Comparison and a checkpoint for my heart

It happened again just the other day, a trigger that startled me. I thought this weapon had been disarmed, that it no longer carried power to bully me.

Having TSA pre-check status was supposed to prevent this problem: a quick step through the metal detector and I’d be on my way. But as I hurried to catch a flight home recently, I had to go through regular security screening at the airport, and like several times before, the scanner flagged me as a potential threat because of my birth defect.


I was born with a rare disorder, a genetic abnormality that left me with a huge birthmark and one side of my body larger than the other. I try not to think about my birth defect too often these days, but then I’m rudely reminded of it by something like a TSA scanner. Apparently the size difference between my right side and my left side fools the machine into thinking I’m trying to smuggle something nefarious onto the plane.

To read the rest of the post, I'd love for you to join me at (in)courage!

A word for today from St. Patrick

Last year at this time, I was in New York City. My husband and I had taken a little vacation, and the last thing we did before heading home was to watch part of the St. Patrick's Day parade.

Things sure have changed, haven't they?

In a world with so much uncertainty, it's easy to give in to fear. If we're honest, we'll admit that there's plenty to be anxious about. We're worried about our health, the health of our loved ones, our jobs, our retirement accounts, our children who are missing school, our neighbor's children who depend on  free or reduced lunches, small business owners who might go bankrupt, healthcare systems that may become overwhelmed, the state of the economy. . . the list is endless.

And yet.

Christ Himself is with us. And though we worry, we don't have to give in to fear.

I love these words from the breastplate of St. Patrick, and I'm singing them to myself today. Won't you join me?

Christ be with me,
Christ within me,
Christ behind me,
Christ before me,
Christ beside me,
Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort
And restore me.

Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ in quiet,
Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of
All that love me,
Christ in mouth of
Friend and stranger.

Click here to download a printable copy of this image.

Happy St. Patrick's Day, friends!

A new perspective

January is over, and we are here for it.

Think back over the social media posts you've read over the last few days. How many have said something like "January is the longest month!" or "Thank God January is behind us!"?

Isn't it interesting that we approach January 1 saying "Hurray for new beginnings!" but by the time February rolls around, we're sick of the new year? Some research indicates that 80% of new year's resolutions are broken by the second week in February.

It seems that our new year's resolutions, however well-intentioned they may be, aren't serving us very well. Why is that?

It's not because we don't have the right tools. With dozens of apps on our smartphones to keep us on track, we're able to keep up with all kinds of details.

It's not because we fail to write down our goals. In fact, even with the use of smartphone apps, the sale of paper planners and journals has skyrocketed in recent years.

So why are we failing to keep our resolutions? I think it's because so many of them start from a bad premise. It's because so many of our resolutions are based on comparison.

Think about it. How often does your new year's thinking run along these lines?

She looks so pretty! I need to lose 20 pounds so I can look like her.

Their house is amazing! We need to complete six projects to make ours look better.

He's in such great shape! I'm going to start going to the gym every day so I can get in shape, too.

Their life is so organized! We're finally going to declutter so we can be that organized.

There's no denying it: when we begin with comparison, we end up dissatisfied and disgruntled.

There's a better way, I promise—and it all depends on where you start.

Instead of beginning with an eye toward how you stack up against others, start from a place of assurance. No matter what elements of your life you'd like to change, you are deeply loved and genuinely liked by God. You may not believe that you are loved and valued, I know. But disbelief doesn't alter the facts.

We compare ourselves with others because we're seeking assurance. We're unsure of ourselves, and we see that others seem to have what we want.

But comparison doesn't bring the assurance we crave. Comparison usually leads to one of two outcomes: either we feel less-than, which can lead to jealousy or envy, or else we feel greater-than, which can lead to arrogance and disdain. Those are all soul-crushing outcomes.

So we need another source of assurance, and we can find that in the God who loves us with an unshakable love.

If you want to lose 20 pounds or start exercising, that's great. That will be good for your health. No doubt it will make you feel better and will give you more energy. But you don't need to lose 20 pounds in order to be lovable and valuable—you already are.

If you want to get more organized and declutter your house, good for you! I'm trying to do this myself. But we don't need to get organized in order to be loved—we are loved already.

Let assurance, not comparison, shape your approach to this still-new year. Let the "new year, new you" pressure roll off your back. The old you is dearly, deeply, eternally loved.

Want to know more about escaping the trap of comparison? 

Read Mythical Me: Finding Freedom from Constant Comparison. 

Click here to learn more!

Joining these parties:
Inspire Me Monday
 Inspire Me Tuesday
Thoughtful Thursday
Heart Encouragement

Epiphany for a new year

When I was a young girl, I liked to collect interesting words.

Why say that something is well established and widely recognized when you can say that it's iconic?

Isn't it more fun to speak of the epitome rather than the ideal example of something?

Perhaps it's because my parents gave me such an unusual name, but I've always liked multisyllabic words. Of course, I've embarrassed myself plenty of times over the years as I've mispronounced those words or used them incorrectly. And as I've matured, I've learned to prize simplicity of speech. But my fascination with words continues.

One word that occupies a special place in my heart is epiphany, which I've always used as a synonym for an "aha!" moment or experience, what Merriam-Webster defines as "a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something." (What could be better than the definition of a multisyllabic word that contains three other multisyllabic words?)

When I was growing up and for a number of years after I became an adult, I had no idea that "epiphany" was any more than one of my beloved big words. Although I grew up with Christian parents who attended church regularly, learning about church history was not part of my education--quite the opposite, in fact. I grew up in a church that tried to practice religion as simply as possible, using only the Bible as a guide, eschewing any kind of creed or tradition. In some ways that was a good idea. In other ways, we missed out on a lot of wisdom.

After the birth, ministry, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus Christ, the church was established: a group of people who had been "born again" as Jesus explained to Nicodemus in John 3, who had been given the gift of the Holy Spirit, who were united in their love for Christ and their commitment to serve Him. Over the years, church leaders developed traditions to keep people's thoughts fixed on "things above," as described in Colossians 3:2. One of those traditions was the development of a church calendar—an ordering of the days of the year around the life of Christ. 

The church calendar begins not with January 1 as the start of a new year, but with Advent, the season of waiting for the coming of Christ. Then it moves into the 12-day celebration of Christmas. Maybe you're like me and assumed that the "12 Days of Christmas" was just a fun song to sing at Christmas parties. "Five golden rings" was always my favorite line. My mother had a small collection of Christmas decorations that featured a partridge in a pear tree. 

I knew nothing of Christmastide, which lasts from December 25 to January 6, a day for celebrating the visit of the wise men. "Epiphany" is the name for the celebration of that day, a commemoration of the greatest "aha" moment ever: the recognition by Gentile wise men of the infant Jesus as God incarnate.

As I learned about the tradition of Epiphany, one of my greatest joys was discovering a hymn written in the mid-19th century by an Englishman named William Dix. Here are the words:

As with gladness men of old
Did the guiding star behold,
As with joy they hailed its light
Leading onward, beaming bright,
So, most gracious Lord, may we
Evermore be led to Thee.

As with joyful steps they sped
To that lowly manger bed,
There to bend the knee before
Thee whom heaven and earth adore,
So may we with willing feet
Ever seek Thy mercy seat.

As they offered gifts most rare
At that manger rude and bare,
So may we with holy joy
Pure, and free from sin's alloy,
All our costliest treasures bring
Christ, to Thee, our heavenly King.

Holy Jesus, every day,
Keep us on the narrow way,
And, when earthy things are past,
Bring our ransomed souls at last
Where they need no star to guide,
Where no clouds Thy glory hide.

In the heavenly country bright
Need they no created light
Thou its light, its joy, its crown
Thou its sun, which goes not down.
There forever may we sing
Hallelujahs to our King.

As the hymn says, one day we won't need any "created light"; for now, tools and traditions like the church calendar seem like a really good idea.

As I think about the year just begun, I'm still trying to decide upon my goals and priorities, considering what might be my one word for 2020. In the process, I'm grateful for the wisdom and faithfulness of those who have gone before me. The writer of the book of Hebrews calls them the "great cloud of witnesses." Like them, I want to keep my eyes on Jesus, "the pioneer and perfecter of our faith" (Hebrews 12:2).

When I see "New Year, New You" messages all around me, I want to experience yet again the aha! moment of recognizing Jesus as Emmanuel—God with us. I am so grateful I don't have to make myself new; that's the work of God who is with me.

Old Story for a New Year

Happy New Year!

No doubt you've heard that greeting many times over the past few days. Perhaps you stayed up late on December 31 and greeted 2019 with kisses and toasts, or maybe you pulled the covers over your head and slept the old year away. Maybe you've made a list of resolutions for the this year, or perhaps you've chosen one word to guide you in the months to come. But one thing's pretty certain: you've been exposed to the word "new." A lot.

We love the promise of newness, don't we? A blank slate, a fresh start, a reboot—these ideas appeal to us like few others.

But as I contemplate the start of this new year, something has started to bug me.

As I think back on my Bible study and meditation for last month, everything pointed to the coming of Christ. The whole season of Advent was meaningful for me, as I reflected on the promise of Immanuel—God with us. I tried to put myself in the place of the ancient Israelites, watching and waiting for the Messiah. The old stories rang fresh in my mind, full of promise and hope.

And then on Christmas Eve, gathered with friends and family for a special service, I celebrated the coming of the Christ child into the world. "Joy to the world; the Lord is come!" we sang as we raised our lighted candles high into the air. Just like every year, we marveled how those little candles made the darkened sanctuary so full of light when they were all held aloft together. Indeed, the Lord had come; we could feel it.

But now, a couple of days into the new year, we're ready to put all the Christmas stuff behind us for another year. We take down the decorations. We throw out any leftover treats. We hang new calendars and get ready for the business of making ourselves new.

Up and at 'em! Make your goals! Get yourself organized! Make it happen! The message of Christmas may have been that the Lord had come, but the message of New Year's seems to be that it's all up to me.

Already, just a few days into the new year, I'm weary.

Over the centuries after the coming of Christ, church leaders developed traditions to keep people's thoughts fixed on Him. As I was growing up, I knew next to nothing about these traditions. Because they aren't mentioned in the Bible, our church didn't observe them. I had never heard of a "church calendar." The very idea would have seemed preposterous.

In the church calendar, the new year begins with Advent, the season of waiting for Christ. Then it moves into the season of Christmastide, which lasts all the way to January 6, a day for celebrating the visit of the wise men. "Epiphany" is the name for the celebration of that day, when the baby Jesus was first recognized by Gentiles as God incarnate. In the mid-19th century, William Dix wrote a special hymn for Epiphany:

As with gladness men of old
Did the guiding star behold,
As with joy they hailed its light,
Leading onward, beaming bright;
So, most gracious Lord, may we
Evermore be led to Thee.

Isn't that a wonderful prayer?

In these days of endless new-year-new-you messages, the idea of a church calendar doesn't seem preposterous at all. It seems like just what my soul needs.

Oh, I'll take my decorations down. I'll hang my new calendar up. But this year I'm choosing to remember that the celebration of Christmas is not just for December 25. We celebrate Christmas not just because Jesus was born, but because He lives and reigns. The promise of Immanuel was first for the people of Israel, then for the whole world. God himself is with us.

I don't have to make myself new this January. God himself is with me, and He is making me new. When I'm tempted to despair, I remember "though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day" (II Corinthians 4:16). The work of creating a new me this year is being done by the One with the strength and power to do it.

It's the old, old story, and it's what I need for the new year.

How about you?

The journey from comparison to contentment

I know you've seen signs like this on Facebook and Instagram:

Makes it sound so simple, doesn't it? Just change your attitude, and your heart will be at ease.

Some days that's much easier said than done. The last few days have been easier-said-than-done days for me.

Here's the photo I posted on social media on Friday:

You can probably tell that this an open suitcase. You may not be able to tell that it's sitting on my dining room table. Last Wednesday evening, right after we printed out our boarding passes, my husband and I were filling this suitcase with everything we needed for a trip the next day.

A big trip. To London.

That suitcase never made it to London, because Hurricane Michael made its way through North Carolina on Thursday, the day we were scheduled to fly. Our flight was cancelled, and there were no other flights available. (Believe me, we looked.) We had to cancel our much-anticipated trip.

First I was mad, then I was sad. And then in the very next breath I was embarrassed for feeling sad. What I was I thinking, I said to myself, when others were suffering much worse than disappointment over cancelled plans? Surely I had no right to feel sad, I thought, when others' suffering was so much worse than my own.

On an on went the conversation in my head until I finally recognized it for what it was: the same old comparison game. I was downplaying my feelings of disappointment by comparing my loss to the devastating losses that hurricane victims in Florida and Georgia were suffering. This is just one of the things I've learned from writing a book on comparison: we sometimes use comparison as a way to manage our feelings.

Well-intentioned Christians do this a lot, I think. When we're uncertain or embarrassed about our feelings of disappointment or sadness, we stuff them down and compare our losses to those of other people. Have you done this?

"I shouldn't complain about having the flu when she is facing surgery."

"I shouldn't be disappointed about not getting that promotion when he doesn't even have a job."

"Why do I feel so sad about this? After all, it's not nearly so bad as that."

Here's something I've learned: feeling management doesn't work. Feelings buried alive never die. You can't hang an attitude of gratitude hashtag on your heart.

Far better, I believe, to admit our true feelings to God and ask for His help in dealing with them rather than to minimize them by comparing our situations to those of other people. I believe and trust that God is able to comfort us when we’re hurting, to give us perspective on whatever we’re facing, and to give us compassion for our neighbors.

God can do all that and more. So much better to trust God with our feelings than try to manage them by saying “I can’t be sad because someone else is more sad.”

This I know for sure: the back door of comparison is not the way to contentment.

Linking with Kelly Balarie
Holley Gerth

Another chance to be grateful

Isn't it interesting how the smallest circumstance can cause a shift in your thinking?

Not long ago, the events of one morning conspired to prevent me from taking a shower. Nothing was wrong, really; I just wasn't able to bathe before I needed to be dressed and out and about. I'd taken a shower the morning before; I wasn't disgustingly dirty or stinky. I just wasn't freshly clean.

By midday I felt sticky and itchy. Oh, how I longed to smell fresh and soapy. I wanted my skin to feel smooth and satiny. I coveted a deep breath of the aroma of a freshly-laundered towel.

In a word, I was cranky.

So I took myself off to my nice, big, clean shower. I stood under the steady stream of steaming hot water. I lathered up lavishly with my fragrant body wash. All was right with my world again. "Boy, I'm thankful for a good shower," I thought to myself.

And then it hit me: the ugly truth, right square between the eyes. Actually, I'm not at all thankful for a good shower. To tell the truth, I rarely give it a second thought. Only on a day when I was prevented from having it at the usual time did I stop to realize what a blessing a bath is.

How many, I wondered, how many busy women just like me would love to be able to bathe once a week? Even once a month?? How many would give nearly anything to stand in a shower of clean, hot water? How many would consider it the height of indulgence to wash their bodies with the soap I use every single day?

I am struck by the fact that this everyday blessing which I take so lightly is actually a great luxury. I think wryly to myself that there's nothing wrong with me that flood or fire wouldn't cure. And then I wince at the knowledge that there are millions who have endured flood or fire or even worse, while I sit here securely in my nice snug house.

Dear God, what would I have left if I were to lose all the things for which I never stop to give thanks? I realize now that I must begin my prayer of thanksgiving with one of confession.

I never intended to be blasé and complacent. I didn't mean to be ungrateful. I realize now that ease has affected my perspective. I spend too much time thinking of all the things I don't have and not nearly enough time being grateful for all that I do have.

I want my perspective to change—indeed, I need my perspective to change. Dear God, I confess my poor attitude, my thankless heart, my ungrateful spirit. Change me, Lord.

How about you? Are you, like me, grateful for another chance to be grateful?

Joining these lovely parties:

Share His Story with Jennifer Dukes Lee

The message of Good Friday

When we were visiting Florida one beautiful spring day, we experienced the blessing of seeing a skywriter perform.  Here's what the pilot blazed across the sky:

Some of the lettering had faded by the time I snapped this picture, but perhaps you can still see that the message is "Love God."

A year later, we saw a skywriter perform once again.  This time the message was a little different:

We didn't get to see the finished words here, but we knew what they would be.  The skywriter was spelling out "Jesus loves you."

On this Good Friday, I'm pondering these two messages, blazoned on the sky by courageous pilots. Two messages about the Lord we worship.

I was watching TV footage of a street demonstration of some kind. One of the participants held a poster stating, "Jesus loves you but God is holy." I have no idea what the demonstration was about; it could have been any number of hot-button issues, I suppose.

That sign broke my heart.

It contained two important facts, of course. Jesus does love you--no matter who the "you" is. And God is holy. But why would those statements be linked with the word "but"? As if they are in contradiction to each other? As if God and Jesus were in disagreement about something!

Today, Good Friday, we commemorate the greatest act of sacrifice ever made—the crucifixion of Jesus. After taking on a human body, after living a life free from any kind of sin or guile, after teaching and loving people and reaching out to those most despised by society and healing the sick and restoring sight to the blind, Jesus allowed himself to be put to be tortured and put to death.  Jesus died so we could live. Yes, Jesus loves us.

And that radical plan for the salvation of humankind—the son of God living on earth as a human, teaching people how to live, allowing Himself to be killed—that plan wasn't just the work of Jesus. That was the work of all three members of the Trinity. God is ONE God in three persons, and Father, Son, and Spirit love us. There can never be a disagreement within the Trinity.

Yes, for sure, God is holy; Father, Son, and Spirit are holy. But let's not take the idea of "holiness" and turn it into a word that means distant, far off, or unapproachable.  Because that's not the way God is at all. God is right here. God is good. God is full of love and compassion.  The words are so familiar that they can seem trite, but they're not: "God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life" (John 3:16).

Years ago, when I was participating in a retreat for Christians, I heard something that I'd never thought about before, something that imprinted itself on my very soul. A number of us all had our heads bowed in prayer, and then the leader asked us to say out loud what we knew to be true about God. From around the room came one comment after another:

"God is good."

"God is merciful."

"God is gracious."

"God is glorious."

Those were all good and true statements, and we all murmured our assent to each one.  Then one member of the group, a very wise man, softly added, "God is Christlike."  I'd never thought about it in just that way before. My head snapped up and my eyes flew open—and I wept. Of course this is true. God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit are one. They are all like one another.

If you want to know what God is like, look at Jesus, the one who allowed Himself to be put to death for our sake.

Thinking about the love of God reminds me of my grandmother. She was a precious woman, one of those sweet ladies who sent birthday cards to every young person she knew. She worked for many years at an elementary school and was loved by hundreds of kids, so she sent a lot of cards. She usually tucked a $2 bill into those cards. And she always signed them the same way.  On every card, she wrote, "Smile. God loves you. So do I."

As I remember the events of this day, that's the message I'd like to see on a poster.

Smile. God loves you. So do I. 

Dear God, may my life proclaim the message you proclaimed so loudly on that blessed Friday so long ago.

A blessed Good Friday to you, my friends.  What message would you like to share on this day?

Hanging on to hope

Boy, am I glad it's a new week.

As I turn the page to a new week in my planner, I'm awfully glad to leave last week behind and to look with hope at the unsullied week ahead.

I'm really glad for some hope, because last week was hard around here. More than once I found myself agreeing with Alexander, "This is a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day." Remember that book by Judith Viorst?

Maybe you've had days like that, too.

In the middle of those days, I realized something about myself. If you've read the book, you may remember that Alexander himself is telling the story, and the whole thing begins with this sentence:

"I went to sleep with gum in my mouth. . .
   And now there's gum in my hair."

Everything goes downhill after that, but it all started with the dadgum gum.

Which, in my mind, always provoked the question: Why on earth did he go to sleep with gum in his mouth?

Or the admonition: Never go to sleep with gum in your mouth.

Or worse, the accusation: You idiot! You know better than to go to sleep with gum in your mouth!

Somehow, as I surveyed the bad situations of last week, I always landed on the accusation.

You idiot! Why did you do that? Why didn't you do this?? You know better!

The problem with the accusation is that there's some truth in it. Alexander should have known better than to go to sleep with gum in his mouth. I should have known better than to do some of the things I did last week.

But knowing better doesn't always stop us from making mistakes, does it?

I'm thinking there's another way to interpret that first line of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, one that my soul desperately needs: confession.

I need to sit here honestly and say, "Look, I did some things I shouldn't have done. I messed up, and now we're all paying the price for that."

If I can press pause right there, if I can honestly admit to God and to other people that I did indeed screw up, I can stop the downward spiral.

No, I can't squirm out of the consequences of my mistakes and my sins. It may be that I'll have some terrible, horrible days. But I don't have to go all the way down to "no good."

My very favorite thing about God is that He can take any circumstance—even the terrible mistakes I make—and bring some good of it. The official term for that process is redemption, but I'm not sure that word is adequate. "Redemption" is what I do with coupons at the grocery store. It's what my mom used to do with S & H green stamps.

But the redemption God offers us is not at all mundane; it's miraculous.

I think we forget sometimes that God is quite capable of miracle. It's easy to measure God's abilities through our own feeble means, to hope only for forgiveness, because that sounds so hard to us. We want God simply to disregard our mistakes; we wish only that circumstances could be as if we had never sinned. But God can do better than that.

I made a mess of things last week. To be honest, I'm not even sure how to go about correcting my mistakes. But God doesn't have that problem. He can see the beginning from the end. He can see what contributed to my mistakes. He can see into my heart and the hearts of everyone affected by my sins.

And He can look at all that with eyes of eternal love, through which He can see what needs to be done.

My vision is distorted. I look at myself through eyes of condemnation and reproach. But that's not the way God sees me. Condemnation and reproach are the furthest things from His mind.

I can offer God the truth about myself, terrible as it may be. I can admit my deepest failings.

And then I can ask God to do what no one else can do. God can take even the worst of circumstances and use them to write a different story. He can bring about something new and beautiful from the mess, not despite the mess.

Only God can do that.

With God, there will be days when I screw up royally. There will be terrible, horrible, very bad days.

But there will never have to be days that are no good.

"God is light; in Him is no darkness at all" (I John 1:5). Redemption is His jam. In His hands, we are safe.

Joining Jennifer Dukes Lee for Tell His Story

*This post contains an affiliate link.

When you feel like a failure

My life isn't pink. Maybe yours isn't either.

But when Valentine's Day is upon us, it can feel as if we're the only ones not celebrating with all things pink, can't it?

And all the talk of love and sweethearts can make us feel as if we're short on the one thing that the whole world seems to proclaim is all you need.

A world bathed in pink and swathed in roses can make a person feel like an awful failure, you know?

When I want to know more about love, I turn to the passage of scripture that was read at my wedding: I Corinthians 13. I'll bet you've read it:

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.

If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 

If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. 

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 

Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  

Love never fails.

And then I really feel like a failure. As much as I may want to exhibit that kind of love, I rarely do so. I wish I could say that I always protect, always trust, always hope, always persevere, but I don't.

But oh, my friend, I have good news. That passage is not about me. It's not about you, either. Our failure is not the point.

That beautiful passage in I Corinthians is a description of God's love for us. The Greek word for this kind of love is ἀγάπη. Written in English, it's agápē.

That's not to be confused with the English word "agape," which, usually referring to the mouth, means "wide open, especially with awe or wonder"—but that's probably how you'll look when you realize the kind of love that God has for you.

It's a funny thing: we often quote verses like John 3:16, but we sometimes have difficulty realizing that God's love applies to us. But it does. God loves YOU, God loves me, God loves us all with a love that never fails.

That's the kind of love God wants to share with us. So that very same word, agápē, is listed as the first fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5:22. The good news is that we don't have to manufacture this kind of love; the Holy Spirit will produce it in us. 

My friend Dallas Willard said it best, I think:

"We must understand that God does not "love" us without liking us - through gritted teeth - as "Christian" love is sometimes thought to do. Rather, out of the eternal freshness of his perpetually self-renewed being, the heavenly Father cherishes the earth and each human being upon it. The fondness, the endearment, the unstintingly affectionate regard of God toward all his creatures is the natural outflow of what he is to the core - which we vainly try to capture with our tired but indispensable old word 'love.'" (The Divine Conspiracy)

God is this kind of love (see I John 4:8), and God shares this love freely with us. We are not failures; we are beloved children of God. 

Now that word would make a good Valentine's Day treat, wouldn't it?

Much love to you!

On writing a book

My 8th grade history teacher, Mrs. Pevey, was the first one to predict that I'd write a book someday.

Since it's been more than 40 years since I was in 8th grade, I'm not sure that I quite lived up to Mrs. Pevey's expectations. She might have been thinking that I'd write a book when I was 30 years old, perhaps.

But I didn't know much at 30 years of age, so maybe 40 would have been more like it.

Nope, 40 came and went and still no book.

By age 50 I'd written a small book, but I'm not sure that would qualify as fulfillment of Mrs. Pevey's prediction.

But now, here I am, 54 years old, finally living into the potential that Mrs. Pevey saw in me.

Well, at least I'm under contract to live into that potential. (In case you missed my announcement, I'm currently writing a book for InterVarsity Press. The book is called Mythical Me: Escaping the Trap of Comparison. You can read more about it here.)

I have no idea if Mrs. Pevey is still alive to be proud her former student, but I sure am excited to be writing this book. . . although I will admit that this is one of the hardest things I've ever done. A writing friend of mine posted this on Facebook last week:

The human brain is amazing. 

It functions 24/7 from the day you're born 

and only stops when you sit down to do some writing.

Ain't it the truth?

As I write, I'm reminded of the pledge I made when I started this blog. I pledged to live according to the words found in Ephesians 4:29: "Let no corrupt word proceed out of your mouth, but what is useful for necessary edification, that it may impart grace to the hearer" (NKJV).

Yes, I'm excited to be writing a book. I like to write. I'm grateful to be given the chance to write for a larger audience. 

But if my words don't impart grace, they don't need to be written. 

If my words don't express the amazing love of God, they don't need to be written.

If my words don't, at least in some small way, point people to the wonder and glory of God, 

 they don't need to be written.

The world is full of books. Perhaps the last thing we need is another book. But if my book can point people to the love of God, the work of writing it will have been worthwhile.

As often happens, an old hymn expresses my thoughts very well:

Could we with ink the ocean fill,

And were the skies of parchment made,

Were every stalk on earth a quill,

And every man a scribe by trade;

To write the love of God above

Would drain the ocean dry,

Nor could the scroll contain the whole

Though stretched from sky to sky.

Oh love of God! How rich and pure!

How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure

The saints' and angels' song.

                           - Frederich Lehman

Would you be willing to pray for me as I write this book? I want to write it. I've signed a contract to write it, so I must write it. But I want to be faithful in the writing, and I know I need God's help for that. 

Lessons from a Christmas tree

If you rang my doorbell, here's what you'd see when I opened the door to you:

We aren't terribly fashionable around here. We have just one tree, which stands in the corner of our living room.

Our tree is filled with ornaments old and new, most of them loaded with meaning or memories or both.

The oldest ornament on the tree is this stained "glass" angel my Aunt Marjorie made for me in the late 1960's. My angel holds court beside an ornament from 1991, the year my oldest son was born.

Another of my most precious ornaments is this handmade snowflake that frames a photo of my mother when she was a tiny girl. But you'll notice BB8 from Star Wars hangs just beside her.

And so it goes all around the tree: the old mixed with the new, the precious with the cheap, the sacred with the secular. Not fancy or fashionable, but just right for us.

What these photos don't show you is that lurking in the corner of the living room are bins of Christmas decorations. See?

At first, as I considered the fact that my Christmas decor is still a work in progress, I thought to myself, "I feel guilty that I haven't already finished the decorating and put all the boxes away."

And then I realized how many times over the past few days I've heard people speak of feeling guilty.

"I feel guilty that I didn't put up a tree this year," or "I feel guilty that our tree is artificial," or "I feel guilty that we cut down a live tree for Christmas."

"I feel guilty that I haven't made any Christmas cookies," or "I feel guilty that I've eaten too many Christmas cookies."

"I feel guilty that I can't give my kids what they want for Christmas," or "I feel guilty that I've bought my kids too much for Christmas."

Is there no end to it?

Of course, we feel guilty because we are guilty, and we know it. Every single one us is flawed. We all come up short. Not one of us is perfect.

But the very reason we celebrate Christmas is that the Lord of all Creation loved us enough to save us. He didn't leave us in our flaws and shortcomings. The Christ of Christmas is the One who came to earth and lived as a human in order to show us what a life without shortcomings would look like. And then He gave up his life in order for us to released from the guilt of our own sins and to live in freedom.

I think the words of the old hymn put it best:

When Satan tempts me to despair

And tells me of the guilt within

Upward I look and see Him there

Who made an end of all my sin.

Because the sinless Savior died

My sinful soul is counted free--

For God, the just, is satisfied

To look on Him and pardon me.*

Full of shortcomings though we are, our guilt has been taken away--cleansed by the One whose birth we celebrate at Christmas.  Because of Jesus, we can live a life that's no longer ruled by sin.

Christ was born to give us life that is truly life.

My prayer this season is that your Christmas tree be more than a symbol of beauty and merriment. May it be a tree of life for you.

*"Before the Throne of God Above" by C.L. Bancroft

I'm joining these fun parties:

The Scoop at Stone Gable

Inspire Me Tuesday at A Stroll Thru Life

Tell His Story with Jennifer Dukes Lee

Wow Us Wednesday at Savvy Southern Style

Advent: Learning to Wait

Every few years, some kind of small appliance emerges as the latest and greatest holiday gift. From the Vegomatic to the Fry Daddy to the George Foreman grill—there’s always something that promises great returns for the home cook. This year is no exception. The latest craze? The Instant Pot, a countertop gadget that will cook food in a fraction of the time of other methods.

That’s not really surprising, is it? Nobody likes to wait. We get out of it whenever we can. We drive on expressways, choose the express lane at the grocery store, and pay extra for express shipping.

Like it or not, though, this kind of waiting is part of life. Slow-moving traffic or cash register lines might be irritating, but mostly they just try our patience.

Another kind of waiting, though, requires a lot more than patience.

Prisoners wait to be set free.
 Chronically ill patients wait to be healed.
  Refugees wait to return home.
   Separated families wait to be reunited.
    Those in danger wait to be rescued.

That kind of waiting takes courage—courage to remain strong and faithful, no matter how long the waiting takes.

The ancient Israelites knew a lot about that kind of waiting. Long promised a Messiah, they endured centuries of hardship. Siege. Destruction. Exile. Slavery. No wonder the psalmist sang:

“Be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the Lord!” (Psalm 31:24 ESV)

Hope is what fueled their courage: hope for the coming of the Messiah, hope for the fulfillment of all of God’s promises.

In the book of Lamentations we read:

I remember my affliction and my wandering,
  the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
  and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
  and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
  for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
  great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
  therefore I will wait for him.”

The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him,
  to the one who seeks him;
it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord. (Lamentations 3:19-26, NIV)

The season of Advent is about waiting. As we live on this side of the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, it’s easy for us to distance ourselves from the Israelites. We know that the promised Messiah came. With the angels we sing “Glory to God in the highest!” We live in the light of the Incarnation.

But in a needful and powerful way, Advent links our hearts to the hearts of God’s people who longed for the coming of the Savior. As we survey the carnage of a world wracked with sin, we pine for the second coming of the Savior, when everything wrong will be set right.

We watch. We wait. We long for the day when all will be well. Even now we run on the fuel of hope. And like always, hope comes from the same source. The Lord’s mercies are still new every morning. He is eternally good to those whose hope is in him.

From this hope we take courage. This Advent season, let’s encourage one another. Perhaps these words of Paul’s could be our prayer for each other: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13, NIV)

God, help us to wait with the sure knowledge of your steadfast love.

I'm joining Jennifer Dukes Lee for Share His Story.

Inspiration for your week

Thanksgiving week is here!

As we prepare for a special day of giving thanks this Thursday, I find myself grateful that our country observes a Thanksgiving Day—but also feeling that I need to begin and end every day with thanks.

In a world filled with strife and disputes, it's easy to forget to thank God for our blessings.
  But I believe that gratitude is a good antidote for anxiety.

In a world filled with constant comparisons, it's easy to forget to thank God for our blessings.
  But I believe that gratitude is a good antidote for insecurity.

And in a world filled with abundance, it's easy to forget to thank God for our blessings.
  But I believe that gratitude is a good antidote for greediness.

It seems that gratitude is the key to the kind of life I want to live:
  a life of serenity, confidence, and generosity.

So my hope is that this Thanksgiving week will just be the first of many in which I prioritize the act of counting my blessings and thanking God for them. Will you join me?

Perhaps you'll be encouraged, as I was, by these words from Laura Ingalls Wilder:

“As the years pass, I am coming more and more to understand that it is the common, everyday blessings of our common everyday lives for which we should be particularly grateful. They are the things that fill our lives with comfort and our hearts with gladness -- just the pure air to breathe and the strength to breath it; just warmth and shelter and home folks; just plain food that gives us strength; the bright sunshine on a cold day; and a cool breeze when the day is warm."

May you have a week full of giving thanks!

Steadfast God

Like many of you, I spent a lot of the weekend glued to the news from Houston, Texas, and its surrounding areas. Hurricane Harvey, now Tropical Storm Harvey, is wreaking havoc along the Texas Gulf Coast, as it hovers there. The massive storm gathers moisture from the Gulf of Mexico and dumps it inland, causing what may be the worst flood disaster in United States history.

One of my dearest friends lives in Houston, close to one of the bayous. She texted me yesterday that the firemen who evacuated everyone on her street put a lifejacket on her as they walked her out; the water was already 8 inches above her knees and running with a strong current.

This situation is frightening.

One of the most heartwarming things I saw on the news was that the emergency authorities in Houston asked for civilian help. Ordinary citizens got out their motorboats, fishing boats, rowboats, kayaks—anything that would float—and helped to rescue their neighbors. Thoughts of Dunkirk flitted through my mind as I watched. No differences of belief, opinion, or politics separated folks in Houston yesterday.

When I wasn't watching the news yesterday, I was at church, where we sang "Steadfast" by Sandra McCracken. I'm still clinging to the words today.

I will build my house
Whether storm or drought
On the rock that does not move
I will set my hope
In your love, O Lord,
And your faithfulness will prove
You are steadfast, steadfast

By the word you spoke
All the starry host
Are called out by name each night
In your watchful care
I will rest secure
As you lead us with your light
You are steadfast, steadfast

I will not trust
In the strength of kings
On your promise I will stand
I will shout for joy
I will will raise my voice
Hallelujah to the Lamb!
You are steadfast, steadfast

In the moment of emptiness
All was fulfilled
In the hour of darkness
Your light was revealed
In the presence of death
Your life was affirmed
In the absence of holiness
You are still God

You are steadfast, steadfast
You are steadfast, steadfast

Are you in a precarious place today? Not all floodwaters make the news, of course, but God's steadfastness is the answer we're all seeking.

Click on the video below to hear Sandra McCracken sing it. Then sing along.



God bless us, everyone.

Confession of a recovering racist

In June 2015, members of our church joined with Christians all over the world to lament the murders of nine precious brothers and sisters in Charleston, South Carolina.  We prayed together:

We stand with our sisters
We stand with our brothers
We stand with our families
We stand to bear their burdens in Jesus' name

And this past week, we dedicated time to lament the ridiculous actions of white "supremacists" (a term I hate, since there is no such thing as the supremacy of any race) in Charlottesville, Virginia. Again we prayed, again we vowed to stand with our brothers and sisters.

In the wake of such tragedies, it's easy for me to get on my high horse and rage against the evil of racism, to decry the lack of justice in the world, to insist that something be done.

But as I've thought deeply about the events of these days, I realize that for the most part, any raging I would do is really a cover for the real something that still needs to happen in my own heart.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I came by my racism honestly.

I was born in Memphis, Tennessee in the 1960's.  Memphis was well on the way to being racially integrated before I arrived on the scene, so I didn't know that Candace, my dark-skinned friend in Miss Haywood's first grade class, would not have been allowed in my classroom just a few years earlier.  I didn't know that Mrs. Bell wouldn't have been allowed to be my second-grade teacher. I didn't know about the April 1968 shooting at the Lorraine Motel. I knew that the Safety Patrol at my school conducted riot drills along with fire drills, but I didn't know why.

My parents did know all about those issues, and when the authorities in Memphis decided to further enact school integration by busing students, they joined thousands of others in what's now called "white flight." We moved out to a neighboring county, well away from the jurisdiction of the Memphis City Schools.

Because, of course, my parents were law-abiding citizens. Had we stayed in Memphis, they would have complied with the law. Laws may change a person's behavior, and sometimes that's an important and necessary step. But they don't change a person's heart.

At heart, we were racists. I didn't know it at the time, but we were. So were most of our friends and neighbors.

Don't get me wrong. I was blessed that my folks were good people. My family was Christian, and at church we sang about how people of all races were precious in God's sight. I think we believed that, at least in theory. So far as I know, my parents treated all people well, regardless of race. I'm grateful for that.

What I've come to realize, though, is that no matter how seemingly mild a form of racism may be, it's dangerous. Our kind of racism wasn't overt, but it was very much part of our idea of reality.  The thought of one race being superior to others was one of our underlying assumptions, whether we realized it or not.



Here's the thing about underlying assumptions: once a false notion is accepted as truth, it changes the way we think.  It alters the way we perceive what's happening around us. Almost as though we were wearing glasses of the wrong prescription, we see distorted images--but we don't realize that we're not seeing clearly. Those distorted images appear to support what we assume to be true, and our false notions are reinforced.

At least that's the way it was for me. I've had my racism challenged and partially defeated by knowing many wonderful, talented, brilliant people of races different from my own. I thank God for this.



But I know my own heart. I don't want to be racist, and while I work at not allowing racism of any kind to linger, it's still much too easy for me to fall into thinking in terms of racial stereotypes. This is ridiculous, and I know better, but I'm still susceptible to wrong thinking.

Besides that, it's easy for me to bristle against the idea of "white privilege." I grew up in the South, but my ancestors were not slaveowners. My people were poor. My grandfather was a sharecropper; my husband's grandfather, a tenant farmer. My parents and my husband and I have had to work hard—really hard—for the progress we've made. So the idea of "privilege" can seem preposterous to me.

Yet I've never had to worry about my own race. I've never been frowned upon for no reason. I haven't had to explain myself or defend my right to be in certain places. If I achieve success in an endeavor, no one questions whether I deserve it or if I might have received it only because of my race. I've never been suspected of unlawful behavior. If I walk around my neighborhood, no one questions my right to be here. I've never had to worry about whether the way I dressed on any given day might make people respect me less. Shoot, I've even been able to shop for "nude" shoes, knowing that they'd be the color of my skin.

Every day I enjoy privileges that I take completely for granted. Again, my vision can be distorted without my ever recognizing that I'm not seeing clearly.

It is right and good to work for societal change.  I am deeply grateful for the progress in social justice that has been made in this country. One needn't reach too far back into American history to find evidence of terrible, entrenched racism, even racial violence, as a societal norm. An intensive study completed by the Equal Justice Initiative found that nearly 4,000 black persons were killed by lynching between 1877 and 1950. 3,959 instances of racial terror, often carried out with little or no punishment to the murderers.

I thank God that things have changed. I am grateful that racial terrorism now takes our breath away, makes us sick. Things are better. But they aren't good enough. They aren't good enough!

In response to such tragedies as we've witnessed, I find myself ranting about injustice, raging against wrongs that need to be righted. In the end, though, it's pretty easy to rant and rage. Far harder is it to change my attitude, to root out all the injustice and wrong that is within me. And if I allow traces of racism to lurk in my own heart, what good have I accomplished?

In the middle of thinking about all this, I read these words from Thomas a Kempis, in Chapter 11 of The Imitation of Christ:

"How can he abide long in peace who occupies himself with other men's matters, and with things outside himself, and meanwhile pays little or rare heed to the self within?  Blessed are the single-hearted, for they shall have abundance of peace."

Oh, God. This is not just my country's problem. This is my problem.

These times in our history don't call for vilifying others. They call for personal repentance. I must think about my own thinking. I must get my own distorted vision corrected and learn to walk with new vision.

Some of my friends* are working to make things better in our society. I am proud of their work, but I must do more. I must work with them. I must stand in solidarity with my brothers and sisters of all races. And I must realize that before I can stand strong, I need to keep bending my knee, repenting of my own wrong thinking, and confessing the sin that's present in my heart.

So I pray. Dear Lord, forgive me. Please keep changing my heart. Help me to understand that the fight against racism is my fight, and show me how to help.

*Looking for a ministry worth supporting? 

I can personally recommend Corner to Corner and LeadershipLINKS.

If you know of others, please list them in the comments.

Joining these link-ups:

Grace and Truth

Faith-Filled Friday

Faith and Friends