Crunch the Numbers

Crunch the Numbers

   You probably won't be surprised to learn that I've never been a big fan of anything math related. I'm not good at it. I don't enjoy it. When trying to work out a multi-step problem my brain usually erases the beginning by the time I get to the end. It's always been this way for me. I have vivid childhood memories of having a silent temper tantrum in my mind when my teacher told us to get out our math books. I lived for silent reading time or when she read aloud to us. Books like "Island of the Blue Dolphins".
     But this morning I'm thinking about numbers. Sometimes they are very, very important. We live by them. We fight over them. I use them when I cook and drive and plan and even when I write. This is an election year. We're going to be hearing about numbers until we're all sick of them.
     There are some things that should not be measured by numbers, though. This morning I came here to check my blog and couldn't help but peek at the little chart that tells me how many "views" I've already had today. Not as many as I had yesterday by this time. How many comments? How many people have checked out my short stories? Any new followers on Twitter?
    This is getting ridiculous.

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    When I checked in this morning and saw that number, it wasn't as high as I wanted (but really, is it there any such thing as "enough" when it comes to numbers?) I felt my face frown in that way it does when I step on the scale and it's the same as it was yesterday. Then I thought the same thought that I do when I step on the scale: I probably shouldn't be checking this number every single day. Why not? Because it's such an unrealistic measure of success. It just doesn't matter.
    Last night I was talking to my husband about someone who on his last day on earth was talking about how much money he had saved. Can you think of anything sadder? If this was my last day on earth I would not be thinking about how many followers I have on twitter, I would not care about how many page views I've had or the number on the scale. I would consider my life a success if I've improved someone else's. Have I been a good wife? Have I been a good mother? Has my life reflected Jesus? If only one person has been moved closer to Christ because of the words on this blog then one is a number that measures total success.
   It's such a hard thing to change in my mind. You get it, right? We always want more. Even as I write these words I hope lots of people will read them. But I'll try. I will try to forget about the numbers. Crunch and crumple them like a piece of paper and throw them away. I don't want numbers to distract me from the purpose and the plan that God has for me. When He measures success, I don't think He looks at the numbers.

 Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, 

according to his power that is at work within us, Ephesians 3:20

Now the Hard Part

Grace in Action

     I've been talking a lot about grace. I claimed that I would choose to be more gracious instead of expecting grace from others. Nice thought isn't it? Well for the past couple of days, God has been giving me lots of opportunists to put grace in my face. It has been very, very, difficult. 

     He is not doing it to be smug. He is not doing it to play games and show me who's boss, even though He IS in charge and has every right to be. Just like everything He does, God is sending me these challenges out of love. He loves me so much He is unwilling to leave me alone in own selfishness. So when I challenged myself to be more like Him, He blessed me in some really uncomfortable ways while still being exceedingly gentle. 

    It's been un-fun, but if you hang with me I'll share a lovely story with you: one of the sweetest examples of grace I've ever heard. Get a hanky ready now. But first suffice it to say I've been tested. Two or three encounters with some of my most irksome pet peeves have given me the chance to practice what I've preached. It's ranged from stupid, subjective annoyances to genuinely intrusive acts of disrespect. But it doesn't matter because I'm still accountable for how I handle it.

    I'll be honest, I haven't behaved as well as I had hoped. While I have responded kindly, or not at all, I've still fumed. I've ranted and vented to my husband about what bothered me. While I did not attack or vent my feelings to the people who presented the annoyances, my heart resisted. Jeremiah 17 talks about how wicked our hearts are "deceitful" and "beyond cure". Thankfully, I don't have to rely on my own strength. If I did I would have no chance at all of success. 

     But God never, ever presents a challenge, or assigns a task, or calls us to obey and then sits back with His arms folded, waiting for us to mess it all up. He's right in it with us. Ahead of us and behind us. It's not by my own strength that I will face my trials with grace, but only with His help. Like I said in an earlier post, it won't be easy. But I won't be alone. 

     So what does grace look like? It's kind of a hard thing to describe. "Unmerited Favor" is the accurate but Sunday Schoolish, somewhat obscure, answer. So here's an example, the story I promised to relay to you. Grace in action.

     My husband came home from work the other day and told me this story that a coworker had told tohim. This man, I'll call him Tom, has a daughter who is divorced. Like in many situations there is hurt and animosity between Tom's daughter and her ex-husband. And unfortunately their children are sometimes the victims of the problems of their parents.  It happened on a weekend visit, the kids were on an outing with their dad. They were excited when he took them to Build-A-Bear, but excitement turned to disappointment when he told them that only one of them would be getting a toy that day. The others would have to wait. The little girl, I'll call her Anne, chose a bear and took it home with her to her dad's house. But when their mother arrived to take them home their dad refused to let Anne take the bear home. It would have to stay at his house and she could only play with it when she was there. There were tears. Anne's mother had to distract so they could  go back home. 

    When Tom and his wife heard about the disappointments of the weekend they stepped in. Their hearts hurt for their grandkids and they wanted to help make up for a little of it if they could. They went on their own trip to Build-A-Bear and this time the other two children got to pick out toys. The little boy I'll call Nick chose a bear just like Anne's. He wanted one just like his big sister's.

   And when he had it all done, he gave it to her. 

   Where an adult had used manipulation and selfishness, a little boy put his sister first. He used grace to turn away wrath when he had every right to take his own turn. Instead he got in the back of the line and let his sister go first. Again. 

     Children should not have to clean up messes that adults make. This story humbles me when I think about how I react when I feel someone has violated my rights. I could shove back, But instead I want to step back. What a difference there is between childishness and childlikeness. Sometimes age has nothing to do with it. Sometimes grace has everything to do with it.

Grace Wins Again

Grace Wins Again

   I've been thinking a lot about something that Jon Acuff said a few weeks ago. He said "Using cynicism to protect yourself from the bravery that having hope requires is the sneakiest form of cowardice there is." Well, Jon was talking about setting goals and keeping goals and doing all the things that need to be done in order to achieve your goals, and he was absolutely right.  

     What really got me, though, was that cynicism is inherently sneaky and, by its very nature, cowardly. It doesn't seem like it, but it is. 

      A good friend of mine pointed this out to me recently when we were discussing a popular YA novel. One of the main characters always "won" the disagreements because she always resorted to cynicism and it's so hard to argue with cynicism. 

    - I can't believe you fell for that.   

    - You really think that's going to work? Please.

    - Yeah, right, because (insert more sarcasm here).

  These are just hypotheticals that I'm making up on the spot, but don't you hear the scornful tone? Can't you just hear the arrogance and superiority? Haven't you felt your heart just deflate when you've spoken optimism and had someone douse the warmth with cold cynicism? Did it make you doubt yourself? Me too.

       Is there a point to this, because it's getting depressing in here.  Yes. I have a point. I think there's something that's even harder to argue with than cynicism. 

Grace.  

Proverbs 15:1 says "A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger." 

      Did you notice that? Turns away wrath. So even if it's already headed for us, a gracious answer can diffuse a conflict. Have you ever been in a situation where someone wants to make a game out of something that shouldn't be a competition?  

      -Is Billy still having a hard time learning to read? My Sally made honor roll. Again. 

      -My boyfriend bought me five dozen roses. Do you have any plans for Valentine's Day this year?

       -I love our new house. I just finished painting all the walk-in closets. Have you found a house in your price range yet?

Gross.

      My nature wants to fight back. To put them in their place. To play- no, to win the game they dragged me into. But I don't have to play along and there's no winner in those types of games anyway. Just pettiness and selfishness.  But grace wins. Grace lets us surrender our pride and put our attackers into God's capable hands. It's a much better place for them to be than behind us at an imaginary finish line. 

    

Earworms and Other Intrusions

       The other day I was puttering around my kitchen making supper (we were having what my family calls "piglets" in case you're wondering) when I realized I had a song stuck in my head. An Earworm.  Pretty sure it had been there for the better part of the day. I often have a song in my head and when it's something like Never Alone by BarlowGirl or Brother by NeedtoBreathe then it's a fun time. My subconscious and I jam out to those tunes as we go about our merry way.
      Alas, in this case it was not Needtobreathe. It was the theme song for a cartoon on PBS. My boys like it. It's a cute show. Not to worry, it wasn't the dreaded Caillou or even the again popular Bob the Builder, but a new one called "Nature Cat".
 It has a theme song.

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 "Nature cat, nature cat, nature CAAaaAAaat." Not something I want playing on repeat in my head.
All
Day
Long
   Luckily I know the cure for an earworm. You simply replace it with another song. Just sing the new song in your head instead of the unwelcome one. The trick is to choose a much, much better song. For example if you're unfortunate enough to be going about your day being mentally serenaded by a boy band, it won't do you any good at all to start singing a Justin Beiber song in your head to take it's place. Unless you like Justin Beiber, then go for it (also talk to a friend who can help you with finding some better music).
    It reminded me of other unwelcome junk that floats into my head- stuff a lot worse than my boys' TV show theme songs. Sometimes the garbage that finds its way into my mind are just thoughts. Thoughts like You're ugly and weird. There are so many things wrong with you it's appalling that you have any friends at all. Not good. Not true. When you and I have trash like that buzzing between our ears it's a big fat lie from the Enemy of our souls.
     But there's some really, really good news. Just like there's a cure for an earworm, there's a cure for the lie. It's the same cure, actually. To get rid of a lie, replace it with a truth.
   The lie says I'm ugly and damaged? God's Word says I am fearfully and wonderfully made. The lie says I'm unlovable? In the 31st chapter of Jeremiah, God said “I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness."
     To get rid of a lie replace it with something else.  Like the earworm cure, you just sing the new song in your head instead of the unwelcome one. Just be sure to replace it with something much, much better.  

Grace in Your Face

Grace in Your Face

     What I'm about to say might rub some people the wrong way, but just bear with me for a minute before you get mad and me and leave the page. Just hear me out, okay? I want to say something about those lists we see all the time on social media. You know the ones I'm talking about. Those lists of things not to say. 

    10 Things NOT to Say to Chess Players.

    6 Things NOT to Say to Soccer Moms. 

    35 Things People Who Like Bananas Are Tired of Hearing. 

    I'm not saying all of them are wrong, because I get it. I do. See, for those of you who've never met me in person, I'll tell you something about myself: I'm not very tall. At all.  I don't mind the way I am. I can curl up comfortably in any chair. I have very small feet and sometimes can wear really cute shoes because girls' size 3 will fit me. I always have leg room in a car, even in the backseat. I can nap on the love seat in my living room, no problem. So there are some perks. What's more, God made me this way on purpose. I like myself the way I am.  Except for not being able to reach things and sometimes having a hard time finding clothes that fit properly, it's not a big deal,
     But here's the thing I really don't like about it at all. I don't like being laughed at. Though I am fully aware of my height, people feel the need to remind me of it constantly. Ironically, my friends are sometimes the worst ones for it. They mean well. They're my friends so they mean it in a "nice" way. They don't mean to hurt me. But they're saying the same stuff as the people who do mean to hurt me. The underlying message is the same: The way you are is not okay. If it were okay we wouldn't be laughing at you. 

    So it still hurts a little. Even if they don't mean it to.

    I'm not saying this to rant. This isn't a whine-fest, I promise. These are my credentials for what I'm about to say next. So you know that I meant what I said before. I get it. I get where they're coming from.

    The problem with those "what not to say" lists isn't that they don't have a point (okay, some of them are a little extreme) but that they're going about it the wrong way. They just don't work. No one will ever educate the whole word and never have to hear those things again. 

     I promise you that short people know they're short. They don't need you to tell them. They don't like it when you ask how tall they are. They don't like being compared to children or told that they're even shorter than your short cousin. But I could post those statements on social media every day of my life and still people will make cracks about my height. "Amie! Can you even see over your steering wheel? How do you drive? HAHAHA!" I know that people will always say those things to me.

    So here's what I'm getting at: What are those lists really asking for? Grace. Even the dumb ones that expect us to be mind readers and know just by looking at someone what their preferences are. They just want grace. What they're really asking is for everyone to be mindful of their feelings. The problem is, it just doesn't work that way. We can't rearrange the world according to our own comfort. People are careless and sometimes cruel. 

     There's no point in expecting the world to be gracious. It will never happen as long as we live under the Curse. Grace can still protect us from unexpected, painful barbs, but instead of wishing that people would filter what they say through grace, we have to filter what we hear.We can choose to pull grace even closer. We can stuff our ears with it. It won't be easy. But when a good friend laughs because I stand on something and now we're the same height, I'll remember that my pain is not their goal. Come to think of it, if it is their goal to hurt me, grace can protect my heart even then if I simply forgive them.
      You can't put grace into the mouths of others. You can put grace into your own ears. See what I'm saying?  Grace in your face. And yes, I get that it's a little ironic because I'm saying what we should and shouldn't do. So take my advice or leave it. Either way, it's okay, because that's my whole point. The only person I can be truly responsible for is me. Another person's comments don't define me. Not their insults and not their complements. So I will choose not to let it go to my head. Not to let it hurt my heart. At least I'll try. I can be impervious, with the help of Jesus, because of grace. If not the grace in someone else's heart, then the grace in mine. 

     

Pastor Holland's Opus

Pastor Holland’s Opus

        Two Octobers ago my church, the church I have attended since babyhood celebrated its 130th birthday. We made a really big deal out of it. One Sunday we dressed up in “old timey” clothes and took sepia-toned pictures. There was a gigantic carry-in and lots of people came back to visit. Former pastors, missionaries and lots of friends. It was glorious. 

me in "old timey" garb

I am profoundly grateful for my church family on ordinary days, but on that day I was overcome with just how much my life has been impacted by the people who worship at “the church on the curve”.
       It made me think of that Richard Dreyfus movie- Mr. Holland’s Opus. Remember the scene at the end when dozens of his former students come back to play the great work he had been composing for most of his life? It was sort of like that. Only in reverse. I was not sitting there looking over my own accomplishments. Not my great work, but God’s work in me. I was the opus (just like we all are). 
       Pastor Boardman was there with his family. Steve is the first pastor I remember. He baptized me when I was eleven years old. His eldest is one of my dearest friends in all the world. I have vivid childhood memories of Pastor Boardman joyously leading Bible School songs like “Only a Boy Named David”. 
       Pastor Holland was there. (Yep, that’s right we had our own Hollands) Brian was my youth pastor when I was a teen. I can hear him now, as I type these words, giving the advice I know impart to my young boys, “Remember who you are, and whose you are.” 
      There were my Sunday School teachers and youth leaders and people who sent me cards and came to my plays and read my stories. We've shared meals and laughed together. They patched me up when my heart got broken, and were there when I needed advice. They have composed notes in the great work that God is doing in me. Each of us is His great work. His opus. He has used my church family to recreate me in His own image. 
       I met my husband in Sunday School. Pastor Van Cise (the current pastor) preformed our wedding. Pastor Paul also dedicated both of our sons. 
      And the legacy continues. Now as my children are being written, they are orchestrated by God’s hand, and He still uses the wonderful people in our church family to bless and teach and comfort and lead. What a precious, wondrous gift. 
      I pray that I am not only a recipient of this astounding gift, but I, too, want to be an instrument. I want my life to compose notes in other great works. What a beautiful symphony it must make when we love one another. 

Kindergarten Cool

Kindergarten Cool

Apparently one skeleton on your shirt isn't enough. You have to be simply covered in them. I didn't know this until I read this important observation on facebook. A friend of mine was relaying her confusion about the apparent rules of kindergarten coolness. Her little boy had come home from school that day having been found wanting. He didn't have enough skeletons on his shirt and, unfortunately, that day it was the coolness meter. Poor little guy. I happen to know for a fact that this kid is great and the mother in me wanted to march into his classroom the next day and inform those miniature social snobs that nobody's cool in kindergarten. They're six-year-olds for crying out loud.
It did get me thinking about adults and their standards for acceptability. Skeletons seemed laughably silly to me, but what about us? Adults do it, too, and our criteria doesn't make a lot more sense. I have noticed that even with Christians a touch of cynicism seems to be required to keep from being a bore. Being edgy enough to use a cuss word now and then means you're not a total dork who doesn't understand how to function in society. Of course there are always money and possessions to let everyone know we are to be envied. Beauty, too. Everyone knows the best looking people are a little better. 
Such foolishness. I shook my head when I read about my friend's son and his skeleton deficiency, but I wonder if God sees it any differently if I'm afraid that someone will think less of me because of my lack of smartphone or my never manicured nails. I'll bet He shakes His head, too, when we think that our cars or houses or intimidating intelligence give us status. Look what He told Samuel as he looked over Jesse's sons to find the new king. Surely it would be the tall good-looking guy, right? “But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7
I mean this to encourage you, because there will always be someone with more skeletons on their shirt than you have on yours. But it doesn't matter at all. Only one thing is important and we can choose what is better.