Good, Good Friday

This year, Good Friday finds me smack-dab in the middle of a struggle with sin, although it is not the kind of sin that some people would give a second thought.  I'm not in danger of being arrested or damaging any relationships, just in case you are wondering (I would be).  Still, the Bible tells me that sin is sin (James 2:10) for what it does to our relationship with Him, not for the effect it has on others, contrary to popular belief. And so here I sit, the knowledge of my sin a heavy brick in my chest.

I know that my sin is not unusual and that others have struggled with the same thoughts and attitudes (1 Corinthians 10 :13), but this is my struggle. Knowing that I am not alone in it hasn't helped so far.  In fact, no effort that I have made in and of myself to get past it has done any good.  And so I find myself on Good Friday, keenly aware of my very real need for a Savior.  Until now, when I have thought about what happened to Jesus on that day, I have been tempted to side with Peter and protest the necessity of Jesus' brutal death.

Today, however, I find myself watching the events in my imagination as a guilty and silent onlooker.  I cannot stop Him.  I will not try.  I need His sacrifice too much.  The notion both shames me and stirs me to worship as I haven't before, further evidence (as if I needed it), that God can use the things that the enemy intends for evil, both Jesus' crucifixion and my own struggle with the flesh, for my good and His glory.  What an amazing God we serve!

I urge you, friends, to take a moment today to stare your own sin square in the face.  Let the realization that this is what you produce on your own without Christ sink in.  Once it has, turn your gaze to the cross and remember the moment of your deepest guilt.  Feel the pain and transfer it in your mind to the person of Jesus, realizing that He felt that very pain multiplied by every soul that ever lived or will live even as he died.  

Now understand that, in spite of the fact that the very sin you currently struggle with hung Him there, His love for you was and is even more intense than the pain He felt, His desire to glorify His Father even more consuming than His desire to be spared agony.  Stand at the foot of this cross and see if you are not compelled to love and worship Jesus anew this Easter, giving Him the glory for any good that exists in your life.

Chubby?

People are always asking me if I have lost weight. I used to take it as a compliment, but I am having second thoughts. This has been going on for years, after all, and my weight really hasn't changed much in that time. I am beginning to think that I just leave a chubby impression on people. Maybe that's why they are always surprised when they see me. As vain as the next person, I don't know how I feel about that...

On the topic of compliments, a dear friend recently told me that she was trying to be more intentional about encouraging other believers. "Every time I spend time with people, I make a point of trying to see them as a container that needs to be filled," she explained. "I think about how God could use me to help fill them up. Then I pour as much encouragement into them as I can in the time that I have." I was challenged and more than a little convicted by her words and began to wonder why I haven't been more intentional in my encouragement of others.

It's not that I never give compliments. I do. It's just that I tend to compliment people more when their actions or words stand out to me as being extraordinary. I guess that means that the words and actions of some people don't seem as extraordinary to me because they are the norm for those people, as per my observation anyway. In a way, my silence, up until now, in response to the godly actions of others has been a sort of compliment. Of course, this is a very pious and skewed way of thinking, so I am trying to correct it by speaking words of affirmation every time I think them instead of assuming that people know that I admire them or see God at work in their lives.

My new perspective does have me wondering, though, about the compliments that I get from time to time about the way I live my own life. Are they spoken because my godly actions are extraordinary for me or because the people who offer them are simply better than I am at encouraging others? I am hoping the second is true. Just as I don't like the idea of leaving a chubby impression on people, I would hate to think that my obedience to Christ would strike anyone as being unusual for me, wouldn't you?

Gift Card

Recently, my family and I spent the afternoon at an outlet mall.  I would say that we shopped, but we really didn’t buy that much.  For the most part, I wandered in and out of stores mindlessly dragging my fingers across the tops of hangers and people watching while Todd and the kids tried on goofy sunglasses, goosed each other, and played with their ipods. 

For the first part of our outing, my daughter Hope at least made a show of shopping with me, pretending to be interested in what I was trying on and pointing out sales offering 50% off or more, but she gave up within seconds of entering the Polo Ralph Lauren store.  The white walls and dark wooden columns made us feel a little underdressed in our T-shirts and gym shorts, and the salespeople looked ready to do business on Wall Street.

Frowning, Hope lifted a price tag on the first display we came to and quickly let it fall.  “Um, Mom,” she whispered, “I think this is the kind of place you only shop in if you have a gift card from Nana.”

I laughed.  She was right.  Anxious to be on our way, we made a quick once-through and moved on to the next store.  No sense wasting time wishing for things you can’t have, right? 

I wonder sometimes if that is the way people who don’t know Jesus feel when they realize they can't afford the good things in life for themselves, things such as joy, peace, and healthy relationships.  Do they think they can't have them simply because they can't afford them?  Is that why they settle for the off-brand junk the world is peddling? 

Here is the truth.  None of us can afford those things, but Jesus can.  Not only CAN Jesus afford those things, He has already purchased them with His own blood and offers them to anyone willing to love Him with their heart, soul, mind, and strength.  In a sense, each one of us has a gift card waiting for us with our name on it, not just for eternal life in Heaven, but for a very real relationship with Jesus that stands up under the greatest pressure, heals the deepest hurts, comforts in the midst of unbelievable hardship, and makes the otherwise impossible possible. 

All we have to do is trade in the old self for a brand new one by confessing sin and receiving God’s forgiveness.  Exchange junk for the good stuff?  Now that’s a bargain anyone can afford. 

Near Misses

Teaching has to be one of the most rewarding professions out there.  I am a very results-oriented person, and teaching gives me the chance to get immediate, tangible feedback for my efforts.  It also gives me a front row seat to the growth and development of young minds and hearts.  I love it when a student that used to make poor decisions with self at the center suddenly begins to realize that the people around him or her are not just role players in their own drama, but individuals with needs and feelings of their own, and begins to make choices that reflect that awareness, serving others when given the opportunity. 

Perhaps even more gratifying, though, are the moments in which my students demonstrate a genuine appreciation for what they have instead of talking incessantly about what they want.  It gives me hope that the next generation might just step up and take care of the rest of us when it is their turn at the helm instead of doing what we have done, spending money on ourselves at the cost of future generations.  But that’s another blog…

On the other hand, teaching can be stressful at times.  A few weeks ago, I was having “one of those days,” having just returned to the classroom after being out for a month following surgery.  I was tired, cranky, and sore, and my students were a little too excited that it was Friday.  By the end of second hour, I was ready to go home, and then the bell rang, bringing my third hour into my room and one of the brightest rays of sunshine that I have the privilege of teaching to my desk with his daily, “Good Morning, Mrs. Sanders!” 

 

I looked into his face and couldn’t help but smile.   This spritely young redhead was grinning ear to ear, looking much as I would imagine he looked as a toddler, his expression open, his pale green eyes, bright and rested. 

 

“Good morning, Honey,” I smiled.  I don’t know if I’m supposed to call my students Honey and Sweetie or not, but it doesn’t really matter.  I couldn’t stop if I tried. 

 

“I’m having an awesome day!” he announced, dropping his books dangerously close to my coffee mug and scattering highlighters in all directions.  I discreetly scooted my mug to the other side of my desk.  I needed the contents too much to risk losing a drop. 

“How so?” I asked, expecting him to tell me that he got a good grade on a test or that his mom was coming to eat lunch with him that day, something like that.

“Well, first, I tripped and fell over the curb when I got here this morning.  Then, someone knocked my binder out of my arms.  Then, just now, I bent down to tie my shoe and got poked in the head with someone’s pencil.”  He smiled, waiting for my response.  I must have looked confused because he continued, using the same voice with me that I use with my students when they don’t “get it” the first time I introduce a new concept. 

 
“Mrs. Sanders, don’t you see?  When I fell, I didn’t get any scrapes that show.  When my binder fell, it didn’t break and no papers fell out, and that girl’s pencil didn’t poke my eye out.  I had three near misses today, and none of the bad stuff happened that could have.”  With that, he smiled and took his seat.  The top of his desk slid to the side, its bolts having been removed by another student days before.  Most of the students that sat in that seat were impatient to have it fixed, moaning and complaining about having to sit there.   This boy just laughed and wedged it into place with his pencil. 
 

Suddenly, I didn’t feel so tired and cranky.  Instead, I was glad that I had been able to come to school that day, so soon after surgery, and spend time with my students, especially this one.  I was grateful for my coffee, the new bottle of Advil in my desk, my comfy desk chair, and sensible teaching shoes.  My spirits were lifted, and I spent the rest of the day feeling thankful for my own near misses. 

Something Big

Growing up, I couldn’t help but notice that my grandparents always got much nicer gifts than I gave my own parents.  When I was giving my parents token gifts like candles, socks, and picture frames, they were giving my grandparents whole outfits, complete with perfectly matched accessories.  I was impressed.  At the time, I simply assumed that my parents bought those incredible gifts because they had more money.  Now that I am the generation buying gifts for grandparents, I think there may be more to it than that.  At least there is for me. 

As my kids get older, I am facing some frustrations and challenges that I never really thought I would have to face, my kids having always been fairly easy to deal with and willing to be corrected.  I am beginning to understand that no child is perfect, yet I do believe that teenagers are a perfect illustration of human nature in its most honest form.  In watching my children struggle, make mistakes, and pass judgment on themselves and others, I am learning much about myself. 

 

Poor choices, harsh words, and selfish thoughts from my past have been popping up in my memory lately like chipped and ugly Whack-a-mole rodents.  And every time they do, I think of my parents, my patient, forgiving, and persevering parents.  Immediately, I start shopping for their birthdays, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and Christmas in my mind.  My praying, supportive, loving, affectionate parents deserve jewelry, nice clothes, thoughtful cards, trips to the day spa.  Let’s be honest.  They deserve cash in large quantities. 

Strangely, or perhaps logically, my worship habits seem to have followed the same progression as my gifting habits.  I used to think that I had worshipped adequately and done something noteworthy in God’s eyes when I sang well, used Jesus words in casual conversation, or teared up at some point during the sermon.  However, I find that when I allow God to search my heart--which I find about as easy to do as sit still in a chair without arm restraints when the dentist is coming at me with a drill—and bring the ugliness of my own sin to the surface, my compulsion to thank Him for my salvation, praise Him for His goodness, and hug Him for His mercy intensifies.  My Heavenly Father’s holiness held in contrast to my own imperfection compels me to love Him, and I find myself wanting to give Him something big.  My God deserves more than words, more than sentiment, more than a few hours of my time each week.  Let’s be honest.  He deserves my entire life.  

   

Number One Valentine

            When I was in high school, I entered a Mother’s Day contest held by my home church.  I wrote two paragraphs about why my mother was, without a doubt, the best mother in the world.  I won.  I think it had something to do with the line I put in about her always being willing to take the fried egg with the broken yoke.  It was true.  It meant a lot to me, and I felt it spoke volumes about my mother’s selflessness.  I still remember how it felt to have my personal sentiments read aloud and to see my mother’s obvious happiness at being honored in this way. 

            When the Father’s Day contest rolled around, I entered that as well.  I wanted my dad to know that I thought he was just as great as my mom.  Again, I won.  I think the part that touched the judges that time was about my daddy’s being willing to let me curl up on his lap on Sunday afternoons in his big recliner while he watched whatever sport it happened to be the season for.  I was in high school, after all.  I remember that Daddy teared up and smiled at me when they read my entry aloud.  My heart soared. 

            From that time until now, I have taken great care in both choosing the cards that I give and writing inside them.  People keep cards.  At least I do.  Every single one.  So, I make sure that the cards I give are worth keeping, worth reading over and over again.   

            A few weeks ago, I went shopping for the perfect Valentine’s Day card for my husband.  It took awhile to get past the flippant cards, the vulgar cards, and what I call arm-tackle cards, the ones that say things like “I know I don’t say it enough, but I love you” or “For all of the special things you do…” or “I don’t deserve you.”  Honestly, if that’s the best you can come up with on the day reserved for expressing deep and personal sentiment, then maybe you really don’t deserve your Valentine.  I think that people want to hear things like “I am sorry that I don’t tell you that I love you enough, so I plan to change starting now” and “I appreciate the following things about you…” and “Because you are such a blessing, I will honor you.” 

            By the time Valentine’s Day rolled around, I had found the perfect card and poured my heart out in ink.  My hubby’s eyes pinked up, and I knew that I had won again.  Then, during our family devotional that morning, he said something to the kids that I, having spent most of my life listening to youth group Bible studies, have heard at least a dozen times.  “Don’t forget that Jesus loves you most,” he smiled.  “He’s our number one Valentine.”  The kids nodded, and we were off to school, Daddy, to work. 

            For some reason, those words resonated in my heart this time around.  All day long, even as I taught my students all about the writing process and sensory detail, I got side-tracked thinking about the fact that Jesus was indeed my number one Valentine.  Finally, I blipped out completely, losing my train of thought in front of my all-boy fourth hour. 

My heart squeezed, filling my eyes with stinging tears, when I realized that my life was, quite literally, my Valentine card to my savior, the one who loves me most.  Feeling the heat of shame in my cheeks, I wondered how He felt about it.  Did it convey a flippant affection for Him?  Was it a vulgar distortion of what my relationship with Him should be?  Or worse, and likely more probable, was I taking an arm-tackle approach in my personal worship? 

So, these are the thoughts that have been rattling around in my head.  Many of us are under the impression that our words somehow redeem our actions.  I think God reads our actions instead.  I know He sees our hearts. So, I have decided that if my life is the only love offering I am able to give to the One who loves me most, then I am going to fill it with “I love you” and “I appreciate you” and “I honor you.” I want my life to be the card that my number one Valentine wants to read over and over again. 

Cake

                My writing desk is covered with keepsakes, trinkets, and other things that inspire me.  Perhaps my favorite item in that collection is a tiny scrap of paper from a journal that Hope used to keep.   Dated February 4, 2005, it reads, “Today is a good day.  I ate cake.”  By itself, this note is cute.  Yes, cake does make for a good day.  But what makes it special to me is knowing what kind of day my poor baby girl had had when she wrote this entry.  

                A second grader who loved school, she woke up that morning feeling under the weather.  She insisted that she was fine, but I could tell by her eyes that she was getting sick.  I told her that I wished she would stay home, but she was adamant that she felt fine and reminded me that her friend’s mother would be bringing a birthday cake to school for her friend that day.  Against my better judgment, I relented and let her go to school.  By the time I picked her up, she was pale and sweaty and running a fever of 103.  She hadn’t told her teacher that she felt hot because she wanted to stay and celebrate with everyone else.  Immediately, I took her to the doctor and found out that she had Type A influenza.  Settled on her sickbed that evening, achy and hot from head to toe, Hope chose to sit and write, “Today was a good day.   I ate cake.”   

I take a long look at that journal entry anytime that I am tempted to complain about the things that I wish were not in my life but are.  I remind myself that I am blessed in spite of them.  After all, no matter what is happening in my tiny world, God is still sovereign, and He loves me.  He loves me so much that He sent Jesus to pay the price for my sin so that I could have a relationship with Him now and spend eternity with Him in Heaven someday, where life is not only good.  It’s perfect.  Living a life of faith is not a matter of being able to look on the bright side of a situation, something that is often difficult and sometimes impossible to find, but is instead a matter of choosing to focus on and cherish the promises found in God’s Word in the midst of darkness.  It’s nodding at the fever, but savoring the cake.

This week has been a difficult one for me.  I’ve struggled to simply rest in the fact that God is in control and that He loves me and to let that be enough.  I’ve prayed and given my troubles to him a dozen times only to snatch them back again, but in the moments that I’ve allowed myself to accept the reality of God’s provision and love for me and to rest in the peace that He gives, He’s opened my eyes to some pretty cool things that confirm and reaffirm in my heart and mind that God is at work in my life and the lives of those around me. 

For instance, this week, during free reading time, one of my students pulled out Crazy Love, by Chan, and read it to a group of eager listeners near him.  During a discussion of Thanksgiving, one of my students raised his hand and shared why he was so thankful for what Jesus had done for him.  Another of my students saved a classmate from an embarrassing situation, and still another of my students left a note of encouragement for me on my desk full of the exact scripture that I needed to hear that day in response to what God had said to her in her quiet time that morning.  These incidents don’t erase the scary things that I experienced this week, and they don’t fix the things that are broken.  But still, all things considered, I’d have to say that it’s been a good week.  I had some pretty yummy cake.