Success is an Attitude

Is there something you're supposed to be doing? I'm not talking about, maybe, you're supposed to be mowing the lawn or you're supposed to be preparing for Sunday's sermon, but you are instead scrolling social media or taking a nap. I mean, you are supposed to have had three children by now, or you are supposed to be a musical phenom by now. I mean, God finally gave you that perfect husband who, like you, loves children and wants a home full of dents and dings and childish laughter, but despite the doctors telling you everything is fine, you haven't one single son or daughter. I mean, God gave you this perfect pitch and the ability to simply pick up an instrument and play, this remarkable rhythm and notes that flow through your soul moment by moment, but despite your sacrifice, despite your toil, you can't even feed yourself on what you earn playing music. You know that you know that you know you are to be a mother. You know that you know that you know you are to be a musician. So, where is your success?

From the time I was a young girl, I loved reading and writing; I loved learning and teaching. But there was nothing I ever wanted more than to be a mother. (In fact, in my foolishness, I saw being a wife as a means to end, the way I could be a mother, but not on my list of aspirations.) A neighbor told my mother repeatedly, "She's going to be a missionary." A teacher allowed me to teach the Spelling lesson from time to time. During summer break, a friend and I published a neighborhood newspaper. My mother carried in her purse a list of all the Nancy Drew books I owned so she never inadvertently bought duplicates for my birthday, Christmas, whatever occasion, such was my love of reading. As a teen, I was always asked to babysit or help out with Vacation Bible School or teach younger children. Every indication, every avenue, every community in which I existed reaffirmed what I was supposed to do. I had the gifts, I had the passion, and they were clearly recognizable. So, where is my success? Why am I not teaching hundreds from a dais? Where is my best seller? And why, as a parent, am I plagued more often by thoughts of what I should have done rather than basking in the perpetual adulation and celebration of our children for the felicity of having me as their mother? Why am I so unremarkable, so ineffectual, so ordinary?   

When Jesus sat down and spoke what we call The Beatitudes to the people gathered on a mountainside, it was in response to the commission His Father had given Him. He wasn't looking to be made king of Judea; He was bringing glory to His Father. It wasn't for fame or popularity --if it had been, surely, He would not have started out by telling His listeners that to be truly blessed, one must be meek, one must grieve; it was to bring glory to His Father. 

And what of The Beatitudes themselves, Jesus' very words? Not a one declares, "Blessed, highly favored, abundant in fruitfulness is the world-famous athlete," or "Blessed, highly favored, abundant in fruitfulness is the Oscar-winning actress." Likewise, nowhere in Scripture does it caution, "Poor and despised is the barren woman whose love for children drives her to care for and pray for others' children alone," or " Poor and despised is the talented but obscure musician who can only share his gifts with the church every Sunday." Scripture does, however, tells us, Whatever you do, do it heartily as unto the Lord (Col. 3:23). Success is measured by our attitude, not our audience. Obedience and the desire to please God. Using all we are given to the glory of God. Submission to His plan and His authority. Not seeking after the rewards and approval of this world. And if our ministry never serves more than a few, if our talents are shared only with those in our community, if our love is never given to children we can call our own, if our name is never on the lips of millions but is written in the Lamb's Book of Life, we are more than blessed. Let us humbly serve our King in whatever we are supposed to be doing and trust Him with the success of that obedience.   

A Beginning Like No Other, a Future Lived for Christ

This young man who has come to be ours is struggling, and I don't blame him. He moves around this world in the body of a ten-year old, but inside... His childhood was denied him. Not one single picture of a swaddled pink baby remains --if they were ever taken. Not one image of first steps or a first birthday smash cake. No 5x7 glossies of a face smeared with spaghetti, tiny teeth peeking out of a big smile. No "First Christmas" portrait or lock of hair. They've all been lost. Not as things lost in a fire --at least those things once existed; at least someone took the time to preserve them, to curate them. But for our son, none of these things ever existed. At least, I hope not. I mean, what would be the alternative? They did once exist, but are today buried in some landfill? Did someone at some point make a conscious decision to erase all documentation of his existence in the kitchen garbage can amongst carrot peels and junk mail? Did someone choose to go on as though my child was never born? never had those remarkable firsts? never cooed and giggled in his own unique way? was never adored to the point of someone actually having to stop themselves from taking so many photos or preserving every scrap of paper on which he made his mark with dimpled hands gripping preschooler-friendly fat crayons? Who made such a decision? Better to think those mementoes never existed.  

So, his development and his heart remain in a place he no longer fits, searching for a childhood he never had. He spends many days straddling the world of what-might-have-been and the world of what-is-supposed-to-be. And the what-is-supposed-to-be hinges so heavily on the things for which he longs --history, meaning, roots, purpose; those things which naturally emerge when genuine love welcomes a child. I can't believe we haven't found my mom yet. As though it could ever be a simple undertaking. As though I am merely babysitting for the afternoon. I don't take offense. I can't even imagine his pain and confusion. But the familiarity with which I held those children I birthed, the way I breathed in their smell, and knew their skin as my very own, I cannot yet permit with this young man. I tread lightly, wanting him to know he is loved but not looking to breach any boundaries, attempting to respect his private thoughts and feelings.

Most of us come with a history. Be it good or bad, it is uniquely ours, and it explains who we are and where we began. Do you know where I came from? Am I Swedish or Hispanic? Is there someone famous in my family? Did anyone have cancer? Will I be tall like Daddy? These are questions I cannot begin to answer. He is our very own "Mister E", and despite efforts to make it all seem a grand adventure, what a frustrating reminder of an unbearable pain. How great a burden to cast on such a young life! To have not a singular beginning established and unshakeable, but many --as many as homes he has occupied before he came to us. To reinvent oneself again and again. To hope for roots in one place after another, roots that will provide the stability he needs to stand tall with spread wings. 

And for me --to wish I'd held his tiny, newborn frame wrapped in a flannel blanket. For his father to wish he'd been the first to teach his boy how to throw a ball or given him his first truck. Without a past, what point of reference exists for a future? Without knowledge of a beginning, how do we navigate toward an end? 

But I am optimistic --more than optimistic, I am assured. I know -- for a fact -- beyond doubt -- we are family. A loving, providential God brought us together. We are all meant to be right where we are. God's plan for our young man's life includes us. God's plan for our life includes him. Our beginning is not like others, but we have a beginning: a beginning to the story of how we worked to find a child --our child; a beginning to the story of how a child from a place we've never been, born to people we never knew came to be ours; a beginning to the story of our relationship --from our first meeting, to our first fight, to our first Thanksgiving, to his first day on his own journey as the man God has made him to be. Whatever it takes, wherever it leads, however it ends, this journey was bestowed on us as a family --a precious gift, a redemption. We are in this together at God's behest. He is our Hope. And in Him we will rest, even when questions go unanswered and pages of history remain empty. We know the One who holds the future, and we are, moment by moment working to ensure this wonderful young man knows Him as well.

  

Midweek: It's Only Natural

For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse, because, although they knew God, they did not glorify Him as God, nor were thankful, but became futile in their thoughts, and their foolish hearts were darkened.
~ Romans 1:20

People love to find excuses for not following Jesus.

What if there were people in a remote part of the world who have never heard of Jesus? Would God send them to hell? I could never worship a God who would do that!

First of all, God is more about giving people what they want than most people realize. You want to deny Him? He will accept that and reciprocate. You want Him to leave you to your sin? He will give you over to it and its consequences. The consequences include the judgment of a just God who punishes sin with precisely what it deserves --eternal judgment. Today's Western society poo-poos "little sins" like lying or lusting or gossip or the thievery that occurs at all of those self-checkouts across the country. (Yes, I agree large corporations are getting precisely what they deserve in those cases, but I am neither judge nor executioner.) But "little sins" are only downplayed in our language ("white" lies, "pinching" a piece of candy, spilling the "tea") and our assessment because none of us wants to face our guilt; none of us wants to admit these offenses against a perfectly just and holy God are deserving of His wrath. We are born into sin, but God's mercy, God's benevolence, the death of Jesus on our behalf is the only means adequate to save us from that wrath. God's mercy is His not giving us what we deserve, that which we have earned on our own behalf; that which we, by lives lived unto ourselves, wanted.

Second, have you ever thought about the reason we call Nature "nature"? Because it is a direct reflection of the nature of its Creator. To call someone or something "natural" means they exhibit/it exhibits the essence of its creator or founder. To be a "natural born swimmer" or "natural born architect" means that your skill comes as though it was part of your nature from birth, a reflection of perfectionism in said skill endowed without your input or effort. The "natural man" was once created consistent with God's design in His image. It was, at the Fall, corrupted by sin. John Donne, 17th century poet and cleric describes it: O miserable condition of man! which was not imprinted by God, who, as he is immortal himself, had put a coal, a beam of immortality into us, which we might have blown into a flame, but blew it out by our first sin; we beggared ourselves by hearkening after false riches, and infatuated ourselves by hearkening after false knowledge. We, the prideful, the intellectual, the autonomous man, rejected that which we were given --the potential for greatness and fullness of joy found in walking with our Creator. We chose that which destroyed our potential and corrupted our nature, the nature that so beautifully reflected our Creator. And yet, it was our Creator who offered holy blood on our behalf. It is upon that sacrifice and victory over death we choose to stand. Or, we are free to reject it, to rail with entitlement against submitting our lives to anyone, to pass judgment upon a perfect and sovereign God for His divine justice, and to deny His very nature in the world around us. Will you choose to believe the evidence, or will you stand before Him without excuse?

In the Wind

This is the word of the Lord to Zerubbabel:

‘Not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit,’

Says the Lord of hosts.

~ Zechariah 4:6

Years ago, we hired an attorney to handle a matter that was not only emotionally charged but seemed to be a serious injustice. We believed the agencies who were, at the time, handling the situation were not only irresponsible but incompetent. (Turns out they were disingenuous as well.) Add to that the uncertainty of a pandemic... Those were crazy times. I wasn't thrilled at the idea of involving an attorney, but the alternative seemed unthinkable. We prayed, my husband and I talked at length, we solicited the advice of many others, and every day we looked into the faces of those who were counting on us to advocate for them. We wrote the check. In the days after, I tried to provide our employee --for that is indeed the position of someone to whom one pays a sizeable retainer --with as much information as I could, and some of it was HUGELY supportive of our case. Our confidence skyrocketed. 

We received a notice from the court: our hearing was in six days. Shouldn't our advocate have known this? But there was a pandemic; everything was a little wonky. I immediately emailed our representative. A full twenty-four hours later, we'd still not received a response; I called. The attorney will call you tomorrow. The following day, Friday, at 5:30 PM, I got an answer when I again reached out. The voice at the other end said I'd get a call the following day --promised I'd get a call the following day! Saturday? I was right to doubt. In fact, no call Saturday, no response on Sunday to the not-so-nice message I'd left late Saturday, and by Monday morning, minutes before the hearing was taking place by phone, I received an email asking what time the hearing was to begin. Livid and panicking, I responded, but ultimately found myself speaking to a judge with my representation in the wind. The conclusion was as we feared and not as we'd hoped. Several phone calls and emails after that, and our employee placed the outcome, the confusion, and the entire debacle squarely on my shoulders. I could have been incensed, I could have turned around and taken legal action against our attorney, but the grief I felt at the initial situation and the conviction I experienced over having not trusted God, outweighed any fury I had over being defrauded.

Fast forward to April of this year, and we are facing another hurdle. God, in His infinite grace (and with what I believe to be an incredible sense of humor), provided us with a poignant reminder, a letter, from our former attorney:

Dear Judi,

This letter is to confirm that my representation of you in the above-referenced matter has ended.

I want to take this opportunity to thank you for allowing me the opportunity to represent you.

... It has been a pleasure, and I hope you will allow me the privilege of representing you again in the future should the need ever arise.

Regards,

Crazy, right? Did it stir up old feelings of animosity? Did it make me want to march over to the address on the letterhead? For about half a minute. Then I heard the Spirit's voice: Not by might, nor by power. Grace had timed that letter most perfectly. Grace had carried us through that hard season and into the next. Grace has worked all things out better than a victory in court could have ever accomplished. Grace is savage and strong and gentle and loud and sometimes painful in order to make us into people who trust firmly in the Spirit whose might and power are matchless, who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all we ask or imagine. 

This newest hurdle is well within God's purview. He has been gracious enough to give us glimpses of His authority and His will. There is no power or might on earth that can achieve all He can achieve. In our time of crisis, we were better for His design, to depend fully on His Spirit, and to leave human might and power in the wind.