Walking in Humility: The Angry Stress Monster

I have this thing my son calls the “Angry Stress Monster," an apt description, as it will suddenly rear its nasty head without warning, much like I imagined the monsters under my bed would when I was young. 

Usually, the symptoms have been festering below the surface long before they're noticed by the droves of screaming and fighting children running about the house, but they all notice when the switch flips--a maternal Jekyll and Hyde with a messy top knot, yesterday's sweatpants, and crazy eyes. Or maybe it's more like mommy Frankenstein, who, after having all her brains removed by a litter of children, can only scream, growl, and try to kill things. Little things. More specifically, little people.

Some days, I don't do a very good job of containing the monster.

The offenses against sanity begin to stack up the moment we walk in the door after school. It’s the pent-up cackling crazy they’ve had to control all day. It’s the running and fighting and making each other cry. It’s the deafening noise level composed of mommy look at this and mommy we did this and mommy sign that and mommy I want a snack and mommy I need help….all at once.

I’m on the edge. On the verge of losing it. Lately, I’ve gotten to the point where I recognize this edge, the ledge from which I plunge head first into the oblivion of rage and overwhelm. The fall is incredibly hard to recover from.

I know what it feels like, the tightness in my chest. The mental jitters that make it impossible to think. The overloaded circuit of my faculties, sparks flying, fires starting, the whole thing burning down.

I can feel it begin, and I try to breathe deep. To take a step back, calm down. But sometimes life keeps assaulting me, and I can’t keep it at bay. The Angry Stress Monster emerges from the flames of spontaneous combustion, and everyone nearby gets burned.

Sometimes I don’t recognize this woman, this angry monster in the mirror. I hope to find the calmer, more patient person I once knew, I really do.

But I guess until then, I’m sorry.

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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: Where Division Exists So Does Pride, and Other Thoughts on Loving Well Post-Election

I will admit that I had some choice words for America when I awoke to the results this morning.

My children did, too, as neither of the candidates they voted for at school took the election.

It was an impossible choice, really. On one hand, we had the embodiment of everything that is wrong with politics, and on the other, the epitome of everything that is wrong with us as a people.

And so today, I grieve with and pray for our country. Because, although someone did win the election, there are no winners here.

I think statistics are so interesting, because they tell a story.

Not always the story we'd like to hear, however. Not the details as we ideally wish they were.

But rather, the way things are.

And in this case, the white, heterosexual, rural-residing, self-identified Evangelical, non-college-educated majority has spoken. I know our form of government is deeply flawed, but no longer can we deny the fact that it's those with privilege who get to decide the fate of our country.

My hope is that in our own little corner of the country, we can start writing a different narrative. 

May we remember that we are the UNITED States of America and get back to the hard work of loving one another today. Especially those who are different than us. Especially those who are marginalized and oppressed, backed into a corner without a voice. 

Because where there is a lack of unity, there is often a lack of humility. Pride and love cannot coexist, so choose wisely.

May we rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn. It's so hard to rejoice with others when you're the one in mourning, but do it anyway.

May we be kind, always. 

May we remember that the change we wish to see doesn't begin in the Oval Office, but it starts with you and me.

And so today, I'm going to snuggle with my daughter on the couch. I'm going to enjoy my kiddos and laugh with them when they get home from school. I'll go to church and worship a God who wasn't caught off guard, a God who is still on the throne, and a God still worthy to be praised. 

I'll text my black friends and my gay friends and remind them that regardless of who gets to decide the fate of this country, they can never decide the worth of their souls. That they are still wanted, welcome, and loved. I'll hug my refugee friends, because love is a universal language which requires no translator.

Love well today, friends. Especially when it's hard, because that's precisely when the world needs it the most. 

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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: Ministry is Messy...and It's Supposed to Be

{This post was originally published on September 23, 2016}

Between the not-quite-housetrained puppy, the 7 month old baby, who still spits up, and the random 10+ children who are in and out of the house on any given day, our carpet is, in a word...GROSS.

Even still, we try to do what we can to keep it from getting worse. We take the dog outside often, wipe up accidents/spills as best as we can, and encourage everyone to take their shoes off at the front door. In typical kid fashion, though, they're forgetful and don't always remove their shoes. Other times, they just plain don't want to listen. Because it's inconvenient, or they think they know better. Rules can be hard and stupid. So along with "buckle your seatbelt," "pick up your garbage," "dirty clothes go in the basket," and "don't fart on your brother," I've added "take off your shoes" to the soundtrack that plays on "repeat all" in our home. 

It will come as no surprise, then, that one day we discovered someone had dog poop on the bottom of their shoe. Unfortunately, that shoe had already made its way around most of the first floor, particularly the carpeted area. The kids were disgusted and screaming, the little boy felt terrible and was crying, and Ben, of course, was in disaster mode and calmly doling out instructions to everyone. He functions much better in a crisis than I.

"It's ok. It's not a big deal," he said to the little boy. "We can clean it up. Why don't you give me your shoe and I'll wash it off in the bathroom."

I took a kid into the living room with me and we started on the carpet. The little boy was sitting at the table with his sister, just sobbing, and both Ben and I kept assuring him it was ok. I can only assume he must get in a lot of trouble at home for making a mess.

The child who was helping me was indignant. He was mad that the boy didn't take off his shoes, mad that he didn't notice the poop sooner, mad that he had to help clean it up--and he kept loudly voicing his grievances. For as often as he wears his own shoes into the house, it could've just as easily been him who tracked in poop, and I encouraged him to be gracious.

I have to admit, I was frustrated, too, but trying really hard to maintain a poker face. This is why we tell them to take off their shoes, I thought. We have rules for a reason. I gently reminded the crowd of that fact and went back to cleaning the carpet. And as I was kneeling there, scrubbing the filth away, my husband quietly said to me, probably sensing my irritation, "this is the cost of doing ministry, babe. It's ok. It's just carpet."

See what I mean about calm under pressure? But I knew he was right. This is the cost of doing ministry. 

You see, ministry is messy...and it's supposed to be.

It's supposed to be difficult, frustrating, annoying, and even loathsome at times. Ministry isn't heart-eye emojis and feel good music and the, "we're all doing fine," business. Because the reality is, we're not all fine, and certainly not all the time.  

Ministry is being "Christ with skin on." That's how my husband describes it, anyways. 

It's easy to think, and I've certainly been guilty of this myself, that "ministry" is a rosy, glorious, wonderful thing. Like we're going to take all these lost people in our neighborhood or workplace and we're going to listen to them, we're going to feed them, we're going to tell them how much Jesus loves them, and wouldn't that be just grand. Maybe they'll start coming to church with us on Sundays, and if we're really lucky, we might even be able squeak out a sinner's prayer. And then we can check them off our list. Mission accomplished. Job well done, good and faithful servant.

But if you sit with that phrase for a spell and dig in to what that really means, I believe you will find this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. {Romans 5:8}

Ministry, in the truest form of the word, is entering into the mess and filth of broken lives and loving well enough to stand in the gap between them and God. It's the privilege of being able to stay, with arms outstretched, that it's okay. Regardless of the mess they find themselves in right now, they are loved. They are wanted, valuable, and important. Not in spite of themselves, but because of Christ, who died for them. In their place. And there's nothing more they need to do, because it is finished. 

It's the gospel in the flesh.

True ministry exists in the gap between sinner and Savior. We must be willing to enter into the mess, to kneel down alongside them in the filth and start scrubbing. In order to become Christ with skin on, we need to hang our desires, our possessions, our control, and our pride up on the cross and let them die.

The carpet cleaner washed the dirt away, and the stains were barely visible by the time we were done. It was like it never happened. The little boy finally calmed down and realized he wasn't in trouble, that everything really was okay, and they all went back to running and playing as usual.

Only in the paradox of Christ is it possible that out of death flows new life and from surrender, victory. That he who loses his life will save it. The gap in between death and resurrection is a holy one--it's where God does His best work. 

Every time I give a gentle reminder, change a poopy diaper, scrape gum off the basement floor, scrub dog dirt from the carpet, shuttle a child to the doctor, or help a teen sort out a tricky relationship issue, I'm standing in the gap. A witness to impending new life, both in my heart and in those around me. That's ministry, in all it's messy glory. 

And God is glorified in this holy obedience to the ordinary. 

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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: Further Thoughts on Speaking the Truth in Love

 Jesus is a gentleman.

It's something I heard often in those early years of Christianity, when I didn't know much of the character of this God who lovingly swooped into my life and stole my heart. But I was eager to learn.

He will knock on the door of your heart, but He will never barge in. He's a gentleman. He will wait until you open the door.

He's a gentle man. Humble in heart. Unconditionally loving. He hung on the cross so we wouldn't have to, so we may live free, out from under the burden of sin.

But in order to be resurrected into freedom, there must first be death. For Jesus, it took three days, but for us it often takes a lot longer. It takes time to loosen the grip of selfishness. Time to exhaust all other options; time to see ourselves for what we truly are.

The journey to surrender is often an arduous and painful one, but it's a destination we must arrive at willingly, with a heart of humility and repentance, before we can ever attempt to lay down our lives for Him. Sin surrendered out of pressure to conform is still tethered to the heart, and it's human nature to pick it back up again, eventually.

But we are such a stubborn and prideful people that we often continue to exist suspended in the misery of our pain, stuck somewhere on the path between conviction and repentance. It's hard to pry our fingers off of the life we think we always wanted, or the way we thought things would go. We are afraid. In our heart of hearts, we sometimes don't trust God with the unseen, so we take matters into our own hands and attempt to do damage control. 

We self-medicate to dull the pain of unfulfilled existence. We watch too much TV. We continue to eat long after we're full. We get angry at the people we love for interrupting our time or needing too much. We drink or take drugs. We long to feel wanted and loved, so we engage in illict sex. We spend money we don't have. We lie, steal, and talk badly about others.

We get mad at life and mad at God.

And yet, He waits for us.

Hosea tells us He's the loyal, unconditionally loving spouse to a whore of a wife, who is constantly wandering and seeking fulfillment and pleasure elsewhere. He's the one who repeatedly buys us back from the auction block, rescuing us from the misery of our sin, even though we've failed to see our value and worth in Him. Again. Even though we've run off and sold ourselves to cruel masters when, all along, His yoke is easy and His burden light.

He patiently waits for us, even though He knows we will abide with Him for a time, return His love for a time, only to run off again after the next abusive substitution we allow close to our heart.

He's a gentleman. And though His heart aches for the lost, He will never force their hand. Because that isn't love.

We're fellow sojourners on this road toward freedom and true life in Christ. It's a journey that requires much patience, grace, respect, and love, as people wrestle out their issues with Christ, as they manage the pain of limbo, and as they do the hard work of offering up their deepest selves to the brutality of the cross.

Only in Christ can death give birth to freedom and new life and surrender yield victory. Be gentle with one another and humble in heart, as you seek, by His strength and grace, to follow after Him 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!

The Ability to Speak the Truth in Love is Not a Right but a Privilege that Must Be Earned

{Written somewhat in response to the interview with Jen Hatmaker that has blown up all over my news feed.}

Homosexuality. 

It's a hot-button issue these days, and I have many thoughts. 

The internet is often a loud and crowded place, so let's imagine we're sitting on the food-stained chairs around my kitchen table with a warm cup of coffee in hand. Now, depending on the time of day, I can't guarantee it will be any quieter, but I hope the smile on my face and warmth of the mug assures you that you're welcome here. 

First, let me tell you what I know. And by know, I mean what I've experienced. 

I know that for the last year or so, around this very same kitchen table, I've been cultivating a relationship with the youth of the neighborhood. They come and go at all hours of the day, and they don't even bother to knock before they come inside anymore. Because now, it's home.

Of the handful of teenage girls that stop by to visit, every last one of them identifies as lesbian. I'll be honest and say this was uncharted territory for me, so I ask a lot of questions, both of God and them. I've braved through the awkwardness, and they, in turn, have been surprisingly open with me. Like any other teenager, they just want to know that they are heard and loved, no matter what. That their souls and stories are safe here. 

The first time the group of them gathered around the table with their cups of coffee and asked for advice on the relationship drama that currently plagued them, I prayed a silent prayer while I listened, which went something like, "Oh, Lord... I need wisdom. I'm so out of my depth here. Please help."

I put on my best poker face and tried not to look surprised by any of it. I decided that if Jesus wouldn't be surprised by our delicate issues, then I shouldn't be, either. When people open their heart and lay it bare for all to see, sometimes with fear and trembling, we must remember that we are treading on holy ground. To be fully known and still wholly loved...isn't that what God wants with us and for us? It's a sacred space, and we must treat it as such. 

We talked about the difference between love and infatuation, what dating a friend can do to friendships in the long run, and how when you date a person you also date their family. And you know what? I've lost count of the number of times they've returned and told me, "mom, you give the best advice!!" 

As we've opened the door to our home, they have seen us in all our everyday, ordinary, imperfect glory. As we've invited them to the table and listened to their stories without an agenda, they have opened the door to their hearts. It's taken a lot of time and intentionality, but we're slowly earning the privilege to speak the truth in love. 

The truth is a powerful thing, and we fling it around much too carelessly these days. We use it as a bludgeon to beat those who are already down, vulnerable and oppressed by a society that views them as worthless or weird. We turn it into ear-deafening noise and bully those we don't even know because we Christians have the "right" to speak truth, especially on the internet. We look at ourselves in the mirror and think because we don't personally struggle with X, Y, or Z that we're not like those other "sinners," the ones that could never know God because of their lifestyle.

I believe what you call that, my friends, is PRIDE. And pride and love cannot coexist. 

Sadly, Church, we don't often speak the truth in love. We speak the truth in PRIDE.

Pride loves to tell its own story and jumps at the opportunity to give unsolicited advice or "fix" others. Love listens without agenda. Love asks questions and tries to understand.

Pride is convinced it has the cornerstone on truth and won't have anything to do with someone who might challenge what they "know." Love is soft and open, realizing how little they know of the big picture. Love is a student of people's lives.

Pride assumes it has someone all figured out because it knows "their kind." Love knows that everyone has a story, and there's a reason for every behavior. Love understands people are doing the best they can with what they have and doesn't condemn.

Pride enjoys its own perspective and opinion and has no need for others. Love knows its outlook is just one piece of the puzzle of humanity and values other opinions and perspectives, especially the challenge of those radically opposed to their own.

Pride judges others and is quick to feel better or superior, assuming the worst of people who are different. Love is open and vulnerable, viewing the world and the people in it through eyes of humility.

Pride uses conversations to talk about themselves. Love uses conversations to get to know people in greater depth.

Pride loves an audience and gets a rush out of defending the truth. Love knows the truth doesn't require a defense, that the truth can speak for itself if the audience is wooed to it through a relationship built on unconditional love.

Pride is quick to insist that it is not, in fact, prideful, and also quick to point out the sin in others. Love fully acknowledges that all are sinners in desperate need of a Savior and His grace, that we are fellow travelers on a journey toward freedom in Christ.

Pride seeks converts and numbers. Love, with eyes of compassion and grace, seeks freedom. 

Pride singles out certain sins and believes them to be worse than others, which inevitably results in distance and exclusion.  Love knows that, regardless of our sin of choice, we are all just searching for Jesus. 

Pride has an agenda and attempts to bend and direct relationships accordingly. Love is selfless, putting the interests of others above their own without condition.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. {1 Corinthians 13:4-7}

It is impossible to speak the truth in love outside the context of a relationship. 

The speak the truth in love requires a foundation of trust, or the relationship will not be able to withstand the weight of it and collapse. Even after you've spent time intentionally laboring in the trenches and cultivating a relationship, speaking the truth is always a very delicate matter. It's treading on sacred ground. 

If I was talking with my girls, this is right around the time I would ask, may I speak plainly? 

I'm thankful for the many times He reminds us to love one another in Scripture, for the example Jesus set, teaching us how to live, because sometimes we don't know how to be human without being an asshole. God doesn't bludgeon us over the head with the truth, argue the truth with us, or demand we conform to the truth. While we were still sinners, He laid down his life for us in the greatest display of unconditional love in history. As Christians, He requires the same of us--the laying down of our lives for others. In Jesus there is indeed freedom, but it may cost you everything.`

And I remind you of that today, as we're chatting here at the kitchen table, because I want you to remember what it felt like when you first experienced His unconditional love. How it wrecked the world you thought you knew in the best possible way, how your outlook on reality as you knew it was shattered forever. How He rescued you from the filth of your sin with no strings attached, simply because He loves you. For freedom's sake He set you free, that you may run and not grow weary as you follow along after Him. 

I want you to remember that the truth is wonderful, freeing, and radically life changing. But it must be paired with selfless love or it is nothing more than noise to anyone who hears it. Why would anyone ever consider the cost of knowing Christ--the laying down of their very life and all the sin in it--if they know nothing of His radical, illogical, sacrificial love?

The ability to speak the truth in love is a privilege that must be earned. It's not a right simply because you're a Christian. 

It's so vitally important to love well, Church, because these girls and their community are hurting. They are scared of a God they only know as judgemental and condemning and terrified of His church people. They've been ostracized, cut off, and told they would burn in hell.

In an unsure and guarded voice, they say, "I'd like to come to church with you on Sunday, but am I allowed? Because I used to go to church, and they told me I couldn't come anymore because I'm gay. Will your church welcome...someone like me??" 

My heart broke into a million pieces. 

Of course you are welcome here.

We all have stuff, every last one of us. Not one is "good enough." I sit in the pew next to the homeless men with alcohol on their breath. I worship in the company of felons, recovering addicts, and those still in the throes of the disease. The church should be a sanctuary for sinners, a hospital for the sick, a salve for the soul of the broken...not a country club where pious, modern-day pharisees look pretty and pay their dues.

Life is hard. It's not easy to figure out how to exist together as sinners. How to lay down our lives and the right to be right, how to truly love one another. But it's worth it.

It's so worth it. 

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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!