The Paralysis of Perfection

I met with a fitness guru recently at the gym I had joined some time ago.  One visit in the past year provided little return on my money so I opted to get a little help in the motivation department.  The trainer told me that my fat percentage was 32% and considered in the danger zone. That definitely got my attention.  She lectured with authority, tossing her blonde head from side to side as she spoke.  And then this Barbie Doll further convinced me with the story of some poor soul who had worked out faithfully in the gym but never correctly.  The wrap up: Once she entered his life, fitness took hold, the pounds fell off and he lived happily ever after. 

But when the price tag attached to her little miracle making was revealed, I slumped away sadly like the rich young ruler who had been told he had to sell all he had.  In fact, not only did I not hire her, but I did nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  I was so afraid that I would be that poor failure of a soul who worked out incorrectly for the world to see, that I stayed away. 

Fitness is not my only dog in the fight.  Over the recent past, I have been on a hiatus from writing. Suddenly, it seemed like all the Barbie Doll writers were everywhere and I was the poor fool doing the writing exercises but doing them all wrong. Comparison released its poison.   I was back at that all or nothing point, allowing myself to buy the lie that if I am not the best, I need not apply.

Author Emily P Freeman says that admitting someone else could likely do it better (and probably has done it better) is freeing in itself since it takes us out of the competition mode.

Really, it’s not a matter of how many talents we have anyway but what we do with what we have.  Will we bury or invest?  Will we risk the opinion of the masses and even our own insecurity for the good of the returning Master?  Whether it is the body or our words, the precept is good stewardship.

Whatever there is - little or much - don't dig down but dig in.  And offer it UP.

Tiny Treasure

You were there weren't You Lord?  When our hearts were split open, raw and bleeding.  The day we watched our beautiful daughter rain down tears upon the newborn she cradled.  You came in the midst of our celebration, inconceivably disguised in the rags of Cystic Fibrosis and brought devastation. 

There was no way to prepare for this - our very personal 9/11.  We were floating in new baby bliss and absorbed with frilly pink dresses when the diagnosis first struck the safe fortress we had erected.  We prayed, we bargained and we denied reality.  We even dared to ask for that miracle. Minutes stretched into hours and hours into days as fear morphed into reality.

But we would relive that day again a thousand times to know the joys of this first year.  Not because You healed our baby, but because you healed us.  You gave us unending joy in the midst of circumstances we would never choose and a celebration of milestones and moments that are rendered ordinary in the absence of a life threatening disease.  A precious little girl captivates us every minute of every day, enriching our lives. In reality, we are all better people because of our Aubrey.  I now understand that You didn't cheat us. The truth is, You loved us way too much to give us the “lesser things” we thought we had to have.   Pain has seared the film from our eyes, restoring our perspective on what is good and what really matters.

Last week we celebrated her first birthday.  We sang. We clapped. And we wiped sticky frosting off of a happy little cherub’s face.  Our spirits soared in ecstasy as we watched her take hesitant steps upon wobbly legs, reaching for a future that You hold in Your Hands. 

And each time I kiss that velvety skin and see her blue eyes dance with laughter, I know it can’t get any better than this.

Singing in the Rain

Recently, a rather insignificant sentence leaped off the page - the obscure black print after the all important Red.  I was reading in the Gospel of Matthew and came across Matt 26: 30: When they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives. 

Hymns traditionally sung at the conclusion of the Passover fellowship were Egyptian Hallel Psalms – Psalms 115-118 –and were sung as praise.  Excuse me?  Singing and Praise?  But He knew.  He knew betrayal was coming.  He knew that He would bear the weight of the sin of the world and that His Father would soon turn His Face away. He knew there would be excruciating pain and darkness would descend.  And those He loved would scatter, even one who professed allegiance unto death. 

And yet, still He sang.

Obedience moved his voice and then it moved his feet as He assumed the path of suffering for me.  He was motivated by a love that I can’t possibly grasp and He gave a gift I can’t possibly earn.

But He also knew that a time was coming when the curtain would be torn and an empty grave would cease the sting of death.  And eventually there would be no more tears.  You see Jesus understands about hard things like chemotherapy, loss of a child and divorce.  He’s been to those impossible places of suffering that look as if nothing good can come from them and He's come back with the victory. 

Most of us sing praise when we are joyful and have a kick in our step but hardly en-route to our own crucifixion.  This makes me ask myself: How do I love those I know will betray me?  How do I face my accusers? How do I walk an avenue of guaranteed suffering and put my feet to the pavement when the storm is brewing and I feel like giving up? And yet still sing?

My response will determine whether mine is a life well lived.

Divine Disruption

Interruptions.  We all have them.  The scenarios vary but essentially life is going as planned.  Then suddenly, our perceived control of life comes to a screeching halt.  Life throws us a curve, resulting in everything from minor annoyance to a major crisis.  Why can't we shut the door to these intruders?.

A closer look at Scripture reveals that God has set the stage for interruption. That’s His modus operandi.  He interrupted Mary’s life with a virgin birth, the apostle Paul’s with blindness and Christ's with a cross.  In fact, every person in Scripture who was used by God was intruded upon for the furtherance of His Glory. So why do we, as actors on the stage of life, feel we should escape the way of the Great Playwright? 

Karine Matter of Groveland, CA knows about interruption.  She will be moving her family and essential belongings for a third time this week due to wildfire.  I watched as the CNN commentator struggled to respond to her position of faith in the midst of this tragic encounter.  God used this moment to proclaim Himself over national TV.  Karine has learned that all of life is mission, even catastrophic interruption.

We too must embrace intrusion because life often happens in the middle of routine.  The Good Samaritan’s problem is also ours.  There are wounded people left along our path, often disguised as interruptions.  They are inconvenient, messy and costly.  But as God’s image bearers, this is our call.

Of course the greatest interruption of all comes in the form of God’s Grace.  It cares not for the darkness it enters.  It invades broken dreams, adulterous affairs and plastic religion.  It scoops up dead men and breathes new life into dry bones.  Though often unwanted and uninvited, it bursts upon the scene.  But oh the life that is changed!

So instead, let's view interruption as divine disruption.  For it might well be a “springboard moment” that has the power to change a destiny.

Keeping in Step

Have you noticed? There is quite a disparity between the Western World Jesus and the Biblical Jesus.

Author Mike Erre has said, “It seems in many ways we are like Jesus’ parents on the road to Jerusalem: we think He is with us, but we've moved on without Him.” 

It’s true.  I’m afraid we've left the Jesus of Scripture behind. We've replaced Him with a newer version. This one is simply a God of love who blesses and is always on call in emergencies. He's the politically correct one who never leaves the church building and grades sin on a curve.  To many, His desire is for us to be healthy, wealthy and wise.  He never offends, never interrupts and never pushes us out of our comfort zone.  He is the genie who can make all of our wishes come true.  

Tragically, we've reversed the creation order, having made Him in our image.  We've reduced him to a cliff notes version:  pocket–size and easy to "use".  He’s now a pale gray figure that camps out in the back of our minds until we have need of Him.

Western culture has cheapened Christianity because we've cheapened Him whose name it bears.

It’s time to go back and find the real Jesus.  He’s not the purveyor of the American dream.  He warns that suffering will be a part of this world and that the joy we seek will only be found in living forever in His Kingdom.  He says hard things and asks difficult questions.  And while He loves to answer prayer, it’s always centered in His Divine will.  Yes, love and forgiveness are offered but they come at a great cost - His life.   That sacrifice demands more than lukewarm faith as He longs to fill us with His Spirit so we can walk a life worthy of Him.

And that means we walk with Him, not ahead or behind.  Because when we walk out of step with the real Jesus, we lose our way Home.

Truth Tales

He appeared so small in that chair, raging against the Lord of the Universe, as if he could make an impact.  “I don’t believe in fairy tales”, he blurted out with brow scowled and head shaking defiantly.  “It’s all superstition.”

I had not initiated this conversation about faith with my atheist patient.  His vulnerability set it in motion.  The fear brimmed over with profanity, laced with the name of the One he raged against.  He wore his anger like a neon jacket - loud and attention drawing. But by his own adamant proclamation, he acknowledged the very existence of the One he denied.   Terror shone in his eyes.

And I saw the arrogance of a drowning man who insisted he could save himself in the midst of an undertow. 

I wonder when the hardening was born.  What wound failed to heal and began spreading its toxins throughout his soul.  At what point did he relinquish all hope? His words were loud but an inner cry of emptiness, fear and sadness were the main characters in this drama.  I so desperately wanted him to know the Good News.  That there IS a fairy tale and I am living it.  And the hero in this story is Jesus, the One whose name he called out so carelessly.  And no, it doesn’t make any sense from our earthly perspective but it is magnificently true and real and wonderful.  Though our minds cannot wrap themselves around God’s ways, no protest will silence His Kingdom.

But my words provided no comfort as the chains that bound him held fast.  Ironically, while he flailed himself to assuage his own pain and attempted to thwart God’s reputation, the One he railed against still loved him. 

For even a crown of thorns and nail pierced hands did not weaken His resolve to save the world.

One Pilgrim's Progress

Spiritually speaking, I run a marathon.  There are no flashy running shoes and I am really out of shape.   Perspiration streams down the curvature of my back, my calves cramp and I advance at tortoise-like speed. Onlookers try to cheer me on but the going gets tougher. 

And then I remember my backpack.  It's weighted down with far more than I can safely carry. I really thought I needed it for success but I was wrong.  Despite its promise of fulfillment, it seems that lightening my load might make more sense.

I am on a pilgrimage to free myself from "stuff" but I assure you my toes are barely wet.  And I don’t want to over-spiritualize because there are a thousand good things that come from a clean-out.  For awhile it’s kind of fun.  It gives me a sense of control and freedom.  But then He taps that tender spot – the one I hold tightly in clenched fists... the “surely not this one, Lord! “  Yet there is His finger.  Do I truly want to “throw off everything that hinders” so I can run this race?  This is a question I must answer..

Jen Hatmaker says in her book The 7 Experiment:

"Until God asks for everything and we answer, “It’s Yours”, we don’t yet have ears to hear or eyes to see.  We’re still deaf to the truth, blind to freedom and deceived by the treasures of the world, imagining them to be the key when they are actually the lock."

There are a few caveats though to this shedding manifesto. The worm of pride inches its way into my heart oh so subtly as I congratulate myself for the sacrifice.  My heart must be cleaned out like the other areas in which I reside. And nature abhors a vacuum, so emptying eventually tempts me to refill.  Consumerism is an insidious disease.

So how do I stay on course, unencumbered with eyes on the prize when my resolve fades so quickly?  My pastor said recently: “Each day we awaken to our default mode so daily we must upload the Gospel update.”  Mind renewal for the journey.

Because the finish line is just ahead.