Scratching or Soothing

Okay, reader. This may seem like a weird thing to share with the world of the internet, but I have chronic dry skin, especially on my legs. I went to the dermatologist a few years ago, and he called it by its fancy medical name, but all I know is that’s it’s extremely itchy and miserable. It’s particularly bad during the summer time, when the heat and humidity aggravate it, making my skin absolutely crawl with itchiness. This past week, as the spring weather has finally, beautifully become warm, my legs and ankles have become dismally itchy.

True, there are far worse things for a person to have to deal with, and I really have no right to complain about itchy skin. But it’s something that I’ve dealt with since I was in middle school, and, though it may seem like an insignificant thing, it’s taught me what I think is a significant spiritual truth regarding dealing with temptation. That may seem odd, but let me do my best to explain.

You see, reader, I’ve learned that when my skin starts to tingle and crawl and scream with an inconsolable itch, there are always two possible responses.

I can scratch the itch, or I can soothe it.

Scratching an itch is always the immediate, natural response. Gross as it sounds, I often scratch without even thinking about it, and for a brief moment, it feels so, so good. You know how it feels when you scratch a mosquito bite – feels good, right? But the problem with scratching an itch, as you probably know, is that it always makes the itch worse. As satisfying as scratching an itch might feel, in the next moment, the itch comes back even stronger and more unbearable than before. Not to mention the fact that you’re scratching (a.k.a. damaging) your skin. Sometimes it’s so bad that my skin starts to bleed, and the itching will always be worse than it was before. Not good. Not fun.

Soothing an itch, on the other hand, looks a lot different. This is when my skin begins to crawl, but instead of scratching it, I get my lotion and lather up my legs like there’s no tomorrow. Sometimes when the itching gets really bad I have to go the tub and run cold water over my legs to calm down the inflammation (or whatever it is that’s going on). Either way, with lotion or cold water, the itch actually subsides, and my skin isn’t damaged in the process. In fact, the lotion helps to heal my skin as it soothes the itching.

Maybe this is all way more information than you want, but something that I’ve learned is that having a really bad itch is the same as facing temptation. And there are always the same two responses.

My first option is to scratch the itch. The response that comes most naturally is to satisfy my sin by giving in to temptation, which provides immediate, false satisfaction. Pursuing sin only makes temptation harder to resist the next time, and it’s incredibly damaging to me, my relationships with others, and, most significantly, my relationship with God.

My second option is to soothe the itch: I can fight temptation by speaking truth to myself, by running to the Father and asking for His strength and grace. I can remind myself of who God is and who I am in Christ. These are the things which quiet the voice of temptation and help to heal the brokenness in my heart and mind.

Though they seem to be opposite parts of who I am, my skin and my soul actually need the same kind of treatment. Just like I need good lotion to ease the itching of my dry skin, I need the truth of God’s goodness, grace, and greatness to calm the restless cravings of my spiritual flesh.

And when I put on lotion instead of scratching and when I run to God instead of pursuing sin, I can always trust that healing will take place. The only question is if will I be intentional in pursuing that healing. Because healing is always available. 

The Uphill Hike

This past Monday, I hiked the Chimney Tops trail with my dear friends Pamela and Beverly. It was the first time I had ever hiked that trail. My friends tried to warn me how difficult it was, but man! I felt like I was dying. It's been a good month (at least) since I've made time to go running, and even if I had been running faithfully, hiking is a different kind of exercise. When I'm out exploring nature, I like to look at the trees and sky and everything around me, but it wasn't long before all my attention was focused on the ground in front of me. My legs burned and felt like jelly at the same time, and I struggled to keep putting one foot in front of the other as we walked up the steep trail.

Now, I generally think of myself as a pretty athletic person, but I was the one in our group who had to take breaks the most often. Pamela and Beverly were very gracious in stopping for me and walking at my pace, and, though I'm usually a the-more-the-merrier type of person, I was actually relieved that my other friend, who walks and hikes at a much faster pace, was not there to make me feel even slower than I already felt. (Sorry, Kristen. You know I love you.)

I'm not going to lie, my sluggish pace and intense difficulty in hiking was very discouraging to me, especially when little kids and senior citizens started passing us on their way down, looking like they had taken a five-minute walk in the park. I was utterly embarrassed to realize how weak and out of shape I am, especially compared to Pam and Bev and all the strangers around me. We would take a short break to catch our breath, then Pam and Bev would look at me or ask if I was ready to go, and we kept going. Then a few minutes later, I had to stop again. Pathetic.

There was a certain section of the trail that I really thought was going to kill me. It's over a hundred yards (I'm really bad at estimating distances.) straight uphill, like a never-ending staircase of doom. I had to stop so many times, and I felt humiliated because of my own inability to do what seemed like a simple thing. Something that everyone around me seemed able to do with far less difficulty than me. Halfway up that section, we took a more significant break, actually sitting down on some rocks next to the trail. Dozens of people passed us by on their way up or down the trail, and all I kept thinking was, "Why is this so hard for me? How am I supposed to make it to the top?" I looked up the trail, and all I saw was more stairs, more steep trail, more difficulty. (In fact, I'm pretty sure that, as we got further into the hike, every time we turned a corner and I saw more uphill trail, I verbally moaned. I don't know why Pam and Bev didn't slap me around or tell me to quit my complaining.)

Then Pam, sensing my discouragement, said, "Look back at the trail. Look at how far you've come." From where I sat on the rock, I turned around and looked at the trail below. I had certainly made it a long way.

"You've made it this far," Bev chimed in. "You can do it."

I don't think I had the breath to respond, but after a minute, I stood up, and we kept walking, slowly putting one foot in front of the other.

Maybe it seems really insignificant and lame (because, let's be real, I am incredibly out of shape), but the hike became a mental battle for me. "Just put one foot in front of the other," I thought. "Just one foot in front of the other. Don't think about the whole mountain, just make this step. Now this step. Now this step. Step. Step. Step."

It was hard. I didn't want to continue. But I realized that I would never make it to the top if I didn't keep moving. It didn't matter how slowly I walked (and, gratefully, Pam and Bev are very patient people), I just had to keep plodding up the trail. It didn't matter how much faster everyone else seemed to be going, I just had to keep hiking. I knew that if I kept going, eventually I would reach my goal.

And I realized that the same thing applies to my spiritual life.

Sometimes I feel like I'm climbing an impossibly steep trail, a trail that seems so much easier for everyone else, a trail that I can't see the end of. Sometimes this walk with the Lord is so hard that I can't even look around at the beauty that surrounds me, and even making the next step feels like a challenge. I'm often embarrassed and discouraged by how much I struggle, by how often I fail and need help, encouragement, and rest. I feel like I should be doing better, that everyone else finds it so much easier than me, that they'll surely reach the mountaintop sooner than I will.

The truth is that I am climbing a steep trail.

I realized while I was hiking that it's okay for my spiritual journey to be hard and painful and challenging. But I shouldn't let that stop me from putting one foot in front of the other. I'm not called to be as fast as everyone else - I'm not even on the same trail as everyone else. I'm called to keep making small steps, slow as they may be, toward the top of the mountain, toward joy and grace and intimacy with God.

Not only is it okay for me to go slowly, it's also okay for me to need encouragement and rest. I know I wouldn't have made it to the top of the Chimneys if Pam and Bev had not been there with me, and I know that God uses the people in my life to encourage me to keep going in my spiritual journey too.

And even if I can't see the end of the path, I know that it's there, and I know that it'll be worth all the pain of reaching it. I can find encouragement in how far I've come and the things I have conquered, and the more I go on climbing the mountain, the more I fight sin and pursue God, the stronger I'll be.

And more than all that, I know that I'm not called to walk up the trail in my own strength. God is with me, giving me strength and leading me to Himself, where there is grace and love and joy everlasting.

The view from the top.

Why Snow?

In December, I heard from several sources that we would be getting quite a bit of snow this year - more than last year. I still didn't expect what we've gotten these past two weeks. Never in my memory has snow lasted this long in Knoxville. If we're out of school tomorrow for another day, that'll make two full weeks of snow days.

As much as I'm inclined to complain about how this affects my lesson planning, I love the snow. 

Last week, one of my roommates and I sat in our living room, reading and watching the snow come down. After a day of freezing rain and sleet (which wasn't pretty at all), this was her observation:

"I'm glad that God made snow and not just ice and sleet. It's so pretty."

I don't think she realized how profound that was.

God could have just made sleet and hail and freezing rain that cover the world in ice. But He didn't. He also made snow. 

Snow. 

No matter how many times I've seen it, I'm still left amazed by how it coats the earth in a soft, white blanket, muting the sounds of restlessness and busyness that normally fill the air. Cold and lovely. When I walk through the snow, it's like I turn into a four-year-old, giggling and tromping around, watching my feet make footprints as I run around under snow-frosted trees. I love getting bundled up and heading out into the snow, the cold air kissing my nose, my fingers going numb when I make snowballs.

There is something utterly delightful about snow. Yes, I realize that snow can be inconvenient if you're trying to drive somewhere (or make lesson plans), and I realize that some people just don't like cold weather, but for a child playing in the snow, it's magical. If we're honest, playing in the snow and even walking through the snow is just plain fun. And I think that tells us something about the character of God.

God didn't make a world of pure practicality, creating things merely for their function. God made things that are breathtakingly beautiful. 

God made light and color, waterfalls and sunsets, rolling green hills and vast oceans, autumn colors and spring rain. He made cheerful songbirds and hyperactive squirrels, friendly dogs and mellow elephants. He created microorganisms too small to see, and He created colossal stars in galaxies flung far across space. God created snow. God created a world that fills us with wonder, a world that delights us. 

Why? Why did God bother with such beauty? Why does it matter?

I think that God created a beautiful world because He Himself is beautiful. God created a world full of wonders because He Himself is wonder-full. God created a delightful world because He is delightful, and He loves to delight His children. 

It's like when a husband surprises his wife with flowers. The flowers don't serve a practical purpose. They're just beautiful. And they communicate how much the man loves his wife. 

That's why I love snow. It's just beautiful. It shows me how beautiful and wonderful God is. It shows me how much He loves me. And I think that's the point.

Who I Really Am

Reader, I need to be brutally honest. Prepare yourself for some emotional vomit. If you'd rather not step in that mess, just skip the next paragraph.

I have a very hard time seeing any value in myself. I think that people love me and like having me around, but what I see when I look at myself is a needy, unattractive, disorganized, worthless failure. I fail my friends often but rely on them too much for my security. I'm also the regular debbie downer because I'm usually the first one to leave any kind of activity or hang-out because I'm not a night person. I eat when I'm upset/tired/stressed and have a hard time motivating myself to exercise. I struggle to put myself together beyond wearing jeans and a t-shirt every day. I waste too much time watching Netflix or browsing Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest. I struggle with budgeting my money well, and I've got way too much stuff in my apartment (and at my parents' house). I have a very easy life, but I just can't seem to get it together. The talents that I do have frequently go unused since I'm too lazy to discipline myself with my time. I chase after sin and idols and leave my Bible to collect dust on my nightstand, only picking it up to go to church two times a week. I go to church and know all the right answers, but dang it! I just can't (or won't) apply truth to my life and let it transform me. I am a mess.

I don't say any of that to garner your pity. I just need you to see that when I look at myself, I see negatives.

I see all the ugliness, all the broken parts, and I often believe the lie from Satan that those broken parts are all that there is, and they will never be fixed. Like I said in my last blogpost (which, shockingly, was less than a week ago), my life seems like a perpetual struggle.

I can hear some of my friends now: "Even if some or all of those things are true, there are also a lot of good things about you." And that's true. I have good qualities, and I do some good things.

I have a winsome personality and a good sense of humor. I have pretty brown eyes, and I've been told that my curly hair is fantastic. As much as I avoid exercise, I'm a natural athlete, and I can easily run two miles after weeks of not running. I connect really well with students, both the middle schoolers that I teach and the high schoolers at church that I hang out with and mentor. I love giving things to the people I care about, whether it's a cup of their favorite coffee drink or something bigger. I'm involved in two small groups and volunteer with my church's high school youth group. I make friends easily and love investing in both new and old friendships.

Those are all good things. I don't say any of that to brag about myself. I say those things because, as much as I forget it, there are positive characteristics about me that I can be grateful for. But if I'm looking to the good things about me for solace about my failings and brokenness, I'm looking in the wrong place.

The problem with both of those lists is that both of them are entirely about me. As long as I'm continually looking at myself, my spiritual growth will be crippled. Thinking about myself is not what will transform me and redeem my sin and brokenness.

What will transform me - what can transform anyone and anything - is the gospel. I can't heal or redeem myself, but God can, and He will. God says that He will complete the work that He began in me. Regardless of my successes and failures, God is doing a transforming work of grace in my heart and life.

And ultimately, just like I can't transform myself into something better, someone holier, I can't give myself an identity either. I don't have the final word on who I am or what value I hold. My failings don't determine who I am, and neither do my victories. The One who created me and redeemed me determines both my identity and my value.

That is good news. Because despite my rebellion, God calls me His precious child; despite my steady failures, God calls me holy and beloved. That is my identity. Not only that, but the value that God has set on my life is the blood of Jesus, which is of infinite worth.

No matter what I do, no matter what I feel or think, that is who I am. None of the ugly things about me can take away from that, and none of the good things about me can add to that.

I am His. That's who I really am. And that's what brings change - He changes me by first changing who I am, by calling me His own.

See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know Him. Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when He appears we shall be like Him, because we shall see Him as He is. And everyone who thus hopes in Him purifies himself as He is pure. (1 John 3:1-3) 

I'm Not Finished (with Struggling)

Over the last few months, the number of unfinished drafts of posts for my blog has grown quite a bit. The reason for this is that I begin writing a post as I begin to understand what it is that I'm learning, but then I can't quite finish because I'm not sure what God is teaching me. So I leave the blogpost unfinished.

A few weeks later, I think about a different issue or a different analogy for the things I'm learning, and I begin a new blogpost, only to leave it unfinished as well.

Reader, this is very discouraging. Yes, I want to be more disciplined in my writing, but more than that, my lack of completing any blogposts makes something very clear to me.

I have very, very little figured out. I seem to wrestle with things constantly with little progress and very few satisfying answers.

I'm always struggling but never arriving. 

Man! I really just want to arrive. I want to be finished with the constant wrestling. I want to get to a place where I don't struggle constantly, where I've conquered certain chronic idols, where I'm filled to the brim with the joy and peace that I know is available in Christ. But I am not there.

Something I realized, though, is that it's okay to struggle. It's okay to wrestle and to not understand what God is doing. It would be far worse for me to give up than it would be for me to spend each day battling sin and, though sometimes (often) failing, striving to follow Christ.

The truth is that none of us have arrived, none of us are finished, and we won't get to that point until we reach glory. Until we meet God face to face and there is no more sin or brokenness, we will always be struggling toward that end. And that's not fun, but it's okay. And we have help, not only from those with whom we live in community, but also from God himself.

"For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbrith until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And He who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose." (Romans 8:22-28)

Idle Worship

I don't claim to write blogs frequently; usually I'm doing well if I publish one new blog per month. This is because I'm not very disciplined, so I don't sit down to write nearly as much as I should. However, it's also because I think about my next blogpost for several weeks before I ever sit down to write it. Then, even when I do sit down to write it, I'm not sure how to articulate what God is teaching me or doing in my heart. I currently have four other unfinished drafts of struggles and realizations and lessons that I can't quite put into words yet. I'm very grateful for your reading my blog, but it's honestly for my benefit as much as it is yours. It's good for me to have to write down the things God is showing me - that way I'm more likely to actually learn the lesson.

All that being said, I haven't been able to finish a blog lately because I haven't wanted to listen to whatever God may be saying to me for the last few weeks. I haven't wanted to pursue God or pursue righteousness. Writing is one of the things in my life that forces me to honesty, and I haven't wanted to be honest with myself, so I haven't been writing.

In my last blog, I talked about pursuing God despite the difficulty, despite the discomfort, and despite the pain of dying to myself. I related that to the difficulty of disciplining myself in starting to run again, and, while I have been running faithfully, I can't say the same for my pursuit of God.

In fact, in some ways, I've been running the other direction.

I thought that if I just sat idly, I would be okay. I convinced myself that, if I just stayed where I was spiritually, it would be fine. I can pursue God later - I'll just enjoy where I am now. It shouldn't always be a struggle, should it?

But I've found that in my idleness, I latch onto my idols more ferociously. If I'm not intentionally seeking to be satisfied in my Creator, I will seek satisfaction in other things.

In some sense, there is no such thing as spiritual idleness. There is no moment when we are truly inactive, because by our inactivity, we are pursuing self instead of God. Apart from God's intervening grace in my life, I am a filthy, vile, hell-bent enemy of God. It is only God's grace that rescued me and declared me righteous and made me His beloved, purified child, filled with purpose and glory in Christ.

So doesn't it make sense that, although I am being sanctified and transformed by Christ, my natural, everyday state is to run away from God, not toward Him? If I'm not actively, intentionally fighting my idols, I'm allowing them to reign over me. If I'm not deliberately tearing down my idols, I'm bowing down to them. There is no middle ground.

I'm always worshiping something, and idleness allows idolatry.

Paul says this about the idolatry of the unbelievers in Rome:

"... they are without excuse. For although they knew God, they did not honor Him as God or give thanks to Him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling mortal man and birds and animals and creeping things" (Romans 1:20-23).

I read that in my devotions this morning and was so convicted. Here I am, a child of God, and I have traded the glory of knowing Him for the emptiness of other things. I've allowed myself to pursue idols because I haven't wanted to pursue God. Because I often don't believe Him when He says that He is enough. Because I'm afraid of what it will mean to surrender to Him. Because I'm afraid that, even after I pursue Him, I won't be satisfied.

So instead of pursuing Him, I've sat idly, and in my idleness, I cling to other things in hopes of satisfying my soul.

And guess what? My idols never satisfy me. Never.

As my pastor said this morning, only God can make and fulfill the claim of being able to satisfy our souls. Whatever else I'm drinking to satisfy the thirst in my soul, it will not satisfy. Only Jesus can satisfy my soul. Only Jesus. He is enough, surrender is rest, and He will satisfy every longing of my heart.

So the question is, what then will I do? Will I do nothing and let my idols grow? Will I continue chasing after empty things? Or will I throw off my idols in pursuit of the only One who can fill me till I am overflowing?

Running the Race with Fear and Trembling

In the dim light of the morning, I'm pulled out of my dreams by the sound of my alarm clock. My hand fumbles onto my nightstand until I finally manage to grab my phone, half opening my eyes to locate and hit the snooze. I immediately close my eyes, snuggling deeper under my soft covers. In that moment, the image of my running clothes, laid out the night before, flashes across my mind. My shirt, shorts, socks, and shoes are all ready for me to go if I could just drag myself out of bed.

But that requires actual movement. And I know that running means putting one foot in front of the other until my legs feel like jelly and my lungs are burning and then going further and further. Going running means that everyone who passes me in his car can see my slow pace and my red face and just how out of shape I am.

How about I just go running tomorrow? Yeah, I'll just go running tomorrow. I roll over under my covers, quickly grabbing my phone and turning the alarm off rather than hitting the snooze again.

This is the struggle. Since I had to stop marathon-training last year and was thrown headlong into my first year of teaching, getting back into the habit of running has been an uphill battle. A battle which I have been losing, despite the fact that I know I'll love running again once I get back into it consistently.

I can't tell you what a discouragement this has been for me. While I had neither time nor energy to run regularly during my first year of teaching, I feel ashamed and embarrassed by how out of shape I am. I guess I expected more of myself. But the truth is that I'm a lot less disciplined and driven than I thought I was.

Now, when I go running, it's hard. It's uncomfortable. It's a steady argument between my body screaming at me to stop and my mind trying to convince me to keep going. Lately, I've approached and begun every run with at least some amount fear, and by the end, my legs are often trembling with exhaustion.

But the thing is, if I don't go through the discomfort and pain, I'll never make any progress. If I don't run when I don't love running, I'll never reach the point where I do love running again. If I don't fight the uphill battle, I'll never reach the hilltop.

Isn't that the way it is in our spiritual lives?

I often find myself discouraged that I'm not doing better, not victorious over idols, not filled with joy like I want to be, not in love with God like I want to be. I don't know about you, but for me, pursuing God is an uphill battle. This isn't because He is playing hard-to-get or something ridiculous like that. Not at all! God has always and continues to pursue me with His love day after day, and He pours grace and mercy on me in abundance. He fills me with strength and gives me rest. He gives me everything I need from day to day. He alone is worthy of all my love, adoration, and praise, and He is ever welcoming me into His presence. You would think that it would be easy for me to love Him with all of my life.

But my heart is so easily led astray, and killing my old, sinful self in order to pursue God is a lot like the difficulty of running. I know it's good for me, and I genuinely want to do it, and the reward is so great, but... it's not easy. It's uncomfortable and exhausting.

When I think about fighting the sin and idols in my life, I'm often afraid that I'll never find victory. I've been fighting these battles for so long - where's the proof that I can overcome them? When I'm in the middle of fighting temptation, I tremble with the difficulty of setting my mind on Christ rather than letting my mind dwell on sin.

In my life, in running but more so in seeking to pursue God, there is much fear and trembling. However, if I don't throw away my idols and pursue God, when will I ever find the closeness of fellowship with God that I desire? If I don't choose to fight the battle - fight with every ounce of energy that I have - how can I ever hope to win? If I don't actually run the race, no matter how difficult it is, how can I ever reach my goal?

"Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure." -Philippians 2: 12-13

We work out our salvation with fear and trembling. We pursue God with fear and trembling.

The beauty of this is that it allows for our weakness and calls us to strength. It calls us to pursue Christ despite our weakness, for it is God, the mighty Creator and Sustainer, who works in and through us. We work as God works.

Think about that - we are called to live in bold obedience because of who God is and what Christ has done. We don't have to live in fear of our sin or of the difficulty of the battle. He who is in us is greater than he who is in the world; Christ has overcome our sin. We are to live in fear and awe of God. We are to tremble with humility and gratitude before the One who created the universe with the power of His voice and redeemed His people with His own blood.

When I fear and tremble because of my persistent failures and my overwhelming struggles, it's because I've forgotten who God is. When I live in awe of God and tremble with worship before Him, I can step boldly into the life to which He has called me - the life of destroying idols and racing wholeheartedly after Him.

So let us run with endurance the race set before us. For there is joy to be found in spending myself for Him, and with each step He draws me nearer to the glory that waits at the finish line.

Preach It!

In all the conversations I've had with friends about struggling spiritually, the issue almost always comes down to whether or not they (or I) really believe the truth of Scripture.

Maybe you've experienced this. I'll be talking with a friend, and when one or the other of us is reminded of truth, the response is, "I know that, but..." Reader, please tell me you know what I'm talking about.

For example:

--"I know God loves and values me, but I don't feel loved or valued."

--"I know Christ died for my sin, but I still feel guilty and ashamed."

--"I know this sin leads me away from fellowship with God, but it looks so good."

--"I know God has a sovereign, gracious plan, but I just don't get it right now."

--"I know God is with me, but I just feel alone."

--"I know I'm righteous in God's sight, but I've just messed up too much."

--"I know God is my strength, but this just feels like too much for me to handle."

--"I know ________, but ________."

You can complete that sentence with whatever issue it is for you right now. There's always some kind of excuse about why we don't believe the truth. I do the same thing. I know the right answers, and I know the truth in my head, just like so many of my friends do. Ultimately, though, we don't believe the truth in our hearts.

Why is that? Why do we use our circumstances and our emotions to cloud the truths about who God is, what He has done, and what He has promised? How can we say, "I know God's Word says this, but I can't accept that because..."?

I think that we do this because of what we're preaching to ourselves.

Think about it. What is it that you speak to yourself day after day, hour by hour, moment by moment?

Too often, what I speak to myself over and over again is how difficult my circumstances are, how satisfying sin looks, how overwhelmed and frustrated and discouraged I am, or (most often) what a filthy and worthless sinner I am. Those are the things I allow my mind to dwell on, and, as a result, those are the things that my heart becomes convinced of.

Our minds lead our hearts, and what we fill our minds with, that is what our hearts will believe.

What happens too frequently is that our minds dwell wholly on the difficulty and the emotion. Because of this, our hearts are filled and overwhelmed by the hardship and the immediate frustration and discouragement, and we struggle to believe and live out anything else.

Please don't hear me say that our circumstances and emotions aren't real or legitimate. They are. But they are only part of the truth. Our emotions and circumstances don't determine anything about God's character or promises. However, if I'm entirely focused on myself - my circumstances, my struggle, my feelings - I can't embrace or believe truth about the gospel and the character of God.

The difficulty is real. The emotion is real. But we ought to look at those things in light of the gospel, fixing our eyes fully on Jesus. If we want to walk through each day with joy, we have to believe that what God says is true, but I don't think that can happen if our minds are set on our circumstances and emotions.

The challenge, then, is to set our minds on Christ so that our hearts can be set on Christ. We preach the truth of Scripture to ourselves so that we believe it.

This is what the conversation should look like:

--"I don't feel loved or valued, but I know God loves and values me."

--"I feel so guilty and ashamed, but I know Christ paid for my guilt and shame already."

--"That sin looks so good, but I know that it leads me away from God."

--"I don't understand it right now, but I know God has a sovereign, gracious plan."

--"I feel so lonely, but I know God is with me."

--"I've messed up so much, but I know I'm righteous in God's sight."

--"This just feels too much for me to handle, but I know God is my strength."

Do you see how, in those sentences, the focus is on God, where it should be? Do you see how that makes all the difference?

There are and will continue to be many difficult, frustrating, and deeply painful trials in our lives. It's true - until Christ returns, our lives on earth will always be a struggle. If we focused on that alone, we could easily spend our entire lives as frustrated and depressed people. However, it's also true that Christ is redeeming our struggles, and there is abundant joy in fellowship with God and His children, and our present suffering is not worthy to be compared with the glory that will be revealed in us.

So let us set our minds on things that are above, let us preach the truth to ourselves day after day, hour by hour, so that we may believe, and be filled with joy.

Fighting the Lie: "You Will Not Surely Die"

Reader, I'm having a hard time knowing how to start this blogpost. What I have to say isn't necessarily ground-breaking or even that lengthy, but it has seriously altered how I approach my fight against sin, particularly in an area of my life that has been a battle for years. It's a big deal to me, and that's why I'm struggling to know where to begin.

What I want to talk about relates to where sin all began, in the Garden of Eden, with Satan tempting Eve, asking what God actually said about the forbidden fruit:

                  And the woman said to the serpent, "We may eat of the fruit 

                  of the trees in the garden, but God said, 'You shall not eat of 

                  the fruit of the tree that is in the midst of the garden, neither 

                  shall you touch it, lest you die.'" But the serpent said to the 

                  woman, "You will not surely die. ..." (Genesis 3:2-4)

The serpent said to the woman, "You will not die." Adam and Eve believed Satan, and the fruit looked so satisfying, so they ate it. 

Then, death. 

When I was a kid, I was sometimes confused by the story of the Fall because Adam and Eve didn't immediately die. They eventually died, but not right away, so that kind of made Satan right, didn't it? At that point, I didn't understand that there are other kinds of death.

Immediately after eating the fruit, Adam and Eve were ashamed, and they hid from God. Their intimacy with God had been broken. They could no longer stand freely in the presence of the One that had once walked with them in the garden. They were separated from their Creator, and that was a death far worse than the physical kind we most often think about. They lost fellowship with the Giver of life.

Reader, that is what I lose when I pursue sin. 

I am so easily distracted by the glittering idols around me. When I am tempted, Satan is always there to say, "You will not surely die." Too, too often, I believe him. I think that indulging in sin won't bring death; I convince myself that idols will actually satisfy me. Yet every time I take a bite of the fruit, whether it's just a nibble or hasty, messy mouthfuls, I feel utterly ashamed, and I hide from the God who loves me.

My sin always drives me away from God. That is death. 

Of course, indulging in sin doesn't cause me to lose my salvation. Because I believe in Jesus as the perfect sacrifice and atonement for my sin, I am completely righteous, accepted, and beloved in Him. There is nothing that can change that. However, when I choose sin, I break my intimacy with God. He is still near to me and loves me and even likes me, but I lose my ability to be close to Him and delight in Him. 

A very wise British man named Marsh Moyle once explained it to me like this: It's as if you and God are standing across from each other, and your idols live in between the two of you. God wants you to get rid of your idols and sin so that you can be close to Him. 

When I face temptation, sin always looks so good, and Satan is ever whispering, "You will not surely die." But I have to remember that my sin breaks closeness with God, and distance and separation from God is death. It's the death of satisfaction and joy and hope and rest. But that's what I'm choosing when I choose sin.

But when I put my sin and idols aside, what joy and satisfaction and rest there is to be found in the arms of our Redeemer! What abundant life! Surely He is the only One worth living for, for with Him there is joy and life everlasting.

The Cross I Bear

I unfortunately don't have much time to write this blog, but I feel like I need to share it anyway. So here goes. Hopefully it won't be riddled with typos.

Recently I've been thinking about what it means to take up my cross daily. Growing up in a church and attending Christian schools, I have grown very familiar with that phrase, but what does it really mean? I have sometimes heard it in the context of believers bearing various trials and difficulties. We say that the hardship is "their cross to bear." Maybe that's part of it, but I don't think that's really it. In the context of the verse, Jesus has just predicted His death and resurrection.

            And He said to all, "If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself
            and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life
            will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will save it.
            (Luke 9:23-24)

When you think about what Christ did when He bore the cross and died on it, He was paying for our sin. He was killing our sin and corruption so that we could live in freedom and righteousness through Him. He made a way for our redemption from slavery and forgiveness of all our sins.

Wow.

But what does it mean for us to take up a cross and follow Christ every day? Simply this: our old selves were put to death on the cross. Now we must continue to kill our old, selfish, corrupted selves and live in the righteousness that has been freely given to us. When Jesus tells me to take up my cross daily, He's telling me to die to my self, die to my selfish desires, die to my comfort and security, and seek life in Him.

Now, I'm not at all suggesting that we in some way contribute to our salvation. Not at all. I'm not even saying that we work sanctification in ourselves. It is God who justifies, and it is God who sanctifies. He does the work of grace in us. Yet, as He works, we are to strive toward Jesus. We are to fight to destroy our idols and pursue righteousness, like good soldiers. We are to fight the battle because we are already more than conquerors through Him who loves us.

Besides, don't we know that all the glittering idols we chase are nothing but ashes? Nothing satisfies, nothing brings joy, except Christ.To pursue Him is truly to pursue what will bring us joy, satisfaction, and peace.

This is my struggle. I am so easily distracted by the attractions of the world and so easily swayed by the desires of my old self. I seek life in my idols and find old death and emptiness.

So every single day, the cross I must (but don't always choose to) bear is the death of my old self. I must submit the desires and hopes of my flesh to Christ, no matter how much I want to hold on to them. Because, just like Jesus rose from the dead and ascended into glory with the Father, death to our old selves means experiencing a life in Christ that is filled to the brim and overflowing with joy. And when we meet Him, there will be inexpressible and everlasting glory.

Selfie-Centered

Reader, there's something I have to confess. I have been holding out on you. I've been thinking about writing about this topic for a few months, but I haven't done it for fear of offending people. I don't want to point fingers or lay blame on anyone, and I certainly don't want to condemn. That's not my place.

Yet, it is my place (and the place of any believer in Christ) to speak truth, in love, when it needs to be spoken. We have a responsibility to exhort one another toward lives that fully glorify God and only God.

All that to say, I'm terrified to write this blog. What I have to say isn't easy or comfortable, but I promise that my intent isn't to shame or condemn, but only to love and point others to Jesus. So, here I go.

Let's talk about "selfies." For any reason whatsoever, people take pictures of themselves and post them on Instagram or Facebook, in hopes of getting as many likes as possible. No matter what the situation is, take a picture of yourself, slap a caption on it, and publish it for all your friends to see and appreciate. Make sure you've got the right pose, the right facial expression, the right angle; take time to think about what caption fits best. Take a few pictures and pick the best one. Feel good about yourself when you get a lot of "likes." Be disappointed if you only get a few. Repeat the process tomorrow or the next day.

Does this sound familiar? Does anyone else see something wrong with this?

I understand taking and posting a picture of yourself in some situations: it's your birthday, or you got a haircut or a new hat, or you're dressed up for something, or something is going on that you just have to share with the world. That makes sense to me.

But day after day? What's the point? Why do we do that? Do we think that people have forgotten what we look like? Of course not. I think the reasoning is more that we are afraid people will forget about us. When we take those pictures and post them so frequently, what we're really doing is saying, "Look at me!" We crave love; we crave acceptance and attention. And we take pictures of ourselves just so that people will like it and say, "OMG, your soooo beautiful!!!*" (*grammar errors intended) or something along those lines. We're seeking affirmation.

So we take pictures of our faces day after day and post them for our friends to see. Our Instagram feeds are all silently screaming, "Look at me, look at me, look at me!" Does anyone else see how self-centered and narcissistic that is? Can you imagine people in the 1800s carrying around pictures of themselves and pulling them out to show their friends every time they met? That would have been ridiculous. Not to say that people in the 1800s were any less selfish and broken than we are today, but we have technology that allows us to act out and display our selfishness. We live for likes, and if people don't like our pictures, we feel a little crushed, though most of us would never say that out loud.

Now, I don't know when it became an acceptable social practice to take pictures of ourselves and post them so frequently. I don't know when "selfies" became a thing or when it became normal, but I can't say that it surprises me.

What surprises and disappoints me is that believers accept it and take part in it just as much as unbelievers do. What makes it worse is when we try to make pictures of ourselves spiritual by writing a caption with a verse or something, as if we are doing anything other than calling attention to ourselves. Yes, rejoice in who God has made you. Yes, exult in His redemption of you, who were once dead and enslaved and utterly broken. But if you are taking and posting pictures of yourself day after day, are you really seeking to call attention to God's glory and goodness? Really?

For that is what we should be calling attention to. Always.

Just think about Him. He is the God who created the entire universe with the power of His words. He is the God who breathed life into man, who redeemed us with the blood of His Son, who calls us out of darkness and into light, who fills each day with purpose, who paints sunrises and created giggles, who loves each of His children fiercely and calls us by name and pursues us with His grace and kindness.

This is our God. This is the one we praise. He is the one who gives us identity and purpose and joy. He tells us that we are beautiful and valuable. There is not greater security than that which we have in Him.

Why are we living for likes and comments? Why do we feel the need to find affirmation in anything beside our great and gracious God? Why do we chase after what we know will not satisfy?

For me, I know that it is because I am often looking at myself instead of Him. Whatever it is that we are looking at, we will inadvertently lead others to do the same. If I'm focused on myself, I will want others to focus on me too. So the real question here isn't "Why do we take selfies?" The question is "What are our lives proclaiming?" Is my life proclaiming my self? Or is my life proclaiming Christ and the glory of God?

                      "Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on
                      things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set
                      your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died,
                      and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who
                      is your life, appears, then you also will appear with Him in glory."
                      (Colossians 3:1-4)

The Year of the Marathon: Becoming Who I Am

Way back in March, I set out to run a marathon. I had thirty-seven weeks of training mapped out and brand new running shoes to go with it. So I began my training. I was determined to run those 26.2 miles, and I made good progress at the beginning. I reached the point where running three miles was like nothing, and I actually reached seven miles by the end of April. Maybe for some people that isn't a big deal, but for someone like me who struggled to run one mile back in January, that was a big deal. I realized that I could do this thing - this marathon thing. I would do it.

Then, in May, I developed tendinitis in my right foot. Bummer. Big bummer. It put my training on hold, and, as eager as I was to get back into things, healing fully took longer than I anticipated. I tried to go on runs, but the pain of it pierced my foot, and I hesitated to keep running because I didn't want to prolong the injury.

So, it took about two full months for the tendinitis to heal. At the beginning of August, I was ready to run again.

Enter first-year teaching job.

All of a sudden, syllabi and curricula and weekly lesson plans bombarded and overwhelmed me, and I realized that you will never understand the exhaustion and time demands of being a teacher, particularly a first year teacher, until you are one. I don't say that to complain (I expected teaching to be challenging.) but simply to say that I had not the slightest bit of time or energy to think about running.

As a result, I didn't get back to running like I thought I would when I first developed tendinitis. In fact, the Richmond Marathon was two weeks ago yesterday morning, and I wasn't there. I couldn't even run a 5K right now. I'm back at square one.

I haven't written about this before because, honestly, I was embarrassed. I wrote two blogposts about my determination to run this marathon, and here I am, at the beginning of December, not having done what I set out to do.

Does that make me a quitter? Does that make me lazy? Will people laugh at me? Was it foolish of me to think I could run a marathon in the first place? Was I just kidding myself? These are the questions that run through my mind.

But then I think about something that my friend Pamela said. She said to someone, in a group conversation, that I am a runner.

I am a runner because I run.

For some reason, her saying that affected me in a powerful way. It changed the way I thought about myself. Before then, I would never have called myself a runner because I would have felt like a poser. After she called me a runner, though, I was able to claim that as part of my identity - and be proud of it.

So now, starting to run again isn't about changing myself into what I want to be. It's about becoming who I already I am. Somehow, that's easier to manage. That challenge is imbued with hope.

The same is true in my relationship with God. I am a child of the Most High God, but I don't always live in the truth of that. I often stray. I'm often a quitter and am often lazy. I often fail simply because I am weak-willed and easily distracted by the world. And the longer I distance myself from God, the harder I have to work when I'm once again seeking to pursue intimacy with Him.

It's easy for me to be embarrassed about how weak and prone to failure I am. But running with endurance the race set out for me isn't about proving myself to God or to the people around me. God already knows exactly who I am. In Christ, I am His child. Living a righteous life isn't about impressing anyone or earning favor with God. It's about living in the fullness of my identity as His child.

What do runners do? They run. So I will train to become who I am.

What do God's children do? They love God with all of themselves. So I will fight to become who I am.

And if I fail, there is more grace. For, because of Christ, there is nothing that I can do that will change God's opinion of me. So,

                    "let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us
                    run with endurance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and 

                    perfecter of our faith, who, for the joy set before Him, endured the cross, scorning its 

                    shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider Him who endured 

                    such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." 

                    (Hebrews 12:1-3)

A Letter

I have this friend who's really struggling. Not just "Life is kind of hard right now" struggling, but "Is life even worth it?" struggling. Painful strife in the depths of the soul. I feel utterly helpless in knowing how to serve and uplift in the best way. So here's a letter to my friend, in an effort to encourage and point to Christ. I hope that, if you're in a hard place right now, God accomplishes the same for you.


Dear friend,

I should start out by admitting that I really don't know what to say. You've heard encouragement and words of love from so many people, why do I think my words will be what you need? There's no earthly reason why they should, so I'm relying on God to give me the right words and to touch and change your heart. If He's not in it, there's really no point. So here goes:

Friend, I know that you feel stuck. You feel like you're in a bog, your feet heavy and stuck in the mire of your own mistakes, stuck behind a boulder that blocks the path you're supposed to be walking. No matter how hard you try, you just can't manage to lift your feet above the filth and place them on solid ground. No matter how fiercely you struggle, you can't seem to get your head above the fog and find the clean, bright air above. Don't worry - God has made the ground level and has loosened the boulders of sin and idols. There's nothing in your way, and there's nothing to fear. When you feel stuck, you're not. Christ is your Rescuer, and He's always with you.

Friend, I know that you're weary of making the same mistakes. You think that when you fall, you let people down, that they're disappointed with you. You think they get tired of hearing you share your heart and your pain and your struggle. Believe me, they aren't. Your fighting gives them hope, and courage. Your failings and desire to change are powerful testaments to God's grace through the gospel of Christ. And when you share your struggle, instead of hiding away, it blesses all those who hear.

Friend, you think that when you fall, you let God down. Here's some news: God isn't surprised by any of your sin. He knew about it all before you were born, before you were created, before the world was created. And He still chose to create you. He made you, He loves you, and, because you're in Christ, He is totally pleased with you. He is genuinely delighted in you.

You know that feeling you get when you hold a baby? That feeling of "Oh my goodness. I love this baby! No matter what she does, I love her, just because she is who she is." That's how God feels about you. He gets excited about you. Even when you fail and feel ashamed in your failures, God loves you.

Friend, I know that you are ashamed of yourself. You feel that you should have it figured out by now. You've been in the struggle for so long, you should have learned your lesson and moved on by now. You're right. You should have. But there is grace for that. Yes, fight sin. But don't hold on to the guilt of past mistakes! It's over! God has forgiven you - you have no right to withhold forgiveness from yourself. Let go of shame and regrets - Christ has already carried the weight of them.

Friend, you need to realize that you are dearly loved. By many people. You may not believe it, but it's true, and you need those relationships (So stop running away from them!).

Ultimately, however, earthly relationships will never satisfy you or make you whole. The only relationship that can soul-satisfy and heart-heal is your relationship with Jesus. He is the Lover of your soul and the only Source of true delight. He is your refuge and your joy. Stop thinking about your failures and weaknesses! Think about Jesus - love Jesus - and He will transform you.

I'm praying for you,
me



For those of you who are still reading, I wrote that letter to myself.

I don't admit that to gain your pity or to cry out for help or any such thing. I wrote it because a battle I often face is the fight to remind myself of truth when my emotions (and Satan) are telling me entirely different things. And I share this with the internet world because I suspect that I am not the only one.

I want you to know that, Reader, if you're struggling, you're not alone. You're never alone. You're not a failure for struggling, and you're not weird or worthless for failing. You have been redeemed. You are no longer defined by your sin and weakness. You are defined by Christ.

So cling to the truth of God's love for you. Fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of your faith. Take heart! For He began a good and beautiful work in you, and, whether or not you see it, He is continuing that work, and He will surely complete it.

Crows Calling

Reader. It has been. A long. Time. More than two months, in fact, and for that I apologize. In August, I started a job as a middle school grammar teacher, and man! I have never, ever been so busy. It is an indescribably wonderful yet terribly overwhelming job, which I am sure you will hear about more and more as the school year progresses. But what I want to talk about now regards something else entirely.

When I was in college, I went through a period of what I would call depression. I never went to a doctor or was diagnosed or anything like that, but I was full-on depressed. At the time, I didn't want to think about it in those terms, so I just told close friends that I was struggling with despair. But that was just another name for depression. I struggled with sin and hated myself for it. I really and truly despised myself, and I thought that if anyone knew who I really was and what I struggled with, and how often I simply chased after sin and idols, they would despise me too.

The grace of God rescued me from that pit. God pursued my heart and showed me His genuine forgiveness and whole-hearted love for me, and I was changed. Slowly but surely and miraculously, I was changed. I came to actually believe God when He said I was forgiven. Wow. Praise God.

However, one image from that time in my life has stuck with me. 

Every morning of college when I walked to the cafeteria - self-hatred and despair weighing on my shoulders far more heavily than my overloaded, black backpack - there would always be a few crows perched on the sidewalk railing or on top of a building, their caws ominous in the quiet morning.

Caw. Caw. Caw.

I hated those crows. Hated them because, in the midst of otherwise peaceful and beautiful mornings, they seemed to represent the darkness, ugliness, and despair in my heart. And perhaps that sounds melodramatic and very Edgar-Allen-Poe-ish. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I got the idea from "The Raven." Just like the black bird in the poem, the crows seemed like messengers of ill-news, reminders of my sorrows. 

Since then, I have hated crows with a passion; in my mind they still represent despair and depression. Until a year ago on a camping trip.

Each year at the end of the summer, my family and several families from my church go camping on the same weekend, and I go crazy with anticipation for it every single year. This camping trip is like my refuge, and the campgrounds are like my sanctuary. Last year was no different.

One morning on last year's trip, my dad and I sat silently at our campsite, enjoying the peace of the mountains as we waited for everyone else to wake up, the air still cool before the sun rose high over the trees. The smell of burning wood and cooking breakfasts wafted on the air from other campsites, and the sky that I could see between the canopy of trees still looked pale with the rising sun. 

Then my dad asked, "Can you hear the crows?"

I listened. 

Yes, there were the caws, reminding me of my despair and sin, even here in this sacred place.

Before I could think too bitterly about them, however, my dad went on: "There are always crows calling at dawn, heralding in the new day. Have you ever noticed that? Always in the morning. It's like wherever the dawn is, that's where they are." 

Woh. What?

Black, ugly, wretched crows heralding in each new day? If they herald in the new day, doesn't that make them, black as they are, messengers of light? I had always thought of them as heralds of darkness, but all of a sudden, that wasn't the case.

Somehow, as I sat there in the mountains, it all made sense. Yet, I struggle to articulate it well, so be patient with me.

 A messenger of light must walk through the darkness. The people who are already in the light don't need hope, so the bringer of hope must walk to dark, desperate places in order to find those that are despairing. The herald of the dawn must belong with the night.

I'll put it this way: When the woman at the well ran to tell her neighbors about Jesus, her reputation as a sinful, broken woman preceded her. They knew she was a sinner, and they believed her story about Jesus because she was a sinner. The truth of her filthiness convinced them that, if Jesus can save her, He can save anyone. (Check out John 4 if you don't know the story.)

Such is the ugliness of crows.

They seem to belong with the night, yet they are heralds of the the dawn. They seem to belong with darkness, despair, and sin, yet they speak of the hope that, though the darkness hide me, light is coming.

Let's be honest: Though hope is a beautiful thing, when we most need it is when it seems the most ugly. It speaks the truth of present circumstances, bleak as they are, but it also points to something better.

Emily Dickinson wrote this about hope:

                       "Hope" is the thing with feathers - 

                       That perches in the soul - 

                       And sings the tune without the words -

                       And never stops - at all. ("'Hope' is the thing with feathers - (314)")

She is right in one sense but wrong in anther. Hope is a feathered thing, but it is not one that sings all the time like a cheerful canary or something silly like that. Hope is a crow, not flinching from the present darkness, bleak as it is, but pointing to something better - to light and life and joy.

Crows seem to belong with the darkness, with those long, wearying seasons of discouragement, struggle, and defeat. Crows seem to belong with those times in which I think the light will never come. It is in those times that I need a crow kind of hope because I need someone who recognizes the depths of my darkness and night but also ceaselessly calls:

Dawn. 

Dawn. 

Dawn.

A Fickle Heart Crying "Hosanna!"

I've been reading through Matthew lately, and this past week, I arrived at the triumphal entry:

They brought the donkey and the colt, placed their cloaks on them, 

and Jesus sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the 

road, while others cut branches from the trees and spread them on 

the road. The crowds went ahead of him and those that followed shouted,

"Hosanna to the Son of David!"

"Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!"

"Hosanna in the highest!"

                                                                        -Matthew 21:7-9

The thing that usually (and powerfully) strikes me about this passage is contained in the footnote: "Verse 9 - 'Hosanna' - A Hebrew expression meaning 'Save!' which became an exclamation of praise."

"Hosanna" means "save us," but it is used to praise God because He has saved us.

I particularly think about this in the context of wrestling with sin. I cry out for God to save me, to grant me freedom and victory, yet I can also praise Him because in Christ I have been given freedom and victory already. Now I have to fight to live in the reality of those blessings. And I'm dependent on God's grace to do that, so I can still cry out "Hosanna!" as a plea and as praise.

In fact, maybe our crying out to God is a form of praise in itself. When we come before God recognizing our neediness, we worship Him. When all we have to offer is our brokenness and weakness, and we offer that to God, that is worship. Because He is our All in all. He is our strength, and He makes us whole. So it is entirely fitting that we bring our helplessness to Him - to do so is merely to come before Him honestly.

Yes, we praise God in adoration and thanksgiving, and also in our most desperate pleas.

That is a beautiful truth. Yet, this is not what struck me when I read the story of the triumphal entry this past week. What gave me pause is the fact that the passage doesn't say anything about Jesus' response to the crowd. Was He pleased with what happened? Was He sober-minded as He thought of what was ahead?

I'm certain that most of the Roman-ruled Jews in the crowd didn't really understand what they were saying when they shouted "Hosanna." Most of them probably just wanted to be rescued from the power of their Gentile oppressors. But Jesus knew that he would answer their cries of "save!" in a much more significant way - by rescuing them from the power of their own sin.

I'm also confident that Jesus knew that in a week's time, many, if not all, of the people in that crowd would be screaming "Crucify Him!" as He stood before Pilate. Jesus knew that the people's adoration would turn to scorn, their joy in Him would turn to hatred of Him. He knew that all those people, just like Peter, would utterly betray Him.

Since He knew that - since He knew the fickleness of their hearts - did He still accept their praise as they shouted "Hosanna"?

This is the magnificent beauty and wonder of God's grace - I think He did.

Even when our praise lacks understanding, even when our fickle hearts are bound to turn to lesser things in the next moment, God accepts our praise. That is not to say that we don't strive to have steadfast hearts - to love and serve and worship God in everything, in every moment. But when we fall short of that (and oh! how often we fall short!), He still accepts and enjoys our praise because we praise Him in Jesus' name. In Jesus, all things are redeemed and made pure, even our fickle love and our feeble attempts at worship.

Such is the joy and wonder of God's grace. Not just that God loves me, which is too great a truth to fully understand, but that He accepts and even delights in my deeply imperfect love for Him. And that leads me to love and worship Him all the more.

The Year of the Marathon: Bracing and Embraced

Yes, I'm afraid it's true. This is what my poor foot has looked like for the last four weeks:

Tendinitis. And I've been out of marathon training for almost five full weeks now. 

Reader, I really cannot explain how disappointing this has been. I could go into the details of how the pain developed and where I was in my training and what that means for my training going forward, but if I did that, I would mostly be complaining. I have no right to complain, though, because I have so much for which to be grateful. For example:

--When my foot first started hurting, I was afraid that it was a stress fracture, and if it had been, there is no way I could run for even ten minutes this week (which I did, slowly), much less run a the marathon in November. But it wasn't a stress fracture.

--After my foot had been in extreme pain for almost a week, my mom managed to get me a last-minute appointment with a foot doctor so that I didn't have to wait in pain for another three days.

--When I went to see the doctor, I found out that he used to run marathons and knows how to go forward with getting me back into training. 

--He told me I can still run a marathon in November.

--When he gave me a foot brace to wear, I could immediately feel the difference. It felt so much better.

--When I went on a short run this week, even though it was only ten minutes and my foot hurt by end, it felt good to run. I didn't hate it. I loved it.

I could go on, but obviously I have so many things for which I can and must thank God. And, I can even thank God for the time off from running. Because, even though I hate it, the time off is what allows me to heal. If I didn't take the time off now, the tendinitis in my foot would be much worse than it is. The resting is what will allow me to start running again later on.

So, I've put on a brace to heal from this tendinitis. I've had it on for four weeks now and have been amazed at how many people I notice staring at my brace. To be perfectly honest, I kind of get embarrassed by it. I don't want people to see an injury when they see me. I don't want strangers to remember me as that girl with a brace. I don't want people to see me as weak. 

The same goes for my spiritual life. I (and, I believe, most people) have a hard time being consistently open about personal weaknesses and struggles and failures because I don't want people to see them. I want people to see me as strong and steadfast when in reality I am weak and unfaithful. 

And in some ways it's much easier to fake spiritual health and strength than it is to fake physical health. When my foot first started hurting, there were times when I couldn't walk without a limp and had to try really hard not to grimace because of the pain. But there are days when I'm really discouraged and depressed but can still smile and laugh and act like nothing is wrong.

The problem with that is this: If I had successfully pretended that my foot felt perfectly normal five weeks ago, then I wouldn't have gone to the doctor, I wouldn't have gotten a brace, and I wouldn't be healing. 

When I pretend that I have my spiritual life all together, I don't run to the Healer, I don't wrap myself up in the encouragement and prayers of fellow believers, and I don't truly heal or experience victory. And hiding weakness is dishonest about my brokenness and deep need for grace.

It's humbling to admit weakness and failure and hurt. It's scary - what if they judge or reject me? However, those who don't give grace to the needy don't really understand their own need for it, and every time I have confessed sin or shared a struggle, I have been met with grace and embraced by the people with whom I share. Just like my foot has healed faster with the help of a brace, victory and healing come more easily (not easily, mind you - just more easily) when other people are supporting me - encouraging me, praying for me, fighting the battle with me. 

Now, you may argue that people don't heal us - God does. And you're right - God does the healing. But He also uses believers to help do it. 

Allowing other believers to walk with you through struggles and heartache is like walking in a brace when you have an injury. It makes all the difference. It doesn't take the pain away, but it provides support and helps you to keep walking.

So, I'm bracing myself. To heal from a foot injury. And as I share my life and struggles with my friends, they have embraced and will embrace me and will walk forward with me as I run closer and closer to Jesus.

The Stories We Love: A Look at "The Hunger Games"

Picture this scene: you're sitting in your cozy living room, having just finished an excellently entertaining movie. The credits roll up the screen while the music plays, and you sit, maybe with friends or a couple of siblings, thinking about what you've just experienced. What a great movie, you think as key scenes and pieces of dialogue play back in your mind. Then, in walks your dad, who sees the movie has ended and asks "Did the good guys win?" You grin and turn to him. "Yep!"

I have heard my dad ask this question many, many times. It's rarely an actual question but more of a good-natured, sarcastic jibe because of course the good guys win. He says that movies are a waste of time (He likes movies too, but he just doesn't admit it.), so he asks this question after movies and TV shows in an effort to show me that I didn't need to watch the movie at all. I knew how it was going to end: the good guys win. Good always wins.

Yet, the triumph of good is one of the primary reasons that I enjoy stories so much.

I love stories. Anyone who knows me well can tell you how much I enjoy reading books and watching movies. I make regular visits to a used bookstore in Knoxville and have a stack of books waiting to be read. I can't seem to read fast enough for all the books I manage to buy. I'm working on it though.

One series that I read surprisingly quickly was The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. (Now, I know that in this blog I've also talked about reading the Harry Potter series, but don't judge me and think I only read popular, modern books. I've also recently read A Tale of Two Cites by Dickens, Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, My Ántonia by Willa Cather, and several other classics. So there! Anyway...) I devoured The Hunger Games books in about a week and a half. During that time, I found myself totally wrapped up in the story - happy when the characters managed to find ways to be happy and devastated with the characters in their losses and heartaches.

When I finished the books and placed them on my shelf, I thought about them for a good month afterward, but not because of obsessing over the characters or anything like that. I just kept thinking, Those books were really dark... why did I like them so much? I had the same question when the first movie came out, and now again as the trailer for the second movie has recently been released.

At first, my answer was that the characters are real. They live and react and change in ways that make sense. The ways they love and hate, the ways their circumstances shape them, the ways they seek to cope with what's happened - all of it rings true to human nature. This truthfulness in itself is appealing and beneficial, especially when compared to a different popular series about comically hormonal, sparkly blood-suckers.

The second reason that I had was that the books create a startling contrast between a life of self-obsession and a life of self-sacrifice. The people of the Capitol are entirely self-absorbed and are obsessed with comfort, fashion, and entertainment. And they do live totally comfortable, frivolous lives; their existence oozes luxury. The lead characters from poor District 12, on the other hand, live in destitution and fear, but they sacrifice for each other in profound ways. In many instances, they lay down their own safety and assurance of survival so that their loved ones might live. As a reader, I would never want the circumstances of those in District 12. But it's clear in reading the books that it's far better to be destitute and live a life of self-sacrifice than it is to live in  luxury yet be totally self-obsessed. This lesson also makes The Hunger Games worthwhile.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my reason for loving The Hunger Games is actually deeper than that.

The very premise of the book is dark and incredibly violent. As punishment for an uprising against the Capitol years ago, each of the twelve districts must offer up a girl and a boy, from age twelve to eighteen, every year to be put in an arena and fight in a televised battle to the death, known as the Hunger Games. Literally, kids killing kids on television. I won't go into the plot here, but, as you might imagine, it starts out dark and gets darker. When things seem bleak, they get bleaker. When you think Katniss, the lead character, has experienced enough loss and pain, she loses more. There are several times when she gives up on life and hope.

Yet, at the end of it all, when the battle is over and the number of loved ones lost is too high to think about, there is hope. The tyranny of the Capitol is broken and banished. There is new life. There is love. There are flowers growing in the meadow and children born into a world without the dreaded yearly Hunger Games.

Now, the culture in which I live is not as overtly harsh or violent as Katniss's world. I do not live in a war zone, nor have I faced destitution of the kind portrayed in the books. But I know that many people do live in war zones and do face destitution and starvation. When I take an honest look at my world, it's hard to not lose hope. Things are bleak, and they seem to be getting bleaker. Before my last post, I had not written a blog post in over a month because, in light of what happened in Boston and in Waco, Texas, what could I possibly say? It didn't seem that long since I was speechless after what happened in Newtown, and now this? And just yesterday, two gigantic tornadoes ripped through Oklahoma, killing many and leaving others homeless. So many problems too big for me to comprehend, so much hatred, so much darkness.

That is why I loved reading The Hunger Games. Because it descends into a darkness and hopelessness that I often feel about the state of my own world. But after the darkness, there is light. After the night, there is dawn. A story wrapped up in death ends with life.

And that story points to the story. In the narrative of God's redemption of the world, we are in the midst of darkness. We see brokenness and death all around us. But there is still life, still hope that the dawn is coming. Jesus Christ will return and put all things right. And that day will not just be some kind of storybook ending - it will be the beginning of a forever in which we really will live happily and joyfully and perfectly ever after, with the Great Storyteller and Author of Salvation.

That's the reason we love happy endings, isn't it? That's why I read so many books and watch so many movies, why I come back to them over and over again, even when I know the ending - because in the end good triumphs over evil. The stories we love echo The Story we're living. Because no matter how dark it gets, someday all evil will be punished, and the dawn will come, and we will know nothing but goodness and light and joy and love.

Brother Embarking

This is me and my younger brother Brad:

He is downright fantastic. Yesterday was his birthday, and today he happens to be leaving for a two-and-a-half-month missions internship in India. I sure am going to miss this kid, but I am so very proud of him. 

The truth is that when he first applied for the internship (through the Acts Project at Bryan College), he only knew that he didn't want to go to India. But for some reason, India is exactly where God wants him to go.

When the director of the program asked me about Brad's field placement for the summer, telling me the options were either England or India, my initial thought was "Send him to England!" Brad had mentioned that he would like to go there, and having been there myself, I love that place. It would be so much fun, and it might even be meaningful. But the more I prayed about it, the more I knew that Brad didn't need that for a summer missions internship. The word that God kept putting in my mind was "stretching." I knew he needed to go to India.

Apparently a lot of other people thought the same thing, so it was decided that Brad would go to India this summer. That was before all of the health issues. Since January, he's had shoulder surgery, mono, and a blood clot, and we were all wondering whether or not he would or could go. Even when he was mostly recovered from the health problems, we still weren't sure. He sent out his support letters fairly late in the game, for a variety of reasons, so when the money was coming due, he only had about half of his funds raised. 

So he prayed, "God, if you want me to go to India, make it happen." Over the couple of days after that prayer, he got three phone calls and had all of his support raised.

And just like that, God's taking him to India, with nothing but a backpack and the clothes on his back. He's nervous, understandably. But he's going.

Seeing Brad walk through the long process of preparation and watching him step out in faith to actually go to India has been a huge challenge for me. There are things in my life about which I am totally uncertain and even afraid. Things for which I don't feel prepared or knowledgeable enough or strong enough. 

But, just like with Brad going on this crazy adventure to India, the path my life takes really isn't about my strength or readiness or even my excitement to do what God calls me to do. It's about God's strength in and through me and His faithfulness to do good things in my heart and life, wherever I am and whatever I'm doing.

If you want to keep up with Brad's adventures, check out his blog. I'm sure you'll hear some great stories.

More Than I Can Handle

Something I've heard a few Christians my age and younger say recently is that God won't give us more than we can handle. Whether in regard to some kind of trial or a particular temptation, they use this as a source of comfort and confidence. It's the idea that, whatever may come, it will never be too much. I can handle whatever God's will allows, and it will never leave me destitute because God is good, and He wouldn't do that to His children. Right?

Wrong.

God is good. And it is for that reason that He often gives us way more than we can handle. He overwhelms us with life's circumstances. He allows us to be left destitute. He drives me to the end of my rope, to the end of my strength and my resources and my wisdom, where there's nothing left to hold onto but Him.

Just look at the people in Scripture. Look at Job for goodness' sake! When he found out, within minutes, that all of his wealth and, far more tragically, all his children had been wiped out, he certainly did not say, "Well, God doesn't give me more than I can handle, so I know I'll be okay." Heck no!

Instead, Scripture tells us that "Job got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. Then he fell to the ground in worship and said:
                         'Naked I came from my mother's womb,
                              and naked I will depart.
                         The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away;
                              may the name of the LORD be praised.'
In all this, Job did not sin by charging God with wrongdoing." (Job 1:20-22)

Job was so broken that all he could do was grieve and fall down in worship of his sovereign God. There was nothing about what he did that was "handling" what God allowed to happen in his life. At the end of himself, all that was left was grief and worship. And that was a holy response to his circumstances.

You see the same thing in the lives of David and Paul when they face hardship and struggle. In 2 Corinthians 12, Paul tells his readers that he actually begged God to take away the "thorn in his flesh," whether that was some kind of physical suffering or spiritual struggle. Paul asked God to take it away because it was more than Paul could handle! And we're talking about Paul here, who wrote a lot of the New Testament. But how does God answer him? "Oh, don't worry about it Paul. I don't give you more than you can handle, so buck up! You got this!" No. God says, "My strength is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." And thus, Paul learns to live in Christ's power and not his own. At the end of himself, there is God.

You see, there is no trial that we experience or struggle that we wrestle through that we can deal with in our own strength. There is very little that we can actually "handle" on our own, if anything. It's pride that says, "I can handle this," which is why many believers become disillusioned when they are in the middle of a struggle or trial and come to the utter end of themselves. As if they were supposed to be able to handle the difficulty on their own.

We are weak. I am weak. In my own struggles I have found over and over again that there is nothing for me to do but hold onto who God is. There's nothing I can do but let go of my self and fall on my face and worship. When people say that they know God won't give them more than they can handle, I think, "Just wait!" If Scripture hasn't shown them already, life will teach them otherwise soon enough.

So where in the world did we get the idea that God won't give us more than we can handle?

I think perhaps we pick up the idea from 1 Corinthians 10:13, which says that God He will not let us be tempted beyond what we can bear. The thing is, there's a huge difference between handling trials and temptations and bearing trials and temptations. "To handle" means to manage, deal with, be responsible for, or control. When I look at my life, I know that I lack the strength and will to deal with or manage trials and temptations on my own. And don't we believers know by now that control is always out of our hands?

On the other hand, "to bear" means to remain firm under, like when you're carrying a heavy load. It is not our job to manage or control the difficult things in our lives. But God does give us the strength and grace to endure them, to stand firm in the midst of them because we can hide in Him. Do you see the difference?

Now, I don't mean to depress you with the fact that God gives us more than we can handle. It's true, and it would be depressing if not for another truth: God is also more than we can handle.

Your Creator and mine, the Heavenly King and Mighty Judge, the Redeemer and Conquering Savior, the Holy and Only God, the Alpha and Omega, the Great I AM - we can never comprehend all that He is. He is greater, more holy, more just, more magnificent and beautiful and loving and kind than we can ever, ever imagine. We can never praise Him too much, and we can never understand the fullness of who He is.

And that gives us hope and joy in the midst of life's overwhelming circumstances. We can't handle life and all of its struggles. But when we come to the end of ourselves, we find that He is more than enough, and He is more than we can imagine.