Mirrored

I have the bad habit of believing, truly, that my daughter is a reflection of me. Somewhere in my heart, I think that the way she is growing and learning and developing is somehow a reflection not just of the job I’m doing as her mama, but of who I am. Conversely, I also think that if she does something wrong or doesn’t know something or isn’t as far along at something as other children, I am somehow at fault and that it means I am “bad” somehow. It is as though I think people look at her and immediately think of me, rather than seeing her as her own person.

I realize that sounds very self-centered, and that – really – is part of the problem with this habit. The other problem, clearly, is that I could somehow turn her life into a sort of vicarious existence for me, expecting her to do and be everything that I cannot. I can’t do that to her, so I’m working on this.

I think this might be more normal than I think, and in reflecting on this the other day, I thought about how all children are, to some extent, a reflection of their parents…and how we, as followers of Jesus, reflect God into the world. People around us cannot see Jesus in the flesh….but they can see us and how we represent Him. While it isn’t a good thing for me to try to make Leah a reflection of myself, it is a very good thing for me to see myself as a reflection of the Lord and His work in my life.

Thinking along those lines brought some questions to my mind:

When people look at me or hear me talk or watch me live, who do they see? Do they see Jess, with all of her shortcomings and flaws, or do they see the redeeming love of God, hard at work covering over all of the imperfections of the flesh?

How can I reflect God more clearly? What can I do to further remove myself from the picture and shine all light and attention on Him?

Do I seek attention for myself, or do I seek it so that He can be glorified? When I do something, is it for recognition for myself….or so that people can see what God can do with an imperfect person who is relying on Him?

The truth is that if I am following Jesus, my life should scream of His presence and influence. I should be following so closely behind Him that I cannot be seen. I’ve heard it said that in ancient Israel, the students of any particular rabbi would be said to have the dust of his sandals on them. They would be literally following so closely behind him in everything that he did that the literal dust of his sandals would cover them. Jesus is my rabbi, and as I follow Him, I should be ever more covered by the dust of His feet. Eventually, I should disappear.

No, God doesn’t need me to show Himself to people….but He chooses to use me. He chooses to shine through a smudged and cracked window like me; it isn’t the window that warms people’s lives, but the soul-penetrating light that shines into the darkest places. The mirror isn’t beautiful, but has the ability to to reflect beauty. It’s not about me and what I can bring to the picture, but about His power as it works through me. I don’t ever want to get in the way as He reveals Himself to the world. I long to be an ever improving representation of who He is.

Selah

I’m always amazed at how God shows Himself to me. I feel sometimes like I’m overanalyzing things by seeing Him in everything and imagining what He might be saying to me; I think, though, that seeing those things – the ways that He reveals Himself in the everyday – pleases Him. I think He delights when I delight in Him.

Anyway….

A couple of weeks ago, as I drove into town on Saturday morning to do some thrift store shopping with my mom, the sky overhead took my breath away. As I came over a hill into a clearing, the sky was so beautiful – and so eye-catchingly vibrant – that I felt as though it had a big bow on it as a gift just for me. I scrambled to get my phone out and, though it probably wasn’t the safest thing to do in the world, I got a picture as I drove. Just one picture, and I took the chance that it might not have even been a good one.

I felt like I could literally see God’s fingerprints traced across the sky in the clouds. Before I could turn off the radio to relish the moment in silence, one of my new favorite songs came on the air: “Light Up The Sky,” by The Afters.

It was a beautiful tailor-made moment, and I believe with all my heart that God orchestrated that moment on that morning to tell me that He’s with me, He loves me, and regardless of anything that might be going on in my life, He’s bigger and He’s in control.

I don't think it's coincidence, either, that the next morning at church we were discussing the biblical idea of "selah," or pausing to celebrate God's faithfulness to us. God gave me that moment to show me what it means to "selah," and I won't forget that anytime soon.

I’m thankful for that message, and I’m thankful for the memory.

Remembering

I first posted this last year, and am reposting it again today because – naturally – it’s on my mind. Let’s all stop and remember today.

It has been nine years since the unthinkable happened.

Nine years since strangers embraced one another, friends sat in silence, and a nation mourned for too many of its own.

Where were you when it happened?

I was a junior at Berry College, in Dr. Tenger’s World Lit class, sitting next to my best friend Melissa. We were discussing E.M. Forrester’s A Passage to India, and having a discussion about death and remembering those who have passed, as it pertained to the book. The discussion was a good one, but I would wager that none of us knew that we would remember it for the rest of our lives. The pertinence was too bizarre to be forgotten.

Another professor came in the classroom and told us we needed to get to a television so that we could see what was happening. He told us very generally what was going on, and we talked in bewilderment for a moment about the absurdity of it, wondering how an accident like that could have happened. Dr. Tenger, ever the diligent professor, wanted to resume the discussion rather than dismiss us early; thus, we all remained blissful in our ignorance for a little while longer as we continued our discussion.

When class dismissed, we exited the classroom and entered a new world. The halls were nearly empty, save for a few students with vacant expressions. Because it was nearly lunchtime, we all gravitated toward the student center across the street. As I made my way, my friend Amanda approached, tearful and hardly able to speak. My heart began to pound as I realized this was more serious than I had thought.

As I entered the student center, I was floored by what I saw. Students – hundreds of them – were gathered around the one TV in the room. Despite the number of people, there was only a low murmur of voices as everyone caught newcomers up on what was going on. It was standing room only as strangers stood closer than culture and comfort would normally allow, eyes clued to the images on the screen. Not one plane, but two. Thousands of people. Children. Flames. Terror in the streets. As we watched the buildings collapse, the air was sucked out of the room.

I don’t remember when I left, or why. I don’t remember eating lunch that day, or walking back to my dorm room. I do remember getting there and finding my roommate glued to our tiny television, talking to her parents on the phone. I do remember curling up on my bed and wondering how to cope with something like that.

I had class that afternoon – Women’s Choral Ensemble. I went – not because I felt like singing, but because we had a concert soon and I needed the practice. When I got there, though, I found that the auditorium was not excluded from the sorrow that gripped campus that day; the same vacant, teary eyes awaited me there as had awaited me everywhere I had gone that day. Someone said she couldn’t possibly sing; another said she thought that was why we should. Majority ruled, and class was cancelled.

The rest of the day is a blur. My friends and I moved from one television to another, absorbing as much information as we could, talking little but sharing much as we tried to make sense of it all. I remember an awkwardness, too, because it was our friend Simona’s birthday.

It was a day that wouldn’t be forgotten; I think we knew that even then. Some days, it seems, never end, regardless of how much time passes. Some days, I know, should not be forgotten, and nature ensures that they live on.

We shouldn’t forget that day and what it meant.

Where were you?

“Out Live Your Life,” by Max Lucado

I had the incredible chance recently to read and review Max Lucado’s newest book before it hit the shelves, and I’m so glad I jumped on the opportunity. He is one of my favorite authors. I love how he sees the world and how he explains things, and his books always give me a lot to think about in my own life.

His newest book is no different. Entitled Out Live Your Life, this book is a bold call to authentic Christianity, challenging every follower of Jesus to step up and make today’s church as bold and vibrant and active as the church of the first century. Max challenges us to imagine that Christians today could cause a revolution of love just as the apostles did in the book of Acts.

My favorite chapter in the book was entitled, “Don’t Write Off Anyone.” As you might expect, the chapter talked about Jesus’ unconditional love for the world and all of its people, regardless of any situation or circumstances, and how He calls His followers to have the same kind of love. This wasn’t a new message, but it was phrased in ways I had never heard before, using the story of Ananias and Saul to show our incredible responsibility.

I really enjoyed this book. Having just read another book on a very similar topic, I was in a frame of mind that was very open to this message. However, it wasn’t as challenging as I had thought and hoped. I don’t think it was his approach, because as I said, his writing is always thought provoking and encouraging of change. Rather, I think I was less inspired because I had just read a similar book, and because my church has been studying similar topics as well in recent months. With that context, it is hard to tell me something I haven’t already heard or thought about, and that is not Max’s fault.

All in all, I definitely encourage you to read this book and any of his others. You’ll be touched, and I think you’ll have a new favorite author, too.

Mirrored

I watch her all the time, and I think, “I used to be like that, I think….but when? When did it happen? When did I change? What made it happen?”

She falls down, and with nothing more than a quick “uh-oh” (or “buh-boh,” as she says it) she is off and running again. She drops something, chuckles at her own clumsiness, and moves on. She knocks her block tower down or picks the wrong color or fumbles with her stacking cups, and forgets about the stumble and moves ahead with her day. I love that her youthfulness allows her to move on from her mistakes so easily, and I want her to always be that gracious and forgiving with herself.

I imagine that there was a time, many, many years ago, when I was able to do that. I only imagine that it is so because most toddlers, I think, go through a stage when they mess up so often that they have little choice but to accept it and move on. It’s just a part of life, and while I can’t remember being there myself, I assume that I, too, went through that. I suppose that I probably did, though I think I passed out of that stage earlier and with more gusto than most children.

The sad thing for me to realize is that the youthful “no big deal” attitude of my toddlerhood all too soon changed into one of perfectionism and self-deprecation. Where young children can bounce right back from a mess-up, I become bogged down and dwell on the shortcoming. Where little kids can use their mistakes as a springboard to help them learn something new, my own mistakes are, too often, like a weight strapped to my ankle, holding me back from anything good and promising.

I long to be forgiving of myself and even half as gracious with myself as I am with others. I long to see my own mistakes and shortcomings – real or perceived – not as failures, but as inspiration to drive me forward. I want to learn that for myself, so that I can live in freedom and truth, but I also want to learn that for her. I never want her to learn self-defeat and self-hatred from me. I don’t ever want her to see my reactions to my mistakes and follow me down the road of insecurity that I’ve always traveled. I don’t want her to think that it’s normal to beat herself up for little flaws or accidents. I don’t want her to be impossibly hard on herself and set unattainable goals of perfection because that’s what she saw me do. I don’t want her to think it’s a bad thing to be proud of herself when she accomplishes something because she is so used to feeling bad about herself. I want her to see herself with grace and forgiveness and love, so I am promising her and myself that I will always strive to see myself that way. She will learn what she sees, and as she watches me, I want her to learn good things.

The Power to Change the World

I was scanning the channels this morning since I’m taking another sick day today and Leah wasn’t here. Apparently, it was a slow hour and there wasn’t much to be found that wasn’t animated or preschooler-oriented; I landed on A&E and a show about a certain illusionist and his tricks. Those shows always spook me. There are just some things that people shouldn’t be able to do, and my analytical mind can’t help trying to figure out how someone can. It’s torture on a number of levels.

I did watch for a few minutes this morning, though, and saw him perform one of his eerie tricks. He made his “pet” scorpion disappear from his hand and reappear in the mouth of one of his spectators. As she spit and spat on the sidewalk, trying to erase what had just happened from her mind and her mouth, the other onlookers marveled at what they had just seen. One woman, in her awe, went so far as to say that the experience had changed her life – that she would never be the same after having seen what she saw. I was speechless.

That woman was looking for meaning – whether she knew it or not – and was so desperate to have her life changed that she found it in a 10-minute streetside magic show.

I might be reading too much into this (I think I do that sometimes), but when I saw that, I thought, “How amazingly sad.” There is meaning and truth and life-changing power pursuing that woman – and each of us – right now, every day of our lives. Because she was not aware of it, though, she looked past it and allowed herself to be swept up in something very much of this world.

Yes, I’m sure the trick was amazing to witness firsthand, and yes, I’m sure that she was probably exaggerating when she said that the experience had changed her life. I do not think, though, that she was grounded in Truth (with a capital ‘T’) and Love (with a capital ‘L’). If she had been, she wouldn’t have made such a bold statement, because nothing could overpower the change that He (with a capital ‘H’) can bring to a life.

And us? What role do we play in this? We share the change that has happened to us. We talk about it. We share it with people, so that their hearts, which are desperately searching, will find the One Thing that can bring about the change they’re longing for.

Anyone united with the Messiah gets a fresh start, is created new. The old life is gone; a new life burgeons! Look at it! All this comes from the God who settled the relationship between us and him, and then called us to settle our relationships with each other. God put the world square with himself through the Messiah, giving the world a fresh start by offering forgiveness of sins. God has given us the task of telling everyone what he is doing. We're Christ's representatives. (2 Corinthians 5:17-19 MSG)

Comfort-able

It seems that Leah has really taken a special liking to one of her blankets. She wasn’t feeling good last week, and while she was battling her cold, it became increasingly apparent that there was one thing – and one thing only – that provided the comfort that she needed. Her trusty blanket never left her side.

It’s a big blanket, and the basic cleanliness (lack thereof) of a blanket that is drug everywhere with a toddler bothers me some. I cringe when I see the spots on it, and anticipate the next time I can sneak it away from her after she’s asleep so that I can wash it. Quite frankly, I think it’s pretty gross sometimes. We don’t let her take it inside stores and church and other public places (partly because of cleanliness issues, and partly because of the terrifying thought that it could get lost somewhere), but it still accumulates a fair amount of grime through its trips down the driveway and across the garage floor.

As gross as it is, though, I would never dream of taking it from her, or of discouraging her from toting it everywhere. It provides her a comfort that nothing else can, and when her world is mysterious and strange, her blanket is a reassuring constant. I would never take that from her. When I see the glazed-over look in her eyes and the instant calm that sweeps over her when her blanket is cuddled close, I smile inside. I remember well the comfort items of my childhood, and honestly, I wish I could still find something that made me feel as safe and secure as those things did when I was little. Heaven knows that there are plenty of situations that beg for a little comfort in my life today.

When I read my devotional this morning, I couldn’t help but think of Leah and her beloved blanket. The reading centered around this verse:

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. (Psalm 46:1)

As I read that, I envisioned my sweet little girl and the way that she – regardless of the situation – can find her strength and refuge in that blanket. If she doesn’t feel good, she wants her blanket to cuddle with, and it will make her feel better, even if it doesn’t lower her fever or clear her sinuses. If she is sleepy, she can curl up with her blanket and, even if she doesn’t fall asleep, seems to get a renewed burst of energy from that moment of rest. If she has just been disciplined, she clings to the blanket as though she believes with all her heart that it is the only friend she has. That blanket is her constant companion and, in a very real sense, her ever-present help.

Isn’t it beautiful that we – grown adults with adult lives – can still have a security blanket, too? God is right there with us, no matter what we encounter during our day. He is there for us to cry to, cling to, and embrace; when we do, we will be helped. He may not fix the situation, but He is sure to make us feel better in the midst of it. All we need to do is take Him along, reach out for Him, and He will be an ever-present help in trouble.

When everything falls apart…

I am so thankful for my husband. He is more gracious and compassionate and understanding of me and my quirks than I ever dared to dream, and every day, he shows me how much he believes in me and, because of his faith in me, makes me believe that maybe – just maybe – I really am more than I let myself believe.

He has seen me through incredible brokenness. Within weeks after getting engaged to me, he found himself face-to-face with a woman he didn’t know. I was seized by emotional turmoil and impenetrable sadness. I cried at the drop of a hat but couldn’t explain why. Some of the turmoil, I’m sure, was due to the chaos of planning a wedding in 3 months. Some of it, too, was the result of the changes and adjustments that engagement and marriage brought into my life; things only got worse after the wedding. I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety and panic soon after we were married, and from there we embarked on a journey neither of us had ever anticipated.

It was rough, to say the least. Every evening when he came home from work he found an empty shell of the woman he had fallen in love with. I had neither the energy nor the desire to be the wife he deserved and that God calls me to be, but he graciously embraced me – heartache and all – and never put any pressure or additional guilt on me. I was placing plenty of guilt on myself, to be sure, and I think he saw that what I needed from him was grace. When I felt like my world was falling apart, our relationship was the one thing that seemed to hold me together. I leaned on God, of course, but there was something about my husband and the strength he gave to the situation that made a major difference. God healed (and continues to heal) me, but Scott, with his gentle strength, was right there, working in tandem with the Lord to bring me back.

This was all brought to mind recently when Leah accidentally broke a small candle holder as she played. When I saw the glass pieces shattered on the bathroom floor, a little piece of me wanted to cry, since it was one of the votive holders that we gave to guests at our wedding.

As I looked at it, though, and tried my hardest to keep Leah’s little bare feet away from the shards of glass, I began to see something beautiful. My mind wandered back to those early days of our marriage when it felt, in a very real way, like all we had was each other. The world was falling apart around us (and inside me), but our relationship held together and pulled us through.

I saw this in a new way as I looked on the broken glass. Pieces were scattered all across the floor. Tiny fragments littered the tile. I noticed, though, that one large piece was still held together…not because it wasn’t broken, but because of the sticker we had placed on the votive holders as a memento of our wedding day.

Just as our relationship held me together (or at least kept the emotional wreckage to a minimum), the little label commemorating our wedding day kept the cleanup to a minimum. Things were still broken, but were still held together somehow.

In a way, I think that’s a beautiful illustration of how God designed marriage to be. I don’t pretend that our marriage is perfect. It isn’t. We’ve had struggles and disagreements and tensions from day one, and I’m sure we will continue to do so. However, we are one. We were united before the Lord and by the Lord, and it is Him that holds us together when everything else in our lives falls apart. I think that is God’s concept of marriage. We struggle sometimes, yes, but ultimately, we are bound together. That’s the joy of marriage.

God has also designed marriage to be seen by others. It is intensely personal, certainly, but it isn’t meant to be for the husband and wife alone. The world needs to see your marriage, and when they do, they should be something beautiful. They should see peace. Love. Joy. Unity. When the rest of our lives are chaos, our marriages should be the only things that make sense because the Lord is at the center. He holds our marriages together, our marriages hold us together, and through it all, the world sees something beautiful.

"For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh." This is a profound mystery—but I am talking about Christ and the church. However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband. (Ephesians 5:31-33)

The Mamarazzi Strikes Again