Staying on the right road

The shock of it all nearly caused me to skid off the road. Luckily, no one was behind me when I slammed on my brakes. It couldn’t be the same place, could it? But it was.

This past winter, in a foolish attempt to take photos one cold, foggy morning, I took a detour down a treacherous, muddy road. My car wallowed in the thick soggy earth, I barely made it through, and the friends I saw right after the experience still laugh about the look on my face when I told them the story. How scared I was, how my car kept getting bogged down by the thick, viscous mud, how I was sliding from side to side and couldn’t slow down or pull over or stop and I was bouncing through pot holes and holding on to the steering wheel for dear life and praying out loud the whole time — nothing any more coherent than “Lord Jesus, please, Lord Jesus, please” over and over again. But today? Today it looked lovely. Clear, golden sunshine filtering down onto the weeds and flowers, which were overgrown at the end of summer, the feathery grasses rippling in the warm breeze. Bountiful fields of crops, looking ripe and hearty under a brilliant blue sky. Hard-packed dusty ground traced a benign path between the fields. It appeared to be the perfect, peaceful, idyllic country scene.

My journey last winter struck terror in my heart — and today? Nothing. Sometimes it’s all about timing. It’s about seasons, and using wisdom, and knowing when to put yourself into situations and when to take yourself out. The same goes for the spiritual world, too. My faith is strong today, but what about last month? Or two weeks from now? We can’t stop watching where we are going. The very same place that is dangerous today might not be in six months. And what was perfectly fine last year could be very, very dangerous and traumatic this year. There are innumerable variables that change daily — our situations, our circumstances, our finances, insecurities, emotions, hormones, relationships, self-esteem. Maybe running into your ex-boyfriend this week wouldn’t phase you, but had you seen him two months ago when you were tired and exhausted and mad at your husband, it could have led to lots of bad complications. Maybe this month your bills are paid, but next month you will be tempted by money someone left sitting out or lie about your situation to get your creditors off your back.

I guess that is why we’re told to rely on our faith. Faith comes from God, not from us, so it’s not dependent on our judgment or abilities or circumstances. We can’t know what dangers lurk around the next bend. How bumpy the road will be. How slippery the path. Without faith, the thought of navigating down that road is really scary. But with faith – with Him – we can take a deep breath and relax our grip on the wheel. Because we know He’ll help us stay on the right road.

Putting the action behind the verb

There used to be a clear distinction between nouns and verbs. Nouns are people, places, and things. Verbs are words that show an action. Simple, right? But in the past few years, our society has switched things around. Developments in computer technology have given us new abilities, and instead of creating words to mean what we want to say, we’ve simply “verbed” the nouns. It used to be that I would send [a verb] an e-mail [a noun]. Now we’ve changed it to a verb — I’ll e-mail you. When I highlight something and color it pink, I say, “I’ll pink that.” When I want to send you a message, I message you, and of course we text each other. We’re all familiar with Facebook — a website [noun] — but now, it’s also a verb. He facebooked me. Or he friended me.

Ironically, when it comes to many things in the Bible, we’ve done just the opposite — we’ve taken words meant to be active and converted them into static, dry, abstract concepts. When the Bible tells us to love one another, it doesn’t mean to write romantic letters or daydream or evaluate the nuances of that love to determine how it makes us feel. It means to show love. Feed the hungry, clothe the poor. When it tells us to have faith, it doesn’t mean to spend months hypothesizing about the relative truths of Jesus’ claims and trying to figure out if or how they apply. It means to walk in faith. Act as though we believe it. Proceed as though it’s all been proven, even if it hasn’t. Even if we have doubts. Even if we aren’t 100% sure. The actions transform the motions into beliefs. The gestures evoke the feelings. And then the words mean what they are supposed to mean.

I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve been missing the point. Have I been so concerned with my own abstract “spirituality,” so focused on how I feel about God and so intent on discovering what purpose He has for me, that I’ve neglected to do what God wants me to do? Do my prayers focus on my own needs and neglect those of the community of believers? Have I changed faith from a tangible, concrete belief that makes a difference into a vague concept that means virtually nothing? Go. Do. Preach. Teach. Clothe. Feed. Help. Follow. In the Bible, Jesus’ disciples didn’t sit around waiting, unless Jesus specifically told them to. They didn’t have to earn a degree to be qualified to talk about God, or talk about whether they’ve been suitably empowered by the Spirit to be able to serve, or wonder which song would inspire people to kneel at the altar, or look at their watches when “worship” lasted too long. Their lives changed. They watched others’ lives change. So they went. Baptized. Preached. Made disciples. Shared their experiences. Obeyed. Prayed. Worshipped. Believed. Inspired. And loved. In the most active sense of the word and in the simplest of languages, they had faith. And so will I.

Questions

In response to some thought-provoking discussion going on at one of my favorite blogs, Causerie, I posted some questions and responses of my own. I love these kind of discussions, so I'm putting my reply here, too... so, if I have any readers out there, I'd love it if you'd throw in your own two cents' worth in the Comments below this blog post. Respond to any of my comments or any of the ones found at Causerie. I'd love to know: What do you think about it all??

OK, I’m not sure if this is exactly where you were going, but this discussion brings to mind a question I’ve pondered for some time now. If I am a Christian, and if I believe the Bible to be true, then I am told that it is my responsibility to share God’s love and preach the “good news”. If I love my neighbor, and if I have found something that has transformed my life, and if I believe with all my heart that God is real and living and true, then I am supposed to tell people about it. But the difficult part is that many who do not consider themselves Christians are REALLY turned off by Christians talking about “their” God. Or they’re offended by the implication that if I believe this to be true and if I believe they need to know about it, I’m conceited and assuming that I am correct (which implies I think they are “wrong” or I am trying to change them because they’re not “good” enough). But I’m just trying to do what I’m told to do by the God that has transformed my life, and I don’t mean any judgment by it.

I’ve met many people who are not Christians (and those whose beliefs are Christian but who don’t associate with a formal group or church) who truly seem to “know” God. They are spiritual, they have faith, but they have unconventional “religious” views. But the Bible I believe says Jesus is THE way, the only way to God. Yet in spite of my belief in the Bible — because I do believe it is truth — I can’t bring myself to believe these other people don’t know the same God I know.

Sometimes I think having faith means choosing to recognize that sometimes we just don’t know. Sometimes the questions are too big for us to get our heads around. In spite of any apparent contradictions, I believe that God is real, He is alive, and He is bigger than all of my questions. He has the answers, and if I don’t know what those answers are, it’s because I don’t need to know. My questions and doubts don’t keep me from believing. I may not get it all, and I may not have all the answers, but I know that I know that I know that God is real and that He loves me. There are many areas we can debate -- most of which have to do with “religion” or “church” and very little to do with the relationships I believe God wants to have with each of us – but to me it comes down to this: what can I do to best represent the God I want people to know? How do I let Him shine through me? How do I communicate that He is all about love and not about division and estrangement? How do I show people the way He can change lives without offending them? Again, I don’t have these answers, and every time I seek answers I discover more questions. But I find it all fascinating and wonderful anyway.

Boring

I used to think of myself as fairly interesting. I enhanced my education with as much “extra” as possible, all the classes and I thought would be fun or beneficial but were not actually required. I was a graphic design major, but I did an undergraduate fellowship in mathematics. Worked in a photo lab. Campaigned for a political party. Designed theater posters. I traveled when I could. My summers during college were filled with different types of experiences – working as an arts & crafts counselor at a summer camp, squeezing in some extra classes at college, backpacking around Europe and then studying in England, interning at a cutting-edge ad agency.

But now? Now I look at my life and think how boring I’ve become. Inside, I still feel like the same person, but I sometimes worry how others might see me. I’m a mom to three children, which means I’m often filling a behind-the-scenes role of support, preparation, and practical things like driving and doing laundry. I’m a wife, which means that I willingly gave up my own identity and name to build something new with Tim, but I cannot now be separated from an identity shared with him. I’m a graphic designer, and I do work that is seen all over the country, but no one ever knows or cares who did it, just whether it does its intended marketing job or not. I have a bunch of lovely, dear friends for whom I would do anything, but the very nature of true friendship means that it cannot be all about me. I am only a good friend (or daughter/mother/wife) when I put aside all that I am and become one who helps bring out the best in someone else.

When I left college, my achievements were fairly impressive on paper, but inside, I never felt good enough. I was driven to perfection, and always aware of how far below that mark I was. Now, I beat myself up less often for my failings, and instead put most of my energy into becoming less self-absorbed and more involved with others. I’m fine with who I am, what I’ve done, and who I’ve become when I’m around the people I know, secure in their acceptance and love of me, but when someone who knew me “back then” comes along, I feel almost desperate to prove my success. Why does it matter, I wonder? Maybe it proves to me that I haven’t done as good a job as I would like to think, that I haven’t mastered the art of being humble, of selflessly nurturing and caring. Or maybe it pulls me out of this sheltered cocoon in which I live and reminds me of my competitive nature. Or maybe it’s simply the awareness that these people may not use the same standards to measure success and achievement, that they may not see the value in willingly serving others, in giving support versus receiving accolades. I sometimes fear that they might think I’ve sold out, given up, failed to achieve what I set out to attain.

Lord, help me to stay true to course – help me to continue to see my worth through your eyes. Give me the faith to renew my belief that I’m right where you want me to be, because I know there is no other place that I’d rather be than where I am with you right now.

Petty theft

“She’s stealing my chalk!” Anna yelled, outraged. “What?” I ask. “What are you talking about?” “Some girl just walked by and stole my chalk!”

After colorfully decorating our whole sidewalk, my kids left a tray of chalk sitting in front of our house. Some girl (probably junior high age), walking with an adult, both of whom presumably know better, picked up the tray and took it with her. When Anna and I went out to check, the girl was a block away. She looked back and saw us watching her in disbelief, but she kept going, looking back every little bit but holding the tray in front of her so we couldn’t tell if she had it or not. The kids wanted to chase after her, but I said no, it’s their own fault for leaving the chalk where it didn’t belong.

Later, we discovered the tray – missing half its chalk, but at least we got some of it back. It was in the grass on the far side of a tree about a block from our house. My kids were still in shock. They couldn’t believe someone would take something of theirs. Even though they left it there, she should have known they didn’t want her to take it. They felt personally violated, and didn’t want to accept any of the responsibility for what happened.

How often do we blame someone else for what we’ve allowed that person to take from us? Satan is the author of confusion, and Jesus is the Prince of Peace. As soon as we stop watching, the enemy will try to steal what God has given us. If we suddenly notice our sense of peace is gone, we need to stop and think:What opportunity did we create for someone to come in and steal from us? What door did we leave open? Sometimes it’s not even that we actively did anything wrong. We didn’t open the door, but we didn’t lock it, either. Maybe we didn’t start a misunderstanding – but we also didn’t actively stop it. Maybe we allowed questionable behavior rather than taking a stand and making sure our friends understand our position on right and wrong. Perhaps we perpetuated a false assumption or an implied insinuation because we didn’t want to risk being judged once we declared where we stood on that issue.

When it comes right down to it, though, we’re here as ambassadors for Christ. We are to represent God’s holy standards to His people – and make sure all the credit for doing right is pointed back to Him. People watch us, you know, waiting for us to fail. They jump at the chance to expose us, because it makes them feel better about their own failings. Sure, we’ll mess up, probably over and over again. But when we do, we need to learn a very important lesson: don’t do it again. And never, ever leave our chalk in the middle of the sidewalk.

Waiting

My mom is undergoing chemotherapy. Or, more aptly, she is supposed to be getting chemo this week, but the doctor postponed her treatment by another week. A day or two before each round of therapy, she has to have blood work done to determine whether she is physically able to have the chemo. But this week, her white count was low. White blood cells are the ones that help you fight infection; without them, she is not strong enough to withstand the heavy drugs. She’s had a great attitude all along, but this gets her down like nothing else. She feels well physically and doesn’t want to wait around; she wants to take charge and do something.

It’s frustrating when you have to wait for something, whether with excited anticipation or simply a let’s-get-it-over-with attitude. We’re impatient by nature. So why is it that, when it comes to spiritual matters, we’re willing to sit and wait for that indefinable moment when we decide we’re finally ready to go out and work for God? We’ll wait for years. We wait for signs. I may not be talking to you, but I’m certainly speaking to myself. Pouring over my journals from the last several years, I’ve found there’s a recurring theme: waiting for God to fill me up. Waiting to be properly equipped. Waiting to feel what I believe in my heart. Waiting to understand my purpose. Waiting, waiting, waiting. The other night as I flipped through my Bible, I was stopped by this Scripture:

“For two whole years Paul stayed there in his own rented house and welcomed all who came to see him. Boldly and without hindrance he preached the kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus Christ.” (Acts 28:30-31)

He didn’t wait. He acted. Even when conditions weren’t ideal. Even when imprisoned and persecuted. He didn’t say that he just wasn’t feeling it, or that he needed to come across the right person, the one to whom he could connect, or that he’d do it if he ever got out of that place. No, he just did it. Jesus, too, went forth. He waited for only one thing: for the Holy Spirit to come upon Him. After His baptism, He went forth and began His ministry.

Why haven’t I? I need to reclaim my natural impatience and get out there. I don’t have doctors or anyone else telling me I can’t. All I need is the Holy Spirit, and it will always make me strong. Even if I’m scared, or tired, or nervous, or uncomfortable, God has already equipped me, and it’s time to move forward.

Learning by doing

When I was in high school, I wanted to be an architect. It was a respected career; besides, I loved the angular handwriting with the slanted horizontal letter strokes. I did all I could to prepare: took extra math and drafting classes, and attended an intensive summer workshop in architecture. That clinched it for me – the atmosphere and professors and students were so very cool, and I wanted it so badly. So I applied to only one college, the third-highest-ranking college in the U.S. for architecture, because I was so sure of where I belonged. It was great… but as the focus became more real and less abstract, it became less fun for me, until finally I knew: it wasn’t for me. I had talents, but those weren’t my strongest ones. Still, it was hard to give up the image of myself I’d created, and, perhaps more importantly, I didn’t want people to think I had failed.

Eventually, I switched to graphic design. My whole life had prepared me – the hours doodling and coloring intricate design books because I was bored, the hand-drawn type, the “newspapers” I wrote and designed to send to my pen pals. I found that my time as an architecture student was rather valuable preparation. Learning to look at things in a different way, to find out-of-the-box solutions to a given problem? I learned that in the architecture program. The math? Helpful to me as I’ve run my own business these past 14 years. No matter how much we prepare for something, though, until we actually try it, we don’t know if we can do it. Would I be a better architect or designer? I didn’t know until I actually stepped into those roles.

I’ve always thought I had very strong faith, but I also knew it had never really been put to the test. Again, I prepared diligently: I spent years praying, learning the Word, and seeking the face and heart of God. The training was there, but not the practice. Now my mom has cancer, and I have to step into a whole new role and try it out. The problem? I don’t feel like I belong there, or that I’m strong enough to stand upright, or spiritual enough to find the good in this. I’m so afraid I don’t have what it takes to allow others to see God through me as my family walks this path. I’m fearful that my weakness will make everyone think I’ve been an imposter all this time, that I’m not really what they thought I was. My eloquent prayers have evaporated and I sit in silence, not knowing what to say. I’m scared.

But, even if, to my deep disappointment, I discover that my faith is not what I thought it would be, that I’m not very strong and I’m not very sure – even if that’s true – at least I can take comfort in knowing that all my preparation is not lost. It’s still there, deep down inside. The Word is written on my heart, if I’ll only dig down deep to find it. The Lord is leaning down, reaching out His gentle hands to hold me, if only I’ll grab on to Him. Though it’s hard to believe at this moment, I think I will find that I do, in fact, have the faith I always hoped was there. I didn’t believe that even as I started writing this, but I feel God assuring me now that I do. He has already filled me with His love and His hope and His faith; it’s not about my abilities at all anymore, just His. I just have to step forward into this new role, and believe. With Him, I can be anything He wants me to be. I can do anything. Even something I really don’t want to do. Even this.

Oxygen masks

I sat on board the plane, waiting for take-off. When the flight attendant started her safety spiel, I zoned out. It’s important stuff, I know, but I’ve heard it so many times I can’t seem to force myself to pay attention. I look down at my book, and glance up again as she demonstrates how to use the oxygen mask. If the plane loses pressure, the masks will drop out of a compartment above you. Tug gently on the mask to start the flow of oxygen. Secure your own mask before helping a child or elderly person sitting beside you.

That has always struck me as backwards. Shouldn’t we be selfless and help the needy first? After all, they may not know what to do, or they may be less able to follow the instructions. But, to be practical, if you don’t have air, you can’t help someone else. Neither one of you would be able to breathe. As a Christian, this idea seems particularly hard to justify. Aren’t we to help others? To give the coat off our backs to someone in need? To feed them, clothe them, pray for them and love them and show them God’s love? To put ourselves last, to be the least among our brethren? It seems obvious – we are never to help ourselves first.

But as soon as I had that thought, a still, small voice told me I was wrong. It’s just like the oxygen masks. Yes, of course we are to do for others, in all those many ways. But if we do not take care of ourselves, we aren’t much use to someone else. If we don’t feed ourselves with the word and fill our faith tanks with prayer, we have nothing inside us to give to the needy person next to us. God created us, and He breathed into us the breath of life. In John 20, it is written, “He breathed on them, and saith unto them, Receive ye the Holy Ghost.” If I’m not nourished by the presence of God in my life, I have nothing helpful or valuable to give to the person beside me.

I wrote these words many weeks ago, and now the oxygen mask means a different thing to me. When I wrote, my world was not crashing down, I was not falling topsy-turvy through the sky, I was not gasping for air. My mom has been diagnosed with cancer, and I feel like I’m free-falling, waiting to crash. During this time, I have to remind myself of two things. One, that God will give me what I need to be able to breathe, to be able to survive. And two, it is the blessing of my loving friends and family beside me who, thank God, have kept their air tanks filled and are holding the mask to my face for me. When I can’t help myself, I find myself grateful beyond words to those who sit right next to me, holding me up.

Sitting in St. Patrick's Cathedral

I couldn’t wait to see it. I walked into St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City, full of awe. Cool, hushed, and soothing, the very air inside this type of church feels holy. The ceiling arches reach hundreds of feet into the air, and the skill of the craftsmen who built them centuries ago is unparalleled. The builders of the great cathedrals went to great lengths (of time and expense) to lift up God. Intricate, elaborate stonework. Innovative engineering and design. They built these monuments to glorify God, and that’s what these buildings do.

I wandered around, looking into the chapels — ornately decorated, wrapped in flowers, gilded with gold. I saw the candles flickering in their amber glass holders, visual remembrances of individual prayers. I read the inscriptions on the plaques, and studied the stone reliefs depicting scenes from the crucifiction and resurrection. I could smell the lilies, left over from Easter, blanketing the altar. Finally, I sat in one of the pews.

I was overcome with a feeling of sadness, and I didn’t know why. Years ago, I would have thought this place felt holy. The cathedral is stunning. God is absolutely, unquestionably deserving of every bit of effort that went into building that place. No amount of glory is too great for Him. Yet tears began to stream down my face. I looked up and realized why: the tall, elegant spires seemed to be stretching to the sky in a vain attempt to reach Him. The carved stone, ceilings, arches, and ornaments appeared to be pushing Him farther away, rather than elevating Him. The magnitude of the decorated ceiling only emphasized the great distance between heaven and earth.

I realized how much my perception of God has changed over the years. Once I prayed to Him in a church slightly reminiscent of this one, knowing that way up high, somewhere, He was watching over me, and He was looking down as I prayed. Suddenly I slid out of my seat to kneel, thanking God for being so personal, so real, so touchable. We are so blessed to know Him, to feel Him, to see Him in our lives. To be certain that He is right here beside us, not some great distance away. Sometimes I think I don’t show Him the reverence that is due Him, and that I am almost too familiar with the King of the Universe. But Jesus came so we could see Him, know Him, touch Him. He came, wanting us to meet with Him face to face. So I bowed in that great stone church, in humble reverence and adoration, whispering words of gratitude and love to the One True God, who sat right there beside me.