Two Books, Darkness and Light

These past couple of days I finished one book, “The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue” by V.E. Schwab and started another book, “The Heart of Jesus How He Really Feels About You” by Dane Ortlund. One book about the Devil, the other about Jesus. 

“The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue” is about a young girl who makes a deal with the Devil that results in a very uncomfortable immortality. I have to say, I was expecting throughout the book for something to step on the toes of my theology. I kept waiting for it, but it never happened. The author did a great job of portraying the Devil exactly how I feel scripture portrays him. The author also never denied the existence of God, but also, the characters had no real curiosity about Jesus, or belief in his Goodness. He was dismissed and ignored as irrelevant to the characters. The author managed to keep you sympathetic to the main character throughout, even though what we actually saw was the main character slowly losing her humanity and turning into a mirror image of the “god” that she served. And what is really interesting to me, is that I don’t get the impression that the book was trying to portray that as a tragedy. 

I walked away from that book feeling like I had just read a novel that portrayed the beginning of the verse in Ephesians 2:5 where we are described as being “dead in our sins”. The main character in “The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue” desperately needed help, but she was completely unable to see where the source of true help and life comes from. She was truly dead in her sins. 

I put down that book and felt sad. It supposedly had a triumphal ending, but there was no goodness. No life. 

So then I picked up the next book, “The Heart of Jesus…” by Dane Ortlund and was overwhelmed at the difference between the books. Death and Life. Darkness and Light. Hopelessness and Joy. Here is God who loves, who serves, who is reaching out to heal and forgive and bring wholeness and peace and fulfillment. And it feels too good to be true. And it is so amazing that you want to share the good news with others. Did you know that Jesus is gentle and lowly? He is humble and tender, understanding. He is approachable. He desires us to know him and rest in his love and forgiveness. 

While the first book clearly portrays us being dead in our sins from Ephesians 2:5, the second book tells us all about the rest of that verse,

But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. Ephesians 2:4-5.

“The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue” is well written. It doesn’t hesitate to tell you all the details of living a fallen life, I would not recommend this book for teens. But, its portrayal of a life of sin is pretty accurate. It does not glamorize sin or the devil. But honestly, it was not uplifting. It was depressing. And I think what was more depressing to me, is that I didn’t get the impression that the author ever felt that the life and predicament of her character was morally wrong. It just was. 

If you want to read a book that brings joy and hope and amazement, I would definitely recommend “The Heart of Jesus…”. It’s the kind of book I feel like I need to read aloud to my children. And buy copies of it and pass it around to others. I feel like I can spend a lot of time with this book. Go get yourself a copy! 

Fail, Repent, Try Again

At the beginning of the school year, my 8th grade daughter had an assignment where she had to describe each person in her family with one adjective. She was telling me the words she used for each of her siblings and it was really fun. Then she told me that she chose the word “Perseverance” for me. Since I have never thought of that as one of my defining traits, I asked her why. She said it was because I kept starting new diets and new exercise plans. I didn’t give up. I kept trying. 

That flabbergasted me. I would tell you that my inability to stick to a healthy diet and exercise plan is one of my biggest failures in life. But through my daughter’s eyes of grace she saw it as perseverance. Mom never gives up. She keeps trying. 

I see my relationship with diet and exercise kind of like that Greek mythological guy who gets cursed to roll a large boulder up a mountain, and every time he almost reaches the top, the boulder rolls back down and he has to start all over again. I don’t see this as a battle I am ever going to win. But at the same time, I’d rather spend my life pushing the boulder up the mountain, then sitting at the bottom and giving up. So I tell my kids, once again..Ok, nobody offer me chocolate or ice cream or anything that tastes great, cause I’m going off sugar again. Who wants to go walking in the park with me? I’m trying to walk every day…again. And the kids just nod and accept it. They’ve seen it before. 

But apparently, while I thought I was modeling “how to fail repeatedly”, at least one of them saw me modeling Perseverance instead. 

I’ve had quite a few people tell me I should write a book. Maybe about parenting? And that sounds like a horrible idea to me. I’ve sat and thought about it before. What advice would I give newer parents? I can’t come up with much. Love your kids. Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you. I feel like my parenting journey has been fully rooted in the verse, “My grace is sufficient for you..” I’ve made silly mistakes and I’ve made mistakes that have caused horrible damage. I have some deep regrets. But, God has been faithful. He has been kind enough to show us what we are doing wrong and given us the opportunity to ask forgiveness and repent and try to turn to a different path. He has been gracious to my children and put other people in their lives who have helped them overcome some of the wounds I have inevitably caused. And somehow he has allowed all of us to walk a path where all of my older children still like talking to me and spending time with me, even when they now have the freedom to choose otherwise. That is God’s favor on our lives. 

I would say that my parenting style has been a constant pattern of fail, repent, try again. I guess I could say our marriage is kind of like that too. In fact.. Maybe this is a pattern for life? Fail, repent, try again? And somehow God works through all of that and instead of calling it failure, he calls it perseverance. And he gives us grace to try again, and somehow takes all the messy debris from all our mistakes, and turns them into good. And while I hope that I will see some victories in this life, the good news is that, unlike the Greek guy who is cursed forever, I know that one day I will be with Jesus and all the battles will be over and I will be fully victorious. And until then, with the grace of God, I will persevere.

Thoughts on Feminism

When I was twenty an older woman I knew said, about me, that I would make a good wife for somebody. She didn’t say it to my face, but it was gleefully retold to me by a mutual acquaintance. It was not meant as a compliment. The implication was that I was weak, submissive, and had no leadership qualities. The woman who said it was a successful businesswoman and ran a matriarchal type household. She was definitely the one in charge of everything. At that time, I did want to get married, and I think I shrugged off the insult part of the comment without much trouble. I knew that I had different goals. And the woman who said it was not someone I wished to emulate. But the core of what she was trying to say was I was not a feminist and thus inferior. 

I want to talk about feminism. This is the definition I’m going to use, found on humanrightscareers.com

At its core, feminism is the belief that women deserve equal social, economic, and political rights and freedoms.

To give you a little background, my Grandmother Picazo went to college as a math major and had a lifetime career in Christian radio missions, my Grandmother Rigby was a nurse and a career missionary her entire life. My mother was a missionary, and then went back to school and became a Physician Assistant and worked in the medical field until her retirement. My mother-in-law has her doctorate, is an ordained minister and was a career missionary. 

I come from a long line of strong, educated, women. When I was growing up there was always an assumption that I would go to college and have some type of career. I honestly didn’t think about kids too much when I was young. Just assumed I’d probably have two, like my parents did, but it was not something I gave much thought to. I went to a christian university right after high school and studied music. And then I had a breakdown, struggled with panic attacks and anxiety, and decided, with the blessing of my parents, to take a break from school for a while. I went overseas, spent four months in Haiti and then six months in Chile. All the time, wondering what I was going to do with my life. 

During college, I made a vow to God that I was going to follow him wherever he led me. I asked him to be the one to choose my husband for me and I approached life with open hands, trusting that God would take me where he wanted me. 

I ended up getting married at twenty and then shortly after that my husband and I felt that God was asking us to trust him with our family size so we went off birthcontrol. 

Twenty-five years later, ten kids later, I am sitting here, thinking about feminism. 

I homeschooled my kids for somewhere between twelve and fifteen years, depending on how you count it. The homeschooling community is a very diverse place and I ran into all kinds of teachings and belief systems that had me scratching my head. One of the belief systems that I ran into was that feminism was bad. Women should be under the protection of their father or their husbands at all times and should be content living out their role in the home, leaving all decision making to the men in their lives. 

I disagree. And when I hear people bashing feminism, I want to remind them that without feminism, women would not be voting in the upcoming election. We wouldn’t be able to have our own bank accounts. We wouldn’t be able to own property. We would not have freedom to pursue higher education and fulfilling careers. We would be essentially enslaved to the men in our lives. I don’t think this is a just, safe way to live. We live in a sinful world, and while the idea of being raised by a gentle godly man as your father, and then marrying a perfect man who always takes care of you exactly the way you need, sounds good in theory, in reality there are girls being raised by abusive fathers and women trapped in marriages to abusive men. Without feminism, these women would have very little recourse to escape these situations. And that’s not even addressing the women who do not want to be married in the first place. 

I believe in freedom. I am a stay-at-home mom. I have been for twenty-four years. My husband and I have a very traditional marriage. We hold to the belief that he is the head of the house. I have ten children. We felt that God asked us to trust us with our family size and when we felt that we had reached that size, we took measures to not have any more children. I feel that I have been especially blessed to have the privilege to stay home and raise my children. But, here’s the thing. I chose to have this lifestyle. I believed that it was something God wanted and so I chose to obey that. It was not forced on me. I had choices. I could have chosen to not get married. I could have chosen to insist on our marriage looking different. I had a choice about whether I would have children or not and how many I would have. I chose to hand that over to God, but it was still a choice. Without choice, it’s slavery. And for those who see my lifestyle as obedience to God, I would say that without choice, it’s not really even obedience. Can a slave be rewarded for obedience when they had no choice in whether to obey or not? 

I have five daughters. I have tried very hard to let them know they have choices. And at the same time, let them know that following God is always going to lead to the most fulfilling life. 

I hope that my daughters look at me and see someone who chose to follow where God led, and as a result has lived a blessed, fulfilling life. And I hope that they look at the examples of their grandmothers and great grandmothers too and know that following God looks different for each person. 

While I was Walking in the Park…

This summer was very sedentary for me. So, as I approached the new school year starting up, I thought about what baby steps I could take to get myself moving again. I decided the easiest thing to do would be to drop the kids off at school in the mornings and then go straight to the park that is close to my home, walk a mile, and then go home. Quick, easy. Once walking a mile becomes easy, I can make the walk longer. And once long walks are no longer difficult I can start adding in more exercises. It’s a plan. 

School started last week for us, and the first day of school, I dropped off kids and headed to Dragon Park. That is not its official name, but on the playground it has a large plastic dragon/water serpent type head coming out of the ground that kids can climb on. The first time I took my kids to this park, about twenty years ago now, my kids immediately started calling it the Dragon Park, and the name stuck. 

The park is very pretty. It has a quarter mile walking trail that encircles a large playground with a pavilion, a rock garden, and a large grassy field that has a little squared off section with workout equipment in it. There’s a tree-lined road that runs right next to the park and on the other side of the road is a small baseball field complex and then at the end of the park is a large parking lot and then a community center and beyond that, a YMCA. 

One side of the park has a road running along it, and the other side of the park has a big thicket-like line of trees that hides the presence of a big creek. The creek collects all the runoff water from the city and is very polluted and there are signs warning people away, but the trees and brush effectively hide its presence. 

The first day I started walking I noticed the other people in the park. There was one other lady walking, the opposite direction of me, and we nodded and smiled as we passed each other. In the pavilion an older couple was sitting at one of the picnic tables. They had a couple duffel bags and other small bags surrounding them, and an older dog sitting with them. They looked like homeless people who had found a place to camp out for the day. 

In the rock garden there was a man sitting in a blue patio chair, the metal kind, that rocks. He had a radio on his lap and I could hear some distant voice giving the news for the day. He also had a bag with him and gave the appearance of someone sitting out on their back patio as they enjoyed their morning coffee. Except that he was rocking back and forth so quickly in his chair that all sense of peace was shattered. Probably another homeless person. 

As I passed the little exercise equipment square I saw a younger woman wearing only a bra and some pants. She was sitting on the edge of the square, knees bent, head in her hands. She did not look like she was doing well. I wondered if I should stop and ask if she needed help, but then realized she was holding a phone in her hand and was talking to someone on speakerphone. 

As I kept walking I watched the lady in the bra gather her things and go stand by the road. Waiting for something. I watched another man, no shirt, riding a bike, go up to the man in his patio chair to talk. They seemed to be friends. The older couple with the dog said a friendly hi to me as I passed by and we exchanged greetings. 

Every day that I went back to the park I saw pretty much the same thing. Man rocking in his patio chair. Older couple with their dog, just sitting, always with a friendly greeting. Man on the bike coming to talk to his friend. I didn’t see the lady in the bras any more, but I thought about her. An occasional person also walked the track. 

Then, on Thursday, things had shifted a bit. There was another woman standing at the edge of the rock garden. There was a water spout about waist high that looked like it was supposed to be reserved for Park Services workers. She had managed to turn it on a bit and was washing her legs in the stream. Not very efficiently. More like she was just standing under it, in a daze. The man in the patio chair obviously felt like his space in the rock garden had been invaded and he now had his patio chair under the pavilion. The older couple from the pavilion had set up a tent on one of the play structures and were sitting outside the tent door, on the play structure, looking like they were living their best camping life, dog tucked next to them. 

I made it around one lap and then saw three police cars pull into the parking lot. Six policemen got out and started walking purposefully towards the park. I paused. I’ve been in this neighbohood for a long time and have learned the police have no problem intiating dangerous activities while innocent bystanders are in the area. It’s up to the innocent bystanders to get themselves out of the way. So I paused. Should I leave? Or do I keep walking awkwardly and pretend like I’m not watching them arrest someone? I decided to stay a bit longer and see what happened. 

The policemen walked straight towards the woman under the water faucet and with very little fuss handcuffed her hands behind her back. She offered no resistance and didn’t even seem to be talking. I kept walking. From a distance I watched as they gathered her belongings up into a pile. They were all just standing there talking quietly amongst themselves. The woman also just stood there, hands cuffed, looking like she was not really present in her body. 

What really surprised me was the couple in the tent did not move. Even I know that you can’t set up a tent on a playground, but they seemed unphased by the presence of the police in the park and just continued to lounge outside their tent. 

I kept walking.

Then, as I was going into my last lap, I watched the police uncuff the woman and she slowly wandered away. I watched them go up to the couple in the tent and start lecturing them. The man in the blue patio chair continued to rock under the pavilion. I finished my last lap and headed to my car. 

My husband and I have had several friends experience homelessness and have tried to help them during those times. We have homeless shelters in our city. When we have suggested those to our friends they have had varied reasons for not wanting to go. Couples get separated. They can’t take their pets. They feel unsafe. Constraints on their actions that they don’t feel like complying with. Even if they chose to go to a shelter, it was just for nighttime. During the day they had to figure out where to go. 

I don’t know the answer to homelessness. For myself, I don’t mind homeless people in the park. But, I would have reservations about my young adult daughters exercising there alone. I would not feel comfortable bringing my little kids to play on playground equipment that has tents set up on it. During my twenty years of visiting this park, there has always been someone camped out at the picnic tables under the pavilion, but this is the first time that I have seen people treating the park as if it’s their home. 

I don’t have the answer and so I pray. I pray for hope for the man in the patio chair. For new vision for a future for the older couple. I pray for freedom from addictions and debilitating mental health issues. I pray for wisdom for our city leaders as they try to make our city a good place for all the people who live here. And I pray that I can see people as humans with stories and needs instead of lumping them into a faceless, nameless group called the Homeless. 

In Memory of…

When I was a kid I lived in Eastern Kentucky for five years. Second grade through sixth grade. Second through fifth I attended Haldeman Elementary School. It was small. The building used to be a high school and my father or my uncle (I can’t remember the lore) had attended school there during one of the furloughs when their family was home from the mission field for a year. 

Haldeman was a small community school, close-knit. There was only one classroom per grade and for a lot of the kids, their parents had gone to school together too. My dad had stories about Mr. Knipp (the principal and 5th grade teacher) when they were teenagers. Mr Knipp lived in our same holler, and when we were not at school, he was Uncle Sandy. He looked after me and my brother in the same way that he looked after a whole host of nieces and nephews and “kin” who also attended the school. 

I was with the same group of kids, with a new kid added on here and there, every year, from second grade through fifth grade (I was gone for fourth grade, but when I came back, nothing had changed). 

In third grade it was decided by someone (my teacher, my parents?) that I needed speech therapy. Once a week a speech therapist would come to the school and she would come stand outside Ms Rigsby’s classroom door and I and another boy, Damon, would get up quietly and walk out with her. We met in a small little classroom that had been added on to a corner of the cafeteria. I loved going to speech. The speech therapist was a beautiful younger woman with long, long, straight hair that went  past her waist. She always wore long flowy skirts and I remember that she smiled a lot and was gentle and kind. 

Damon and I would sit down at a little table and she would pull out boxes full of little cards. Some had the alphabet written on them, some had sentences to read aloud. Some had pictures. I was there to work on my “s” sound. I remember her telling me, showing me with her own mouth, how my tongue wasn’t supposed to go past my teeth when I made the “s” sound. It felt so weird and unnatural, but I would try again and again. (Now I sit here at my computer and whisper to myself words with S to see if I still stick my tongue past my teeth, I don’t think I do, so maybe the therapy worked?) . 

Damon wore hearing aids and had a stutter. I found this fascinating as he was the first person I had ever met my own age that wore hearing aids. And stuttered. These were all new things to me. His stutter really wasn’t bad. I don’t remember it stopping him from talking, it was just there in the background. And despite the fact that this was the 80s and culturally, we hadn’t all learned how to be kind and accepting to people who are different, I don’t remember his hearing aids and stutter affecting his social status in the classroom. Damon was a cute kid. Fun. He had lots of friends. I felt a little privileged that I got to go and do something with just Damon and no one else. 

As we got older Damon joined the ranks of the popular kids and I didn’t have a lot to do with him. But, he stayed kind. There was a group of boys who would tease me about my name and just generally be awkward annoying boys. Damon never did that. He always said hi and didn’t act like he didn’t know me, as some of the more popular kids did. 

In 6th grade we all moved up to the Middle School in town. All the small elementary schools scattered around the county all sent their kids to the same school. It was big. Crowded. I think we had eight classrooms per grade. I only had two other kids from Haldeman in my homeroom class and I rarely saw my old classmates. I honestly have no good memories of that school. Lots of bullying, cliques, kids coupling up, name brand clothes suddenly became important, rumors of other kids going to parties and drinking. It was a bizarre step from childhood innocence to a world of sex, drinking, and your worth being graded on how expensive your clothes were. I did have one English teacher who noticed my love of books and she kept me steadily supplied with new books to read all year round. That’s my only good memory. 

And then, sometime in the winter of that 6th grade year, while I was home in our cozy trailer, my friend Leah was over, and she got a phone call. She came into my bedroom after getting off the phone, her face was white and she said, “Damon’s dead.” He had committed suicide. And whatever remnants of childhood innocence that had still tried to cling to us, left. 

I remember trying to find black clothing to wear to the funeral. The horror of the funeral with his body laid out in a casket. Rows of children in the funeral home, weeping. Going back to school after the funeral and just sitting at my desk crying. A counselor went around all the classrooms and gathered up whatever children seemed to be doing the worst, and she grabbed me, and we all went into a room together. One of my old Haldeman classmates, a good friend of Damon’s, Brad, came up and gave me a big hug. I hadn’t said more than a handful of words to Brad since we moved up to the Middle School, but at that moment, he felt like family.  

I went home after school and laid down on my bed and fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up, sometime around supper, I felt fragile. Breakable. The world was different. I was different. 

Damon was not a close friend. But he was part of my community. He was a presence of kindness in my life. He lives in my memories. And I’m glad that I was one of those privileged to know him. 

I just went and looked and found that there is a memorial page for Damon online. Michael Damon Rivers (1977-1990). If any old Haldeman friends want to go add a memory about Damon to the page they can. 

As We Forgive Those Who Sin Against Us…

This summer I’ve been struggling with how to move forward in relationships where wrongs have been done in the past. How to move forward into something new. It’s all been a part of a long journey God has had me on, learning the right way to handle someone sinning against you. 

When I was young, my automatic response was to not dwell on whatever happened, try to forget it as quickly as possible, and just pretend it never happened. I did not have the emotional stability and security to explore feelings of rejection and betrayal. I needed those people to be my stability for me and if I suddenly didn’t have them, it felt like I would be the utmost alone and that felt like death. So, I did not acknowledge or dwell on sins against me. I just brushed it off as quickly as possible and moved on. 

God finally got me to a place where I could stand back and be objective and say, wait, that was wrong. That should not have happened. I should not have had to go through that. That process was really hard to go through, because suddenly I had a lot of things to grieve. Things that should have been processed years ago had all built up inside and slowly deadened all my emotions. And when I finally started opening up all those memories, there was a lot of grief to wade through. And anger. And some hard conversations where I had to say, you did this, and it really hurt. 

And then the next thing God took me through was learning about forgiveness. Getting to a place where I truly wanted only good things for those who have wronged me. And also, being careful to set up boundaries of what I would and would not allow in my relationships. 

But then, I felt stuck. I acknowledged the wrong, I forgave. I established healthy boundaries. But how to move forward into a healthy and happy relationship? 

Then this morning I woke up and for some reason was thinking about my marriage. I was thinking about how, when we first got married, we weren’t very good at loving each other. We made a lot of mistakes. But, because we made vows to each other, we pushed through each mistake. Asked forgiveness. Learned. Changed. Adapted. And now, a couple days short of our 25th wedding anniversary, I know with a certainty that I am loved and cherished and protected by my husband. It’s a love that we’ve grown into. And it’s a work that God has done in our lives. 

And I suddenly had the revelation that it’s that way with all of our relationships. We are not static people that stay exactly the same forever. We are all growing and changing. And even though I may have a history of hurt with someone, it’s possible to go through a healthy process of repentance, forgiveness, and reconciliation, because both people are changing and growing. I’m not saying this is the case for every relationship, if the other person has no interest in changing their behavior, it may be better to love them from a distance. But I think there are many relationships, especially within the body of Christ, where God is equally working on both people, taking them through the process of becoming more like Jesus, and teaching them how to repent, forgive, reconcile and move forward into even healthier connections with each other. And that fills me with joy. Jesus is in the work of redeeming. Taking the bad and turning it into something good. Allowing us to live a life where forgiveness is an option. And love can grow stronger and deeper. 

God Shows up Everywhere

I have been reading a lot of books this summer. Fun books. Books about kings and kingdoms. Magic lands. Wars and governments. Friendships, romances, the ties between family members. Very enjoyable. Not what you would call scholarly. But I have found that reading these books has had real spiritual value for me. As I find my heart responding to different aspects of the book, I have asked myself, what inherent truth is coming through that calls to me. What longings are these books stirring up? Why do I wish that I was this character, living out this story arc? 

My worldview is that God created all things, and that we are created in his image. There is nowhere you can go in nature and in dealing with humans, where God is not going to be revealed in some form or another. And as I’ve read through these books whose authors may or may not be knowledgeable about God and the Bible, whether it was the author’s intent or not, God shines through, if you’re looking for him. 

As I read about nobility, and loyalty, sacrifice, deep frienships, I find a yearning inside of me. I want that. I want my life to have some great meaning. I want to swear loyalty and fight for my King. I want to feel protected and sheltered because I have a ruler who is strong and cares for his people. I want to set off on great epic adventures rescuing the downtrodden, retrieving the lost. I want my life to be rich in color, deep in meaning, full of people whom I love and who love me. 

And I think this is what God created me to do. To live a life of deep meaning. Where I learn to rest and trust in his Lordship. In his Fatherhood. In his love. Where I learn to relate to the people around me in honest, candidness, learn to trust and be someone who is trustworthy. Where I open my eyes and see the needs of the world around me and engage in battling for a solution. Where I see the people who can’t fight for themselves and decide that I can be the person who fights for them. 

I read books and they make me want to be more. Have more. Experience more. 

Read a book. But don’t just stop with the simple enjoyment of the story. Ask yourself questions! Why did I like this book? Why do I like that character so much? What inner longings and yearnings does this book touch on? How does God’s nature show up in this book? Where is the goodness? What does this teach me about myself and my tendencies towards good or evil? 

God shows up everywhere, you just have to be looking. 

Friendship?

I’ve been reading a book that has really got me thinking. The book is “The Hands of the Emperor” by Victoria Goddard. I’m not going to recommend the book. The author’s view on sexuality does not line up with the Biblical standard and she did not have very good editing, but despite all that the book gripped me. I didn’t want to put it down. 

I have learned to start being curious about things that grip me, so I made myself stop reading and ask the question, what emptiness in myself is being filled? And I realized the reason I was so enthralled was because it deals with a friendship of nonequals. The friendship between the emperor and his secretary, actually, his right-hand man. 

Lately I have really been puzzling over the fact that Jesus calls us friends. 

No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you. John 15:15

Different praise and worship songs have latched onto this idea and I find myself singing about being a friend of God in church and it really makes me pause. How is it possible to be friends with God? He is God. I am human. Creator, created. Master, servant. 

In the book, the author focuses on the fact that the emperor does not want to be emperor. He wants to be just a simple man like everyone else. And in the end of the book series, the two  friends have achieved a type of equality. But that is not how God works. He is God. The book of Revelation describes the elders casting their crowns before the throne and worshipping God in all his splendor. Worship is obviously a part of our relationship with God. 

John 13:13 says, 

You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. 

But Jesus says this right after he has washed his disciples feet. And then calls on them to follow his example of being a servant. 

We have this word, “condescend” which we usually use in a negative way. When someone is being condescending it means they are looking down on us. But the real meaning is “to willingly lower oneself to another’s level”. And that is what Jesus does. He condescends to call us friend. 

In the book the secretary is an amazing character. Heroic. He’s mind-bogglingly efficient and able to change the world with his work. And I found myself thinking, well, yes, maybe God could be friends with people who are amazing, like Moses, and David. But me? While I am content with who I am and the role I play in this world, I also know that my role is confined to my family and community. I am not a world-stage player. I don’t want to be. 

The New Testament has different kinds of analogies for the church. The body, vessels. All implying that we have our own role to play, and some roles are big and obvious and some are small and unnoticeable, but we all work together for one purpose. 

I was thinking about myself as a vessel. Something God created for a purpose. I understand a lot of my purpose. Be a good wife, raise my family, try to be someone who lifts up and encourages whoever I am in community with. Draw near to God…And be Jesus’ friend? It feels presumptuous. Encroaching. Not humble. I find myself pulling back from the idea. 

I don’t think I have settled this completely in my mind, but I’ll tell you where I have ended up for now. God created me. He knows me completely. A lot better than I know myself. I love God. I want to be with him. He is truly what I live for. I don’t know all the reasons he created me. I don’t know all the purposes he has for me. I just know that I want all of it. I want every gift and talent he’s given me to be used. I want every opportunity he puts in my path to be taken advantage of. I want every relationship he’s opened up for me to happen. I want it all. And if “friendship with God” is on the list of things he has purposed for me, then I want it. My hands are open, ready to receive. And I’m excited to see what happens. 

The Gospel PLUS

One of my pastors made a comment that if some act that you were doing caused you to feel more righteous than someone else, then you were adding on to the Gospel. The Gospel PLUS. The Bible tells us that Jesus’ death on the cross completely covered the debt we owed for our sins. We come to Jesus in faith, repent of our sins, and he forgives us. We then walk out our lives learning how to listen and obey him and through that process he changes us to become more like him. But it’s not our obedience and our listening that saves us. It’s Jesus’ work on the cross, a free gift to us. 

That is a hard concept. We like to feel like we are earning our way. Let me work for that. Surely, I need to be doing something to deserve this. And then we take concepts like prayer and Bible reading, and service and we turn them into laws. Things we must do to earn grace. If I don’t get up every morning and read my Bible and pray for an hour, then I’m not really saved. If I don’t fast once a week then I’m not really holy. If I don’t take one day a week and spend the entire day devoted to church and rest then I’m not really following after God. 

All of these things, Bible reading, prayer, fasting, sabbath rest, all of these things are gifts that God has given us to enable us to learn more about him, to enter into his presence, to come alongside him in his work here on the earth, to keep our bodies and minds healthy and whole. They are gifts that we have been given, and the more we use them, the more blessed we are. But doing these things does not save us. Jesus’ work on the cross is what saves us. 

I think back to things that I have done that were good and healthy and blessed our family, but I know that deep down I did feel “more righteous” than others because I did them. Things like homeschooling, or eating super healthy, daily family devotions. All good things. All things that I’m glad that we did. But, I wish my heart attitude had been different. I wish that I had known to hold these practices lightly, to not feel the stress of HAVING to do these things in order to be righteous. But instead to just rejoice that God made these things possible for our family as a blessing to us. 

RIght now I find myself struggling a bit. I am not actively involved in any kind of ministry. My children are. And I help them get to and from the places they need to be. But I myself am not doing anything. And I remind myself that my family is my first priority. My main ministry. But I feel guilty for not doing more. And that is definitely coming from a Gospel PLUS mentality. If I’m not actively serving somewhere then I’m not earning my way. 

In the past, I have never actively sought out ministry. A need has simply arrived on my doorstep, so to speak, and I have responded to that need. And I keep waiting for something to be brought to my attention that I can help with and nothing has shown up. And deep in my heart, I’m thankful that nothing has shown up, because this has been an emotionally difficult summer as I’ve watched my kids scatter all over the place, pursuing their dreams, growing up, leaving the nest, and I’ve had to fight the duel feelings of overwhelming pride that they have grown up so well and have so much to offer the world, and deep sorrow that they are no longer little and no longer apart of my daily interactions. 

And so I have to learn how to trust that God does not need all my works in order to deem me acceptable to him. Jesus already took care of that. I am saved. I’m adopted in. I am loved. And I’m available. He will use me as he sees fit, and I can relax and wait on his timing. Keep doing the things that are set in front of me. Wash the dishes, fold the laundry, feed the family. Love on my babies that are still here. And just rest in the Gospel. 

Dripping in Treasure

I have ten kids. Birthed all ten. The oldest was sixteen when I had my last. This was not an easy thing to do. I got hyperemesis with each pregnancy and was usually sick in bed for at least the first five months. It usually took about six months before I felt ok. I averaged twenty pounds weight loss just from throwing up, every time. I made at least one trip to the ER every pregnancy due to dehydration. I took expensive nausea medicine, but it did not relieve symptoms very much. 

When we first got married my husband and I both felt a strong conviction that we were supposed to trust God for the size of our family and we were not going to use birth control. Every time I had a baby, I revisited this decision. I looked at all the birth control options, prayed a lot, and every single time I did not feel peace to stop having kids. I loved our children, we adored our babies, the pregnancies were just so hard. When I was pregnant with our tenth, my husband and I made the decision that we were done having kids and made plans for a permanent birth control. We both felt a lot of peace about that decision, and I can honestly say, there has not been one time where I have regretted that choice or the timing of that choice. 

Over the years as I was sick in bed with another pregnancy, I went through a lot of different emotions. Anger, self-pity, doubt, resignation. But my conviction was stronger than my emotions. I knew this was something God had asked of me. Without a doubt. And so I had ten kids. 

Over the years I have watched how God has provided for us. We have never been without. Despite being a one income family, we have managed to raise our kids and provide what they need. Definitely not everything they want, but everything they need. 

Now, when I look at my life, I feel like one of the wealthiest women in the world. I am dripping in treasure. My life is so rich. My kids are amazing. They love each other. They love their parents. Our home is peaceful. Not quiet, but peaceful. Any time of the day I can look up and see my kids being creative, imaginative, enthusiastic, kind. They love going to church. They love worshipping Jesus. They do their work around the house without a big fuss, and they love helping others. I am bursting with pride over every single one of them. And I find my life as a stay-at-home mom something that uses all my talents and is fulfilling and meaningful. 

Last night we went and picked up our kids from church camp. We had seven kids at camp. One was there as a cook, two were there as counselors, another as a junior counselor, and then three as campers. The camp does a lot of performing arts, so the last night the parents come and see all the things their kids have learned. Flag performances, hip hop, drama, skits, dances. It was wonderful. I sat on the hillside in my camp chair and I watched my children worship God with full enthusiasm and emotion. One of the last songs they sang with all the kids was “The Blessing”  (Elevation Worship) which they had learned sign language to.  And as I watched and sang along, I sat there crying because I knew God had already blessed me. Richly. Unequivocally. Overflowing cup. 

Almost without fail, any time someone learns I have ten kids, they react with surprise and astonishment and a look on their face that easily translates as, “You’re crazy!” But every once in a while, there is someone who gets it and they say, “Wow, you are so blessed!” And I have to agree. Yes, I am. You have no idea how much.