Beauty from the Heart

He Said, she said

2009-11-04T10:23:00.000-08:00

"Train yourself up in godliness," You say, "for godliness with contentment is great gain, not only to yourself but the people around you. Plus, there's eternal reward involved."

So I say, "Sure" and have at it for oh, two hours. I know the rote rules of godliness: Read the Bible. Pray for a little while. Read a devotional, maybe. Make sure you've tithed or fasted or done something servantful recently.

But in the quiet, I know better.

Jim Elliot scattered reflections in his journal, "The tendency is to go to Egypt as our fathers have done, even as was Isaac's case. There is a river which does not fail; seemingly Egypt is without famine. But God wants me to find my satisfaction in wells in a famished land..."

Satisfaction. Satisfaction in a well? Surely the ancient imagery can translate for modern sensibilities. I say, "There is an unfailing source of food...somewhere. In Egypt, I hear they have self re-filling grocery aisles, while around here, people are scraping the bottom of the food pantry. I've gotta ask, can God fill my hunger?"

Can God fill my hunger? Hunger. I have pictures in my brain of that word. The pains of stomach walls imploding. Starvation; little distended stomachs from photographs of children eating bugs from the ground. Is that what I look like on the inside?

"Train yourself up in godliness," You say, and I think that is somehow related to the hunger.
Besides, what's the point of reading, praying, or even fasting if that soul-hunger is unaddressed? Isn't the assuaging of hunger the whole point? Or maybe...just maybe...hunger is the leash that trains us to godliness.

After reading a gem of a book entitled The Life of God in the Soul of Man, George Whitefield described his state: "O what a ray of divine life did then break in upon my soul! I fell awriting... I laid aside all trifling conversation. I put all trifling books away, and was determined to study to be a saint, and then to be a scholar. From that moment God has been carrying on His blessed work in my soul."

Sounds like godliness to me--though described in a way a mind accustomed to 3 Step Plans might marvel at. The opening of a shaft of light that illuminates hunger like a storm of dust particles caught midair. A godliness that does not only satisfy the hunger, but whets it as well. A godliness that starts with a refreshed soul, and moves on from there, wracking every conversation and written word with truth and heavenly urgency.

There is a river which does not fail, and reading the Bible and praying is only carrying a cup to its banks. We must search You out to be satisfied. We must want You to find You.

"Train yourself up in godliness," You say, and I think I know what You mean.

The Way Pirates Look for Gold

2009-11-02T13:32:00.000-08:00

"But the hard truth is that most Christians don’t pray very much. They pray at meals—unless they’re still stuck in the adolescent stage of calling good habits legalism. They whisper prayers before tough meetings. They say something brief as they crawl into bed. But very few set aside set times to pray alone—and fewer still think it is worth it to meet with others to pray. And we wonder why our faith is weak. And our hope is feeble. And our passion for Christ is small.And meanwhile the devil is whispering all over this room: 'The pastor is getting legalistic now. He’s starting to use guilt now. He’s getting out the law now.' To which I say, 'To hell with the devil and all of his destructive lies. Be free!' Is it true that intentional, regular, disciplined, earnest, Christ-dependent, God-glorifying, joyful prayer is a duty? . . . Is it a discipline?

You can call it that.

It’s a duty the way it’s the duty of a scuba diver to put on his air tank before he goes underwater.

It’s a duty the way pilots listen to air traffic controllers.

It’s a duty the way soldiers in combat clean their rifles and load their guns.

It’s a duty the way hungry people eat food.

It’s a duty the way thirsty people drink water.

It’s a duty the way a deaf man puts in his hearing aid.

It’s a duty the way a diabetic takes his insulin.

It’s a duty the way Pooh Bear looks for honey.

It’s a duty the way pirates look for gold.

I hate the devil, and the way he is killing some of you by persuading you it is legalistic to be as regular in your prayers as you are in your eating and sleeping and Internet use. Do you not see what a sucker he his making out of you? He is laughing up his sleeve at how easy it is to deceive Christians about the importance of prayer.

God has given us means of grace. If we do not use them to their fullest advantage, our complaints against him will not stick. If we don’t eat, we starve. If we don’t drink, we get dehydrated. If we don’t exercise a muscle, it atrophies. If we don’t breathe, we suffocate. And just as there are physical means of life, there spiritual are means of grace.

I have three practical suggestions. First, set aside a set time each day, and don’t leave prayer to chance. Second, I suggest you combine it with reading the Bible and that you take what you find in the Bible and turn it into prayer. Third, I suggest that you pray in concentric circles and make the aim of each circle the glory of God. You can work from outside in, or from inside out. For example, pray for your own soul, then for your family, then for your friends and colleagues, then for your church, then for wider ministries and the global mission of Christ, and then for the political leaders of the land. And let what you ask be at least partly shaped by what you just read in the Bible."

From Put in the Fire for the Sake of Prayer, a message by John Piper.

Last Words

2009-10-26T09:35:00.000-07:00

He did not cry easily, but the sight of his friends—more like brothers—gathering around him in prayer for the last time was enough to bring Paul to tears. For three years they had fought side by side proclaiming the gospel to the stubborn city of Ephesus. Together the band of brothers had shouldered the threat of beatings, imprisonment and even death from those hostile to their message.

With each brother he had developed a strong bond. Paul distinctly remembered nights in which he remained awake into the early morning hours, kneeling in prayer on behalf of every one of the men. Now, he was leaving them. He was making the journey to Jerusalem alone.

In his spirit, Paul knew. This was the last he would see of them in this lifetime.

From a Roman prison some time later, Paul wrote his last words to these Ephesians. His final message to them is interesting. Naturally, it would contain his heart's cry—what truth he wanted most for the church to cling to:

“But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God…” (Acts 20:24)

The point that Paul so desperately wanted to convey to these dear friends was not that God loved them. They knew the gospel. They recognized God's supreme love in sending His Son; but what they needed to hear most from Paul was this final challenge: Don't value yourself.

Paul's goal was not to lift their self-esteem. ‘But I do not account my life of any value…’ Rather, he hoped to lift their eyes to Christ.

The key words spoken by Paul were not meant only for the ears of his Ephesian buddies. God means those words for us too. We aren't supposed to draw security from belonging to Christ and have it end there.

Once I’m set free from constantly trying to mimic the clothes and behavior and body types of everyone else, I’m really, really free! It makes me want to dance around with a permanent marker and paint moustaches on all the little images I’ve had stored in my mind of what I “should” measure up to. No longer must I try to appease these images to be loved, because my Maker loves me as I am!

But that’s not all. In fact, if learning about God’s love ended at bringing up my self-esteem, I'd only be worshipping myself. Christ would still be missed. My focus would be only self-love, not really the love of God at all. As one man said, “If God’s love made us central and focused on our value, it would distract us from what is most precious; namely, Himself.”[i]

God's love for us should not drive us to higher self-esteem, but instead to a higher value of His opinion. Ditching the world's measurements ought to be the shove that pushes us into knowing Christ deeply. Our reaction should be something like, “So God loves me and created me with a reason; but what was that reason? How can I know more of Him?" And, "How can I draw more attention to His greatness, so that others can see how awesome He is?"

The answer to our questions should only lead us to the Answer of all questions-- which is, I think, what Paul wanted.

[i] Piper, John. Pierced by the Word, Multnomah Books 2003, page 13.

Make Like a Berean

2009-10-23T07:25:00.000-07:00

(If you don't get the title check out Acts 17:11.)

Should we fear God’s discipline, while we are under the New Covenant and thereby living under grace? And what is the meaning of “fearing God," when we are now told that perfect love casts out all fear? It’s not as if we’re in the Old Testament, where the relationship with God and His people was less intimate and based more on fear and faith rather than the person of Jesus Christ.

To place these questions in a more real-life scenario, imagine that your friends invited you to a casino. You aren’t quite crossing the line when it comes to sin, but lately, you’ve been hop scotching on it. You know that gambling isn’t explicitly banned in the Bible for New Covenant Christians. In fact, casting lots is even mentioned in the Old Testament as an activity of the priests. At the same time, you realize that because of all the verses on how we should spend our money wisely, and not love the pursuit of money, it’s probably not the wisest thing you should be doing. But, you reason, we’re living under grace. You shouldn’t be afraid, should you? To the pure all things are pure, right? Tell me, would it then be legalistic and wrong for you to contemplate—even fear—God’s consequences for your actions?

What do you do? I have friends who gamble, and I have friends who are adamantly against it. I'm not trying to tackle the gambling question. Rather, I'm concerned about the rationale in the example. Is the fear of consequences a form of legalism?

I don't have a straightforward answer to whether, in some sense, the fear of the Lord ends in the New Covenant. While I have a hunch about the answer, it's an issue I intend to search out further before forming a firm conclusion.

Thanks to Scripture, I do know a little bit: In Philippians 2:12, Christians are told to approach living out their salvation with "fear and trembling." Obviously, this means there is a good kind of fear that should still persist in us. In Hebrews 12:6, it says that God disciplines His children, meaning that God does sometimes mete out pain to his children as consequences for their actions; this discipline, however, is contrasted to eternal punishment, which was forever removed from the options list because of Christ's death.

So what does it mean to fear the Lord, while walking in grace? Care to weigh in?

Is Risk Really, Well, Risky?

2009-10-16T07:08:00.000-07:00

The other day, I ran across four converging lanes in downtown Dallas. I looked both ways first, and mentally measured the risk. I glanced back at the intersection of cars, guesstimating how many seconds I’d have to get across while they sat at a red light. In the end, it was the little old man yelling, “What are you doing just standing there? Get out of here, girl!” that motivated me to cross all four lanes. (One meets such congenial people downtown.)

Luckily, I made it across alive and well. Or was it fated to be that way? In stepping onto the street, I took a risk. The cars were stopped at a light, so it wasn’t a huge leap to assume that I’d make it, but it was an assumption nonetheless. Makes me wonder:

Is there such a thing as risk? In one sense, of course there is. We risk ridicule when we stand up against popular opinion. We risk pain when we choose to love. We risk when we assume that the cars at the intersection will not run a red light while we run across the street. Of course there is risk. But in a higher sense, does risk exist?

In Descartes’ Meditations on First Philosophy, he tries to prove the existence of God. He reasons that he can’t trust his senses—because sometimes our eyes play tricks on us. So, he cannot really know that anything exists. In a Matrix-esque line of questions, he asks if the world around him is actually a dream. How can he prove what is reality without his senses? Because he is thinking, he concludes that the only thing he can truly know is that he himself exists, and posits that if he does, then God must as well. While that may be an oversimplification of his meditations, Descartes’ writing demonstrates to me something that is a natural human reflex—to base our understanding first upon ourselves.

We say with Descartes, "I exist, therefore, I am," or "I exist, therefore, I must watch out for myself." We naturally see decisions through the lens of cost and gain. "What will this decision give me? What do I have to lose?" If we start from the understanding that we exist, and every choice we make will have an unsalvageable domino effect, risk is a valid concept. Yet, if God is the author of all things, we must realize that we risk nothing. Not now. Not ever.

Sure, our actions will have consequences—there’s no contradiction between God’s sovereignty and cause and effect. What we are guaranteed is that God has a will—promises that He has made that He will bring to pass—in spite of or in hand with our decisions. For example, He declares that He is the beginning and the end. He will never cease to exist. Ergo, his attributes—grace, love, mercy and holiness will never cease. No matter what we do, we can never change the indelible reality of God.

In the book of Ruth, the young widow Ruth takes the advice of the older widow, Naomi. Naomi tells her to go visit an acquaintance named Boaz and essentially request Boaz for a marriage proposal. It’s all kind of crazy and definitely awkward, especially as Ruth is Boaz’s employee. But in obedience to Naomi, Ruth takes the risk. She talks to Boaz. While the Bible doesn’t set forth Naomi’s advice as a prescription for how to get a marriage proposal, it does seem to praise Ruth for her trust. She must’ve known that her risk—as uncomfortable and daring as it was—meant that she had confidence that God would provide for her, even in unlikely circumstances.

Thinking on God’s sovereignty amidst our “risks” is comforting, because it pulls the pressure from my shoulders. It means that if I go to college and live to regret the decision, God remains. All is not unsalvageable. If I make an effort to share my faith and the words don’t come out as smoothly as I wish, God is still on His throne, and He is still mighty to save. If I cross the street and get hit in a freak accident, He still is. And the God who is eternal--who will never die and whose plans are never thwarted--He takes care of His own.

The Unguarded Ones

2009-10-15T07:15:00.000-07:00

"Before my wife and I got married I knew that I had to tell her everything about me, all the ways I'd messed up, all the things I'd done. She had to know what she was getting before she agreed to marry me....

I find myself acting differently with God. Often, when I pray, I will phrase my sentences in a way that makes me sound better. I will try to soften my sins, or touch up my true feelings before laying them before God. How foolish it is for me to be completely honest with my wife about my shortcomings, but try to fool God!

God wants us to be open with Him. He definitely doesn't want us to 'season our wretchedness' as we would raw meat. He knows what we are, that we are disgusting, that all we are doing is trying to make ourselves feel better....

People who are obsessed are raw with God; they do not attempt to mask the ugliness of their sins or their failures. Obsessed people don't put it on for God; He is their safe place, where they can be at peace."

-Francis Chan, Crazy Love

Grace & Gone With the Wind

2009-10-12T09:39:00.000-07:00

At the end of this summer, I resolved to spend more time reading classics. I figured that there was nothing like foils and symbolism to clean the literary palate...or something like that. I stuck fairly close to my resolution until hitting Gone With the Wind this past week. Southern Renaissance lit sounded enticing at first, but truth be told, I'd forgotten much of the storyline. By page three, I doubted whether I could read 689 smallprint pages about Scarlett O'Hara.

She's one of the most iconic female characters in literature. To this day, we borrow her lines (unknowingly,) such as "Great balls of fire!" and "Tomorrow is another day!" And yet, I had to ask, why? Scarlett O'Hara stands out as one of the most self absorbed, manipulative, overtly racist, flirtatious and aggravating leading ladies ever to grace a novel. Why, oh why was her character a hit?

I don't plan to finish the book, so I'll admit right here that my opinion is not the most educated one; but it appears at first blush that Scarlett's immortality branches from her flaws. When she connives for attention, she's like us. When she flings herself into a steep depression, in Scarlett, we see ourselves. Likely her behavior is worse than our own. I don't know many people who could match her for selfishness, because really, she's an absolute pain. But her incredible humanity, bad decisions and all, causes us to remember her.

While this does not make Scarlett admirable by any stretch, it does shed light on who we are. We instinctively like knowing other people are as messed up as ourselves. Scarlett-the-shamless-flirt is exactly the person we may take pride in not being. Like the thief who is comforted knowing that at least he isn't as bad as a murderer, we're uplifted to read about people who indulge in the same or worse behavior than we do. At the same time, others of us live vicariously through Scarlett, appreciating that she commits the sins we only imagine doing.

These perspectives are all entangled. Call it hedonism. Call it self-righteousness. Much of it is actually pride. In the end, we must realize that we each carry these flaws to some extent. Beyond the problems of a fictional character, we live with sin in a very real way. Ignoring the problem only results in a guilt-ridden existence, so we must inevitably come to terms with our inner O'Hara. With honesty.

Take this then, as a public confession. All the character flaws I despise in Gone With the Wind, I can claim for myself. I hate Margaret Mitchell's main character; but it's mostly because bits and pieces remind me of me. And in retrospect, it's funny that this brush with classic literature has led me back down this familiar trail of grace.

Instead of taking pride in what we are not, we can frankly recognize what we are. Christ demands that we have the courage to see ourselves realistically; there is no hiding where God is concerned. We live our lives disguising our mistakes from others, trying to do better, trying to win their hearts; but if we look at it correctly, all we're doing is splashing some paint on a tomb. (Matt. 23:27) We are not providing a solution.

Tim Keller wrote, "In Christ I could know I was accepted by grace not only despite my flaws, but because I was willing to admit them. The Christian gospel is that I am so flawed that Jesus had to die for me, yet I am so loved and valued that Jesus was glad to die for me. This....undermines both swaggering and sniveling."

The love of Christ gives us the boldness to see ourselves truly, causing us to find refreshed humility every time we see our sin in someone else. Renewing ourselves constantly with the remembrance of sin, we're then freed to grow beyond the flaws.

But then again, is there really much to learn beyond grace? Or is it all just a matter of learning to accept forgiveness and re-learning again?

Proof's in the Words

2009-10-07T08:12:00.000-07:00

“If we truly understood and applied the doctrine of 'justification by faith', what would that look like in our relationships within the Body? What is one of the primary evidences of a justified life?”

My professor paused to let us think. It wasn't hard. Love, I answered silently, and waited for him to confirm it.

“Refusal to speak evil against our brothers.” Oh, right. Wait-- what? “Applying the doctrine of justification to everyday life would mean the death of all gossip and unloving speech.” My puzzlement must have shown on my face.

Titus 3:1-2 flashed to mind-- Remind them to be… ready for every good work, to speak evil of no one, to avoid quarreling, to be gentle, and to show perfect courtesy toward all people. Unfortunately, no instant epiphany accompanied the verse. I'd grant that our speech reveals our hearts-- but can you really call it a primary demonstration of our grasp on the gospel?

Yes, I think you can.

When you break it down, it clicks. "The gospel" is shorthand for the good news of justification-- being made holy before God. As a Christian, the righteousness of Christ is now yours. You stand blameless and irrevocably forgiven before God. The zinger: so is every other Christian you've come into contact with. Don't I deny the efficacy of the Christ's death, then, with every unloving word I speak against another Christian, whether it's to his face or behind his back?

The believers who test our patience stand no less fixedly in God's favor as canonized saints. Torrential grace overpowers all their daily sins. These people have been stamped "righteous" by the same God whose presence compels the seraphim to cry Holy, Holy, Holy day and night. Christ came-- Grace incarnate-- and spent His life for their eternal gain, to say "I remember your sins no more."

Knowing this, how can I possibly dare to resurrect those same sins for a rehash?

Against that simple gospel backdrop, dredging up a brother's past offense sounds sickening. I cannot claim to be in sync with the gospel and simultaneously air another believer's sins, even in the simplest passing comment. Honesty and accuracy have no bearing here. Unless I'm deliberately stirring my listener "to love and good deeds" through a humble, sober warning against the deceitfulness of sin, my words only feed self-righteousness and defame the grace of Christ.

You can hear the intensity of passion permeating Paul's words in Romans 8:33-34: "Who will bring a charge against God's elect? God is the one who justifies; who is the one who condemns? Christ Jesus is He who died, yes, rather who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who also intercedes for us." That's it. God has justified.

Judging and confrontation still have an important place. We aren't called to ignore the reality of each other's sin. We're simply called to forgive as our Heavenly Father forgives, and act like we're part of a holy Body. Because we are.

Fall Knitting

2009-10-05T07:50:00.000-07:00

Accessories: How To Knit A Scarf

Fall is here (and if I can say that from Texas, which often enjoys only two seasons per year, then it must true.) As Edna St. Vincent Millay said, "Oh, Autumn! Autumn!--What is the Spring to me?" Between the mild temperature and hot tea, it's hard not to like.

Rather than waxing poetic on one of my favorite seasons, I thought a better ode to the weather would include an instructional video on scarf-knitting. I'm not usually a fan of instructional videos about knitting because for me, at least, I learn best with someone to walk me through step-by-step. However, I think the video is pretty helpful, particularly for beginners.

Have fun.

(Addendum: Google recently added short commercials to precede the videos, so while I didn't see anything objectionable when I re-watched this video today, use your own discretion!)

Snakeoil, Anyone?

2009-09-30T07:25:00.000-07:00

Saw these photos (taken from vintage magazines) and had to smile. Some things--like vanity and gimmicky ads--never change.

Photo credits: Modern Mechanix Blog (not all blog content is necessarily recommended.)

Taking Off My Shoes

2009-09-29T10:23:00.000-07:00

When the trees shudder in the breeze, or a butterfly barely glances your hand, you can feel beauty pull at your heart. You long to be a part of the beauty—to both soak it in and add to it.

It happens to me a lot. Especially when I write.

Maybe for you, this desire pertains to a musical instrument. Maybe you draw, paint, or write. You might not be artistic at all—but in living out your talents, you long to reach your fullest potential--whatever it might be.

I’ve come to see this desire as a thumbprint of God on our minds. The desire to do something beautiful is there because we were created in His image, and He gets a kick out of beauty. As Elizabeth Barrett Browning explained,

"And truly, I reiterate, . . nothing's small!
No lily-muffled hum of a summer-bee,
But finds some coupling with the spinning stars….

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes."

God has crammed the Earth with signs of His nature, reminding us that there is more in existence than taking out the trash, returning books to the library, eating, sleeping and the general occurrences that stuff our lives. But when it comes to imitating that beauty, we don’t do it right all the time. We fail (more often than not) and our minds typically prefer contentment in the mediocre—but the longing to create a masterpiece is a God-thing. Why? There’s an amazing potential for projecting the glory of God in our work.

John Piper wrote something rather shocking on this subject, which I've quoted before, but I believe deserves re-visiting. He wrote, "...when a person speaks or writes or sings or paints about breathtaking truth in a boring way, it is probably a sin." And why wouldn’t it be? Since when was it preferable to slack off, burying our talents, rather than investing our sweat and tears into mirroring God’s love for beauty the best we can?

Piper continued, "The supremacy of God in the life of the mind is not honored when God and His amazing world are observed truly, analyzed duly, and communicated boringly." Further on he said, "I pray for the grace of imagination, lest I fail to love my fellow man and fail to render Your glory for what it really is..." (Life As a Vapor.)

I wonder what that prayer would look like, played out in our lives.

Interrogating the Heart

2009-09-21T07:32:00.000-07:00

What is that thing which stands between you and total happiness? What is that that your heart claims will be the key to your satisfaction? Is it an accomplishment? A goal in school? Marriage? Popularity? What is it?

Whatever that thing is, if it stands between you and total happiness in Christ, it's an idol that will only lead to your hurt.

Of course, we have God-given gifts and hunger to do things. Sometimes we feel as if we'll never have peace unless we're knee deep in accomplishing those goals. But don't let that understanding make you automatically dub your desire as "healthy" and "God-given." We should always be in a position where we can stop what we're doing, take a breather, and still be happy because Christ is the well from which we draw our joy.

James 4:14-15 exclaims, "Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, 'If it is the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that.'"

You don't know what will happen tomorrow. Why hope in something that is not sure?

Since your life is only a blip on the radar, is it worthwhile to spend it on this unnamed pursuit?

Is longing for this thing bringing about positive transformation in your spiritual life, or are you growing in bitterness instead?

As Elisabeth Elliot concluded, "Until the will and the affections are brought under the authority of Christ, we have not begun to understand, let alone to accept, His Lordship. My heart would forever be a lonely hunter unless settled 'where true joys are to be found'."

Are you satisfied? Or are you a lonely hunter?

More Recommendations for Bibliophiles

2009-09-16T08:40:00.000-07:00

Looks like it's a literary week around here. If you’re like me, you’re always on the lookout for a new treasure (aka "book")—and this summer, I made two discoveries that I’m dying to share.

Just Do Something: A Liberating Approach to Finding God’s Will, by Kevin DeYoung

I honestly wish I could put this tiny little book in the hands of every Christian I know. Kevin DeYoung’s style is irresistibly fresh, full of memorable examples, highly quotable, and humorous in appropriate places. Most of all, he applies the Word clearly and honestly to a massive issue in our generation.

If you’ve ever spent hours agonizing over God’s will for your life—if you’ve ever found yourself mired in passivity, or downright unsure about how to make a big decision— well then. I don't want to sound controlling or anything (ahem), but I have a four-step command for you.

Open a new tab. Go to Amazon.com. Buy it used for $5.79. Send me a thank-you card.

I literally felt like jumping out of my chair in sheer exhilaration on several occasions. Chapter after chapter unfurls gloriously liberating, roundly biblical truth that our Christian sub-culture has largely forgotten. The way I think, pray, and act has been changed. Please, go ahead and open that tab, won’t you?

The Prodigal God, by Timothy Keller

It’s short, it’s easy to read, and it still ranks among the most powerful books I’ve ever picked up.

The subtitle is “Recovering the Heart of the Christian Faith”, and that’s exactly what the book does, through a fresh exposition of the familiar Prodigal Son parable-- making it a deeply refreshing awakening for believers, and a wonderful introduction to genuine Christianity for unbelievers. There aren’t many books that you can read as a seasoned believer or a young believer, and then hand to an unsaved friend-- but The Prodigal God was designed for all three.

From the book: “Jesus does not divide the world into the moral "good guys" and the immoral "bad guys." He shows us that everyone is dedicated to a project of self-salvation, to using God and others in order to get power and control for themselves. We are just going about it in different ways.”

Keller gives one of the most balanced, rich, and accessible presentations of the Gospel I’ve discovered to date. If you don’t gain something from it, I’ll buy your copy off you. I want another one anyway.

Regarding Myths and Whimsical Things

2009-09-14T06:53:00.000-07:00

"What's magic, anyway? If you asked a kitten, 'How does a bumblee fly?' the answer would probably be 'Magic.' Aerwiar is full of wonders, and some call it magic. This is a gift from the Maker...

"I have seen many things, child,” said Nia, and a faraway look came into her eyes. “Wonderful things. The old stories might call it magic, but I call it beauty.” -Andrew Peterson on magic, in North! or Be Eaten

To be honest, I’m not sure how to start writing this book recommendation. I could start drawing some comparisons between this author’s writings and C.S. Lewis’ more whimsical stuff—like "The Chronicles of Narnia"—but you wouldn’t believe me, would you?

I could start talking about how my family has read together for as long as I can remember—how about that?

When I was about eight years old, my parents began picking out books to read as a family. We started with obscure classics from the mid-1800’s (because of their strong vocabulary and sense of right and wrong) before treading into modern lit. My parents’ criteria in picking books have always been to find something that would be understandable for the whole family, convey Biblical themes, and hold some entertainment value.

Of the books we recommend to friends, Andrew Peterson's new series has become an unquestionable favorite. Last year, the singer-songwriter published the first book in his "Wingfeather Saga" series, beginning the story of two brothers and a sister who learn that they are the heirs to the throne of the ancient country of Anniera. While that sounds like a happily-ever-after conclusion rather than a beginning, it's not.

The children's world has long been subdued by conquerors from across the sea--the venomous Fangs of Dang--who are determined to squelch any memory of Anniera. Once their royal heritage is discovered, the three siblings--along with their mother, grandfather (a reformed pirate,) Nugget-the-dog, and the mysterious Peet the Sock Man--must run (and fight) for their lives.

Lace the storyline with humor and Lewis-esque profundity, and you'll get the right idea.

When the sequel, North! or Be Eaten was released in August, immediately my sister Grace began asking (and asking and asking) when we'd get a copy of the new book. She was right in doing so. Having finished the sequel, I can honestly say that the sequel is as good, possibly better, than its predecessor. Themes of responsibility and self-denial are fleshed out more thoroughly. After closing the book, I thought about Peterson's portrayal of love, weaved throughout the novel and culminating in a boy losing blood for the sake of his undeserving brother.

It brings to mind something a certain Oxford professor once wrote:

"The value of myth is that it takes all the things we know and restores to them the rich significance which has been hidden by ‘the veil of familiarity’… If you are tired of the real landscape, look at it in a mirror. By putting bread, gold, horse, apple, or the very roads into a myth, we do not retreat from reality: we rediscover it. As long as the story lingers in our mind, the real things are more themselves. This book applies the treatment not only to bread or apple but to good and evil, to our endless perils, our anguish, and our joys. By dipping them in myth we see them more clearly."

(C.S. Lewis, reviewing The Lord of the Rings in Essay Collection and Other Short Pieces.)

Sidenote: I found both of Peterson's books on sale, two for $20.

Playing Small

2009-09-07T10:00:00.000-07:00

Who are you?

I find that question keeps coming up, and accordingly, keeps getting posted on this blog. One response to the question was proposed by Maryanne Williamson, who said (as famously quoted by Nelson Mandela at his 1994 inauguration):

“It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and famous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world…We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in all of us.”

On the surface, with terms used such as “God’s glory” and “light and darkness” it sounds like a perfectly acceptable Christian statement. And to a degree, I suppose we could find some agreement with it. We are children of God (those saved by faith in the atoning death of His Son, that is). We are to glorify God and He has created us in His image. But the underlying philosophy is revealed in the one, quiet little phrase: “Your playing small does not serve the world.”

This is the same belief that trips us up when we wonder who we are.

In order to find fulfillment, it’s easy to think we must “live large.” We’ve got to be cool. We must be accepted. We must be glittery, confident, and popular. We must be significant. Surely that is who we are.

But in a paradox (not surprising if you’re accustomed to Bible reading, chock-full of such paradoxes) our only true significance will be found in being small.

On a very basic level, we won’t have friends or companionship if we selfishly cling to our own “manifest glory.” As the French novelist, Muriel Barbery wisely deduced, “We have given up trying to meet others; we just meet ourselves…because other people have become our permanent mirrors… As for me, I implore fate to give me the chance to see beyond myself and truly meet someone.”

Infatuated with being charming, or being loved— we will miss out on loving. If we focus too much on finding who we are (and if we are not content to be small, meek, and serving), we will never truly know anyone else beyond our own “permanent mirrors.”

Instead, I suspect that it is the humble cry like Francis of Assisi’s that results in truly shedding God’s glory: “O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, to be loved as to love, for it is…in dying that we are reborn to eternal life.”

Likewise, we cannot find fulfillment unless we realize the truth. We are small. Our lives are as vapors in the wind. At the same time, we're cherished by a big God.

So, rather than questioning who I am, I find that the answer is always found somewhere else. It is found in God. It is found in the grace I’ve been given freely by Christ. It is found in loving other people; never in seeking to become my own.

Photo credit: Ivan Petrov.

Loving the Master Most

2009-09-02T20:10:00.000-07:00

I have a geeky confession.

Some girls squeal at the thought of meeting celebrity singers. I’d prefer meeting pastors and quietly listening to them talk for hours. A couple months ago, I actually fell asleep and dreamed that I was eating lunch at Chic-Fil-A with John Piper and his wife.

In and of itself, these are only amusing eccentricities. Most of us can relate to having similar “personal heroes of the faith”— fired-up Christians, whether alive or preserved through their writings, who stoke our yearning for God-centered living. These godly, wiser mentors are essential in guiding us along the path of maturity.

Respect and imitation for godly leaders is healthy— up to an extent. The problem starts when we forget that “Christian” means nothing more than “little Christ”, and we begin to think of the pupil like the Master.

Godly Idols?

This morning, I read a few chapters of Paul’s first letter to the church in Corinth—a church struggling with just such an overdose of devotion to certain Christian leaders. Paul wasted no time in setting them straight:

“Each one of you says, “I follow Paul,” or “I follow Apollos,” or “I follow Cephas,” or “I follow Christ.” Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or were you baptized into the name of Paul? …

What then is Apollos? What is Paul? Servants through whom you believed, as the Lord assigned to each. I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth.” (1 Corinthians 2:12-13 and 3:5-8)

I love how these verses read like a triumphant bugle call to worship. No Christian is anything except a servant; Christ is everything. God is the one working behind the scenes in every godly leader’s heart; He’s the only one who deserves the full spotlight.

Do I feel less inclined to pick up the Bible than to pick up a meaty Christian book? Am I more apt to quote Spurgeon than to quote Scripture? Whenever my answers are yes, the primary allegiance of my heart has been revealed: my delight in Christ has atrophied while my delight in the message-bearer has swollen. Respect has toed the line reserved solely for the true Hero of my faith.

J.C. Ryle wisely observed, “The best of men are only men at their very best. Patriarchs, prophets, and apostles – martyrs, fathers, reformers, puritans – all are sinners, who need a Savior: holy, useful, honorable in their place – but sinners after all.”

The only Person worthy of our boundless adoration is Christ Jesus. No one else can even begin to compete.

Photo credit: irishcalvinist.com.

Humbly Accepting Reproof

2009-08-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

How well do you take correction, even when it isn't offered graciously?

Learning To Love Correction from Covenant Life Church on Vimeo.

Victory Already Acheived

2009-08-24T07:42:00.000-07:00

I am coming to realize that Christians—to some degree—will always struggle with schizophrenia. With two conflicting natures beneath our skin, we must constantly scrap in the struggle between them. When we believe we’ve won and finally have a foothold on righteousness, pride shows our true weakness. When guilt pushes our heads down, the Spirit reminds us that Christ is enough, and that there is no condemnation in Him. Yet it’s always a fight.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer lamented his own conflicting natures from his prison cell, not long before his execution by the Nazis. His description of this conflict is insightful:

"Who am I? They often tell me

I stepped from my cell’s confinement

Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,

Like a squire from his country-house.

Who am I? They often tell me

I used to speak to my warders

Freely and friendly and clearly,

As though it were mine to command.

Who am I? They also tell me

I bore the days of misfortune

Equally, smilingly, proudly,

Like one accustomed to win.

Am I then really all that which other men tell of?

Or am I only what I myself know of myself?

Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,

Struggling for breath, as though hands were

Compressing my throat,

Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,

Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,

Tossing in expectation of great events,

Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,

Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,

Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?

Who am I? This or the other?

Am I one person today and tomorrow another?

Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,

And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?

Or is something within me still like a beaten army,

Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?

Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.

Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am Thine!"

(First published in Christianity and Crisis, March 4, 1946)

Now there’s a note worth taking to heart. We are never wholly defeated in our struggle against the flesh. We are never entirely weak. We are like an army that has faced momentary defeat on the battlefield, while the rest of its forces have already won the war.

“But we have this treasure [which is the good news of Christ] in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh…. knowing that He who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and bring us with you into His presence.” (2 Cor. 4:7-12, 14)

When all is said and done, this fight is something we're destined to win.

Tell Me Who You Are, Pt. 2

2009-08-20T05:58:00.000-07:00

If you had one opportunity to tell me who you are, what would you say? I wonder if we communicate this--the only message worth communicating with our lives--nearly enough:

This world system doesn’t work. At all.

Corruption has seeped into every government the planet. Slavery is booming across the world. Kids aren’t just starving in Africa; they’re starving in your hometown. Look hard enough outside yourself, and you’ll see suffering on every streetcorner.

Yet these things aren’t the problem.

These are only symptoms of the pervasive problem: human depravity.

Sin is smeared across each one of us. We’ve all lied at least once. We’ve jumped at the invitation to lust. While we haven’t all murdered or masterminded concentration camps, we’ve hated other people, which is the same as committing murder in our minds. Most of all, we haven’t worshipped the God who created us. We’ve given God a virtual slap in the face, refusing to love Him.

Picture this individual sin multiplied by over six billion people. World problems don’t seem so surprising.

Yet God made men to walk in the light—the light of holiness, that is. Not holiness in terms of two-facedness or fake goodness. Not holiness in terms of lists and rules. Holiness that is the absence of corruption.

He made us for His Presence, but our sin (and our love for it) bars the door.

God had one option: He could punish us. Like a judge over reprobates, He could lock us up forever. In fact, in order to be a good judge, He’d have to punish us severely. (Even to our standards, a judge who lets a rapist free isn’t doing his job.) Punishment was necessary for justice, and death is the penalty for sin.

Somebody needed to die.

And yet, in a never-before-seen dramatic twist, heaven rushed to meet earth. Perfection stooped to caress an infected world. The judge took a seat in the reprobate’s electric chair. The Triune God sent the Son to meet death for us.

The One who was called “Morning Star” and “King of Kings” squeezed Himself into the casings of a man. He gave Himself nerve endings, so He could feel pain. He made Himself small, because someone needed to die for sin--so He did.

And our world system still bashes God for trying to force morality on us. Some even publicly denounce His existence. We’ve turned not-worshipping God into an art form. On that note, nothing has really changed.

But God is still Judge. Someone will have to pay for our insolence—for yours. Either you will hate your sin and hide behind Jesus or you will reject Him and pay for it yourself. There is no in-between.

When was the last time you honestly, truly thought about this? Is this truth the foundation of who you are? If not, what is?

Tell Me Who You Are

2009-08-17T06:55:00.000-07:00

If you had one message that summarized your life, what would it be? What is your lifework? When you die (face it, girls, it will happen), what do you think people will remember you loving the most?

Back in February, when my brother was in the hospital after his accident, I met a lady who was a volunteer clerk at a local hospitality-home for hospital families. We spoke only briefly—just long enough for her to ask why we were there. “My sixteen year old brother was in an ATV accident.”

I remember the woman because her response was unusual. She didn’t ask how it happened. She didn’t reply with that oh-so-aggravating response, “Well, he should be more careful next time.” Instead, she nodded her head knowingly. She asked if he’d be okay. I shrugged. “We’re trusting God. We’re thankful he’s alive right now, but we don’t know…”

The lady quizzed me further, nodding some more. She explained that she’d lost two friends in the past year to ATV accidents. With an outburst of energy she exclaimed, “You need to go on a national crusade! Get on ABC! Get on the news! Let people know how dangerous those things really are.”

Unsure how to respond, I remember smiling and saying something noncommittal. “I’ll definitely tell the people I know…”

She had a point. Countless stitches, hospital days, and some research later, I’ve learned that there are major legal battles ensuing as we speak regarding the safety and stability of certain ATV designs. My brother and his friend weren’t even speeding when their vehicle wrecked. The government is currently investigating certain companies involved in ATV production.

These findings are more than enough fuel for a national campaign. So, why not?

The truth is, if I had one message I wanted to champion, if I could tell you one thing, I would want it to be a fact of critical importance. I’d want to pour all my passion into that message. I’d shake my soul awake for the sake of heralding this one thing. It’d have to be more than a life or death issue. It’d have to be an eternal one.

If you have a single message communicated by your life, what is it? I’m talking seriously here—not what you ideally would want your life to communicate. What do you communicate? Legalism? Fear of condemnation from God? An obsession with people and things? Foolishness? Or do you exude love? Do you think it's obvious from the way you live that you maintain a Big Picture view of life? What defines you?

Is God's Love Hard to Understand?

2009-08-12T06:59:00.000-07:00

Yup. It most certainly is--if we try to look at from the standpoint of the Bible. Is God cushy and flattering in His love? Or is His love a stoic choice, bare-bones and emotionless?

Reading through D.A. Carson's book, The Difficult Doctrine of the Love of God, I had a several envigorating ah-ha! moments. For those of you who waded with me through some of the mind-bogglingness of God's love in this recent post, you may appreciate what Carson had to say as well. He's a very scholarly writer dealing with a weighty topic, but I guarantee, it's worth the read:
"Although I have never traced it out in detail, I suspect that the heritage of understanding...to refer to a willed loved independent of emotion and committed to the other's good has been influenced by the schoolmen and other philosophical theologians of a bygone era, who denied there was feeling in God. To have feeling, they argued, would imply passivity, i.e., a susceptibility to impression from people or events outside Himself, and this is surely incompatible with the very nature of God."

"Many Christian traditions affirm the impassibility of God. The Westminster Confession of Faith asserts that God is 'without...passions.' If this is taken to mean that God is emotionless, it is profoundly unbiblical and should be repudiated. But the most learned discussion over impassibility is never so simplistic. Although Aristotle may exercise more than a little scarcely recognized influence upon those who uphold impassibility, at its best impassibility is trying to avoid a picture of a God who is changeable, given over to mood swings, dependent upon His creatures." "[But] it is no answer to espouse a form of impassibility that denies that God has an emotional life... The price is too heavy. [If you affirm impassibility] you may then rest in God's sovereignty, but you can no longer rejoice in His love. You may rejoice only in a linguistic expression...couched in the anthropopathism of love. Give me a break. Paul did not pray that his readers might be able to grasp the height and depth and length and breadth of an anthropopathism and know this anthropopathism that surpasses knowledge. (Eph. 3:14-21)"

A weighty concept? Yes, and if you're like me, you had to look up "anthropopathism" in the dictionary to grasp Carson's statement fully. What he's saying, however, is dramatic in its impact: God has feelings. He has emotions. While those emotions are not the guide to His behavior (God is not rash or flippant), God does feel. Out of His holiness, He feels wrath against sin. Out of His love, He feels affection for us.

Read enough literature on God's love and you'll start seeing a so-called contradiction in His nature. In one view, God is this unfeeling giant in the sky who smashes people like ants when He is angry and just barely tolerates people when He's in a good mood. To others, God is cuddly and small--a perpetual infant in a manger. The truth is grander.

God is infinite. If we've felt pain on a large scale, we can know He's felt it more. It doesn't mean that He's weak or vulnerable because of His ability to feel--He's still sovereignly in charge of it all. But it does mean that when He says He loves us, He's not talking smack. God isn't speaking of an emotionless love that costs Him nothing. God speaks of choosing to love us with a passion that cost Him everything.

I know I still haven't fully comprehended it (and have great doubts whether I ever will.)

On Perfectionism, Part 2

2009-08-10T06:40:00.000-07:00

Motivation #1: Fear

We’re terrified of personal failure. We tremble at the thought of disappointing anyone we respect or love. The ghosts of future disasters waft through our imaginations, triggering stress.

Beneath all this drivel we feed ourselves about our “work-ethic” and how we’re trying to “glorify God through excellence,” we've hidden a truth from ourselves. We’re mousey. No matter how placid and confident we appear, we're timorous at heart; a mere whiff of anything we deem failure topples our assurance. Perfectionism is only the paper shield we try to duck behind for safety.

But this buried, irrational fear begs another question. Why are we cowards? Why does imperfection-- even in minute measures that other people never notice-- grip our hearts with anxiety?

Motivation #2: Control

Because failure means embarrassment. It's the ultimate unmasking, showing everyone who we really are. Perhaps worse still, failure proves to ourselves that we are weak, bumbling people without any real charge over our own destinies.

Even the most carefully-laid plans misfire. Circumstances intervene without asking our consent first. And in spite of our hard work, we still can’t win every time or perform flawlessly. It doesn’t really matter how much we crave an ideal of “perfection” in a certain area; ultimately, the outcome is never under our power.

There. I've said it. The simple, obvious realization that stops the hearts of all would-be sovereigns: I'm not in control.

But we must have control. When a driver's gas pedal quits working en route, he feels an instinctive surge of panic-- why? Because he knows that a crash is waiting to happen if you can't control your vehicle. Likewise, if we cannot guarantee our perfection, humiliation is waiting expectantly just a few miles down the road. Naturally, then, control is everything-- without that illusion, our security is gone. This is why we strive so doggedly after our aims; what alternative is there, without increasing our risk of the embarrassment or frustration that failure brings?

So we've circled back to failure again. We seek control because we fear failure, and we fear failure because it devastates us-- but why does it devastate?

Motivation #3: Self

There can only be one answer: we’re consumed with ourselves. Independently, minor mistakes and imperfections are rarely frightening monstrosities-- unless, that is, we have something very deep and very personal at stake. Our pride.

Even small things-- like scouring the kitchen so long that you could eat off the floor, though it meant missing an opportunity to love someone-- are used to boost our delight and confidence in ourselves. After a thorough job, we can then conclude that "I did this well", with unduly heavy emphasis on the I. I'm in control. I've just succeeded. I look good; I feel good.

Feeling good about ourselves isn't wrong when it's paired with heartfelt thanksgiving to God, who deserves all glory. But that doesn't describe the typical response of our hearts, does it? Lip-service to God aside, our concern is usually all self-focused-- it's all about us and our image. Faith works for God’s glory; perfectionism always works for mine.

Because of this, a God-trusting perfectionist is a contradiction in terms. In practice, the perfectionist’s hope is visibly grounded elsewhere: in himself, and his often-wobbly performance. Faith relies on God; perfectionism relies on me.

Crushing Perfectionism

It isn’t surprising, then, that Scripture calls everyone who trusts in himself a fool (Prov. 28:26), but exclaims, “Blessed is the man who makes the Lord his trust" (Ps. 40:4)!

There’s this really interesting, twisty element of faith, though. Have you ever tried trusting God to ensure that you don’t embarrass yourself? When pride was your unquestionable motive? It comes out a little awkwardly in a prayer. (Been there, done that, got a closet of T-shirts.)

Here’s the thing: we can’t trust God to give us the “stellar” results—from our human, perfectionist's perspective—that we crave. That’s our agenda, but not necessarily His; God will never choose to spare me from mistakes when they contribute to making me more like His Son. His aim is His own glory, not mine. John Piper loves to say, "Don't waste your life making yourself look good. Use your life making God look good"-- because it's so true. At the end of the day, only He matters.

With this God-centered perspective, faith takes on a different hew. We can trust God to make all the circumstances of our lives-- including our failures-- work "for good" (Romans 8:28). We can trust that He is faithful and loving (Deuteronomy 7:9), that He is chiseling away at the sin in our lives (Ephesians 5:25-27), and that He will glorify His own Name (Isaiah 42:8).

As we slowly replace our self-absorbed focus, concentrating instead on God's sovereign control and matchless worth, something strange begins to happen in our hearts.

When we don’t meet our ideals after giving it our best, we are no longer so perturbed; we can't be, because whoever trusts in the Lord is full of joy (Prov. 16:20, Ps. 33:21). We're free to push ourselves hard— but our feathers aren’t ruffled anymore at the prospect of humiliation, since our trust and hope have been invested in God (Isaiah. 26:3-4). Normally, we can’t stand our own weakness; now, we can rejoice in the knowledge that God’s strength is perfected in our frailty (2 Corinthians 12:9-10).

The timid perfectionist in us starts to shrink-- while fearless, unshakable joy takes root.

Related Posts:

* Gloriously Frail
* The Truth About Insecurity

* On Perfectionism, Part 1

(Photo credit: "Monk," USA Network.)

Are You Fighting?

2009-08-06T08:11:00.000-07:00

"For this is the will of God, your sanctification." -1 Thessalonians 4:3

“That is so convicting.” I say those words a lot.

My friends and I email each other quotes from convicting authors. We listen to convicting sermons at church, forward each other convicting sermons during the week, enjoy convicting conversations, and generally thrive on convicting resources. If I say something is “convicting”, I’m giving it some of the highest praise I know.

It all sounds so great, so holy. Because… honestly… how many people do you meet who are really, really eager to be confronted about their sin?

Exactly my point. But I’m not just anyone. I know that God really likes it when I feel convicted. I mean, why shouldn’t He? It’s a clear sign of my humility, teachable spirit, sensitivity to His voice, etc, etc.

Naturally, I enjoy it too. If I can say, “That’s so convicting” with sincerity, it gives me a feeling of relief— of satisfaction, even. It’s like the feeling I get when I have a lengthy to-do list and I put an “x” in one box. Sin recognized; sorrow felt; up goes the subconscious mental check in my mind. Now I’m a step further on my way to holiness, and if I manage to remember it throughout the week-- well, more power to me.

It’s a sham, though, when this “conviction” is all I've got. No amount of convicting feelings can replace the practice of true repentance.

We'd call a man crazy if he broke his leg, recognized the break, mulled remorsefully over the fact for a while, and then hobbled off with a sense of satisfaction. Such indifference is nothing short of idiotic— yet sin is eternally more significant than a broken leg. God isn’t interested in how many times my conscience gives me a two-minute sting, or how many times I can spot a sin in my heart and proceed to decry it. He doesn’t even care if I tell my friends I’ve been convicted.

The question He cares about is far more revealing: Am I fighting?

When sin enters the realm of my thoughts, do I detest it or tolerate it? Do I attack it with instantaneous vengeance, pulling my thoughts toward God-- or do I cordially entertain it for a few more minutes? If I really hate my disobedience, it means all-out, non-stop war—none of this couch-potato flippancy of feeling “sorry.” The violent language Paul uses in Romans 8:13, 2 Corinthians 10:5, and Colossians 3:5-7 is not dramatic hyperbole. Am I literally seeking to “kill” and “mortify” my flesh—to take “every thought captive” in obedience to Christ?

Or do I love God so little that I feel content in observing the defiance of my heart against Him, moaning about it, and then making a forgettable mental note to do better next time?

That’s not conviction. That’s self-deception. Real conviction leads to repentance, and repentance means slaying my flesh. We're not talking about broken limbs, but a spiritual disease we have the power through Christ to conquer.

Romans 6:17-22: “But thanks be to God that, though you used to be slaves to sin, you wholeheartedly obeyed the form of teaching to which you were entrusted. You have been set free from sin and have become slaves to righteousness. I put this in human terms because you are weak in your natural selves. Just as you used to offer the parts of your body in slavery to impurity and to ever-increasing wickedness, so now offer them in slavery to righteousness leading to holiness. When you were slaves to sin, you were free from the control of righteousness. But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves to God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness, and the result is eternal life.”

When every unholy thought and word is an offense against the God who shattered my bonds of enslavement to sin with His own death— how can indifference ever be an option?

So You Wanna Get Married?

2009-08-03T06:25:00.000-07:00

Preface: I don't know why I've stumbled over so many of these articles lately. For the curious, for the friends and family who I know secretly follow this blog, and for the sake of killing rumors before they start--no, I'm not in love.

There. Now I'm free to share with you all the delectable advice I've been mulling over.

Boundless' Girls Guide to Marrying Well.

Carolyn McCulley on Matchmaking (what I've always maintained is my spiritual gift...but haven't exactly proven myself there...yet.)

Lydia Brownback on Love & Risk.

Kevin DeYoung on God's will. (This message speaks strongly to guys, but has insight on God's will that is applicable for girls.)

So what are the 4 things? Read each one of these resources.

Is Perfectionism Sin?

2009-07-29T07:12:00.000-07:00

“You have perfectionist tendencies," I read. Ding-ding-ding! Yessir. On some days, that factual statement might even elicit a smile.

How blasé the personality analysts can make sin sound—how perfectly normative. No worse than a penchant for nuts on your ice-cream or preferring warm weather over cold. To psychologist gurus, it’s mere biological makeup.

Anyway, it’s hard to be ashamed of belonging to a select group of isms that can boast the word “perfection” in its name. Of course we know that perfectionism can be taken to unhealthy extremes, but I wouldn’t exactly call it an embarrassing weakness to confess.

And why should it be? I’m hardly going to be ostracized by the Christian community. Some people will even think that I’m a humble dear for seeing it as a struggle at all; put it up against sins with nasty names like “fornication” and “greed”, and my sweet little perfectionism sounds like the mild weakness of a pious saint.

I would be remiss, of course, not to note: this is exactly how we perfectionists like it.

You know about the associations as well as I do. If you’re aware that you’re a perfectionist, you’re also aware that you belong to a class containing some fairly impressive world-shapers. You know that you’re:

· Highly excellence-driven in at least one area.

· Often quick to notice your own faults. You take them seriously, and you set about at correcting them in short order.

· You like things done well, and you like to do them well. Sloppiness and shoddy work revolt against your very nature.

Not bad things, all. Oh, sure, we may be a little extreme sometimes, but all in all— if we temper our perfectionism with moderation, who cares?

Perhaps… God does.

What if the motives behind our so-called “perfectionism” are sinful, not praiseworthy—even if our obsession isn’t at the level people typically call extreme? What if this half-way flattering jargon about being “driven” simply describes what is visible, while missing the propelling sins of cowardice, obsession with control, and self-absorption?

If that's the case-- and we'll look into each of those points in a following post-- then I don’t want to be caught smiling when the perfectionist in me wakes up again.