Yesterday began a three week emphasis on missions. We had a guest speaker who has planted a church in downtown Lubbock TX to minister to the homeless. What a work of pure love (James 1). I know from our own experiences with addiction that it's a hard, grueling journey. If you feel called to work with those whose appetites of one sort or another have derailed them from the mainstream you have got to know you are entering a work where the successes are few and far between. It's a one step forward, three steps backward affair. It's rewarding, it's filled with unique joys and it's hard. He didn't talk about his ministry at all -- these were just thoughts that were going through my head as I prepared to listen to him. Because a very unwelcome thought came to my mind and I spent the next however many hours trying vainly to squash it right down into the black hole of my memory.
I don't want to be called to a hard ministry. I want to take a cake to my neighbors. I want to invite my children's friends to Vacation Bible School. I want to donate money so someone else can go. I want to donate some more money. What I don't want is to get down in the trenches. I am ashamed of that. But I'm not sure I'm ashamed enough. I've been down in the trenches before. I know what it's like. What is it in me that has allowed me to think I've done my time and I don't want to do it anymore? Where did I see an example of that in Jesus' life?
The minister spoke on John 4 and the Samaritan woman. He said something that opened my eyes to something I'd not noticed before. You know the story -- the disciples go to town to buy food, Jesus stays behind, the woman comes out to draw water and Jesus engages her in a conversation. At one point she says (paraphrase) "I know that the Messiah is coming and he will explain all this religion stuff." and Jesus says "It's me. I'm the One." I missed it all these times of reading. This is the first time that Jesus publicly declares He is the One and he does so not in fanfare, not in a huge crowd and not even to his friends. He does it to a woman that no one wanted to be seen with. Likely a prostitute. Certainly a "bad woman". She turned around and became the first missionary because she brought the town out to see what she had discovered. Jesus entrusted his identity and his mission to someone I, in my middle class, white, suburb spend my days trying to avoid. I think singing "O To Be Like Thee" would be a bit blasphemous right about now.
I'm pretty sure that's not the right response.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
These times, they are a changin'
Okay. I’m going to blog about it finally. I wanted to be really ready to tell the story but I decided I wasn’t sure I would recognize what “ready” looked like. So in true characteristic Michelle fashion I’m just going to leap in with both feet.
In just a little over two months I am going to become a grandmother. Seeing those words in black and white haven’t ceased to amaze and awe me yet. Me. A grandmother! It’s just shocking, isn’t it? I feel no older and scarcely any wiser than I did 35 years ago – how is it possible I am old enough to be a grandmother? Truth be told I’m nearly the last one of my peers to make the transition so obviously I’m plenty old enough but only in physical years.
It’s been a stretching, leaning-on-Jesus time because the situation is not ideal. Not the way it’s “supposed to” happen. My precious, beautiful, but unmarried baby girl is going to be a mother very soon. She will be a wonderful mother. She’s as ready as any single 21 year old could be. She’s got a support system in place that is walking beside her in love and acceptance. I’m sure there is judgment out there too, but she’s been spared from it for the most part and I’m grateful for that blessing. It’s hard for me, the mom, to not be a little sad for my baby because I know how hard it will be. Sophie’s daddy didn’t want the responsibility of his actions and so Katie will be starting this parenthood journey alone. I know the things and the times she will forfeit because she’s a mom now. I also know the joys indescribable that are in store for her as she marvels at the wondrous miracle of birth, as she holds that tiny life in her hands, as she experiences the blessed gift of hearing a tiny voice say “mommy” for the first time.
Once again I’m being reminded of God’s indescribable love for me. I mess up. I get my priorities out of order. I want things when I want them whether they are good for me or the timing is right or not. I make judgments when I don’t know the whole story. I shun when I should embrace. He still keeps blessing me. In the storms, in the days of calm and peace, when I deserve it and when I don’t. Blessings.
One of those is my very first granddaughter, Sophie Joy Scott, expected to arrive the latter part of June.
In just a little over two months I am going to become a grandmother. Seeing those words in black and white haven’t ceased to amaze and awe me yet. Me. A grandmother! It’s just shocking, isn’t it? I feel no older and scarcely any wiser than I did 35 years ago – how is it possible I am old enough to be a grandmother? Truth be told I’m nearly the last one of my peers to make the transition so obviously I’m plenty old enough but only in physical years.
It’s been a stretching, leaning-on-Jesus time because the situation is not ideal. Not the way it’s “supposed to” happen. My precious, beautiful, but unmarried baby girl is going to be a mother very soon. She will be a wonderful mother. She’s as ready as any single 21 year old could be. She’s got a support system in place that is walking beside her in love and acceptance. I’m sure there is judgment out there too, but she’s been spared from it for the most part and I’m grateful for that blessing. It’s hard for me, the mom, to not be a little sad for my baby because I know how hard it will be. Sophie’s daddy didn’t want the responsibility of his actions and so Katie will be starting this parenthood journey alone. I know the things and the times she will forfeit because she’s a mom now. I also know the joys indescribable that are in store for her as she marvels at the wondrous miracle of birth, as she holds that tiny life in her hands, as she experiences the blessed gift of hearing a tiny voice say “mommy” for the first time.
Once again I’m being reminded of God’s indescribable love for me. I mess up. I get my priorities out of order. I want things when I want them whether they are good for me or the timing is right or not. I make judgments when I don’t know the whole story. I shun when I should embrace. He still keeps blessing me. In the storms, in the days of calm and peace, when I deserve it and when I don’t. Blessings.
One of those is my very first granddaughter, Sophie Joy Scott, expected to arrive the latter part of June.
Wow.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Control
During worship this past Sunday morning I experienced one of those moments that was a cross between awe, worship and doubt-ridden angst. I am nothing if not complex! As usual it was wrapped up in music. The worship leader began the song…
My heart, my mind, my body, my soul.
I give to you, take control….
I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder to see if I could see Pam. It was a story from her that has forever highlighted this song in my mind. I wrote about her here. She and I sing on the same praise team and early one morning before worship began she shared the most precious story about the Sunday morning soon after her dad received his diagnosis. I knew from his many visits that he was as much a singer as his daughter was. It was no surprise to learn he led the singing in the church where he also served as an elder. When a person so loved gets a terminal diagnosis it’s devastating reality touches many lives. I have no doubt that he stood before a congregation of people that morning who were shell-shocked, saddened, confused and maybe even angry. I don’t know what he said about the tumor that invaded his brain and would rob him of his mind and his body. I do know he then stepped to the microphone and began singing
My heart, my mind, my body, my soul.
I give to you, take control.
I give my body a living sacrifice.
Lord, take control, take control.
Incredible. I can’t help but be humbled – I’m not sure that would be my response. So the words have taken on a much deeper meaning now but I wonder…do I really want the Lord to take control of it all? Would I be eating these M&M’s (that I clearly do not need in light of my recent cholesterol screening) if the Lord had control of my body? Do I want to give my appetite to him? I say I do, but I don’t eat like I do. I say I want to give him control of my mind, but I play computer games like I want control.
The illusion of control is a hard thing to let go. Silly isn't it? It's just an illusion - why hang on so tightly? But I do. I want to be able to sing with the same intensity and love for the Lord that my friend's dad did that Sunday morning a year and a half ago.
And so, I press on.
My heart, my mind, my body, my soul.
I give to you, take control….
I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder to see if I could see Pam. It was a story from her that has forever highlighted this song in my mind. I wrote about her here. She and I sing on the same praise team and early one morning before worship began she shared the most precious story about the Sunday morning soon after her dad received his diagnosis. I knew from his many visits that he was as much a singer as his daughter was. It was no surprise to learn he led the singing in the church where he also served as an elder. When a person so loved gets a terminal diagnosis it’s devastating reality touches many lives. I have no doubt that he stood before a congregation of people that morning who were shell-shocked, saddened, confused and maybe even angry. I don’t know what he said about the tumor that invaded his brain and would rob him of his mind and his body. I do know he then stepped to the microphone and began singing
My heart, my mind, my body, my soul.
I give to you, take control.
I give my body a living sacrifice.
Lord, take control, take control.
Incredible. I can’t help but be humbled – I’m not sure that would be my response. So the words have taken on a much deeper meaning now but I wonder…do I really want the Lord to take control of it all? Would I be eating these M&M’s (that I clearly do not need in light of my recent cholesterol screening) if the Lord had control of my body? Do I want to give my appetite to him? I say I do, but I don’t eat like I do. I say I want to give him control of my mind, but I play computer games like I want control.
The illusion of control is a hard thing to let go. Silly isn't it? It's just an illusion - why hang on so tightly? But I do. I want to be able to sing with the same intensity and love for the Lord that my friend's dad did that Sunday morning a year and a half ago.
And so, I press on.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Copied.......
One of the blogs I try to read faithfully is Stuff Christians Like . He makes me laugh, he challenges me, he teaches me. Today I read something that spoke so powerfully to me I shot off an email to him begging for permission to copy it here. He generously gave it and so I'm sharing with you. I hope it blesses you as it has me.
Thinking You Are Naked....by The Prodigal Jon
I don't want to brag, but I'm pretty awesome at applying band-aids. And make no mistake, there is an art. Because if you go too quickly and unpeel them the wrong way, they stick to themselves and you end up with a wadded up useless mess instead of the Little Mermaid festooned bandage your daughter so desperately wants to apply to a boo boo that may in fact be 100% fictional.
Half of the injuries I treat at the Acuff house are invisible or simply wounds of sympathy. My oldest daughter will scrape her knee and my 3-year old, realizing the band aid box is open will say, "Yo dad, I'd like to get in on that too. What do you say we put one on, I don't know, my ankle. Yeah, my ankle, let's pretend that's hurt."
But sometimes the cuts are real, like the day my 5-year old got a scrape on her face playing in the front yard. I rushed in the house and returned with a princess bandage. As I bent down to apply it to her forehead, her eyes filled up with tears and she shrunk back from me.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I don't want to wear that band-aid." She replied.
"Why? You have a cut, you need a band-aid." I said.
"I'll look silly." She answered.
Other than her sister and her mom, there was no one else in the yard. None of her friends were over, cars were not streaming passed our house and watching us play, the world was pretty empty at that moment. But for the first time I can remember, she felt shame. She had discovered shame. Somewhere, some how, this little 5 year old had learned to be afraid of looking silly. If I was smarter, if I had been better prepared for the transition from little toddler to little girl, I might have asked her this:
"Who told you that you were silly?"
I didn't though. That question didn't bloom in my head until much later and I didn't understand it until I saw God ask a similar question in Genesis 3:11. To me, this is one of the saddest and most profoundly beautiful verses in the entire Bible. Adam and Eve have fallen. The apple is a core. The snake has spoken. The dream appears crushed. As they hide from God under clothes they've hastily sewn together, He appears and asks them a simple question:
"Who told you that you were naked?"
There is hurt in God's voice as He asks this question, but there is also a deep sadness, the sense of a father holding a daughter that has for the first time ever, wrapped herself in shame.
Who told you that you were not enough?
Who told you that I didn't love you?
Who told you that there was something outside of me you needed?
Who told you that you were ugly?
Who told you that your dream was foolish?
Who told you that you would never have a child?
Who told you that you would never be a father?
Who told you that you weren't a good mother?
Who told you that without a job you aren't worth anything?
Who told you that you'll never know love again?
Who told you that this was all there is?
Who told you that you were naked?
I don't know when you discovered shame. I don’t know when you discovered that there were people that might think you are silly or dumb or not a good writer or a husband or a friend. I don't know what lies you've been told by other people or maybe even by yourself.
But in response to what you are hearing from everyone else, God is still asking the question, "Who told you that you were naked?"
And He's still asking us that question because we are not.
In Christ we are not worthless.
In Christ we are not hopeless.
In Christ we are not dumb or ugly or forgotten.
In Christ we are not naked.
Isaiah 61:10 it says: For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness.
The world may try to tell you a thousand different things today. You might close this post and hear a million declarations of what you are or who you'll always be, but know this. As unbelievable as it sounds and as much as I never expected to type this sentence on this blog:
You are not naked.
Thinking You Are Naked....by The Prodigal Jon
I don't want to brag, but I'm pretty awesome at applying band-aids. And make no mistake, there is an art. Because if you go too quickly and unpeel them the wrong way, they stick to themselves and you end up with a wadded up useless mess instead of the Little Mermaid festooned bandage your daughter so desperately wants to apply to a boo boo that may in fact be 100% fictional.
Half of the injuries I treat at the Acuff house are invisible or simply wounds of sympathy. My oldest daughter will scrape her knee and my 3-year old, realizing the band aid box is open will say, "Yo dad, I'd like to get in on that too. What do you say we put one on, I don't know, my ankle. Yeah, my ankle, let's pretend that's hurt."
But sometimes the cuts are real, like the day my 5-year old got a scrape on her face playing in the front yard. I rushed in the house and returned with a princess bandage. As I bent down to apply it to her forehead, her eyes filled up with tears and she shrunk back from me.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I don't want to wear that band-aid." She replied.
"Why? You have a cut, you need a band-aid." I said.
"I'll look silly." She answered.
Other than her sister and her mom, there was no one else in the yard. None of her friends were over, cars were not streaming passed our house and watching us play, the world was pretty empty at that moment. But for the first time I can remember, she felt shame. She had discovered shame. Somewhere, some how, this little 5 year old had learned to be afraid of looking silly. If I was smarter, if I had been better prepared for the transition from little toddler to little girl, I might have asked her this:
"Who told you that you were silly?"
I didn't though. That question didn't bloom in my head until much later and I didn't understand it until I saw God ask a similar question in Genesis 3:11. To me, this is one of the saddest and most profoundly beautiful verses in the entire Bible. Adam and Eve have fallen. The apple is a core. The snake has spoken. The dream appears crushed. As they hide from God under clothes they've hastily sewn together, He appears and asks them a simple question:
"Who told you that you were naked?"
There is hurt in God's voice as He asks this question, but there is also a deep sadness, the sense of a father holding a daughter that has for the first time ever, wrapped herself in shame.
Who told you that you were not enough?
Who told you that I didn't love you?
Who told you that there was something outside of me you needed?
Who told you that you were ugly?
Who told you that your dream was foolish?
Who told you that you would never have a child?
Who told you that you would never be a father?
Who told you that you weren't a good mother?
Who told you that without a job you aren't worth anything?
Who told you that you'll never know love again?
Who told you that this was all there is?
Who told you that you were naked?
I don't know when you discovered shame. I don’t know when you discovered that there were people that might think you are silly or dumb or not a good writer or a husband or a friend. I don't know what lies you've been told by other people or maybe even by yourself.
But in response to what you are hearing from everyone else, God is still asking the question, "Who told you that you were naked?"
And He's still asking us that question because we are not.
In Christ we are not worthless.
In Christ we are not hopeless.
In Christ we are not dumb or ugly or forgotten.
In Christ we are not naked.
Isaiah 61:10 it says: For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness.
The world may try to tell you a thousand different things today. You might close this post and hear a million declarations of what you are or who you'll always be, but know this. As unbelievable as it sounds and as much as I never expected to type this sentence on this blog:
You are not naked.
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