pray to the One I love

This Friday is passing without much ado about anything. I’m not sure if I’d prefer much ado about nothing. I think I’d prefer much ado, period.

But, Fridays and Tuesdays and Sundays are not about preference as much as they are about presence. So, I’m streaming the new Civil Wars album while I write reports and smiling about the next three weeks that are about to unfold in front of my face. I’m just jamming to this beauty and loving the Lord who gave us song.

It feels like I just said yes to a hot air balloon ride without a destination – and now I will just enjoy the surprises with the scenery. Nothing makes sense and I am so glad I can laugh at that.

Well, I take that back.

One thing makes sense and that’s all the sense I need.

God is good, all the time.

 

grounded in freefall

Do you ever get a sense that you are just floating – waiting for your feet to find land so that you can report a location? Everything feels in motion because you are in motion and it’s hard to orientate yourself when you are in a freefall.

Those typical questions people ask depend a bit on roots, like “Where are you from?” and “What do you do?” My answers, in this freefall, are fluid and sweeping and noncommittal and perhaps a little evasive. I don’t like to let people watch me grasp for ground – it’s uncomfortable to flail about when you are used to being surefooted.

I don’t know how to explain the strange and confident peace that covers my soul in all this uncertain discomfort. I sound like a broken record, but it’s always about believing. Believing the Lord will make good on His promise to provide, protect, and preserve. When we believe God is a faithful promise keeper, the freefall feels different.

When life gives you freefall, become like an astronaut.

Does that sound cheesy? Probably. But, I imagine astronauts do not spend all their gravity-less time wondering if they will ever touch ground again or if there is ground at all all the thousands of miles beneath them.

I imagine they know there is and I imagine they stretch to enjoy the float. I know that astronauts are not in freefall – that they don’t have to fear the impact on the other side of their floating. And my freefall in these uncertain moments is the same: I am secure in God’s promises, secure in the solid rock of His word, secure in the refuge of His wings.

He is my ground when there is none underneath me.

Christ is my identity even as I’m floating in freefall and flailing. I am His and He is mine. He is with me in my present and He is my secure future. I am reading through Galatians and this morning I read,

for in Christ Jesus you are all sons of God, through faith. For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. And if you are Christ’s, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to promise. (Galatians 3:26-29, ESV)

My identity can’t change mid-flight. I am a son of God – my inheritance is secured in Christ in the middle of all the insecurities I might feel. I have already been named an heir, through faith.

This is my solid ground.

The beautiful thing about putting on Christ like clothes is that He’s with you in the freefall, closer than any other thing. He is my inheritance and secure future, but He is not distant and silent. He is breathing truth to my soul and filling my cup to overflowing. He is holding me together.

When I believe what He has promised, I do not doubt the ground. I do not doubt my future or my inheritance. My adoption means comfort more closely and hope more securely than any other thing.

God has called me His in this freefall. My flailing may not make sense and my floating might make people talk, but my heart is grounded in God’s promises.

 

 

dream big / want less

There is no better place than New York City to see the biggest and brightest (literally Times Square can blind you) dreams come true. All the struggling artists and actresses are dreaming big to get more – working multiple jobs to make reality out of the stage in their dreams.

Big > BIGger > BIGGEST

The biggest dreams are always best, so they say. I won’t say it’s a bad idea – the big dreaming. I love dreams – love to share mine and love to hear others’. I love dreaming and people who do it well.

What I don’t love is that dreams seem to be synonymous with MORE. Why do our dreams have to point us in the direction of wealth and status and fame?

I sat next to a most charming man on the plane to Chicago. He manages money for a wealthy family in Dubai and has for the past six years. From the sound of it, his boss’s pockets are deep. My friend Tom’s job is to invest capital so there is more capital to invest. He deals almost exclusively with BIG, if you know what I mean, and apparently he is really good at it.

Last week Tom was at a conference where 850 of the best and brightest entrepreneurs (his sister also happens to be a genius who owns several non-profit start up companies in NYC) met to share ideas, strategies, and success stories. These are the type of people who sell their companies over the weekend for $150 million without blinking (that really happened to the guy sitting next to Tom).

Do you know what the most popular session was at this conference? Relationships.

Yep, a psychologist got up on stage and started talking about life outside of 100 hour work weeks and efficient business practices and emerging markets. This is the message that captivated the brilliant crowd and filled their lunch, coffee, and dinner conversations. Relationships. Apparently, people with extremely successful entrepreneurial lives struggle most with their relationships.

I tell you this because my friend Tom asked me what I was going to do in New York, like for work. I said something about my passion for people and communities and specifically the impact neighborhoods have on some of the worst societal problems. Since his sister has her hand in several non-profit companies and a background in education, we talked about the “education space” and how it expands beyond the classroom. We talked about the trouble with “the system” and how it is unfortunately misused and manipulated and how that prevents effectiveness in improving communities and schools. We talked about how there needs to be better accountability.

And then he said to me, “Have you ever thought of just starting something on your own?” I blinked and then said, “Well, yes, actually. I have… but a person needs capital for that or brilliant connections. Right now, I have neither.”

He suggested I could form a platform that would provide the service of accountability to government and charity programs. I chuckled a little bit because his brilliance has trained him to always expand to the biggest dreams for the biggest returns. I suppose that is probably how it works in managing capital – you do it best when you do it big because it’s always about making more.

But, you know what I said to him?

“It’s about relationships.”

Just like he heard at that conference in Salt Lake City and just like those millionaires couldn’t stop talking about. No matter how many brilliant, efficient systems develop to respond to the real problems of neighborhoods, the most important component of any program is the relationships that form as it is carried out.

I don’t buy the Big > BIGGER > BEST model when best is about adding more – more influence or status or wealth.

I believe the biggest dreams can also look like less.

I don’t know if my new friend Tom would agree, but it was an interesting conversation.

don’t tell me to “grit my teeth”

I’m sure there are times when “grit your teeth” is an appropriate idiom for motivation or encouragement. Most of the times that come to mind are situations where small children refuse to eat broccoli or swim underwater or share a toy. Problem is, at that age, idioms don’t really make sense anyway.

What I do know is that “gritting my teeth” right now to muscle through my life-transplanting-across-the-country anxiety is not appropriate or motivational or encouraging.

My life is folded up in suitcases and boxes again and I feel like someone dumped all my emotional luggage out on the front lawn. It came on like waves today – doubts about my current job, doubts about my future job, doubts about doubts. This isn’t the normal level of anxiety I believe my way through. This anxiety hasn’t gone away for good when I believe against it, it just hides until I can be caught by surprise again.

Today, it hit me between the eyes and I couldn’t really put a good sentence together to explain it. I pushed against the temptation to say, “It’s just a phase, it’ll pass” because I know that it won’t. Worry and doubt and anxiety are not phases because believing is not meant to be a phase, either.

The hard work of believing happens while doubts and worries and anxieties hit us between the eyes with questions about worth and future and all the ways we are desperate to be acceptable before God.

God will do the fighting, I’ll do the believing.

I’ve never been more convinced of the power of present tense belief. The Gospel is ongoing salvation and I need to preach it to my soul in an ongoing sermon. When I get hit between my blues with questions about packing lists and budget lines and apartment hunts, my response must be to believe God for the salvation He has promised.

When He covenanted with Abram (Genesis 15), God was the only one who walked through the halved animals – symbolizing that He would keep His promise even if Abraham failed. He would keep His promise unto death… and He did. I received that same promise from the Lord – that He would be faithful to keep me even if it (and did) cost Him his life.

My salvation is sealed and so is my redemption from all the ugly anxiety I met today.

I believe the salvation He promised is the breath He’s breathing into me and the future unfolding before me. I believe the salvation He promised is my security as the millions of moments happen these next few weeks. And I believe the salvation He promised is my hope when all my life’s luggage gets dumped and scattered.

There’s no “grit my teeth” about it. I can’t muscle through it.

And I don’t have to – that’s what believing is all about. Any of my own attempts at survival is evidence of unbelief. I believe God has already promised to keep me, carry me, sustain me, fulfill me. I believe.

I love this encouraging word from John Piper in Future Grace where we read about Jesus Keeping His Sheep.

You who are greater

I heard a sermon a couple weeks back and this little bit of Scripture in 1 John 3 keeps coming on back to steady my heart.

Because my heart sometimes feels pretty powerful – like it has the full force of Jeremiah 17:9 and that’s a scary danger.

“The heart is deceitful above all things
and beyond cure.
Who can understand it?”

I surely do not. Even when we think we are making unselfish sense, our heart still deceives and traps and tricks and we can still get buried in a place that is “beyond cure.” There is a place where cure can’t reach and that’s where you’ll find our hearts. Ouch.

Sounds impossible to cure a deceitful heart, doesn’t it? So, I must believe God for impossible things. I must believe in this moment through to the next that He is a promise keeper, that He knows everything, and that He is greater than my heart.

Though my heart is deceitful and fickle and incurable and fret-filled, God is greater than my heart. When my heart runs circles around the narrow path where my feet tread with doubts and taunts, I must remember who made my heart.

He that formed my heart calls me “child” and is always faithful to be greater than my fears.

He is always greater, always. God knows everything – there’s nothing about the darkest part of our hearts that surprises Him – and He is still greater than those secrets. In 1 John 3, we read that our salvation means confidence, that even the most fickle and incurable heart issues we have must bend to the One who abides in us.

I am not afraid of my dangerous heart. I believe that God is greater.

Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.

By this we shall know that we are of the truth and reassure our heart before him; for whenever our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart, and he knows everything. Beloved, if our heart does not condemn us, we have confidence before God; and whatever we ask we receive from him, because we keep his commandments and do what pleases him. And this is his commandment, that we believe in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as he has commanded us. Whoever keeps his commandments abides in God, and God in him. And by this we know that he abides in us, by the Spirit whom he has given us. (1 John 3:18-24, ESV)

When I believe God to be greater than my heart, I trust that fear is replaced with obedience. I am not afraid of my dangerous heart because I believe God can overcome it and help me pursue holiness. I am not afraid because He has authored miracles that I can act out by living a life of love. I am not afraid because I know, in Christ, what it means to abide. Because of His grace, I am not afraid.

 

sweaty mess and sci-fi

Sometimes there is no way around it – my legs stick to the driver seat, my hair twists around in a knot atop my head, and a pool of sweat collects on my lower back.

#summer

But, I’m gonna be real honest right now: I feel like I’m lost in a sci-fi film. Every other moment I’m drowning and in the opposite moment I’m waking up like a child. I guess you could describe the whole disturbing scene stretching out these days as exciting, but I’m just barely hanging on.

Turns out, all that talk of preaching to myself better be more than blog posts, better be more than resolutions and more than my typical free-spirited whimsy. It better be more, because it’s getting serious. Every other moment (the drowning ones) require serious rescue and lip service won’t do the trick, ever.

Believing moment by moment is a catchy concept and one I can get behind – trusting that God is providing and will provide the strength to go on in His future grace.

We are banking on the overflow of future storehouses and you’ll always find me saying “Amen” to that.

But riding around in my car with kids I love so much it tears my heart out, that’s not a concept. Having to say goodbye to these kids is not a concept I can either agree or disagree with, it’s just going to happen. Looking at my bank accounts is not conceptual – the numbers are like Shakira’s hips, they don’t lie. Trying to sell my car Eddie, trying to juggle transition, trying to get hired… those are not concepts.

This is my reality. I’m not sitting in a church pew, throwing out “amens” when the pastor is on point and scribbling my sermon doodles about theological connections.

Believing is not a concept, it is reality. It has to be, or I sank a long time ago.

Every other moment (the drowning ones), I reach out for the reality of future grace. I have to believe with my mind, praying all unbelief into captivity (2 Corinthians 10:5) because otherwise I would be paralyzed with fears that everything won’t work out. I have to believe with my heart, trusting God’s protection and that He will complete the work He has started (Philippians 1:6). I have to believe with my soul, hoping with certainty in what God has promised for the future (Psalm 42:11). I have to believe with my strength, convinced that acting out of this belief is the best thing to do (Hebrews 12:14).

I try not to flail about, but I do very few things gracefully and getting rescued is not one of them. I scramble and scurry, but every inch of me knows that believing conceptually is not life-saving.

Real believing is a sweaty mess, a gasping-for-air ordeal that can make a person extremely unattractive in all the near-drowning desperation. But believing is also the only thing that will make us beautiful, as we become more and more like Christ.

Then there are those glorious every other moments (the waking up ones) when I slip into childlike skin and the believing is less work. These are great gifts and I cherish them, sandwiched between near drownings. God’s preservation of our childlike-ness is a very beautiful thing.

This is the little sci-fi memoir I’m living at the moment, making my life a sweaty mess. It’s probably just this heat getting to me.

in the middle of things

It’s easier to say “Nevermind.”

This afternoon is looking like stacks of files and a printer on overdrive. I’m going through the motions, pushing through for the coffee and my favorite clients on the other side of this afternoon.

Today needs a lot of preaching because I’ve never learned a lesson that sticks forever. In this case, less than 24 hours exhausted my memory. I need to hear Truth over and over again – in the middle of paper stacks and in between the email reports of my mom’s hospital stay, in the craigslist circus of selling everything and in the hunt for a cheap roundtrip ticket for an interview, in the late night prayer sessions with a friend and in all those moments when people ask, “How are you doing with everything?” and I just want to say “Nevermind.”

If I’m not hearing Truth, I’m hearing something else.

Truth is hope enough, grace enough, and love enough to completely cover the things I’m currently “in the middle of” and even to overwhelm them with plenty.

The question is not whether that is true. The question is, “Do I believe it?”

Sometimes, you preach truth to yourself relentlessly, believing God in the middle of and in between all the ways it doesn’t feel true.

let LOVE fly like cRaZy

preach it [to yourself]

We hear a lot of words throughout the day – our morning to midnight is filled with them. Words to wake up to, to sing to, to argue with, to persuade, entice, battle, and play.

So many words.

But even if you didn’t have a single conversation, your day would still be full of words. Even if you were a hermit, words would wiggle inside. Because we’re all listening to sermons in our heads – words that motivate and teach and correct and guide.

My soul is speaking constantly and sometimes it sounds like a worldly sermon. It sounds like more questions than statements, more fear than courage, and more pride than humility. Sometimes it sounds like sin. But it is not a matter of making my soul mute, because that’s not possible. We are created with eternity in our hearts and my soul’s constant conversation is evidence of that. 

In conversations with friends and in reflection about my own inner conversations lately, I’m reminded again that if the message coming from our souls is not Truth, we need to find a different preacher (and I don’t mean at church).

A few years back, I read The Silent Seduction of Self-Talk by Shelly Beach and (in addition to the title’s brilliant alliteration) it brought a new awareness of the words my soul speaks constantly to my heart. More recently, after reading Joe Thorn’s book Note to Self (heavily influenced and inspired by Martin Lloyd Jones) I became even more intentional about using Scripture to guide those conversations.

My scripture memory verse this week is speaking the right words to my soul. I love reading the statement, “Hope in God” right after the psalmist has just probed for answers for his depression. That statement, “Hope in God” is an affirmation of who God is, a declaration of His worthiness, and a pronouncement of His grace to give such hope. I love that.

Psalm 42:11, “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God.”

This morning, I had an interview for a job in NYC and before/during/afterward my soul heard those words: Hope in God. Though I don’t have a downcast soul right now, I do often ask my soul about worry and fear and worth. And to these questions this morning, I preached: Hope in God.

He is trustworthy.
He is good.
He is faithful.

And I am satisfied in Him. I shall again praise Him – with or without a job. He is my hope!

the foxes in the vineyard

This Monday morning is a fox in the vineyard.

Things “begin” on Monday morning – the week, the work, the schedule – but we all know nothing ended on Friday. We just pushed pause so we could smile and forget for two days. At least that seems to be what everyone hopes our weekly system is set up to do: work for five days, forget about work for two days, and then start work again.

I have never had a job where that cycle is successful. Because working with people means working inside relationships and I would do very poor work if I severed relationships on a weekly basis.

So, this morning I woke out of a dream thinking about the court hearing at 8 am and about the meetings in the afternoon because they had been on my mind all weekend. These aren’t appointments, they are people and that feels heavy.

The antidote for anxiety is not reason, though many well-meaning people have lectured me on boundaries and work/life balance.

The antidote for anxiety is the promises of God. It is a medicine that doesn’t take away the illness, but overcomes it. The promises of God are trustworthy and they follow us. I cannot go to a place where God’s promises cannot reach. He is here, inside this Monday and He knows about the foxes. He knows about all the evil plans to steal my joy.

He knows about my anxiety and He knows His promises can overcome it. He is good to me. In His sovereign will, He is good and can only be good to me.

Today is about believing God is good when the foxes are in the vineyard.

This song by Audrey Assad sings the overflow of goodness and it will be my reminder all day long.

I put all my hope in the truth of Your promise
and I steady my heart on the ground of Your goodness
When I’m bowed down with sorrow I will lift up Your name
and the foxes in the vineyard will not steal my joy

because You are good to me, good to me

I lift my eyes to the hills where my help is found
Your voice fills the night–raise my head up and hear the sound
Though fires burn all around me I will praise You, my God
and the foxes in the vineyard will not steal my joy

because You are good to me, good to me
Your goodness and mercy shall follow me
all my lifeI will trust in Your promise
© 2013 Audrey Assad Inc (BMI)

have you ever seen a tree dance?

Psalm 1 is one of my favorite word pictures in the Bible. Trees are a reminder of what happens when the Lord provides – the deep roots, lush leaves, and sprawling canopy flourish because of the Lord’s care.

Blessed is the man
who walks not in the counsel of the wicked,
nor stands in the way of sinners,
nor sits in the seat of scoffers;
but his delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on his law he meditates day and night.

He is like a tree
planted by streams of water
that yields its fruit in its season,
and its leaf does not wither.
In all that he does, he prospers.

The wicked are not so,
but are like chaff that the wind drives away.
Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous;
for the Lord knows the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked will perish. (Psalm 1, ESV)

But every analogy has something in common: a limit.

A tree is inadequate to describe what we are completely “like” as we follow the Lord. As we move from one degree of holy to the next, we are not just rooted deep in the ground and stretched out to bear fruit. A tree as a picture of our sanctification is limited, even if it is a tree that prospers in and out of season and whose leaf does not wither.

Our Christian life is “like a tree,” but it is also more than this. We are rooted and established in love (Ephesians 3:17-19) but we have also inside of us the brilliant excitement that caused David to dance with all his might (2 Samuel 6:14). We have access to abundant life (John 10:10) in Christ, the kind that makes us want to sing and praise and laugh and shout (Acts 16:25, Psalm 98:4, Psalm 47).

Yes, loving the Lord and growing in this love means being like a tree, but it also means being like the bride and groom at the wedding I went to yesterday.

His gleeful squeals with outstretched arms and smile-covered face looked nothing like a tree. He was not composed and stately. He was drowning in joy and his bride was radiant with expectation. They were both very un-tree like when they bounded down the aisle after the “Mr. and Mrs. Groves” announcement and jumped into the air under the cloudy sky.

Their joy spilled out… it got into our hearts as we watched them celebrate. The love that was rooted and established in their identity as children of God was now displayed in their commitment to one another as united by God.

I have never seen trees dance.

have seen the glory of the Lord spilling over our ability to describe it. Yesterday, watching Riley and Brooke get married, was one of those times.