Little Cabin in the Woods

There is a certain irony in the fact that last week's sermon was about modesty.  Honestly, I had no idea it was coming up in our sermon series, even though I've been thinking about it for a very long time.  I am more convinced than ever that this is a serious issue in society at large; but in the church specifically.

Lest you get the wrong impression, you should know that this is an issue that requires regular personal evaluation and application on my part.  In fact, I began scribbling notes for this blog post 2 weeks ago when I realized that I had broken my own modesty rule in my choice of church wardrobe. 

So, here's the "rule" I've come up with that applies for makeup, hairstyle, clothes, shoes, and jewelry:

If I have to think about it after I've put it on, it cannot be truly modest.

Harsh?  I don't really think so, and here's why.  Modesty isn't simply about making sure you show more clothing than skin - although that matters greatly in regards to the purity of our boys and girls - modesty is more accurately associated with humility.  Even Wikipedia says "The word is used as an antonym of boastfulness; a modest person does not draw attention to their own real or supposed accomplishments and desirable attributes."

So, you see, I'm not even talking about whether women should wear skirts or pants (something that bears thinking about and deciding for yourself).  A more helpful and broadly applicable standard is to ask if this "style choice" requires ongoing attention to yourself.

Is the shirt a bit short, such that I have to adjust it every time I stand up? Is the hairstyle going to be unsightly and distractingly messy once an affectionate husband or child touches it?   Does my sundress fall forward when I bend down to talk to a little person, or pull off my shoulder when I pick up my handbag or have an armful of groceries?  Does the skirt require assistance  to cover my upper leg when I sit down?  Do I feel self conscious because I know that I was just barely able to zip into this one? 

That first one is personally applicable, it's EXACTLY the poor choice I made a few weeks ago.    I truly couldn't settle into worship and prayer because I was worried about my shirt being all bunchy in the back.  How silly and unnecessary.

We have to be honest with ourselves and each other about this one, ladies.  Do I REALLY think anybody cares if I never have a hair out of place?  Or if my lipstick is always perfectly applied?  And as long as I'm waxing eloquent - do I really want to be the lady who leaves lipstick on little children and coffee cups?  Nope.  Not worth it.

Now, you know how I am about being misunderstood... eek!!  I am not by any means suggesting that we should all wear flour sack skirts with long sleeve tunics, unstyled hair and no makeup or jewelry.  How sad that would be.  

Beloved preacher husband hit the nail on the head last week with his third reason for practicing modesty:  We practice modesty because to do otherwise is to allow pride to rule in our hearts.    Women, we are intended to beautify our world through careful presentation of ourselves.  The important thing is that it is all for the purpose of bringing glory to God through pleasing the eye of our husbands (or fathers, for the unmarried).  We glorify God by showing that His ways and means for our pleasure and affirmation are right, and never steal the attention for ourselves.

The most beautiful women I have ever known are the ones who truly have no idea that I think of them as such.  They are so completely unaware of their appearance, like a sweet cottage in the woods that attracts passers by not by the paint job or flower beds; but by the light shining from inside that says, "Come closer - there's room for you here."

Seeking Maturity

One thing we often miss about life in Ukraine is Borscht.  Yes, really.  If that surprises you, maybe you've never had a really good one.  The most fascinating thing about it is that there is no reliable recipe, really.  Each woman seems to have her way of making it: a special ingredient or secret method.  I learned to make it myself by watching it made over and over, talking it through, understanding the differences, and perfecting it for the palate of my nestlings.

Going into last week's sermon,  K and I had some really good conversations about what it means to be an example in community.  It's hard, I'm sure you've all realized that by now in your own lives.  As we choose examples to follow, must they be without fault?  Must they be ones, whom we would emulate in every way?  If someone is an example to me, ought I seek to be a carbon copy of her?  I think not. 

I'm beginning to think that in some ways, community is like good cooking.  We share recipes, and we usually follow them.  Over time, however, I realize that maybe we prefer a bit more curry in this dish, or less pepper in another one.  Isn't that how influence should work?  We try things out and see how they fit into our individual families, lifestyles, budgets, stewardships. 

As wife to Lead Pastor, I am just figuring out the uncountable variations of influence I am wielding.  Of the people who are paying attention at all, there maybe some who assume that my behavior is somehow the standard for feminine behavior in our community, that they must do as I do and think as I think in every way - oh my, the pressure and danger therein.  Hopefully there are many who realize that I am just a regular girl in a visible position.  I am always learning, failing, faltering, and growing.  Sometimes I am trying on behaviors I think may be required of a developing conviction, only to decide that I'm not required to carry it forward.

So, what to do?  What if I never wear dresses to church? What if I only listen to hymns?  What if we don't have television in our home?  What if we stop allowing playdates? What if we start having wine with dinner each evening?  What if my kids each have a computer in their bedroom? These are just examples of the sorts of things believers can disagree about.

A few weeks ago, I covered my head during prayer in church.  I don't know how many people noticed, or what they thought if they did.  I do know that it is a habit developed in Ukraine, and still beneficial to me at times.  That particular day I was feeling so distracted and prideful in my heart, I needed a blinder... like the mother's hand on the face of a flighty toddler.  That's why I pulled the pinkish shroud around my head, somewhat thoughtlessly as regards the perception of others.

Do you see what I mean?  I want to be an ever-more-mature and godly woman.  I want to live my convictions with poise and aplomb - never compromising, always discerning; but never judging.  I long to be just one in a spiritual family of sharpening irons.  I want to read God's Word and do what it says.

Dearest Father, may you never grow weary of me.  Make my heart and ears sensitive to the sound of YOUR voice, and guard me against the slithering whispers of my Enemy.  Lord, won't you have Your way in my life, and in my community?  Grant me wisdom and discernment as I live each day under the shadow of Your wings. May I stoutly defend Your ways, and by your Spirit may I be found flexible in my maturing understanding of the same.  Amen.

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.  

 

 

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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.