It's Not All for SHO

Where I grew up, you either owned a muscle car or your best friend did. My best friend owned a 1967 Chevy Nova. I eventually got my own. A series of upgrades (and a downgrade or two) finally led me to what became my favorite car of all time. A 1993 Ford Taurus. Before you write me off as a complete nut, let me explain. This Taurus was special. It was a four-door sedan, grey leather interior, a JBL system, moonroof, double black, and roomy enough for a booster seat, a car seat and lots of luggage. Oh, and it was a SHO. Three little letters ghosted into the rear bumper that stood for Super High Output. Only a tiny emblem on the front fender gave anyone a clue as to what was under the hood, a 24-valve Yamaha V6 that could get one into a whole lot of trouble if one was, say, late for work during rush hour and needed to jackrabbit her way through traffic oblivious to the fact she'd just passed an unmarked trooper. But, I digress. My point is, it was a sleeper. I loved pulling my family truckster up to a traffic light, looking across to some unsuspecting sportster and shocking the pants off of him as I punched it and left him on the line. I could look respectable but still raise a little Cain.

When reminiscing about those good old days, however, I can't help but notice how appropriately that sentiment and that car represented what was going on in my spiritual life at the time. Having been raised in the church, I was well aware of all of the "supposed tos" and "should nots" of a religious life. I knew exactly how to act, but the truth was, I had zero desire to act that way. Despite my lack of desire, I had children to raise and people to impress. I wanted my children to grow up to be good people; I wanted my children to stay out of trouble. So, in front of them, I played the part of a virtuous, God-fearing mother. I wanted the pastor and the folks who entrusted me with their children each Sunday to rest assured I was all I professed to be; I wanted them to believe I was happy being a Christian. So, in front of them, I smiled --a lot! And I used all of those churchy-type phrases and I hid how miserable I was. 

That is, until the sun went down. After work, I drank and smoked and cussed and trespassed and stole and crept my way into bed as the sun peeked over the horizon and the song of birds threatened to expose me for the fraud I was. How was I going to be the righteous mother my children needed when I felt so free partying all night? How was I going to ever be happy being a Christian when I was so much happier acting like the devil? I knew who I was inside was nothing like I pretended to be on the outside, but I had no clue how to fix that. And I wasn't meant to.

My SHO was long gone before I had a head-on collision with the grace of God. He showed me that He would take care of the inside as well as the outside as long as I was willing to trust Him. He wanted me to start looking to Him for answers instead of thinking I had them all. I asked Him to change my heart so that I might love Him more than the life I was leading. He took things away, things that drew my attention from Him, or took up time He wanted me to spend with Him, or caused me to feel secure. He answered my prayer not by changing my life to how I thought it should appear, but by changing my life to reflect His glory and to work things out for my good. 

And He continues to change me. The Holy Spirit adorns my life with an authenticity on the outside that indicates His presence inside, an authenticity that's bigger than a tiny emblem on the front fender of my favorite sleeper.

For Our Children

If you've been a parent for any length of time, say, more than a year or so, you've learned that once your children start thinking for themselves, at some point you're going to have to let them. Now, I'm not talking about sending a two-year old into traffic, but allowing them to experience the consequences of throwing a toy and having it break? Yep. And the older they get, the more painful the consequences --for us. Remember your parents telling you, "This is going to hurt us more than it hurts you"? Sure, it's hard to see your child's favorite toy smashed and lying in a heap on top of the trash, but chances are, you're going to see your child's tears, you're going to know that what you've allowed has made an impact, and you're going to have some hope your child will never do that again. But the older child? 

This world is hard, and for our children to survive in it, they can think they need to become hard as well. The consequences of taking your thirteen-year old's game because he's spending more time with it than his Algebra may or may not get the reaction we desire. We might find ourselves in the same place just three years down the road when his cell phone bill hasn't been paid for two months. We remove the phone, hoping for a broken heart (after all, that is what we want, isn't it? a heart that is soft and humble and teachable and grateful). But the broken heart doesn't come. At twenty, the car insurance hasn't been paid, and we have to end the privilege of convenient transportation. With each intervention we become more grieved, more desperate, more broken-hearted. But the child?

I am praying today for each parent who knows exactly what I'm talking about. I am praying for each parent who is reliving moments of pain and worry and heartache as they read this. I am praying, too, for our children: for soft hearts, for humility and gratitude, for teachable spirits, and for armor to shield them from the world in a way that will make them stronger and better, not tougher and more like it. I am praying for their friends, that they will be faithful and honest. I am praying for their teachers, that they will value the privilege of shaping young minds and they will receive holy, Heavenly wisdom to pass on to those in their care. And I am praying for our churches and fellow believers, that we will stand with parents in prayer, we will not forget to lift them up as often as they come to mind, we will serve them in any way God calls us to serve, and we will hold their children as close to our hearts as their Heavenly Father does.

In Jesus' name.

Have You Seen Jesus?

When you picture Jesus, what does He look like? I'm not talking about, is He dark-skinned or light-skinned, Middle Eastern looking with long hair or short, or is He tall and lanky or strong like the construction worker with whom we are most familiar. I'm asking, does He look like someone you'd want to have lunch with at your favorite food truck or someone you'd be happy to have over to meet your pastor. 

In my world, Jesus looks like my mom. And, I'm admitting, that has been difficult. In my world, Jesus bangs on everything-- tables, the dashboard of the car, the windows, the chair cushion. In my world, Jesus has problems remembering how to use the bathroom in a more "civilized" manner. In my world, Jesus only wants to eat sweets. In my world, Jesus can't remember where I told Him to sit just a minute ago, and is constantly searching my face for cues as to what to do or signs of approval. In my world, Jesus wears me out. There are days when I wish Jesus would just leave for a while, find some other friends to hang out with or get a hotel room, fend for Himself. I sometimes think He's doing this on purpose (and maybe He is).

I was reading 1 Peter 4:9 in the Message, today:

Be quick to give a meal to the hungry, a bed to the homeless-- cheerfully.

Our home is our "safe place." Our home is where we are supposed to be able to kick back, relax, be ourselves, and feel refreshed. Our home is where I work for a Jesus who makes me work just as hard one day to the next. Our home is where Jesus doesn't care about the crumbs He's dropping all over the floor or the noise He is making, which gets increasingly louder the more my husband and I try to talk over it. Our home does not always feel like an oasis or refuge for me. 

But Jesus is. That same Jesus whose teeth I have to brush and whose nails I have to clip whispers, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm here and holding you up always." That same Jesus who becomes so frustrated with me He occasionally pulls away from my guiding touch or snaps as if to bite me urges, "Keep your eyes on Me. There is something bigger here, something I have started and want to complete." That same Jesus who just wants me to be where He can see me, to stay right there with Him no matter how many things I have on my to-do list, holds out His arms to me and says, "Abide in Me. You need rest and you will find that in Me."

Back to Basics

In December of last year we were forced to bid goodbye to our canine queen, Tinkerbell. As difficult as it was, our vet had only given her until Thanksgiving, and at fourteen+ years of age, she was far too sick for us to prolong her discomfort any further. March hadn't hit double digits before a friend called, asking if we were interested in a dog. The pup had already been through a lot and had some anxiety. Routine and calm were going to be key to her development. Easier said than done. The first couple of weeks were ruff! (See what I did there?) Sixty-five pounds of puppy energy pulling and nipping day in and day out --everything hurt. She chewed my husband's belongings most of all, and she was quick as lightning. Each evening Scott got home was another round of "How did she get my slippers this time?!" and each morning, another prognosis of failure. In desperation I contacted a trainer.

I had heard the hardest part of training any animal is training the human. When our lessons concluded I was filled with confidence; I had goals and a plan to reach them. Several weeks later, the wheels fell off. I'd grown lax when it came to practicing some of our disciplines. I hadn't been praising her and encouraging her in her work. The copious snuggles and treats she'd been receiving were mere handouts, expressions of care that made me feel good rather than establishing a sense of purpose for her. My lack of direction was starting to show in her behavior. Time to get back to basics. I once again asserted my role as leader. I required her to look at me before doing certain things rather than allowing her to anticipate the next directive. I encouraged her to work for treats and lavish praise. We went back to regular training "appointments" each day, and I challenged her to do things which initially made her apprehensive. I reinstated my goal to gently push her to her full potential.

And that's when I saw it. Luci needs me to lead her and schedule her day: it provides her with security. Luci needs me to remind her to watch me: it will keep her safe. Luci needs me to hold her accountable: that gives her purpose. Luci needs me to walk with her into special circumstances that might make her uneasy: that builds her courage and confidence in me as her leader. Luci needs me to help her become all she can be: it makes life more fulfilling. And I don't mean to be trite, but what a clear picture of the ways in which we depend on God the Father, our Heavenly Authority. If we allow God to lead us and schedule our days we can know we are right where we need to be when we need to be there. What comfort! If we keep our eyes on the Lord, we will see His help and His protection in every circumstance. If we are walking in obedience to the Lord, we will partake of the plan and purpose He has for us. When we are challenged by situations that might take us out of our comfort zone, God just might be developing our confidence in Him. If we trust God will use all circumstances for our good, we can know all things can be used to develop us and make our lives full.

Trust me, there are days when I am no more onboard with what God has planned than Luci is with my program. But the Holy Spirit reminds me there is something more to this than doing what I wish when I choose, and God is patient. He will take me all the way back to the basics if that's what I require: Set your eyes on Me. Know who I am. Depend on Me.