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.