Strong Women

I am a strong woman.

 

I heard recently that with my particular body type, the hormones and chemicals that are my make-up, I am like a Warrior Princess. Like an Amazonian woman. I am Wonder Woman!

 

That struck me as true.

 

Physically, I can do hard stuff. I can run far. I can lift heavy things. I can fast for a long time. I can push myself to get things done.

 

My personality is robust!

 

I love meeting new people. I am happy to go places alone. I am fine with talking to people that have different views. I am resilient.

 

So, reading that I am a Warrior Princess set off a cascade of emotion and thought. It felt like a relief! I realize that I default to holding back. To keeping myself at bay. To holding myself in check as much as I can. 

 

It’s not bad to keep myself in check, but it may also be good to embrace the strength itself. Rather than regret my strength of character, how can I make it available to the stuff God calls me to do?

 

All these bubbling thoughts have unexpectedly crept into my daily living. 

 

I notice that I am a bit more impatient. A bit more prone to boldly speaking my mind. 

 

Even if God created me to be Wonder Woman, something seems amiss with the way I exude my “strength.” In fact, it doesn’t seem strong at all. It seems weak.

 

“Be completely humble and gentle….” Ephesians 4:2

 

There is the true strength I need!!

 

The strength of God Himself to do what flies against my very nature! Human nature, actually. 

 

Even though I’m Wonder Woman in a way, I am simply a woman. All my good strength comes directly from Him. Therefore, “in humility value others above yourselves.” Philippians 2:3 

 

Jesus is ultimate Strength! He is God! He is also ultimate Humility. He left the rightful vestiges of power and put on human flesh to suffer torture and death. 

 

And gentleness!! 

According to the Baker’s Bible Dictionary biblical gentleness means: “Sensitivity of disposition and kindness of behavior, founded on strength and prompted by love.”

 

The gentleness of Jesus!! He is the Lion and the Lamb! He has ultimate strength, but also unmatched restraint and kindness. 

 

An example of the gentle power of Jesus: “Don’t you realize that I could ask my Father for thousands of angels to protect us, and he would send them instantly? But if I did, how would the Scriptures be fulfilled that describe what must happen now?” Matthew 26:53-54

 

May I be strong like Jesus!! Completely humble and gentle.

 

So, as I navigate the nuances of my daily life, I embrace my inner Amazonian princess!! I am glad to remember that I can do hard things. I can be strong. 

 

But, when my strength becomes weak, impatient, and insensitive, I grab that tiny scrap of Scripture: “Be completely humble and gentle.”

 

I remember Jesus- the amazing power of God to restrain His limitless strength by being so gentle with people like me.

 

Lord, make me like You.

 

Yes, I am a strong woman. By the power of Christ in me, I am strong enough to be completely humble and gentle.

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Coronavirus: The Christian’s Response to Fear

In these days of coronavirus, fear is justified! It is possible to not have toilet paper or water or meat. It is possible to be out of work for a long time and be low on money for housing and food. It is possible to catch the virus and be very sick.

But these are the very days that invite us to experience the living God! The exhilarating, terrifying adventure of walking by faith, not by sight.

And how can I walk by faith if I don’t have any needs? How can I wholly trust in Jesus’ name if I have a decent paycheck and a well-stocked grocery store?

“Without faith it is impossible to please him.” Hebrews 11:6

This is our time to please God by throwing our weight on Him! We don’t know how we will find chicken for dinner, but we trust Him to meet our needs. We pray, “Give us this day our daily bread.” But we mean it, and we fall on His care, not knowing how else to find nourishing food for our families.

“Casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.” 1 Peter 5:7 How He longs to provide for our daily needs! Just like manna, though. Not hoarding for weeks to come. Just for today. That which is hoarded reeks and rots.

We rise in the morning, and trust Him for enough food and water and toilet paper and courage- just for today. “Blessed be the Lord, who daily bears us up; God is our salvation.” Psalm 68:19

We don’t fear for tomorrow. We don’t worry that all the hoarders will rob us of essentials in the future. “The fear of man lays a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord is safe.” Proverbs 29:25

The Israelites had an opportunity in the desert to trust God for daily food and water. They really had no choice. There were no stores in the desert. And they cried to God. But the tone of their cry was panicked. Complaining. Demanding. I think that the root of their prayers wasn’t really faith. They were not thinking that God was all-powerful and all-loving and able to meet their needs. They were not thinking about God at all. I know this because that is so often how I pray. Here I am, speaking to the Almighty One about my needs, barely remembering that He is really here. My prayer is not toward Him at all. It is, like most of my life, all about me.

How did God respond to their complaining hearts, that really didn’t think He would miraculously provide for them? “When the Lord heard them, he was furious… for they did not believe God or trust Him to care for them.” Psalm 78:21-22, NLT

And there it is. That is where I am convicted of my sin. My lack of faith is sin. How I hurt the heart of my glorious, almighty, ineffable God- His actual, very heart- when I refuse to believe that He will take care of me. And His anger is aroused because, in essence, I don’t believe He is God. In my heart I believe He is powerless and only good for Sunday morning country clubs and platitudes. He isn’t real enough to go with me through fear and suffering.

I am so sorry. My heart breaks for how I’ve hurt You, God, and defamed Your Name.

And I realize that to trust You for food isn’t just about me and my precious family. It is an act of worship. It is a defiant belief that You are Good and Completely Powerful. No matter what. And I cling to You and resist buzzing around, crafting frenetic back-up plans, thinking that You will more than likely not provide.

And when He provides, I will praise Him, privately and publicly. To remind myself and others that He really is God. He really is alive. He really is good. He is completely powerful.

Thank God, literally, for tough times that remind me that I can wholly trust in Jesus’ name.

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Deep Calls to Deep

Deep calls to deep at the roar of your waterfalls

All your breakers and Your waves have gone over me.

Psalm 42:7

When I was a girl, my family embarked on the “Maid of the Mist,” a tourist boat that sails very near the powerful Niagara Falls. Of course, the journey didn’t take us directly under the roaring waterfall. We traveled close enough to experience the mist only.

I don’t actually want to be covered by a waterfall.

So, I paddle and exert my smallness to avoid the catastrophe.

The sovereign God, boundlessly bigger than every waterfall, also sees my frantic, insignificant flailing. This time He allows the current to pull me closer to the cascade.

Deep calls to deep.

There is something for me in the thunderous roar that I cannot have in the peaceful river. And He waits for me there.

Deep calls to deep.

My soul was made for this crisis, this terrible flood. For the deep is where I experience the depth of God.

“For you cast me into the deep, into the heart of the seas and the flood surrounded me. All your waves and your billows passed over me…. When my life was fainting away, I remembered the Lord, and my prayer came to you….” Jonah 2:3,7

Sovereign Jesus, You have allowed Your breakers and Your waves to overwhelm me. There is nothing but You here. I have nothing else to see, smell, hear, taste or feel.

Deep calls to deep.

This tumult is a sacred place. Just You and I. You hold me here in tender, strong protection.

In a flash I realize the futility of my efforts, my plans, my solutions.

I am overwhelmed by Your power. And I treasure that You are for me. Unfathomable power working all things for good.

So that everyone can easily see that it is not my strength or wisdom or even faith that gives breath and life.

It is all You, my close God.

Deep calls to deep.

And I commune with You in the deluge. Not with words or even thoughts.

Your heart- pulsing, vibrant Source of Life- directly communes with my heart.

The waterfall, although terrible, becomes a place of beauty and surprising peace.

“But for me it is good to be near God; I have made the Lord God my refuge.” Psalm 73:20

 

Photo credit: Niagara Falls

Choosing to Dance the Conga

Impossible to resist the beat of the music. I am made to join in the dance. To respond to the song of the Creator.

The conga line is miles long, and I choose to be pulled in.

As the line snakes slowly around the room, weaving in and out, more people join in.

Jesus, the Ultimate conga leader! He sets the pace. He leads us in and out. Often the path is winding and unclear. Occasionally it’s a straight shot.

I am fully engaged in this dance. Tuning in to the music of the Master.

Except. I notice there are those on the outside. I remember being there. Considering my choice. Maybe all they need is to be invited.

“Come! Please join us! You were not made to stand and watch. You were made to dance!”

I try to grab hands and arms as I pass them by. I wish I could make them come. Convince them that they will not regret joining the dance.

But, they may choose. And I respect the no as much as I rejoice in the yes.

There are not words to explain the beauty and joy and eternal significance of joining the conga.

So, I pray. Only Jesus can draw them the way He drew me.

Lord of the Dance.

The song is almost over. Sometimes the dance feels like slow motion; I can feel the beat and savor the words. Sometimes it feels like a blur… it’s passing quickly.

And I instinctively plead for those who are hesitating. Oh, please don’t take too long. The song is almost over.

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The Eyes of Jesus

Jesus walks on water.

He defies the laws of nature. The laws He created.

He transcends what He creates.

He transcends everything.

He transcends me.

And I see Him on the dark, swirling waters.

And I’m thankful that He walks above it all.

The circumstances that threaten to drown me are a royal carpet for Him.

It doesn’t actually matter if those waves are a willing platform, joyfully supporting Him where humans have never before been supported.

Or if those waves are defiant and seething.

Either way. He is Lord and Creator of the waves. Submit they must.

And now His eyes fix on mine.

Oh how He loves me!

And I trust Him in these roiling waters.

He beckons.

“Come.”

Of course, it doesn’t make sense. Human being cannot walk on water.

Human beings cannot give what they don’t have.

But His love!

It’s like solid ground. I won’t deny it.

So, in faith, -oh how this pleases Him- I walk.

He is my launch pad.

He is my firm path.

He is my safe landing.

And my heart nestles securely in Him.

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Love Is Slow

“Hurry sickness” is a thing.

Trust me, I know.

I rush to make green lights.

I snag aisle seats so I can get out fast.

I scrutinize grocery store lines, placing bets on the fastest one.

Evelyn Underhill said, “On every level of life, from housework to heights of prayer, in all judgment and efforts to get things done, hurry and impatience are sure marks of the amateur.”

Ah. It’s the opposite of my instinct. Counter-intuitive. If I want to mature my soul, I must resist the urge to hurry.

Do my kids notice if I’m listening to their stories with half a heart because I’m so efficiently multi-tasking?

Do I put off a date with my husband because the calendar is brimming, and my to-do list is dizzying?

Do I feel a pang when my son wonders, “Mom, do you have time for me to tell you about the book I’m reading?”

Love is slow.

I can’t dive into conversation with humans or God and hit those deep, sacred moments if I’m nervously monitoring the clock.

It’s hard to pull out of habitual hurry. It’s so engraved in my soul I hardly notice it.

“But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me.” Psalm 131:2

John Ortberg challenges you and me to earnestly combat life-sucking hurry.

His suggestion: choose the long line at the store and the stop light.

Maybe I should plant myself in the center of the row and snake out of the building like an ordinary person .

Sounds. Like. Torture.

Not to mention a reckless waste of time.

It seems like the Kingdom of God is best measured intangibly. I’m not able to chart the effects of time spent worshiping God.

Impossible to count what happens when I meditate on His Word. Or when I join His heart in prayer for the humans that He loves.

When I spend precious minutes playing games with my kids or hanging on the couch with my husband.

It feels like faith to practice the discipline of slowing.

I long to pass the slow lane and get to work three minutes faster. Resisting that urge is a little way of proclaiming that I’m not the most important thing. The world can thrive without me.

May my soul be as a weaned child within me. May I cease the clamor and striving. Lord, help me to grow up.

May I trust You enough to go slow.

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The Real Me

I’ve gotten pretty good at honing my image.

It’s not that I’m trying to deceive you. I guess I just want you to like me.

But in my need for human approval I push down the real me. And, more tragically, I lose interest in the “me” that God is fashioning.

As Henri Nouwen put it, “When we start being too impressed by the results of our work, we slowly come to the erroneous conviction that life is one large scoreboard where someone is listing the points to measure our worth. And before we are fully aware of it, we have sold our soul to the many grade-givers. That means we are not only in this world, but also of the world. Then we become what the world makes us. We are intelligent because someone gives us a high grade. We are helpful because someone says thanks. We are likable because someone likes us. And we are important because someone considers us indispensable.”

My image-driven Facebook world is the perfect way to mold myself into the “right” image. I fine-tune the nuances of my words and edit my pictures and measure my success by number of likes.

I pause and wonder if that image is the real me.

“I will walk with integrity of heart within my house.” Psalm 101:2

Within my house. The doors are closed. The makeup is off.

It’s not the stuff I post on Facebook.

It’s the way my mind wanders. It’s how I respond to my kids when they are sick, and I am exhausted. It’s the tone I use with my husband when I feel misunderstood.

There is great freedom in laying down the image. Great freedom in being my messy, sinful, struggling self.

“I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” 2 Corinthians 12:9

Those living words resonate. They breathe hope in me.

I bare my true self to Him. As Oswald Chambers challenges, “Am I willing to reduce myself simply to ‘me,’ determinedly to strip myself of all my friends think of me, of all I think of myself, and to hand that simple naked self over to God?”

The real me.

Jesus is here.

Funny that  I keep forgetting. Everything would change if I remembered that He is here. I would lean in and talk to Him and listen for Him and slow down and savor Him. I would be different. This spiritual discipline of “practicing the presence of God” is a game changer. A life changer.

It seems so simple. Just remember that He is here. Why is it so hard?

The ancient wisdom of Brother Lawrence encourages us to persevere in this discipline little by little. That’s what makes up integrity of heart. Little tiny choices. They add up into the character of a human.

“He does not ask much of us, merely a thought of Him from time to time, a little act of adoration, sometimes to ask for His grace, sometimes to offer Him your sufferings, at other times to thank Him for the graces, past and present, He has bestowed on you, in the midst of your troubles to take solace in Him as often as you can. Lift up your heart to Him during your meals and in company; the least little remembrance will always be the most pleasing to Him. One need not cry out very loudly; He is nearer to us than we think.”  ~Brother Lawrence, The Practice of the Presence of God.

Tender Jesus, You are here! Actually right now. Here.

Thank You.  Amazing Love.

I am Yours.

Help me to slow down and acknowledge You. That I may hear You. And walk in obedience and the delight of being Your daughter.

For this moment.

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Fool’s Bench

The Fool’s Bench is actually a place of honor.

It’s the bench in the church lobby where we wait for our friends.

Oh, beloved friends!

That they would meet Jesus in this place. Just like I did so many years ago.

It feels embarrassing to still be standing there after the service starts and nearly everyone has scuttled to their seats.

But how could I abandon my post? If there’s a chance they’ll show up, I will stay.

This Sunday I sit in a pew and carefully save two aisle seats for my seeking friend and her guest. She has started coming to church recently, but she is conflicted.

I guard the spots protectively. Hopefully.

The pastor is preaching about how Jesus chose the humiliating task of washing feet. He exemplified the humility of love.

I smile. If Jesus can wash feet with great love and humility, I can hold spots in my pew and my heart for those who aren’t sure about Him.

There was a time when I wasn’t sure about Him.

Now I know Him. And He is mine forever. What do I have to lose?

“Whom have I in heaven but you?
And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.”
Psalm 73:25

So I will wait.

And I pray for Jesus to draw these wandering, wondering ones to Himself.

Honored to remain a fool by a bench.

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My Life as a Farmer

My roots dig deeply into Indiana soil.

South Bend isn’t exactly rural, but my calling to bear fruit resonates deeply.

“I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last.” John 15:16

And so I plant seeds.

Parenting is planting.

Planting tiny dried up bits of seeds. They seem so insignificant.

Countless ordinary moments.

I teach math and manners.

Self-control and serving.

I encourage quietness and forgiveness.

Prayer and perseverance.

And in the hidden soil of their hearts mystery lurks. I have no idea what’s happening in there.

Is the Master Gardener nurturing a soft, quiet servant heart? Is He watering and weeding a bold leader? Will the branches stretch overseas to a people that thirst for good news? Will the leaves grow thick and shelter hurt ones close to home?

We plant, and we water.

But God gives the growth.

Master Gardener, we pray for the mysterious miracle of growth.

Only the warm breath of God can coax life out of a tiny bit of hardness.

Only His life can shoot growth into wisps of roots that grow deeper and stronger.

Only His love can lure tender, green stems to reach up for warmth. And slowly, slowly absorb the nutrients of His word to grow a faithful trunk and strong branches.

Until one day they bear the miracle of fruit themselves.

And the legacy continues.

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Remembering to Float

So, Lord, I have these problems.

And in some ways I’m thankful.

Without hard stuff I tend to glide through life with a friendly nod in Your direction.

But when the problems come, I catch my breath and lean into You.

“Without faith it is impossible to please God.” Hebrews 11:6

So this hard stuff is my opportunity to trust You. To please You by believing that You will make a way out.

It helps that my feet can’t touch the bottom. It’s almost hard to not trust You.

But, while I’m here treading water, waiting for Your intervention, I can think of some ways that You can solve this.

May I let go. Release my solutions and timetable. Float on the water of Your unfathomable goodness.

My ears submerged, muffling the chaos. Enveloped in the other-worldly peace of Your presence.

May I be like that astonishing Roman centurion who prompted singular praise from You. (Matthew 8)

He knew that You could do a miracle without human scaffolding.

He didn’t need a plan.

You were sufficient.

You are Sufficient.

So I remember Your power and goodness. And my heart inflates with hope.

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