Musings on Justice, Mercy, Love -- and Beth Moore

I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels that our world has become distressingly polarized. I've always thought of myself as fairly conservative, but lately I find myself standing more and more in the center, a center I'm having a hard time locating. The strange thing is that this migration seems to have happened without my really moving. My views are more or less the same as they were ten or twenty years ago, but everything around me has changed. The voices seem more strident, viewpoints more extreme. We've lost our ability to find common ground. Just look at the way Ellen DeGeneres was attacked for calling George W. Bush a friend. Come on, people. When did it become wrong to be friends with someone you disagree with?

This morning I was thinking about the nature of justice. When we believe our cause is just, we feel better about ourselves. We pat ourselves on the back for taking the 'right' stand. To be sure, justice is important. The fight against social injustice is necessary and good. The world needs people like William Wilberforce, Susan B. Anthony, and Nelson Mandela. But what strikes me about our sense of justice today is that it seems particularly heightened on both the far right and the far left. Just hear me out with this.

Both extremes have a tendency to feel the justice of their cause so deeply that ideals like love, mercy, grace, and compassion can easily get pushed out of the picture. When our view of justice is not infused with love, unforgiveness and intolerance becomes acceptable. Judgment, control and even rage become normal. It becomes us versus them, right versus wrong, and we put up walls to protect our little ideological fiefdoms. Consider the backlash against a viral video of Texas murder victim Botham Jean's brother extending forgiveness to his brother's killer. Friends, there should never be a backlash against forgiveness. Honor justice, yes. But always elevate and embrace forgiveness. It is rare.

Consider this for a moment. People are often quick to stand for justice but equally quick to leave love and mercy standing on the sidelines. Everybody understands justice. It makes sense to our human understanding of right and wrong. As Jesus hung on the cross, it would have been completely understandable for him to call down wrath upon his persecutors. But he did not. Instead, he did the unthinkable. He extended mercy and forgiveness to the people who crucified him. Humanly speaking, that makes no sense. It turns our human understanding of justice on its head, and it places love firmly at the center of the Gospel. Love is not a liberal or conservative theology; it is the core, the very center of Christianity...at least it's supposed to be.

So this brings me to something that left me speechless this week. If you follow Christian media of any sort, you probably saw it. It was a video of a conference in which well-known Bible teacher John MacArthur and others on stage were playing a word association game. The moderator brought up well-known Bible teacher Beth Moore, which quickly prompted John MacArthur to tell her to "Go home!" (She was not present at the conference, but his comment seemed to imply that she belongs at home, not in the church.) He and the other men present proceeded to laugh at and deride Ms. Moore, calling her a narcissist and hawker, all while justifying their comments by appealing to what they claim is Biblical truth, that women should not speak in church.

Do you really think that Jesus would have sat in a room with his disciples mocking other people, let alone a female follower? Yet, Mr. MacArthur seems to believe his cause is just, that he is protecting the church from the error of allowing women to preach. I disagree with his Biblical position, but even if I didn't, I would still be grieved. What bothers me most is to see a Christian proclaiming what he believes to be just and right, while so clearly acting without love. I have read other comments by Christians suggesting that Beth Moore deserves the wrath of God for her rebellion and witchcraft. Say what? Lord have mercy, seriously. This is what pushes people away from Jesus!

As a woman, why on earth would I want to be part of something that tells me I don't have a voice? Even more so, why would I want to be part of something that seeks to put me in a box of someone  else's design. But this is not Christianity. Jesus respected women. He listened to women. He loved women. For heaven's sake, the Samaritan woman in John 4 is the first person to whom Jesus reveals himself as Messiah. Did he consider her unworthy to carry the message? Nope.

I have great respect for Beth Moore, and I hope that she will extend forgiveness to Mr. MacArthur. But I wish we could all stop focusing so much on being 'right' and think more about what it means to be love -- and this applies as much to the person wearing the 'Love Wins' t-shirt who won't speak to his Trump supporting neighbor as it does to the conservative Christian who has decided to despise her liberal-minded coworker without ever attempting to get to know him. Truth and justice are Biblical principles, but they can become toxic in anyone's hands when they are not rooted in God's love. This is where righteousness begins to look a lot like self-righteousness. To be sure, we'll always have differences of opinion with those around us, but we mustn't forget that we are all human beings created in God's image and worthy of love.

Paul knew what he was talking about when he wrote that love is the greatest virtue, for without this we are nothing but a resounding gong or clanging cymbal (1 Cor 13:1). There's already too much of this kind of noise in our world. So how about when dealing with our fellow humans, we turn to patience, humility and forgiveness instead? These always bear the mark of love. So whether you're on the right, or the left, or trying to figure our where the heck you're standing at the moment -- whether you're a Christian or a non-Christian -- can we all just try a little harder to act in love? When love becomes a natural reflex, I believe that true justice always follows.

When You Have Everything and Nothing

Every so often I reread the Chronicles of Narnia. Why? They're kids' books, right? Well, I have adored them since childhood, but I can honestly say I get much more out of them as an adult. C.S. Lewis said, "A children's story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children's story in the slightest." Using that logic, Narnia must be listed among the very best of children's literature.

Narnia fans all seem to have a favorite, one that particularly speaks to their heart. For my husband, it's The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. He loves Eustace, the boy who becomes a dragon and can only become a boy again through an encounter with Aslan, the Great Lion. This reminds my husband of his own healing journey. For me, it's The Silver Chair. Its overarching theme of being freed from darkness and spiritual bondage resonates strongly within me. But last night I was reading the final book of the series, The Last Battle, when something struck me anew. The events center around the last days of the Kingdom of Narnia as a conniving ape sets the end of all things in motion through the manipulation and deception of the kingdom's citizens, some of whom have been coerced into slavery. The ape tries to deny that the humble Narnians have been sold into bondage by assuring these changes are for everyone's benefit.

There! You see!...It's all arranged. And all for your own good. We'll be able, with the money you earn, to make Narnia a country worth living in. There'll be oranges and bananas pouring in -- and roads and big cities and schools and offices and whips and muzzles and saddles and cages and kennels and prisons -- Oh everything!

The first to respond is a wise old bear, who immediately sees the folly of such an idea. But we don't want all those things...We want to be free. And we want to hear Aslan speak. The ape's rebuke is swift, calling him a "fat, stupid old Bear."

The ape's words feel eerily apt in today's world. We have everything, don't we? Good and bad, it's all available to us -- all manner of things to occupy our time, energy, and passions. And yet, how many of us feel content? How many of us feel free?

The old bear is the only one brave enough to speak what he knows in his heart. Freedom's value far exceeds that of worldly 'progress'. It is possible to have everything and yet have nothing of lasting value. Do you ever feel like nothing in this world truly satisfies? Do you wonder who clipped your wings or where your sense of adventure has gone? Do you sometimes ask yourself if the entire world has gone mad?

But what can be done? Isn't that just life? I love that last part of the old bear's statement. And we want to hear Aslan speak. In our hearts, we long to hear someone speak truth, to put everything in its proper place. But too often all we hear is noise. And the noise can sound a lot like the conniving ape, hurling accusations in our faces -- telling us we're not entitled to an opinion or we're not seeing things clearly. But in our hearts we know. We know there is something else, something solid, something true.

The voice of the Lord is powerful; the voice of the Lord is majestic. The voice of the Lord breaks the cedars...He makes Lebanon leap like a calf.

Psalm  29:4-6

Freedom is too precious to discard in exchange for any perceived peripheral benefit. And yet, we humans are terribly good at enslaving ourselves. There are so very many ways to enslave ourselves, too! Addictions, greed, political systems, religious legalism, co-dependance, unforgiveness, hatred, judgment, fear -- the list is inexhaustible. But we were created for freedom. And we were created for relationship. Not just any relationship, but one in which we can hear the voice of truth -- the voice of love. When we begin to hear this voice, we begin to experience freedom.

Ask God what he wants to say to you today. Let him speak the words that shatter lies and break chains. Let him fill the emptiness with the substance of his love. I promise his voice is stronger than the voices of chaos and confusion that are given so much latitude today. And his words NEVER lead to bondage.







Photo credit: Ray Grau

My Heart Breaks for Greta Thunberg

We've all seen her this week. The young woman, a girl really, who is passionately fighting climate change. Many have praised her for her vision and courage. Others have criticized her for taking a place that she is not yet experienced enough to have earned. Those who have given her that pedestal, everyone from world leaders to her own parents, have perhaps in equal parts received both accolades and derision. The only thing this makes me feel is sadness.

I'm not writing this to make any sort of statement about climate change. (Can we all just agree to take better care of our planet?) I'm writing this because my heart hurts for this young woman. Many have noted that Greta has Asperger's Syndrome and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, as well as Selective Mutism. When I read that, it was the OCD that jumped off the page at me. As someone who has struggled with severe OCD, I know that there is a lot of misunderstanding about what this disorder actually is. It doesn't mean you are "particular" about certain things. It doesn't mean that you like to organize closets or straighten picture frames. And it isn't a funny little quirk.

The National Institute of Mental Health describes OCD as a "chronic and long-lasting disorder in which a person has uncontrollable, reoccurring thoughts (obsessions) and behaviors (compulsions) that he or she feels the urge to repeat over and over." Generally, these obsessions are fear-based, and Greta seems to be driven greatly by fear. 

I can't imagine what it would have been like if, in the midst of the irrational thoughts being driven by my OCD, there was no one to come alongside me and gently say, "It's not really as bad as all that. It's going to be okay." I needed that assurance. I needed to be tethered to reality. To be trapped in my own uncontrollable and unending fear-cycle with no one to speak peace or hope into my heart sounds like a living Hell. My heart breaks for Greta.

Her words to world leaders in Davos speak volumes. I want you to panic. I want you to feel the fear I feel every day. I had those days too, Greta. I wanted people around me to recognize and understand what I was feeling. On one level, I believed that if others acknowledged my fears, if they felt what I felt, I would feel less alone, less (dare I use the word) crazy. But at the same time, that was not what I needed. I needed people to come by my side and speak life and love to me -- to NOT agree with my panicked, fear-wrought thoughts of disaster and death. I would never have wanted to be thrust onto a pedestal in the midst of my illness, and I have a hard time seeing how this can be healing for Greta.

Oh Greta, I feel your pain. I really do. How it eats you from the inside out. How it compels you to act. How it leaves you feeling trapped. And I want you to know freedom. 

But more fear is not what the world needs -- and it's not what will heal you either, Greta. The world is a mess in so many ways, but fear can never be the answer. We need to dig deeper and find the hope that we carry within; and yes, I know that you've said you don't want our hope. But that's no way to live. The human heart withers when bound by fear. We need to receive and lavishly spread the one thing that is life-giving. There is no substitute for LOVE. It is the thing that gives hope. And I pray, Greta, that you would experience the perfect love that casts out fear. May your heart and mind be free.

An Invitation to Fullness

Beautiful friend,

Do you feel empty? Are you lonely? Have you experienced loss? Are you walking through grief? Do you feel like something is missing, but you don't know what? Does the inside of you ache for more?

Every one of us can answer yes to at least one of these questions at some point in our lives. It's part of being human. We can't avoid pain and heartache. But we also don't have to face it alone. Today my heart aches for you to know that emptiness is never God's will for us.

Just months before I became a Christian, I sat in my dorm room window staring out into a rainy night at the lights of a Walgreen's parking lot. I felt completely empty. Cold. Just weeks into my freshman year, I'd contracted an unusually severe case of mono which had left me sliding in and out of consciousness in a hospital room just off campus. No one knew I was there. I was 18, so the hospital did not bother to notify my parents for several days. Following my hospitalization, I spent a month at home recuperating. Upon returning to school, I felt completely alone. Campus life had gone on without me. My new sorority had held dances, overnights, and other bonding events. I had missed out. I had no real connections with anyone. What was I even doing there? I certainly didn't know a god who could meet my needs. How many of us have had those moments? And maybe it's a lot longer than a moment.

This morning as I sat on my patio reading and journaling, I was struck by the number of times the word fullness is found in scripture. When I suddenly notice a particular word jumping out at me, I know it's time to stop and ponder its significance.

As I dug further, Ephesians 1:23 really grabbed me. Paul refers to the Church as the fullness of him who fills everything in every way. Well, my experience of the Body of Christ hasn't always felt like this. At its worst, it felt like a bunch of empty, hurting people puffing themselves up by sucking the life out of everyone around them. Not surprisingly, this left me unengaged and licking my numerous wounds. Maybe this has been your experience. Maybe you ran away from the Church because the very people who were supposed to love you were the same ones who kicked you in the teeth. Who could blame you for running away? Who could blame you for feeling empty and let down? Your experience inside the Church shouldn't leave you feeling like I did sitting in that dorm room window -- cold and alone.

And yet, as part of the Body of Christ, we are supposed to experience fullness. The problem is that the Church so rarely embodies the love that is God himself. Many of us who cut ourselves off from the Church also cut ourselves off from God. We may find ourselves asking how good God could actually be if the people who supposedly follow him are a bunch of creeps. But friend, don't let the failures of other humans be the reason for removing yourself from the One who is love, the One who wants to fill you.

God calls us to live in community -- and He himself IS community -- Father, Son, Holy Spirit. His is a community of perfect love and fullness, and it is this community into which we are called. This is the place from which we are to live. The more we live from this place, the more we are able to carry this love to those around us -- to expand this community of love right here on earth. When we are full, others benefit from the overflow. We get to be a vessel of his love, filling those around us. And this is what the Church should look like -- a place where the empty can come to be filled.

You see, we love because he first loved us. (1 John 4:19)  If we don't allow ourselves to be filled with his love, we can't possibly love others well. So much of the Church doesn't know it is loved! So many Christians are stuck at the cross, digging their heels in and refusing to step into resurrection. Friends, the cross is the place where we leave our sins, our burdens, our garbage. We aren't meant to stay there wallowing in our own filth. We are meant to leave all the junk behind so that we can be filled. Filled with love, from which flows joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control.

Maybe you belong to a church where this is a reality. I rejoice with you! If not, I encourage you to let God be the one to fill you and then carry that love back into your hurting church. Bring forgiveness and hope. Bring encouragement and humility. When you feel empty or dry, go right back to your heavenly Father and ask for more. He is always willing for you to be full. This is the only way to see a Church that is healed and whole. And the hurting world very much needs a healed Church right now.

Will you accept the invitation?


Photo credit: Fred Moon

Being a victim is real...but so is victory

Have you ever thought about the words victim and victory? I find it interesting that they both have the root v-i-c-t. Stick with me while I get all nerdy on you for a second. Victim comes from the Latin word victima, which means "person or animal killed as a sacrifice." The actual origin of the word victima is uncertain, but I'll stand with the great poet Ovid who notes its similarity to the word victus,  meaning "conquered or defeated." On the flip side, we see that victory comes from the Latin word victoria, which is derived from vincere, meaning "to overcome, conquer."

We all have experiences in our lives when we are victims. We may find ourselves on the receiving end of an act of violence, or we may be harmed by circumstances beyond our control. Many of us have scars, physical and emotional, that remind us of these events. Having spent nearly half a century on this earth, I have my fair share of visible and invisible scars. The one on my left hand is from a hiking accident in which our entire family came much too close to being struck by lightning. The ones on my right hand are from a man siccing his dog on me as I attempted to deliver voter registration information to his door. I have another, that most won't see, from a lumpectomy. And then there's the one between my eyes from when I did a header down the stairs at 18-months-old. Scars are indeed reminders, but what they allow us to remember depends upon our perspective.

Jesus is the perfect example of a victim. He was, quite literally, a human sacrifice. He did not in any way deserve his fate. And yet, he died in the most horrific way possible. I've always found it interesting that he bore his scars even after his resurrection. Those scars validate his story. They attest not just to his brutal death, but to the power of his resurrection. He suffered, and his suffering was real. But his triumph is real, too!

Think about Thomas' reaction in John 20:25 to being told that Jesus is alive. Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe. The physical scars are the evidence that what Jesus did was real. He wasn't some ghost having a bit of a laugh with the disciples. He overcame the impossible. Jesus is not only the perfect victim, he is also the perfect victor. He overcame death, not just for himself, but for all of us.

My scars are also the validation of my story and God's place in it. God rescued my family from the face of a mountain during a ferocious storm. Being attacked by a dog was traumatic, but the event led directly to me getting a wonderful job. The lumpectomy scar reminds me of a time when I felt God's peace so deeply that I couldn't experience fear. This is where I choose to focus when I see my scars. When we understand that our scars are merely temporal, whereas Jesus' victory is eternal, the scars take on a different significance, pointing us to triumph.

Show the world those scars. Don't let them be a source of shame, and don't pretend they don't exist. They are part of your story. But don't forget that Jesus' story didn't end with those scars and neither does yours! You have a choice. Victim was never meant to be your identity. I love what Lisa Bevere says. "We need to stop being the professionally wounded."

So will you be conquered, or will you conquer? Do you choose to remain a victim or do you choose to become a victor? It's okay if that victory takes time. Even Jesus spent three days in the grave. Lazarus spent four. Go easy on yourself, the timeframe is in God's hands. I promise that your heavenly Father will be with you in the waiting, providing comfort and leading you on toward that place of triumph, if you'll let him. Are you willing to let your scars tell a different story? Are you willing to trust that your story is not over? Your resurrection is closer than you think, and I'm cheering you on.

Photo credit: Brian Patrick Tagalog

Got Oxygen?

I recently came home from Madagascar, and as often happens on these trips, I arrived home with a lovely bug. I rarely get stomach ailments, but respiratory stuff is my Achilles heel, and this trip was no exception. I'd started the trip on the tail end of a throat infection for which I'd been taking antibiotics, but it seemed like I never really got over it. I pushed through the trip with a backpack full of Advil and cough drops; but poor air quality, little rest, and the onset of a cold left me feeling like, well...where's the poop emoji when you need it?

I spent all of last week trying my darnedest to get well, but there's only so much Throat Coat tea you can consume before you need to suck it up and go back to the doctor. So Friday morning, I reluctantly dragged myself over to the doctor hoping I wasn't wasting her time.

I've been asthmatic my whole life but really have not had any serious breathing issues for the last several years. And praise God for that! Nevertheless, I know what an asthma attack feels like, and I generally know when I need to go to the emergency room. So I was kind of stunned when the nurse stuck the pulse ox monitor on my finger and it showed that my oxygen saturation looked more like that of a lifelong coal miner. The nurse and I both looked at the screen with our heads cocked to one side and uttered a collective hmmm.

The doctor listened to my lungs and confirmed that my infection was aggravating my asthma, so I left the office with another round of antibiotics and some good old steroids. Now, nothing about this scenario was new for me except that this time I had absolutely no idea how sick I was. How on earth did I not know that I was getting about the same amount of oxygen as someone on a high altitude hike? Well, that would certainly explain something about my energy level.

Friends, how often in our spiritual lives are we getting by on so much less than we really need? We tell ourselves we're fine, that we just need to tough it out, and we continue to walk through each day feeling tired and depleted and maybe more than a little grumpy. We don't even realize that we're not really breathing, at least not freely. We get used to functioning on so much less than what is available to us. Living on less becomes normal. But this is not the way it's supposed to be.

My friend Niki Hardy has a new book aptly titled Breathe Again coming out in August. I had the opportunity to read an advance copy, and it's a wonderful read. It made me wonder how many of us feel like we can't catch a breath -- like life has knocked the wind out of us and we just can't recover. I know I've been there, and not just with the way I'm feeling physically right now. Let's be honest. Life can suck sometimes. And sometimes there is absolutely nothing we can do to make our circumstances any better. But even in the midst of pain and struggle, there is a source of life-giving breath -- the spiritual oxygen we need.

God isn't waiting for you to toughen up and sort things out. He never told anyone to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps. He gets no pleasure from seeing you struggle day after day. He isn't like that. Let me say that again -- he is NOT like that. If your day finds you lying on the kitchen floor literally begging for mercy and asking where God is, that's okay. He's happy to meet you right there on the kitchen floor. How do I know? Because I've been there. Several years ago, in the midst of chronic illness, I finally reached a place where I couldn't hold on with my own strength. I was suffocating under fear and anxiety. But when I let go, I discovered that God was right there to catch me, to breathe life back into me. It didn't make the pain instantly disappear, but it allowed me to look up -- to look at the one who sustains me, to draw my strength from him. He is the one who gives "life and breath and everything else" (Acts 17:25), so thinking I was going to sort things out through my own positive thinking or strong will was inevitably going to fail.

If you're feeling depleted and defeated, let me encourage you. There is one who wants to breathe life back into you, to give you oxygen. There is one who doesn't want you to walk this path alone. There is one who calls you to look up.

There's been one song stuck in my head all week, and it's a great one. Lauren Daigle's "Look Up Child" has such a great message, so as far as earworms go, I'll take it. But have you heard the poem that was inspired by the song, written by Channell Warren at Folsom Prison? I hope this encourages you to look up today.

Lauren Daigle - Folsom Prison (02.24.19)

Expecting the Unexpected

Yesterday our family visited a church community in Sakaraha, Madagascar, with whom we have developed a special relationship over the past seven years. My husband was given the opportunity to preach, and perhaps because he was a little surprised to be preaching that morning, he talked about how with God we can expect the unexpected. 

It got me thinking about how I deal with the unexpected and what sort of expectations I have for God to act. What about you? Do unexpected events or schedule changes throw you for a loop? Do you stress over the what ifs of life?

The more time we’ve spent in the mission field, the more I’ve learned to roll with the unexpected. I remember my high school French teacher saying, “Travel, even at its best, is always a hassle.” I love to travel, but these are wise words to keep in mind. I find them to be especially true in the developing world where there always seems to be a curve ball coming your way. There are times when I still don’t handle sudden change as well as I’d like, but I’ve learned that some apparent misfortunes can actually be blessings, if we’re willing to see them.

A few years ago, we were scheduled to fly from the capital of Madagascar for ten days of ministry in the southwestern city of Toliara. We love our visits to the south and were looking forward to reuniting with friends and visiting our favorite pizza place. I know, nobody thinks of pizza when they think of Madagascar, but seriously, this place is the BEST. And did I mention the gelato?  But I digress. 

A few days before our scheduled flight, Air Madagascar went on strike. Nobody knew how long the strike would last, but we needed to quickly come up with Plan B. When it became clear that there was a solid zero percent chance our flight would actually depart, we prayed and took a leap of faith. We booked a car and driver and began a three day journey south, through the heart of Madagascar. We knew people who had done the trip. We had heard stories of adventure and peril but weren’t quite sure what to realistically expect. 

Could we trust our driver to find us safe food along the route? (I’m pretty adventurous, but typhoid fever is not high on my list of things I want to experience.) Where on earth would we be sleeping? Would Air Madagascar, affectionately referred to as Air Maybe, be able to bring us home or ever give us our money back? Well, we’d find out one way or another.

The long trip south, along with the high probability that we would have to make the same journey back, cut significantly into the time we had planned to be in Toliara. We were somewhat frustrated and disappointed, but we focused on the excitement of the unknown.

Crammed into the backseat with two teenagers on a twisty, washboard of a road, I was sure my back would never be the same again. As we crossed bridges that appeared less than structurally sound, we joked about what the headlines in our local paper would read after our car plummeted into a rice paddy. (Yes, everyone in our family shares a somewhat dark sense of humor.) We also listened  to U2, lots of U2.

Eventually, we arrived unscathed at our destination. We’d lost a few days in Toliara, but we had gained so much on the journey. We saw parts of the country we never imagined we would have the opportunity to see. Every mountain pass provided a new breathtaking vista. We caught glimpses of the quotidian rhythm of dozens of Malagasy villages. We even saw a couple funeral processions, which in Madagascar are boisterous celebrations.

As the airline strike continued, and we realized we would need to make the same trip in reverse, we actually looked forward to it. We wished we could take more unexpected detours. The journey had developed in us a deeper love for this amazing country and her hospitable people. God had transformed an annoying turn of events into something beautiful.

Certainly, there are unexpected events that nobody welcomes. A diagnosis of cancer, a tragic car accident, the loss of a job, or the discovery of marital infidelity will turn anyone’s world upside down. But even in these moments, we can live with expectation for God to intervene with hope, healing and comfort. And it is often through the worst unexpected events that God’s hope shines the brightest. 

His ability to intervene in unexpected ways can instantly shatter darkness and bring about resurrection, both literal and figurative. Just think of Lazarus. Nobody, least of all his sisters, expected his illness to result in death followed by a literal resurrection four days later. I promise you they never saw that coming. But WOW! Can you imagine?

Our God is full of surprises. He loves to intervene in unexpected ways. And no, it probably won’t look anything like what you imagined. The journey may require patience, perseverance and courage. It may find you asking some really hard questions and wondering if you’ll ever reach the end of the road, or at least an oasis along the way.

But what if our faith in God’s ability to do the unexpected was greater than our fear of the unknown? What if, when faced with frustrating or disheartening challenges, we waited in eager expectation for God to act. What if we knew that his love for us  actually leaves no room for fear? Friends, that begins to look a whole lot like freedom!

Why I'm Done with Principles

Is it just me or does it seem like everyone wants to be told how to live? We want principles for everything. We want the best how-to advice money can buy. We devour books with titles like 7 Habits of Highly Effective People and 30 Life Principles. There are countless bestsellers that instruct us on how to live our best lives, be our best selves. We are told that we need to have zeal and passion. We need to eat right, pray more, work more efficiently, take our fitness to the next level, practice mindfulness, raise amazing kids, reduce our carbon footprint AND declutter our homes. (Forgive me if I just rolled my eyes.) The list of things we “must” do is never-ending. Many of these well-meaning books are directed at a Christian audience, and I’m sure some of them contain nuggets of wisdom that have been a catalyst for life improvement.

But I’ve come to a place in my life where I’m done with self-help principles. You see, I’ve spent most of my life living from my head. I’ve always wanted to “get it right” and have it all figured out. Self-help books are great for that. But the problem is that I no longer want to “figure it out." I’ve spent far too much energy making sure I’ve checked all the right boxes to be a good mom, a good wife, a good Christian. But following Jesus has absolutely nothing to do with checking boxes. He doesn’t ask us to have it all figured out, and our mental assent is not really what he’s after. He's after our hearts. Period.

Sure, our thoughts matter. Dwelling on the negative is never a helpful practice. Scripture tells us "whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable -- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy -- think about such things." (Philippians 4:8) Of course, I agree. But in my experience, my thoughts are something over which I have very little control. One moment I can be patting myself on the back for cooking a dinner that everyone in the house will eat (Now that is an accomplishment. Am I right?) and the next moment I’m beating myself up for forgetting to schedule my kids’ physicals and there are no appointments available for six months. Have you been there? Bad mom accusations are particularly easy to hurl at ourselves.

But a good parent, citizen, spouse, friend, teacher, chef, rocket scientist...(fill in the blank) should be more organized, supportive, assertive, creative, badass, awake...(fill in the blank). Blech! I’m never going to be perfect, and neither are you. But I AM enough...and so are you!

So how are we supposed to live? Humor helps. And so does love. When we become secure in our identity as beloved children of God, so much of that other junk begins to fall away. Do you think God is really judging you because you got frustrated with your kids and ate an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s? Nope. We may need to ask for forgiveness when our frustration boils over toward our loved ones, but God’s grace is a lot bigger than our weaknesses. And if God doesn’t judge us in the messiness of life, we shouldn’t judge ourselves either.

God knows I’ve tried...to be the best. The best student, musician, employee, writer, boss, event planner, mom...and on and on. All I ended up with was an obsessive compulsive disorder. No joke! And living by someone’s helpful principles didn’t help me escape from that living hell.

Let me set the record straight. No amount of striving is ever going to bring you peace. You can’t fix problems that are rooted in your own heart. But God can! So give yourself a break. Go easy on yourself and go easy on others. Most of us are doing the best we can. Give yourself and those you love space for God to enter into the cracks. Let love come into the dark corners. That’s where change happens. That's where our minds are renewed.

Your worth has nothing to do with your accomplishments. Your true identity is rooted in another who is perfect, and he knows you better than you know yourself. You are completely unique, which is why no blueprint of what solved someone else's problems is ever going to solve all of yours. Only God knows the right path for you. But you have to trust him. The more you let him take hold of you, the more healing you will receive -- the more you will begin to exude his love. And in the meantime, just take a breath. Let your journey be your own. It’s okay to sit in the mess. Love takes time.

What's Love Got to Do with It?

Like many others, I was horrified a couple weeks ago to hear about another synagogue shooting in the US. Anti-Semitism is an age-old evil, but it particularly stuns when you see it so flagrantly acted out. This time the heinous act was perpetrated on the last day of Passover, a celebration of freedom. I will never understand this kind of hate.

What really stuck in my heart about this one is the fact that the alleged gunman is a 19-year-old who considers himself an evangelical Christian. In his manifesto, he wrote, "I did not choose to be a Christian. The Father chose me. The son saved me. And the Spirit keeps me." This sends chills up my spine. How could he believe that and then pick up a gun to murder innocent people? Well, it's not the first time self-described Christians have committed great acts of evil. Sadly, it probably won't be the last. But how did this young man and so many others throughout history get so far off course? How did their hearts become bent toward darkness?

An article in the May 2 issue of RELEVANT Magazine hit me like a lightning bolt. Here's the headline: Alleged Synagogue Shooter Proclaims Christianity, Evangelical Pastors struggle to Understand. It talks about the gunman's "well-educated background in the Presbyterian church" and how anti-Semitism has "no place within our system of doctrine."

Friends, we can sit around and debate ad nauseam the cause of this man's hatred. We can complicate the issue as much as we like, but to me it's simple. What was missing from this man's theological instruction was the substance of love. And I don't just mean knowing Bible verses about love. Head knowledge is not the same as heart understanding. Love is a substance that must be received by the heart.

Teaching and instruction are useful, but they become hollow when they are not connected to genuine love. Without love, any sort of spiritual teaching, no matter how logical or wise, becomes nothing more than a clanging gong. There's a good reason why the Apostle Paul warns us about this in 1 Corinthians 13.

My heart aches for the gunman's family. I can't imagine the pain his parents are experiencing, and it is simply wrong for anyone to cast judgment in that direction. But as a Christian, I feel compelled to say that the Church bears some responsibility.

We have failed to impart love to our young people. We have failed to impart love to those who feel marginalized. We have failed to impart love. Period.

When the Body of Christ is rent by theological discord and passionate disagreement, we often retrench into our doctrine. We assume that anything that goes wrong is related to a lack of good Biblical preaching and teaching. Sure, doctrine matters. But this is rarely the core issue. We need to be cultivating an environment in our churches where love is given and received. The Body of Christ must be a place where hearts are healed and restored. If hate is growing and thriving in our midst, something is desperately broken. We need to look at ourselves and ask these essential questions:  How can we/I love better? What is missing from my own heart?

So where can we find love in this tragic event? Jesus said, Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends (John 15:13). On April 27 at Chabad of Poway Synagogue, Lori Gilbert Kaye did just that. She threw herself in front of a bullet to save her rabbi. She gave her life without hesitation. In that selfless act she became love. May we learn from her example.

Home Is Where His Heart Is

Have you ever been away from home and woken up in the middle of the night with no idea where you are? This happens to me more often than I like to admit. We travel a lot for ministry, so I stay in a  multitude of unfamiliar beds. By the time Memorial Day rolls around, I will have spent nearly three months of 2019 traveling throughout five foreign countries. Sometimes it feels like I don't know where I actually live.

This week, my husband and I arrived in Taupo, New Zealand where we will spend a month diving deeper into God's love with a group of Christians from across the world. Our home for the month is the most adorable tiny house. It's actually a former cricket pavilion that has been renovated to serve as a B&B. I was delighted to move into our little cottage, but it got me thinking about the meaning of home. 

The Oxford English Dictionary defines home as "the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household." I've lived in a lot of places. When people ask me where home is, I often hesitate. I grew up in Illinois, so in some way that will always be home. Since getting married at 23, I have lived in three additional states and spent three years in the UK. And especially now, as our ministry takes us to far-flung destinations, I feel like I'm rarely home. But as I ponder the definition of home, another perspective begins to take shape. I am a part of God's family. He is my Father, and I am his daughter. So my permanent home must be where he is. But what does that really mean? It's not like I spend my days chilling out on a celestial sofa.

Jesus talks to us about the meaning of home. In John 14, he tells his disciples:

Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father's house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.

I used to think that passage was simply talking about heaven, but the more I've come to know God as my Father, the more I understand Jesus' words. You see, Jesus is the way to the Father. He longs for us to be home. When we choose to follow Jesus, he makes his home in our hearts and inclines us toward our Father through his love (Ephesians 3:17). Because he and the Father are one, both Jesus and the Father make their home with us (John 14:23).

But it doesn't stop there. He enters our hearts, but we also enter his. It is a mystical union in which we are completely transformed and made whole. It is from this place that we grow and bear fruit. I am the vine, you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit. Apart from me you can do nothing. (John 15:5)

Father's love opens the door for us to come home -- to be completely at rest and secure in our relationship with him, to know who we are! It is in his heart that we encounter fellowship like none other. It is here that we join a joyous dance with Father, Son and Holy Spirit. We are never alone. Never forgotten. Never unheard or unseen. In short, we are known, and we are loved. Our true home is in the heart of our Father, and his arms are always open wide to welcome us back when we stray.

Where is your home? Do you ever feel like you're not sure where you belong? Have you longed to encounter a love that never abandons, never condemns, never shames? Are you tired and weary, hanging on by a thread? Jesus has prepared a place for you, and your Father is waiting for you to come home. His love never fails.

Whose feet would Jesus have you wash?

Today is Maundy Thursday. It is the day of Holy Week on which Christians commemorate Jesus celebrating Passover with his disciples, washing their feet, and giving them a "new commandment." The word maundy actually comes from the Latin word mandatum, meaning command. It is during this Passover celebration that Jesus proclaims to his disciples what to me is the very heart of Christianity. A new command I give you: Love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another. (John 13: 34-35)

After spending a week in Indonesia coaching our beloved squad of 18 young missionaries, my husband and I have the opportunity to celebrate Holy Week in Southeast Asia. We were blessed to spend Palm Sunday at a Kuala Lumpur church that was planted by friends from seminary. We will spend Easter in Singapore with friends we met at a ministry event we hosted in New York only a year ago. It excites me to no end to have amazing friends sharing God's love all over the world.

Not long ago, I could never have imagined visiting Asia, much less having the opportunity to minister here. I'm a travel junkie by nature, but I'd never had much desire to explore Asia. I wasn't sure why, but it just held very little appeal for me. After all, there are plenty of other places on the planet to explore.

This all began to change in late 2017 while attending a ministry event where foot washing was offered. As an Anglican, I'd participated many times in foot washing services on Maundy Thursday. I've always found it to be a beautifully humbling experience. The service in 2017 was not a Maundy Thursday service, but just an opportunity to honor someone by washing their feet or allowing them to wash yours. The act of foot washing also symbolically represents being cleansed by Christ. Eight chairs were placed at the front of the room. Each was paired with a tub of water and towels. The idea was to pray about whether you should take one of the chairs and allow your feet to be washed or wait for someone else whose feet you felt Jesus would want you to wash. So I sat and waited. Slowly, the chairs began to fill. I didn't feel prompted one way or the other.

Eventually, a woman went to the front and sat in one of the chairs, and I instantly knew in my heart that she was the one. At first I wasn't sure why, but I obediently went forward and began washing her feet. As I knelt before her, I began to understand. She was a lovely, older Asian woman. I felt humbled to be honoring her in this way, but I knew God was revealing something in my heart that needed to go. Judgment. You see, when I was a teenager, I was emotionally abused over several years by a music teacher. The teacher happened to be an older Asian woman. Of course, nothing that happened to me had to do with her race, gender, or age; but the pain I experienced caused me to make a judgment against older Asian women. I felt God gently say to me, How can you minister in Asia if you've made a judgment against my daughters there? This was conviction, not condemnation, and I knew the foot washing needed to be an act of repentance. My heart had been hardened by the experience of abuse, and God knew the time was right for my heart to be healed.

Afterwards, what struck me was the phrase 'How can you minister in Asia?' Well, our main region of ministry has been Madagascar (off the coast of Africa), so why was God speaking to me about Asia? I really didn't know. We had no plans to visit Asia, but I tucked the idea into the back of my mind.

It was crazy how quickly things unfolded. Just a few months after my foot washing encounter, my husband and I were approached about a ministry opportunity that would allow us to coach a group of young missionaries as they travel to eleven countries in eleven months. As we took steps in this direction, it was revealed that our route would require us to visit Asia twice, including a three-week training camp in Cambodia! God knew what was coming, and he knew I couldn't go with a hardened heart.

A couple days ago, my husband said he wanted to try one of the many foot massage spas in Kuala Lumpur. I figured my feet could use a break, so I went for it. The man who registered us filled  a couple of beautiful porcelain bowls with warm water and salt. He began to wash my husband's feet, and a woman came in from the next room to wash mine. She bent down and gently scrubbed my feet with her hands. At once, the significance of the moment washed over me. Here I was, in a place I never really wanted to be, having my feet washed by an older Asian woman. And I knew this was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Of course, this woman was washing my feet because I'd simply paid for a foot massage, but it still felt beautiful and profound. I felt love for her. My fear and judgment were gone, and I was loving being in Asia.

So today I ask you: Whose feet would Jesus have you wash? Is there hardness in your heart that he wants to address? Take some time this Holy Week to ponder what it means to step into forgiveness and truly love one another. You may be surprised what he shows you. I know I was!

This post was hijacked by Anne Lamott

So this isn't at all what I intended to write about this week. I was three-quarters of the way done with a very different post about finding truth in paradox when I picked up a copy of Anne Lamott's latest book, Almost Everything, and discovered that her first chapter relates to the same topic. Having posted an Instagram photo of my latte, oatmeal raisin cookie and said book, I was afraid it would look, well...suspicious if I suddenly posted similar thoughts using identical philosophical sources. Not that my little blog has much of a following, but I do still take the idea of plagiarism seriously. Even though I know my thoughts and words are my own, I decided to put them on the back burner for now.

As I sipped my latte and dove into Ms. Lamott's book, simultaneously loving what I was reading and lamenting the fact that I needed to come up with something else to write, a paragraph struck me.

Scientists say we are made of stars, and I believe them, although my upper arms looks like hell. Maybe someday the stars will reabsorb me. Maybe, as fundamentalist Christians have shared with me, I will rot in hell for all eternity, which I would hate because I am very sensitive. Besides, I have known hell, and I have known love. Love is bigger. (Lamott: 2018, p. 32)

Sadly, I'm not surprised that such vitriol has been directed at Ms. Lamott. And I'm glad she can respond with her characteristic blend of humor and truth. She's a controversial figure who pulls no punches.

Let me be upfront. I don't agree with all of Anne Lamott's theology or her politics, but I know that she loves Jesus; and seriously, that woman can write! I was introduced to her books many years ago by an atheist Jewish writer friend. Upon her recommendation, I picked up a copy of Lamott's masterful guide Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. I laughed. I cried. I even tracked down a first edition to give to my daughter for her high school graduation.

But back to that quote above. For real? What gives any person the right to tell another they will rot in hell? And if you're a Christian saying this to another Christian, I think you need to pick up a mirror and take a look at yourself. That kind of hate can never come from a heart that truly knows a loving God. And Lamott is right -- Love is much bigger than hell.

Here's a little story about a time my husband and I had the opportunity to know what hate feels like. Real hardcore blistering hatred. The year was 2003. The Episcopal Church was in the midst of a seismic battle over the authority of scripture and the election of a homosexual bishop. My husband was the communications director for a church organization on the more conservative end of the spectrum. As we approached the 2003 General Convention, we spent a lot of time in prayer about how God wanted us to interact with our church and its delegates as we stepped into what we knew would be an ugly, painful debate. One night as we sat at our kitchen table, God revealed the image of a daisy. That was it. A simple daisy.

We weren't sure what to do with that. After all, a daisy isn't a political strategy. The more we prayed into it, the more we thought about the daisy as a symbol of peace and love, something that would undoubtedly resonate with the many boomer generation delegates in the church. So instead of launching into convention with arguments and animosity, we put together a series of daily devotions focused on various attributes of God. We called it the "God is" campaign. God is love...peace...hope...joy...mercy...grace...life...justice...truth. We prayed that this would bring unity to our church as we focused on what really matters. Our big event would be the distribution of daisies to delegates and visitors entering the Minneapolis Convention Center for Sunday Eucharist.

When Sunday finally arrived, we gathered our team and buckets of perky white daisies along the walkway leading to the convention center. Our plan was simple. Everyone arriving would be handed a single daisy and told "Jesus loves you." How's that for simple child-like theology? The majority of delegates arriving that morning would probably have described themselves as progressives, similar in theology and political ideology to Ms. Lamott. Some black, some white. Some gay, some straight. Some male, some female. Some that wouldn't fit into those categories.

One by one, we shared the truth of God's love to everyone in our path. As we did so, we began to feel how much God loved each one of these people. We were really enjoying the exchange when something surprising happened. A group of protesters began to gather on the grass mere feet behind us. The group was comprised of men, women and children. They had signs and a megaphone.

As they began to scream in our direction, the hair stood up on the back of my neck. Women who were part of this group were yelling at female clergy, Take off that dog collar, you b!%@h! Mere children were howling, God hates f@gs! and Burn in Hell! You may have already guessed that our unwelcome visitors were members of the Westboro Baptist Church, known for traveling the nation to dispense rancor wherever they deem appropriate. (And yes, even though they made my stomach turn, God loves them, too.)

The only way to describe the experience is to say that it felt like hell. The fire of hate seared our backs as we continued with ever increasing fervor to proclaim "Jesus loves you!" In this moment, God allowed his love to flow through us in a way that I had never before experienced. Tears poured from our eyes because we knew in our hearts that this love was much greater and far more real than the venom behind us. Differences, great and small, faded away as we were bound together in love.

I wish I could say this moment led to a renewed unity in our church. Ultimately, it did not. That week, our church fractured irreparably. But some of us experienced a lesson we would never forget. As Anne Lamott so accurately states, I have known hell, and I have known love. Love is bigger. 

And so, in a sense, this post is still about paradox. God taught me something about the nature of his love through an encounter with a bona fide hate group. He does indeed work in strange ways.

Friends, what unites us is so much greater than what divides us, so let's take Jesus' advice: A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another. (John 13:34-35)

The Hustle Isn't Helping

Lately, I've noticed a number of Instagram profiles of self-described Jesus lovers who #hustle. They post about finding your path to success, working harder than the other guy, and living the life of your dreams. Okay, those aren't bad things in and of themselves, but something about that message doesn't feel right. The focus seems...off.

Here's the top definition of "hustle" at Urban Dictionary:

To have the courage, confidence, self-belief, and self-determination to go out there and work it out until you find the opportunities you want in life.

That's a whole lot of "self." When we strive to be the best salesperson, the top lawyer, or the person with the fab car, who are we really glorifying? Again, there's nothing wrong with hard work. And if you happen to top the sales charts, Great! If you become valedictorian of your class, Awesome! But our identity should never be about our personal success. Friends, I've fallen into that trap on multiple occasions, and it's not a place you want to live your life. I've tried the "best student" gig as well as a job in the epicenter of Washington power. These things don't satisfy, and they shouldn't define who you are.

And do we think Jesus really came to encourage us in the hustle? Hey, you can do it! Keep up the hard work. You'll have that dream home in no time. My answer is an emphatic NO! Jesus came to set our hearts at rest -- to show us how to be one with the Father, how to love and be loved.

I'm not suggesting we never need to work. Jesus didn't instruct us to sit around eating Ben and Jerry's and watching Netflix all day. (Although some days that does sound appealing.) What he did tell us is to abide in him. (John 15:1-7) I realize you may be familiar with this passage. Maybe you even have it committed to memory. But I knew the passage for a long time before I truly began to understand it, and God continues to reveal its profound depth to me. When Jesus describes his Father as the gardener who cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, he's revealing a vital necessity for our lives. Ouch! I know I've sure needed a lot of pruning, and the process isn't pleasant; but it's so worth it!

For years, what I absorbed from religion led me to believe that abiding was something I had to do. If I just read my Bible everyday and got through my prayer list, that was abiding -- but I didn't even do a very good job of that. Truthfully, I was missing what Jesus was saying by a long shot. If you've visited my blog before, you may know this isn't the first time I've said this, but it bears repeating. Abiding has nothing to do with doing. It's all about being -- being at rest and allowing God to be our beginning, our end, and everything in between. In this place, He becomes our identity.

There is no amount of hustle that is going to bring you closer to God. Will it bring you to some of your personal goals? Perhaps. But maybe we need to re-evaluate our personal goals. If we're really following Jesus, our number one goal should be an intimate relationship with his Father. Our Father. This has nothing to do with religion, but everything to do with relationship. And this relationship is found in rest.

If you're out there hustling to get that "abundant life" Jesus promised, you're going to end up disappointed. Abundant life can never be found in the things of this world. It can only be found when we slow down long enough to let God work in our hearts. We have to let him pull out the weeds, till the soil, and cultivate his love in our hearts. It is the only way.

Take time and ponder what it means to belong to the one who is Love. Let him be the one who fashions your dreams. Be still and encounter him. Breathe and let him fill you. He is more than willing.

Be still and know that I am God. Psalm 46:10

Lust for Life!

I recently had a wonderful Skype call with a beloved Dutch friend (who happens to be next to me in the picture above). We share the same heart for God, and it was a joy to catch up and be able to pray together. During our conversation, she mentioned a Dutch word for which there is no English counterpart -- Levenslust. Literally, it can be translated as lust for life, but a close approximation is perhaps the French joie de vivre. 

As my friend shared that this is the way she wants to live, my heart proclaimed a resounding Me too! We aren't here to just survive this life, although sometimes it can certainly feel like it. We were created for joy, for passion, for love. When fear enters our lives, it robs us of our levenslust. I'm not in the habit of finding deep meaning in country songs (maybe in my next post I'll quote some profound poetry, just for literary cred), but every time I hear the Kenny Chesney song "Can't We All Just Get Along?" these words really hit me:

Get along, on down the road
We've got a long long way to go
Scared to live, scared to die
We ain't perfect but we try

For so many years, I lived my life that way -- Scared to live, scared to die. I didn't know there was any other way. Truthfully, I wasn't really living. Moments of joy were fleeting. Peace was nearly nonexistent. I wanted to live, but I didn't know how. Every day seemed like a slog, and I certainly wasn't experiencing abundant life. Have you ever felt that way? Maybe you're stuck in that place right now.

So what do we need to do to escape the day to day cycle of fear and experience levenslust? I'll share a little secret -- Nothing! We can't escape fear and find joy by doing. The key lies in being. It is only by taking a posture of rest that we can receive what we need to live differently. It's a heart thing. Our hearts were made to be in connection with our creator, and it is through this connection that we discover whose we are. When the connection is damaged, or non-existent, we miss out on his impartation of love. It is this love that is essential for defeating fear, and there is nothing you can do to earn that love. But it does require an open and willing heart, a heart that yearns for connection. So what is your heart telling you? Is there something deep inside you that wants to experience a lust for life? To be free from fear? To live your adventure?

This is where true identity and freedom are found. No need to measure up. No need to have your life all sorted. No need to be perfect. Just be. Rest in his presence. Ask him for more love. (His supply is infinite!) Peace and joy are inextricably tied to that love. It's a beautiful package. Are you willing to let go and receive the greatest gift that God can impart? Are you ready to LIVE?

If this seems like an impossibility right now, it's okay. God is patient. He'll walk with you one step at a time, and he'll never stop loving you. Jesus said, "I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." (John 10:10). He means that. He wants you to experience the quality of eternal life that can only be found in the Father. He won't give up on you, today or ever. But whatever your circumstances, wherever you are along the journey, let this be your prayer...

I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord. (Psalm 27:13-14)

Hold Tight to What God has Given You

Do you have a special scripture passage? A life verse? Maybe something that God highlighted for you during a difficult time? Words of hope that you were able to cling to when darkness loomed large?

For me, it's Jeremiah 29:11-13.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."

I know, those seem like everybody's verses these days. You see verse 11 in particular plastered on half the decor items at Hobby Lobby. It shows up on t-shirts and mugs. I suppose you could say it's become 'basic' in some Christian circles. But whether trendy or maligned, those verses still hold significance for me.

Not long after my son was born, I became ill. It hit me suddenly, and the whole thing was rather mysterious. It started with a strange feeling of weakness in my arms and legs. My body started to hurt everywhere, and I developed odd bruises up and down my arms. I also began dropping things -- water bottles, keys, plates. Nothing wanted to stay in my hands. After a while, I couldn't even effectively  hold a fork. I already struggled with fear and anxiety, and this illness just amplified my struggle. With no concrete diagnosis before me, my mind began to wander into the worst possible places. Suddenly, every worst-case-scenario became a forgone conclusion.

One night, I sat at the kitchen table with my Bible trying to find some peace before heading to yet another specialist the following morning. I knew more tests would be ordered, and I didn't think I could handle the answer. Panic seized my heart, and I flipped through the pages of scripture looking for some words of comfort. I was desperate. I cried out to God, but I couldn't hear anything through the fog of fear. Suddenly, I had a feeling I should get up from the table and walk to the kitchen counter. I don't really know why; it was just an impulse.

I stood at the counter and began thumbing through a pile of mail. Somehow, this ordinary act was able to momentarily distract me from my panic attack. Within the stack of mail, I saw a newsletter from a Christian ministry that was unfamiliar to me. For some reason, I flipped it over to look at the back. There, in a 3x2 inch box, was an ad for a Christian counselor. Underneath the ad, in tiny letters, was printed Jeremiah 29:11. It jumped off the page at me, and I ran back to my Bible to look it up. As I read that verse, along with the two following, peace flooded over me. I knew God was speaking to me in that moment. I even laughed. For the first time, I knew that my future was in his hands, and he really cared for me. I didn't know what the outcome of my doctor's appointment would be, but I knew he would get me through it.

Recently, I've read a slew of articles talking about why we aren't supposed to apply these verses to our own lives. We're guilty of taking them out of context. I understand, we modern Christians often decontextualize Biblical passages to suit our own purposes. And I agree, this can be a problem. After all, it's important to understand that these verses were written, as Jeremiah 29:4 tells us, to those God "carried into exile from Jerusalem into Babylon." His original audience was a very specific people group. But are we not also a people to whom He desires to speak?

Personally, I have a problem with limiting the ways in which God may speak to us. Who are we to assume that God can't use any passage of scripture to speak to us as individuals? If we acknowledge that scripture is God's inspired word, and we also accept that God is omnipotent, then shouldn't we also allow that God can use scripture, even that which was originally addressed to a different audience, in ways that may speak directly to us in a specific circumstance today?

First, we can learn something about the nature of God from the above passage. He has knowledge about his people. He listens to them when they pray. He is able to be found. Even while keeping in mind that these words were intended for a different audience, I can take comfort from the truth it conveys about God's nature. That in itself is valuable.

But I also know that God has spoken to me in a myriad of different ways throughout my life -- an encouraging word from a friend, a strangely detailed dream, a glorious sunset, a paragraph from a 19th century novel, a train ticket from a stranger. Why must we feel it necessary to limit the ways God speaks to us, especially when it comes to scripture? Isn't God's love for us able to transcend even the very context of a passage.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying scripture can say anything we choose. Truth is not subjective. But I firmly believe that an omnipotent, omniscient and LOVING God can (and will!) use absolutely anything to reach us when we have fallen into darkness and fear. So let's not put him in a box for fear of making a mistake. His grace is big enough to cover our errors. If we've misunderstood him, he'll gently let us know. Friends, don't let the skeptics and naysayers steal something from you that God has used for good. If you have a verse that is precious to your heart, don't let it go. Rejoice that you have a Father who knows you and can speak directly to your heart with comforting and encouraging words in whatever way HE chooses.

Do You Dare to Dream?

I've always been a dreamer. In part, it comes from the way I was raised. My parents never told me that my wild childhood dreams were unattainable. For years, I dreamed of being an astronaut. When I wanted to be Sally Ride for Halloween, my mom made me the coolest NASA flight suit. Well, NASA is obviously not where I ended up, but my parents never once dissuaded me from that dream. My change of direction from science to music was my choice and driven by my passions. Later on, my redirection from music to politics was also my own decision. I have to think most parents, not bearing the name Kennedy or Bush, would not encourage their child to pursue politics, but mine always supported me.

On some level, I believe being a dreamer was wired into me. I can't remember a time when I didn't long to travel to foreign lands. I loved the colorful postcards my grandparents sent me from their travels. CS Lewis' Narnia and Madeleine L'Engle's Wrinkle in Time trilogy (not yet a quintet in my day) captivated my imagination. I lived in the flatlands of Illinois but my heart longed to see snow-capped mountains and vast cerulean seas. When I had the opportunity to travel with my choir to Eastern Europe only months after the fall of the Iron Curtain, my heart soared. I felt I was made for adventure.

But life happens. Everyone experiences things that make certain dreams seem unattainable. This realization hit me hard in my early thirties. My husband was in seminary, we had two young children, and I was struggling with autoimmune disease. At one point, I remember being challenged during a prayer meeting at our college to give my dreams to God. I'm going to be honest. That was HARD. My first thought was But these are MY dreams. I didn't want anyone else in control of what I felt was my last shred of hope. Truthfully, I didn't trust him with my dreams. What if I gave them to God, but he didn't give them back the way I wanted them? My heart wasn't completely in it, but I prayed. I told God he could have my dreams, but I'm sure I added some conditions. Deep down, I knew I would have to come to a place where I could let go and trust him.

Over time, I began to see that as I gradually loosened my grip on my dreams, I could trust God with these prized possessions. You see, he already knew my dreams, but in many cases he had much better ways for those dreams to be realized than I did. Some things that I let go have simply fallen away as they've seemed less and less important. Other things, like my dreams of global travel have been realized to an extent I never thought possible. My husband and I now work with a missions organization that sends us to love people in places that had never entered my dreams. And the organization we work with is one I'd never even heard of a year ago. Seriously, what we get to do is so much better than I'd imagined, but if I'd been the one trying to put the pieces in place, it never would have happened.

Fifteen years ago, my small dreams seemed like all I had left. How wrong I was! God had so much more, but I had to let go and trust him with the details. I'm not saying everything always works out the way we think it should. Scripture is clear that we will have struggles. We all suffer disappointments and loss. But when we meet him in those places of struggle, he brings healing, transformation and restoration. The things we think are so important look different from his perspective.

He knows our hearts. He knows our hopes and dreams. And he is GOOD. When we take the step, even just a tiny one, to trust him with our treasured pieces of self, we give him the opportunity to show his faithfulness -- to realize our dreams in ways we couldn't imagine. He's not sitting around waiting for an opportunity to smite you. To the contrary, he loves to give good gifts to his children. Are you ready to receive?

Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!  Matthew 7:9-11 (NIV)