Leslie A Lamb/Sifted Wheat

Category: Uncategorized

  • Lessons from the Bubbles

    Like so many, I enjoy a good bubble bath. At the end of a long stressful day, there is nothing more inviting than a tub of bubbles. I am thirty five years old, but I still take a moment to scoop up bubbles and place them on my chin or my nose. Hey! Don’t judge! It makes me giggle.

    Anyway, in such a place, I learn. Maybe it is the moment of silence and meditation that so often escapes me, or maybe it is the inherent need I have to make something out of nothing, but whatever the motivation, there is no doubt that there are lessons to learn from the bubbles.

    Bubbles allow me for the briefest of moments to be someone else. With sweeping eyebrows I envision myself as Einstein, smart and eccentric, contemplating the next law of physics. Or, if I apply the same bubbles in a conical position on my chin, I am Abraham Lincoln, pondering the effects of war and wondering if the civil wars of man will ever cease. Then, I take another set of bubbles and lightly touching my nose, I become a circus clown imagining antics and loud guffaws of laughter in my porcelain ring of entertainment. It matters not who I become, only that I become – someone knew, someone different, someone separate from the stress that led me there.

    By now, you are assured of my avid and fantastic imagination, so the next turn of thought might not surprise you all that much. Sometimes I have an irrational fear of what might be beneath the bubbles. My dear brother in Christ was just sharing about his three year old and his fear –the thought that lurking under the surface of what he could see were snakes and spiders. After all, all that was apparent were the fluffy white bubbles; ANYTHING could be waiting underneath. I have had that irrational fear, myself. Yes, even at this age. I can’t explain it, and I don’t necessarily KNOW where it comes from, but it plants itself into my subconscious…”what if…” And, that is all it takes. “What if I didn’t kill that spider that was on the edge? What if he actually didn’t swirl down the toilet but clung to the side and waited until the bubbles were big and my view was obstructed and he awaits his moment to attack? What if the spider is not a he but a she who is out to avenge the deaths of her innocent eggs!?” Suddenly, my bath isn’t so peaceful. I begin rushing to finish my bathing, searching frantically for a towel, so that I can get out as soon as possible! No. It doesn’t make sense, but it is the truth!

    At this point, I am sure that you are thinking, “Uh yeah, someone needs to call the doctor. This chick has lost it.” I actually have a point in all of this… a lesson…that is the title of the blog, after all.
    As far as being someone else: I can pretend and I can disguise and I can even talk with an accent, but at the end of the bath, I’m simply me. Cleaner, but still Leslie. I can’t change that. I have to face the stress and the day knowing that no matter what comes my way, I am who I am…and with that in mind, Whose I am becomes my focus. He is steadfast and certain, and no matter if I wear a clown nose or a beard or crazy eyebrows, He sees past it all to who He created me to be…and as much as it might not seem so, He has equipped me and created me to be ENOUGH.

    The second lesson is found in my fear…probably the source of the stress that had me running for the bath in the first place. The truth is, as long as life is fun and exciting and full of entertainment and certainty, I am at peace and fearless. The moment I lose my perspective, and I face what I cannot see, an outcome I cannot know, a circumstance I never expected, my fear rises up, and what once was a solace, becomes a prison of fear. Unlike the bathtub, in life I can’t reach for the plug and drain the bubbles to satisfy my fears…but I can TRUST, like my brother’s three year old, that my Daddy checked the surface of the tub before he filled it with bubbles, and He wouldn’t plant spiders to frighten me. He loves me. He cares for me. He knows my idiosyncrasies, and He knows my deepest fears. When I trust that I love, I can trust the place He’s placed me, and I can know that even if there is a spider in the tub, He will fish it out. He won’t let me be eaten alive, one terrifying bite at a time, as long as I’m looking to Him.

    So, I hope you learn from my lessons. A bath is so much more than a resting place, or an exciting 30 minutes of play for an energetic and bored three year old. It does so much more than provide a place for us to be cleaned and refreshed. It is a learning place, if we are willing. What will you learn from the bubbles?

  • Spirit, Opportunity, and Destiny!

    I think that the church could stand to learn something from NASA. No, really! I was diligently searching the web for a recipe of something healthy and tasty for dinner..ok,ok…I was taking a break from writing and wondering how on earth I devoured an entire Almond Joy without realizing it! Anyway, the title of an article on my homepage caught my eye. NASA: Mars rover, phone home after yearlong sleep. I decided to investigate the story behind the intentionally vague title. I clicked on the story link with visions running through my mind of E.T. holding his (E.T. WAS a HE wasn’t he?) glowing finger in the air and saying, “E.T. phone home.”

    The article was about the attempts of NASA to contact the stuck Mars rover Spirit. Spirit became stuck in a sand trap in April 2009 causing it to be unable to fully tilt its solar panels towards the source of its life, the sun. NASA has continued attempts to contact Spirit on different frequencies and at different times of day in hopes of somehow reaching the rover to find out what happened and how to fix it.

    It is fascinating to me that even though Spirit’s twin rover Opportunity has continued to operate without problems, NASA still cares enough about Spirit to keep searching for that which has been lost. I know another well known “astronomical observer” that cares about the lives of lost explorers, His name is Jesus Christ. In Luke 15:4-7 Jesus tells us how heaven rejoices more over one sinner repenting and accepting salvation through Him than it does over 99 righteous people who are secure in the faith!

    Many people would have already given up on Spirit after a few days or months. Most after an entire year. But not its creators! They have remained faithful to their creation! There have been many, many people who I am quite sure wanted to give up on me. Daddy God who is MY Creator and Savior has NEVER given up on me! He, like NASA, is constantly helping me to free myself from the sinful sand traps of this world. He uses every “frequency” around me (media, dreams, other people, prayers, etc) to try and illicit a response to His Call to serve as I was created to.

    But what about the church? Have we become too joyous over being one of the 99 that we forget the 1? Do the lost get our words and thoughts of pity but nothing else? Do we give up too easily? Jesus encourages me daily to remember why I was created (to serve and please Him), what my primary mission is (to do my part of the Great Commission), and to see Him in EVERY face that turns my way!

    No brothers and sisters we cannot forget the 1! The one in your life that causes you to turn the other way at work, the one who stays in an abusive relationship because she doesn’t realize there is any other type. The one who finds release through cutting because she doesn’t know that her Savior has already bled FOR her. The one who simply cannot accept that those who look upon his tattoos and piercings with such judgmental disgust without even knowing his name or his story could worship anything other than themselves.

    I think it is time that the Body of Christ learned a lesson from NASA. God’s Beloved should always remember that while NASA’s “Opportunity” will eventually cease to function, OUR opportunities to serve will not, and while the Mars rover named “Spirit” may very well be dead, we do not have to let the Spirit within us follow suit. Thank you NASA for reminding me that Daddy God’s Hand can indeed be seen in everything if we just take the time to look.

    The 99 + the 1= 100% ;~)

  • Wisdom from Pooh Corner

    I was lonely this morning. It happens. So, instead of doing the pile of work that has mounted through the week, I got online to reach out…and I came across my favorite wise bear – Winnie. Have you ever taken the time to go through those books? They are some of my favorites! In fact, long before Dr. Seuss or Sandra Boynton, I introduced my kids to the wisdom of A.A. Milne, in the chronicles of a precious bear and his boy. I felt it was a good beginning. It was the best introduction to love and friendship.

    The story of Christopher Robin and Winnie is one of timeless fascination and entertainment, and as the story goes we learn along the way. We learn that just because people don’t look the same or think the same doesn’t mean that they can’t be loved and appreciated for who they are. We learn that friendship is timeless and love is enduring. We learn that we can be “bothered” for a bit and come back to arms of grace and acceptance that say “It’s ok.” We learn that big or small we have a purpose, and most often it is the things that people see as our weakness that endears us to them. And we learn, that even in those times when we are forced to part, our hearts connect us forever.

    Isn’t that a story of hope and assurance that every child needs, every adult needs, every human needs? I’m not sure that Mr. Milne was a Christian, but he certainly loved his son. He created strong life lessons and padded them with the bodies of stuffed animals, and related them beautifully to his precious young son. In the life of a “brainless bear” we experience loss and fear and heartache and imagination. We see depression and apathy, compassion and amazing love…all from a beautiful place called “The Hundred Acre Woods” – A timeless place of priceless lessons.

  • Woman. Whoa Man!

    I have to admit, I chuckled as I typed up the title for this blog, and really, without the grace of God…what I have to say wouldn’t make me laugh.

    Today is International Women’s Day, and I find that empowering. Not in a rip your bras off and picket your rights kind of way, but in a way that says I’m not ashamed. See, for me that is HUGE. For most of my life I have hated my sexuality. I have hated being a woman and being seen as a piece of meat, as breasts with eyes, as a body. I have hated it because before I really had the chance to enjoy my womanhood, I had already been maligned. When you look at your body and think, “Would they treat me differently without this?” there has been some injury in your past. I am sad to say, that was me.

    It wasn’t until I began to see the contributions that I could make as a woman that I began to embrace my sexuality. As a woman, I could bear a child. As a woman, I could then feed that child. And those things were huge…until I found out that I couldn’t anymore. Then I was left again with the question, “What good am I as a woman?” It was in a time of depression after a surprise hysterectomy and a painful mistake that God said, “This is why.” You see, I realized that in my womanhood I had a ministry that was unique. Only in my womanhood could I see and reach out to and empathize with teen girls. And, because I had dealt with my own sexual injury, I could speak Truth from a heart that knows to those that struggle with injuries like mine. And, I could look them in the eye and passionately proclaim, “You are His.”

    But ministry wasn’t something I was eager to jump into, and honestly, I wasn’t exactly sure where to start. So I began to write. I created characters through which I could tell my story, teen girls in the modern age that could go through hell and find hope the same way I did – through Christ. I wanted to be raw and I wanted to be real and I wanted to say it in a way that might make proper ladies blush…not out of disrespect, but as a jolting wake up call to reality! I wanted to change the adage, “Life sucks and then you die,” to say something hopeful. I wanted to say, “Yeah, life can give you some messed up stuff, but ultimately what you choose from there makes the difference between living and existing.” And, luckily, from what I hear…my books are doing just that.

    I’m a woman. I like chocolate and bubble baths and the perfect pair of heels. But, more than that. I’m His woman, created in Christ to do good works which He prepared in advance for me to do…and in that knowledge and Truth…I am not ashamed.

  • I don’t wanna gotta!

    My “gottas” are taking over my life.

    I just gotta do so much stuff! I gotta do the laundry. I gotta do my devotion. I gotta do homework with my kids. I gotta go to church. I gotta write. I gotta cook dinner. I gotta go to Bible Study. I gotta tweet. I gotta update facebook. I gotta spend time with so and so. I gotta make sure my kids are lice-free (that’s a blog for another day). I gotta get it together! Suddenly, the other day I threw my hands up in surrender and yelled, “I don’t wanna!” And there was a moment of silence.

    The words “wanna” became music to my heart so I had a dialogue with it. (David had a habit of that, too.) “Heart. Why don’t I wanna?” And it came back so clear, “Because I gotta.” Ever been there? And then my heart whispered back, “Remember the freedom of just wanting to?” And I did. It washed over me like a montage of memories. SItting at my computer, smiling, writing out a novel to my daughters and other daughters of the King not because I had to but because I wanted to. I wanted to make a difference. That picture was replaced with me sitting at the table with my daughter, laughing while we worked on homework, not because it was a chore but because it was a moment that we had to share. Then, I watched as that picture folded into another picture of me newly married, humming as I folded my precious husband’s pants, careful not to slant the seams. Then there was a vision of me joyfully pouring over cook books so that I could find something new and adventurous so that my kids would have an advanced pallet of taste, not because I felt they had to but because I wanted to introduce them to a world bigger than Mac-n-Cheese and hotdogs. And I enjoyed each moment.

    I wanna feel that again.
    I don’t wanna gotta.

    So, I asked my heart, “How do I get back to that?” Then slowly it dawned on me…by removing the “gotta”. Sounds easier than it is, actually. Just replace a word or a feeling, but maybe it really is that easy. Maybe it is enough to simply say, “I don’t wanna gotta!” Instead I remind myself that I want to because I realize what a gift, pleasure, joy, service it is! “Gotta” sounds like a chore, a hardship, a task. But “wanna” implies a gift, a privilege, a fullfillment. So that is my challenge to myself this week: “Let go of the gotta and embrace the wanna.” It might be easier said than done, but I have a feeling that it’s gonna feel a lot more productive! Like now for instance, I needed to blog…but I didn’t have to do it in my house at my desk…that’s why God invented laptops. So, I’m doing what I gotta do where I wanna do it, in the sun on my porch as I watch my dog scamper around the yard. Sighhhhh. Now, THIS is something I wanna do again!

  • “‘Til death do us part”

    “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” Ephesians 5:25

    In a world where love has become a commodity of convenience, where Hollywood has tainted it and prettied it up to the point that it has become far fetched and anything but the love that Christ intended, it’s a beautiful thing to see the love of a husband like Robin Hartrick.

    This is the man that married a divorced blind woman and took on the raising of her son. This is the man that stood beside her as she pursued the heart of God in ministry that would require much of her time and energy. This is the man that as her health failed, sat warmly and compassionately by her bed, praying for her and loving her. This is the man that as he watched his wife slowly die had the strength to say that he would never abandon her. And, when after many years of her battle with diabetes and its life changing results including leg amputations, he still stood at the celebration of her too brief life and could not regret a moment of their journey together. This is the man that meant his vows. This is the man that truly loved as Christ intends…not because it was convenient, or she was so beautiful, or things were going so well, but he loved because he vowed to love and realized that love in its truest form cannot be selfish.

    What is the level of your commitment to your spouse? If the unthinkable happened would you stand by their side in love and support and selfless compassion? It’s a question I challenge myself to answer, and in the midst of my pondering, I beg my God to give me strength if such a day should come.

    As you celebrate Valentine’s Day next week remind your spouse how very much they are loved, and how very much you don’t regret a minute of the journey.

  • The JOY Project

    I should be editing my book, but since I’m still theoretically pouting over the pulling of the word “epic” from our American vocabulary and because I happen to be seriously elated by the amazing lavishing love of Daddy God, I decided to write a blog (and start it with a seriously long, possibly run-on sentence).

    The Happiness Project. Okay, let me be honest and admit that I have yet to read the book…I’m simply stating my opinion based on what I’ve seen in the margins and what I have heard from the author which in actuality probably isn’t fair to the her but it is what it is. So, basically this lady had an epiphany on a bus that she wasn’t focusing enough on happiness and being happy, so she endeavored to begin what she calls “the happiness project” where she tests the adages of others and relates them to life. Okay…what sources does she use? Well, I am not gonna sit here and list them all but a few would be – the Dali Lama and a few Saints and Benjamin Franklin and a few other names you may or may not recognize, oh yeah, and Oprah. I mean, its the twenty first century, Oprah is BIG…(that refers to her personality, her body is of no consequence.)

    And what has she found: We need to be happier, think more of ourselves, and focus on more positive things. Okay. And? The happiness that we find, this would be relative, right? I mean, if someone gave me a bowl of rice, I would be touched and smile, but if I were a starving child in a third world country that bowl would mean more than happiness, that bowl would mean life! A clean bill of health at the doctors office would be nice, but for a recent cancer survivor, that would bring elation! The birth of a child is a happy thing, but in the case of a woman that has tried and lost several, that child is a miracle! In that happiness is relative, then basically it isn’t stringent or absolute. And if it isn’t, then it’s entirely possible that what makes me happy might make someone else unhappy…and if my happiness comes at the cost of someone else’s then that doesn’t make me very happy at all.

    Webster defines HAPPINESS as such: a state of well-being and contentment, or a pleasurable or satisfying experience. Okay…so if something makes me content, brings me pleasure, or satisfies me then I am happy? Then, happiness by definition is selfish. Let me say, I am a happy person most of the time. I revel in finding joy in the little things; like treasures masked in randomness, I look for meaning and happiness where others might not see it. Of course, I’m also a loving person so when finding such, I immediately long to share it with another because my contentment, my satisfaction, my pleasure requires others feel the same…but when they don’t…ahh…there in lies the rub.

    Happiness is a dependent variable. It is not absolute. It shifts and changes. That which makes you happy today may not make you happy tomorrow, and that which satisfies you today might not do the same next year. So when you begin a project to live a life for your own happiness and expecting that your happiness will in turn bring about happiness in others, don’t be disappointed when your theory doesn’t meet up with your hypothesis.

    I have another project worthy of reflection…I’m going to call it “The Joy Project,” and I promise I’m not gonna write a book about it using obscure and tempered sayings to prove it. My theory is this: “Joy isn’t limited to our happiness.” First of all, if you were to look up the word “happiness” in a concordance you will find but a few references. In fact, Solomon considers it a chasing after the wind… (not to be confused with the answers that are believed to be blowing in the wind). However, JOY, and I used capital letters because it is a more important word, is all over the place…It is often tied to happiness but it isn’t dependent on it. (Okay I lied, I actually am about to insert a saying or two from the Bible.) “Count it all joy, my brothers and sisters..” Why? Because you won the lottery? Because you shared in the laugh of a little child? Because you ate some amazing food and traveled the country? “When you face trials and tribulation of any kind…” Wait. What? That’s not cool. Trials and tribulations do NOT make me happy. David admits “Though I was anxious and depressed, you brought me joy.” In the midst of anxiety and stress, joy? Numerous other times in so many other ways the Bible talks of joy and there is one static nature and one stable source, care to guess? I know you want to? Yes. God. Paul continues that “Count it all joy” statement with…because Jesus suffered just like this. David confesses that God is his joy in the depth of pain and uncertainty. And the Word admonishes the people time and time again to bring joy to the One that is joy, for as David calls Him, “My God, my joy and my delight.” The angels told Mary that Jesus would be the joy that they were looking for. Jesus tells us that “In me your joy will be made complete.”

    Happiness can be had without a saviour. Happiness is but a passing fancy that glimpses hope but doesn’t fully claim it. Happiness is shallow and consumable. Joy is deep and strong. Joy can be seen in the eyes of a starving child without a bowl of rice when he understands the Love of his Father. Joy can be experienced in the heart of a young mother even as she watches her child slip through her fingers, because she knows those terrifying beeps and racing monitors will soon be replaced with the Father’s embrace. Joy can be cried in the tears of a cancer patient that has been told that after 5 years the disease is back, because he or she realizes that there was life lived in fullness between. Joy is abiding and rich. Joy finds us when happiness isn’t even a thought. Happiness is what feels good to me…joy contains that which IS good.

    I end my project with this blessing: “May your JOY be complete” and happiness… well, by all means, enjoy it when it comes, but don’t be obsessed or depressed when it is fleeting.

  • Hook, Line, and Sinker

    So, I have this horrible problem of reliving past mistakes, I know I’m the only one in the world guilty of such habits so I won’t go into exhaustive detail about what and why. Suffice it to say that I don’t want to let myself off the hook, for any offense I’ve committed. I have this stupid lie that surfaces that says I must relive the pain, rethink the action, confess the sin over and over and over… well, you get picture. This morning was no different.

    I woke up chastising myself, angry with myself, hurt again over what I had thought to be dealt with at the cross, but giving into the taunts of the evil one, I started to believe that I needed to submerge myself in the mire again, take back up the cross, the sin, the shame and become the sinner once more. Mercifully, Jesus met me, before light, before another tear could fall, or lie implant itself and offered a hand to take my pain, my sorrows, my regrets. He met me with one line – “Cast it to me.” I read more heart into that. “Leslie, throw it over here! Don’t gingerly lay it in my hands and walk away looking back, throw it long and high! Don’t place it gently down, show me that you mean it – mean it in your heart. Cast your cares, your worries, your fears, your anxiety to ME! Because you holding onto it only serves to do one thing, imprison you, and whether you want to admit it or not, your lack of faith is at root here.”

    Wait. Hold up. Uh, say what?

    Again, without any condemnation He repeated, “Your lack of faith.” Then, with wonder still in my heart, I heard Him say, “Cast it and I’ll catch you – hook, line, and sinker.” Okay, I’m human and a little dim witted at times, so I’m not too proud to admit that I had a spiritual “duhhh” moment. How did we go from casting my cares to fishing? The thought wouldn’t subside and in like thirty seconds I went through a mental concordance to gain understanding. Casting nets, fishers of men, cooking fish, Peter and the twelve, Judas, the betrayal… I was getting off the mark so God intervened in my spiritual ADD.

    A picture surfaced. I was standing on the edge of the pond, my grandfather with a smile at my side. “Cast the line, Leslie.” I looked at him unsure. “Just raise the rod, push the button, and let the line go.” Believing his advice, and loving him so very much, I took his word…but being a fearful, insecure child, I pushed the button too soon and a yard of line came streaming out of the rod at my feet. Pouting, I placed it back in his expectant hand. After he fixed the mess, he handed it to me again. After about three such episodes, I got it right. I watched in amazement as the line arched high into the bright sky and landed ten or fifteen feet away. Smiling and satisfied, he settled his line close, but not too close, to mine.

    In a matter of seconds I felt a small tug, eager and ready I snatched the rod up, and the line came whipping out, fishless. Frowning and disappointed, I handed the rod to my grandfather. He wouldn’t take it. “Cast it again.” It took another three tries but again the beautiful, freeing arch and gentle landing. This time he talked me through the initial nibble and told me to wait. Biting my lip in anticipation, I held through the initial nibbles until the line went tight, and then, looking to Papaw for permission and getting a smiling nod, I yanked. To my ultimate pleasure and delight there was weight on the line, there was definite, grunt requiring weight! I remember the thrill as I watched the most wonderful brim jump to the surface still caught tight by the hook! Clutching tightly to the rod and reeling with all of my might, my grandfather was laughing, directing me to slow down, and begging me to be careful.

    After a squeamish unhooking and his beaming approval, I placed the fish in a styrofoam cooler. And there it was – my fish. Squatting by the side of that cooler I watched and marveled while Papaw continued to fish. Initially it lay limp, almost playing dead, but then it began to stir and swim, slowly at first and then more confidently. I was fascinated. I then noticed the hole in its lip. Cocking my head to the side, I realized I’d put it there. The fish soon to be released again was forever altered.

    And that’s where my memory rested. “There.” Ahhh. My duh turned to an aha; I understood. “Cast it and be caught.” I am both the fisherman and the fish. What if I hadn’t persevered? What if I’d simply thrown that rod and reel with its pile of line down on the ground and given up. It would still be at my feet. Useless. But, instead, I listened, I trusted, and I cast with success a line that captured a gift. My fish. All because I casted. I get that. I’m slow but eventually I do surface. But what about the “be caught” part…what about me being the fish? Well, a fish that nibbles, isn’t altered. It’s a fish that is caught by the hook, pulling on the line and drowning the sinker, that is forever changed.

    So, I’m casting my line…and I’ll return from the trip with a hole in my lip. Not what any one would call a fisherman’s dream, but it certainly has been a revelation from the pond.

  • The Best Christmas Pageant EVER.

    I don’t like admitting that my heart hasn’t been in the season this year; in fact, it pains me to say it. Heart not in Christmas – that just sounds wrong. Heart and Christmas are two very ingrained words… up until this year they seemed intertwined and mutually exclusive to the point of synonimity. (If that were a real word.) This year feels different. I can’t explain it, can’t put my finger on it, call it out, or really make sense of it, but it is…different.

    I was wrestling with this feeling. Trying to push past the bahhumbugishness and embrace the holiday spirit, my attempts seemed forced and fake. Like I was trying to take something dull and lifeless and transform it into something shiny and bright. Like I was taking the ordinary humdrum wool stockings of life and hanging them by the fire place next to a painted Christmas tree with lights. It wasn’t working, and I was getting more and more confused the closer Christmas got.

    My daughter belted out, “10 days til Christmas!” with all the anticipation the season deserves, and I sighed and pulled out my list looking at the names left unchecked. Friends laughed and talked of caroling and sadly, I was relieved that one of the neighbors got sick and it got called off. Is that horrible? Yes. It is. But, it’s honest.

    So, today when Maddie woke up with a fever on the day of the Christmas Program, I can’t say that I wasn’t surprised. It seemed about right. We went through the motions of preparation, making food and picking out clothes, but all the while it wasn’t very deep. Pretty much the pre-performance to the program…and my heart again played it’s part in isolation, hiding from the joy.

    Then, we got to the church. The atmosphere was dull and dark, no big production, everyone seemed to sigh their hellos and cut off their hugs. My soul was sad. I sat down next to a dear man in the church and finally said out loud, “I’m just not feeling it this year.” He seemed surprised as he looked at me as if to say, “You?!” I nodded. He let out a sigh of relief, “I was afraid it was just me.” He went on to tell me about his stress and his strain and how distant his heart seemed to be, and all the while the Spirit of God in me echoed, “You are not alone.” And, I found my ADD mind wandering to others and to more and thought perhaps there was much more to this apathetic spirit toward Christmas.

    Then, it happened. The program got started as kids nervously mumbled their lines and looked for confidence in the faces of their parents. Slowly the story progressed until we arrived at the angels…the heralding, good news messengers of old, that sang the birth announcement to the shepherds in the fields. It started alright, each angel with his and her part, until there was a break down in communication. The angels huddled and regrouped figuring out the speaker and the lines. It was obvious that everyone was pointing to one little girl, the youngest of the group, the precious grand-daughter of the man I’d just been speaking with, and she was terrified. The other angels were getting antsy, and she stood there – silent. A bigger angel in the back tried to tell her her line, hoping to encourage her to speak, but she still stood there, eyes wide, incredible denial filling her face. Realizing everyone was waiting and her line could not be taken by another, she gave in, and like a rush of wind in utter defeat, she said with a sigh, “Jesus is born.” I could not control my laughter! None of us could. It was art imitating life. And, we were entertained!

    I laughed so hard I cried (and felt horrible when the sweet girl put her “Angel Song” booklet over her face.) She didn’t understand what many of us were feeling; she had captured our lack of excitement in her bland statement, and something was happening in me. I realized that I was grossly overlooking Christ. He was treated as a commonplace statement filled with exaggerated sigh while I had been focused on all the other things that held no value or hope.

    AND IT HIT ME – I had taken Christ out of Christmas. I had seriously forgotten that this season is all about the mundane becoming special, the invaluable being shown as a treasure, and the commonplace finding remarkable meaning in the Light of Christ’s birth. The darkness I was feeling, the lack of joy and spirit, the absence of hope was a child of God succumbing to the “holiday.” I’d like to say that I got up from that pew and I walked out of church with a new perspective and with the heart of a insomniatic Scrooge, I ran from the sanctuary singing and dancing! I’d like to say that, but it simply wouldn’t be true. The truth is, I’m trying. I’m gonna attempt to remember Christ everyday in some special way… and I’m praying for His peace and His joy in my heart because I really could care less about the “holidays” – it’s Christ I want.

  • Are you kidding me?!

    Bear with me, I’m a little upset.

    What part of “Be not conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind” aren’t we getting?

    There is a serious curve that is emerging in the church, and we used to point our fingers and talk behind the backs of a specific group of people who were artistic and edgy…but now the margin is thinning and the compromise is rampant. Only we don’t call it “compromise” we call it “relevant”. We use the words of Paul in his address at Mars Hill – basically where he says, “I have become all things to all people so that I might save some.” But, it’s not a legitimate translation of that passage; it’s a misrepresentation to justify partaking in the pleasures of the world. (And, I realize that I just lost readers and ticked some people off, but I’m not too concerned.) I don’t know where the “relevant” movement will end, but as one called to lead and impact this generation…I’m having a hard time following suit.

    Leaders are immersing themselves in the culture – drinking, smoking, cursing. They say, “We’re trying to be relevant, to reach out, to be a part of the crowd.” What crowd, any real reason why? Because we are afraid to be called “hypocrits?” And yet, it’s exactly what we are. Because we want them to embrace Jesus? So we are helping them by lighting up and tipping the bottle and spilling expletives, oh yeah, because I totally remember in Mark 28:8 where Jesus got a little tipsy at the party and started cursing the Pharisees. Um, no. The excuse I often hear is: “Hey, it’s okay. Even Jesus ate with the sinners.” Yeah, He did. He reached out to them with a voice that said, “Come to me all of you that are weary and burned out, and I will give you rest.” But I don’t recall him passing the hookah.

    This “shock and awe” witness is getting old. I’ve actually heard people say, “I think it is so cool that pastor so and so cusses. He really understands.” What does he understand? That his use of the English language is so limited he has to resort to slang to get his point across. I’m pretty sure that you can say those things without getting vulgar. The truth is that those that are listening to him, even those in the world, might actually have more respect for him if he spoke out of a heart of compassion and sensitivity…just saying.

    But, truth be told, I’m frustrated for another reason. I’m frustrated because in being lackadaisical about our habits and our actions, we are missing the bigger picture. In being nonchalant about our indulgences we are making an impact greater than we realize. In slinging cuss words and consuming alcohol and smoking nicotine we are saying “This is okay.” We are saying to the younger generation, “Indulge, enjoy, live it up!” All the while, we are exchanging our witness for our release. This is not okay. It’s not. And, when I’m paying the rehab bills to help my alcoholic daughter get over her addiction because some idiot said that she could drink because Jesus drank and that gives her the license to do the same, I’m gonna be furious! When my daughter is in the hospital with emphysema because some youth pastor decided to prove a point to the church by smoking in front of his kids, I’m really gonna have to spit in his face! No. I won’t actually spit. But I will be sure to show him this blog, this post, this warning and my child and say, “Do you think this is what Jesus meant when he said to feed His sheep?”

    I beg of you. Let’s not set aside our witness to let out our steam. It’s a problem, and as cool as it is becoming, it’s not cool. It’s not cool when mentors of young girls now become confusing to them because where they are going to Bible Studies and they are doing mission trips, they are dropping the “f” bomb and are drinking more than just occasionally. These are the same ones that tout, “Be all things to all men so that we might save some,” but if you are doing these things in the privacy of your home, on the back porch with a shade up, are you doing it for “all men” or are you doing it for you? Has your release become more important than your witness?

    Jesus says, “Come as you are.” But, those that have been pitiful and dirty and scarred, desperate and dark and scared know that He doesn’t want you to stay that way. It’s a process. I will be the first to admit that I have a ton of issues that need to be rooted out and dealt with, but He is faithful to gently and passionately show me what they are and as He does He transforms those places…by the renewing of my mind, not by my “relevant” living.

    The hope is in the changed life, not the compromised one.