Ever notice that the word “encourage” has the word “courage” in it? I went my whole life without noticing this, but I’ve heard it about ten times in the past six months. A simple definition of “encourage” is to put courage into another person. Who doesn’t need a little more courage?
Encouragement is one of my spiritual gifts, but not one I practice nearly as often as my gift of prophecy (not the telling-the-future kind of prophecy—helpful as that would be—but the hosing-people-down-with-truth kind). I’m still trying to figure out how these two work in tandem: “Can I just slam you with truth for a minute, and then I promise to encourage you”?
I want to focus more on encouragement. Christians, it seems, don’t have a problem encouraging each other until one of them wants to do something wild for God. Then all of a sudden we start talking about reality, responsibility, being sensible. Here, the prophet in me and the encourager in me have a tense encounter. Yes, people need to be rooted in biblical truth and practicality, but what if encouragement stepped up first?
Hebrews 10:25 says, “Let us encourage one another.” In other words, let’s put courage into one another. Let’s cheer people on. Let’s say, “Go for it! With God’s calling and His Spirit in you, you can do anything. You really can change the world.” Instead, most of us are quick to say, “Um, what about your mortgage payment?” “What about your kids?”
I used to think that people who did radical things for God were freaks. I still do, only now I want to be like them. I want to be a freak, and I want to be an encourager of freaks. In a world that does its best to suck the courage right out of us, I love the idea of putting courage into anyone who’s got a wild idea about serving God.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Saturday, July 18, 2009
The Big Reunion Decision
Can anyone convince me that I should go to my 20th high school reunion? It would be no problem for me to convince someone else to go to theirs. I’ve encouraged countless people to attend reunions with simple rationale: It’s lame not to go.
Who wants to be lame? Not me. But I also don’t want to revisit the person I was in high school—and I’m not sure how to avoid that in such a situation. It’s not like I was the pot head or the class hussy. I wasn't much of anything, actually, except self-righteous and self-absorbed.
Somehow, I managed to leave high school with some good relationships. I’ve stayed in contact with my closest friends. One I talk to several times a week. But I’d much rather meet those friends one-on-one at Chili’s without the pressure to lose five pounds, get a cute new haircut, and coach my children in the art of polite conversation.
Here’s a refreshing idea for a reunion: Come as you are! The only requirement is that you have be honest about who you are. (Could anything be more opposite from high school?)
“I had to double up on my Xanax just to be here.”
“Yeah, I married a babe, but you should hear her snore.”
“My house is being foreclosed on as we speak.”
“It cost me $120 to be this blonde.”
“These size 6 jeans are cutting into my stomach flab so badly that I want to cry.”
“I’m bribing my children with candy and a trip to Waterworld to appear this charming.”
“My resume’s impressive, but I’ve never felt lonelier in my life.”
“I’ve been in counseling for 10 years and am still so angry.”
“My marriage is on the brink of divorce.”
Or how about this one: "We feel called to live among the poor." Now there's a party starter.
The older I get, the less I can stomach superficiality. Can a high school reunion be anything but superficial?
Probably I’ll end up going, trying just as hard to impress as everyone else, and having a few pleasant conversations in the midst of dozens I can’t really hear and wouldn't care about even if I could. If all goes well, my husband won’t collapse from boredom and my children won’t whack anyone. And if it goes really well, maybe I’ll be surprised at how transparent and mature we've all become in our old age.
Or maybe I’ll just be lame and stay home.
Who wants to be lame? Not me. But I also don’t want to revisit the person I was in high school—and I’m not sure how to avoid that in such a situation. It’s not like I was the pot head or the class hussy. I wasn't much of anything, actually, except self-righteous and self-absorbed.
Somehow, I managed to leave high school with some good relationships. I’ve stayed in contact with my closest friends. One I talk to several times a week. But I’d much rather meet those friends one-on-one at Chili’s without the pressure to lose five pounds, get a cute new haircut, and coach my children in the art of polite conversation.
Here’s a refreshing idea for a reunion: Come as you are! The only requirement is that you have be honest about who you are. (Could anything be more opposite from high school?)
“I had to double up on my Xanax just to be here.”
“Yeah, I married a babe, but you should hear her snore.”
“My house is being foreclosed on as we speak.”
“It cost me $120 to be this blonde.”
“These size 6 jeans are cutting into my stomach flab so badly that I want to cry.”
“I’m bribing my children with candy and a trip to Waterworld to appear this charming.”
“My resume’s impressive, but I’ve never felt lonelier in my life.”
“I’ve been in counseling for 10 years and am still so angry.”
“My marriage is on the brink of divorce.”
Or how about this one: "We feel called to live among the poor." Now there's a party starter.
The older I get, the less I can stomach superficiality. Can a high school reunion be anything but superficial?
Probably I’ll end up going, trying just as hard to impress as everyone else, and having a few pleasant conversations in the midst of dozens I can’t really hear and wouldn't care about even if I could. If all goes well, my husband won’t collapse from boredom and my children won’t whack anyone. And if it goes really well, maybe I’ll be surprised at how transparent and mature we've all become in our old age.
Or maybe I’ll just be lame and stay home.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Waiting Still
Back in October—OCTOBER, nine months ago—I wrote this in a post called “Waiting for a Miracle”:
“Despite what my eyes and the newspaper tell me, I believe God will bring us a buyer [for our house]. I believe it in some indescribable, way-down-deep, all-is-right-with-the-world sort of way. Or, as I read in a book recently, I know it in my knower. The hard work—getting a family of flawed, harried, self-absorbed, fearful people to change the course of their lives and follow Him wherever He leads—has already been done. Compared to flesh and blood, a little brick and mortar are a piece of cake.”
And here we sit. In July. Still scrubbing those kitchen cabinets. Chasing our children around with a vacuum cleaner and scolding them about crumbs. Stressing out about fingerprints on the windows. Spending more time with Mr. Clean than with anyone else in my life. This is SO not the woman I want to be. But it sure looks like this is the life God has for me, at least for right now.
Why is it that He gives us a vision for something, lights a fire in our hearts, and then makes us wait? A friend of mine wrote in a card to me recently that “patience fruit” is one of the hardest to allow God to grow in us. This summer I have seen how truly hard practicing patience is and how very bad I am at it. Make me practice jumping out of a plane or walking on hot coals, just please don’t make me sit and wait!
So here I sit and wait. The vision is still there, although sitting has a way of dulling its clarity some. I’ve tried to be an active sitter; that is, venturing out into new territory even though I don’t live there yet. I’m also trying to pick up some good habits from all of this. If it only takes 21 days for an action to become habit, then I should be keeping a spotless kitchen floor for the rest of my life.
I still believe God will bring a buyer for our house. No matter how many times I read, “The house is too old,” or “The floorplan is awkward,” I still believe this is part of God’s plan and He will sell this house at just the right time. It would have been fun to see that happen in some cool, supernatural way instead of by sweating it out over every showing like everyone else does. But that’s OK. If this is what builds the patience fruit, I’m in.
“Despite what my eyes and the newspaper tell me, I believe God will bring us a buyer [for our house]. I believe it in some indescribable, way-down-deep, all-is-right-with-the-world sort of way. Or, as I read in a book recently, I know it in my knower. The hard work—getting a family of flawed, harried, self-absorbed, fearful people to change the course of their lives and follow Him wherever He leads—has already been done. Compared to flesh and blood, a little brick and mortar are a piece of cake.”
And here we sit. In July. Still scrubbing those kitchen cabinets. Chasing our children around with a vacuum cleaner and scolding them about crumbs. Stressing out about fingerprints on the windows. Spending more time with Mr. Clean than with anyone else in my life. This is SO not the woman I want to be. But it sure looks like this is the life God has for me, at least for right now.
Why is it that He gives us a vision for something, lights a fire in our hearts, and then makes us wait? A friend of mine wrote in a card to me recently that “patience fruit” is one of the hardest to allow God to grow in us. This summer I have seen how truly hard practicing patience is and how very bad I am at it. Make me practice jumping out of a plane or walking on hot coals, just please don’t make me sit and wait!
So here I sit and wait. The vision is still there, although sitting has a way of dulling its clarity some. I’ve tried to be an active sitter; that is, venturing out into new territory even though I don’t live there yet. I’m also trying to pick up some good habits from all of this. If it only takes 21 days for an action to become habit, then I should be keeping a spotless kitchen floor for the rest of my life.
I still believe God will bring a buyer for our house. No matter how many times I read, “The house is too old,” or “The floorplan is awkward,” I still believe this is part of God’s plan and He will sell this house at just the right time. It would have been fun to see that happen in some cool, supernatural way instead of by sweating it out over every showing like everyone else does. But that’s OK. If this is what builds the patience fruit, I’m in.
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