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!