What Would You Do ...?

I've mentioned I have been working through a series on prayer by Dr. Michael Youssef, called "Prayer Prescriptions." Please listen; it is wonderful.

This morning, I sat down to listen to the next portion, and paused to pray for the Holy Spirit's wisdom and discernment. Scott was getting ready for work and I could hear him packing his lunch in the kitchen; I began to pray for him. As I prayed, a thought entered my head:

"What would you do if I called Scott to be a pastor?"

I love Scott -- obviously. He is a compassionate person; he was taught to pick up for the defenseless and care for those less fortunate. But he is tough; a "man's man", and not a public speaker. A pastor? The thought hit me like a wall of bricks.

For Scott to be a pastor, he would have to spend time in God's word. More time than I do. And I realized that stung my ego a bit.

For Scott to be a pastor, he would have to hold me accountable. Me! And I realized that stung my ego a bit.

For Scott to be a pastor, he would have to be a humble servant as Christ. And that's when things really got messy...

I pray, firstly, for the things I can comprehend. A contractor who loves the Lord, goes to men's meetings and says grace at meals. But, secondly, and much more egregiously, I pray for the things that benefit me. Not God.

And there it is. Clear as day, just as it was when it came to me in prayer.

I want a husband who is humble; he will be gentle and gracious with me. I want a husband who has strong faith; he can carry me when my faith is shaky. I want a husband who will serve God; he will learn how to serve others -- like me. I want a husband whose focus is on leading the life God requires; his focus will be removed from acquiring more stuff at the expense of my goals for our bank account or my goals for that spare storage space.

In Christian circles, I am the celebrity. Scott is the quiet, supportive husband that follows me. At home, I teach him what I know about the Lord; I talk to him about what the Lord is doing in my life. He is the bad boy, while I am the wizened proselyte. I am the servant -- to him, to my family, to neighbors, to our church family; he is beneficiary. Even in praying for my husband, for God's work in his life, I have been praying me-centered prayers! In truth, I was setting up barriers against God's work in Scott's life and, by extension, mine and the lives of others. I was telling God, "Here's what I want You to do; but only to this point."

But is God really asking me take my hands off the very thing for which I have been praying -- a humble, gentle, servant of God with a deep faith and an insatiable desire for Scripture -- in service to the Him, no matter the impact on me?! And that's just what Dr. Youssef's message turned out to be when I finally hit "Play". Funny how God does that, isn't it?

I repented for my selfish ideals and my selfish prayers. I asked God to show me how He wants me to pray for my husband, and I asked Him to help me give more and more to Him. More of me. More of my husband. More of our family. To let go, and let Him.

Honestly, I still can't see Scott as a pastor. But I'm eager to see what God will do!

When Push Comes to Shove

I keep this picture close. Not to make light of my sin or natural inclinations, and the power of Christ to forgive, but because she reminds me so much of the war within me. This darling, cotton candy image of innocence within whom lies the ability to eviscerate the first person who crosses her. This representation of who I was without Jesus, and who He is making me to be. This portrait of the princess He has called me to be, and the ruffian I sometimes find myself tempted to unleash. This reminder of how humble I need to be, and that even my desire to be Christlike comes from Him and Him alone. I have not "arrived", nor do I "have it all together." There is still within me an element of sinfulness, a proclivity to just "let it fly." I am a perpetual work in progress. The good you or anyone else sees in me is the Light of the World aglow within this broken vessel.

The Apostle Paul talks about the same struggle in Romans 7:15-20. He knows what he should do, he wants to do it, but sometimes...when push comes to shove... And those things he knows he shouldn't do or say? Somehow, he finds himself giving in to just those things.

1 John 1:9-10, assures us that Jesus forgives all our sin, providing we call it what it is; we don't sugarcoat it and shrug it off as simply "the way God made me." (1 Thessalonians 5:22, commands we reject, abstain from, make a conscious effort to avoid sin.)

The adorable little contradiction in character above reminds me of the struggles others are having as well. Do those Christians around me always act Christlike? No, but as I recognize the dichotomy that exists in me, and understand the power of the Lord Jesus Christ's blood over my sin, I must know it exists in others as well, and extend the same grace and forgiveness to them as well. As a matter of fact, some of the conflicts I experience in my own life are meant to prepare me for the conflicts others face -- to counsel them or walk with them through it. The brokenness within them is humanity, but the good within them is a gift from the Lord for which I need to be thankful, and cherish every moment.

God's grace is not cheap. Sin is not thoughtlessly swept under the rug. But, praise God, He understands our humanity and loves us deeply. Even when push comes to shove.

Compassion the Way Mom Taught

There was a time when I thought my parents walked on water -- particularly my mom. Mom was the carpool driving, cupcake baking, epitome of the stay-at-home mother. She spent hours decorating our home for holidays, sewing Halloween costumes and school clothes, even decorating our classroom for parties. She taught me how to make the lives of others better, how to bring smiles to others' faces, and to always root for the underdog; she taught me compassion. Years later, a rift occurred, making it almost impossible for me to have a relationship with her.

Now, here we are, caring for her and living with her each and every day. It's not easy. I won't lie and tell you that I have allowed forgiveness for her to wash over me, transforming my view of all this. It is something I give up to God regularly. Pain, and the lack of resolution. She has no recollection of any of the events of that time. There will be no making amends or moment where tears fall and the music swells; in the natural, there is, there will never be reconciliation. When it comes to serving and caring for Mom, some days are just days, other days are an exercise in total dependence on God for even the faintest of smiles to wiggle their way up from my heart. And Mom needs smiles. Smiles make her feel that everything is ok, even when the storms within me want to rage and howl, "Everything IS NOT ok!"

I won't tell you that each and every morning, I race down the stairs looking forward to my first interaction with Mom. I never know what I'm going to get. A pleasant greeting? Or the sad, fearful look of a little child that fades from her face now that I have arrived? Will she scold me for showing up late? Or will she just look at me with that look of total dependence that can instantly cause my shoulders to slump from the weight of it all? Or will she immediately start balking at everything I ask her to do? I won't tell you that my heart just bursts with compassion for her each time she makes a face or rolls her eyes when I ask her to wash her hands or sit down for breakfast.

I need God everyday. I need His mercy. I need His grace. I need His forgiveness. I need His strength and His wisdom. I am a mess without His presence. Life is chaos and despair without His goodness.

This afternoon, Scott lovingly banished me to my office so I could write. He was sitting with Mom when she had a pretty serious meltdown. She insisted our house was hers and it was time for Scott to leave. Now, Scott and I fought long and hard for this house, but that's a story for another day. Suffice to say, we have put lots of labor and care into it; to have someone stand in your living room and declare it is theirs, that everything in it is theirs, is -- regardless of their cognitive abilities -- shocking, to say the least. And in our case, it can bring back some unpleasant memories. When Scott dashed up the stairs, eyes like saucers, his face scarlet, seeking my intervention, I knew diffusing the situation was going to require some compassion.

We strive to allow Mom as much autonomy as possible while at the same time, make sure she remains safe. Hearing this was our house and she needed to get it together would have been of no help. (I'm actually grateful she feels it's hers.) And, obviously I wasn't going to send Scott packing, but Mom needed to feel safe and in control of her circumstances as well. (It hurts me to think how out of control she must feel.) So, I spoke soothingly; I allowed her to cry; I hugged her; I treated her meltdown as I did my children's when they were small -- and I gave her Cracker Jacks. Things were back to normal -- well, our normal, anyway.

I'm not sure what brought it on -- a dietary imbalance, some sort of "trigger" as her mind wandered. I'm not sure I handled it the way experts would advise. I'm not sure if this was a flash in the pan, or the first of many. I am sure I handled it the way I thought was right, the way I believe God requires; I am sure I handled it the way Mom taught me.

"Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience."                                                                                    --Colossians 3:12

What Does God Want?

"My Pig is dead. The Ford Explorer I've driven for the past fourteen years has breathed its last. At 2:40AM on March 17, 2016, the paragon of mileage and memories known as The Pig Mobile crawled her way up the exit ramp off I-95 and bled to death in a parking spot right in front of my eyes."

These were the opening lines of a post I wrote almost two years ago. I loved my truck. (Can you tell?) But, after almost 200,000 miles, her heart had stopped; her engine had blown. For most of my children's lives, she had seen road trips, an accident which was almost her undoing, miles of marketing and children's extracurriculars, and lots and lots of TLC. She was, to me, worth saving. But were we being good stewards to invest that kind of money in a fourteen year old vehicle?

Scott and I decided to pray about it. While we waited for God's answer, I drove my husband's much older pick-up. He loved "Esther" the way I loved The Pig. To him, she was an icon of his children's youth, and a throwback to an era when trucks were built like trucks -- or so he said. To me, she was great on the big roads, terrible for the "around town" stuff. Getting Mom in and out required a step stool; groceries had to be hiked into the cab (which was lifted to a point just above my waist) or stowed in the bed, which meant no more than one stop at a time, unless I wanted all of Delco to help themselves to my pork chops and 2% milk. But she was a blessing for which I tried desperately to be grateful.

In August, all of my wear and tear on the old girl caused Esther to demand a sabbatical right in the driveway of our home. So, with only one week of vacation left, I took the time off work to pray, again, for God's direction. Get Esther fixed? Repair The Pig? The two hours of vehicle shopping that Scott and I had done left me staggering from sticker shock -- surely, this wasn't being a good steward with God's money!

It was Tuesday, just days before I had to be back at work, and, if we were going to fix The Pig, "decision day."

"D'you get anything yet?" Scott asked.
"Nope," was my reply, "You?"
"Nope."
"Well," I said, "I never really believed we shouldn't spend the money on The Pig; I just wasn't sure it was the right thing to do."
"Do we have the money?" Scott asked.
"Yes," I answered.
"Well, I guess that's what we do, then."

Within minutes the work began on my truck, and I picked her up, days later, mere hours before I had to be back at work. She ran better than she had in years. New life had been breathed through my old companion! I wanted to driver her every minute I could!

Two months later, as I was rounding a curve on the road into work, a driver coming the opposite direction, lost control and took out my precious Pig in a near head-on collision. I knew at that moment, she would never rise from the ashes again. The Pig was finally gone.

So, the questions lingered: "Had God been showing us something else all along? Was repairing The Pig really what He wanted us to do? Did we rebel against His plan to get rid of The Pig?"

The short answer is this: I think the answers to all of those questions are found in Matthew 6:33.

"But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you."

We sought God through prayer. We desired His will. We ached to be good stewards of the gifts He had given us. And, even in replacing The Pig once and for all, we sought Him again.

That is what God wants. Whether we purchase an old car, or a new car, or a three-legged horse, the outcome is the same when we seek to obey and serve God.