Take a Step in the Right Direction

I tip-toed 'round, avoiding the places on the stairs which creak, lifted the latch on the door aaaallll the way first, and then opened it, hoping it wouldn't stick. Like another more infamous Murphy (Murph the Surf, jewel thief and beach bum) I held my breath, clung to the door jamb, and slooowly let my weight fall, retrieving my slippers from the floor outside my mother's room. Waking her means awakening her perpetual thumps and whistles which continue until bedtime. She has taken to sleeping later, and I am not going to buck the system. So why go to such extremes just for a pair of slippers? I felt naked without them! It was then I realized just how much like my husband I had become. Scott is the Gucci king. (He calls his slippers "Guccis" and the explanation dates so far back I can't even recall what it is; but here we are.) He has indoor Guccis and outdoor Guccis. His feet have never --and I do mean never-- seen sunlight, wall-to-wall carpeting, fresh grass, Pergo, or anything but a bathmat, bedsheets, or the shower floor (and that would be our shower floor; all others are on a case-by-case basis). Newborn babies across the globe envy the velvety softness of his feet. Legend has it, someone at a public pool actually went blind from their brilliant white flash. But I digress. When Scott and I first met, I didn't own a pair of slippers. I now have two: those I wear first thing in the morning, and those I wear over my socks later in the day. Don't judge me, help me; it's a cult. 

Living together as husband and wife, we transform one another --hopefully for the better. Proverbs 27:17 (CJSB) says Just as iron sharpens iron a person sharpens the character of his friend. We are meant to make one another better. My husband, as head of our household, bears the overall responsibility for that. If one occupant is tearing down another, he needs to set it right. If someone is struggling with their responsibilities, he makes sure the problem is resolved. And as his helper, I encourage him in that, facilitate his authority and management of the household, plan with him how our family and we as individuals can fulfill our specific roles and discover who God has called us to be. We make one another better --at least, that's the objective. 

We adopt one another's methods. In 1 Corinthians 11:1 (CJSB), Paul urges the Corinthian believers, try to imitate me, even as I myself try to imitate the Messiah. He's talking about intent here: observe, learn, copy what I'm doing because I'm copying what Jesus did. My husband and I learn from one another. I see him doing something in a much better way, and I study that with the intent to imitate; he does as well. From time to time, there are intentional show-me-how-to-do-that moments, and we teach one another through explanation or demonstration.

And then, there are the slippers. I never liked having anything on my feet. Indoors or out, on every possible occasion, I was barefoot. My husband, the man with floors so clean that --even with a dog-- you could eat off them, pointed out that my naked feet, as they roamed freely in the yard, were magnets for grass and dirt which then accompanied me back into the house. My husband works hard for his dinner plate floors, so out of respect, I began keeping shoes by the door for my trips in and out. Eventually, I began keeping them on all the time. Now, I'm almost as obsessive as he is. And it just sort of happened. I didn't want slippers. I didn't like slippers. I wore them, not to appease an angry husband, but to demonstrate respect, to treat him as I would care to be treated. Because I initially placed value on our relationship, because slippers developed as a habit, they became something I want to do, something I personally appreciate. 

How closely do you resemble Jesus? Is your marriage to Him a joy or an obligation? Is there something about living with Him that feels forced? Are you doing "good things" to appease an angry God? Is there some habit --like Bible reading, prayer, church attendance-- that just won't gain a foothold (no pun intended)? Psalm 119:97 says Oh, how I love Your law! It is my meditation all the day. Can you honestly say that? I do it! I love it! What have you learned from Scripture in the past week? How many passages have you memorized in the past month? When you look at your life, who do you see?

We become more like Jesus when we spend time with Him. Scripture clearly spells out His methods; it's all recorded that we might live in the manner He lives, love as He loves. His Holy Spirit, through His presence in our lives, transforms our character, makes us better versions of the image bearers we were created to be. And while we don't make Him better, we do bring Him glory, by the way we spread His gospel in word and deed wherever we place our feet --with or without Guccis.

Juneteenth 2023

Freedom is a concept, an intangible. It certainly can manifest itself in tangible ways: the absence of chains or restrictions, a myriad of choices as opposed to only one path to take or flavor of coffee. But the substance of freedom itself lies within a place that is not marked on a map.

Frederick Douglass was born into bondage, a slave in Maryland, but freedom lived in his mind. With that mind, he taught himself to read and write, he escaped slavery, and began his journey to light for others the path toward freedom in mind and spirit. Dietrich Bonhoeffer was hanged for crimes against Germany during WW2. Though in prison, he died free: freedom lived in his mind. Corrie Ten Boom and her family were taken captive by Nazi forces in retribution for hiding Jews. Months after being sent to a concentration camp where she watched her sister die, Corrie was released on a "clerical error." But freedom lived in her mind: Miss Ten Boom had been free long before her release and continued to find freedom as she told her story again and again. Lucille Bridges refused to allow limitations placed, at the time, on her children and her people to limit or bind her. She fought to see her daughter, Ruby, receive the same opportunities given to white children. Freedom lived in her mind and lives today in the mind of her daughter, an author and the founder of the Ruby Bridges Foundation which promotes tolerance and unity among school-age children.

Today we celebrate freedom yet, not everyone is free. There are those who are suffering abuse at the hands of parents and spouses. There are those who, because of circumstances are not free to attend any university they choose or live in any neighborhood they would like. There are those who are hungry, living in the streets and bound by mental illness. There are many who are attached to dialysis machines, heart monitors, or respirators. Not everyone is free, and we have to face the fact, never, in this life, in this country, will everyone be free. There are those who live with wonderful spouses and caring parents who are not free. There are those who have the means to attend premier universities and live on tree-lined streets in quiet neighborhoods; they are not free. There are many who eat as they please at tables surrounded by family in homes filled with love, carefree and stable in mind, who are not free. There are those with healthy kidneys and hearts and lungs who remain bound. Freedom is a concept...

...and perfect freedom, freedom with a capital F is a reality only in Jesus Christ. 

Speaking from experience, I have been a slave even as I was born white into a middle-class American family. I have lived in the prison of sin and want and darkness. Only when I have looked to Jesus, Savior, Deliverer, Peace, Provider; only when I have trusted Him to lead the way and obeyed the things He has told me to do in Scripture; only then have I tasted freedom. Not freedom as in "all things equal" or "all circumstances to my liking," but the freedom that lives in the minds of those who wish to be free and to do what it takes to be unburdened of anything that shackles their spirits.

Because Truth Needs to Be Told

Just a warning, I'm going to be pretty upfront with you on this one. Things need to be said and said clearly. 

I was in my early twenties when I had a "homosexual encounter." Nothing more than a kiss, but I didn't like it. (I give great thanks to God for my parents who took me to church every Sunday from the time I could walk and sent me to Christian school. Were it not for that foundation... "Right and wrong" were so deeply ingrained in me, I couldn't even think of enjoying it.) But, I was a prime target. I had always felt as though I didn't belong in girl world: thicker and flatter than the others, not skilled in the art of hair and make-up or petty but refined verbal jabs (I didn't even catch them when they were thrown my way), not beautiful or delicate, eager to play trucks or make mud pies as much as Barbies, poor and dirty and ashamed of the dark secret I carried. I felt more comfortable "being a boy" than I ever felt in a dress. Standing next to my girl friends, I felt like an ape --for years! So many times I wondered how much God really disliked me that, in addition to difficult circumstances, He would give me a body so out of line with every other girl in creation. I felt alone.

I'd like you to just press the Pause button for a few seconds, go back to that first paragraph and count the number of times I used the word "felt." Honestly, that was not intentional on my part. It was, however, the truth. All of that stuff was based on feeling. Now, I'm not saying feelings don't matter --they surely do, God gave them to us to help us in our relationships and to keep us safe-- but feelings are not always in line with truth. We stand on the truth as we give consideration to our feelings. And the truth is God designed me to be female; He formed me in my mother's womb as a female; I have everything a female has, biologically. I am female. My feelings, though they existed, though they may have been quite understandable, they contradicted reality, truth. And it took years before I felt the slightest bit comfortable in my skin, before I ever felt feminine or pretty, before I stopped comparing myself to the shapely, delicate women around me, before I stopped taking on every unkind word and rejection as a commentary on my womanhood (or lack thereof), before I stopped seeking affirmation for my identity in others and began seeking it from the One who loves me and created me for His glory. (Part of that journey includes my husband, who walked beside me as I learned to see myself through his eyes, the eyes of another one who loves me. Pretty cool how God did that, huh?) Through all of this, I developed a fascination with --not attraction to-- the "perfect" female body. I was seeking out pornography in my teens. To be desired; to be sexy like those women. With a simple interest in sexuality and only publisher after publisher eager to sell me a broken and perverse sexuality, came an onslaught of images endorsing homosexuality. As I fell further down the rabbit hole of my feelings, the more likely it seemed I had been the victim of some cruel joke: a male with female parts. When a real live female came along who was not only willing to affirm my feelings, but eager to encourage me to follow them, I bit. But --and once again-- because I knew truth and because, praise God, even as I walked in rebellion, He preserved me, the bait was bitter to me. 

I tell you my story because I wonder how many of your stories began with feelings that simply do not align with truth. Feelings are much easier to follow; truth is usually hard. I tell you my story because I want you to see how easily --without truth-- I could have fallen into that trap, as I believe many have and are now still falling. If you don't believe me, Google "how gabapentin works" or "how game of thrones ended." Before you get any farther than "how g-a" you've already got suggestions like "how gay am I" or "how gay is my dog" (seriously?). Google "am I traumatized." You'd think that was a pretty heavily searched topic, right? #3 after "am I trans" and "am I transgender." Click on "am I trans," and the first site is the always helpful Planned Parenthood telling you You're transgender (or trans) if your gender identity is different from the sex the doctor assigned you at birth. For example, you may be transgender if you were assigned male at birth and know you're a woman. So much wrong with those statements, there's enough for another day, but that's how easy it is to be told what you are feeling or what you decide is more important than what is true.

How easily and how quickly through the worldwide web could I have been convinced all those years ago! How easily and how quickly my fascination, my longing for could have become an attraction had I not been given the foundation of truth in my younger years! How easily and how quickly I became a target for a "gay rights activist" without the help of the media and even before there were gay rights! How is it you think you or those around you or, especially, your children stand a chance in this battle without the Truth of Jesus Christ? Truth, Ladies and Gentlemen. Truth alone is our foundation. Truth alone is the light on our path. Truth alone is Who we follow after. Truth alone is the message we need to give to those we love. 

What Sort of Condition Are You In?

Conditioning. If you're a personal trainer or a personal trainee, conditioning might look like getting up at the crack of dawn, donning some workout clothes and a solid pair of kicks, and hitting the track. You're probably watching what you eat, getting plenty of sleep, and monitoring your results. Your hobbies might include things that supplement your workouts: playing basketball or hiking. And you might be preaching the gospel of great health to others wherever you go. If you're our dog, conditioning is not so complex: you jump up every time the phone rings because you know the pizza guy always calls before he shows up at the front door. It's that simple.

The difference between a personal trainer's conditioning and Luci's conditioning is Luci's conditioning does nothing for her reactivity to other dogs. It may prepare her for the arrival of a pizza crust treat, but it won't keep her from losing her mind when another dog is within twenty feet of her. It won't prevent her jumping up on people who don't care to be greeted in such a manner, or sniffing her own farts, or forming puddles of drool unrivaled by any of our previous dogs, or getting the zoomies late at night in our narrow upstairs hallway, or any of her other less desirable behaviors. It's a mere trick, a specific behavioral response to a specific external stimulus. It transforms nothing.

The "conditioning" of a Christian life is much more like that of one who wishes to transform their health, even their life, and maybe its length and quality. It is discipline and a complete change in motivation and perspective; it is dedication and commitment to something --to Someone much larger than ourselves or our own wants. So much more, even than the conditioning of the world's best trainers, the journey of a Christian through this life has at its core a higher power, a richer and more faithful resource, an eternal purpose, and a more glorious guarantee of complete transformation: the Holy Spirit. 

As a child, when I heard God's gospel preached, I responded. Like our dog craving pizza crust, I was lured by the benefits: I wanted to escape hell and I wanted to please the adults around me. But, also like Luci, I really didn't have context: responding to a message and obeying each time my conscience was pricked was my "trick." I was not transformed. 

In later years, I began to see the need for a more comprehensive training program, something that would change me, change my life, change outcomes. I'd begin attending church. I'd crack open my Bible once in a while. I'd pray --sort of; I'd talk to someone I called "God," telling Him how messed up, how unfulfilled I was, and how my life was in ruins. From time to time, I'd even commit to stop drinking or promise to begin hanging out with "church people," each day --sometimes several times a day-- keeping my eyes peeled for results. But like the trainee who jumps on the scales or measures his biceps every day, the moment I didn't see those instantaneous results, the moment the thought of hanging out with church people became less enticing than partying with "friends," my program fell apart. My motivation depended on the fulfillment of my agenda; I was my own resource for discipline and implementation, and transformation was something I believed naturally occurred after doing something right.

When I was forty, I came face to face with a situation I couldn't control. I was weak and it was powerful. I was small and it was big. Transformation wasn't something I was looking for, but something thrust upon me. Like it or not, life was changing; in order to travel this new strip of road, I needed Someone who would have my back, and I turned to the One I knew to be Truth. Before Him I fell, and He began to show me just how wrong I was --not in a way that caused me to fell condemned or silly, but the way a loving father takes a child up in his arms in forgiveness and sets them back down in newness. The Holy Spirit became to me my Comforter and my Guide, encouraging me and leading me in the right direction, developing in me a love for Jesus that I'd never had. I was going to church, I was reading my Bible, I was learning who God is, I was talking and listening to Him, but there was more. There was change happening in me, change that behavioral modifications can facilitate, but not the depth of change they can bring about. There was a response to external stimuli --like Luci's response to a ringing phone, a change in patterns --like that of one seeking physical transformation, but there was the power and presence of the Holy Spirit and, by God's grace, a surrender to His conditioning and its results that only He can provoke.

So, where are you in your conditioning? Where are you in this journey toward health and life and the promise of being made new? Are you answering the call? Hitting the gym? Or are you seeing results?