It's Not About the Nail

It Really Isn’t About the Nail. Really

      There's a rather satiric video floating around the internet of a couple having a conversation. The woman has a nail sticking out of her forehead. Have you seen it? She's telling her husband how the nail makes her feel and he tries tentatively suggesting that she remove it. She immediately shuts him down. She doesn't want him to tell her what to do, she just wants him to listen to her talk about her feelings. To be honest, when I saw this it really rubbed me the wrong way. I was actually a little surprised that a woman was willing to make such a video. If her solution were really that obvious she would know what to do to solve her problem. No offense, guys, really. I'm not trying to make a statement about men vs women. I want to say something about compassion.
Back when I saw the video I'd been reading Kay Warren's book about joy. One chapter was about nurturing joy in others. She pointed out that we feel frustrated when we don't feel heard. Have you ever tried to tell someone about a problem and they minimized the issue instead of acknowledging how you feel about it? I'm not saying people should be able to whine and complain all the time, I just think that we should be empathetic before offering a lot of “well, if you would just...” instructions and then walking away.
The main reason I think that this is true is because it's what Jesus did. Here's just one example: Jesus knew Lazarus was going to die. He waited until the man was already gone before He made His way over to Bethany where Lazarus had lived with his sisters and  found the family grieving. They asked him why He hadn't come sooner. They cried. He cried. Jesus didn't tell them to calm down. That He had a plan all along, or why didn't they just trust Him in the first place. He knew that He was going to restore Lazarus to them, but before He did, he acknowledged their sadness and took it onto Himself as well. Why wait? Why not just jump in and fix it? Why would He have done such a thing as weep with them unless it really mattered? Jesus didn't lecture or scold. He validated their pain, even though He knew He was about to heal it.

Rhinestone Legacy

Rhinestone Legacy

I think I was eleven or twelve. My mom and I went out to eat at The Galley. Those were the good old days when we had one close by. We were greeted by the adorable hostess, Pat and her warm, enthusiastic smile. I don't know if she was naturally super short, like me, or if she was one of those old ladies that sort of shrunk with age. It didn't matter, because she was as sweet a person you would ever want to meet and bursting with personality. 
I think the thing that stood out to me most about Pat was the pin on her lapel. She was one of those ladies who liked lots of jewelry, but there was one piece that drew my eye. It was a rather large rhinestone thing that spelled out a word in careful cursive. Jesus. How simple. How bold. This dear woman proudly wore her Savior's name right there on her shoulder for everyone to see. I admired her gentle testimony. I wanted her to know. “I like your pin” I told her. She smiled. I think she said something grandmotherly, “thank you, honey,” and she seated us so we could enjoy our meal. 
We didn't eat out often, but eventually we came around again. Mom and me and The Galley. Again Pat was there to bless and smile at us. Again she wore her Jesus pin. Again I told her I liked it, but this time she didn't thank me. Pat remembered me and asked me if I were “that little girl that liked her pin before.” I told her, yes, that was me, and she did something amazing. Pat took the pin off of her shirt and held it out to me. I hadn't noticed, but this pin was smaller than the one she had worn before. It was for me. She had bought another one and worn it waiting for me to come back. I was so touched. What a lovely thing to do.
And yes, I still have my pin. I took it out to look at it when I was reminded of this gift last week. My lovely, quirky, friend doesn't need her pin anymore because now she has the Real Thing. I didn't get to attend her funeral, but I was told that she was laid to rest with her Jesus pin on her lapel. I really didn't know her well at all, but it doesn't matter. I am a small part of her legacy. Pat is a beautiful reminder that our witness for Christ doesn't have to be something loud or extreme. For me her legacy is a warm hug, a sweet smile and a rhinestone pin. I love you, Pat. Not even in my wildest imagination can I picture your reward.

Unexpected Joy

Unexpected Joy

        It was a May Term class. Models of Youth Ministry, I think it was called. There would be a small group of us, five guys and three girls, traveling around together with our professor and learning about different youth ministries. It sounded like fun and I was looking forward to it.Until our very first meeting, that is. I remember sitting there at a table in silence as the eight of us just sort of stared around the room. No one talking or joking or asking about majors or hometowns. Nope, we were just sitting there as if we were trying to see who could be the most boring.
 Ugh. 
        I am not a shy person. I like people, I like conversations and connections. I remember thinking that this was going to be the worst class ever. A month-long awkward silence stuck in a van with people who didn't want to know me. 
I was SO wrong.We had a wonderful time. It turned out to be one of my favorite classes ever. Now, when I think back on that class I smile. We had inside jokes and nicknames (for example, two of the guys called each other “Seth” and I'm still not sure anyone knows why) we found out about each other's lives and families. It was amazing. I would be thrilled to see those people today. And here I thought it was going to be a study in how not to have fun.
I was reminded of this special time in my life as I was reading Kay Warren's book about joy. She was talking about Jesus and his disciples and offered a perspective that we don't often think about: They were joyful. They had fun together. The Bible doesn't tell us that they had inside jokes or nicknames, but I wouldn't be surprised if they did. Their ministry wasn't only about duty. These men were friends. I know when I read the gospels I sort of imagine Jesus and the twelve saying things like, “Okay, gentlemen, this is the part where we're supposed to go to Samaria, because this is when Jesus talks to that woman at the well. We'll go get some food, like it says we're supposed to, and meet Jesus back at the well at one. Okay? Let's go.” 
Of course it wasn't like that, but I can't be the only one who has overlooked this idea. I'm not trying to make the Bible say something it doesn't. I was encouraged by this perspective- thinking about the realness of Jesus. I assumed that my class was going to be dull and unfriendly, but it was a joy. I make assumptions when I read about Jesus, too. What a joy to think that He was and is not only Lord, but someone who laughs and enjoys. Jesus isn't just the One we go to with our hurts, but He wants to share in our happiness, too. What a joyous thing to think about. 

How Does He Love Us?

 

How does He love us? Let Him count the ways. 

In my Sunday School class we've been learning about the overwhelming evidence of the accuracy of the Bible. It's been fascinating. Did you know that DNA is a lot like computer code? It's complicated and specific, and no way, no how, assembled by chance. There's also archaeology. Scads of evidence corroborates the accounts of the Bible. Amino acids and ancient pottery- it all reinforces what we already know. I really enjoy it, but it frustrates me, too, because this study material wouldn't exist if it weren't for skeptics, but most skeptics aren't going to listen anyway. So what’s the point? Many people want to be their own authority and have rewritten the truth to make that a possibility. 
For a long time I thought that my frustration was a flaw. I was just being narrow and overly sensitive. 
Until I decided to try something I had read about: I asked God to tell me things He loves about me.
That's right. 
I asked God what he loves about me. 
I waited until I had a rare quiet moment to myself and I asked Him. He told me other things, too, but I was surprised when He brought up the topic I just mentioned. My impatience with refusals to acknowledge Him? My discomfort with the fact that we have to arm ourselves with extra-biblical information because of the willful ignorance of others? He loves that about me. Loves it. I thought it was a defect, but He loves it. 
And here is my point: We live in an upside-down world.We're bombarded with lies every day and it changes the way we see things. God sees things differently. 
I encourage you to ask Him to open your eyes to the lies you're believing about yourself. Really listen. Take a quiet moment and ask Him to tell you what He loves about you and get ready to be overwhelmed because you are profoundly loved, His list is long, and He may say something that surprises you. 

Wrecking and Building

Wrecking and Building

One morning a dear friend of mine made an observation on facebook. It was an observation about facebook, actually. More specifically about how people react to 
different types of posts.She was discouraged by how posts that are negative and complaining seem to get more attention and more “likes” to than the positive, more upbeat ideas. Her  statement resonated with several people, including me.
There are many theories about why the negative could tend to be celebrated while the  positive is frequently snubbed, but I think this is a big one:It's much much easier to destroy than it is to build. 
Think about it. Even in amoral contexts this is true. A house of cards is difficult to set up but the slightest touch will topple it.It takes a lot more effort to prepare Thanksgiving dinner  than it does to eat it.It takes time, planning, skill, etc, but to consume the meal, all you have to  do is show up. Toddlers do it.And speaking of toddlers, it takes some time to fold the  laundry, but my boys could strew it around the living room in seconds. But what  about things that matter?How much harder is it to infuse another person with confidence than it is to belittle them?How much more difficult to cheer someone who is suffering than to criticize someone who is flourishing? I know from personal experience that it's difficult to write a story, but easy to  pick apart one I don't like.
The challenge is to choose what's best. To do what's right. I think that people tear down  because it makes them feel powerful.For example, bullies think that if they diminish  someone else it makes them more important.That is the cowardly way.The better way is  described in Proverbs 15:13 “A happy heart makes the face cheerful, but heartache crushes  the spirit.”I don't think it's as easy as it sounds, but the right thing rarely is. 

Fear Not

Fear Not

I can't believe January is almost over. Time does seem to be speeding by, but still we're at the start of a new year. New beginnings, new promises, new goals: that's January. This year I've set a goal, too. Typing these words is just a small part of that. If you're reading this then you probably already know that I'm a writer. I've published one book so far and I am working on the second. My first book, The Valley Without Her, (you can find it here) was fun and easy to write. 
The, as yet untitled, book I'm working on now is not easy and not really much fun to write. But I'm done with whining and worrying and one of my main goals for this year is to finish my book. It will have a title and everything!
So a few weeks ago I wrote this post on my author page on facebook and I'm sharing it here. It's some accountability for me, yes, but maybe you're holding on to your security blanket, too and it will help you to know there's someone else out there who's scared to try.

 Last week my pastor spoke about facing our fears in 2016. He pointed out how Linus dropped his security blanket while quoting Luke 2 right at the moment he said "fear not". I was convicted. So I'll put down the blanket: I'm going to finish my story. I keep saying that I'm not as confident in this one. It's too short. People might hate it. People say they're going to read it but they never do and that's disappointing. These are all lame excuses that don't excuse me from anything. I don't want to be like the wicked servant Jesus talked about in His parable in the 18th chapter of Matthew. I don't want to bury my gift, even if it's small. Not for my readers, not for myself, but for Him I will face my fears and write the story.