What Does Lost Look Like?

What is lost? Someone said to me recently, "He is so lost," when speaking of someone who has strayed far from who they used to be, from who God designed them to be. And he is. He is lost to addiction. He is lost to selfishness. He is lost to arrogance. But what does that mean, exactly? A criminal record? Living on the streets? Endangering others? Failed relationships? Hurtful words said to people who are no longer around to hear him apologize? I think those are the obvious ones. What about the damage he is doing to himself? The difficulty each conviction on his record brings to finding a decent job. The toll his substance abuse is taking on his body and his mind. The bridges he has burned and the people who are no longer willing to offer him support. The pit that just continues to get deeper and deeper, making it harder to dig his way out each time he lies or steals or uses. And the pain that brings those who truly love him and care for him is, at times, excruciating. No one who has been on either side of this coin can deny, that is lost. That is the lost we pray about. That is the lost that makes prayer lists and causes others to weep. That is the lost that brings people to gratitude: "There, but for the grace of God, go I." 

But there is another "lost," a lost that doesn't often warrant interventions or end in untold grief. Call it, if you will, the lost of the elder son. In Luke 15:11-32, Jesus tells a story to illustrate some things about His Father, my Father 💓. He talks about a young man who demands his father give him his inheritance that he might do a better job of life than the old man. The father does as his son asks; but, the young man eventually winds up alone, in poverty, and wishing he could be so fortunate as to eat from a trough. He goes home, and his merciful father receives him gladly and blesses him in glorious celebration. The man's elder son, however, is not as thrilled. He refuses to attend the party, telling his father, "All these years I’ve slaved for you, never once refusing to do a single thing you asked. And in all that time you never gave me even one young goat for a feast with my friends. Yet when this son of yours comes back after squandering your money on prostitutes, you celebrate by killing the fattened calf!" That is lost, as well, my friends.

It's not just the jealousy; it's not just the entitlement. It's the illusion of having it all together. It's the idea that my car, my house, my beautiful family, my career, my position within the community, even my church is all I need to be okay. That is lost. It's not the sort of lost that will land your name on the lips of too many prayer warriors. It may not even be the sort of lost that shows up on anyone's radar in most cases, but it may just be the worst kind of lost. It's the kind of lost that appears to everyone -- the lost as well as "the found" -- as though you're doing just fine. And it's the kind of lost that moves to the back of the line when people show deep concern. No one stands around wondering, "What are we gonna do, he's so successful?" Few plead, "My son is such a loving family man. Would you please pray for him?" Who looks at the single mom bringing her two beautiful children to church every week, and thinks, "She is so lost." But these people just might be as lost as the addict or the axe murderer -- maybe more so. 

The only type of "found" there is, is the one that starts and ends with Jesus Christ. Without Him, we all are lost. It was Jesus who came to show us a life surrendered to the Father's will, who paid the greatest debt we could ever owe, and rose to guarantee His work was sufficient and our eternal life secure. Image is not everything unless we have been remade in the image of Christ. Money is an instrument we use to obey and serve. Families are a blessing and a privilege to steward for God's glory. Positions of power, spheres of influence are opportunities to make His name known to all the world. None of these will make you any less lost. In fact, if you've placed your faith squarely in the prosperity or pleasures of this world, you might be the most lost of all.

As for those of us praying for loved ones we know are lost, let's be particularly mindful of those who don't appear that way.

Encouraged. Empowered.

Ok, kids, here's a little Latin to start you on your way. Today's prefix is dis-. Dis- is a Latin prefix meaning "apart" or "away." Think of the word disrespect. Disrespect is to act or speak apart from admiration for, or to take away regard for someone or something. Let's do another one: discouraged. How would you define that word? Last week I told someone I was discouraged. I was feeling down in the dumps; things appeared as though I'd taken one step forward and two steps back; I'd even thought about giving up on a project. But, there's Latin! Dis-courage means to "remove courage." And, according to Merriam-Webster's dictionary, courage is "mental or moral strength to venture, persevere, and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty." Dis-courage is to remove that mental or moral strength from the picture, to leave someone powerless to persevere or withstand danger or difficulty. 

Powerless. That word is important, too. Power is the thing that enables you to do something. If your power has been removed -- nothing. Like a blackout or a dead battery under the hood. Your appliances, your vehicle, are power-less. Now, when I initially labeled myself discouraged, I used words like "feeling," "appeared" or "thought." The truth is, feelings aren't necessarily how things really are, appearances can be deceiving, and what we think is not fact, but only opinion. So, here's the crux of all this, if discouragement is the removal of courage, the removal of strength -- if discouragement leaves you powerless, it is so much more than a simple appearance or thought or feeling. Discouragement is an actual removal of the thing that will make things happen, your power. Had my power been removed? No! The only way my power in Christ can be removed is if I relinquish it or neglect to use it.

Take a look at Ezra 3. The Babylonians had destroyed Solomon's Temple for the Lord some fifty years before, King Cyrus of Persia had ordered it rebuilt, and the nation of Israel was obeying the word of the Lord in doing just that. When the foundation was finally complete, there was much commotion. Some were shouting for joy at the sight of the restoration. God's presence would be visible in Jerusalem again! But, others were weeping with sadness. Some of the older folks who'd seen the grandeur of Solomon's Temple looked at this pathetic representation and knew it would never reflect the majesty of their God the way the old building did. How they could have become discouraged! How they could have given up! Why bother? God has removed His favor from us because of our disobedience. We blew it. The visions of grandeur they recalled were not the glory God desired for this second temple. The standards they set were not the standards by which God reigns. The first temple, Solomom's Temple was built from the wealth God granted a king; this temple was to be built with all the people of God could give. Their discouragement over unmet expectations could have changed Israel's course of history. 

Courage. The strength to make things happen. The mental or moral power to overcome obstacles and get things done. Is there anything stealing your courage today? Feelings of inadequacy? Standards that are not yours to meet? The opinions of others? History -- ancient or otherwise? Without Israel drawing on the courage of a mighty God, the Temple may never have been opened for worship. If those appointed to rebuild the temple had allowed their opinions to rob them of courage, God may have appointed others, and Israel would have missed the blessing. Discouragement could have changed the course of history, then, and discouragement can change the course of history today.

So, I'm rewriting my definition of discouraged to more accurately reflect the influence it can have over my purpose. I'm calling it what it is that I might be more mindful to avoid it. I'm giving it the weight it deserves that I might seek the Lord from the first inkling of failure or setback, and shore up my defenses against it. I am recognizing it as a removal of power, of strength, of the fortitude I need to get God's work done, to endure all the trouble this world has to offer, to be the daughter-wife-mother-sister-friend-employee-neighbor God would have me be, to bring Him honor and glory in everything I say, think, or do. 

An old pastor of ours used to say, "I think I just preached myself happy!" Well, I think I just preached myself en-couraged! 

Are You Dead?

It was early -- just after 7 AM. We set out to walk a couple of miles and take care of a couple of errands. The sun had come up at one end of the neighborhood, but at the other end, darkness and the threat of another shower still had hold. As we walked, I kept my eye on the sky, watching it transform as it does so rapidly in the morning. At my next glance, the colored strands of a rainbow beginning to develop. Just to the outside of it, the faint shadow of a "double" could be seen. As the littlest little and I stood marveling and snapping pictures, the oohs and aahs of others in the neighborhood could be heard. A man just up ahead was capturing the beauty of the rainbow with his camera as well. "Oh! It's a double!" someone gasped as they stepped onto their front porch. The quiet of a community remained for the most part, but whispers of wonder rippled throughout. The neighborhood was coming alive, but in a methodical, reverent kind of way. It was a wonder to behold, terrestrially and celestially.

I am currently studying The Hallel in my personal time. The Hallel is a Jewish liturgical prayer consisting of all or part of Psalms 113-118. It is recited on specific feast days throughout the year. Just this morning, the day of the rainbow, I had paused to meditate on Psalm 115:17-18.

"The dead do not praise the Lord,

Nor any who go down into silence.

But we will bless the Lord

From this time forth and forevermore.

Praise the Lord!"

I love the dichotomy here. Death, silence, the absence of praise. Life, eternity, and praise! The dead do not praise, but we -- the living, by implication -- we praise! 

Luke 19, records Jesus' triumphant entry into Jerusalem. People were praising and throwing their coats on the ground before Him. I would imagine, throwing your coat would be a tremendous act of sacrifice; it's not like there were stores on every corner or coats to match every outfit hanging in closets across the city. The entire multitude was shouting and proclaiming Jesus king! So much so, the Pharisees told Jesus to order His disciples to tone it down. But Jesus refused, telling them that "if these should keep silent, the stones would immediately cry out." The wonders of our mighty God demand praise. And that praise identifies us as living beings. 

The dead remove God from the equation, explaining Him away with coincidence and chance. The dead put their fingers in their ears and refuse to see anything past that which they can define, control or comprehend. The dead harden their hearts to the beauty of a rainbow or the miracle of life. The dead keep silent unless they are boasting about humanity. And as Proverbs 20:11, tells us, "Even a child is known by his deeds." The dead do not praise.

So, are you praising? Are you shouting so loudly that others wish to have you silenced? Are you singing? Are you laughing? Are you quietly, reverently oohing and aahing over the colors of a rainbow? Are you alive with praise? Or does your silence confirm your death?

This Is Worship

I didn't go to church today. It was not the plan. I wasn't runninng a temperature. I didn't oversleep. I skipped church because I needed to worship.

I used to live with my husband and our two dogs. Before work, the house would be dark and quiet; I'd sit at the kitchen table, reading Scripture and praying. After work, I'd come home, walk a few miles, clean some things around the house, make some food, and worship. More Bible reading, more prayer, some writing, and maybe even some bad singing. Me and Jesus. Some days we'd even have "dates." The whole day, nothing but Him and me, talking and being together. 

Then came Mom. Though she could not care for herself independent of supervision, she was still relatively capable of dressing, knowing when she was hungry, and expressing complete thoughts. She could sit and watch television or enjoy the deck without fear. These days, she is not content to do much of anything without someone at her side. She isn't sure if she is hungry, she cannot define pain, and she gets very aggitated when she isn't sure what she is doing is what she is supposed to be doing -- which is most of the time. I have not been alone in our home for over five years, and whatever time Mom spends on the deck these days is brief and constantly interrupted by her popping in to make sure I am still nearby.

Two years ago, we were given the privilege of caring for two young children. And it is a privilege, but one that comes with a lot of fighting -- from us. Our will tells us we did this before, we had other plans for this time in our life. Our bodies tell us we're too old to be lifting and running, we can't run on so little sleep. Our minds tell us there are logistics we cannot meet: finances, time, capacity, just to name a few. But our hearts disagree. And so there is fighting, because this is difficult, but oh, so worth it.

And then, there is my bubble. I am an introvert. I "people" well because I know that I must and God's grace takes care of that, but I become maxed. I hit a point where I must regenerate, and I do that in the quiet presence of the Lord. But our home is naturally noisy -- barking and beeping, thumping and bumping, and the last few weeks have been extremely difficult; I am maxed. So, when Scott heads out the door with a large portion of our occupants, I can go to church and worship without bathroom breaks and little people falling from the pews, but I must "people;" or I can go to church amidst the snoring of our four-legged family and the hum of the refrigerator, no "people-ing" required. I choose not to go. 

I pray and I read Scripture, but best of all, I worship. I worship as I slowly, purposefully fold laundry. Not because I am trying to get it all finished, but because each one of the people I hold dear will play and work and sleep in these clothes. And those people are more than a blessing to me. I worship as I grind coffee beans, savoring the rich smells of another morning and losing myself in the whirring white noise of the blades. I worship as I pick a show for Mom and I to enjoy together. We laugh, and I'm not sure she knows the program from the commercials, but she is happy to be with me, and that lightens her load. I worship as I stroke the soft grey hairs on our old dogs face. Her faithful eyes look deeply into mine as we share a rare but quiet moment. What a blessing it has been to have met her all those years ago; her loyalty and love has helped make our house a home. I worship as I write. Gratitude pours from my heart and with it, tears. 

And next Sunday, Lord willing, I will be sitting in our "regular pew," right up front, hanging on every word and praising God with all I've got. But for now, this is worship.