The Christian and the Atheist Agree: Nothing Matters

I'm an unapologetic, evangelical born-again Christian.  There are enough adjectives in that statement to let you know I'm serious about my faith.

I also happen to be very good friends with an unapologetic, militant atheist.  One who is as determined that his extreme position is correct as I am about mine.

He's a delightful person and we have incredibly stimulating conversations that leave my neurons buzzing for hours afterwards.

And we have more in common than you might think.
Here's the absolute truth that both of us believe.  (Although, ironically, he would argue here about the existence of absolute truth!)

Nothing matters.

That's it!  Two words we can wholeheartedly agree on at the end of the day.

His circumstances don't matter because he doesn't matter.  He's a conglomeration of cells that came together purely by chance and for no obvious purpose.  There's no moral imperative for him to behave by any set of rules other than the ones he determines matter.  He will live his life and die and turn into so much worm food; ashes to ashes and dust to dust and the world can continue turning, oblivious to his birth and his death and everything in between, as new little piles of ashes and dust are birthed into new people to take his place with no apparent purposes of their own.  In his worldview, nothing matters.


My circumstances don't matter, either, but for different reasons, all of them completely opposite of my friend's.  I was woven together in the secret place of my mother's womb and all of the days ordained for me were written down before one of them came to be.  God chose the time and place of my birth, my life, my death.  He numbers the hairs on my head and collects my tears in a jar.  He is familiar with all of my ways:  the words on my tongue before they're spoken; the thoughts of my mind; the motives of my heart.  He looks upon my inward being.  He created good works for me to do in advance and fills me with His Spirit and His power to complete them. My life is brimming with purpose and what I do in His name will last forever in His eternal kingdom. And the reason that my circumstances don't matter is that everything - EVERYTHING! - that comes my way is considered and approved and tempered by His will for my life.  Whether blissful or tragic, I can trust that the Creator of the Universe is working on my behalf, wasting nothing in His plans to finish the good work that He started in me the day I became His child.  Even death has lost its sting, because ultimately some tragic circumstance will steal the breath out of my lungs and use up my very last heartbeat.  On that day, my eyes will open to a more glorious reality than anything I've asked or imagined as I see my Heavenly Father face to face.

Nothing can thwart God's purposes for my life, so great is His love, His power, His grace towards me. This is why I can laugh during a biopsy, smile through tears at a funeral, face the endless tasks of the day with joy in my heart.  Because everything about my life matters to God, nothing that happens in this world has to matter all that much to me.  As I place my life, my hopes, my dreams, my circumstances under His lordship, I can also release my fears, doubts, and concerns for the future into His capable hands.  The more days that I walk in His light, the more quickly my heart settles into this restful mindset when circumstances spin out of my control.

When tragedy strikes on a random Thursday afternoon, my friend can only shake his head and consider that nothing really matters.

I can do the same, resting in the full assurance that God has everything under control.  I pray daily that my friend will eventually come to the same wonderful conclusion when he puts his faith in Jesus.

It's Puzzling

A 2000 piece puzzle and the big blocks of color are completed, leaving about 500 pieces that are all nuanced shades of grey, blue and green.  This is when the amateurs walk away from the table and I resign myself to finish the puzzle on my own. 

Any serious puzzler knows the logical steps:  perimeter, major colors, piece by piece sorting for the remainder of colors, then a second piece by piece sorting through what's left with even more stringent sorting criteria.  Every step results in piles, and every pile becomes more homogeneous until the final groupings are just shades of the last remaining color.

Even though the end seems to be the hardest part, by this time I'm so familiar with the boxtop picture, the colors, shapes, textures.... that I can basically reach in, pull out a piece and almost instantaneously know in what area it belongs.  I'm not sure if there's any better training in observation than this.  The concentration and skill required admittedly make me a bit arrogant, and I'll admit to feeling suspiciously wary of those flighty folks who can't sit still once the obvious pieces are settled in their place and things become more challenging.  I'll admit it:  I'm a bit of a puzzle snob.  The progress is slow but every time I walk by the table I stop and add a few pieces, and before long the gaps close in like slow forming ice in the wintertime.  I have the same feeling as when finishing a really good book -- I can't wait to be done but am saddened by the end of the journey at the same time.  

And finally there are random holes and 30 lonely pieces left and I'm ignoring everything but shapes.  This one has a big head and a downward right shoulder.  This is a four-legged; that has a shoulder and is right handed.  Occasionally there are more openings than pieces and I drop to the floor searching for what the cat might have knocked off the table these last few weeks.  Sometimes the last piece is hiding on a finished area of the puzzle itself, camouflaged by the shiny reflection and only found by running my hands over the surface, enjoying the contradictory smoothness and bumpiness under my fingers.  The last piece is deservedly placed with some fanfare, which in my house generally includes a long, slow arc with a fitting tune that ends in some kind of "Ta Dah!"  And another running of my hands over the glossy surface just to stretch out the sense of accomplishment.  Because it seems dismissive to immediately put them away, finished puzzles remain out for at least a day or two before I dismantle them, the perimeter first so they can be placed into a sealed bag on top of the rest of the pieces, a quick and easy start for the next time I pull out this particular box.  I know that some people view jigsaw puzzles as a waste of time, but for me they're a wonderful escape -- one of the few times my mind stops racing about all that needs to be done and I can lose track of To Do lists and the worries of the day.  So pull up a chair, Friend, and let's be puzzled together!

Neighbor, May I Please Have Your Earrings?

From Exodus 12:

35 Now the children of Israel had done according to the word of Moses, and they had asked from the Egyptians articles of silver, articles of gold, and clothing. 36 And the Lord had given the people favor in the sight of the Egyptians, so that they granted them what they requested.

I am feeling more and more like an Israelite as the July 1 moving day approaches.  An Israelite with the benefit of knowing the end of the Red Sea story, of course, but still.

I imagine the people thought Moses was crazy when he told them to go ask the Egyptians for their silver, gold and clothing.  Imagine!  Your God is bringing plague after plague upon these people because of their stubborn Pharaoh -- and none of the plagues are affecting you.  You and your people are slaves, and you're asking them to simply hand over their silver, gold and fine clothing?

Yes.  Yes, I am.  Because "....God had given the Israelites favor in the sight of the Egyptians."  I imagine the Egyptians realized how unjust Pharaoh had treated this group of people.  I imagine they saw the suffering and how the Israelites continued holding their heads high despite the mistreatment.  I imagine a few of the Egyptians were even secretly rooting for these downtrodden slaves to be liberated.

Just like my friends are rooting for me to be liberated from the bondage of the past 15 years.  My wish list doesn't include gold and silver, but I am putting together a list of household needs.  (Since I've determined to not take anything associated with bad memories, you can imagine I'm packing up very little.)  And of course on moving day I'm going to need a few friends with pickups and even more friends with muscles.  And friends who will carry small boxes and chat with the girls and help them deal with the stress of moving out of the only house they've ever known.  Friends who will notice my needs and say, "I can help you with that."

My needs aren't just for some furniture and appliances, though.  Check out my current prayer list regarding this move:

An apartment / condo that fits my very meager and laughable budget.

Which becomes available on July 1.

In the West Shore school district, just in case I have to pull the girls from their wonderful Christian school.

But praying to NOT pull the girls from their wonderful Christian school!

With at least two bedrooms and preferably three.

That allows us to take our menagerie: 1 BabyCat, 2 rats, 2 gerbils and 2 goldfish.

That moves us far enough away from the old house to give much-needed space, yet close enough to make custody drop-off convenient.

For a custody agreement to be made privately and amicably to avoid the court system as much as possible.

For peace and security to fill the hearts of my daughters throughout.

For financial blessings as I learn to live on a single income.

For a new and smaller car with low mileage and at the right price.

For wisdom as I make decisions I haven't had to think about for years -- phone service? internet? insurance? etc.

For a strong awareness of God's presence to combat my loneliness.

For the plans of the enemy (to steal, kill and destroy) to be completely thwarted throughout our move -- by the power of Jesus' blood that covers Faith, Abby and Sarah.

I know how ridiculous this list sounds, but that's the kind of faith I have in the amazing God we serve.

I imagine it also sounded pretty crazy when Moses told the people, "Ask your Egyptian neighbors for their gold, silver and clothes."  And even more insane when he said, "Get ready, we're going to cross the Red Sea shortly!"

Friends, I need your gold and silver.  No, not your jewelry or your money -- but something even more valuable to me:  your prayers and encouragement and support.  The Israelites weren't too proud to ask their Egyptian neighbors and neither am I.  Please lift the DelliGirlies before the throne of grace.  Pray through that list with me and ask the God who parts seas to open apartments and welcome pets and provide a vehicle and heal the hearts of little (and big) girls.

With Gratefulness for Your Love and Friendship,

Sarah

ParadiSE

Let me tell you about this little girl.  She is loved, thoroughly and unconditionally.  Her Mommy is kind and teaches her good manners and how to think of other people's feelings, how to work and play and read and do things with excellence.  Her Daddy -- oh, her Daddy!  He gets on the floor to play with tinker toys, he lets her fly like an airplane on his upraised foot.  He pretends to eat the mud pies she makes on the front porch.  He snuggles her and tells her how beautiful she is and that Jesus loves her and has an amazing plan for her life.  He is silly and tender and a foreshadowing of what she will eventually discover of her Heavenly Father.  He leaves seminary every afternoon to pick her up from preschool for lunch -- the only father to do so.  Their lunch menu every day is peanut butter and jelly or honey sandwiches, hot chocolate and a piece of cheese.

This little SE is blissfully ignorant of evil or hardship.  She doesn't yet know that her family is poor, that her mother cries over bills, that the budget is somehow miraculously met every month by groceries that appear on the front porch, by the gas meter apparently running *backwards* during the biggest snowstorm the county has ever seen, by an anonymous payment to the phone company on our behalf.  She has not yet been teased by classmates over her glasses or the brand of her clothes.  She doesn't even know what temptation is at this point, or that there's reason to feel guilt or fear.

No, all this little girl knows is that SHE IS LOVED, fully and perfectly.  SE in paradiSE.

This picture is my Bible bookmark, and every time the book falls open to it or I hit my knees to pray, I first spend time looking at it, a reminder of who God made me to be and the kind of existence I will soon experience in His presence.   Simply being -- no agenda, no needs, no concerns, no fears, no guilt, no struggles! -- drowning in the reckless, raging fury of His Love.

This is the greatest gift my Mom and Dad ever gave me, the absolute certainty of how much Jesus loves me and who I am in Him, despite the false names the world and the devil try to pin on me.  And this is my greatest goal in mothering my own precious girls:  to so reflect God's love for them that they have a picture in their own Bibles many years from now, of little girls at rest and in peace, surrounded by the love of their Mommy and Jesus.

Pulling Punches & Pursuing Peace

Two weeks into the school year and it has already happened -- what the headmaster warned me was imminent during his Back to School Night address.  A daughter burst through the door yesterday, breathlessly reporting on a controversial discussion that occurred in a classroom with our very favorite science teacher, Emily Durrell.  (Who gave permission to be identified, in case you were wondering.)

After waiting for the excited rush of information to finally wind down, I firmly planted said child on the sofa, soothed her with an after school snack and started digging for the full story.  No small task when dealing with an eighth grader!  

I mentioned that it might be a good idea to contact the teacher for some clarification, which went over like a lead balloon, as expected.  So a deal was struck that the e-mail would not be sent without her final approval, to avoid being labeled as "that family."  (You know, the family who raises eyebrows at every turn, most especially when theology is involved.)  Ah, the delicate balancing act of every science and religion teacher at a Christian school!

The e-mail was written, edited once or twice and eventually sent, accompanied by prayers for grace and peace.  Hours later and Voila! an equally gracious response from Mrs. Durrell, who actually expressed her gratitude for the inquiry.  A quick and easy discussion filled in the gaps, informed both sides, and established an even closer connection for whatever future drama is sure to unfold in the eighth grade classroom.  

Bless you, Emily, for welcoming our questions, for your wisdom and patience, for helping me teach my daughter why God's prescription for conflict is always the best:  "If your teacher says something you find offensive, don't make assumptions, don't let it fester, don't gossip to your peers.  Ask Mom for wisdom, and then approach your teacher privately and with an open heart.  Gain all the blessings of working through the conflict together -- increased communication, trust and confidence in your teacher's goodwill.  And don't forget the end of my promise: that where two or three Christians are gathered together, I am in the thick of it with them -- even in the midst of their conflict!"  Matthew 18:15-20, liberally SarahPhrased.  (This last verse I find most often quoted regarding worship, when in actuality it is God's finishing touch on dealing with conflict.  How good of Him to remind us that we don't enter the fray alone!)

 

As always, His ways are perfect, and Daughter goes to school today with increased faith, increased confidence, increased love and respect for her teacher.  Praise be to Jesus, whose wisdom is first and foremost meek and peaceable.  Our perfect example, our perfect instructor, our patient Savior.  

James 3:13  “Who is wise and understanding among you? By his good conduct let him show his works in the meekness of wisdom. 17 .... the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere. 18 And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.”

Good & Guilty Motherhood

I recently bought this plaque and put it on the windowsill above my kitchen sink.  Granted, it was an attempt to remind my ex-husband that I'm a good mom despite the usual messes around my house.  And truthfully, I don't have sticky floors and a dirty oven, but that's only because I am quick to clean up spills but slow to clean up crumbs.  Also, I have a self-cleaning oven.

But take a quick tour of my house and there are things you will notice.  Dust bunnies in the corners and peeking out from under the furniture.  The faint smell of kitty litter that always seems to need scooping.  Shoes and books and occasional dirty dishes left in odd places by my children.  Always a basket of laundry acting as a plastic dresser instead of a tool to move clothes directly from the dryer to the drawer.  So yes, I have a mostly organized but generally sloppy house.  I can always find my car keys but would never eat food off the floor.  Except for chocolate.

As long as I'm being forthcoming, the real reason for buying the plaque is insecurity.  See, I'm a good Mom.  I know I'm a good Mom.  I don't need anyone to tell me I'm a good Mom, but I feel like the best Mom would be doing all that I do with my kids while at the same time having a perfectly clean house.  I'll admit, I don't know any Mom like that.  June Cleaver comes to mind but no one in the real world.

And now I'm having second thoughts about the plaque and am considering taking it down, because I don't think the opposite is true, either.  I don't think Moms with clean houses are bad Moms.  I don't think they're ignoring their kids, even if they don't allow playdough or confetti or moon sand to cross the threshold.  In fact, I'll bet those Moms are looking for plaques that say things like "Good Moms Strike a Balance Between Housekeeping and Parenting."  I don't want to offend any of my somewhat germophobic friends who might wander into my kitchen and think I make the bold assumption that their parenting is lacking because their house is cleaner than mine.

Here's the bottom line:  We are all walking that fine line, balancing fun quality family time with mountains of laundry and dishes and paperwork.  It's a common frustration and there's no simple answer, only what works for you and your kids and your house and your family.  And your comfort levels.  Personally, I can live with a bit of a mess if it means a few more minutes to snuggle my girls.  But if another Mom spends those extra minutes picking up, I'm not going to judge her for it, and who knows what precious moments she's carved out for her kids while letting a different chore slide?

"Her children rise up and call her blessed.  Her husband also, and he praises her."  Proverbs 31:28

Okay, so the ex-husband rolls his eyes at the mess occasionally, but I know that my children recognize I'm a good Mom to them, and I'm certain if you asked them they would choose those few moments of snuggling rather than Mom pulling dust bunnies out from under the sofa.

Do not forget the reason that this Mom is called "blessed" by her family.  It's not for her clean house, her impeccable wardrobe or her five-star, home-cooked meals.  Verse ten of the same chapter explains why she is so valuable in her home:  "Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies."  She is virtuous, despite the dust and dirty dishes!

For all of you Moms who are doing an amazing job of juggling family and home, blessings to you!  I'm thinking about putting up a new plaque:

A reminder to my kids that I love them as well as a reminder to myself -- that God, Lulu and FooFah love me no matter the size of our dust bunnies!

Great Expectations, Managed

"Don't put all your eggs in one basket."  It applies to lots of stuff, least of all marriage.  But young girls are silly, with great expectations of how one single human being is going to some day swoop in to fulfill all their dreams.  Friend, lover, confidante, sharer of dreams.  One egg, two egg, red egg, blue egg.  Into the basket you go.

It's a recipe for disaster, but a small one that's easily fixed.  Broken eggs are pretty easy to clean up, and after the first few, you realize that maybe filling the basket to the top was a bad idea in the first place.

I've given this advice to countless married women over the years.  "Lower your expectations.  It's not healthy to put all of your dreams on one person's shoulders."  Their husbands are grateful as these lovely women stop smothering them with neediness; supportive, even, as their wives stretch beyond the bounds of marriage to develop friendships and nurture their hobbies with friends.





A good marriage is a balance of things shared and things individual.  What joy when your passions overlap, and what relief when you're no longer bugged to share every single interest.  Overlapping circles create a whole other color, an exciting new dimension of a relationship, without swallowing up one member by demanding sameness.

Great expectations, managed.




The trouble comes when one member is destructive.  Unreliable, critical, controlling and harsh.  You start taking eggs out of the basket on a daily basis.  No support?  Goodbye, egg.  No encouragement and one more drops to the floor.  Untrustworthy and a full dozen fall away.  A half full basket can still maintain a relationship, but an empty one?  Eventually, after all needs have been outsourced to loving and trustworthy friends, you're left staring at an empty basket, thinking, "Why am I still carrying this around when it plays absolutely NO PART in my life anymore?"





So I set it down.  Not out of anger, but filled with the steady assurance that dragging around an empty basket is only draining my finite resources of love and perseverance.  It's a tragedy, all right, but not my tragedy.  After all, I'm free of the burden of carrying it around, constantly determining what it can hold and what's too precious to risk putting in.

Great expectations are troublesome, but there's still hope to manage them.
       Realistic expectations are amazing, because they give freedom to both people.
               No expectations are sad.  Laying down the basket is liberating.

Two Questions

Question One.  Would you rather get hit by a bus or get Alzheimer's?

The bus option:  relatively painless but completely unexpected.  A tragedy that plays out like a tsunami, sudden and overwhelming.

Alzheimer's:  slow and steady with lots of time to negotiate the details, even though the conclusion is imminent.

Question Two.  Would you rather your marriage die by getting hit by a bus or by Alzheimer's?

Getting hit by a bus looks something like this.  You are in love, it's been 10 wonderful years and you expect many, many more.  You're past the petty fights and settling into a relationship as comfortable and dependable as your favorite sweater.  Until a random Thursday afternoon when you discover a second, unknown e-mail account filled with years of illicit e-mails and appointments between your husband and hundreds of other women.  SMACK.   The bus hits you full-force out of nowhere, and you are suddenly hemorrhaging anger and grief out of every pore.  Everyone is astounded and the funeral is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, so you'd better get cracking on the deviled eggs for the luncheon afterwards.  Life must go on, you know.

Alzheimer's.  The day after the diagnosis is the same as the day before.  As are many months and maybe even years following.  One day he forgets your address but you're there to remind him.  A month later he doesn't know how to work the microwave.  A year later gets off at the wrong bus stop.  Three years in forgets his middle name.  Later, your first name.  Much later, that you have children together.  You grieve the gradual losses a little bit every day, like a stone gets smoothed over hundreds of years at the bottom of a stream bed.  Finally, you're changing diapers and spoon feeding, staring down the end you've always known was coming.  The funeral has been planned for over a year and friends who have watched the slow demise are sad but just as willing to celebrate freedom for both of you.

Ask any woman who has survived an abusive marriage and she will tell you to take the bus option any day.  It's also the reason abused spouses are walking on air the day their divorce is finalized, rather than looking like they just got home from a funeral.

I understand people's hesitation to celebrate divorce and would never expect it from them.  So think of it another way, and raise a glass to freedom.  The grieving is long since done, the rough edges of pain smoothed down by years of coping and adjustments, and I finished making the deviled eggs two days ago.  Show up with a bottle of wine and we'll toast to new beginnings!

~Sarah

This post would be incomplete without a HUGE Thank You to the people who helped me tend to a dying patient and keep my sanity intact for the past 14 years.  You know who you are, and I am eternally grateful.  :)  And to Jesus, who sees everything done in secret, provides the strength and grace to bear our burdens,  and prepares a crown for us all the while.

The Amazing Uncle Dan

My daughters are in awe of their Uncle Dan.  He has been a forever fixture in their lives, since his marriage to my sister in 1992 predates their existence.  Because we live 6 hours away, Uncle Dan is a strange curiosity to them.

But regardless of the distance, he is a super hero to all three of us.

The girls watch their Uncle Dan like hawks, and they're amazed.  He does all kinds of crazy things.  Wakes early to cook breakfast for the whole gang when we visit.  Offers to help his wife with dinner without being asked.  Prods his children to go ask Mom what they can do.  Never allows his family to be put into a situation that he deems dangerous.  Knows when to be serious and when to lob a water balloon at an unsuspecting kid.  Rounds up his family and gets them to church.  And my personal favorite:  spends HOURS making peach cobbler at a campground IN A DUTCH OVEN OVER THE FIRE as a surprise for his sister-in-law.  Yum!

I don't know if Uncle Dan realizes that three sets of eyes are constantly noting his behavior.  Two of them belong to the girls, who have only seen this kind of quiet servanthood from their Papa.  The third set is mine, filled with admiration, plus a heart full of gratitude on my sister's behalf and about a million prayers for Uncle Dan as he unknowingly shapes my girls' hopes, dreams and expectations.

"Uncle Dan would...."  Those words have been whispered again and again in my home and each time they give me hope that the girls know there is a better way and that love isn't so much hearts and roses as it is sacrifice and selflessness.

Bless you, Uncle Dan!  For not only being a wonderful husband and father to your own family, but a super hero to mine.  I pray for you daily, because I know that where there are two little girls watching, there are probably a hundred more keeping tabs on how well you love.

Forget a knight in shining armor, darling daughters of mine.  Hold out for a quiet gentleman like your Uncle Dan.  And if you're lucky, he'll have a dimpled smile as well.

No More "I Love Yous"

Ahhhh, Valentine's Day.  For the past 15 years of my life, a day traditionally fraught with anxiety and angst.  Until this year.  

< Insert mental picture here > Sarah skipping down the card aisle at the grocery store, past all of the other shoppers huddled around the pink and sparkly V-Day cards.  Pushing the cart ahead of me, headed to the candle section for a new fragrance called "Alone and Loving It" or "Finally Free of the Nightmare."  

My anthem as of late is the Annie Lennox song "No More I Love Yous."  Here's the line that most grips my soul: "I used to have demons in my room at night.  Desire.  Despair.  Desire.  Sooooo many monsters."

Apart from the fact that I'm a Christian and I believe that there literally *was* an entourage of demons assigned to my abusive marriage, I can completely relate to this warped definition of love.  Desire.  Despair.  Effort.  Expectations. Discouragement.  V-Day card buying immediately necessitated a trip to the therapist.  How to find a card that is both honest and kind?  Most years I chose a humorous one with cartoon characters and jokes, or the ones with no text, labeled "Simply Stated."  

Simply stated:  You are slowly and inevitably killing me and our marriage.  Stop it!  (That's the G-rated version.)

Oh, the games that have to be played by a Christian wife who is cautiously holding the hands of both hope and despair at the same time.

This year the final papers are to be signed on February 15.  The date was originally today, V-Day, but a huge snowstorm ruined my intentional and ironic plans, so the 15th will have to do.

Everyone who hears gives me their sad faced apologies and must be puzzled when I break into a huge smile.  I understand.  God hates divorce and rightly so -- it's a wrenching amputation of one flesh, devoid of anesthesia and a sharp blade.  So while I'm not celebrating over my divorce, I AM celebrating freedom from abuse and a horribly warped definition of Love that almost swallowed me whole.  

No more "I love yous."  The language is leaving me in silence.  No more "I love yous."  Changes are shifting outside the words, outside the words.

Hear the full song here.

If you listen to the song you might think it's sad for this poor lady who is no longer speaking the language of love.  But for women who have been forced to speak Satan's twisted and evil dialect of love, it's pure FREEDOM to breeze past the V-Day displays, intent on learning and speaking pure love -- with Jesus, Love Himself, who sings His pleasure over us every single day!  

"Changes are shifting outside the words.   Outside the words."

I'm Proud of My Humility

"I'm proud of my humility."  These words were delivered in sermons by my father on more than one occasion when I was a child.  They stuck in my mind because I liked the play on words.  They remained there because I wrestle with the sin.

It's no surprise, since the Leader of the Rebellion, that old snake, satan (whose name I refuse to capitalize), has pride to thank for his downfall.  "I will ascend to the heavens...."  (Isaiah 14:13).  Just like me, in an attempt to appear humble, Satan only thought those words in his heart, but the One who perceives every thought from afar (Psalm 139:2 ) called him on the carpet and then threw him to the earth.

I have been rescued from satan's kingdom (Colossians 1:13) but my flesh is still pulled in his direction, and because pride is so easily hidden in my thoughts while my face fakes humility, it can grow like a root -- under the surface for months before finally bursting through the concrete into the light of day.

Pride over things under my control, which seems understandable considering the effort I put into this life.  But pride over things completely undeserved, as well.  Pride over gifts that God has given me -- gifts given only by His grace! Wonderful, godly parents who I did not choose.  Along with them, genetics that have thus far kept me disease-free and healthy.  The time and place of my birth, chosen by God (Acts 17:26) for His reasons and which blessedly saved me from other times and places in history which would have been my undoing.  Along with a host of other blessings, none of which I can take any credit for.

And then there is my pride over God's grace itself, a pride which tempts lightning bolts to strike from heaven -- which would be well-deserved! -- and over which God continues to show me mercy and grace (Eph 2:9).  This is one of those circular conversations along the lines of "I know that you know that I know that you know...."  God shows mercy and grace over the fact that I am prideful that He shows mercy and grace over my pride....

And so I finally come to the end of myself with the realization that my pride is tempted to boast over all things and in all ways, and the final truth of the matter is that nothing I have is deserved, but everything is a gift, all of it straight from God's gracious hand, the ultimate Source of All Good Things (James 1:17), no matter whether they seem to spring from heaven or earth.

And once again all things complicated boil down to simple truths, clarified by the words of wiser men in Westminster's Catechism:  My chief end is only to glorify God and enjoy Him forever, free of pride and full of eternal gratefulness for every good thing that He has lovingly bestowed on me.  These men simply echoed John the Baptist's cry to once and for all put pride to death:

"He must become greater and greater, and I must become less and less."  (John 3:30)

So that even blog posts that tempt me to pridefulness are considered garbage compared to the surpassing worth of knowing and being found in Jesus.  (Philippians 3)

A Friendship Manifesto

There's no doubt about it:  I wouldn't have made it this far without my friends.  They have been more faithful than my spouse, more consistent than my accountant and more intimate than my dentist.  (I was going to write "my gynecologist" there but thought it might give you the wrong impression.)

And boy, have I needed them!  Probably more than most Christian wives, as I battled through 14 hellish years of an abusive "Christian" marriage and the constant emotional hemorrhaging that resulted from abuse/confront/forgive/counseling/repeat.

It's not one-sided though.  Not only have I made a slew of 3am phone calls; I've received them from my friends as well.  We've talked, laughed and cried our way through marriages, infidelity, same-sex attraction, financial woes, prodigal kids, health scares and diseases, the list goes on and on.

I'll admit, there were times I went to meet a friend for coffee with no idea of what to tell her.  Who am I, to have any kind of answers, and what is it exactly that God wants me to speak into this dear one?  Does letting her vent constitute gossip or slander, and does listening to her sometimes sinful reactions and coping mechanisms give my silent approval of her choices?  How to be a friend who can bear burdens while at the same time holding up the high standards of godly behavior?

These questions have led me to write the following Friendship Manifesto.  So if we are blessed to be friends, here are my promises to you:

1)  I will let you be yourself.  Struggles, flaws, idiosyncrasies accepted.  You do not need to hide anything from me.  After over forty years, nothing is shocking to me anymore.  In addition, I've probably done a lot of the same shameful things you have or am close friends with someone who has.  What you see is what you get with me, and you have the same freedom to let it all hang out over a cup of coffee or a glass of wine.

2)  I will be your sounding board; no editing necessary.  You are welcome to emotionally vomit all over me while you are venting your feelings and reactions.  You do not have to pause to edit your thoughts, and cursing will not make me blush.  Get it all out, sister, and then we'll sort through the ugliness together and make sense of the facts once the emotions die down.

3)  I will laugh and cry with you.  And howl and stomp and cackle if necessary and/or helpful.  I will celebrate to double your joy and cry to halve your sorrow.  The winners of three-legged races are successful because they hold tight to each other, and that's the kind of friendship I want with you.  I will provide the kleenex and will blame you the next day when my stomach muscles ache from laughing together.

4)  I will be honest with you.  Who needs a friend who only knows half of what you're going through?  Shame won't keep me from admitting my sinfulness and it shouldn't silence you, either.

4a)  ....including gentle rebukes and reminders.  What kind of friend doesn't speak up when you most need it, when your emotions are taking over and you're struggling for sanity?  If a friend is brave enough to disagree with you and tell you so, they're the kind who loves you enough to offend you with the truth.

5)  I will be patient with your struggles.  Studies show that abused women "leave" their abuser (only to return) about 8 times before making the final break.  Just ask my friends and family how maddening it was to watch me waffle and waver year after year.  But there are some decisions that can only be made by the person involved, and the hardest ones fall into this category.  So I may advise you and possibly bug you to do something, but I will never dump you out of weariness over your struggles, no matter how long they drag out.

5a)  ....but I won't approve of sinfulness, because I love you.  This doesn't mean I'll judge you or condemn you.  I'll love you and pray for you and celebrate with you as you gain baby steps of victory.

6)  After all of the above, I'll remind you to come to the right conclusions.  Conclusions are absolutely necessary.  Venting is momentarily helpful but doesn't lead to change.  Conclusions do!  So once you've spilled your guts all over my coffee table, I'll always ask that leading question:  "So what are you going to do?"

6a)  ....and the right conclusion is always JESUS!  Our thinking needs to line up with His thinking because He's the Way, the Truth and the Life.  Conclusions that aren't completely based on His Word and His Will will not be sufficient or satisfying.

7)  I will keep your secrets.  No cold sweats in the middle of the night that your secrets will be exposed to the world.  They won't be exposed to my spouse, my other friends, the internet or even my cat.  This is true regardless of the status of our friendship, because my commitment to you is based on my own integrity and nothing else.  Even if we have a WWIII kind of falling out, I still won't share your secrets.  (But really, how likely is that?!)

8)  I will pray for you.  I will share your secrets with the only One who knows you completely, pretty and ugly alike:  Jesus.  I promise to place your needs before His throne regularly and earnestly.  Especially when I have no idea what wisdom to share with you or how to pray.  When times are so dark that you can't pray for yourself, I'll do it for you.

2014 is The Year of Friendship for me as I anticipate divorcing and making some really huge changes.  I am going to need my friends more than ever before and am excited to see what amazing things God is going to do in our lives.  So take my hand, Dear Friend, and we will walk this journey together!

The Joy in a Four-Way Stop

My Favorites List is short and sweet:  sunglasses, chapstick, puzzles, cardinals, and four-way stops.

Yes, four-way stops.  Picture it:  four cars arrive at an intersection mere seconds apart.  Four completely unrelated individuals going four different directions, all with their own agenda.  No names are exchanged, there's no transaction of any kind, not even a nod of the head, though occasionally a gesture of deference.  It's fairness in its truest form.  You arrive first, you go first; be the last to arrive and by the time you've come to a complete stop it's usually your turn to go anyway.  There's even a guideline if the order is questionable -- the person on the right has the right-of-way in cases too close to call.

I marvel every time this works and my girls are used to my gushing praise.  "Do you see that, girls?  Do you see how everyone following the rules benefits all of us?  Do you see how simple and smoothly this works?  Now what would happen if every person who pulled up to this intersection made up their own rule about when they should be able to drive through it?"  Rolled eyes are the general response, and I'm okay with that.  My youth was spent with the same undercurrent of rebellion.  Rules are stupid things that keep me from what I want.  Life would be so much more fun if I didn't live under this tyrant of a parent.

Rules seemed like constant hurdles to be jumped or at the least circumvented.  They stood in the way of my wants and desires and even the simplest ones were an irritant.  And so I rebelled against the rules in large and small ways and discovered the pain of consequences.  There might be pain in living under the rules, but there's certainly no long-term pleasure in living without them.

It takes time and maturity to discover that it's much easier to obey the rules than to deal with the consequences.  Pick one, rules or consequences, because you're going to have to be reconciled to one or the other.

"I run in the path of your commands, for you have set my heart free."  Psalm 119:32

The Holy Spirit had a different highway in mind when he first drafted the laws to be written on our hearts.  Not a path filled with inconvenient hurdles, but laws that form the borders of the track, keeping out unnecessary hurt, pain and heartache, allowing us to run the race without anything to trip us up. 

"....let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us...."  Hebrews 12:1

Running a trail race this weekend was a visual reminder of how much easier it is to stay on the marked path, following the route markers.  Though I didn't know what to expect around the next corner, I was able to keep my pace, confident that someone familiar with the area had gone ahead and marked the easiest path with the fewest obstacles.

So run your race, Dear Daughters, with the confidence that comes from staying in the path of His commands, for He has set your heart free from all of those nasty consequences that lay outside the marked path.  And no rolling stops, please, because police officers are also interested in your driving habits at a four-way stop -- though not quite as concerned as your Earthly Mother and Heavenly Father.

Valentine Schmalentine

Valentine's Day is one big dilemma for me.  There, I said it.

Commercialism aside, it just doesn't make sense.  Happily married couples don't need an assigned day to prove their love with flowers and chocolate because they already have one that would appear to be much more personal:  their anniversary.  To boot, happily married people are likely already finding ways to show their love and commitment every day -- which is part of the reason for their contentment to begin with.  So let's just admit that the rest of us are happy though secretly jealous of that group and push them to the side, shall we?

While I'm at it, can I finally admit that the cynic in me prefers to use "V-Day" instead of Valentine's Day?  V-Day sounds like soldiers storming beaches, or some newly discovered type of venereal disease, and since my February 14ths have traditionally been full of yearning, disappointment and angst (and basically in that order), the nickname fits pretty well.

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life."  (Proverbs 13:12)  Heartsick is a good word for it, and it's something that no amount of chocolates can satisfy.  You can trust me on this one -- drowning your sorrows in chocolate only leads to weight gain and regret.  Can I get an "Amen?"

And the hopes, dreams and needs that put us in this position aren't wrong -- they're placed in our hearts by our Creator Himself.  Formed in the image of the Holy Three in One who delights in communion within Himself -- and moved heaven and earth to have communion with us, our hearts echo His cry for intimacy.  The earth itself sees the fallout:  "Under three things the earth trembles, under four it cannot bear up.... an unloved woman who is married...."   (Proverbs 30:21, 23)  The resulting dilemma is that those of us who are not experiencing a healthy, loving relationship are stuck, staring longingly at the tree of life, unable to jump high enough to reach its branches.  

Solution Number One:  Stuff the hurts deep inside, pretend the needs don't exist, harden our hearts and become cynical.  I have tried this.  And it works.  For a while.  And then you are living on half a heart and the ice in your veins leaks into other relationships and you realize it's not any kind of a solution you can live with.

Solution Number Two:  Find a new lover.  

I am not talking Craigslist or e-Harmony here.  See, whether you realize it or not, the Man of Your Dreams has been pursuing you your entire life.  

He collects your tears in a bottle.  Psalm 56:8

He dances over you with joy.  Zephaniah 3:17

He delights in giving you good things.  Luke 12:32

He knows your every thought.  Psalm 139:2

He has good plans for you.  Jeremiah 29:11

He will never fail you.   Deuteronomy 31:6

The list goes on and on, and you can find all the love letters He has ever written to you in the pages of your Bible.  No more Valentine's Days spent hoping that someone will remember your favorite flower, or giving yourself a pep talk when he was completely neglectful all year long but thinks that today's bouquet makes everything better.  No more pressure that this day is somehow an overarching statement of your value for all time.  You are perfectly known, perfectly loved and perfectly accepted by the Lover of Your Soul, whose name is Faithful and True.  (Psalm 18:19, Psalm 23:6, Revelation 19:11)

This morning He kissed my faced with sunshine, sang me a song in a cardinal's voice and flooded my heart with His love, His Spirit and His presence.   "My Lover is mine and I am his."  (Songs of Solomon 2:16)  Flowers and chocolate, indeed!