The Vomit Zone

During my short and unimpressive softball career, spent mostly batting late in the order and hiding from line drives in the outfield, I played one terrifying afternoon at first base. It was during these few hours that I was introduced to what a friend called “the vomit zone”.

For my non-American readers, let me give just a bit of explanation. In baseball/softball, the hitter hits the ball with a bat and then runs to first base (unfortunately without the bat – as that would make the sport infinitely more interesting). The defensive team tries to either catch the ball in the air, which is an out, or scoop it up off the ground and throw it to first base before the runner gets there. The first baseman’s job is to catch the ball being thrown to him. 

I’m sure you see the problem. The first baseman is actually a target. And the other players don’t always make “easy-to-catch” throws. Sometimes they throw the ball into the ground. Or over the first baseman’s head. Or with such velocity that it hard to see, let alone catch. Or, they may throw the ball into the first baseman’s vomit zone.

The vomit zone is the area right around the belly button and it is so named because catching a ball here is very difficult. Does the receiver turn his glove upright, fingers to the air or upside down, fingers pointing to the ground. If you are having trouble imagining this, take a moment and put your left hand near your belly button. Now try to imagine a ball flying there so fast that missing it is not an option. Fingers up or fingers down? It is a tough decision that must be made quickly. The pressure of the decision and the fear of making it wrongly, can be a bit nauseating, hence the name. And I suspect a projectile landing full force on your belly button induces vomiting.

With every throw, the first baseman must decide – how will I catch what has just been thrown my way? 

Not many of us play baseball/softball, but all of us must learn how to receive whatever life throws at us. We must learn to receive whatever God decides to throw or allows to be thrown. Things that hurt. Challenges that strain resources. Disappointments. Assignments we didn’t ask for but can’t ignore. Difficult relationships. Usually, not catching those things is not an option. If we can’t figure out a way to receive it, we could be painfully hit.

We all have a spiritual vomit zone too. It is the posture of our heart. Will I receive something from His hand expectantly? Looking for where I might find more of Him in it? For where He might want to grow and develop my character? For where He might want to say something to me? Or do I choose to receive things from his Hand with bitterness. With anger. With arrogance, thinking I know better than Him.

If you watch first basemen that know what they are doing however, they do something clever to reduce the danger of the vomit zone. They lean into the direction of the ball. They stretch out to receive it. Not only does it put their hand in a better position to more naturally make a catch, it protects their more precious underbelly.

So I’m thinking about ways to lean into what God is sending my way. To catch it more gracefully rather than missing it, getting hit by it or being knocked to my back side. It is leading to some interesting thoughts.

Dangerous Times

Proverbs 15:22 Plans fail for lack of counsel, but with many advisers they succeed.

Proverbs 27:12 The prudent see danger and take refuge, but the simple keep going and suffer for it.

My dad, who was both a fixed wing and helicopter pilot in the army, once told me something very interesting about pilots. He told me that the most dangerous time for a pilot, that season of their professional lives when they are most likely to have a flight accident is not during the first few years out of flight school, when they are young and inexperienced. And it isn’t during the last few years of their careers, when they are old and perhaps tired or overconfident. The most dangerous time for a pilot is the years in between those two extremes.

My father explained that new pilots are hyper-vigilant, constantly aware of the weight of the responsibility they bear. Younger pilots tend to go to extremes of caution to make up for their lack of experience. They checklist everything, ask for help and keep their eyes wide open for potential mistakes. On the other hand, older pilots have years of flying under their belt. They know the dangers of their field and have probably known pilots who have had accidents. They know how to solve most problems they will face, know when to ask for help and aren’t too proud to do so. They, like their young counterparts, are also statistically safe.

New pilots are cautious. Old pilots are experienced.

The most dangerous pilots are those in between new and old, who are neither cautious nor experienced. These are the pilots who have been flying long enough for the initial fear to wear off, but not long enough to realize they don’t know everything. Lack of caution plus arrogance equals mistakes. And in an airplane, that can be disastrous.

Married people follow the same pattern. Couples are never more aware of the health of their marriage and willing to learn and change than during that first year. And couples who have survived and thrived after decades of marriage obviously understand what it takes to successfully live with and love another person.

It’s those couples in the in-between years who are most often in danger. They have been together long enough to become  comfortable. Over the years, blind spots and tolerance for unhealthy habits form. The edge of fear and newness wears off. At the same time, they’ve been married long enough to feel like they know more about marriage than they actually do. They might even be afraid to ask for help as it would be a sign of weakness.

It appears to me that the same is true of those in the Christian faith. New believers are so passionate, so teachable and so energetic, dying to make their faith work. They ask questions and listen to counsel. And older believers have collected wisdom and experience that both protects and yields fruit in their lives. The ones most in danger are those who have walked with God long enough to think they know something about walking with God, but not long enough to realize that they don’t know much at all. When crises come, they leave too soon, choose poorly and don’t ask for help until it is too late.

The application? Humility and help! Awareness of the reality of my situation and internal condition. Asking people to look at areas of my life, where they might have clearer vision and offer constructive comments. And endurance. Keeping on, doing wise things and being open to learning more, in both my marriage and my faith. I want to make it to those years where I might actually know something about what I’m doing.

I Haven’t Loved You Very Well

“I haven’t loved You very well.”

I often think in phrases and little word pictures that reveal something of what is rolling around in my heart at the time. Sometimes thoughts just pop out of me at the most unexpected times, prompting me to keep my journal handy these days. As I was reflecting on my recent season with Jesus, this prayer escaped my lips. “I haven’t loved You very well.”

I was heartbroken. 

What I said was not, “I haven’t served You well.” Or, “I haven’t thought of You often.” Or, “I haven’t given a really good effort to follow You.” No. It has been much worse than that. He hasn’t had my heart. My affections. I’ve been the worst of Pharisees, the greatest of legalists. I’ve missed the forest for the trees. I’ve been so busy cooking I’ve neglected to eat. I’ve been driving in circles, wasting gas and going nowhere. I’ve missed the main point of my life.  I’ve reduced a love relationship with God to an un-relationship. More like a business partner with whom I do things. Or a running buddy. We travel together, but at the end of the day I go home to my house and He goes home to His. I’ve treated Him in ways I would hate to be treated.  I am profoundly sad about that.

And I wonder why my relationship with Him has been so unsatisfying. I’ve willingly and even forcefully denied Him access to the parts of my heart that needed Him most. Imagine going to a restaurant and ordering, but telling the chef, “As you are preparing the meal, don’t use any breads, meats, vegetables or seasonings. And no oil, sugar, butter or an oven.” Not much is left. Limiting a chef is never a good idea. Keeping Jesus away from my heart has sort of had the same effect in my life. And I’ve had to eat it.

All He’s really wanted… ever wanted was my heart. The very thing I’ve denied Him. How did this happen? While there are many doors that led down this path, for me…

Thinking about Him has been so much easier than actually relating to Him.

He is safer when I confine Him to my mind rather than allow Him access to my heart.

How to repair this damage? One way is a season where He and I remove the task part of the relationship.  I don’t want to warp what Jesus and I are trying to straighten out. He doesn’t need me to work for Him. He wants me to once again know the joy of loving Him.

Jesus said, “… learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”

Rest for my soul sounds pretty good right about now.

Just Saying No

Psalm 101:3 I will set before my eyes no vile thing.

Job 31:1 I made a covenant with my eyes…

I remember watching a particularly sad episode of CSI years ago, dealing with a child’s death. Some of the visuals and dialogue turned my stomach and caused me to lose sleep. After it was over, I turned off the tv and said, “I’m done.” I haven’t watched an episode since.

Parents can testify just how difficult it is to imagine or visualize terrible things happening to children. Jeff and I can hardly stand to watch the evening news or surf the internet for fear of running across articles and stories that make us think, “Oh Lord, not our kids.” Our hearts are tender now in a way that we never could have imagined in our youth.

My point isn’t that CSI or tv is bad. That particular experience pressed on my heart how our culture has taken the gruesome, the violent, that which is definitely abnormal and harmful, and made it entertainment. I wonder just how that happened and who thought it would be fun to watch suffering up close and personal.

It isn’t that I don’t enjoy a murder mystery or a crime drama. It isn’t that I’m running from culture and sticking my head in the sand. Believe me, in my line of work, I see plenty of suffering up close and personal. It is just that seeing certain things and indulging particular thoughts makes my heart hurts sometimes. Certain visuals and stories do more than just enter my brain. They become part of the permanent collection of memories. Once in there, I can never get them out. They haunt me and rob me of sleep and peace. They disturb deeply. Things like this cannot be entertainment for me.

So where violence is concerned, I’ve chosen to self-censor. I just say no.
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What In The World Is My Problem pt. 6 – I’m A Hater

(I’m not blogging from my happy place right now. Read with a grain of salt, and check back with me in a few days. I hope to have a serious attitude adjustment on the way.)

I hate living in the suburbs. No, really. I just got back from Costco. I hate it. I hate that my culture centers around consumption. And lots of consumption. I hate that my wonderfully comfortable big house, nestled away in a great neighborhood forces me to drive everywhere. I hate that all the nice things I own require more of my time and energy to maintain them. I haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate carpool line for the kids, which forces me to spend almost 2 hours a day in the car, not including any other errands I might have. I hate that the people of my nation, as a general rule, are so overweight, out of shape and spoiled that they are incapable of effectively channeling to others the blessings God has so richly poured out on them. I hate that the most meaningful conversations I was able to have during the week, not including my family and old friends, involve “Hey, how are ya and did your team win this past Saturday?”

I hate that I didn’t choose to live here, that I had a radically different plan for my life in mind and yet here I am. I hate that I wrestled with God about His will for my life and lost resoundingly.

As a result, I hate that my heart feels flat, like a full balloon that just got stomped on by someone in Doc Martins. I hate that I’m not overflowing with gratitude at the life God has given me, when I can clearly see that it is a good one with much potential and blessings in it. I hate that I spend so much time looking over the fence at how other people get to live their lives and wondering why that isn’t me. I hate that I feel like God is punishing me when I know that isn’t the case – at how lies I know aren’t true still grab hold of my weakened heart and roar through until I struggle to hear God speaking. I hate how I’ve responded to not getting my way and what it has revealed about my character, at how I can painfully see just how far I have to go in my journey towards spiritual maturity. I hate how I know I’ve got the choice to choose joy, to choose to make the most of the situation here and some days I can’t control the depth of hate I feel at being here. I hate that I find myself, in my really honest moments, using this word ‘hate’ so often. I would much rather be a chipper, bubbly, happy person and I hate that it seems so far out of reach some days.

I hate how this very honest (perhaps too honest) blog entry makes me look. Sort of like when you try on a dress and ask, “Does this dress make me look fat?” And the honest answer is, “No, the dress doesn’t make you look fat. That would be your backside doing that.” If I were to ask,”Does this blog entry make me look like a spiritual train wreck?”, the honest answer would be, “No, Deanna,  that would be your heart.”

I know how I feel is the incorrect filter with which to view my situation. When I go to the Bible and review God’s truth: I know He loves me, has a good plan for me, that He knows what He is doing and that He will work all things out not just for my good, but for His glory, which, of course is the ultimate good. I know I’ve been blessed beyond measure materially and I’m not ungrateful for what I have and have been given. I also know I am right where I am supposed to be right now, that I am right in the middle of His will for my life. I know that the battle raging in my heart and spirit is actually bringing about much healing and greater intimacy with my God as He and I talk about some truly important things in my life. I know I am moving in God’s direction and not away from Him through all of this. And I am not always so unhappy – most of my days here are previews of great joy just around the corner.

I just hate that there is so much hate floating around in my heart right now. I hate how I have to struggle with such ferocity some days to hold the truth front and center in my life. I hate that sanctification is just so dang hard. I wish that letting God’s peace and contentment settle deep down in my soul were an easier proposition, and not such a battle that fuels such emotion in my heart. Yeah, I just wish I weren’t such a hater.

A Verbal Slap In The Face

I wasn’t planning on posting this until later this month, but a particular phone call from a friend on this exact topic has motivated me to share this now. I wrote this for another friend’s blog a while back, but wanted to share it here too.

Eccl 4: 9-10 Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!

Pr. 27:5 Better is open rebuke than hidden love.

I was doubled over in grief and trying desperately not to vomit on the sidewalk. The news of my second miscarriage in a few months was more than heart breaking – it was soul shattering. How could God let this happen? What on earth had I signed up for in becoming a Christ-follower? And if this was my present, what was in store for my future?

Have you ever been in the place where events so contradicted what you know in your heart to be true? Where what is happening is so painful, so … that your whole world has just been flipped upside down and you can’t even find which way is up?

Barely intelligible through gut-wrenching sobs, I cried out, “I guess this happened because there is some lesson out there God wants me to learn. And I must not be getting it.”

Have you ever uttered words in that moment, in that moment where the truth escapes your lips before you can think to cover them with acceptable “church-speak”? And when you heard what was actually in your heart, you cringed at the darkness there?

I could run through all sorts of theological reasons why that statement just might be true. God is sovereign and nothing is ever out of His control. Had He wanted to, He could have stepped in at any moment and stopped the loss. God does indeed use all our circumstances for good and continually teaches us  through whatever happens. I knew all the church answers, but…

In that moment of honesty, when all my filters of self-restraint were stripped away, when unimaginable pain squeezed me beyond what I thought I could endure, out popped a deep seated lie that had been hidden in my heart for years. I thought God was a terrifying cop, waiting to pounce on the slightest infraction, a heartless teacher, rapping my knuckles to drive a lesson home, a taskmaster more concerned with what I did for Him than how I received love from Him.

“Deanna, that is a lie! That is a lie from hell!” As my good friend spoke, she grabbed my face in her hands and pulled me so close, she was looking right into my tear-filled eyes. And I instantly knew her words were true. She was verbally slapping me in the face, showing me greater love than any hug could have in that moment and opening my eyes to something I was incapable of seeing myself. Evidently I had internalized some pretty severe lies about God’s identity and His intentions towards me. Wow! What bravery for her to go there with me and say what I really, really needed to hear in that moment!

Have you ever had a friend speak such truth to you that you actually blinked as you heard their words, that it took you more than a moment to answer because of the shock? That maybe you were actually embarrassed at first listen, but then as you wrapped your heart around them, wanted the truth more than your dignity?

Where these lies came from, why they were so powerfully lodged in my heart, how God used this event in my life and the resolution of the theological questions it raised is too much of a story for this post. But one thing I learned is this: having a truth-speaking friend who is courageous enough to wade into very deep relational waters with me is invaluable, life-giving and something EVERY believer needs. 

Are you willing to go there with someone else? Are you willing to be the type of friend who not only hugs but slaps when it is more loving? And when you get slapped in love, do you hear the message behind it? Do you have this type of friend? If not, what do you have to do to cultivate that type of relationship?

“It Is Enough.”

(Part 5 of the Culture series)

Phil. 4:12 I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.

In the last few years in conversation with Europeans, I repeatedly heard an interesting phrase. They usually used it when we were either eating or shopping. When different people from another heart language use the same words in English exactly, it usually means they are translating verbatim a turn of phrase or an idea they use in their own language. It always catches my attention.  At some point, they stopped, looked at me and said very clearly, “It is enough.” They were telling me that they were satisfied and it was time to move on. Evidently, Europeans say that. And evidently, they feel that too.

And it dawned on me, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that from an American.” It’s not that we don’t get full, but reaching a place of satisfaction, where we really want no more, or where we tell ourselves “I’m done” – that doesn’t seem to be a core American heart cry. We are an achievement oriented people. It’s why we are builders, innovators, businessmen and influential in the world. We are always looking for the next mountain to climb, the next experience to have, the next challenge to overcome. There is always something more to be acquired, owned, eaten or achieved. For us, it’s never enough.

It’s not that it is always wrong either. God wires cultures differently that they might bring glory to Him from all along the spectrum; from deep-seated discontent to deep-seated contentment. All have their place and both produce great things in people’s lives. But sometimes those things that are strengths can, unchecked and for believers, not under the control of the Holy Spirit, become dangerous weaknesses.

For Americans, the emptiness in our hearts could drive us towards God. It could speak to us of the inability of things of the world to satisfy in our deepest places. It could awaken a spiritual hunger inside of us and lead us to channel our great energy towards eternal things. Instead it often drives us to consumption. Black Friday? Free refills? Sam’s Club? All-U-Can-Eat buffets?

Jesus is enough. And when my heart is full of Him, it shouldn’t be quite as hungry for all this other stuff.

I must confess, as an American, parts of this truth hurt my heart. Maybe that’s why 2 Cor. 7:10 says, “Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret…

The Danger of…slothfulness

(The Danger series, pt. 6)

Proverbs 6:9-11 How long will you lie there, you sluggard? When will you get up from your sleep?A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest- and poverty will come on you like a bandit and scarcity like an armed man.

Proverbs 19:15 Laziness brings on deep sleep, and the shiftless man goes hungry

Proverbs 20:4 A sluggard does not plow in season; so at harvest time he looks but finds nothing.

As a former science teacher, I know that gravity wins almost every time. Sometimes a comfortable chair or bed irresistibly calls to me to come and stop moving for a while. The forces of nature and my own flesh conspire against me. The result, more often than I would like, is slothfulness.

This is different from an intentional resting, which is not only valuable, but necessary. Sometimes hanging out on the couch or sleeping in late is important for our mental and physical health. We should have the freedom to enjoy guilt-free  periods of  rest, times where we do something, or nothing, just because we want to and just because it feels good. These times have a restorative purpose and are as important for our bodies as exercise. They are just at the opposite end of the spectrum and healthy people swing  back and forth across it.

What I’m talking about is when we cross that line from rest to sloth. Where is that line? I’m pretty sure it is different for everyone. I can tell when I’ve crossed it because there is a restlessness in my non-motion, when my body says to me, in its oh so subtle way, “Get up and move, you sluggard!” Since my body and me have a pretty intimate relationship, she can talk to me like that and I know she speaks in love.

But rest says, “It’s enough. Time for whatever is next. ” There is a natural ending point. Sloth says, “More. Just stay right where you are.” Rest prompts energy and creativity, a longing to do more. Sloth sucks life and leaves me in a fog, with no direction and no desire to move.

So learning to listen to my body is an important spiritual skill for me. It tells me how to care for myself in a life-giving way. Learning to listen to my heart is also. Because when I’m not as active as I should be, there is a lethargy that settles into other areas of my life as well. It makes my heart hurt. It’s harder to think clearly, to get motivated to study, cook, clean and do the normal things of life.

Slothfulness also leads me to indulge my introverted nature to the point where it’s easier to avoid people than to deal with them. Again, there is nothing wrong with time alone, especially for those who aren’t normal extroverts. (That’s me speaking!) But when I seek it as an escape, not a means of restoration, it indicates to me something is wrong in my soul.

Rest is good. Slothfulness is dangerous. Lord, help me to recognize the difference.

The Danger Of…an undisciplined tongue

(The Danger series, pt. 5)

Proverbs 10:19 When words are many, sin is not absent, but he who holds his tongue is wise.

Proverbs 11:12 A man who lacks judgment derides his neighbor, but a man of understanding holds his tongue.

Proverbs 17:28 Even a fool is thought wise if he keeps silent, and discerning if he holds his tongue.

Proverbs 21:23 He who guards his mouth and his tongue keeps himself from calamity.

James 3:3-5 When we put bits into the mouths of horses to make them obey us, we can turn the whole animal. Or take ships as an example. Although they are so large and are driven by strong winds, they are steered by a very small rudder wherever the pilot wants to go.  Likewise the tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts. Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark.

Back in my teaching days, one particular pre-planning time stands out. The administration brought in an etiquette expert to talk with us. I was about to roll my eyes until she opened her mouth and said, “Manners are a way, not only to show respect to another, but to provide a framework so people know how to interact with each other.” She had my attention now. I had traveled enough overseas to know the awkwardness of greeting someone else when you don’t know the rules. Do we shake hands? With one or two hands? Can a woman shake a man’s hand? Do I look them in the eye? Is a hug or peck on the cheek expected? In some cultures, there is even a whole other set of pronouns that are used in more formal settings. When to use those? And one thing I learned about middle schoolers during my time in the teenage wasteland is this – they are incredibly socially awkward and have no idea about proper interaction with adults. Or each other.

Our speaker’s point was that we as the adults set the tone and teach our students more than just our subject matter, but  also how to socially interact. She laid down a challenge that I readily accepted. For 30 days she wanted us to greet our students at the door, calling their name warmly and shaking their hand.

I got a lot out of that month. I could write about the power of giving someone my undivided attention, personal touch or taking the initiative in greeting someone else. I could write about how, after the experience, it was impossible for me to  view my class collectively, now that I had consciously interacted with each student as an individual. Perhaps the greatest lesson however, was feeling the power of my words. I saw young people blossom at just hearing their name spoken out loud. When I said a heartfelt “Good morning___________”, I could tell that for many of them, this was their first positive interaction with someone for the day. For some, it was the first time that day they heard their name called aloud. How I greeted them changed their countenance and often their body posture. It certainly changed what went on in my classroom and affection I had for my students.

The experience really drove home the point that I hold the power in my hands, in my tongue really, to say something that can either bless or hurt. Every person can remember something positive a teacher said to them, no matter how long ago. Every person can remember something negative a teacher said to them, no matter how long ago. Knowing how powerful our words can be, knowing they can lodge in someone else’s heart for the rest of their lives, knowing they can change so much about the quality of our relationships and how another person makes it through the day, shouldn’t we give some thought to what and how we speak?

Realizing just how powerful my words can be, self-discipline becomes very, very important. I don’t have the luxury of giving full vent to my feelings without thinking of the consequences, of how they will land on another’s heart. I have to learn to discipline my tongue. Careless, undisciplined words are like stray bullets. We’ve all been hit and hurt by them before. We’ve all said things,  in an unguarded moment that we wish we could take back. But we can never take back our words. We can apologize, contextualize and rationalize, but we can’t undo what we’ve said.

So, I know how to discipline my body or my appetites. I know how to be disciplined in my study habits. I can even discipline myself to drive the speed limit or clean my house when I’d rather be doing anything else. How do I discipline my tongue? What an important question for Christ-followers!

The Danger Of…Being A Critic Instead Of A Builder

(The Danger series, pt. 4)

Romans 14:4 Who are you to judge someone else’s servant? To his own master he stands or falls. And he will stand, for the LORD is able to make him stand.

It’s so much easier to be a spectator in life than to get in the game and change things. Unfortunately, our churches feed into this natural tendency. We hold our meetings in theaters with large screens so we can watch. The performers/worship leaders (who are of such excellent professional quality that normal people could never hope to compete) lead from stages bathed in colored lights and smoke. In our pursuit of culturally relevant forms of worship, which is a good thing, we’ve widened the divide between those in professional ministry and ordinary lay people. In so doing, we’ve created a Christian culture of watching, not participating.

And where there is a culture of watching, the next logical step is to become a critic. “The preaching was too long. The music is too loud. The parking is too crowded. The children’s ministry is too disorganized.”, and on and on.

It’s one thing to analyze and study a situation.  It’s another to be a part of the problem, with no desire to be a part of the solution. What’s scary is that it’s such an easy trap to fall into. So many people are not builders, they are critics. Consumers. They feel the right to criticize God’s servants from a distance without understanding the context or the person’s heart and motives. And when things don’t meet their approval, they move to the next place and next group of people and begin critiquing all over again.

What I  hope would characterize those who know and love Jesus is a desire to build things, to step out and up front when it is time, to create environments for people to do just that, to encourage each other with a security that looks to God alone for approval, and courage to risk criticism from the peanut gallery. I hope the posture in which I live out my faith isn’t sitting down, facing a stage and running my mouth, but moving, leaning forward, getting my hands dirty and energetically doing whatever it is God has put before me.

I want to be a part of the solution to whatever problem God leads me towards and places me in the middle of. I don’t want to be just another complication. And I don’t want to be that person that we all hate to see coming: who runs their mouth but never bothers to move their body to help out. I hope at the end of my life that I am a builder and not just a critic.

The Danger Of…Choosing All My Friends

(The Danger series, pt. 3)

Let’s be honest. We don’t always make the best choices for ourselves when left on our own. Cheeseburger vs. salad. Staying up late watching nothing on tv vs. reading a good book and going to bed at a reasonable time. Personal Bible study vs. hours spent on Facebook. Even though our heads tell us which should win, our reality is often a general slide to self-indulgence.

This is also true in the area of personal relationships. Left to myself I chose friends who are easy to be with, those who make me laugh, help me with things and are generally pleasant to be around. There is nothing wrong with that. And yet there is something wrong with that.

Even a cursory survey of the New Testament shows that our relationships are to be a primary spiritual shaper for us. In them, we learn to love unconditionally, to be transparent, to offer and receive forgiveness, to serve and learn the humility to let others serve us. We learn to submit our desires and wants under the needs of others, to control those things that would control us, our self-centeredness and tempers.

The friends I chose on my own can and should be a wonderful source of joy, comfort and encouragement, but are they character shaping?

What if I let God choose a friend for me? What if I looked around at the relational circle I’m living in, and see who might just be there for deeper reasons than just to irritate? What if I chose to cultivate a relationship with someone whom I would consider difficult? Who might not be my first choice of someone to hang out with? What if instead of looking for what I can get from a relationship, I look for what I can give to it? And in that relationship, what if I took up the challenge to be Christ-like with them? Maybe I let their difficult-ness squeeze me a little and see what pops out. Impatience, an unloving attitude, selfishness, anger? Maybe the revelation of some of those core sins of mine, and the opportunity to knead some Christ-likeness into the deepest places of my soul is worth a little relational discomfort.

I want to be clear, I am not advocating pursuing relationships that are dangerous or unhealthy. I’m not even saying that our primary relationships should be difficult ones. It would be crazy to seek to spend the majority of our friend time with people we don’t like and who drain us. We need friends who are easy, who love us and who are…well… friends in the truest sense of the word.

But I can see a danger to my soul when, left on my own, I chose all of my own friends.

The Danger Of…Consuming vs. Creating

(The Danger series, pt. 2)

Phil.3:19″Their destiny is destruction, their god is their stomach,and their glory is in their shame. Their mind is on earthly things.”

Just coming off of Christmas, there’s a consumerist bloating in my soul. It’s akin to how one feels after a really big Thanksgiving meal. It tasted good at the time, was a part of celebrating, but now…not so much.

There is a tension for me here in that God created things for us to enjoy and consume. Great food. Beautiful sunsets. Songs and stories that move the heart. Romance and toe-curling kisses. Moments where happiness and gratitude overwhelm. There is great worth in slowing down and enjoying what God has made and in letting the wonder of creation point us to the Creator.

Yet He also created us to …create! He gave us brains, imaginations, creativity, a drive to build and opposable thumbs with which to build. When God crashes into a person’s soul, something creative almost always pops out. How can being made in His image not include creating art, music, poetry, stories, cultures – cultivating relationships, raising children, making disciples, cooking meals, building homes and communities and cities? Wherever we go, we change what is there. We create. We add to it. We improvise and improve. It’s what He does. It’s what we should do.

Where this tension rears its ugly head is during the holidays. I can create wonderful family meals, prepare memorable gifts and at the same time, indulge in a way that is unhealthy and dulls and bloats my spirit. When I’m on the computer, I can create content, communicate, record significant thoughts and study God’s Word. I can also spend hours watching videos of kittens playing piano and reading tweets from people I don’t even know.

As in most things, balance seems to be the key. There is room for both consuming and creating in our lives. I want to be aware of which I’m doing at the moment, consuming or creating…and which I should be doing. I won’t always get it right, but oh how I hope to make progress!

The Danger Of Repeated Conversations

(The Danger series, pt. 1)

A rebuke impresses a man of discernment more than a hundred lashes a fool. Pr. 17:10

Better is open rebuke than hidden love. Pr. 27:5

Wounds from a friend can be trusted…Pr. 27:6

Recently I was visiting with a friend I usually only see face to face about once a year. Because the time together with friends like that is so limited, conversation goes to different and deeper levels pretty quickly. There is no luxury of small talk. Like the grandparent who only sees the grandchild once a year, instantly noticing just how much they’ve grown and changed, friends like this offer me really valuable observations. They don’t hear the intermediate steps in my thought processes, just moments frozen in time, a year or so apart. Progress, or lack thereof is pretty obvious with a glance.

All this to say, I felt slapped in the face by this recent conversation. In a good way, to be sure, but slapped in the face nonetheless. As my friend and I were talking about one of my heart issues, she said, “Deanna, we had this exact conversation a year ago. It seems like you should have moved on. If, in 5 years, we are still having the same conversation, I’ll be very sad.” How ’bout that for honest exchange? The memory of the hand print on my cheek still stings.

She realized and called me on the fact that with this particular issue, I had made almost no progress in the last year. I was shocked at the honest look at myself, a bit embarrassed by the truth of it and more grateful than I can say for the opportunity to kick a particular area of my life out of neutral and into gear.

This experience was helpful to me in starting to really listen to the things I’m talking about with my trusted friends and realizing the danger of repeated conversations. Having time to process particular issues through a series of conversations is certainly useful. Some heart topics require a season to move through, and it is an amazing blessing to have faithful friends  who are willing to walk alongside. But at some point I need to break the cycle of endless analysis and hand wringing and start moving forward. At some point, I need to start having new conversations.