In the Company of Sufferers

I’m in a group Bible study for the first time in, oh, 18 or so years, and my eyes are popping open to all sorts of things. It’s Beth Moore’s new study on the book of James, and in the midst of all those confusing opening words about the poor and the rich in James 1, she unleashes these insightful words:

“The only time I feel a vivid fellowship with suffering believers in other parts of the world is when I am humbled by extreme difficulty of my own. Otherwise I wonder how in Heaven’s name I will stand next to them around the throne of God and have any crowns at all to cast. Without frequent humblings, I am a cushy, lightweight Christian who doesn’t know the first thing about denying myself and carrying my cross.”

I’m not sure I’ve ever read something that made me want to be humbled, until now. I write stories all the time, for Compassion, about Christians whose lives have been nothing but a web of trials and suffering, and while I’ve been overwhelmed with sympathy and sadness for them, I’ve never wanted to join their club. Closer to home, I have a dear friend, a man in his late 60s, who has dealt with horrible physical pain for decades. I’ve heard it said of him, “He has the gift of suffering.” That makes me cringe. How can that be a spiritual gift, I’ve wondered. Yet he’s the last person on earth I’d call a cushy, lightweight Christian. I can almost see his cross dragging behind him, and still he’s one of my favorite people to be around.

I’ve never pictured myself standing around the throne of God with those who have suffered so greatly in this life. But I will. That gives me great pause. Heaven won’t be a place where we compare our woes. It’s not a competition where the one with the saddest life story wins at the end. But I think there’s a good chance the measure of our faith in God and the size of our character will be on full display. When are those things better shaped in us than through trials of many kinds?

My trials are so tiny, so small that it’s a stretch to even call them trials most of the time. But when I feel the pressure of them, I think I will find it a little easier to consider them pure joy as I consider the company I’ll have in heaven.

Getting It Together—Or Not

“If I could just get it together.”

Have you ever noticed how often women say this? Maybe not publically, but if you could listen in on small groups, phone conversations, counseling sessions, I think you’d hear this a lot. At a small-group meeting in November, I heard it come out of the mouths of all five women there, including myself. If we could only . . . just . . . get . . . it . . .together.

Everyone’s “together” looks a little different: losing weight, improving relationships, balancing the checkbook, parenting with consistency, running a household, getting dinner on the table. I struggle with all of these, but my big one is organization. I can organize words and ideas with precision, but give me a closet or a cupboard, and I’m a disaster. If I could only get it together maybe my house wouldn’t be such a mess. Maybe I could actually find all those missing things. Maybe we could stop living in fear of people dropping by unexpectedly. If only I could get it together.

It doesn’t help that everyone else appears to be so together. That’s one of the good things about age and maturity—you realize nothing is as it seems. No one has it together, at least not completely. There’s some area in all of our lives that we’re ashamed of, that we feel helpless to change, that we try to hide from everyone else. On some level, we all know we’re a mess.

I am consoled by the fact that God loves messes. This isn’t just something we tell ourselves to make us feel better; we have biblical evidence that Jesus came specifically for the messes of this world. The woman caught in adultery from John 8 had her mess publically displayed. She was about to be killed for it. The religious leaders drag her to some teacher—she likely didn’t even know who He was if she was too caught up in her mess to notice—who’s playing in the dirt. What was she thinking? “Why couldn’t I get it together? How did I let myself get to this place? And what’s this man going to say about it?” She had to be surprised when He called out everyone else’s mess instead of her own.

What was the Samaritan woman thinking (John 4) as she drew up water from the well? Was she pondering how well her life was going, how proud she was to be living the way she was? My bet is that at that exact moment she was thinking, “If only I could get it together.” Then up walks a stranger who tells her “everything she ever did,” but He doesn’t focus on her mess. He focuses on His truth, His power to satisfy her deepest longings. It’s not the mess that matters, it’s the One who cleans it up.

So here, on January 22, 2012, I publically state that I do not have it together. I’ll never have it together. If by some miracle I get beautifully organized in 2012, I’ll just become more aware of some other mess in my life. The same is true for you. We weren’t made to get it all together. Even if we could, we live in a world that specializes in our unraveling. That’s why the Savior came—to save us from our messes, to love us in spite of ourselves, to offer us a future in which we’ll finally be the people we long to be.

God's Goodness in the Face of Loss

Kevin’s out of town, so the kids and I watched the slaughter, I mean the game, tonight at our friends’ house. The kids had such a great time they barely noticed the score, so I was surprised that my sleepy 4-year-old burst out crying on the way home.

Camryn: But mom, (sob, sob), why did God let Tim Tebow lose the game?

Me: Well, honey, just because God’s favor is on someone doesn’t mean that things always go their way. Think of David running from King Saul, sleeping in caves, scared for his life.

More sobs.

Me: If we won everything we tried, we wouldn’t have to trust in God. We’d just trust in ourselves. God has to let us lose sometimes to make us better.

Nothing I say is helping, so Braden chimes in with some examples. Still, the weeping continues. Then a new song comes on. It’s a kids’ CD, and the song is “God is so good.”

Me: Camryn, I can promise you this. No matter how bad Tim Tebow feels right now, he is singing this song in his heart right now.

Camryn: How do (sob) you know?

Me: Because Tim Tebow thinks about God like I do, and this is what I was singing the night your sister Catherine died.

Camryn: Oh.

Two minutes later, she was asleep.

May you somehow sleep well tonight, too, Tim Tebow. And in your wins and your losses, may your life continue screaming of the goodness of God.

Advice I'll Live By

I have something written and ready to post, but then I saw this, and it's much, much better. I think these are the most profoundly soothing words I've ever read on the internet. You'll enjoy it even if you don't have kids or are far removed from the days when a trip to the grocery store was like an episode of Survivor. Enjoy, and I'll be back in a few days.

http://momastery.com/blog/2012/01/04/2011-lesson-2-dont-carpe-diem/

My 2011 Book List

I spent most of 2011 reading, but you wouldn’t know it from my book list. Six months of the year I read short entries for a devotional book—640 of them—written by Compassion International staff from around the world. Here are quick reviews of the books I managed to finish the rest of the year:

My older kids and I finished the fourth and fifth Harry Potter books, The Goblet of Fire and The Order of the Phoenix. Five down, two to go, and my kids are still bribing me with snacks and neck massages so I’ll keep reading to them. Also finished the last three books of the Narnia series with the older kids and can’t wait to start again at the beginning with the younger ones in a year or two. Though I swore my allegiance to The Magician’s Nephew, it doesn’t get any better than The Last Battle’s description of the afterlife. I will read it again and again. I also started Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters, but it’s so mind-boggling that I can only read about a page at a time. Was there ever anyone more brilliant than C.S. Lewis? I think not.

Although if anyone could come close to filling Lewis’s creative-genius shoes (at least in the Christian arena), I vote for Eugene Peterson. I know I’m biased because he published The Message with The Navigators, but listen to this, from A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, which I finally read this year:

“Every day I put love on the line. There is nothing I am less good at than love. I am far better in competition than in love. I am far better at responding to my instincts and ambitions to get ahead and make my mark than I am at figuring out how to love another. I am schooled and trained in acquisitive skills, in getting my own way. And yet I decide, every day, to set aside what I can do best and attempt what I do very clumsily—open myself to the frustrations and failures of loving, daring to believe that failing in love is better than succeeding in pride.”

That one’s a must-read, along with another book I should’ve read a long time ago, unChristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks about Christianity by David Kinnaman and Gabe Lyons. The chapter on homosexuality is worth the price of the book. I’ll go ahead and call this one my favorite of the year.

But also in contention were Nicholas Carr’s two books, The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains and The Big Switch: Rewiring the World from Edison to Google. Though the former has gotten loads of press (deservedly), I actually found The Big Switch even more fascinating. If you’ve ever wondered if the internet is held together with nothing more than paperclips and chewing gum, this is the book for you.

On the recommendation of Carr, I read The Gutenberg Elegies: The Fate of Reading in an Electronic Age. Written in 1994, this book was not so much out-of-date as it was eerie at predicting the future technology to come and how it would affect our reading. (And no, I don’t have a Kindle.)

So I’ll now read anything Nicholas Carr writes, just as I’m committed to anything Francis Chan writes. This year he wrote on hell. Umm, OK. Erasing Hell was definitely not the feel-good book of the year, but it did challenge me deeply in my view of God. And if Francis writes a book on geology, I’m gonna buy it. I just am.

Predictably enough, I added some new parenting books to my arsenal:

• Spiritual Parenting by Michelle Anthony (which equipped me with the go-to question, “What needs to be done here?”),

• Five Conversations You Must Have with Your Daughter by Vicki Courtney,

• Six Ways to Keep the ‘Little’ in Your Girl by Dannah Gresh, and

• Sticky Faith: Everyday Ideas to Build Lasting Faith in Your Kids by Kara Powell and Chap Clark.

All were worth reading, though none was as helpful as Sticky Faith. I highly recommend this one to parents who are looking for practical ways to pass down lasting faith to their children. More on this in future blog posts.

And finally, in the “just-for-fun” category, I picked up Heaven Is for Real by Todd Burpo, not at all intending to read it, but I finished it in one night. I’m a believer. And last, and least, actually, Jacqueline Kennedy: Historic Conversations on Life with John F. Kennedy was mildly interesting in places, but really not worth the time it took to get from the inter-library loan. More than anything, it was eye-opening to see how much things have changed in 50 years.

On my list for 2012:

The Hunger Games (We’ll see if I make it through the whole series)

The Search for Significance

Unbroken

More C.S. Lewis

More The History of the Ancient World (Will I ever find out why Rome fell?!)

When God Shows Up

What’s so magical about Christmas?

What other time of year can you walk the streets, singing at the top of your lungs about Jesus, ring the doorbell of a complete stranger, walk in their house, hand them a gift bag, give them a hug, and pray God’s blessings on them?

We got the idea for Christmas caroling back in June. At family camp, we talked about ways to “push back the darkness” in our neighborhoods and cities, and caroling was one of many ideas offered. We held onto the idea for six months until it was finally time to carry it out last night. Twenty-eight families were invited, and only a few declined. This was turning into something big! I was feeling good! Then I heard the weather forecast.

You can imagine, after six months of thinking about something and a month of actually planning, how sick I felt when I heard heavy snow and strong winds were making their way to us the same time the caroling was set to begin. As a few people dropped out during the day, I feared the worst. I began a swan dive into self-pity, full of “What are you doing, God?” types of questions, before my 10-year-old daughter said, “I think God may be testing you, Mom.”

“OK. Testing me on what?”

I don’t remember exactly what Addison said, but God spoke loud and clear. Couldn’t the name of the Lord be exalted just as well by 12 people as by 80? Was this about me and what a crowd I could draw, or was it about glorifying Him? Oh, the conviction! I also remembered the encouragement of my friend Kate, who said that she doesn’t like being in charge of things either, but every time she is, God always shows up. So I stopped feeling disappointed, recruited more prayer, took a deep breath, and waited for God to show up.

He didn’t show up in spite of the snow. He showed up in the snow. It was perfect. Picturesque. The kind that Hollywood movie-makers would kill for. To all of us, it clearly felt like a gift from Him. We had 72 carolers, 43 of them kids who slid across the streets and threw snowballs and made snow angels in the middle of the road. They also rang doorbells and delivered treats and sang their hearts out.

A lot of the doorbells went unanswered. A time or two we ended up singing to the barking dogs in the yard. But then there were the doors that opened. The old woman who stood outside in her housecoat and offered us cookies. (When Kevin asked her if she was saving them for someone else, she said they were just in case someone stopped by. Thank you, God, for having us stop by!) One woman in an apartment tried to coax us all inside and give us money. One of the few cars we saw pulled over, opened their windows, and listened to us for a minute before driving off with a wave. And how cool it was that when people asked where we were from, we just yelled, “Colorado Springs!” We represented many different churches, but last night we were just their neighbors, people offering songs and cookies and hope and joy with no agenda.

When I’ve walked these streets in the past, I’ve pictured the poor as single moms and filthy little kids and unemployed addicts. Last night I was reminded that the poor are often elderly women who live alone in small, dark, odd-smelling houses with round-the-clock television. These are women that I, the non-hugger, hugged last night. These are women whose faces kept me up in the night. This was a night I will never forget.

“Pushing back darkness” can’t be measured in numbers of doors answered or amount of carolers who showed up—but when God shows up, it's guaranteed.

It's the Most Wonderful Day of the Year!

It must be my year of discovering favorites. I can now tell you my favorite day of the year. It’s the day my kids get out of school for Christmas break. I begin counting down the days some time in October. My heart really starts racing as we reach Thanksgiving break. And then there are those three weeks of school that separate Thanksgiving and Christmas. I feel like the Little Engine Who Could. Only I’m not so convinced I “could” as I keep chugging along, feeling the steam pour out of me, but trying to keep moving on, one step at a time, until . . . we . . . reach . . . the . . . finish.

It’s during that last week that I start to consider homeschooling: an end to all of the frantic costume-making, party-planning, concert-attending, present-buying, lunch-packing chaos. (Then I remember how nice it is to have the kids out of the house while I work on my Christmas letters, wrap presents, and attempt to earn a little money to pay for their presents.)

And then that glorious Friday arrives. (Probably it would be sacrilegious to call it “Good Friday,” huh?) The teachers’ gifts are delivered, the mittens for the homeless are collected, the classroom gift-exchange game is played, the treats are devoured, and it’s time to go home. And crash. For the next 2 ½ weeks. No alarm clock! No carpool! No homework! No sports practices! No lunchboxes! Really, I’m not sure we need presents at all. These are all the gifts I need.

Thank you, Jesus, for coming into our world. Thank you for saving us from our sin. And thank you, thank you for Christmas break.

(P.S. Don’t forget to watch the Bronco game Sunday afternoon. Could be another miracle in the making!)