Hey, Look at Me. Oh, and Merry Christmas.

Every year, when we receive Christmas cards in the mail, I tape them up on the dining room wall. I like it. I like that it makes the house look Christmasy and warm and friendly. I like to see the varied images of stables and mangers and wisemen and even Santa and reindeer and snowy landscapes decorating the plain-in-every-other-season wall.

But this year, as I look at the wall, I feel slightly disturbed. We've received six "cards" so far. Only they're not actually cards. They are photographs. Photographs of the sender and family with some holiday-ish greeting imprinted on the front. So I have pictures of six families taped on the dining room wall. It's weird.

Before I go further, I want to clearly put it out there that I did that once. I sent picture greetings of my firstborn on her first Christmas and I wanted everyone to see how beautiful she was. I paid Costco to turn one of her photos into a card, of sorts, and mailed them out to our friends and family. I did it and even now, if I had the money, I'd be tempted to do it again. I'm totally willing to lump myself in with the crowd when I say that it's weird. Because I know that I want to do it so that you can see how cute my kids are. And what in the world does that have to do with Jesus coming to earth as a baby?

As if Christmas weren't enough about us already.

Now we send pictures of ourselves to long lists of people, most of whom aren't close enough to us that they would have a picture of us in their homes otherwise. It feels a little presumptuous. It feels a little sneaky. "I know a photo of me and my children couldn't make it into your home in any other way, but because it's Christmas, you're now obligated to display us for a while." <sly smile>

I think I'd rather receive misleading, watercolor images of cozy mangers filled with sweet, clean hay--however unlikely -- or even ridiculous renderings of blond, blue-eyed virgin Marys -- even more unlikely. I think I prefer sarcastic cartoon Santas making rude jokes to his reindeer. I think I prefer anything to saying "Hey, look at me. Oh, and Merry Christmas. Are you still looking at me? What do you think of these matching outfits?"

I'm Sorry; Thank You

So, what’s the first thing you’re going to ask God when you get to heaven?

Anyone like me has rattled off a dozen or so off-the-cuff remarks through the years about how you’re going to ask God this or that when you get to see Him in heaven. But the longer I’m alive, the less I’m planning to ask.

Not because I don’t have questions—I have many. Not because I eventually found all the answers during this open-book Bible test that is my life on earth—I haven’t. So much of the black and white clarity I possessed at age twenty-one has slowly turned into a muddled gray.

But, remember how Moses wanted to see God and he had to be hidden in a cleft in a rock and he could only look at God’s back after He'd passed by? What that implies about God’s front is frightening and doesn’t really seem conducive to the sort of presumptuous press conference that one would think I’m anticipating as I spout off things I’m going to ask when I see God in heaven.

Yes, I have questions. And I will continue to ask for otherworldly wisdom in sorting through the perplexity of gray as life gets more complicated. But as my trust in the Trustworthy One grows, I find that my questions become less demanding, less urgent. The meat of so many of my conversations with Him can be summarized in simple words of either repentance or gratitude.

I’m growing to believe that at the end of the day, at the end of that Day, most all words will fall away and there will only be a few quiet things left to say in the irresistible glow of that unapproachable Light—one of them being “I’m sorry” and the other being “Thank you”.

Gains and Losses

Once there was a girl who prayed a prayer that altered my perspective in such a significant way that I’ve never forgotten it.

She was a girl who had walked through the experience of being pregnant with a baby and choosing to give that baby a home that was better than what she could offer. . . . a heartwrenching decision, a decision that is never left behind, but fingers its way forever into the present as the years go by and the birthdays pass.

I can’t pretend to understand the reality of that experience. I can’t wrap my mind around making a decision that heavy with consequences. But she had and she spoke to God out of that reality when she prayed the prayer. She said one night, ever so simply, “God, I know how hard it was for me to give my baby to someone else, even when I was convinced that it was a good home and that she would be loved and treated well. How hard it must have been for you to give up your Son, knowing full well what they would do to Him.”

I felt stunned. I felt sad. I felt the weight, or rather, a shadow of a shadow of the weight that must have fallen on the ever vulnerable, ever tender, never hardened heart of the Father God as He released his Son into the world of men.

Thousands of mothers have chosen for their babies what was closer to perfection than they could offer—have chosen the better over the worse. They've done so because they believed that the gain was greater than the loss.

God chose to send His Son out of perfection into the fallen. Away from the better into the worse. He also believed that the gain was greater than the loss.

And all He had to gain was you and me.

I Remember

This post is inspired by DJ, who reminded me how important it is to remember and encouraged me to write it down.

I remember that You called my name at that Randy Matthews concert on July 7, 1983. I remember how I wanted You, which is just another way of saying that You wanted me.

I remember that You spoke into my heart when my parents fought the custody battle that made me sick to my stomach. I remember the words of the Psalm that were written for me, that brought peace to a girl on her belly on blue shag carpet.

I remember Camp Wildwood in the eighth grade and learning how to praise You in a way I’d never experienced—it must be the way they praise You in heaven.

I remember scribbling “Jesus Rules” all over my folders in junior high, knowing I wasn’t cool enough for You, knowing You loved me anyway.

I remember our family falling apart. Again. I remember pleading with You for restoration. It didn’t turn out the way I thought it should, not the way I thought You thought it should. I remember crying, “Doesn’t God think we’ve had enough?”

I remember having the audacity to bargain with You: if You helped us get there on time—because we were terribly late and it was my fault—I’d have a 10-minute quiet time that night. Wow. I remember that You didn’t strike me dead. You got us there on time. Are You kidding me??

I remember going away to college and wondering if I would go to church on my own. I remember finding my brothers and sisters there and meeting You all over again. It was like we had just met, but better. I remember the giddiness of new relationship.

I remember YWAM, where I arrived as a believer and left as a disciple. I remember the bunny. You are unbelievable, You know that? Of course You do. I remember my faith being pulled deeper and wider and longer by You every day.

I remember leaving YWAM, on fire! ready to change the world for You. I remember failing and I remember You not being surprised.

I remember forgetting You. I don’t remember how You felt—only imagine it by things you say in the Bible when the Israelites played the harlot like me.

I remember having spiritual flashbacks interspersed with intentional lukewarmth. And still, You were faithful. Still, You were kind. Still, You were generous. I remember that still, You were interested in me. Still, You gently called me back again.

I remember the prayers You answered about Mike.

I remember the prayers You answered about my brother.

I remember the prayers You answered. Prayers that did not deserve Your attention. Prayers that were not consistent. Prayers lacking in faith. I remember Your favor and grace in the face of my selfishness and apathy.

I remember that You provided a safe place for me to confess all the ways that I had forgotten You—a safe place to be accountable for all that You were showing me. I remember the joy of stretching long-dormant limbs. I remember growing.

I remember digging in in Costa Rica. I remember the richness of fellowship found in the unlikeliest of places. I remember the pain of losing things that are only in our lives for a season. I remember that You did not leave me or forsake me.

I remember coming home without the feeling of coming home. I remember needing You so badly. I remember the comfort in Your promise that You were making me (no matter how slowly) more like Your Son.

I remember remembering You. I remember recognizing that You had not let anyone snatch me out of Your hand—not even myself.

I remember gratitude. . . and that, despite it all, I have a distressing tendency to forget.

Please don't let me.

Thank you, Randy Matthews

Thank you for playing that concert at the Jesus House all those 28 years ago on July 7th. You were a big headliner for us and it was super-exciting to have you there.

Thank you for singing what you sang. I don't even remember what it was, but I know that it somehow played a part in the course of events that night.

Thank you for saying what you said at the end. You said Satan wanted us to believe we had more time than we did. You counted backwards from ten. My heart was pounding like a bongo in my chest.

Thank you for pushing the issue. You surprised us all by stopping the countdown at two. I hadn't had time to stand. You made your point. I ran to my dad, in tears. He asked me why I'd wanted to stand.

Thank you for being available to the Holy Spirit. Thank you for being the catalyst that brought me to a decision to follow Jesus. I was baptized after your concert that night. I was almost 10 years old. I had no idea what I was in for. I had no idea He would never let me go, even when I thought He should.

Thank you, Randy Matthews, wherever you are. Thank you for going ahead of me on this journey and knowing that it was worth it. Thank you for being part of the most important night of my entire life. I can't wait to hang out with you in heaven.

Turns out a decision you make when you're not quite 10 years old can really stick. Turns out that even though there is a boatload of stuff about life that you don't know yet when you're 10, it doesn't really matter. All you really need to know is that you need a Savior, and that there's only One.

And Randy Matthews might say you don't have as much time to decide as you'd like to think.

Ten, nine, eight . . . .

Seriously--you forgot the bread??

Matthew 16:5 reads, in reference to Jesus' disciples: "When they went across the lake, the disciples forgot to take bread."

Ha! Of course they did--a group of twelve men! So typical!
(Did I just say that out loud?)

Were there no women around to ask, "Do you think you should pack something to eat for later?"

It's even funnier when Jesus says to them, after the fact, that they need to be on their guard against the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees and they are convinced he's referring to forgetting the bread!

It seems they expected from Jesus the same kind of sarcastic disapproval that they might have received from the women in their lives. Like the times when my husband is scratching his head, not sure how to respond to some enigmatically snide comment I've made, assuming it must somehow be related to yet another perceived shortcoming of his.

Sadly, my husband is often right and I'm often out of line.

But Jesus isn't like me--yay!! And He was simply trying to tell them something true about God and life--not berate them for being forgetful. Hmmm . . . . an example worth following.

Don't Be Lazy

"I'm not even sure if I believe the whole Jesus story anyway," she said with disdain.

"You're not sure?"

"No."

"Don't you think you should be sure, then?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. It doesn't really matter to me. It doesn't matter if it's right or not."

"It doesn't?"

"No. Because when you say that one group is right, then you inevitably have to label someone else as wrong. I don't want to label anyone as wrong."

"Even if they are?"

"I don't know if they are."

"Right. So don't you think you should look into it? Do some research?"

"No. No. I just don't care. It makes no difference to me."

Really?

No. Not really.

It does make a difference to you. Whether you notice it or not. Whether you think you care or not. Whether you want it to make a difference or not, it does. You have zero control over how much difference it makes to you. You can deny the importance of the question for now. You can call it irrelevant. You can call yourself tolerant because of it.

But the question is not irrelevant and you are not tolerant.

You are lazy.

But I love you. So, please -- don't be lazy. Be diligent. Knock and keep knocking. Seek and keep seeking. Ask and keep asking.

How you resolve the question matters. Actually, how you resolve the question is the only thing that ever matters in your whole life.

The Kingdom of Heaven is Near!

Poor, sweet disciples.

They are ready to take their country back. Ready to be liberated from the dirty, rotten party in power (darn Romans). Ready to have their leader installed in his rightful position of authority.

All this talk of the kingdom has them surging with adrenaline.

Yes! Yes! The kingdom of heaven is near! We are ready to take our country back!

"Will you allow these two sons of mine to sit at your right and left in your kingdom?" They are excited about politics. They are excited about making some new policies. Policies in line with the commandments of God. Good, beneficial policies.

Jesus will help us take back what is rightfully ours! Jesus will be King! What else could all this kingdom talk be about?

Sickening disappointment.

"We had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel."

Things are not going as planned. The dirty, rotten Romans are still in power. And our own countrymen don't even like us that much.

But, our nation was founded on the principles of God! It's not supposed to be this way! We want things to go back to the way they used to be! When our country was on top and subject to no one! When the Promise Land belonged to us alone and we were in charge and abortion was illegal and there was prayer in school and everybody always spoke English!

We don't want to be under the yoke of these dirty, rotten liberals (I mean, Romans)! We want political power! We want to make policies in line with the commandments of God. Good, beneficial policies.

What kind of kingdom are you talking about, Jesus? What kind of revolution have you been referring to? What could following you possibly be about, if it's not political? You mean, you didn't come to help us get our country back?

"Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?"

"Or the Senate to the Republicans?"

Poor, sweet disciples.