Yesterday morning I sat in the hot tub on our back deck with my six year old son Jack. When you are six years old and less than four feet tall, the hot tub is the place to be. It's your own personal swimming pool. He climbed up onto my lap and snuggled up close. It was just the two of us. It was quiet. I decided to listen to whatever he had to say. The time is fleeting, and I know that in a year or two the stories he tells will not be nearly as entertaining or imaginative. Right now, they make me laugh. So, I listen.
He talked about absolutely nothing, nothing that would be important to you and me, but it was important to him. I heard about a tree cutting expedition in the woods behind our house, how he and daddy had cut a tree down and made a stump. With loud yells and arms flapping around, he told me how daddy had yelled, "Move! Move!" and that the tree had fallen down to the ground. "You can't see it," he said, "It's in the woods." Cutting a tree down was spectacular stuff to a boy who had never been part of such an exciting event.
I decided in that moment that listening to Jack's story was probably going to be the best thing I had done all day, and it was. From the outside looking in, it may have seemed as though I was wasting time. There were definitely lots of other "productive" things that I could have been doing ---laundry, dishes, picking up toys, all the things that mothers do a hundred times a day. I could have even been doing tasks that made me look or feel more spiritual, things that people in my life might look at, and they would be impressed. Wow. I do that all.the.time.. In a world where more is more, even in the church, how do we weed out the important stuff from the stuff that becomes distracting busyness?
Busyness---lively but meaningless activity.
I thought about the Children of Israel marching around Jericho ( Joshua 6 ) for seven days. I imagine the Israelites must have been pretty busy people, between taking care of their families and their religious obligations. (This is starting to sound very familiar.). There may have even been some complaining going on in the camp. "Why do I have to walk around the wall? I have laundry to do,
and I have to drag all these kids along with me. Why can't the priest and soldiers do it on their own?" The overtly religious probably sounded more like this, " Tomorrow is not a good day for me. I need time to make a sacrifice. Everyone is going to think I don't love God if I don't get to that sacrifice." The soldiers, more than likely, had their own opinions, too. "Is this what I've been training for, to walk around a wall? I want to do some real fighting."
Lucky for them, they listened to Joshua and did what God told them to do. They shut it down and got behind the Ark and simply walked. They weren't involved in "works", those things that make us feel good about ourselves and make others to feels good about us, too. As a matter of fact, what they were doing looked somewhat like idleness and made absolutely no sense to the people of Jericho. They didn't even bother to attack the Israelites as far as we know. Walking around Jericho didn't seem logical or impressive to those who were spectators. All the children of Israel knew was that they
were following God, both by faith and in a real literal sense. They were walking behind the Ark of the Covenant.
In the end, it was simple obedience and the hand of a mighty God that brought victory to the Isrealites. It was about Him, not the Israelites or what others perceived about the Israelites. In this case, they were able to see clearly what was most important and to lay aside all other busyness (including talking) to make an eternal impact on the world. How do we do the same?
1. Decide. Does it really have to be done? Sometimes our immediate answer to this is, "Yes." Our emotions tell us that things that aren't really that important are important. Stop. Take a breath, and logically think through what will really happen if you don't get that one thing checked off your list. Usually, unless it's something like paying the late electric bill, it will simply be there for you to do tomorrow. The opportunity to invest in someone may not be there tomorrow. We can only count on the present when it comes to the people around us.
2. Are you at peace with what you are doing? As children of God we have the Holy Spirit to guide
us and convict us. If we are getting that internal static every time we do a certain activity, we should probably look at it more closely to judge if it is inconsequential to the Kingdom and making us too busy to hear the Father. We can have a range of emotions about many things we do. Don't get me started on motherhood, but at the end of the day, there should be peace about what we are doing.
3. Does it have lasting value? There are some things that simply must be done, but priorities can be made by this question. We can decide what can wait a little longer and what should be carved out, seized, or sought after. Jesus does not care nearly as much about whether we have a clean floor or a large bank account as He does as to what we have done to bring honor to His name.
4. What are our motives? We know Jesus is about the eternal, but He is also about the internal. We need to ask ourselves why we are making the choices we are making with our time. There is always something going on internally when we choose to engage in any activity. So, are we doing it for the right reason, or are we secretly struggling with worry about not looking like a "good" Christian? Are
we teaching that Sunday School Class because we felt pressured into it? Do we, on some level, feel that we will gain favor with God if we just do enough? Does it build our ego up if someone is bragging on us? Our motivations can be telling.
Separating our deeds into a keep pile or a throw away pile can be difficult. It can take a little (or a whole lot) of bravery. It can mean that we risk being misunderstood by a world that doesn't seem to have the ability to slow down. However, it can also transform us from being busy for the Father into being beneficial for the Father.
Oh, by the way, one more thing about Jericho, Jericho is the city where Zacchaeus the tax collector sought out Jesus and where Jesus chose Zacchaeus. Guess what Zacchaeus was doing when he
encountered Jesus ? Just sitting in a Sycamore tree.
Theemommy
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Sunday, April 6, 2014
The Blessings of Losing Big
Spring is hard. It used to be my favorite times of the year. I have high hopes that my love for the season will eventually return. But for now, new beginnings are difficult; especially, when it comes every year. How do you celebrate a clean start when the start will always be impossibly different? How do you look forward to all the fun adventures that the warm months will bring when one of your adventurers, whom also was the biggest adventurer of all, will not be returning? How do you embrace the newness of life, when no matter how gloriously full the cup is filled, it will always be a little empty?
This Spring, I am counting my blessings. No matter how unorthodox it may seem, there are blessings that come along with saying goodbye, too early, to a child. We don't stumble into them. We don't receive them by relying on ourselves, and they do not appear quickly. It can be a hard fight to get to the blessing, a long road filled with tears, doubts, and lots of "why's". Thankfully, the battle is not ours to fight, and somewhere in the process, we realize that the battle was taken care of some two thousand years ago on a cross.
Not really a cross, but THE cross...it was the Cross of Calvary that settled the victory over the grave. It is the cross that levels every death into two questions. "How will this death change me into looking more like Christ?" Maybe, it would be better said this way, "How much of myself will disappear so that Christ may make an appearance that will impact eternity?" The second question, two questions in one, is "Will I see my child again, and who will I bring along with me?"
Death does that. It simplifies the questions of life. It forces us to realize that we don't go around, under, or behind it. We must walk straight through it. That makes every question that has nothing to do with the eternal unnecessary and completely irrelevant. It is when we start to answer these questions in our grief walk that the blessings start to poke their heads up out of a stream of grief that sometimes seems to be waste deep.
My list, The Blessings of Losing Big:
1. Fear of the unknown is whittled down to next to nothing, and often times, it is completely gone. I say "whittled", but truly for me, it was more like a hammer smashing down on all my fear and anxiety. It dissipated the second I realized my boy had left this world. Worrying about the temporal had a hold on me, and I mean a good hold on me. My thinking changed. First, whose opinion of me matters? No one's, short of Jesus. In the end, it will be the Father and me. If He loves me, why would I seek the approval of others? Secondly, the rejection of others could never compare to the emptiness and loss I felt from losing Miles. If it can't get any worse ( and I don't think it gets any worse than losing your child), why not get on with it, get over ourselves, and serve Jesus with the ability He's given us? What if we fail? What if someone doesn't like it? It doesn't matter. What matters is that someone can get a glimpse....no, a full on picture...of Christ because we've chosen to put ourselves in the backseat.
2. The cross has a new meaning. This occurs to me every so often when I'm worshipping. I used to sing the words to songs about Christ having victory or about His goodness, and I got them on an intellectual level. I could take you to a scripture that would point out that God was good. I could have a debate with you about why God was good, but I'm not sure it traveled past my brain and into my heart. It was cool that Jesus took away my sins and someday I would go to Heaven, but there wasn't a real personal value attached to the belief.
Now, there is. The cross means I will see my boy again. The cross means that no matter how crummy this life gets, it's not the end. The cross means that Jesus loves me and cares about my loss. He made a way for us to be together again. The cross means everything to my survival.
3. I have seen the power of the church of Jesus Christ. I have been loved in an incredible way. "I have been loved." How many people leave this world and can never say those words? I could, can, say them again and again and again. I would never have experienced such love without an extreme tragedy. Being loved by my brothers and sisters in Christ renewed my hope in people and reaffirmed the value that others attached to me. It is good to be loved. It challenges me to love in a radical way so that others may see Christ. In other words, I want to return the favor.
4. Healing. Yes, I said healing. When we face a problem that we cannot white knuckle, ignore, or smile away, we have to get help, and get help in a hurry. By the grace of God, I made that decision. It's funny how God always works in opposites. We think healing brings healing, but healing doesn't force us to face our demons or that baggage we've been dragging around for thirty years. Mine had gotten so easy to carry I think it must have had wheels.
It took a few years, but I found freedom. I threw that baggage right back into the pits of hell where it came from. I hope that one day I'll be able to tell Miles how I found freedom despite of the foolish choice that he made, that God worked it all out. Then again, there's a really big possibility that the trials of this life won't matter in the light of eternity. What I do know is God brought purpose out of Miles' death because his death meant something to Him, too. Nothing goes unseen from the hand of God.
5. I tried it, and I liked it. (As Jack says about everything he eats.). I think that parents who bury their children are special. They get a special treatment from the Father. I have seen the character of God in a way that other believers will never experience, or that they are afraid to experience because it would require great heartache. How do we know the greatness of God if we do not test the Word of God? How do we know every promise is true if we never get the opportunity to live and breathe the words of the Father? We can't. We can have head knowledge, but it is the heart knowledge that propels us into full abandon for Christ. Once we taste His goodness, the possibility of turning back shrinks into nothingness.
How do I know He is good? I got out of bed this morning. I laughed. I could breathe without it hurting the way it did in the early days of losing Miles. I have hope for the future. I was allowed and empowered to love again. Not an easy love, but I was allowed to love the unloved, an orphan. I hear my children laugh. Neither were laughing three years ago. God is good ALL THE TIME.
6. My purpose is clear, and my goal is in sight. I have a temporal connection to an eternal world. My boy is waiting for me, and sometimes, I'm almost certain he is cheering me on. There is no love like the love of a parent for their child. We know this by the Father's love. I will get to Miles. Not getting to him is not an option. It drives me to the Gates. It keeps my focus on forever in a way that nothing else could accomplish.
I used to say that I wanted to see Miles first of all, but the truth, of late, is that I want to see Jesus first of all. I want to thank Him for making it all possible, and then, I want to worship with my family, whole, complete.....no more saying goodbye...no more filled cups with a little missing. Everything will be complete, the way it was intended to be from the beginning.
My list could keep going. There are lists within the list. There are blessings in losing big. Why? Because, as you can see, each trial and blessing points back to our Creator. In our heartache, we are doing what we were created to do, glorify Him. Because He is worthy of being glorified, He promises that the process will bless us, make us more like Him, and the cycle continues, over and over and over again. Each time, we're drawn closer and closer to Him, and each time, He is lifted higher and higher.
That, my friend, is the blessing of losing big.
This Spring, I am counting my blessings. No matter how unorthodox it may seem, there are blessings that come along with saying goodbye, too early, to a child. We don't stumble into them. We don't receive them by relying on ourselves, and they do not appear quickly. It can be a hard fight to get to the blessing, a long road filled with tears, doubts, and lots of "why's". Thankfully, the battle is not ours to fight, and somewhere in the process, we realize that the battle was taken care of some two thousand years ago on a cross.
Not really a cross, but THE cross...it was the Cross of Calvary that settled the victory over the grave. It is the cross that levels every death into two questions. "How will this death change me into looking more like Christ?" Maybe, it would be better said this way, "How much of myself will disappear so that Christ may make an appearance that will impact eternity?" The second question, two questions in one, is "Will I see my child again, and who will I bring along with me?"
Death does that. It simplifies the questions of life. It forces us to realize that we don't go around, under, or behind it. We must walk straight through it. That makes every question that has nothing to do with the eternal unnecessary and completely irrelevant. It is when we start to answer these questions in our grief walk that the blessings start to poke their heads up out of a stream of grief that sometimes seems to be waste deep.
My list, The Blessings of Losing Big:
1. Fear of the unknown is whittled down to next to nothing, and often times, it is completely gone. I say "whittled", but truly for me, it was more like a hammer smashing down on all my fear and anxiety. It dissipated the second I realized my boy had left this world. Worrying about the temporal had a hold on me, and I mean a good hold on me. My thinking changed. First, whose opinion of me matters? No one's, short of Jesus. In the end, it will be the Father and me. If He loves me, why would I seek the approval of others? Secondly, the rejection of others could never compare to the emptiness and loss I felt from losing Miles. If it can't get any worse ( and I don't think it gets any worse than losing your child), why not get on with it, get over ourselves, and serve Jesus with the ability He's given us? What if we fail? What if someone doesn't like it? It doesn't matter. What matters is that someone can get a glimpse....no, a full on picture...of Christ because we've chosen to put ourselves in the backseat.
2. The cross has a new meaning. This occurs to me every so often when I'm worshipping. I used to sing the words to songs about Christ having victory or about His goodness, and I got them on an intellectual level. I could take you to a scripture that would point out that God was good. I could have a debate with you about why God was good, but I'm not sure it traveled past my brain and into my heart. It was cool that Jesus took away my sins and someday I would go to Heaven, but there wasn't a real personal value attached to the belief.
Now, there is. The cross means I will see my boy again. The cross means that no matter how crummy this life gets, it's not the end. The cross means that Jesus loves me and cares about my loss. He made a way for us to be together again. The cross means everything to my survival.
3. I have seen the power of the church of Jesus Christ. I have been loved in an incredible way. "I have been loved." How many people leave this world and can never say those words? I could, can, say them again and again and again. I would never have experienced such love without an extreme tragedy. Being loved by my brothers and sisters in Christ renewed my hope in people and reaffirmed the value that others attached to me. It is good to be loved. It challenges me to love in a radical way so that others may see Christ. In other words, I want to return the favor.
4. Healing. Yes, I said healing. When we face a problem that we cannot white knuckle, ignore, or smile away, we have to get help, and get help in a hurry. By the grace of God, I made that decision. It's funny how God always works in opposites. We think healing brings healing, but healing doesn't force us to face our demons or that baggage we've been dragging around for thirty years. Mine had gotten so easy to carry I think it must have had wheels.
It took a few years, but I found freedom. I threw that baggage right back into the pits of hell where it came from. I hope that one day I'll be able to tell Miles how I found freedom despite of the foolish choice that he made, that God worked it all out. Then again, there's a really big possibility that the trials of this life won't matter in the light of eternity. What I do know is God brought purpose out of Miles' death because his death meant something to Him, too. Nothing goes unseen from the hand of God.
5. I tried it, and I liked it. (As Jack says about everything he eats.). I think that parents who bury their children are special. They get a special treatment from the Father. I have seen the character of God in a way that other believers will never experience, or that they are afraid to experience because it would require great heartache. How do we know the greatness of God if we do not test the Word of God? How do we know every promise is true if we never get the opportunity to live and breathe the words of the Father? We can't. We can have head knowledge, but it is the heart knowledge that propels us into full abandon for Christ. Once we taste His goodness, the possibility of turning back shrinks into nothingness.
How do I know He is good? I got out of bed this morning. I laughed. I could breathe without it hurting the way it did in the early days of losing Miles. I have hope for the future. I was allowed and empowered to love again. Not an easy love, but I was allowed to love the unloved, an orphan. I hear my children laugh. Neither were laughing three years ago. God is good ALL THE TIME.
6. My purpose is clear, and my goal is in sight. I have a temporal connection to an eternal world. My boy is waiting for me, and sometimes, I'm almost certain he is cheering me on. There is no love like the love of a parent for their child. We know this by the Father's love. I will get to Miles. Not getting to him is not an option. It drives me to the Gates. It keeps my focus on forever in a way that nothing else could accomplish.
I used to say that I wanted to see Miles first of all, but the truth, of late, is that I want to see Jesus first of all. I want to thank Him for making it all possible, and then, I want to worship with my family, whole, complete.....no more saying goodbye...no more filled cups with a little missing. Everything will be complete, the way it was intended to be from the beginning.
My list could keep going. There are lists within the list. There are blessings in losing big. Why? Because, as you can see, each trial and blessing points back to our Creator. In our heartache, we are doing what we were created to do, glorify Him. Because He is worthy of being glorified, He promises that the process will bless us, make us more like Him, and the cycle continues, over and over and over again. Each time, we're drawn closer and closer to Him, and each time, He is lifted higher and higher.
That, my friend, is the blessing of losing big.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Tuesdays
It was not my plan to spend my Sunday afternoon at the computer. It was not my plan to write another blog beyond the summer. Life is busy and time precious. My plan was a nice long Sunday afternoon nap. As I lie there, I could here the call, Get up....get up. Put it down on paper. So, here I am, Sunday afternoon, my blue earplugs in my ears ( Remember, I'm the mommy. ), and my iPad in my lap.
Usually, by the time I get this far into the process, I have a plan, a notion of how to get from point A to point B in a fairly easy to follow, concise sort of way. I will tell a story or have scripture in mind. Sometimes, I've researched for a good long bit. That's not the case, today. Today, my mind is on doing the hard things, those things that can't be done without Christ.
My mind is on the third anniversary of the death of my eldest son. It's coming Tuesday. I know this because I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. It's the familiar ache, the one I felt on that first day. As of late, I can see the images, think the thoughts, hear the sounds, and feel the unrelenting emptiness of losing the flesh of my flesh, the one that I grew inside of my womb and that I pushed out into this world. He is the one who greeted me with big, warm brown eyes on that first birthday, the same ones that grew dull and empty on the day that he left us.
Tuesday is coming. Tuesday is coming for us all. We will all have days that transcend human reason, human strength, human fairness. There will be days that leave us gutted, lying and bleeding, fighting for breath. There will be days when breath seems a bother. There will be days when all the eggs in our basket lie shattered at our feet as we frantically try to piece them back together, rewind time, wish it had never happened, fail to make the connection in our minds of clay that this will never be what it once was.
What do we do with our Tuesdays? Not the first or the second ones, but when they start to come year after year. The first years, they are meant for grief, but after that. What do we do with those days that start to hold us captive, the anniversaries, the birthdays? What do we do when we start to hear Christ calling us to freedom from our Tuesdays? I hear Him calling....I want to be free.
I will trust Him. I will remember His promises, but, at this moment, not without a shaky resolve. Today, I feel as though I am standing on the edge of an abyss, waiting to furl myself into the darkness, with the hope that I will feel His arms gather around me as I answer His call. Freedom can be found in the arms of my Father. I know because I have been there many times.
As Tuesday comes, I want to dare to be as Christ in my thinking. I want to dare to celebrate Tuesday, to see from Eternity's point of view. I want to dare to be unselfish, to give my child, with open hands, to the King. I want to dare to be happy, on my Tuesday, because Jesus paid our sin debt and there is hope in the cross.
As Tuesday comes, I want to be about my Father's business, an impossibility within my own strength. I want to love my family, my friends, my students. I want to be faithful. I do not want to come down off my Nehemiah's wall. Fatigue grips me at the thought of loving anyone besides myself on my Tuesday. It will be the Holy Spirit who will need to do this improbable work. I cannot.
My mind is on doing the hard things. My mind is on Christ. Tuesdays are the days that go far beyond anything that we could ever repair. They are the days that our Father sets aside to reflect His glory, the days when we can only point to Him between our labored breath and whisper, It is He, not I. May I point to Jesus on my Tuesday. May you point to Jesus on your Tuesday. May we whisper His name to a lost and hurting world. May we point them to the cross of Calvary.
Usually, by the time I get this far into the process, I have a plan, a notion of how to get from point A to point B in a fairly easy to follow, concise sort of way. I will tell a story or have scripture in mind. Sometimes, I've researched for a good long bit. That's not the case, today. Today, my mind is on doing the hard things, those things that can't be done without Christ.
My mind is on the third anniversary of the death of my eldest son. It's coming Tuesday. I know this because I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. It's the familiar ache, the one I felt on that first day. As of late, I can see the images, think the thoughts, hear the sounds, and feel the unrelenting emptiness of losing the flesh of my flesh, the one that I grew inside of my womb and that I pushed out into this world. He is the one who greeted me with big, warm brown eyes on that first birthday, the same ones that grew dull and empty on the day that he left us.
Tuesday is coming. Tuesday is coming for us all. We will all have days that transcend human reason, human strength, human fairness. There will be days that leave us gutted, lying and bleeding, fighting for breath. There will be days when breath seems a bother. There will be days when all the eggs in our basket lie shattered at our feet as we frantically try to piece them back together, rewind time, wish it had never happened, fail to make the connection in our minds of clay that this will never be what it once was.
What do we do with our Tuesdays? Not the first or the second ones, but when they start to come year after year. The first years, they are meant for grief, but after that. What do we do with those days that start to hold us captive, the anniversaries, the birthdays? What do we do when we start to hear Christ calling us to freedom from our Tuesdays? I hear Him calling....I want to be free.
I will trust Him. I will remember His promises, but, at this moment, not without a shaky resolve. Today, I feel as though I am standing on the edge of an abyss, waiting to furl myself into the darkness, with the hope that I will feel His arms gather around me as I answer His call. Freedom can be found in the arms of my Father. I know because I have been there many times.
As Tuesday comes, I want to dare to be as Christ in my thinking. I want to dare to celebrate Tuesday, to see from Eternity's point of view. I want to dare to be unselfish, to give my child, with open hands, to the King. I want to dare to be happy, on my Tuesday, because Jesus paid our sin debt and there is hope in the cross.
As Tuesday comes, I want to be about my Father's business, an impossibility within my own strength. I want to love my family, my friends, my students. I want to be faithful. I do not want to come down off my Nehemiah's wall. Fatigue grips me at the thought of loving anyone besides myself on my Tuesday. It will be the Holy Spirit who will need to do this improbable work. I cannot.
My mind is on doing the hard things. My mind is on Christ. Tuesdays are the days that go far beyond anything that we could ever repair. They are the days that our Father sets aside to reflect His glory, the days when we can only point to Him between our labored breath and whisper, It is He, not I. May I point to Jesus on my Tuesday. May you point to Jesus on your Tuesday. May we whisper His name to a lost and hurting world. May we point them to the cross of Calvary.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Catching Coons
It's unusual that a passage from a children's book would get the attention of this teacher in the middle of a regular school day, but it happened. It spoke to me in such a way that five months later I am writing about it. The words on the page jumped right out of the book and seared my unexpecting heart. It was a precursor to a summer of many hard learned, must need lessons.
From Where the Red Fern Grows, Grandpa is giving instructions to Billy on building a raccoon trap:
"Now you do everything exactly as I tell you," he said,"and you'll catch that coon."
"Yes, sir, Grandpa," I said, " I will. I'll do anything to catch one of them."
"Now the first thing you'll need is some bright objects," he said. "The best thing is bright shiny tin. Cut out some little round pieces, a little smaller than this bit. Do you understand?"
I nodded my head.
"Now," he said, "you go down along the river where there are a lot of coon tracks. Find a good solid log close by and bore a hole down about six inches. Drop one of the bright pieces of tin down in the hole, and be sure it's laying right on the bottom."
I was all ears, I didn't want to miss one word my grandfather said. Now and then I would
glance at him to see if he was kidding me.
In a serious voice, he went on talking. "Now pay close attention," he said, " because this is the main part of the trap."
With eyes as big as a hoot owl's, I looked and listened.
He took four of the horseshoe nails from the sack. With the thumb and forefinger of his left hand he made a small "o" about the size of the bit, which was an inch and half in diameter.
"Now we'll say this is the hole you bored in the log," he said. " About an inch apart, drive these nails in on a slant opposite each other."
Holding one of the nails in his right hand, he showed me the right angle.
"The ends of the nail will enter the hole about halfway between the top and the piece of tin, " he continued. "Leave an opening big enough for a coon to get his paw through." ..........
" How is that going to catch a coon, Grandpa?" I asked.
"It'll catch him all right," he said, " and it won't fail. You see a coon is a curious little animal. Anything that is bright and shiny will attract him. He will reach in and pick it up. When his paw closes on the bright object it balls up, and when he starts to pull it from the hole, the sharp ends of the nails will gouge into his paw and he's caught."........
It was all looking pretty good to me and I was on point of saying so, when it hit me. Why all the coon had to do was open his paw, drop the object, and he was free.
I stepped back and almost cried as I said, " Grandpa, you're kidding me. That kind of trap couldn't catch a coon. Why all he'd have to do is open his paw, drop the piece of tin, and he could pull it from the hole."........
" I just wanted to see if you we're smart enough to see there was a way for the coon to free himself.".......
" When I was a boy I had a pet coon. By watching him, I saw and learned a lot of things.".......
" My mother had an old churn. It was one of those kind with a small hole in the lid for the dasher. When she would get through churning, she would take the dasher out to wash it. That crazy coon would climb up to the top of the churn, poke his little front paw through the hole, and get a fistful of butter. The hole was small, and when he closed his paw, he couldn't get it back out. All he had to do was open it, drop the butter, and he would be free, but do you think he would? No, sir. He would carry that churn lid all over the house, squalling and growling. Why, it took everyone in the house to free him. I'd have to wrap him up in a gunny sack or an old coat and pry his claws loose from the butter. Seeing this time after time is what gave me the idea for this trap. Once he reaches in and gets hold of that tin, he's caught, because he will never open his paw."
The Word says we are like sheep. I'm convinced that we are a lot like coons, too. Year after year,
I drag my churn around, squalling and growling, because I refuse to open my fist and let go. It is
such a simple act, opening our hands. But, we stiffen our neck and tighten our grip.. Everyone we know can try to pry our hands loose, but it takes the harshness of God's gunny sack to free us. We, I, listen to the father of lies rather than the truth of the Word and hold on for dear life. Rather it be the easy way or the hard way, our hands must be pried away from the butter. We are coons to the core.
John 8:31-36 reads: So Jesus was saying to those Jews who had believed Him, " If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free." They answered Him, " We are Abraham's descendants and have never yet been enslaved to anyone; how is it that you say, ' You will become free'?" Jesus answered them, " Truly, truly, I say to you, everyone who commits sin is the slave to sin. The slave does not remain in the [God's] house
forever, the son does remain forever. So, if the son makes you free, you will be free indeed."
Christ makes it clear how we become trapped like the coon with his hand in the butter churn. Simply stated, it's sin. We could all immediately list off our vices, our pieces of shiny tin. I have mine. You have yours. That said, what about someone else's sin? Does it have you trapped by your own sin of unforgiveness? How often do we think to ourselves, That hurt, and I'm not letting it go because I won't let it happen, again. I'm not going to talk about it, look at it, or think about it. I'll stiffen my upper lip, pick up, and move on. I'm going to just forget about it.
I love what Wesley writes about the Jews in this passage. They state, " [We] have never yet been enslaved...." Wesley points out that at that very moment they were enslaved by the Romans. They had spent so much time enslaved that they had forgotten what it was to be free. These Jews were a bit delusional! Crazy, right? Oh, but ladies, how long have we carried around that hurt and unforgiveness, day after day, until we believe we are free when we are still in bondage? It becomes easier to lie to ourselves than to forgive, to dare to believe there is something better beyond the hurt. We are going to hold that person accountable for what they have done to us. All the while, we are dying inside. It takes root and becomes part of our marrow, festering and poisoning. It is only the Spirit of God who can free us and the confession of that unforgiving spirit, laying our heart on the
altar of God.
John 8:31 says...."If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you [spiritual liberty] free." Christ promises to free us. No where in the passage does it state, You will be immediately freed. The Word of God says, if you continue. It's a process. It is not a process marked by perfection. As believers, we face the struggle against our flesh, daily. However, our life should be marked by a continuous desire to serve the One who first loved us. MacArthur states, Real disciples are both learners ( love that!) and faithful followers. If we follow Christ and learn the lessons he sets before us, we are promised freedom
Christ is calling us into freedom. Is it always an easy path? No. Sometimes, we're like the Jews of Jesus' day. We have been in bondage for so long, we are so upside down, we don't even know we are a slave to someone else's sins. It takes the gunny sack to get our attention. But Christ, but Christ, but Christ, promises us freedom on the other side of the hurt....if only we'll open up our hand. We can give him the hurt, and the anger, and the fear, and the disappointments. He wants his children to be free, and if I don't know anything else, I know I don't want my hand in that old butter churn for one more day.
From Where the Red Fern Grows, Grandpa is giving instructions to Billy on building a raccoon trap:
"Now you do everything exactly as I tell you," he said,"and you'll catch that coon."
"Yes, sir, Grandpa," I said, " I will. I'll do anything to catch one of them."
"Now the first thing you'll need is some bright objects," he said. "The best thing is bright shiny tin. Cut out some little round pieces, a little smaller than this bit. Do you understand?"
I nodded my head.
"Now," he said, "you go down along the river where there are a lot of coon tracks. Find a good solid log close by and bore a hole down about six inches. Drop one of the bright pieces of tin down in the hole, and be sure it's laying right on the bottom."
I was all ears, I didn't want to miss one word my grandfather said. Now and then I would
glance at him to see if he was kidding me.
In a serious voice, he went on talking. "Now pay close attention," he said, " because this is the main part of the trap."
With eyes as big as a hoot owl's, I looked and listened.
He took four of the horseshoe nails from the sack. With the thumb and forefinger of his left hand he made a small "o" about the size of the bit, which was an inch and half in diameter.
"Now we'll say this is the hole you bored in the log," he said. " About an inch apart, drive these nails in on a slant opposite each other."
Holding one of the nails in his right hand, he showed me the right angle.
"The ends of the nail will enter the hole about halfway between the top and the piece of tin, " he continued. "Leave an opening big enough for a coon to get his paw through." ..........
" How is that going to catch a coon, Grandpa?" I asked.
"It'll catch him all right," he said, " and it won't fail. You see a coon is a curious little animal. Anything that is bright and shiny will attract him. He will reach in and pick it up. When his paw closes on the bright object it balls up, and when he starts to pull it from the hole, the sharp ends of the nails will gouge into his paw and he's caught."........
It was all looking pretty good to me and I was on point of saying so, when it hit me. Why all the coon had to do was open his paw, drop the object, and he was free.
I stepped back and almost cried as I said, " Grandpa, you're kidding me. That kind of trap couldn't catch a coon. Why all he'd have to do is open his paw, drop the piece of tin, and he could pull it from the hole."........
" I just wanted to see if you we're smart enough to see there was a way for the coon to free himself.".......
" When I was a boy I had a pet coon. By watching him, I saw and learned a lot of things.".......
" My mother had an old churn. It was one of those kind with a small hole in the lid for the dasher. When she would get through churning, she would take the dasher out to wash it. That crazy coon would climb up to the top of the churn, poke his little front paw through the hole, and get a fistful of butter. The hole was small, and when he closed his paw, he couldn't get it back out. All he had to do was open it, drop the butter, and he would be free, but do you think he would? No, sir. He would carry that churn lid all over the house, squalling and growling. Why, it took everyone in the house to free him. I'd have to wrap him up in a gunny sack or an old coat and pry his claws loose from the butter. Seeing this time after time is what gave me the idea for this trap. Once he reaches in and gets hold of that tin, he's caught, because he will never open his paw."
The Word says we are like sheep. I'm convinced that we are a lot like coons, too. Year after year,
I drag my churn around, squalling and growling, because I refuse to open my fist and let go. It is
such a simple act, opening our hands. But, we stiffen our neck and tighten our grip.. Everyone we know can try to pry our hands loose, but it takes the harshness of God's gunny sack to free us. We, I, listen to the father of lies rather than the truth of the Word and hold on for dear life. Rather it be the easy way or the hard way, our hands must be pried away from the butter. We are coons to the core.
John 8:31-36 reads: So Jesus was saying to those Jews who had believed Him, " If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free." They answered Him, " We are Abraham's descendants and have never yet been enslaved to anyone; how is it that you say, ' You will become free'?" Jesus answered them, " Truly, truly, I say to you, everyone who commits sin is the slave to sin. The slave does not remain in the [God's] house
forever, the son does remain forever. So, if the son makes you free, you will be free indeed."
Christ makes it clear how we become trapped like the coon with his hand in the butter churn. Simply stated, it's sin. We could all immediately list off our vices, our pieces of shiny tin. I have mine. You have yours. That said, what about someone else's sin? Does it have you trapped by your own sin of unforgiveness? How often do we think to ourselves, That hurt, and I'm not letting it go because I won't let it happen, again. I'm not going to talk about it, look at it, or think about it. I'll stiffen my upper lip, pick up, and move on. I'm going to just forget about it.
I love what Wesley writes about the Jews in this passage. They state, " [We] have never yet been enslaved...." Wesley points out that at that very moment they were enslaved by the Romans. They had spent so much time enslaved that they had forgotten what it was to be free. These Jews were a bit delusional! Crazy, right? Oh, but ladies, how long have we carried around that hurt and unforgiveness, day after day, until we believe we are free when we are still in bondage? It becomes easier to lie to ourselves than to forgive, to dare to believe there is something better beyond the hurt. We are going to hold that person accountable for what they have done to us. All the while, we are dying inside. It takes root and becomes part of our marrow, festering and poisoning. It is only the Spirit of God who can free us and the confession of that unforgiving spirit, laying our heart on the
altar of God.
John 8:31 says...."If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you [spiritual liberty] free." Christ promises to free us. No where in the passage does it state, You will be immediately freed. The Word of God says, if you continue. It's a process. It is not a process marked by perfection. As believers, we face the struggle against our flesh, daily. However, our life should be marked by a continuous desire to serve the One who first loved us. MacArthur states, Real disciples are both learners ( love that!) and faithful followers. If we follow Christ and learn the lessons he sets before us, we are promised freedom
Christ is calling us into freedom. Is it always an easy path? No. Sometimes, we're like the Jews of Jesus' day. We have been in bondage for so long, we are so upside down, we don't even know we are a slave to someone else's sins. It takes the gunny sack to get our attention. But Christ, but Christ, but Christ, promises us freedom on the other side of the hurt....if only we'll open up our hand. We can give him the hurt, and the anger, and the fear, and the disappointments. He wants his children to be free, and if I don't know anything else, I know I don't want my hand in that old butter churn for one more day.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Opportunity
My job can be discouraging. There's no other way to say it. I work in a title I school as a fifth grade teacher. As I look over my class each year, I am fully aware that some of my boys may not make it to the age of thirty. They will die at the hand of someone else's pride. My girls will become teenage mothers, stuck in a vicious cycle, unable to climb out of the hole they have gotten themselves into. These are not statements of acceptance. Chains and strongholds can be broken, but for now, it is the reality of many of my students.
I can only hope that I will be one of a multitude of pieces to a puzzle that will lead these students from a life with few choices to a life that is open to the largest of imaginations, the kind of life that seems unattainable on many days. I keep my fingers crossed that something I will say will stick. I pray that a child will grab hold of what is true about themselves and carry it into adulthood. However, all too often, those truths slip away in the undertow of a life that is focused on mere survival and a skewed identity.
But....every once in awhile, God reminds me that I am not the one at the helm, and I must stay the course that He has set before me. One of those reminders came, today. I was grocery shopping when I heard from behind me, "Excuse me, are you Mrs. Paxton?" I turned around and knew the face and name immediately. That's saying a lot. After ten years of teaching in some form or fashion, it's not always a given that I will remember a name. We'll just say he was one of those students that had an excellent way of making his presence known.
I can remember thinking to myself during his year with me, I don't know about this one. He's smart, but he sure likes to get into trouble. To be honest with you, it shocked me into almost being speechless that before me stood a respectful, well-spoken young man. It was obvious that there had been some changes in his life. It is my understanding that his mother worked more than one job to set this child up with opportunities that would be game changers. It's working. I walked away saying to myself, Yes! Yes! Yes! This one is going to make it!
We exchanged some conversation. He went his way. I went mine. As I walked away, I thought, What should I have really said to him? What did I really want to say to him? I wish I could have held him by the shoulders and said, "Do you realize the opportunity that your mother has given to you? Do you understand that you have hit one of life's lotteries? Take it and run as hard as you can with it! Even if what is happening around you is out of your comfort zone, embrace it. Learn from it. You are on your way to a prize!"
Oh, but what about myself? Spirit of God, convict me for forgetting the opportunities that Christ has laid before me; salvation, opened doors, relationships, talents, all of the graces of God and gifts of the Spirit. Do I squander these great gifts God has given me? I am redeemed by a God who has pulled me from the pit, and yet, I turn my back on Him when life becomes uncomfortable and unfamiliar. I consider myself lost and disoriented only because I spend far too much time walking my own path rather than finding myself on His path running, crawling, face down, prostrate before my Father, looking for a glorious ending. I fail to embrace and learn from each experience God has allowed to grace my life. I lose focus of the prize. I forget it's real.
The glorious ending, the prize, do I truly grasp the prize? I imagine Heaven. I hope there is a seashore and water that is pure and translucent, far beyond anything we have ever experienced in this fallen world. I imagine my children running up and down that seashore, waving their hands frantically over their heads, waving me home, yelling, "Mom, mom, we're here! We've been waiting!" Then, I want to wait there, just a little while, for the children that will come behind. Waiting to dance. Dance to a music that this fleshly body could never hear nor understand. I want to dance on the shores of Heaven with my babies....
But, what about this prize? It is far less about the beauties of Heaven and far more about those that we will bring along with us. Will I stand on the shore of Heaven to no avail? Waiting, waiting, waiting, only to realize that no one is coming, not my children, not my extended family, not my students, not my neighbors. Will I stand before Christ with empty hands because I neglected the opportunities that He has given to me or because I failed to learn the hard lessons? Will I stand on empty shores because I failed to show and invite others to the love of Christ, or worse, because I have acted as though Christ doesn't love me?
My friend Leslie shared this on Facebook a few days ago. I was reminded of it when I began writing this blog, today. It is from Anything, authored by Jennie Allen:
That night on the floor I told Him, " From this point on things are changing. I am living for the moment when I will face you. I want to get to Heaven out of breath, having willingly done anything
that you-God of the universe-ask......ANYTHING." I had a constant nagging feeling that God was
real and this life wasn't a game; it wasn't about my comfort or my curtains or how much everyone liked me or approved of me. Heaven was coming, God's voice was clear, and I needed to quit pretending that everything was just lovely.
I, too, want to get to Heaven breathless. I want to take God up on every opportunity He provides. I pray that all His grace provides will fall from my hands into the hands of those around me. I want those around me to know that I've hit Eternity's lottery and the abundance is to be shared. It never runs dry. I even want to learn the uncomfortable lessons, the ones that make me more like Christ. I want. I want. I want more then anything else in the whole wide world to dance on the shores of Heaven, and while I am dancing, to look across those translucent waters and see a familiar face, or two..
I can only hope that I will be one of a multitude of pieces to a puzzle that will lead these students from a life with few choices to a life that is open to the largest of imaginations, the kind of life that seems unattainable on many days. I keep my fingers crossed that something I will say will stick. I pray that a child will grab hold of what is true about themselves and carry it into adulthood. However, all too often, those truths slip away in the undertow of a life that is focused on mere survival and a skewed identity.
But....every once in awhile, God reminds me that I am not the one at the helm, and I must stay the course that He has set before me. One of those reminders came, today. I was grocery shopping when I heard from behind me, "Excuse me, are you Mrs. Paxton?" I turned around and knew the face and name immediately. That's saying a lot. After ten years of teaching in some form or fashion, it's not always a given that I will remember a name. We'll just say he was one of those students that had an excellent way of making his presence known.
I can remember thinking to myself during his year with me, I don't know about this one. He's smart, but he sure likes to get into trouble. To be honest with you, it shocked me into almost being speechless that before me stood a respectful, well-spoken young man. It was obvious that there had been some changes in his life. It is my understanding that his mother worked more than one job to set this child up with opportunities that would be game changers. It's working. I walked away saying to myself, Yes! Yes! Yes! This one is going to make it!
We exchanged some conversation. He went his way. I went mine. As I walked away, I thought, What should I have really said to him? What did I really want to say to him? I wish I could have held him by the shoulders and said, "Do you realize the opportunity that your mother has given to you? Do you understand that you have hit one of life's lotteries? Take it and run as hard as you can with it! Even if what is happening around you is out of your comfort zone, embrace it. Learn from it. You are on your way to a prize!"
Oh, but what about myself? Spirit of God, convict me for forgetting the opportunities that Christ has laid before me; salvation, opened doors, relationships, talents, all of the graces of God and gifts of the Spirit. Do I squander these great gifts God has given me? I am redeemed by a God who has pulled me from the pit, and yet, I turn my back on Him when life becomes uncomfortable and unfamiliar. I consider myself lost and disoriented only because I spend far too much time walking my own path rather than finding myself on His path running, crawling, face down, prostrate before my Father, looking for a glorious ending. I fail to embrace and learn from each experience God has allowed to grace my life. I lose focus of the prize. I forget it's real.
The glorious ending, the prize, do I truly grasp the prize? I imagine Heaven. I hope there is a seashore and water that is pure and translucent, far beyond anything we have ever experienced in this fallen world. I imagine my children running up and down that seashore, waving their hands frantically over their heads, waving me home, yelling, "Mom, mom, we're here! We've been waiting!" Then, I want to wait there, just a little while, for the children that will come behind. Waiting to dance. Dance to a music that this fleshly body could never hear nor understand. I want to dance on the shores of Heaven with my babies....
But, what about this prize? It is far less about the beauties of Heaven and far more about those that we will bring along with us. Will I stand on the shore of Heaven to no avail? Waiting, waiting, waiting, only to realize that no one is coming, not my children, not my extended family, not my students, not my neighbors. Will I stand before Christ with empty hands because I neglected the opportunities that He has given to me or because I failed to learn the hard lessons? Will I stand on empty shores because I failed to show and invite others to the love of Christ, or worse, because I have acted as though Christ doesn't love me?
My friend Leslie shared this on Facebook a few days ago. I was reminded of it when I began writing this blog, today. It is from Anything, authored by Jennie Allen:
That night on the floor I told Him, " From this point on things are changing. I am living for the moment when I will face you. I want to get to Heaven out of breath, having willingly done anything
that you-God of the universe-ask......ANYTHING." I had a constant nagging feeling that God was
real and this life wasn't a game; it wasn't about my comfort or my curtains or how much everyone liked me or approved of me. Heaven was coming, God's voice was clear, and I needed to quit pretending that everything was just lovely.
I, too, want to get to Heaven breathless. I want to take God up on every opportunity He provides. I pray that all His grace provides will fall from my hands into the hands of those around me. I want those around me to know that I've hit Eternity's lottery and the abundance is to be shared. It never runs dry. I even want to learn the uncomfortable lessons, the ones that make me more like Christ. I want. I want. I want more then anything else in the whole wide world to dance on the shores of Heaven, and while I am dancing, to look across those translucent waters and see a familiar face, or two..
Monday, July 22, 2013
Jumping the Gap
Getting a penny stuck in one's esophagus ( That's the one that goes to your stomach, not your lungs...no worries!) is not usually the time when one would expect to hear a great big, Are you paying attention to what I'm trying to teach you? from the Lord . Well, if you're the one with the penny stuck in your throat, it may be a good time to hear from the Lord, but if your that person's mother, you're thinking about more earthly things, such as: x-rays, IVs, tears, How am I supposed to keep this kid on a bed?, and I wonder how much this little escapade is going to cost me? However, that is exactly what happened to this mommy last week. In the midst of great chaos, God spoke quite loudly and vividly into my spirit and reminded me of His character and His purposes.
Jack Paxton, dubbed "Jack Knife" by a family friend, which I love because the child is an accident waiting to happen, got the most interesting idea I've heard of in a long, long time. Being only the mommy, I did not realize that chewing pennies would increase your muscle mass. Jack did. In his attempt to become the next Mr. Olympia, he ended up with a penny lodged in his throat. I'll spare you the details and only say that we found ourselves at the hospital for an overnight stay and surgery the following morning.
Before we go any further, I must tell you that my extremely creative and most intelligent son was a very sick orphan for the first four years of his life. From the information that we have gathered, Jack probably spent about half of those fours years hospitalized. As far as we know, there was never one constant person with him throughout those stays. It is fair to assume that he spent many days, nights, hours, weeks, and months alone. He developed such anxiety that he pulled out his hair in large patches and scratched his skin to the point of leaving open wounds. The hair has grown back and the scratching has decreased, but the emotional scars run deep down under the surface. There are certain situations that make those scars rear their ugly heads, and they show up kicking and screaming loud enough to get every one's attention. Thus was the case the night of our hospital stay.
One failed attempt at an IV would send any kid over the top, two without question. Finally, number three hit the target, and I had a child on my hands who was hysterically trying to remove his own IV. I had gone from being mommy to being the enemy, not once did he seek my comfort or call out my name. Trying to console him was impossible. He had learned to do that for himself. The emotional response that had been invoked from years of abandonment and a scenario that was all too familiar, left me with a kicking, screaming, untouchable boy.
By 2 am, six hours later, I was exasperated. In one last desperate attempt to soothe my child, I picked Jack up and held him close to me. I got what I expected, nearly beat to death by flailing hands and feet. Then, he did it, just at the very moment when I was about to let him go. He jumped the gap. The gap being the distance between what we feel and what is actually truth. He let go of his past and jumped into his future. He grabbed on to me and never let go. All night, he held on. I knew in that moment that something big had happened. He had chosen, despite his overwhelming emotions, to trust, just one more time. Our relationship changed.
The circumstances surrounding that evening were difficult, devastating to Jack, and overwhelming for me. Nothing about the exterior of the event changed that entire night, not before the jump, not after the jump. It was on the inside that changes were made. God was doing a work on the interior of an ex-orphan boy and his momma.
Romans 8:28-30 reads: 28.And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose. 29. For whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate (determine) to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brethren. 30. Moreover whom he did predestinate (determine to conform), them he also called: and whom he called, them he also justified: and whom he justified, them he also glorified.
I was curious about the word called in verse twenty-eight. I did some asking around and found out that this word is not a past tense verb, but an active present tense verb. There are future implications that result from answering the call of the Holy Spirit. That means that there is a process that is going to follow our initial calling or conversion. This process includes three promises from God. Through Christ we are justified, sanctified, and ultimately receive glorification, justification being reconciled with God through Christ's sacrifice, glorification happening after this life when we are made perfect in the likeness of our Savior.
It's that middle step that God spoke to me so loudly about in a hospital room with a broken child, the step of sanctification. Paul tells us in verse twenty nine that God has determined to conform us into the image of Christ, to reflect the Son. It will never be about our environment, our circumstance, all the things that pass away. It is always about the transformation on the inside. God is always about the eternal, those things that will last forever. His character is good. His purpose is to bring glory upon Himself by redeeming the saints through the process of the call. He wants us to look more and more like Him (sanctification) so that we may draw others to the cross and in the process, break our own binding chains.
What are the good things that Paul speaks of in verse twenty-eight? They're not a better job, more money, perfect children, or a textbook marriage. Those things may or may not get better. Looking at these things will only leave us discouraged. It's the promise that God is working all these circumstances, good or bad, to make us more like Christ. In other words, He wants to build us from the inside out. It doesn't get any better than that.
So, are we going to jump the gap the way that Jack did, terrified, feeling betrayed, hurting? Despite his very real emotions, he jumped with everything he had. Our Father is standing with His arms outstretched, calling to us, over and over, again, " Jump! Answer my call. I have a work to do within you." The most wonderful thing about the call, it never stops. We hear it every second, every minute, every hour, of every day. He never stops calling us to healing. He never stops calling us into becoming more and more like Himself. It is up to us to respond. Will we? Will we stand on the very edge of the gap, knees shaking, heart raising, letting go of our circumstances, and jump with all of our might, straight into the arms of our Savior? Will we allow Christ to do what He does best, change our heart for all eternity.
Jack Paxton, dubbed "Jack Knife" by a family friend, which I love because the child is an accident waiting to happen, got the most interesting idea I've heard of in a long, long time. Being only the mommy, I did not realize that chewing pennies would increase your muscle mass. Jack did. In his attempt to become the next Mr. Olympia, he ended up with a penny lodged in his throat. I'll spare you the details and only say that we found ourselves at the hospital for an overnight stay and surgery the following morning.
Before we go any further, I must tell you that my extremely creative and most intelligent son was a very sick orphan for the first four years of his life. From the information that we have gathered, Jack probably spent about half of those fours years hospitalized. As far as we know, there was never one constant person with him throughout those stays. It is fair to assume that he spent many days, nights, hours, weeks, and months alone. He developed such anxiety that he pulled out his hair in large patches and scratched his skin to the point of leaving open wounds. The hair has grown back and the scratching has decreased, but the emotional scars run deep down under the surface. There are certain situations that make those scars rear their ugly heads, and they show up kicking and screaming loud enough to get every one's attention. Thus was the case the night of our hospital stay.
One failed attempt at an IV would send any kid over the top, two without question. Finally, number three hit the target, and I had a child on my hands who was hysterically trying to remove his own IV. I had gone from being mommy to being the enemy, not once did he seek my comfort or call out my name. Trying to console him was impossible. He had learned to do that for himself. The emotional response that had been invoked from years of abandonment and a scenario that was all too familiar, left me with a kicking, screaming, untouchable boy.
By 2 am, six hours later, I was exasperated. In one last desperate attempt to soothe my child, I picked Jack up and held him close to me. I got what I expected, nearly beat to death by flailing hands and feet. Then, he did it, just at the very moment when I was about to let him go. He jumped the gap. The gap being the distance between what we feel and what is actually truth. He let go of his past and jumped into his future. He grabbed on to me and never let go. All night, he held on. I knew in that moment that something big had happened. He had chosen, despite his overwhelming emotions, to trust, just one more time. Our relationship changed.
The circumstances surrounding that evening were difficult, devastating to Jack, and overwhelming for me. Nothing about the exterior of the event changed that entire night, not before the jump, not after the jump. It was on the inside that changes were made. God was doing a work on the interior of an ex-orphan boy and his momma.
Romans 8:28-30 reads: 28.And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose. 29. For whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate (determine) to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brethren. 30. Moreover whom he did predestinate (determine to conform), them he also called: and whom he called, them he also justified: and whom he justified, them he also glorified.
I was curious about the word called in verse twenty-eight. I did some asking around and found out that this word is not a past tense verb, but an active present tense verb. There are future implications that result from answering the call of the Holy Spirit. That means that there is a process that is going to follow our initial calling or conversion. This process includes three promises from God. Through Christ we are justified, sanctified, and ultimately receive glorification, justification being reconciled with God through Christ's sacrifice, glorification happening after this life when we are made perfect in the likeness of our Savior.
It's that middle step that God spoke to me so loudly about in a hospital room with a broken child, the step of sanctification. Paul tells us in verse twenty nine that God has determined to conform us into the image of Christ, to reflect the Son. It will never be about our environment, our circumstance, all the things that pass away. It is always about the transformation on the inside. God is always about the eternal, those things that will last forever. His character is good. His purpose is to bring glory upon Himself by redeeming the saints through the process of the call. He wants us to look more and more like Him (sanctification) so that we may draw others to the cross and in the process, break our own binding chains.
What are the good things that Paul speaks of in verse twenty-eight? They're not a better job, more money, perfect children, or a textbook marriage. Those things may or may not get better. Looking at these things will only leave us discouraged. It's the promise that God is working all these circumstances, good or bad, to make us more like Christ. In other words, He wants to build us from the inside out. It doesn't get any better than that.
So, are we going to jump the gap the way that Jack did, terrified, feeling betrayed, hurting? Despite his very real emotions, he jumped with everything he had. Our Father is standing with His arms outstretched, calling to us, over and over, again, " Jump! Answer my call. I have a work to do within you." The most wonderful thing about the call, it never stops. We hear it every second, every minute, every hour, of every day. He never stops calling us to healing. He never stops calling us into becoming more and more like Himself. It is up to us to respond. Will we? Will we stand on the very edge of the gap, knees shaking, heart raising, letting go of our circumstances, and jump with all of our might, straight into the arms of our Savior? Will we allow Christ to do what He does best, change our heart for all eternity.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Unpacking
About a month ago, I made my way to our attic to the two forty gallon rubber tubs that hold the belongings of my son Miles. I used them to pack up his life possessions about six months after he died. They contain all the usual things that a boy would own: radio controlled cars, trophies, an alligator head, pocket knives, and so on. In one of the boxes, I found his most prized possession, his boots. They are not cowboy boots or rain boots but tactical boots, the kind his daddy wears to work everyday. His father is a police officer. Except, Miles' were brown. His daddy's were/are black. Anybody who knew Miles knows he loved his boots. Whether it be January or June, Miles had on his boots. It didn't even matter if they fit. He still wore them, rain or shine. We love Miles' boots because they are the essence of who he was, a rough, tumble some boy who loved the outdoors and didn't mind being a little different, and looking different meant he looked a little bit like his father.
I had taken the boots out to do a picture for my blog. To be honest, I loved that Miles' boots were once again lying around the house. So, I left them by our patio doors to look at as I passed in and out of the house. Miles would never believe how important those boots have become to the Paxton household.
One day as I was standing in my bathroom getting ready for the day, I heard, clump, clump, clump. I looked to my left and there was Jack standing proud as a peacock with his brother's boots on his feet. " Look, mommy. I have Miles' feet on." There he was, in all of his glory, with boots all the way up to his knee caps and a smile that covered the rest. It made this momma smile one of those deep down smiles that warms you from the inside out. He could not have been happier, mimicking his brother, and I could not have been happier watching him stumble around in those old boots.
One day as I was standing in my bathroom getting ready for the day, I heard, clump, clump, clump. I looked to my left and there was Jack standing proud as a peacock with his brother's boots on his feet. " Look, mommy. I have Miles' feet on." There he was, in all of his glory, with boots all the way up to his knee caps and a smile that covered the rest. It made this momma smile one of those deep down smiles that warms you from the inside out. He could not have been happier, mimicking his brother, and I could not have been happier watching him stumble around in those old boots.
Seeing Jack in his brother's boots gave me pause to think about how he could be so proud of something that belonged to a brother he has never met. Miles is real to Jack, or so, it seems. He is as real to him as rain. I started to think about how we have conveyed Miles to Jack. Why has it worked? What lesson could I learn from seeing him in those over sized boots? I began to wonder. Do we make Christ as real in our home? Do we make Him so real that my children want to reflect Him, that they long to be like Jesus? The answers were convicting.
Because Miles' life is so intertwined with the life of every member of our family, there is a natural outpouring of our heart that makes its way to our mouths and right to the ears of anyone who will listen. The conversation is not a list of Miles' attributes or a succinct description of who he was. It is a constant flow of remembrances based on how we each related to Miles. Our constant talk is of a relationship, not on the idea of a person.
Our home is filled with the remnants of Miles, the things that remain simply because of his presence. You will not get past the front door of our home without realizing that each of our children are incredibly special, as is in most homes. Pictures of Miles remain on the walls, bookcases, and tables. Home videos are stored in our computer. My top dresser drawer holds a hand written book. Because Miles' life mattered, we hold close to the things that are connected to him. They have become precious to us.
We made a choice when Jack came into our family that we would not take Miles out of our conversations. We could have waited until the "right time" and sat down and had a conversation with Jack about Miles, but we wanted Miles to be a part of Jack's normal. We wanted him to become woven into Jack's life in the same way that we all had to begin to knit ourselves together as a family. He has never known life without Miles.
All this to say, Have I done the same thing with Christ? Have I displayed the things of Christ to show to my children? Does He grace every nook and cranny of my home? Am I so involved with Him that I talk of what he has done for me, daily? Are there remnants of His presence that fill my home? Is He deeply woven into the fabric of my children's lives, them not knowing anything different? Have I made that choice?
When I weigh these questions, I realize I have some unpacking to do, just as I unpacked those old boots that so remind us of Miles. I need to put on display and love the things of Christ. There should be somethings in my home that make Christ real to my children. I have a Bible that needs to be opened, and a mouth that needs to talk of my Savior as my Father and Friend, hymnbooks that lie around and a song of thanksgiving that fills the air, church bulletins, and prayer lists. Some of these items alone are meaningless, but they are what remains when He has graced us with His presence. They are the culminating results of a Spirit filled home.
May my children never know the opposite. May Christ become so real to them that they want only to stand as proud as a peacock and say, " Look at me! I look like my Father!" Even if it means, they look a little different.
Now...if you'll excuse me. I have some unpacking to do....
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