A Most Intelligent Idol

So… I'm about to walk across a stage and receive something pretending to be a diploma.

Two years of music.

two years of sign language.

two years of art school.

two years of political science...

250 credits...

one Interdisciplinary Studies degree.

I've come up with all kinds of darling little quips to disguise my shame in taking eight years to complete an undergrad degree.

"It's okay, I'm the most well-rounded person you will ever meet. "

"I just wanted to make sure that I was extra prepared for grad school."

"It's a great boost to the ego when all the 20-year-olds to think that I am one of them."

Since childhood I've been designated as smart. I'm decently eloquent. I can write good papers with little effort. I adore reading and can argue circles around lots of people.

One conversation with me, though, and it's pretty obvious that I reasonably appreciate completely idolize intelligence. I get defensive when people laugh if I don't know something, I try to cover up my ignorance, and I feel personally threatened when not taken seriously. (Gross. Heart.)

Welp, the Lord (in His hilariously amazing timing) decided to speak into my heart with a megaphone right on the cusp of my participating in a ceremony that would serve as a monument to my intelligence.


What did He say to me? I'll get to that shortly. First, follow me for a minute here:


God has commanded His people from the beginning of creation to build altars to Him.
The Old Testament is FRAUGHT with God's people building altars.
They sacrifice.
Something dies.
They repent of their sins.
They remember God's faithfulness.

This case is especially poignant:
"So Jacob said to his household and to all who were with him, 'Get rid of the foreign gods you have with you, and purify yourselves, and change your clothes. Then come, let us go up to Bethel, where I will build an altar to God, who answered me in the day of my distress and who has been with me wherever I have gone'." (Genesis 35:2-3)

The Old Testament describes the sacrifices the Jews were instructed to make in great detail, and the Lord describes these sacrifices for the sins of the people not just as pleasing to Him, but, particularly, as aromatic. The fragrance of atonement is pleasing to Him.
Seriously, just thumb through Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers.
Offerings of atonement on an altar are "a pleasing aroma to the Lord." (See a billion places in Exodus 9, Leviticus and Numbers, Ezekiel, etc)

(I promise this is going somewhere. And it's going there now. :) )

With this thought of offerings that are pleasing and aromatic and fragrant to the Lord, II Corinthians absolutely floored me:
"For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing." (II Cor. 2:15)

WE are the aroma...the sacrifice.
This makes perfect sense, after all, we're to "offer our bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God..." (Romans 12:1)


So...

Commencement is a benchmark.
It demands that an institution, other subsequent institutions, places of employment, family, and friends, recognize and commemorate what I've done and strived for. It's a celebration that I've passed tests, written papers, and received grades that will somehow boost my likelihood of success in life...whether in the kind of job I get, how I think, or how much more school I want to pursue.

Thing is...my graduation is not representative of what I've done nearly as much as it is what the Lord has done.

The years that I've chased this degree have seen my faithfulness as Jesus' spouse wax and wane.
I've vacillated between motivated and unmotivated, diligent and lazy, crystal clear and directionless.
My time in the Word has varied from consistent and transformative to sparse and utilitarian.
My relationships have been characterized by beauty and intention as much as they have dysfunction and separation.
My heart and mind are everything BUT consistent.

Whether I've known it or not, the truth is that I've looked to intelligence to give me value, to set me apart, to merit recognition, to look for (dare I say) redemption for my unstable and ever changing affections.
What I'm really doing, then, isn't just wanting recognition for my intelligence.
I'm settling for a works-based salvation.
I'm letting my deepest needs to be known and loved be filled by a shallow substitute. I become willing to settle for a false gospel...one that relies on the value of my works that can somehow be judged valuable or dispensable by others humans.
No idol can ever EVER offer redemption.
Only Jesus can.


So yes...today I get to take part in commencement, shake hands, receive hugs, take pictures, and hear my name called.

But I will remember and commemorate this place...
this place where He was faithful.
His wisdom was inscrutable.
His love was perfect.
His heart never changed.

And I will lay my idol of intelligence on the altar of His son's death, present my intellect as a living sacrifice, and rejoice that He loves me enough to use me even in my flagrant pride.



Oh, and here's what He said to me: build me an altar, and lay your intelligence on it, because I've been faithful to you.


"But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession (procession! this graduation metaphor is too perfect...) in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of Him. For we are to God the aroma of Christ...
Are we beginning to commend ourselves again? ...you show that you are a letter from Christ, the result of our ministry, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.
Such confidence as this is ours through Christ before God. (This part wrecks me...) Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God. He has made us competent as ministers of a new covenant--not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life."
(II Corinthians 2:14-3:6)

Forgiveness and My Testimony

This week in DivorceCare, the ministry I serve in at Watermark, I shared my testimony. I'm in the heat of finals (papers, projects, insomnia, terrible last-minute dining decisions, you know...), otherwise I'd write more about the process of composing my testimony. Writing this out was one of the most glorious labors I've ever undertaken. I cried multiple times, wrote and deleted huge chunks, and could only write effortlessly when it concerned the gospel. Nothing else matters if it's not me telling His story!

Things to know: the topic for this week in DivorceCare was forgiveness, so it's told in the context of that. It was also a requirement that it be written out. It's just over 10 minutes.

So, here's the audio link, and the transcription I read from follows.

God's Story Through My Story

Transcription:
A lot of you in this room have probably read Jesus’ parable of the Prodigal Son in Luke 15. One of my favorite authors, Tim Keller, says in his book Prodigal God that this name is kind of a misnomer, and it could be more aptly titled “the tale of the two lost sons.” For most of my life, I read that story with a tinge of disinterest and had a hard time identifying with it...until I understood that there were not one but TWO acts of rebellion in that story, and that one of them was mine.
    I spent the first 18 years of my life in a Christian home with two parents who loved the Lord and loved each other well...love for Jesus that allowed me to witness my dad reading his Bible nightly since before I can remember, and love for each other that made my siblings and me cringe at the sight of mom and dad making out in the kitchen again. By most measures I was a pretty good kid. And by “pretty good, I mean “Queen of the self-righteous goody-goodies.” I had a big preoccupation with doing what I thought to be the right thing. I stayed out of trouble, my friends’ parents adored me, and was even elected Student Body Chaplain my senior year of high school. For all intents and purposes, I wasn’t just ON the spiritual A-team, I WAS the spiritual A-team.
    It was with this extremely high regard for myself that I met my husband. We met at Calvin College in Michigan when I was 19. We dated for three years and during this time we faced two years of long distance, a revelation of a porn addiction, and several sin struggles physically for he and I before getting married in 2006. We moved from Michigan to Dallas in 2007 and started attending Watermark almost immediately. We were plugged into a community group, became members, and, ironically, served in the ReEngage marriage ministry together doing music. I did everything I could to set us up for success and walk in obedience.
    In the spring of 2011, around year 4 1/2, everything went from what I assumed to be fine to hitting the fan. My husband and I had been talking about starting to try to have kids in the fall. Well, May of that year he told me he didn’t love me anymore and that he had been looking at pornography during our entire marriage. In June he wrote me a letter saying that our entire marriage was a mistake and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to work out. In August I confronted him, and he confessed to having an affair and asked me to move out. Just two months later, in October, I was served with divorce papers. Whatever idiom you think may apply here did, and I’m sure many of you know the feeling well--My world turned upside down, the rug was pulled out from underneath me, I was punched in the stomach.
    My future was gone. I was 27 and felt old, unattractive, and alone. I knew the Lord must have a plan, though (Psalm 139:16--All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be). I hoped His plans would be for my ex and that they would involve softening his heart and bringing him back to me...but there were things He accomplished during that painful time and ever since in my self-righteous heart that He could not have done until He allowed my heart to be rent. When He in His sovereignty allowed that which I prized so highly to be taken out of my life, the state of my heart was laid bare. Fortunately for me, so was the state of God's.
    Over the last two years that I’ve been on this journey I’ve journaled like crazy and have had countless conversations about the heart-wrenching but amazing changes happening in my life. But I’m going to attempt to sum up what I’ve learned about God’s incredible forgiveness and His grace that leaves no square inch of this life untouched in two earth-shattering lessons: my sin IS really that bad, and the cross IS really that good.
    When I first found out that my husband was giving up on the marriage, I was completely shocked. My incredulity, however, was due less to the depravity of my husband, and much more toward a God whose actions I didn’t understand. I had walked in obedience, been a faithful spouse, served the church, extended reconciliation to my husband, and made every attempt I could to establish a Godly marriage. Where were the blessings I was promised? Where was the fruit of my labor? (Hopefully you just threw up in your mouths at the sound of the disgusting entitlement in my heart, because it was definitely there.)
    What had lain in the darkness of my will was a hope--no, a certainty--that walking in obedience would somehow secure God’s blessings (like a good marriage)...as if following Him was some means to an end. I wasn’t obeying Him simply because He was my benevolent Father who loves me. I had a front row seat to the darkness in my husband’s heart, but in my many quiet moments after he left, I was finally faced with the wrenching ugliness of my selfishness, control, anxiety, and fear. Not only had I been dishonest with myself about my own faults and sins during my marriage, but I had been an unfaithful bride to the Lord through my own sin.
    God put me on a journey through Scripture that had me aghast for the first time at my own depravity. He led me to Romans chapter 3, which showed me that “no one was righteous” and that without Him, I’m so dead in my sin that my throat is an open grave. I was reminded of the fundamental reality that without Christ’s sacrifice, according to Romans 5:10, I am God’s enemy, and worse than that, I’m powerless to change my separation from Him, much less my own wicked heart or my husband’s.
    I wept with joy and gratitude when the truth of the gospel penetrated my spirit. Yes, I am hopelessly wicked in my self righteousness and worship of control and dominance. Yes, my husband was wicked in his affair and despair that led him to leave. And yes, we are both screwed and powerless to change this. But! “BUT now, a righteousness from God apart from the law has been made known”…”righteousness from God that comes through faith in Jesus Christ” (3:21-22)…”You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, (when we were God’s enemies) Christ died for the ungodly.”... (5:6, 10)
    Understanding this changed everything. To forgive my ex, I had to first accept forgiveness. I couldn’t impart to my ex what I didn’t have to begin with. And to accept forgiveness, I had to understand what I did wrong...namely, understand my own sin. It was easy to be angry over my husband’s sin, but I didn’t understand how much I needed forgiveness until I experienced a righteous indignation over my OWN sin and the sweet, tender forgiveness of my heavenly Father.
    So while my poor heart was exploding with joy all the time, my great Forgiver prompted me to examine my life and take practical steps toward forgiving my ex. Meeting with a counselor and talking with my community group helped me identify destructive patterns in my life that likely made my marriage more difficult. It was through this new understanding of my own sin and process of accepting forgiveness from Christ that in September of this last year I sent an email to my ex husband asking for HIS forgiveness. Whether in reality I was responsible for 10% of the dysfunction in our marriage or 50%,  I needed to own 100% of my portion. I needed to walk away from the growing threat of resentment. I needed to quit drinking the poison and waiting for him to die. I needed to submit to the authority of Scripture when Paul says in Eph. 4:31-32 to “Get rid of all bitterness, rage, and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ, God forgave you.”
    So with guidance from the Lord and other believers, I asked my ex to forgive my worship of my idol of control, my constant competing for headship, my worrying and anxiety, and also for not taking some big red flags seriously while we were dating. I hit the send button completely at peace with Christ, knowing that I’ve been forgiven by Him. I had no expectation or need to hear back from my ex. A few days later I did hear back, and his passive aggressive response didn’t phase me for a second...because my soul was free. Free of the need to ask questions I’d never get answers to, free from the need to try to manage my circumstances, free from the desire to see my ex punished, and free from the debilitating guilt that had plagued me for so long over my failed marriage.
    See, y’all, Sin isn’t extraordinary. GRACE is extraordinary. And although I have a new understanding of the Parable of the Two Lost Sons, and that’s been really meaningful, nothing has changed me personally more than focusing on the lavish, extravagant, extraordinary love and forgiveness of the Father and the pursuit of BOTH children who rebelled against Him. My husband’s rebellion was outward, and my rebellion was inward, but the Lord in His steadfast faithfulness opens His forgiving arms to us both and calls us back home to Himself.
    Take heart, friends. Forgiveness is a decision, but it’s also a process, and once it’s been decided, it’ll have to be decided again and again. We don’t condone hurtful things done to us, just as the Lord doesn’t condone us when we hurt Him. Forgiveness doesn’t mean it won’t hurt anymore, and it doesn’t mean we can just forget. Since our hearts are selfish, forgiveness isn’t natural and is often a labor rather than natural. But we don’t forgive because it makes us feel warm and fuzzy. We forgive because we’ve been forgiven, and it’s a step of obedience toward our benevolent Father who loves us and has commanded us to do so.
    So we’re divorced, we’ve hurt someone, and we’ve been hurt deeply. But above that we’ve been ransomed, pursued, adopted, known and loved by our Eternal Spouse...and that means EVERYTHING.

Roar on, Mamas

Normally I write these posts not caring in the slightest if anyone reads them.
This one, however, is quite important to me.

Sometimes God lets us in on His heart for something in a way we haven't understood it before. This is one of those moments for me.

It's about moms...more specifically, what occurs through the eyes of this single individual who isn't a mother, but who wants to understand things the way God sees them.
If that's your heart, too, read on!
If not, fine. Go make yourself a sandwich.

Let me set the stage for you...

It's a familiar scene. I sit down with a few dear friends...two gals are moms, one gal pregnant. After greeting each other happily and spending some time laughing and catching up on our lives, suddenly the pregnant friend asks the more seasoned mamas about a prenatal doctor's visit.
Thirty minutes later, they remember that I'm there and at least look at me sometimes while they talk to each other.

For a few years now I have had the privilege of seeing several friends go through pregnancy and early motherhood. Admittedly, I've experienced a small but real sense of resentment toward the gals in my life. Sometimes it's felt like they only want to talk to...other mamas. I understood that they were going through similar things that I hadn't experienced yet, but I felt like it was a club that I wasn't invited to be a member of. I felt a little outside the cool we-made-babies circle.

I've felt distant from these new-mom friends and just hated it. I've been tempted to resign myself to just believing that we are in different life stages and will inevitably grow apart, BUT (yay) the Lord opened my eyes to something during a visit with a new-mom friend yesterday.


So...this is for the single gals like me who haven't understood, for the fellas who won't experience it (but can be an outstanding support), and, most of all, for the wildly, deeply courageous humans who are called "mama."

I never before considered what a huge shift in identity this is. I mean, I've heard lots of friends talk about the dramatic role shift and life change, but I'd never really considered how drastic this really is in terms of how it occurs.  It's probably more stark than any other role a human can play, regardless of gender.

There's this tremendous, jarring paradigm shift that occurs super abruptly that these people cannot hope to have practiced or adequately planned for.
They go from an employee, wife, lover, grocery shopper, house cleaner, meal preparer, party planner, book reader, traveler, work-outer, friend, daughter, woman with well-rehearsed roles to....this person whose body goes through this traumatic, life-altering pain.
AND THEN while their poor, raw bodies have been stretched and crushed and broken and ripped to shreds, "recoverer" isn't even a role they then get to play.
It's "caregiver."
Exhausted limbs must lift, heave, stretch, and support. Sleepless eyes must be vigilant for every lack, every discomfort and every danger. Fresh wounds are reopened so that her spent body can move to where the cries are coming from.

Then...having been pushed to the brink of physical human suffering, they limp wearily into this new role and are immediately demanded to stretch, move, and adapt without training or a chance to gain bearings...completely disoriented and often scared to tears.
There's a crippling realization that she has no idea what she's doing and that she may never know how to do anything right ever again. There's no standard measure telling her she's doing things well enough. There's no performance review. No breaks. No time off. Just an expectation that she'll give and give and give, and when there's nothing left, she'll give more.
Panic. Anxiety. Isolation. Loneliness. Defeat.

The profoundly amazing thing is...they aren't defeated.
They may whimper...but they whimper into an unknown world, plant their lost, broken feet, and roar with a tenacity that would make the most violent lion retreat into its den. 
They join the ancient chorus of women who have limped forward only to roar humanity into perpetuity with their wild and relentless love.

They somehow find ways through the confusion, despair, and exhaustion to find joy in a little grin. Their rent hearts leap at every little hard-won victory. Quiet moments are used to restore sanity rather than contemplate the mysteries of life...the biggest mystery sometimes being how she'll survive another moment if the little life that needs her awakes from naptime early.

SO ROAR ON, MAMAS.
Your untamable hearts and unique stories of selfless, sacrificial toil deserve to be told and relished.  
You deserve every stripe you have, and you have humbled this selfish heart.
May I learn to roar like you.