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)

Do You Trust the Tug?

Lately, I've been trying to listen more to that little tug in my heart. You know the one. It says, "Go say an extra thank you to that cashier." Or "Go help that woman with her bags." Sometimes we ignore the little tug because we feel self-conscious about what it is asking us to do.

A few months ago, the tug said to me, "Go hug that police officer." What? This was at the end of a church service, and my attention was directed to the female police officer standing at the side of the sanctuary providing protection during the service. (Sadly, that's a necessity in today's world.) Well, I knew this suggestion was not coming from me. I don't just get the urge to hug people I don't know. So I wrestled with it. I meandered a little closer to where the officer was standing but continued to argue with the little voice. Really? Why me? You know I'm not a hugger. After a few minutes, I couldn't fight it any more. Fine. I'll do it. I had to trust the tug more than my own inhibitions. I took a deep breath and walked up to her. "Excuse me. May I give you a hug?" To my surprise, she beamed back at me, "I'd really like that." And so I hugged her and walked away. I could see that it had made her happy; and that, in turn, filled me with joy. In reality, it was a simple thing, but I could so easily have ignored it. How often do we ignore the tug when it requires stepping outside of our comfort zone?

That little tug is usually described as our conscience -- an internal feeling or voice that guides our decisions. But what is it that guides that tug? I would suggest there are many things that can guide it, but what it really comes down to is the inclination of our hearts. When we are completely self-focused, the tug usually goes unnoticed. We are too busy or too distracted to pay it any heed. It can also become warped by our attitudes and beliefs. Either we think too little of ourselves (No one needs what I have to offer), or too little of others (They don't deserve what I have to offer) or sometimes, both.

The truth is we can choose to connect the tug to something, someone, that makes all the difference -- the one who is Love. Things like conscience and intuition are hardwired into us as a way to connect with our creator. Through these, we experience his voice and his will. The more we submit our own thoughts and judgments to him, the more we are able to clearly discern and respond to the tug.

Being an introvert, I tend to find the tug especially challenging because it usually involves engaging with people. You see, God asks us to love others. He doesn't ask the extroverts to love others and say to the introverts, It's okay if you only want to be around books, coffee and cute animals. Now, I'd be just fine with that, but God wants us to grow. He wants us to step outside our comfort zone and engage with what he is doing. And honestly, what he's doing is always much more fun and fulfilling than anything I would have conjured up. Plus, it takes the pressure off me to figure it out. It allows me to step out in his love one day at a time and wait with expectation to see who he will put before me. The other day it was a refugee family at the airport. For my husband, it was the server at a local pizza place. It can happen anytime, anywhere. Sometimes it's just offering a kind word or a smile. Maybe it's buying coffee or a roll of Lifesavers for a stranger. Other times, it's picking up the phone to call an old friend or delivering a surprise package to a neighbor. Getting to know God's heart makes it easier to discern what the tug is telling you, to trust that it comes from his will.

God speaks to every person in a unique way, but we all know the tug. Some describe it as a voice. For others, it's a feeling or something that appears visually highlighted. Occasionally, I've experienced it as an inexplicable wave of emotion resulting in tears. Never having been much of a crier, this immediately grabs my attention. It feels like God is giving me a window into his compassion and mercy.

How did you respond last time you experienced the tug? What would your life look like if you paid more attention to it and even looked forward to it with expectation? Does it make you uncomfortable? That's okay. Our hearts don't grow without a little discomfort. Dying to self is never easy, but what God cultivates in place of self is so much more beautiful. I encourage you to take that step. Let go and see where Love takes you.

Listen carefully; Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world, it is never any more than a grain of wheat. But if it is buried, it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over. In the same way, anyone who holds on to life just as it is destroys that life. But if you let it go, reckless in your love, you'll have it forever, real and eternal. (John 12:24-25, The Message)


Photo Credit: Evan Kirby