The other day, our youngest was sitting on my lap, facing me. As we interacted, I shifted my position, which resulted in my legs moving in such a way that she couldn’t quite feel their support anymore. She panicked, grasping my arms tightly, crying out in fear that I might not catch her in time.
I chuckled, because I knew what she didn’t...that if she let go of my arms and settled back down into my lap, she would have lowered by an inch or two and nothing more. It struck me as comical that she was so frightened, when all she had to do was sit down. But it was behind her, so she couldn’t see, but only felt the open space below her that had previously felt solid.
I tried to pull my arms from her clenched hands, tried to help her find her seat again, but she clung even tighter and continued to cry. Her fear prevented her from realizing that I would not drop her to the floor, prevented her from trusting my hands to guide her safely.
We do that, don’t we? We feel solid and safe, then something shifts, be it ever so slightly, and suddenly we are certain that a free fall awaits us. In our panic, we grab hold of whatever feels secure, screeching for help. We plead with God to help us feel safe again, to feel that the ground is solid beneath us rather than too far away to reach.
I know, sometimes the situation warrants the reaction. But other times, I bet that God chuckles, knowing that our fear is completely unfounded, that we can sit back and find ourselves comfortable again with minimal adjustment in our position. He sometimes gives us a gentle push, encouraging us to sit back and be okay, but we refuse to give in, trusting instead in our desperate handholds.
I am certain that we are not meant to dangle in a panic from sources of partial security. I am certain we are meant to stand on solid ground. I am also certain that it is only by trusting that we can learn just how close that certainty may be.
Living with Purpose (Dedicated to Lou Ellen Bills)
As I sit here to write my piece for the month, I struggle to find the words to reflect what is going on in my heart and head. My face has been tear-streaked today. I spoke with my father earlier this afternoon. He gave me some news that I have prepared myself to hear, but the reality of the situation is not an easy one to swallow being so far from family. The time is approaching. I am named after my Granny Bills, Ellen. She has been in a state of physical decline the past two years, but this past year has especially been hard. This afternoon, my dad shared with me that the possibility of losing her in the weeks to come is very real. Keep in mind that I am four weeks away from being home. My granny is one of my greatest heroes, and I had the privilege of growing up and knowing her well. I have peace in knowing that these days are the end of her life, and I am confident that I will see her in the Glory land one day. She shared something with my father in the hospital room about a week ago that relates perfectly to what I am doing here...
I have written before about evangelistic studies, but there is something I have found to be very common among the women with whom I have studied. I have been asked in various studies, “But what is my purpose? What is it that God wants me to do?” Most of you have heard of Rick Warren’s book The Purpose Driven Life. I meet in a group of Christian sisters on Saturday mornings to discuss the ideas and scriptures that Warren presents in his book. I have also just recently begun reading it with another friend in conjunction with studying the book of Mark. So many do not know Jesus, and so many are seeking to live with a purpose in this life. I believe we find the answer in our faith in him. I believe that our purpose is to glorify the Father in everything that we do. I love the major points the Warren presents in his book, and after guiding someone through the study of “Who is Jesus?,” it is fitting to guide them in a study of finding purpose if they choose to accept their identity in Christ and his Church.
About a week ago my granny mentioned to my father that she had a lot of thinking to do. “What do you mean by that?” my father asked. And this is how my beautiful, spirit-filled granny responded, “I am just not sure yet if it is my time to give up. I need to really think about it and figure out if God still has a purpose for me.” In all of her misery, pain, and sickness, she still plans to fight the good fight. She wants to live her life with purpose to the very end.
She has always said that Psalm 23 is her favorite. Most Christians are very familiar with the psalm. We know it by heart. We find our purpose in its verses:
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside still waters;
He restores my soul.
He leads me in right paths
for his name’s sake.”
For his name’s sake. Our purpose is to live for the glory of the Father. My granny is such a testament to living out her purpose for God. I am unsure how much longer she will be with us. It wouldn’t be the first time she makes us think it is over, and then has a turn for the good. Whatever the case, she is such an example to me in my journey of faith. It is my prayer that I may live with the same attitude and mindset.
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.”
One Way to Look at It: A Masterpiece
Sometimes it is hard to apply what we know about God to the situations we face each day. We tend to get bogged down in “real life” which means the stuff that fills our stretched thin days and energy levels. All too often, it seems the world is spinning at a pace too frenzied to sustain. In the midst of this, trouble seems to hit hard. Life is disrupted by illness, financial struggles, interpersonal stress, work frustration, school issues, marriage, parenting, self-control...difficulties come in every shape and size, and as adults, we have to take the hit, recover and move on.
It can be very hard to understand how God is working. In this broken world fraught with pain and hardship and weariness, it can be hard to identify good things. We want to believe that God is good, that he works for good, and that he wants good for us. But we live in the tension between what we believe and what we witness in our walking-around lives.
How can a good, loving, powerful God be taking part in all this mess? How is it not better, if he is?
One of the verses that gives us pause in this whirlwind is from Romans.
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
Sounds too easy, too good to be true. There has to be a catch, because an easy life evades us. But consider what came before that specific verse.
“We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.
In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
Paul makes this statement in recognition of the struggle for hope, not to denounce it. He acknowledges how much we need God’s hand in all of this, and announces confidently that we have knowledge of God’s good intention and action.
Can we understand this in such a way that it helps us live this life? Can God work for good even as bad things happen? How is that possible?
Think about it this way:
God is The Creator. We know this, but we forget that it means He is the first and best creative being. He took nothing...nothing...and made everything. If He can do that, He can take anything and make it good.
Imagine Him as a painter. He has a huge canvas and has begun a masterpiece. It will take ages and time to develop, with layers of color and life built into it. There has never been anything like it, and may never be anything like it again. He is the Master and sketches out his ideas, leaving background shadows and hints to be built upon later. He could take his time and create exactly what he wants. But he has a different plan.
Instead, he takes the paints and materials and shares them with every human being. Everyone can affect the outcome. Those who would learn from him and pursue his dream pay close attention, aiming for the guidelines he left on the canvas. Those who ignore his ownership of the entire work paint as they see fit. Sometimes their strokes closely mirror his own. Sometimes they run amok and cover hues intended for beauty. None can match his design perfectly. But he has chosen this as a collaborative project and rejoices in the opportunity to share in the process with whomever comes to take part.
But whether the paint is lovingly applied or angrily flung, he will produce a beautiful work. He would never voluntarily choose to have parts of his creation destroyed or erased, but he did voluntarily choose to let us choose, so sometimes it happens. He would never celebrate this, but neither does he feel as derailed as we humans tend to in the face of plans that go awry.
He just continues painting. He can incorporate any color, any stroke, any slash of a brush and develop it into something worth showing. It might take a long time for the colors to blend into something softer and worthwhile. He might brighten it immediately. But nothing we do counts for nothing. And nothing anyone does is beyond his repair.
Because, as we know, in all things, he works for the good of those who love him, even if we can’t see how. This does not mean guaranteeing good and preventing bad, but constantly working toward something redeemed and beautiful.
Eucharisteo in July
If you haven’t read Ann Voskamp’s 1000 Gifts, I highly recommend it. She talks about the Greek word “eucharisteo.” It means “to be grateful, feel thankful, give thanks.” She takes the time to list 1,000 things (some little, some big) that she is thankful for as she lives her daily life and lives with a perspective of “giving thanks in all circumstances.” Whenever I am tempted to complain in a situation, I know that the Spirit is leading me when my thoughts are guided by eucharisteo. One of the girls from the Harding research team this month led our ladies‘ day in this thought. Not knowing exactly what I would write for this month’s article, I decided to share some of my eucharisteo moments.
1. Enjoying making mini-apple pies for Cafe Connection
2. Our 2013 interns
3. The Harding group helping with one-on-one reading in the library
4. Bill and Holly (our team mentors) coming to Arequipa
5. Attending the inauguration for Mujeres del Misti (a small community development project that CUDA is launching) and seeing two of the kids that attend the school where I work in the library
6. The eldest male teacher in the library program excitedly pulling me into his classroom to show me his word wall (the project he had to complete to receive his full credit for this month’s staff development hours). He stood with his students proudly showing me the wall and having them spout out the answers to different vocabulary words.
7. Mentoring our very first CUDA Living Library intern, Lisette
8. Hearing from Areli, who I have helped to disciple since her baptism earlier this year, share that she has a friend who is interested in studying the story of Jesus with her. We have been praying for this friend for two months, and it is so neat to see the prayer answered.
9. Having my first Bible study with the friend that I mentioned in last month’s newsletter and hearing her mother ask if she can join us at the table because what she is hearing is “bonito” (beautiful).
10. Celebrating our middle child’s 4th birthday, and knowing that Peru is the only home she has ever known.
One Way to Look at It: Holding On
One of my favorite parts of the Wilderness Trek trips we took in high school was the first day, when we went rappelling down a cliff somewhere. The guides took their time getting all the ropes fastened securely to at least two trees (you know, just in case we managed to pull one out of the ground), then wrapped through the harnesses and buckles secured to their bodies.
When my turn came, I also donned a harness outfitted with hooks and buckles and locks. Another rope snaked through those loops and controlled my descent, as the only movement required to stop my fall was to pull the slack around my waist, locking the rope in the carabiner. If I wanted to leap off the cliff face and slide down quickly, I could loosen my grip and go. If I wanted to inch my way down, carefully sliding my feet over every bump, all I had to do was grab that rope tightly and release it as minimally as I wanted.
But it didn’t all rely on me. Those guides were always at the top, roped into the system that was sustaining me. And while I controlled the ropes that were fixed at the top and dangled freely at the bottom, they controlled the ropes that attached directly to my harness and ran upwards, leaving the extra slack behind the guides. At any sign of trouble, they could also whip the rope around their waists, engaging the lock on their end, and I would freeze. No matter what happened with my hands at that point - even if I let go of the rope completely, I would stay put. Maybe spinning in the wind, struggled for a foothold or upside down, but held nonetheless.
They could stop my fall when I couldn’t.
We often think of our walk with God as an actual walk down a road, where we can hold His hand as we progress. However, this breaks down for me when it comes to difficulty, because either I’m holding His hand and can’t fall, or I let go and wipe out. Either way, struggle indicates a problem because 1) if I’m holding His hand like I thought I was, I shouldn’t have fallen in the first place or 2) I have to get back to His hand because I obviously lost it, though I’m not sure how or where.
I prefer the rappelling image. Maybe our whole life is spent in an up and down attempt at a climb. Jesus and all His glory is at the top. Brokenness is at the bottom. For every foot of altitude we advance, it’s likely we could slip down by two. But when we lock into Jesus as our guide, we are roped in just as we used to be on Trek. We can control some of our movements. We have choices about where to put our feet, how quickly to rise or fall, how risky our path will be and how tightly we will hold to our own control.
But when It comes down to it, we can’t fall where He can’t catch us. He knows the signs of real trouble that we can’t handle and He can grab the line in plenty of time to snatch us from it. We might be upside down, panicking, and unsure what to do next to find the right path, but He has us in His grip, just as always.
Thinking about life in this way makes risks scary and exhilarating, because rather than seeing potential falls as moments in which I might lose my grip on His hand, I see them as moments when I might witness anew just how intent He is on holding on to me.
Coming Full Circle
We are in the final week of what has been the most action-packed Arequipa internship yet, and it was a long time in coming. The story, as I must tell it from my perspective, started thirteen years ago.
I came to preregistration at Harding University in the summer of 2000 intent on a degree in missions. At that time my home congregation, Shiloh Road Church of Christ, had just sent a couple to Jinja, Uganda. My summer missions experiences with the high school youth group in Mexico had been a major part of my decision to become a missionary, as well as my decision to engage high school Spanish more aggressively than I would have done, yet my imagination abounded with visions of tribal Africa as I pulled up to Harding's campus for preregistration. My previous tour of the missions department had already made it apparent that African missions was very influential in the program, so I was quickly forming assumptions about where I would end up in the world.
Incoming freshmen were assigned advisors in the Bible department based upon the first letter of our last names. So I came to meet my advisor, Bill Richardson. Dr. Richardson was at that time an associate professor of Bible and missions. He had spent his years in missions in Latin America. So his eyes lit up when he read my registration documents and realized I was a missions major who had tested out of basic Spanish. At that first meeting, he advised me to do a number of things that set the course of my life. First, he suggested I do a Spanish minor. Since I was granted credit for 101 and 102, it would be that much easier. Thus, we looked ahead at the courses I would need to take each semester. Second, he suggested I attend the Spanish congregation in Searcy if I really wanted to progress in the language. I ended up attending all four years; La Casita was my home church in Searcy. He also told me about the summer mission campaign in Venezuela. At the time, it was the only Latin American option. I went to Venezuela the summer after my freshmen year. Bill let me in on a secret as well: Harding was working on a new study-abroad program in Viña del Mar, Chile (HULA: Harding University in Latin America). My junior year, I did go to the pilot HULA semester. So did Megan Bills, who eventually became my wife. Finally, Bill invited me to attend the Latin American interest group that he hosted in his home. Over the course of four years, that group evolved into a mission team committed to Arequipa, Peru. In retrospect, I can describe that meeting with Bill as nothing less than providential. He and his wife, Holly, have remained our team's mentors and friends.
Those of us in the Latin American interest group at Harding swam against the African missions current. It's hard to describe exactly why that current was so strong. One of the reasons for momentum among students, though, was undoubtedly the phenomenally successful African internship. A comparable experience was lacking for Latin America, where Harding internships were essentially nonexistent and traditional "evangelistic campaigns" were the norm. This situation (in part) compelled Bill to envision a new kind of summer experience for students interested in Latin America: a research trip. He began preparing a group of about ten of us to travel to various cities the summer after my sophomore year, in order to gather logistical and strategic information on large Latin American cities that needed a missionary presence. The first trip included Trujillo and Arequipa, Peru and Cochabamba, Bolivia. A number of the participants on that trip were part of the nascent South American team that had formed out of the Latin America interest group, and on the basis of the information gathered, we chose Arequipa as our destination and became Team Arequipa. A couple of years later, another team used the research to chose Cochabamba. Members of the Cuzco mission team were on a subsequent research trip. Another group came to Arequipa with Bill after our arrival and helped us with the research that launched CUDA, and some of those researchers are now part of the second wave of Team Arequipa. Megan and I have reflected on how wonderful it has been to witness what God has done through Bill and Holly's labor.
The internship this year is the latest chapter of the story. Perhaps the last ten years of investment have had an effect similar to the African internships. Or perhaps the Lord is calling more students to Latin America. Or maybe some other factors are at play. I suspect it is all of the above. But whatever the case, this year far more Harding students sought internships in Latin America than could be placed. Altogether, they composed a highly-motivated, unusually Spanish-proficient group of seventeen students. To meet this demand, Bill conceived of a "traveling internship," which was a mixture of experiences including intensive language school, mission church plants, a national church plant, developmental ministry, and research. Two weeks were spent in Arequipa, learning about CUDA and house churches. This group crashed our regular internship, which includes four other students: two from Harding, one from Oklahoma Christian, and one from Abilene Christian. It was a tumultuous two weeks, but we were glad to get to know these students, some of whom will undoubtedly be back in Latin America as missionaries in the future. Our regular interns generously accepted the disruption a group that size naturally causes and even formed some meaningful friendships.
I realized after the traveling interns departed that I was feeling my age for the first time: not too old to keep up but old enough to realize I needed to keep up. Their energy was infectious, and when they left I missed it. But their presence was also a sign of hope that I cherished. These are students intent on serving God, many of them in Latin America. They aggressively seek understanding and wisdom, they dream and plan, and they love the people around them in the process. Likewise, our regular interns have taken these two months to learn what full-time mission is like week in and week out, persevering through ups and downs while learning language and culture. These are short-term experiences meant to be long-term investments. And that is the truly exciting thing. I pray that God will continue calling more and more students to dream missional dreams for Latin America.
A Solitary Place
I went to the cafe this morning to start a study of Mark with a friend. This is a friend that was placed in my path the first few months that we lived in Arequipa. I have prayed fervently for this friend. I have also stopped praying from multiple disappointments and decided to place her and her situation in God’s hands. The Spirit moves, and it is up to a person whether to accept his invitation, right? In my walk with Christ in this foreign city, I have tried to be intentional with those that I want to invest in loving and caring for. Yes. God is love, and we are to love everyone around us. But the reality is that we must choose and prioritize who will receive our time and sacrifice. My investment is not so that I can get something from them. I always desire to share my faith, and I hope that the other person will get to experience God’s purpose in their life, but I am not one to give up if someone seems disinterested in Jesus from the beginning. I believe that as a Christ-follower, I am part of the body that can exemplify Christ to others. It is my prayer that through my love and actions, someone will see Christ glorified and be open to his message.
So back to my friend. It has been almost five years. I went through a season of our relationship where I wanted to give it up. I told God that if he opened the door, I would be available, but a relationship works two ways. In the past few months, the door seemed to open. I had several very deep, personal, and frank conversations with this friend. And she seemed genuinely interested in studying with me in a small group that I meet with on Saturday mornings. It also seemed to be a perfect opportunity to disciple the girls that I meet with (both are Christians) in how to start an evangelistic study with a seeker.
The Peruvians will tell you that they do not like conflict. And because of this, many will tell you “yes” to something when they should really say “no” just to avoid conflict and disappointment. This is frustrating to me, because it is hard to read when someone is genuinely interested. I want to think the best of people, but I can tell you that our mission team has wasted hours upon hours of waiting for people that plan to meet with us and never show up. Not every situation is like this, but when I get “stood up,” I always question. This morning was the second time for me to get “stood up” with this particular friend. And to tell you the truth, I feel like a big fat failure when that happens.
On a completely different note, I have been feeling overwhelmed with the many visitors passing through Arequipa, keeping my home in order, keeping up with relationships, and a lot of change going on with our library program. I go through seasons of feeling this way, but it doesn’t help to be disappointed at the end of a week in the midst of this season.
My meeting with my two Peruvian Christian sisters had been postponed to later in the day, and I ended up having time to sit still and write and reflect in my prayer journal. I also decided to read the first chapter of Mark.
I love using Mark’s version to share Jesus’ story with someone new. But what I love even more is that I seem to fall deeper in love with Jesus and learn new things every time I go through and share the story. And as I sat in the cafe this morning alone, I was blessed by Jesus’ example to me. It was a part of chapter one that I have always loved reading, but I guess it hit me straight in the heart this morning.
“Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed. Simon and his companions went to look for him, and when they found him, they exclaimed, ‘Everyone is looking for you!’
Jesus replied, ‘Let us go somewhere else––to the nearby villages––so I can preach there also. That is why I have come.’ So he traveled throughout Galilee, preaching in their synagogues and driving out demons.”
Maybe my thoughts are jumbled, but after reading this passage, I sat back and praised God for his message. I too often forget who is in control, and whose message I am proclaiming. I get overwhelmed, and I self-doubt my strength and my abilities when all the while I should be relying on my God’s strength and his message. I needed that alone time this morning. I needed time away from children, away from interns, away from Bible studies, away from library work, away from my to-do list. I needed that solitary place to remember the reason for why I do any of this work here. “That is why I have come.” But more than anything, I needed to sit still and know that he is God. He is the one that can drive out demons, cure diseases, raise dead people to life, calm the storm. I am so foolish to rely on my own strength, my own abilities, my own situations, my own plan. God has a purpose, and he has a plan. It is up to others as to whether they will follow.
With a year and a half left, I have been praying for God to bless me with one more opportunity to share the story of Mark with someone here in Arequipa. I really thought this morning (and last Saturday morning) was an answer to that prayer. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. I would ask that you would pray for these opportunities for our team. But most of all, I would ask that whatever we do here is for the glory of our God, and that we are relying on his strength and his power.
One Way to Look at It
I'm an introvert. I really want an inner sanctum where I can essentially back into the corner, sit down and pull my knees to my chest. I don't want anyone to see or hear me there; I want my quiet hiding to remain mine alone.
Yes, I'm a Christian. Which means I have invited Another to dwell with me constantly. As such, my inner sanctum is actually a stage.
Every time I come onstage with a desire to run away, hide, vent, I am faced instead with the decision to speak or not speak. And if I speak, as the words that swirl and bubble inside me beg to be released and known, Light floods the stage. Sitting in the audience is only One, and the simple act of turning my voice to be heard invites Him to be fully there. And He is Light. There is no way to keep this little act hidden, this performance meant only for my guilty satisfaction.
So I must consciously choose to speak. The Light fills me, floods my face, warming me without burning, illuminating me without blinding. I am seen. Fully and completely seen. No shadows. No secrets. Seen. I look at my body, my arms and realize that my skin is blocking none of the Light. My blood pulses through my veins with more than oxygen, carrying the effects of each day. My heart pumps not only blood, but truth and pain and my will (which seems to be constantly in the throes of death, but never quite yielding).
I fear this speaking. My mind knows that my Audience sits not as critic, but as Father, Creator, Lover, Comforter. He delights in me as I am, as He created me, and is eager to receive whatever gift I offer. He died to bridge the gap between us and yet I fear crossing it. I fear being judged unworthy of the gift already given. I fear being deemed oversensitive, beyond help, too self-centered, unimportant.
If I choose to trust His care and speak, my words flow from my lips and change everything. They transform and affix themselves to my very body, clothing me in my own being, made beautiful, made new, not a problem but neither the point. My deepest pains and fears become jewels that sparkle in my eyes and hands, ready to accept the pains and fears of others. My selfish demands shrivel in the air and fall to the ground as petals fall from a flower, technically useless, but releasing a lovely aroma upon being crushed. The sharp barbs of hurts inflicted by others soften and dissipate, leaving behind a tender awareness of the importance of love, patience and gentleness.
In the face of this Light that lives in me, everything I offer can be used for good.
One Way to Look at It: He Will Wait
I'm not sure why, but airlines (or maybe it's the airports) like to schedule international flights to arrive at about the same time. It's inevitable: Every time we travel through Lima or Miami, the immigration line contains at least three flights' worth of travelers, and the waiting areas are packed with people who appear to be settled in for a long wait, somehow lounging with a body part draped over every possible piece of luggage.
In Lima, this waiting area is the food court. The area is quite large and houses plenty of seating for half a dozen eateries the ring the dining section. It's Peru, so there is no order to the round tables and lightweight chairs that end up strewn haphazardly, first grouped to a single table with extra occupants, then shoved aside to make room for a luggage cart to skim through.
It's mayhem.
I often have to walk my young daughters through the chaos to access the bathrooms that are located farther down the hallway. I often do that parent thing where you grab a small child's hand and pull them in right behind you so that they have a clear path to follow directly in your footsteps, while you can still snatch them to either side to avoid a collision if necessary. In this scenario, I take responsibility for seeing our table and navigating the crowd and furniture to get my kids there safely. They cannot see where we are going, but they trust that I will get them there, even if I am pulling them hither and yon in the process. They know to stick with me.
It struck me as this happened yet again just recently that I am sometimes not a very good daughter. I know cognitively that God does this same thing with me, leading me where I cannot see, sometimes jostling me in order to protect me, but I struggle so very deeply with trusting. I figure that if I'm responsible for much in my life, I can just take the reins on the rest and give Him a break. After all, He has plenty of other stuff to deal with, right? I don't want to be a burden. It's one thing to just live that way and never think about it, not really.
It's another thing to realize just what I am doing, and I am saddened by how weak I want Him to be. I don't want Him to take control of my life. I don't really want Him to lead me to big, scary things. I don't really want Him to change me in ways that might hurt, might break down the things I value in myself. I don't really want to experience things that stretch me beyond the point where I can still make it all look good. I prefer to stand still in the bustling crowd and pretend that's where I really wanted to be all along, even as He stands beside me, holding out His hand to lead me toward better things, patiently waiting for me to want that, too.
My daughters have learned to trust me more than I have learned to trust God. The only reason is that I have required it. I have pulled them along with me. I have given them no choice, have not waited patiently for their cooperation. By necessity, they were forced to experience my care so that they would come to trust it. I think that's okay; it's the nature of my task in their lives.
But it makes me very different from God. And even as part of me wants to resist and stay in charge, another part of me kind of does wish He would just sweep in and force my hand. I could protest a little while I secretly rejoiced in not having to choose, not having to take responsibility for my own laziness or fear or pride. I'm sure He would develop a much better version of me than I have so far.
But He waits patiently, holding out His hand to lead me toward better things, because I have to want that, too.
And as much as my experiences as a mom have taught me more about the heart of God, in this I continue to struggle - He will wait. He loves me deeply and fully and with absolutely no demands, but He will take nothing from me that is not freely offered, so He will wait.
In the face of the rushing demands of daily life, all too often, I leave Him waiting. Other things are clamoring for my attention, but He does not, so I'll get around to Him after other things are stilled and quiet, right? That never happens. Instead, I have to continue to learn, one moment at a time, to lift my gaze to Him, purposefully choosing to seek His direction, in the middle of this whirlwind of a life.
One Way to Look at It: Making the Grade
My 8th grade algebra class hated me. My teacher, Mrs. Marchesault, had a standard policy for grading all tests and quizzes: She set the second highest grade in the class to 100% and adjusted all grades accordingly. As a high-achiever and someone who enjoyed algebra, I often earned one of the top grades. “You are killing the curve!”, my classmates would complain, pushing me to answer incorrectly on purpose in order to close the gap between those of us who were doing well, and those who were struggling.
They felt that my success made them look worse, and they didn’t like it. The focus wasn’t on better actual performance, just on a better grade.
We do that, don’t we? We worry that the shining success of others is killing the curve. We think that if an individual or family truly attains some measure of faithfulness or happiness, it highlights our own shortcomings in that area. There’s something that makes us feel that if nobody really knows all these answers, it’s okay that I can barely muddle through it. Then suddenly someone “gets it” and we’re back in the lower bracket, clawing for our sense of self, desperate to close the gap, even if it means damaging someone else to do it.
Surely you have seen this, probably online. Someone makes sense, for themselves, of a Big Question and finds peace in how to live it out. Suddenly there is an uproar of reactions ranging from “Just because that is true for you doesn’t mean it’s true for everyone else” and “Don’t presume to tell others how to live their lives” to “You thought that through completely wrong and therefore your conclusions are useless” to “No one wants to hear what you have to say anyway so keep it to yourself”. It can get ugly, and fast.
It makes me sad. We are terrified of having our struggles made obvious and of proving to be less capable and polished than we are desperately trying to appear. In our panic, we tear down someone who is striving to get one more right answer because they know they have it in them. We take a stance on every. single. thing. people. say so fast that we rarely stop to make sure we heard it right, or to consider if we should learn from it. We fear that if they show God more faithfulness than we can muster right now, that God might suddenly realize how weak our faith truly is and all our efforts to keep Him dazzled by our performance will fail.
Oh, yeah, except they already have.
Want to know what I think the answer is?
Stop caring about what other people think (which is what we really stress about when this whole comparison game starts blowing up). Embrace the truth about yourself and then it won’t matter if anyone else strays from (or nails) an ideal formula, since you’ve already ditched it as a possibility.
For example, here’s some truth about me:
I’m great at algebra and epically terrible with history. When asked who was President during the Civil War, I guessed Jefferson. No, I am not kidding. My brain just will not keep relevant pieces of historical information linked. It’s nuts. But I can name characters in books that I read when I was a child. I’m weird like that. I keep my head on straight during a crisis, but you better do what I say because I start barking orders like nobody’s business. But throw me in the thick of clingy baby + 6 yo asking unending questions + 3 yo crying about glue on her fingers from homework and at best I’ll have clenched teeth and deep breathing; at worst I’ll be bellowing that everyone better calm down and get it together...you know, to make it easier for me to calm down and get it together. Yeah, regular life is what gets to me. Oh, and I’m particularly organized and make lists and schedules, but send me into the store without my plan (even if I have spent hours looking over it) and my brain grinds to a halt. I could have planned to cook hamburgers for lunch that same day and I’ll walk out the door without buns, only to realize it at the exact moment when I’m too far gone to turn around and go back. And believe it or not, being a missionary doesn't magically make me all spiritual and shiny. I still go through a whole day without cracking open my Bible, and if I do take a moment to pause and attempt a focused prayer, it's likely that my brain will somehow end up strategizing how to most efficiently accomplish my tasks for the day…even though my three small children will inevitably derail any ideal plan I might concoct.
I don’t need anyone else to show me how I fall short. I know that full well. I don’t need any reminders that I am in imperfect person in a broken world who is slogging through it all under the weight of daily life. What I need is a pat on the back and a reminder to keep pursuing Jesus through my flaws.
What we need is to live in grace, first recognizing it from God, then granting it to each other. It is no longer about earning the best grade; none of us can anyway, so competition is pointless. God accepts imperfect attempts; let's be glad of that, for ourselves and each other.