Day Dreaming

I blame our pastor, really I do. I don't think I'd gotten more than ten minutes into the copy of one of his recent sermons when my mind began to wander. It's not that Pastor Bryan is boring, or dry, or doesn't preach in a way we can understand; it's because our pastor definitely has an anointing. I don't think I've ever heard him preach when his message didn't hit home at some point. That's what happened as I listened this day. As he spoke, a scene from my childhood slowly eased it's way to the front of my mind:

When I was young, my family would take day trips to the beach. Mom would pack sandwiches in the cooler, and pack us into our swimsuits; Dad would pack us all into the station wagon, and off we'd go. Once Mom set up shop on the musty old Army blanket, that's where she remained for the rest of the day; Dad was the free spirit. He would play with us in the surf, splashing and squirting us, coaxing us to swim toward him.  

On one occasion -- the specific one that came to mind as I was listening to Pastor's sermon -- Dad was carrying me piggyback deeper and deeper into the Atlantic. I was excitedly urging him to keep going, my wet feet swinging back and forth along his sides, and my bottom bouncing up and down in his arms. I tightened my grip around his neck as he pressed on. I looked across the surface of the water and saw a discarded cupcake wrapper floating, tarnishing this perfect setting for fun. A few steps further, and there was another. And another. I can't recall if I spoke first, or if Dad offered up the explanation: they were not discarded wrappers at all, they were dead jellyfish.

As I sat down to write today, I was curious as to how Dad had immediately identified those stinging blobs as dead; so...Google to the rescue. The long and the short of it is, unless they are decomposed, or it is obvious they are being carried, lifeless by the current; unless you make contact, there are few ways to determine if they are truly dead. Perhaps Dad had poked one somehow -- he was sort of fearless that way -- or perhaps he did not wish to alarm me; either way, they were "dead" to me. We pressed on.

And that is the point at which my twisted little mind returned to the sermon; but it hadn't strayed far or long. You see, my momentary journey was, in some ways, a picture of the Christian walk. We can all remain "safely on shore". We can trust in what makes us feel comfortable; we can remain on what, for now, appears to be sturdy, dry ground. We can allow our fear to keep us beached on some musty old territory, with only a cooler full of PB&J for the rest of the trip. But where will that take us? And what happens when the tide rolls in, sweeping away our comfortable little roost?

Or, we can frolic in the surf with our Father. We can cling tightly to Him as He leads us further and further into the great Deep. We can ride safely in His arms toward what might normally frighten us were we to travel it on our own; we can fearlessly, excitedly urge Him to carry us "further! deeper!" And we can know, the dangers that may await us on our journey are dead to us; nothing more than harmless discarded rubbish, rendered ineffective and completely under the authority of the Living God. Our Father.

(Although, the old wagon didn't quite make it to the shore on this trip...)

What Is Your Kryptonite?

I have not posted in two weeks. Now, I could list a plethora of reasons: it's tax time and I'm trying to get paperwork together; Mom and I have been taking advantage of some sporadic breaks in the weather to get outside; I've been getting some of my seeds planted for Spring flowers and Summer vegetables -- just to name a few. But the real reason is Discouragement. There you have it (and it actually feels kind of liberating to see it in black and white).

I am beginning to realize Discouragement is my Kryptonite. Kryptonite, of course, was the one thing that was able to bring down Superman -- the legendary hero, faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Well, I am no Superman, but I am an organized, intense, focused, multi-tasking wife, mom and daughter who, two weeks ago, picked up a dose of Green Kryptonite. Wikipedia describes Green Kryptonite as cancer-causing to humans, and even, fatal with long-term exposure. I know Kryptonite is fictional, but Discouragement is not.

Dis-couragement: the thing Satan uses to take away the boldness, the courage Christ has given me for Kingdom purposes. Strictly my definition, but one that reminds me of the origin of discouragement; the blessing of courage and its "bigger than me" purpose; and my responsibility to armor-up against discouragement. Think of it this way: to disrobe means to take off what you are wearing, to remove it. To dis-courage or to allow dis-couragement is to remove, or allow someone or something else to remove courage from you.

This may shock you, but Satan isn't the least bit interested in you. He isn't the least bit interested in me. He's not looking to "mess with us" in the sense that he wants to spill your morning cup of coffee or keep you from that promotion. He wants glory -- the kind of glory only God is due. What better way to get it than to take it from God via God's people? Make them weak, ineffective, and -- best of all -- focused on him! If we are not strong and courageous for Christ, we are not proclaiming the Gospel to those who do not know Him. If we are walking around with the weight of the world on our shoulders, we're not convincing anyone of the power of Christ in our lives. If we are trapped in the grip of discouragement, we are focused on our problems, our limitations, our past failures. Weak, ineffective, focused on our enemy. Just like Superman under the influence of Kryptonite, his eyes fixed on his nemesis, as he collapses to the ground.

Discouragement unchecked eats away at us like cancer. It peeks its head over the fence by reminding what happened the last time we went on a diet. It growls loudly when our husband comes home and asks what's for dinner. It lays on a full-body check when our children come home from school with leftover cupcakes from the bake sale. And brings us to ruin when we step on the bathroom scale the next morning. But discouragement never stays in one area of our lives; Satan wants it to metastasize to our goals, our relationships. Until we can no longer can bear the thought of donning that skimpy little negligee on our wedding anniversary. Until we can't fathom a family vacation at the beach, as long as we look like a whale. Until we are convinced God has let us down again. Why would He make me this way if He really loves me? On and on it goes, larger and larger it grows until we do nothing more than warm the sofa each day. Cancer-causing, even fatal.

But there's hope! Wikipedia says, "Characters have been shown to become immune to the effects of Green Kryptonite due to...long term absorption of sunlight." (Hahaha! Oh, yes! You know where I'm going with this, don't you?) Christians have been shown to become immune to the effects of Discouragement, Jealousy, Unforgiveness, Pride, _____________ (insert your Kryptonite here) due to long term absorption of Son-light!

And here is where I leave you to rid yourself of your Kryptonite. Open your Bibles. Talk to Jesus (and listen when He talks). Head to a Bible study. Sing a few worship songs. Talk a walk. Serve. Call a Christian friend. Accept the pastor's invitation for prayer after the service. Absorb as much Son-light as you possibly can. And eradicate the effects of Kryptonite in your life.

Victory Is (Almost) Always Bittersweet

So, the Birds are, finally, the owners of a Vince Lombardi trophy. I keep repeating it over and over in my head, "They won. They won the Superbowl!" Scott, the auditory learner, keeps muttering it aloud. This household -- like many others, I'm sure -- has not taken its eyes off the television for almost twenty-four hours. Celebration after celebration, interview after interview -- believing, I suppose, the more frequently we hear it, the more time we spend absorbing it, the more angles from which we examine it, the more deeply we will accept and own it. (There might just be a lesson about Bible study in there somewhere!)

But victory, by nature is usually bittersweet. The existence of a winner bears with it the implication of a loser. When the loser of a particular contest is equally deserving of victory, or the loser possesses noble dreams that resonate with an audience, a certain pathos coexists with exuberance at the winner's success. I'd like to just go on record as saying, as far as Superbowl success is concerned, I have no sympathy whatsoever for the owners or players on the Patriots. However, believers exist on both sides of the field -- Christian brothers; players on both teams have been touched by human tragedy; I would venture to say, each player -- in blue or green -- has someone special cheering them on; some have personal goals. Point being, there are human interest stories from one end of the field to the other; a case could be made for either side's entitlement to victory.

Victory also invokes a certain sadness when those who are unable to share in it are recalled. Philadelphia Eagles coach, Doug Pederson lost his father a little more than a year ago. In an interview shortly after the win, a reporter asked Pederson what he believed his father would think; Pederson's tone became gentler, a bit less professional, and he fondly remembered his father's brow-beatings (I believe he called them) and spoke of his father looking down on them in this moment of victory. Bitter sweetness.

As I think about these things, I have to consider Christ's death on the cross. In my younger years, prolonged meditation on the events leading up to and including the crucifixion would cause me to weep heavily. But not because of God's immense love for me or the magnanimous offering of my Savior; because of guilt. The guilt that He had done so selfless a thing for me; and every fiber of my being was self-ish, wrapped up in me -- including that guilt. The cycle of sadness that revolved around the one who was on the throne of my life at the time -- me. It was bitterness to me that He endured so much, poured out His life for me, and I just couldn't seem to get it together and simply read my Bible, or stop cursing, or get excited about church, or be a little less angry. There was no accepting this as victory, no cause for celebration. Only shame.

Thanks be to God, I encountered grace! Grace is what allows us to understand Jesus willing laid down His life, willing withstood such torture in obedience to the Father, out of love for us, for His glory. Grace is the sweetness with which we stand in victory, and we celebrate the forgiveness, wholeness, healing, joy, peace and justification (and myriad other gifts!), despite the gruesome facts of the case. And there are gruesome facts on both sides of the issue: the manner in which Christ was executed, as well as the filth belonging to each of us, that He took upon Himself. Only Christ can eradicate all of that in the name of eternal, supernatural, unimaginable, complete, personal victory we all can confidently celebrate! Sweetly!

Keys to a Better Relationship

Today I am making clams and linguine for Scott. It is one of his favorite meals. Who doesn't love to come home after a long day's work, and sit down to one of their favorites. Good thing for him, I get home from work first, and he doesn't cook. And it makes me happy to see him happy.

We are also planning a trip to see our grandchildren. My schedule is busy but pretty flexible; then there is Mom, and we have two dogs to consider; accommodations. But before all that, I talk to Scott. His schedule requires more attention than any other; plus, he is head of our household, and his input is usually quite useful -- he tends to have a bigger perspective than those of us in the trenches, so to speak.

A few weeks ago, my husband changed up some of the responsibilities typically held by the youngest of our children. As he explained what needed to be done, he also explained that I needed to be free of those things and that I should no longer think of myself as being responsible for them.

All of this to say, if marriage is a picture of Christ's relationship with the Church -- and it is -- how is my relationship with Scott compared to my relationship with Christ? I mean, I can't always say I am as respectful to my husband as I am to the Lord, and I know there are plenty of other things that need improvement; but do I seek to please Jesus the way I seek to please my husband? Do I defer to Christ the same way I defer to Scott? Do I allow God to care for me the same way I have learned to allow Scott to care for me? Maybe I'm just a little backwards that way, but I sometimes think I treat Scott better than I treat my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ! Really! And I don't think I'm alone in that.

Take the linguine and clams, for instance. We've had pasta a few times in the last couple of weeks, so I wasn't sure if he'd be interested. "Would you like linguine and clams tomorrow, or are you all pasta'd out?" A simple question, but how often do I seriously, slowly, earnestly seek what God wants? Or do I just go ahead 'cause "God really likes this helping the poor thing." Well, sure He does; but that doesn't mean it's what He had planned for me that day.

And our trip. My primary consideration was Scott: his preferences, his plans, and his input. I didn't book a hotel, or put in for the days off; he was the first person I spoke to about my idea. I want to do what he wants and I want his insight. Can I say the same thing for my relationship with God? Do I like it when He puts the kibosh on my plans? Do I avoid asking Him to make sure He doesn't? Is He the first One I go to, or do I wait until I've hit some sort of roadblock, when I need His help bailing me out? "Bless my project, God."

And Scott's instructions to the youngest. In them, he not only gave her some more age-appropriate chores, and updated things to accommodate our current situation, but he set me free. They are no longer my responsibilities, and I don't have to hover just to be sure things are handled. How often have I prayed for something, and tried to "help it along"? Or I've "helped" someone to the point I hurt them because of my need to control or be the hero? Or I've turned a situation over to God, only to take it back later?

Pleasing God in the way He desires, making His plans my plans -- not the other way around, and walking in the freedom purchased for me at the cross. Sounds to me like some pretty solid relationship advice.