I have been thinking a lot about the situation that played out with Max. I’m starting to think my struggle was not in my lack of faith, but because I didn’t stick with what God has given me to share: my story.
I was listening to a radio talk-show a few weeks ago and they were interviewing Lee Strobel. Lee was the former legal editor for the Chicago Tribune and a devout atheist. After spending two years investigating the evidence for Jesus, he became a believer and has since become one of the most recognized apologists in the evangelical Christian community. Strobel has spent hundreds of hours researching and discovering historical proof that Jesus is who He claimed to be, the Son of God. He has devoted a good portion of his adult life discussing and answering questions just like Max’s, and many more. Knowing all this about Lee Strobel and having read one of His books, The Case for Faith, I was interested in hearing what he had to say. As I listened, he didn’t talk about the apologetics for which he is well-know, but instead discussed how we are all given a story, our testimony, of what God has done and is doing in us, and it’s our responsibility to tell it. He related it to the Apostle Paul who gave his own testimony whenever allowed the opportunity. When Paul was brought before kings and courts, he told them his story. He let the transforming power of God be the evidence of God’s realness and truth. He let what God had done be the telling sign that He is real, He is God. That’s the gospel – Jesus saving and transforming lives.
I realized after thinking about my encounter with Max that while theological and historical arguments are good in the right place and right time, they are not where I find proof of my faith. The proof I possess is the saving and transforming power of Jesus in my life. That’s it. It seems simple, and in some ways it is simple, but still so amazing.
And what’s better is that no one, NO one, can tell me I’m wrong. It’s my story. It’s the story of a beautiful and amazing God reaching for me, even when I hated Him. It’s the story of a broken girl who thought she had a better plan, who ran down a road of pitfalls and deceit, one that guided her straight into the arms of hopelessness. And when she had no where else to go but down, she fell on her face before a God she didn’t really believe in (that same God who was reaching for her), asked for help, and had Him show up in miraculous ways. It’s my Damascus Road, and it’s true. I know it’s true because I lived it. I’m still living it. He’s still changing me and twisting me around and turning me on my ear at times, just so I can get His perspective, so I can see and understand His heart. Jesus is still transforming me.
You have your own story, your own Damascus Road. Yours may not be as dramatic as mine, at least it may not appear to be from the outside, but I bet it’s more moving than you think. Consider…what God has done for you and in you, and what He’s still doing. Meditate on the ways you’ve seen God moving in and transforming your life, and then SHARE it with someone. It’s your story, and it’s all the proof someone might need to believe. The gospel, living and breathing in you.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
A Moment with Max
I had a beautiful moment with Max a few nights ago. He asked me how I could know that our God is the right one. He’s 8. He wondered with great angst how we could tell others of differing faiths that they are wrong and we are right. Seriously? Eight years old asking this question, and right before bed? I knew this was one I was going to have to talk through, but how? I tried to come up with all the theological answers I’ve been told in the past, and I think I butchered a couple of them pretty good. I tried to give him historical information, none of which I could really validate on my own. I stumbled around, searching for the right words to convince him that Jesus really is who He said He is and we believe because it’s true. None of it worked. From the depth of my soul I silently cried, “God help” while I continued to fumble with weak explanations, trying desperately to give a convincing argument. I wouldn’t have believed me.
That’s when it hit me. The only real argument I had was what Jesus has done for me, and in me. All the history and theology is good for someone who can use it in an argument, but as hard as I tried, I was not that person. And to tell the truth, Max isn’t the kid who’s going to believe it anyway. No, Max is going to have to come up in this the hard way. How do I know? I was him, or he is me, depending on how you want to look at it. He is struggling, not with the validity of the argument, but with the giving up of his will to another, especially another that he cannot see, touch, or most importantly engage in audible argument. His will is strong, much like mine, and it has a rebellious mind of its own. As a mother, my first instinct was to think I can rule and rein it out of him, almost like a demand, “Stop it. I’m your mother, that’s why.” But I already knew that would NEVER work with Max. I thought about just telling him to go to sleep, he would figure it out eventually, but I remember how effective that argument was in my life. That wasn't going to work either.
So I told him a story. I told him of the night before I went to Teen Challenge. He stopped crying and listened closely as I told him of what might have been the most fearful night of my life. I began to cry as I shared the moment when I looked up into the dark of that night, and the dark of my own soul, and prayed a simple yet honest prayer. “ God, I don’t know you and I don’t know if you’re really there, but if you are and you hear me, please help me.” As the tears streamed down my face, I told my son the story of my own lack of faith, and how God heard me anyway. I shared with him the way God answered that frail little prayer and carried me through the hardest year of my life. God came close to me that night, so close I could feel Him beginning to break apart the hard parts. I looked down at Max’s sweet face, took his hand in mine, and said, “Baby, I can tell you what Jesus has done in me, but I can’t make you believe it. I can promise you that as you work to figure this faith thing out, God will be with you every step of the way, and so will I. Now you pray whatever it is you need to pray.”
Through quiet sobs, Max closed his eyes, clutched my hand, and whispered, “God, I don’t understand. Please help me understand You. Amen.” It was the most beautiful, honest, and difficult moment I’ve had with Max so far.
I believe there will be more moments and they will most likely be more difficult than this one. But in those moments, I will listen closely, maybe even strain, to hear the very words I promised to Max - God will be there.
That’s when it hit me. The only real argument I had was what Jesus has done for me, and in me. All the history and theology is good for someone who can use it in an argument, but as hard as I tried, I was not that person. And to tell the truth, Max isn’t the kid who’s going to believe it anyway. No, Max is going to have to come up in this the hard way. How do I know? I was him, or he is me, depending on how you want to look at it. He is struggling, not with the validity of the argument, but with the giving up of his will to another, especially another that he cannot see, touch, or most importantly engage in audible argument. His will is strong, much like mine, and it has a rebellious mind of its own. As a mother, my first instinct was to think I can rule and rein it out of him, almost like a demand, “Stop it. I’m your mother, that’s why.” But I already knew that would NEVER work with Max. I thought about just telling him to go to sleep, he would figure it out eventually, but I remember how effective that argument was in my life. That wasn't going to work either.
So I told him a story. I told him of the night before I went to Teen Challenge. He stopped crying and listened closely as I told him of what might have been the most fearful night of my life. I began to cry as I shared the moment when I looked up into the dark of that night, and the dark of my own soul, and prayed a simple yet honest prayer. “ God, I don’t know you and I don’t know if you’re really there, but if you are and you hear me, please help me.” As the tears streamed down my face, I told my son the story of my own lack of faith, and how God heard me anyway. I shared with him the way God answered that frail little prayer and carried me through the hardest year of my life. God came close to me that night, so close I could feel Him beginning to break apart the hard parts. I looked down at Max’s sweet face, took his hand in mine, and said, “Baby, I can tell you what Jesus has done in me, but I can’t make you believe it. I can promise you that as you work to figure this faith thing out, God will be with you every step of the way, and so will I. Now you pray whatever it is you need to pray.”
Through quiet sobs, Max closed his eyes, clutched my hand, and whispered, “God, I don’t understand. Please help me understand You. Amen.” It was the most beautiful, honest, and difficult moment I’ve had with Max so far.
I believe there will be more moments and they will most likely be more difficult than this one. But in those moments, I will listen closely, maybe even strain, to hear the very words I promised to Max - God will be there.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Inspirational Songs
I heard a very inspirational song on the radio today. I often hear inspirational songs because I listen to stations that play mostly inspiring music. This is for the sake of my kids more than anything, and I must confess that when they are not with me I will listen to less-than inspiring music. I guess it depends on what inspires you…
Anyway, I was listening to this song about going out on a limb, reaching for your goals, stepping out in faith, etc, etc – you’ve all heard this song before. It may not be the one I was listening to but you’ve heard one (or many) with the same message. I started to get choked up a bit, thinking “This is totally me right now! I need to have courage and strength and just go for it!” Suddenly it hit me: these songs ALWAYS speak to me. I might be exaggerating a little as “always” is usually an overstatement, but I got a little annoyed with myself for how quickly and how often I can relate. When will I reach a point where every you-have-wings-so-fly-little-bird song isn’t talking directly to me? I would venture to guess I’m not alone resonating with these sappy songs because they’ve been around for a looooooong time. I remember my very 1st roommate in college listening to Mariah Carey’s song “Hero” and telling me I should hear the truth in its message. I thought that was hysterical then, and I still do. I’ve never been much of a Mariah fan. This sidebar doesn’t really relate to my point – I just think it’s funny. As a sidebar to my sidebar, she didn’t remain my roommate for long. She liked Garfield, a lot, and she was 18.
But I digress…here’s hoping I’ll get past my silly insecurities sooner than later. I’m looking forward to the day I can hear a song about reaching for my dreams and say “Done.”
Anyway, I was listening to this song about going out on a limb, reaching for your goals, stepping out in faith, etc, etc – you’ve all heard this song before. It may not be the one I was listening to but you’ve heard one (or many) with the same message. I started to get choked up a bit, thinking “This is totally me right now! I need to have courage and strength and just go for it!” Suddenly it hit me: these songs ALWAYS speak to me. I might be exaggerating a little as “always” is usually an overstatement, but I got a little annoyed with myself for how quickly and how often I can relate. When will I reach a point where every you-have-wings-so-fly-little-bird song isn’t talking directly to me? I would venture to guess I’m not alone resonating with these sappy songs because they’ve been around for a looooooong time. I remember my very 1st roommate in college listening to Mariah Carey’s song “Hero” and telling me I should hear the truth in its message. I thought that was hysterical then, and I still do. I’ve never been much of a Mariah fan. This sidebar doesn’t really relate to my point – I just think it’s funny. As a sidebar to my sidebar, she didn’t remain my roommate for long. She liked Garfield, a lot, and she was 18.
But I digress…here’s hoping I’ll get past my silly insecurities sooner than later. I’m looking forward to the day I can hear a song about reaching for my dreams and say “Done.”
Monday, January 17, 2011
Compare & Contrast
I thought I would be over comparing myself to other people by now. I really, truly believed that was something only junior high kids did and when I was “grown up” I would stop worrying about what other people were or weren’t doing. As I approach my 36th birthday, I discover it is not so. I see attributes in other people that I admire and often want to emulate, and that can be a really good thing. There are people who have already been where I’m going and have weathered the storms of this life quite well. I want to learn from them, but does that mean I have to be just like them? I'm realizing that's what I truly believe, even though I know it to be wrong. We talk so much about being unique, created one-of-a-kind by the Creator of all things, special and unlike anyone else. Why then do we spend so much time trying to be like everyone else? I hear a song and think, “I like that song. Why don’t my songs sound like that one?” Or I hear a voice I like, or read a book that is exceptionally well-written, or watch a movie with a great plot, or see a mother handling her children with such care and immediately I begin to compare. I wish my voice sounded like that, I wish I could come up with good ideas like those, I wish I were more nurturing like she is…the list goes on. And don’t even get me started on body image –that’s a whole different post in and of itself. Can anyone relate? What do I have to do to be good with who I am and what I do? So I’m not perfect – now that myth has been busted, we can move on. I want to reach a place in life where I actually like who I am and what I do. What I produce may not look anything like what anyone else has ever done before, and at some point I need to move beyond jr. high and say that’s okay - maybe even call it good.
(If you've already graduated from this jr. high mentality, I'll take whatever scraps of wisdom you want to toss to me. I'll be waiting under the table.)
Instead of comparing, I want to see the contrasting of lives as good and worthwhile. I want to see how the contrasts highlight the features previously unseen in each unique object, idea, or creation. Artists use contrasting elements to create interest or drama in a piece. They use contrast to hone in on a specific focal point. Maybe God uses the contrasts in us to bring into better focus the main idea of this life – Jesus Christ and His saving grace. Learning to embrace the contrasts, even encourage them, not in opposition to unity but in order to perfect it, and bring to the forefront of this masterpiece the true Center.
(If you've already graduated from this jr. high mentality, I'll take whatever scraps of wisdom you want to toss to me. I'll be waiting under the table.)
Instead of comparing, I want to see the contrasting of lives as good and worthwhile. I want to see how the contrasts highlight the features previously unseen in each unique object, idea, or creation. Artists use contrasting elements to create interest or drama in a piece. They use contrast to hone in on a specific focal point. Maybe God uses the contrasts in us to bring into better focus the main idea of this life – Jesus Christ and His saving grace. Learning to embrace the contrasts, even encourage them, not in opposition to unity but in order to perfect it, and bring to the forefront of this masterpiece the true Center.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Growing Hurts
Growing is a painful process. My boys sometimes come to me with pain in their legs and we attribute it to “growing pains”. I’m not certain such a thing exists, but it sounds like a reasonable explanation for unexplainable pain. When I was in rehab I experienced some physical growth that was not so healthy and it caused pain as well. The more weight I gained the further my skin had to stretch, and it hurt. I remember telling the other women that the insides of my thighs were burning and itching, and then I noticed red marks on them. (Don't be alarmed.) One of the older women laughed at me and said, “Those are stretch marks! Haven’t you ever had stretch marks?” I hadn’t, and I was horrified to find them growing on my inner thighs. I had the same uncomfortable sensation the last few weeks of both my pregnancies. As the little baby body grew inside my belly, it pushed and pushed, stretching my skin in such a way it felt like my skin would literally tear in two. The burning pain was unbearable at times and I scratched and rubbed and did everything I could think to do to alleviate it. After Charlie arrived and my stomach shrunk back to what was sort of its normal size (or its new normal), the evidence of growth was there in the form of extra skin. Growth had occurred, both for Charlie and me. His was good, mine not so much.
Good growth causes pain as well. Sometimes when I’m feeling especially motivated I go to the gym and put myself through an extremely rigorous workout. I push my body to its limits, until my muscles are shaking and I can barely walk out of the weight room. I know I’ve done well when my muscles are sore for days. What follows is a series of days when I can barely move without hurting in one or many areas, and I am pleased with this result. I have stretched and grown my muscles. The pain equates to changes in my body that will eventually be good. And while they don’t feel so good, I spend a lot of time stretching and rubbing the muscles, attempting to alleviate some of the pain.
Growing hurts. I’ve been getting stretched on the inside lately and it’s been rough at times. As I face certain fears and insecurities (of which there seem to be many) I am given a choice – face them and let myself be grown through the hurt, or run and take cover. The run and take cover thing is what I am used to doing, but it doesn’t seem to work anymore. Bill says I live in a dirty cloud (think of Pigpen) and I go around life with everything clouded by the dirt of self-doubt that surrounds me. I can’t see clearly the ways God wants to use me and the gifts He’s given me, so I just go around with this clouded sense of self and lack of confidence. I must admit I’ve been pretty content to be there, but apparently it’s time to come out and see some of the world in a new way – to see myself in a new way. Just saying it scares me on multiple levels. A friend just recently told me she has to talk her way into commitment. Say it enough times and you’ll be forced to do it. I wish I could just keep talking and the changes would happen. But alas, it is not so.
I’m trying to get out of my “dirty cloud”. I’m trying to grow past it or over it or through it but it is hard going. The clearer view is scary to me. What if I don’t really like what I see, or worse, what if other people don’t like what they see? I know it’s not supposed to matter but it still does. I’m still growing you know.
So this growing is happening and I’m feeling the sting of it. As parts of me stretch, I rub at them and try to make the pain a little less, but it’s just part of the process. No doubt I’ll come out of it with some extra "skin". I could try to do a little nip and tuck to get rid of it, but I think I’ll leave it as a reminder of where I’ve been, and the growing I've done.
Good growth causes pain as well. Sometimes when I’m feeling especially motivated I go to the gym and put myself through an extremely rigorous workout. I push my body to its limits, until my muscles are shaking and I can barely walk out of the weight room. I know I’ve done well when my muscles are sore for days. What follows is a series of days when I can barely move without hurting in one or many areas, and I am pleased with this result. I have stretched and grown my muscles. The pain equates to changes in my body that will eventually be good. And while they don’t feel so good, I spend a lot of time stretching and rubbing the muscles, attempting to alleviate some of the pain.
Growing hurts. I’ve been getting stretched on the inside lately and it’s been rough at times. As I face certain fears and insecurities (of which there seem to be many) I am given a choice – face them and let myself be grown through the hurt, or run and take cover. The run and take cover thing is what I am used to doing, but it doesn’t seem to work anymore. Bill says I live in a dirty cloud (think of Pigpen) and I go around life with everything clouded by the dirt of self-doubt that surrounds me. I can’t see clearly the ways God wants to use me and the gifts He’s given me, so I just go around with this clouded sense of self and lack of confidence. I must admit I’ve been pretty content to be there, but apparently it’s time to come out and see some of the world in a new way – to see myself in a new way. Just saying it scares me on multiple levels. A friend just recently told me she has to talk her way into commitment. Say it enough times and you’ll be forced to do it. I wish I could just keep talking and the changes would happen. But alas, it is not so.
I’m trying to get out of my “dirty cloud”. I’m trying to grow past it or over it or through it but it is hard going. The clearer view is scary to me. What if I don’t really like what I see, or worse, what if other people don’t like what they see? I know it’s not supposed to matter but it still does. I’m still growing you know.
So this growing is happening and I’m feeling the sting of it. As parts of me stretch, I rub at them and try to make the pain a little less, but it’s just part of the process. No doubt I’ll come out of it with some extra "skin". I could try to do a little nip and tuck to get rid of it, but I think I’ll leave it as a reminder of where I’ve been, and the growing I've done.
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