Finding my real self

Here are some things I learned from my last blog post:

I am very loved. The outpouring of support from that post smothered me with love and encouragement. I honestly didn't expect such feedback. God reminded me not only that He is walking this journey alongside us, but also that hundreds of people who love us are here to just keep loving us. Where I feared judgment or criticism, I instead received grace, encouragement, and support. Thank you for loving us so well. It is humbling to be part of such a community. 

We all face the unknown. So many people shared with me their own stories of "anything." All of us come to that place where we must choose to stay safe or go with God. In that act of risking everything, stepping out into anything, we find God. And we find our true selves. 

God is always faithful. Always. Every single person who shared with me about how they chose to trust God found Him trustworthy. I haven't heard one person say, "I chose not to stay safe, and now I regret it." 

Sharing our stories gives us strength. Your stories have strengthened my own faith, brought me hope, and relieved my fears. I find courage when I see that others before me have acted courageously. We are called to share our stories. Experiencing life together weaves us together strand by strand--I'm part of your journey, and you're part of mine. When we hold back from sharing our stories, we withhold a piece of this amazing tapestry God is weaving. We miss the chance to encourage someone else and be encouraged in return. When you are real with me, I want to be real with you.

Thank you. 

Yesterday was graduation at the school where we have served for 12 years. It was strange; even as we celebrated the graduates, I couldn't help thinking we were facing our own graduation of sorts. A time of preparation and learning has come to a close, and now it's time for the next step. 

It's hard to let go of something that gives you such a sense of belonging. This school has been my place of belonging for most of my life. Ben and I both went to and graduated from DPCA, our parents served there in many ways, we both taught and served there, and our kids go there. While we will still belong in a different sense (and our kids will still go there), I have felt like a piece of my identity is being removed somehow. 

But yesterday God reminded me. My identity is in HIM. My belonging is in HIM. And that school--and everyone in it--also belongs in Him. I cannot put my sense of self in a place or a person or a job. Here's a favorite quote from C.S. Lewis: 

“Your real, new self (which is Christ's and also yours, and yours just because it is His) will not come as long as you are looking for it. It will come when you are looking for Him. Does that sound strange? . . . The principle runs through all life from top to bottom, Give up yourself, and you will find your real self. Lose your life and you will save it. Submit to death, death of your ambitions and favourite wishes every day and death of your whole body in the end submit with every fibre of your being, and you will find eternal life. Keep back nothing. Nothing that you have not given away will be really yours. Nothing in you that has not died will ever be raised from the dead. Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, loneliness, despair, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in.”  (from Mere Christianity)

Nothing in you that has not died will ever be raised from the dead.

I want to experience Him totally, completely, fully, in every way. I want to find my real self. And even in all these changes and lettings-go, I have seen Him leading and felt His peace. 

What is God asking you to die to? Where is he asking you to jump? What are you keeping back? Let's go all in together.

Anything

My husband stepped down from his job yesterday.

And so the world changes just like that. The discussions and tears, the many, many words and wonderings, the prayers offered up from conflicted hearts—they have all led to this. We step out from all we have known for twelve years, and we step onto a path that is still dark to us, aside from the next small piece.  Beyond the next space of quietness and reflection, we have no idea where God is taking us. But we know He has led us to this.

Grief squeezes my heart and a part of me wants to cry out no, no, this is a mistake, we didn’t mean it. I look at all the labor, all the memories, all the faces and hearts we love, this space where we have struggled and failed and triumphed for so many years. And I don’t want to let go.

But I know it is time. I hear Ben talk about how grateful he is for what he has learned and how he has grown, but he knows there is a new call on his life. I look at what God has done in us this year, and I know He is moving us on.

It’s terrifying.

Those stories about faith are easier to believe when they are just stories. Abraham and Sarah walking away from a rich life to wander in the wild, just because God told them to. Moses walking from the wild back to face his nightmares, only to go into the wild again with a whole nation trailing behind him. David picking up those little rocks and looking into the face of a giant. Two young men walking away from their nets and their livelihood to follow a man into a life they cannot imagine.

So many stories, Lord. You give us those stories so we will know. You are faithful. You have great plans for us. You’re working all things for our good.

Imagine if Abraham had never left his home. If Moses had remained a shepherd in that sleepy corner of the world. If David had never stepped out to fight. If Your disciples had stayed where it was safe and comfortable.

I’m sure you would have accomplished your purposes anyway. But they never would have seen the power, love, wonder of their God. They never would have known you as they did in the end. And they never would have been a part of your great story.

I promised You anything. I have begged to know you. I have said I want to be part of your story. And here I stand on the threshold of an unknown future. We step out into . . . what? I have no idea, beyond the next few months. You could be leading us anywhere. Into anything.

It’s so easy to be afraid. Are we doing the right thing? What if we fail? What if we can’t find good jobs? What if we never figure out what we are supposed to do? What are people here going to say about us? What will they think? Will the things we worked so hard for—and still love—die?

But.

But I don’t want to get to the end of my life full of regret that I didn’t believe. That I didn’t follow you. And that I missed all the blessing you wanted to pour out, all the beauty you wanted to show me, all the miracles you wanted me to be a part of.

If I really believe you, then I don't need to be afraid. I don't need to wonder what's next, because I know the One who holds my every moment in His hands, who knew all the days that were written for me before I was born. I can trust you with my days and the days of those I love.

I’m ready.

I want your anything. And if this is the way, I will go.

To the non-moms on Mother's Day

I’m so grateful to be a mom. And I’m so blessed to have a mother who has loved me and my children so very well, and a mother-in-law who loves me and adopted me right into the family.

But so many women do not share this experience. For so many of you, this day is one you dread. You don’t have children of your own, or you’ve lost a child, or your children are estranged from you. Or you don’t have your mom in your life.

I’m sorry.

I want to change this day and make it for all of you. Because you don’t have to be a mother to be a life-giver. And the children you raise up for the kingdom don’t have to be from your own body. What would our world be without the women who give life to those who are not their own? They make them their own. And they hold the world together.

My mom is amazing and wonderful, and I’ll always be grateful (thanks, Mom!).  But I’m also thankful to the many women who have poured life into me and my children in so many ways. Like the women who have mentored me, listened to me, and prayed for me. Like the women who have shown up at my house with a hot meal on a hard day. Like the women who have been such an example to me in the way they love others. Like the teachers who have encouraged me and spent hours instructing me. Like the friends and sisters who have poured into my kids, the older ladies who have adopted them as extra grandkids, the teachers who have led them and fed them and listened to them and just loved them.

I wouldn’t be who I am without you. My kids wouldn’t be the same without your love.

So many of you ladies struggling through this day? You are mothers ten times over, life-givers who have brought hope and healing to others. You’ve used your time and your money, your homes and your talents. You’ve opened your hearts and your arms. You’ve embraced hard people and difficult challenges. You’ve chosen to give without asking for anything in return.

Thank you.

We need you.

This day is for you, too.

Just be still

My youngest daughter’s first full sentence was, “Do it myself, Mom.” I love her tenacity. But there have been times when tenacity crossed that line into jaw-clenching, win-at-all-costs stubbornness. Like when she insisted on riding the big-girl bike for the first time by herself. Or when she decided she could ski to the bottom without my help, pointed her skis down the hill, and took off, only to crash spectacularly. Or when she walked to the edge of the pool and leaped in, confident she already knew how to swim. She’s always trying to prove to me that she’s big enough and smart enough to do it herself. And so many times I want to tell her:

Just be still.

Those words come often to my heart often these days.

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

What does that even mean, God? How can I be still when there is SO MUCH TO DO???

I just want to fix all these problems in my life, you know? I mean, some people around me just need to be fixed. And big decisions hover overhead, waiting for someone to decide. And there is just always, always so much to do. Don’t even get me started on my own problems. I know I need fixing more than anyone else. In fact, I’m kind of obsessed about that.

But there’s this thing about all the people I want to be like. There’s this thing about all those people in the Bible who just seem to get it.

They know God.

And yep, their lives are defined by stillness. They know how to stop. To wait. To listen. To be with God.

That word for “be still,” raphah, it means “to sink down” or “to relax.” In the Bible it is translated variously as “alone,” “cease,” “become helpless,” “feeble,” “forsake,” “fall limp,” “let go,” “slack,” “weak,” “wait” “cease striving,” “desist.”

The question is, do I want to know God in the midst of all this, or do I just want to get it done? Or, let’s be honest, do I just want to prove that I can do it myself?

Because it looks like there is just one way to know God.

My daughter cannot know the truth of her mama’s care for her as long as she is trying to do it all herself. She cannot know that I am sufficient, that I love her, and that I will do what is best. Her pride, fear, and stubbornness will insist upon her own way, and she will miss out on what the experience with me could be.

Relax, and know that I am God.

Be alone, and know that I am God.

Cease, and know that I am God.

Become helpless, and know that I am God.

Forsake it all, and know that I am God.

There is no knowing God without stillness. This requires humility. And time. And a lot of trust. But I cannot experience his love, power, sufficiency, and grace until I stop and let him in.

One look. Part I.

Last night the rooster crowed and the Lord looked at me.

That terrible sound rang into the night in my very act of betraying the one I loved most, and he looked at me. He stood on the threshold of his own nightmare, but he looked at me.

Even then, his thoughts were of me. His heart was full of me.

Perhaps my undoing came from knowing that. Here I stood, my filthy words still staining the air around me, my denial of him removing me as far from him as possible, and yet still he saw me.

And even as I denied him, my words proved true.

I do not know him.

I do not know the man who knelt and washed my feet.

I do not know him.

I do not know the man who took me onto a mountain and showed me the glory of God.

I do not know him.

I do not know the man who seized my sword and let them take him away.

I thought I knew him well. I thought he would raise us up and I would help him lead the way to freedom. To hope. To truth. I knew him as my Messiah and my Lord. I thought he was my everything.

I did not know him as my ransom.

Truth be told, I did not think I needed a ransom.

Truth be told, I did not know myself.

In that look he held up a mirror in which I saw myself true for the first time.

Angry.

Prideful.

Selfish.

Afraid.

I could have spoken up for him. I could have testified to all I have seen, shared about the man whose life changed mine forever. Who knows? Maybe they would even have released him if I had been persuasive enough. At the very least, I could have gone with him into death, as I had sworn to do. And now, here I stand, hands empty, utterly alone, and he goes to death with my last words of betrayal as a parting gift.

This is worse than death.

I do not know the man.

Those words sum up everything I am.

When he turned and looked at me, I knew.

His gaze held the knowledge of my suffering and his response of pure love. He saw into the truth of me and did not look away. I am doing this for you.

No. No. No.

Who could look at me like that in such a moment? My agony is not that he knew the moment I betrayed him. It is that he knew and still loved me so much.

Even as I turned from him, he turned to me. Even as my words created a canyon between us, his look of love bridged that gulf and reached me.

It is terrible to know that I never earned the love he gave me. It is terrible to know that I thought I could. The love that hangs there now, bleeding, broken, alone and dying, it is something I will never, ever comprehend. And I know now that through all those days of power and hope and miracles, he saw this moment. When I walked high in my heart thinking he had chosen me because I deserved it, he knew all along that I would be standing here watching him die alone for me because I was too full of pride and fear to own him, to go into death with him.

I never knew him at all. And now that I do, now that I see a glimpse of the man who is God, I see myself too. I see how little I have ever truly believed. And now I am dying a different kind of death, a death far worse than the one I imagined gloriously giving him in my love for him.

This is the death of my belief in myself. This is the realization that I am utterly lost. The same fear that put him on that cross is the fear that drives me. The same anger that drove the whips and the hammers surges in my heart.

I. Denied. Him.   

This darkness cannot hide me from myself. I am broken by my shame and by his look of love.

I never knew him.

And how will I ever know him now?