Tradition of temptation...

I’ve been thinking about Christmas gifts a lot this week.  Today is December 1^st, and all the cues of our culture say that it’s time to start spending money to buy something special for the people I love.  I just finished creating a spreadsheet of gift ideas for our family, complete with sizes and links for internet shopping.  Now, I feel sick to my stomach.

On the face of it, I really like the tradition of giving.  There are people in my life, whom I love more than I can ever say, and I am very drawn to the idea of finding unique tokens for each of them that fill in the space around my words.  Sometimes these are precious items that remind me of the loved one.  Other times, it is a piece of my personal reality that I am able to share with them, thus strengthening our connection through a book, song, or recipe.

As I ponder this, I realize that the Wise Men brought very special gifts to the baby King, Jesus at his birth.  Of course we also know that the Holy Spirit has apportioned gifts to each of us for the edification of our community, so clearly gift giving is a tradition to be not quickly rejected. 

Still, there is a stitch in my heart. Like a side ache preventing me from running further down this same path without discomfort.  How can I, overwhelmingly blessed and provided for as I am, in good conscience create a list of things I want?  Please understand, I’ve had no problem coming up with the list; but isn’t that really the problem!? 

As a Christ follower, I believe that He meets every need of mine.  I know that I lack nothing; but living my life in this secular age, I also know that the materialist monster hounds me tirelessly.  He wants to occupy my thought life and to consume the hearts of my children.  Why do I spend days, weeks, months each year on defenses, digging trench works for protection and then promptly open the way for this enemy to overtake any ground that I’ve gained?

I remember when shopping for Christmas presents was all about coming up with a clever idea for someone I loved.  There was a hint of conspiracy and excitement as I hunted for the gift others wouldn’t know to give.  That sort of shopping required me to be well acquainted with my loved one, such that I knew what would bring joy to their heart and a twinkle to their eyes.   I lost that somewhere along the way.  It seems our gift exchange tradition has been hollowed out to a mere echo of what had been.  We are left with gift cards and internet links.

It occurs to me that when those wise men brought their gifts to Jesus, they didn’t know anything about his personality.  They didn’t know his favorite color or which toys he already had.  They knew that he was a king.  They brought unto him the love offerings fitting to his position, because they knew WHO he was.

I want to experience Christmas like that again.  I am resolved to abstain from listing gift ideas next year.  If anyone should love me and know me, such that they are moved to generosity, then I am blessed and grateful.  Otherwise, I have everything I need.

Blown and Beautified: Being Who We Are

Have you ever seen a glass blowing artist at work?  With the glass on the end of his steel pipe, he sticks it into the belly of the furnace and as the temperature rises, the glass begins to glow.

The artist uses cast iron tools to shape and stretch the glass, blowing his own breath into the new piece as he goes through the process of turning, turning, turning, enlarging this side, tapering the other one, teasing this fragile yet molten ball into the shape he intended it to have and inserting colors at just the right moment.  The artist already sees the product.  He is not going to be surprised by what turns out.  In fact, there is a specific purpose for every move of his hand, timing each instrument's caress and measuring every breath from his mouth.  In the end, the artist's product is among the most beautiful things our eyes fall to. 

I think that the life of a Godward woman is something like the creation of blown glass art.  In the end there will be vases, and sculptures, and chandeliers, and beads; but do any of us know what we're going to be?  When we're first sitting in that crucible, and we feel the heat rise, and we start to melt... have we any idea what the Artist is going to do with us?

If the process of blowing glass into beautiful art or vessel is likened to life, I realize that there is much change to be expected.  Lots of pulling, stretching, melting, blowing, shaping.  How do we handle that in relationships?  

Some friends have known you since you were a lump of cold, clear glass lacking spiritual form and function.  Others met you in the crucible as the heat was rising.  Still more came to know you just as the Artist was blowing air into you, turning and pulling you into the shape He had seen all along. 

The exciting thing about watching a glass blower at work is in guessing what he's making.  As a crowd, we hold our breath while he gets started with the glass dipped from the crucible and we begin to whisper our guesses to each other, shouting our 'Eureka!' as the piece takes the form of a horse.

My heavenly Artist is working with me.  He's putting His breath into me, turning me in the instruments, heating me again in the fire when I cool off too much for molding.  Along the way I am guessing at what I'll be:  a horse?  a vase?  a bead?  The fact is, I don't know.  My mistake is in the early declaration of what I am.  Maybe I shout out, "I'm a vase!!!" and draw people to myself because they wanted a vase; but the Artist turns, pulls, and forms some more, cuts bits of glass here and there and we realize I cannot be a vase.  So I keep guessing, and I keep rushing to see the polished, finished, formed work of shining art.

Here's the thing:  when I  see the finished piece, my mind doesn't go to the hands that made it.  My first thought is, "That's amazing!  Look at the shape and colors ~ so unique and amazing!"  As if the glass had anything to do with it. 

Maybe I should think less about what kind of art the people around me wish to have on display, and more about what the Artist, Himself wishes to attach His name to.  If I let Him form me, and concern myself with responding to His instruments, then I will adorn Him, whether the onlookers admire His work or not.

Opinions and Convictions

There was a time when all of my opinions were instant conviction... white-hot and non-negotiable, they were quickly drawn and fiercely defended.  Over time I have learned to consider even my own opinions lightly until God, through His word and His people, would harden them into gems of conviction.   I have learned that sometimes big things in my own heart don't have any particular significance in the world around me and so I hold them more loosely than I once did. 

This is an issue that has me tongue-tied these days.  I believe that as his wife, I can be considered an agent of my husband.  That is to say that insofar as I am known to be a godly woman, living in submission to and agreement with her husband, there ought not be much difference between my convictions and his.  This is true in our case with one caveat:  I am more emotionally expressive and passionate than he, so I can be more opinionated and less tempered in my expression than he is.

The reason this matters to me is that as a ministry wife, it is conceivable for a misunderstanding or sense of judgment from me to be equivocated into misunderstanding and judgment from my husband.  This is true for women in general; but I submit that there is more potential for harm or good from a ministry wife.  This goes back to some of my early posts about the effect of my conduct on his stature and reputation in our community and it is the "new voice" at the end of last week's post. 

Here's where it gets difficult.  Based on what I know to be true about non-verbal communication and the power of my wordless testimony, must I temper the outward manifestation of my inner convictions for the good of my community?  Or is that just a bejumbled mess of lies to keep me from living with integrity?  How can I authentically live out my convictions without standing in judgment over the people around me?
 

It is scary to consider being perfectly open and frank about some of my convictions, for I know and love many who do not share them.  Still, I must live them out with grace and love.  

James 4:17     ^"So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin."

That's what it all comes down to, right?  If the Holy Spirit has wrought a conviction in my heart, then it is sinful for me to ignore it with my choices. I long to live a life that is marked by grace and security.  Grace for diverging convictions and security in my position before the Master.  

Romans 14:4 "Who are you to pass judgment on the servant of another? It is before his own master that he stands or falls. And he will be upheld, for the Lord is able to make him stand."

My desire is to foster a community that is full of faith and integrity; overflowing with love such that our convictions about disputable matters need not agree in order for us to be found in relationships of mutual understanding.  I wish to not be judged for a difference in convictions, and I intend never to wound another in that way.  

Even so, I wrestle with the knowledge that in our culture, the very presence of any conviction can be considered judgment. (click here for a sermon on properly understanding judgment.)  See how Satan does that?  My personal exercise of discerning judgment in a particular matter can be twisted into pejorative judgment of others.    

Jesus, help us!  May we be women who are mindful of the power of our convictions as found in words and deeds.  May we live with hearts wide open to the variegated nature of God's family, and may we be marked by love for God, His Church, and one another.  

 

 

1. 
   

Ironic

I love Facebook... really, I do.  I confess it's open on my iMac most of the time and I love seeing what others are up to as I go about my day.  I'm sure any efficiency ratings of mine are lowered by my attachment to said community; but I can live with that for now.  The important things are getting done... husband is honored, children are educated, kitchen is busy, house is functionally clean.

What fascinates me is what facebook tells us about one another.  In some cases we know almost nothing about a person besides what they ate for dinner or what's on sale this week.  In other cases we share far too much if we're not careful.  Here's what I mean...

Most often, my FB status consists of what's cooking, a quote from my current nightstand books, links or lyrics to a great song, or other random inputs that are meant to inform and edify.  What happens on a bad day, though?  If I'm struggling in some way, it is tempting to post a status like:

"I hope this doesn't kill me."

or

"I hate it when people act like that." 

or

"Why do I never learn?"

or some other version of ambiguous thought and cryptic emotion.

 Proverbs 29:11 ~  A fool gives full vent to his spirit, but a wise man quietly holds it back.

It can be easy to find ourselves in a state of unhappiness or internal uneasiness that we don't quite know how to sort out.  When that happens, one of my besetting temptations used to be in seeking out a sister who would listen to whatever I had on my mind and commiserate with me.  This was comforting, it was validating, and it rarely challenged me to see the situation from another perspective.   That's a problem.  I spent most of my life in this habit, where I have called out to a girlfriend before I called out to the Lord.   I got off the phone feeling better and forgot to take my troubles to the only One who can really change anything.

And isn't that what I'm really looking for if I throw conversational bait, and hope someone will come to my rescue?  Someone to remove whatever burr has worked its way under my saddle?  This is my issue with facebook and its oh-so-slick-and-easy way to splatter feelings on the people around me with a few quick strokes of a keyboard.  

It is as if the status update box said not "what's on your mind?" but rather, "how will you attract attention today?"   For we all know if my status update says, "I hate it when people act that way"  the subtly hoped-for comment is something like, "aw, honey... what happened?", which is a perfectly appropriate response to a hurting friend in the context of a personal conversation in a safe and warm setting; but NOT in the context of a public bulletin board.

So, what gives?  Am I a facebook junkie or not?  Yes, admittedly I am hooked.  The fact is, I genuinely want to be known; however, I am also convinced that Facebook, Twitter, and email are not the place to really know and be known.

I'd like to think that everyone of my 649 facebook friends cares about the inner-workings of my soul.  But they don't.  They can't.  My Risen Savior cares.  My husband cares.  A handful of kindred-sisters care.  Sometimes even all of those aren't enough to assuage the spirit of unrest in me, and those days are best spent with a journal and loud worship music to recalibrate my heart until I can be a blessing to the large community again.

Psalm 141:3 ~ Set a guard over my mouth, LORD; keep watch over the door of my lips.

  

You see my struggle here, don't you?  It turns out to be quite a thing to be deliberate in all I do... I find myself asking if there is not really any room for frivolity and hilarity and fun.  Friends and family may find it laughable that I'm even thinking about this as I am quite prone to gaiety and banter. It is not that I have turned somber and serious in all things.  No, my striving is for a well-tethered godliness.  I want to be wholesomely good company and intentional so as not to regret words that tumble out before my conscience catches them.  I must never be found flippant or manipulative in my speech.

Matthew 12:36 ~ But I tell you that everyone will have to give account on the day of judgment for every empty word they have spoken.

And so the quandary deepens...  Oh, if you knew how I wrestle with this!  As a Pastor's wife who is naturally inclined to extremes, this middle ground is a hard-to-ride horse.  If I post, write, or speak with the passion that is behind my convictions I may be accused of using my position as a "bully-pulpit" whereby I mete out judgment on disputable matters. 

On the other hand, if I DON'T openly share the passion of my convictions, then I have been muzzled by the fear of misunderstanding, which backfires because I can seem aloof and uninterested in the precious people around me, though I love them dearly and am buoyed by these connections.

Much time is spent in thought, prayer, and conversation about this as I wade through the thick irony of sharing these issues in this context while I wonder where I fit now and how to use this new voice of mine.

Romans 15:5-7 ~   May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you the same attitude of mind toward each other that Christ Jesus had, so that with one mind and one voice you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.  

Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God.

what needs saying

I really like to play cards.  I didn't know how 20 years ago; but Kevin has taught me several good games throughout the years.  Our favorite game of all is Spades.  It is a dynamic game with much strategy, beside which all other card games pale in their "luck-of-the-deal" way of winning or losing.  Spades is a partner game... you sit across the table from your partner and communicate with your bid and through the cards that you play - or don't play.  The thing is, it's supposed to be a very quiet game: table talk is strictly disallowed.  

As a new card player this was very hard for me.  How could I know what to do without asking my partner?  How can I make sure he knows the strength of my hand?  As I stumbled up this learning curve, Kevin came up with a helpful rule of thumb as to where the conversational boundaries are: If it doesn't need saying, you don't need to say it.  If it DOES need saying, you can't say it.  Read it again, it can take a minute to make sense.

Is this rule from the card table transferable into our church cultures?  I feel it sometimes.  If something doesn't need saying, then only my personal motivations of pride and hubris are at play, in which case I certainly needn't say it.  If something does need saying, I am often convinced that in fact I can't say it.  Often it is not my place to say anything, or I lack the relationship that could bear the weight of saying hard things.  Indeed much grace is required and the risk of being misunderstood is great.

In these weeks of blogospheric silence, I have spent alot of time thinking about why I blog at all, and what bears saying out here.  Because of the sincere depth of my convictions from the previous post, I have been feeling like I sort of wrote myself off the platform, as it were.  What can I say that really needs saying?  Aren't I really 'preaching to the choir' most of the time?  Hmmmm.

Tonight I am really just full of questions... what if my ideas are unpopular or irrelevant?  What if I feel passionately about things that other women don't really care about?  In the end, am I really just writing to make myself heard? That's an ugly thing... to MAKE myself heard.  I far prefer the quiet beauty of speaking with my life and not my words; but I don't know how best to do that in a large setting.  For now I will marinate in the prayer from a beloved Sara Groves song:

Why do I pray - do I pray to say I prayed an hour?  Why do I love - do I want you beholden to me?  Why do I help - do I want to hear my name called out?  Why do I sing? Chorus:  Search me and know my heart, oh God.  See if there is any wrong thing in me.  All I have ever really wanted are clean hands and a pure heart.

I wrote a blog post this morning.  I was passionate and articulate about the topic at hand, something I feel strongly about.  Then, as I try to always do, I read the post to my beloved man.  I think it’s important for him to know what sort of thoughts and words I’m putting out here for all the world to see, because we all know they can’t be taken back and they do have great power.

He listened attentively, hands clasped in front of whiskered face, soaking in each thoughtful nuance.

I finished reading and he was quiet.

“That was a bit strong, I think.”

He wasn’t surprised by its passion – he knows I have big feelings and that my convictions, once formed, are stubbornly held.

He was gentle and wise and his understated review encouraged me to think about all of what it would mean for me to put those words out here. 

What kind of man can lead you through a conversation where you see your pride and ugliness, only to send you from the room smiling and inspired to write about the larger issue at hand… how important is it for me to be understood?  Does anyone really need to know what I think about anything?

Of course the proper answer, which I really do agree with, is that I’m not all that important, and I’m certainly not a necessary mouthpiece to anyone’s sanctification process.  God uses me, I hope, to encourage and inspire His women; but He does not require me to do so.  If my beliefs are sound, and based in His Word, then there should be many others who share those beliefs and whom He can use in my stead.

This is a blow to my ego, of course.  God has done mighty and purer-than-gold work in my heart.  I am a new creature!  I am not the woman that I used to be… surely He needs me to go and advertise this for Him!  Or maybe not. 

Maybe I am a good example of what God can do because, by His Spirit, I am able to hold my tongue.  Maybe the proof of His good pleasure to work in me is that I don’t have to spread my epiphanies everywhere, on the deaf and the sensitive.  Maybe He is shown powerful and good because a once-loud-mouthed me can be muzzled.  She can sit quietly.  She is okay if no one ever reads her blog or asks her opinion.  She can trust God to do His work in the rest of His daughters in whatever time and way He sees fit.

This whole idea has brought to me a new thought about trusting God.  I need to trust Him even in my community of His people.  Silence compromises community.  If you don’t ever hear what I really believe about one thing or another, then there is part of me you can’t fully know.  No talk rules are born, and relationships are kept at arms’ length.  This isn’t how I want to do community, nor is it what I believe God created us for.  That being said, He also didn’t grow pearls in this dark oyster of a soul, so that I could just toss them around like candies at a parade.

Every good thought I have and every wise word I’ve ever said came from Him.  Inasmuch as I pray that my thoughts and words may be His, so must I remember that if they are His to give, then they are His to pass on or withhold.

The Power of Presence... and Absence.

We know about the power of presence, right?  When a sister, mother, friend, brother, acquaintance or even a stranger needs to be not alone.  I once tried it on a complete stranger.  He was a handsome old cowboy sitting in an overstuffed chair near the windows of the Gonda building at Mayo Clinic.  His hair was pure white, and his face was leather tanned.  His shockingly blue eyes were alternately filled with sadness, and clamped shut against the pain as he cried.  I don't know why he was crying, although he may have said.  All I know is that I couldn't just walk past that lonely-hearted cowboy.  I sat down in the next chair and asked if there was anything I could do for him.  He seemed taken aback just a little; but he was gracious.  He said there was nothing I could do.  His wife recently died and now he has a terminal health issue of his own... there was nothing left to do.  I asked if I could pray with him and he declined, saying that praying was all he'd been doing since she'd been gone.  I was late for my appointment, so I gave his shoulder a squeeze and said I felt like his heart needed to know that he is not alone.  His prayers are heard, his tears are collected and prized.

Sometimes people ask why I sit in the front row for three services every Sunday, and as I've been thinking through my conviction on the matter, I realized that it's the ministry of presence in another context.  I am aware of the power of my actions, and that I say so much more with my behavior than I do with just words.  Everyone knows this is true.  If I say I love you; but never have time to sit with you or serve you, how much do I really love you?

I have heard many ministry wives who abhor the idea that there is any "should" to our role.  That is, we don't like the idea that there is a bucket of expectations handed to us when our husbands are called to ministry.  It occurs to me that this may be on account of an unfortunate habit of trying to make everyone carry the same bucket.  You know what I mean:  the pastor's wife must play piano or sing and she should teach Sunday school, and.. and...and. 

Recently, my Pastor Husband used the phrase "you-sized stewardship" in his sermon.  That is what I'm talking about here... there is absolutely a bucket of expectations handed to me.  Only some of them will be met, because they are within the stewardship fitted to me and in this way, my bucket is renamed... from expectations to stewardship.  The obvious question is, how do I know which is which?  The only helpful answer I can come up with is through prayer and spiritual advisers.  The first of those advisers is my husband himself, the small circle of others includes mature believers with a like-minded dedication to the church.

One of the rocks in my bucket of stewardship is this ministry of presence.  I am here.  Or there.  I am wherever God will be most glorified to find me.  I believe with all my heart that "through the church, the manifold wisdom of God should be made known."  Meeting together is of utmost importance.  When I take my post at the front of that auditorium, my heart is at the center of what God is doing through me on Sunday morning.  I place myself at his right hand and make sure my husband knows that I am honored to sit under his teaching.  I smile, dance, and worship from my toes, hoping the leaders can see how thankful I am for them.  I listen, focus, and note-take through all three services because the teaching is that good; because the Word of God is that important; because I need this building up to pour out.  I desire to be a fixture in the front of our beloved hundreds, because the meeting together in worship is the capstone of our week and ought not be treated with the nonchalance of another event or program we choose to attend.

Recent statistics show that the average self-labeled christian attends a church they consider home and claim commitment to only 2 times per month.  What message does this send?  If ours is a church called home by 1800 people; but less than 900 of them attend on any given week, how can it really be considered a priority? As a ministry wife, I cannot change nor do I answer for the choices of each of these households.  I can, however, make as strong a statement as possible with my own behavior.  I will be there.  I am not free to join a fellowship group or serve in the nursery or sell donuts.  I am the only Lead Pastor's wife our church has, and may God be pleased to lead me to my seat each week, where an expression of my worship is this sold-out commitment to be. right. there.

So, think it through, girls...do we come in late?  Are we disheveled? Do we distract or disturb with our arrival?  Are we cranky because had to get the kids out the door by myself? Do we sit near the back and avoid being seen?  It is by our behavior that our character is known... as Christians, as friends, and my point here: as wives.

I am disfigured

"For several years MuchAfraid had been in the service of the Chief Shepherd...she loved her work and desired intensely to please Him; but happy as she was in most ways, she was conscious of several things which hindered her in her work and caused her much secret distress and shame. 

In the first place she was a cripple, with feet so crooked that they often caused her to limp and stumble as she went about her work. She had also the very unsightly blemish of a crooked mouth which greatly disfigured both expression and speech and was sadly conscious that these ugly blemishes must be a cause of astonishment and offense to many who knew that she was in the service of the great Shepherd."

~Hinds' Feet on High Places

This book is at once my undoing and blessed comfort.  I am so like MuchAfraid.  I walk with crooked feet, on which it's hard to keep my balance and very slow going on the way.  On these feet I stumble and find myself facing another direction from where I was going.  Do I re-orient myself and face the right way again? Or do I, in my haste for progress, get up and hurry away in this wrong-but-now-perceived-as-right direction?  Crooked feet may be a position of attitude that contradicts a conviction of the heart.  I do, like MuchAfraid, long to please the Shepherd; but the crookedness of my attitude can be a self-inflicted impediment to my obedience.  Our feet were made so we can walk faithfully, go obediently, and serve humbly.  Have we made them more crooked, worsening our limp by having an attitude of selfishness, laziness, or fear? Are they even further bent by unbelief?

MuchAfraid also has a blemish that "greatly disfigured both expression and speech."  Her crooked mouth has ruined her expression.  She is dedicated and authentically joyful in serving the Shepherd; but her crooked mouth is such that others may not see her joy and dedication.  This mouth has her struggling to speak with clarity about her relationship with the Shepherd and her pleasure in serving Him.

I think this crooked mouth is an issue of countenance - the expression I wear when I don't know if anyone can see me. Does my countenance, whether in joy or sorry, show that I trust my Shepherd? Is there a flame of conviction behind even my tears, shining out to show onlookers that I know He is good and I am content to walk on the path He has chosen for me?

When our mouths are crooked, we struggle to say what we mean to say.  Sometimes we can't help it.  We were born crooked - bent by sin and flesh.  The pertinent question is this: will we stay crooked?  Will we choose the familiarity of disfigurement over the often difficult journey toward a smooth gait and reliable lips?

I love MuchAfraid.  Immediately we see that far more than her own vanity or pride, she is saddened by her crippled feet and crooked face because she knows the gravity of her position as a representative of the Shepherd.  MuchAfraid worries that her crookedness will mar His reputation; that the sight of her disfigurement will be a barrier to those who would seek to know what the Shepherd is like? For, is He oafish and ugly? Is He slow and inefficient?

We must ask ourselves these very same questions and not only about our Chief Shepherd; but also for the 'Under-Shepherds' in our lives.  Husbands, Fathers, Brothers, Leaders... will we allow our crookedness to mar their reputations?  Or, might we stubbornly commit ourselves to walking stronger all the time, ordering our expressions of face and word so as to honor our shepherds on Earth as an act of love for our Shepherd on High? 

I believe our Beloved Shepherd is well adorned and glorified when we insist upon doing His bidding in spite of our disfigurement and in this way we are made right.  Re-figured, as it were, into His image.