The Restoring Reign of God

My advent reading has pointed me to what is my new favorite passage of Scripture. (That will change in a week or two, as it always does, but it's my favorite today.) It's Isaiah's account of the great reversal that will occur when Jesus Christ reigns on earth. Isaiah 11:6-8 talks of things like wolves living peacefully beside lambs and small children making friends with vipers. It's nature the way God intended.

My mind has been running wild with its own pictures of this great reversal. Imagine a world with no failed marriages and no abandoned children. No pimples and no brain tumors. No bullets and no roadside bombs. No immigration battles and no government shutdowns. No lies and no fears. No rejection and no despair. No addiction and no suicide. No guilt and no shame. No starvation and no gluttony. No earthquake, hurricane, flood, wildfire, or avalanche. As Isaiah said, "They will neither harm nor destroy."

The most helpful definition I've heard for the kingdom of God is this: the saving, restoring reign of God on earth. Saving and restoring. In other words, what Isaiah was prophesying. What Jesus came to earth to do. What we so desperately need right now. 

As I ponder my new favorite passage, the thought that has come to my mind at least a thousand times returns again. Why, God? Why did you create the perfect world and then allow it to be corrupted? You knew we'd inhabit a world of brain tumors and starving children and murder. Why did you build that possibility into your glorious creation?

I'm sure the answer is way more complicated than I could ever understand. But I think part of it is that He had something even better in mind for us. The restoration of His creation is somehow better than the original creation. God sending His son to earth to pay for our sin is somehow better than if we had never known sin at all. It's a pale, hollow example, but I think of taking my kids to the ocean. If I'd told them there was an ocean, they would have believe it existed. They might have spent some time thinking about it, and they might have even grown to love the picture of it in their minds. But until we actually took them to the ocean, they never really experienced it. They needed to hear the roar of the tide coming in, feel the sand between their toes and the salt water on their lips, be nearly pulled under by the force of the waves to truly appreciate the ocean.

If I'd never experienced the ugliness of my sin, I would not understand the beauty of forgiveness. If I'd never been burned by my own self-sufficiency, I wouldn't know of my desperate dependence on God. If I'd never tasted grace, how could I possibly conceive of God's goodness? If He'd not sent His son, how would we know the depth of His mercy? Without His most costly sacrifice, how would we know how much we're loved?

My new favorite passage ends this way: "The earth will be filled with the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea." As cool as it would be to pet a lion's mane or never again feel rejected, the greatest part of our restoration is the knowledge of the Lord. We weren't made to just know about God. He wants for us an experiential kind of knowing. 

I can't make sense of it--the tree in the Garden, God incarnate in a dirty animal trough, a bloody, humiliating crucifixion. Why did He do it that way? Because it was the best way. The perfect way. And some day, when I see lambs frolicking with wolves, it will all make sense.

"In that day the Root of Jesse will stand as a banner for the peoples; the nations will rally to him, and his resting place will be glorious." Isaiah 11:10

Waiting and Yearning

I am a Christmas girl through and through, but I have to admit that I haven't acknowledged advent much in the past. Beyond the lighting of the candles at church, it hasn't really registered in my mind. Of course I'm excited for Christmas, but I spend more time on Christmas cards and shopping than intentionally anticipating the coming of Christ.

Not this year. This year I'm all in. I'm expectant, eager, yearning. That's a funny word to me--yearning. I'm not much of a yearner. If I yearn for something, it's either for something easily attainable (a bowl of ice cream) or something impossibly unmeasurable (more faith). As a result, I don't usually yearn. But I've also never had a child living 1,500 miles away. I've never gone 3 1/2 months, or even 3 1/2 weeks, without seeing one of my children. Let me tell you, there's some yearning going on.

Many weeks ago, my youngest daughter made a paper chain counting down the days to Braden's return home. It went ceiling to floor. Today, it has two links. Two measly little links! We are so close. Except that the southeast is getting the storm of a generation. Charlotte, North Carolina, in particular, is getting dumped on. I've never given Charlotte a thought, but tonight, all of my thoughts and prayers are directed right there. Because the route from Virginia to Colorado goes straight through Charlotte, at least on American Airlines.

And so we wait with great expectation. This non-yearning mom finds herself yearning like never before. The last time I remember being so desperately eager for something was when this same child of mine was nine days overdue and I was so tired of being pregnant that I would have pulled him out through my nose if I thought it would have worked. Here I am again, 19 years later, praying that he will just get here already so the party can begin.

The anticipating, waiting, and longing are so present with me that they shape my thoughts and perspective. They have completely shaped my season of advent. I think of the Israelites, God's chosen people living as hostages in their own land, crying out for deliverance: "O come, o come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel. Come and cheer our spirits by thine advent here." That is yearning! Their hearts were ready, their eyes focused. Only their Savior would satisfy.

Only my Savior satisfies. My head has always known it, but today I feel it. As delightful as the ham and carols and presents and family will be on Christmas day, they can't begin to compare to Him. As much as my heart will race and my eyes will leak when I see Braden's face, even that can't hold a candle to what it will be like to see my Lord and Savoir some day.

Come home, my son. I can't wait to see you! Come soon, my Lord. I can't wait to be with you.

Thank you for the gift of yearning.

Word of the Year

I have a friend who chooses a word for every year. She puts a good amount of time into thinking and praying about it, and then she comes up with a great word to capture her anticipation of the year ahead. I thought this was such a good idea that I tried it myself last year.

Turns out, I'm not as good at it as my friend is. All I came up with was "BIG." Not very inspiring or descriptive. But at the end of last year, "big" was how everything in my life felt. I was asking God for some big things. We were also walking alongside our son in making his college decision, which felt very big. So "big" is where I landed, although it didn't really take. It sort of passed right out of my mind shortly after I chose it. As much as I love words, maybe this whole word-for-the-year thing wasn't for me.

Imagine my surprise when three-fourths of the way through the year, God gave me His own word. One day as I was praying, it just kept tumbling out of my mouth. Every day, it kept coming back. I couldn't get it out of my mind. STEADFAST. That was His word for me. (An improvement over "big," yes?)

It's a word I desperately needed. More like a whole mentality I needed. I have always been pretty even-keeled. I'm not given to mood swings or frequent outbursts of emotion. But this fall, I found myself all over the place, always with regard to my kids. Two of them had a really rough fall, and I was right in it with them. In fact, I have that magical mothering power to take what my kids are feeling and amp it up a hundred percent before owning it for myself. The picture I had in my mind was of my hands clenched to the back seat of a rollercoaster while my legs flew all helter-skelter out behind me, wind whipping me all over the place as I held on for dear life.

Into this picture, God spoke the word "steadfast." It didn't happen overnight, but the rollercoaster stopped taking the dips at 90 MPH, my legs found their footing, and my racing heart became, well, steadfast. I was reminded that my kids' experiences and emotions belong to them. I don't need to take them on myself. I've already done sixth grade. I've been through high school and college. I don't need to relive the emotion of those turbulent years. I need to be an adult. (I get to be an adult.) I get to be the one who's not tossed around by a bad day at school. I'm the one who gets to be steadfast, anchored in maturity and truth and the wisdom that comes from decades of walking with Christ.

Like David fleeing from Saul, I can say, "My heart is steadfast, O God, my heart is steadfast!" (Psalm 57:7). And I can live like I believe it. It's amazing how one word can change your whole perspective. Over the past several weeks, especially, as I've struggled with Braden being so far away from us at Thanksgiving, as I've wrestled through ugly feelings of jealousy toward my friends whose kids are coming home, I've noticed that my anxious heart has become steadfast. The disappointment and jealousy just sort of disappeared. My desire to run and hide until Thanksgiving was long gone went away, too. Now I'm actually looking forward to Thursday, with genuine thanksgiving.

God has been writing steadfast love and faithfulness on the tablet of my heart (Proverbs 3:3). Isn't that a far better picture than the frantic woman on the crazy train?

My heart is steadfast, O God, my heart is steadfast.

No Sting Here

"Where, o death, is your sting?"

Have any greater words ever been written? They may be my favorite in all the Bible.

Last week, I went to see a friend who is in the last days of her life. Younger than me and a mom of five kids, she was diagnosed with lung cancer a year ago. Though at first it looked as if she may have only a few months to live, she and her husband were able to award their son his high school diploma in May. Yesterday her oldest daughter got married. Some happy, milestone moments in the midst of a very hard situation.

Five days ago I sat with this sweet friend, who is long past fearing, worrying, regretting, or grieving. She's now in a simple, pure, beautiful child-like state. A month ago, I would have felt awkward and sad visiting her. I'm not touchy-feely, and I'm not good with sick people. But when sick people become dying people, and when dying people regress (or is it progress?) into their simplest selves, all that awkwardness melts away. The me who barely hugs my own mother sat at my friend's feet, holding onto her, even relishing the honor of feeding her.

Her words were jumbled, but her eyes were clear. On a few occasions, the gibberish was suddenly and incredibly interrupted by a moment of clarity. She would squeeze my hands, lock in on my eyes, and say the most wonderful things, things that made the hairs on my arm stand on end. "He just wants us to believe" was one of them. Another time it was, "He wants to put us back together, to make us whole." Simple statements spoken so quietly, yet they bore into my soul. These were words from God.They weren't booming prophet words, like Moses preaching to the Israelites. They were more the words of a little girl who's delivering a message from her daddy.

In all honesty, this is why I showed up. I did bring a meal, but I also brought expectation. I've been around the dying enough to know that there's something supernatural about it. This is holy ground. No sanctuary or cathedral can compare to the holy space occupied by one transitioning to heaven. With one foot on earth and the other in eternity, the veil between the two becomes almost transparent. And those who sit in the presence of the dying get just a glimpse of it. Such a sacred place. O, death, where is your sting?

When you look into the face of the dying, you have to ask yourself, "Do I really believe? Do I believe that in 12 hours or 12 days this friend of mine, the one whose feet I'm sitting at now, will be sitting like this at the feet of God? Creator of heaven and earth? Do I believe it's all true?"

Yes, without a shadow of a doubt. Any doubt I carry with me in regular life disappears in this sacred space. I look at her face and I see her doing holy business with the Lord. I know where she's headed. I know that some day I'll occupy the same space she's in now. And never have I said so certainly, "Oh, yes. I believe."

Remembering

Twenty-five years ago this month I moved to Colorado Springs to work for The Navigators. I'm not exaggerating when I say that no other event in my life had such a profound effect on who I am and what I do. I'm so grateful.

As a rookie writer, one of the stories I covered most in my first year at The Navigators was the release of The Message. A pastor I'd never heard of had just finished translating the New Testament into "contemporary language," a laborious task for him and a risky move for NavPress as his publisher.

A lot of our time in the Communications department was spent fielding complaints about The Message. People called it sacrilegious and threatened to pull their support from our field staff. Some did. But there was a 24-year writer in Communications who had never really connected with the Bible but was now devouring it. I wasn't alone, as 20 million copies sold testifies.

As I've mentioned before, one of the greatest professional privileges I've ever had was to get to spend a day with Eugene Peterson, supposedly interviewing him, but mostly just visiting with him and enjoying his company. I will treasure that day forever.

In honor of Eugene, who passed away today, I share my favorite quote of all time, which I've posted here many times.

C.S. Lewis, I apologize for choosing favorites. You know that my computer is filled with your quotes. But my life's anthem came from Eugene Peterson in my favorite of his books, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction. (If you haven't read it, make this the year that you do.)


“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.”

My Kid's in College, and Here's What I've Learned

A little over a month ago, my husband and I left our oldest child in a dorm room in Virginia and started a new chapter in our lives. Now, with a whoppin' one month of experience under my belt, I share what I've learned so far. 

• Sending your first child away to college is every bit as hard as you imagine it will be. It doesn't matter that it was time, that he needed to miss you in order to appreciate you, or how good you know this will be for all of you. It very well may be good for all of you, but it's still hard. Someone very important is missing from your house. It would be weird if that wasn't at least a little bit hard.   

• Our kids need to process the changes in their lives, and we want to be the ones they process with. For those of you who are up to your eyeballs raising younger kids right now, here's motivation to keep giving it all you've got. Sure, if you feed and water them, they will grow. But when you fully invest in them—those hours reading a book with them that you really don't care about, those chilly sporting events that you sit and cheer at, those biology tests you help them study for, those late-night conversations two hours after your preferred bed time—you're doing so much more than growing a kid. You're growing a lifelong relationship. When life gets confusing and they need to talk it out, whether they're 6, 16, or 26, you'll be the person they turn to. 

• Asking lots of questions helps them process. Don't worry, if you're over asking, they'll either let you know or they'll stop answering. But until that time comes, ask and ask and ask some more. I've been emailing Braden Seven Thursday Questions that cover everything from the food choices in the cafeteria to his relationship with God. His long answers have helped both of us process the changes happening in his life. Email works great for us because we both write, but I presume I'll find different methods that work for my other kids down the road. 

• I can't for the life of me figure out how much milk to buy. It's been a month, and our excess milk is still souring in the fridge. 

• I tend to focus on the negatives of technology, but I'm enjoying its benefits immensely. Last Thursday night we celebrated my daughter's birthday. Through the miracle of Google Hangouts, Braden was right in the middle of it. He sang Happy Birthday with gusto. He got to see her open the present he sent. He did everything but eat caramel apples with us, and even gave his sisters a complete tour of his room—all at 11:30 at night his time. It is unfortunate that Russians can spy on us through baby monitors, but I hope the person who made it possible for long-distance families to be together is blessed, rich, and happy. 

• Absence really does make the heart grow fonder. My two kids who've never had much to do with each other are now speaking with appreciation and affection of the other. I even heard one throw out an "I love you" the other night on the phone. This may be reason enough to send your child 1,600 miles away. 

• No 8-year-old waiting for a puppy is as excited for Christmas as I am. Christmas has always been my favorite time of the year, but it's taken on new meaning. Now it's the Season When My Boy Comes Home. Every tree that goes on display at Hobby Lobby in September is one more reminder of Braden's impending return. If Christmas music started playing on the radio today, I'd start singing. I'll even forgo my 80-degree days for snow and a 4:49 sunset. I'm seriously considering pulling out the red and green construction paper to make a paper chain to count down the days.  

• And finally, this sending-and-releasing thing is a perpetual process. I just booked a college visit in Texas for my 17-year-old. Lord, help me. Here we go again. 

Only Fools Rush In

I've read a lot about prayer over the past two years. What I haven't heard, until now, is this:

"When it comes to the sacred, God commands us to proceed with caution.While others quickly judge God's actions and question His commands, we are to be careful even to speak His name. We don't carelessly question His actions or inaction.While others rush into prayer with opinions and demands, we cautiously approach His throne with reverence. Like the high priest entering the Holy of Holies, we are to treat prayer as sacred." 

Leave it to Francis Chan, always one to rock my world with the truth, to remind me that prayer is a sacred thing. In the first chapter of his new book, Letters to the Church, he writes about how we are a culture of rushers. All of our lives are spent rushing because if we don't rush, we could get behind. Or worse, passed up. I totally get that. I am the poster child for rushing.

But approaching the throne of God is not to be a rushed affair. Why not? Well, for starters, there's this:

"Guard your steps when you go to the house of God. Go near to listen rather than to offer the sacrifice of fools, who do not know that they do wrong. Do not be quick with your mouth, do not be hasty in your heart to utter anything before God. God is in heaven and you are on earth, so let your words be few." (Ecclesiastes 5:1-3)

Where has this passage been all my life? I've been told repeatedly to spill my heart out to God, to tell him my every concern, to ask him my hardest questions, to beat down His door with my requests. There is biblical support for all of this, but now I know to place these things within the context of Ecclesiastes 5:1-2.

My prayer life has increased drastically in recent years. But what does that really mean? That I'm spending more time going through my long list of requests? It does sometimes feel like I'm reading off my shopping list. There's just so much. I take seriously God's call to intercede for the people in my life. I pray salvation for the lost and for those who have been deceived by false religion. I pray freedom for those held captive by fear, addiction, doubt, and a hundred other things. I pray for my leaders and for my nation, for forgiveness and healing. I pray for wisdom every day, for myself and for the people I care about. These are good prayers, all of them, but they're often hasty prayers, too. And never are my words few.

Since I started meditating on these verses from Ecclesiastes, I've tried to be more of a prayer listener and less of a prayer talker. Holy smokes is that hard! Especially for a mom who's just sent her first child to college and could easily spend two hours a day making requests to God for him. There's nothing that requires more focus and discipline than shutting down the chatter in my head to make space for listening. I think I may be up to about a minute now, after working on this for weeks.

It helps to picture an Old Testament priest approaching the Holy of Holies. He must feel this is the reason for his existence. He has prepared for it for an entire year. His whole body has been purified. He enters in slowly, cautiously, unsure if he'll even make it out. He never forgets this is holy ground. Sacred work. Certainly nothing to be rushed. 

No high priest could have imagined that a soccer mom in Colorado, dressed in spandex, flanked by an unruly dog, and walking around a field full of weeds would some day have the same privilege. God, guard my steps as I approach your throne. Teach me to listen. Let my words not be the sacrifice of fools.