Are You a Hypocrite?

It's Friday night. Your daughter has turned twenty-one. She's done all of the obligatory celebrations with family, and now it's time for her to head out with friends to do what twenty-one year-olds do.

"You remember to never leave your drink unattended, right?" Yes, Mom.

"And never go anywhere alone?" Yes, Mom. "Even the bathroom?" Yes, Mom.

"And your cell phone is fully charged?" Yes, Mom.

"Who's your designated driver?" Not sure yet.

"WHAT?! Young lady! You are NOT leaving this house until you have a designated driver and I know who that is! We have talked about this so many times: the time to plan is--" --before you take your first drink. Yes, Mom, I know. "Well, in this house, it's before you even leave! Call, text, do whatever you have to do to get this settled, NOW! Do you need some extra cash for an Uber?"

It is now Saturday morning. You and your friends are gathering for the Pro-Choice rally at a nearby park. Your sign says in big bold letters: MY BODY, MY CHOICE!

Are you a hypocrite? Maybe you don't follow. It's like this, your daughter has to take precautions to keep herself and others safe. You require her to have those precautions in place prior to engaging in the activity, which as far as you are concerned is before she even leaves the house. You, however, are fighting for a woman's right to decide a course of action after the cause has taken place, you are fighting to remove consequences rather than prevent them --prevention being the thing you are requiring your daughter to adopt. Wouldn't following your own advice be better? Wouldn't it be better to encourage women to take precautions, to be firm in their practices, be they abstinence or birth control? Wouldn't it be more empowering for women to treat their bodies kindly, with more respect, to hold onto their virtue and protect it like the treasure it is? Wouldn't it give a woman autonomy over her body, over her relationships, over her worth to be able to prevent uncomfortable or inconvenient consequences prior to them occurring, rather than to champion a woman being herded through a clinic like a nameless, faceless cash cow, feet in stirrups, naked from the waist down, examined by a total stranger, probed and gutted by a total stranger, sent to a "recovery room" with a lot of other nameless, faceless cash cows, and sent home to... Excess cramping or bleeding? Suspicious family members? Guilt? Regret? Infertility or scarring? Maybe life goes on without a hitch. Maybe you think it was the best decision you ever made. Maybe you go on to have just the right number of children at just the right time each one more beautiful and perfect than the last. And then one Saturday morning, you look at your sign and you realize you are a hypocrite.

THIS! Is Love

It was a cold, rainy morning. My idea of a perfect day! I slid out of bed and into my favorite pair of buttery soft jeans. I hugged myself in my oldest, warmest cardigan. Comfort, I thought. In the kitchen, my husband wrapped his long, strong arms around me in a big squeeze. Security, I thought. As I sat down with my coffee, I inhaled deeply its rich, earthy aroma. Familiar. Taking that first, delicious sip, I noticed Luci standing next to me, her piercing eyes awaiting mine. Loyalty. 

What a precious gift! Normally, my husband rises in darkness, and usually after too few hours of sleep. I tip-toe down the stairs about an hour later, careful not to wake the rest of the house, and I head to the kitchen to pack his lunch. Although a "normal routine" is what I most I longed for when I was working nights, our schedules rarely seeming to coincide, what a gift it is to stray from the routine. In this case, to wake up together and to take our time doing it. 

As wonderful as these rarities are, our generous and loving God is far more wonderful than the things He gives. James 1:17 says:

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.

Just think about that. Good gifts, perfect gifts come from God. Now, that could mean that good gifts come from God and bad "gifts" come from elsewhere, but that's not exactly where James was going with this. First of all, if it's from God, it's good, it's perfect. Romans 8:28 promises:

And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.

Those of us who call Him Lord have the full assurance that everything He allows is good or will be good --even things that may not appear that way. Secondly, the gifts He gives are meant to draw our attention, our adoration, our gratitude toward Him. God's giving is a reflection of His character. If His gifts are good and perfect, it is because He is, and His character does not change. That's what James was talking about when He says, in God there is no shadow or variation. He doesn't duck in and out like the sun on a cloudy day. He is always good. Sometimes we just have to wait for the big picture to be revealed.

Within moments of taking that first sip, I heard Mom stirring about. Despite my desire for a leisurely start, she was ready to get things moving. I headed downstairs to help her with her morning routine: washing, dressing, making her bed, and back upstairs to the kitchen to get her breakfast. As she savored her first bite of banana bread, a smile spread across her face. In halting speech controlled by a brain searching for words once readily available, she exclaimed, "This! is love." And she is absolutely right.

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.