August 10 and Thoughts on Stewardship

One year ago today we took possession of our house. For 364 days, I’ve pulled up in the driveway only to be met by those giddy little butterflies in my stomach reminding me the place is still here, and it’s still ours. For a good couple months it felt temporary, kinda like when you stay at a friend’s condo conveniently located next to a ski slope or a beach. Except this one was oh-so conveniently located next to our school. I had to remind myself that we were here to stay, that this blessing was only going to get better as we pealed away the old wall paper, tiled the dining room, planted raspberry bushes in our yard. God has given us this place not just to stay in but to live in.

Along with the blessing of getting to live here comes the opportunity to be good stewards of the blessing. As we prayed for our house, I was envisioning more than just a place to sleep in and hold our stuff. I desired a place where we could do the things closest to God’s heart, things like fellowshipping, loving, praying, laughing until our sides hurt.

I know us well enough to know our house will never be well furnished or decorated. There will always be eye sores and dust bunnies and piles that battle for control of the kitchen countertops. (Where on earth do the rest of you put your piles? Pile-free houses bewilder me!) I would love to hang a sign on my front door that says, “If you came to see my house, please come back in three days. If you came to see me, come on in!”

But despite all that, are we stewarding it well? It’s been fun to think about all that’s taken place here in the past year. We’ve hosted holiday meals and spontaneous game nights at our house. We’ve had long visits from old friends and cozy dinners with new friends. We’ve had a steady stream of kids munching in our kitchen, skating in our driveway, sword-fighting on our porch, and go-karting through our weeds. We’ve had Bible studies for girls and prayer meetings for moms. We’ve had people stop by on their way to school or sports practices to use the bathroom or fill their water bottles. No one’s stopped by for a nap yet, but I hope they will! And just last week we had eight teenage boys running through our field hurling paintballs and rotten fruit at one another. Watching them do what boys do in a place that was made for boys to do it? I just wanted to climb to the rooftop and scream: “It is well with my soul!”

We are just where God wants us, and I believe we’re living the way He wants us to live. We don’t do it perfectly or nearly as well as some people, and it does take a lot of effort. It’s hard work shutting out that voice in my head that tells me my house isn’t clean enough or perfect enough, harder than sweeping and dusting and cleaning the bathrooms. But stewardship is never easy. I don’t think it’s supposed to be. That’s kind of the point.

What about the gifts in your life? Are you stewarding them well? 

A Forgiveness Story

There’s an old-fashioned term, besetting sins, used for the sin traps we fall into again and again. They’re the sins each individual is most susceptible to, the kind that seem to follow us for long periods of time. I don’t have to wonder what mine are; we’re well acquainted. My besetting sins are close relatives and have specific names: Criticizing. Judging. Self-righteousness. (I wish I didn’t know how much God hates self-righteousness, but it’s hard to escape when Jesus spent so much of His time on earth talking about it.) I have felt the consequences of these sins for years, I’ve confessed them, yelled at them, run from them, and at times escaped them, only to be, well, “beset” again.

It happened again last weekend, but this time God decided to have a little fun with me.

I’ve been exercising my besetting sins with a family I’ve known for about three years. Their “crime”? From my high and mighty throne, I concluded that the parents worked too much and shirked their parenting responsibilities to a teenage nanny. I didn’t even know their names, yet I had made quick judgments about who they were and how I didn’t approve. Then, last Friday night, I discovered more about who they really are. I went to hear the dad share his testimony, the kind of testimony that involves Navy SEALS and makes CNN headlines. I learned that this family is incredible. Their jobs are incredible. Their faith is super-duper incredible. Within an hour, I went from judging them to admiring them.

But I was left with regret and shame. They pounced on me like a ravenous attack dog, and I couldn’t shake them. Of course I repented to God. I even confessed to two of my friends. One reminded me that my slate is clean. “When we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” I can quote the scripture from memory, but while my brain may have known I was free and clean, my slate still felt awfully grimy. It lasted all day Saturday.

We go to church on Saturday night, but on this particular evening, my husband decided to take us out to dinner to celebrate a recent milestone in our family. This is how we found ourselves walking into a very random Chinese buffet restaurant on the far side of town on this particular Saturday evening—a restaurant we’ve never been to and will probably never visit again. Trying to paint a picture for you of just how random this was. Got it? Except that the randomness began to disappear as we walked inside and saw none other than the family I’d been thinking about all day. Oh, God, you indeed like to have fun with your kids.

The first voice I heard in my head was not fun at all. It came from the attack dog, who apparently had followed me into the restaurant. It said, “Oh, no! God’s going to make me go confess to these people. How horrifying, but probably just what I deserve.” Then came the second voice in my head, clearly from the Holy Spirit, who thankfully goes with me wherever I am: “Relax, child. Be at peace. I’m giving you the opportunity to meet your brother and sister in Christ and to enjoy one another.” And then a few minutes later came this thought, the best of all: “You’ve been bearing your regret and shame all day, and this is where it ends. You don’t need to carry it another second. I’ve brought you here to take it from you, and in exchange I will give you a really good story.”

And so He did. By the time we left the restaurant, I had introduced myself to both of the parents and expressed my admiration, opening the door for whatever relationship God may have in store for us in the future. I won’t be the least bit surprised if our kids are in class together next year. Wouldn’t it be awesome if  I was actually able to help this busy mom? Only our redeeming God could bring this story full circle like that.

So take that, besetting sins. I am reminded that I have to be watchful for you always. The Enemy is like a lion on the prowl, looking for those who are not on guard, and I know how easily I fall prey to his temptation. But I am not a slave to those sins. They do not control me or define me. A very high price was paid to clean my slate, and it’s that reality that defines me and gives me peace. I am not beset!  

Groaning

Groaning.

It’s what children do. It’s what my husband does nowadays when he reaches down to pick something up. It’s what I do when the dishwasher breaks or the dinner burns or my daughter tells me she wants to have a home birthday party with 15 friends. It’s what we all do as we glance at the calendar and realize how few summer days are left.

Even the very earth groans. We’ve experienced it up close and personal in Colorado Springs this summer. While others hear the earth groan through earthquakes and tornadoes, we hear it in wildfires that eat up our houses and mudslides that sweep our cars off the road. I hear it in the weeds in my garden and my restless chickens bloodying one another with their tireless pecking. The earth groans, along with all who are in it.

“For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time” (Romans 8:19–22).

Picture it: all of creation standing on tiptoe, waiting in great expectation for God to redeem it. Longing for God to at last step in. Creation fell alongside mankind. Adam and Eve’s rebellion against God didn’t just affect their offspring; it brought death and decay to everything on earth. And creation didn’t have any say in it! Can the oceans really know they were made for peace and not destruction? Can the winds know they were intended to provide gentle relief, not to wreak havoc? Our minds are not used to assigning such complex feelings to inanimate objects, but Scripture says it is so. And we all feel the effects of its groaning.

Picture all of creation shouting out to God: “When, Lord? When will you bring final redemption to your children and to us? When will you liberate us from this curse and bring us into the fullness of who you made us to be? We’re ready, Lord! We’re waiting!”

Not hard to imagine, is it, because we’re groaning right alongside creation. The next verse of Romans 8 says: “Not only so, but we ourselves . . . groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for . . . the redemption of our bodies.” A redeemed body? One that doesn’t make bad choices or hurt other people or just hurt period? Bring it on, Lord! I’m groaning, too!

Eugene Peterson amplifies the highly relatable picture of pregnancy to describe this longing: “All around us we observe a pregnant creation. The difficult times of pain throughout the world are simply birth pangs. But it’s not only around us; it’s within us. The Spirit of God is arousing us within. We’re also feeling the birth pangs. These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance. That is why waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother. We are enlarged in the waiting. We, of course, don’t see what is enlarging us. But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy” (Romans 8:22–25, The Message).

The waiting is hard, painful at times, and sometimes we can only groan our way through it, but it enlarges us and creates in us a joyful expectation. It stirs us to recognize that we have been made for far more than we’re experiencing here and now. Keep groaning, friends, and know that you’re in very good company.  

Lifecycle of a Waterpark Girl

Little girl: Slathered in sunscreen by mom. Cute as she can be in her little tutu swimming suit. Plays with abandon. Aware of nothing. Will never be this unaffected again but doesn’t know enough to enjoy it.

Teenage girl: Wears just enough sunscreen to appease mom. Wears just enough clothing to appease the law. Plays some, risking wardrobe malfunction, and above all else tries to look cool. Keenly aware of her body, her friends’ bodies, the bodies of any young men who pass by, and the bodies of older women whom she swears she will never become.

Girl in her (late) 20s: Slathers sunscreen on her big pregnant belly. Wears any clothes she can find which currently fit, and that’s not many. Has no energy to play so lays in a shallow pool of water in an attempt to cool off, knowing full well that the term “beached whale” comes to the minds of all who pass by. Keenly aware of the bodies of younger girls, who she used to be until this happened.

Girl in her 30s: Way too busy chasing small children to slather sunscreen on anyone but them. Wears whatever will hide the stretch marks without looking too uncool. Plays with children in kiddie pools while longing to get one’s money’s worth by going on the real rides. Pushes strollers through crowds, changes diapers on slippery surfaces, and is hoarse by the end of the day. Keenly aware of predators, pedophiles, and lifeguards who don’t appear to be paying attention.

Girl in her 40s: Obsessed with sunscreen and preventing age spots. Wears clothes that are either inappropriate or hideous and uncomfortable either way. Chases older children who want to ride every ride nine times and frets over letting them break off into smaller groups. Keenly aware of teenage clothing (or lack thereof) and PDAs, fearing what lies ahead. Attempts to be the “fun mom,” but really just longs for a shade tree and a good book.

Girl in her 50s and beyond: For the love of all that’s good and decent in the world, please just cover yourself up.

Lifecycle of a waterpark boy: Play hard. Be comfortable. Don’t drown. 

A Week of Things Learned

Things Learned from the Fire

Because of the multiple fires burning in our state, it’s smokier now than when the fire was a mile away. I’ll never complain about smoke again. I have a house. Five hundred of my neighbors don’t. Smoke is a good reminder to pray for them and the firefighters who are still at war with blazes all over the state. Bless you, firefighters.

Things Learned from the Fire about the Kind of Mom I Want to Be

A friend of mine left her house to take her son to a music lesson, leaving her three daughters at home. The Black Forest fire broke out while she was away. Because it ignited in the middle of the day, this was the case for a lot of families with teenage children. My friend’s girls were fine—they were amazing under pressure, actually—but I resolved not to leave my kids at home alone at all while the fire was burning. And guess what? I actually enjoyed hauling them to Walmart and the bank and on all my other errands. It’s a long stretch from infants to teenagers, and like everyone else, I’m loving the new freedom I have to leave my kids at home without me sometimes. But I also don’t want to get into the easy habit of leaving them at home in their own world while I go off into mine all the time. I want them to be part of my world. It’s good for them to learn how to compare prices and make returns at Walmart. And with their help, I was able to complete my shopping in about half the time. When my nest is empty, I’ll have plenty of time to zip around in my cute little car running errands by myself. For now, I want to be with these awesome kids. Usually.

Things Learned from Sending My Daughter to Camp

Five years ago I agonized over sending my little boy to camp. I had visions of him sunburned, stinky, filled with head lice, and eating nothing but hot dogs and sugar for five days. Totally different sending my daughter off for five days. I know I can trust her to operate a tube of sunscreen and brush her teeth every day, but oh how I worried about her heart. Would she feel included? Would other girls be kind to her sensitive little heart? Would her counselor love on her? Would she speak up if she were sad, or would she just pull way and isolate herself? These concerns kept me praying a lot more this week than when I was just hoping my boy child would change his socks. Addison came home yesterday, happy, healthy, and with some newly acquired emotional strength that made it worth every penny we spent on camp.

And Finally, Things Learned from the Internet This Week

My struggle to balance God’s commands to help the poor with my nice, cozy life rages unceasingly in my mind. I read far too many books and articles that leave me feeling guilty while doing nothing to equip me with a practical response. This article on Compassion was a balm for my anxious soul. This I can do. And I can change several lives in the process.

Déjà vu

“Unbelievable.”

Kevin walked into the house Tuesday afternoon and asked if I’d seen the smoke. The very word “smoke” conjured up images that my mind wasn’t ready for. I stood in the driveway and could scarcely take it in. An enormous, monstrous cylinder of dark smoke rose up out of Black Forest, little more than five miles from our house. I immediately felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. What couldn’t be really was. Our city was on fire again, just 50 weeks after the most devastating wildfire in Colorado history. Unbelievable.

There’s good déjà vu and then there’s this kind. This is the nightmare variety. It consists of smoke so thick you don’t dare open the windows or go for a walk. Mandatory evacuations and temporary shelters. Military helicopters and jets flying overhead. Now-familiar terms like “slurry” and “duff” and “red-flag warnings.” Local news stations broadcasting 24/7, and households that come to a screeching halt at 9 a.m. and 5 p.m. to watch the latest update: How many houses were lost in the night? What will the wind do today? What’s the level of containment? (We’ve learned to rejoice over 50 percent but expect 0 percent.) Then finally the Type 1 Incident Command—the feds who only give attention to the nation’s most terrorizing fires—moves in to take over. By now they feel like trusted old friends.

There are the same nagging logistical questions we had last June: Do we push ahead with the birthday party? Do we still go to the orthodontist? Is it life as usual even when it feels like a war zone? And is that disrespectful to our neighbors who have lost everything?

The same sticky theological questions arise, as well: Have we stirred up your wrath, Lord? Or is this simply life in a fallen world?

But this fire is markedly different for my family. Last year, we lived in the Shome, a world away from the terror that played out on the west side of the city. This time, the fire is in our back yard. The planes are flying right over our heads—it would be spectacular if it weren’t so scary. We lost power and water for a day and a half, and I learned to operate a generator. The evacuation zone, still voluntary at this point, is an easy bike ride away for even my child with training wheels.

So I find myself in the surreal position of walking through the house, tossing the kids’ medals and artwork and home movies into boxes, trying to hunt down the wedding video and the title to our house, all while questioning the sanity of what I’m doing. Really? Is it going to get this far? In my neighborhood? That’s crazy. All I’m doing is creating a lot of work for myself.

But that’s the old way of thinking, the June 22, 2012, way of thinking. We’re people who live in a post-Waldo Canyon world. We’re people who have seen the impossible happen.

During this morning’s press briefing, a reporter asked our sheriff if he thought the interstate was in danger of being shut down. He paused, gave a sad, war-weary laugh, and said something like this: “A year ago I said there was no way it would get that bad, that the highway would certainly not be shut down, but it did and it was. I’ll never say never again.”

So I keep packing. Unbelievable.

Taking the Grade

“Grace” is a word I use almost every day. I preach it to myself and teach it to my kids. I memorize Bible verses about it and tape them to my walls. I read books about it and sing songs about it. But I still think it’s a hard concept to explain. It’s best described by metaphors and word pictures and stories. I was especially affected by the one I heard during this week’s church sermon.

A student was signed up for a class that she knew she would fail. Distraught over the thought of certain failure, she asked her dad to accompany her to the teacher’s office to see if she could drop the class. Together they pleaded their case to the teacher. He stopped them midway through and said, “What if I guarantee you, right now, that you will get an A in the class? No matter what you do, the A is yours.” Of course that changed everything for the girl. With the teacher’s guarantee, she not only survived the class, but she was hugely successful in it. His promise brought out the very best in her.

In the classroom of life, God guarantees an A to all who call upon the name of Jesus (Romans 10:13). You can’t earn your way into heaven, buy your way into heaven, or hope your way into heaven. The grace of God—giving us not what we deserve but what we need—is the only ticket we have. And it’s guaranteed.

Just like the girl in the story, knowing we’ve got the A already, that there’s nothing we can do to make the grade any better or any worse, frees us up to be the best we can be—the people we were made to be. For me, the key word in that sentence is “be.” No matter how deeply I think I’ve grasped the concept of grace, I still feel like there’s more I should be doing. God is not so concerned with my doing. It’s my being that He’s interested in. He’s not looking for my great acts of service, ready to up my grade when I complete them or flunk me when I fail or just stall out. I can’t impress God with what I do. I can only take Him up on His gift of grace and cultivate a “being” heart, one that is loving, humble, faithful, obedient.

The A is mine. Will I live like it? Will you?