Made of love

I'm writing a story to my kids about the Christmas narrative, starting from the very beginning--at creation. I'm trying to imagine the perspective of an angel looking on as God speaks the words that bring the world into being, and suddenly I'm stunned by a thought. 

The world is made of love. 

Literally. God made us because He just couldn't stand not to (at least that's what I think). He dreamed us up and He so wanted to love us that He just had to create. And His love is so huge and strong and beautiful that the words just came spilling out, like an artist inspired. And here it all is. A whole world made of love. 

What other force could have dreamed of skies spread thick with silver stars, mountains piled up like craggy fortresses, rivers sparkling, life teeming, all of earth yearning upward in this glorious song?

Have you ever stood at the ocean's edge at sunrise, watching that burst of light breaking through where sky and water meet? Have you stood on a mountaintop looking out over wave after wave of frosty peaks?

Every day He declares Himself to us over and over in a million creative ways (Psalm 19). His creation shouts, whispers, sings to us of His love. 

Yes, we made a wreck of it. Yes, we are all dying, and this world is dying with us. But just like a shoot growing from a stump (Isaiah 11), His love is the pulse of life that keeps springing upward no matter how we trample it down. 

He won't be outdone. Circumstances may try to convince you otherwise. But this Christmas, I hope you will breathe in the love your world is made of. I hope you will come to Jesus. 

I hope you see shoots growing from stumps. 


Here is the link to my children's Christmas story--one each day until Christmas!

How to die, part 2

"If anyone serves Me, let him follow Me; and where I am, there my servant will be also" (John 12:26).

He has just raised the dead. Raised the dead. He let Lazarus lie in the tomb for four days just to remove all doubt of the miracle's authenticity. Now He has ridden into the city surrounded by adoring followers. His name is everywhere. His disciples spend their days controlling the crowds trying to get to Jesus.

It must be fun, riding that wave of fame and popularity. To be able to say, "Yep, I'm one of His chosen." "Yes, I was there when He raised Lazarus. In fact, I have seen almost all of His miracles."

These disciples have followed Him for three years, and if anything, they have learned He is unpredictable. But He is good. And now He is at the height of power. He is changing all the rules in their world. He's going to save them. He's the answer they have been waiting for. They swear they will follow Him anywhere.

We have the luxury of hindsight. We know that only a few days later, Jesus walks right into death, and almost all of His followers flee in terror.

He shattered their expectations. They did not understand a love that willingly gave itself up to suffering. They could not see beyond the now. They didn't know that sometimes He doesn't meet our expectations because He's going to exceed them in ways we cannot imagine.

He was part of a story so much bigger than their little world. And so were they.

It's easy to follow glamour. It's simple to attach ourselves to success and fame. But Jesus wants servants, not fans, and servants follow into death.

"Where I am, there my servant will be also."

Where is He?

In heaven, yes. And He's promised we will be there with Him. But obviously we are not there yet.

He is here, too. And if we follow, we will be where He is.

Where is He?

With the poor.
With the brokenhearted.
With the captives.
With the mourners.
With the desolate.
With the dying. (Isaiah 61)

If you know the story, you know that most of the disciples came back. They did follow. Right into death. Right into a lost and dying world. Into need. Into sorrow. Into anger and rejection and fear. These few men carried the candle of His hope, and it spread across the whole world.

We're all dying. It's how we die that matters.

We can walk into this death with our candles of hope, following where He is. Or we can cling to a life we are sure to lose. The question is, when we lose our life, what will be left?

It all depends on who we follow.

Be Still

 Feet Series, Part 5

The miraculous thing is that He suffers with us.

This God who loved us and wanted us to choose to love Him back, His heart broke as we chose to know evil instead. And the world fell and disease crept in to pull us away. And God did the only thing His Father’s heart could do. He waded into the muck.

He is here. Amazingly, He is with us. Maybe I should stop looking at my feet and start looking at His face.

"Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

While evil ravages and the world rages, He calls us to be still.

In the stillness I can hear His truth:

“The Lord your God in your midst,
The Mighty One, will save;
He will rejoice over you with gladness,
He will quiet you with His love,
He will rejoice over you with singing” (Zephaniah 3:17).

The Mighty One. WILL save. Will REJOICE over me!

Will quiet me.

This God I shake my fist at yearns over me. Loves me. Delights in who I am.

And when I look beyond my broken feet I see Him.

He has cried with me and mourned with me. He has suffered my sufferings.

But if I let Him, he redeems.

Only God can make a work of beauty from my pain.

I am still learning what this means. I must choose to learn it again and again. I don’t always understand or want to understand. But looking back, I can say I know Him in a new way now. I know Him as I never would have without suffering. I know Him as the God who walks with me into the darkness and holds me tight, the God who woos me always back to Him.

The God who stays.

And broken feet, they may seem a little thing in the scope of the world’s suffering. I know this. But my broken feet are teaching me to be still. To see Him in all of it.

Yearning for us.

Waiting to redeem.

And beneath my feet blessings abound. I choose to see where my feet get to go. And there I see God. As a reminder, I now photograph my feet in the midst of my blessings. An altar of sorts.

To remember where I’ve been.

I know the pain and frustration will persist. I pray that these will drive me to His grace, over and over. And I pray that in the end, my God will say of my feet:

“How beautiful upon the mountains
Are the feet of her who brings good news,
Who proclaims peace,
Who brings glad tidings of good things,
Who proclaims salvation,
Who says to Zion,
Your God reigns!” (Isaiah 52:7)

Wade In

Easter Sunday

Feet Series, Part 4

Sometimes things are not what they seem.

Sometimes the things that plague us, the arrows that wound and bewilder and grieve, sometimes these are the deaths that lead to life.

There is One whose feet knew a better way.

Who looked down on the sobbing, suffering, sorrow of this wreck of humanity, stitched Himself to human feet and waded in.

His feet walked into all the dark places. They wore the dust and grime and weariness of each aching day. They were weighed by the impossible burdens of our brokenness. And the day His feet felt most the fatigue of His calling, that day He washed the feet of His friends.

And then His feet were broken, driven through by hate and hung with all the hopeless misery of all the ages.

His crushed feet held Him up for each agonized breath, until they could bear no more.

And these wretched feet, they are the most beautiful of all.

There are places my feet will never go. Because His already went for me.  

These are the feet at which I long to fall. To wash with my tears. To touch the scars and remember how they walked the pathways of hell so I wouldn’t have to.

And then, remembering that, maybe my feet will be beautiful too—the beautiful, broken feet that bear His name. The feet that are stitched to His grace. The feet that wade in.

A Year Worth Living

I know that I have life

only insofar as I have love.

I have no love

except it come from Thee.

Help me, please, to carry

This candle against the wind.

--Wendell Berry

No life without love. This is a good place to begin the year. After all, I didn’t begin the year with a clean house or a grand adventure or a neatly typed out list of resolutions. I didn’t begin as I should have, with Christ at the center. With one whole day of 2012 behind me, I have already marred the year with selfishness, sinful thoughts, and thoughtless words. So much for a clean slate.

There is much to anticipate in this new year, and if I am not careful, much to fear. Much at which to fail. I would be lying to say I do not have resolutions, even if I have not called them such. But what are any of these things without love? So easy to treasure tasks above people.

I want to live this year. And there is no life without love. I want each moment to be love-drenched, each task to be thoughtful and purposeful, and never more important than those for whom I do them.

No love except it come from Thee. That each moment be rooted in Him so the love will flow down.

Love never fails. If I fail at everything else, if all my plans and projects come to nothing, but I spend the year soaking up His love, filling each moment and word and work with the love that brings life, then this will be a year worth living.

Help me to carry this candle against the wind.