Friends — what would we do without them? Thank God for those people who love us, take care of us, have fun with us, laugh with us (and cry with us). But we all have some “friends” who have proven not to be true. Some are people who simply aren’t as close as they once were, maybe put in our lives out of convenience or proximity or common circumstances for a time. Some have betrayed and wounded us. There are many good friends out there, yet as much as the good ones enrich our lives, other friends have also brought drama and frustration and pain. Friends come and friends go, and if we’re very lucky, we have a handful of people who stay in our lives for a long, long time.
But listen to this. A single word leapt off the page at me as I read Matthew 26: 49-51. Going at once to Jesus, Judas said, “Greetings, Rabbi!” and kissed him. Jesus replied, “Do what you came for, friend.”
How amazing is this? How did I miss this oh-so-important word every other time I read this? As Judas was in the process of actively betraying Jesus in the Garden, as he was offering him to the guards for money, Jesus referred to Judas as friend. He didn’t call him by name. He didn’t call him traitor or betrayor, although He would have been justified to do so. In spite of what Judas did, Jesus called him friend. It doesn’t matter that we are not perfect. We don’t have to have done all the right things. All that matters is that He is Who He is and that His heart is full of love. He is a Friend like no other, a Friend that sticketh closer than a brother. Our relationship with Jesus little to do with the state of our hearts, and everything to do with the state of His heart. This friendship is not dependent on our actions or motives, nor is it destroyed by betrayal; it’s all about His love for us.
Next time you feel alone, next time you want someone to talk to, remember this amazing truth: You are a friend of God.
A sticky mess
One morning, Bobby wanted waffles. I didn’t. It was early, and I was tired, and I hadn’t had my coffee yet. I didn’t feel like hauling out the waffle maker and snapping in the plates for it and then having to clean up afterwards. But I also didn’t feel like trying to fight it, either, so I plugged in the waffle maker and mixed up the batter.While my coffee brewed and the waffle slowly cooked, I let myself imagine the end result. Golden brown, steaming, beautiful squares of perfectly-cooked batter. Real butter, glistening, sticky-sweet syrup. Mmm. This sounded pretty good after all.
Until we opened the waffle maker. Oh. Not at all what we’d hoped for. Instead of a nice, neat square with a pretty little pattern, it was a mess. Parts of it stuck. Parts of it didn’t. It peeled in half, some clinging to the top, some stretching between the two plates. Ragged fragments, mutilated pieces of something that was supposed to be so good and simple and yummy. I grabbed a narrow rubber spatula and started the painstaking task of peeling the waffle off the Teflon surface. Little strips, long peely pieces, kind of like when you peel dried Elmer’s glue off an old messy bottle or when your shoulders peel after a sunburn. I finally finished and looked at the pile of scraps in disgust, prepared to throw them out.
Before I could, Bobby poured syrup over the whole heaping mess and carried the plate into the other room to eat. He didn’t care how it looked. It still tasted good to him.
You know, sometimes it gets discouraging serving God. We have this idea of what we should be and what He has in store for us, and we visualize ourselves fulfilling all those dreams and presenting ourselves and our accomplishments to Him, complete, with beauty and glory and righteousness. But in reality, we fail. We forget to pray, we neglect to study, we lower our standards. We mess up, and sometimes we don’t know why. We’re left, then, with something broken, ugly and so much less than it ought to be. In our disgust, we pull away and hide, thinking the effort was wasted, assuming God won’t be interested in us like this. What we have to realize is that, compared with the holy perfection that is our God, nothing we have to offer will ever measure up. All we have is a pile of debris. We need to try again, learn from others, improve through practice — but we don’t have to wait for perfection before we bring it before Him. Offer your efforts to God now, anyhow, no matter how messy or substandard or flawed. He will accept whatever you will give Him if you offer it out of love. He might even pour syrup all over it, and declare that it is good. What is certain is that He will redeem, and with His touch, the end result will be so much better. Delicious and delectable, all you’d imagined right from the start.
A Godly buffet
Preach the Word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke
and encourage — with great patience and careful instruction. ~ 2 Timothy 4:2 (NIV)
When my husband and I were in New Orleans, we went to a famous diner for breakfast. Long, low marble counters wrapped around a center area where the waiter took orders, poured coffee and washed dishes. A bunch of people sat down at about the same time as we did. The waiter went from person to person, taking orders, and then stood in the middle, hands behind his back, nothing in front of him, and called out the orders to the chef from memory. He had the lingo down (things like high and dry, drag it through the garden, two dots and a dash). As he shouted out the orders, the chef went to work without hesitation, filling his giant stainless steel grill with handfuls of bacon, sausage, ham and veggies. Then, over the entire surface, he poured egg mixture until the entire grill was one solid mass of steaming food. With his spatula, he cut the eggs into rectangles, folded them up, and flipped them onto plates. He filled plate after plate with a perfectly cooked, exactly right, hot, fresh, custom omelet. The server dealt them out to the customers like a card dealer at a poker table, quick and efficient. And then we ate. Oh, how we ate. Delicious food, and all the better because of how it was prepared.
As I ate, I watched the chef. He was surrounded with stainless steel containers of ingredients, perfectly prepped and waiting to be used. Crispy bacon strips piled high; golden stacks of toast towering, ready for a single swipe of melted butter to be quickly applied with a wide brush; tubs of onions and peppers and mushrooms, clean and chopped. It was all there, ready to go. When the chef knew what was needed, he was able to deliver almost immediately because of the work that had been done before.
Although the food was good and the experience interesting, what I learned that morning was more about Christianity. We need to be prepared. You never know when someone is going to need prayer; when a friend will collapse in front of you, desperate for encouragement or advice; when you’ll be faced with a health diagnosis or a lawsuit or unexpected bills or a broken relationship. This is why we need to be in the Word regularly, to write God’s wisdom on our hearts. This is why we need to pray, so we are already in His presence and don’t have to waste time returning to Him. This is why we should study and prepare and practice, so that all the tools we need, for anything we face, are all right within our reach. Ready to go.
and encourage — with great patience and careful instruction. ~ 2 Timothy 4:2 (NIV)
When my husband and I were in New Orleans, we went to a famous diner for breakfast. Long, low marble counters wrapped around a center area where the waiter took orders, poured coffee and washed dishes. A bunch of people sat down at about the same time as we did. The waiter went from person to person, taking orders, and then stood in the middle, hands behind his back, nothing in front of him, and called out the orders to the chef from memory. He had the lingo down (things like high and dry, drag it through the garden, two dots and a dash). As he shouted out the orders, the chef went to work without hesitation, filling his giant stainless steel grill with handfuls of bacon, sausage, ham and veggies. Then, over the entire surface, he poured egg mixture until the entire grill was one solid mass of steaming food. With his spatula, he cut the eggs into rectangles, folded them up, and flipped them onto plates. He filled plate after plate with a perfectly cooked, exactly right, hot, fresh, custom omelet. The server dealt them out to the customers like a card dealer at a poker table, quick and efficient. And then we ate. Oh, how we ate. Delicious food, and all the better because of how it was prepared.
As I ate, I watched the chef. He was surrounded with stainless steel containers of ingredients, perfectly prepped and waiting to be used. Crispy bacon strips piled high; golden stacks of toast towering, ready for a single swipe of melted butter to be quickly applied with a wide brush; tubs of onions and peppers and mushrooms, clean and chopped. It was all there, ready to go. When the chef knew what was needed, he was able to deliver almost immediately because of the work that had been done before.
Although the food was good and the experience interesting, what I learned that morning was more about Christianity. We need to be prepared. You never know when someone is going to need prayer; when a friend will collapse in front of you, desperate for encouragement or advice; when you’ll be faced with a health diagnosis or a lawsuit or unexpected bills or a broken relationship. This is why we need to be in the Word regularly, to write God’s wisdom on our hearts. This is why we need to pray, so we are already in His presence and don’t have to waste time returning to Him. This is why we should study and prepare and practice, so that all the tools we need, for anything we face, are all right within our reach. Ready to go.
Fragments...
I glance up and see Jesus. Standing there, unaware of anyone else, my friend Peg has her head bowed and hands extended, showing me what I’ve never seen before: Jesus as a reachable, touchable God. He leans towards her, his forehead gently resting against hers, tenderly holding her hands. Quiet, private, personal. The intimacy makes me gasp. I might hold out my hands, too, if I thought he would hold me back.
**
She had never looked more beautiful. Glenna stood at the altar, eyes closed, oblivious to those around her, swaying gently to the soft worship music being played. She slowly raised her hand as a single tear meandered down her smooth, soft cheek. I was mesmerized. I couldn’t look away, even after she finished praying, so she answered the question I wasn’t sure how to form. Jesus was right there, she said, so she lifted her hand and laid it on his face, a gentle, gentle caress.
**
The intensity around the table eases with our laughter. A group of women, gathered for a Bible study, are telling their stories. Joanie, a quiet woman whose countenance reflects His light, puts into words what I’ve never been able to. I’ve struggled with Christian-ese — talking about my walk, being saved, all the phrases that seem trite and off-putting. She looks up, smiling, and says it pure and simple. “That’s when I fell in love with Jesus.”
**
Maybe he just doesn’t love me that much, I think. Sandee, a woman from my church, testified about feeling, for just that moment, like she was God’s favorite. Part of me was shocked by her arrogance and confidence; the rest of me was devastated by my lack of understanding.
I go home, thinking. I want that. But how do I finally commit, once and for all? How do I find more? No more doubts. Will he let me get closer? Will he reveal himself? I am yours, Lord, in every thought, every deed. I only want to know the truth. I only want what’s real. Show me firsthand. The atmosphere is charged, electric, the weight of it on my chest forcing shallow breaths. Show me, Lord. Show me how to yield my will. Show me how to take that next step closer to you. You’ll have to do it because I feel ridiculous and incompetent. My faith is so weak. But you are strong, God. You are righteous, and holy, and kind. You are a healer, full of mercy and grace. You are my light, and my strength, and my salvation. Thank you, Lord, for the amazing things you’ve done. For your gifts. For showing me how real you are. If you never did a single other thing, I still couldn’t thank you enough. I can’t believe you love me this much. I can’t believe I’m your favorite, even if it’s just for this moment.
**
Fragments merge, parts and angles and colors and details becoming an artful mosaic, individual lives combining to show a God greater than all the pieces. Up close, I see lives of authenticity, moments of faith, women who teach and lead and encourage. But when I pull back, just slightly, to get a better view, to blur my eyes and see what I can see, I see so much more. I see power and holiness. Patterns and combinations come together, connected and inspired, in ways beyond my imagining. So far beyond. And connecting it all, my God. This God connects lives, connects hearts, draws them together, perfectly placing those who are needed, cementing them together with his unbreakable, unbendable love.
Is it time, Lord, I whisper, only a little afraid. I want to be ready, ready for this next step, ready to be part of the new montage only he can fully imagine. Am I? I don’t know. I falter, realizing again what I already know: his mosaic is not one made of square, smooth tiles. No, this is jagged, broken pottery. Pieces that don’t match. Hearts that hurt. Dreams that must be abandoned. Sharp, splintered edges. Failings, doubts, flaws of character and pride and perseverance. But it’s all his. A L L H I S . And he reminds me that, in his creation, even the most damaged piece of mosaic tile is lovingly placed by a gentle hand and a creative eye.
I submit this post as an entry for a scholarship for She Speaks, a conference for women who long to tell his stories. Because here’s the thing: the complete masterpiece can be overwhelming, flooding our senses and emotions, almost too much to grasp. But the pieces? That’s something we can understand. One at a time. And as I witness these lives, as I struggle to capture their essence through my words, I’m offering a part of myself in each of their pieces, too, not just my own. The Spirit of the Lord rises up, recognizing itself in another, forming a permanent bond. These moments of connection, these glimpses into the artist, are shining fragments of glory and radiance. Oh, how his glory shines, even in the tiniest piece, the smallest life, the barest glimmer of hope. I close my eyes, daring to imagine.
This conference, She Speaks, is about women connecting the hearts of women to the heart of our Father God. The scholarship is offered by Ann Voskamp, a woman whose words have soothed and delighted my soul, strengthening my own connection with the heart of God.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)