Black and White

Black and white. "Here it is...in black and white." A phrase that can mean several things... an obvious answer,  or something reliable and credible, or seeing things only in absolute terms. Sadly, what is happening in our country right now (again) is none of those things. On the surface, it appears to be about black versus white, black lives vs white lives, black injustice vs white privilege, black subjugation vs white dominance. In reality, though, events this week are not that easily explained. Or understood. Or solved. For the past 8 days, I have been on the brink of tears, feeling them well up inside me and my heart aching until my eyes are near brimming before I take a deep breath and pray and push them back down. Because if I was to give in to the feeling, let the tears fall, there would be no end to them, and the hopelessness of the situation would drown me. So I pray some more, read articles, watch news videos, and skim posts on social media to get a sense of the battle we face. An age old battle, since the beginning of creation, with eternal consequences. 

Black and white. Sin. Evil. Light. Darkness. In its most basic, age old form: hatred of a group of humans because they are different. Genocides. Gendercides. Ethnic cleansing. Apartheid. Racism. Any time one human presumes superiority over another human, we have evil.  In its most basic form. So much hate, Lord, so much injustice, so much pain. Cities under siege, people hating each other, taking sides, destroying lives and property and futures. Social media sites exploding with videos, live feeds, posts, debates, photos, news updates, and so much self-serving, hate-filled rhetoric and ugliness. The implicit made explicit. I read posts, try to answer, to reason, to express my heart, but I, too, am lost as to how to make sense of it all, and it shows. In my struggle to find the right words, to try to speak calm and love and peace, inevitably I only succeed in irritating someone or being misunderstood and am subjected to retorts and accusations that, I am ashamed to say, I sometimes answer in a less than loving manner. My daughters are distraught and want answers to why this is happening, and for once, I fail as a mom--I have no answers, no reasons, no prescription for fixing this, no trite explanations for why people are doing what they are doing. There is no simple answer. Yes, sin is the root cause of all evil and sadness and suffering in this world. But identifying that sin is the answer and the cause of it all does not make any of it magically go away. 

Black and white. And in some feeble attempt to make sense of it all, to do something, some elements of music industry organized a collective action, Blackout Tuesday, to protest racism and police brutality. The action, organized in response to recent killings of unarmed black men, is taking place today, June 2, 2020--my 65th birthday. Not only are businesses taking part encouraged to abstain from releasing music and other business operations--now social media users are posting blank, black squares in lieu of cover and profile photos. But, like other groupthink efforts, folks seem to just be following blindly in an effort to be viewed as sympathetic and supportive of racial injustice; even I considered, for a nanosecond, joining this non-movement. Because it is only cosmetic, and does not solve anything. It neither promotes love nor heals the hate, the rift we have--it reduces the underlying disease to a slogan, a saying, a hashtag, without offering a cure or even a bandaid. 

Black and white. So what do we do? What do I do? What is my purpose in this? To reflect Christ, yes. To love his image bearers--all of them. To show the way, to see peace, to show the light of the gospel. But when? How? How can we rebuild? How do we heal?  How do we make sense of it all? And when, God? When will we all be reconciled not just to You, but to our fellow man? How long must we tear each other apart? Where is your purpose in all of this suffering and hatred? Separated from each other, and separated from You. 

Black and white. We don't heal by hurting others. We don't rebuild by tearing down. We don't reconcile by hating others. We don't heal by disrespecting others. We don't heal by focusing only on differences, but by realizing that, despite differences, we are all image bearers of our Creator. For this, for this, Jesus died...to reconcile a helpless, hopeless people to God and to each other. For God is neither black nor white, or red or brown or yellow; God is not a color. God is LOVE. Infinitesimal love for every single one of His creations. And while we are not God, we are made in HIS image, and should reflect HIS love, HIS beauty, HIS grace. God is love, and He is light. Light defeats darkness--even in a world full of darkness, all one needs to do is shine one small light to dispel some of the darkness.

Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children. And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. (Ephesians 5:1-2)

There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave[g] nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3:28)

Pride goeth before the...

I see it in others.  In my brother who, even though he’s mentally retarded, has the innate selfish nature of a young child, who wants his own way. I see it in my brother-in-law when he talks about his network, his "people" who can get him great deals, his justification and rationalization of misappropriating money.  I see it in my husband when he tries to minimize his brother's actions so he can maintain a relationship.  I see it in my sisters who think ill of me just because my parents chose me to handle things after their deaths.  I even see it in strangers in their thinly veiled attempts at validation in their posts on Facebook.  But what about me?   What is this blind spot that I so willingly allow to cover my prideful thoughts, my insecurities, my need for validation?

I argued with my husband today...all day.  Off and on, but all day. Not yelling or confrontational or in his face.  No, the little digs and comments under my breath, the kind of fighting that sneaks up on the other person, then runs and hides behind false civility and an innocent look of, "Who? Me?" Because selfishly, pridefully, yes sinfully, I want to be in control of everything in my life, including those things others have to work out for themselves. Especially things that involve our life together.  And I lie to myself that I feel the need to help (translation, to control), because we are married, we are one, and because he is me and I am him and we are one together. Right.  I am me.  Me.  Me.  Me.  And I want to know when, why, how, what, and where for just about everything that affects us.  Because I trust no one.  

Not even him.

Sounds awful, doesn't it?  

And no matter how many times I tell myself it is because of all the hurt and betrayal I have endured, it is actually because of my pride.  Pride that is camouflaged as insecurity.  Pride that hides behind rationalizing.  Pride disguised as the strong survivor/former victim. 

Pride that goes before the fall. The fall from submitting to God's will. Because pride is more than just being arrogant or full of oneself or thinking I am superior to others.  Pride is putting my will, the will of SELF, before all else, including focusing on my own problems, my own fears, my own desires.  

On apologies and forgiveness

Forgiveness.  One of the basic tenets of the Christian faith.  Love one another.  Forgive one another.  Repent for your sins.  You'd think most Christians would be experts at forgiveness by now, that we would breeze right through this and move on to something a little more difficult.  Maybe that is because we confuse empty apologies with real repentance.  So, what is forgiveness?   And why do I fret so much over whether or not someone accepts my forgiveness or forgives me?  Why is forgiveness from a person (which is temporary and capricious and conditional) more important to me than the totally undeserved and no strings attached, unconditional forgiveness from God?  Do I really need forgiveness for perceived slights or bygone hurts from someone who couldn’t care less if I accept it?  More than I absolutely depend on God’s gracious blanket pardon of sins past, present and future?   And do I really mean it (and I mean REALLY) when I pronounce I am here to glorify God?  Or am I just jumping up and down flapping my arms and hollering “hey!  Over here!  look at me!   I forgive you! “

And then there is the incessant need to apologize, to say "Sorry" as a prelude to rationalizing bad behavior, being late for an appointment, for losing my temper, for, well, everything.  It's one of the first concepts children have drummed into them--to say "I'm sorry" when they do something wrong.  Instead of teaching them to admit their mistake, and to actually seek forgiveness from mom, dad, baby sister, teacher, or the dog, we shake our fingers at them and demand them to "tell Daddy you are sorry for spilling your milk," and "tell the dog you're sorry for stepping on her tail" or "Apologize this instant for hitting your brother."  We   confuse the two actions--apologizing (passive placating) and asking forgiveness (actively taking accountability for wrongdoing), and most of the things we apologize for are not even intentional acts of omission or commission, but accidents.  So, kids grow up thinking two things--that they are responsible for everything, and conversely, as long as they say "sorry," they are responsible for nothing.  Forgiveness is not even sought--the mumbled "sorry" covers all wrongs, and the other party (who may or may not have been actually wronged) doesn't have to do anything--hearing the "sorry" implies absolution.

Over the past few years I have learned a lot about myself, my tendencies, and my weaknesses, and I have come face-to-face with the specter of meaningless apologizing, with being the perpetual victim that being continually sorry for everything entails.  And I have realized, quite painfully and regretfully, that the majority of the instances I apologize for, I am either not responsible for, or, more likely than not, that I am intentionally sinning.  Yes, sinning, folks...not just "messing up" or "screwing up" or "forgetting". I have wronged someone, and thereby have wronged God, and by not actively seeking forgiveness, I have disqualified myself from worshiping Him.   In that act,  by not ASKING for and actively SEEKING forgiveness, I also have shot myself in the foot and have made myself incapable of receiving true forgiveness.  From the other person.  And more importantly, from the Holy One, the creator of the universe.  Just because God's forgiveness is a given, through the action of Jesus dying on the cross, does in no way mean we should not repent.  

And I am not talking about reconciliation, either.  At least not human reconciliation.  Asking forgiveness and being genuinely repentant for our actions towards or against another person does not guarantee that person will accept our request and actually grant forgiveness.  If that person is a Christian, then hopefully someone in their church circle will step up and start the process referenced in Matthew 18.  But if that person refuses to grant forgiveness, or will not ask for forgiveness, then it is that person who is disobeying God.  As Paul says in Romans 12:18, "if possible, so far as it depends on you, be at peace with all men.’"  If possible, he says. Meaning, it is a 50-50 deal, and if I have in good faith repented and asked forgiveness, then my role is finished.   The rest is up to the other person. Now as for repenting and asking for God's forgiveness,  that, my friends, is a "whole nuther ball of wax" as my daddy used to say.  We are commanded to repent, compelled to repent for our sins, because the mere presence of God's spirit in my soul pricks me and forces me to see the ugliness of my sin, and I ask God's forgiveness and He grants it. Absolutely. Immediately.  This is not a 50-50 deal...more like an all or nothing situation.   And that is where I lose sleep.  And obsess. Confusing one with the other.  And, stupidly and blindly missing out on the greatest gift of all time.  

But, not for long.  Because that still voice in me urges me, no forces me, to admit my sin, repent, and then throw that sin away.  And eventually, to forget it.  

As for my obsessive need for closure and acceptance and repentance and forgiveness from my fellow humans?  I am sill dealing with that, but knowing the enemy is half the battle--I see you, oh victim mentality, and I know who you are!  I know your tricks, and your games, and your whiny, whimpering self-deprecation, and you are not who I am.  I am His, and He is in me, and His grace covers a multitude of sins.  

On God's Grace and Report Cards

Remember when you were a kid and you got your report card?  And you had to take it home and get your parents to sign it?  The teacher would hand out envelopes with your name on the top, and in it was this thin piece of paper (sometimes white, sometimes blue), containing all your subjects for the year, your behavior, your social adaptability, and, gulp, comments from the teacher, and next to each subject was a handwritten letter or number denoting how you fared that report period.  Sometimes it would just be an "S" for satisfactory, or "N" for needs improvement; later on, the grades would change to a scale--1 through 4, or A through F--a scale rating you on your performance compared to the rest of the class.  School was always easy for me, so anything less than an A+ would make my knees knock as I handed the report card over to my father to review--he knew my capabilities, and held me to a high standard.  I would bask in his praise, and vow to work as hard as I could to maintain those straight As, or eliminate anything less than perfection.  

Report cards and grading scales permeate our daily life--sports teams and cheerleader squads are denoted as "A" or "B" teams, and everything from stocks, insurance, food, movies and construction materials are rated and graded.  Little wonder we humans grade ourselves.   The problem with grading ourselves, though, is we grade ourselves on our human scale, in human terms.  No, let's be more specific, more on point--I grade MYSELF.  Constantly.  I compare my actions, my thoughts, my responses, pretty much everything, to the WORLD's standard of what is acceptable.  And then, even if I use the correct yardstick to measure myself, i.e. the Bible, I look at myself through some distorted lenses and see myself how I was, before I became a new creation in Christ.  I am perpetually trying to improve, to get the best grade, to bring home that report card of all As, but I always fall short.  I fail...sometimes a little, sometimes miserably...but I can guarantee you, I will always fail. I will always fall short.  

I go to my God in prayer, in supplication, in a panic sometimes, holding out my report card for the day, or the week, or my lifetime, and I am ashamed.   Instead of all As, all I see is my failures--Ds and Fs and lots of checkmarks for "needing improvement."  I am despondent.   I will never be good enough to spend eternity with Him.  

Except for God's grace.  

Because almost 2000 years ago, on Good Friday, God sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to the cross, holding  all our report cards.  All of our sins, our well meaning intentions, our failures, our paltry attempts at holiness, all of it...loaded on the cross, in the thorns that pierced his brow, the stripes he bore.  He took it ALL, and covered us with HIS grace, HIS perfection, HIS report card of straight As.

And THAT, my friend, is what God sees when we look up at him and he looks back at us.  He sees the perfection that is His Son, because Christ took our sins, and, get this, SEPARATED himself from His Father, because God cannot even look at sin.  He redeemed us, we are justified, and report cards just do not matter any more.  

What an awesome, awe-inspiring feeling!  To know for certain that God sees only His perfect Son when He sees me.  What a beautiful thing, this amazing grace.  That saved a wretch like me.

"For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God."  (2 Corinthians 5:21)

P.S.  Thanks, Brian, for putting this analogy in my head!   

Spots and Blemishes

Endured my annual skin cancer screening recently—funny the areas I thought were serious were not.  However, seems the doctor was a bit alarmed at some rough patches on my face.  Yep, he matter of factly froze them right then and there.  He also seemed perplexed as to why I hadn’t noticed them.  Sure I noticed them...I noticed them every day as I applied concealer and foundation to hide them.  They've been there for a long time, and I just figured they were part of the aging process.  Nope, they were precancerous lesions caused by years and years of cumulative sun damage.  Something I gave no thought to in my teens and my twenties, as I foolishly ignored advice to wear sunscreen, and later, to get annual checks. The older I get, and the more I ignore them and do nothing, the worse they become.  

Just like all the little sins, the minor trespasses committed without nary a second thought.  You know, the little slips of the tongue, the gossiping, the slamming door, the self-pity. All the human selfish tendencies I become so immune to, so complacent with. Years of cumulative damage, scarring the soul almost imperceptibly, slowly, relentlessly, barely noticeable as they become part of my persona. Covering them up with prayers and words and excuses and rationalizations, trying to cancel them out with good deeds, remorse, and repentance, hiding them under a smile, a kind word, church attendance.  

Until someone points them out.  

Until the Spirit convicts, forces me to look in the mirror, and see them for what they are:  ugly, rough spots on my soul.  

Then He heals them--and the healing process makes them more noticeable, tender, painful, making me more aware of their presence than before, more careful, gingerly touching the spots where the damage was done.  As they heal, always a small white spot to remind me of my foolhardiness.

Anxious for the day to come when I receive a new, fresh body, without any scars or blemishes.  

"And you, who once were alienated and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, he has now reconciled in his body of flesh by his death, in order to present you holy and blameless and above reproach before him..."   Colossians 1:21-22

Don't scratch that itch!

Have you ever wanted to do something so badly, something unhealthy or wrong, and even though you knew you'd hate yourself for doing it, you just do it anyway?  And for one brief moment, you enjoy the act.  But then, after you do it, you feel ashamed, and horrible, and try to hide it.  Because the consequences of that action are there, staring at you, reminding you of your lack of self-control.  Then, just when the sting of the action starts to fade, you remember how good it felt initially.  That brief moment when you thought, maybe just this once it'd be okay, no one will know, I will be able to stop before it's too late.  But you can't.   And on and on, in a vicious circle, you go. Repeating the same senseless action over and over, and you wish it would stop, that you could go back to before it started?

About a year ago I developed a severely itchy rash on one of my forearms, so itchy that I would scratch it, subconsciously, until it bled.  Sometimes, I would inadvertently rip chunks of skin off my arm, and other times I would just scratch it lightly. Regardless of how hard or how long I scratched, within seconds my arm would be covered with dark purple, angry bruises.  Actually, not bruises--ruptured blood vessels.  Sometimes I'd have the rash on my legs, or other areas, but mostly it is on my arms.  I have dealt with this rash off and on for over a year, and no one really knows what it is.  I do know it is unbearably itchy, and it seems to itch even more after the skin has cleared up.  When I scratch it, it feels good, then it itches again, then I scratch it again.  Dr. Google says it's called the itch-scratch-itch cycle.   Whatever it is, my skin is changing--it has gotten thicker and darker and  pitted with scars.   And despite me being extremely self-conscious about how it looks, the itch is so strong, and it feels sooooo good to scratch it, I just cave.  And within seconds, my arm is ugly again.  And it still itches.  I have tried wearing long sleeves, taping thick gauze over it, applying oils and creams, concealing it with makeup, and wrapping ice packs over it, to no avail.  I've come to the conclusion I will have to get used to having ugly arms, and when people gasp and say "what did you do to your arm?!," I do my best to just laugh it off, saying I burned it, bumped it, had a biopsy, and then blithely change the subject.  

Tonight I was looking at my arms while taking a bath; they look horrible.  This month it's the left arm  that has blotchy purple areas and scabs on it.  In fact, I just scratched it again, and guaranteed myself at least another week before it "clears."  On my right arm there is a noticeably dark, leathery looking area over the entire forearm, and no matter how much lotion I put on it, the skin won't go back to normal.  And in that moment, it hit me: my faults and weaknesses (ahem, my sins) are like that.  It starts innocently enough, and it even feels good (for a moment), and seems harmless (at first), and then I see the ugly result of my weakness, my sin, staring at me, reminding me, even mocking me.  And just when the memory of that sin begins to fade, a little prick, a little twinge, reminds me of how satisfying it was to give in, even for a moment.  And no matter what I do, or how I try to avoid it, I cannot...the urge is too strong.  Again, ugly scars and bruises, and I do my best to hide them from people I see, to laugh them off, make up some excuse, rationalize why I did what I did.  And I see myself changing, the sin stays there, under my skin, daring me to give in.  But I know it is foolhardy and dangerous to scratch that itch, because scratching does not make the itching go away...it just makes it itch all the more.  

Strange analogy, I know.  

But reassuring just the same.  Because even though my skin condition may never go away,  as long as I lean on Christ, I can fight the urge to sin.  Yeah, I may die with ugly, scarred arms, but (and pardon the leap here):

"We grow weary in our present bodies, and we long to put on our heavenly bodies like new clothing...While we live in these earthly bodies, we groan and sign...we want to put on our new bodies so that these dying bodies will be swallowed up by life" 2 Cor 5: 2, 4

Meanwhile, I just keep telling myself "DON'T SCRATCH THAT ITCH!"

Leaving it all behind

What did Jesus mean when he said it was hard for the rich young man to enter heaven? That he must be willing to leave everything...family and wealth and possessions?   That it’d be easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle? I mean, seriously, a camel?  Now that is a very descriptive word picture.  A camel, humps and all, fitting through a tiny, tiny slot.  Jesus really wanted to get his point ( no pun intended) across to those rascally disciples of His.  They were dumbfounded because here’s this upstanding young man who has been blessed with riches and family, so therefore, all those blessings must mean he was in good graces with God, right?  

Wrong.  Earthly possessions, good fortune, a loving family, good health—all those are wonderful.  But they are not indicative of our standing with God. Because all have sinned.  And we are all wretched and lost and ugly were it not for His Son’s holy sacrifice.  That was Jesus’ point.  And Peter’s followup question, “yeah but we left it all for you” seems a bit presumptuous at first blush, but I think Peter, good ol doubting Peter, just wanted that little bit of reassurance.  That his soul was safe.  

So, great—the disciples are in, the rich guy is out, so what does that mean to me?   In the eyes of the world I’m fairly rich—steady income, a nice home, good health, a beautiful family—does that mean my only ticket to heaven is to leave it all?  Hate my family, abandon my possessions, give away my IRA, and move to Zimbabwe to live in filth with only one set of clothes?   Not exactly.  What I’ve discovered over the past few years is the tighter I hold on to things, and the more I set my family and successes above my love for God, and the more I attribute all my good fortune to my own efforts, well, all that just puts God in the passenger seat, or even the back seat.  I love my husband.  I adore my grandchildren. And I am so thankful we are not struggling day to day.  And yes I’ve felt more than a twinge of pride when I got promoted or someone compliments my hair or my kids.  I used to hold on to those things so tightly, and felt my happiness and my very will to live were dependent on relationships and things.  God was, I’m embarrassed to say, not the source of happiness or  the center of my life.  Not even a close second.  

And inside, I was miserable.  The harder I tried to hold on to thing-centered happiness, the more I felt it slipping away.  Same for relationships.  I found myself unable to be thankful, happy, or even at peace.  I cried.  A lot.  Then, three  years ago , God broke me—emotionally, physically, and spiritually--and suddenly it was crystal clear.    As broken as I was, I was finally whole. My world was falling apart, but I was all together.  Because I finally realized my worth lay not in what I had or who loved me or how I felt.  No, my worth lay in leaning completely on Jesus.  And I “left” everything—daughters, grandkids, financial security, even mental wellbeing—for the sake of being Christ’s.  

Not a bad trade off.  

Not at all 

Unrealistic Expectations

ex·pec·ta·tion

ˌekspekˈtāSH(ə)n/

noun

plural noun: expectations

1. a strong belief that something will happen or be the case in the future.

   
   

   "reality had not lived up to expectations"

   
   

   • a belief that someone will or should achieve something.

     
     

     "students had high expectations for their future"

     
     

     
     

We all have them...ideas and expectations of what others should do, or say, whether friends, strangers, family, or even God.  A situation arises, we analyze it and react, and expect others to react likewise.   The problem with that?  Well, we are not all the same, and what we do in a situation, while it may seem right for us, may not be what someone else would do; heck, it could even be the total opposite of what WE should do.  While a normal assumption, expecting a certain behavior or reaction from someone else can only lead to disappointment at best, and fractured relationships, depression, and hopelessness at worst.  Unrealistic expectations put a heavy burden on our shoulders; they give us the false impression we have control over something we do not.    When I find myself saying, "but they should have said this!," or "why couldn't she do what a normal person would have done?", I have to smack myself upside the head and remind myself they are not me, I am not them, and most importantly, I am not God.

My mother-in-law is dying, almost two years from the date her husband of 51 years died.  My husband has to fly out suddenly to be at her side, and I have a totally dependent family member living with us--not unlike 2016.  To make it even more eerily deja-vu like, a storm is bearing down on us as I write this--although this time it is a hurricane instead of a blizzard.  As I drove Alex to the airport this afternoon, I began to fret how I am all alone, that no one is here to help, that no one wants to help, comparing this situation to the mess two years ago.  But, as Alex gently chided me, this is not the same.  We have each other, and most importantly, we have God.  I have friends I can reach out to, and our kids, and neighbors...even if my sisters are no longer part of our life.   I cannot expect "blood from a turnip," as an old saying goes--people can only give what they can give.  People fall short of our expectations; sadly, many times it is people we love and expect to be there for us, to do what we would do in the same situation.  I have to remind myself though...we ALL fall short of God's expectation.  

"For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus."

Managing my expectations of myself is a full-time job, let alone trying to grapple with my expectations of others.  As long as I aspire to live up to my Creator's expectations (which I never will until I meet Him in heaven), I have my hands full and don't need to burden myself with all the shouldas, couldas, and wouldas. Like David, I must strengthen myself in the Lord my God (I Sam 30:6).

Growing Pains

In reading 1 Samuel, I can relate to what Israel is going through in the first six chapters--God starts them on a new chapter of their lives. They had grown complacent, lazy, and had forgotten their sole purpose was to glorify God.  Their sacrifices and traditions had become stale, and a renewal of their hearts was drastically needed.  So God called out to Samuel, "And Samuel grew and the LORD was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground." (1 Sam 3:19). Yet, although all Israel knew Samuel, and realized he was the prophet of God, they STILL persisted in trusting their own ways, and tried to force God's hand by using the ark of the covenant as a talisman to defeat the Philistines. Well, God had other plans--the ark was captured, Eli and his sons died, and all seemed hopeless.  However, God used that defeat to glorify himself, and to remind everyone, including Israel, that He alone is omnipotent. The Philistines start having all sorts of problems with the pesky ark...their god falls over and breaks, mice are running rampant, and men are afflicted with tumors. They cannot get rid of that ark fast enough; Israel rejoices over their apparent good fortune. Samuel gathers them all together, though, and warns them to give themselves over completely to God--to abandon their old ways, their false gods. But when the Philistines hear all Israel is gathering in one location, they fear an uprising and a battle, so they, in turn, go up against Israel. The people of Israel start to panic, but this time, instead of trying to "help" God fix things, they instead call upon the Lord.  "And the hand of the LORD was against the Philistines all the days of Samuel." (1 Sam 7:13)

God has been teaching me, leading me, and schooling me in the ways of His grace, and I have been clumsily trying to follow His lead, to let go and let God be in control of my life. Like so many renewed Christians, I expected my life to become immediately better, for all my problems to be solved, for obstacles to just disappear, and for my enemies to be vanquished. I tried to help God, to force His hand. to second-guess what He meant to happen. And, like the people of Israel, I despaired when it seemed all was lost, that God had forsaken me, and feared being defeated yet again. Things got worse, not better. Yet, as long as I keep my eyes on God, and trust in His deliverance in His timing, my heart stops pounding and my soul rests in the blessed assurance that is in Jesus. Like Paul said to the Thessalonians, "you turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God, and to wait for his Son from heaven...Jesus who delivers us from the wrath to come." (1 Thess 1:9-10)

God not only loves me; He has CHOSEN me, as evidenced by my receipt of the gospel, the Good News, and by the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. I must trust in Him, and imitate Christ in all I do, even when life seems hopeless.  Jesus delivers us from the wrath "to come." Despite all the fancy words of prosperity preachers like Osteen and Joyce Meyer, my faith in Christ is not the secret recipe for happiness and abundance in this life.  It does not guarantee freedom from affliction, or sorrow, or pain. Not in this world, anyway. Like Israel learned time and time again, God is with His people in all circumstances, and through this, God's people reflect His glory, and the joy of His Holy Spirit, thereby reaching others, who in turn, become believers.  Not because we have it so much better, but because they see in us how, in spite of our circumstances, our faith is a bright, shining light to a world steeped in darkness.

White as Snow

Whenever there is a fresh blanket of snow on the ground, someone, somewhere, will make a reference to how sin is covered by grace, or our sin is covered by Christ's blood, and what was once dirty and gross is now clean and as white as new-fallen snow.  Far be it from me to disappoint...

Yesterday, we got a light dusting of snow in the mountains, about 6-8 inches--beautiful, fluffy white snow.  Covering the trees, the cars, the deck, the rocks.  Piled up high on top of bird feeders, light poles, and whatever was left laying out in the yard is wearing a cute little snow hat.  Yes, everything looks beautiful and clean and fresh.  The side garden is all covered with snow, including the weeds and brambles and the extra plastic planters I unceremoniously just tossed down by the compost bin.  The front garden is a winter wonderland, with magical, snow-covered branches and what looks like fairy dust on the bird bath; the half-decomposed, moldy kitchen scraps dug up by a bear or raccoon are no longer visible, and the stumps of trees Alex never got around to leveling, begging to trip up an unsuspecting gardener (uh, me), are now gentle mounds of soft, white snow.  The dents and rust on the bumper of my car are hidden by a new lovely winter coat, and the back deck, normally littered with shells of sunflower seeds from my collection of bird feeders, is now coated with a white ermine blanket of freshly fallen snow.  

But in a few days, it will all melt, and only the ugliness and dirt will remain.  I will once again be reminded of the need to bury my kitchen scraps deeper to prevent the forest animals from digging them back up, and I will have to walk more carefully among the stumps until Alex has time to cut them down. My car will have rust, and dents needing fixing, and I'll have to take a broom to the back deck.  

So where am I going with all this? Today I was reading three verses in Lamentations:  

"But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:  The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." (Lam 3:21-23)

Reading those three short verses, my heart leapt. His mercies never come to an end! They are new every morning! My Lord loves me always. He has forgiven me and will continue to forgive me, every new day of my life. Despite the fact that He knows I will commit new sins, grievous sins.  Despite the fact that it is in His power to punish me, punishment I deserve, to destroy me...He does not.  He is the personification, the perfection of mercy.  New mercies.  Every morning.  Not snow, just covering things up, snow that just hides the dirt underneath, snow that will melt away. Not just an appearance of cleanliness. But mercy. Forgiveness.  Complete, utter, final, washed in Jesus' blood, mercy.  

"as far as the East is from the West, so does he remove our transgressions from us"  (Ps 103:12)

"Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool."  Isaiah 1:18

I love snow.  Thank you Jesus for making my sins white and beautiful so I may have continual hope in God's everlasting love.  

Snow does make folks wax poetic.