Make Room for the Journey

During the month of July, my husband took a sabbatical from his work at church so we could recalibrate, see where the Lord was leading, and spend some much-needed time together as a family. Each Sunday we chose a different church in the area to visit, driving sometimes as much as a half hour away, while I held his hand with the windows down, listening to the kids belt out their best rendition of "Uptown Funk" in the back seat. Being just another face in the crowd was a blessing, and if the kids went willingly to class and were well-behaved, we went out to lunch afterwards.

Eating at a restaurant is a rare treat, as we have a family of seven on a modest income. It's easily a $50+ event, and also, we have five kids.... Enough said, right? We have a hard enough time remaining seated and having any semblance of manners within the confines of our own home, let alone in the outside world. 

But we decided to live on the wild side and attempt to go out to lunch without behaving like a herd of elephants. And you know what?? They did really well, especially the boys. They sat in their chairs, ate their food, and used inside voices like normal human beings. 

Everyone was finally done eating, and it was becoming obvious that the troops weren't going to hold it together much longer. We were finishing up potty breaks and getting the check in an effort to head home before, you know, the apocalypse happened right before our very eyes. The littlest one, who had already gone to the bathroom, decided she needed to go again just before we left, so I took her while my husband paid and went with the rest of the kids to the car.

As soon as we joined them outside, I could tell something happened. He proceeded to tell me that after I walked away, the kids broke out into a loud rendition of "boots and pants and boots and pants," complete with clapping and stomping, all the way out to the car. The woman in the booth next to us, who had just sat down with her husband and two children, kindly informed him that she teaches her children to obey when they're in a restaurant, and he needed to control his. 

To his credit, he didn't say anything and walked away on the heel of the beatbox train, but her snide, off-hand comment clawed at the ankle of my subconscious the rest of the day.

If only we could all be such perfect parents, is what I really wanted to go back and say. And yes, I'm sure they were loud in the moment, which, yes, isn't appropriate, but they were leaving. What really got me, though, was that she just sat down and judged our entire stay from a snippet. 

What she didn't see was that we're terrified of taking our children to a restaurant for that very reason--for fear they will be so out of control that we would have to uproot everyone mid-meal and flee the scene, shamed and embarrassed. Consequently, we haven't done it in years.

What she didn't see was how well they behaved for the first 97% of our stay. How they ordered for themselves and told the waitress thank you, for everything. How they colored on their menus and played tic-tac-toe with daddy. How they shared fries and took care of each other.

What she didn't see, regardless of the exit strategy, was that for them? They did really well. 

What she didn't see was how long it's taken us to get to this place. A road wrought with tears and embarrassment, missed opportunities, anger, and regrets. But today? Today they did really well.

That's the thing about judging: it takes a small snapshot in time and attempts to enlarge it to form the big picture, but the resulting image is always out of focus. It's inaccurate and blurry, lacking the fine detail necessary to see clearly and truly understand.

The fact is, we don't know where people have been, and only God knows where they're going. So, beloved, we must make room for the journey. We must allow people to be perfectly imperfect, because God only knows that maybe the imperfect is just a little less so than yesterday.

We must be patient with people as they wrestle, as they struggle to surrender, because a vice surrendered out of pressure to conform is still tethered to the heart. And it's human nature to pick it back up again, eventually. It's only when a person is given the sacred space to wrestle it out with God, to pursue other avenues and come up empty-handed, to see the depth of their own sin, that they can fully and with a clear conscience lay a struggle down with a joyful and repentant heart. 

So today? Judge not, friends. Make room for the journey of others, and your own, as you walk in humility.

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!

Walking in Humility: Know What You Don't Know

I had planned on writing further about Luke 5 today, but this verse struck a chord in my heart.

Don’t brashly announce what you’re going to do tomorrow; you don’t know the first thing about tomorrow. {Proverbs 27:1}

There are so many pearls of wisdom about humility in the book of Proverbs that one could write an entire book about them and still not be done. I think this verse in particular speaks to something very important about humility: it's so, so important to know what you don't know.

I heard on a radio program once, and I'm sad to say I forget the source, that there is a vital difference between knowing and knowing. Forgive the redundancy and let me explain. We often speak about knowing things we've read in a book or in an article on the internet, things we verified with our doctor or heard from our Pastor or dear Aunt Sally. We have read it/seen it/heard it, therefore we know it. 

But when the Bible speaks of knowing, it means experiencing or living it. One knows it because one personally walked or suffered through the experience. As you can see, a chasm exists between reading about it and living it. Being a little bit of a word geek {maybe are do, too?}, I love how this startling difference changes the meaning of some familiar verses, making them all the more rich.

When the Woman saw that the tree looked like good eating and realized what she would get out of it—she’d know everything!—she took and ate the fruit and then gave some to her husband, and he ate. {Genesis 3:6, MSG}

Eve was probably surprised and disappointed to realize she wouldn't actually be the wisest in the land but would instead experience the gamut of depravity and sin that plagued humanity.

Noah built an altar to God. He selected clean animals and birds from every species and offered them as burnt offerings on the altar. God smelled the sweet fragrance and thought to himself, “I’ll never again curse the ground because of people. I know they have this bent toward evil from an early age, but I’ll never again kill off everything living as I’ve just done. {Genesis 8:20-21, MSG}

So sweet and merciful is this word, like the sacrificial fragrance wafting upward, that although God knew from the beginning of time the atrocities man's capable of, He will never again wipe us out. 

“Don’t lay a hand on that boy! Don’t touch him! Now I know how fearlessly you fear God; you didn’t hesitate to place your son, your dear son, on the altar for me.” {Genesis 22:12, MSG}

God knows now because He experienced Abraham's faithfulness firsthand.

He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;
    I will be exalted among the nations,
    I will be exalted in the earth.” {Psalm 46:10, NIV}

Scripture is seasoned with invitations to know God, to walk with Him, and to abide with Him in the mundane of everyday life. Experiencing Him changes us. It shapes us, molds us, gives us a fresh perspective, and keeps us humble.

Especially in this internet age, we think we are know a lot about something because we read an article or listened to a poignant TED talk, when we actually know nothing about at all. 

I've learned there is freedom in yielding, in deferring to others who have earned a voice in a particular area with which I have no experience. We all have something to teach, but we also need to be students who willing to learn. Willing to be quiet and listen without judging, without forming counterpoints or arguments. Willing to sit with someones truth, regardless of how uncomfortable it may be.

The variety of backgrounds, stories, and experiences possessed by humanity weren't meant to pit us against each other but to enrich our lives and perspectives, ultimately pointing to the vastness, grace, and mercy of God. 

I came across a comment on Facebook once that has continued to bless me: 

The longer I am a Christian, the more I realize that I know so little of the big picture. I agree that when I see Jesus I want to be able to say, "I knew I couldn't judge rightly in all things, so I chose to love greatly in all matters." {Sonya Sampson}

So will you join me today in proudly acknowledging what you don't know? In letting God be God and allowing Him defend your name as He sees fit? Will you be a student of stories, quick to listen and slow to speak? Slow to become angry? Freedom exists in that space as we walk with Him in humility.

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!

Walking in Humility: All of Life is Repentance

Push Out into Deep Water {Luke 5: 1-11, MSG}

Once when he was standing on the shore of Lake Gennesaret, the crowd was pushing in on him to better hear the Word of God. He noticed two boats tied up. The fishermen had just left them and were out scrubbing their nets. He climbed into the boat that was Simon’s and asked him to put out a little from the shore. Sitting there, using the boat for a pulpit, he taught the crowd.

When he finished teaching, he said to Simon, “Push out into deep water and let your nets out for a catch.”

Simon said, “Master, we’ve been fishing hard all night and haven’t caught even a minnow. But if you say so, I’ll let out the nets.” It was no sooner said than done—a huge haul of fish, straining the nets past capacity. They waved to their partners in the other boat to come help them. They filled both boats, nearly swamping them with the catch.

Simon Peter, when he saw it, fell to his knees before Jesus. “Master, leave. I’m a sinner and can’t handle this holiness. Leave me to myself.” When they pulled in that catch of fish, awe overwhelmed Simon and everyone with him. It was the same with James and John, Zebedee’s sons, coworkers with Simon.

Jesus said to Simon, “There is nothing to fear. From now on you’ll be fishing for men and women.” They pulled their boats up on the beach, left them, nets and all, and followed him.

We talked through this passage at a small group meeting on Friday, and it solidified what I wanted to write about this month.

When a group of believers gather together, every single person can pull something slightly different from the same text, and I love that! Perspective reminds me of a collection of beautiful fabrics, much like the ones in my mother's sewing closet. While each is unique and beautiful in its own right, we find that when a piece of our material is clipped away and shared with others, stitched together as we bare witness to the very stories and experiences that have woven together the fabric of our being, it can become a breathtaking glimpse of the bigger picture of humanity that binds us together. And in that organic creation, the quilt gives us a clearer reflection of the Creator Himself. 

We took turns sharing what we were thankful for that week and also what was stressing us out, and my answer was one and the same: my family. Funny how that works sometimes.

After we read the passage above, the first thing I noticed was the power of His timing--how they had been fishing all day and caught nothing, but when Jesus spoke the word, the net was so full of fish they couldn't even pull it up themselves. He's a God of abundance in His time.

But then, as I sat with the passage, letting it marinate a little in my soul, the interaction between Simon Peter and Jesus began to stick out. Probably because it was a challenging week with the children and obedience, exasperated by the fact that I didn't go to bed at a decent hour most days. We tend to see life through our lenses of gratitude and stress.

“Master, we’ve been fishing hard all night and haven’t caught even a minnow. But if you say so, I’ll let out the nets.”

I know that tone, I thought to myself, because I hear it from my kids everyday. 

It's the whole, mom, I think what you're asking me to do is completely stupid and I don't want to do it, kind of attitude. 

The, I shouldn't have to do it, and I know better than you, eye-roll. 

But if you insist, I guess I'll do it anyways, because you're making me. And so I don't get a consequence. Complete with foot stomping and a WHATEVER. 

Girl, please. Momma don't play.

So, I started to wonder... Is homeboy being....sassy???

I don't know if that's the right word for a grown man, but he was being something. 

Prideful.

Honestly, it would take a lot of humility for him to defer to someone else when his life's work is being a fisherman. When he spends his days out on a boat with those very nets and knows the best places and times to catch the most fish. And homeboy was simply saying, dude, this ain't it. Respectfully, Jesus, Sir. 

But as soon as Simon Peter obeyed, the nets were as overwhelmed with fish as his heart was with repentance and awe. It became clear to me that it wasn't obedience Jesus was after all along--it was his heart. A humble heart: one filled with pervasive, all-of-life-repentance and the fear of the Lord. A heart that is capable of abiding in Him and existing in the close relationship He desires to maintain with us, if we are willing.

Tim Keller writes, 

"...the more we feel accepted and loved in the gospel, the more and more often we will be repenting. Although there is some bitterness in any repentance, in the gospel there is ultimately a sweetness. This creates a radical new dynamic for personal growth. The more we see our own flaws and sins, the more precious, electrifying, and amazing God’s grace appears to us. On the other hand, the more aware we are of God’s grace and our acceptance in Christ, the more able we are to drop our denials and self-defenses and admit the true dimensions of our sin. The sin underlying all other sins is a lack of joy in Christ."

Repentance not only gives us a sobering view of our sin, but it elevates God to his rightful place as Lord and Savior, rescuer of the wretched: you + me. Then we can finally begin to see rightly--through the lens of rescued + redeemed + free--and walk with Him in humility.

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!

31 Days of Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday

If I were to pick a word for the year as some organized, list-making people do, usually in January when setting goals and such, I would hesitantly circle around and land on HUMILITY. It's only taken me ten months to arrive at that conclusion, but hindsight has perfect vision and "better late than never" is, sadly, my life motto, courtesy of overwhelming experience. 

I wouldn't decide on "humility" because I want to learn more about it necessarily, or because I feel like I need a good dose of it in my life, although some days I certainly do. But as I look back, I feel like the the Lord has been bringing me to a place of humility time and time again. 

The year began with the birth of our fifth baby on the horizon in early February. I was nesting and felt pretty good, considering I'd done this several times before. But I was a decade older now with four other children to chase after, and lets face it--I was TIRED. All. The. Time.

So things needed to wait. The house, with all its looming projects and boxes demanding organization, had to take a backseat to the everyday tasks I was struggling to keep up with. Bending over to load the dishwasher became impossible for my back, and I had to ask for help. A couple weeks before the baby was due, two of my grandparents suffered a series of health issues and finally passed away. The baby arrived a day after my grandmother's funeral.

As the months following his birth began to unfold, I suffered more than ever before with postpartum depression and also a condition commonly known as: children. Not only did it become painfully obvious that any control I thought I had over my life was a farce, but it also became glaringly clear that I needed help. 

Help in the form of a husband willing to get up and take over the morning duties of packing lunches and getting kids off to school so I could try to earn back the sleep that was deducted during night feedings. Help with carpooling, meals, and laundry. Help in the form of little blue pills that gave me back a middle ground and kept my thoughts from running away from me like grains of sand spilling through a sieve. Help finding a new normal as a family of seven by letting go of the normal that used to be. 

Humility isn't something you ask for: it's a state in which God keeps you, if you let Him. 

Humility is a gift from the Giver, if we have our hands open to receive it. 

Humility is an invitation for a new set of eyes to see the world as He does, a new heart to relentlessly and lavishly put others above ourselves, and a new set of lungs with which to breathe in and savor an abundant life. 

I can see a myriad of ways the Lord has graciously brought me to my knees, reminding me, once again, that He's in control. He is God and I am not, and He's plenty capable of filling that role. So I'm going to take the month to write about some of those experiences and hopefully encourage you all in the process. 

Join me?

Read on here...

• Confessions {day 2} 
• All of Life is Repentance {day 3}
• Know What You Don't Know {day 4}
• Make Room for the Journey {day 5}
• Can You Hear Him Walking? {day 6}
• Even When You Don't Have Enough, Build a Bigger Table Anyways {day 10}
• Dear Doctor, I Need Help {day 17}
• God Chooses to See Only Jesus in Me
• There's Freedom in Embracing the Tension
• His Kindness Leads Us to Repentance
• Honest Self-Assessment
• A Grateful Heart
• When Life Is Stressful
• The Ability to Speak the Truth in Love is Not a Right but a Privilege That Must Be Earned
• Further Thoughts on Speaking the Truth in Love
• Ministry is Messy...and It's Supposed to Be
• Where Division Exists So Does Pride, and Other Thoughts on Loving Well Post-Election
• The Angry Stress Monster
•  

Ministry is messy...and it's supposed to be

Between the not-quite-housetrained puppy, the 7 month old baby, who still spits up, and the random 10+ children who are in and out of the house on any given day, our carpet is, in a word...GROSS.

Even still, we try to do what we can to keep it from getting worse. We take the dog outside often, wipe up accidents/spills as best as we can, and encourage everyone to take their shoes off at the front door. In typical kid fashion, though, they're forgetful and don't always remove their shoes. Other times, they just plain don't want to listen. Because it's inconvenient, or they think they know better. Rules can be hard and stupid. So along with "buckle your seatbelt," "pick up your garbage," "dirty clothes go in the basket," and "don't fart on your brother," I've added "take off your shoes" to the soundtrack that plays on "repeat all" in our home. 

It will come as no surprise, then, that one day we discovered someone had dog poop on the bottom of their shoe. Unfortunately, that shoe had already made its way around most of the first floor, particularly the carpeted area. The kids were disgusted and screaming, the little boy felt terrible and was crying, and Ben, of course, was in disaster mode and calmly doling out instructions to everyone. He functions much better in a crisis than I.

"It's ok. It's not a big deal," he said to the little boy. "We can clean it up. Why don't you give me your shoe and I'll wash it off in the bathroom."

I took a kid into the living room with me and we started on the carpet. The little boy was sitting at the table with his sister, just sobbing, and both Ben and I kept assuring him it was ok. I can only assume he must get in a lot of trouble at home for making a mess.

The child who was helping me was indignant. He was mad that the boy didn't take off his shoes, mad that he didn't notice the poop sooner, mad that he had to help clean it up--and he kept loudly voicing his grievances. For as often as he wears his own shoes into the house, it could've just as easily been him who tracked in poop, and I encouraged him to be gracious.

I have to admit, I was frustrated, too, but trying really hard to maintain a poker face. This is why we tell them to take off their shoes, I thought. We have rules for a reason. I gently reminded the crowd of that fact and went back to cleaning the carpet. And as I was kneeling there, scrubbing the filth away, my husband quietly said to me, probably sensing my irritation, "this is the cost of doing ministry, babe. It's ok. It's just carpet."

See what I mean about calm under pressure? But I knew he was right. This is the cost of doing ministry. 

You see, ministry is messy...and it's supposed to be.

It's supposed to be difficult, frustrating, annoying, and even loathsome at times. Ministry isn't heart-eye emojis and feel good music and the, "we're all doing fine," business. Because the reality is, we're not all fine, and certainly not all the time.  

Ministry is being "Christ with skin on." That's how my husband describes it, anyways. 

It's easy to think, and I've certainly been guilty of this myself, that "ministry" is a rosy, glorious, wonderful thing. Like we're going to take all these lost people in our neighborhood or workplace and we're going to listen to them, we're going to feed them, we're going to tell them how much Jesus loves them, and wouldn't that be just grand. Maybe they'll start coming to church with us on Sundays, and if we're really lucky, we might even be able squeak out a sinner's prayer. And then we can check them off our list. Mission accomplished. Job well done, good and faithful servant.

But if you sit with that phrase for a spell and dig in to what that really means, I believe you will find this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. {Romans 5:8}

Ministry, in the truest form of the word, is entering into the mess and filth of broken lives and loving well enough to stand in the gap between them and God. It's the privilege of being able to stay, with arms outstretched, that it's okay. Regardless of the mess they find themselves in right now, they are loved. They are wanted, valuable, and important. Not in spite of themselves, but because of Christ, who died for them. In their place. And there's nothing more they need to do, because it is finished. 

It's the gospel in the flesh.

True ministry exists in the gap between sinner and Savior. We must be willing to enter into the mess, to kneel down alongside them in the filth and start scrubbing. In order to become Christ with skin on, we need to hang our desires, our possessions, our control, and our pride up on the cross and let them die.

The carpet cleaner washed the dirt away, and the stains were barely visible by the time we were done. It was like it never happened. The little boy finally calmed down and realized he wasn't in trouble, that everything really was okay, and they all went back to running and playing as usual.

Only in the paradox of Christ is it possible that out of death flows new life and from surrender, victory. That he who loses his life will save it. The gap in between death and resurrection is a holy one--it's where God does His best work. 

Every time I give a gentle reminder, change a poopy diaper, scrape gum off the basement floor, scrub dog dirt from the carpet, shuttle a child to the doctor, or help a teen sort out a tricky relationship issue, I'm standing in the gap. A witness to impending new life, both in my heart and in those around me. That's ministry, in all it's messy glory. 

And God is glorified in this holy obedience to the ordinary.