Wallow or Fight

In every trial, large or small--whether a one-time instance of being sinned against, or an especially difficult season of life with no end in sight--there comes a crucial moment. Actually, it doesn't come just once, but dozens of times. It is the moment when you recognize you might actually not be sinless in this mess: when you realize at some deep level of your heart, in some small part of your mind, that there is a significant difference between what God says is true and what you are thinking or feeling. It's the moment when you see that the problem is not only others' sin or out-of-control circumstances, but also your own unbelief.

In that moment, you are faced with a choice. You can continue to rehearse the laments ("vent")--to your journal, your husband, your best friend, or just on an endless internal loop. You can dwell on the potential miseries, feed the fears and the resentment, preach to yourself about how much you suck or how wrong the other person is or how awful this is going to be.

Or you can fight. You can let go of your plans, surrender your emotions, settle into what IS rather than what you wish life were. You can't fight a week-long or a six-month or a ten-year battle, but you can put on your armor and fight for joy--fight to believe truth--today.

When I come to this critical realization, there's a little part of me that doesn't want to give up the wallowing yet. Sometimes I just want to keep stewing in a big ol' pity party for a while. More than that, I think I fear that choosing to fight means pretending that these emotions weren't real and deep, that it doesn't really hurt. But...I can acknowledge them as powerful and real without being ruled by them. And reality is, wallowing doesn't accomplish anything. It doesn't change the situation, and it doesn't make facing the trial any easier. In fact, you could argue, just the opposite.

Fighting, on the other hand--that changes everything. It means you will get beat up, even face the agony of defeat at times (though this is made bearable knowing you will never face ultimate defeat because victory has already been won by Christ!). It doesn't mean being Pollyanna, slapping on your shiny, happy Christian face and pretending. It means gritting your teeth and digging in your heels and clinging to Jesus with all your might. It means repenting; it means crying out "I believe, Lord--help my unbelief!" It means preaching to yourself about how God sees and loves you in your unlovable mess, how Jesus' blood covers all the ways you suck, how all this is going to be a *beautiful* mess because it's going to be used for your good and God's glory. Guaranteed.

For me, it means being vulnerable and humble with my husband and other trusted friends, asking them to fight for me, relying on them to hold up my trembling arms as Aaron and Hur did for weary Moses, to hold up their shields of faith when I cannot keep mine upright. It means, to paraphrase Tim Keller, trusting that although these events may reveal me to be more sinful than I even believed, I am also, in the midst of them, more loved than I have dared to hope.

I am not called to fight the hundred-years' war. I have only to fight in this moment. I cannot look ahead and fear what may come; instead, I must fix my eyes on Jesus, be fully present HERE, and trust that the grace for tomorrow will be there tomorrow.


Related:
Acceptance = Peace
Divine Love Put Me Here
Joy. Here.
Besieged


[edited repost from the archives]

Multitude Monday, Take 353

This fall has felt eerily just like a year ago: in the space of just a week or two, a brother-wedding and a "Broken + Beautiful" women's retreat!

Two weeks ago, we were in Ohio and Michigan for the wedding of Steve's younger brother. (Sadly I did not get any good pictures of the bride and groom, much less us *with* them...there were so very many professional pictures being taken that I did not want to ask them to smile for one more :P Swiped the one below off Facebook and am eagerly anticipating the pro shots!) Then this past weekend, I traveled to Cincinnati to speak at the women's retreat for New City Church. Both events provided countless opportunities to give thanks to God for His gifts. To name and number a few:

7542. handsome boys in pink shirts, so well-behaved on a long day

7543. their taking it very seriously when we told them to look out for Uncle Ben because he was NOT allowed to see Aunt Bridget before the wedding

7544. my in-laws' '65 Lincoln, the wedding car for all three brothers

7545. a new sister-in-law!

7546. cousins being silly and laughing together at the reception

7547. my own hubs, more handsome to me and more loved by me than on our own wedding day ten years ago

 

7548. the opportunity to dance some East Coast Swing with him

7549. kiddos watching the festivities and getting down on the dance floor

7550. Elijah's crazy dance moves (and the video I captured that he'll hate me for in about ten years)
7551. Jude dancing with his new aunt

7552. reunion with an old friend I hadn't seen in eleven years

7553. her inviting me to speak at her church's women's retreat
7554. sweet times of worship in the car by myself on the way there and back
7555. the way He restored my joy and renewed my own soul as I spoke to the women
7556. eyes to see His beauty in the women, opportunities to hear their stories
7557. the lovely ladies I got to be in a discussion group with

7558. dear friends lifting me up in prayer as I prepared and spoke
7559. the privilege of being a vessel of truth and grace and hope, speaking life-giving words and pointing women to Jesus
7560. deep conversation with my friend after the retreat
7561. her hospitality
7562. getting to worship at their wonderful church on Sunday morning

7563. the delight of surprising a friend on my way home
7564. an afternoon walk in the sunshine, catching up with her
7565. her persevering, confident trust in His love and sovereignty and provision through trials
7566. reunion with my guys on Sunday night
7567. safety over 1500+ miles on the road
7568. powerful reminders of His love for me

The Beauty of Serving and Being Served

In recent weeks, as friends of mine have faced various trials, I’ve had occasion to marvel at the beauty of women asking for, giving, and receiving help.

And I've not always been on the giving end; my servant-hearted husband frequently gives me food for thought and reasons to be thankful as I receive gracious help from him. 

We hate to feel needy; we don’t want to burden others. But when we are ashamed of our weakness, or too proud to admit our need, we commit robbery.

Click over to read my article at Ungrind today about the glimpses of glory that can be seen when we cast off our pride, admit our weakness, and ask for help.

Would You Speak to Her That Way?

I was sitting at Chick-Fil-A with a friend last week when I looked down and noticed an earring-back lying on the table. My hands went to my ears, and I realized that one of the silver studs I'd been wearing was gone.

My friend and I scanned the table and the floor; I combed over my scarf and shook out my jacket. It was gone. And Chick-Fil-A was the third place I'd been since leaving home, so the earring could have been anywhere.

They were brand-new earrings, a gift from my parents. I had a pair of silver ball studs like these before, and I wore them almost every day until the cheap silver coating started to peel off. So my mom had gotten me a nicer, sterling silver pair for Christmas.

My inner monologue went something like this: "It's all your fault. It was so stupid of you to wear those with loose backs. You *knew* those backs were looser than they should have been. Why would you wear nice earrings with loose backs? Stupid. I can't believe you did that. And now it's gone."

It's not like they were hundred-dollar diamond earrings. And it's not like they were irreplaceable heirlooms handed down from a beloved grandmother. I tried to tell myself, "It's just STUFF...this isn't worth getting so upset about." But still I felt sick about it, mad at myself.

Given that earlier that evening, I'd just had my first counseling session, I journaled a little and asked my counselor if she thought that reaction was normal. [You're in counseling? Yes, yes I am. Truth be told, I think we could all use someone to come alongside us from time to time and help us grow in our ability to think biblically and love well...and it should be happening a lot more in the church, informally. No major crises in my life, just feeling "stuck" in the same old, same old struggles and sins. A friend of mine has been seeing this counselor for quite some time and has had great things to say. I feel blessed to be getting some help from her now, too.]

"Normal?" Pamela responded when we talked this week. "Well, it's not the way God would have you talk to His beloved daughter. It's not godly self-talk. God doesn't talk to you that way. If He admonishes us, it's not in a condemning tone. Romans 8:1 tells us that."

I was expecting, I suppose, some sort of analysis of my thought process. Instead, Pamela's simple, straightforward words sliced sharply through my self-absorption.  

Her comments have been on a loop in my mind ever since. Would I talk to the teenage girl I mentor that way? Never. Would I use this tone of voice with my best friend? I wouldn't think of it. Would I berate my sisters in the church like this? No, no, no. Even if I did think one of these precious women had done something dumb, I wouldn't dream of addressing her with the tone or the words inside my own head.

So why do I think it's OK to talk to myself that way?

No brilliant, tidy conclusions to this post; I guess one of the things Pamela and I will be exploring is how to silence that harsh inner critic and replace condemnation with conviction. Just wanted to share some food for thought while I am still "in process," before I can tie it all up with a bow :)

Oh, and the earring? Pamela found it it in her office. It must have snagged and fallen out when I took my scarf off. The kindness of God, in the midst of my mess.

Before and After In Progress

Whether it's home improvement or weight loss, wardrobe overhaul or cleaning project, there's nothing like a great set of before-and-after photos. I love the sense of accomplishment, the clear evidence of hard work paid off, the beauty of a stunning transformation.

Six years ago, Steve and I bought a house built in the 1930s, and we've been tearing it apart ever since. Projects have included knocking out walls, moving a staircase, adding two bedrooms and a bathroom, and now gutting the existing bathroom. You'd think by now we'd have a lot of before-and-afters to proudly display.

Instead what we've got is a bunch of "before and in progress" examples. Case in point: the nursery, which I got to show you in this post shortly before Elijah was born. It's further along now than it was in these photos; the built-in bookcase and dresser are installed and painted, with trim around them; the closet has a curtain; a new door has been made and hung. But nearly five years later, it's still not actually *completed*. The door hasn't been painted; the light is a bare bulb, no fixture; there's no baseboard, and the trim around the built-ins needs to be redone. Not to mention the carpet desperately needs a good steam cleaning.

See, we have this tendency around here to dive into a new project, get it to the point of being usable, and then move on to something else. That would be why the stairs still have rough treads...why the guest room features a mattress and box springs on a carpet remnant...why the upstairs bathroom has no flooring...why the trim we tore off our bedroom windows and closet in July 2006 just got replaced within the last year...and why we decided to demolish our downstairs bathroom instead of working on any of the above :)

And this isn't a dig at my hardworking husband--I haven't mentioned the countless doors and pieces of trim I need to paint...or the number of months I've had paint chips for the bathroom but haven't selected a color, much less painted the walls...or the photos I've haphazardly printed with the intention that someday I'll get a collage wall up in our living room...or the boxes of vintage blue and green glass that I bought, oh, almost a year ago and never bought shelves for...need I go on?

I love our little house. It is nothing if not a "work in progress." And I'm excited about the improvements we're making! But sometimes I just want some AFTER pictures.

It occurred to me recently that my home-improvement-impatience is similar to my life-improvement-impatience. I read all those reassuring verses about how God will complete the work He began in me. Sometimes I can even see how He's changed me--I look back and realize who I was a few years ago, and where I am now, and I'm thankful for the progress. But my heart is still very much a messy construction zone. And I whine: Lord, can we please have some "after" pictures? Can't I conquer this struggle once and for all and proudly display the evidence that I have arrived?

I have a really hard time imagining some future day when our house is "finished" (my guess is that will only happen when we have to get it ready to sell, and even then, we won't have gotten around to all of the improvement projects we know are merely pipe dreams). But I can, and must, cling to the hope that there WILL be a future day when God's work in me is brought to a beautiful and satisfying completion. What I have a hard time coming to grips with is the reality that that won't happen in this life. "After" pictures of my heart aren't coming next week, or in five years, or when I reach age 75, if I would happen to live that long.

I will experience progress in that time, yes. But until I die or until Jesus comes, my heart will be under construction. It will be messy and rough around the edges, not magazine-worthy. So I am asking for grace to cooperate with the remodeling rather than whine about the never-ending work, and to believe that God's way of completing it (unlike the Kannel method of house remodeling) is never haphazard, delayed, or abandoned. He WILL complete the good work He began in me--and when He does, I will be finally set free from pride, so I won't even care about the "after" photos. I'll be too busy worshiping the Savior whose image I reflect.


Related:
Endless Revisions
What He Desires, That He Does
The Really Amazing Thing

Broken

Look who I got to see this weekend...

 

SQUEEEE!

When I found out a few months ago that Ann Voskamp was going to be in Nashville, OF COURSE I was going to be there. Duh. Even better: my beloved mentor came to attend with me...and my amazing husband kept the boys overnight and into the next day so that I had a wonderful getaway with her!

The event, called "Broken: An Evening with Ann Voskamp, Christa Wells, and Nicole Witt," began with music from Christa and Nicole. They led us in singing a couple of songs and then performed several of their own songs. I was only just a little bit familiar with Christa's music, so most of the songs were new to me. I especially appreciated "How Emptiness Sings." Christa explained that it was inspired by an old blog post of Ann's, in which Ann pondered the music a guitar makes:

The curves of a guitar holds emptiness, and in patient arms, emptiness can sing.

I watch how her fingers gracefully play up the long, slender neck. How she cradles the wood. How she embraces the void within it and listens to it.

The black space under the willing strings amplify sounds and a chamber of dark is a holy hollowness holding songs. This is profound. This is grace.

Scripture is the steel threads, holding the world together, and when we let the fingers pluck along these sacred strings, the lines of red letters, Christ plays in one thousand places and even our hollow emptiness is a beauty that reverberates with the refrain of Love.

 When Christa read that, inspiration came:

...Her bow is on the strings,
And the tune resonates in the open space
To show us how emptiness sings:
Glory to God, Glory to God!
In fullness of wisdom,
He writes my story into his song, 
My life for the glory of God.

After the music, Ann came out to speak. Most of what she said was familiar stories and thoughts from her blog and book, but she also showed pictures of and talked a bit about this striking sculpture in Philadelphia called "Freedom." You know it's going to be good when you grab your pen to capture a line from someone's *prayer*: Ann addressed God as "The God who appoints those who disappoint, in order that we may point to You who never disappoint."

As Ann talked about brokenness and how God uses it to bring beauty and show His grace, I scribbled down several more poignant quotes (these are as close as I could get them, but probably not exact):

"Do I really break my joy because I believe that anger achieves more than love? ...The way of satan is more effective, more expedient?"

"Thy will be done" is the secret to joy.

To really get "receive," the "I" cannot come first.

"God renovates this fallen world with nails driven through His hands."

The sky breaks and waters the earth. Kernels break and feed our bodies. The earth breaks and seeds sprout up. "Why be afraid of being a broken thing?" "Maybe the love gets in more at the broken places."

"He is using all your brokenness to name you, shape you, give you a face and a form as glorious as His."

"This place is only part of the story--one of the stages of breaking free."

I'm pretty sure I speak for about 99% of the women there when I say we all would have liked to hear more from her--it was just over too soon!

We waited in line for a little while afterward to meet Ann, and instead of having her sign my copy of her book (which I'd lent to a friend and didn't have anyway), I had her sign MY book, since she was the one who inspired my visual journaling! So fun. 

After that lovely evening, I then got to spend the next 16ish hours with Diane. She drove over to go to the event with me, and we decided to get a hotel in Brentwood (a blissful night of uninterrupted sleep! waking up when my body decided it was done sleeping and not at the sounds of crying or an alarm! cranked a/c I did not have to pay the utility bill for! a hot tub! a maid to come in and clean up after me!).

You would think that between staying up until 1:00 AM and then talking nonstop from about 10-2 the following day, we'd have covered every imaginable topic and would be all caught up on everything. Oh, you would be so very wrong. How the hours passed so quickly, I do not know. But I am so thankful for this dear woman and the fact that I can be my realest, most broken self with her, and that she is willing to let me see her broken places. And I am thankful for the ways that both Ann (from a distance) and Diane (knowing and loving me up close) point me to Jesus, the Savior who loves and redeems messy, broken people.