A Good Gift

This is a story of a father who knew how to give good gifts to his children...

One day a father gave his two children a present. He was a good man and a really mindful and caring dad, and he gave his children everything they needed. This gift was really special, over and beyond simply meeting a need. He carefully designed the gift himself, crafted it with both of his children in mind, and even got custom gift wrapping. When it was just the right time, the perfect occasion, the father gave the gift to his children, and they both appreciated the gift. He gave them specific guidelines for using the gift, but they found no problem with keeping to the guidelines.

Sometime later, no one knows exactly how long, the children disobeyed their father. They had been coerced into doing something that he specifically told them not to do. Even though they felt like they had been tricked, they willingly and individually chose to disobey their dad.

The children were ashamed and felt guilty, and they hid from their dad. When he came home and couldn't find them, he realized what had happened. It broke the father's heart, but he had to send his children away for a time. They had broken his trust and they needed to experience his discipline.

So the father helped his children pack their things, although it wasn’t much. Before they left, he wept with them. He told them that their choice to disobey him had disrupted not only both of their relationships with him, but also their relationships with each other. He assured them that he still loved them, but that this would be best for them. Then he reminded them to take with them the gift he had given them earlier. Their father explained that it would be more difficult to enjoy it now that their relationships were marred, but that it was still good. He sent it with them as a reminder of the perfect relationships they once had with him and with each other, as well as a reminder of the plans he had for them. These plans, he explained, were that one day they could both have perfect relationships again. “One day,” he told them, “We will be together face to face again, but until then, you might not be able to speak directly with me. It may feel like looking into a cloudy mirror, but I will write letters when I can, and I will send you messages.”

So his children left home, got jobs, and moved to different areas. They each had their own children and, eventually, grandchildren. When their children were old enough and mature enough, they passed the gift on to their children, and their children passed it on to their children. As the years went on, some parents did not instruct their children in the correct way to use the gift. Even when parents gave instructions, some children rebelled against these guidelines. The gift became misused and mistreated. Some people used the gift against others, perverting the purpose of the gift.

As a result of this treatment of the gift, many people experienced the shame and guilt that the first two children felt. Most of this guilt and shame forced the people into hiding, just as the first two children hid from their father. Because of this, the marred relationships the father spoke about grew even more disfigured. Yet some people who were broken by their guilt and shame realized that they did not want to or have to stay in that mistreatment of the gift. These people told each other of their guilt. They shared with each other that they didn't want to keep hiding.

By this time, the first father was a wizened old man, and many people would come to see him. He regretted that his children had disobeyed him and that the gift had been perverted over the years, but he knew that through this, many people would come to know him as their adopted father. While the time had not yet come for the children, both the first two children and the adopted children, to be reconciled completely to their father, he was ready to provide them with hope and healing despite their shame. When people sought out the father and asked him for hope and healing, he forgave them for misusing his gift and then gave them a renewed desire and strength to pursue the gift in its pure form. The people weren't perfect, but they tried, and the father met all their needs. And when the people messed up? The father continued to show them grace upon grace.

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In light of recent interpersonal and community-wide discussions on sexual brokenness, I was challenged to think of sex as God's gift. This has been really difficult for me, and I wondered whether I should write or post about it at all, but I find that silence is the worst choice in this area. One of the causes and contributors to sexual sin, especially hidden sin, is loneliness. Shame from the sin breeds silence, which breeds loneliness, which leads to more sin, which causes shame. It's a relentless cycle unless someone knows, unless it becomes one less person struggling alone.

I wrote this simple retelling of the Garden of Eden and sexual sin to encourage us to find the goodness in God's gift. He is a good father who gives good gifts, but he gave instructions and parameters to this gift so we could enjoy it wisely. (This is an interesting parallel to his command that Adam and Eve not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.) In terms of parameters, I was once told that we don't build fires on our living room floors - we build them in fireplaces. These guidelines are good and wholesome, but there has been a lot of confusion. I think Satan loves to corrupt God's good things, and he has corrupted this quite a bit. There is much brokenness, guilt, and shame as a result of the misuse of God's gift, both because we live in a fallen world and because of the sinfulness of ourselves and other humans.

But God is good.

"But God" is my favorite phrase in the Bible. It shows up 59 times in the NLT. Therefore, despite the corruption, the misuse, and the guilt and shame, God is good. I believe that he gives us good gifts and he is heartbroken when they are misused, but it is not his plan to leave us in that. He is a God of grace and forgiveness and freedom.

What does that look like?

In February of my sophomore year, I started counseling in response to some difficult stuff that had happened earlier. One of the ways that I was able to heal during counseling was by changing the way that I saw God. Through counseling and prayer, I came to see God as a daddy whose lap I could climb up in. It came as a new revelation to me at the time that God would want to listen to me. I pictured having chai lattes with him at my kitchen table or sitting on his lap in a big, comfy chair. Interestingly, just the summer and semester prior to counseling, I had been reading and studying Captivating by the Eldredges. Every time I read it, something else jumps out at me, and that time I just faintly underlined (and didn't even put a tab at) one sentence almost half way through the book. Looking through the book now, I randomly found that sentence on page 100 and nearly cried when I saw it. It says:

The best thing we can do is to let Jesus come in, open the door and invite him in to find us in those hurting places.

God wanted me to let him in, and he continued to give me that image when I wasn't getting it the first time. That's what healing, forgiveness, and freedom looks like. It starts with letting someone in. For some people, the first person is Jesus, for others, they have to tell someone else before they can open up to the Lord.

The key here is that loneliness solves nothing. Shame will try to keep you down, but it will not define you. We are not defined by our failings and shortcomings, in this or any other area. Accountability and community are the safeguards.

And grace is the cure.

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If this post hits home for you, I encourage you to seek out someone you trust who will listen and can help. If you're a TFC student, I pray that you'll get connected with the Breaking Free ministry (this chapel and others) or free counseling on campus. Let me know if I can help in any way.

"What is Man?" [My Thoughts on Lent]

Stuck between hours of reading, journal responses, and craft nights for Valentine's Day sits something I usually scarcely notice. My desk and the kitchen table are scattered with glittery heart stickers and pink and red hole scraps of paper. There are books everywhere.

My nights are late. When they're not, my mornings are early. And sometimes both.

This is the point of the semester when you prove yourself. It's not yet mid-terms. It's not yet pay-day. The homework level has increased to the typical norm and you must balance your time wisely so you can complete the bigger tasks that lay ahead.

I am not-so-patiently awaiting details on overseas student teaching, acceptance at a summer job, and confirmation for my future. I struggle with feeling alone, again, on Valentine's Day. I struggle with feeling tired too early in the semester. I struggle with keeping a budget when I'm on the five-meal plan. I struggle with freedom.

Today was Ash Wednesday, which marked the beginning of the Lenten season. My college has, in the past couple semesters, introduced a variety of worship styles. Our chapel service this morning was an Ash Wednesday service based on Anglican liturgy. It included Scripture reading, responsive reading, chanting, kneeling, standing, prayers aloud and silently, and the traditional ashen cross. We were given the option of coming forward during the Imposition of Ashes to receive the cross on our foreheads.

While the speaker, a professor here, spoke candidly about how we must not skip ahead to the resurrection too soon, I found myself longing for it desperately throughout the service. It is true that being raised in communities that only barely resemble liturgical churches may have colored my perception of liturgy. However, it seems to me that we can get too easily caught up in guilt and shame and sin that we neglect to act as if and believe that we are forgiven. Having lived in a mindset of legalism, guilt (real and false), and worthlessness for years, I am tired of feeling guilty for my sins any longer. Maybe that is not the appropriate response, but it is exactly how I feel. I don't want to be beaten over the head with rules that make me feel like crap. Don't God and I have a relationship?

Someone once told me that legalism is the natural course of the heart. When we realize we aren't doing it perfectly, we strive to make rules for ourselves so that we will, by our estimation. What we don't understand is that God doesn't want rules and God doesn't want sacrifices. He wants us to do what he says out of love, not out of a fear that we don't, we will be struck down from heaven.

Yet perhaps there is a time and a place for the "Ash Wednesday" phenomenon. I mean, the church calendar has been around for ages and no one really seems to have a huge problem with today's purple and black and ash crosses. Yes, my sinfulness brings me to my knees on many occasions. I guess the problem I have is with "requiring" repentance just because this is the beginning of a season.

I would just like to change the connotation of the Lenten season. Rather than a time of repentance and sad reflection, let this be a time of eager anticipation. Do not fast because it somehow reminds you of the suffering of Christ (how can it even compare?). Fast because it allows you that time to devote to knowing Christ more. And never, by any means, fast because everyone else is doing it. Fast (from anything) because God is telling you to do it.

In the scheme of things, finite man is nothing compared to infinite God. Nothing. But the fact remains that he is deeply in love with us. Why? Because he is delighted in the creation that he chose to create.

When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?
You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings
and crowned him with glory and honor.

- Psalm 8:3-5

Leaving It Behind

Hebrews 12:1 says: “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.”

Happy May, everyone! I am officially finished with my sophomore year of college! I cannot believe how fast time flies.

If I could describe this year or even this past semester in one phrase, it would be “Coming to Terms.” I have spent my sophomore year coming to terms with my past, dealing with of crap, and learning to move on. I wish I could say I am now perfectly healed and whole, but that’s not entirely true. Yes, God has redeemed and ransomed me, and I am not who I was, but I still have a very long way to go. The cool part is that God has me where he wants me, and I’m sure of that now.

As part of this whole “coming to terms” thing, I shared a part of my testimony at the end of March with the ladies in my dorm. The entire experience was absolutely great - God had his hand in it the whole time. As part of the testimony night, everyone who shared painted, drew, or chalked key phrases from their testimonies on a piece of cardboard. Each lady’s cardboard testimony had a “before” side and an “after” side, describing her struggles on one side and her hope or change on the other.

After the evening, I put my cardboard testimony on the shelf above my desk where I could see it every time I walked in my room. The “after” side faced out, which was really encouraging. Yesterday, when I finished packing up and preparing to head home, I found myself unsure about what to do with my piece of cardboard. I knew I could fit it in my car, but I also knew that it would be hassle to squeeze it in somehow. And what am I going to do with a piece of painted cardboard?

I debated quickly whether to throw it away or to keep it, and the pack rat in me lost. But as I threw the rectangle cardboard testimony into the dirty and rusty garbage dumpster behind my dorm, I felt like I was leaving that pain and that sin behind. It was like a weight was being lifted. Suddenly, a portion of the guilt that I thought could never leave began to melt and crack a little.

So I left my sin in the dumpster. Eventually, a dump truck will come by and carry my cardboard testimony to a landfill miles away. It’s virtually gone forever. I promise I am still coming to terms. I promise I am still dealing with guilt, shame, and mistakes. I promise I will still struggle. But I know that I know that God has forgiven me. I don’t have to fight anymore. God is here.

Even before the word “Emmanuel” was used for Jesus to mean “God with us,” a name for God translated Jehovah Shammah was used. It means “The Lord is there.” Not only is this phrase the final words of the book of Ezekiel (48:35), but it is repeated multiple times in the Old Testament. It is used in reference to Jerusalem, as the Lord is living among his people in Israel.

I heard about Jehovah Shammah a while ago, but when I was coming to terms with feelings of loneliness, I began researching the name again. To learn that this name refers to the city of Jerusalem makes me want to cry with joy. See, when I shared my testimony in March, I quoted Isaiah 62:4 about God’s restoration of the city of Jerusalem. I mentioned it because I like to compare the broken and hurting woman to the broken and hurting city of Jerusalem during the times of captivity or warfare. Thus, just as God came for Jerusalem to heal her and rescue her, so God does the same for women (and men, too).

How beautiful is it to know that the same God who calls Jerusalem by a new name in Isaiah 62:4 because he is restoring her is the same God who then dwells in Jerusalem and calls himself Jehovah Shammah because he is there in that city with his bride. I believe that God is also calling himself Jehovah Shammah with us, his children. I left that sin behind in a landfill in some county in North Georgia, but God is here. Sometimes that’s all I know, and it is more than enough.

What I'm listening to...

"Million Pieces" - Newsboys

"Oh My Dear" - Tenth Avenue North

At The Well

Last night I had the opportunity to portray the woman at the well (see John 4) for children's church. It was awesome. I took drama in high school, and I have learned that your acting does not seem real unless you are actually feeling the emotions the character should be feeling in that moment. Standing there, dressed up like Yoda and holding a painted bucket, I felt like the woman at the well.

Believe me, I felt it. Dirty. Stained. Broken. Worthless. Guilty.

I remembered the sins I have committed, the people I have hurt, the relationships I've screwed up, and the mistakes I continue to make over and over. I imagined this woman's feelings of failed relationships, knowing that I can only grasp so little of her feelings of rejection and broken promises. The woman who met Jesus at the well that day had been married five times and was living with a man she was not married to. The town shunned her, and I doubt they knew the half of it. She carried around guilt so strong she went to get water at the hottest part of the day, so she wouldn't have to see anyone gossip about her or curse her.

At the point she meets Jesus at the well, who is she most afraid of? Who has hurt her the most? The men in her life. The script I used mentioned the woman's husbands as abandoning her. Having dealt with intentional and non-intentional "abandonment," per say, I felt that feeling. I felt her lack of self-confidence with regard to men. I felt her sense of worthlessness, because she just cannot get any man to stay with her. I would assume that the man she was living with when she met Jesus was not hanging around because she was a great cook. You can use your imagination there. In short, the woman at the well was truly alone. And loneliness hurts.

But the script, and the woman's story, does not end there. Even though it took a while for the woman to trust and believe Jesus, she fell for his offering of living water. Water that, if she drank it, she would never be thirsty again. She mentioned the Messiah. It is so amazing that even though this woman had faced so much, she was still holding on to the hope of the coming Messiah. I can imagine Jesus's smile as he explained gently to her, "I AM the Messiah, the Christ." Jesus revealed himself so openly to this woman, so gently. He told her about her sins and he was not ashamed of discussing her past mistakes with her, many of which no one but the woman herself knew.

You know what's amazing? Jesus actively pursued a conversation with this woman who was shunned and avoided by men just like Jesus. He cared about her. He wanted her to see the truth about himself, about his purpose to rescue broken people and bring them to fullness and wholeness in him. The monologue ended with these lines:

He knew me inside and out but still welcomed me into a friendship with Him! Finally! Someone who loved me as I was but loved me too much to leave me there!

It is true when they say that He who is forgiven much, loves much (see Luke 7:47). This woman at the well, so utterly forgiven of everything that separated her from the community, ran into town and announced to everyone that the Messiah was standing by the well. The Messiah who knew everything about her! Look how this changed not only the woman's life, but also the lives of the people in her town...

Many Samaritans from the village believed in Jesus because the woman had said, "He told me everything I ever did!" When they came out to see him, they begged him to stay in their village. So he stayed for two days, long enough for many more to hear his message and believe. Then they said to the woman, "Now we believe, not just because of what you told us, but because we have heard him ourselves. Now we know that he is indeed the Savior of the world."

(John 4:39-41)

God used this woman's past to do amazing things in not only her life, but the lives of the people in her town who came to know Jesus personally through her testimony. What a beautiful redemption God provided for this woman at the well.

And at the end of the skit, I felt her feelings again, the same way I had at the beginning. Feelings of joy, weightlessness, purpose, redemption, holiness, forgiveness, and worthiness. My God can change a leper's spots and melt a heart of stone and forgive the most avoided woman in a Samaritan town... And he can redeem me. He can forgive me. By all means, let him forgive you. Let him show you his power and redemption in your life. Let him restore your heart. And like the woman, don't give up hope that he is coming, that he is going to break through your darkest hours. Switchfoot sings: I've been keeping my hope unbroken. Is your hope unbroken?

If you don't get anything else from this entire post, get this:

About a week ago, I heard several stories of growth and challenge and inspiring experiences from some friends. I felt like my story was weak and insignificant compared to their stories. Frustrated and humbled, I came to God and asked, "Why don't you do anything awesome like that in my life?" The answer I got was simply: "You don't let me." Ouch.

While I do believe that God has a plan and is working everything out for our good, I also think that God is not going to make us do anything. He invented free will. For me, I realized last night that this woman at the well desired deep in her heart to see freedom from the chains of guilt. Jesus did not force her to accept his love, but she was ready to do so and made the choice.

It's the same thing with really cool experiences in our lives. First, you have to go for it. If there is opportunity you are interested in, go for it. God will redirect you if you are not where he wants you. And second, allow God to work. Pray and be open to his guidance. Listen for his voice.

He is waiting to say to you, "I AM the Messiah. Come and follow me."