What Can God Do with Regret?

The other day, someone was talking about regret. They posed the question, "If you could go back to any moment in time, and reverse the decision you made -- just one moment -- what would that be?" My mind immediately went to a time years ago, I asked God for a sign. Now, those of you who believe we are never to ask God for a sign can simply say, "Well, there you go," and stop reading. Those of you who believe asking God for a sign, for confirmation or clarification is alright, you might ask, "Well, what's wrong with that?" For the sake of brevity, I'll just tell you, what I wanted to do -- what I was already pretty well engaged in -- was sinful in the first place. Asking God to approve of something that is an offense to Him is not quite the same as asking Him what He wants you to do. You might get a sign, but it's not going to be good, and it might not be from Him.

So that moment was my initial response to the time travel, decision reversal, "redo" question. However, the memory had not even completely formed when I began to think of all the things that happened as a direct result of that decision: purchasing a house -- the house that is now our home; having my second baby, the beautiful and talented Teenie Weenie, who has extended our family by three equally fabulous people; meeting the wonderful woman and friend with whom Mom and I recently had lunch, G; a painful divorce which led to relationships with Jesus, Scott and three very special children; wisdom, wisdom, wisdom; watching my Father God provide for me in ways He -- no doubt -- would have years before when I was so busy seeking His approval of my plan rather than following His. On and on I could go about the blessings that came about despite a terrible decision, a moment in time I regret. So, was it a good decision? Absolutely not, but I saw God's grace. Blessing I did not -- I do not deserve. Beauty from ashes. Breathless wonder from a broken life. And it is so sweet and precious to me.

If you are living with regret, seek His forgiveness. Surrender your life, that He might do what He so expertly, so powerfully does. Seek His will, rather than asking Him to approve of yours. Give Him your mountains, your molehills, your blemishes and scars; give Him your pain and your failure. Worship and serve God and God alone. And be called His own. 

I will always regret the moment I grieved the Lord, and hurt others. But the loving God I serve has made certain I cannot look back at that decision without peering through years of blessing He so graciously has given me since.  

One Moment at a Time

I had an aunt with Alzheimer's. My uncle cared for her until her death. He would tell us how she would wander, looking to escape the man "holding her hostage"; she would try to attack him, believing him to be an intruder in her home. I have often thanked God that this has not been the case with my mother; but as she was ranting and raving the other day, my practical German began to attempt to formulate a plan. How am I going to keep her safe? How am I going to be able to go to work? How bad is this going to get? Do we need to call someone?

Well, praise God, Mom's ranting and raving was just that. She was agitated, but not violent; she was restless, but not looking to make a break for it. The entire episode left me with three things, however:

1. We got a heads-up. God gave us a glimpse at what could, in time, become a new normal. We have ample opportunity to put a plan in place -- a way to keep her secure and safe; maybe even a plan to curtail further meltdowns; some time to consult professionals and others who have experienced this, and learn from them.

2. Mom is alive! Winter months can be particularly difficult: reduced daylight, regulating the temperature in the house without suffocating those of us under the age of 80, the challenge of getting outside and getting around on icy territory. But even through Mom's temper tantrum I was praising God -- she's not just sitting in front of the TV like some vegetable; she has opinions, likes and dislikes, and she was making them clearly known to us; she still has within her the desire to be an adult, to choose what she wants!

3. We walk this out one moment at a time. This was new for us -- all of us. And, with Mom's condition, there is no way of predicting when, where, or if. Which, if you think about it, is a blessing. It's usually when we become self-assured we tend to cast off the Lord, or our quiet time, or our prayer closet, in favor of doing it ourselves. So, we walk with Him. Each moment. Each step.

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Fast forward to the following day. Mom and I get off to a rocky start. Her room is trashed because she hasn't slept all night. It appears she has tried on everything she owns, and investigated every nook and cranny. There are papers and tissues strewn about, and she is, once again demanding to wear what she wants. I would have had no problem with her choices had they not been short sleeves and dirty pajama pants from the hamper. So. There we were.

"You're getting a shower," I said. I grabbed a fresh set of clothing; and into the bathroom we went.

Mom needs minimal help in the shower, but this day... She needing coaxing to get any part of her under the water; she needed help maneuvering about; she needed constant prompts as to what to do next.

How can I help her? "One moment at a time," was the answer.

I had some quick errands to run, but, in light of our first few hours of the day, was tempted to put them off. "You wanna take a ride?" I asked. I think she was our the door before I was!

Maybe it was the new regiment of vitamins. Maybe it was the brief break in the weather. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or something in the air, or a full moon, or the smell of ribs cooking, or MLK Day -- but it was definitely something. (Or some One!) Less than twenty-four hours after Mom's meltdown, she was regaling me with stories of her youth, reading everything her eyes fell upon as we drove along, and making mental notes about needing toothpaste and a comb. It was as if a switch had been flipped. Her verbal skills were better; the corners of her mouth were drawn up in an almost-smile, rather than the tight, defensive line that is her norm; she engaged easily and laughed with her whole body. Thank You, Father! Thank You, God!

As the day wore on, I tentatively made us something to eat. And brought out some old photos. And discussed some of the things we did to celebrate Christmas over the last few weeks. And brewed some tea. Slowly. Intentionally. I didn't want to do anything that was going to break this gracious gift. I didn't want to disturb the wonderfulness of this blessing.

And I praised God for each minute that passed. One precious moment at a time.

What Would You Do ...?

I've mentioned I have been working through a series on prayer by Dr. Michael Youssef, called "Prayer Prescriptions." Please listen; it is wonderful.

This morning, I sat down to listen to the next portion, and paused to pray for the Holy Spirit's wisdom and discernment. Scott was getting ready for work and I could hear him packing his lunch in the kitchen; I began to pray for him. As I prayed, a thought entered my head:

"What would you do if I called Scott to be a pastor?"

I love Scott -- obviously. He is a compassionate person; he was taught to pick up for the defenseless and care for those less fortunate. But he is tough; a "man's man", and not a public speaker. A pastor? The thought hit me like a wall of bricks.

For Scott to be a pastor, he would have to spend time in God's word. More time than I do. And I realized that stung my ego a bit.

For Scott to be a pastor, he would have to hold me accountable. Me! And I realized that stung my ego a bit.

For Scott to be a pastor, he would have to be a humble servant as Christ. And that's when things really got messy...

I pray, firstly, for the things I can comprehend. A contractor who loves the Lord, goes to men's meetings and says grace at meals. But, secondly, and much more egregiously, I pray for the things that benefit me. Not God.

And there it is. Clear as day, just as it was when it came to me in prayer.

I want a husband who is humble; he will be gentle and gracious with me. I want a husband who has strong faith; he can carry me when my faith is shaky. I want a husband who will serve God; he will learn how to serve others -- like me. I want a husband whose focus is on leading the life God requires; his focus will be removed from acquiring more stuff at the expense of my goals for our bank account or my goals for that spare storage space.

In Christian circles, I am the celebrity. Scott is the quiet, supportive husband that follows me. At home, I teach him what I know about the Lord; I talk to him about what the Lord is doing in my life. He is the bad boy, while I am the wizened proselyte. I am the servant -- to him, to my family, to neighbors, to our church family; he is beneficiary. Even in praying for my husband, for God's work in his life, I have been praying me-centered prayers! In truth, I was setting up barriers against God's work in Scott's life and, by extension, mine and the lives of others. I was telling God, "Here's what I want You to do; but only to this point."

But is God really asking me take my hands off the very thing for which I have been praying -- a humble, gentle, servant of God with a deep faith and an insatiable desire for Scripture -- in service to the Him, no matter the impact on me?! And that's just what Dr. Youssef's message turned out to be when I finally hit "Play". Funny how God does that, isn't it?

I repented for my selfish ideals and my selfish prayers. I asked God to show me how He wants me to pray for my husband, and I asked Him to help me give more and more to Him. More of me. More of my husband. More of our family. To let go, and let Him.

Honestly, I still can't see Scott as a pastor. But I'm eager to see what God will do!

When Push Comes to Shove

I keep this picture close. Not to make light of my sin or natural inclinations, and the power of Christ to forgive, but because she reminds me so much of the war within me. This darling, cotton candy image of innocence within whom lies the ability to eviscerate the first person who crosses her. This representation of who I was without Jesus, and who He is making me to be. This portrait of the princess He has called me to be, and the ruffian I sometimes find myself tempted to unleash. This reminder of how humble I need to be, and that even my desire to be Christlike comes from Him and Him alone. I have not "arrived", nor do I "have it all together." There is still within me an element of sinfulness, a proclivity to just "let it fly." I am a perpetual work in progress. The good you or anyone else sees in me is the Light of the World aglow within this broken vessel.

The Apostle Paul talks about the same struggle in Romans 7:15-20. He knows what he should do, he wants to do it, but sometimes...when push comes to shove... And those things he knows he shouldn't do or say? Somehow, he finds himself giving in to just those things.

1 John 1:9-10, assures us that Jesus forgives all our sin, providing we call it what it is; we don't sugarcoat it and shrug it off as simply "the way God made me." (1 Thessalonians 5:22, commands we reject, abstain from, make a conscious effort to avoid sin.)

The adorable little contradiction in character above reminds me of the struggles others are having as well. Do those Christians around me always act Christlike? No, but as I recognize the dichotomy that exists in me, and understand the power of the Lord Jesus Christ's blood over my sin, I must know it exists in others as well, and extend the same grace and forgiveness to them as well. As a matter of fact, some of the conflicts I experience in my own life are meant to prepare me for the conflicts others face -- to counsel them or walk with them through it. The brokenness within them is humanity, but the good within them is a gift from the Lord for which I need to be thankful, and cherish every moment.

God's grace is not cheap. Sin is not thoughtlessly swept under the rug. But, praise God, He understands our humanity and loves us deeply. Even when push comes to shove.