Walking in Humility: Where Division Exists So Does Pride, and Other Thoughts on Loving Well Post-Election

I will admit that I had some choice words for America when I awoke to the results this morning.

My children did, too, as neither of the candidates they voted for at school took the election.

It was an impossible choice, really. On one hand, we had the embodiment of everything that is wrong with politics, and on the other, the epitome of everything that is wrong with us as a people.

And so today, I grieve with and pray for our country. Because, although someone did win the election, there are no winners here.

I think statistics are so interesting, because they tell a story.

Not always the story we'd like to hear, however. Not the details as we ideally wish they were.

But rather, the way things are.

And in this case, the white, heterosexual, rural-residing, self-identified Evangelical, non-college-educated majority has spoken. I know our form of government is deeply flawed, but no longer can we deny the fact that it's those with privilege who get to decide the fate of our country.

My hope is that in our own little corner of the country, we can start writing a different narrative. 

May we remember that we are the UNITED States of America and get back to the hard work of loving one another today. Especially those who are different than us. Especially those who are marginalized and oppressed, backed into a corner without a voice. 

Because where there is a lack of unity, there is often a lack of humility. Pride and love cannot coexist, so choose wisely.

May we rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn. It's so hard to rejoice with others when you're the one in mourning, but do it anyway.

May we be kind, always. 

May we remember that the change we wish to see doesn't begin in the Oval Office, but it starts with you and me.

And so today, I'm going to snuggle with my daughter on the couch. I'm going to enjoy my kiddos and laugh with them when they get home from school. I'll go to church and worship a God who wasn't caught off guard, a God who is still on the throne, and a God still worthy to be praised. 

I'll text my black friends and my gay friends and remind them that regardless of who gets to decide the fate of this country, they can never decide the worth of their souls. That they are still wanted, welcome, and loved. I'll hug my refugee friends, because love is a universal language which requires no translator.

Love well today, friends. Especially when it's hard, because that's precisely when the world needs it the most. 

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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: Ministry is Messy...and It's Supposed to Be

{This post was originally published on September 23, 2016}

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. 

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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: Further Thoughts on Speaking the Truth in Love

 Jesus is a gentleman.

It's something I heard often in those early years of Christianity, when I didn't know much of the character of this God who lovingly swooped into my life and stole my heart. But I was eager to learn.

He will knock on the door of your heart, but He will never barge in. He's a gentleman. He will wait until you open the door.

He's a gentle man. Humble in heart. Unconditionally loving. He hung on the cross so we wouldn't have to, so we may live free, out from under the burden of sin.

But in order to be resurrected into freedom, there must first be death. For Jesus, it took three days, but for us it often takes a lot longer. It takes time to loosen the grip of selfishness. Time to exhaust all other options; time to see ourselves for what we truly are.

The journey to surrender is often an arduous and painful one, but it's a destination we must arrive at willingly, with a heart of humility and repentance, before we can ever attempt to lay down our lives for Him. Sin surrendered out of pressure to conform is still tethered to the heart, and it's human nature to pick it back up again, eventually.

But we are such a stubborn and prideful people that we often continue to exist suspended in the misery of our pain, stuck somewhere on the path between conviction and repentance. It's hard to pry our fingers off of the life we think we always wanted, or the way we thought things would go. We are afraid. In our heart of hearts, we sometimes don't trust God with the unseen, so we take matters into our own hands and attempt to do damage control. 

We self-medicate to dull the pain of unfulfilled existence. We watch too much TV. We continue to eat long after we're full. We get angry at the people we love for interrupting our time or needing too much. We drink or take drugs. We long to feel wanted and loved, so we engage in illict sex. We spend money we don't have. We lie, steal, and talk badly about others.

We get mad at life and mad at God.

And yet, He waits for us.

Hosea tells us He's the loyal, unconditionally loving spouse to a whore of a wife, who is constantly wandering and seeking fulfillment and pleasure elsewhere. He's the one who repeatedly buys us back from the auction block, rescuing us from the misery of our sin, even though we've failed to see our value and worth in Him. Again. Even though we've run off and sold ourselves to cruel masters when, all along, His yoke is easy and His burden light.

He patiently waits for us, even though He knows we will abide with Him for a time, return His love for a time, only to run off again after the next abusive substitution we allow close to our heart.

He's a gentleman. And though His heart aches for the lost, He will never force their hand. Because that isn't love.

We're fellow sojourners on this road toward freedom and true life in Christ. It's a journey that requires much patience, grace, respect, and love, as people wrestle out their issues with Christ, as they manage the pain of limbo, and as they do the hard work of offering up their deepest selves to the brutality of the cross.

Only in Christ can death give birth to freedom and new life and surrender yield victory. Be gentle with one another and humble in heart, as you seek, by His strength and grace, to follow after Him today.

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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: When Life Is Stressful

Today is a trash can full of crumpled rough drafts that didn’t make the cut.

Pressed for time, many to-dos, forgetful.

Left late, wrong turns, detours.

Rushed, stressed, chaos.

Disobedience, repeating, frustration.

Hyper children, dog poop, baby fingers.

Play outside, space to think, it’s always something.

Car climbing, dog escaping, dinner burning.

Wet baby, dog water, playing with garbage.

Sassy son, too many kids, can’t catch a break.

Can’t catch my breath.

Lost my mind.

Check under the sofa. It could be under there with a dirty diaper, the TV remote we can never find, Lego blocks, and action figures.  Maybe a dog toy or two. Some old underwear? A baby binky? I guess you never know.

Or we could dig through the dirty dishes in the sink. Maybe I dropped it in there with the soggy Cheerios from breakfast this morning. It could be in the tall stack of pots, as well. The one with the leftover pasta sauce rotting inside.

We should shuffle through the stack of school papers on the counter and flash cards that didn’t get rehearsed today. Or any day this week. Or last. Maybe it’s by the book order I forgot about or the one thousand handouts about parties, dress-down days, concerts, meetings, and projects due. Perhaps it accidentally got buried in there.

What about the four hampers of clean clothes I have yet to fold? It’s possible that my mind just fell on out and landed in there as I walked by. I doubt I would’ve noticed its absence as I frantically ran out the door after the dog. A revolving door would be nice because closing it seems too much of a chore for those that come and go here.

Maybe the mental haze I feel is due to the fact that it’s baking in the oven with the potatoes I put in about an hour ago. With all the pieces of my mind I’ve handed out today, what remains is probably about the size of a potato, so it would’ve blended in nicely.

Let me know if you find it.

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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: A Grateful Heart

Having a baby is difficult in more ways than the labor. It's the life impact, the day-altering sacrifices. How the baby orders the steps that used to be set by the rhythm of your family. It's finding new rhythms and setting them in place.

The clock doesn't wait for the constant needs of feeding, changing, and rest. Everything takes longer, and there isn't room to fit it all in. What used to be, that is.

This last child grabbed a fistful of my mind on his way out, and it hasn't been the same since. I still find myself searching for the carefree person I used to know--the one not easily stressed and overwhelmed, the one not anxious about routine things like going to the grocery store, the one who enjoyed making memories--but I have yet to unearth her completely. 

One of the things that came up with the kids recently is that "we don't do many fun things as a family."  Intentional time and activities have certainly been lacking, and the honest feedback, though brutal, is good to hear sometimes. It's a hard reset on an equally hard year. 

The day exuded fall, wonderfully moody one minute and sunny the next, its temperament changing with the wind.

The weather was gorgeous, and it beckoned us out of the house. 

And just like the crispness in the wind, it was a much-needed breath of fresh air.

Time to pay attention.

To appreciate the beauty around us.

Time to pause long enough to be present, to etch these moments in our memory.

To stand in awe of Him, of His creation and blessings.

To cultivate a grateful heart and find joy again.

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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!