The Answers

I’ve been wracking my brain and my heart with some big questions lately.  Big life ones about making changes and breaking cycles and getting messy.  As a recovering perfectionist I like to have all the answers to any question that would come up, but right now I don’t and I’m learning to live with that.  Stop forcing it and breathe.

I keep having song lyrics run through my head instead of answers because music tends to be my breathing throughout the day.  All the lyrics center on this one truth, I am a child of God, and it seems that every moment of these days I need to be reminded of that one truth.  I give myself a little tattoo every morning to help with the remembering.

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Remember.

Believe.

Breathe.

Maybe I do have all the answers already, at least the ones that really matter.

Forgiveness​

At bedtime tonight:

“Mommy, I lied three times today.”

“Why do you think you did that sweetie?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mommy, do you think I should talk to God and ask him to forgive me?”

“Yea buddy, I think you should.”

At the end of his prayer, I got the awesome privilege of reminding him again that God is just and forgiving and full of unending love.

I’m a perfectionist by nature, so admitting when I make a mistake when I sin can be really, really hard.  Over the last year, it’s something God and I have been working on together.  It’s hard to confess and say, yea, I messed up that one, I’m sorry.  But giving myself permission to confess, to ask forgiveness from another, from myself, from God gives me a release from the guilt and shame that pervaded my heart before.  When we accept forgiveness, really open our hearts and receive, then we can move on in life and not be chained down by the inner critic that berates us.

My religious background is not of the Catholic background so I might be butchering this one but sometimes I think they have this whole confession thing right.  Having the freedom to go to another human being and say I screwed up without any judgment and then to be reminded by them that God loves me before I screwed up, while I was screwing up and after I screwed up must be a balm to your soul.  The more I put into practice first forgiving myself and then receiving it from another I let go of the guilt and make room for the love.  And that love, well it only multiples from there.

At this next step in my journey with God I am learning more and more about his love, a love that was always there but I was unable to see and experience.  A love that remembers that I am dust, that I am created in love and that I will always be loved beyond measure, not because of what I do (or didn’t do), but because of whose I am.  By learning that there is freedom in confession I am opening my life to new possibilities and to grow into the kind of person that can more fully love God and love my neighbor as myself.  When I’m not harping on myself over all the mistakes I make, I’m less critical of others mistakes, quick to forgive myself and quick to forgive them.  Perhaps this is one way that helps us to have the eyes of compassion that Jesus was always so quick to bestow.

May we be quicker to say I sinned.

I’m sorry.

Thank you for your love.

People over Stuff

What am I teaching my children every time I say, don’t scratch that, don’t break that, the pillows belong on the couch!?  Do I show them that people matter over things?  Yes, we must respect our possessions and treat them well, but when a plate breaks, does my temper break too?  It’s just a plate, and they are a soul, a person created in the image of God to exist for all eternity.

What am I saying to myself when I buy a new shirt, new shoes, new handbag?  Do I value people or do I value stuff?  Who made this and what is their story?  How did it come to be here with me today?  And in turn, again, what am I teaching my children?  Do we have a house full of stuff or a house full of laughter and joy and freedom because the stuff we do own was created with laughter and joy and freedom?  We value our own lives over our stuff and we value the people’s lives who created it over the stuff.

How I react to our stuff decides how they will react to it out in the world.  Someone scratches their car in the parking lot over an honest misjudgment of space.  What do they value, the stuff or the person?   Our children grow up to be the workers of tomorrow, will they value the worker or the bottom line?  We wonder why workaholism runs rampant, but what have we taught our children to value?  The productivity at the end of the day or a life lived in love towards their neighbor and their self?

We are not human doings, we are human beings, created in love so that we, in turn, may love that which the Creator made in his image.  It’s a choice every day to love people over stuff.  There is room for stuff in our lives but only when it is secondary is it able to take a place where it enhances beauty and pleasure and fun.  Whether it is something we create ourselves to able to steward this home we’ve been given to welcome our neighbor and better their life because we put in first priority people, every person.

More and more I’m learning the lessons I want to pass down to the next generation are the values I want my own life to be transformed and defined by.  First I must examine my own heart to see what plank I need to remove from my own eye.  Where am I valuing stuff over people?  Who is my neighbor right in front of me today to love?  How can I use stuff to enhance the beauty around me and the lives of those I’ve been given to love?

The Gift of Motherhood

Last week we celebrated Mother’s Day here in the US.  Typically a day spent lavishing mom with accolades, thanksgiving, and gifts to praise her for the wonderful hard work she puts in day and day out living out her role as mom.  Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy those accolades, especially as someone who thrives on encouragement in life in order to keep fighting the good fight, but more often than not, especially on Mother’s Day I find myself typically pondering the gift motherhood has brought into my own life.

So many gifts, where to begin?  I suppose at the beginning, at conception.  I began to learn then that motherhood would be an opportunity for me to learn more about myself, provide this emotional and spiritual connection to parts of me that were once closed off.  During my first pregnancy, I found myself fearful at times and not able to fully live into the joy and excitement that the anticipation of a new life could bring.  This fear was new to me and one day I took the courage to sit with it in the presence of God.  I asked that scared side of me to come out so I could know it better and I was startled at the wash of emotion that came over me.  For the first time in my life it was revealed to me my need to control life and to put in the effort on my part to control the outcome that came my way.  God gently showed me that life is in his hands, this baby’s life and my life and would I trust him, fully trust?  If this baby’s life were to end that day, the next or 100 years from now, he would still be God and his love would not waiver so I could stand each day on that hope.

God continued (and continues) to reveal his steadfast nature to me through motherhood. When I held my newborn child for the first time and that overwhelming love welled up from somewhere inside I was overcome.  And somehow, magically it happens each and every time God gifts us with another child.  As I snuggle and nurse and breathe in the beauty that is my child I realized that this is only a tiny fraction of the love that God feels for me, his child.  The words I speak over my children to describe God’s love to them, “God loves you because you are his.  Not because of what you do, but because you are precious to him, always,” begin to sink deeper into my own heart because of my reflection of love that I have for my own children.  God loves me because I am his precious child and I am his.

As the years of motherhood stretch on God continues to reveal more of my sin nature to me through these little mirrors of self that are walking around with me every day.  My kids will develop a pattern of saying something that I just don’t like, where did they get that from?  Oh, me.  I never realized what an angry person I can become when I feel out of control of a situation, but enter in a child who loves to push the boundaries and that anger just rises to the top to rear it’s ugly head over and over again.  We want more for our kids, to send them off into the world to give away kindness and hope and love and I know those patterns must start in our home so once again I must sit with God to coax out into the light all those default, sinful ways, the thorns that have been for years choking out seed that God wants to flourish in my heart.  God can only heal that which is in the light.

It’s important along the way of this parenting journey to read books about child behavior and how-to’s, but I have found that the greatest parenting tool is in surrendering my heart to God, letting his light heal these parts me that through parenting have been revealed to me and transform me little by little into the unique expression of the likeness of him I meant to become.  As I am transformed into that person then I can give it away, live it as an example to my kids.  When my boundary pusher pushes, instead of offering him yelling and anger in response, I can give him a gentle answer, which always turns away wrath, and a hug of understanding.  Instead of telling my kids to obey because I said so, I can look to them as individuals, offer them patience and study the unique way to nurture each of them, to cultivate the soil of their hearts so their future might bring fewer thorns and more fertile ground for the word of God to yield crops, 10, 20, 100 fold what is planted over the years in their heart.

Motherhood has given me a long-term view of life.  It’s not just about who they are now, it’s about who they will become and same is true for me.  So I find the fruit of patience and mostly grace being my default these days.  I’m only into this motherhood thing for eight years now and I know I have a lot more to glean from it, but I’m thankful for the trajectory I’ve started on, thankful that I have my kids with me along the way, as we all learn about forgiveness and grace and love together.  I love those little people, because they are his, and they are a beautiful gift in my life.

Moving On

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Life has been a cluster of crazy the last month.  My family and I have decided to move after calling this house our home for the last 10 years.  It was a pretty quick decision and only took about six weeks to buy a house and sell ours.  On the outside looking in I can understand why people might assume we’re moving for more space, a better location or school, but on the inside, it has been a much deeper journey to reach peace and healing.

As I’ve shared, 2017 was a year of watching friend after friend move away.  At the beginning of this year, my husband and I started entertaining the thought that maybe it was our time to think about moving as well.  We never thought we’d live in this house forever and after adding our third child to the family, the walls began to squeeze in on us more and more.  Every few months we’d clean out the closets and reorganize the space and make it work for us for just a little bit longer.  We’d come to love this little neighborhood and the place we brought all our babies home to.

Our home taught us so many lessons.  Having a smaller space forced us to live a simpler life and to learn to live with less which in turn changed our heart to desire a simple life.  Living in one spot for 10 years when our area is so transient taught us to put down roots and meet our neighbors.  Being some of the longest living folks on the street meant we were the welcome committee, showing people around, learning the local spots, sharing the exact trash pickup times twice a week.  We have gotten to meet the whole world in our backyard here and have made some of the dearest friends in life.  To leave would not be an easy decision.

The thought of moving scared me at first.  Could I really handle one more change in my life?  We would keep swaying back and forth, yes we should move now, no we can wait a little longer, but we always swayed back to yes, maybe now is the time.  I knew the gravity of the decision to move and didn’t want to take it lightly, was I moving just to avoid my problems and my emotions, to avoid having to process the pain of life and grief of loss I had experienced last year?

And then God spoke, as he always does in his soft, gentle way if we are willing to slow down and listen.  He said sometimes in life we need a physical move to necessitate an emotional and spiritual healing.  Wow, how very true.

I realized that sometimes, to give ourselves permission to move on in life we need to actually move on.  A change of scenery, no matter how subtle can help shift our perspective and sigh a breath of release.  Though my home had so many happy, joyful, fulfilling memories, subconsciously I would also remember my dad every time I used the light switch he replaced and remember the friends upon friends I’ve had to say goodbye to every time I walked out my front door and drove past their houses.  Those are memories that yes, are good but are so, so heavy in my heart.

I realized the more I agonized over the decision to move kept feeding my inner perfectionist.  Each choice had its merits but no, there was not a “perfect” choice to make. Giving myself permission to make a decision, whether it was the perfect one or not again helped me to move on in other ways.  Stop feeding the inner critic and start living in the freedom to live.  To stay would be hard, to move would be hard, but life is hard, no matter what the choices we make, we can’t avoid them, we can only live within the grace given us this day and move forward surrendered to perfect Love.

Once I listened and stepped over into that surrender to accept whatever would come next a house appeared.  As our family toured around it my husband and I began to dream and vision where our things would go and more importantly how we could open this new place to the people that are in our lives now and the ones we still have to invite.  Our kids ran around, picking bedrooms and giggling and throwing a ball in the backyard.  In one visit we could already see how this house could transform into our next home.  I wonder what lessons it will have to teach us?  I wonder how we will all be able to move on?

Healing

This story strikes me every time I read it:

“They came to Jericho.  As Jesus, his disciples, and a substantial crowd were leaving the town, a blind beggar named Bartimaeus, the son of Timaeus, was sitting by the road.  When he heard it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out, “Son of David!  Jesus!  Take pity on me!”

Lots of people told him crossly to be quiet.  But he shouted out all the louder, “Son of David–take pity on me!”

Jesus came to a stop.  “Call him,” he said.

So they called the blind man.

“Cheer up,” they said, “and get up.  He’s calling you.”

He flung his cloak aside, jumped up, and came to Jesus.

Jesus saw him coming.  “What do you want me to do for you?” he asked.

“Teacher,” the blind man said, “let me see again.”

“Off you go,” said Jesus.  “Your faith has saved you.”  And immediately he saw again, and followed him on the way.”

Mark 10:46-52 (The Kingdom New Testament)

There is just so much about this story that captures my attention and makes me wonder. I begin to wonder, what part of me, deep down is this blind beggar Bartimaeus, shouting out for Jesus to heal me?  And what parts of me are telling it to be quiet and to stop bothering him?  Where do I need to allow myself to just keep shouting because I am in such desperate need to see again in my life and be healed?  And then I wonder, if Jesus were standing here, right in front of me, face to face and asked me what he wanted me to do, what would I ask for?  It causes me to search for that deep, vulnerable place inside.

I remember back, years ago to reading a little book called, “Surrender to Love,” by David Benner.  The second chapter is all about love and fear.  As I was reading it struck a nerve inside of me.  There was some fear inside of me that needed to be surrendered, a place inside that was calling out to be healed but was being hushed.  I quieted my self and began to search for that piece of me.  She was sitting quietly behind a tree I remember and Jesus called for her to come out.  He asked what she wanted and she shared her deepest fear and that she wanted to be healed.  A wave of emotion came over me that I was not anticipating.  I had been holding onto it for so very long and hushed it down that I wasn’t even aware of it anymore, but when I surrendered to Love, when I answered his question, he saw my faith and he healed me.

That was almost nine years ago and I still hold that memory so vividly in my mind and in my heart and I was reminded of it today when I read this passage in Mark.  Perhaps it is time to quiet my self again and let Jesus go on a search to restore me.

God Promptings

Do you ever feel prompted by God to do something and yet you hesitate before you act?  I’ll get these thoughts that pop into my head that seem so crazy to myself that I can only imagine that they’ve come from a prompting of the Spirit.  Usually, my immediate response is no way am I going to do that.  It would be out of the ordinary and awkward.  How would the other person feel?

But then I start thinking, well was that of God?  And if it was shouldn’t I respond immediately in obedience no matter how it makes me feel and how I think the other person will feel?  Obedience to God should be immediate and is a sign of our love for him (John 14:23).  Maybe it’s a sign too of my transformation into the person I should be not the person I already am who’s first thought is one of selfishness.

I remember one time when I acted on one of these promptings.  I was driving my son to preschool and we had had a big snow a couple of days before.  Snow was piled up high everywhere, especially the sidewalks that were public domain and had not been attended to yet.  There were a few families in my son’s class that lived in the apartment buildings down the street.  They had immigrated here from India and the wives did not drive, so every school day they loaded their kids in strollers and walked the mile or so down a busy street to get their children there.

On this day with all the snow, I drove by and saw one mom struggling to get her, her daughter and their stroller down the road.  Because the snow had not been completely cleared she was going to have to walk on the busy street in portions.  As I drove on it was clear that her journey was going to be no easier up ahead.  Immediately a thought popped into my head, you pick them up.

Well, then the excuses started.  “I only have a small car and no extra car seat.”  Easy, drop off your son and then go back for them.  They’ll still be there struggling away.  “Hmm, well, is that culturally ok, what will this woman from India, who barely knows English think of my gesture and will this all just be too awkward for her?”  Don’t answer for someone else, just offer and let her decide.

My excuses ran out and I realized that I needed to just act.  God didn’t care what the other person’s response was, he cared what my response was, and it needed to be one of obedience.  After I dropped my son off I told myself that if I saw them still along the road, I would stop.  It didn’t take long down the road to see them, this time on the opposite side of the road still trying slowly to make their way.

Well I pulled over, it was easier now since they had crossed the road, and I got out of my car.  “Could I offer you a ride the rest of the way to school?  Your daughter could sit in my son’s car seat who I already dropped off and we could put your stroller in the trunk?”  Her immediate response, “Oh yes, thank you so much!”

After we loaded back into the car she said that if the sidewalk didn’t clear up soon she was going to just turn around and go home, she didn’t know what else to do.  So much gratefulness and relief poured out from her.  Later, on my return to the school for pick up, I was devising a plan on how to get her and her daughter home and my family as well.  When I arrived she said how grateful she was and that she had already called a taxi to pick them up and take them home.

That day I couldn’t believe how much my actions made such a difference, not just for them, but for me as well.  I had finally listened to some hair brain request in my head and didn’t talk myself out of it.  I really felt overjoyed at first, excitement bursting out of me after I had dropped them off.  And then I was humbled.  How many times had I robbed myself of this joy by not acting immediately?  What was God trying to do in me and through me that I was preventing and blocking?

I’m still met with these prompts to take action from time to time.  I wish I could say that I’m quick to always act but I’m not.  The excuses still flow out first and most of the time they are speaking louder than the voice that says go and do, don’t be afraid.  I keep the story of the woman and her daughter that wouldn’t have gone to school that day if I hadn’t acted in my heart though and sometimes that memory is louder than the excuses.  I remember the difference it made in their life that day, and who knows how many days after that, and I think about the difference I could make at this moment too if I only let God use me, instead of shrinking back.  What joy and gratefulness could be felt by all?

 

Second Conversion

So here’s a question, is there such a thing as a second conversion?  I’m not talking about being worried that your first one didn’t count, so you keep getting up for every altar call you hear.  I’m talking about that feeling of being wholly and deeply loved by God and giving your whole self over to him.  Maybe conversion isn’t the right word, but there is something new stirring in my heart that needs some words to understand it.

I remember the first time I heard God loved me, just as I was and wanted to spend eternity with me, starting that day and forevermore.  I remember feeling awash with gratitude, humility, forgiveness and love, such pure love.  I gave my life wholeheartedly as I could at that moment over to him, vowing to live my days following after him.  My devotion was strong and pure and what it could be at that moment.

In the years since then, I have been true to my promise to love and serve.  I learned of God’s great story of Creation, Fall, Redemption, and Restoration and have done what I can to live into it and spread it to everyone I know.  I joined God in his redemptive work in this world and served out of a place of love.  I genuinely believe God has been pleased and gracious to me to this point.

But if I’m being honest it’s not been all sunshine and rainbows.  We all know that sin mars our world, ourselves and our motivations.  Sometimes I served out of guilt or obligation.  Sometimes I was motivated out of pride.  It’s just how it is.  But along the way I’ve been realizing more and more, it’s because there is still a stronghold in my life where sin rules in my heart.  I’m becoming more aware of my shadow self that is holding on to dear life, not wanting to die on the altar of sacrifice so that my true self, that person I am meant to become in Christ can shine through.

God’s had me on this quest for almost a year now, slowly pulling back the curtain on what’s been hidden and shining his light on the dark parts and lies that I live in.  That’s really hard to say, friends, that I still operate out of the sinful side of myself that up until this point I’ve been unconscious of.  Through God’s grace, he is taking me one step deeper and revealing things to me that I need to be aware of now, at this moment, to heal from if I’m going to move forward into the person I’m meant to become.

It hit me this past weekend when I was attending a conference.  We sang this song, Reckless Love, by Cory Asbury and published by Bethel Music.  Have you heard it?  The chorus goes like this;

Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God

Oh, it chases me down, fights till I’m found, leaves the ninety-nine

I couldn’t earn it, and I don’t deserve it, still, You give yourself away

Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God

There’s that phrase, right in the middle, “fights till I’m found,” that just wouldn’t leave me as we sang the chorus over and over again.  It began to hit me, God is not done fighting for me yet because I’m not completely found yet.  I had this image in my head that yes, God left the ninety-nine and came out and found me one day all those years ago when I dedicated my life to him, but since, I’ve been safe in the fold, he’s had no need to have concern or special attention over me.  Yes, he’s been loving me, setting me to work, transforming me but it’s an afterthought to all those that he’s still desperately in search of for the first time.

In these last days I’m beginning to wonder if no, God is not done fighting for me.  He’s still “kicking down doors” as the bridge of the song says because there’s still “lies for him to tear down,” and “shadows to light up,” in my life and he’s in hot pursuit with this relentless and reckless unceasing love.  I’ve been so overtaken by the magnitude and the passion that God still has for me today and will continue to have for me every day until I’m not just restored to the fold, but until I’m transformed into the likeness of Christ, the uniqueness, and beauty of what I’m created for.

It’s in realizing this overwhelming love that gives me the courage to keep going.  To not be afraid of the lies and shadows because God’s love is big enough to fight them and to heal me.  He’s never going to abandon me.  No, on the contrary, he’s been kind to me, as the song says, because he’s fighting for the piece of me that is scared, the part that he formed and breathed his life into, so that I can have the breath of life, to glorify him all the days of my life.  It’s been coming to this realization in a whole new light that makes it feel like another conversion all over again.  And so I’m giving over more of myself to God, the parts that I’m just coming to a realization about and dedicating all of me once again to him.

 

 

Questions

A friend came to me and trusted me with her story yesterday.  Is there anything more sacred than being trusted with someone’s story?  She’s facing a lot of questions in her life right now and is searching for answers.  She said she was worried to come to me, that she might offend me with her questions.  Offend me?  When did we begin to tell people that the church (meaning the body of Christ, not the building) was not a safe place to ask questions?

One of my early memories of the church was asking a question.  The pastor had come to our Sunday School class and said we could write down any question we had on a piece of paper for him to answer.  I had a lot of questions.  It’s just in my nature.  I wanted to know did God create dinosaurs and if so, why weren’t they talked about in our Bible lessons?  The Sunday morning had arrived and the pastor was reading the questions from the pulpit in front of the whole congregation.  I remember when he asked my question and I remember everyone in the room laughing.  No answer, just laughter.

I was so embarrassed.  Now looking back as an adult I imagine they were laughing at the “cuteness” or naivete of my question, but as that child, in that room, I felt nothing but smallness and shame.  I learned that church was not a safe place to ask questions and so I don’t remember asking another question again for quite some time.  Different from my friend, I wasn’t afraid of offending another with my questions, but I was afraid of being offended by others if I asked a question.

That early childhood experience shaped me (like they all do) to create space in my life where questions would be welcome and where they could flourish.  Once my questions started, you just couldn’t stop me and I searched and searched for answers. But at some point along the journey, I was confident that my all my questions were answered.  And maybe that’s where part of this hang-up amongst some of us in the church starts with welcoming questions.  We think our questions are answered so why should anyone else continue to have them?

It’s like there’s this standard set of questions, where do we come from, where do we go when we die, etc. and once those are answered then we’ve “arrived”.  It’s a stage we all go through as I said earlier (Life is Messy) but why does it close us off to more questions?  And why does it close us off from accepting other’s questions with open arms and open minds?

I had my questions answered but I kept meeting more people along life’s journey that had different questions.  They either weren’t satisfied with the answers they were receiving or their questions just kept going a step deeper and a step deeper.  I realized my space for questions just needed to get bigger for others.  And then as life got messier and messier, my own answers weren’t enough anymore.  As I offered more space for other’s questions, I had to allow more space in my own life again for questions.  My preconceived notions from before told me at first my questions weren’t welcome and I had to come to a realization that I had become what I didn’t want.

I’m asking questions again, almost daily lately.  This time around I’m not seeking answers though.  The questions are enough to drive me deeper into trusting God more and believing that in the end he’s got the whole thing figured out.  My questions bring hope, not my answers.  I was reading the wisdom of Sally Llyod-Jones with my son and she reminded us all that hope is not something we wish will happen, Biblical wisdom is something we know will happen.  May we all feel the safety to ask questions and to be a safe place to receive others questions, not to always provide them answers but to always remind us that we can stand on hope.

Life is Messy

I remember a time in my life when everything had a place.  Neat, tidy and organized.  My husband and I struggled to fill up our home, with blank spaces and unused corners abounding.  Now, just eight short years later and filled with three more people we are simply living on top of each other.  Piles accumulate, the living room seems to always be eschewed, and no one dares walk around barefoot less you have week old crumbs and who knows what else embedded on the soles of your feet.

At first, I remember fighting against the encroaching piles.  As soon as the accumulation started I would feel my anxiety rise and quickly try to put everything back in its place.  But with each subsequent child life just got messier and there never seemed a chance to get ahead, much less quickly behind what life had to throw at me.  I read books, I devised new strategies, I declared us minimalists and started throwing and giving everything away that wasn’t nailed down.  Each attempt lasted for a bit but I eventually had to decide, would I let the anxiety and illusion of control rule my life, or would I accept the times I’m given, and sit in this mess?

Of course, this literal mess of stuff in my home is also a metaphor for the mess that is living life.  It was easier earlier in life to have all the answers to everything.  I remember going off to college and meeting captivating leaders and teachers who taught be so much about life.  I soaked up every book, every conversation, every talk.  I filed it all away into neat little piles and drawers and boxes.  Every time a question arose, oh let me just look back into my storehouse I’m accumulating and whip out the right answer, because you know I thought every answer I had was the right one.  My feet were planted on solid rock and I thought I was set for life.

And there’s nothing wrong with being so assured of our faith, of our knowledge or our life.  It gives us the confidence to go out and do the work we’ve been given, to believe we can make a difference and we do.  We impart a change in people’s lives for the greater good and we can partner with God and have him use us to build his kingdom here.  But pride can happen so easily at this point too.  I believed that if people would just read the right book, use the right lens to look at life and the Bible and God then they could have all the right answers too and life would be organized in a neat little bow for everyone.

But then life gets messy and suddenly the right answers don’t seem right anymore.  That storehouse in my brain doesn’t have a file to explain away the mess and then what seemed so sure before becomes questions and doubts.  If I can’t answer this one question, can I answer any question?  Does it all sound like pat answers unable to deal with the brokenness of this world?

Ahh, the crisis of life and of faith that we don’t talk about in church.  I feel that there is a deception that goes on in the modern church of today that to have true faith you must be “passionate” for Jesus and “on fire” all the time for him.  When life’s mess does come around you pray it away with your soul in tune with God and flip to the all the right verses in the Bible to assure you of that smile on your face.  But when I tried to find the verses to keep that smile and that fire going I found mess, real mess and read it with new eyes because I was sitting in my own mess for the first time.

Here’s what I learned as I read of the crises of faith in the Bible that I found, they didn’t all have to end there.  On the outside to others, it looks like we’re losing our faith and falling away.  Heck on the inside it feels like we’re losing our faith and falling apart.  And for some they do.  In the end, Judas hung himself and his story ended there for us.  But Peter got to move through the crisis and he realized that the solid rock he thought was dying and crumbling away was still there but the answers from before took on new meaning and transformation. Jesus reinstated him giving him a stronger hope with a renewed faith and he went and built the church.

The winter seasons of our faith can feel long and unsettling.  Doubt can attempt to undo all the glory and wonder of earlier stages of faith.  But here’s the truth it can’t undo it, but it can transform it.  God is in the business of redemption and he is big enough to handle anything and everything.  Life’s messes come along to remind us that we aren’t in control and that there is more than one way to live this life.  It’s not always going to fit into neat little piles.  We claim to love an all-powerful God but then too easily put him in a box.  I think the messes of life come to throw us out of our boxes and into the all-encompassing love of God.

I’m learning to accept the mess of my living room, and dining room, and kitchen, and every other room in my house.  The mess doesn’t define me or my family.  It’s just there and it’s a part of our lives.  It proves that we’re alive and that we’re having fun and living one moment into the next.  I’m learning to look beyond the mess into life and remember that our family is built on a foundation of love that will get through any mess life happens to throw our way.