spiritual visine

“We let people dictate the framework through which we know God rather than God being the framework through which we know ourselves and others.”

My friend Tracee wrote that to me in an email, surreptitiously tucked away in the middle of a paragraph. I tried to keep reading, but I couldn’t. I had to linger there a while before I could move on. Because she’s right. I’ve allowed people and the experiences of my life to shape my view of God, rather than the other way around.

Since people are fallible and hurts are inevitable, seeing God through the lens of my past makes Him appear far too small. Far too human. Far too unloving. I imagine Him responding like so many others have; I picture Him treating me the way I treat myself.

I see God with clouded vision. And I want to see Him clearly.

I’ve spent a lot of time in the past several months identifying my lenses. Naming them. Considering what triggers them. Pondering how things look without them. And asking God to remove them.

Because my lenses stem from wounds, fears, and insecurities deep inside me, this process has challenged me to be more vulnerable than ever before. That’s been hard. And scary. But my vulnerability has been met with an intimacy I’ve never known.

God is so very good to me.

I desire to live with Him as my lens. I want Him to be the filter through which I see and experience life. That would change everything about how I think, feel, respond, act. So I’m trying to renew my mind, take captive every thought, and soak myself in His truth. I want to saturate myself with His character, His heart. The more I know Him, the more I will see through His lens rather than my own.

While I still fail miserably most of the time—old habits, they die hard—I am changing. Slowly but surely my lenses are wearing thinner. And He is coming more into focus.

My intention today, and every day, is to know Him more deeply and intimately. Because ultimately I don’t want to be a better version of me. I want to be more like Christ.

open mic

i’ll never be good enough

I often find myself more easily believing lies than the truth. I’m realizing, though, that sometimes what I consider lies are really just distorted truths. And they’re equally deadly.

I will never be good enough to please God. That’s true. But it gets twisted into something negative, when it was really intended to set me free.

The fact that I’ll never be good enough to earn His love and grace isn’t bad news. It speaks of my value, not of my lack of value. Even though I’m not good enough, He still chooses me, loves me, pursues me, uses me. There is freedom, not condemnation, in that. It speaks of how overwhelmingly unconditional His love for me is.

But the very truth that was intended to set me free gets used by the enemy—and people—to beat me down. It gets distorted and manipulated into something that tells me I need to strive for His love. It makes me feel like I have to work harder, be better, do more.

But the fact remains: I can never be good enough. That means I need to trust Him alone. It takes the pressure off me completely.

It frees me to live not for His approval but from His approval.

And that changes everything.

crawling back onto the altar

“To live a life of prayer, of sacrifice, of surrender to God.”

Twelve years ago I penned those words as my life mission statement. I wanted to be intentional about making my life count for something greater than me. I wanted to be deliberate about leveraging my life for His glory. And everything I could see myself doing boiled down to that simple statement.

I said simple, not easy. ‘Cause it’s been anything but easy.

Those words have been ringing in my ears this past week. Prayer, sacrifice, surrender to God. Do I still mean it?

I want to say I’m willing, even when I don’t know what He’s asking me to do. I want to follow Him even when I don’t know which way He wants me to go. I want to serve Him even when it means giving up my own notions of how I can best do that. I want to honor and glorify Him with every breath, every word, every step.

The only problem with being a living sacrifice is my tendency to crawl off the altar. When I can’t see what’s next, when the flames of uncertainty seem too much for me to bear, sometimes I climb off. I choose to follow fear instead of faith. I long for the certainties of Egypt over the uncertainties of freedom.

But I’m done. Today I’m climbing back on the altar.

The Lord Himself goes before me and will be with me. Among all the unknowns and uncertainty, He is already there. He knows. He is certain. So if I remain in Him, I can have confidence and peace even when facing more uncertainties than ever before in my life.

As I’ve ruminated on it and wrestled through it, I know this much is true: I still want each moment of my life to be one of prayer, of sacrifice, of surrender to God.

Use me however You want, God. However You want.

do-overs

Remember do-overs? Like when you were playing a board game as a kid and the dice rolled onto the floor… You’d call a do-over and just that easily you’d get a second chance.

I want a do-over.

Except, if I’m being truly honest, I wouldn’t know where to start over from. How far back should I go?

But it doesn’t really matter, does it? Because in life I don’t get any do-overs. I only get make-it-rights.

And I’ve got a heck of a lot to make right.

pageantry

I bet you didn’t know I’ve been in a pageant.

But not the kind you’re probably thinking of. I’ve never strut around in a bikini and heels, or shown off some obscure talent, or publicly declared my desire for world peace.  No, I’ve never been in that kind of pageant.

My life has been a pageant of a different kind. One in which I’ve been crowned all sorts of things other than Miss America. I’ve worn banners draped across my chest that read:

Or how about:

I’ve walked around wearing those banners for far too long. They’ve shaped how others see me and, more importantly, how I see myself.

It’s time to take them off and replace them with truth.

His banner over me is love.

my own personal black hole

I’ve been breathing in deeply for the past two weeks, and not just because of the crisp air of the Pacific Northwest. God’s been breathing new life into my dry bones as I learn to depend on Him more and allow Him to love me through His people.

Even though my crap sneaks into my luggage and unavoidably travels with me wherever I go, the time away still gave my heart a bit of a reprieve.

The rolling waves on the pebbly beach resounded His faithfulness. Whispers of love and syllables of support spoke His heart to mine. I felt His compassion in long, tight hugs and gentle touches. The city lights reminded me that He cares about even the little things.

I saw Him and heard Him and felt Him. And I was made aware again that He sees and knows and cares.

While I hate this place I find myself in—my own personal black hole that seems to render me invisible, slow my heartbeat, and make it impossible to see a way out—I know He’s in it with me. Sometimes it’s so dark I can’t see Him. Sometimes it’s so quiet, I can’t hear Him. Sometimes it’s so hollow and lonely, I can’t feel Him. In those moments, I know it will be a miracle if I come out the other side of this.

And I know that if I do, I definitely won’t come out standing.

Because I’ll be in His arms.

four-minute friday: bread butts

Go.

I can’t stand banana butts. Or hot dog butts. And I really don’t like bread butts.

But I used to feel like I needed to be a bread butt martyr. I’d eat them, even though I hate them. Simply so someone else didn’t need to. I’m realizing that I do that with a lot of things. I’ll choose what I don’t like if I feel that decision will be better for others in some way.

But I had an epiphany about the butts: Some sacrifices just don’t need to be made.

Bread butts simply do not need to be eaten. By anyone. So I stopped taking one for the team and started giving the butts to the birds.

Everybody wins.

Done.

Your turn! Leave a four-minute comment about bread butts…

keepin’ it fresh

Tomorrow is four-minute Friday.

That means I start with Go and end with Done, and everything in between is written in four minutes. I typically choose a topic based on whatever’s happening at the moment, and then just start typing. I’ve four-minuted about time zones, nicknames, and cereal. Music, hope, Isaiah 53, and ostriches.

Thanks to an inspiring housewarming gift, I’m gonna mix things up this week. You get to decide the topic of tomorrow’s post.

So. What do want me to ramble about for four minutes? Give me as many suggestions as you’ve got.

coffee talk: exchanges

“They exchanged the truth of God for a lie…”

And you know what? So have I.

• I’ve exchanged His truth that I’m loved freely for the lie that I need to earn it.
• I’ve exchanged His truth that He’ll provide for the lie that I need to take care of myself.
• I’ve exchanged His truth that I’m free for the lie that I’m still in chains.
• I’ve exchanged His truth that He uses broken vessels for the lie that He’ll only use me when I dot-dot-dot.
• I’ve exchanged His truth that I was made in His image for the lie that who I am just isn’t enough.

What would you add to the list?

And how do we exchange them back?

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