Knee Deep

My seventh-grade students are in the middle of a research project on the 1960’s.  For bell work one day, I asked them whether they had ever felt that they had been born in the wrong decade.  The discussion that followed was very interesting.  Almost all of them felt that they had been born in the wrong decade and named the 50’s, 60’s, and 80’s as the alternates they pined for.  

One girl said with a sigh, “I wish I had been born in any other decade but this one.  When my mom and grandma were little, they could go outside and play and talk to the neighbors without worrying about being taken.  These days, everyone is scared.  We have to stay inside so we don’t get stolen.  Neighbors don’t know each other very well, and you have to arrange a playdate to get to see other kids instead of everyone just going outside to play with the other kids that are already out there.  Everyone spends their day staring at some screen and not really enjoying themselves.  It seems like the whole world is depressed and scared.” 

Without hesitation, the rest of her class agreed, nodding their heads and mumbling, “Mmm-hmmm.”

It made me sad, but I had to agree.  It does seem that most people are depressed and scared these days.  I’m not sure why that is, but I find myself getting caught up in it, too.  Fear, anxiety, disillusionment, and skepticism together create an undertow that’s difficult to resist.   Take away the life-line of regular face-to-face (or even ear-to-ear) interaction with other human beings –other Christians in particular—and the pull to give up and give in to despair can be overwhelming.   Walk away from regular Bible study and prayer, and you are sunk.

Once submerged, it’s difficult to see.  Fumbling for a foothold and struggling for fresh air, you reach for something to grasp, a feeling, an experience, a mood, anything that resembles the peace and joy that you felt when you trusted God and rested in His peace.   Underneath the surface, we take hold of things that have no root—emotion, false doctrine, shallow religious experience, human wisdom—hoping they will anchor us and make us feel better, but they don’t.  Discouraged, we sink deeper.

If this is where you are today, take heart.  You aren’t really drowning! 

What you are experiencing is just an illusion, a trick of the enemy.   Like Gilligan in the Lagoon, you are only knee deep.  Stand up, take the reed from your lips, and fill your aching lungs, child of God.  Discover for yourself that Jesus Christ has always been and will continue to be your firm foundation.  Our Rescuer once and forevermore, He offers deep and abiding peace in the midst of pain and trouble to those who believe in what they have not seen and choose to stand firm in His truth.

“…For everyone born of God overcomes the world. This is the victory that has overcome the world, even our faith.  Who is it that overcomes the world?  Only the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God.” 1 John 5:4-5

Hoping for a Snow Day

We may get a snow day tomorrow!  What are the chances?  Well, it depends on whom you ask.   One television station makes it sound like we will.  Another makes it sound like we won’t.   I’m secretly hoping for a break after the busy weekend that we just had, so I choose to believe the meteorologist that says we’re looking at three to six inches by noon Tuesday.  

We all do it, channel flip until we find the forecast we’re hoping for.  It’s a harmless game, really.  Ultimately, the weather’s going to do what the weather’s going to do.   All we can do is take a guess, hope for the best (whatever that means to us), and wait and see.

Sadly, that’s how many people approach eternity.  Misreading the urgency of the situation, they theology flip, looking for a doctrine or religion that fits their agenda.  Most land on the one that feels best to them, one that offers a glimmer of hope without requiring much in return.   It’s a dangerous game and a needless one. 

The Bible is very clear when it comes to salvation and life after death.  There is no guesswork involved.    

Jesus said, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6).  Those who give their hearts to Jesus now, trusting Him for their salvation, can count on spending eternity in Heaven.  Those who don’t can count on spending eternity in Hell.   Either way, sooner or later, every knee will bow and confess that Jesus Christ is Lord (Philippians 2:9-11). 

There is no alternate forecast on this one, friends.  Just you wait and see. 

Magic Mirror

Nothing shakes my confidence like looking in the mirror after a long day of interaction with people and finding that I had food in my teeth, a booger in my nose, or dandruff in my hair.  That probably seems shallow.  That's because it is, but I can't help it.  I'm a little narcissistic.  If I wasn't, I wouldn't have a blog, now would I? 

Ironically, the place that I normally sit to study my Bible and pray is directly in front of a mirror.  I call it Magic Mirror because it elongates images and makes me look five to ten pounds lighter.  It used to hang in the hallway of my grandmother's house.  I loved it.  On Thanksgiving, when I felt that I had eaten way too much and was sure that if I didn't get my rings off soon they'd be stuck there forever, I would go to Magic Mirror for reassurance.  Then and only then did I feel justified having a piece of pumpkin pie with fresh whipped cream...or two.

This morning, I realized something.  Magic Mirror has become a real distraction to me during my personal Bible study time.   Catching a glimpse of hair out of place or an unbecoming expression on my face as I concentrate on what the Holy Spirit has revealed to me, I look up to investigate, primp, fuss, and worry over what I just saw, breaking completely my concentration on difficult Truth and numbing myself to the healing conviction of the Holy Spirit.  The prick in my heart tells me that this tendency goes beyond the half hour I spend in intentional Bible study on a given day, and I wonder how long this has been going on.  How many opportunities for enlightenment, growth, and intimacy with the Father have I missed while looking at my own reflection? 

Magic Mirror is not longer that.  It has revealed an ugly flaw in me, one that I've been wearing around for who-knows-how-long for all to see, a preoccupation with myself, and I'm embarrassed.  The very fact that it embarrasses me reveals the depth of the blemish.  It shouldn't matter so much what other people think beyond the fact that I may have unknowingly discredited Christ before others in some way.  What matters is that this preoccupation with myself has probably dulled my discernment and hindered my obedience, rendering me less effective in my service to Him.

So, what to do about Magic Mirror?  Well, I could find somewhere altogether new to read my Bible and pray so that I won't be so easily distracted, or I could cover it with a cloth when I study and pray like people used to do when they were in mourning.   That may not be such a bad idea.  In fact, a funeral may be in order.  A funeral to self.

Sorry, but Not Sorry

There are cute kids, and then there are impossibly cute kids, the ones with large eyes, long eyelashes, and soft, ample cheeks.  It was one such cutie that caught my eye at the mall last week.  A soft little guy, he appeared to be a good eater, one that looked ready to move from size 2T to 3T, though I'm guessing he was only about eighteen months old.  

He and his mother were waiting next to me in the breezeway at Dillard's for the boy's father to pick them up.  Anxious to get home, he wiggled and squirmed and resisted as his mother worked mittens over balled up, sticky fists and situated a woolen elephant hat with ear flaps onto his head.  The hat itself was too cute for words, complete with elephant ears, love knot eyes, and a stuffed trunk that curved outward and downward a full four inches, but when she tied it under the toddler's chin, the result was more than I could have hoped for, pushing those soft, ample cheeks forward and forcing the boy's full, pink mouth into a perpetual "chubby bunny" pout.  

When the struggle was over, all three of us exhaled, and two of us giggled.  The little boy wheeled around and pressed his face against the glass, looking for his daddy. Just then, a family of adults entered the breezeway, pulled their scarves over their mouths, and proceeded out the door to their car, forcing a gust of wind past my legs.  The little boy with the elephant hat was intrigued and waddled to the door that had just closed.  

"Aaron," his mother warned gently.   

Trying to smile from behind his cheeks, the little boy showed teeth and pressed his mittens against the door with purpose.  

"No, no, Aaron," his mother cautioned again.

The little boy closed his eyes to her words, turned his attention toward the door, and leaned, opening the door an inch or so.  He froze, avoiding eye contact and hoping his mother hadn't noticed. 

"Aaron Chad," his mother corrected, lowering her voice and setting her bags down just in case she needed to make a snatch and grab, "don't open that door.  Come here."  

For a long moment, it seemed as if Aaron Chad would obey. Straightening, he slowly lowered his mittens from the glass and watched the door close.   Still no eye contact.

"Good boy," his mother praised him, picking up the bags she had set down.

Big mistake. 

Aaron Chad giggled and, with renewed enthusiasm, squared his mittens on the glass, pushing with all his might.  "I sah-wee," he announced with surprising sincerity even as he disobeyed his mother and drew the outside chill into the room.  

With impressive speed and skill, Aaron's mother dropped everything and scooped him up before he could make it out the door.  "No!" she corrected, a hint of panic in her voice.  "I want to keep you.  Stay here with me, and let's wait for Daddy."  

Minutes later, they were gone, and I chuckled at what I'd witnessed.  A mother of two, I've been there, done that.   

You know, I believe Aaron Chad.  I think he really was sorry, not sorry for what he was going to do, but sorry that it was going to make his mother angry.  He didn't want to disappoint her.  He didn't even really want to disobey.  He simply wanted to do what he wanted to do more than he wanted to please.   

Just like me.   

How many times have I had my mittens on the door of disobedience, regret in my heart even as I leaned into my rebellion?  Too many to count, I'm guessing.   

"I know you told me to give more than my tithe, but I'd rather redecorate, Lord.  I'm sorry." 

"God, I know you told me to forgive and move on, but I've worked up a good mad and want to enjoy it a while before I give it up.  I'm sorry."  

"I know you told me to reach out to so-and-so like you would, Jesus, but I'd rather spend time with people who will love me back.  I'm sorry."

Thank goodness I've a Heavenly Father that will scoop me up one way or another and rescue me from my sin, bringing me back into fellowship with Him and sparing me regret. I don't always like it. Sometimes He has to take hold with a pretty firm grip, but I know it's for the best, mine and His.  He loves me, so He keeps me.  He's the very best kind of daddy.    

For What He's Worth

Like countless others, I have made a few New Year's resolutions.  For what they're worth, here they are. 

I plan to read my Bible more and memorize more of what I read, like a verse a week.  I'm not starting a Bible reading plan or anything like that, though that's not a bad idea.  It's just that when I set goals like that, I tend to quit the first time I fall off the wagon.  I never catch up and end up feeling defeated rather than encouraged by what I did accomplish. 

I'm also going to work on being quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry (James 1:19). (Those of you who see me every day are invited to hold me accountable on this!)  My plan is to count to ten and recite "see as He sees...love as He loves" to myself as many times as necessary to get through each day, an approach that generally works for me. 

Finally, I'm going to write something every day, even if it's just one sentence before bed in the five-year journal that Hunter bought me last year for Christmas, you know, the one that only has about twenty entries in it so far.  God has called me to write, so I need to write whether or not anyone reads the words.  

So, here I sit, much as I did about a week ago, surrounded by holiday decorations, a modest pile of brightly wrapped intentions before me, sacrifices I intend to make, effort I intend to put forth, all of them gifts that I intend to offer.  But to whom, and what are they worth? If I'm not careful, they will all end up right back under my own tree, so to speak, spent for the glorification of myself, the making of a better Angela, and that idea that just doesn't settle well with my spirit. 

A couple of verses come to mind. 

"Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain..." Psalm 127:1a

and

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters." Colossians 3:23

According to Scripture, spinning your wheels on anything behind which God is not the driving force is a monumental waste of time, but hard work performed in accordance with God's will as an act of worship counts for something even if no one around you recognizes your efforts or cheers you on. 

Friends, let's make sure our efforts count for something in 2014.  Let's put our own lists aside and focus only on the things God wants us to focus on.  Let's work faithfully toward that to which He's called us in sincere worship. 

For what He's worth, let's lay our gifts beneath His tree. 

Sand and Feathers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not Excited About Christmas

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

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

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

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

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

I would have to say, “Not very well!”

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

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

But, it just doesn’t work that way. 

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

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