We’ve all heard some version of this wisdom, whether it’s an anecdote, an object lesson, or a punchline: if you want to feel better about your problems, just look at someone else’s. You’re going to be far happier with your own than theirs.

The irony, of course, being that the same is true in reverse, most of the time. Everyone prefers the “devil they know,” once they get over the “grass is greener” phenomenon. Right? We always think someone else has it better…until we hear or see what their woes are, then we snap into defensive mode: “Wow, glad I don’t have to deal with that!”

This has always rubbed me wrong, but I’ve never really taken the time to really work out why…or what the better way is. But I think it’s an important thing to examine.

I readily admit I’ve done this as much as the next person. I’ve seen someone else’s trying situation and said, Thank you, Lord, that I don’t have to deal with that! I don’t know if I could handle it. The irony, of course, being when then I have to learn it for myself. That happens quite a lot, doesn’t it? I seriously had the thought not two weeks before my son’s Type 1 Diabetes diagnosis that I was so glad my family was generally healthy and we didn’t have any strange dietary requirements. Cue counting every single carb that enters his mouth and having to figure out the ratio of insulin that will keep him healthy.

So now, let’s take a look at the heart of this issue. What it comes down to of course is that old enemy of mine: comparison. After struggling with a competitive spirit and the pitfalls of comparison all my life, I’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that Bob Goff has it right when he says, “Comparison is a punk.” IT IS. Sometimes it’ll make you feel good, like in the above “wisdom,” but it’s a trap. ALWAYS. When we compare ourselves to others, we’re walking a line with a cliff on either side that we can stumble over.

Cliff 1: I’m Better
The “problem wisdom” here assumes that you’ll fall over this cliff and be so relieved that you only have your own problems to deal with and not theirs. Yikes. So glad I don’t have to deal with x or y or z. So glad I don’t have that issue or problem. So glad I’m not them. Thank you, Lord!

Cliff 2: They’re Better
But it can just as easily topple the other way, right? Oh man, look how much better they have it! How successful they are! They don’t have any problems! Lord, why? Why do I have it so bad? Why does nothing good ever happen to me? How am I supposed to praise you through this??

One cliff is no less dangerous than the other; but the fact that this “just look at their problems” wisdom commands you to veer away from one cliff and straight off the other is what sends warning bells a-clanging in my soul. Because a cliff is a cliff, my friends. Comparison is dangerous whichever direction it leads you.

I’ve examined the defeat side before (you can read a guest post I wrote about it for my literary agency’s blog several years ago here), but today I want to focus on that “victorious” side. Why is this dangerous?

Well there’s the obvious pride factor, first of all. Any comparison that leads you to an “I’m Better” mindset can send you straight into that puffed-up pride that we know God warns us against. Maybe when you’re looking specifically at problems you have, this doesn’t seem like a true danger, but I think it really is. Because while you may not be saying “I’m the best” you’re still saying, “I have it better than them.” You’re exalting yourself. You’re saying you’re more fortunate. You’re placing the value of your life on your circumstances. This is Bad News with a captial B-N. Because those circumstances WILL change, guaranteed.

But the second issue is that it affects the way you view your neighbor. You’re not looking at them with compassion, but with pity. You’re feeling sorry for them. You’re casting them down in your mind and deeming them less-than. You’re focusing on their misery. You’re valuing your neighbor according to THEIR circumstances.

But is that amputee defined by the limb they lost? I sure hope not. Is that person with an auto-immune disease defined by what they have to do or not do to regulate their body? Is that person with chronic pain defined by what level they are on the scale today?

NO. They are defined by the fact that God loves them and has called them His child. That person suffering from a physical or psychological or emotional situation is royalty in the kingdom of God, just like you.

We ALL have things we deal with. But here’s the thing: our problems are not what define us; they are what shape us into the people we need to be to do God’s work.

Sure, other people’s problems can look intimidating to us, because we don’t know how to live with them (yet, sometimes). But instead of being either overwhelmed by the mere thought, pitying them, or dismissing them because they don’t seem “real” compared to our problems, maybe instead we ought to ask ourselves, “What is God teaching them through this? What strength is He giving them? Is that a strength I lack? Is it one I need? Can I cultivate it? What can I learn from them? How do I love them through this issue? Is there a way I can show them how much God loves them, and how even this has made them more precious in His sight, not less?”

I think if we could honestly view others in that way, then we’d stop approaching the “less fortunate” as charity cases or people who “need us” and start viewing them as people who we can jointly serve and be served by. They may have something that requires a neighborly hand from you…but I guarantee you they also have a strength that YOU would benefit from.

And of course, here’s the real clincher: if we stop viewing problems–our and theirs–as immense burdens we have to bear and instead view them as what we need to learn from, the things that will make us stronger, our entire outlook is going to change. And we’ll stop saying “woe is me” altogether…and start saying, “Praise you, Lord.”

What problems are your facing today? What problems are your family, friends, and neighbors facing? How can you change your perspective on them and view them all through a lens of God’s love?

Way back in the day, when I wrote Jewel of Persia, I had to study not only the book of Esther and Old Testament history, but Persian history as well. It was interesting to learn that Xerxes was called “the king of kings” because of the vastness of his empire, and the fact that he had so many countries subjugated to his own–there were other kings, but they ranked beneath him.

Which of course got me thinking about why we call God the King of kings. Because there are always going to be other rulers on earth, authority over us. But He is above all of them. Makes sense, right?

In the story of Esther, it’s pretty clear how powerful and terrifying the king can be. And Xerxes was known for his generosity! But still, she was taking her life into her hands when she went before him without being summoned. To us today, this seems a bit weird, right? I mean, she was his wife. No, more than that–his queen. She had plenty of authority of her own.

But not enough to counteract his. Not enough that, had she caught him in a bad mood, he might not depose her or worse. He was the king–one of the absolute varieties who literally held the power of life and death in his hand. And she was but one of his wives. He had hundreds. What if they all just barged into the throne room whenever they wanted a favor or had something to tell him? It would have been chaos.

The same is true of other ancient kings. They were fearsome. They were intimidating. Because they were powerful. Their authority meant they could do pretty much anything they wanted.

So naturally, the people of God viewed Him the same way. He was, after all, the true King of kings. He held ALL life and death in His hands.

This power is not something to trifle with. This power is not something to ignore. This power is not something to assume yourself immune to. Because all too often we see what happened to those who did that–they were struck down, given over to enemies, cursed.

God is fearsome. Awesome. Terrifying. God is the sort of love beyond our comprehension, that kind that requires justice and purity and holiness, not just grace and mercy.

Just because we’re in the age of grace, that doesn’t mean His nature has changed. He is still the King of kings and the Lord of lords. He is still that terrifying deity who holds life and death, blessing and cursing in His hands. He is still the God whose throne room cannot be breached by force of will.

But do you know who could always enter before the king? His heir. Now, ancient kings had a ton of children, most of the time, and they couldn’t all just fly into the throne room and launch themselves into his arms (see that note above about chaos). But once he had appointed an heir, things changed. That heir had to be there. He had to learn. He had a portion of the king’s authority, and in His absence from a region, all his authority. The heir could come and go as he pleased, do as he pleased, but with a certain understanding–that he was acting on behalf of the king, and that he could do so only because the king had granted him that power. Their wills were to be one. Their stances one. Their authority one.

You obviously know where I’m going with this, right? Christ is the heir. He can enter the throne room. But the King and his Heir did something amazing when Jesus came to earth and died for us–they named us co-heirs. Not just other princes and princesses, who might be loved and might receive gifts and might be allowed entrance now and then to their presence. No, co-heirs with Christ. Do we get what that means?? It means we also have that authority–but only because they’ve granted it to us. It means we have that authority when we share their will, share their goals, share their kingdom-oriented passions. We can approach God, not just because He is merciful and loving, but because He has appointed us as responsible parties, let’s say, for His kingdom.

That doesn’t mean we’re there to frolic and play with the crown jewels. That means we’re there to get down to business. We’re there to strategize with Him. We’re there to carry out His goals and visions. We’re there to do His bidding and be His emissaries to the world.

We can approach His throne without fear, because we’re authorized to be there and share in His authority…but at the same time, we need to remember that there is fear in approaching Him, because He has ALL authority. We should be always aware of how fearsome He is, and we should be aware of it in part because He’s granted that same power to us. If we’re to wield it effectively, lovingly, mercifully, justly, we need to understand it. Appreciate it. Respect it.

If we’re not walking in that authority, are we really acting like His heirs? But at the same time, if we’re misusing it, are we truly being the emissary of the King? If we ignore that it’s real, don’t recognize His awe-inspiring power, then we bind our own hands–because if we don’t recognize His power, we can’t accept it for ourselves, it means nothing. And yet when He looks upon us and calls us His child and tells us we are co-heirs with Christ, we also can’t just shuffle our feet and hide our face and say, “Thanks for the welcome, Lord, but I’m just going to hide in the corner.”

That’s not what the heir does. The heir goes out. The heir does business. The heir learns how to run the Kingdom.

What are we doing today to run the Kingdom for the King?

When you read through the epistles, there’s a common theme to many of them: Paul is admonishing them for following after false versions of Christianity. Listening to teachers or prophets who said Christ wasn’t fully man or fully God . . . getting tangled back up in the law . . . denying the resurrection. From the vantage point of two thousand years later, we may shake our heads at how those early Christians were just as susceptible to straying from God’s truth as the Old Testament Israelites.

When really, that should be a warning. If God’s people were falling prey to that four thousand years ago, two thousand years ago . . . what are the chances that His people aren’t falling prey to the same today?

Oo, oo, I know the answer! *Insert me waving my hand in the air enthusiastically*

Zero.

That sounds harsh. And of course, there are faithful Christians today, just as there were where then. But if it was a problem then, it’s a problem now. And if it’s a problem now, then we need to be aware. On our guard. Self-aware. Because I seriously doubt those early church believers knew that they’d strayed from the Way, that they’d done it deliberately, that they thought, “Oh, this version is wrong, but I’ll follow it anyway.” No . . . they thought they were right. They thought they’d come to a better, fuller understanding of something. They thought they were pleasing God. But Paul has pretty strong words for them, doesn’t he?

O foolish Galatians! Who has bewitched you that you should not obey the truth…? (Galatians 3:1)

We–humanity in general–are so foolish. We do let ourselves be charmed and bewitched by other gospels. We believe what we want to, creating idols–our own vision of God, that makes Him over in our own image, instead of letting Him remake us.

But Galatians 3 also gives us a test to know if we’ve stumbled onto that slippery slope. Paul reminds them that they KNOW the Gospel he preached was the true Gospel, because it was by that Word that they received the Spirit.

If we’re following the correct version of Christianity, that test should still hold true. We should still be filled with the Holy Spirit. But even that can be tricky, right? We’re in an age where we know for a fact some people put on a show of being Spirit-filled, when really they’re not. We’ve scientifically proven that drugs give people the same experience as a moving church service (seriously!). How do we even know that, then? If we’ve experienced the genuine thing?

I think that itself is actually the key–the Spirit of God is not an experience. He is not a feeling. He is a tongue of fire, a mighty wind, a being of immense power. And a great mystery too. We should know if that being has filled us. We should be aware of His Presence, of His guidance, of His hand upon us and His whisper in our ears. And we can know if He’s there in the lives of others, because they’ll be bearing His fruit. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.

Those voices you’re listening to today–the ones on social media, on the radio, on the TV, in your own church, the friend trying to tell you how to live, or even in your own head . . . that voice you are using to speak to others . . . do they pass that test? This is a serious question we all need to ask ourselves regularly. And hopefully, the answer is Yes! But it’s not always going to be. Sometimes we’ll have let in voices that promote fear. Sometimes we find ourselves following people who want war instead of peace. Sometimes we find ourselves nodding along to people who are far from gentle, far from kind, who fly off the handle at a moment’s notice. Sometimes we do those things.

Sometimes people talk a good talk, put on a good show, but then the uglies come out years later.

Sometimes people hide judgement behind a sweet disposition.

Sometimes we chase after the visible signs, the miracles, the experience and forget to listen to the still, small Voice that comes in the quiet after the earthquake, not during the show of fire and light.

But we can know, my friends. We can know, when we actually pause to check and to listen and to question, if we’re still following the Right Gospel. We can know, because He won’t hide it from us if we ask. But sometimes we have to ask. Sometimes we have to listen to the Pauls in our lives who warn us when we’re being deceived.

Let’s regularly take the time to evaluate which path our feet are on. Let’s examine the fruit of our own lives and the lives of those whose voices fill our ears. Let’s make sure we all pass the test of the Spirit. Because that’s the only way we know if we’re trusting in the Right Gospel . . . or if we’ve fallen into foolishness like the Galatians.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son…”
~ John 3:16

It’s the most memorized verse of the Bible. One we know so well and see so often that we probably don’t really pause to think about it anymore. But the other week in church, it was one of the verses our speaker highlighted in his message of God’s love…and it followed a praise and worship chorus that reminded us of how He is worthy of our efforts, worthy of our sacrifices, worthy of anything we can do for Him. And it got me thinking.

How amazing is it that God loves us this much? That Christ loves us so much He was willing to do this for us? Let’s look at what He sacrificed:

• His home in heaven–He gave up a seat at the right hand of the Father to come to earth and walk in misery for us. His entire earthly existence was overshadowed by the cross. But He did it. For you. For me.
• A life of ease on earth–look at most ancient mythologies, and you’ll see gods who were selfish and demi-gods who used their divine blood to achieve fame and fortune. But Jesus defies all that. He came to live a humble life, not a kingly one.
• Daily comforts–not only was he born to modest circumstances, He gave up even those things in order to preach and teach about the Kingdom of God. He had no place to lay His head. No guarantee of the next meal. No nice house or fancy car–er, horse or even donkey–no savings account or college fund or good insurance program.
• And of course, His LIFE.

He did this because He loves us. The Father asked it of Him because He loves us. They PROVED their love for us in the most spectacular way imaginable–by giving up everything. Absolutely everything.

And what do they ask of us? A portion. A percent. Those are the sacrifices prescribed in the Old Testament. Then in the new, Jesus asks us to make what is strangely the hardest sacrifice of all: He asks us to give up our sins. He asks us to give up what’s coming between us and the Father.

Have you ever really paused to think about that? Let me say it again. He asks us to give up our sins. They are what’s coming between us and the Father. Give up our greed. Give up our hatred. Give up our bitterness. He asks us to give up our biases and our prejudices and our judgments. He asks us to give up the idols we’ve built with our own two hands, the things we spend more time worrying about and thinking about (aka worshipping) than we spend on Him. He asks us to sacrifice the bad so that we can grab hold of the Good with both hands.

And yet we struggle with that. So, so much. Just like the Israelites of old struggled to stay free of the snarls of idolatry. Why? Because idols offer us pleasure in the short term. A comfortable life. An exciting “romantic” encounter. Wealth. Fun.

The Lord teaches us what happens in the long term, of course. But as a race, humanity is short-sighted. Always have been and still are. That, too, is what He asks to give up–our own limited vision. He asks us to give up the illusion of being in control.

He asks us to trust Him instead. To admit that He sees what we can’t. That He knows the Good, not just the pleasant.

That thought really humbled me as I sat in church, thinking about how He gave up glory for us…yet we’re unwilling to give up sin for Him. He loves us so much that He gave us life…we love Him so poorly that we won’t relinquish our idols.

I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll say it again: it’s true that He doesn’t ask all of us to give up everything. But He DOES ask all of us to give up something–namely, whatever we value above Him. He asks us to sacrifice those idols. Are we willing?

Today’s my 20th wedding anniversary, so I thought I’d steal a page from my new birthday tradition and enumerate Twenty Things…things I’ve learned through marriage, things I’ve loved, things that I take joy in remembering, things that have helped make me who I am. Hope you enjoy the list. 😉

1. “Too Young” is relative.
David and I got married at 18. Modern society says that’s too young–but you know what? We knew exactly what we were doing. We understand ourselves and each other. We went into it with eyes wide open as to what it would take to make a marriage work. And we also went into it with the shared priority of making our family–the two of us for quite a while and then the three of us, and then the four–the TOP priority. And we have zero regrets about choosing to get married after our freshman year of college.

2. Being “the married couple” was fun.
We were the ONLY married couple on our small campus, and it was pretty funny. Everyone looked at us for a while like we were an oddity, and we were frequently greeted by new acquaintances with “Oh, you’re the married couple!” Not a bad reason to be famous, really, LOL.

3. And it paid us, too.
Our college had need-based financial aid, and because we were independent but made virtually nothing, that meant the state began paying us to go to college. Not a bad deal!

4. Shared friends and the ones with a kitchen.
Most of our friends lived on campus all four years. We had a group of friends–guys and girls–that we were a part of, and we all hung out together. Once in a while the girls would do something girly–watch P&P or go shopping–while the guys did something guy-ish–like play video games together all day. But in general, we gathered in a group, and it was a blast. Being the only ones with an apartment and hence a kitchen, our place was the one where we got together once a month or so for dinner parties. We’d cook extravagent meals together, uncork a bottle of wine that I never acquired a taste for (blech–but it’s so PRETTY!), and talk and laugh long into the night before we drove everyone back to campus.

5. Sharing dreams IS sharing life.
Even before we got married, David and I shared dreams. He knew that I wanted to be a novelist and promised me we’d work together toward that goal. He held me accountable. He encouraged me. We dreamed together and decided which ones to chase. That’s made all the difference in our life.

6. But sharing dreams takes some fine-tuning too…
I’ll never forget this time during the summer before our senior year. I’d just finished a manuscript. And David said, “Awesome! Now we should try to find a publisher for it before you start working on something else. Spend some time researching agents and stuff.” I agreed this was a great idea…until I got another idea. I couldn’t–not–write! For about two days, I would sneak into our office space and madly type out the first few pages, and whenever I heard him coming, I’d tab over to my agent research or whatever. Okay, I don’t think that even lasted two days. I think it was a couple hours before I laughingly confessed. He just laughed too, and rolled his eyes, and made me promise I wouldn’t just neglect the publishing research altogether. But we both learned that day that I wasn’t writing just for the promise of publication. I was writing because the stories came, and it’s part of who I am.

7. During hard times, it’s invaluable to have that shoulder.
During our last year of college, my grandfather died, one of my favorite professors died, and my boss in the admissions office where I worked died. It was a hard year. But I knew I had someone to hold me while I cried–or while I didn’t (tears aren’t always easy for me). I had someone to talk it through with. More…

8. Having someone who knows you helps you grow.
I’m the sort that folds into myself when emotions are high. Instead of crying or yelling, I get quiet. Introspective. And that can turn into too bottled-up. But David, from our first months of dating, has known this about me. And he’s known how to press and pull and invite. He asks me to open up. He listens. He talks. And because I love him and don’t want to alientate him, I unfold. And when I unfold…well, I tend to look at it like a flower. I bloom. I grow. I become who I can be, not just who I am by nature. Oh, there are times when I still don’t want to talk it out or even think about it, and he’ll give me space to be that way…for a while. But he’ll never stop luring me out of my shell.

9. When we need them most…
Freshman year, before we were even married, there was a day I woke up before dawn with the worst migraine of my life. Every single sound was torture. Light was a knife. I was in such pain I couldn’t even get up to get medicine. So I prayed that David would come. He always came to my dorm at a set time to meet me for breakfast. He would knock, I’d unlock the door, or my roommate would (she wasn’t there that night), and then we’d head to the dining hall. But that was just too far away, so I prayed for help. A few minutes later, an hour before his usual time, he knocked on the door…and then opened it. For some reason it wasn’t locked. For some reason, he came an hour early, thinking it was his usual time. I’m still 100% convinced God woke him up and sent him to help me. He got me medicine, he rubbed my neck, he took notes to my teachers letting them know I’d miss class that day. It’s a little thing, but it was one of the things that cemented in my heart that this guy, this guy who loved me so much and who listened to the nudge of the Spirit, was the one I wanted beside me every morning.

10. Babies are terrifying–and awesome.
We knew we wanted to start a family after college, so we rented a townhouse, did what we could to prepare for this new phase of life–ahem–and soon had #1 on the way. We were still living in our college town, 2.5 hours away from our families. And oh my gracious, I’ll never forget the utter TERROR of those first nights at home! How did anyone trust us to keep this little person alive? We had no idea what we were doing! LOL. But of course, we learned. And we loved. And we adapted. Xoe had her days and nights mixed up for the first two months, so we sure didn’t sleep, but then she found her thumb, and glory hallelujah! We still have memories from those first months of “the three of us” that are part of our shared language, like when she was maybe a month old and soooo tired but fighting sleep. She was laying on David’s chest, lifted her little head, face all pinched. Managed one little “Mweh!” and then fell asleep. Love that memory–and we frequently still imitate that adorable little sound she made. (Xoe does not find this nearly as amusing as we do, LOL.)

11. Home is where the family is.
David and I are from the same hometown, and not long after Xoe was born, we had the opportunity to buy my great-grandmother’s house back home, when she had to be moved to a facility. We jumped at the chance to go home, where both our families were. So we (by which I mean David and my dad, ha ha) got to work fixing up the house, and we prepared to move with a 3-month old, in the dead of winter, on a nice icy day. Great fun.

12. The sacrifices.
For years–as in, 18 of them–my husband worked in a job he came to dislike more as the years went by. In part because it was a family business and they needed him. In part because we had to eat. He did this so we’d have food and clothes and a roof while I chased my publishing dream. He did this for everyone but himself for all those years. Many times I’ve thanked him–earnestly and honestly–for all the sacrifices he so willingly made so that everyone else could chase their dreams. Now he gets to chase his, and I’m so proud of all he’s doing!

13. I can only control me.
There was a time when the kids numbered 2 and Rowyn refused to sleep through the night (he never did until age 4, so I couldn’t actually tell you which of those four years this was, LOL). I was exhausted. I was frustrated. I knew why I was the one to get up with him (because I had no job and David did), but it didn’t stop the anger from building. I had a few moments of slamming cabinets and resenting pretty much everything. Then I got down on the floor, sprawled out on my stomach, and started praying. It started with, “Lord, change him! Make him see that I need a break!” and then I felt this whisper in my spirit. The sure voice of the Lord reminding me that it’s not my job to want anyone else to change. It’s my job to change me. I started sobbing–a rarity for me. Because suddenly I saw it. I could not control when anyone else was awake. I could not control how much people helped me or didn’t. I could not control whether toddlers were in a good mood or bad. What I could control was my own reaction. I could decide to find the joy instead of the bitterness. I could decide to focus on what I was giving to my husband–the one sacrificing his own dreams for mine–instead of what I perceived as him not-giving to me. I could look at all I had instead of what I lacked. I could decide to be the best me in each moment. And that…changed…everything. Seriously. EVERYTHING. My outlook took a drastic shift that day, and it’s a lesson I have never forgotten.

14. First reader
I know that not every writer has a spouse who reads their books the moment they’re done, but I’m so grateful I do! David is always my first reader–and my brainstorming partner too. When I’m stuck, we go for walks and talk it out. When I’ve typed the last words, I send it to him so he can read. That has been such a HUGE blessing for me, and it also makes us closer. I also love that I now get to be that “first reader” for him as he works on screen plays and articles. It’s such an amazing blessing to finally be able to flip things around and watch him chase his dreams, brainstorm with him on his projects, and work through his stories together!

15. I love our language.
I’m sure you have this too–your own language with those you know and love best. David and I don’t just speak English, we speak Quotation, LOL. Riddled throughout our every conversation are quotes from TV shows, movies, books we’ve both read, our college classes, our Greek translating days, and things our kids used to say. I love this so much. I love that we can say, “and sewer rats might taste like pumpkin pie…” or give a good Rick Grimes “What?” or chime in with “pasty and frail never fail” and just laugh together over it and keep on talking. We wiggle around like our first puppy used to, we say “Ee-she!” for “here I am!” like Xoe did as a toddler. We toss out random Greek phrases or the funny translations of them. It’s part of us. A part that this word-smith appreciates so much.

16. Togetherness
Ever since we moved home when Xoe was 3 months old, we’ve both worked from home. And we decided to homeschool our kids. Which mean all four of us are home pretty much all the time. And we love it. We love that we know each other best of all. We love that we don’t have to fight for “family time.” But there are also times when because we’re always here, it’s easy to forget that we still need dedicated time to each other. So we try to be deliberate about that too.

17. You know you’re still in love when…
I remember driving home from work one afternoon during college–we’d been married maybe 2 years–and realizing that David was home already. I got this excited little pitter-patter in my chest at seeing him when I didn’t know I would yet. And I still get that. As I’m typing this up, he and Xoe are driving back from a business trip to Georgia, and my heart’s going pitter-patter in anticipation of seeing him again after five days apart. Same thing happens every time I get home from a writing retreat or conference. And whenever I feel that anticipation, I smile. Because it reminds me that as comfortable as our love is, as much as it’s about decisions and choosing joy, that solid love helps feed the “in” version too.

18. The bad times.
Even wedding vows include “in good times and in bad.” We all know the bad times will come. We’ve certainly been through some. Years where everything seemed to fall apart, where businesses failed and security went out the window and it seemed like no one cared. We knew we’d have those times when we first got married, and when they came, we knew we had to hold onto each other and God. I think sometimes we want so much for each other to be happy, feel it so deeply when the other isn’t, that it can in fact magnify the “bad.” But then the hope gets magnified too. And that’s the beauty. Sometimes life sucks. But we’re stronger together. Better together. More together than we can be on our own. And that means everything.

19. Who God needs us to be to do His work.
Last September, as our son was being life-flighted to Pittsburgh P-ICU with the sudden onset of diabetes, David and I were racing home to pack a bag so we could make the nearly 3-hour drive to join him. And my amazing husband, holding my hand tight as we came around a turn on our road, said, “This is just part of God’s story for us. Part of what will shape us into who He needs us to be to do His work. Our callings haven’t changed–which means this is part of it.” I don’t need to explain why this made me love him more than ever, right??

20. And now…
I remember when we were still in college, still in our first years of marriage, still getting dubious looks from people all the time, I thought, “Man, I can’t wait until we’ve been married 20 years, so I can finally say to them all, ‘See! We knew what we were doing!'” And here we are. 😉 See? We really did know what we were doing, LOL. There have obviously been bumps. Good times and bad. Ups and downs. But they’e mostly been ups. Mostly been good. Because we knew it wasn’t about whether we’re happy every moment of every day–it’s about becoming together. It’s about growing closer to each other and God. It’s about how we can #BeBetter every day. It’s about looking back over the last 20 years and knowing they were training for the next 20. Because marriage, life, faith…they’re all journeys. And God’s still making us into who we need to be to do His work. I don’t know where all these journeys will take us. But I can’t wait to find out.

Thank you, Lord, for the husband you’ve given me. The daughter. The son. Thank you for all the laughter and all the tears. Thank you for twenty years behind us. Only you know how many are ahead, but I pray it’s many, many more. Because we’re striving toward you…and I sure love doing it with my hand tucked into his.

Happy anniversary, Hunny! (Yes, we spell it like Winnie the Pooh. Because that, too, is part of our story, LOL.)

The Purpose of Passion

A Million Little Fires

There’s something in this world that you’re passionate about, something that really stirs you to action. A cause you want to advocate for, that you’re willing to suffer for.

Maybe it’s racial reconciliation. Or the rights of people with disabilities. Maybe it’s awareness of a disease. Or evangelism. Maybe you want everyone to be aware of mental health concerns…or get people to help fund orphanages in third world countries.

All of these things are good. All of these things, and way more than I could possibly enumerate here, deserve attention and support. All of these things can be the work of the Kingdom.

But individually, we each only have so much attention. So many resources. So much time.

A few months ago, I read Jemar Tisby’s How to Fight Racism–a subject that I’m by no means an expert on, but reconciliation between all Christian, no matter color or creed or denomination, is something that’s been weighing heavier on my heart as the years go by. He had some great ideas, and it’s definitely a book worth reading…but it also left me feeling totally overwhelmed. Because Tisby was trying to make every reader decide to be an activist, an advocate for this cause. After finishing it, I sat there for a long time, just holding the book in my hands, and wondering, How am I supposed to do any of this? I want to be a part of racial reconciliation, but it’s by no means my whole life. 

This is something I’ve run into a lot over the years. Every documentary I watch, every doctor I visit, every article I read online is trying to win my passions. They’re trying to make me dedicate my time and energy to whatever cause or goal they represent. Whether it’s a small farmer’s fight against big corporate seed companies or to avoid certain foods and drinks for the health of my teeth and gums, they’re all asking for my awareness to be focused on THEM.

Do you ever feel pulled in a million good directions? Or confused by the firelight of all these different passions?

Are you ever frustrated that it seems no one cares about what’s so important to you? Annoyed when they don’t understand? Hurt at people’s lack of empathy for your situation? Angry that they just don’t get it?

I think we all do–on both counts. We are so passionate about the things that matter to us…and yet so overwhelmed by all the other things people want to matter to us.

How do we, as Christ followers, balance these million little fires of calling and passion and good causes?

Because there are two sides to this question–we as the ones who ARE passionate about something, and then we as the ones who people are trying to win to THEIR cause–we need to look at it from both sides.

First–OUR things.

I’ll start with a few personal examples: Type 1 Diabetes and writing.

Until last September, I knew essentially zero about diabetes. I had no reason to–it wasn’t a part of my life. Then it became very relevant, because it dictated so much about my day. What food I could make, how much of it I can feed my son, what ratio of carbs to insulin we needed that day, what his blood sugar is at 7, at 10, at noon, at 3, at dinner, at snack, at bedtime. What time I could go to bed. How long I could sleep before I needed to wake up and check his blood sugar again. I became very aware of the health risks associated with this disease, and what people go through daily when they live with it.

But just because I had to undergo a crash course in diabetes doesn’t mean anyone else in the world did. So when someone doesn’t get it…why should that surprise me? Why should it frustrate me when they suggest my son “just try” a food he hasn’t dosed for and can’t just eat without insulin because it’s got carbs? Why should it annoy me when they assume Type 1 is like Type 2? Why should it hurt me when no one gets it? It shouldn’t. But emotionally, it often does. I daresay you experience this with whatever issues affect your daily living. Other people just don’t get it, because it isn’t part of their life. And I see so many emotional reactions. Some people lash out. Some people become advocates, making it their life’s focus to educate others. But most of us…most of us just have to learn to balance our passions, and balance them with each other’s. I can’t expect you to care about this like I do…but when you ask a question or make an assumption or have a suggestion, I can just be grateful that you care enough to engage on the topic at all. And I can smile and respond in a loving, appreciate way.

This goes for my other passions as well. I don’t expect my readers to care like I do about the writing process. I don’t expect you to be as excited about each new project as I am. I don’t expect my stories to absorb your life and mind for months at a time like they do mine. That would be silly, right? Because you read a lot more books than just mine, as well you should. And you do a lot more in your life than read fiction. It doesn’t have to be your passion.

But here’s the job of MY passion: to use it to touch your life for God. My job isn’t to make you think of nothing but fiction or diabetes. My job is to use fiction to make you think about God and what He has in store for you. To ponder how faith should inform your life. To draw you closer to Him and inspire you to spend your life–whatever your callings and passions may be–being His ambassador to those around you. My job as the mom of a Type 1 Diabetic is to invite you to look more closely at all the people around you and treat them with compassion–because they have Something that limits them. We all do. If we can be understanding and empathetic, then how many people could we touch for God, instead of letting our ignorance of their condition hurt them or build walls between us?

That is, I believe, the purpose of all these callings we have, all the million little fires He ignites.

So then, flip it. Look at other people’s goals and callings. Yes, so often they’re trying to make us activists for their cause, but I think that’s a bit ambitious on their part. 😉 Sure, they’ll win a few converts who dedicate their whole lives to it…but most of us will only interact peripherally with each of the many causes we come across. Our response, however, shouldn’t ever be to dismiss their work. It shouldn’t be, as I experienced with How to Fight Racism, a feeling of hopelessness that we can’t do their work. It shouldn’t be frustration that one more person is demanding one more thing of us.

We should react with gratitude that God has filled their hearts with this passion to work for Him. We should ask what we can learn from them about loving those around us. We should ponder whether and how their calling fits with ours and how we can make our work also work for them. We can ask how these Kingdom-building pieces fit together in His eyes.

And if it isn’t Kingdom work? If it’s just a regular earthly cause…maybe we ask how or if it can be used for His glory before we either get involved or go on the defensive.

None of us have the capacity to care deeply about everything. But we don’t have to. As long as we care deeply for the Lord and want to love His children as He does, then which causes we choose to focus on are just building blocks in His hands. Let’s listen to each other. Let’s try to get a view of how God is using all these many flames of passion. And let’s ask how we can be part of–not this work or that work–HIS work. You use what He’s given you. I’ll use what He’s given me. We can learn from each other how best to love each other…and in so doing, we’ll be showing the world how truly to follow Him.