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.