New website is up and running!

Wondering where I've been?  I've moved to a new website.  Visit www.angelasanderswrites.com from now on to read new blog posts. 

While you are there, check out my bio, resume', etc.  and remember me when you are scheduling your girls'/ladies' events at church.  I'd love a chance to come and spend some time with you and yours!  Also, if you need specialized Christian curriculum developed, I'm your girl.  

See you on the flip site...see what I did there?  

Much love,
Angela

Mentor Me

Church people use the word “discipleship” a lot these days, but not like they used to, and I have to say that I’m kind of glad.  Five or six years ago, it was a buzz word that carried with it a long list of ambiguous and unspoken expectations. 

Frankly, it made me nervous. 

I couldn’t tell for sure because I’d never been formally discipled by anyone, but, depending on whom you observed, those expectations seemed to include spending concentrated time with one specific person of your same gender, discussing predetermined curriculum at length, laying your heart and soul bare by confessing all of your mistakes and doubts, asking for and receiving constructive criticism willingly (if not eagerly), and patterning your life to a certain degree after the example set by your mentor. 

To be honest, none of it appealed to me—I’m an opinionated and passionate introvert that would rather take peanut butter intravenously than participate in such a ritual—and yet I felt left out, envious, less spiritual somehow.   

No one wanted to disciple me, or if they did, they didn’t say so.  Of course, I probably would have taken such an offer as personal criticism.  No matter how sweetly they might have phrased it, I would have heard, “You look like you could use some serious help, and I am way more spiritually mature than you are.  Can I disciple you?”  That would not have gone well for the person asking, I’m afraid.

Now, several women did ask me to disciple them, but I said “no,” probably making them feel just as insecure and left out as I felt.  In my defense, I didn’t know what else to do.  Girl world has always been a bit of a mystery to me, a backdrop against which I have always felt like an ogre let down in delicate Munchkin Land, and this whole “disciple me” craze felt a bit like sorority rush, something I opted out of in college with no regrets.   Besides, I didn’t want to put anyone in a position to have to say to me, “Hey, you are not as cool as I thought you were.  I am breaking up with you now.”  I had enough of that in junior high!

Rather than participate on a formal level, I decided to lay low and “keep on plodding” just like my friend Mich Dershem once advised my husband and me to do.  I focused my attention on knowing Jesus, loving others, taking every opportunity to speak the Truth, and doing my best with God’s help to serve as a living illustration of that Truth in case anyone was paying attention.  

Many women in my life have done just that, and each has had a profound impact on my life just as surely as if we had set out to check off a formal list of discipleship requirements together.   Momma taught me to forgive and to serve.  Mema taught me how to love my husband.  Grandmother taught me that passion and emotion, kept in check, can be good things.  My sister taught me to look for the best in people and love with my whole heart.   The list goes on and on and includes many women outside my family.  My only regret in never having formalized and/or labeled my relationship with these women is that they probably don’t realize what a blessing they have been in my life.  

Please don’t get me wrong.  I recognize the intrinsic value of formal discipleship.  Done well and in the right spirit, it’s a good and potentially beneficial way to pass on the Truth we’ve learned to the next generation, perhaps sparing them some of the grief and pain we experienced while learning it. 

I get it.   

I simply want to encourage those who, like me, find formal discipleship intimidating, a little forced, and sometimes stifling by pointing out that effective discipleship is not a one-size-fits-all garment.  You are no less spiritual than anyone else if your mentor doesn’t know who he/she is.  What’s more, you are loved whether you feel like it or not.

My advice to you?  Watch.  Learn.  Love.  Invest.   In short, keep on plodding, friend, and God will use you.  I promise.

Don't Miss It!

“Those who passed by hurled insults at Him, shaking their heads and saying, ‘So! You who are going to destroy the temple and build it in three days, come down from the cross and save yourself!’”
Mark 15:29

I read this passage this morning and was immediately frustrated with these people.  They were witnessing the front end of the greatest miracle that would ever take place, the most inexplicable act of love that any human being would ever perform, and they were blind to it, callous to it, even disgusted by it.  Why?  Because they didn’t have their facts straight!  They were operating on second-hand information that was grievously skewed by an incorrect pronoun and an inaccurate verb.    

“Jesus answered them, ‘Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.’” John 2:19

Jesus didn’t say that HE would destroy the temple (which was a metaphor for His body, not the actual temple) and BUILD it again in three days.  He told THEM to destroy the temple and promised to RAISE it again in three days, which He did, in short order! 

If those poor saps at the foot of the cross—not even stopping at the foot, staring up at the Messiah in awe, but PASSING BY—had understood what was going on, they would have been filled with an overwhelming, scalp-tickling sense that the scene before them was one of history-altering significance, life-changing relevance. 

They might have held their breath.  They might have wept.  They might have glimpsed the bigger picture and taken hold of their eternal salvation like the thief on the cross, but they PASSED BY to go get groceries or make dinner or something else completely ridiculous and mundane in light of what was happening at Golgotha.  They missed it!

I can’t help but wonder how often we do the same thing.  How often do we, relying on what someone else says God said to them or an inaccurate meme posted on Facebook/Instagram, miss what God is doing simply because we haven’t taken the time to get our facts straight, to think, to notice, to take in, to ponder and work out our own faith with fear and trembling.  I have a sick feeling that it happens pretty often.  

Preachers are great.  Sunday school teachers are fabulous.  Parents who love the Lord and back up their decisions and discipline with Scripture are a rare and fading treasure.  However, no one is perfect.  We all make mistakes (When I think of some of the Bible studies that I led early on in our ministry, I want to throw up.  How arrogant I was to assume that I knew so much!), and we all interpret what we hear and read in the Bible through the filter of our present circumstances, no matter how objective we try to be.  Add to that the fact that the human tongue is far less eloquent than the Holy Spirit in communicating the profound and unsearchable wisdom of God, and we have a little problem. 

I can tell you what I believe the Bible says.  I can tell you what God is doing in my life.  I can give you advice based on the Scripture that I know and am able to remember in the moment, but I can’t be the Holy Spirit in your life, no matter how badly I might want to be sometimes.  That task has already been assigned.    

This being true, my prayer for you today (and for myself) is that you will stop, open your eyes to what God is doing around you, soften your heart to the Holy Spirit, listen with discernment, and study the Bible for yourself instead of allowing those who think they know to feed you intravenously whatever they wish.  

God is working miracles in the hearts of those who let Him today, friend.  Pay attention.  Don’t miss it!

Three Days Later

I practiced his absence a hundred times during his senior year, when he was at musical practice, when he went to a friend’s house, when he lived in staff housing at camp, but this is different.  I won’t see my son in a few hours.  In fact, I won’t see him for days.  There may come a time very soon that I don’t see him for weeks, a thought I’m just not ready to handle. 

I’m grateful for the times this past year that I thought to myself, ‘Hunter needs to go to college,’ because I don’t feel that way right now, and I need to remember that I had those moments, that, at some point, I knew this was the right thing, the logical, healthy next step.  

I had big plans for his room, you know, and told him so.  Promising not to wipe away all evidence of his existence, I told him that I was going to paint to cover up all of the marks his skateboards and guitar made on the wall.  I told him that I was going to get a new comforter for his bed to replace the faded and worn one I bought at a garage sale when he was five, the one he once said couldn’t sleep without.  I told him I was going to rearrange his pictures, take some down, add my own—properly spaced!—and make the room suitable for guests.   

Amused, he smiled and said, “Okay, Momma, whatever you want.” 

But Hunter’s been gone for three days now, and I can’t even bring myself to make his bed.  His pillowcase smells like his hugs, after all, and I want to pretend that he just got up and is at school with his sister. 

His room is eerily clean.  I can see the carpet, and I hate it.  The walls are bare, and I find myself pining for the over-shellacked John Wayne clock that never worked, the Jolly Roger flag with a mustache, and the Beatles poster that hung on the wall off-center because he wouldn’t let me hang it.  

Whatever I want?  I WANT YOU BACK, SON!  But I can’t have you.  God has big plans for your life that include your being exactly where you are right now, meeting the people you’re meeting, learning the things that you’re learning, and being challenged in the ways you’re being challenged.   He reminds me of this every time my eyes begin to burn with tears, every time my heart squeezes with the pain of separation from my precious baby boy, every time the enemy tries to tell me that I missed something along the way. 

Oh, I go ahead and cry—you know I do—and my heart still aches—it takes my breath away sometimes—and I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking of things that I could have done better, but I find peace in this.  I did the best I knew how in the moment.  I loved you with everything that I had and pointed you to the Father at every turn, sometimes in desperation, sometimes in anger, sometimes in fear, but always with confidence, knowing that He loves you more than I--although I’ll admit I can’t imagine a love that big!

Somehow, I’ll make it through this transition, Hunter.  You will, too.  You may be fine with it already. (But don’t tell me just yet if you are! Haha!)  I’ll wash your sheets, make your bed, and paint the walls…I’ll even stop turning the lights on and off when I think you would have. 

In the meantime, in your absence, I’ll choose to rest in His presence and let Him bring me peace.  I pray you’ll do the same, sweet boy, just like we practiced.  

That Moment When...

Pepa went to be with Jesus two months before our boy was born, but I still think I see him from time to time.  When it happens, my heart thumps into sudden, rapid rhythm and I am powerfully drawn, the longing for his hug, his smile, his familiar chuckle of approval so intense that my eyes begin to tear. 

Taking a step and craning my neck for a better look, I know I'm being ridiculous. I know that Pepa is gone, but I still hope.  Inevitably, the handsome stranger turns, revealing a profile that's not quite right, a receding hairline that Pepa never had, eyes that lack his mischievous twinkle, and in those moments, I mourn one of the sweetest men that I will ever know all over again.

I think I see Jesus sometimes, too. 

When a father disciplines his child with love and restraint, when a young man extends grace to adults who suspect and mistreat him, when a woman truly forgives and forgets, when a girl gives up her place in the social circle to befriend someone who has been left out...when things like this happen, my soul lifts.  My heartbeat quickens. 

It's Him!  It's Jesus, loving on people through His faithful ones, and in those moments I rejoice in the fact that my Savior lives all over again!!

Why I love/HATE social media



It's happened way too much lately.  We're right in the middle of family time, enjoying each other's company, and someone checks their phone.  Because I was online just a few minutes ago and follow most of the same people they do, I know what they will find and watch with a heavy heart. 

Scroll.  Scroll.  Scroll. 

There it is, the blink.  I feel it in the pit of my stomach as surely as if I have been punched.  They were left out.  Again.  One of my very favorite smiles begins to fade despite best efforts to keep it in place, and what could have been a fun and memorable family event is tainted by private feelings of inadequacy, rejection, and maternal anguish.

I have an eighteen-year-old son and a fourteen-year-old daughter.  This phenomenon transcends gender and age and is the reason that my relationship with social media is love/hate...mostly hate. 

I know that social media can be and often is a good thing.  The Bible says to pray constantly with all kinds of prayer requests, mourn with those who mourn, and rejoice with those who rejoice.  Social media lets me do that.  In fact, most of the prayers I've prayed over the last few years simply wouldn't have been prayed had the need not come up on my feed.  Many of those prayers were for the comfort and peace of others in times of mourning.

It's the whole rejoicing with those who rejoice thing that I struggle with sometimes. I am encouraged to see how many of my friends are happily married and/or enjoying healthy friendships. I get chills when I learn that they are expecting or adopting a child or becoming grandparents, and I love watching their children grow, overcome, and accomplish. I even enjoy new car, new house, and vacation updates, but that hasn't always been the case.

Until five years ago, Todd and I shared a car, lived in a rent house, and pinched pennies in order to take modest vacations.  None of it really bothered me--I knew I was blessed--until I got on social media and saw pics of my friends driving new cars, living in big, new homes, and taking extravagant vacations. Then it became a struggle. 

Satan used those posts like barbs to awaken the jealousy monster I kept chained in the basement of my heart, the one I should have already let God kill.  I truly wanted to believe that my friends, family, and acquaintances were unaware of the unrest that their posts caused me, but every "having a great time here at Disney World" felt like "don't you wish you could take your family to Disney World?"  Every "closing on my dream home today" felt like "you are the kind of people that made us leave our old neighborhood."  Every "my new toy" felt like "shouldn't you at least have a car?"

That was five years ago.  Now the struggle is social, not so much for me, but for my family.  I'm a bit of an introvert and am okay, for the most part, with knowing that my friends get together without me, but it kills me to see what my kids go through because of social media. 

Again, I want to believe that the incessant, for-no-particular-reason group pics and overused totem pole captions ( bae, bff, the best, my favorite, etc.) posted by this generation are not intended to wound, but I am suspicious.  I can't help wondering how many are innocent celebrations of friendship and how many are actually aggressive attempts to stake social territory.  After all, kids will be kids, and that's what bothers me.

Ultimately, there's nothing I can really do about it but help my children find their worth in Christ, teach them to consider the feelings of others in all things, and model compassion myself.  I can't control how other people respond to the things I post, but I can consider their feelings and keep my motives in check.

To post or not to post?  It's the question we all need to be asking, and the answer is, "It depends."  Are we trying to inform, entertain, or inspire, three completely benign reasons to post, or are we trying to persuade our audience that we are somehow happier, better looking, less lonely, more accomplished, more connected, more wealthy, more satisfied, more disciplined, more intelligent, more athletic, more original, or more spiritual than they are?

If our purpose is to somehow win King of the Social Media Mountain, we'd do well to save those tilted, filtered pics and clever captions for the family scrapbook.  

Ouch!

Truth?  There is nothing in this whole world that I love more than Scripture.  However, sometimes, it’s difficult for me to digest.  It’s not that I don’t understand it.  I do.  That’s the problem. 

Understanding brings me face to face with the ugliness in my heart and forces me to make decisions for or against Christ.  Will I die to myself and follow Him in this particular, or will I choose my own path, pretend I don’t know that I’m in the wrong, and hope that the spiritual make-up I’ve applied is thick enough to fool everyone but Him?  No, conviction isn’t always pleasant. 

This morning, I picked up my Bible anyway, and I am still choking on the bite I took. 

Romans 12:2 says, “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.” 

I’ve read this verse at least a hundred times, memorized it, taught it, and written about it.  It seemed a safe enough way to start my day, but this Word of God we often handle like a self-help tool is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword (Hebrews 4:12).  Today, it cut me right to the core. 

The thing that struck me in this verse was the switch from active to passive voice.  According to this verse, conforming is something that we do, but transformation is something that we let God do in us.  Oh, we play a part in transformation, alright.  We let go.  Understanding that what seems right to us in the moment often leads to death (Proverbs 14:12), we make a conscious choice to stop reacting, processing, TALKING, analyzing, and judging and allow God not only to change our behavior, but to actually rewire our thinking.

What does that mean in practical terms? 

Well, for one thing, it means that when my loved ones do something stupid—we all do something stupid sooner or later—I allow the Holy Spirit to stop me in my tracks before I respond in kind.  When He pricks my heart, I freeze Matrix style and choose not to do the things that I want to do, yell, blame, snub, punish, and wound, lest I conform. 

Instead, I ask God to take the two-headed beast of petulance and pride that I become in moments like those, the one capable of biting heads off quite handily, and let Him melt me down into someone else.  Someone who sees the potential in people rather than the flaws.  Someone who feels genuine, selfless compassion for others.  Someone who values mercy over justice and offers second, third, and twenty-seventh chances.

Of course, letting go means giving up any right I think I have to sulk or hold a grudge.  It means forgoing the tearful “I’m sorry” I feel I deserve and/or the kiss-up compliments that come with apologies.  What's more, it means forfeiting the chance to feel morally superior for a moment. 

Ouch. 

How ugly I am! 

Even so, I desperately want to know the Father.  I want to please Him.  I want to be a part of what He’s doing in these last days, and for that, I need discernment.  For that, I need rewiring, complete transformation, and that's the truth.

Goosebumps

Outside our Falls Creek apartment window, I hear voices, the sing-song enthusiasm of students and sponsors on their way to the Tabernacle.  Somewhere deep inside, my spirit stirs and my skin begins to tingle. 

Goosebumps. 

The irresistible urge to pray overtakes me.  I know what’s at stake.  I know what God can do when hearts and minds are focused and open.  I bow my head.

As I pray that God would draw the lost to Himself, challenge believers anew, and call young men and women into His service, an image comes to mind such as you might see in a superhero movie or a cinematic representation of the parting of the Red Sea, a rushing of energy or water to a center point where it converges, changes course, and rushes with combined force and focus in a new direction.  

For so many of us, Falls Creek has been that center point, that point of convergence with the Holy Spirit after which life becomes an adventure.  I don’t know why God blesses these grounds with His presence like He does.  I don’t know why He’s chosen this place to stir hearts so tangibly that you can almost trace His index finger, but He has. 

Maybe it’s because, while they are here, people put aside worldly distractions and look expectantly toward Heaven, waiting for, asking for a word, a fresh touch from Him. 

What if we did that at home on a daily basis? 

Tonight, I’m praying that God would move at Falls Creek—I have a feeling He will with or without my prayers, but I want to be a part of it—and I’m praying He will move in your heart as well. 

Won’t you join me?   

Crumby

Grandmother was adorable.  I loved everything about her, the way she loved her family fiercely and her dog almost as much, the way she mixed up words and told jokes she didn't understand, the way she tried to laugh with her mouth closed because she was self-conscious about her smile, all of it.  From her pursed, red lips to the crumbs that collected on her blouse (or "top"), the woman just made my heart happy.

Fastidious in her appearance, Grandmother carried a make-up bag in her purse, had her hair done every Friday, and insisted on shopping at Dillard's because she knew they carried nice things.  As a matter of fact, when she passed away, her Dillard's card was the only one with a significant balance. 

Ironically, Grandmother was almost never completely clean.  Every time she ate a meal, crumbs fell and collected on her blouse amongst rhinestones and embroidered flowers and stayed there for the remainder of the day untouched.  Though she took great pains to "put her lips on" right after every meal, Grandmother never looked down to inspect her, um...front. 

Attention to detail is important, especially if you're going to be spending any time around other people.  Ever heard someone say something like this?

"For a Christian, he/she sure is.. (insert negative adjective here)."

Or ask a question like this?

"How could someone who claims to be a Christian...(insert negative verb here)?"

I usually just say, "I don't know" to comments like these when I really can't argue, but I think I do know.  I think we Christians behave badly sometimes because we, like my Grandmother, are relying on a pocket mirror to accomplish a full-length mirror task. 

See, when you grow up around church and spiritual conversation, you tend to choose favorite parts of the Bible and turn to them every time you need to send a card to, pray for, or counsel someone.  If you aren't careful, you come to depend on your favorites for everything, flipping to the well-highlighted pages in your Bible every time you feel the need to refresh spiritually.

This is a problem.  The goal for us is Christ-likeness, after all, not self-improvement, and pet-verse primping just doesn't get it. 

Ephesians 5:17 says, "Don’t be stupid. Instead, find out what the Lord wants you to do." 

You may feel knowledgeable enough, challenged enough, and comforted enough by the Scripture you already know, but if you don't look into the full length mirror of God's Word (James 1:23) and study it for all it's worth, you might be walking around all crumby and not know it.

 

Bombing Hills

In case you haven’t heard, there’s a new sensation sweeping the nation.  Well, maybe not the nation...  maybe just Falls Creek.  Hill bombing seems to be all the rage. Everywhere I look, I see kids running full speed down the steepest hills just to see if they can make it to the bottom without falling. 

A few days ago, I was out for my evening run/walk when I came up behind a group of girls that were nearing the top of a very steep hill, the one behind the skate park that leads to Hollis’s cabin, for those of you who are familiar with Falls Creek.  They were in a huddle making plans, their dark heads an umbrella over their close faces. 

Suddenly, the tallest girl broke away from the pack. 

“I’m going!” she announced, and, without looking back, she began a sprint down the hill. 

Two of the other girls followed immediately, but one hung back for two or three seconds before beginning her hesitant descent. 

At first, the girls screamed with delight, reveling in their youth and flexibility.  It made my knees hurt just to watch.  

Then came the moment I knew would come.  Their little legs couldn’t keep up.  Like parachutes opening, skinny little arms flew out from the sides of each girl, and they began to windmill.  

Fearing the worst, I closed one eye in a half-wince and prayed they wouldn’t fall.  

Happy screaming stopped.  Frantic screaming ensued. 

Half-way down the hill, it seemed the first girl was a goner.  Bracing for impact, she turned her head to the side as her body began to lean forward. 

I stopped running and wondered where we kept our First Aid kit. 

Just before the first girl lost her footing, she stopped struggling and threw her arms out behind her in a desperate attempt to right herself.  In half-second splits, the other girls did the same. 

Miraculously, thirty feet or so from the bottom of the incline, the girls began to recover.  Regaining their balance one by one, they righted themselves and rode the last fifteen to twenty feet out in a semi-relaxed state as if riding in on a rail. 

“Weeeeee!”  the first girl shouted with abandon. 

“Weee!” the next two repeated.

“This is Amaaaaziiiiing!” the last girl cried at full volume, dark hair billowing out behind her like bed sheets hung to dry.  

Relieved for them, I resumed my halted, forty-two-year-old gait and reached the bottom of the hill just as the girls broke from a giggly group hug, their dark eyes wide with adrenaline and the thrill of victory.  

As I continued my run/walk (Todd calls them intervals.  I call them do-what-you-cans!), I wondered what other exciting things might have happened to those girls at camp.  Had they come to know Jesus?  Had they grown in their faith and learned to trust Him more than they did before?  If so, then I knew they had experienced a thrill even greater than hill bombing.   

There’s nothing quite like the peace and anticipation that follow a new believer’s decision to follow Christ.  I remember it very well, and I was very young when I became a Christian.  I also remember the panic that I felt when I was much older and the enemy tried to keep me from growing in my faith. 

Like gravity, the devil pulled at me, slowing my progress.  Confused, I did what comes naturally to most of us.  I resisted in my own strength and began to flail my arms.  Grasping for stability, I took hold of the empty support offered by the enemy and found it lacking. 

Then, just when soul-scraping, mug-marring defeat seemed inevitable, I had no choice but to let go and lean in to God, trusting Him for the outcome and, quite literally, my life.  You know what?  That’s where I found freedom.  That’s where I found the adventure I’d been craving.  That’s where I experienced the heart-pumping thrill of living in complete and utter dependence on my Savior. 

Now, I won’t pretend that I never again tried to bomb one of life’s hills on my own.  I did.  I’ve got the scars to prove it.  However, I will say this.  When I have allowed Him to sustain me, God has never let me fall. Over and over, He has proven Himself to be faithful, strong, and able.  

I truly hope that the girls I saw had a great week at camp.  I hope they drank Icees, swam to their hearts’ content, and told secrets in the dark, but I pray, above all, that they experienced the thrill of surrender and victory in Christ.   Lord, may it be the new sensation that sweeps our nation!   

Brand New

A couple of weeks ago, two of our dearest friends, Aaron and Cory Lynne Myers, drove in with their girls, Elli Kate and Ana Beth, to watch our oldest graduate from high school.  Their presence was a special gift, and it made my heart happy to see them seated happily alongside family members, right where they belong.  These two came on the scene when Hunter still slept on Toy Story bedding, you see, and they have played a big part in his becoming the tender-hearted, Jesus-chasing young man that he is today. 

After commencement, our families went to Zio’s in Bricktown to eat high-calorie foods and catch up.  While we waited for a table, we ventured down the steep steps to the Riverwalk.  Because our kids are old enough to walk without help, the Sanders family followed theirs, and it gave me a lot of joy to watch Aaron and Cory with the girls.  All smiles, they were patient and loving.    

Walking slowly so that Elli Kate could navigate the steps herself without falling, Aaron and Cory made a sincere effort to experience their surroundings from their daughters’ perspectives.  Following Elli Kate’s curious gaze and pointing finger, Cory Lynne expressed wonder at every discovery as if she, too, were seeing the ducks and flowers for the first time.  Aaron, a man’s man, hugged his youngest up cheek to cheek and whispered with excitement, “Look!  A boat!”  Ana Beth’s soft gasp and wide-eyed response melted my heart.  

I blinked back tears for a few moments. 

Then I got to thinking about what it means to be a parent, not a biological parent, but a spiritual parent.  We evangelicals have been accused in the past of winning souls and then leaving our spiritual babies out on the rocks to die like the Spartans did.  Though I tend to agree on some levels, I think that particular metaphor is a little extreme. 

We are not mean, lazy, or apathetic.  We truly want to help new believers grow.  Many of us just don’t know how. 

Perhaps eager to impress our new brothers and sisters in Christ, we give them big bites of meat to chew before they’re ready, sometimes before we’ve even figured out how to swallow and digest it ourselves.  Siblings excited at the prospect of a new playmate and running buddy, we prop them up and expect them to walk before they’ve even had a chance to crawl. 

We forget what it’s like to be baby Christians, to crave—to need—spiritual milk and take our first tentative steps of faith.  Maybe we need to slow down like Aaron and Cory did and make a sincere effort to see things with fresh perspective.  Maybe it’s time to throw off pretense and point out the simple wonders of this life we have in Christ.  

“God is your Daddy now, and He loves you more than you can imagine!”

“You are forgiven! Your heart is clean.”

“You’re free! You don’t have to sin anymore.”

“You have a purpose!”

“You don’t have to be afraid!”

What would you add? 

Remember, when we teach, we learn, too, and there’s no shame in being brand new. 

The Ride

I am not a roller coaster girl!  Some people live for the thrill of riding them.  Not me.  I do enjoy the initial tickle in my belly and the pounding of my heart.  I don’t even mind the strange urge to laugh and scream at the same time on the first drop, but that’s where the happiness ends for me.  I hate the feeling of being out of control.          

There are a few roller coasters I will ride, though.  I actually like the Wildfire at Silver Dollar City.  Maybe it’s because I can see the whole thing from the railing, or maybe it’s because the ride is smooth and the heavy metal harnesses fasten tightly with a very loud click.  Then again, maybe I like it because no one, to my knowledge (and please don’t correct me if I’m wrong!), has ever fallen from it to their untimely death. 

Yep, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure that’s why I like it. 

The Wildfire is safe, at least in my estimation, safe and familiar. I know where the dips and twists are.  I know where it speeds up and slows down.  I even know where to smile for the camera.   I own the hoodie, for goodness sake!  Given the chance to ride the Wildfire again, I will say “yes” without reservation.  

I thought about the Wildfire this morning during my quiet time.  There I was, reading through Galatians, minding my own business, when the Lord began to talk to me, not in a casual, “Let’s chat” kind of way, but in a tummy tickling, “Are you ready for this?” kind of way that caused my heart to pound a little.  It’s the kind of thing I pray for, hope for, yearn for more than anything else.   

It was awesome!

So, what did I do?  How did I respond?  I shut my Bible and stopped praying.  I stopped listening.  I reminded myself that I had a bed to make, makeup to put on, and a teenage son to wake (I’m good at making lists when I need to), but the truth is I was scared, scared to hear what God had to say, scared that it would be too big for me to process, scared that it would be too much for me to handle on my own.

And, of course, it always is.  At some point, though, we (meaning me) must learn to rest in the fact that God loves us and is in complete control even when we are not. Though we may not be able to see all the twists and turns and dips that lie ahead, we can let go and walk in faith, knowing that nothing comes into our lives unless He allows it.  We can feel confident in the fact that His grace is sufficient. 

I wish I could tell you that I immediately prayed, confessed my lack of faith, and felt better about everything or that I reopened my Bible, at least. 

I wish I could. 

After all, what the Lord has in mind for me may not be big, awful, or scary at all.  It could be something happy and exciting, something that I would choose for myself.  Actually, I think that it is, but I could always be wrong.  What He has in mind could be the kind of long and difficult ride that draws a large Facebook following and stirs prayer warriors to action, and that’s why it’s taken me an entire day to come to a place of peace and surrender.  

I don’t know what lies ahead.  The ride ahead may or may not be a smooth one, but I know this.  My Heavenly Father is big and strong and holds me firmly in His grip. He has never let me fall.

Will I join Him on this ride, whatever it is?  “Yes,” without reservation.

Poor Substitutes

Todd gets home from Spain today and just in time.  The soft T-shirt he sleeps in—the one he left behind at my request—has lost its scent, and I am desperate for the sweetness of morning snuggles. 

The world is scary.  People are mean.  Bad things happen.

However, none of that matters much when I’m buried in Todd’s warmth, breathing him in and listening to his heartbeat.  For twenty-five years, my husband’s presence has worked a chamomile effect on my anxious heart, helping me accept the things that aren’t and rejoice in the blessings that are.  

But he’s not here.  His shirt is—a very poor substitute for the real thing—and I’m feeling grumpy and sad. 

I know I’m not the only one.  Everywhere I look, it seems that people are ticked off about one thing or another, each other, mostly, and Christians, in particular.  At least that’s the case on my social media feeds. 

I guess it’s no wonder.  Christians aren’t perfect.  We do make a lot of mistakes, and we often let people down. 

We know that we fall short.  That’s why, with the Spirit’s help, we lay our hearts in God’s hands on a daily basis to be transformed into something new.  We want to get over our “humanness.” We want to stop irritating and disappointing other people (and ourselves) and become a more accurate reflection of our Savior as much as other people want us to.    

The problem is this.  This whole transformation process we are in?  This noisy and painfully public rebuild?  It isn’t scheduled for completion this side of Heaven.  Only when we join the Father there will He finish the work He began in us at the point of our salvation.  Only then will we be perfect. 

If you are longing for the real thing, I’m afraid you’ll just have to befriend Him yourself.  My brothers and sisters and I, by our own admission, are very poor substitutes.

“Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.”  Revelation 3:20

Pulling Up Camp

Over spring break, my family and I loaded up the car and headed east.  As we drove, a funny thing happened.  We ended up farther and farther away from home.   Siri told us so, but we would have figured it out anyway.  Half-way through our trip, hills and then mountains began to appear.  Trees got taller and more dense, forming an archway over our path from time to time.  Finally, prairie grass and red dirt behind us, we knew for sure that we had reached our destination when we hit sandy Virginia Beach.  

For seven days, we lived a new reality and were able to put aside the cares and concerns that had weighed so heavily on us back home.  As often happens when I’m on vacation, God cupped my face in his hands and held me calmly until he had my full attention.  We talked about a lot of things that I’d forgotten to tell Him—things He already knew—and He helped me finalize some weighty decisions with peace and confidence. 

Once I calmed, He let go and held my gaze.  For the rest of the week, He talked, and I listened.  I was reminded how good it feels to be the daughter of a Father like Him and how free it feels to rest in the fact that He loves me.  It’s such a relief to know that tomorrow is not mine to conquer and all I have to do is trust and obey. 

Now that I’m back home, though, I’m struggling to maintain the calm and connection I felt on vacation.  Why?  Well, it’s not because the Father left me.  That’s for sure.  I find that when I force myself to stop worrying, fussing, mulling, and choosing, He’s right there waiting for me to notice Him, ready to remind me of His love and sovereignty. 

I’m struggling because, somewhere along the way back home, as the mountains melted into prairie and the trees slipped back into the earth, I picked up the worries and habits I’d left behind like a stack of waiting bills and junk mail and allowed them to overcome me.   

That’s what happens when you live in the middle, you see, when you turn your eyes on what is seen rather than what is unseen, when you focus on vain do’s and don’ts and anxious what if’s instead of claiming and living in the victory God has already provided through the blood of Jesus Christ.  

The Enemy lives in the middle, and He baits and distracts those who choose to camp along the fence-line between light and darkness, poking, prodding, and wounding those who concentrate on avoiding evil and staying “clean enough” rather than pursuing the Lord with abandon. 

Why do you suppose the Father has called us to holiness?  For His sake?  To a certain degree, I suppose.  It does bring Him glory, and He is the King of Kings.  But it’s also for our good, something else for which the Bible says He works all things together. 

When you pursue holiness, leaving the temporal, permissible, and disputable behind you, a funny thing happens.  The darkness falls away.  Care by care, worry by worry, fear by fear, it fades until all that is left is beauty, calm, and peace.  That’s what the Father wants for us.  That’s what salvation from sin and self through Jesus offers. 

So, where are you today?  Are you longing to feel God’s touch and hear the lullaby of His powerful voice once again?  Pull up camp and pursue holiness.  The Father will help us get there.

Why It's So Hard to Trust God

Why do we have so much trouble trusting God?  I think it has a lot to do with the fact that we have all, at some point, been let down by someone we love and who was supposed to love us back, whether they ever made that promise or not.   Personal experience makes it difficult to imagine the perfect love of God, so we approach our relationship with Him much as we approach other relationships, with hesitation, doubts, and our defenses up.   

Most of us tend to gauge God’s love for us by our blessings.  When our health is good, money is coming in, and our loved ones are safe, we are sure of God’s love for us.  We rest.  We trust.  We feel close to Him. 

But when our health wanes, money problems come, or our loved ones suffer, we are shaken.  Hurt, disillusioned, and fearful, we pull back much as we would if a friend or mate had let us down.  Assuming the stance of a martyr, we continue on, but with caution.  Our joy gone and our egos wounded, our obedience becomes an act of duty rather than a love gift.  

Besides the fact that this behavior encourages similar behavior in other believers, there are two major problems with this kind of self-righteous response to the trials that we face. 

First, it robs God of the glory He deserves.  It makes us look and feel like the hero when nothing could be farther from the Truth.  Though we are sinful by nature and deserve nothing from God, the Father gave us everything in Jesus, making it possible for us to be reconciled to Him and share in the inheritance of His Son.  In return, God deserves anything He asks of us.  Anything.  To guard our pain as if God has been cruel and lick our wounds as if He is unwilling to heal and sustain is to suggest otherwise. 

Second, it makes God out to be a liar when He never actually promised to do what we were expecting of Him.  If He had promised, He would have followed through (Romans 9:6).

Brothers and sisters, we must be extremely careful when reading Scripture not to claim promises intended for others as our own.  For instance, the fact that God promised and gave Abraham a son doesn’t mean that everyone who wants a son will get one.   The fact that God preserved David’s life in the wilderness does not mean that he will spare your life if your death better serves the purpose of His will. 

When we claim promises not intended for us, we set ourselves up for hurt, disappointment, and confusion and make vulnerable our own faith.  Such action on our part does not obligate God any more than Lois Lane’s putting herself in danger obligates Superman. 

The Holy Spirit speaks to us through Scripture.  We know that.  Sometimes, He does deliver specific, personal messages to us through God's promise to another individual, but such revelations must be received with careful discernment and awareness of our own emotional state, personal desires, and tendency to hear what we want to hear.  Continued prayer and Bible study are the only way to confirm an actual word from God.   

The Bible does contain some promises that are for all followers of Christ, however.   Here are just a few.

·         In this life, you will face trials of many kinds (James 1:2).
·         God’s grace and power will sustain you (2 Corinthians 12:9).
·         God will supply all your needs (Philippians 4:19).
·         God will work everything together for your good and His glory (Romans 8:28).
·         When you draw near to God, He will draw near to you (James 4:8).
·         If you confess your sin, He will forgive it (1 John 1:9).
·         God will never leave you or forsake you (Hebrews 13:5).

If you have given your heart to Jesus, you can cling to these promises without reservation in all circumstances, but don’t ever put words in God’s mouth and don't expect Him to do things the way you would.  Remember, He sees the big picture.  We don't.  

Believe me, I know it’s difficult to trust when loved ones that you can see, hear, and touch let you down on a regular basis, but the Father loves you perfectly.  He is faithful (1 Corinthians 1:9), and you can trust Him.