Leslie A Lamb/Sifted Wheat

Category: Uncategorized

  • More Guilt than pleasure…

    A couple weeks ago I posted, “Glee is my guilty pleasure” on my facebook page. For all the world to see, for all my friends to read, in a way I stamped it with my approval. Therein lies my guilt…but not the greatest of it.

    My daughter was sick that week and I was giving round the clock treatments, my husband was gone a lot, and whereas my watching television is usually RARE in our house, it had become almost habitual…a much needed break.

    I love music! I was in choir and ensemble and did musicals in High School (The King and I was by far my favorite!), and in college I took voice lessons and helped in the theatre department, so a show with as much pizazz and music as Glee was just a matter of turning it on to get sucked in.

    If you’ve never seen Glee you might not understand this post, but if you have, maybe you’ve struggled with some of the same themes. I don’t have an issue with the young boy that struggles as a homosexual. I naturally root for the underdog, and his is a sad story, a sad life, and I know a few that have had to walk in his shoes. “Poor Kurt,” I agreed.

    My older daughter asked to watch it with me, I hesitated, but tired as I was when she used the argument, “All my friends watch it!” I gave in. Well, if ALL her friends watch it…?  So, we sat through a pretty tame episode. It was obvious that Kurt was gay, it didn’t take a genius to see through the “I adore fashion and shopping” comments, so I let her keep watching. Then, there was a show about a bigger girl and how this football player had a thing for her…but it wasn’t her time and her attention he wanted, it was her tongue and her touch. It was obvious, and I was hesitant. I suppose at this point, when sex became the focal point, I should have turned the show off…but no. I needed to learn my lesson.

    I already knew that I was treading some pretty rocky ground, to the point that I made my daughter promise that she wouldn’t turn that show on without me. She agreed and she is fairly compliant so I felt I was “Safe”. As I had promised her earlier that day, I finished up some work, got us all ready for bed, and grabbed the remote to watch another episode of Glee. I should mention that my “Work” was ministry…and one of my ministries that night involved talking to a teen girl about her struggle with homosexuality. I was doing my best to assure her that she wasn’t a disappointment and that I loved her, but that I desperately believed that she was setting herself up for another heartache, girl or boy, if she didn’t learn that no human love would fill the needs that a missing father, a verbally abusive mother, and a conflicted heart had left her.

    My heart was still processing that conversation when the show started, as usual with a dynamic song – well sung, well performed, and yet it was heated with sexual tension, between two guys. I looked over at my daughter and she was playing with the dog so I let it go. The next scene was two girls standing at their lockers…one was a typically mean girl, I was prepared for some slang to come out of her mouth, but then she started talking about the other girl and how they had been in love and she had looked over her for another guy. My mommy juices started to churn, this wasn’t cool. Wasn’t I just talking to a REAL girl about this very painful and disturbing issue?!

    I was about to turn the television off, when I hesitated for a moment, a moment too long. Before I could stop it, (well, if I you don’t consider the million and one warning signs that I had just dismissed), the screen ignited with two guys full on kissing. My daughter’s eyes got big, I dropped the remote, groping desperately in the dark I wrestled to get it held the right way and flipped everything off.

    “OFF,” I yelled in some kind of “Mommy is back to her senses, what was I thinking?!” flamboyant announcement! Then I sat there. Dumbfounded. Guilt-stricken. WHAT had I done? I looked over at Maddie, still in shock, I think, staring at a black screen,  and said, “I’m so sorry, love.” She looked at me. “No more Glee.” She nodded her head. I continued, “No more Glee for you and no more Glee for me; from now on this house is Glee free!”

    But that wasn’t the end, because I had to acknowledge what I had allowed into my home…I had to talk about what they had just seen and heard, and I had to share it in a way that would not seem hateful but wise. It is one thing to happen upon these issues in life – my daughters already know that people are gay… it is another thing to show them what that means, and to explain that it is unnatural but that we are called to love them and be gracious and not speak hate or condemnation.

    I was wrestling through what to say in a span of about 3 seconds when the words, “But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” I wish I had been wise enough to hear those words a couple days earlier. I wish I had served the Lord in my viewing choice, tired or not. How quickly the pleasure of a musical number and some teen angst was replaced with unbelievable guilt. I did that. I couldn’t blame Glee or the actors or anyone else in that situation. The finger pointed squarely at me. I know one picture can sit in your mind forever, that try as we might the things we long to see disappear are the visions that remain. I KNOW that. And yet, I invited that image straight into my daughter’s head.. invited it, sat down on the couch with it, and let it corrupt my daughter’s mind.

    Yeah, she might forget. Yeah, it might have affected me far worse than it affected her. I pray that is the case. But, it has left with this thought, this challenge: In this battle of light and dark, where will I draw the line?  I lost one battle, but I have not even started the war… many more battles lay before me… So, Glee is no longer a pleasure but a guilt. I am sorry that I ever gave it a sloppy stamp of approval, and I realize that is just me, others might like it…I just can’t continue to blur the line of right and wrong. I can’t be ok with a show that is so blatantly different than the standards of holiness Christ has laid out for us… I remain affirmed, “BUT as for me and MY HOUSE, we will serve the LORD.”

  • It’s the little things

    I’m concerned. It seems like God’s children are losing their purpose. They are getting so tied up with doing they are neglecting the gift of being. I have heard more often than I can let slide the words, “I feel like I’m wasting my time. I’m not sure I’m fulfilling my calling.” Okay, side-note: I have also had that thought. And, it bothered me. The truth is as we look around us, there is more and more to do. I think we get overwhelmed. Those of us that feel we need to take on every task or mission that is set before us are worn out, and those that are just dwelling in grace with an air of apathy are missing out. There is a balance. That balance is His Spirit.

    I don’t think we put enough confidence in this gift, the gift of the Spirit. We are trying to do things on our own, when He does indeed have a plan and a purpose for us, and it isn’t some huge mystery that He has hidden and requires a treasure map and a key to unlock. More than that, it doesn’t necessarily mean fame and money and popularity. It’s absurd to think that, and yet we do, if we are honest, think that our obedience will bring about blessing in all it’s worldly forms.

    Sometimes the simplest acts of obedience bring eternal blessing. I keep hearing “I need to show more love,” “I need to give more,” “I need to spend more time with my family,” and the same sweet souls that are saying this spend time dreaming up expressions of grandeur when it’s so much easier than that! Let’s break that down.

    “I need to show more love.” Then make love the over-riding thought in everything you do. If you need a refresher on what “love is,” check out chapter 13 of 2 Corinthians. Love always requires compassion. Seeing others as more important than you. More love will require more of you, put simply. It will require sacrificing what you want for what they want. It will require more work not less. It will require giving when you are more comfortable with receiving. It will require becoming less as His Spirit in you takes over. If you want to show more love, make this your prayer: Father, today show me how to love like you love us.

    “I need to give more.” Ok. So, do. The excuse is often that we don’t have the means or the time, well, that’s part of the gift. Instead of taking those clothes to the consignment store, find a family that lost everything in a house fire, or a church that takes up collections, or simply donate it to Goodwill. If you have been holding that pamphlet from World Vision or Compassion International in your hands and thought, “Maybe I should..” Do it. You will be surprised how quickly you get accustomed to that small amount deducted monthly. There are any number of gifts we can give…be creative, and make this your prayer: Father, today show me who I can help, and give me the willpower to assist them.

    “I need to spend more time with my family.” This doesn’t require you to plan a 7 day cruise. This can be as simple as instituting a “family night.” Cook their favorite foods, or order them in for those that don’t like to cook. Pick out a game, a movie, or put up a tent! If that isn’t your thing, go out as a family to eat…no friends just family, and visit, talk, share. You will be surprised how much more inclined they are to talk when you are investing in them. Incorporate mother/father/daughter/son dates. These are great! My youngest loves this! She already gives me the stink eye because I married her daddy before she could… who better to show her how to act on a date and how she should be treated than her daddy? Sometimes these one on one moments of investment open up more communication and affection than you will ever discover talking over your laptop or texting to their iPods. There are a million different ways to show your love for them, to give them more attention and to spend time with them all at the same time! Make this your prayer: Father, help me to make time for my family. Prioritize my life to invest in them, and give me grace to deal with the drama. ☺ (Maybe that last part doesn’t apply to you as it does me.)

    Maybe you are wondering, “But, what of our purpose, our calling?” This is our calling. God sets aside two things as the purpose of mankind in various forms and places in the Bible, but it boils down to basically two things: Love God and love others. In that order, and with intensity! Whatever gifts you are given – and there are any number of gifts that we each possess – He placed them in you to do these two things. And when you love others and share His attention and affection with them, this is an act of worship!

    So don’t get bogged down in the world of “success” and wondering if you are missing something more. Instead rely on His Spirit inside you that beckons and impresses and inspires. Listen to that still small voice, and as you do you will realize that it is louder than you ever realized, and you will feel your life swaying with its energy, and as you give into the current and power you will find that you are doing better. You are loving better. You are giving better. You are spending valuable time with those that are your family. And, as a reward you will see that the world around you is doing better…your circle of influence is more peaceful, more enjoyable, and more fulfilling. One simple offering at a time, and your purpose will be made complete even if you never do anything spectacular! Who defines spectacular or grand, anyway? The God who came to earth in a feeding trough and died on a splintered cross, was buried in a borrowed grave and gave over the Good News to a ragtag bunch of fishermen and sinners. I think He knows better than us.

  • Love came down

    As the sun came up over the horizon, she knew that today was the day. She’d tried to dismiss it, but as the pains got stronger and the heavens seemed to swell, she couldn’t mistake what was happening. Even the donkey beneath her seemed to be excited and hard to still.

    Joseph was worried. She could see it on his face. This was all new to him, and as much as mama had tried to prepare her for this day, and the many talks she’d had with Elizabeth, she was afraid, too. What if something went wrong? What if there were complications? Midwives could be hard to come by on short notice, what if she had to deliver on her own?

     As they entered Bethlehem, the rich history of the town, brought her a smile. She thought of the beautiful Rachel, Israel’s favorite wife, this was her resting place. Did she know that this was the place God had chosen to bring forth His child? His Child. Even as she thought it, it was never common to pronounce. Everyday as her stomach had swollen with life, the words of the angel, became stronger and the meaning greater. As if on cue, the baby within her rolled with expectation.

     The sun was beginning to dip and the night air was getting colder. Joseph had been turned away at every inn. There was no room, especially for a poor carpenter and his young pregnant wife. She tried not to get anxious, no inn meant no shelter and likely no help. She whispered a prayer to God, “This is your child. Provide a place fit for Him. A place where we can rest, and God of heaven, please, let me find help.” Joseph looked at her, “This is the last one.” She smiled to hide her greatest fear and nodded, “And here we will find favor.” Joseph returned her smile, “So young and yet so wise, my love.”

     She waited for what seemed like hours. Each pain intensified, and she wondered if she might try to get off the donkey if for just a minute to stretch her legs and possibly relieve the cramping. Just as she was gathering the strength to do just that, Joseph appeared, nervous but relieved. “I’ve found a place.” Mary smiled with delight even as another pang hit. His face dropped, “It’s in the stable.” A stable? He couldn’t be serious? The child of God that came to save His people couldn’t be born in a stable! She looked at him; this was no time to joke. He wasn’t smiling. She choked down disappointment, and forced a smile, “It’s going to be the most famous stable in the world.”  Joseph marveled at her strength, “Little do they know,” he whispered with a wink.

     She looked around her as she lay waiting for the midwife. “God,” she prayed, “You are in control. You have a beautiful plan, and You will change the world forever with this night. May it be to me as You have promised.” Another pang hit, and she bit down. This would not be easy, but it would be worth it, more so than any delivery in the world. “Joseph?” She moaned. “I’m here, Mary.” She resisted the urge to bear down, following the advice of her mama. “Joseph, thank you.” He wet the cloth that he held and placed it on her head, “For this fine stable?” he teased. “No,” she said with sincerity, “for believing me, for marrying me, and for taking this journey with me.” He hushed her, “What fool would miss out on this?” She smiled and reached up to hold the hand that bathed her forehead, “I love you.” Joseph choked back emotion and replied, “And my sweet Mary, I love you.”

     The midwife had arrived just at the point when there was no holding back. With each beckoning of a push, the world seemed to grow brighter. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the bright star that had appeared in the east, just in view of the only window in the stable. Everyone in Bethlehem had remarked at its brightness, never had they seen such a light. The young mother seemed fixed on it and seemed to draw strength with each contraction. In good time, the baby was in her arms. She had delivered hundreds of babies but this one seemed to glow with life. He was a perfectly healthy baby boy she announced as she handed him over to the girl. The mother almost seemed amazed to touch Him, and when the midwife pushed Him to her breast, she stopped her to take in His face. Even the father was in awe. After so many years of this, she no longer asked questions, but nothing seemed normal about this pair. Such a peace that filled the air, and a love like no other, she would never forget this birth.

     After the baby suckled, Mary watched Him sleep. There were no words to describe all that she was feeling. Joy, love, amazement, and fear. He was here! The Christ child, the Savior of the world, lay resting in her feeble arms, dependent on her! She looked at Joseph and noticed those same fears echoing in his eyes, what if they failed? What if He didn’t need them? What if all the prophesies of death and hatred were true? What if all of that was directed at this child? How could they ever protect Him? A tear escaped her eyes, “What if…?” she started.  But even as she spoke it, the bright light emanating from the window fell across all three of them and warmed them, and in it’s light there was peace and love and the words of God took on a melody that seemed to echo to the hills, “Glory to God in the highest, and peace to those on whom His favor rests.”

     Mary and Joseph lay side by side, smiling and forgetting all together the stench of where they were. Even the cattle seemed mesmerized by the baby, each leaning in for a closer look. After they had offered prayers and praises for this baby they had been given, the young couple started to drift off to sleep, but Mary, she longed to do one last thing. “Joseph?” she whispered not wanting to wake the baby. “Mmhmm,” he mumbled. “Do you think I can kiss His face?”  He rolled over almost asleep, “Of course, He’s a baby.” Her heart jumped! This was the moment that she had dreamed of, the moment that for years she had longed for, her moment with God in the form of a baby, finally she could express her love for Him! She cuddled His small, fragile frame, and rested His face close to hers. She nuzzled His nose and felt Him squirm, then, rubbing her lips together to make sure they were warm, she kissed the face of God. And, Joseph would deny it, but she would always remember His first smile.

     

  • Little Drummer Girl

    One of my favorite songs this time of year is “Little Drummer Boy.” I love the cadence of that song, the tune, and the story. But to be honest, I always felt sorry for the boy; he had nothing to give but a song, on his drum. Doesn’t seem like much does it? Or maybe that is how shallow I was or how little I understood until I met the little drummer girl.

    To have nothing to give is honestly a foreign concept to me. Though I didn’t grow up in exceeding wealth, I was by no stretch of the imagination poor. Growing up on the mission field had its hardships, but worries about finances never seemed to get to us kids. Daddy handled it well, and he always trusted that God would provide. And, He did, over and above what was necessary to live. Somewhere, always, there was something extra…and charity often took the form of currency. I gave it willingly and freely…but not altogether sacrificially.  I gave out of abundance, but the little drummer boy gave out of necessity.

    The little drummer girl I know can identify with the little drummer boy. Emancipated at the age of 16 and living on her own with the provision of God and only those He has faithfully placed in her path, she has lived in want before. She lives in want now…but her needs are met. I can see her, on that beautifully starlit night, gathering her courage to stand before the manger to take a peek at her Savior. With a shrug and a frown, but with eyes all aglow, I can hear her say, “I don’t have much, but I have this drum…and I will play it for you.” She would smile, and pause, and then she would play. It wouldn’t be some haphazard beat that would erupt, but a passionate piece, resonating from her very heart of love. She would play her drum for Him…she would play her best for Him. And, He would know it was the best she had to offer.

    It is what she offers Him daily. In so many ways, for so many hours, she trains and practices and learns, not only so she can be better, but so that her offering can be the best. I love this about her. She plays her heart out! She has taken every blow and unkind word that life has thrown at her, and she has willfully pushed that into music for her Savior.  And it isn’t a gift to be pitied; it is a gift to be envied! She expresses more love and devotion with each beat than many will ever dare to express in mere words or thoughts. She sees the drum as His gift to her…and she has made that her gift to Him.

    I can never listen to that song again and not think of her. Our little drummer girl…and if she reads this, she will throw her hands up and say something tough followed by, “Whatev,” but this chick is special. As special as they come…and her Father knows this…her heavenly Father…and He is blessed by her songs.

    “Then He smiled at me…me and my drum.”

  • Getting my goat

    Christians can be very proud. Have you deducted this? Have you seen any of this played out lately? One area that I find Christians particularly proud in is the area of charity. It’s kind of ridiculous, isn’t it? To brag about “good works,” isn’t that almost to negate them? It kind of leaves the message, “I didn’t really do this for you. I did it for me, but you get something out of it.” Or, this is the message that we are sending whether that is what we intended or not.

    I was recently at the way too overwhelming local Chuck. E. Cheese when I saw someone with a t-shirt that read, “This shirt fed 40 people. What did your shirt do?” Okay. On the surface, I get the point. They gave some money or did some act of service or sacrifice, which was a good thing, to help feed starving people which is a very good thing, but the shirt portrays an attitude that negates the ambivalent nature of the giver. I don’t see a t-shirt that says, “I paid twice as much for my canvas shoes so that someone else wouldn’t go shoeless.” I don’t even think such a shirt will ever be made, or should be. And yet, I see Christians wearing t-shirts that make charity seem selfish. The argument could be made that it is to raise awareness for world hunger…well, wouldn’t a shirt that said, “Every 3.6 seconds someone dies of hunger. How’s that burger?” That would raise awareness and address gluttony in America, and guess what? No one gets credit…and someone looks twice at the burger they are eating. Perhaps that person paid enough for that shirt that 40 people were fed, but it isn’t boasting. No one knows but that person and God…and perhaps the little guy that handled the order. And, that’s okay.

    In the Bible, Jesus tells us not to let the left hand know what the right is doing. He instructs us to do our good deeds in private. But, then no one knows what we did, so how will we find reward? Well, He goes on to tell us, “Your Father in heaven will see your good deeds and reward you.” Oh but, Leslie, people’s rewards are much more instant…yes, and far less rewarding. Which leads me to my next point, we somehow think that we deserve something for our good works. For instance, I mentioned my frustration at seeing this t-shirt to someone the other day, and I expected this person to take up my cause, after all, we are both serious about ministry! Instead, the response was to smile and say, “Heck Yeah, I have that shirt! I suffered through 30 hours of hunger to get it!” Wait. What? I know that my jaw had to have dropped open! Since when is sacrifice about anything more than…well, sacrifice? But, this person isn’t alone in this. Recently I saw a campaign for a popular Christian music group to build wells in third world countries. I was standing in line as one of the spokespersons for the group was telling about their initiative and that if you gave X amount of dollars you would get a free shirt and a CD. Commendable…until the person in front of me asked, “So what is the least amount I have to give to get the stuff?” Wait. I think we missed the point.

    I’m not a huge John Acuff fan, but I do like some of what he says. I will never forget the blog he posted on “fasters” – those people that observe the spiritual discipline of fasting…not to be confused with pastors that get you out of church by noon every Sunday. (Ba dum pum.) Anyway, he was talking about the ones that feel the need to announce to the world what they are doing, when God’s Word clearly says not to make a show about it because that’s what the religious folks do and their reward is found in the praise of man. He quips about possibly telling the next person, “Man that stinks. Now that you told me that your only reward is what I have to say…so, way to go, bro! You fasted for no real reward!” (Not an actual quote but that was the gist.) Really! What kind of reward is that? I’d rather keep it to myself and simply have the reward of knowing that I sought God and denied myself food or pleasure in order to understand His will in my life. I admit though, I have announced before that I was fasting, but not in an effort to make myself look good, but rather in a desire to see others join me. In my mind, if one fasting can bring clarity to a situation then all members fasting can put it in the sky on wide-screen and surround sound! But, that is neither here nor there.

    The point is this. Let’s not boast about our good doing. Don’t post on Facebook that you and your family bought a herd of goats for a village in Tanzania. Don’t tweet about how many kids you sponsor. Don’t wear t-shirts that make people feel bad that they paid $5 for theirs at Old Navy and didn’t serve any purpose than to cover up a hairy chest or a muffin top. Don’t publicize your good works and make Christians look worse in the eyes of others…who might actually do more good and don’t expect a reward. There are things that you CAN do to promote help and support, like: Post links to great organizations and encourage donations and gifts for others. Wear World Vision t-shirts and then answer questions when people ask if it’s a world-wide Optical service. Support your local food banks and feed the homeless in your city, or even volunteer time at a local shelter, but don’t expect a t-shirt…or even a pat on the back…but I can tell you this: the smiles from those you serve, the looks of humble appreciation or amazed gratitude, or the profound look of relief that there is another pair of hands to bear the load, those are gifts from God…and no one can take that away, and unlike a t-shirt, they don’t shrink.

    Check out these great links, and please help those that cannot help themselves.

    http://www.worldvision.org/content.nsf/give/ways-to-give

    http://www.30hourfamine.org/about/what-is-the-famine

    Goat

    And if you want to read more of Acuff:

    http://www.jonacuff.com/blog/  (You’re welcome.) 🙂

  • Carving out monuments

    The minute I walked in the doors of the church his presence was felt. Or was it the Holy Spirit? They echoed the same. I walked forward in a line when someone extended a hand, “Here, you first.” I smiled. Knowing. This person had been touched by the life of Robert Ammon Warner as well. He had been touched, and in that small gesture, was showing homage to a life lived well.

    Today I started the day by contemplating my epitaph. Strange yes, but not random. I am going through a Bible Study that asked it of me. But, I realized it was fitting as I walked into a room of people that I didn’t know. I may not have known their names, but each held meaning and purpose and a destiny whether they were aware of it or not. Each life touched in one way or another by an extraordinary man of God, a man we affectionately referred to as Brother Bob. He was revered and loved and remembered, and this memorial was more of a testament to the work of Christ than any other I’d been to.

    Bob Warner was a saint. No doubt. But he’d never say it. He was a kind man, prone to emotion, and filled with love. I will never forget our first encounter as he handed me a book, “The United States of America was built on hope and faith!” He said with a loud and passionate voice. He was so convinced of this that he asked each and every member of our church to read that book, “The Light and the Glory”. He evoked passion for our country for the founders and for its purpose in the Kingdom of God. I admit with a frown that I never read through the book. In fact, it still sits, collecting dust, on my bookshelf, dog-eared about a fifth of the way through.

    I will also never forget the sincerity in his voice as he shared how Jesus met him in the cockpit of a fighter plane in World War II and how his life was never the same. It was with great grief that he shared of the many friends that had lost their lives, and the eternal question of “Why me?” was whispered in his heart as he still possessed his life. It was out of that deep understanding that he then gave his life over to God, and that is the place that God took an ordinary man to the man of distinction that we remembered today. He wasn’t proud of the violence of war, but he never insulted his military. One year, a missionary woman from Japan came to our church, and with her she brought one of the native pastors. With tears in his eyes and love in his voice, Brother Bob spoke: “I am so sorry for what we did to your country and for the bomb. Please forgive us.” All that were there that day were touched by two things: his repentance and the acceptance of the Japanese man that represented a country that had been ravaged. It exemplified the heart of Christ, and the truth of the Body that sees no lines of distinction.

    If I posted his picture, you wouldn’t know his face, most likely. But if you took that picture to a group of people who were uneducated and poverty stricken, those he taught to read and thus gave them hope, they would most likely weep. He was an educator by design much less than occupation. He believed that every person had a chance to an education and that education would bring them confidence. He offered tutoring at no cost. He hosted it for a few years at our church with others of our congregation, and it was a blessing. In fact, he was so committed to education he also taught in the prisons and fostered a ministry there. I will never forget the time that I joined them. Yes, me. A young woman in her early twenties went into a men’s prison and ministered. I sang. They listened. And I remember quite keenly that I had no fear. Brother Bob also invited my husband to go. We each went once. But, they were remarkable memories. Sadly, the ministry fizzled out and others came in and we never had the opportunity to go again, or maybe it is that we didn’t make the opportunity.

    As Brother Bob’s son gave the eulogy he said that more than any other characteristic his father exemplified love. Yes. He didn’t live his life worrying whether or not he was in the Father’s will or if he was a part of the right group or wondering what anyone thought of him. He simply walked this earth giving out love. No one had to ask him, “Are you a Christian?” With one look at his outstretched arms and the smile on his face, the answer was clear. This man was a follower of Christ.

    I left the church thinking. Seeking peace and understanding in my own circumstances and the ministries that I am a part of…when I heard the Voice that governs my days and my nights say, “Peace. Live. Love. This is what I ask of you.” And, the realization hit me, if no one speaks another word about me on the day of my memorial, may the love of God ring out! May it fill up the room, and may the truth of my life be exemplified in my love for God and others, and may my gravestone read, “This woman was a follower of Christ.”

  • My Affection

    “Large crowds were traveling with Jesus, and turning to them he said: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple.”
    Luke 14:25-26

    Man. Jesus threw some doozies out there, and this one is no less controversial.

    I’ve been reading “Not a fan.” by Kyle Idleman in the midst of flights and weddings and conquering Disney World in two days and supervising a ten year old daughter that knew better but still decided to bite into a neon glow bracelet and is now convinced her liver is radioactive and refereeing the latest sibling smack down before blood is drawn. I admit. It wasn’t easy with so much brain energy and physical fortitude required, but in the midst of all that chaos, this verse stood out.

    Can I just say, that being a woman called into ministry is one of the hardest things in the world? Really. It’s right up there with the lion tamer and the “how sharp are these shark teeth” tester guys. (I mean, if there were such a job.) I could write a book on this impossible balance. It’s not easy. It’s hard. (I felt the redundancy there was necessary to prove my point.)

    I love Jesus. Not a question. I love my family. Absolute fact. I will confess that if Jesus were in the flesh on this earth today, I would never leave His side. I would have never gotten married, had kids, or possibly gotten a bath…I would NEVER leave His side. Creepy? Maybe. But true. He is my first Love. I steal away with Him on picnics, talk to Him all day long, run every thought, plan, scenario by Him because I don’t want to ever feel disconnected from His plan, His purpose, His will for my life…which is most probably why I wasn’t meant to live when He walked on earth – the whole harvest and laborers ratio; plus, my kids are pretty darn cool and I have no doubt will eventually leave a distinguished mark upon this earth.

    So why did that verse in Luke hit me so hard?

    Because it’s not “cool” to love Jesus that much, to admit that you would choose Him over anything and everything in your life, given the choice. (Which just in case you are moments away from calling the men in white coats to haul me in let me state: I do not believe that Jesus asks us to make this choice, to choose Him and hate our kids or spouse or mom or dad or siblings. He simply asks us to choose Him. He provided those relationships and He did so with all such players in mind…but He asks that we love Him so much that in comparison our love for them doesn’t compare. Make sense?)

    I will never forget the look of absolute disbelief my friend gave me when I admitted, “Losing my husband would be difficult, but it wouldn’t devastate me.” Now, in my defense, when I said this I was totally thinking about the significance and the absoluteness of the word “Devastate” – to ruin or destroy; I wasn’t thinking in an emotional sense of overwhelming grief. But, I was being completely honest, because (and this is where you might look at me weird and think I’ve flipped my switch) nothing and no one in this world holds enough significance in my life to destroy me. Depress me, upset me, hurt me, grieve me, or break my heart? Yes. But not destroy me. There is something about looking death in the face and meeting God’s love and grace that makes you realize that nothing is worth that again. Nothing.

    Jesus is my Affection. Everything and everyone comes second to Him. We are told this is how it is supposed to be, what being a true disciple of Christ is, what relationship is all about…and yet, even the church criticizes those of us that think this way. (Unless you’re a priest or a nun, then you get a reprieve…well, kind of, because then they just think you are a closet pedophile or lesbian looking for cover in a habit or collar.)

    “There is something wrong with you.” I’ve heard that before.

    “Are you sure that you aren’t having an emotional affair with Jesus?” And my response was, “Is that even possible!?”

    “You have some sort of misguided affection for your Saviour.” Because it seems to me that saying, “I would die for you” and then backing that up with actions seems just the right amount of affection for One that saved you…but maybe that is just me.

    “You’re a woman…there should be a certain level of restraint even in your intimacy with Christ.” Wow. So the woman that admitted to me that she has so much difficulty with physical intimacy because of past abuse and misuse that she asks the Holy Spirit to love her husband through her and often lays naked before God in order to feel the purity of that state instead of the guilt and shame of before would probably be burned at the stake, and yet, I understand her. I understand that pain and that desperate need from a God that created her and has a compassion for her that never fails.

    I’m a woman. A woman that loves Jesus. That gave my life up for Him. That has been spending my breath to give His back. Not because there is something wrong with me, or because I’m misguided or without restraint. But because He healed that which was wrong, He led me when I was completely off track, and He has taught me that His perfect Love casts out all fear…including the fear of losing someone that is most precious to me, or the insecurities of the looks that I get from others, the bitter gossip of those that don’t understand, and the lack of appreciation from those that haven’t experienced the intimacy that Christ’s Love affords.

    I never want to be accused of choosing ministry (ie: work) over my spouse, my children, my family, and as a woman, a mother and a wife, the pressure of that is even stricter than on a man in ministry; however, I will always put my relationship with Christ first over any other role that I fill. Not to be separate but to be significant and inspirational, and if others can’t understand that, then they haven’t experienced the freedom that having Him first brings. Christ’s love affects me. And my affections are first for Him. Isn’t that what being a committed follower of Christ requires? According to Jesus, the red letter Voice, it is.

  • Forgiven

    Someone asked me, “How do you forgive the person that has hurt you?” That’s not an easy question to answer. And, yet, I know that we MUST forgive. Jesus admonishes us to “Forgive as you have been forgiven.” Really? Because that takes forgiveness to another level…that level takes more than flesh can give. I guess that’s the point.

    Forgiveness comes more easily for some than others. Some pains are more easily forgiven. The ignorance of the one that hurt you, for instance, over time might be easier to dismiss. But what about the malicious acts of pain and abuse, the in your face I hate you kind of grievances? Or the people that abuse you, misuse you, and break your heart again and again behind closed doors where no one else sees? What of those?

    One thing I have to remind myself is this: My enemy is not flesh and blood. He works through flesh and blood and manipulates others to come against me, but my enemy is deeper than that. When you can disconnect the pain from the person and attribute it to a “greater” source, perhaps you can forgive more easily. I know in the significant pains that I have faced in my life and overcome, it has taken that. I could stew about so and so and what they did to me, or I can realize that, like it or not, they too were victims of a hateful enemy that simply longs to kill and destroy and will stop at nothing to see it happen.

    Oh but wait! Leslie? You are then excusing the sin!? Yes.

    “Forgive as you have been forgiven.”

    Luckily, Jesus didn’t hang on a cross and blurt out, “Leslie Ann, this nail in my hand is for you, for the times that you lied, were unfaithful, murdered men in your heart, and took my name in vain!” He simply stated, “Father forgive them…” I was included in that blanket forgiveness, as were my accusers and my attackers. It held no stipulations or quid pro quo; forgiveness was given without a thought to the specific sin. It isn’t what put him there that mattered to Him, but the ones He was setting free!

    “How do you forgive the person that has hurt you?”

    You have to choose. Choose two things: First, remember the One that was hurt FOR you. Secondly, forgive as you have been forgiven. This is a little easier when you are removed from him or her. But in the case that they are still in your life, pray for them. Never discount the power of spoken prayer. Your circumstances may not change, but I guarantee your heart will; yielded and pliable in the Hands of your loving Savior, your heart can take on a softness you never thought possible.

    I’m praying for the person that reads this and harbors unforgiveness, anger, and hatred. I have been where you are, and for years I allowed that bitterness to fester and to grow. Then, I forgave and released the stress and energy that had occupied my mind and heart for years, holding me back from taking hold of the abundant life found through Christ Jesus. Forgiveness, I once heard, isn’t about forgetting what was done. It’s the act of releasing the chokehold around the perpetrator’s neck. Let them go… and they will lose their hold over you.

    I leave you with these words of Corrie Ten Boom, when she was looking into the eyes of the man that had abused, mistreated her, and passionately hated her for no other reason than she was a Jewish sympathizer:
    “Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart.”

  • The Thorn

    I’ve been studying about Thorns this week…not actual thorns on rose bushes and other such deceptively beautiful plants…but flesh thorns, those things that stick and fester and cause us to doubt everything God created us to be. They take on many names, you have seen them if not felt them: molestation, rape, insecurity, fear, abuse, infidelity, abortion, abandonment, sexuality, depression, or divorce. In just a matter of minutes, in most cases, they stick fast, and there they are, to be contended with or not.

    I have dealt with my thorn for almost 30 years. A thorn I didn’t have any control or say over, and a thorn that was innocently thrust in. But, a thorn is a thorn, and so year after year, phase after phase, situation after situation, that same thorn poked and throbbed and tortured me. Yes. TORTURED me.

    During this week, I felt its jab again. Because, we are after all studying thorns, and mine for so many years has been so real, so evident, so deep. So, as I do, when I see the evidence of the thorn I take it before God. This week, He taught me something that I have been too scared or too ashamed to see before, something that I want to share with you.

    For years, I have pictured myself, as a little girl pouting before almighty God and showing Him my thorn. It would stick, I would hurt, I would cry and take it to my Father…and show it to Him. A year ago I did this, and He reached for it. I finally extended my hand far enough and held it out long enough that He grabbed my arm gently and pulled it to Him. I watched in admiration and humility as this thorn that had been giving me so much pain for so many years, was being pulled out! He dried my tears, danced with me, and instructed me to move forward and make a difference.

    That boldness wasn’t without opposition. You see, for every step I moved to make a difference and to share what I had learned, the enemy met me with discouragement and fear and a greater attempt to discredit me and what God had called me to be. I wrestled with that, and every time, though knocked down for a moment, he discovered I wasn’t down for the count. So he dug deeper, and sent that fiery dart straight into my scar from my thorn.

    Wounded, brutally broken, I nursed my thorn again. Angry and disappointed, pointing that finger at God, He offered to hold it. I pulled back, afraid. What if it hurt more this time, what if the thorn was bigger, what if it had never been removed at all, but only hidden? So, I held it out to Him, only to show Him with a pout that I was hurting yet again.

    Yesterday, in my prayer time, I tried to show Him my scar, but He wouldn’t look at it. It’s a really strange feeling to be vulnerable before God and feel that He is disinterested. So, I dropped my hand and kept at my work, figuring I had done something wrong. Then last night, He spoke to me. He spoke to me in a picture, my picture, our picture.
    I saw Lily (my 8 year old) hurting, crying, pouting holding her hand, looking at it. Her Daddy came up and asked her what was wrong, and she showed him her finger, “It hurts; it’s my thorn.” He reached for it and she pulled back, “NO! It’ll hurt worse! You’ll hurt me!” He stooped down and reached again, “Can I please just see your hand?” Defiant and crying, she pulled her hand away and told him no. Then seriously, he reached out for it again, “Honey, you have to trust me.” She looked at him, considering this request, but convinced that only she could effectively nurse her wound, she attempted to pull the thorn out on her own. Watching her, and sympathizing, he wouldn’t be dismayed, “Can I show you something?” Lily still holding her hand slowly raised her finger, cautiously. “Where is the thorn?” he asked. Confused she grabbed back her finger, “It’s…” He smiled and picked her up and placed her on his shoulders.

    This morning, I woke up and understood. It’s GONE. This thing that I have tried to nurse, and I’ve been trying to understand, and I’ve been showing God for sympathy, is actually gone. The pain that I feel is real, but it isn’t the thorn. It’s a result of the thorn, one of the effects of the thorn, but the thorn itself… it was removed a year ago. So, today I have two choices: I can keep holding my hand, pouting over a wound that is healing and a thorn that is gone, or I can go forward in the truth that My Father can be trusted…and what He says is true, and He doesn’t undo what He has done, and He is lifting me up. After all, He showed me, I am on His shoulders, and the beauty of it is, His shoulders are broad enough to carry all of us!

  • What’s in a name?

    I wonder if I’m wrong.

    You ever had that thought?

    About life, about God, about how I am.

    I was reading something the other day, and I got to a point in the message where the person began speaking of G_d. G_d? What is that? I stopped. Why didn’t the person say “GOD”? What is so wrong with using His name? It wasn’t in vain. It wasn’t perverse. In fact, what they were sharing was profound, and yet, they couldn’t type out one more letter and say, “God.” Bizarre.

    Instantly I understood and grieved this decision. I understood, because we often forget that He IS holy and majestic and far beyond the realm of mere letters. I grieved because I thought back (not that I actually remembered) to the time before Christ, the time when the name of God was considered so sacred that even the common man was ashamed to speak it for fear that he wasn’t worthy. I thought back to the segregation that meant for the “wise and the learned” versus the everyday Joe. I thought of the authority of the priest that looked down his nose at those that he saw inferior because they were not in right blood line, the chosen race, the beloved People.

    Then I thought of the Priest that did away with all of that! Who erased the lines, embraced the masses, and had the audacity to stand before man and not only address the name made up of only consonants, but to call Him Father! Jesus, fully man, fully God gave His life not so that we would stumble over a key, unable to type or speak that Holy Name, but to make that name accessible to all!

    I decided to do a search. I am willing to admit I am wrong. So, I began in the old testament…I skimmed over the laws (seriously, I didn’t have all day), looked at the stories and followed it all through Revelation, and what I found was beautiful! What I saw was that not only has God’s name always been accessible to His creation, but all along, book after book, we see that His name changes, grows, diversifies, and solidifies. He is the God that Provides, and the God that Sees, the God that saves and rescues, the God that wrestles and concedes. He is the God that knows and the God that hears, the God that is with us, and the God that was and is to come. He is the beginning and the end. He is the King, the Lover, the Mother, the Shepherd, the Father, the Keeper, the Protector, and the One that fights for us. He is a Strong Tower, and the Lily of the Valley. He is Light and He is Truth, our Redeemer and our Friend. The Holy One, the Name above all names, the Counselor, the Teacher, and He, more than once referred to Himself as I AM! People have been renaming Him and calling on Him in all sorts of ways for centuries, and yet my dear brother in Christ stumbles over a letter!

    Now, maybe you are left with a question. “If all these names aren’t taking His name in vain, if all names are accessible to us, and yet we are still told time and time again to keep His name holy, how do we do this?” Well, it’s simple but it requires work. Yep. Grace is not devoid of work. Here is the answer, “Then His name will be honored because of the way you live.” (2 Thess. 1:12) The truth is, we can leave out letters, and type in hieroglyphics, and speak in jumbled consonants, but if we aren’t giving glory  to God through the way we live our lives, the holiest of pronunciations are nothing more than “appearances.” Because God only hears the language of the heart, and a convicted heart, a saved heart, a rescued heart calls on His Name in a million different ways at all times and lives His love out loud, and this to Him is the highest praise!

    So, no. I’m not buying into the latest “Bring old school religion back” phase. I’m walking forward, in the freedom that Christ afforded me. I am not only speaking the name of God with vigor and with joy, I’m calling Him Provider, and Healer, and all the other names that He has proven Himself to be time and again, and I’m also making use of the name Jesus freed up for me to use, Daddy! And, I don’t feel the tsk of His tongue like an old Jewish priest; I feel the light of His smile, because that’s the way He wants it! He wants us to speak His name, to revel in it, to marvel at it, and to understand it…not as something untouchable or too holy to pronounce, but to fulfill His greatest desire “that we should be called Children of God.” Now that’s a name I’m proud of!