The Notable Blogger

Posts Tagged ‘Christian Living’

There is a little voice inside of me that has been a nagging beast to live with, a real fun-sponge, sucking all the joy out of life. It’s the “not-enough” voice.

You’re not good enough.

You’re not smart enough.

You’re not pretty enough.

Your children are not trained well enough.

Your house is not clean enough.

You’re not loving enough.

Your homeschool is not productive enough.

Your writing is not earning enough.

Your habits are not consistent enough.

Your character is not solid enough.

Your cooking is not healthy enough. (And have you even tasted it?)

Your little light is not bright enough.

You’re not friendly enough.

You’re not improving fast enough.

You’re not gentle enough.

You’re not strong enough.

You’re not perfect enough.

Perhaps. Perhaps. In fact, all of these not-enoughs are painfully true at one time or another. But to you, my little voice, I say this.

Christ died for me. He loves me . . . enough.

Not the Hallmark kind of love, which isn’t enough, but the “you can’t imagine the hell I’d go through for you” kind of love. The love that takes all my not-enoughs and sends them on a long walk off a short pier.

I will continue to struggle on in this life, making mistakes, falling short, taking too many do-overs, disappointing myself, disappointing those I love most, disappointing people I don’t even know but who are just looking for someone to get down on, never attaining close to “enough” in anything.

I will never be enough. Period. But He is.

If He forgives my not-enoughs, maybe, just maybe I can too.

So, little voice, little buddy, little pal, little scourge of my existence, you can just take your self-deprecating self-centered not-enoughs and shove ‘em back down your throat, and, while you’re at it, you can take that long walk off that short pier, ’cause I’m listening to another Voice now.

My grace is sufficient for you,
for my power is made perfect in weakness.

~2 Corinthians 12:9

Any concern too small to be turned into a prayer
is too small to be made into a burden.

~Corrie Ten Boom

I don’t often like to read sad stories. If I find myself perusing my shelves looking for a page-turner, I generally skip over anything that will make me sad. Doesn’t life itself offer enough opportunities to cry without intentionally adding more?

So I pass on Anna Sewell, Francine Rivers, John Steinbeck, yes, even E.B. White. Charlotte, after all, does die, and Wilbur never again finds quite as dear a friend as his octopod companion.

It was a light, cheerful read I sought when, in my childhood bedroom for a recent visit back home, I searched the bookshelves, my eyes caressing each treasure, greeting each old friend, looking for a companion. I surprised even myself when I pulled out Corrie ten Boom’s The Hiding Place. I had read the book before and knew the story, the heartbreak, the death, the pain, the loneliness. I read it anyway.

And I will read it again.

There are many stories about the Holocaust, but this one is different. This one is about forgiveness, gratitude, and Home. This one is about the life of a Christian, a very real Christian–not a saint–learning very real lessons.

It is more than just a history book. It is as relevant to our lives today as it was when Corrie ten Boom first penned it, including everything from the blind denial of the political state of the day to the necessity of thanking God for all things as part of His providence, however unwelcome, including fleas.

Corrie ten Boom’s message and experiences are valuable lessons worthy of your time. Read it, reread it, and praise God for the fleas in your life.

Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow;
it empties today of its strength.

~Corrie Ten Boom

The desert can be a beautiful place. Can be. Unfortunately for my beauty-thirsty eyes, our little corner of it is not.

Our desert valley was once an agricultural center. Crops were grown, soil was depleted, our valley was left in dry desolation. Most areas can recover from unwise land use. The desert cannot.

Our valley is u-g-l-y, ugly…if you don’t look up.

We are surrounded by mountains. When I say surrounded, I mean that to leave our valley on one side, we have to climb several hundred feet through a mountain pass. To leave on the lower end, we skirt the mountains.

Surrounded.

They are pretty all year, but in the winter, they are beautiful. Ah, what a paltry description.

In the winter the mountains are awe-inspiring!

Truly breath-taking.

Beyond words.

Sometimes, in our valley, God covers the mountains, and all we can see is the ugliness that is our barren, over-worked desert. Clouds hang low, covering the splendor that we westerners love.

But then he reveals his purpose. The clouds part.

And God’s work is displayed anew.

Our beautiful mountains are made even more inspiring with their crowning snow-capped glory, God’s work behind the clouds.

Such is the walk of life. When God covers the mountains of life and all we can see is the tired, barren, over-worked desert, the beauty is not gone. It’s just hidden while God is at work. The clouds will be parted. The crowning splendor will be revealed. Maybe not today. Maybe not soon. Maybe not while we still have the power of breath. But in His time, in His way, in His eternity and through Christ, we will see the mountains of God behind the clouds.

Get on your knees and look up.

You absolutely must click on this photo.  You won’t receive three wishes or have your wildest dreams realized, but you will certainly gain a greater appreciation for the beauties of Creation and the power of an Almighty God.  Be honest: you probably would have blown those three wishes anyway.

Voice of the Martyrs estimates that 176,000 Christians passed into Christ’s arms in the past year through martyrdom.

Read that again.

Approximately 176,000 people like you, like my man, like my children, like my grandparents, mother, brothers, were tortured, imprisoned, murdered.

Not in the Dark Ages. Not in a century gone by.

Last year!

Why?

What was their crime?

They trusted Christ as their Savior.

When told to renounce their faith, to recant as it were, they did not.

Here I stand. I can do no other.

I wonder…

…were I so squeezed, what would I do?

My faith, my conviction, my heart tells me I would stand tall for my Lord, for not just the name but the person, the deity, the saving reality that is Christ.

I know the truth, that the only people who need fear are those who walk without Christ.

Yet, am I audacious enough to think that I could stand strong?

The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

And then I remember.

It is His strength, not mine, that carries me safely to His arms.

Run the race and trust Him to catch you at the finish line.

Lord, hold us up. Teach us to entwine our lives so fully in You that when we are squeezed–and we will be squeezed–our lives are a reflection of your love. Strengthen us with your divine strength. Remind us, as you do, that the powers of Satan, the world, even death are nothing next to you. Uphold those who are persecuted in your name, and teach them and us patient endurance. Show us your will.

Gentle reader, you must know that the estimated number of Christians persecuted each year is growing in unbelievable numbers. Please, please pray, and teach your children to pray. This is a reality hard to imagine in our modern world, especially in the Americas, but it knocks, no, pounds at our door as well. Pray, pray, stand firm, and pray.

Gleaning insight from Howard E. Butt, Jr.  this morning, I was surprised to read something I had failed to notice before…ever.  I was so surprised that I had missed this analogy, that I looked it up to verify that it even existed.

II Corinthians 3:3 …you are a letter from Christ….

Other analogies were secure in my mind–yeast, salt of the earth, even this little light of mine–hide it under a bushel? NO!

How could the letter from Christ escape me? Why, I’m a letter person. I’m a word person. This analogy is so…me!  And it is perfect.

In an age where a thought is only half formulated before being launched across the cyber-universe, there is no comparison to reading words that someone painstakingly penned for your eyes only. There is nothing like the thrill of unearthing a hand-addressed envelope in the mailbox, the feel of a piece of stationery in the fingers, the few minutes of intimate connection as your own world fades and the words of a loved one far away etch themselves onto your heart. It is, dare I say it, a treasure.

And we are such treasures.

You are a letter from Christ. I am a letter from Christ.

Read me world!

Wait!

Read me?

What does my letter say?

Does it say patient, loving mother, emulating forgiveness, effusing godly joy, radiating Christ’s grace? Or does it say haggard, distracted master of chaos, bitter, uncertain, lost?

Does it say I spend my time well, training my children, serving my husband, encouraging God’s family, loving the lost. Or does it spell out that my time, my priorities, are elsewhere?

Does it tell of a life devoted to Him, or does it tell of a life devoted to self with Him in the background?

Does it shout forgiven? Or does it shout better-than-thou?

Does it read grace? Or does it read making my own way?

I know what my letter could say, if Christ had not written it. I know it would be filled with failure, regrets, bad choices. I know it would tell of bitterness, resentment, lack of forgiveness, lack of trust. I know the positives would be buried beneath the rubble of broken promises, broken dreams, broken relationships.

But Christ wrote my letter, and it is written in blood…

His blood.

It says only one word:

Forgiven.

I can walk out into the world, a world that knows my faults, knows my failures, witnesses them anew, and I can hold up my letter, my letter from Christ.

But with my letter comes responsibility. I must live for the Author of my letter. If my letter is a recommendation, then everything I say or do will reflect on the Recommender. If I shout at my children, dress for the world, disprespect my husband, and bow at the feet of bartenders, what am I saying about the Author?  If I worship Favre over faith, image over others, self over sacrifice, how will my letter stand out?  Who will want to read about how Christ eliminated my filth if they see me reveling in that same filth? 

The letter is worthy.  If I live the life of the gratefully forgiven, the world will see my letter and know it is the genuine thing.  I must remember who has written my letter.  I must tell my story, share my joy, live the love, be the letter.

In a world of email, texting, and cyber-scribing, I hold my letter high.  I am a letter from Christ.

Linked up to Walk with Him Wednesdays at Holy Experience.

  

 

This is the Year of Joy.

No, as my shell-shocked husband asked, we are not expecting baby girl number six named Joy (and if we were, she may well be a he and his name would not be Joy). Rather, my year has a name and that name is Joy. 

This is the year of true, unshifting, soul-waking, refreshing, God-given Joy. 

Instead of focusing on resolutions, on what I am going to make of this year, I am directing my attention toward what my soul most needs, what God has offered and what I too often refuse to accept, and that, I am ashamed to admit, is Joy. 

What is Joy? 

Joy is not happiness! That truth stings the ears and is worth repeating. Joy is not the same as happiness. 

When God gifts me with Christian Joy, it does not mean I will carry with me a slapstick smile and a quick laugh. Happiness is a fleeting, temporal, situational emotion, often based on getting what I want. Joy reaches far beyond happiness. Joy flows deep. Joy is based on Him: what He wants me to have (good or bad in my eyes), on being the person He wants me to be (a servant), on doing what He wants me to do (serve), and mostly, on His salvation. Joy is based on His gifts and on Him. It has little, if anything, to do with me. 

So, what is Joy? 

Joy is absence. The absence of 

fear
anxiety
discontent
unnecessary stress
selfishness
bitterness
envy 

It is not the absence of trouble, sorrow, or pain. 

Joy is presence. The presence of 

trust
forgiveness
child-like faith
a servant’s heart
contentment
gratitude
love
God 

…in all things. 

How can I speak of Joy when troubles surround us? Because Joy is not situational. 

Joy is a gift only God can give. It requires focus, not on a superhuman effort to remain cheerful in all situations, but a focus on Him, on the Big Picture, and the Big Picture is His plan for His Kingdom and His plan for my life. (Your Big Picture isn’t so much about His plan for my life as it is about His plan for your life, ‘lest you think you need to do a crash course study of me.) Notice I did not say my plan for my life in His Kindgom. It’s His plan. 

The sooner I stop pursuing happiness and start letting His Joy take root in me, the sooner Joy will sprout and grow and radiate out, an infectious condition that transforms the soul, the mind, the family, the life. 

To plant this seed I must first make room. 

So long fear; we have too long been bedfellows, and you have proven yourself a false friend. I spent many hours with you, and none to my benefit. Goodbye anxiety! (Reasonable caution and responsible concern, you may stay.) Unnecessary stress, you are a thing of the past, like a bad picture in a high school yearbook. Selfishness, bitterness, envy, pack your bags and get o-u-t, and take your cousin, self-pity, with you. You waste my time, and my time is too precious to be spent on you! Discontent…ah, sweet discontent, I muster my strength and tell you that you are not welcome here. My heart has something sweeter than your bitter gall to sip, so be gone! Be gone! 

I plant the seed. 

I plant the seed of gratitude for all God’s gifts–for the troubles, the pains, the disappointments, the blessings, the triumphs, the happiness. I plant the seed of trust, knowing the past is forgiven, the future is in His hands, and my life at this moment, where I am right now, is resting on and bolstered by Him. I plant the seed of child-like faith, not only for eternal life through Christ, not only for help on this earth, but faith in the knowledge that along whatever darkly wooded, ominous path He leads me, I walk hand-in-hand with my Father. I plant the seed of a servant’s heart, quietly, humbly serving in His name, however small the ripple of my labor. I plant the seed of contentment…in all things, in all places, in all circumstances, nurturing this tender, struggling sprout. I plant the seed of love–not judgement, not envy, not disdain, not impatience, but true sacrificial, time-giving, hand-holding, ear-bending, eye-meeting, heart-touching love. I dig deep, deeper, I water heavily, and I plant the seed of forgiveness, receiving His gift of permission to forget, to let go, to let the Blood do its work. 

When contentment, gratitude, forgiveness, trust and love fill the soul, there is room for nothing less worthy. 

This is my year! My Year of Joy! 

Join me. 

Thank you, Ann, for the courage to birth this Year of Joy.  May your Year of Yes be a blessing. 

I have been feeling far from home. A lot has occured among my extended family in the past two years. Within our growing group there have been three blessed births (including our own little Boo), one unexpected death, a not-so-unexpected but rather sudden wedding, a car accident, injuries and recoveries, graduations, financial troubles and successes, and life’s ceaseless circle of holidays, gatherings, and celebrations, Thanksgiving being my favorite. I would like to be able to share the joys, help with the needs, and hold a hand when a hand needs holding, but I can do so only from a distance. I am too far from the hands-on cherishing of extended family. (Somebody call the WHAAAAmbulance.)

Wishing does little, and self-pity even less. I am blessed. I am blessed to have an extended family that loves us and prays for our well-being and faithfulness. (If this is a stretch and they merely tolerate us, then I shall blissfully remain in my delusional world.) I am blessed to have a quiet and peaceful (loud and boisterous, actually) celebration here with my own dear ones, something I adore! I am blessed that this year I do not have to share my allotment of Stephen’s savory gravy–a precious commodity already stretched too thin among the eight of us, never mind leftovers. I am blessed to live here in the desert where I never wanted to be and where God is teaching me contentment.

I remember at Thanksgiving that God has us in our desert for a reason, for His season, and my duty is to be grateful and serve Him here. It is a day and a life meant for gratefulness, not self-pity, and shame on me for my distraction and my selfishness. Others have moved far from family and off their land, and they did not lose themselves in a mire of pity–the Pilgrims come to mind.

Ah, the Pilgrims. I love the week or two leading up to Thanksgiving. We have been enjoying an in-depth study of the Pilgrims this year, thanks to numerous free resources that homeschoolers love to share, as well as through Barbara Rainey’s treasure given to us by a dear friend. It is a parent’s delight (and sometimes dismay) to note what children take from a lesson. My children are enthralled with the fact that Miles Standish, a grown man, actually named his sword and spoke to it as if it were a friend. They can’t get over it–a grown man after all. They wonder if he introduced his sword to people he met: “Hi, I’m Miles Standish and this is Gideon. He will understand if you don’t wish to shake his hand.”

I think the point that struck them and me most–as it always does–is the Pilgrim’s open and genuine trust in and gratitude toward God no matter what, not acknowldging Him as a distant spirit, but binding their lives to Him as a just and caring Savior. The minute details of God’s providence during their journey from Scrooby to Leiden to Cape Cod and through those first years is remarkable and so often overlooked in today’s self-absorbed (guilty!) Thanksgiving particpants. The pilgrims gave God full credit for their successes and turned all matters of necessity to Him in prayer, with amazing success. In a world so willing to lay down principles and overturn beliefs, it is refreshing to remember the Pilgrims and the sacrifices they made–enormous sacrifices we pampered Americans cannot fathom–for faith, family, and Godly principles. It reveals my pity-party for what it is–trivial and sinful.

However blessed I am to have my dear husband and precious children to spend this day with, I am even more blessed that the God who brought the Pilgrims to a world where they could worship freely is the same God who guides my little family, who rules our lives with His sovereign will, and for whom we too must and will sacrifice with willing and grateful hearts.

Enjoy your day, your family and friends, the food, and the providence of a God who supplies all things. As for me, the pity party has ended, and I count my many thanks.

…a warm fire on a chilly Thanksgiving morning

…a tousle-haired boy who smiles when he sees me

…children with words spilling over

…full pantries and freezers and two pies made by two small girls

…that dog

…a man with strong arms who roasts an amazing (and heavy) turkey

…those Americans who are not blind to the decay of a once great and God-fearing country

…those who work the earth and love it and give a bit of it up to all of us

…a few minutes of silence to listen to Him

…this day, this desert, this duty–this place and time and season of service

A blessed Thanksgiving to all! May you truly live in gratefulness, as this is one of His means of gifting you with joy.