Dear Beloved

My Dearest Beloved,

I am writing because I cannot look at you without seeing a searing pain just below the surface of your hollow eyes. When I listen to you, your words seem tainted with bitterness and your heart seems distant not just from me, but everyone. You are living in the shadow of the very life promised to you and though you are not content, you live as if you have accepted this as your lot in life, that you deserve nothing better, that this life can offer you nothing more. My prayers for you contain few words; instead I fall prostrate, begging the Lord through heavy sobs to rescue you, to reveal Himself to you, to speak to you. When I think of you throughout my day, I am paralyzed with a bottomless sadness for you. I am grieved, so deeply grieved for you.

I have been in the dark, where I cannot see, hear, or feel God. I have felt as if I had to make my own way through this life and have bent over backwards attempting to find happiness and fulfillment through the ways of this world: work, education, friends, and hobbies.  I would seemingly make headway, only to be setback by an unforeseen circumstance.  Life promises contentment if we would just do…. however, it was always just out of reach, which caused me to keep striving and continue to put off everyone and anything that got in my way. I came to a place where I didn’t need anyone, believing that people will always let me down. I became self-sufficient and though I didn’t realize it at the time, I was seeking out a life that was sad and lonely. I see this in you as well.

God got my attention many years ago, thankfully. Nothing inspires prayer and draws us closer to the Lord like adversity, sorrow, and humiliation. I got to the place where I realized I can do nothing without God (Phil. 4:13). I desperately needed Him, His love, and mercy and with that, my self-sufficiency went out the window.  So as I share with you some things I have learned along the way, I want you to know I have had to do most things twice---at least---the wrong way and then the right way. I don’t write from a place of being arrogance, but from a humbled place--- a place that wants so much for you to embrace the beautiful gift that is yours for the taking. I write from a place of deep seeded love and respect for you. I write as your friend.

First, I want to remind you that living for God is not going to feel like a mountain-top experience all the time. For some reason, we have come to believe that our faith, our walk with Christ, is supposed to be more than it currently is, that it should resemble a favorite author, pastor, or friend  whose faith just seems to come easier for them---their whole lives ooze intimacy with Christ. Don’t get me wrong, we will have seasons of incredible intimacy with Him where we hear, feel, and see Him and crave being in His presence, but true faith is lived when we don’t hear, feel, or see Him. Do we still believe He is with us when we don’t have something to hang our hat on; when darkness surrounds us and God seems to be nowhere in sight? Do we abandon Him when faith looks different or feels different than what we expected? Listen carefully, “Human feelings cannot touch him and human thoughts cannot measure Him. Our personal experiences cannot heighten the certainty of His presence anymore than the absence of experience can lessen it” (Brennan Manning). Do you get it? Just because we don’t hear, see, or feel His presence does not mean that He is not present, no more than when we do hear, see, and feel His presence.  God is with us. He will never leave us. He will never forsake us (Duet. 31:8). He is never out of reach.

I cannot stress the importance of abiding in Christ. Abiding is a fancy word that means “to remain”.  Like I mentioned, it is easy to walk away from Christ when we don’t experience Him like we desire or when the world feels as if it is caving in on us. As children, we feared the dark. It caused us to feel alone and unsafe. It caused our imaginations to spin wildly out of control; and if you were anything like I was, you concocted an escape route or practice Kung Fu fighting skills while laying awake into the wee hours of the morning, only to be awaken to the light and the security that we craved. I had nothing to fret and lose sleep over.  Everyone experiences dark seasons of life, where we cannot see beyond today, where we feel alone, unfulfilled, as if our joy has been stripped away from us, and we cannot look up no matter our efforts. It’s a painful season. It is also necessary in the Christian’s life because it helps us to reexamine our hearts and motives. In short, the darkness is a refining process. “He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver; He will purify” (Malachi 3:3) Like silver, we are often put through the fire, or darkness in this case, so that our impurities will rise to the top to be skimmed off. With time and abiding in Him through the darkness, our Savior will more readily see His reflection in our lives. Refining (sanctification) is a life-long process. An interesting fact is that silver means redemption. I think of redemption as rescuing which does not mean escaping the darkness, but seeing the light while in the dark.

As Christians, we are “in this world, but not of this world”. If you are like me even a little, this is a hard concept to grasp and even harder to live out. What this essentially means is that our true home is in heaven with Christ. Our lives on Earth are fleeting and when we die the things we have worked so hard to accumulate collect dust and eventually end up in the trash.  We are to live with the understanding and determination that life’s meaning for the Christian is to show Christ’s perfect, non-judgmental, humble, grace-filled love through our interactions and pure efforts to others.  I grew up in a legalistic church. Rules were everything, which made Christianity pretty easy. However, as I grew older, I explored my faith and relationship with Christ more and realized rules do not make anyone holy--- and honestly, make us the god of our lives. In my ignorant youth, I believed that surrounding myself with other Christians was the best thing I could do for myself and after awhile I did not have a single unbelieving friend and all my social outlets were in the Christian community. It took several years for me to realize how incredibly unhealthy this was, how arrogant I must have appeared to anyone outside the Christian faith, how unchallenged I was in my walk with Christ because I was living life and serving shoulder to shoulder with people I genuinely loved and respected.  Jesus reminds us in Luke (6:32-35), “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those that love them….But love your enemies, do good unto them, and lend to them without expecting anything back. Then your reward will be great and you will be children of the Most High, because He is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked”.

I have often used the example of the watery expanding rings left from a stone thrown into a river to refer to our lives. Beloved, the innermost ring must be comprised of like-minded people, people who will speak truth to us even when it is hard, people who will support, love, and encourage us to grow outside our comfort zone, people who will always point us back to Christ when we veer off the path, but also who will remain by our side when our seasons of darkness seem to swallow us whole. The outer rings are where our faith is tested more intensely because that is where the rest of the world dwells, where the light in the darkness is a mirage, promising that if they do this or get that---that they will finally feel fulfilled and live a life of happiness and peace. It is dangerous and if our inner circle is not intact, we can easily be swayed and fall prey to the ways of the world.

People, Christians and non-Christians alike, often believe that the only way to know Christ is through prayer, listening to sermons, attending church, and Bible Study.  What a beautiful checklist we have created in hopes to be holy! I balk at that--- really! I am not saying these are not incredibly important activities and won’t aid us to knowing about the Lord, but there is an infinite difference between knowing about God and knowing God. To know Him is to honestly, without abandon, trust Him;  to live in complete surrender to Him--- allowing Him to see us, all of us---the broken parts, the bitter parts, the sinful parts---all of us--- and believe that He loves us in spite of those things and so much so that He will not allow us to remain in this place. Complete surrendering is not having God and…anything else. It is the letting go of what you can do for yourself and relying on God to take care of whatever needs to be done--- and in His perfect timing. It is easy to get caught up in the music we sing, or the words we read, or even the prayers that we pray---again, these are beautiful, important, and potentially life-giving activities, but if they become our God or replace the relationship with Christ that we seek, we have missed the very function of these activities, the very One they are meant to point us to. Our relationship with Christ is a personal, up close, intimate one marinated in these activities, but not the activities themselves.

Another thing I must share with you as you reach for the Master’s hand as you crawl out of darkness is the gift of forgiveness---a gift you have unknowingly already received as well as the gift you must live from in order to dwell in the freedom God so desperately desires for you. Forgiveness is essentially living from the very heart of Christ. Man’s nature is to wound. God’s nature is to save. In all honesty, this has been one of my biggest lessons in life. Living in resentment towards those who have wronged us intentionally or unintentionally only hurts ourselves. Often times, the person who hurt us is unaware of the grudge we hold against them. It eats at us day and night, devouring the very part of us that God desires to grow in us: His perfect peace and grace for others. Our struggle to forgive or the resentments we clutch onto reveals how much we trust God to take care of the injustices done against us. There is an incredible freedom we feel when we forgive those who have wronged us. Don’t misunderstand forgiveness. It is not saying that what someone did against us is OK. It is saying, “I am no longer holding on to this. I will not allow my mind to dwell on this or allow it to rob my life a moment longer of the peace waiting for me on the other side”. Forgiveness is the signature of Jesus in our lives. We have been forgiven of so, so much.

There is so much more I could share. I fear I have overwhelmed you already. Please know Beloved, I want nothing more for you than for you to choose the less traveled road, a road that is not easy by any means. An authentic Christian life is, as Brennan Manning (once again) says, “a summons to strip ourselves of earthly cares and worldly wisdom, all desire for human praise, greediness for any kind of comfort, a readiness to stand up and be counted as peacemakers in a violent world; a willingness to let go of those pretenses that would have us believe we aren’t really worldly. Even the last rag we cling to—the self-flattery that suggests we are humble when we disclaim any resemblance to Jesus Christ---even that rag has to go when we stand face-to-face with the crucified Son of God”. This road, Beloved is a road that fills the deep longing you have been trying to fill with things of this world for so many years. It is a path that will challenge you at times, as it is not a popular path and it is often misunderstood.  It is also a path that often leads to persecution, but it is without a doubt, the path where you meet Jesus face to face, where you will discover what it really means to know Him, what it means to live out of your unfathomable love for Him at all costs, and to know the freedom you have only dreamt about.

I am eager to walk this humble journey along side you, my dear one. I am praying ceaselessly for you, knowing God hears my prayers and loves you more than I ever possibly could. I am here for you and will keep sharing what I have learned and keep pointing you back to Christ, but I know I am not the one who will change your heart, so I release my grip on you and eagerly watch as the Lord works in and through your life.

I love you so very much,
K

Loved

One of the last letters I received from my Dad

I grew up on dairy farm in a small town in western Washington. It was a wholesome, traditional, and humble upbringing where my brother, sister, and I learned to work hard, put others’ needs above our own, rally with the community, and worship together on Sunday mornings sitting between my mom and dad. If scenes from Little House on the Prairie come to mind, you’d be on the right track. I loved my childhood and am eternally grateful for the sweet gift of it. I am sure I have romanticized it to some degree, for even the hardships now seem like the bow on top of an already beautiful package.  One of the things I treasure most from my childhood is the heart-to-heart conversations I had with my dad. I won’t pretend to remember the substance of them, but I remember the heart in which they took place and where they led me.

Many, many conversations with my dad took place in the milking parlor. I still remember what it felt like to sit on the wet, cold cement step watching my dad as he worked. It was not uncommon to see him tear up as he shared whatever he was struggling with or giggling like a little boy over the joke I heard at school that day. His battered hands working hurriedly while the oldies played statically on an old beat up radio in the background; as we would talk about everything and nothing.   I love that we had to yell over the machines at times while at other times, we didn’t need words at all. Just being together was enough. My dad was approachable. My dad was present.

As I grew older, a lot of our conversations took place sitting on the back fence looking out over the pasture while the sun slipped too quickly below the horizon. Dad often would say, “Look at the masterpiece God painted for us tonight”. I loved unwrapping presents like sunsets and sparkling stars and even the aroma of cow pies with my dad. Through his actions, I learned to never take these things for granted, to see them as gifts to be unwrapped slowly, to be treasured, to see God in them and humbly, yet courageously, worship Him. I loved listening to my dad pray.  I loved the feel of his oversized, calloused hand in mine, and the little squeeze he would give me just before he said, "Amen". My dad was humble. My dad was filled with immense gratitude.

I’m a ponder; like my Dad was. I’d like to say I learned it from him, but I think God just wired me like that and used my Dad to encourage me to put voice to my thoughts and questions. I love that my dad wasn’t perfect and didn’t know all the answers. I loved that he lived transparently, passionately, and unapologetically for his beliefs. I loved that he encouraged me to openly wrestle with my faith and not readily accept whatever I heard in church or what he and my mom taught us kids as truth---I can still hear him, “Look it up…that’s how you learn, that’s how you grow, that’s how you discover God for yourself”.  My dad was transparent. My dad was student and teacher.

As I grew older and eventually moved out and married, my Dad often called to ask what I was reading, what I was learning and then eagerly shared what he was learning or wrestling with. I miss those talks more and more with each year that he has been gone.  My dad was my friend.

Shortly after my dad passed away I found a letter he had written me several years prior. I did not like this letter at all and considered throwing it away because it pointed out things about myself I wish had not been true. I saved it because…because I guess I knew there was more value to it than just a reminder of his bubbly handwriting and the odd fact that it smelled like ketchup. His letter began, “I have been burdened for you” and ended with “I am praying over you, Karyn. You have all the Jesus you need, snuggle into Him and rest in His arms”. My Dad was not afraid to speak truth even when it was hard for him. My dad was bold. My dad was an encourager.

My dad sure loved me. I sure love him.

My dad has been gone for four years now. And when I get to talk about him, never once do I define him by what he did for a living, how much money he earned, where he lived, the size of his house, kind of car he drove, or any other material possession he acquired. My dad lived a present, humble life that pointed everyone he met to Christ. He encouraged others by being transparent, vulnerable, and openly wrestled with things he did not understand. He loved others with the love of Christ. We are called to do the same.

Fragile Faith

Years ago I came across words written so prophetically tender to my soul that ever since, I have quoted and re-quoted John Piper’s affirmation as well as have given the Lord complete access to my life in hopes that He would gently guide and refine me  into authentically living out these words.

The words?

“God is most glorified in us, when we are most satisfied in Him” (John Piper, Desiring God).

It is my deepest desire to glorify the Lord. I want nothing more than when I see Him face to face for Him to welcome me into the folds of His wings and give me the biggest papa bear hug---so big that I am lifted a foot off the ground. And as He sets me back on the ground, He looks me square in the eye, tears of joy streaming down His cheeks as He whispers, “Well done, my Beloved. There is no doubt that you have loved me, lived for me, and served others in my name. You gave everything you had until there was nothing left, but Me and then you kept going in faith”.  I am not perfect by any means, but I live confidently in Him, sometimes even radically (which for this introvert is really living in faith!) as I attempt to live with my eyes fixed on Him. I truly am satisfied in Him.

I am satisfied in Him because I trust Him implicitly. The Bible is filled with countless promises and He has fulfilled every one of them in my life. He has lead me through some earth shattering circumstances, been the light in the midst of my darkest hours. He has spoken to my tender heart and given me strength to endure hardships while conquering others. He has been the source of exuberant joy and given me peace that surpasses all understanding. He has given me His eyes to see the world as He does and have a compassion and empathy that are not my own for the brokenhearted, the unlovely, and even the crude. I see Him when I look for Him. I feel Him when I quiet my soul. I hear Him when I read His Word. I am completely satisfied in Him.

However, I know many people are not satisfied in Him, don’t trust Him, don’t feel His presence. I know people who blame Him for the injustice in the world and therefore believe He is not a loving God. It makes sense that people who are not Christ-followers feel this way because they only know of Christ, not Christ Himself. However, we don’t expect Christians to feel this way.

My oldest daughter wrestles with her faith. Though she believes in God, has asked Him to be the Lord of her life, attends church regularly, prays, and reads her Bible, she struggles with this being enough. As we were talking about this one night last week, she breaks down, sobbing---the kind of sobbing that swells from the inside out, staining her face with hot tears that reveal an inner wrestling that she cannot make sense of. Between heavy sobs, she says, “I’m not like you, Mom. I don’t feel God. I look at you and you ooze this love for Him, you see Him, you hear His voice, you feel Him, and I, I just don’t”.  If I am being completely honest, my initial reaction was surprise. Not feel God? How can that be? How easy it is for us to assume that others think and feel the way we do; that God speaks and guides others in the same way He does us. The Lord was quick to help me catch my tongue and guard my expression so as not to add insult to her already hemorrhaging heart. I know she is alone in her wrestling.

Christianity is not mimicking someone else’s walk with Christ, though we may be inspired by them. Occasionally, we find ourselves in the midst of those whose faith seems to come easier to them. They seem to encapsulate humility while at the same time a confidence which we can only dream of encompassing. They know the Bible like the back of their hand and pray so eloquently---so poetically, that we, in comparison, sound like a blubbering fool.  We have witnessed others be moved by the Spirit because they not only hear His voice, they trust Him. They know Him, really know Him and unapologetically live out of this deep, deep love they have for Him. We all know someone like that. And although my daughter does not say she desires her faith to look like mine, she believes that faith must look and feel a certain way.  In my daughter’s frustration, she asks, “So faith is just believing, not anything else? No feelings, no nothing?”

Searching my mind and silently asking the Lord to guide this conversation, I reminded her that our faith is not based on feelings, but on the decision to trust that God’s Word is truth, that He died for us, paying the penalty for our sin because He loves us that much. I reminded her that her checklist (reading her Bible, attending church, praying…) can easily become a religious act---where we live by the letter of the law rather than the spirit of the law. Christianity is about relationship, not rules.  Reading the Bible, praying, and attending church are tools to build and maintain an intimate relationship with Christ---which is where that immeasurable love she desperately desires springs forth for Christ.  A lot of people follow a similar checklist, doing all the “right” things and never learn to follow Jesus---never fall in love with Him. It’s easy to follow a plan, but not so easy to fully relinquish ourselves to God’s authority. If we have our eyes on ourselves, our accomplishments, our goals while marking off our checklist, how can we be sold out for Christ? I think this is where the root of many of our struggles lie.

My daughter listens attentively and nods her head in understanding, but still looks for something more. We have become a world of quick fixes and instant gratification. We gravitate toward books and magazines that promise step by step solutions to "live our best life now". We don’t want to think. We don’t necessarily even want to do the work. We just want someone to tell us what to do and how to think and hope we get the results we desire. A personal relationship with Christ cannot be replicated or manufactured. It’s personal. My relationship with Christ is different from your relationship with Christ.

So, I share with my Delightful that the mark of a Christian is not in how much she prays, reads the Bible, shares her faith with others, her church attendance record, or even how well she follows the ten commandments. Rather, the mark of a Christian is how well we love one another.  As Christians, our intimacy with Christ manifests itself by how we respond to others in need. I cannot help but to think of James 1:27, “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after the orphans and the widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world”. As we grow in intimacy with Christ, our heartbeat grows in sync with His and we see the world in a whole new perspective. It is a perspective that begs for us to show love in an array of ways (using our gifts, talents, and passions that the Lord has equipped us with) to all those around us.

I tell my daughter that she has all the tools she needs, but perhaps she has misunderstood the tools, how to use them, as well as how live them out.  So, in an attempt to encourage her, I do my best to define the tools and their purpose.  I start with prayer.

Prayer is not as scary as it may sound. The key component to prayer is simply being present with the Lord. I often times picture myself kneeling before the cross. When I do, my focus is completely on Him and not on myself and my heart is humbled as I breathe in His immeasurable sacrifice for me. Sometimes my prayers are said in the sanctuary of my heart, no words, just silent fellowship with Him. Sometimes, I talk to Him like I’m talking to a friend---about everything and nothing, about small things and big things. Sometimes my prayer is simply saying, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus” in unison with the beating of my heart because I don’t know what else to say. I pray while I’m working. I pray while I’m sitting in the solitude of my home. And sometimes, I sing worship songs as my prayer (For those of you who know my singing ability, remember that Jesus tells us to make a joyful noise unto the Lord!). Jesus left an example of how to pray in Matthew 6:9-13: The Lord’s Prayer. Essentially, it reveals our respect, gratitude, need, and desire for Him in our lives.

Talking to someone we don’t know well yet is awkward to say the least. As we grow in friendship, it will become easier to be transparent and vulnerable before God and we will eventually hear His voice---not necessarily audibly, but He will make His presence and will known to us. He tells us that when we seek Him, we will find Him (Jer. 29:13). I promise He does not make Himself hard to find!

For me, nothing about nature escapes my ever searching eye for Him. I see God in the majestic, rugged mountains, in the long sandy beaches, in the vastness of fields, and in the mystic edges of hovering fog. I feel Him in the sun’s warmth, in the down pour of rain, and the gracefulness of falling snow. I smell Him in the pine trees and in the fresh cut grass. I hear Him in the silence of early mornings as the sun crests the eastern horizon. I hear Him in the whispers of the wind as it runs its fingers through the spindly branches of my willow tree. I hear Him in the sweet melody of the robins and the low hum of the hummingbirds. I could go on and on about the beauty I see of Christ in nature. God is in it all so that we might glimpse His glory and worship Him in utter admiration. This worship is prayer.

My daughter doesn’t make eye contact. Instead she worries a loose thread on her sweater. I know she’s listening, taking it all in, so I continue. I reminded her that attending church is not solely about learning something new, but also about being in community with other like-minded people who struggle like we do. It is a place where the walking wounded congregate and encourage one another by helping us fix our eyes on our Lord, the author and finisher of our faith (Heb. 12:2). She interrupts me and scowls, “That only happens when you are in a group. Once you leave that group for whatever reason, you are left on your own. Church is a very lonely place”. Boy, has she got me on that one. I have wrestled with organized religion all my life primarily for this very reason. Church can come across as a club and if you are not part of the “inner circle”, so to speak, you are on your own. It is easy to dwell here and become bitter.

Bitterness is a sneaky tactic of Satan’s. When we feel it brewing deep within us, we need to heed the warning and stop everything, fall to our knees, and ask the Lord to take it from us. Unchecked, bitterness will rob us of the very joy God so desperately wants for us. I, personally, have been hurt by the church repeatedly. I can choose to focus on the people who have grieved my soul or I can choose to seek God with all my heart, mind, and soul. Church is a place filled with sinners; many of them are desperately seeking God and desire to walk in communion with others who believe as they do.  

I love worship probably more than anything else; which is slightly ironic because I am the least musical person on the planet. In that moment, it is just me and God and I hardly notice others around me. It fills me, ministers to me, and is a balm for whatever has grieved my heart during the week. It draws me like nothing else.

It’s hard to sing a love song to a God we don’t know or feel in love with, or a God that we are questioning or even doubting. I say don’t sing, just listen. Let the words wash over you; allow them to lead you to seeking out more of Him. (Most songs sung in church are based on scripture).

Followed by worship is the sermon which is just a fancy word for a lesson. I have gone to several kinds of churches.  One where the Pastor yells and pounds his fists on the podium telling us that we’re all going to hell. Another church where I’ve heard great topical life lessons, but the Bible is not necessarily preached. And another kind of church called an expository church, where the scriptures are broken down and explained in detail so that common folk, like me, understand what we’re reading. The Bible, though originally written in Greek and Hebrew is not meant to sound like a foreign language to us. God wrote it for all people, so finding a translation that is easier to understand and find a style of teaching that is meaningful to us, one based on the Bible, is essential. If we don’t understand something, we need to seek someone out. Churches are equipped with staff to help find the answers to our questions.

My girl looks up at me and I feel I’ve lost her. I am not sure she is on the same page as I am here, which wounds my heart. I know that bitterness has taken root and is crowding out the Truth that must be plucked before she can find her way again. I continue on however, telling her that reading her Bible is perhaps the most valuable tool in learning about God’s character. When we see how He responds in the various stories He has left for us in His Word, we will discover Who He is---not just to Adam, the Israelites or even to the Apostle Paul, but Who He is to us. Fundamentally, “Jesus is servant, ministering to the needs of others” (Brennan Manning). You cannot fall in love with someone you don’t know. The Bible unfolds Christ’s character and without a doubt, as we read and study His Word, we will come to know and love Him.

Out of our love for Christ, we begin to deliberately, consciously, and eagerly desire to live for Him. Simply, this looks like love. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and love your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27). Jesus lived for others. Jesus served others and gave sacrificially of Himself. We are to do the same—which is contrary to the mentality of our world. It is not up to us to determine how we will be used for God’s witness or for His glory. We simply love and let God take care of everything else.

Quietly sitting there, taking in my words, I run to the other room to grab the book I am reading because I have, have to share what I had just read that morning with my girl. “All that is not the love of God has no meaning for me. I can truthfully say that I have no interest in anything but the love of God which is in Christ Jesus. If God wants it to, my life will be useful through my word and witness. If He wants it to, my life will bear fruit through my prayers and sacrifices. But the usefulness of my life is His concern, not mine. It would be indecent of me to worry about that” (Dominique Voillaume).

I pause and look at my daughter. She slowly looks up at me and bites her quivering lip. She whispers, “So God really takes care of everything else, I just have to believe?” Tears streaming down my cheeks, I say, “Yes”.

It is my heart’s cry that my daughters apprehend the wonderment of God’s merciful gift to us, that they would accept being accepted (I’m still working on that myself), and understand that the essence for a follower of Jesus lays in living in faith, not some sort of checklist. “Living by faith consists in constantly redefining and reaffirming our identity with Jesus---measuring ourselves against Him---not measuring ourselves against our church dogmas and local heroes.  Jesus is the light of the world. In His light we discover that it is not mere rhetoric that Jesus demands, but personal renewal, fidelity to the Word, and creative conduct” (Brennan Manning).

I Love You This Much!

My girls are now teenagers, but every once in awhile they still play the game, “Do You Know How Much I Love You?” You know that precious game where as parents we respond, “How much?” and our little Delightfuls stretch their arms out as far as they possibly can, responding through squinted eyes and strained heart vocals, “This much”. It never gets old. I love being told that I am not just loved, but loved to the full extent of who they are.

These precious memories are tucked deep within my heart; and there next to the snapshot of my girls’ outstretched arms of love for me, is another snapshot of outstretched arms of love. These arms however, are stretched across a wooden beam and held in place with stakes--Jesus on the cross; the crucifixion. Without a doubt, the cross symbolizes my faith. However, the cross is not just a symbol of a necessary sacrifice for my salvation, but it also symbolizes the pattern I hope my life reflects.

The cross has become so commonplace in our society that what it represents has been gravely skewed or forgotten about all together. I’ll admit that until several years ago when I would see a cross, it did little, if anything, to stir my heart or point my mind to Jesus’ crucifixion on that Golgotha hill over 2,000 years ago. And although it represented my faith, it did not actively serve as a relevant tool in my walk with Christ. The work of the cross had been done and my eyes were (and are) firmly fixed on the One who once hung from those beams, not the beams themselves. However, as I have spent these several years relishing in the friendship and guidance of the Lord, I’ve come to have a whole new appreciation for the symbol of the cross in addition to His Lordship.

Marinating in the heaviness and humble surrender of that Friday afternoon, picturing my friend nailed to those wooden beams, I find that I am drawn to know more about Him. If you believe that Jesus is indeed the Son of God, you know He had the power to escape such excruciating torment and unjust death. As Christians, we believe He not only allowed this to take place, but intentionally sacrificed His life in place for ours—what unfathomable love and grace for us---Perhaps the most profound piece of this equation is that in order to die for us, Christ had to set aside His power.

Maybe that sounds like a no-brainer to you, but I had never reflected on that fact before. Of course, He had to set His power aside. But as we consider what occurred three days later, that Christ rose from the dead, we have a better understanding of what 1 Corinthians 1:18-24 is talking about when it calls our attention to the fact that “Jesus Christ crucified is the power of God and the wisdom of God”. Think about that for a moment. We are not saved because of God’s power. We are saved because He laid His power aside and humbled Himself for our sake. Brennan Manning, author of “The Signature of Jesus (1988) refers to the cross as “The signature of the risen One”. I love that. “The signature of the risen One”. (sigh) That description causes my heart to beat wildly and cry out in gratitude to my Beloved Jesus.

When Christ set His power aside, He was showing His unconditional, inconceivable love for us. Manning reminds us that “power forces us to change. Love moves us to change. Power affects behavior. Love affects the heart”. With this in mind, think about the cross. Do you see Jesus’ suffering love for us? Does it not stir the deepest longings in your heart to be loved this much?

“Christ on the cross is not a mere theological precondition for salvation. It is God’s enduring word to the world, saying, ‘See how much I love you. See how much you must love one another’”. The cross is not just a symbol of my faith anymore; rather, it is a reminder of how much Jesus loves me and how much I am to love the world around me. In Matthew 16:24, Jesus tells us that if we want to be His disciples (Christ followers), we need to “take up our own cross and follow Him”. Essentially, He is saying, “let go of what power and control you think you have and look to me; follow me. I promise I will lead you to the well-spring of life where you will never thirst again”. My mind wanders to the tender words of the Apostle Paul: “My grace is sufficient for you, my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me” (2 Cor. 12:9).

With my own arms outstretched, palms facing toward the heavens, as a symbol of my own sacrifice for Christ, I hold on to nothing, I relinquish all of myself, all of my dreams, plans, and notions about this life to Him and allow Him to lead me. I fully believe that Christ treasures His own snapshots of us, holding them close to His heart and saying, "She loves me thiiiiissss much".

Grace under Pressure

I cannot go through a single day without the thought of grace lingering in the forefront of my mind. Moment by moment, I have a choice of whether or not I will choose to respond to an injustice/sin in grace or allow my human instinct of judgment and consequence to spill from my lips. Grace is somewhat abstract because it is the gift of favor or pardon in light of what we deserve; however there are conditions to receiving this grace, not just from others, but from Christ as well.

Grace does not turn a blind eye to sin. Grace does not release us from accountability or even from consequences. I’ll admit that I have thought of grace as being ultra compassionate toward someone’s circumstances without judgment or consequence for a long time, but as I have attempted to understand church discipline more, I have been challenged to seek meaning in the seemingly hazy line between grace as I have always defined it and discipline.

Grace chooses to see the heart of the person before their sin and acts in response.  I can think of no better example than the story found in John 8. (Paraphrasing) A woman brought before the court had been found guilty of adultery. In those days, anyone found guilty of adultery was to be stoned to death. However, as the teachers of the Law, Pharisees and onlookers waited breathlessly to hear the woman’s sentencing, the Judge solemnly declared, “He who is without sin may cast the first stone”.  Obviously, not one was without sin and all eventually left the court, leaving only the Judge and the woman. Picture this tender moment with me:  Jesus kneels before the young woman, looks her in the eye and whispers, “Is there no one to cast the first stone?” Tears streaming down her face, her lip quivering, as both her mind and eyes question what has just happened, as she whispers an unbelieving, “No”. Jesus then tenderly cups her cheek in his hand and says, “Then neither do I. Go off and commit this sin no more”.  This is grace. Jesus saw her repentant heart, forgave her and sent her on her way while man looked at her outward appearance (1 Sam. 16:7). This is not to say that the woman did not receive any consequences; most assuredly she did. However, she was not condemned.

As Christians, we experientially know that God is grace. Everything we read, study and experience of Him oozes unfathomable grace. We also know that as Christians, we are called to imitate Christ--- to be sacrificially, gracefully accepting of all people, to forgive those that wrong us, and love our neighbors (our enemies, those with alternative life styles, beliefs, etc.---there are no exceptions) as Christ loved the Church. Think about that for a moment: how did Christ love the church? He loved with His entire being, with everything He had to give, including humbling himself from His position in Heaven to becoming and living as a common man and sacrificing His very life for our sakes. He lived his life among the beggars, thieves, diseased, prostitutes---the unlovely, the unlikeable, and the unworthy. He was eager to wash the feet of the broken, the hurting, and the sinful and He justly and wisely admonished the wrong, the prideful, and the sinners.

Even though I have not questioned God’s grace, I have wrestled for decades with the church’s grace where discipline is concerned. Several examples of church discipline come to mind: a friend while in high school got pregnant and had to share her sin before the church, another friend who had admitted to having sex outside of marriage during premarital counseling was told she could not wear white and instead had to wear a pink wedding dress. Another friend was raped by a fellow member of the church and instead of discipline being brought upon the man, the young man was forgiven by the church and still allowed to attend (which forced the girl to leave the church, question God’s love for her, and her value). Three different circumstances; three different churches and yet, in all three situations, the line between discipline and grace is confusing at best. We want to believe that the church is doing the right and best thing and in accordance with scripture, but in instances like these it causes us to question not only the church’s grace, but God’s grace as well.

I struggle with the seeming injustice often found in church discipline. It is not that I don’t believe in church discipline. I do. It is Biblical.

“Stern discipline awaits anyone who leaves the path; the one who hates correction will die” (Proverbs 15:10).

“Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as His children. For what children are not disciplined by their father?” (Hebrews 12:7).

“No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained” (Hebrews 12:11).

However, I believe some churches see the sin and not the heart of the person. If the heart is repentant, then allow natural consequences be the only discipline one receives. If the sin keeps occurring without a repentant heart, then intercession and correction are necessary.  Not one of us is without sin, not one! (1 John 1:8). It’s interesting to me to think about what sins are often brought before the church. Usually sexual immorality; I’ve never heard anything but. However, God does not weigh our sins or assign varying degrees of sin. A lie is a sin. Adultery is a sin. And both look the same in God’s eyes.

So in light of discipline, how does grace fit into the picture? Although grace is a free gift, there are conditions for receiving it and remaining in it. Here are just a few:

God gives more grace to the humble (James 4:6). Therefore, if we are humbled in Him, we will receive more grace.

“The Lord your God is gracious and merciful and will not turn His face away from you, if you return to Him” (2 Chron. 30:9). He will look upon us if we return to Him. On the flip side, if we do not return to Him, we forfeit His merciful grace.

“He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry. As soon as He hears it, He answers you” (Is. 30:19). We must cry out to Him so He can lavish His grace upon us.

“For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is His steadfast love towards those who fear Him” (Psalm 103:11). Fearing God is not the shaking in your boots in the middle of the night kind of fear. It is a reverent, sweet humility and submission to His authority and power.  When we live within this holy respect of the Almighty God, His steadfast love is boundless toward us.

The list goes on. And as I read countless scriptures where grace is clearly conditional, I see two things. First, I see that God desires nothing more than to lavish such love and grace on us. And second, He is just waiting for the moment when we relinquish our lives to Him, seek His face and will in all things.

John Piper, in his book, “Future Grace” (2012), points out 10 conditions to receive grace:

1. Love God
2. Delight in Him
3. Draw near to Him
4. Wait on Him
5. Take refuge in Him
6. Hope in Him
7. Trust in Him
8. Cry out to Him
9. Fear Him
10. Look to Him

Does this list look like a synopsis of what having faith looks like, or what?  Faith, in essence, looks to God and embraces Him and Him alone. And although faith has inner and outer components, this list speaks to the condition of a faithful heart, to a heart emptied of self and eyes firmly fixed on Him. Clearly, the condition to receive grace is that we must have faith.”By grace you have been saved, through faith…” (Romans 3:23).

From faith grows love for others. Love is the second component to faith. It is the outward expression of our love for Christ. Loving others is a necessary evidence of our faith. It’s so important, in fact, that Christ commanded it. “This is His commandment; that we believe in the name of His Son Jesus Christ and love one another” (1 John 3:23). Two actions: believe and love, one command. So to digest some of this information; grace is conditioned on our having faith, which is rooted in Christ’s love which then spills out onto others. So my question then becomes, what does grace look like practically when discipline is necessary?

I am reminded of a conversation I had with my teenage daughter just yesterday when I wrapped up her consequences with the words, “I am doing this because I love you. If I didn’t love you, I’d let you do whatever you wanted. Accountability is love”. I have faith in my daughter. I trust her, but she still needs guidance and every now and then discipline to keep her on the right track, especially when that track keeps veering off course.

Grace shows incredible love and devotion to the person being disciplined. It says, “I love and care so much about you to let you remain in this unhealthy place”.

I believe there is a place for church discipline, when it has been marinated in love for the person---not as a way to expose their sin, but as a way to expose them to Christ’s grace and forgiveness for them. I have yet to see church discipline done well. I think it’s a tricky thing and often can be misunderstood by the congregation as well as the recipient. Some churches are legalistic in their approach (such as the ones I mentioned at the beginning), missing the purpose of discipline. One sin is not more substantial than another in Christ’s eyes. Not one of us is worthy of casting the first stone. Therefore, to discipline, we must, must act in grace---through love for one another and with the ultimate purpose of pointing our brother or sister back to the Lord.

Can you imagine what church discipline rooted in excessive love would look like? Discipline should be an overwhelming feeling of love and respect for the recipient---intimate and grace-filled and should cause the recipient to desire to change paths, knowing they are supported every step of the way.

“See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many” (Hebrews 12:15).
 
“Let all you do be done in love” (1 Cor. 16:14).

Chapter One

Growing up in a fire and brimstone Baptist church, it was imbedded in me from early on that everyone plays an important role in fulfilling the Great Commission (sharing Jesus with the world). And although I didn’t necessarily know what that meant for those of us who didn’t feel “called” to the mission field---places like Africa or China, I always knew that my story (testimony), as well as yours, is a part of God’s greater story and was meant to be shared in hopes to show Jesus to the world and connect with others.  

I’m a pretty average chick. Married, with two kids and a dog, live in the burbs, go to church, teach kids with special needs, garden, read, and sing terribly---like I said, average. I have wondered does an average person have a story worth sharing. Would it point you to Christ, reveal more of Him to you; cause you to hunger for a God that not only satisfies, but exceeds any preconceived notions? Simply, would my love for Him be infectious? Rather, would His love and acceptance for me, hopefully evident in my life, cause you to seek Him out?

I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, I’m talking decades.  I’ve not shared parts of my story, perhaps the most important chapter, because shame still accompanies aspects of it. And although I know in my heart that shame is not of God, my head gets the better of me and plays torrid games by inundating me with thoughts of rejection. I know better. I also know that Satan is the initiator of such paralyzing thoughts. I’ve been fighting this for a very long time.

Recently, I timidly shared “Chapter One” with one of the most inspiring women I’ve ever known. I not only had the privilege of growing up with her, but still have the honor of being precious friends in our middle age. Through tears, she said, “Sharing our story is freeing. It means Satan no longer has the power of shame to hold over us. Once it’s out there, he cannot use it against us. And God can use it for His glory.” (Everyone should have a friend like her---she speaks truth so eloquently)

Driving home that afternoon, it dawned on me that my story is part of God’s story and He will use it however He sees best and right. Stories have the ability to connect us on the deepest of levels. Often, allowing us to see ourselves in others where we can learn and be encouraged by them. That night laying in bed, thinking about our conversation, I came to the conclusion that if I am going to be bold in my faith, I need to share my story, even if it is uncomfortable, even if fear lingers in the shadows.  If I am worried about the outcome (what others think, do, or say), I am sharing for the wrong reason. Ultimately, sharing my story has more to do with God than it does with me.

I just started reading The Story Lives (2013) written by Henriet Schapelhouman and in it she reminds us:
We are created for God
He handcrafted every person with a specific character and for a specific purpose
He made us the way He intended
He placed us in a specific time and space
God designed us
In short, this means He wanted us for His pleasure and companionship and even if we consider ourselves an average Joe, God purposely created us as unique individuals and for a reason that He will reveal to us when the time is right. We are part of HIS story and He is the one who sets it into motion for His glory and purpose. My story is not my own. Your story is not your own. They are intertwined, making up God’s bigger story.

So, I share what I call Chapter One with you in the hopes that you will see my story as part of a bigger story, God’s. May it reveal more of Him and what He can and will do through your life, if you let Him.

Nineteen, unmarried, and pregnant I sat in a sterile waiting room, restlessly waiting for my name to be called. The doctor’s tardiness intensified my anxiousness and my already out of sync heartbeat seemed to thump with a greater intensity with each tick of the clock.

Finally, 45 minutes after my scheduled appointment, my name was called. You’d think relief would have set in, knowing I was taking a step toward what I believed was freedom, but instead I felt as if I was a prisoner with hands and feet shackled together by chains that clanked as I was lead into a dark room, lit only by a small lamp in the far corner.

I was instructed to disrobe and lay on the table. I did so without a word. Usually, a chatter bug, I didn’t want to be known. If the emperor had a new invisible suit, I would have eagerly paid him the moon for it.  The Doppler located my 7 week old baby quickly. I did not recognize the image, but upon the sound of the heartbeat and other swooshing sounds that filled the small dark room, my eyes lit up as if it was a sound I had always known, a sound that mimicked my own racing heart.  The nurse saw my reaction and quickly turned the volume knob so I could no longer hear my baby’s lifeline.

“Yep, you’re pregnant”, came the gruff response of the stout nurse as she tossed my robe onto the table and left the room. I dressed and waited for instructions. Though the ultrasound screen had grown dark, I could not help but to stare at it, trying to visualize my oddly formed baby that just moments before had lit up the room.  Another 30 minutes passed and I grew increasingly uneasy. I knew I shouldn’t be there. I just wanted to hurry up and get this over with. I reasoned that I would give the doctor five more minutes and if she didn’t show up, I’d leave. Where I’d go or how I’d get there didn’t cross my mind. Dennis had dropped me off at an out of town clinic and I had no way to get in touch with him (before cell phones).

As the clock clicked onto the five, the doctor came into the room joined by another nurse who looked like my grandmother. She took my hand in both of hers and gave me the sweetest smile, squeezing my hand in hers as she walked me into another room assuring me I would be OK and that she would be by my side the entire time. I smiled and was oddly comforted by this perfect stranger.

The room was beautifully decorated; brightly lit with lamps on coffee tables, walls covered with grass cloth and a wrought iron bed with a beautiful floral bedspread and decorative shams. It was not what I had expected and a part of me felt as if I had just entered the twilight zone.  Still in my robe, the grandma-nurse set a soft floral nightgown on the bed and gave me privacy to change.  Everything in me screamed to leave, but as I looked around, I felt betrayed by my surroundings.

20 minutes later the soothing music that had been playing in the background and my grandma-nurse’s nurturing voice were drowned out by the sing song words of the doctor, “I’ll be back. I’ve got to go count the parts. We want to be sure we got all the parts.” What I was trying desperately not to think about had not just been blatantly thrown at me, but had been done so in the most heinous of ways.  Parts? My baby in parts? I am not sure what I thought was happening to her, but a visual had never accompanied what I was doing. Tears streamed down my face and the heaviness of shame and regret that I had been trying to keep at bay, now threatened to choke me. I couldn’t breathe. Gasping for breath and trying to sit up, my grandma-nurse shushed me and ran her fingers through my long hair, like my mother used to do when I was a little girl. I couldn’t speak. Literally, I could not speak.

I was moved to a recovery room with other women who had just had abortions. Beds lined up, filling a large room lit with harsh florescent lighting buzzing overhead, I listened to several women compare notes about their experiences. Some were crass, using abortion as a form of birth control, others complaining about how expensive it was. All of them had had multiple abortions. Laying there in aching pain, I felt like the lowest of scum. I knew better. I went against absolutely everything I had believed.

I was a girl raised in the church, had accepted Christ as my Savior at a young age, and was raised in a God-fearing home, now laying childless by my own hand. The guilt was astronomical. I was led here because I feared what my parents would say if they found out I was living outside both God and their desires for me by having sex outside of marriage and then that I was pregnant. Dennis, son of the pastor of one of the largest churches in our area, feared not only what his parents would think of us, but also feared possible repercussions for his dad at the church. In Dennis’ fear, he threatened not to marry me if I didn’t go through with the abortion. My wedding dress hung in my closet and invitations had already been ordered. I felt trapped. And even though I knew it was against God, I tried with all my might to put Him out of my head.

I went home and cried for months, living as a shell of what I had been. I was empty. Though I was in the throes of planning my wedding, I could have cared less. Everything felt meaningless. I went through the motions of daily life, including marrying Dennis just four months after the abortion, but I was not who I once had been.  To say I was broken is a grave understatement.

Nightly, I cried begging the Lord to forgive me. In my heart, I knew He had because He promises that He will forgive each of us if we ask and He will remember it no more, but I could not wrap my mind around the fact that God would forgive me for this. I could not forgive myself. I punished myself by working harder to be better at everything and anything. I strove for perfection, thinking illogically that if I worked hard enough, long enough, good enough that God would forgive me, that somehow He would see some value in me even though I had grieved Him. I knew it didn’t work like that, that God loves me where I am and for who I am, but somehow I lost sight of that fact.

Dennis had about enough of me by this point and told me to find help. I called Crisis Pregnancy Center, not even sure they could help me. Mary Ann answered the phone and after getting my story out between heavy sobs, she told me that she too had an abortion as a Christian and that the Lord had freed her from the shame that daily held her captive. I asked how that was possible and she invited me to attend a post abortion Bible Study.

I felt so distant from God. How could I face him by spending time in His Word and in prayer? I had pushed Him away and yet I desperately needed Him. I went to the class not knowing what to expect, but needing something that I could not provide or earn myself. Although several other women signed up for the class, not one of them showed up. It was just me and Mary Ann. For 12 weeks, she shared her experience and showed me the Jesus she had fallen in love with, the Jesus who had rescued her, redeemed her, and made her whole again. And through intense Bible Study, I learned more about God’s Character and who I am to Him and in Him.

I was slowly healing from the inside out. My eyes were firmly fixed on Jesus and Who He is, not on what I had done. Though I was still deeply hurting, I realized that God’s forgiveness has nothing to do with how I feel. The fact that I didn’t “feel” forgiven did not mean that God did not forgive me.  I discovered that in the backdrop of forgiveness stood the cross. And the cross represented acceptance, freedom, and unfathomable grace. Forgiveness does not burden, it does not rob us of joy, and it does not keep us from moving forward. God took my shame and forgave me. Period. If there was any lingering guilt and shame it was not a reflection of Christ. Those are Satan’s powerful tactics. I however needed to learn how to forgive myself. I’ll admit, I am still in process all these years later.

The biggest thing that impacted me and still to this day leaves me in a state of absolute awestruck humble gratitude is Isaiah, Chapter 53. It is an honest portrait of Christ’s sacrifice for us. I am not sure how I had never heard this passage before, having grown up in the church, but I hadn’t. Studying and meditating on the precious truths of Isaiah 53:5, where Christ says, “by my wounds you have been healed”, I found myself biting my quivering lip time and time again, because I got it. I really got it. And still to this day, twenty-one years later, I weep every time I read or hear those life-giving words.

I knew Jesus had died on the cross for me, paying the punishment for my sins, but I hadn’t considered that His wounds---His physical wounds--- stakes in His wrists and feet, the gash in His abdomen, the repeated beatings, the crown of thorns deeply imbedded into His scalp--- and the emotional wounds---hateful, vengeful, mocking words of onlookers, Pharisees, and even people who claimed to believe He was indeed the Son of God---how that must have grieved His already battered heart---but what’s more painful to imagine is when His Father turned his face away from Him---my heart breaks at the picture of it all. And then to know that chose to go through all this for me---for an average Joe--and that He accepted those wounds so that I might have life---not a life lived in shame or lived mediocre, but a life lived to the full…my heart gushes at the thought, swells with the realization that I don’t have to live in captivity, that the door to my invisible cage had been open all along. My wounds have been healed because He took them from me and made them His own. He made them His own! I am not defined by my wounds, I am defined by the One who took them from me and replaced them with Himself.

My life changed forever on May 3, 1993 when my unborn daughter, Alyshia, went to be with Jesus at my own hand. Satan intended to use that life-altering and devastating experience to derail me permanently from living firmly in Christ. God had greater plans and took what Satan intended for evil and instead called my name, wrote it in His book of Life, and loves me as I am---sins and all. I am not who I once was. And as the song goes, “I once was blind, but now I see” and what a glorious sight. It was because of this experience that I asked Jesus to be the Lord of my life, that my parents’ faith became my faith. I believe in Him not because my parents lived in such a way to share Him with me, but because He revealed Himself to me personally, spoke to me when I needed it most. To say I love Him is perhaps the biggest understatement I could ever make. I am entirely in love with Him.

It is my deepest prayer that my story, what I call my “chapter one” in a long series of growth lessons, points you to God. That you can see what He is able to do through the lost---even Christians who have lost their way, taken a wrong turn. God is so good to call us back to Him, to redeem us, and to keep on loving us as if we were already perfect. I know my life will have many, many more bumps and bruises, that my path may become cloudy at times or my pride and self-sufficiency may attempt to rear its ugly head, but in the end I know God still loves me and I will one day live with Him happily ever after.

I wonder what your story is, if you have taken the time to reflect on the events that have lead you to the place you are now, see how your story plays a part in God’s greater story and how it intertwines with others around you. Some stories bring with them an element of shame, guilt, or sadness. Some bring with them exuberant joy and purpose. No matter which chapter you read or are currently “writing”, each and every one of them has brought you to where you are now and play an important role in God’s plan.

Losing my Religion

I love someone I have only seen through the fullness of fragrant peonies, the milky warmth of sunrises, fire blazing sunsets, and through brilliant sparkles precisely hung in the depths of darkness begging me to count beyond my ability. I’ve seen Him in the mighty tree laded mountains towering over variegated grasses slow dancing in the whispers of the afternoon breeze. I’ve seen Him in the silvery ripples playing hide and seek in clear babbling streams that yearn for my feet to share in its joy by kicking and splashing relentlessly. I see Him in the complexity of science as well as in the simple innocence of laugher. I’ve felt His presence and heard His voice throughout my entire life, through all seasons, as He graciously and continuously fulfills His promises of provision, protection, guidance, and unconditional, sacrificial love for me. My world oozes God. I cannot, cannot get enough of Him. The love I have for Him supersedes any other love I have ever known.  This love keeps me going back for more. It fulfills. It sustains me like nothing else in the entire world. It speaks to me, ministers to me, teaches me, guides me, and loves me as I am.  

In life, we know this is a rare and precious love.  Most people would say that it doesn’t exist; perhaps that we are living in a dream world. And if, by chance, people allow us to believe in such a love, they say, “It won’t last, that it’s only a matter of time before we slip up, fail, and lose this love.” The world is filled with skeptics, people who have been hurt and struggle to trust, people who are blinded to what is right before their eyes. Some are romantics however, and encourage, “It is better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all”; believing that to love is a risk.

Christians, we want to believe, are different; that once we discover this love, it becomes a part of us---our identity—and we never fear losing something so entirely precious based on our actions. But the truth is, many of us have the same fears. And more than a few of us live life knowing we’re entirely unworthy of such unconditional, sacrificial, authentic love that we try to earn it. We bend over backwards, living through a set of self-imposed rules and restrictions in hopes that we, through our own feeble actions/abilities, can refine ourselves into a state of near perfection which God will look our way and say, “Well now, here’s one worthy of my love.”

Attempting to control our spirituality, our refinement process in hopes to earn this kind of love, (it’s called Agape love btw) is crazy at best. Many Christians know this and yet easily fall into a works-driven “faith”; believing they can work for their salvation, which essentially is God’s gracious love for us. I believe the reason this performance or work driven cycle continues to sneak its way into our lives is because the world works this way. “If I do this, then blank happens.” We see time and time again that when we work for something, we are rewarded with appreciation, a paycheck, self pride, etc.  We’re conditioned to perform from young ages. Parents give praise for good grades, for placing well in a sports event, even being a good friend and we learn that if I do my part and do it well, I earn affection. (Side note: I absolutely believe parents should praise their children for their efforts and accomplishments, but not only in performance areas. Praising their character trumps performance any day and helps children understand they are loved and valued for who they are---as they are---not what they do).

Perhaps this works-driven faith, or what I have always referred to as “religion”, happens because we have not fully grasped or accepted that God’s love is free, that He is not of the world, so He doesn’t respond like the world. This popular ploy of Satan’s also causes us to focus on ourselves and performance rather than having our eyes fixed on Christ and what He has already done for us while we were still sinners.  Perhaps we missed the part where God promises that He will finish what He begins in us. Meaning, He is taking responsibility for us and our growth. When we try to control the outcome, we are in actuality showing how little faith we have in God and inadvertently elevate ourselves above God. Faith is not about works. It’s not about performance. It’s not about rules and restrictions. It’s not even about us.

Richard Rohr, author of Naked Now (2009), writes about faith as “being united with Christ”.  Although I know religious works keep us at arms’ length from a God we claim to love, I have to admit that I haven’t thought about what it means to be in union with Christ.  When the subject of faith comes up, my mind is quick to go to Hebrews 11:1, “Faith is being sure of what we hope for through things unseen”. Though true, this scripture personally leaves me clamoring for more answers, for a greater definition, for something deeper, meatier.  It always has, ever since I memorized it at the ripe age of nine. At that age, I dismissed it, thinking I just didn’t have the maturity to understand such complex matters. Here I am a whole lot older and I still struggle to understand. So I read on, trying to grasp a better understanding of this “unity in Christ” concept. I’ll confess, I have heard this terminology many times before, even sing about it on a regular basis. However, I have not really taken it to heart, thought more introspectively about it as a way to better understand my faith. Rather, I’ve always thought of God as being beyond me, not out of reach, but not so close that He literally dwells within me. It’s a bit too abstract even for this imaginative girl!

As I write this, I find I am consumed with a precious memory of when I was four years old and shyly and yet so intently asked my Daddy to help me ask Jesus into my heart. With my mom and dad in my bedroom, I prayed a simple prayer, admitting that I was a sinner, that I believed that God sent his Son Jesus to die on the cross for my sins and then rose from the dead three days later to prove He was indeed God. I remember hoping as I asked Jesus into my heart, that He would accept my invitation. My parents assured me that He did!  I wish at four, I realized that Jesus was literally taking up residence in my life, not just figuratively. Children don’t get so wrapped up in the complexity or abstract nature of faith. They simply believe. I know now that I was the one accepting God’s invitation, not the other way around!

First up, “God’s love has been (as in already) poured out onto us” Romans 5:5.

OK, so clearly God is all in. He’s invested. He’s given everything. Got it. From this scripture, it sounds like to be unified; I have to be the one to take the next step.

“Believe in the Lord and you will be saved” Acts 16:31.

That’s it? Simply believe? For many, I think this is where the rub lies. It is hard to believe in something we cannot see, don’t give credit to experiencing, etc.  (People who struggle with faith or God live by their own merit, for their own merit). OK, so I believe. Moving on.

“The Spirit is with you and in you” John 14:17.

(Though comforting to me, it may sound a litter poltergeist-ish to others).  He is with me always, to the end of time. He will never leave me, He will never forsake me, and He loves me as far as the east is from the west and forgives me just as much.  He is my all in all. He is my foundation. He is my hope.

Rohr reminds us that “hope and union are the same thing and that real hope has nothing to do with mental certitudes” (Rohr, 16). Meaning, that our union in Christ has nothing to do with the ways of this world, the mental games we play with ourselves in attempts to gain His acceptance, appreciation, and love. No, simply we are united because God chose us and we chose Him back. No strings attached. This union is a mutual choosing of one another. Simply, it’s relationship.

Hope is actively being fulfilled through an inconceivably precious union in and with Christ! Sitting with that statement, I find myself in awe of the realization that Christ has been within me and I in Him all along.  I never grasped that, never appreciated the significance of such sacrifice for the almighty God to inhabit this lowly soul. I am not my own. I am His beloved bride and His thoughts about me outnumber the grains of sand. The palms of His hands bare my name. At the risk of trivializing this beautiful union: we run life together as a three legged race, like two peas in a pod, like peanut butter and jelly.  He is not without me and I am not without Him. My heart quickens at the thought and I am humbly brought to my knees both in thanksgiving and in utter adoration for my God!

Faith is relishing in the truth that we are no longer separated from Him.

Sadly, and maybe like a lot of well-meaning Christ followers, I’ve made faith more of a religion than a relationship at times. I am giving up following the “shoulds”. I am giving up the self-imposed rules I’ve prided myself on. I’m giving up trying to appease others by morphing myself to fit what I perceive they want/expect of me as a Christian. I am giving up bending over backwards to earn a love I already have. Instead, I will rest confidently in Christ and allow Him to do the rest.

“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” 2 Cor. 4:18