- when the Coronavirus seemed like an Asian, Iranian, and Italian problem
- when the biggest concern at my kids' school was maxing out our snow days
- when we were wondering how to balance soccer, track, and club basketball without losing our minds
- when no one was home for dinner at the same time
- when my girls didn't see each other enough to argue
- when my daughter's looming college decision seemed like the most important thing in the world
- when only weird people wore masks
- when I assumed all these preparations we're making for the Class of 2020 would pay off in glorious memories
- when I was starting to plan parties for my April birthday girls
- when my college student went to college
- when I didn't spontaneously cry throughout the day
- when I had never in my life been on the CDC website
- when I didn't really talk on the phone
- when I didn't give much thought to people who live alone
- when I wondered why I had picked up TWO library books I was never going to be able to finish in three weeks
- when my husband's small business seemed fairly predictable and wasn't something I prayed about all day long
- when going to church required a drive in the car and at least some degree of personal grooming
- when I wore makeup nearly every day
- when I got up at 5 and went to the gym
- when I was productive and got my work done and had my computer all to myself
- when I was a little disappointed about our lack of spring break plans
- when we couldn't wait for nine days of sleeping in
- when saying yes to sending my kid to a friend's house wasn't a monumental decision
- when partnering with the school to educate my children meant proofreading a paper now and then and taking in muffins for Teacher Appreciation Day
- when you couldn't get a one-way ticket to Nashville for $15
- when the Great Depression seemed completely irrelevant to our lives
- when the sniffles were just the sniffles
- when toilet paper didn't come up in every single conversation
- when my sister-in-law's family was having a great time at Disneyworld
- when I had no idea which restaurants delivered
- when I had some idea of what tomorrow would be like
- when I prayed, "All to Jesus I surrender" and thought I meant it
- when I lived under the illusion of control
- when new mercies every morning were something I took for granted
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Ten Days Ago
I remember ten days ago...
Thursday, March 12, 2020
Cursing or Mourning?
As timing (God) would have it, the March 12 heading in my daily devotional was this: If you mourn the fallenness of your world rather than curse its difficulties, you know that grace has visited you.
A few hours later, I learned that the Colorado High School Activities Association has cancelled all sporting events and music festivals until April 6. No track meets for my girl whose first meet was supposed to be Saturday. The one whose outlook in life is directly tied to how much athletic competition she's getting. No All State Band for my senior on April 4. It's her favorite event of the year. Our school's chili supper, which raises $10,000 a year for the band, was cancelled. Seniors are watching their last sports seasons disappear. College students are being sent home. The elderly are scared to go out of their houses. There's no toilet paper to be found. We were told to prepare for serious disruption, and here we are.
We can curse or we can mourn.
From Paul David Tripp:
"Cursing is all about our comfort, our pleasure, our ease. Cursing is fundamentally self-centered. Mourning embraces the tragedy of the fall, that the world is not the way God meant it to be.
Mourning calls for God's redeeming, restoring hand. Mourning acknowledges the suffering of others. Mourning is about something bigger than the fact that life is hard. Mourning grieves what sin has done to the cosmos and longs for the Redeemer to come and make his broken world new again. Mourning, then, is a response that is prompted by grace.
This side of eternity in this broken world, cursing is the default language of the kingdom of self, but mourning is the default language of the kingdom of God. Which language will you speak today?"
I have always welcomed disappointments into my kids' lives. I don't like it when they show up. I don't ask for them. But when they inevitably come, I try hard to be thankful for them. They are opportunities to trust God in a bigger way, to choose to be grateful. When we're all around the dinner table tonight, we'll try to talk about that. But for now, I'm going to mourn for just a bit longer.
A few hours later, I learned that the Colorado High School Activities Association has cancelled all sporting events and music festivals until April 6. No track meets for my girl whose first meet was supposed to be Saturday. The one whose outlook in life is directly tied to how much athletic competition she's getting. No All State Band for my senior on April 4. It's her favorite event of the year. Our school's chili supper, which raises $10,000 a year for the band, was cancelled. Seniors are watching their last sports seasons disappear. College students are being sent home. The elderly are scared to go out of their houses. There's no toilet paper to be found. We were told to prepare for serious disruption, and here we are.
We can curse or we can mourn.
From Paul David Tripp:
"Cursing is all about our comfort, our pleasure, our ease. Cursing is fundamentally self-centered. Mourning embraces the tragedy of the fall, that the world is not the way God meant it to be.
Mourning calls for God's redeeming, restoring hand. Mourning acknowledges the suffering of others. Mourning is about something bigger than the fact that life is hard. Mourning grieves what sin has done to the cosmos and longs for the Redeemer to come and make his broken world new again. Mourning, then, is a response that is prompted by grace.
This side of eternity in this broken world, cursing is the default language of the kingdom of self, but mourning is the default language of the kingdom of God. Which language will you speak today?"
I have always welcomed disappointments into my kids' lives. I don't like it when they show up. I don't ask for them. But when they inevitably come, I try hard to be thankful for them. They are opportunities to trust God in a bigger way, to choose to be grateful. When we're all around the dinner table tonight, we'll try to talk about that. But for now, I'm going to mourn for just a bit longer.
Monday, March 2, 2020
Parenting in the New World
I've said before that I think my generation has a unique place in history. We entered adolescence using typewriters, and before our prefrontal cortexes were fully developed, we could send an email across the world. For free! The Millennials might think they're special in this regard, too, but they never had to max out the telephone cord down the hall and into the laundry room so they could have a private conversation. (People actually used to have phone conversations. But the long-distance ones had to wait until after 10 p.m.) Millennials didn't go from vinyl to 8-track to cassettes to CDs over the course of their childhoods. They don't remember tumbling around the back of a station wagon before anyone had heard of child restraints. These are privileged memories held by Gen Xers, the generation that straddled antiquity and the media age.
We're also the first generation to parent teenagers in the media age. And we are blindly feeling our way through it, day by day. Because it changes every day. The junior high world my 7th grader functions in today is vastly different than the one her brother inhabited (at the same school) seven years ago.
We're the first generation to have online school as an option for our high schoolers. We're the first to raise teenagers at a time when everything from free SAT prep to graphic sex is just a click away all the time. To raise kids who don't need adults to teach them things, because surely everything they need to know can just be googled. To parent in the shadow of social media influencers who make more than I'll ever make in my life by putting on makeup or playing video games in their bedrooms. To parent in a world in which 10-year-olds carry something in their pockets that cost more than my first car and goad other 10-year-olds to just kill themselves already. A world in which we have to decide if we're going to track our kids 24/7 (and let them track us), and then decide what to do when a 19-year-old living two time zones away doesn't make it back to the dorm when we think they should. There are no handbooks for living in this world. We can't learn from the people who have gone before us. There are plenty of opinions, but very few absolutes. Most of us are trying to figure it out day by day, knowing tomorrow it will change.
My kids' school is feeling its way through the media age. Our seven campuses, K-12, are preparing to completely remove cell phones and other digital devices for the duration of the school day (or at least attempt to). It might require more staff. It might chase students, parents, and staff away. It might be impossible to enforce. But they're going to try it, and I fully support their efforts. My kids are less enthusiastic.
We are feeling our way through it in our own house. We use cheap, off-brand phones. We don't track anything--our fitness, our sleep, our Amazon packages, or our kids. We've been as slow as we could realistically be in handing out cell phones, but it's gotten earlier with each kid. The oldest got his first phone at 16, the next at 15, the next at 14, and it will be challenging to make it to 14 with our youngest, who's currently 12 and sharing my phone. (Yes, that's as fun as it sounds. I love the 6 a.m. texts asking me how I'm planning to wear my hair that day.) All of us have stayed off of social media. All of us are significantly less in the know than our friends. Our younger girls get teased, mostly in fun, about it. Their friends probably think their parents are either 95 or Amish. So far, it seems like it's been a good call, but I question myself all the time.
You know those families that don't do sugar, and then their kids go to college and OD on it? Will our kids be like that? Are they not learning essential social media skills that would serve them well later in life? Should we follow the advice of multiple experts and be walking through it carefully with them while they're still under our roof? Are we just hiding our heads in the sand? Are we making our family archaic and completely out of touch?
I honestly don't know. I recently checked in with all my girls, a senior, a sophomore, and a 7th grader, to see where they're at with all of it. My youngest thinks it's dumb when everyone pulls out their phones at a birthday party, but she wishes she could choose for herself to be the one not pulling out her phone instead of having that decision made by us. That seems like a pretty fair and mature assessment to me. My older girls who both have phones but no social media said they feel out of it, but they think it's worth it. One said, "Life is stressful as it is. I can't imagine adding that." The other said she has plenty to make her feel insecure and self-conscious, and she doesn't need social media helping her out. They don't need to read studies about the rise in anxiety among teenage girls. They see it all around them. And they feel like staying out of the social media scene has saved them a lot of envious moments and sleepless nights. But it's not fun feeling like you're on the outside, even when you don't really want to be on the inside. At this point, neither of them thinks they'll jump in when they're out on their own, but they say they'll just have to wait and see.
Are we making the right decisions? I don't know. But I see my kids on their phones a lot, and I wonder what it would be like if they had TikTok and Snapchat and Instagram. I see how tricky it is to juggle endless homework, yelling coaches, needy friends, college searches, jobs, feeling left out, body image, insecurity, and honoring God without social media, and I think of how much more complicated it could be with it. I read articles and watch shows (Hulu's Jawline and the fictional movie Eighth Grade were so eye-opening) that make my heart break for today's teenagers. I don't want naive kids, but I want kids whose identity comes from God, not from how their phones make them feel. So this is our answer today. And to those parents who have thought through all of this as long and hard as I have and made totally different choices, I say, "We're all in this together. There's no room for judgment here."
The one thing that unites all parents of all generations is our need for wisdom. I cling to James 1:5, "If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you."
We're also the first generation to parent teenagers in the media age. And we are blindly feeling our way through it, day by day. Because it changes every day. The junior high world my 7th grader functions in today is vastly different than the one her brother inhabited (at the same school) seven years ago.
We're the first generation to have online school as an option for our high schoolers. We're the first to raise teenagers at a time when everything from free SAT prep to graphic sex is just a click away all the time. To raise kids who don't need adults to teach them things, because surely everything they need to know can just be googled. To parent in the shadow of social media influencers who make more than I'll ever make in my life by putting on makeup or playing video games in their bedrooms. To parent in a world in which 10-year-olds carry something in their pockets that cost more than my first car and goad other 10-year-olds to just kill themselves already. A world in which we have to decide if we're going to track our kids 24/7 (and let them track us), and then decide what to do when a 19-year-old living two time zones away doesn't make it back to the dorm when we think they should. There are no handbooks for living in this world. We can't learn from the people who have gone before us. There are plenty of opinions, but very few absolutes. Most of us are trying to figure it out day by day, knowing tomorrow it will change.
My kids' school is feeling its way through the media age. Our seven campuses, K-12, are preparing to completely remove cell phones and other digital devices for the duration of the school day (or at least attempt to). It might require more staff. It might chase students, parents, and staff away. It might be impossible to enforce. But they're going to try it, and I fully support their efforts. My kids are less enthusiastic.
We are feeling our way through it in our own house. We use cheap, off-brand phones. We don't track anything--our fitness, our sleep, our Amazon packages, or our kids. We've been as slow as we could realistically be in handing out cell phones, but it's gotten earlier with each kid. The oldest got his first phone at 16, the next at 15, the next at 14, and it will be challenging to make it to 14 with our youngest, who's currently 12 and sharing my phone. (Yes, that's as fun as it sounds. I love the 6 a.m. texts asking me how I'm planning to wear my hair that day.) All of us have stayed off of social media. All of us are significantly less in the know than our friends. Our younger girls get teased, mostly in fun, about it. Their friends probably think their parents are either 95 or Amish. So far, it seems like it's been a good call, but I question myself all the time.
You know those families that don't do sugar, and then their kids go to college and OD on it? Will our kids be like that? Are they not learning essential social media skills that would serve them well later in life? Should we follow the advice of multiple experts and be walking through it carefully with them while they're still under our roof? Are we just hiding our heads in the sand? Are we making our family archaic and completely out of touch?
I honestly don't know. I recently checked in with all my girls, a senior, a sophomore, and a 7th grader, to see where they're at with all of it. My youngest thinks it's dumb when everyone pulls out their phones at a birthday party, but she wishes she could choose for herself to be the one not pulling out her phone instead of having that decision made by us. That seems like a pretty fair and mature assessment to me. My older girls who both have phones but no social media said they feel out of it, but they think it's worth it. One said, "Life is stressful as it is. I can't imagine adding that." The other said she has plenty to make her feel insecure and self-conscious, and she doesn't need social media helping her out. They don't need to read studies about the rise in anxiety among teenage girls. They see it all around them. And they feel like staying out of the social media scene has saved them a lot of envious moments and sleepless nights. But it's not fun feeling like you're on the outside, even when you don't really want to be on the inside. At this point, neither of them thinks they'll jump in when they're out on their own, but they say they'll just have to wait and see.
Are we making the right decisions? I don't know. But I see my kids on their phones a lot, and I wonder what it would be like if they had TikTok and Snapchat and Instagram. I see how tricky it is to juggle endless homework, yelling coaches, needy friends, college searches, jobs, feeling left out, body image, insecurity, and honoring God without social media, and I think of how much more complicated it could be with it. I read articles and watch shows (Hulu's Jawline and the fictional movie Eighth Grade were so eye-opening) that make my heart break for today's teenagers. I don't want naive kids, but I want kids whose identity comes from God, not from how their phones make them feel. So this is our answer today. And to those parents who have thought through all of this as long and hard as I have and made totally different choices, I say, "We're all in this together. There's no room for judgment here."
The one thing that unites all parents of all generations is our need for wisdom. I cling to James 1:5, "If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you."
Friday, February 7, 2020
What's at the top of my flagpole?
I've never been totally comfortable with the "idolatry" terminology we use in Christian circles. I know it's biblical, but it makes me think of gargoyles or fat, shirtless Buddhas. When, as a young mother, I was confronted with the possibility that my children could be idols, I was even less comfortable. That hit way too close to home, especially when more than one of my babies bore some resemblance to a fat, shirtless Buddha.
Still, whatever word we use for it, idolatry is a real danger to faithfulness. My family, creature comforts, entertainment, work, workout schedule, opinions, and credit card can all steal my focus from God. But a message I heard recently helped me picture these things in a new light, to see them not as ugly archaic statues, but as flags.
Not that I have any great affinity for flags, either (except to continually wonder why they always seem to be at half-mast), but Ken Robertson from International Anglican Church used them in a way that opened my eyes to the things that threaten my first allegiance to God. (The original message, much better than my recap will be, can be found at springsiac.org. The message is from January 5, 2020.)
Flags are displays of allegiance. We salute the American flag because it represents our loyalty to our nation. The neighbors fly a Nebraska flag to tell the world they're Cornhuskers fans. Flags unite people ("Oh, you're a Cornhusker, too? Come in for a drink!") while also separating people ("CU fans not welcome here."). And while many of us don't literally fly flags, we all carry banners of allegiance to certain things. This might be for a certain political mindset or a parenting style or a hobby that's become a passion. Or it could be for a cause--gender equality, the environment, animal welfare, fostering children, or, in my case, good grammar and properly used semicolons. We all have multiple flags, and for a lot of us, our biggest, brightest banner is reserved for our families. We hoist that one up the pole and will die to protect it.
The thing I love about this metaphor is that flags aren't inherently bad. They're not ugly. They can even be quite beautiful. But they were never intended to fly at the top of our flagpoles. That spot is for Jehovah-Nissi, a name that means "the Lord is our banner" (see Exodus 17:15). The Bible talks about banners in a number of other places, but most interesting is the banner mentioned in Isaiah 11, the "Root of Jesse" who will unite not just Cornhuskers fans or Americans, but "all nations." This flag is Jesus, of course, and Ken Robertson pointed out that Christianity is the most diverse institution in the world. Its adherents are found in every country of the world and span the spectrum from Palestinian Christians to Messianic Jews, Orthodox Russians to Nigerian Pentecostals.
It's not that other flags are bad, but we have to keep an eye on them. If we're not mindful, they start creeping up the flagpole. When our allegiance to Jesus stays higher than the other flags, the others stay in their places. The highest flag actually brings order and rightmindedness to lower flags. When I am living with Christ as my highest banner, I can be the best mom, wife, employee, friend, community member, and champion for causes that I can be. But I have to keep watch over letting any of these things climb too high on my flagpole.
One of the easiest ways to identify flag creep is to notice what I'm stubborn about. In other words, am I willing for my flag to look different? Am I willing to live with less money, a smaller house, or fewer friends? Can I let go of a job I love? Can my support for a cause be challenged? Am I willing for my role as a mom to change? (Um, yes, that's the question in my face as my children rapidly become adults.) The tighter my hands are grasped around one particular flag, the more likely it is that I've let it get too high on the flagpole.
My flagpole has room for lots of beautiful flags. But am I willing to change them, lower them, and swap them out if I need to? Is my highest flag steadfast in place at the very top, the place from which it can purify and shine through my other flags?
Still, whatever word we use for it, idolatry is a real danger to faithfulness. My family, creature comforts, entertainment, work, workout schedule, opinions, and credit card can all steal my focus from God. But a message I heard recently helped me picture these things in a new light, to see them not as ugly archaic statues, but as flags.
Not that I have any great affinity for flags, either (except to continually wonder why they always seem to be at half-mast), but Ken Robertson from International Anglican Church used them in a way that opened my eyes to the things that threaten my first allegiance to God. (The original message, much better than my recap will be, can be found at springsiac.org. The message is from January 5, 2020.)
Flags are displays of allegiance. We salute the American flag because it represents our loyalty to our nation. The neighbors fly a Nebraska flag to tell the world they're Cornhuskers fans. Flags unite people ("Oh, you're a Cornhusker, too? Come in for a drink!") while also separating people ("CU fans not welcome here."). And while many of us don't literally fly flags, we all carry banners of allegiance to certain things. This might be for a certain political mindset or a parenting style or a hobby that's become a passion. Or it could be for a cause--gender equality, the environment, animal welfare, fostering children, or, in my case, good grammar and properly used semicolons. We all have multiple flags, and for a lot of us, our biggest, brightest banner is reserved for our families. We hoist that one up the pole and will die to protect it.
The thing I love about this metaphor is that flags aren't inherently bad. They're not ugly. They can even be quite beautiful. But they were never intended to fly at the top of our flagpoles. That spot is for Jehovah-Nissi, a name that means "the Lord is our banner" (see Exodus 17:15). The Bible talks about banners in a number of other places, but most interesting is the banner mentioned in Isaiah 11, the "Root of Jesse" who will unite not just Cornhuskers fans or Americans, but "all nations." This flag is Jesus, of course, and Ken Robertson pointed out that Christianity is the most diverse institution in the world. Its adherents are found in every country of the world and span the spectrum from Palestinian Christians to Messianic Jews, Orthodox Russians to Nigerian Pentecostals.
It's not that other flags are bad, but we have to keep an eye on them. If we're not mindful, they start creeping up the flagpole. When our allegiance to Jesus stays higher than the other flags, the others stay in their places. The highest flag actually brings order and rightmindedness to lower flags. When I am living with Christ as my highest banner, I can be the best mom, wife, employee, friend, community member, and champion for causes that I can be. But I have to keep watch over letting any of these things climb too high on my flagpole.
One of the easiest ways to identify flag creep is to notice what I'm stubborn about. In other words, am I willing for my flag to look different? Am I willing to live with less money, a smaller house, or fewer friends? Can I let go of a job I love? Can my support for a cause be challenged? Am I willing for my role as a mom to change? (Um, yes, that's the question in my face as my children rapidly become adults.) The tighter my hands are grasped around one particular flag, the more likely it is that I've let it get too high on the flagpole.
My flagpole has room for lots of beautiful flags. But am I willing to change them, lower them, and swap them out if I need to? Is my highest flag steadfast in place at the very top, the place from which it can purify and shine through my other flags?
Tuesday, January 21, 2020
Release
I have to show some restraint not to write continually about all the things I learn about God from my dog. I realize not everyone loves dogs, and not everyone spiritualizes all of life like I do. But this one I'm sharing.
Oakley is a hunter. The kind that hunts through the window pane. And there is a lot of window-pane hunting to be done at 7 a.m. as the squirrels and rabbits chase around our yard and the neighbor dogs free range into our driveway. Because Oakley is confined to the small space between the table and the window, the only way to express his hunting enthusiasm is to whine, bark, and paw at the window. Essentially, he loses his mind. He did this the other day, using his high-pitched little-girl bark that makes us want to hide when we're in public and makes my husband wonder why he ever acquiesced to a poodle mix. In an effort to save the wood on my windowsills, I jumped up from my spot next to him and walked into a different room. And just like that, he followed me. Whatever he had been obsessing over a half-second earlier vanished from his mind. The bark was gone, the windowsill was safe, all because he has this compulsion to follow me wherever I go.
I'm still trying it on for size, but I think my word for 2020 is release. I have an obvious connection to this word because I'm in a releasing season of life. One definition of release is to allow something to move or flow freely. Faster than I can keep up, I am releasing my kids: "Kids, you are now free to move safely about the big world." Their seatbelts are unbuckled, they've grabbed their bags, and off they go. This is tremendously exciting and I love it, but it's also hard. Devastatingly hard, if I'm honest. I will get much practice releasing over the next 5 1/2 years, which means it's a word and a concept that I want to make friends with.
But there's another reason why the idea of release is resonating with me. I can easily get stuck in holding patterns of negative thinking. I've never been one who can stay mad or sad for any sustained amount of time. I hear a good 80's song and, boom, I'm dancing around, joyful and carefree. But what I can hang onto is envy, wishing someone else's experience was my own. (For some reason, I'm more envious of experiences than material possessions.) I can also hold onto my desire for control, wanting to make people who I wish they would be. By people, I am of course referring to my children. I can hold onto my desire for applause and affirmation from other people. Envious, controlling, and needy for affirmation are not the me I want to be. God and I are in agreement on that.
So I'm thinking a lot about what it means to release. Merriam-Webster's first definition of release is to set free from constraint, confinement, or servitude. Here's where Oakley comes in. I could give him what he wants and open the door, but he's never going to catch a rabbit. All he would do is spend a lot of energy chasing something that doesn't really satisfy him. But when he followed me away from the window, he got true release. His mind was free. He could focus again on how content he is just being with me, watching me unload the dishwasher.
What if I got my way? What if I could have all the experiences and the praise I think I want? What if I could shape my kids into exactly the people I think they should be? Would it satisfy me for even a day? Or would I just find new ways to be the me I don't want to be? The best kind of release is not to free my mind to think on whatever it wants, but to release those thoughts to God and follow Him into another room.
Not all the negative thoughts in my mind are purposeless. Some of them are there to teach me something. With some God says, "Hey, let's dig a little deeper and work through this together." But some just need to go. Sometimes I just need to stop fixating on the rabbits in my mind and follow the Master into the next room, where I can enjoy His company, my mind at ease.
Oakley is a hunter. The kind that hunts through the window pane. And there is a lot of window-pane hunting to be done at 7 a.m. as the squirrels and rabbits chase around our yard and the neighbor dogs free range into our driveway. Because Oakley is confined to the small space between the table and the window, the only way to express his hunting enthusiasm is to whine, bark, and paw at the window. Essentially, he loses his mind. He did this the other day, using his high-pitched little-girl bark that makes us want to hide when we're in public and makes my husband wonder why he ever acquiesced to a poodle mix. In an effort to save the wood on my windowsills, I jumped up from my spot next to him and walked into a different room. And just like that, he followed me. Whatever he had been obsessing over a half-second earlier vanished from his mind. The bark was gone, the windowsill was safe, all because he has this compulsion to follow me wherever I go.
I'm still trying it on for size, but I think my word for 2020 is release. I have an obvious connection to this word because I'm in a releasing season of life. One definition of release is to allow something to move or flow freely. Faster than I can keep up, I am releasing my kids: "Kids, you are now free to move safely about the big world." Their seatbelts are unbuckled, they've grabbed their bags, and off they go. This is tremendously exciting and I love it, but it's also hard. Devastatingly hard, if I'm honest. I will get much practice releasing over the next 5 1/2 years, which means it's a word and a concept that I want to make friends with.
But there's another reason why the idea of release is resonating with me. I can easily get stuck in holding patterns of negative thinking. I've never been one who can stay mad or sad for any sustained amount of time. I hear a good 80's song and, boom, I'm dancing around, joyful and carefree. But what I can hang onto is envy, wishing someone else's experience was my own. (For some reason, I'm more envious of experiences than material possessions.) I can also hold onto my desire for control, wanting to make people who I wish they would be. By people, I am of course referring to my children. I can hold onto my desire for applause and affirmation from other people. Envious, controlling, and needy for affirmation are not the me I want to be. God and I are in agreement on that.
So I'm thinking a lot about what it means to release. Merriam-Webster's first definition of release is to set free from constraint, confinement, or servitude. Here's where Oakley comes in. I could give him what he wants and open the door, but he's never going to catch a rabbit. All he would do is spend a lot of energy chasing something that doesn't really satisfy him. But when he followed me away from the window, he got true release. His mind was free. He could focus again on how content he is just being with me, watching me unload the dishwasher.
What if I got my way? What if I could have all the experiences and the praise I think I want? What if I could shape my kids into exactly the people I think they should be? Would it satisfy me for even a day? Or would I just find new ways to be the me I don't want to be? The best kind of release is not to free my mind to think on whatever it wants, but to release those thoughts to God and follow Him into another room.
Not all the negative thoughts in my mind are purposeless. Some of them are there to teach me something. With some God says, "Hey, let's dig a little deeper and work through this together." But some just need to go. Sometimes I just need to stop fixating on the rabbits in my mind and follow the Master into the next room, where I can enjoy His company, my mind at ease.
Monday, December 30, 2019
My 2019 Book List
The Best
The Sun Does Shine: How I Found Life, Freedom and Justice
by Anthony Ray Hinton—This is my annual drop-whatever-you’re-doing-because-it’s-not-as-important-as-reading-this-book
selection. Mr. Hinton, a man who will become your friend and your hero as you’re
drawn into his story, was falsely convicted of murder and sent to death row for
30 years (take that in—30 years) until he was proven innocent. Rarely do
I go into a book believing one thing and have my mind completely changed by the
end. This is that book. There are so many messages here we need to hear, but
the most significant might be about the sustaining power of God. Even in a tiny
cell in solitary confinement, a stone’s throw away from an electric chair, no
one is alone.
And Its Companion
Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption by
Bryan Stevenson—Released in 2014 and recently made into a movie, this
book tells the story of Walter McMillian, a man whom Stevenson helped free from
prison after six years on death row for a crime he didn’t commit. Scattered in
between the pages of McMillian’s story are other horrific accounts of people
Stevenson has defended: impoverished women on death row, charged with capital
murder after delivering stillborn babies that they were too poor to have in a
hospital; children as young as 13 sentenced to life in prison (or death in
prison as Stevenson calls it); the seriously mentally ill who have been left to
die in prisons without medical treatment. In partnership with Hinton’s book (he
was also represented by Bryan Stevenson), my eyes are newly opened to judicial
injustice and death-row practices in our country.
Runners Up
Liturgy of the Ordinary: Sacred Practices in Everyday
Life by Tish Harrison Warren—This book has been on my list for a while. If
it’s on yours, take it off and start reading. It’s short and sweet but oh-so
profound. Warren goes through the seemingly mundane events in her
day—everything from brushing her teeth to returning emails to drinking tea—and
illuminates the sacred in all of it. I have never thought of brushing my teeth
as even remotely worshipful, but Warren has opened my eyes. This little book is
a gem.
Alienated America: Why Some Places Thrive While Others
Collapse by Timothy P. Carney—I saw a review of this in Christianity
Today and knew it was my kind of book. Filled with research and statistics
and real-life stories, it’s another piece in my puzzle to determine how Donald
Trump was elected our 45th President. Of all the reading I’ve done,
this may have provided the most satisfying answer. Carney argues that civil
society—the things we join and belong to, like churches, Bible studies, PTAs,
Little League teams, the neighborhood pool, even labor unions—is what makes us
fully human. These things provide support and a sense of purpose, and without a
role in civil society, people become alienated, untethered, and hopeless. The more
engaged people are with the community around them, the less likely they are to
fall victim to diseases of despair and polarizing national political propaganda.
Listening to Your Life: Daily Meditations with Frederick
Buechner—I delighted in starting my mornings with Buechner, one of my
all-time favorite writers. For me, Buechner is best read in paragraphs, not
pages, so daily entries from his books were just right. The man used words like
no one else, and his writing offered helpful insight into how life speaks to us
about who we are.
The Best Book I Didn’t Finish
Falling Free: Rescued from the Life I Always Wanted by
Shannan Martin—This is a beautiful book. Martin has a story of radical faith to
tell, and she tells it with words that impress, inspire, amuse, and cut
straight to your heart. But I couldn’t finish her beautiful book. There are a
handful of books (anything by Shane Claiborne, for example) that prey upon my
convicting heart and leave me feeling guilty and discontent. I’m all for a book
that challenges, but not one that makes me critical of everything around me.
Most of you will not have that experience, and I heartily recommend Falling
Free to you.
Good But Not Great
Everybody Always: Becoming Love in a World of Setbacks
and Difficult People by Bob Goff—not as good as Love Does but worth
it for the story told in the last few chapters. This man blows me away and
doesn’t leave me with that guilty feeling of Falling Free. He leaves me
happy.
Feeding the Mouth that Bites You: A Complete Guide to
Parenting Adolescents and Launching Them Into the World by Kenneth Wilgus—I’ve
always liked to think of my parenting job with the end goal in mind: raising
functional adults who follow Jesus with everything they’ve got. There wasn’t a
lot of new ground in this book, but it was good encouragement to keep going,
hold fast to structure, and keep my eyes on the long view. Parenting isn’t
always fun in the moment, but the work we do now will pay off.
Just Do Something: A Liberating Approach to Finding God’s
Will by Kevin DeYoung—This is a book about making decisions—not so much “how”
to make them, but a kick in the pants to, well, “just do something.” We can
overspiritualize our decisions and stagnate while waiting for an answer from
God, when sometimes, we just need to move forward into what seems like the next
right step. A decent little book, especially for young adults.
Books I Learned From
Why We Sleep: Unlocking the Power of Sleep and Dreams by
Matthew Walker—Fascinating book written by a sleep scientist on a topic dear to
my heart. At certain points it was too technical and sciency, but the sleep
tips were helpful. Sobering—pardon the pun—information about how driving
sleep-deprived compares to driving drunk. If you’re interested in the topic of
sleep, this is a good one to skim.
Reader, Come Home: The Reading Brain in a Digital World by
Maryanne Wolf—Wolf provided a good scientific foundation for what I already
believe: We read print text differently than digital text, and a mix of both is
good for our brains. But for Pete’s sake, don’t give up print. This book
offered especially good insight for educating future generations of learners. I
hope teachers and administrators are reading this, even though it may be too
technical for casual readers.
The Road Back to You: An Enneagram Journey to
Self-Discovery by Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile—I may have been the
last Christian woman in America to read this 2016 book, which has become the
Enneagram textbook for followers of Christ. I was surprised by how clever the
writing was and how fun it was to read. It’s not comprehensive, but it gives
enough flavor of each of nine personality types to be able to peg your friends
and family (and, with more work, yourself) and offers insight into why people
are the way they are.
Mirror for the Soul: A Christian Guide to the Enneagram
by Alice Fryling—A good partner to The Road Back to You, this book focuses
a bit more on how the Enneagram can be a tool for transformation. It gave me
the push I needed to not just lament my number and what it reveals, but to move
forward with spiritual growth in mind.
Controversial but Interesting
Irresistible: Reclaiming the New that Jesus Unleashed for
the World by Andy Stanley
This one drew a lot of attention, positive and negative.
Stanley was widely quoted as saying that Christians should “unhitch” their
faith from the Old Testament law. This book explains what he means by that. I
actually didn’t find that much to disagree with as he discussed the reason for
the law and how its purpose was complete when Christ came. I do think he
chooses dramatic language (fighting words?) to rouse attention to his points,
and the “unhitch” concept is one of them. Another is his idea to physically
unbind the Old Testament from the New and rename them The Hebrew Scriptures and
the Christian Bible. It’s true that this could eliminate a lot of the problems
that skeptics have with the Bible. Most of those issues appear in the Old Testament.
But Jesus frequently quoted the Old Testament and never once suggested that His
followers should “unhitch.” This was a very thought-provoking book, and I was
deeply affected by Stanley’s teaching on Jesus’s command to love God by loving
the people around us. He drives that message home as well as anyone. But his
tone was not my favorite (Did he really have to bring up Lorena Bobbitt?), and
his fighting words left me unsettled.
Fiction
a. Entertainment Fiction
Before We Were Yours by Lisa Wingate—I’m picky
about my fiction, but this one was a complete winner. Flashing between
present-day and the late 1930s, the book has well-developed characters whom I
actually cared about. I also appreciate that I didn’t have to deal with a bunch
of garbage language. I read it in a few days. Time well spent.
b. Educational Fiction (i.e., books my kids read in A.P.
Lit)
The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky—This
824-page book explains why my fiction category is so sparse this year. After
talking about reading great Russian literature for a dozen years, I finally
committed to this one, and it took me all summer. It’s a book our seniors read,
and it was profoundly meaningful to both my son and my daughter. (After reading
it myself, my hunch is that this had more to do with their wise, engaging Lit
teacher than the book itself.) There’s a reason why we all know Dostoevsky’s
name. He is brilliant in places, and he causes us to think about things of
utmost importance. But there are at least a few subplots that don’t seem to go
anywhere, and the dialogue is lengthy and dramatic. Maybe it’s a cultural
thing, but I found myself worn out by the sheer emotion of it all. Are Russians
really this dramatic? I do feel smarter for having read it, and I can easily
cross Crime and Punishment off my bucket reading list.
The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka—Surely I had
read this little book before, but like most people, all I remembered was someone
turning into a bug. There’s actually a lot more to it than that. What that “lot
more” is? That’s subjective. Addison and I saw it as a commentary on family,
and on how you can feel the most isolated with the people who you’re supposed
to be closest to. Very short and oh-so thought-provoking, this would be a great
one for a family discussion.
My 2020 list is growing, topped by Seculosity by
David Zahl, Surprised by Paradox by Jen Pollock Michel, and How to Think
by Alan Jacobs. If you read a great book this year, let me know about it!
Sunday, December 22, 2019
The God Who Comes
How I love Christmas. I don't like winter, I pretty much hate the cold, and yet this is my favorite time of the year. If I had to give a reason why I love Christmas, my answer would be different every year. This year, my answer is that my head is spinning over the stunning, unexpected wonder that the Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us. God came. As Eugene Peterson put it, God put on flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood.
There are people who, in the face of overwhelming evidence that we were not created by accident, believe in a deity who made human life and then checked out. Think about that for a minute. That would make us little more than a science experiment in the hands of a scientist who couldn't care less what happens to us. That feels more terrifying to me than the idea of no creator at all.
Christmas reminds me that the God of the Bible is not checked out. He is a God who, for reasons I don't quite understand, cares about me more than I can ever know and wants relationship with me closer than I can imagine. Frederick Buechner wrote, "This story that faith tells in the fairytale language of faith is not just that God is, which God knows is a lot to swallow it itself much of the time, but that God comes. Comes here. 'In great humility.' There is nothing much humbler than being born: naked, totally helpless, not much bigger than a loaf of bread. And to us came. For us came."
We speak and sing "Immanuel" over and over, and yet when I really think about what that word means--God with us--I can barely take it in. What? God wants to be with us? Are you sure, God? We're a mess. I am certainly a mess. And yet you want to not only move into the neighborhood, but take up residence right inside of me? You don't just "come" in a generic sense, but also in a personal sense? How can it be?
If that's not enough to blow your mind, consider this: God came, past tense, in the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, but He continues to come. He saved once and for all time, and yet He continues to save. He delivered us for good, and yet He delivers me daily. He reconciled us for all eternity, and yet this morning, as I met with Him, He reconciled with me again. But wait, there's more! Christ's coming is not just past and present tense. It's future tense, too. We have only seen the beginning of His coming.
If this doesn't bring us to Christmas "joyful and triumphant," I don't know what will.
There are people who, in the face of overwhelming evidence that we were not created by accident, believe in a deity who made human life and then checked out. Think about that for a minute. That would make us little more than a science experiment in the hands of a scientist who couldn't care less what happens to us. That feels more terrifying to me than the idea of no creator at all.
Christmas reminds me that the God of the Bible is not checked out. He is a God who, for reasons I don't quite understand, cares about me more than I can ever know and wants relationship with me closer than I can imagine. Frederick Buechner wrote, "This story that faith tells in the fairytale language of faith is not just that God is, which God knows is a lot to swallow it itself much of the time, but that God comes. Comes here. 'In great humility.' There is nothing much humbler than being born: naked, totally helpless, not much bigger than a loaf of bread. And to us came. For us came."
We speak and sing "Immanuel" over and over, and yet when I really think about what that word means--God with us--I can barely take it in. What? God wants to be with us? Are you sure, God? We're a mess. I am certainly a mess. And yet you want to not only move into the neighborhood, but take up residence right inside of me? You don't just "come" in a generic sense, but also in a personal sense? How can it be?
If that's not enough to blow your mind, consider this: God came, past tense, in the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, but He continues to come. He saved once and for all time, and yet He continues to save. He delivered us for good, and yet He delivers me daily. He reconciled us for all eternity, and yet this morning, as I met with Him, He reconciled with me again. But wait, there's more! Christ's coming is not just past and present tense. It's future tense, too. We have only seen the beginning of His coming.
If this doesn't bring us to Christmas "joyful and triumphant," I don't know what will.
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