I read this excerpt from Celtic daily prayers and it was really good for me.
"He said, 'Let us pray for those we love.' And that was easy. Then he said, 'Let us pray for those we do not love.' And there rose before my mind three men for whom I had to pray. They were men who have opposed my work. In this they may have been wrong. But my wrong was in resentment and a feeling of letting myself be cut off from them, and even from praying for them, because of it. Years ago I read a quote from Mary Lyon that recurs to me again and again: 'Nine-tenths of our suffering is caused by others not thinking so much of us as we think they ought.' If you want to know where pride nestles and festers in most of us, that is right where it is; and it is not the opposition of others, but our pride, which causes the deepest hurt. I never read a word that penetrated more deeply into the sin of pride from which all of us suffer, nor one which opens up more surgically our places of unforgiveness."
Samuel Moor Shoemaker, And Thy Neighbor
Can't really add to that. It is a convicting reflection about what offends me and how I respond.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
It is my Ongoing Story
I sat in the back of the car, feeling cold and empty. I could see my mom's silhouette in the headlights of oncoming traffic. She and my sister were talking about seeing my cousin dancing in their dreams. She's definitely in a better place, happy, with the Lord. But I felt no assurance or peace. I didn't know where she went. She was just gone. Heaven? I didn't know if it was real or just a way of consoling oneself in the face of tragedy. And it was a tragedy. She and I had been the same age. At eighteen, life was supposed to be beginning, not ending. It left me cold and empty, confused and sad.
Her death was a jolt, a repercussive blast to the eardrums that leaves permanent change. If anyone was supposed to die, it should be me. I had a lot less to offer than she. I returned to my second week of college heavy with these thoughts. It was the first time that loss had infiltrated my world on a grand scale. I didn't know what to do.
Was I mad at God? I don't know. I was angry at the unfairness of her death, but has no one to pin it on. I didn't know if God existed. It seemed like if he was there, he was helpless to effect change in the world.
For a while I continued to float through my freshman year. I went to parties and tried the drunken lifestyle, randomly made out with a boy. But I couldn't shed the cold emptiness. This "party" stage was pretty pathetic actually. I was really bad at "wildin' out", and within two months I had given it up. It just couldn't satisfy the gnawing vacancy I carried with me.
"Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also." John 14:1-3.
These verses were read at the funeral. I had never heard them before. I didn't know where to find them in the Bible. But I wanted to understand them. I came home late from a party and found the underused book. The last time I had opened it was for AP English, reading Job as historical literature. I don't even know why I had it at college with me.
I laid in bed, flashlight in hand, and flipped through the book until I found John 14. The words were supposed to be comfort and I felt none. But I kept reading. Something in me couldn't resist it. Night after night, I would covertly open that Bible in the dark and read by flashlight. I underlined words, put question-marks in the margins. It seemed to be written in a different language, but I was desperate to understand it.
At the same time, a community of Christians has materialized around me. My Christian RA had first told me the news of my cousin's passing. She would sit in the lobby and talk to me, comfort me, explain the book to me. A friend invited me to a Young Life leader training. "Training" appeared to be a group of students praying aloud and singing worship songs with a guitar. I was uncomfortable but kept going. There were cute boys involved, but beyond that, the group had a pull I couldn't explain.
I had so many questions about God's existence, the Bible's veracity, the religions of the world, why good people suffered. I wrote my dad a letter. He had been an atheist but converted to Christianity in his twenties. I wanted to know why. The letter was questions front and back. He took it very seriously, and a year later gave me his reply: 31 pages, single-spaced, addressing each question with deep, thorough care. It is one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever received.
And while waiting for that response, I enrolled in introductory religion classes, continued to go to YL training, and read the book. My soul hunger was crazily insatiable.
At home, one sister asked why I was reading that book so much. "I just have to know" was the only fitting answer. Another sister told me I had changed (and this was a good thing. I had never treated her well). I knew she was right. I felt different, less angry, less vindictive. I didn't operate with the same mean streak and didn't want to. My heart was changing.
I can't give a day of the week, a specific prayerful moment when God came to me. I can't tell you the first day I believed and accepted Christ as the way, the truth and the life. One day, towards the end of that freshman year, I realized that I had been believing for a while. It's as if I had started walking in a direction without really thinking about it, and suddenly turned to see that I had been journeying with God.
I didn't know then that God wanted to be in a relationship with me, that he loves me. I didn't understand the death and resurrection that made it possible for me to be close to him. But God has super-imposed his good news on my life. I was a dead thing made alive, a dark thing becoming light, bitterness becoming sweeter, a wound being healed, a stone heart turned to flesh. I was helpless to change, hopeless and empty. He changed me, gave me a hope, filled me up.
Wrapped up in my story is an assurance for anyone. If you really want to know the truth, if you give him a chance and seek to understand him, he won't leave you empty-handed. He always shows up. He loves us so much.
He has loved me with an everlasting love. I am convinced that nothing in this world can separate me from it. He gives meaning to all suffering. He forgives and transforms. He makes all things new. He makes me lovable and able to love. With him, death is not forever. He is transforming me still. It is my ongoing story.
Her death was a jolt, a repercussive blast to the eardrums that leaves permanent change. If anyone was supposed to die, it should be me. I had a lot less to offer than she. I returned to my second week of college heavy with these thoughts. It was the first time that loss had infiltrated my world on a grand scale. I didn't know what to do.
Was I mad at God? I don't know. I was angry at the unfairness of her death, but has no one to pin it on. I didn't know if God existed. It seemed like if he was there, he was helpless to effect change in the world.
For a while I continued to float through my freshman year. I went to parties and tried the drunken lifestyle, randomly made out with a boy. But I couldn't shed the cold emptiness. This "party" stage was pretty pathetic actually. I was really bad at "wildin' out", and within two months I had given it up. It just couldn't satisfy the gnawing vacancy I carried with me.
"Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also." John 14:1-3.
These verses were read at the funeral. I had never heard them before. I didn't know where to find them in the Bible. But I wanted to understand them. I came home late from a party and found the underused book. The last time I had opened it was for AP English, reading Job as historical literature. I don't even know why I had it at college with me.
I laid in bed, flashlight in hand, and flipped through the book until I found John 14. The words were supposed to be comfort and I felt none. But I kept reading. Something in me couldn't resist it. Night after night, I would covertly open that Bible in the dark and read by flashlight. I underlined words, put question-marks in the margins. It seemed to be written in a different language, but I was desperate to understand it.
At the same time, a community of Christians has materialized around me. My Christian RA had first told me the news of my cousin's passing. She would sit in the lobby and talk to me, comfort me, explain the book to me. A friend invited me to a Young Life leader training. "Training" appeared to be a group of students praying aloud and singing worship songs with a guitar. I was uncomfortable but kept going. There were cute boys involved, but beyond that, the group had a pull I couldn't explain.
I had so many questions about God's existence, the Bible's veracity, the religions of the world, why good people suffered. I wrote my dad a letter. He had been an atheist but converted to Christianity in his twenties. I wanted to know why. The letter was questions front and back. He took it very seriously, and a year later gave me his reply: 31 pages, single-spaced, addressing each question with deep, thorough care. It is one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever received.
And while waiting for that response, I enrolled in introductory religion classes, continued to go to YL training, and read the book. My soul hunger was crazily insatiable.
At home, one sister asked why I was reading that book so much. "I just have to know" was the only fitting answer. Another sister told me I had changed (and this was a good thing. I had never treated her well). I knew she was right. I felt different, less angry, less vindictive. I didn't operate with the same mean streak and didn't want to. My heart was changing.
I can't give a day of the week, a specific prayerful moment when God came to me. I can't tell you the first day I believed and accepted Christ as the way, the truth and the life. One day, towards the end of that freshman year, I realized that I had been believing for a while. It's as if I had started walking in a direction without really thinking about it, and suddenly turned to see that I had been journeying with God.
I didn't know then that God wanted to be in a relationship with me, that he loves me. I didn't understand the death and resurrection that made it possible for me to be close to him. But God has super-imposed his good news on my life. I was a dead thing made alive, a dark thing becoming light, bitterness becoming sweeter, a wound being healed, a stone heart turned to flesh. I was helpless to change, hopeless and empty. He changed me, gave me a hope, filled me up.
Wrapped up in my story is an assurance for anyone. If you really want to know the truth, if you give him a chance and seek to understand him, he won't leave you empty-handed. He always shows up. He loves us so much.
He has loved me with an everlasting love. I am convinced that nothing in this world can separate me from it. He gives meaning to all suffering. He forgives and transforms. He makes all things new. He makes me lovable and able to love. With him, death is not forever. He is transforming me still. It is my ongoing story.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Fine Young Criminals
My sister's coin purse bulged mockingly. "You stole my money!"I shouted.
"No, I didn't."
I pointed to the empty piggy bank lying on the floor. "It was right there when I left and now it's gone!"
"No it wasn't. I don't know what you are talking about."
I fumed with impotent fury. I had no witnesses. She was two years older and stronger than I. I knew she had taken my carefully saved pennies, but I had no way to prove it. I stalked off in frustration, thinking "When I get to heaven, I'll ask God and he'll show me how you stole my money. Then I'll know!"
And then... I framed her. I drew the nastiest, most terrible picture my five-year-old mind could conjure, forged her signature on the bottom, complete with hint of Dyslexia: Ytak, and immediately brought it to my mother.
For a while, things were going swimmingly. My mother was sufficiently horrified by the drawing, and Katy's pleas of innocence were unavailing...
And then... Mom looked a little more closely at the drawing, collapsing my house of cards. I have always been a good artist, better at drawing than any of my siblings. My mom knew Katy couldn't draw well enough to make this picture. I was found out.
And then... In her horror at what my mind could manufacture, she invited our pastor over to the house and showed him my terrible drawing, deeply concerned for my mortal soul.
In the end, I was broke and completely embarrassed. Revenge never gets you what you want.
An interesting twist on this saga is that I forgot about the frame up. I remember the stolen money and my vow for heavenly truth. I remember the drawing and the embarrassment of the pastoral disclosure, but Kate was the one who remembered the defaming forgery. And she had completely forgotten about those lifted pennies.
Isn't it funny how a mind works? It's really easy for me to remember the times that people have been unjust to me. I have a long memory for the mean words spoken on the playground, poor parental advice, personal slights. But my memory is short for the ways I have hurt others. I have some cringe-worthy remembrances of my misdeeds, but a lot of it is vague and glossy. By contrast, the wrongs done to me are often in high relief.
Lately, when I'm praying, God will bring me some of those glossed over follies. It's not for the sake of shame or guilt, but for sober reflection on the state of my heart. Sometimes I forget that I am desperately in need of forgiveness. When one of these old sins is brought to mind I am rightly humbled again. It's a necessary slap in the face. I need to be forgiven. I have hurt others. I am at their mercy. I am at God's mercy.
These reminders also undermine my carefully stored injustices. I don't know if this is true for anyone else, but replaying those past hurts can actually make me angry all over again. I can even get upset about those stolen pennies if I think about it long enough.
And then the words from Jesus' sermon on Mount Olivet pierce right to my heart: "For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses." (Matthew 6:14-15 ESV)
Jesus takes our sin away as far as the east is from the west. He no longer remembers it. Corrie Ten Boom says that he takes our sin and flings it into the ocean, and puts up a "no fishing" sign so that it will never be brought to the surface again.
But in the case of wrongs committed against me, I fish them out and examine them again and again. This is not forgiveness. The sins against me still have power in my heart. Yet if I refuse to forgive them, than how can I be forgiven?
Someone always ends up footing the bill of injustice. It's either shouldered by the victim or paid off by the criminal. In our case, Jesus paid it all. He hasn't held our sins against us. If we are truly crucified with Christ (Galatians 2:20), it means that we are going to pay too. We are going to have to swallow pain and injustice and forgive. It is a very difficult thing to do.
What does forgiveness mean? No more bringing it up. No more fueling of anger. No more trying to make the other uncomfortable. No more manipulative guilt trips. Sometimes we think we've forgiven and then we see the person succeed and get angry. This is a sign that there is more work to do.
Forgiveness takes full stock of the wrong committed and says: "I will no longer hold this over your head. I will not harbor it in my heart. The slate is clean." And it may be that the recipient of forgiveness doesn't appreciate it at all. It doesn't matter. We still have to forgive.
The stakes are pretty high with this. I can't be forgiven if I refuse to forgive. God is so gracious, but I can exclude myself from his grace.
Lord help me to be a forgiver. Erase my ledger of offenders. Erase my ledger of offenses.
Set us free from the tangle of sin.
"No, I didn't."
I pointed to the empty piggy bank lying on the floor. "It was right there when I left and now it's gone!"
"No it wasn't. I don't know what you are talking about."
I fumed with impotent fury. I had no witnesses. She was two years older and stronger than I. I knew she had taken my carefully saved pennies, but I had no way to prove it. I stalked off in frustration, thinking "When I get to heaven, I'll ask God and he'll show me how you stole my money. Then I'll know!"
And then... I framed her. I drew the nastiest, most terrible picture my five-year-old mind could conjure, forged her signature on the bottom, complete with hint of Dyslexia: Ytak, and immediately brought it to my mother.
For a while, things were going swimmingly. My mother was sufficiently horrified by the drawing, and Katy's pleas of innocence were unavailing...
And then... Mom looked a little more closely at the drawing, collapsing my house of cards. I have always been a good artist, better at drawing than any of my siblings. My mom knew Katy couldn't draw well enough to make this picture. I was found out.
And then... In her horror at what my mind could manufacture, she invited our pastor over to the house and showed him my terrible drawing, deeply concerned for my mortal soul.
In the end, I was broke and completely embarrassed. Revenge never gets you what you want.
An interesting twist on this saga is that I forgot about the frame up. I remember the stolen money and my vow for heavenly truth. I remember the drawing and the embarrassment of the pastoral disclosure, but Kate was the one who remembered the defaming forgery. And she had completely forgotten about those lifted pennies.
Isn't it funny how a mind works? It's really easy for me to remember the times that people have been unjust to me. I have a long memory for the mean words spoken on the playground, poor parental advice, personal slights. But my memory is short for the ways I have hurt others. I have some cringe-worthy remembrances of my misdeeds, but a lot of it is vague and glossy. By contrast, the wrongs done to me are often in high relief.
Lately, when I'm praying, God will bring me some of those glossed over follies. It's not for the sake of shame or guilt, but for sober reflection on the state of my heart. Sometimes I forget that I am desperately in need of forgiveness. When one of these old sins is brought to mind I am rightly humbled again. It's a necessary slap in the face. I need to be forgiven. I have hurt others. I am at their mercy. I am at God's mercy.
These reminders also undermine my carefully stored injustices. I don't know if this is true for anyone else, but replaying those past hurts can actually make me angry all over again. I can even get upset about those stolen pennies if I think about it long enough.
And then the words from Jesus' sermon on Mount Olivet pierce right to my heart: "For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses." (Matthew 6:14-15 ESV)
Jesus takes our sin away as far as the east is from the west. He no longer remembers it. Corrie Ten Boom says that he takes our sin and flings it into the ocean, and puts up a "no fishing" sign so that it will never be brought to the surface again.
But in the case of wrongs committed against me, I fish them out and examine them again and again. This is not forgiveness. The sins against me still have power in my heart. Yet if I refuse to forgive them, than how can I be forgiven?
Someone always ends up footing the bill of injustice. It's either shouldered by the victim or paid off by the criminal. In our case, Jesus paid it all. He hasn't held our sins against us. If we are truly crucified with Christ (Galatians 2:20), it means that we are going to pay too. We are going to have to swallow pain and injustice and forgive. It is a very difficult thing to do.
I am learning, too, that forgiveness is never a one time thing. Every time a bitter thought comes to mind about someone, I need to forgive that person afresh. I have to turn my thoughts away from remembering the sin, because it has been forgiven. This is not easy, but it is like Jesus.
What does forgiveness mean? No more bringing it up. No more fueling of anger. No more trying to make the other uncomfortable. No more manipulative guilt trips. Sometimes we think we've forgiven and then we see the person succeed and get angry. This is a sign that there is more work to do.
Forgiveness takes full stock of the wrong committed and says: "I will no longer hold this over your head. I will not harbor it in my heart. The slate is clean." And it may be that the recipient of forgiveness doesn't appreciate it at all. It doesn't matter. We still have to forgive.
The stakes are pretty high with this. I can't be forgiven if I refuse to forgive. God is so gracious, but I can exclude myself from his grace.
Lord help me to be a forgiver. Erase my ledger of offenders. Erase my ledger of offenses.
Set us free from the tangle of sin.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Running away
I've always enjoyed a good run. When I was little, I felt that my new, periwinkle blue, velcro 'Kmart Specials' made me lightning fast. I spent that first afternoon running up and down the sidewalk in them, wondering if passersby were impressed by my great speed.
As an adult, running has been a source of release and stress relief. I plug in earphones and take off, leaving behind the trouble... at least for thirty minutes. I've always viewed it as a necessity, and even felt that moving to a developing country would be too difficult because I wouldn't have the same freedom to run. (Nonsense, of course. I could run anywhere if I really wanted to).
But I've realized that my running has exceeded those thirty minutes on asphalt. I have done a lot of running away, and even when I haven't physically left, my mind has entertained the notion. Every time I've faced a trial, the suggestion to leave has undoubtedly shown up.
A friendship hit a rough patch and I retreated inward. A romance fizzled and immediately a new state, a new city, a new anywhere-but-here felt like a good idea. Wasn't it about time for a new job? I was sure of it in the midst of a hard stretch. Discontent or difficult relationships always triggered the itch to run away. I haven't always acted on the flight instinct, but the option always appeals.
Running can also be preemptive. Fearing loss or pain, the first thought is to retreat before it has a chance to catch me. A relative of mine gave her dogs away in order to avoid their eventual deaths. I always thought her behavior off and a bit cruel, but now I see the same avoiding instinct in myself. It is a battle to stay engaged with life.
I don't go for runs nearly as often as I once did. The discs in my lower back have started to deteriorate, and the pounding of a run always threatens me with a back spasm or sciatica. It totally sucks. But I see that if running can no longer be my coping skill, perhaps God is wanting to teach me another way to deal with life.
I went on a run last night. At one point, I ran past a house where a yippy chihuahua was off leash. It started chasing me down the street, so I ran faster. The little imp had no trouble keeping up, growling and nipping at my heal. This had to be a funny sight. What a guard dog. Obviously running wasn't working, so I stopped abruptly, turned and yelled "Hey, you go away!" and he immediately retreated, barking in umbrage.
So funny. As long as I was running from it, that little thing was empowered to chase and bite. But my turning and standing thoroughly cowed it into submission. I had size on my side, after all.
Isn't this the same thing that God asks me to do? Turn and stand in the face of adversity? Running away never solves anything. Ignoring the problem only allows it to grow. Retreating from hardship only ensures that I won't mature.
The problems in life will undoubtedly be more intimidating than a little chihuahua nipping at my heals. But if God is with me as he has promised, then I will always have size on my side. I need to put on His armor: truth, peace, righteousness, faith, saving grace, and the Word, and stand up.
Alone I am easily shaken. Alone I run away, but if God is for me, who or what can truly stand against me?
He's promised that nothing can separate me from his love. I just need to remember the one who is standing with me...
Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Eph. 6:13
(P.S.- Of course, I do think there are appropriate times to retreat. Healing, assessing situations, obvious physical danger, having healthy boundaries in hard relationships, etc. all require some form of retreat. I am talking more of habitual avoidance...)
As an adult, running has been a source of release and stress relief. I plug in earphones and take off, leaving behind the trouble... at least for thirty minutes. I've always viewed it as a necessity, and even felt that moving to a developing country would be too difficult because I wouldn't have the same freedom to run. (Nonsense, of course. I could run anywhere if I really wanted to).
But I've realized that my running has exceeded those thirty minutes on asphalt. I have done a lot of running away, and even when I haven't physically left, my mind has entertained the notion. Every time I've faced a trial, the suggestion to leave has undoubtedly shown up.
A friendship hit a rough patch and I retreated inward. A romance fizzled and immediately a new state, a new city, a new anywhere-but-here felt like a good idea. Wasn't it about time for a new job? I was sure of it in the midst of a hard stretch. Discontent or difficult relationships always triggered the itch to run away. I haven't always acted on the flight instinct, but the option always appeals.
Running can also be preemptive. Fearing loss or pain, the first thought is to retreat before it has a chance to catch me. A relative of mine gave her dogs away in order to avoid their eventual deaths. I always thought her behavior off and a bit cruel, but now I see the same avoiding instinct in myself. It is a battle to stay engaged with life.
I don't go for runs nearly as often as I once did. The discs in my lower back have started to deteriorate, and the pounding of a run always threatens me with a back spasm or sciatica. It totally sucks. But I see that if running can no longer be my coping skill, perhaps God is wanting to teach me another way to deal with life.
I went on a run last night. At one point, I ran past a house where a yippy chihuahua was off leash. It started chasing me down the street, so I ran faster. The little imp had no trouble keeping up, growling and nipping at my heal. This had to be a funny sight. What a guard dog. Obviously running wasn't working, so I stopped abruptly, turned and yelled "Hey, you go away!" and he immediately retreated, barking in umbrage.
So funny. As long as I was running from it, that little thing was empowered to chase and bite. But my turning and standing thoroughly cowed it into submission. I had size on my side, after all.
Isn't this the same thing that God asks me to do? Turn and stand in the face of adversity? Running away never solves anything. Ignoring the problem only allows it to grow. Retreating from hardship only ensures that I won't mature.
The problems in life will undoubtedly be more intimidating than a little chihuahua nipping at my heals. But if God is with me as he has promised, then I will always have size on my side. I need to put on His armor: truth, peace, righteousness, faith, saving grace, and the Word, and stand up.
Alone I am easily shaken. Alone I run away, but if God is for me, who or what can truly stand against me?
He's promised that nothing can separate me from his love. I just need to remember the one who is standing with me...
Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Eph. 6:13
(P.S.- Of course, I do think there are appropriate times to retreat. Healing, assessing situations, obvious physical danger, having healthy boundaries in hard relationships, etc. all require some form of retreat. I am talking more of habitual avoidance...)
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