Category: Christian Living

Today I was overcome by gratitude.  It came from the most surprising place.  Not from sunny toddler dispositions or sudden good news.  Instead it peeked its head out of broken-heartedness.  Have I mentioned that lately I’ve been a little brokenhearted?  I’ve been reading Psalm 23, wondering how God would refresh and restore my soul in this season.  I think I expected Him to refresh it with joy, and instead He refreshed it with sorrow.  He gave me a glimpse into the lives of two women relentlessly pursuing Jesus in the reality of their suffering.  One of them prayed over me in a parking lot.  The other touched me through a computer screen.

You will probably never meet the beautiful woman who loved me like Christ in a parking lot.  But you can meet Larissa, the one who touched me via technology.  I heard her story for the first time last year, but watched it again today when it ran through my Facebook feed.  This time I found her blog and cried as I stepped into her world–a world so different, and yet so similar, to mine.  Larissa is married to Ian, the love of her life who suffered a traumatic brain injury while they were dating.  I was moved by their video (posted below), but even more so by their blog.  While the video shares the big moment of their wedding, the blog shares all the hundreds of small moments to follow.  The small battles for contentment, faith, and gratitude in the wake of tremendous loss.  I’ve never been closely related to someone with significant disabilities, yet Larissa’s journey to see God in the reality of her life is so like my own.

As today wore on, I found myself overflowing with thankfulness.  I praised God for using believers to refresh the hearts of one another (Philemon 1:7).  I praised Him for messy lives that bring Him great glory.  For His never-ending love.  For the hot water in my shower and the pillow on my bed.  It’s like my eyes were opened, and everywhere I looked I saw thanksgiving.  A garment of praise instead of despair, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, a crown of beauty instead of ashes (Isaiah 61:3).  Isn’t God incredible?  Who else could pour sorrow over sorrow and turn it into joy?

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True confession #879: I long for the approval of people.  I mean long for it.  There was a season in my life when I felt the anxiety over people’s approval so acutely that I called my mom one night and told her, “Every night I go to bed and the last thing I think before falling asleep is that I hope I don’t wake up in the morning.”  As usual, my mom surprised me.  Rather than panicking (which I thought would’ve been entirely appropriate), she challenged me.  “I don’t believe you don’t want to live another day, Jeanne.  You just don’t want to live another day in this bondage.”  And just like that, I felt the first rays of hope.  Because I realized it was true.  I did want to live; I just didn’t want to live like this.  

Living in the idolatry of man’s approval is like living on a weathervane.  You swing here and there, back and forth, your emotions as unpredictable as the wind.  Then one day you realize that in all this time you’ve gotten nowhere.  You’ve just been spinning in circles.  Everybody loves me!  Everybody hates me.  I’m brilliant!  I’m foolish.  I’m wanted!  I’m rejected.  It’s always the same song, sung over and over in a thousand different scenarios.  And the star of the song is always the same.  Me.  

I used to view the idol of approval as “people-worship.”  I was worshipping other people’s thoughts and opinions.  But the truth is, I’m not just concerned with their thoughts and opinions…I’m concerned with their thoughts and opinions about me.  Which means the idol of approval isn’t really about people-worship but self-worship.  The person I’m bowing down to is me.  The person who consumes my thoughts is me.  The person holding me captive is me.

So maybe it’s time I started singing a different song.  Here’s one that’s been humming through my mind all morning–

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face!
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

Do you believe it?  Do you believe that Jesus is so radiant, His grace so glorious that when we fix our eyes on Him, the things of earth–all those circumstances in which we’re so concerned with our own dignity–will grow strangely dim?  Do you believe HE can outshine you?  Outshine your problems?  Your reputation?  Your insecurity?

I do.  I do because I’ve experienced it.  Turning your eyes upon Jesus is like jumping off the weathervane and dancing in the rain.  It’s cleansing and liberating and refreshing.  Not only does Jesus Christ define my worth (2 Cor 5:17, John 1:12, Ps 139), He calls me to Himself (Gal 1: 10), reminding me that the story is so much bigger than whether or not so-and-so likes me.  The story is as BIG as His love, as AGONIZING as a bloody cross, as POWERFUL as an empty tomb and as URGENT as a coming King.  Surely that is reason for you and I to take our eyes off our bellybuttons, and together with the Psalmist David, declare, “My eyes are ever toward the Lord” (Ps 25:15).

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I ate an energy bar tonight thinking it was a granola bar, and two hours later I’m still wide awake.  The house is unusually quiet, and for some reason my mind has drifted back to an old friend, one I find myself thinking about often.

When I was in Bible college there was this unbelievably beautiful girl in my education classes who one day slid her lunch tray beside mine and struck up a conversation.  You know the kind of friend who grows on you slowly?  Aimee wasn’t like that.  She was more like a diamond you find at a gas station–an extraordinary treasure in a completely ordinary world.  She spoke fluent Mandarin Chinese, had dreams the size of Antarctica, zero pretenses, and a heart as genuinely alive as her bright blue eyes.  That day we talked and laughed at the lunch table until every last scrap was cleared up and put away.  And from then on, I loved Aimee Powell.

We would go out to eat, order something loaded with carbs and talk about all the things college girls love to talk about–class, and boys, and friends, and Jesus, and all we hoped to do and be.  I saw her giddy, and I saw her heartbroken.  And I never once doubted that Aimee would lead a very grand life.

Then three years after graduating from college, on a boring January morning Aimee was killed in a car accident.  And just like that, in two seconds flat, I learned that she was gone.  You want to know the truth?  Part of me still can’t believe it.  Three years later I still cry when I think about her.  I cry for myself because I miss her.  I cry for the future I imagined she would have.  I cry for her family because I know that if in four years she brought such joy to my life, she must’ve been sunshine in theirs.

But amid all the tears, I have a profound sense of peace when I think of Aimee.  On the one hand, it seems maddeningly unfair.  She never got to marry the dashingly handsome man I just knew she was destined for, never got to raise a house full of children or become famous and change the world.  But as I watched the newscast about the accident, I listened to an anchor woman who didn’t even know Aimee testify about Aimee’s life–the students who loved her, the mission trips she took, the Facebook page that shared her passionate love for Jesus.  And like lightning it struck me, Aimee did it.  She ran the race all the way to the very end, and she crossed the finish line, faithful.  

She hadn’t led the extraordinary life I always imagined she would lead.  Instead she’d led one ordinary life, with extraordinary faithfulness.  You know what?  I think that is more inspiring than marrying a dashingly handsome man and changing the world.

Tonight I am proud of my friend.  I am grateful to have been part of her beautiful life.  And I am encouraged to follow her example and live this one, ordinary life of mine with all the extraordinary faithfulness only Jesus can supply, so that one day I, too, will cross the finish line victorious.  This one’s for you, my beautiful friend.  Wish you were here with me tonight.

It’s hard to believe summer is almost over.  When I was a teacher I always loved this time of year—unlocking the door to an empty classroom and starting all over.  Stapling up bulletin board paper, organizing my desk, filling out a brand new grade book with brand new names and dreaming big dreams for a brand new year.

This summer I’ve had a small taste of the same feeling—a sense that God is doing something fresh in my life.  Instead of decorating a bulletin board and organizing my desk, I’ve gone on a mission to organize our whole house (courtesy of the first housekeeping book I’ve ever read in my life!  More on this in a future post.)  I’ve allowed myself to dream big dreams with my husband.  And most importantly of all, I’ve taken an honest look at my life and decided I want a lot more out of it.

There was a time when I took God at His word.  I mean literally took Him at His word.  As a kid in the Philippines, my parents used to give me ten pesos a week in allowance.  They taught me to tithe one peso to the church.  I still remember the day I told my dad I wanted to give 100 pesos to the church.  He asked me if I was really sure, and I can remember feeling excited and pragmatic at the very same time.  It made so much sense to me.  If Jesus is the most valuable thing in the world, and eternity is all that truly matters, what could be better than giving my money to Jesus’ church?  I got it as a kid.  I wasn’t afraid to follow a radical God with radical faith.

But as I grew older I began to realize that Christianity could be a lot more convenient if I sort of took God at His word.  So I gathered His mandates and mixed in a couple of qualifiers, added some safety precautions, threw in a few exceptions, and pretty much developed a comfortable blend of Christianity that could co-exist with my own desires for a secure and easy life.

But this is what I’ve discovered–if you want to water down God’s calling, then you also have to water down the blessings of obedience to God’s calling.  You have to settle for an average marriage, relative peace, mediocre satisfaction.  And I don’t want any of those things.

I want ALL that God has for me.  I want the joy that comes from genuine devotion to Christ.  The peace that comes from true submission.  The love that comes from walking with Jesus.  I want the freedom that comes with surrender.  The hope that comes with faith.  The perseverance that comes by grace.

I want a fresh start.  Not a legalistic attempt to never make another mistake, or a resolution to “try harder.”  Just a quiet, moment-by-moment surrender to Jesus.  A humble prayer to regain some of the wonder I once had as a child.

What about you?  Would you like a fresh start?  Don’t be afraid–because of His grace, it’s yours for the taking.

A friend asked me this question several months ago.  In context, I knew she wasn’t referring to a “general” or “primary” calling to live for Christ.  She was asking me if I believe there is such a thing as a “specific” or “secondary” calling, like the calling to become a doctor or a missionary.

I understood the question because people talk about this sort of “calling” all the time.  They say things like, “I just felt called to do it.”  Called to marry him.  Called to plant a church.  Called to adopt.  Called to give.  Some people love to talk about calling…so much so that you wonder if they go to the grocery store and feel “called” to buy Crest toothpaste instead of Colgate.  These sort of people used to frustrate me.  It felt like they had a private line with God, and He just told them everything to do, say, think, eat, and moisturize with.  To be honest, I was jealous.  Many times it felt like I begged God for discernment and heard crickets in the background.  I always wanted to exclaim, But how do you know you’re called?  

Suffice to say, I’ve pondered my friend’s question long before she asked it.  I usually find myself thinking about calling in one of two life scenarios–either before making a major decision, or in a season of difficulty and discouragement.  In the former scenario, I’m hoping not to make a mistake.  In the latter, I’m wondering if I already did.

The funny thing about “calling” is it’s deeply tied to our view of God.  The person who is wondering about calling is the person who is secretly hoping God actually has a plan for her life.  Secretly hoping she hasn’t somehow fallen out of His hands.  Secretly hoping He loves her enough to be intimately involved in the details of her life.  I should know, I am that person.  So instead of rambling on inconclusively with my friend, this is how I wish I would’ve answered her question:

Yes.  I believe God has a specific calling for every single person, including you and your husband.  I believe this because the God of the Bible is vastly personal, with the power to bestow wisdom (James 1:5), to direct your steps (Pro 16:9), and to equip you to do His will (Heb 13:21).  The God of the Bible is so completely sovereign that even the sparrows don’t fall to the ground apart from His will (Matt 10:29).  He most surely has a sovereign will for you and your husband–people created in His image, whom He rescued at tremendous cost.

BUT, the tricky thing is, He may not reveal it to you right now.  If there is one thing I have learned from this year’s BSF study on Genesis, it’s that callings from God are revealed and fulfilled in His timing.  Abraham waited twenty-five years for God to give him Isaac.  Joseph was seventeen years old when He had a vision of his brothers bowing before him, and he was thirty-nine years old when the vision came to pass.  Clearly the presence of waiting is not the absence of calling.  In fact, it might be the hallmark of it!  I cannot think of a single instance in the Bible where God revealed a calling in its entirety, and then fulfilled it immediately.  Which brings me to the second thing I’ve learned from our Genesis study: Callings from God are not free of suffering.  Look back at Joseph again.  It amazes me to think that while he sat in prison, he was in the very center of God’s will for his life.  I would’ve been begging, “Surely there is a plan B!  This cannot be Your plan for my life!”  But it was.  It just wasn’t the plan in its entirety–it was a piece of the plan.  It was a dark and painful season that transformed a cocky 17 year-old boy into the God-fearing governor of Egypt.  In other words, there is a purpose for the suffering!  There is a purpose for all the waiting, and all the painful growth.  It’s not a deviation from the plan; it’s part of it.  In the meantime, you can plant your hope firmly in the fact that callings from God are for His glory and our good.  All along, God loved Joseph.  All along, the plan was intended to glorify God and to bless Joseph, something Joseph himself understood when he told his brothers, “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good” (Gen 50:20).

Dear sister (or brother), if you belong to God, you will never fall out of His hand.  You will never be big enough to thwart His will, or ruin His ability to use your life for His glory.  There is always a plan.  Even in the silence.

While you wait for God’s specific calling for your life to come together, the Bible overflows with His clearly revealed general calling for all people.  He has called us to holiness (I Thess 4:7), to share the gospel of Christ (Matt 28:18-20), to be filled with the Spirit (Eph 5:18), to love and forgive like Christ (Jn 13:34, Eph 4:32) to rejoice always, pray without ceasing, and give thanks in all circumstances (I Thess 5:15-18).  God has called us to Himself.  To a relationship with Him, in which we become like Him by His own power and grace.  He has called us to surrender, to be at peace with the things we do not know because we are at peace with the One who controls them.

Lest you think I am writing this from a position of great comfort and security, I am not.  I am writing it from Joseph’s cell–from that place of quiet and painful patience.  But the more I do what Joseph did–embracing the season, serving the cupbearer and the baker and working with all my heart as unto the Lord–the more I see that this is a place of great freedom.  This is the place where fear runs and hides, because it is the place where you finally believe that nothing can separate you from the love of Christ.  It is the place where character deepens, faith blossoms, and hope overcomes.  It is the very center of God’s will.