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.