faith wrestlings

Living in GRACE

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We leave for a trip to Africa on July 7. Dave and I will go with 12 girls from his soccer team, our oldest child (Emily), one of his assistant coaches, and two soccer moms to Kenya and Uganda.

Dave gave each girl going on the trip a copy of Kisses from Katie, and he asked me to write devotions for each day of the trip using Scripture and sections from the book.

“I would love to,” I told him.

Well, I still “will love to,” and I probably will post many of them here on the blog, but I have to admit that the book sent me into a spiritual funk for about a week—sorry for the silence.

Kisses from Katie is the story of a young suburban-raised girl who decided to visit Uganda during Christmas break of her senior year in high school. Then she just had to go back after graduation for a gap year before college. (I know, this sounds eerily like the story of Jody—who rescued our PJ). Katie’s “job” for the year was to teach kindergarten, but she soon felt led by God to rent a house, and abandoned children began showing up on her doorstep. She is now in the process of adopting 13 Ugandan girls and lives full-time in Uganda, coming back to the States only for visits and fundraising purposes. Her life is filled with sharing Christ—through words and actions—with the poorest of the poor.

I’m not doing enough. I’m not doing enough. This nasty chorus ran rampant through my mind as I read the book—though I knew that was not Katie’s reason for writing it and I also knew it wasn’t good theology.

What dug my spiritual funk deeper was the fact that I had bought a rug for the living room the day before beginning the book. Like we needed a rug, I thought as I read about Katie raising money to pay school fees for the children in her village. I should have sent the money to World Vision!

(BTW, I felt quite a bit better about the new rug when we spread the old rug out on our grass for the yard sale we had last weekend. Sunlight exposed a LOT more than my living room lamps did. The all-ivory rug may have worked for the empty-nesters we bought the house from, but with our six kids, their friends, our dog—yeesh!)

As I read further, I defaulted to guilt wallowing, and God felt very, very far away.

I know now—and knew then—this kind of guilt is not from God, but I was stuck and digging in deeper. Saturday morning, I woke tired, glum, discouraged already. But this was yard-sale-for-Africa day, filled with opportunities to meet neighbors, make new friends, share life.

Oh God, I prayed, I don’t have the strength for this, and I am so spiritually bankrupt right now. I can’t do this. But rather than drawing me closer to God, my prayer made me more convinced of my failure.

But a beautiful thing happened as the day went on. One of the soccer moms came and helped, and we had genuine fellowship. I met a lovely little woman from Syria who asked me to pray for persecuted believers in her native country. Before she left, she pronounced Christ’s blessings on us and our trip. I met another neighbor, large with her third child, who had moved in just that day down the street. I liked her; Dave hit it off with her husband; Em was ready to babysit. Dave had fun conversation with our next-door neighbor when he asked, “So why are you going to Africa?”

As soon as the yard sale was over, though, the cloud descended again.

All week Dave gave me funny looks when I answered, “Fine,” in response to his, “How are you?” Finally, on our early Sunday morning run (yes, we’re running again, and, oh, I am so sore!), he didn’t let my “Fine” slide by. “No, you’re not,” he pressed. “What’s up?”

“I’m missing God,” I cried. “I just feel like I’m not pleasing Him, that I’m so filled up with self I’m missing Him. I’m trying and trying, but all I can think of is what I’m NOT doing, and then I feel guilty and farther away than ever.”

Dave didn’t let that answer slide by, either. He pushed quite a bit on my faulty theology—and I said, “I know, I know! My head sees it, but what do I do with my heart?”

What ultimately led to a breakthrough was this question he asked: “If you’re so far away from God, then what was going on yesterday at the yard sale?”

That stopped me. I’d gone into the yard sale with dread, with a lack of strength and purpose—with guilt at my attitude.

But somewhere during the day, I’d forgotten ME. I’d forgotten to try so, so hard. I’d let go of guilt and let others minister to me (oh, how Christ works through His body!), and in the process I was able to share myself with them and others. I’d felt joy and peace—and I know where those come from. (Galatians 5:22)

Later on Sunday morning, when I had a few quiet minutes to be still, I wrote in my journal: “If MY doing never truly accomplishes anything—for myself or anyone else, then why do I try so hard? If I really believe that my ‘righteousness is as filthy rags,’ then doing more in my own strength, out of my own guilt, accomplishes no good.”

Not long ago, I listened to a sermon by Rick McKinley, pastor of Imago Dei Church in Portland, about the importance of the Gospel in our lives AFTER salvation. He said something like this: We Christians have little problem seeing our need for complete grace for salvation, but then we act as if we have to accomplish the Christian life on our own. We need the Gospel just as much after salvation as we did before.

In Acts 13, Paul and Barnabus are speaking to people who have just trusted Christ. The two missionaries “urged them to continue to rely on the grace of God.” (emphasis mine)

It’s so, so easy to abandon grace in our daily lives. My tendency is to forget that I have no ability to please God on my own; I feel I must do more, do more, do more to make Him like me. What heresy! And it has such terrible results: guilt, broken sleep, fatigue, a broken spirit.

I wasn’t relying on God to work in me and through me last week. I put far more responsibility on myself than He ever wants me to have. HE guides; HE convicts; HE leads and directs.

I must live in the Gospel:

I need rescuing, every day, often from myself.

And my God is a God who saves.

God’s ONE “language of apology”

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I recently listened to a radio interview with co-authors Gary Chapman and Jennifer Thomas about their book, The Five Languages of Apology (http://www.amazon.com/The-Five-Languages-Apology-Relationships/dp/1881273792). Basically, the gist of the book is that we humans have different languages of apology. Chapman and Thomas say that we need to learn the language of the person to whom we are apologizing: for some it may be expressing regret; for others it’s accepting responsibility; for others it’s making restitution; for others…

As I listened, I thought about how difficult our human relationships are. Each of us sees only part of the big picture—and we see even that part dimly, from the narrow corner of our own perspective—and we relate with fellow humans who do the same. Even when we apologize and “make right” the wrongs we do—in ways that are accepted by the other person—there is restitution to be made and a period of re-connecting and re-establishing relationship and trust. Sometimes this can take a really long time, and sometimes relationships never completely recover. I’ve often thought it’s pure grace for us humans to have any kind of good relationship at all. With our selfish human natures, the odds against that are stacked incredibly high.

The odds are stacked even higher—higher than we could ever reach—in our relationship with God. R.C. Sproul says this about the wrong we have done to God: “No traitor to any king or nation has even approached the wickedness of our treason before God.”*

We have greatly wronged God, and no amount of apologizing will fix it, no matter what language of apology we use.

But Christ fixed it.

He accepted responsibility for wrongs He didn’t commit; He made restitution with His body and blood; He made it right.

NOW we can have peace with God through Christ, through His apology for us.

And here’s the beautiful thing—as if that wasn’t gorgeous enough!: Christ continually grants us peace with God.

I still wrong God daily. I break our fellowship.

But to restore it, I don’t have to worry about figuring out His language of apology. I don’t have to say it just right or do the right amount of penance or wallow in guilt for a certain amount of time.

I’ve certainly tried all those things. I’ve beat myself up and tried to make myself feel “sorry enough” for my failings, but those are not only NOT God’s language of apology; they are counter-productive. They pull me away from Christ rather than to Him. They let me think I can do something to make God like me more.

I can’t.

The only thing I can do is come to God and say, “I blew it. I was wrong. I can’t make it right. But I can do this: I can cling to Christ and what He—and You—did for me!”

And when I simply come to God with sorrow over my sin (even when my repentance is tainted with self-focus, as it always WILL be this side of heaven), He draws me immediately to Himself. He tells me He “blots out and cancels my transgressions,” that He “will not remember them” (Is. 43:25, Jer. 31:34, Heb.8:12 AMP). He promises that His mercies are new every morning (Lam. 3:22-23), and His forgiveness does not come with strings attached. There is no waiting period before I am restored to fellowship with Him. He tells me to “forget what is behind” and “press on” (Philippians 3: 13); He tells me I will not be “confounded or depressed” and I can “forget the shame” (Is. 54:4 AMP).

This is the only relationship in which complete restoration and a fresh new start are possible each and every day, in which I do not have to carry the baggage of my failures and sins.

Instead God encourages me to walk in the freedom of His one language of apology.

In CHRIST!

 

*Sproul, R.C. The Holiness of God. Tyndale Publishers, 1985. Quoted from chapter 6, “Holy Justice,” page 151

Longing to Belong

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Nearly two years ago, our family moved back to West Chicago from Sterling, Kansas.

It was not an easy transition for me.

Though we lived in Sterling only three years, I felt I belonged in that tiny Kansas town more than I’d belonged anywhere else. I could be myself there, quirks and all. I felt that I fit, that there was a bigger purpose for my individual gifts.

Then we moved back to West Chicago—a place we’d already lived—and I felt launched into no-man’s land. I had to re-discover who I was, what I should be doing, and where I fit—all in the bigger context of suburbia with its many, unconnected worlds.

In October of our first year back, an editor friend offered to look over my adoption-story book proposal. We met; she gave me her very sage advice; and she said, “You know, there’s a theme running through this, and I think you need to let it shine more. This book is really about belonging.”

I missed the irony at first. How do I show the struggle to belong in this story? I wondered, not realizing I was living it out in my own life. But bit by bit, I started to see it. Then, though, came the feeling that I was the only one going through this. Everybody else has it all figured out, right? 

Um, no.

We all “long to belong.”

We all “long to be.”

We want to be part of something bigger than ourselves. We want to be integral to this bigger something, and we want to belong for simply being who we are, not for our talents or accomplishments.

At the same time we have a desire for significance in who we are individually. We want to be seen as important or needed or gifted. We want to be unique and special.

I call these longings the “we are” and the “I am.”

These two are perfectly combined in the person of God.

God is the complete “we are.” He is three IN one, completely inter-connected, with the same purpose, sharing the same “being.” Jesus said, “I and the Father (WE) are one.” In I Corinthians 13:14, this unity is called “the fellowship of the Holy Spirit.”

Yet God also calls Himself the “I AM.” God is significant—He is significance Himself. He IS unique and special.

So our desires—to belong and to be—have holy roots.

But when they’re not fulfilled in the Three-In-One who combines them, they grow up twisted.

That describes most of us, most of the time. Look at me, we cry. See what I’ve done. See that I’m special.

OR we cry, Pick me, pick me. I don’t want to be left behind. I want to be “in,” not “out.” I want to belong.

And deep down, we really want both.

The only answer to them is found in our God, who calls each of us His “masterpiece,” who tells us that together we are His body, and there are no unnecessary parts. In Him, He says, “we live and move and have our being.”

God, help us to lose our earthly ideas of “i am” and “we are.” Help us to understand that being IN the “I AM” fulfills both our desires: our longings to “be” and to “belong.”

In the great “I AM,” we can be.

In the great “WE ARE ONE,” we can belong.

More and Less: the Usefulness of an Impure Pen

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“He must become more.

I must become less.”

John the Baptist’s followers were amazed by their leader’s statement about Christ’s increasing popularity and John’s decreasing fame. “What’s wrong with him?” they wondered. “Doesn’t he realize this is bad for him?”

Deep down, their concern was about themselves, not John. “What about us?” they might have been thinking. “This is not good for US. We were disciples of the popular guy. We were up and coming, well-known. But this guy is cornering in on our market, and our résumés are suffering.”

Confession: I am so very guilty of this. Every time I submit a magazine/Web article or post a blog, there is at least a hint of selfishness. Underneath the good desires (I hope others are encouraged by my journey; I hope my work honors God) are seedier ones. Will people like it? Will this make me better known? Will this lead to bigger writing assignments and opportunities?

Ugh!

I long for completely pure motives, but I know that on earth I’m simply not capable of them. My old nature will always taint my motives, and I have to constantly face this truth. I recognize the selfish motive, acknowledge it to God in confession, ask for His help, and move on–until selfishness creeps in again. It’s a never-ending battle.

At times I get tired of it, sometimes so tired I want to give up: I want to stop submitting, stop posting.

But I feel called to persist, and John the Baptist’s words encourage me to keep fighting. John said, “He must increase, but I must decrease.” He didn’t say, “He’s great; I’m not. That’s it.” A process is implied in his statement. The Amplified version adds these words: “He must grow more prominent; I must grow less so.”

Now I know John the Baptist was a prophet. I know there is a prophetic sense to these words: they are referring to Jesus being lifted up as the Savior of the world and of John being seen as Christ’s servant, His herald. Perhaps John wasn’t speaking about a heart process at all but merely the actual events that were about to take place. He may very well have been so in tune with God’s plan that he wasn’t referring to his own selfishness at all.

But when I say them, that’s exactly what I’m referring to. I’m a lot more like John’s followers than I am like John. Though I know and understand more and more the overwhelming majesty and greatness of Christ, the reality is that I lose that viewpoint all the time; I feel that I should be the center of attention. THAT’S my battle, and the process hinted at in John’s statement encourages me to keep fighting it: “Christ must grow more prominent. I must grow less so.”

So I can GROW in decreasing (that’s a cool paradox). Exalting Christ can become greater and greater in my motivations. I can become less and less. Like Paul learned contentment, I can learn this.

I have a personal teacher who helps me with this very difficult lesson. In Colossians 1, Paul tells the believers at Colossae he continually prays that God will fill them with the knowledge of His will through the wisdom and understanding the Spirit gives so (they) may live lives worthy of the Lord, please Him in every way, and bear fruit.

I know God’s will for me as a writer; it is for HIM to be exalted through my writing.

And the Spirit, my teacher, is not only able to sanctify my motives, the Spirit is also fully capable of using my writing to exalt God at the same time!

The Spirit will enable me to please God with my pen and keyboard, to bear fruit through my words,

Kelly and Em at the junior high gala last night. Two beautiful girls! I must admit, though, my thought all night was, "But how did the time go so fast?"

Kelly and Em at the junior high gala last night. Two beautiful girls! I must admit, though, my thought all night was, “But how did the time go so fast?”

AND to “live worthy” as a writer.

Now THAT is Good News!

 

*Here are a couple of stanzas from the hymn “Holy Spirit, Truth Divine” by Samuel Longfellow (brother of the famous Henry Wadsworth Longfellow) that perfectly express the ideas in this post (and in far fewer words—oh, to be a poet).

Holy Spirit, Truth divine,

Dawn upon this soul of mine;

Word of God and inward light,

Wake my spirit, clear my sight.

 

Holy Spirit, Love divine,

Glow within this heart of mine;

Kindle every high desire;

Perish self in thy pure fire.

Pondering Philippians 1:6, part 2

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Just a fun picture of PJ and Chai. She is so patient! One of the girls--I think Kelly--took this picture.

Just a fun picture of PJ and Chai. She is so patient! One of the girls–I think Kelly–took this picture.

One day last week, I threw the ingredients for bread into the mixing bowl of my bread machine and hit the start button for the dough cycle. Two hours later the machine finished its work and I lifted the lid, ready to punch down the risen dough and form it for its second rise.

But I’d forgotten to add yeast. The dough, flat and sodden, lay at the bottom of the mixing bowl.
I am often like that dough, struggling to rise but lacking the power. I am full of desires to do more and be more, but when I try to figure out the “what” or “how” on my own, I either slip into despair at my inability and failures OR I get puffed up over my itty-bitty accomplishments (until I eventually I fail and then fall into despair.)
But all was not lost for the sodden dough in my bread machine. I added the yeast and started the machine again. Two hours later the top of it bounced when I touched it, and an hour after that, light, fluffy rolls made my kitchen smell wonderful!
And all is not lost for me! When I strive-and-fail, strive-and-fail, I forget this truth: I was NEVER meant to provide the power for my growth; the Holy Spirit is my yeast! The Spirit provides the power to rise!
Jude verse 24 is another verse that reminds me that GOD is the one who holds me. I chose to use the Amplified version of Jude 24 for this blog entry because it uses the word “falling” (it’s in bold—my emphasis) and that seemed appropriate:
“Now to Him Who is able to keep you without stumbling  or slipping or falling, and to present [you] unblemished (blameless and faultless) before the presence of His glory in triumphant joy and exultation [with unspeakable, ecstatic delight]—
25 To the one only God, our Savior through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory (splendor), majesty, might  and dominion, and power and authority, before all time and now and forever (unto all the ages of eternity). Amen (so be it).”
Isn’t that awesome! My own desires to be more/do more–there is no way they can compare with Christ’s goals for me! He says he want to present me before the Father faultless and in ecstatic delight! And He reminds me that He is ABLE to do just that.
HE is able! Not me!
His Spirit–the Comforter–is with me (John 14:16, 26).
And THAT is why I can be confident that God will complete the work He has begun in me (Philippians 1:6).

Pondering Philippians 1:6, part 1

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As young people—in our teens and even twenties—possibilities often seem endless. I remember thinking I could be a doctor like my dad and help lots of people with their health issues—maybe on the mission field. I could write the next great children’s novel—and be like Madeleine L’Engle. I could open an orphanage. I could…

Now life feels more limited–and a lot more complex. I understand that opening one door means closing another. I see so many needs and often feel helpless to assist. I know children are starving around the globe and I look at my comfortable lifestyle and wonder what biblical living means for those of us who stay in the suburbs. I struggle with the differences between needs and wants. I wonder if all the “little” things I do each day are really making a difference. Is THIS what I’m supposed to be doing? I sometimes wonder.

The Christian life no longer seems like endless possibilities; it seems wrapped up in—perhaps even restricted by—“small” choices within everyday life.

But in the midst of my questions, my wondering, I’m learning to cling to the promise of Philippians 1:6—“…being confident of this, that He who began a good work in (me) will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”

And lately God has given me the privilege of seeing that verse “fleshed out” in the lives of some older believers.

Because of the writing assignments I do for Wheaton Academy, I often get to interview believers much older than myself. They tell me their stories and about what has happened with them since they left Wheaton Academy. In their 70s and 80s, they don’t focus on the “small stuff” that unfortunately controls much of my early-40s, mom-to-6-kids, suburban life. But I know they DID experience these things; I’m not always talking to people who lived their entire lives on the mission field. Like me, most of the people I interview have children. They, too, bought homes and “settled” and lived in American culture. They, too, worked and had to bring home a paycheck to feed and clothe and pay sports fees and activity fees and for the cleats and shinguards and guitars to take to the sports and activities.

But they have something I don’t, a vantage point that I usually lack. They have a long view. One of them recently said this to me: I look back on all my career, all the jobs and changes and successes, and on our family life, and I see God purposefully preparing me and my circumstances for what I am doing now, in my golden years.

This bird was hanging out in a tree in our backyard a week or so ago. Hawk? Falcon? Anybody know? Whatever it was, it was big and fun to watch.

This bird was hanging out in a tree in our backyard a week or so ago. Hawk? Falcon? Anybody know? Whatever it was, it was big and fun to watch.

This man didn’t orchestrate things; he just did what came next—which is what I feel like I do most days, wondering if it’s what I’m supposed to be doing, wondering if it’s of any eternal purpose. This man didn’t have the long view IN the moment, in the journey. He just put one step in front of another and NOW he can look back and catch a glimpse of the pattern. He sees how all the “little” was part of the BIG, and that helps him to trust that there is an even bigger, even deeper pattern beyond and beneath what he is able to see right now.

And his long view helps ME to be “convinced and sure of this very thing, that He Who began a good work in (me) will continue until the day of Jesus Christ [right up to the time of His return], developing [that good work] and perfecting and bringing it to full completion in (me.)” Phil. 1:6 Amplified version.

Longing

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I took this last year right about the same time as now--Spring will come, an idea that parallels this post.

I took this last year right about the same time as now–Spring will come, an idea that parallels this post.

Friday morning, as we drove the long curve of the school driveway, we passed a father running on the sidewalk with his young daughter. They held hands, and her pink backpack—nearly as big as she—bounced lightly on her back. They had plenty of time before the late bell, so their running wasn’t forced.

It was joyful.

And it made me smile.

Emily, in the front seat next to me, made it better when she said, softly, “That’s Mr. G——–, Mom—who is now cancer free!”

Tears almost came then. Em and I had prayed several times for this family. In the late fall, requests for prayer were updated almost weekly: his treatments were difficult; his children were shell-shocked; his prognosis wasn’t good. Then there was a period of silence, and I, at least, assumed the worst.

Two hours after I dropped the kids off at school, the image of the father and daughter running together was still hovering in my mind—a spot of bright pink joy.

But underneath it was something else, something less joyful. And I couldn’t figure out what that was, until I heard an interview with Kay Warren on the radio about her book, Choose Joy, released last year. She described our present lives as train tracks of sorrow and joy. Here on earth we travel both—like a railroad car, a wheel on each track. Even in great sorrows, there are flickers of joy and good, but the opposite is also true: even in times of peace and joy, there is sorrow (in some part of our lives and certainly in the world at large).

Then I understood what was haunting my joy.

It was the knowledge that sorrow still exists and can strike at any moment—has already struck so, so many.

“Man is born to trouble,” said Eliphaz to Job, “as surely as the sparks fly upward.” There’ s much that Eliphaz says that is not necessarily correct, but this statement—it’s true!

But we still feel joy when we see/hear things like I did that morning. All moments and stories of restoration bring joy—because when we see them, we hope that maybe, someday, things will be good and right forever. We hope that these snapshot moments of joy will somehow become eternal.

We long for a day when our longing is completely fulfilled.

This is such a strange idea. It’s a mystery, really. We long for what we have never known. In all of human history, there has never been a time of complete, worldwide peace. There has never been a marriage or a family without some kind of dysfunction. Jesus said, “The poor and vulnerable people are always with you”—and it’s true: we still have them. Injustice and abuse: they’ve always been around, along with fatigue, depression, tragedy…

So why do we have a longing for what we have never, ever seen anyone experience? Why do we have a longing that we know will not be fulfilled?

This kind of deferred/unfulfilled longing can make a person sick (Proverbs 13:12).

Who did this to us?

God steps up and says that He did. He put an eternity-sized hole in our hearts that can only be fulfilled with Himself (Eccl. 3:11, Amplified version), and He watches us stuff it with things that simply cannot fill it.

This would be cruel, except that God has made a way to fill this hole.

Christ! He is called “the Hope of Glory!” (Colossians 1:27) the HOPE that all will be glorified, that one day suffering will be NO MORE!

Kay Warren reminded her listeners that if they look down parallel train tracks, they join together in the distance.

Sorrow will be swallowed up in joy.

I don’t have that reality or even that perspective yet, but Christ continually renews my hope that it WILL BE. He has promised that my longing for a never-ending good that I can see and touch WILL be fulfilled.

And in the parallel-track meantime, He opens my eyes to the joy He provides every day, even in the midst of sorrow.

In Isaiah 49, God tells the Israelites that One Day, their longing will be fulfilled. “Then you will know that I am the Lord,” He tells them—because THAT is the answer.

And then He gives them a promise to carry them to the final answer:

“Those who hope in me will not be disappointed.” (emphasis mine)

*I mentioned Kay Warren in this post. A day after I listened to her interview—and wrote the rough draft of this post—her 27-year-old son died. I cannot imagine her pain. Please be praying for hope and joy in the midst of her family’s incredible sorrow in losing their son.

*Following is a C.S. Lewis quote that I’ve been thinking of as I’ve written this.

From “The Weight of Glory” Chapter 1, Paragraph 1:
If there lurks in most modern minds the notion that to desire our own good and earnestly to hope for the enjoyment of it is a bad thing, I submit that this notion has crept in from Kant and the Stoics and is no part of the Christian faith. Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

Wrestling (The guilt of simply being human, continued)

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And speaking of fighting/wrestling, here are the two boys doing just that--one of their favorite activities.

And speaking of fighting/wrestling, here are the two boys doing just that–one of their favorite activities.

Jacob wrestled with God.

If you grew up on Bible stories, that statement has lost the impact it should have.

Jacob—a human—wrestled—up close and personal—with GOD!

And here’s another thing to ponder: GOD initiated the wrestling.

This blog entry is a follow-up to “The Guilt of Simply Being Human” (2/28/13, just below this one). After I finished my snow walk, I studied Jacob’s story and realized that God invites me to wrestle, too; that, in fact, wrestling is often necessary before I can enjoy the kind of peaceful fellowship described as “dining with Christ” or “being led beside still waters.” This blog entry is simply the way I unpacked the Jacob-wrestling-God story (influenced by Matthew Henry’s Concise Commentary [which, by the way, is available for free viewing at BibleGateway.com and Biblos.com]).

Up until this time of wrestling, Jacob had habitually done things his own way. He was an I’ll pray for God’s blessing, but then do it my own way sort of person.

How do I know this? His whole story tells me this. His name (which means “trickster”) tells me this.

But Jacob was facing a BIG situation; and he knew that all his wonderful trickery could not save him. Oh, he still connived, still planned, but then he cried out to God.

And God came and wrestled with him. And Jacob wouldn’t let go or give up. So God damaged Jacob’s hip and blessed him.

What? To be honest, it seems like a strange story.

I’ve heard people telling this story say things like this: God had to damage Jacob’s hip because Jacob was so strong.

Oh, no!

Jacob was wrestling with a God infinitely stronger than he (Jacob). God had the power to crush Jacob, to annihilate him.

But Jacob was also wrestling with an infinitely good God.

Jacob was not going to say, “Uncle! I give up. I acknowledge that I am human and You? YOU are God! I thought I was pretty good, pretty capable, but then I saw YOU and realized truth.”  Jacob, like so many of us, was far, far, far from recognizing this essential truth.

So God wrestled with him. He held back from using the full extent of His limitless power. He even let Jacob have the upper hand. I don’t fully understand why, but my suspicion is that this was best for Jacob. Perhaps this was the only way that Jacob would learn who God is. This wrestling was specifically chosen because of Jacob’s past and his personality type.

It seems to backfire at first because Jacob thinks he is winning.

But then God tweaked his hip—with a touch!

That was a wake-up call.

God has given us humans a lot of autonomy, and we think we’re doing okay. We think we’re capable.

But it doesn’t take much to remind us of the limitations of our humanity.

Suddenly Jacob realizes, “Oh, no, He let me have the upper hand. This is way bigger than I ever imagined. I’ve been playing with God, and He is too great to play with.”

But even though Jacob wrestled out of limited knowledge, Scripture actually commends him for wrestling with God. It commends him for not letting go.

It commends him because Jacob learned SO much when he wrestled with God.

When Jacob demands a blessing from God, Jacob learns instead who he himself is. God asks him a simple question: “What is your name?”

When Jacob answers, he realizes his own nature, because when he says “Jacob,” he is essentially admitting, “I am a trickster, a schemer, a swindler.”

But Jacob still has more to learn. Ever the comparer, always wanting to assess the situation and see how he stands, he then asks, “What is YOUR name?”

But God simply said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” In other words, do you really need to ask? Don’t you ‘get it’?

Jacob must have; he didn’t say anything else, and when God blessed him, Jacob accepted it. The GREATER always blesses the lesser in Scripture. So by accepting the blessing, Jacob was finally saying, “I give myself to You. You are God, and I am not. I am nothing like You, and I need you.”

THAT was what God wanted to Jacob to learn. So, finally, after a full night of wrestling, Jacob is ready to face the situation that had so terrified him the night before. Jacob names that place Peniel: “the face of God,” and he went on his way knowing that he carried the blessing of God with him: he now knew through experience that the all-powerful God would never fail him.

And here's how it ends (usually)--collapsed in laughter!

And here’s how it ends (usually)–collapsed in laughter!

Man, I wish I were less like Jacob. I wish I didn’t need to wrestle, again and again, to come to knowledge. But God not only knows what I need to learn, He also knows the best way for me to learn it.

And He is willing to even wrestle with me, if that is what it takes.

God wrestling with a human! AMAZING!

The guilt of simply being human

/ jdunderwood / 1 Comment
I'm so thankful for the view out my kitchen window! Beautiful!

I’m so thankful for the view out my kitchen window! Beautiful!

Yesterday, after reading a Facebook message from someone I had unintentionally hurt, my stomach was in knots.

When I shared both the Facebook message and my guilt with my husband, he looked at me in surprise. “Jen, why do you feel guilty? You simply weren’t able to do what he needed. It wasn’t possible.”

But I still wrestled with the feeling of guilt.

The guilt of being merely human.

The guilt of thinking I should be able to do it ALL (in other words, of thinking I am like God [the oldest sin of all]).

The guilt of forgetting that I am completely incapable.

To deal with this kind of guilt, I needed a broader definition of sin than the one that defines it as intentional actions, thoughts, and words that “break the rules.” That is a very limited—and unbiblical—definition of “sin,” and it didn’t help me deal with my Facebook situation.

The New Living Translation of Romans 3:23 defines sin as “(falling) short of God’s glorious standard.”

I fell short with my friend—not because I wanted to, not even because I had another choice, but simply because I had no capability to meet his expectations. I’ve “fallen short” in some other areas as well lately, and, for reasons only God knows, He has made me sit for awhile in the discomfort of my own inadequacy, my own “falling short.” I have tried to mute the message, tried to distract myself with writing and meal prep and people and the radio, but uneasiness has burrowed into my soul, and my thoughts circle constantly around my feeling of guilt.

So this morning I took a long walk in the thick snow at the dog park. Two women were there when I arrived, but they soon left, and I was alone—with my thoughts.

Still wrestling.

Round I walked, breaking through the snow crust, doing battle in my mind, swinging like a pendulum from excuses to accusations.

On the third lap, I stopped. “God,” I said, “I want to prove myself right in this situation. I want to ‘feel’ right. And I have been doing a whole lot of talking in my own head trying to figure this out. But I can’t–because I’m not capable. I fall short—both of a complete understanding of this situation AND of any ability to fix it. I am only human. Help me to see myself—and then see YOU—as I should.”

“Please, God, I need You!”

Then, finally, rest came. I could admit my own inability, my own “falling short.” And I could glory in the fact that the God who loves me has NO limitations. He is not bound by time. His strength is unlimited. He does not run out of energy or patience or goodness. He never forgets, not ever. He never fails—not at anything He does.

He IS the glorious standard.

And He is fully aware that there is no way I can reach His standard. In fact, I think He gets tired of my thinking I can.

So when I let go of trying to reach His standard on my own, I see HIM and His grace far better.

And I am awed by the Glory!

I continued my walk, joyous now, rejoicing in the beauty, and just before I left I did what I could not have imagined doing twenty minutes earlier.

I fell back into an untouched patch of snow, gazed up at the tops of the trees, and made a snow angel!

Pursuing Discomfort

/ jdunderwood / 2 Comments

Dictionary.com defines the American Dream as a “life of personal happiness and material comfort as traditionally sought by individuals in the U.S.”

The Bible doesn’t provide an inclusive, single-line definition of Christianity, but if you add up all of Christ’s and the apostle’s statements about following Christ, Christianity doesn’t sound anything like the American Dream.

Yet we often mistakenly connect the two.

If “all is well,” then we MUST be in God’s will. If not, well… So we seek our own comfort and equilibrium and add to them some Bible study and good works and assume this is how it is meant to be.

But is it? Jesus had pretty strong words about pursuing God and ANYTHING. “You can’t do it,” He said. “You will hate one and love the other. You will be devoted to one and despise the other.”

I really like my comfort, both the physical—not too hot, not too cold, three meals a day (with snacks in between)—and the emotional. I like peace and people to be happy with me. I like neatness and calm and good health for everyone I love.

There isn’t necessarily anything “wrong” with those desires

But they certainly don’t contribute to growth in my soul. They don’t take me closer to God. They don’t reveal my sin to me or make me grateful. They don’t help me love others.

The American Dream takes really good care of my body, but it’s dangerous for my soul.

And DIScomfort, in a strange way, makes me grow.

When the New Testament was being written, most believers didn’t have to PURSUE discomfort. They already had it. They were being thrown out of synagogues and beaten by mobs. A few years later some of them were being eaten by lions. That’s still continuing. Worldwide there is more persecution of Christians than at any other time in history. These believers don’t need to pursue discomfort; they need to be encouraged by all the verses in the New Testament that tell them God will work in and through it.

Even in our comparatively persecution-free Western church, there are many who are in great discomfort, struggling with health/emotional/relational issues or lost loved ones (and only in the Western church do some assume distress is a sign of God’s disfavor). But for many, perhaps most, western-world Christ followers, “Comfort plus Christ” IS an issue. How do we live in our surrounding comfort without pursuing it—or worshiping it? How do we have empathy for those who are hungry, thirsty, imprisoned, and mistreated when we haven’t ever really experienced those things ourselves?

I don’t know.

But I’ve been asking the Holy Spirit to reveal areas in which comfort (or my love of it) is inhibiting my love for Christ and others. I’ve been praying that the Lord would direct me TOWARD the kinds of discomfort that will increase my growth.

Over the last couple years He has led me to “small decisions,” like reading fewer books for “fun” and more that stretch my view of Him or make my heart ache; like Dave and I choosing to watch movies like Slumdog Millionaire on date nights even though we know we won’t sleep right afterwards. It’s also affecting “bigger” areas: my friendships, our household and family, our finances/giving, my free time.

There is a strange balance of obedience and listening in this pursuit of discomfort: my selfishness resists the calls to put others before myself, but my pride can easily turn discomfort into an idol. I don’t want to pursue discomfort simply for discomfort’s sake, so I have to listen very, very carefully to the Holy Spirit’s leading; always, always saturate my prayers with Scripture; and check my heart condition regularly.

That’s a lot of effort. But I’m finding that it is making a difference. I’m more grateful, more mindful of others who have less or who live with horrors I can’t even imagine. I’m less timid and better able to see others as fellow Image-created beings in need of a Savior. I’m more aware of my own selfishness.

So do you want to pursue discomfort with me?

Ask the Lord to shake you up a bit, to make you extra receptive to the Spirit’s nudgings. He may direct you to talk—really talk—to a person holding a “will work for food” sign. Or engage a visiting Jehovah’s Witness in conversation and ask, kindly, who they think Christ really is. Or volunteer at a soup kitchen. Or consider a truly sacrificial gift. Or even simply learn the name of your regular grocery store clerk or barista and write him/her a note of encouragement.

I don’t know how the Holy Spirit will direct you.

I don’t know how He will use it in the grander scheme of your life.

But I do know that He will.