Comparison is a killer, I know. But I often sit in church, looking around, wondering if I'm the oddball. I wonder if anyone else has a past similar to mine, if anyone else struggles with the things I do, if anyone else feels like an oddball. I'd bet my life that there are many, but we all sit quietly in fear of being ourselves. To be sure, we all look alike. We all fit the mold. I don't see a single person that looks like an oddball. But I wonder how many of us feel like it.
I'm going to go out on a limb and say that the silent, fearful oddballs just might be the majority of the church!
We are a hurting people who have been fed a pack of lies since we could hear and understand. We've been told by preachers, teachers, authors, women's and men's ministry leaders, evangelists, etc. that our heart is evil and deceitful. Because of that, an unspoken {who am I kidding??...sometimes spoken} behavior plan has been put in place for us to abide by. They're not called rules, for that would be blatant legalism, but they're definitely a list of shoulds and should nots:
We should...
have a daily quiet time that includes Bible reading, study and prayer
read the Bible in its entirety at least once a year
attend church every Sunday and Wednesday
We should not...
drink alcohol
have tattoos
wear our jeans too tight
socialize too often with non-Christians
Those lists could be a mile long. And I've tried to live by them. Christian behavior plans only work for so long.
What happened to allowing Holy Spirit to guide us into truth? Do we think He won't do what Jesus said He would do? Are we so prideful that we have to bypass Him and make a list of rules for Christians to live by?
To the oddballs: We were given a new heart {a good heart} and made holy when we entered relationship with God. We don't need to try to live by a behavior plan. We simply need to trust that He will lead us to live a life that is for our good and His glory. Find the freedom to live in grace. Then find the courage to speak up!
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Life
I've lived without life for a long time. I didn't even realize it. In Waking The Dead, John Eldredge says, We need to drink in beauty wherever we can get it--in music, in nature, in art, in a great meal shared. These are all gifts to us from God's generous heart. Friends, those things are not decorations to a life; they bring us life. (p. 214)
I've spent years going through the motions. Last October I decided to make a change. At the time, I had no idea how significant that decision would come to be. I decided to start and finish something. November and December were filled with turmoil, and I wanted to quit. But January rolled around with renewed purpose and more changes. In January, I learned to persevere, and for the first time in my life, I found an inner strength I didn't know I had. I finally felt a spark of life. By the time February was over, I knew what it felt like to be fully alive!
Since then, I've been overwhelmed with life...being alive! God is reminding me of the things that make me feel alive and is giving me opportunities to put them to use:
music/singing
writing
running
I've always loved music and loved to sing. I'm one of those annoying people who sings along to every song on the radio. However, over the past few years, I'd gotten to the point that I was pretty much only singing on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings in church choir. Honestly, I sometimes didn't even enjoy that. But over the last couple of months, God has used the talent of an amazing friend to give me songs to sing that speak my heart. Along the way, I get to write here on my blog, and even write some for the music project.
I continue to run. What started out several years ago as a torturous activity to drop a few pounds has become my favorite hobby! When I let several days pass without running, I miss it and feel like the walking dead. When I finally do run again, I feel life coursing through my veins. God has used running to teach me endurance and perseverance and to show me a strength I didn't know existed inside me.
Now that I have life, I realize how desperately I needed it. I hope I never allow myself to quit drinking in the beauty. I never want to be that parched and thirsty again.
I've spent years going through the motions. Last October I decided to make a change. At the time, I had no idea how significant that decision would come to be. I decided to start and finish something. November and December were filled with turmoil, and I wanted to quit. But January rolled around with renewed purpose and more changes. In January, I learned to persevere, and for the first time in my life, I found an inner strength I didn't know I had. I finally felt a spark of life. By the time February was over, I knew what it felt like to be fully alive!
Since then, I've been overwhelmed with life...being alive! God is reminding me of the things that make me feel alive and is giving me opportunities to put them to use:
music/singing
writing
running
I've always loved music and loved to sing. I'm one of those annoying people who sings along to every song on the radio. However, over the past few years, I'd gotten to the point that I was pretty much only singing on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings in church choir. Honestly, I sometimes didn't even enjoy that. But over the last couple of months, God has used the talent of an amazing friend to give me songs to sing that speak my heart. Along the way, I get to write here on my blog, and even write some for the music project.
I continue to run. What started out several years ago as a torturous activity to drop a few pounds has become my favorite hobby! When I let several days pass without running, I miss it and feel like the walking dead. When I finally do run again, I feel life coursing through my veins. God has used running to teach me endurance and perseverance and to show me a strength I didn't know existed inside me.
Now that I have life, I realize how desperately I needed it. I hope I never allow myself to quit drinking in the beauty. I never want to be that parched and thirsty again.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Pressure and Pain
I gave birth to three children, and had epidurals with all three (and as early in the labor process as the doctor would allow!). I was not one of those brave moms who wanted to give birth naturally. I am not a friend of pain and have no desire to experience it if not necessary. I felt absolutely nothing as I gave birth to my first two children. (Little did I know what my body was actually experiencing and how much time it would take to heal.) But my third child was a different story! My epidural had somewhat worn off by the time she decided to arrive, and when the doctor said I'd feel some pressure, I think he understated how much. To be sure, I didn't feel pain, but I definitely felt pressure. Thankfully, I was at least numb to the pain!
My friend and I were discussing pain and pressure. He commented that pressure, which most of us feel, might be pain if people weren't numb. He posed the question, How much would hearts hurt if they weren't numb?
Read it again, and personalize it:
How much would my heart hurt if it weren't numb?
I don't like pain. As with childbirth, I don't even want to consider pain. The mere thought of it sends me searching for something to stop it before it begins. I want whatever is going to most effectively dull the pain the quickest. Most people do...because pressure is much more manageable than pain. And there are a variety of ways to numb pain:
drugs
alcohol
sex
work
relationships
money
religion
Unfortunately, what we don't realize is that when we numb the pain, we can't feel anything...even joy.
What if we quit numbing our hearts and actually allowed ourselves to feel pain instead of pressure? What if we actually allowed ourselves to feel the wounds of betrayal, abandonment, abuse, lost love, death?
We'd survive.
It might hurt like crazy; we might scream; we might cry more tears than we thought possible; we might wish we were dead; but we'd survive. Then we would have the opportunity for healing...because unless we first feel pain, we don't even recognize the need for healing.
God wants to heal our every hurt: physical, emotional, spiritual. Whatever the source of our pain, He wants to heal it...for our good and His glory. And most importantly, He wants to heal our hearts. He wants us whole and free. He wants us to feel and experience life...joy!
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. (Psalm 147:3)
My friend and I were discussing pain and pressure. He commented that pressure, which most of us feel, might be pain if people weren't numb. He posed the question, How much would hearts hurt if they weren't numb?
Read it again, and personalize it:
How much would my heart hurt if it weren't numb?
I don't like pain. As with childbirth, I don't even want to consider pain. The mere thought of it sends me searching for something to stop it before it begins. I want whatever is going to most effectively dull the pain the quickest. Most people do...because pressure is much more manageable than pain. And there are a variety of ways to numb pain:
drugs
alcohol
sex
work
relationships
money
religion
Unfortunately, what we don't realize is that when we numb the pain, we can't feel anything...even joy.
What if we quit numbing our hearts and actually allowed ourselves to feel pain instead of pressure? What if we actually allowed ourselves to feel the wounds of betrayal, abandonment, abuse, lost love, death?
We'd survive.
It might hurt like crazy; we might scream; we might cry more tears than we thought possible; we might wish we were dead; but we'd survive. Then we would have the opportunity for healing...because unless we first feel pain, we don't even recognize the need for healing.
God wants to heal our every hurt: physical, emotional, spiritual. Whatever the source of our pain, He wants to heal it...for our good and His glory. And most importantly, He wants to heal our hearts. He wants us whole and free. He wants us to feel and experience life...joy!
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. (Psalm 147:3)
Friday, May 25, 2012
Light In The Darkness
My bedroom door stays open, at least cracked, every night. It's been the habit since the girls were babies. I want to be able to hear them if they were to need me during the night. Due to the door being slightly ajar, light from the lamp above the kitchen sink seeps into the bedroom. It allows enough light into the bedroom to enable me to see if I have to get up during the night. I'm so accustomed to the light, I hardly notice it.
However, the girls had friends over a couple of nights ago for a sleepover. Since I like to sleep, I closed the door to drown out the noise of five loud, giggly girls. The bedroom was pitch black. Of course, with time, my eyes adjusted to the dark, and I could make out shapes in the room. As usual, one of the girls needed to tell me just one more thing, and opened the door to come in. The light immediately exposed the darkness. And it seemed brighter than usual.
As Christians, we walk in the Light. He is a lamp unto our feet and a light unto our path (Ps. 119:105). We depend on the Light. But there are times when, for one reason or another, we choose to close the door to the Light, and walk in darkness. At first, the dark seems darker than ever. After a while, our eyes adjust, and the dark doesn't seem so dark any longer. We begin to think we can make our way through without the Light. Until one day, the door is cracked ajar. And the little bit of Light that we allow back into our lives seems brighter than it ever has before. Since He will never force His way in, we have a choice: close the door again, the darkness becoming darker than before; leave the door slightly ajar, experiencing only thin rays of the Light; or swing the door wide open, basking in Light that reveals our good and His glory.
However, the girls had friends over a couple of nights ago for a sleepover. Since I like to sleep, I closed the door to drown out the noise of five loud, giggly girls. The bedroom was pitch black. Of course, with time, my eyes adjusted to the dark, and I could make out shapes in the room. As usual, one of the girls needed to tell me just one more thing, and opened the door to come in. The light immediately exposed the darkness. And it seemed brighter than usual.
As Christians, we walk in the Light. He is a lamp unto our feet and a light unto our path (Ps. 119:105). We depend on the Light. But there are times when, for one reason or another, we choose to close the door to the Light, and walk in darkness. At first, the dark seems darker than ever. After a while, our eyes adjust, and the dark doesn't seem so dark any longer. We begin to think we can make our way through without the Light. Until one day, the door is cracked ajar. And the little bit of Light that we allow back into our lives seems brighter than it ever has before. Since He will never force His way in, we have a choice: close the door again, the darkness becoming darker than before; leave the door slightly ajar, experiencing only thin rays of the Light; or swing the door wide open, basking in Light that reveals our good and His glory.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Safe
I walked along the sidewalk, minding my own business, careful not to intrude on her personal space. She skipped in the grass, swinging ponytail wrapped in a pink bow, unaware I existed. Her parents walked a few feet ahead of me, deep in conversation. They occasionally glanced back to make sure she hadn't strayed too far off the path. I closed in as she slowed, inspecting something on her feet. She glanced up, and saw me...a stranger... a potential threat. She snapped out of her innocent meandering and ran into the safe hands of her parents.
Thou wilt make known to me the path of life... (Psalm 16:11, NASB)
Sometimes I meander and wander off the path. There are absolutely times when I choose to step off the path and go my own way. Those are times of defiance. But sometimes, it's an unintentional wandering, and I don't realize the lurking dangers the enemy has prepared for me. Like the little girl knew where her parents were, I know where my Father is. I know He's watching my steps. And I know that sometimes He allows the meandering and wandering. More importantly, Heallows wants me to run to the safety of His arms when I look up and realize I've put myself in danger. Even more amazing, there are times when He sweeps in like a superhero and rescues before I even have the chance to run to Him!
That's right - he rescues you from hidden traps, shields you from deadly hazards. His huge outstretched arms protect you - under them you're perfectly safe; his arms fend off all harm. (Psalm 91:3-4, The Message)
Thou wilt make known to me the path of life... (Psalm 16:11, NASB)
Sometimes I meander and wander off the path. There are absolutely times when I choose to step off the path and go my own way. Those are times of defiance. But sometimes, it's an unintentional wandering, and I don't realize the lurking dangers the enemy has prepared for me. Like the little girl knew where her parents were, I know where my Father is. I know He's watching my steps. And I know that sometimes He allows the meandering and wandering. More importantly, He
That's right - he rescues you from hidden traps, shields you from deadly hazards. His huge outstretched arms protect you - under them you're perfectly safe; his arms fend off all harm. (Psalm 91:3-4, The Message)
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Small Town Scarlet Letter
She's the talk of the town
Stringy hair, slender figure
She gets around
They know her name
Spread the gossip
Add to her shame
Not nearly enough
The dollars come nightly
Feeding the kids is tough
Husbands pretend not to lust
As wives decide
Their attitudes are just
She is invisibly labeled
Tainted and Toxic
By hypocrites 'round the Table
She pays daily for her sins
And silently wishes for grace
But in her small town, nobody wins
Stringy hair, slender figure
She gets around
They know her name
Spread the gossip
Add to her shame
Not nearly enough
The dollars come nightly
Feeding the kids is tough
Husbands pretend not to lust
As wives decide
Their attitudes are just
She is invisibly labeled
Tainted and Toxic
By hypocrites 'round the Table
She pays daily for her sins
And silently wishes for grace
But in her small town, nobody wins
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
The Price of Talk
Talk to me.
That one sentence strikes fear in my heart like not much else. I can't pinpoint exactly why or when the fear began. But for someone who has spent most of life calculating and measuring words, talk is definitely not cheap. It is extremely pricey.
Talk..real talk...the kind that gets past the surface...is often a one-shot-per-person deal for me. For example, when I first met with my counselor, I was extremely apprehensive about what I expected to be in-depth conversation. When she first said, Tell me why you're here, my heart felt like it might pound out of my chest. I put on my brave face and started talking...fast and deep. I was giving her one shot, and if she didn't dive deep with me, I didn't plan to return. She kept up, engaged by asking thought-provoking questions, and most importantly, didn't judge. She made it safe for me to talk. Of course, that's her job.
But there have been plenty of times when that one shot has proven itself too expensive, and I've learned to cheapen my talk. I've learned that scratching at the surface to reach the layer beneath is often uncomfortable. It's what I desire, yet the very thing that scares me. I need depth like I need air, but like an asthmatic, I often find myself gasping and groping for what should be so easily attainable.
I'm figuring out that this is a broken part of my heart that needs healing. I'm not sure of the exact incident when the damage occurred, but it was definitely in my youngest years. Approximately 30 years later, I'm ready for healing...for freedom from anxiety when I hear Talk to me.
That one sentence strikes fear in my heart like not much else. I can't pinpoint exactly why or when the fear began. But for someone who has spent most of life calculating and measuring words, talk is definitely not cheap. It is extremely pricey.
Talk..real talk...the kind that gets past the surface...is often a one-shot-per-person deal for me. For example, when I first met with my counselor, I was extremely apprehensive about what I expected to be in-depth conversation. When she first said, Tell me why you're here, my heart felt like it might pound out of my chest. I put on my brave face and started talking...fast and deep. I was giving her one shot, and if she didn't dive deep with me, I didn't plan to return. She kept up, engaged by asking thought-provoking questions, and most importantly, didn't judge. She made it safe for me to talk. Of course, that's her job.
But there have been plenty of times when that one shot has proven itself too expensive, and I've learned to cheapen my talk. I've learned that scratching at the surface to reach the layer beneath is often uncomfortable. It's what I desire, yet the very thing that scares me. I need depth like I need air, but like an asthmatic, I often find myself gasping and groping for what should be so easily attainable.
I'm figuring out that this is a broken part of my heart that needs healing. I'm not sure of the exact incident when the damage occurred, but it was definitely in my youngest years. Approximately 30 years later, I'm ready for healing...for freedom from anxiety when I hear Talk to me.
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