a mental tally of the selfless acts you’ve performed (see above if you don’t know what I mean) even if you hate the fact that you do it.  Over the years, I know I’ve built some pretty impressive monuments to myself, complete with shiny, engraved base plates that read “Angela Sanders.”  King Nebuchadnezzar has nothing on me!

Knowing that, I think maybe God allows and uses our mistakes to remind us that we are fragile and flawed and that His name, not ours, belongs on any sand and feathers that we manage to amass. When we write His name on the good in our lives, we are forced to look at what is left and see ourselves for what we are, imperfect people, capable of and predisposed to wounding others just as they have wounded us.  It takes the wind out of our sails, freeing us to love and forgive as we should, for our good and His glory, an eternal glory that will not blow away.         

Not Excited About Christmas

I’m not excited about Christmas.  There.  I said it. 

The troubling thing is that I seem to be the only one.  So far, I’ve watched three people tear up with joy and awe at the reading of the Christmas story, heard a student squeal at the mention of Christmas morning, and listened to countless songs sung by adults who, apparently, have never lost the feeling of giddy anticipation we all felt as children.  Everyone seems to be experiencing with startling intensity the same “Christmas feeling” this year.  

Me?  Not one tear.  Not one shiver.  Not one warm fuzzy to speak of.  What do I feel?  It’s hard to describe.  My family refers to it as “letting down.” You know, like a person might do after finishing a big project or finding out that their test results were negative or closing on a house?  Shaky limbs.  Fatigue.  The fading heat of effort in my cheeks?  Only I feel that in my heart.  

What am I “letting down” from?  Well, once again, like the Galatians, I’ve been trying to earn the salvation I already possess—free and clear, mind you—because of what Jesus Christ did for me on the cross.  I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I’ve been working hard to impress my Creator.  Now, if that isn't neurotic narcissism, I don’t know what is.  

If Dr. Phil were here, he would ask, “So, how’s that workin’ for ya’?”  

I would have to say, “Not very well!”

The harder I try to be perfect, the more unimpressive I find myself.  Not only am I not perfect; I’m not even good.  Like the apostle Paul, I keep on messing up.  So frustrating!

Okay, now lean in a second.  I’m going to let you in on a weird little secret of mine.  In my heart of hearts, I wish that I could be good for one whole day on my own, make no mistakes without God’s help, and wrap that day up in a bow.  Then I would feel like I really had something to offer God, a Christmas present of sorts from me to Him.  I could scratch my name on the bottom, and He could put it high on a shelf, look at it every once in a while, and think, “That’s from Angela.  How beautiful!  My, but she must love me.”  

But, it just doesn’t work that way. 

According to Scripture, the best I can do on my own is as filthy rags.  That’s why the Father sent His son Jesus to live a perfect life, die on the cross as a sacrifice for my sin, and conquer the grave.  He knew I couldn’t get to Heaven on my own or facilitate my own spiritual adoption, so He made a way for me to be rescued, to be saved.  As if that weren’t enough, He gave me the faith to believe, forgave me when I confessed my need for Him, and made me a permanent member of His family.  He took care of everything!

So, what am I experiencing this holiday season? I think it’s relief, a perfectly appropriate Christmas feeling now that I think about it, tears, shivers, and warm fuzzies or not.  I pray the same for you. 

Slush

This morning, Todd found his car in a new spot.  At first, he thought someone had moved it as a joke--an oh-so-funny teenage son perhaps? 

Then, he remembered. 

When we got home from the store last night, something weird had happened.  Todd put the car in park, and it groaned and slid backward a couple of inches before crunching to a stop in the barely visible frozen precipitation.  We looked at each other and shrugged. The driveway was slushy, but the ice wasn't solid.  There didn't seem to be any significant risk, so we left the car where it was and began to lug groceries from the trunk to the front door.  We never gave it another thought.  

Apparently, either while we were watching Elf in our pajamas or were fast asleep in our bed, the slush carried his car to the end of the driveway where it finally stopped on a dry patch.  Todd is just relieved that it didn't slide into the street.  There was no harm done, really, but it could have been worse, all because we didn't make the extra effort to make sure the car was on solid, dry ground.

The first chapter of 2 Peter is one of my favorite Bible passages because it speaks to God's grace and generosity in giving us everything we need to "participate in the divine nature and escape the corruption in the world caused by evil desires." It also lines out very clearly what we should be focusing on and working on--yes, I said "work," as the passage uses the word "effort"--if we hope to grow spiritually and become confident, effective, productive followers of Christ.

We Christians like to talk about the work that God is doing in our hearts and about the fact that He wants to use us for His glory.  We tend to pair the subject "God" with active verbs and assign ourselves a passive role in our faith, hyper-focusing a little on personal surrender, worship, and the concept of "being" over "doing."  To our credit, many of us do so to avoid getting too caught up in the works side of things. 

While we depend on God alone for our salvation, the fact still remains that God expects us to take an active role in our own spiritual growth.  According to 2 Peter, if we don't put forth the effort, not only will we become uproductive and ineffective in the Kingdom, but we will begin to doubt our salvation and forget who we are in Christ.  We will lose ground and leave ourselves open and vulnerable to the Enemy. 

It's relatively easy to go to church, fellowship with Christian friends, give money, and/or complete a Bible study when you know that someone will be checking on you, but God has called us to more, goodness, knowledge, self-control, perseverance, godliness, brotherly kindness, and love, to be exact, characteristics that can only be acquired through the practical application of Truth.  The Father expects His children to "participate in the divine nature" in an intentional way. 

Obedience.  It's where we find our spiritual footing.  It's how we gain traction.  It's what keeps us from sliding out into the street.

Most of All

When I was a little girl, I felt sorry for people who weren't Christians.  Most of the people I knew were Christians, and it seemed that those who weren't lived a lonely, frustrating life.  Though I had to be by myself sometimes, too, I knew that I was never really alone, that I would never have to feel lonely in my heart like they did because Jesus would keep me company, warm my heart from the inside out, and remind of good things like Heaven and the fact that God would set everything bad in the world right someday. 

People who didn't know Jesus didn't have that, and I wanted it for them, so much so that I shared Jesus as often as possible.  My sister and I made it our mission to make sure that our friends knew about Jesus so that they could be included in God's family.  We loved our friends and wanted to take them with us to Heaven, so we told our friends how to give their hearts to Jesus at our house, at slumber parties, and other places.  Many of them did.

I didn't even care if people thought I was weird.  In fact, I'm not sure the thought occurred to me until I was in high school.  Even then, even when I was in the middle of what I know now was a rebellious period in my life, I didn't hesitate to use phrases like "God told me" and "the Bible says." If people didn't like it, they never said so.  On the contrary, they seemed mildly to moderately interested in what I had to say, almost like they were holding their options open even if they weren't quite ready to trade in their right to themselves for the salvation that I had.  

Things are a little different now.  I'm more aware of the fact that being a Christian puts me in the minority, and it's a little more of a struggle on the inside for me to stand up and say what the Holy Spirit lays on my heart sometimes.  I guess I care more than I should what people think.

But I still feel sorry for people who aren't Christians.  It isn't a judgmental kind of sorry, but the kind of sorry that I feel when I see a woman being mistreated by her husband in public.  I don't think less of her or look down my nose at her.  I simply wish that I could help in some way, release her from any obligation to the husband that obviously doesn't love her as much as he probably claims, if at all.  But that's not my place.  My hands are tied, and I'm sure it's more difficult to break free from that kind of relationship than I could possibly imagine.  

Here's the good news.  There IS something I can do for the people I see in bondage to the Enemy, those who are slaves to sin, the same sin that would have control of me right now if Jesus hadn't set me free, the same sin that tempts me every single day like an illicit lover, trying to make me forget Whose I am.  All I have to do is speak the Truth of the Gospel.  All they have to do is give up what they know for what they've been promised. 

That's where my hands are tied. 

All I can do is say it and, with the Holy Spirit's help, live it.  How others choose to respond to God is up to them; how they choose to respond to me is up to them as well.  They may think I'm weird, loving someone I can't see, putting my faith in an invisible God to save me, and working so hard to please Him when all I ever seem to do is fail and open myself up to public criticism.  They may pull away.  They may become angry or frustrated with me for reasons they can't explain.  They may even lash out, which has been the case most recently, but it really doesn't matter. 

I still have to share. 

I don't want them to be lonely anymore.  I want them to be my brothers and sisters and have Heaven and a perfect world to look forward to when they are feeling discouraged, but most of all, I want Jesus to warm their hearts from the inside out. 

Before They Swallow

Friday night, the Sanders four trekked up to Stillwater to take part in Oklahoma State University’s Walk Around festivities, a time-honored tradition.  It’s similar to a giant parade, only the floats are stationary and the people are mobile.   Before hitting the streets, we stopped to eat at Eskimo Joe’s, another OSU tradition.  Apparently, everyone else had the same idea, but the night was young (when we arrived) and we were willing to wait (for a while). 

About thirty minutes into our two-hour wait, having already browsed the sale racks, we found ourselves huddled at the doorway separating the T-shirt shop from the restaurant, surrounded by parties of four to six with identical glassy stares. 

Desperate for a little diversion, I began to people watch.  The party of eleven to our right was just the entertainment I needed.  Two little girls--cousins, I think—bedecked in orange and black from their feathery ponytails to their sparkly shoelaces cruised laps around a large, square coffee table in the center of several benches.  As they walked their hands around the table, they jabbered to an equally bedazzled yet bedraggled woman holding a hot pink diaper bag in her lap, kiddie cups with bendy straws in either hand.    

For the longest time, the woman listened and responded to the girls absently, her wide eyes fixed on a portrait and framed letter from Laura Bush just inches from my head.  Suddenly, she blinked and refocused on the girls.  They had stopped moving and were arguing over something, a giant cup twice as big as theirs.  Slurping eagerly, the oldest held the other off with a jutted hip, her face a study in concentration.

“Wait!” The woman shouted over the roar of the crowd, “That’s not yours, Hallie!” 

Hallie kept slurping, both hands holding the giant cup.  The woman quick-scanned the table as only a mother can do and gasped, “That’s not MY cup either!  Hallie, where did you get that?” 

The commotion got the attention of a man sitting near them.  When he saw what was happening, he sat up straight and grabbed the cup away from Hallie, terrifying her in the process.  As blue-eyed Hallie backed against her mother, the woman questioned the stranger, “What was in that cup?” 

He didn’t answer, but shook his head and made a face as if to say, You don’t want to know, and went back to playing games on his phone. 

Unsure what to do, the woman let out a little groan and looked at Hallie with concern.  “THIS,” she whined, holding out one of the kiddie cups, “THIS is your cup!  YOU drink out of THIS!”  But it was too late.  Hallie had already swallowed, and I felt sorry for the woman who would lie awake all night hoping the little girl was okay and wishing she had kept better watch.

Not ten minutes later, I got a shock of my own.  My almost eighteen-year-old son Hunter and I were sharing a doorjamb, leaning at adjacent angles, our heads just inches apart.  

“Oh, Mom,” he began, making small talk, “I read something interesting the other day.”  I turned my head his direction to hear him better and settled in for one of our chats, still perusing the crowd.  

With passing interest, he told me about an interview he had read.   A minute or so into his monologue, my brain snapped back into focus.  I realized what he was saying and panicked like the woman with two toddlers and a diaper bag.  Suddenly, I lost all interest in the parties around me. 

My son was expressing an interest, passing though it was, in a very worldly philosophy of marriage, that it was a burden and possibly not worth the commitment.   Though he hadn’t been swayed by what he’d heard, he had retained the information and was obviously still processing it days later.  My heart pounded in my chest, and I tried not to overreact. 

Surely he can hear himself, I thought to myself.  Surely he knows that the junk he’s currently swilling around in that brain of his is toxic.  Surely he won’t swallow.   

I didn’t wait to find out.    

With all the grace and finesse of someone performing the Heimlich on a fat man, I opened my mouth and promptly slapped the world right out of the boy with my tongue.   I don’t remember what I said, but I know that I left no room for doubt…or further conversation. 

For the next little while, simmering in Hunter’s silence, I went back and forth between being frustrated with myself for losing my cool and feeling justified in my response.  On one hand, I know that I’ve got to let go of Hunter at some point, trust God to remind him of the Truth he’s been taught, and trust Hunter to make God-honoring decisions.  On the other hand, he’s not gone yet.  The apron strings may very well be cut, but you’d better believe if there’s a fin sticking out of the water, I’m going to yell, “Shark!” 

Next year, Hunter will be on his own, a student at Oklahoma State University, establishing traditions of his own and forging his own path.  I may not be able to keep watch every minute.  At that point, I wouldn’t even want to try, but in the meantime, I can make sure he knows which cup is His.    

Just Because

I am a writer, minister's wife, and English teacher, so it's very hard for me to read or process anything without picking it apart, putting it into lesson form, or grading it.  As much as I hate to admit it and people will hate to hear it, I do use a red pen in my head when people talk.  Compulsively, I reorder misplaced and dangling modifiers, correct double negatives (more people do this than you might think), and force subjects and verbs to agree. 

On that topic (sorry...can't help myself), when deciding whether to use the words "there are" or "there is (there's),"  look at the noun or pronoun following the verb.  If it is plural, use "there are."  If it is singular, use "there is."  For instance, there is (there's) a bird on the roof, but there are birds on the telephone line.  Please don't tell me there's birds in the tree.  That's free. You're welcome. 

I also analyze sermons, force television shows into plot diagrams, and bullet-point casual conversation in my head. It's weird, I know, but I'm just wired that way.  More and more, I think I was put on this earth to communicate the abstract, to bring order to chaos, and to teach and equip anyone who wants to learn what I know--which isn't always a lot! When I'm doing these things, I'm at my best, full of energy, purposeful, happy, but there is a down side.  It's hard to turn off even for a little while. 

I would love to be able to watch a movie without looking for anachronisms or have a conversation without wondering whether the flow is inductive or deductive.  I'd especially like to have a personal Bible study without wondering what might be the best way to teach the passage I'm reading to children, teenagers, then adults and what illustrations and/or analogies might really drive the point home. 

I know there's a good chance that I'm the only one that does these things, but I feel pretty confident that I'm not the only one who finds myself approaching Bible study with distant objectivity from time to time.  If you've ever thought to yourself, "That'll preach," "So-and-so needs to hear this," or "Well, maybe I'm just a three-point Calvinist," then you are a little more like me than you might realize. 

Sorry.

No, really, I am.  I'm sure that you, like me, are a little jealous when you hear people talking about their quiet time as if they just had coffee with God.  I'm sure that, every once in a while, you'd like to hang out with Jesus, too, and just enjoy His company like other people do instead of feeling like you are studying for a test or packing your bags against impending doom and destruction every time you pick up your Bible. 

If so, let me encourage you.  Now, this won't seem like a big deal or anything new to those of you who have been blessed with the ability to "let go and let God" with minimal conscious effort, but you type A personalities (and ministerial types) might benefit from the recent breakthrough I had. 

Some friends of mine recently lost their son to leukemia (it's actually a much longer story than that).  Their pain is too great and too profound for me to even attempt to capture it in words, so I won't try.  Anyway, the daddy of this sweet child mentioned in a Facebook post that he had been listening to a voice message on his cell phone over and over just to hear his precious son's raspy little voice again.

Reading this, I felt my friend's pain--at least in part--for a split second and bawled like a baby.  

I get it.  There's nothing more comforting than hearing a loved one's voice.  When my husband Todd is out of town, I wait for his call like a teenager.  The pictures on my phone are not enough.  When my kids are sad or struggling, I have to hear their voices to know if they are really okay.  When I'm upset about something and trying to be brave about it, my mother's voice is my undoing.  I have dozens of pictures of my grandparents, but the occasional dreams in which I hear their voices are treasured gifts. 

What I really want is to hear God's voice. 

I know He's near as surely as I know the ground I'm standing on is solid.  I feel His presence.  I see His reflection in the world around me.  I have no doubts. 

But I want to hear His voice. 

I've been told that the Bible is God's love letter to mankind, to me.  Now, I could argue against that statement if I were feeling ornery, but I won't.  It's a nice thought, and, on some level, it's true.  However, I realized that I've been approaching my Bible like a textbook, a horoscope at times, and I've been missing out. 

So, I'm trying something new.  Throwing my normal Bible study habits out the window for now, I've started picking up my Bible and reading it just because, no daily reading requirement, no list of questions to answer, no writing project or Sunday school lesson in mind.  When my writer, minister's wife, English teacher self shows up,  I tell her to hush and take a seat.

In doing so, I've experienced in a fresh way something I already knew to be true.  Did you know that the ragged, twenty-year-old study Bible that's traveled with me to school, camp, church, etc., the one I read every day is, in fact, the inspired Word of God?  I'd almost forgotten.  In essence, it is a printed recording of my Heavenly Father's voice.  When I open my heart and allow the Holy Spirit to bring it to life, I hear God's voice, feel the vibrations of it in my soul much as I imagine a deaf person experiences the voice of a loved one by placing his fingers gently hands on their throat and watching their mouth move. 

A miracle, really.

While it's true that His words are sometimes difficult to accept--like everyone else, I need a lot of correction--I love the feel of my Father's voice and welcome anything and everything He wants to say to me, pleasant or unpleasant though it may be to hear in the moment.

He loves me, and I trust Him. 

Like a lullaby, God's Word soothes my soul.  Like affection, His voice thrills my heart.  Lately, I can't get enough, and I keep reading just because. 

No Loopholes

One of the biggest challenges of being a middle school teacher is trying to remember not knowing something that you have known for almost all of your life so that you can teach it to someone who doesn't know it yet.  What seems to be common sense to me is often new to my students, even basic instructions.

Last week, I gave a short quiz on the five stages of the writing process.  It was just about as straight-forward as a quiz can get.

Here is the definition.  What is the term?  Here is an example of one stage of the writing process. Name the stage.  

Easy, huh?  I guess it depends on who you are.  When we were grading this quiz (I let them grade their own papers before I look at them so they know where they need to improve), I got all of the questions that I expected. 

"Mrs. Sanders, do we count off for spelling?"

"Mrs. Sanders, do you care if it's not capitalized?" 

"Mrs. Sanders, is there anything that I can do for extra credit?  I forgot to study." 

The answer to all of these questions is "no" on a quiz like this, and they know it.  They still ask.  

However, I got a question this time that threw me a little.  "Mrs. Sanders, do we count it wrong if we didn't put anything in the blank?"

Pause.  

"Um, yes," I answered, trying not to make a you've-got-to-be-kidding-me face.  I honestly never thought to tell students that they had to answer every question or it would be counted wrong. I thought that was a given.

"But Mrs. Sanders," the boy pressed, "I didn't give a wrong answer."  He raised his eyebrows and smiled broadly, confident he'd found a loophole.

I looked around for support from my other students.  Surely I wasn't the only one who thought this line of questioning was ridiculous.  All I got back were blank stares, amused expressions, and shrugs that told me they thought the kid had a point.   

I thought for just a second before answering.  "You are looking for the presence of a right answer," I explained, "not the absence of a wrong answer.  If you don't see a right answer, count it wrong."  

The light dawned, the boy's eyebrows lowered, and amused expressions all over the room morphed into looks of begrudging admiration.   

Thinking back over that conversation, I have to wonder whether this boy's approach to test taking isn't the same one that so many people who are deciding whether or not to give their lives to Christ are taking to eternal questions.  Do they think that if they simply don't take a stance on spiritual matters, they can't be wrong and won't be punished for their sin?

If so, that's a problem.  There is no neutral ground with God.  The Bible says that you are either for Him or against Him.  

One day, every one of us will stand before God and answer for our sin.  When that day comes, only those who have placed their faith in Jesus Christ to save them and given their lives to serve Him will pass the test.   

I think it goes without saying that those who openly renounce God, choosing a faith that opposes the Truth of Scripture outright, will not enter Heaven.  People who do that understand that they are placing their bets on someone other than Jesus to save them.  They know that if they are wrong, they'll lose out on what Christians have been promised, though many don't fully grasp the weighty reality of hell. 

But what about those who sit the fence their whole lives, unsure whom to believe and too apathetic to seek the Truth for themselves?   What about those who know the Truth but put off making a decision for Christ, assuming they have all the time in the world to commit, and then find out they didn't have as much time as they thought? 

Tragically, they will discover that you can't leave eternal questions blank. 

And it will be too late. 

Jesus is the only answer for sin that God can and will accept.  Without Him, we are lost.  No loopholes. 

Fig Leaves and Spinach

I'm relatively new to this whole transparency in ministry thing, so I'm not sure that I fully understand how it works.  I think I have an idea.  I've been reading blogs and watching a little bit of reality TV lately, and it seems that the key is to let your guard down.  The question is how much? 

There is a distinct difference between transparency and nakedness. Transparency, opening a window to the transforming work of the Holy Spirit in your life, is an appropriate and effective tool for teaching and discipleship. Nakedness, on the other hand, revealing what shouldn't be revealed in public, is inappropriate and counterproductive. 

Uncontrolled anger, apathy, unwillingness to forgive, greed, worldliness, vanity, uncontrolled speech, and unrepentant hearts, these are all things that I've either read about or watched Christians admit to lately both online and on TV.   Frankly, I'm a little disturbed by the number of Christians who are openly confessing their sins to anyone and everyone who will listen and just leaving it at that. 

No repentance.  No turning.  No change.  Nothing but a vague sense of bemused complacency and a secret, shared "Aren't we just awful?"  Wink. Wink.  Nudge. Nudge. 

It disturbs me, but I've done it, too.  Ah, nakedness.  Where's a fig leaf when you need one?  

Proverbs 28:13 "Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy."

Brothers and sisters, it's a good thing for us to confess our sins to each other.  Because we have the same Spirit living inside us, we are able to pray intuitively and effectively on one another's behalf.  If we find ourselves a bit sluggish to repent and change, other members of the Body can pray for that as well, asking God for the kind of discipline and divine intervention in our lives that we hate to experience, but know will ultimately bring with it righteousness and peace.  As followers of Christ and joint heirs in the Kingdom, we belong to one another.  We keep each other strong, and we hold one another accountable. 

We don't share that same bond with nonbelievers.  Whether they realize it or not, they are slaves not to the loving, patient, and forgiving Savior that we serve, but to sin and the Enemy, a killer who wants only to destroy them and hurt us.  To bare apathetic and unrepentant hearts in front of them is to hinder in a big way their progress toward accepting Jesus.  It makes them think that there's no difference between their condition and ours, that sin is a laughing, or at least a casual matter, and that the need to repent is not urgent.  Lies.

Not too long ago, I wrote a blog about my own struggle with worry.  In that post, I confessed my worry as sin, which was a huge, uncomfortable step for me.  That confession was a great start toward repentance and life change for me, but I left it at that.  See, I got a lot of positive feedback from that post from others who struggle with the same thing, and, without realizing it, I created a sort of mini support group for myself.  In my heart, I sat down cross-legged right there in a circle with my new friends and sang Kumbaya to myself.  I forgot that confessing sin is just the first step. 

Proverbs 28:13 "Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy." 

To renounce means "to give up and put aside voluntarily."

About a week ago, I walked up on a conversation at work about cancer, a topic...a word...that stops me in my tracks and makes me break out in a cold sweat.  My friends were talking about a close call that someone they knew had had with the disease.  One of them made a friendly, light-hearted joke about their not being able to continue the conversation in my presence because of what it would do to me.  Instead of putting worry aside and demonstrating what I'd learned about trusting God, I went along with the joke. 

"You know me...," I began, pretending to leave quickly, then froze. 

I had just identified myself by the very sin I'd written about, confirming in my friends' minds--some of whom are not believers--any suspicion they may have had that God had not worked any miracles in my life. They didn't know that it was my fault, not His.  By not renouncing sin, I made a mess of things, possibly causing more harm to my unsaved friends than if I'd never brought up the issue in the first place.

You know, we get pretty bent out of shape and embarrassed when we find out that we've been walking around with a piece of spinach or a fleck of pepper in our teeth for a while.  The first thing we do is think back through all of the people that might have seen it.  If we've been with friends, we get frustrated with them for not telling us, yet, many of us walk around with spiritual spinach in our teeth all the time, knowing the sin is there, but doing nothing about it.  We point it out.  We laugh about it.  We use it to entertain others.

Gross. 

If we're going to do that, I think we'd better just keep our mouths shut, don't you?

Kickers and Knockers: When Bullies Don't Grow Up

I remember those days, stepping out of my mother's car full of warm, familiar morning smells into cooler temperatures and an invisible cloud of car exhaust, holding my breath against acrid fumes and my own uncertain immediate future.  Rounding the blind corner that opened into the commons area of our junior high school, I would will my heart to slow down, my stomach to settle.

It didn't always work.

I knew that if I could get to the music room and Mrs. Herron or to the library without seeing any of my peers, without looking anyone in the eye, I'd be okay.  There were smiles waiting for me there, smiles, compliments, and hugs from grown-ups who didn't care what I wore, how big my front teeth were, or how I sounded when I laughed. 

I didn't always make it.

Sometimes, the doors to the school were locked, and my only choice was to join my peers, wide-eyed, big-mouthed preteens just like me who didn't really mean to hurt my feelings, but didn't mean not to, either.  The boys weren't so bad.  Their jokes, at the very least, were straight-forward, with punch lines like, "Because you're ugly, that's why," and most were the kind you play on a string of people, one after the other, the most recent arrival being the next one to roll a quarter down their nose and leave a line of pencil lead. To me, their teasing seemed more like a way to kill time than an intentional, hurtful attack on me as an individual, so I made my peace with it.

I couldn't say the same for the girls.  Theirs was a subtle, yet pointed kind of teasing that I didn't always understand.  I knew when they were talking about me, though, and I knew when I'd been played.  Sideways glances, knee nudges, and sudden hushes are hard to miss.  Unsure how to respond or whom to trust when that happened, I would stare at my feet and wait for the minutes to pass, all the while feeling conspicuous and awkward, like the last brown leaf on a nearly naked tree.

Miserable.

Maybe that's why I love being a middle school teacher.  Now I get to be the one to offer smiles, hugs, and compliments to kiddos who aren't feeling so sure of themselves, and I get to play the hero and stop bullying before it ever really starts.  I have grown eyes in the back of my head, and "Don't even think about it" happens to be one of my favorite teacher phrases.  However, I can't be everywhere at once, and mean kids are. 

I wish I could tell my students that it will stop when they get older, that the kids that torture them now will grow out of it, but I can't.  It does get better, and some do grow out of it.  Actually, most do, but the truth is there will always be bullies, people who, for whatever reason, take pleasure in hurting and hindering others.  A pastor friend of mine calls them "kickers and knockers."  Appropriate, I think.

I don't have to think back very far to remember the last time someone hurt my feelings or made me feel awkward.  Do you?  It happens all the time, and, even though I am a grown-up now, confident in my abilities and secure in the fact that I am a child of God, it still hurts almost as much as it did in junior high. 

How do I deal with it?  Well, my natural instinct is to plot revenge, and I'd be lying if I told you that I never waste my time rehearsing what I'd like to say to so-and-so in my mind.  But God has changed my heart.  Now, relying on the Holy Spirit for strength and God's Word for guidance, I make a sincere effort to forgive, love, pray, and rest.  FLPR...I know it doesn't make for a very powerful acrostic, but it does take the sting out. 

      *  Forgive. Whether or not the person who hurts you deserves to be forgiven is irrelevant.  None of us deserve to be forgiven (Psalm 130:3-4), but God says to forgive others just as He forgives you (Colossians 3:13).  Refusal to do so is disobedience.  You will not pray powerful prayers (Psalm 66:18) or move ahead spiritually until you finally forgive.  Don't add spiritual paralysis to your pain.  Forgive and give God room to work in your heart and the heart of your offender. 
 
      *  Love.  No matter how difficult it may be to do so at first, choose to love your offender (Matthew 5:44).  Serve them out of love and reverence for Jesus even if you can't muster up any affection for them.  No, it isn't natural to love those who hate you, but the Father knows what He is asking of you.  He gave His son to save a traitor race, remember?  Unconditional love is undeniable evidence of the supernatural Holy Spirit inside of you.  There is no more powerful witness to the truth of the Gospel than a person who can turn the other cheek and love in response to hate.  Want your offender to change?  Love them and let God take it from there.

      *  Pray.  Pray for your enemies.  Ask God to save them, to speak to their hearts, and to bless them.  This discipline isn't for them so much as it is for you.  It brings your thinking in line with God's, the One who feels compassion for the lost regardless of their role in their present circumstances and offers complete forgiveness, salvation, and eternal life through Jesus Christ to all people.  Before you know it, you will be rooting for them, looking for change, and thanking God for any evidence of His activity in their lives.   
  
      *  Rest.  Ultimately, God will take care of your enemies for you.  They will either surrender, repent, and change for the better, or they will be judged and held accountable for their actions.  (If you find yourself hoping for the latter, then you probably have heart issues of our own that need to be dealt with.  Don't we all?)  Remember that God may or may not deal with them in a way that you are able to observe.  Trust Him to do what is right.  Continue to love and pray.  The more you do this, the worse your offender will feel about what he/she did to you (Romans 12:19-21, Proverbs 25:21-23).  If God does choose to punish your offender in a way you can see, don't gloat for a second or God will change His course of action (Proverbs 24:17-18).  You do your job, and let God do His. 

Does choosing to do things God's way make the kickers and knockers go away?  No, but it does replace bitterness and hurt with peace and healing, and it gives God room to work things together for your good and His glory just as He promised (Romans 8:28). 

I can't be your hero, but the Father will be if you let Him.

The "Loop"

What is gossip, exactly?  I've heard several definitions and been given several checklists to go through when deciding whether or not to say something over the years.  You've probably heard these as well.

1. "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."  I think Thumper's momma came up with that one.  I've used it with my own kids.

2. "Before you speak, ask yourself three questions.  Is it true?  Is it kind?  Is it necessary?"  This one actually helps me the most.  The word "necessary" gets me every time.  Very, very rarely can I truly say that something is necessary. 

3. "Don't talk about a person or situation with anyone unless they have the power to help."  I can see where the person who came up with this is going, but, honestly, this is just the loophole that I need when I really, really want to tell someone what I know.  I can think of all kinds of people who could help.  Can't you?

These are good reminders and help some people set boundaries, but I think that most of us know when we are gossiping.  Those who belong to Christ should, anyway.  After all, the Holy Spirit lives inside of us, and one of His jobs is to let us know when we are about to step out of line or already have.  The problem is that we've become desensitized to His voice.  Afraid of being left out of the "loop" or forfeiting our perceived social standing, we've become very adept at stamping out conviction and squeezing the Holy Spirit out of our conversational huddles.

That being said, I've discovered a few truths myself over the years.  Here they are, for what they are worth.

1.  Whom you confide in says a lot about your motives. 
2.  Those who gossip with you also gossip about you. 
3.  Pointing out the faults of others only makes you look bad. 
4.  If you are wondering whether or not you should say something, you shouldn't.
5.  Talking about another person's misfortune shouldn't bring you any measure of happiness or thrill.
6.  Those who really need to "know the facts" usually already do. 
7.  If you are truly concerned about a person's spiritual health, you will talk to them, not about them. 
8.  To discuss strife and conflict within the church with non-believers is to put a stumbling block square in their path. 
9.  If you wouldn't say something to a person's face, you shouldn't say it behind their back.   
10.  No matter how hard you try, you can't take words back. 

Uncomfortable?  Me, too.   

Here's hoping you will let conviction burn just a second before you try to stamp it out.  No, it doesn't feel good, but surrendering to it now will save you a lot of anxiety and remorse in the long run.  Believe me! It will also keep the pathway clear for God to work in the lives of others through you.  He will teach you things about Himself and let you in on what He's up to.  All things considered, I think I'd rather be kept in His "loop" than anyone else's.  Wouldn't you?

His Favorite

Some kids crave attention.  Me?  I wanted to be the favorite.  Hungry for approval and acceptance, I always wanted to be the favorite friend, the favorite student, the favorite grandchild, and--I'll admit it--the favorite daughter.  I really wish I could say that I'm over such silliness, but I'm not. 

I still want to be the favorite friend, the favorite teacher, the favorite grandchild, the favorite daughter, and, yes, the favorite parent.  Of course, anyone who knows my husband knows I'm doomed to lose the favorite parent race.  How do you compete with cuddly, funny, and downright likeable?  You don't. 

When I was younger, I worked hard for favorite status.  Not the favorite friend?  Here, let me give you cuts in line, buy you something, or take your side in an argument.  Not the favorite student?  Okay, let me stay after class, help you clean, and tell you that you are MY favorite.  Not the favorite grandchild?  Well, I'll eat everything you order for me, make you laugh harder, and call you more often.  Not the favorite daughter?  I'll look as pretty as possible, make straight A's, and hold an office in every club that I am eligible to join.  Who knows, I may even tattle once in a while to even the scales! 

You know, I hate to think about what I'd be like now if I still felt the need to work for favorite status.  I'm pretty sure it would be ugly to watch.  Thankfully, I don't. 

See, God's opinion is the only one that matters, and I am His favorite, not in the sense that He loves me more than everyone else, but in the sense that He doesn't love me less than anyone else.  

About ten years ago, a friend of mine noticed that I was caught in a spiritual hamster wheel.  She saw that my constantly competing with others for favorite status was distracting me from God's best, hurting my relationship with others, and destroying my self-confidence (you can't win them all, you know).

"Angela," she began gently, "you're His favorite, you know."  Blue eyes big, she pointed Heavenward and went on to recite a very familiar scripture, one I'd learned as a child and heard so often that I didn't really think about the words anymore or the miracle behind them.

"John 3:16 says, 'For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.'  Don't you see?"  she smiled.  "This verse is about you.  Even if you had been the only person in the whole world, God would still have sent Jesus, the very best that He had to give, to the cross to save you.  That makes you His favorite, doesn't it?" 

It took a moment to sink in, but when it did, I blubbered a "thank you" and squeezed her tiny, blonde neck, something I often did after one of our talks.  I was never quite the same after that. 

Sure, I still like to be the favorite, the favorite friend, the favorite teacher, the favorite grandchild, the favorite daughter, and the favorite parent.  In fact, I do a little dance inside when it seems that I might be at the top of the medal stand for a brief, shining moment, and, although I hate to admit it, I get jealous sometimes, give with ulterior motives, and begrudge others the attention and recognition they receive.  I usually catch it early, though, and confess and repent as quickly as I can.  I do not want to get sucked into the hamster wheel again. 

Who needs that grief?  Not me.  I am God's favorite, after all. 

So are you!

Never Fails

It never fails.  As soon as I take a stand on something, that’s where the enemy tries to trip me up.  I write a blog on worry, and my teenage son has to navigate big city traffic all alone for the first time.   I write a blog on why I don’t drink and am offered a drink for the first time in twenty years.  I tell my daughter to avoid gossip and walk right into the big middle of an unkind conversation about someone I struggle to love.  I’m relieved to say that I passed those tests, but that isn’t always the case. 

I mess up.  A lot!

I used to think that meant I wasn’t fit to lead and let it keep me from saying things I knew I should say and taking positions of leadership I felt called to take.  Big mistake. 

Thankfully, the Lord sent my friend Amy Sampson into my life.  Quirky but wise, she taught me that true leadership is not about knowing everything or getting everything right all the time, but about seeking the Truth, applying it to your life, and allowing others to watch you struggle.  I don’t know that she ever came right out and said those words, but I have never witnessed a life lived as honestly and openly as she lives hers, her sincere and beautiful desire to please the Father laid bare at all times for others to see.  An invitation to be Amy’s friend is an invitation to join her holy mess and be changed.  In this way, she reminds me of the apostle Paul. 

In the New Testament, Paul does something very bold.  He tells new believers to imitate him because he imitates Christ.  It seems like an arrogant thing to do at first, but Paul never claims to be perfect.  In fact, he is very honest about his struggle to obey God and resist temptation.   No, Paul wasn’t full of himself.  He was full of the Holy Spirit, the only qualification he needed to be the effective leader of the early church that he was.

More concerned with glorifying God than preserving his own reputation or image, Paul lived a transparent life, inviting the public scrutiny that so many of us avoid.  He was confident, not in his own abilities, but in God’s ability to use him, imperfections and all, to further the Kingdom.  Humbling himself, he served.  Denying himself, he endured.  I want to be like him.

I used to believe that my refusal to lead was an act of humility, but it wasn’t. 

The truth is I was prideful.  I didn’t want anyone to see me face plant or get caught with my nose in the corner.  I was selfish.  I didn’t want to share or play with others or deal with the challenges and difficulties that leaders often face.  I was stubborn.  I knew I needed to repent and change, but didn’t really want to.   

Now, you and I both know that I’m still a long, long way from perfect, but I’m making progress.  God is working on me, and I’m letting Him. 

You can follow if you want.  He never fails. 

Ours Is to Love: Thoughts on Homosexuality

Homosexuality, like heterosexuality, is an orientation, a tendency, and, as long as it is acted out in accordance with the provisions for its practice given in God’s Word, it is acceptable.  The problem is that it can’t be.  There are no provisions given for the practice of homosexuality in the Bible.  In fact, the Bible calls the practice of homosexuality unnatural (Romans 1), not in the sense that it doesn’t come naturally to some people (all sin comes naturally, a by-product of our sin nature), but in the sense that it is not what God intended when he created mankind. 

The practice of homosexuality is sin (Romans 1), as are pre and extramarital acts of heterosexuality, as are drunkenness, theft, and lying, for that matter.  Sin is sin is sin.  One brand is as “bad” as another in God’s sight (James 2:10), as all sin has the same effect on our relationship with Him.  Initially, before we accept God’s free gift of salvation through Jesus Christ, sin separates us from Him (Romans 6:23).  When committed after the point of salvation, sin causes relational static (Psalm 66:18), making it difficult for children of God to hear the Holy Spirit and experience the peace and joy that is rightfully theirs. 

We don’t tend to see it that way.  That’s understandable, considering the fact that most of us have either witnessed or experienced for ourselves the deep and devastating effects of sexual sin, it being the one sin that a person commits against his/her own body (1 Corinthians 6:18).  To us, it just feels like a “big” or “bad” sin, one that would make the top five were we to make a list.  Again, it isn’t, but maybe that’s why we, like the guys in the Bible with the stones, tend to overreact when we come face to face with it, unintentionally wounding the captives that we’ve been sent to help free.   

Ten or twelve years ago, my family attended a Christmas program at church.  It was a packed house.  We’d arrived early, so I had plenty of time to people watch, one of my favorite past times.  I smiled as family after family wearing some form of Christmas plaid filed in and took their seats, parents locking arms on the pew behind their children like bookends.  Smiles were shared.  Hugs were given.  Shoes were tied, and bows were straightened.  It was like a scene from Little House on the Prairie, only there were a lot more pews and the use of candle light, thank Edison, was elective. 

Just before the program started, a young family took its place in the pew in front of us, two women and a little boy.  I assumed that the ladies were sisters.  A few tender looks and light caresses later, I realized that they were not sisters at all, but partners. 

I have to admit that I didn’t quite know what to make of it.  It was the first time that I’d really ever been confronted with the idea of two people of the same gender building a family together as committed, life-long partners.   I wasn’t put off by it. I have homosexual friends.  I was just sad.  As I watched these ladies share a special holiday moment and love on their son, I realized that the practice of homosexuality and the adoption of it as a lifestyle, although no more sinful than my own transgressions, is much more serious, carrying with it complications that I will never have to wade through and difficult decisions that I will never have to face. 

The Bible says that those who knowingly continue to live in sin do not belong to Him (1 John 3:6).  To surrender fully to God’s will for their lives, partners in a committed homosexual relationship would have to abandon and repent of the intimacy they have shared, dismantle, essentially, the family that they have built, and learn to love and respect platonically one whom they once considered to be the other half of themselves.  I wish that weren’t the case.  I really do, especially when I see couples like the one I just described. 

What agony!  I simply cannot imagine it.

Could you make that choice?  You might be able to if you were given time to understand how much God loves you (John 3:16), how willing He is to forgive (1 John 1:9), and how eager He is to heal and make new (2 Corinthians 5:17).  You might be able to if you were taught with patience that this life is just a breath (James 4:14), that eternity with the Father is worth any cost to be paid here on earth (Romans 6:23), and that all things are possible with God (Mark 10:27).  You might be able to if you were loved and accepted by His family, but you probably wouldn’t if you thought it was the very choice that those who avoided, ridiculed, and judged you at every turn wanted you to make. 

My brothers and sisters, consider. 

It is not ours to condemn.  That’s sin’s job. 

It is not ours to convict.  That’s the Holy Spirit’s job. 

It is not ours to judge.  That’s God’s job. 

Ours is to love freely and unconditionally, to speak the truth in love, and to extend to others the same measure of grace and mercy that we ourselves require on a daily basis.  If your daily quota is as high as mine, that should be more than enough to keep us busy and reason enough to leave the stones be. 

Deep Inside

Fall is fast approaching.  I, for one, can't wait for crisp, cuddle-up mornings, sunsets way before bedtime, and warm treats baked with pumpkin.  In fact--let's really push things along here--I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving. 

The very word "Thanksgiving" is magical to me, conjuring up some of my most treasured memories.  At its mention, I see Grandmother's smile and feel the approval in her steady gaze.  I hear Aunt Trevelyn's deep laugh and relax in the comfort of her easy presence.  A crazy quilt of very specific aromas blankets the room, turkey, my mother's dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, sweet potato casserole, cranberry salad, pumpkin pie, celery bread, Grandmother's chocolate pie... and suddenly, I am with my family again.  All of them.  The house is crawling with cousins, Grandmother and Aunt Trevelyn are still alive, and I am warm, inside and out. 

Sigh.

Thanksgiving feels very different for me now than it did back then.  Even though I know things can't stay the same forever, the transition was difficult, not because our new Thanksgiving is inferior in any way, but because I left a piece of my heart at Grandmother's house.

When Todd and I got married, we started spending Thanksgiving with his family and Christmas with mine.  I was truly excited about the switch and making new memories with his family.  It was fun.  We talked and laughed and took pictures, and my mother-in-law introduced me to some new things, appetizers, dips, spreads, sliced cranberry sauce, spiral ham, and cherry pie with ice cream.  It was all new, a big adventure. 

Still, somewhere deep inside, something ached. 

That afternoon, I snuck back to the master bedroom and called my family to wish them a happy Thanksgiving.  Though they tried to be brave, I heard emotion in my parents' and sister's voices, and I knew that the holiday had changed for them, too.  In the background, cousins talked over one another and Aunt Trevelyn laughed. 

Fighting tears, I licked my lips and noticed that, against the background of those particular sounds, my mouth didn't taste quite right.  Suddenly, I craved my mother's dressing and a slice of her pumpkin pie.  More than that, I craved the sense of "rightness" that came with eating those particular things on Thanksgiving.  

A few tearful moments later, I joined my smiling husband in the kitchen, hoping my nose wasn't pink and puffy.  If it was, he didn't seem to notice.  His mother was cutting the cherry pie, you see, and he was clearly excited about it, as excited as I would have been about my mother's pumpkin pie.  Seeing the joy on his face, I put personal preference aside and ate cherry.  It was good, but cherry is not pumpkin. 

I feel like that on Sunday morning sometimes. 

I'm a hymn girl.  That's the way that I grew up.  When we sing "Amazing Grace," "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus," "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross," and others, I feel connected to the Body, and everything seems "right." I see my grandmother and mother in their choir lofts and hear my daddy's booming tenor just above my head.  I see my little girl hands holding the hymnal out and remember struggling to read the alto line, my little sister beside me on our pew.  I worshipped purely then, trusted freely, surrendered wholly, and sang joyfully.  Sweet, sweet memories.

I know things can't stay the same forever, but the transition to modern worship music was difficult for me.  Todd, on the other hand, had no trouble with it.  Though he enjoys the hymns, he doesn't have the same emotional attachment to them that I do.  He can worship easily to just about any music, rap included, eyes closed, hands raised high.  Honestly, it thrills my heart to watch him and my other brothers and sisters in Christ lose themselves so completely.  

I just wish I could join them more often.  It does happen.  Once in a while, we sing familiar music that God has used to minister to my heart in a difficult time, or the truth of a lyric pricks my heart and stings my eyes.  In those moments, my worship moves beyond the "sacrifice of praise" that it often is, and I am caught up.  

I know that worship is a choice.  I know that one song is as valid as the next if sung with a humble and genuflected spirit.  Still, nothing moves my heart to worship like a hymn played the way I first learned it. 

I know that some people scoff at this idea, and I can't help but wonder how they will feel one day when the pendulum swings again and the songs they love are abandoned completely for new ones, or worse, changed and changed again for the sake of changing only.  I wonder if their hearts will ache like mine. 

What Have We Done?

Not too long ago, I watched a scene at the mall that I hoped against all hope I’d never acted out myself.  Deep inside, I knew that I probably had, though I was unwilling to give my memory more than a cursory search. 

A young mother stood with her three or four-year-old son.   From the looks of both of them, it had been a long day.  I could tell that the young woman’s hair had looked really cute just a few hours ago, but it had separated in the middle and decided to fall across her face, revealing an inch or so of teased hair all along the crown.  She wore a heavy, fashionable necklace and a tank top that was gaping in the front as she bent down to her son’s level, though she no longer seemed to care.    

The little boy had ketchup stains on his T-shirt and wore only one shoe.  I assumed he had lost the other at the mall playground and had been less than successful feeding himself ChickfilA French fries.  His soft arms were crossed so high that his fingers were tucked underneath opposing armpits.  A grating whine rose from within him and echoed through the mall, uncontainable and irritating like second-hand smoke. 

The mother held in each hand an expensive cookie that she’d bought from the cookie store down the way.  “I thought you liked sugar cookies!” the mother insisted a little too loudly, hoisting large shopping bags onto her back and balancing them against her oversized purse.

The whine began to crescendo.  

Closing her eyes and pressing her lips together, she pasted on a fresh smile, opened her eyes, and tried again.  “Okay, James, do you want my cookie?”  She held out my personal favorite, a double chocolate chip. 

That’ll do it, I thought to myself, wondering if I should spring for a new cookie for James’s mom. 

To my surprise--and mild disgust--the boy shook his head, poked out his lip, and began to cry, the whine now accented by gulping, choking sobs. 

In desperation, the mother stuck out both cookies and looked around to see what kind of crowd her son had gathered.  Everyone looked away a little too late.  I accidentally made eye contact and recovered weakly with some weird Fozzy the Bear smile.  Nice. 

I noticed when I passed them again that the mother had gone back to the cookie store and bought the boy a sprinkle cookie.  He’d stopped crying.

I was both disappointed in the mother and sad for her, though, like I said before, I am sure that I’ve done the same thing, if not with my own children, then with other people’s children. 

My husband and I have been involved with Oklahoma teenagers for over twenty years.  In that time, we have served on church staff (Well, Todd was on staff.  I was the other half of a two-for-one deal.) in four different churches in very different parts of the state.  Though I might change our methodology here and there had we the chance to do it again, I feel good about the past.  We were passionate and worked hard, and I think we were obedient, though to say that we did everything right would be both inaccurate and arrogant.  No one gets everything right, and I couldn’t even begin to form those words. 

Many of our former students are involved in the Church.  In fact, one of them is a youth worker in the youth group that our kids are a part of.  I tear up inside every time I see him.  Another is a pastor’s wife way out west, loving and supporting her husband with a selflessness that I’m sure brings the Lord a lot of pleasure.  She has become an inspiration to me, though I’m sure she doesn’t realize that.  There are many more.  I could go on and on.

However, it hurts my heart to see that some of them have slipped away.  They’ve not adopted a God-opposing lifestyle, necessarily, but seem to have succumbed to the undertow of apathetic lethargy that has claimed so many of their generation.  What happened to their commitment, their passion to follow Christ?  Why the change?

My first instinct is to comb back through our time with them.  What did we miss?  What did we not say?  Should I have gone on that mission trip instead of staying home with my kids?  Did I fail to pray like I should have?  Then, I read some of the blog posts written by other, more prominent, Christians of their generation and realize that whatever the issue is, it is widespread. 

There is a conversation going on, and I’ve yet to figure out who all of the participants are.  I do know, though, that many are young people who have become disgruntled with the Church for one reason or another.  They are talking to each other openly.  I think they are hoping that the older generation will overhear and….what?  Feel guilt? Question themselves?  Apologize and change? I’m not sure, but it seems that some are eager to assign blame and, at the same time, to come across as unselfish and pure of motive.   

I’ve got to tell you, it smacks a little of teenage angst, the kind that I never thought my own God-fearing, Bible-reading, mostly obedient kids would ever display, but have because they are human.  From time to time, I hear in our conversations a subtle suggestion that if they were the parent, they might do things differently, or see in their expressions a sullen resolve to never say what their mother just said or to never do what their father just did, no matter our reasons for saying or doing whatever it was we said or did.  Though I never say it out loud, I always think to myself, Okay, kiddo, that’s fine. We’ll see how you feel about it when you’re the parent and are responsible to God for your family.  

I feel the same way when I read posts by disgruntled young Christians--many of whom claim no affiliation to any local church because of the “flaws” they see in the Church--asking the older generation to quit entertaining them and just show them Jesus or to quit trying to be so accommodating and just pour into their lives.  Um…okay.  Maybe we should.  Maybe it’s time to quit theming every series out, hyper-focusing on music style, and creating coffee shops in the church, but maybe it’s also time for the younger generation to look past their list of wants and waiting-fors and just jump in and actually show us what it is we are to aspire to by their own example.  

If you are one of the disgruntleds—by the way, I know that this label does NOT apply to all twenty-and-thirty somethings—let me just say this.  Those of us to whom you are speaking have spent years trying to be good mentors, to give you the best, to give you what you said you wanted.  Misguided though some of those efforts might have been, we did it because we love you and want you to take hold of the faith that has sustained us and brought us peace and joy through challenge and difficulty.

Maybe it is our fault (no sarcasm intended). 

We spoiled you.  We bought you the cookie we thought you wanted, and now it’s not good enough.  We’d be pleased to give you ours, the simplified, straight-forward, more liturgical version of church (which is really what I have preferred all along), but have to wonder whether you would be happy with that either.  You want to move on to something better, more meaningful, but few of us have actually been there, some of us because we’ve spent too much energy catering and convincing instead of letting the Holy Spirit speak for Himself, and some of us because we’ve been asked our opinion so much that we think it should count for more than it actually should and so spend too much time forming it.

The Bible tells us not to give up the habit of meeting together.  Period.  No outs or provisions for secession.  It places equal responsibility for the health and fellowship of the Church squarely on the shoulders of the individual.  You can’t get out of it.  You can’t blame your disobedience on anyone else.  You don’t have to go to your parents’ church, but you do have to be a part of the Church.  What’s more, you have to contribute once you join, not just to the work, but to the unity of the Body.   

I didn’t make that up.  God did.    

Listen, friends, we don’t owe you anything, and you don’t owe us anything.  All debts were paid by Christ.  However, we do belong to the same family.  Don’t you think it’s time we quit making a scene, joined hands, and walked on? 

I do.