Receiving Grace

Tonight, I yelled at "The Princess," one of the girls I watch.

I've yelled at the Princess lots of times.  Most of the time she had it coming. She probably deserved it tonight, too. She wasn't listening. But I still felt bad for yelling at her.

I try to be gracious. Then I fail. And I find myself being the one who has to accept grace.

The Princess has some pride issues. She HATES to be wrong (don't we all). And if she's wrong, and she's wrong a lot...because she's a kid...and a human being, too boot--well, if she's wrong and you catch her being wrong, well, she doesn't forgive that easily.

However, I find her to be very forgiving when other people are wrong. For example, when I apologized for yelling at her, she shrugged and said it was okay. When I asked if I had scarred her for life, she grinned and told me I'm weird. In her vocabulary, "You're weird, Ruth" is synonymous with "I love you, Ruth." At least I hope so, because she says it all the time.

The Princess and I are a lot alike. I see a lot of who I was (and still can be) in her. It's easy to forgive sometimes. It's not so easy to ask for forgiveness.

When we forgive, we get to be the bigger person. We get to be the hero. That's a good feeling.

When we ask for forgiveness, we have to humble ourselves. We have to admit a we are at fault. We have to admit that we aren't these perfect people who always have it together. We have to put ourselves at the other end of grace, hoping the other person will give it, because we need it in order for the relationship to continue and grow.

That's not fun.  But I would venture to say that graciously accepting grace is just as (if not more) important as freely giving grace.

After all, as fallen, sinful humans, we aren't fully able to forgive others until we're able to humble ourselves and accept the grace of God.  We can't begin to comprehend the power of grace until we realize (on some level) just how much grace God gives us.

And when we mess up, as I did tonight with the Princess, we have an opportunity. I could have just brushed off the whole encounter with the Princess. She gets yelled at so much that she can brush it off quickly. But I took the time to pull her aside (after we had both calmed down) and model humility. That doesn't mean she's going to develop her own sense of humility overnight, but children need to understand that it's okay to mess up. They need to see that there's a proper response for those times when we mess up.

Guilt is human, meaningless, and leads to self pity and inaction. Conviction is from God, meaningful, and leads to humility and change.

We need to learn to accept grace and even seek it out--even when it's scary and could lead to rejection. And we need to give grace to others, for we have likewise been forgiven.

We are all undeserving princesses and princess. We aren't perfect, but we should strive to honorably represent our Father in all and say and do.

...Even when we fail.

The Year of Glory

I'm updating my blog from my phone, which is weird for a couple of reasons. First, I now have a phone that's smart enough to be able to do that, and second, my phone just has one of those Swype keyboard things that I had never heard of before I got this phone that's probably smarter than I am.

Yes, it's 2013, in case you didn't know. I'm having trouble grasping that fact. Actually, I can still vividly remember being 15 years old and telling my sister how weird it was that it was almost 1996.  ...what happened?

I started 2013 out right by getting sick. And even with a day off for New Years, I still worked 50 hours this week...while having a cold that's starting to seem suspiciously like a sinus infection. I'm not complaining, just explaining why my brain hasn't fully realized that it's no longer 1996.  I mean 2012.

I feel the need to do a year end/year beginning blog, but I'm not sure about this year. Last year, several of my close friends moved away. I dealt with minor depression. I had some hard financial moments. A lot of things changed. Other things didn't.

Last year I managed to meet some of my goals, but I failed miserably on other ones. My writing was pathetic last year, but my running went well. I'm not sure I can maintain both running and writing at the same time. I want to get back into writing, but I'm scared to make goals.  I want to possibly run a full marathon this year, but I'm not sure I'll be able to. I'm afraid of failing, as usual. I know I'm very capable of failing. That can too easily become an excuse.

About 11 or 12 years ago I got assigned to the preschool program at Ridgecrest Conference Center.  I had worked at Ridgecrest the previous year, but not in preschool.  In fact, up until that summer, I thought I was bad with/didn't like kids.

I went along with it, all the while thinking it was going to be a bad summer. I went through training and all of that, still thinking  it had been a huge mistake. The first say with the kids, I stood off to the side and observed, thinking I'd just be useless. But there was this Hispanic kid named Luis who was very shy and who barely knew English. He sat in a corner and cried. No one noticed, but I saw Luis. All I did was pull BROWN BEAR, BROWN BEAR off the shelf. I sat next to him and read it to him. He stopped crying. He got attached to me. The rest of that week, he blossomed into a happy, playful child. And I figured out I had a gift for working with kids. I was 21 years old.

Now, I made plenty of mistakes that summer. I still do. I can't be perfect, but I can still use what God has given me to bless others.  And when I really think about it, as well as I know myself, I figure God still has some surprises about how He will use me.

This is the year of Glory. And I don't really understand Glory, which is probably a good thing. It's too big for me to understand and too big for me to handle. So it makes sense to give it to God.  He can handle it better. He is the only one worthy of it, and He didn't design us to keep it. The world it's such a frustrated place mainly because people keep trying to take what only God was meant to have.

And I'm one of those frustrated people, just relying on grace, which, thank God, is sufficient.

I really don't know what 2013 holds. I hope to go on a mission trip overseas. I am thinking of running a full marathon to possibly raise funds for that trip. I hope to work more on some recording projects, reevaluate what I want to do with my writing. ...and...I don't know.  Because I don't know what God has in store. It might be something I never imagined. I once thought I had no desire or talent to work with kids, so who knows what other surprises God might have. All I know it's that it's not about me. And so I have no business being afraid. If I fail, there's grace and redemption. If I succeed, it's not by my power...and probably not even by my own plan.

I was thinking about my accomplishments from last year. On the surface, completing the half marathon seems to be the biggest accomplishment.  But...I can't define a whole year by a moment. Last year's greatest things were probably simple...like getting laughs from a grumpy kid, or spending time with dear friends, or just rejoicing even when friends left...because it was such a gift to know them.  That was 2012. 2013 won't be made up by just grand events, either. The little moments will be just as important...if not more so.

Regarding blogging and my new intelligent phone, I will try to get into a regular blogging routine again. Fiction Friday is coming back, but not every week. I'll shake it up somehow, because that's how I roll.  ...yeah...

So stay tuned and stay awesome, and I'll try to figure out what year it is.

Christmas Impossibilities

I never really bought into the whole Santa thing.  I don't know how much my parents really pulled for the old guy, but I know they put some effort into it.  We had a tradition where Santa would bring us new pajamas on Christmas Eve, and then we'd wear them that night and have cute new pajamas to take Christmas morning pictures in.  And Mom and Dad told me that Santa had come in after I was asleep to kiss me good night.  Honestly, that freaked me out a little.  I was mainly concerned that his beard had scratched my face.  Were there cookie crumbs stuck in that beard?  Had he kissed Rudolph with the same mouth he kissed me?  Did I have reindeer cooties?  Shudder.

And I don't know how old I was when I stopped buying into the whole flying reindeer gig, but I don't think I was very old.  I mean, I didn't OFFICIALLY stop believing until I was well into elementary school, but I had my suspicions all along.  Our house didn't have a chimney.  I never heard sleigh bells or reindeer on the roof.  One time I *thought* I saw Rudolph's glowing nose, but even then I had some suspicions that it was just the neighbor across the street backing out of her driveway.  And there were too many rumors floating around that he wasn't real, that moms and dads were responsible for putting out all those toys.  And I guess it all made sense.  So when I was about eight or nine and heard mom sneak into my room at night to put Bonnie Bell lip gloss in the stocking at the end of my bed, I was just sort of relieved to know it had all been a big joke.  I never saw it as a lie; I saw it as a joke.  Ha ha.  Flying reindeer.  Fat guy in a sleigh!  A clever deception indeed!

Some of my friends, however, cried when they discovered Santa wasn't real.  I mean, I've got a great imagination and all, but I couldn't understand how they had gotten SO caught up in the Santa game.  Maybe their parents had made a bigger deal out of him or something, I don't know.  All I know is that I didn't understand how anyone could be THAT duped by such a crazy story.

But when you really think about it, Christmas is kind of a crazy story.  Most people have heard it so many times that it actually becomes boring, or at least unremarkable.  We see the plays with Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus in the manger.  We hear of the Inn Keeper turning the "great with child" mother away.  We read about the angels telling the shepherds about Jesus.  The wise men go to see him.  Blah blah.  Great story.  Now lets have a "Happy Birthday Jesus" cake and open some presents.

It's easy to get that way.  I mean, how many times have you read (or at least heard) this Scripture:

The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name Him Jesus.  He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High; and the Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David;  and He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and His kingdom will have no end.” Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” The angel answered and said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; and for that reason the holy Child shall be called the Son of God.  And behold, even your relative Elizabeth has also conceived a son in her old age; and she who was called barren is now in her sixth month.  For nothing will be impossible with God.”  (Luke 1:30-37)

It's easy to skip over it without really thinking--because I, like a lot of my readers, have probably read or heard this passage a bazgillion times since childhood.  But here's the thing.  To my knowledge, I've never been visited by an angel (I don't think).  And if I've entertained any angels unaware, none of them have had a message like this for me.  Do you get what the angel said to Mary?  "You will bear a son who will be called the Son of the Most High, and God will give Him David's throne, and He will reign over Jacob forever, and His Kingdom will never end."  Gabriel is pretty much telling Mary who this child is--the one spoken of in Prophecy.  The heir promised to David, the ruler over all Israel, the Everlasting Ruler, the Messiah!  

Mary's response is interesting.  I don't know if she really heard all of what the angel Gabriel told her.  I mean,  she was probably still kind of in shock that an angel had visited her at all.  And what he said wasn't making any sense.  She couldn't even wrap her brain around his words.  She didn't ask about the Messiah.  She didn't marvel that the Prophecy was going to be fulfilled through her.  She asked a very basic question about a very practical issue.  It didn't concern the redemption of mankind or the changing of the world.  It just involved her.  "How am I going to have a son when I haven't had sex?"  

She missed the bigger picture, and you know, I figure most of us would have reacted in a similar way.  Well, actually, most of us would have probably figured we were hallucinating or something.  Because people don't see angels.  God doesn't speak to His people in that way.  Most of us couldn't even believe something like that, let alone the real weightiness of what Gabriel came to say.  Most of us couldn't believe that God, God Almighty, the One against whom we had rebelled, was coming down in flesh, fully man, born as men are born, in the womb of a woman.

And all Mary could do was say, "Behold, the bondslave of the Lord; may it be done to me according to your word.” (Luke 1:38)

But I imagine that when the initial shock wore off, she started wondering why God had chosen her.  She must have known that God didn't need her.  In order to accomplish the act of coming down to us in human form, God did require a womb--but why Mary's womb?  He could have chosen anyone.  He chose her, a woman who was simply willing to accept the ridiculousness of what He had chosen to do.  

And what of Joseph, Mary's betrothed?  

When His mother Mary had been betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be with child by the Holy Spirit. And Joseph her husband, being a righteous man and not wanting to disgrace her, planned to send her away secretly.  But when he had considered this, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife; for the Child who has been conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit.  She will bear a Son; and you shall call His name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins.” Now all this took place to fulfill what was spoken by the Lord through the prophet: “Behold, the virgin shall be with child and shall bear a Son, and they shall call His name Immanuel,” which translated means, “God with us.” And Joseph awoke from his sleep and did as the angel of the Lord commanded him, and took Mary as his wife, but kept her a virgin until she gave birth to a Son; and he called His name Jesus. (Matthew 1:18-25)

Angels AND dreams??  It's easy to read about this story as if it were completely unremarkable, but how would you react if you heard a man say that he had a dream about an angel?  And what a weird message?  If  I heard a man say, "I had a dream about an angel.  The angel told me my betrothed was pregnant, but it's okay, because the Holy Spirit is the baby daddy.  So I'm just going to take her as my wife," well, I'd figure this guy was delusional or otherwise trying to cover up his own baby-daddy-ness.

And these weren't the only dreams Joseph had about angels.  He had another telling him to flee to Egypt, and another telling him it was safe to return from Egypt and ANOTHER telling him to go to Galilee.  What's with all the famous Biblical Josephs being dreamers?  

Oh, and the Wise Men had some weird angel dreams, too.  The angel told them not to go back to Herod after they saw Jesus.  But these guys had spent a great deal of time staring at the stars, and they were even crazy enough to follow one.  In fact, the Scriptures say that they were OVERJOYED to see this star, this sign that they believed would lead them to a child, to a king, to a Messiah.  We read it like it's unremarkable, but WISE men putting all their hope in a star?  Is that unremarkable?

And let's not forget the shepherds, the ones who had obviously been out watching their sheep a little too long...

In the same region there were some shepherds staying out in the fields and keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord suddenly stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them; and they were terribly frightened.  But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people;  for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there appeared with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, And on earth peace among men with whom He is pleased.” (Luke 2:8-14)

It's interesting that these angels said what the first angel said to Mary and what the angel said to Joseph in his dream: Don't be afraid.  I think it might be because, duh, most people would be pretty frightened if an angel appeared to them.  But when the angel appeared to Mary and when the angel appeared to the shepherds and when the angel appeared to Joseph, every time the angel explained WHY they shouldn't be afraid.  To Mary: "Don't be afraid, FOR you have found favor with God.  You will conceive and bear a Son, and you will name Him Jesus.  He will be great and He will be called Son of the Most High."  To Joseph: "Don't be afraid to take Mary as your wife FOR the child in her is conceived of the Holy Spirit.  She will bear a son and you will name Him Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins."  To the shepherds: "Don't be afraid, FOR I bring you good news of great joy, for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord."

While, yes, I'm sure the angels were a little frightening, I don't think that's why they said, "Don't be afraid."  There was something deeper there.  Because ever since Adam and Eve sinned and invited sinfulness into the world, there has been a need to hide our nakedness and shame.  Yet the wonderful, crazy, ridiculous miracle of Christmas is that we don't have to hide anymore.  God Himself has come down to be with us, to take our humanity and shamefulness upon Himself.  He was born as a baby (in a stable, in a feeding trough--which is another remarkable aspect of the Christmas story that we've grown immune to), He lived as a man, He died as a sacrifice, and He rose again as the conquering King.  

When you think of all the strange things of Christmas, the characters who saw angels and dreamed dreams, all of that pales in comparison to the absolute insanity of a Father who loved His sinful creation enough to become like them...in order that we could become like Him.

Flying reindeer and magic sleighs are impossible, but they don't seem nearly as crazy as the real Christmas story.  

God with us?  Emmanuel?  

Now THAT's impossible.

Yet, the angel told Mary that nothing is impossible with God.

And I, like Mary, like Joseph, like the shepherds and the wise men and all the other crazy people in the Christmas story...

...I believe.

The Joy of Getting

I wrote this as part of a blog post near the beginning of September last year.  I was thinking about it and wanted to share it again:

So what is the main reason why I love Christmas? Is it the music? Is it the food? Is it the weather (I actually hate cold and snow, unless it's at Christmas!)? Is it the movies? Is it something I inherited from my grandmother, who LOVED Christmas and celebrated it all year long?

What's the Sunday School answer here? What am I supposed to say? I'm supposed to say, "I love Christmas because it's Jesus' birthday!" But...that's not the main reason why I love Christmas. Why? I guess it's because I'm selfish.

When I was about four years old, my mom told me something I never forgot. She probably doesn't even remember saying this, but I remember it vividly. I was unwrapping Christmas presents at my grandparents' house on Christmas afternoon. I'd already gotten the "Santa haul" from home, and now it was time to get the "relatives' haul." I remember the scene very clearly. I was sitting on the floor by the ottoman of the chair by the sliding glass door that overlooked the front porch. One or two of their seventy bazgillion feral cats (they lived out in the country) were probably out on that porch, looking through that door at me, trying to soak in some of the indoor warmth through the glass. I had just opened my last present, and was surrounded by boxes, toys, wrapping paper, and the comic strips my aunt used to wrap presents in. And I turned to my mom and said something. I don't remember what I said, but her response was unforgettable. I was either complaining about how I didn't have any more presents or bragging about how much I'd gotten or something like that, and my mom said something profound. She said, "Ruth, the older you get, the more you're going to want to give things than get things."

I remember that so clearly because it was impossible for my four year old brain to understand that logic. What? How could I EVER be happier giving than getting? Getting stuff is AWESOME; giving stuff means I'll...have to sacrifice. Sacrifice doesn't make sense to most four year olds. In fact, it doesn't make much sense to most adults, either.

And maybe I should be ashamed of myself for admitting this, but my favorite part about Christmas is still NOT about what I give. It's still about what I get. The difference between the four year old me and the thirty-one year old me is that I'm no longer so tremendously excited about getting stuff. The most important part of Christmas is that God gave Himself to me. And I guess that does make me selfish, but the fact is, I need to be selfish, here. I need God. I don't always understand sacrifice, but God understands it well. Giving, love, sacrifice, mercy--that's kind of what He's about. So I do get excited about receiving Him, all the while praising Him for being the holy and righteous Giver, both just and merciful. It takes a certain degree of humility to realize that we don't really have anything to give. We can't be the Giver. But there can be so much joy in taking what we're offered, and God offers what we need. And Christmas is the celebration of the culmination of all the promises of God, which came in the form of a weak, human baby. No...I don't really think I understand the concept of sacrifice at all.

Merry Christmas!

Impromptu Prayer Closet

My new roommate should be moving in, in about a week or so.  While that’s a cause for much celebration on the whole financial side of life, it’s been a big source of stress to me for the past couple of weeks.  Instead of being wise and just staying in the room I’d been living in, I decided I had too much space (and too much junk to fill that space), and I moved into the smaller bedroom.  Of course, I did this a few months ago, which meant the larger bedroom in my apartment (which was never really properly cleaned anyway) became a large storage area.  So for the past couple of weeks I’ve been trying to clean the disastrous mess.  And since I had no room to put things, my current bedroom (the whole rest of the apartment, really) has become a veritable maze of boxes, bags, and general chaotic MESS.

 
I finally inched my way through most of the mess in my old room, the large room.  I was dreading the final step: the CLOSET.  This closet is what most people would consider small, but dude, when I moved into this apartment after having to live in the Seminary dorms (I’m convinced those dorms are intended for single ladies who are going into missions in foreign lands—they prepare you for ANYTHING) for a year and a half (not to mention the college dorms I’d lived in earlier), that closet might as well have been a portal to Narnia.  It’s only a walk-in closet in a technical sense, but it’s the biggest closet I’d ever really had.  And in the six years that I had access to that closet, I trashed it.  This is what I do when I have too much space (and too much junk to fill that space).  I trash it.  Hence my desire for smaller space and less stuff.

 Well, I finally made my way to the closet.  I basically took a trash bag (or seven) and tossed most of the memorabilia I’d been saving for God only knows what reason.  I’m not sure why I thought I was going to treasure that ticket stub to Harry Potter 4 forever and ever, but now that thing is in the dumpster where it belongs—along with a lot of other junk I have no idea why I was keeping.

I got to the bottom of the mess and finally only had a few stray items lingering on the floor.  I saw a journal and figured it was either full of emo drivel from college, or it was one with clean pages I had not yet tainted with my current emo drivel.

 But when I opened it, I had to laugh—not in that “oh my gosh look how emo my drivel was” sort of way, but in a pleasant sort of way.  It was a “journal” I’d written before and during my two-week mission trip to Thailand back in the summer of 2007.  I know I’ve grown a LOT since then (not physically—I’ve actually shrunk physically.  My pants from back then would almost fit two of the current me), but it’s interesting how the things I was learning then are things that encourage me now.

 I’ve been so stressed out this week.  It’s not just been the CHAOS of trying to find room for things that I deem more important than old movie ticket stubs.  It’s been everything.  I’ve been cranky at work—at ALL my jobs.  I told one of my co-workers, “I JUST WANT A REAL JOB!” And the way I said it reeked of hopelessness…and just general whininess.

 I don’t have health insurance.  I should be thankful I’m healthy (the phlebotomists from my friendly neighborhood American Red Cross keep taking my blood, so apparently there aren’t any red flags popping up in their system—so I take that to mean I’m not dying of anything…besides life, which eventually kills us all—and in a blog full of unnecessary and rambling parenthetical statements, this is probably the most unnecessary and rambling of them all).  I don’t have a nine-to-five job with predictable hours.  I should be thankful I’m able to have and keep multiple jobs that I like—in an economy where a lot of people are out of work altogether.  I don’t have a rich husband.  I should be thankful I’m able to make a peanut butter sandwich for dinner and not have to worry about feeding my rich husband his fancy-schmancy rich people food.  Okay, so if I had a rich husband, I’d hire a cook to make us fancy-schmancy rich people food, but I digress.

 The thing is, while reading that old journal, I came across some really encouraging, really true stuff.  I reminded myself 1) of God’s faithfulness,  2) that I don’t have anything to prove to anyone,  3) that it doesn’t matter if I fail; God will not fail.

 And as I was reading it, a playlist was playing on my borrowed, obsolete laptop (which, incidentally, I’m grateful to have at my disposal).  I had forgotten it was on, since I was so engrossed in the things I’d written in that journal.  But the words of one particular song seemed to get louder, demanding my attention:

 And if you are wondering if I’m around,

I have never left your side. 
You are never by yourself. 
No you are not alone tonight. 
So, now don’t you let your heart be troubled. 
The peace I bring to you is not of this world. 
I set your mind at ease. 
I quiet down your soul. 
I give you peace. 
Don’t let your heart be troubled.
(from “Don’t Let Your Heart Be Troubled” by Mitch McVicker)

 I’ve been so overwhelmed by fears of the future.  And by that I mean both big and small things.  Like, I’m afraid of dealing with simple things like getting rid of the excessive furniture in my apartment (the new roommate has nicer stuff).  I don’t even have a working camera so I can put pictures up on Craigslist.  But I’ve arranged to borrow a camera.  If need be, I can suck it up and get a storage unit for a while until I figure things out.  Basically—I need to chill out about the small things and remember my new mantra: IT IS WHAT IT IS.

 For the bigger things, well, hmm.  The former me preached a small sermon to the current me through the pages of that old journal.  I was talking about all the talents God’s given me and all the things people have tried to get me to pursue with those talents.  And I wrote something about how all of my talents can be used to entertain and teach children, and how awesome of an opportunity it is to get to help shape their little hearts and minds.  And I wrote about how my having a real job would just be a crime, because after all, I’m a free (indeed) spirit.

 I have no idea what the future will bring.  This year has brought so much change, and it’s going to bring more.  And you know what, next year will bring a lot of change, too, because change happens constantly.  I don’t like change.  I like to hold on to things like ticket stubs or whatever because I don’t like moving forward.  But sometimes you just have to get in that closet and dig through the junk of the past—and just accept that life isn’t what it used to be.  It is what it is.  And sometimes the things that really matter from the past will sneak up on you when you least expect it and remind you of the things that are important.

 My little (sort-of) walk-in closet (AKA currently inactive Narnia portal) became something I didn’t expect tonight.  In the midst of the chaos I was dreading, I found some unexpected peace.  And my closet became a prayer closet as I allowed the presence of God to calm me, to remind me that I’m His.

Never too Small

One of the greatest things about babysitting for families that go to my church is that when the kids see me on Sunday morning, it’s like I’m a celebrity.  Sometimes the kids run up and hug me, which is awesome.  It’s also awesome when they see me and hide behind their parents, saying in an awe-struck voice, “Look, Mommy!  It’s Miss Ruth.”  Then they smile shyly and wave at me, as if I’m just too amazing for them to approach.  Sometimes kids I watch see and hear me sing in the church choir or on praise team, and sometimes that really makes me seem like a celebrity to them.  But I’m not up there to be seen or heard.  In fact, up until these past few months, I’ve really had some mixed feelings about singing in front of people.

I know my voice is pretty good.  I also know that I can’t take any credit for that.  My voice isn’t something I created within myself.  And even though I’ve been blessed to be a part some pretty amazing choirs over the years, I can’t even claim that I’ve studied voice or music all that intensively.  So I know very well that my voice is another gift for which I can’t take credit.  But for several years, I feared that I would become vain or egotistical or self-conscious, etc., if I showed anyone that I had any real vocal talent.  I love to sing and to praise God through music, but I didn’t want worship to become tainted in any way.  And so I sang in choir and did what I was told—if I knew there was really a need for me to help out on a vocal team or if someone asked me to sing a solo, I’d do it.  The principle behind that was that I was serving by doing something that was needed and not just singing because I thought I had something worth sharing.

I really believe that’s what God wanted for me then.  I don’t think there was anything sinful with me taking care to ensure that my worship was as pure as possible.  But in the past several months, there’s been a shift in my attitude towards worship—and not just singing or music.  God’s been showing me that if He’s given me gifts, He’s given them to me for a reason.  I don’t have to be afraid to share those gifts because they don’t really belong to me. I still want to be careful that the focus of worship is always on God, but it’s time that I use the gifts He’s given—not so I’ll shine, but so that I’ll reflect His light.

So lately, I’ve been singing in public a lot—and the kids I watch have taken notice.

The other day in church, I saw one of the girls I had watched during the week.  Her face lit up when she saw me, and she exclaimed, “MISS RUTH!” I told her how pretty her dress was, and she smiled.  Then she asked in an awe-struck voice, “Are you going to sing again this morning?”

I knew what she meant.  She was asking if I was going to be up on the stage with a microphone in my hand.  As a matter of fact, I was on praise team that morning, but my reply to her would have been the same even if I were just sitting on a chair in the congregation.  “Oh, yes!  I’m going to sing! I love to sing!” I said.  Then I asked her, “Are you going to sing?”

She shook her head as if I’d said something ridiculous.  “NOO!  I’m too little to sing!”

I said, “Girl, you can never be too little to sing!”

And after the service I saw her and asked her if she had sung.  She said, “I only knew one of the songs, but I sang it!”  That made my heart smile.

Later on that same afternoon, I decided to watch “The Nativity Story.”  I had ordered it in the mail for cheap and it had just arrived a few days earlier, so naturally, because it was new, I wanted to open it up and watch it immediately.  That’s how I roll. 

I was watching the movie, the retelling of Christ’s birth and the surrounding circumstances, marveling once more in how the God of the universe came down in the form of a human—and not just any human.  He was a weak and needy baby, born not of a wealthy queen, but a lowly carpenter’s wife.  God chose for His fleshly introduction to take place in a stable, with shepherds as His first visitors. 

As I was watching the dramatized events unfold, I kept thinking about what the angels told the shepherds.  “Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth to men on whom His favor rests.”  A repeated theme in the movie was that Jesus came for the wise ruler and the poor slave.  And it occurred to me, again, that all of humanity is in the same state.  We’re all wretches.  We’re all slaves.  We’re all in need of God’s salvation.  And none of us can claim any talent or worth of our own.

None of us can claim glory—even though we try.  None of us are worthy of it.  Yet God desires us, from the richest to the poorest, to give Him glory.

If you know me well or if you’ve been reading my blog since last Christmas, you might remember that every Christmas season, I choose a word to describe the focus I wish to have for the upcoming year.  And if you know me well or if you’ve been reading my blog since last autumn, you might remember that my Christmas season begins somewhere around September.  As soon as I start seeing pumpkins and falling leaves, I start thinking about Christmas.  So even if everyone else is still in Halloween mode, I’m already thinking about Christmas and for my focus for the upcoming year.

In the past, the words I focused on were Joy, Peace, and Hope.  I thought about how these elements played into the Christmas story—about how the Magi saw the Star, the sign of the fulfilled promise, and rejoiced with exceeding joy.  I thought about how God had come down to us in order to make peace with us—to us who had rebelled against Him.  I thought about Hope, about how depraved and dark and worthless we all would be if God had not provided Himself to be our salvation.  I thought about how amazing and hopeful life is with Christ and with all His glorious promises. 

This is the year of Hope.  I’ve had some pretty cool victories this year.  I’ve had some failures.  Many things have changed.  Some things haven’t.  Some things have been hard.  Some things have hurt.  And yet, even in the midst of the seasonal depression that attacks me every fall, I can’t help but look around me and think, “God is working in me and through me and He is about to do something amazing in my life that is beyond my wildest dreams.”  Hope.  It’s not just a feeling or a wish.  It’s something tangible.  And this has truly been my year of Hope.  I’ve learned to Hope in Christ and not in myself.  Yes, that’s going to continue to be a lesson.  It’s a lifelong lesson.  But in the past few months, God’s changed my way of thinking, and I finally GET IT that it’s not me, but Him working through me.  And I’m so excited about what He’s going to do with me and the talents He’s given me.  One thing is for sure, I can’t keep them to myself anymore.  It wasn’t a sin to hide them then, but it would be now.  It’s not time to shine—it’s time to reflect the One who shines.

Which (finally) brings me to my point.  It’s close enough to Christmas that I feel as though I can announce my word for 2013.  I’ve actually known it since Christmas last year, but I wanted to be sure.  And, well, I am sure.  I don’t think I could really understand Hope until I could understand Peace.  And I don’t think I could really understand Peace until I could understand Joy (as much as I can really understand any of those things).  And this next Christmas season, this next year (my years run from Christmas to Christmas—I’m only a week off from the rest of the world, so back off!  :-P), my word, my focus is going to be something I couldn’t understand until I had a general grasp of Hope, Peace, and Joy.

            Glory.

To be honest, I really don’t know what this word means.  I’m not sure that I ever will.  I plan on learning a little more about it—maybe reading some books, such as The Weight of Glory by C. S. Lewis.  I have done some minimal research just by looking the word up in some basic reference materials.  The dictionary wasn’t really helpful.  The idea of Glory is too weighty to be encompassed in a few words on a page.  I also looked in the thesaurus.  At first, this didn’t seem very helpful, either.  It seemed that every synonym the thesaurus provided only scratched the surface of what Glory really means.  But when I read the antonyms, I realized something.

Baseness.  Meanness.  These are antonyms to the word “glory.”  When I see these words, I don’t just think about lowly things, I think about the lowest possible things.  Base.  Mean.  Small.  Insignificant.  Worthless.  Depraved.  And if the lowest possible things are referred to by a word that means the opposite of Glory, then Glory must refer to the highest possible thing.  Something complete.  Something big.  Something so beyond comprehension by someone base like me.

This past year, God has taught me much.  I’ve had a lot of remarkable opportunities to share my talents with others, and I believe there are going to be more opportunities to come.  I believe God is doing something with me that I can’t possibly imagine, something wonderful, something good.  Whether it's big or small, it's going to be His work, and I'm blessed to be part of it.  I believe He’s doing this in me now because I’ve finally learned the things He’s been teaching me, which will provide the basis for things He wants to teach me in the future.  And I’m ready to learn.  I’m ready to give, knowing that nothing I has is mine to give anyway.  It’s His.  He’s just given it to me for me to use for His Glory. 

The thing is, we’re all really little.  We’re all base.  But God came down to us as a weak, lowly infant.  He knew we could never come to Him, so He came to us.  He knew we could never be like Him, and so He became like us.  He came to make Peace with us.  He came to bring us Hope.  He came so that we could have Joy.  And He deserves the Glory, and He desires us to give Glory to Him, and He enables us to give Glory to Him.

Because it doesn’t matter how small we are. 

            We’re never too small to sing. 

 

 

Stinkin Thinkin Starts Young

There's child  I know that really is a happy child.  He knows how to play with toys and have fun with friends.  He has smiled and laughed in my presence.  He has danced to music and has played outside on the slide.  These wonderful moments have to be caught here and there, because while this child has moments of being happy, most of the time he cries.

Even though this child is really young, I've been able to see what's going on inside his head.  The child will start to allow himself to play and have fun, but then will remind himself that he doesn't want to be there.  He will remind himself that he would rather be with Mommy.  He will remind himself that he doesn't feel comfortable.  He might even be feeling guilty that he's enjoying things away from home.

And as a childcare provider, I have to keep gently reminding him that he's safe, that he's in a place where he's loved, that his friends are all having fun and that he can have fun, too.  I have to try to communicate to him that his neagtive thoughts aren't reasonable.

But as a human, I realize that I'm too much like that child.  I'll allow little things to gnaw at me, bringing on guilt and shame that really isn't at all reasonable.  I'll allow myself to get overwhelmed by things that aren't really that big of a deal.  I'll start looking around at what others have, and I'll start wondering what must be wrong with me if I don't also have those things.  And like that child I know, I'll rob myself of joy by letting myself get into the "stinkin thinkin" mindset.

I'm not sure who originally coined the phrase "stinkin thinkin," but I'll always remember it as being a trademark statement from one of my college professors, who was also my work study boss.  This man was one-of-a-kind.  He would come in from teaching, and I'd be grading papers.  He'd be singing some song about his sweetheart and put my name into it, then he'd look at me and say, "How are you today, love?  You aren't doing any of that stinkin thinkin, are you?"

And I'd say no, but in college, I figure "stinkin thinkin" was about all I did.  I'm probably going to always struggle with anxiety on some level, but in college it was pretty bad.  So I got a bunch of magic markers (I've said it before and I'll say it again, what's so magical about them?) and some cardstock, and I wrote Philippians 4:6-7 on it.  Then I hung it over my bed as a reminder to not be so anxious.  That's a pretty popular passage, but I'll post it here, along with the surrounding verses:

"Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice! ⁵ Let your gentle spirit be known to all men. The Lord is near. ⁶ Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. ⁷ And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
⁸ Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things."

This is a great passage, but lately I've found myself drawn less to verses 6-7, and more towards verse 8. 

There are so many things in this world that call for our attention and our thoughts.  And if I let myself believe all the lies of Satan--that I have to be perfect, that mistakes aren't tolerable, that people don't really know or love me, that I have to create my own worth apart from Christ...then I'll let myself get stuck in the trap of believing I'll never be good enough, and that there's no hope.

Satan is clever in that he gives us half-truths.  The thing is, I really never will be good enough.  But...there is SO much hope.  I don't have to be good enough.  My worth is in Christ.  And if I daily renew my mind, thinking, dwelling on whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, the things that are excellent and worthy of praise--then I'm not going to have room for Satan's lies.  Not even his half-truths.

If I'm honest with myself, the times when I allow myself to get the most depressed are the times when I'm most focused on myself.  There's not too much about  me that's excellent or praise-worthy.  It's when I dwell on serving others, on worshipping God, that I am most honoring to His Kingdom. 

The child in my class is learning that it's okay to think about good things.  I, too, am learning to remind myself of the truth, so I can leave that stinkin thinkin behind.