Walking in Humility: His Kindness Leads Us to Repentance

Jesus Calls His First Disciples {Luke 5:1-11}

One day as Jesus was standing by the Lake of Gennesaret,[a] the people were crowding around him and listening to the word of God. 2 He saw at the water’s edge two boats, left there by the fishermen, who were washing their nets. 3 He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little from shore. Then he sat down and taught the people from the boat.

4 When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch.”

5 Simon answered, “Master, we’ve worked hard all night and haven’t caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets.”

6 When they had done so, they caught such a large number of fish that their nets began to break. 7 So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them, and they came and filled both boats so full that they began to sink.

8 When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus’ knees and said, “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!” 9 For he and all his companions were astonished at the catch of fish they had taken, 10 and so were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, Simon’s partners.

Then Jesus said to Simon, “Don’t be afraid; from now on you will fish for people.”11 So they pulled their boats up on shore, left everything and followed him.

I love how quick Jesus was to say, “don’t be afraid.”

It’s okay. It’s all good. Peter had no reason to be afraid for doubting, for messing up, for thinking he knew better. Not only did Jesus refuse to leave him to wallow in his failure and sin as he asked, He did the opposite. He invited him to get up and follow Him.

Don’t you see how wonderfully kind, tolerant, and patient God is with you? Does this mean nothing to you? Can’t you see that his kindness is intended to turn you from your sin? {Romans 2:4, NLT}

I have known for a long time it’s His kindness that leads us to repentance, but if I’m going to be honest with you here, I had no idea how to translate that to real life.

A kind word turns away wrath, yes.

Do good to those who persecute you. Incredibly difficult, but I understand.

But with God as our Father, how does that play out in parenting? When my kids majorly screw up, the last thing I want to say to them is “don't be afraid.” Maybe "afraid" isn't the right word, but I want life to be uncomfortable enough that they will think twice before making that decision again. 

I’m quick with thoughts of well, if only you had listened, this wouldn’t have happened, and, that's exactly why I told you not to do that. Depending on how riled up I am by the blatant disrespect, screaming, and disobedience, well, I might just have to restrain myself from screaming right back at them. Other days I fail miserably at the restraint part.

I often think, why don’t they get it yet? Why are we still fighting these same battles day after day after day?

One day as we were pulling out of the driveway and I had tell the boys in the backseat to buckle up yet again, it occured to me that this was a conversation I've had with them daily for years. I wondered in that moment exactly how many times I’d uttered the phrase “put your seatbelts on.”

Let's assume we put the oldest in a booster seat at age four. He’s now two months shy of 10. Let’s assume also, as he was in preschool at the time, that on average, we left the house once a day, which would involve buckling up twice. I’m sure there were days we stayed home, but there were also days we went multiple places, so it’s probably an incredibly low estimate. Let’s assume, just for fun, I had to remind the children to buckle up each time.

With the oldest being 9 years old, it’s a total of at least 3,650 times.

3,650 times I have instructed them to put their seatbelts on, and they still haven’t "gotten it." 

Let that sink in for a moment. I have told them thousands of times to perform the this task, the same task they need to perform each and every time we enter the vehicle (it’s not like it’s an oddity), and it still has not become habit.

And honestly, sometimes when I look in the rear view mirror and see them positioned in such a way that would make it impossible to indeed be belted, and I have to again utter the phrase "buckle up," my hands tighten their grip on the steering wheel and my jaw clenches as I listen for the clicks from the back seat. 

I think to myself...why do I always have to tell them this? Why don’t they get it by now? It’s not that hard. Get in the car, sit down, and put on your seatbelt. Agent Oso would have boiled it down to those "three special steps" and the child would've mastered it by the end of the 20 minute show! Why must I always remind them?

Every time we get in the car, I pull out of the driveway with a small, subconscious glimmer of hope, thinking maybe, just maybe, today will be the day. Maybe today they will remember to buckle up on their own. 

But you don’t see that at all in Jesus.

And I realized that my perspective as a parent has been... wrong.

You see, while Jesus is aiming for the perfection of eternity, He also fully expects their humanity. He makes room for their doubt, their failures. He makes room for their imperfections and sin, allowing them to learn from their mistakes with an air of patience and grace I often don't possess as a parent. 

With Jesus, it's not about all the times you got it wrong. It's about the one time you got it right.

Expectations pave the way for either contentment or disappointment, so it's vital we set them accordingly. Because the reality is, there will be some things that, on this side of heaven, the kids will never master, even as adults. But it doesn't mean we shouldn't keep trying or we shouldn't keep training them: we just need to allow for their humanity with a God-given patience and grace. Lord knows I can't do it on my own...

It's a welcome paradigm shift:

Harping on failures  > > > > > >  Celebrating victories

Condemnation  > > > > > >  Grace

Anticipating achievement  > > > > > >  Anticipating repeated need for instruction

Frustration  > > > > > >  Patience

Expecting mastery/perfection  > > > > > >  Expecting sin/humanity

Jesus isn't surprised or caught off guard by our humanity. He fully expects it. He tells us not to be afraid, because He sees the struggles that war within. In His kindness and grace, He knows that the only way to overcome our sin is to stand up and follow Him. To allow Him to fill the spaces in which we are weak.

It's not about all the times we messed up.

With Jesus, it's about the one time we got up and chose to walk with Him in humility. 

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!

Walking in Humility: There's Freedom in Embracing the Tension

I tied a knot on our busy morning by vacuuming the floor just before I laid the kids down for a nap. My daughter promptly came back downstairs to tell me the dog was playing with a toilet paper roll. 

Eh, it doesn't look like a full roll, I thought when she handed it to me. Thankfully.

I assumed we dodged a bullet until I rounded the corner and saw a healthy pile of shredded tissue all over the black rug I'd vacuumed just moments before. I followed the trail and located ground zero in the bathroom upstairs. 

Sigh. 

When all parties were tucked back in bed and the dog wrangled downstairs, I proceeded to pick up all the tiny bits of white by hand. The article titled, Motherhood: The Big, Fat F*ck You, came to mind. I have no idea why. But to this thought I said, yes. And amen.

I'll raise you pet ownership, too, if we are, in fact, going to add to the list.

This was a prior paper towel incident. While I was downstairs cleaning the basement, she was upstairs happily uncleaning the family room. Dogs these days. Sheesh.

I'm sure you all have your own personal chips you could throw on the pile.

Some days the lack of recognition, the seemingly futile attempts to train the future generation, or the muddying of your hard work seems like no more than a big middle finger.

But other days... Other days you're sitting at the kitchen table painting your daughter's tiny toenails, while she makes her brother laugh in his seat. You marvel at the sun shining through the window at just the right angle, creating a halo-like glow in her silky blonde hair. Their eyes light up as they smile at each other and carry on, a blessing of the close bond of siblings. 

Amazing also are the colors she picks out, each toe something different. Colors you'd never have thought to put together, but somehow, it works well. Your hand rests on her warm little leg as the polish dries and you study their little faces, their eyes and their smiles, how her head tilts to the side when she laughs just so, how he points with his cubby little finger, bringing it up to his pursed little mouth. You want to etch this moment in your memory so you'll never forget the lines of their faces, their Chiclet-toothed grins, the joy filling your soul.

Love and gratitude begin to well up in your heart to the degree that you realize this must be how God Himself feels when he gazes upon His children. And in that moment, no article in the universe could do more to convince you this is the absolute best job in the world. The rewards may not be quantifiable, but they are deeply fulfilling, and there's nowhere else you'd rather be than painting pink sparkly polish on stinky little feet.

I don't know what you contemplate while vacuuming, but today I thought about how motherhood, as with most situations or vocations in life, is a reflection of the mysterious "both/and" tension that orders the universe, and even our human hearts.

Cherish every moment, people say. They grow up so quick!

Now, I don't believe that every moment is cherish-able. Because sometimes? Motherhood is a big, fat F*ck you. Sometimes it just downright sucks. There's no need to sugar-coat it. In fact, I'll even go as far as to say it's detrimental to sugar-coat it.

But, it does go quick. I know there will be a day I'll brush cobwebs away and pull the etchings of their tiny, sweet faces out of a dusty memory vault, wishing so desperately I could be back at the kitchen table for one more moment. 

It's both/and.

Big middle finger/best job in the world.

Exhausting/Exhilarating.

This also applies to the human heart: Sinner/Saint. The beating heart of an individual is capable both of incredible atrocities and immense good.

Wretched/Redeemed.

God of Wrath/God of Love. Spend any time in the Old Testament, and you'll walk away with a view of God that may surprise you. Vengeful, jealous, and full of anger and wrath. It's hard to reconcile with the God portrayed by Jesus in the New Testament. 

Law/Grace. 

The one thing all of these both/and's have in common? The /.

Jesus is the / that makes it work. Only He is able to bridge the gap, to allow the two opposing forces to exist in a mysterious tension. 

Because of Jesus, the drudgery and frustration of motherhood doesn't have the final say. Even on the worst of days, He can turn it around in a "slash" and use it for good if we let Him. When we have nothing left to offer, He is able to provide. When we're fresh out of mercy, He can calm the storm.

Even though Jesus took my place on the cross, I am still a sinner. But because He died for me, I'm no longer just a sinner. In Him, the sinners become saints and the wretched, redeemed.

God isn't a God of scarcity, limits and boxes but of abundance, possibility, and hope. And because of Him,

no past,

no label,

no identity, 

no choice, 

and no day 

will ever again have the final say. 

Walking in Humility: God Chooses to See Only Jesus in Me

It was one of those days. 

A dreary day at the end of July found us at each other's throats by the time breakfast was finished. Disobedience and sass, yelling and screaming, bothering and being bored.

Normally, I don't mind our small house. We have what we need and utilize the space we have, so nothing is wasted. Clutter is overwhelming in small spaces, so it's a great reason to not go crazy buying things and to get rid of the extraneous crap we already have. All in all, it's a great system.

Except in the summer.

I love my children dearly, but they drive me a little crazy those few months. Mainly because we're all on top of each other like little, pink, baby hamsters, and I have nowhere to run and hide. With all the whining and squealing and begging and fighting, I can totally understand why a momma hamster would want to eat her young. Just for some peace and quiet.

Not all days are like that, but certainly, there are some. And this particular day at the end of a finally-hot July had been one of them.

To put things in context, this day had been preceded by a couple months which left me feeling like a failure of a mother, a shell of a human, and a mess of a Christian. I preached a sermon (I don't think I will ever get used to saying that, but I guess that's what it was) on Mother's Day about the Proverbs 31 woman, which I think I will include in this series at some point, and God met me that day. He helped me get over my fear of speaking and present His truth in a way many had not considered it, for His glory.

Then I fell of the spiritual bandwagon and hadn't picked up my Bible since.

Our dog of twelve years got sick in early June and we had to put him to sleep. And I just couldn't stop crying. My postpartum depression reared it's ugly head and refused to depart, no matter how hard I tried to snap out of it or will it away. I'd always just dug my heels in and got through it, but this time my out-of-control hormones were clawing those around me and biting them with sharp teeth. Sometimes a sullen, numb and disconnected beast, other times unpredictably wild and nasty, and I couldn't rein it in.

To lose control of your own mind is a humbling thing.

July arrived with little blue pills from my doctor, which, thankfully, helped me find a middle ground again, and my first case of head lice, courtesy of my son. I graduated childhood without a single louse, and here I find myself at 34 years old with a head full of them.

When my husband came home that day, I took the opportunity to get out of the house and walked to CVS for some lice shampoo. As a mother of five, sometimes "getting out of the house" isn't glamorous, but you have to take what you can get.

Yes, mommy is leaving. I will be right back.

No, you can't come with me.

I trudged down the sidewalk in flip flops and house clothes. I inhaled the fresh air and exhaled in stride, thankful for some silence and space to think. But my thoughts immediately wandered to my shortcomings:

I yelled and screamed at the kids today.

I took my own stress and issues out on them. 

I suck as a mother because I can't seem to keep the house together, the laundry from living on the couch, or the dishes from overflowing in the sink.

I haven't picked up my bible in months. Why would God want to talk to me now? I'm sure He's disappointed...

Grabbing the generic lice shampoo from the shelf, I took a little time to wander the isles, looking for clearance nail polish and scoping out the dollar section. Not finding anything I couldn't live without, I checked out and headed home after chatting briefly with the cashier. 

The words of a friend from the week before echoed in my ear. Questions about why God always referred to Abraham as faithful, yet he doubted. David was known as a man after God's own heart, yet he committed adultery and murder.

How can that be? 

It occurred to me in the discussion that because of what Jesus did for me, God sees only Jesus in me. When my sins are forgiven, they are removed as far as the east is from the west, and He literally can't see them anymore. He only sees Jesus, who paid for them with His blood.

He only sees the good.

And sure, He knows what we've done. He's God. But He chooses to call us redeemed, to refer to us by the good, by the moments we sought Him in humility and repentance. 

The dingy blanket of cloud cover began to shift, and rays of warm light burst through. I could feel the sun on my skin, a tangible outpouring of His love and grace. It was the reset my day, and my life, so desperately needed.

Looking up at the sky, I closed my eyes and breathed it in deep: the truth that I'm not what I scream; I'm not how I feel. I'm not my failures or my mistakes. I'm not the lack of checks on a bible reading plan. I'm not all the things I didn't get done or the things I would still like to do.

I'm just me, in all my humanity, and He loves me because. 

Because of a man hanging on a cross, making a way for me to be free. 

Free from the burden of measuring up, from figuring out my own way.

A way for God to call me redeemed, to see only Jesus in me.

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!

Dear Doctor, I Need Help

Over the summer the postpartum depression I experienced after the birth of our fifth child took a nosedive into unbearable. In hindsight I believe I experienced it with all of our children, although I didn't know until it had passed. Suddenly, around the nine month mark, I would begin to feel a renewed energy and hopefulness, only to realize I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt like singing or smiling without effort. 

This time was different because it was worse. It was bad enough that my husband encouraged me to seek help, which I did reluctantly and only briefly. I'm a terrible patient. But each day is better, and throughout the process, the Lord has sewn badges of honor onto my heart, stitch by painful stitch. Symbols of suffering and the lessons learned therein, lessons I wouldn't have understood any other way but walking through the valley in humility. 

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Casualties on the Postpartum Battlefield

In the eyes of another mother today, I saw a reflection of me

Like staring in a mirror, barely here, a shell of numbness and grief

Blank expression, listless gaze, trying to find her way out of the maze

Of sleepless nights, an infants cry, her whole world turned around

Even mad at the baby and wondering if maybe they made a big mistake

Because what the books don't tell you, what everyone fails to say

Makes you feel quite crazy, like a failure, in the worst possible way

You wonder how you'll get through it, these days barely staying afloat

The raft drifting farther and farther from shore, no hope of ever getting out

The people ashore can even see you're gone, standing there so helplessly

They don't know what to do, how to help, immobilized by uncertainty

Sometimes when you've floated so far, it seems no rope or rescue could reach

The depths in which you're drowning, no longer visible from life's beach

Days feel like years, soul weary, eyes sleepy, and mind unable to function

The after school craze creates a mental haze, a heavy fog of suspended chaos

My mind starts to tremble from overstimulation, unable to process the imput

Like an overloaded circuit internally imploded, my rational mind turns mushy

Liquified sanity runs out of my mouth, uncontrolled, unrestrained and nasty

There are no winners here, not one is unscathed, just a mess of tears and apologies

Always hormonal in desperate search of normal, tomorrow hopes for healed

The dawn cries and I arise; I take my medication and pray.

Maybe this dark and heavy cloud will find flight and lift today.

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!

Walking in Humility: Even When You Don't Have Enough, Build a Bigger Table Anyway

It's funny that as soon as we got a bigger kitchen table, children from the neighborhood seemed to emerge from all directions to sit around it, like the "if you build it, they will come" idea playing out in real life. 

At the beginning of the summer, there was a very intentional invitation. Come inside, we would say. You're welcome here. Gather around the table with us as we share a meal and talk about our day. When they left, they would tell their friends about the cute baby they got to hold or mention that there exists a table around which there is "extra food," an oddity in a neighborhood where scarcity is the norm and children fend for themselves.

And it organically multiplied from there.

I stood at the counter prepping the meal, the kids busy behind me with their assigned chores. As my hands ripped systematically through the cold head of lettuce, I thought about the phrase, when you have more than you need, build a longer table, not a higher fence.

I love the sentiment behind it--one of generosity, inclusion, and community. The importance of building bridges and gathering together in solidarity and fellowship. The idea of sharing what you have instead of hoarding it for yourselves.

When you have more than you need....

That part bothers me a little with its strong, Confucius-like qualities. You see, God is a God of abundance, of plenty, of enough. And when there's not enough? He makes it enough. That's what He does. Jesus turned Confucius' popular Golden Rule on its head and said instead, "so whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them." {Matthew 7:12}

When you have more than you need...

The phrase is limiting and narrow in a culture that has forgotten the line that exists between need and want. As I rinsed the lettuce shreds out in the sink, I thought, how sad. Because when we live life in a comfortable little bubble of our human limitations, we fail to leave room for God. How sad that we miss out on the miracles, the provision, and the overflow that happens when we step out beyond ourselves, beyond what seems possible with what's in front of us.

When you have more than you need... 

But what about when you don't?

I was moved to tears as I leaned over the counter, chopping up cucumbers and recalling all the times we looked at what was for dinner and glanced around at all the mouths it was supposed to feed and wondered how exactly that was going to work out. All the times that God took our meager offering of loaves and fish and multiplied it to feed the masses. And unless the offering was macaroni and cheese, there was almost always leftovers.

Today we invited two people over for lunch. Then a third asked if it would be okay to stay. The third went to retrieve brothers, which became four and five. Six walked arrived as we were finally getting a very late lunch on the table, well into the afternoon. A quick call to the daughter playing next door, and we figured, at this point, what's one or two more? 

When the neighbor and her grandson walked in the front door, our number had swelled to 17 in all. Come on in, my daughter said to her friend, the little neighbor boy, as they stepped inside with grubby fingers and dirt-stained pants. It's okay. See? This is my family...

And I could see it unfolding before my very eyes: God purposed to give me a tangible example of His incredible ability to provide. He was putting feet on my thoughts at the kitchen sink, just to show me He could.

I'll do you one better today: even when you don't have enough, build a bigger table anyway.

Because when we step foot beyond the tangible, beyond our resources, beyond our abilities--that is the fertile soil in which miracles grow. It's the soil from which the Creator of the cosmos flung the stars into place and crafted the very ground on which we stand, the soil from which He formed the shape of man. It's the same soil in which God plants our temporal fear and doubt, and right before our very eyes, gives birth to new life. 

Even when you don't have enough--especially when you don't have enough--build a bigger table anyway, and watch God work and move in ways you never would've imagined. Because it's in community gathered around a table where the best of life's lessons are learned. Regardless of the color of your skin, the orientation of your gender compass, your various sins and preferences, in that moment, you're all just a bunch of hungry people sharing a meal. 

The ground is as level beneath the kitchen table as it is at the foot of the cross. 

With a warm cup of coffee in hand and a full belly after the meal, she utters, I'm so glad I came over here today. I just feel really...loved. 

Yeah, food and family will do that.

We all need to be a part of something bigger than ourselves. Why cling to your meager share of loaves and fish when God wants to show you a miracle? When He's waiting just past the margin of safe and a hair beyond logic to multiply your belief more exponentially than you ever could've dreamed?

So often, we forsake the unseen for the comfort and the safety of the known. We fail to see that the unknown, the holy ground on which God Himself treads, is found in reckless abandon. It's found in love that knows no bounds, in lavishness that makes no sense, in generosity that doesn't add up. 

It's found in FAITH. 

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!