On Losing My Grandmother

My grandmother died today.  I look at those words on this blank paper, and there seems like nothing else to say.  The day is cold and rain is beating against my bedroom window.  My body and mind feel exhausted.  What else is there to say?  Nothing…and yet, so much. 

 

I have been beyond blessed in my life to have only lost three people I love dearly, and each of them in God’s perfect timing with his handprint clearly visible.  I am thankful for this, but it doesn’t make each loss any easier.  I want to take this morning and this little blog and tell whoever is reading about my beautiful, special grandmother. 

 

My grandmother adored her family.  She was the glue that held everyone tightly together, and she was at her best when surrounded by all those she loved.  She had five children… in the course of six or seven years she told me.  I believe she would have had more if God had willed.  One of my favorite pictures of her is an old one my mom has where my grandmother and grandfather are standing on the beach surrounded by five small children.  I can’t imagine how crazy life was in her house for so many years, but she talked about motherhood like it was one of the great joys of her life.

 

Another joy in life was her grandchildren.  I love the time she took to invest in each of our lives.  My grandmother has eleven grandchildren, and she knows us all well.  She joined Facebook to keep up with our lives and see the pictures we were posting.  Once we all started to turn 20 or so, she began to get after us to get married and give her great-grandchildren.  I wish she had lived long enough to see more of us get married and have children.  She was the first person I was able to tell face to face that Andy and I were pregnant, and she and my Pop were the only ones outside our parents who knew for several months.  She was beyond excited, and she called me more than once to ask if I had told anyone else, so she could finally spill the beans.  The last conversation I had with her was when I called to tell her our sweet baby is a boy.  I am so glad for that memory, and I’m thankful that she knew he is coming.  My heart only breaks because I wanted her to know him, and I wanted him to feel the love I always felt from her.

 

In addition to family, my grandmother loved to travel – and she was always up for another adventure.  When Andy and I were deciding where to go on our honeymoon, she had been every place we suggested and gave input about each option we threw out.  She loved to see the world, and she loved to try new things.  Her health or age was never an excuse not to do something she wanted to do.  I remember once when she was visiting my parents, she drove with my mom for a quick trip to Greenville to see my house and help me decorate for Christmas.  She was 75 years old and her hips had begun to bother her during long car rides, but she still hopped in that car and made the 3.5 hour drive to my house.  When she got out of the car, she didn’t say one word about her aches and pains but instead started lugging in bags and boxes full of decorations she had bought to make my tree beautiful.

 

She had an artistic eye that made her an excellent decorator, but it also gave her some traits that were my favorites about her.  My grandmother had a true eye for style, and she never dressed like a typical grandma.  She wore cute outfits, fixed her hair, applied classy makeup, and had a ton of adorable shoes.  I remember that when I got married, she had a hard time finding a dress because she complained that everything looked “old lady,” and she even suggested wearing lime green at one point.  I’m glad she went with lavender instead, but I just love that she never seemed old.  She took up painting within the last ten years, and she pushed herself to take classes and read books and practice her new skills. The phrase, “I’m too old for that,” simply was not in her vocabulary.  She pushed through every ache and pain and health concern to find new ways to do what she wanted to do, and most recently she was even talking about learning Braille to compensate for her failing eyesight.

 

I adored my grandmother, and this morning before I heard she was gone, I was struggling with her inevitable passing and praying to God that he would have mercy on her and give her peace as he took her home to be with him.  I felt him respond with Romans 9:15, “I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion.”  I was struggling with what he meant in the context of our conversation when my mom called to tell me my grandmother was gone.  My mom was alone with my grandmother, and she described her passing as incredibly peaceful.  My mom said that she knew the Lord woke her to witness it.  She talked of a special moment she had with her mother before she knew with certainty that she was in heaven with our Lord, and immediately, I could see the mercy in God’s timing and provision.  God was merciful to allow my mom that moment with her mother.  My mom believes fully in God’s timing and his ways.  She trusts God more than most people I know, and I am so glad he rewarded that trust by allowing her to see him take my grandmother home.  I am also grateful that she could share the moment with me to give me peace that my grandmother’s faith in Jesus has now made her whole.  About 30 minutes after I spoke to my mom, my brother JT called, and he made the comment that my grandmother was never meant to be a caged bird.  He was referring to her declining health and spoke to God’s mercy in taking her home instead of allowing her to have the quality of life where she wasn’t able to do any of the activities she enjoyed.

 

It is hard to lose her.  I have no doubt that the next week or so will be exhausting, and I know from past experiences that more difficult moments await us in the following year, but I am thankful for the Lord.  I am thankful for his sovereignty and his mercy and his overwhelming love that will be our peace.  I am also thankful that my grandmother lives on in our family through her five children, eleven grandchildren, and one great-grandchild (and the second on the way!).  I know that my son will not have the opportunity to know her personally, but he will know my mom, and as I wrote this blog, I was reminded over and over how similar my mom is to my grandmother.  Not only does she look just like my grandmother, she also loves to be surrounded by family and never lets personal problems or complaints hinder her from doing what she loves.  My mom is cute and stylish and full of energy.  She pours out love on those around her, and I know Daniel will feel every bit as cherished by his grandmother as I have felt by mine.  I spoke with my brother, JT, and I think about his life and his love of adventure and travel and his “up for anything” attitude, and I see the markings of my grandmother all over him.  My grandmother might be gone, but she has left a beautiful legacy in the members of her family, and I am thankful for all she was to each of us.

My Family

I LOVE Christmas time.  It has finally hit me that the holiday is here, and this morning, I’m curled on my couch with a cup of hot coffee enjoying my first day of winter break from school.  My favorite thing about Christmas this year is that Andy and I will be able to spend it with my family.  It has been three years since I’ve spent Christmas Day with my family as we’ve been at my in-laws for the past two years.  Andy’s family is absolutely awesome – I could not ask for better in-laws – but there is something so special about spending big holidays with your own parents and siblings.

 

At work this week, there has been much talk about the holidays and where everyone is traveling over break.  It is the time of year where you tend to learn a great deal about other people’s families – their relationships, their traditions, their religious beliefs – and those conversations often reinforce how blessed I am to have the family I have.  As Andy and I start our own family, I am also thinking more about the dynamic I want to set for Daniel and the memories I want him to have from our household. 

 

I hope Daniel sees in Andy and me what I see in my parents every time I’m with them, and that is great, romantic love.  My parents are the cutest married couple I know, and anyone who has spent any length of time with them can tell you that.  They don’t have many friends.  They aren’t that couple who has a packed social calendar and goes out with a different group every weekend.  They are each other’s best friend.  They love spending time together, and they have several activities that they enjoying doing with one another.  When it comes to leisure time, it is rare to see my mom without my dad.  My dad makes corny jokes and my mom laughs at them like he is still her teenage crush.  I usually roll my eyes, but I can’t help also smiling at how much she adores him.  It isn’t abnormal to overhear him whistle or make an admiring comment when she comes in dressed to go out or to catch a glimpse of a little love note he has left on the dash of her car.  When my mom comes to Charlotte to spend the day shopping, she calls my dad at least three times “just to check in.”  They are so in love and so adorable.  I hope Daniel is able to see how much his dad and I love each other, too.  I hope he learns from us (and from his grandparents) not only to look for a wife who can be a good partner, but one who can be a great and joyful love.

 

I am also looking forward to seeing my brothers this week, and the fact that I am having a boy has made me wonder what qualities Daniel might inherit from his uncles.  Obviously, I want my boy to turn out like his daddy, who also happens to be my favorite man on earth, but I adore my brothers.   What I love most about my brothers is how different they are, and I am so thankful for the uniqueness of each of my relationships with them.  When we were both in high school, JT was one of my very best friends.  Unlike many men, JT is a fantastic conversationalist.  To this day, one of my favorite memories from that time in my life is the two of us hanging out in my room late at night just talking – about life, dating, our goals and dreams, the Lord.  JT has an awesome excitement for life that makes me love him.  As an example, when I sent out my ultrasound picture to my entire family, JT was the only one who responded with absolute enthusiasm (and three text messages) describing how he could see each of Daniel’s little features and then telling me that the picture had made his day.  I LOVE how he gets excited for other people and what is happening in their lives.  I love that when we talk on the phone, he always asks me how Daniel Thomas is doing, and the child isn’t even born yet.  In addition to his middle name, I hope Daniel inherits from JT this type of enthusiasm and love of life.  I hope he laughs a lot and dreams big and lives with a contagious energy and excitement – especially for his family!

 

My brother, Casey, and I didn’t become especially close until JT moved to Ethiopia for a couple of years.  Casey and I are almost four years apart in age, also, so I think it took some time before we had enough in common to build a relationship of our own.  Interestingly, he and I are the most alike.  Casey is conservative and studious.  He likes to read and learn, and he is insanely intelligent.  Ironically, one of the things I love most about Casey is that he is NOT easily excited.  All of the Vaughn clan can be high strung at times, but usually Casey is calm, rational, and methodical.  Casey is the brother I call when I need time processing a decision and talking out various possibilities.  Casey is willing to patiently analyze a problem from all sides and not rush to “fix it.”  From him, I hope Daniel learns not to rush into life.  I want my son to live with great joy, but I also want him to be cautious and wise in the decisions he makes.

 

As we celebrate Jesus’ birth this year, I can’t wait to spend the day with my parents, brothers, and sisters-in-law.  I am so thankful that we have close and loving relationships and that we have not experienced strife or brokenness with one another.  I am also thankful that the holidays are not a time of stress or anxiety for us, but just great joy at being together (something that distance makes a rare occurrence).  The Lord could not have blessed me more by putting these precious members into my life, and I can’t wait to introduce Daniel to each of these people – he is already so blessed to have pieces of them in himself.

I Knit You Together

I think it is finally time to share on the blog that Andy and I are expecting a baby boy in April!  I am a little over half way finished with this pregnancy journey, and it has been such an amazing experience.  When we found out we were expecting on an early Tuesday morning in August, I was shocked.  We had been wanting a baby, but I was fully confident that we were still not pregnant.  I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when the good news was confirmed.  I felt so overwhelmingly blessed.  I know that getting pregnant is not a given – it is honestly something we have no control over.  Sometimes everything works out the way we plan, and sometimes it doesn’t.  Unlike some hopeful moms, I was under no illusion that we would even be able to have biological children, and I had secretly researched adoption avenues.  Adoption is such a special way to create a family, and it is something we still may consider in the future, but I’m so thankful that God is allowing us to have a baby that represents little pieces of each of us.

 

I have been incredibly blessed in that I have been almost symptom free for the past several months.  I joke with my friends that God knew I didn’t have the luxury of bathroom breaks whenever I needed so he kept me from being sick or overly tired.  However, as a result of not “feeling” pregnant, it was hard to believe that a baby was actually coming.  Then, two weeks ago, we went for our first ultrasound.  The whole process took at least thirty minutes, but it felt like seconds.  I still can’t believe how amazing it was to see our baby kick his arms and legs, cover his eyes and ears with little hands, and squirm away from the technician’s touch.  She showed us his heart beating and all the chambers working, his liver, his lungs, his little brain.  Since finding out I’m pregnant, I have only gained about 6 pounds.  It was unbelievable that as small as I am, there was a full life inside of me.  I have barely even felt the baby move, but he has all his little organs and parts, and they are working exactly as they should.  Psalm 139:13-14 suddenly came alive for me.  It says, “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

 

We left the office with a picture of our baby in hand, and I texted it to our family and friends almost immediately.  It is even hanging on our refrigerator.  I look at his sweet face, and I already feel so in love with him.  When I was making the 30 minute drive to work last week, I found myself thinking about and praying for my little boy, and I felt God quickly respond, “He isn’t your little boy – he is mine.  I am trusting you to care for him.  I know him better and love him more than you do.”  It is interesting that every time I find myself thinking of him as mine, God always responds softly, “No, he is mine.”

 

We have chosen to name the baby Daniel after the Biblical character.  We picked that name because Daniel from the Bible was the most upstanding person we could imagine.  He was fully committed to God in every way.  Because he was one of the captives taken from Jerusalem, there is no mention of his parents.  From a young age – maybe even middle school – he had only the Lord as his refuge as he tried to adjust to his new life in Babylon under King Nebuchadnezzar.  His name even means “God is my judge.”  In his life, Daniel worried only about being accountable to the Lord God.

 

I want the same for Daniel Speight.  I want him to know the Lord as his God and find his direction and refuge in him, but I think I’m starting to see that I have to hold him with a loose grip if that is truly my desire.  Psalm 139:16 says, “All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”  God already has great plans for Daniel.  Bigger plans than I could even conceive, and those plans may include him going to people or places that make me nervous.  When I think of his future, I imagine him going to college, getting a job, marrying a nice girl who fits in well with our family, having his own babies, and living close to his Mama!  But none of that may be God’s plan for his child.  Daniel is not mine.  He is the Lord’s.  God has trusted Andy and me greatly to put this sweet life in our hands, but he doesn’t really belong to us.  I don’t know if this is a sacrilegious comparison, but it reminds me a little bit of God giving Jesus to Mary and Joseph.  Jesus was God himself – the Father’s son – and he did not belong to Mary and Joseph.  No one even thinks of him belonging to them.  Jesus came to earth to fulfill a purpose which was to provide salvation for us all.  God simply put Jesus with earthly parents to provide and care for him as a child before he was ready to fulfill his role in the plan of redemption.  What an amazing honor Mary and Joseph were given – they had the opportunity to care for the God of the universe. 

 

I know it is not exactly the same.  Daniel is fully human.  He will make mistakes and mess up.  He has his own free will and ultimately he will have to decide whether to follow the Lord for himself or not, but what an honor God has given me to be his mother.  What a privilege it is to care for this little baby whom God loves and has purposely made in his image.  I think about teaching him about Jesus and how much he is loved by his Father in heaven and reading him the Bible, and it feels like the biggest most amazing job the Lord has ever given me.  I can’t believe that on earth, God allows us to care for his children.

Questions

I had a parent conference yesterday.  We met to discuss grades specifically, but before we started, I told the parents I wanted to give them my general impressions of their son’s progress.  The overview was that he seemed overly confident and unwilling to take instruction.  I told them that when I begin going over a project or expectations, I feel that he hears about ¼ of what I’m saying, assumes he knows the rest, and then tunes me out (I’m sure teenage parents can relate!).  After that, he neglects to conference with me or ask further questions, believing he is on the right track, but his grades are showing that he could have seriously benefited from less confidence and more questions.  He is not alone.  It is unbelievable the amount of kids I have this year who believe they know it all.  They are smart kids, and they have received good instruction in middle school, but they are 14.  There is still much more left to learn. 

 

You have to love people who are willing to ask questions.  This week in my Bible Study, one of our members started asking all kinds of questions.  Her questions started out pretty easy.  Things like, “What is the difference between 1 John and John?”  and “Did the same person write both books?” and “Is Jesus in all of these books?”  They were great, fun questions to answer, but then she hit us with a ringer.  “Well, if all these people were alive when Jesus was alive, and if the gospels were written soon after he died, why didn’t he just spend time on earth writing to us? Why do we have to read about his life from someone else’s perspective?”

 

What a great question!  Jesus could have taken time to write down an autobiography or a book of wisdom.  He is God.  Why leave his message in the hands average human men?  Honestly, until this week, I had never thought about why Jesus didn’t write the Bible.  He just didn’t.  I’ve known he didn’t write it for so long, that I don’t even think to question why.  But, this week, before my friend’s question, I had been reading a commentary that addressed her exact concern.  In his commentary on Luke, William Barclay says that the reason Jesus didn’t write was because his job was to come to earth first as a sacrifice – to die for our sins – but secondly, to show us how to love.  Barclay says that Jesus could have confined himself in solitude and written all kinds of rules for life, but instead he DID life for us.  Showing us what it looks like to love and serve and grieve and pray and resist temptation.  He gave us a picture lesson of what the gospel is, and then allowed others to put it into words.  I gave my friend that answer on Wednesday night, but I have been tossing her question around in my mind all week, and last night even had the chance to discuss it with Andy.

 

After thinking it through, I think there is another reason Jesus didn’t write the Bible.  I think he wanted to continue the precedence of inviting human beings into service with him.  He wanted to give Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, the opportunity to experience him more deeply as they researched and wrote the gospels that have blessed millions of people across centuries.  I can understand a similar experience.  One of the most moving spiritual times in my life was when I was a new teacher, and I began dating an old college crush.  Life was not going well for my new boyfriend at that time, and our dating relationship became something of an act of service on my part. However, it also gave me a front row seat to how huge God is and how quickly and powerfully he can move in someone’s life, and he let me play a small part as he transformed my boyfriend’s individual life and relationship with his family.  It was an amazing experience, and it served me much more than I ever served my boyfriend.  Through that short relationship, God showed me what trusting him looks like, how big he is, and how to know him as healer.  God didn’t need me to work in this man’s life, but he invited me to play a part, and because I was willing, he blessed me right along with my boyfriend.

 

I think this is how God works.  He can do everything himself.  He doesn’t need us for anything.  If he wants to bless the homeless man on the street, he can do it any way he chooses, but what if he wants to use us and our $5 bill?  He can comfort a new friend with internal peace and a song on the radio, but what if he wants to use our loving arms to wrap them in a hug?  I think God stands, inviting us to see what serving people feels like.  To know what it is like to love like he does.  He waits with open arms to give us those opportunities.  He doesn’t need us, but he wants us to walk alongside him and to know the joy of loving like him.

 

My friend at Bible Study could have held back her question about Jesus writing the gospels.  I could see in the way she prefaced it, that she even debated whether or not to ask, but I’m so thankful she did.  She was willing to be used by God to give me a week to think about Him in brand new ways.  And for that, I thank her.

Follow the Rules!! Or Maybe not...

I’m a “Follow the Rules” girl.  If someone semi-reliable tells me there is a right way to do almost anything, I’m going to do it – and do it consistently.  An example: Andy and I rarely disagree, but how much money we should put in a 401K is always a sore point.  He believes 12% is plenty especially when coupled with other investments.  I read a book called Automatic Millionaire several years ago, and from it, I’m convinced 15% is the bare minimum and 20% is much more desirable.  I’m pretty sure neither of us is actually wrong, but I have this rule in my head that I feel compelled to follow. 

 

My rules don’t only apply to my personal financial life.  They impact how I do my job and how I interact with others socially.  They even impact the way I view other people.  I say “bless you” when someone sneezes.  I follow almost every single school rule no matter how ridiculous I think it is.  For example, do I care if a kid has a hat on in class?  No.  That is absolutely not a priority to me.  But I don’t let kids wear hats because the school rule says they can’t.  When leaving church in a crowded parking lot, I impose the “alternating go” rule – allowing one car to go in front of me and expecting that someone will also let me into the line when it is “my” turn.  I become embarrassingly angry when cars don’t follow this rule and immediately speculate on whether they are really Christians and vent about how hypocritical they are not to allow the next waiting car in front of them after leaving a church service!

 

Innately, I believe that good people are rule followers.  Bad people break the rules.  You know who else believed the same thing?  The Pharisees.  They get a bad rap in the Bible (a well-deserved bad rap, I might say) but I think if we are honest, we could see ourselves in these guys. At least I know I do.

 

I’m reading Luke right now along with William Barclay’s commentary, and here is what I see about the Pharisees.  They know the Bible cover to cover.  They know it better than almost anyone else, and they really want to do what it says.  But, as we all know, parts of the Bible are not super clear.  God says to rest on the Sabbath.  Well, what does that mean?  What counts as work?  What counts as rest?  How do we know if we are truly following God’s call to rest on the Sabbath?  The religious people of the time wanted to do what God said, and they wanted to do it the right way, so they started trying to figure it out, and in figuring it out, they created all kinds of rules to help them follow the command.  It got to the point that, to be on the safe side, one type of work, carrying a burden, was defined (in part!) as “food equal in weight to a dried fig, enough wine for mixing in a goblet, milk enough for one swallow” (Barclay).  I’m no Biblical scholar, but as a modern example, it seems like it would be a sin to carry a baby bottle to feed a crying child – unless maybe you carried the milk one or two tablespoons at a time to fill the bottle in front of the child.

 

The rules became so difficult and restrictive that average people could not possibly carry them out.  The regular responsibilities of a household would prevent following every rule on the Sabbath.  The Pharisees, however, wanted so badly to do everything right that they “separated themselves from ordinary people and ordinary life in order to keep these rules and regulations,” in fact, their name ‘Pharisee’ even means ‘separated one’ (Barlcay). 

 

I think of these men who are trying so hard to be pleasing to God.  They are trying to do everything right and follow all the rules, and they aren’t enjoying life much as a result, but that is ok because they are finding their identity in the fact that they are at least keeping God’s commands.  And then here comes this Rabbi whom everyone loves, and he is breaking all the rules and teaching the people it is ok to do the same. This Rabbi Jesus even heals a man’s hand on the Sabbath – in the synagogue (of all places!) in front of the entire crowd.  He did that miracle clearly knowing the rule that healing was off limits on the Sabbath as it counted as work. 

 

Honestly, I can’t help but feel sorry for the Pharisees in this situation.  Not only does Jesus break all the rules on their turf, he even has the man stand up in front of the entire crowd and asks, “Which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save life or to destroy it?”  He may as well be asking, “Who among you thinks the rules we’ve followed for decades are dumb?  Who thinks everything the Pharisees have built their lives trying to accomplish is useless?”

 

I know the Pharisees had it all wrong.  I know that Jesus was right.  I know he wanted them to see that their value was found not in rules but in God and in their service to others.  In my heart, I know that.  But I think about my own life, and I wonder how I would respond if someone came to me and said, “You know all those rules you’ve been following to try to be a good person?  They are worthless.  You are all wrong.”  I would seriously struggle.

 

In fact, reading Luke has made me question the rules Christians follow and whether they really matter.  For example, in some instances it is ok to wear jeans to church, but one should never wear sweatpants or a sweatshirt or shorts.  All Christians should serve their church in some capacity – work with children’s ministry, hand out bulletins, pass the offering plate – something.  Women should do women’s Bible Studies in addition to regular time alone with the Lord.  Christian women who don’t do at least a few Beth Moore studies aren’t very serious about their faith.  We shouldn’t work on Sundays, which means Chic-fil-a is the only truly Christian restaurant and that neighbor mowing his yard is a complete heathen.  The list goes on and on.  I know we all have rules and expectations about how Christians should behave that are not specifically mentioned in the Bible.  Reading Luke, I have to question whether our modern self-imposed rules are as ridiculous as the ones the Pharisees followed.  What would Jesus say if he stepped into our churches and homes?  Would he praise us for a job well done or would he tell us we are getting it all wrong – that our hearts have seriously missed the mark?

Hard to Love

I got my feelings hurt this week.  It has happened to everyone, right?  Someone’s careless action or inaction has left us crying in our closets or eating chocolate like it is our job.  I have to admit, though, I pride myself on rarely getting my feelings hurt.  I like to tell Andy that after 6.5 years of teaching high school, I have no feelings.  Working with teenagers has a numbing effect when it comes to hurtful words or actions, but I also like to give people the benefit of the doubt.  I like to try to see where other people are coming from and attempt to understand motivations behind their words or actions.  I feel like I am good at understanding why people speak or act as they do, and if I can understand, I can usually move on – even if I don’t agree with the actions.  However, this week, I couldn’t move on.  This week, I was hurt and I tried my usual tactics – I tried to think of every possible reason behind this person’s actions, but I couldn’t come up with anything.  And, trust me, the grievance alone was worth the hurt feelings, but not being able to understand the motivation kept me in that bitter place.

 

The more I thought about it, the more hurt and bitter I became.  Then, before I knew it, I began to remember other times this person had hurt me, and I got angrier.  Now, I want you to know that my second mode of operation in situations like these is to either distance myself from the person in question or talk it out with them.  In this particular situation, neither were appropriate responses.  As you know, all relationships aren’t disposable and talking sometimes only exacerbates the problem.  So, I started to pray (maybe that should have been the first step all along!).  And I want to admit that my prayers were angry, venty prayers at first.  Prayers like, “Seriously, God?  You see this, right?  What in the world??”  But those prayers didn’t help.  They made me more angry and frustrated and upset. 

 

Then, today, in the copy room at work as I watched the machine spit paper, I opened my heart to the Lord.  I could recognize Satan taking his in with me.  I could see that the hurt and bitterness and obsessive thoughts were his doing and his attempts to destroy my progress with this person.  I just didn’t know what to do about it.  The verse, “Think about what is noble and trustworthy and admirable” came to mind, but I simply couldn’t get there.  I told the Lord this.  “God, I’ve been trying to see anything noble in this action, and I can’t.  I can’t understand.  This person is so hard to love!” I complained.  To which I finally heard his voice.  “You know, you are hard to love, too, and you’ve hurt my feelings with your selfishness.”  His words, said with so much love, rang true to me.

 

This weekend, the message at our church centered on James 5, and a verse in that chapter filled me with conviction.  The verse says, “You have lived on earth in luxury and self-indulgence. You have fattened yourselves in the day of slaughter.”  The verse paints a picture of people  living only for their own purposes and their own gain, giving little thought to engaging in the Lord’s work around them.  Giving little thought to anyone else.  I am so guilty.  I may not have hurt someone with the exact actions that were taken against me this past week, but I’ve certainly lived in selfishness and ignored the needs of others.  I’ve certainly been careless when it comes to thinking about other people and putting their lives ahead of my own.  I’ve also taken for granted almost every gift God has given me – from the beautiful sunsets to current financial stability to a wonderful family to good health.  You name it, I know I haven’t said “thank you” enough.  I know I’ve ignored his gifts and his callings.  Essentially, I haven’t called him back or responded in any way to his loving, outstretched hand.  I’ve behaved that way over and over and over, and when I have come to him, it is with a little thankfulness and a lot of requests.  But, yet he loves me.  He accepts me and my shortcomings, and he convicts my heart but has patience with my growing process.

 

The best book on marriage I’ve ever read is Sacred Marriage by Gary Thomas.  In it, Dr. Thomas theorizes that marriage is designed more to make us holy than to make us happy, and he tells us that this relationship serves as a mirror to show us how sinful we are, and how far we are from where we should be with God.  I think that analogy applies to marriage, but it also applies so well to the relationships in our lives that we have and didn’t choose.  Isn’t it interesting how we all have a person we can’t escape who isn’t easy to love?  Sometimes that person may be someone we chose – like our spouse – but sometimes it is someone God chose for us – like a coworker, a student, a classmate, a boss, a neighbor, or another family member.  What if God put that person in our lives to make us holy?  What if my recent struggle with hurt feelings was a gift?  What if it was a chance to learn grace and love and to be more like Jesus?  It is easy to be thankful for the multitude of people in our lives who are easy to love, but maybe it is time to start being thankful for those who aren’t so easy – for those who challenge us to be more holy.

Dirty, Smelly, Forgotten

They were shepherds.  They were dirty and smelly and shunned by the rest of the world.  According the commentator William Barclay, they were despised by everyone else – especially the religious Jews – because they were unable to observe all the rules of the faith.  They could not possibly ceremonially wash their hands and keep clean enough to be accepted in services.  Uncleanliness was part of the job.  A job that must be done, though, because an unblemished lamb had to be sacrificed every morning and evening in the temple services (Exodus 29:38-41).  The sacrifice of the lambs each day served as a request for forgiveness for sins and an attempt to meet with God who promised he would speak to the Israelites if these sacrifices were made.  These shepherds did jobs almost no one wanted to do, but everyone wanted done.  They remind me of our sanitation workers or plumbers or even sometimes our military.  Thankless jobs.  Jobs that parents hope their kids don’t choose.  But jobs that we all want someone doing.  Just someone else.

 

But one night, they were God’s chosen.  The ones he picked to see a miracle.  One night, in Bethlehem, where they were watching their flocks, he called them to see a baby.  A baby that would be The Lamb.  The one, last sacrifice to atone for the sins of the world.  Mary had had a baby in a manger, and the God of the universe invited these men to celebrate with him.  He didn’t care that their hands weren’t washed or that they hadn’t followed all the rules that day.  He didn’t care that they were dirty and smelly and forgotten by everyone else.  Their God knew that, more than anyone, they would see the absolute beauty of the offering He was making.

 

William Barclay suggests that these were possibly the shepherds who provided the daily lambs for the Temple offerings considering Bethlehem’s close proximity to Jerusalem (about six miles).  I like that thought.  I like the idea that there are these men doing a job no one else would ever want to do. A job for which no one thanks them.  And then here comes God saying, “I see what you do.  I am so thankful for you and your work.  I don’t care that you are dirty.  Come see what I am sending.  I am giving a lamb, too.  Come look at mine.   Come see the Messiah first.” 

 

There is a verse in Colossians that says, “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart as if working for the Lord.”  It is a beautiful verse, and one that I’ve often posted at work on my computer or desk, but it is a hard verse to live.  All jobs are thankless at times.  In North Carolina, right now, teaching is certainly on the list of thankless jobs.  And on a more personal level, there are plenty of days when I get email after email from parents complaining that their child has a low grade (think a mid B) and don’t I give extra credit or did I realize that they played football last night and could not have possibly had their progress report signed on time? The excuses from 14 year olds are interesting, but the excuses from their 45 year old parents are laughable.  There are plenty of days when I feel like my efforts to teach responsibility and time management go entirely unnoticed.  When my heart for these kids and the adults they will one day become isn’t seen, and the only important thing in the world in the eyes of everyone else is that there is an A on the paper.  In times like that, it is hard to remember for whom I am working. 

 

However, I read Luke 2, and I see these shepherds and the way God met with them at work.  The way he saw them.  And I am encouraged.  Yes, there are plenty of thankless jobs or thankless days.  There are plenty of days when the boss doesn’t see the time put into a project or the teacher doesn’t see the effort it took to write a paper or the customer complaints keep pouring in about every ridiculous issue imaginable.  There are those days for all of us.  But even on those days, God sees us.  He is watching.  He is looking to see if we will serve him faithfully on days like those, especially.  And if we are, we might one day be rewarded with a miracle.  That kid who FINALLY passes English I after months of private conversations and pep talks in the hall that were peppered by profanity on his part.  That thorn-in-my-side child from last year I overhear tell a coworker, “She was my favorite teacher.”  That ornery patient who pulls through.  That boss who finally says “thank you.”  Or the look on a customer’s face who is at last satisfied and pleased. Those moments may seem like coincidences, but really, they are the grace of God.  They are the face of the Lord shining on dirty, smelly, forgotten workers telling us that he has not forgotten, that he sees our hearts, and that he knows we are working for him.

Ambassador in Chains

Did you know that 100,000 people die every year because of their faith in Jesus Christ?  Persecution of Christians around the world is on increase especially in North Africa and the Middle East.  In Syria, the government is practicing “religious cleansing,” and John Eibner with Christian Solidarity International speculates that if the situation does not change in that country, “there will be no more Christian communities or other religious minorities in the near future.”¹ Living in America, where there is a church on every corner, I read my Bible on my I-Phone during lunch and post scripture in my house, and I meet weekly for a women’s Bible study all without fear and in complete freedom, I can’t wrap my mind around the persecuted church.  I have heard sermons and read articles.  I’m aware of the statistics, but my heart has never connected with what it must be like for people to practice their faith in absolute secret because to do so in any public manner (even in their own houses) would result in arrest or death.  This week, that changed for me.

 

This week, our Bible Study leader invited her friend to our weekly meeting.  I’ll call her friend Sarah to protect her safety and identity.  Sarah is from a country where Christians are persecuted for their faith, and she and her husband personally know 17 pastors who are imprisoned for their faith.  Sarah and her husband have felt the Lord calling them to do something for the pastors and their families, so they started a fundraising ministry in the United States.  They raise money and every three months, they send the money to the families of those imprisoned.  In her country, Sarah said, families are responsible for the total financial care of their prisoner.  The government does not provide food or water for these men and women, so obviously, great numbers of people die in prison.  The money Sarah collects goes to care for the basic needs of these individuals and keeps them alive until they can be released.

 

Sarah told us all these basic statistics about the pastors and their need and how much money it would take per month to keep one prisoner alive, but it wasn’t until she started explaining the dangers associated with being a Christian in this country and the extreme situation, that my heart connected.  First, she discussed that dangers faced by Christians living in her country.  The government is structured so that people are allowed to have a church only if they give extensive information about all their members to the government officials.  The information would even include the salary and address of each member.  The evangelical Christians in the country would not agree to those conditions in effort to protect the well-being of their members.  As a result, the church was forced to go underground. 

 

Being an underground church means that if any group is found meeting in any place – even a private house – all members and leaders could be arrested or put to death.  Sarah painted a picture where no more than six people could meet together at a time to avoid suspicion, any singing must be done very quietly, and any sense of safety was gone.  She told how the other citizens were paid by the government to turn in suspected evangelical Christians, so it would not even be safe to trust neighbors or coworkers or even some friends and family members.  You may notice that I have not named the country.  I am avoiding that because Sarah told us that even in the United States, the lives of her family overseas could be in danger if anyone reported to the government what she was doing to help these pastors.  Initially, it seemed far-fetched that Sarah could be reported from so far a distance, but after about a minute of conversation, I realized that there were at least two connections between a group member and an outsider that could prove dangerous to Sarah.  All it would take is one person meeting another person from Sarah’s country and saying, “Oh, I know someone else from your country!  Her name is Sarah, and she raises money for the underground evangelical church.”

 

The seriousness of situation began to weigh on me as Sarah continued her discussion.  She was coming to us to ask us to become involved in her ministry, and we all agreed we wanted to help, but she closed her talk in tears telling us that more than anything prayers were needed.  She said the money was wonderful but insisted that it was only a temporary fix.  “Money wouldn’t be needed if these men were out of prison,” she said; in her mind only prayer could do that.  The legal system wasn’t fair, and men were given no firm sentences or release dates.  Prayer would be the only agent of lasting change.  With tears streaming down her face, she asked us to join her in prayer.

 

I can count only a few times in my life when I’ve been involved in a prayer like Sarah’s.  A desperate, pleading, meaningful prayer.  I listened to Sarah beg God to protect these men in prison.  To give them food and water and rest and safety from abuse.  I listened to her beg for God’s peace and provision for their loved ones – many of whom would go years before they saw their husband or father again.  I listened to her ask for freedom for all Christians in her country and for God to soften the hearts of governmental leaders.  My heart joined her in these prayers.

 

Sarah’s visit this week reminded me so clearly of how blessed I am to live in America.  My faith costs me almost nothing here.  At worst, I have a few casual friends and family members who think I’m a little crazy, but I’ll never worry about being arrested.  I’ll never worry about being tortured in prison or put to death.  The only problem I’ll ever have with hosting a group in my house is to negotiate parking permission with my HOA.  I can blast Christian music on my car radio and read my Bible to myself at lunch – even in a public high school.  I can go to church whenever I want, and I can talk about Jesus with perfect strangers.  I looked at Sarah and I thought about all the risks she is taking for her faith.  The way she risks the lives of her family, the way her husband risks his life when he visits those in their country, the risks her associates take when they move monetary assistance into the country on behalf of these ministers.  I thought about the Christians in her country and the courage it must take to meet with one another or even own a Bible.  The courage it must take to whisper a praise song.  I had to wonder if I’d have courage like that.

 

I don’t know what I want you to get out of this blog.  I’m still overwhelmed with processing Sarah’s message myself.  I guess I just wanted to take a moment to reflect on the enormous blessings I have that I consistently take for granted, and to encourage more thoughts and prayers for those currently being beaten or starving or lonely in prison because they refuse to deny their faith.  Like Job, they will not even “curse God and die” (Job 2:9).  These men and women are heroes of faith, and their suffering makes it incredibly more sinful to take my own freedom for granted.

 

Pray also for me, that whenever I speak, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains.  Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should. – Ephesians 6:19-20

 

1. All quotes and statistics from the first paragraph came from the following source:

Corbin, Christiana.  3 June 2013. “Some 100,000 killed every year over faith, Vatican says.” http://www.foxnews.com/world/2013/06/02/vatican-spokesman-claims-100000-christians-killed-annually-because-faith/

I Want Comfort

You know an area where I am currently really struggling?  I want a “feel good” faith.  I think I’m not the only one.  I think lots of us want to believe in something that is easy and comfortable and feels good.  Here is where it is for me:  I want to believe that everyone I love has a relationship with Jesus.  I want to believe that on a level that matters they all love him and know him and will be with me in heaven.  I like to fall back on the hope that the people I love most in the world love the Lord even if they don’t talk with me about it or show me that they do.  For other people, I think a “feel good” faith looks different.  I think some people want to believe that no matter what religion is being practiced that if it is done sincerely, then all roads lead to the same place.  Basically, a “whatever gives you peace” type of belief.  It is America.  We preach tolerance and love and brotherhood and freedom.  We don’t want to offend or step on toes or be “preachy.”  We also don’t want the responsibility of speaking truth.  We want to believe that truth is relative and that all people have the freedom to choose what is true for them.  I want that.  Honestly.  I want to be off the hook when it comes to balancing love with Christian truth.  I also want to believe that if I’m doing “the best I can,” then I’m ok.

 

This weekend, though, I heard a sermon that was super convicting – both in how I live my own life and in how I view the Christian walk as a whole. The sermon was about James 2:14-26.  One of the most interesting verses in that passage is verse 19 which says “You believe that there is one God. Good! Even the demons believe that—and shudder.”  I did a study on the book of James a couple of years ago, and I remember some really cool historical details about this passage that I’d like to share.  First you should know that James was Jesus’ brother and the head of the Jerusalem church.  He was writing to Jewish-Christians about the difference between faith and works.  For years, the Jews had been following specific rituals and traditions that made up their faith.  They prayed at specific times throughout the day and ate certain foods and carried out special festivals and traditions.  They were seeped in religion.  Their faith looked good.  It was smart and consistent and carried out with mathematical precision.  In fact, the scripture in James 2:19 refers to a central prayer to Jewish worshipers called The Shema.  It is still practiced today and many Jews will recite it at least twice a day.  The prayer comes from three Old Testament scriptures, but the part referenced by James comes from Deuteronomy 6:4-9 where a belief in one God is stressed.  A belief in one God had always set the Jews apart from the surrounding pagan nations who believed in multiple gods.  It set them apart the same way a belief in Jesus sets Christians apart.  You may think of the Apostle’s Creed when we say, “I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, his only son our Lord.” 

 

James is taking a prayer as precious to his Jewish audience as the Apostle’s Creed is to us and saying, “You believe that?  Who cares?  The demons believe the same thing.”  According to James, the only difference between a faith like that of the demons and a true Christian faith is found in deeds.  He contrasts the difference between the demons and true followers like Abraham and Rahab who both allowed their faith to impact their actions.  James says, “In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.”  If we really believe out of a love for Jesus, our actions will be impacted.  We will want to obey.  The demons believe.  They know he is God.  But they refuse to serve him with their actions.

 

The message at church this week was not a new one.  The leadership at our church consistently preaches the message that faith should be obvious.  It should impact the way we live.  And even though there is no lack of scripture to back up that belief, I’ve struggled with it.  This week, Andy and I invited a friend at church and over brunch, the three of us engaged in a conversation about how hard the message was to hear.  It was challenging and confrontational, and we discussed how it could have impacted the various people listening to the message.  I loved my friend’s summation of it.  She said, “I just don’t know what I think.  I want some time to turn it over in my mind.”  It was exactly how I’ve been feeling about the messages.  They are hard.  They aren’t easy.  And the truth they bring has serious implications for how I should live my life.  Implications that involve less comfort and possible change.

 

I think the first implication is in how I serve my loved ones.  As I said at the beginning, I really want to believe everyone I love also loves Jesus.  If someone makes a comment about praying for something or anything that indicates a belief that church is important, I decide they are a Christian.  They are fine.  No need to pray fervently for them.  No need to be intentional about sharing my faith and God’s love with them.  I can relax because if they say they have prayed about something, they must be a Christian.  And maybe they are.  But the demons said Jesus was the Son of God and they sure weren’t walking with the Lord.  I want to be clear that I definitely don’t plan to go around analyzing everyone’s faith and trying to figure out whether they are Christians or not – that behavior is focused on judgment and not love (and besides that, it is behavior that makes me SUPER uncomfortable).  What I am saying is that I spend time in prayer for a lot of things, but often I neglect praying for people I love dearly because I believe they can pray for themselves – after all, they know God.  But maybe they don’t, and maybe my prayers matter.  Maybe my prayers are the very things God wants to use to make a difference for them, but I won’t pray them because I want to think the difference has already been made.  I hope that makes sense.

 

Another, greater, implication is in how I live my own life.  I confessed to my friend and Andy at brunch that the message was convicting for me because I feel I’m a lot like the demons or the super religious Jews.  I know the answers.  I have memorized the scripture.  I know the Apostle’s Creed and the Lord’s Prayer and I could probably count on two hands the number of church services I have missed in the last 10 years (and all because I was traveling – not because I was sleeping in).  Too often, I think I let my history and my knowledge take the place of living my faith.  James 2:15 says, “Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food.  If one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it?”  I know I am bad to tell people that I hope their day gets better or that I hope a situation works out for them without offering to help ease their burden.  There are times when it is easier to say, “I’ll be praying for you,” than it is to say, “I’ll come keep your kids so you can have a much needed date night with your husband,” or “Let me help you pack or move,” or “I’ll bring you dinner – what is your favorite meal?”  Offerings like those require sacrifice, and I like to be comfortable.  I prefer not to sacrifice, and sometimes, I’d like to live in a bubble where nothing is required of me. 

 

But the truth is, Christianity is not a feel good life.  It requires putting our lives down for the good of other people.  It requires acknowledging the truth and walking in it even when it is hard.  It requires balancing the tightrope between truth in love and truth without love.  It is hard.  And we get it wrong.  In every way.  Every day.  We get it wrong.  But I think the key is in not becoming comfortable and complacent.  The key is keeping ourselves in a place where we can be uncomfortable.  Where we can be burdened for others and where we can feel convicted for ourselves.  It is in keeping a heart that is open to the Lord and feet that are ready to move where he sends.