Thoughtful About . . . Understanding Riots

Thoughtful About . . . Understanding Riots

by | Jun 4, 2020 | Thoughtful Thursdays

I’ll admit it–I’ve never understood riots. Whether they’re a result of a sporting event or a grave injustice, the act itself is just something that is foreign to my disposition. I have been largely baffled by the examples in my lifetime, and I honestly didn’t know what to think of them. Should I take a side? Make a judgment? Should I do anything, say anything, think anything? Should I do anything other than pray God will work in the situation?

This has never been a political question for me. Honestly, anything political generally just frustrates me. But riots, movements, protests all get very political, very quickly. So I’ve opted for silence in any public forum, because my motto is “don’t vent any political opinions. You’ll only offend half the people who see it.” LOL.

This week, though, as the protests around the country even make it to my tiny hometown, I have to speak. And I have to speak because finally, finally I understand. And I owe it to fiction.

Over the weekend, the Hunger Games movies were on. Rather good timing, that. Because not an hour after I said to my husband, “I understand that this is a terrible injustice. I just don’t understand rioting–as a thing, I mean,” we turned on the TV and there were Katniss and Peeta, thanking Rue’s District for her sacrifice. They poured out their hearts to a crowd of people just as oppressed as they had been, as they still were. And the people saw. They saw in those two Victors from District 12 a rallying cry. Those people cried out in response. And their actions soon turned to a riot.

A riot I had zero problem understanding. Which made a big ol’ lightbulb go on inside this little head.

When a group has been oppressed for decades or centuries, when they have cried out again and again for justice, and when the very people who should be delivering that justice are instead the perpetrators of more injustice…

When even those who have never broken a law are afraid of the police, because the police see them as a threat, whether they are or not…

When the very people who should be their brothers and sisters are the first ones to say, “It’s not that bad!”…

When there is nothing else they can say, then what’s left?

Action. They lash out. They lash out from broken hearts and the utter certainty that tearing down the neighborhoods that have trapped them in this oppression can’t possibly leave them any worse off–and might stir people. Not the people who are opposed to them, but those who should be standing with them. Every riot against injustice that roars to life, my friends, says something about us. About the people who did not hear the cry before. Who did not help change come. Who did not already right the wrongs.

But how can we? This is where I’ve run into frustration time and again. I want equality. I want it to be finished, complete, full. I want everyone on both sides to stop focusing on our differences.

But that’s where my own bias has suddenly become apparent to me. I want that because I can stop focusing on it–because I don’t live a life that runs into it every day. Because I have the freedom to be who I am without apology, without anyone looking at me askance because of it or making me feel my life is in danger. Others don’t have that freedom.

Here’s the thing though–most people, I have to think, don’t understand that any more than I have. And when labels are applied–racist, bigot, privileged–it just gets hackles up. Defenses rise. Our automatic response is to shout back, “No I’m not!” and dismiss the valid points along with the label. This is human nature.

It’s important to identify the problem–we can’t fix what we don’t see. But labeling doesn’t fix anything, ever. It just creates tribes. It creates opposition. Instead of recoiling, instead of rebutting, instead of judging, instead of even shaking our heads in confusion, here is what we need to do:

Love.

Visibly. Vocally. Love out loud. Love in a whisper. Love in a million tiny ways and a thousand big ones. Love the victims, love the perpetrators, love the frustrated moms and the terrified kids. Love the old-timer who preferred things the way they used to be, and love the protestor shouting for a brighter tomorrow. Love them all, knowing that God does. Knowing that we are His children. Knowing that if half of us are so fed up, so beaten down, so tired of fighting the same fight over and over again that they feel the need to riot or protest, then it doesn’t really matter if we fully understand–it only matters that it’s time to #BeBetter.

The church. The “world.” The police. The military. The courts. The neighbors. The bosses. The employees. Standing with those who feel this pain means accepting it, feeling it with them, granting that maybe we don’t know what “right” is and that maybe they do. It means insisting that something be done, because the status quo isn’t good enough. It means hearing the rallying cry and recognizing that any fight that is theirs is also ours–because we are one in Him.

In the Hunger Games, we were all rooting for rebellion, for revolution to take hold–because from our cozy seats, we could so easily see who was the bad guy and who was the hero. But for those people in the districts, it was a whole different story. The same story, the one they’d been hearing for generations already. They already knew the cost of uprising. They paid it every year. Every day. Finally, though, a spark caught. Fire spread.

Maybe we fear that fire. But fear cannot rule the day. I still don’t know exactly what I can do, but I do know this–when I stand before the Almighty, I don’t want him to say to me, “Why did you put out the blaze of My righteous fire?” I want Him to say, “You let Me burn away your chaff, my child, and be purified. And then you spread the fire of My spirit to all around you.”

 

 ~*~

My husband just wrote an article that looks at the larger subject and how we can view it through spiritually-aware eyes. Check it out on his brand-new website, the Spiritual Struggle.

 

Thoughtful About . . . Encouragers

Thoughtful About . . . Encouragers

by | May 28, 2020 | Thoughtful Thursdays

At the time of writing this (the weekend before it posts), I’m sitting with my laptop at the kitchen table while my husband’s comfy in our leather armchair, reading The Nature of a Lady before I have to turn it in on June 1. I’m so very blessed to have a honey who supports my writing–not just because he makes sure I have ample time to actually write, but because he does this too. He reads. He chuckles. He talks to me about the characters and settings and themes as he reads. And, most of all, because he encourages me.
There are many different things we artistic types need, right? We need the critics (I guess, LOL), who keep us from becoming complacent. We need the editors, who help us ratchet up tension, smooth out writing, and cut away any excess to make our stories more our stories by helping us really dig down to the heart of them. We need the audience to interact with our creation and show us where it resonates and where it doesn’t. But we also need someone like this. We need encouragers.
Okay, that’s not just for artistic types. We all need encouragers.
At this point, six little days before I turn in my manuscript, I don’t need someone telling me it’s all wrong. I need someone who frequently laughs over one of my characters’ witticisms and says, “I love your writing.” I don’t need someone who says, “Wow, you’re going to have work more on this part.” (Even though that might be true.) I need someone who says, “Oh, I see what you’re doing. This one line might be too on-the-nose, but that’s clever.” I need someone who not only believes in me, but who celebrates each little victory with me. I need someone who, even amidst mistakes and weak parts, has complete faith that I can do what needs to be done.
We can never over-sell the importance of someone like that in our lives–and especially concerning the thing we feel called to do. The thing God’s led us to. The Hard Thing we’re working on.
Because when we’re in the trenches–on the mission field, in hour twelve of a hospital shift, two weeks from the end of a school year, or a week away from a due date–sometimes we forget the big view, right? We forget the why of what we’re doing. The how and the that are just so overwhelming sometimes. We can’t really focus on the purpose, because we’re so caught up in the details.
And when we’re doing the thing God called us to do, we’re going to have troubles too. The Enemy is going to be trying to tear us down. To stop us. To make it seem too hard, not worth it. All around us, we’re going to find those who discourage us. Those who say we’re crazy for even trying this thing. That we should have done something safer. More logical. That we should look out for ourselves more and others less. That we’re not even that good at the thing we’ve put our hand to.
But let’s take a minute just to look at these words: encourage, discourage. What’s the root? (Didn’t know you were getting a bonus Word of the Week post, did you? Haha.) COURAGE. Encourage actually means “to put heart or courage into.” And discourage, of course, then means to take it out.
So why do we ever listen to the voices of discouragement? Why do we let people take our heart? Why do we ever entertain those voices, when by definition they’re harmful to us? Maybe we’ve done something wrong, maybe we’ve messed up, maybe we’re not the best we can be–but we don’t improve by letting our heart, letting our courage be taken away. We improve by strengthening our hearts.
I’ve been blessed to be surrounded by encouragers in my life. And I’m hereby renewing my determination to be one too. My challenge to all of us this week is to speak encouragement into someone’s life. Maybe it’s your spouse, your child, your sister, your mom. Or maybe it’s your pastor, a teacher, or the cashier in the checkout line. Whoever it is, wherever it is, if you see that shadow of discouragement in them, speak against it. When you see their heart faltering, offer something to strengthen it again.
Because we, as children of God, are not called to steal anyone else’s heart, to discourage their calling, or to be the storm cloud in their life. We’re called to encourage, to edify, and to support one another. And when we do that well…well, watch out, world. The Church will be on the move!
“Therefore comfort each other and edify one another, just as you also are doing.”
I Thessalonians 5:11
Thoughtful About…The Compassion Conundrum

Thoughtful About…The Compassion Conundrum

by | May 21, 2020 | Thoughtful Thursdays

In last weekend’s sermon, my dad preached from Luke 14, and as he went through the Scriptures, something interesting jumped out at me.
First is something that has struck me many times before, in many different passages. Jesus, often about some other task, comes across someone in need. Sometimes He’s at dinner. Sometimes He’s traveling. Sometimes He’s on his way to heal someone else. And what does He always, inevitably do when He sees this other hurting soul? He stops. He heals them. Why?
Because He loves them. Because He feels compassion for them. Because He’s moved.

I tend to think of these things as human emotions–and they are. But I wonder if maybe they’re also the reflection of the Divine in us. Because Jesus, operating solely as man, might have instead resented the distraction or the complication or the delay. If He weren’t perfect, He might have rolled his eyes or grumbled or even muttered under his breath, “Seriously? Another one?” But He doesn’t–ever. Because these things–love, compassion, empathy–are considered virtues, are in fact the Fruit we’re supposed to bear as believers, for good reason.

They’re a reflection of God himself, who is Love.
But we see another side to this too, in that same chapter as well as other places in the Gospels. The places where Jesus warns us that the cost of following Him is high. When He tells us that choosing this Way means abandoning others–that embracing God as Father may mean a break with our earthly one. Where He says that He will come between mother and child. And here, He even says that following Him means hating your family (or “loving them less” as the word means in Greek).
I’ve long since reasoned out that what He’s saying here is that He has to come first. Loving God before anything else is crucial. And if we love other things more–our spouses, our kids, our extended families, our house, our things, our life–then He may well ask us to give those up. Because nothing–NOTHING–should come between us and Him.
Here’s the interesting twist though. How do we show our love for Him, how do we reflect His love for us?
By loving, serving each other.
You see the conundrum? LOL. We have to love what is OURS less than Him…so that we can love what is HIS without reservation. Now, there are surely overlaps–because our spouses and kids and parents and cousins are His too.
But am I willing to serve only them in certain ways? Will I take the food from another child’s mouth to give it to mine? Do I consider these people in my life more mine than His? To do so is natural. Human.
To not do so is, I think, divine.

Don’t get me wrong–God created families, and they’re a crucial part of His plan. He calls us to protect them and preserve them and keep them in good order, as building blocks of His Church. But He also calls us to define “family” through His eyes. To see mothers and fathers, sisters, and brothers everywhere there is faith in Him. To love the stranger, the neighbor, as much as we love ourselves, our own. To prove our love for Him by loving them.

I tend to hold my emotions close, my thoughts and fears, tight. I am, as the English of eras gone by would have said, “reserved.” But I’m praying that God will work on my heart in this way. That I will learn to make myself vulnerable so that I can see friends–brothers, sisters–everywhere I turn.
And so that when I see them hurting, I can’t help but stop. And do everything in HIS power to make them whole, with no thought to myself.
Maybe it’s not a conundrum after all. Just a challenge. One He put forth oh so succinctly. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind. And love your neighbor as yourself.
Thoughtful About . . . Preparing Our Hearts to Knock on the Door

Thoughtful About . . . Preparing Our Hearts to Knock on the Door

by | May 7, 2020 | Thoughtful Thursdays

Let me share a few stories with you. You’ve probably heard them before. They’re stories about some of the Great Men of Faith in our recent history. First, one of my favorites about George Muller. One morning at his orphanage, he was informed by a panicked house mother that there was absolutely no food left. What were they to do? How were they to feed the children?

Well, George instructed her to have all the children sit at their places at the table, plates and cups before them–empty. And he proceeded to pray. Thanking God for the food He would provide. Thanking him for the empty plates that were an opportunity for Him to provide in an amazing way. Well, soon after he finished praying, there was a knock at the door. The baker stood there, rather grumpily, saying God had woken him up and told him to bake bread for the orphanage, so there he was with enough to feed them. Not long after he left, there was another knock at the door–the milk cart had broken down right outside the orphanage, and the milkman said they’d better take all the milk, because it would spoil before he could get back to fix the axle.
The Lord provided.
Let’s switch to a D. L. Moody story. They were trying to start the Moody Institute, and they had their plans ready…but it was an expensive undertaking, and they didn’t have the funds for it. In a meeting of the board of directors, they were praying, and one of the members cried out, “Lord, you own the cattle on a thousand hills! Can’t you sell a few to provide for us?” Well, minutes later, there was a knock on the door. A local rancher stood there, with a check in his hands. He’d felt this urging, you see, to sell off part of his herd and give the money to them.
The Lord provided.
And that’s what I’ve always focused on–that the Lord provided. That the prayers of faithful men who were staring down the barrel of NOTHING produced SOMETHING.
But there’s a crucial part of those stories and others like them that I often overlooked. The Lord provided…through other people. Someone else had to knock on the door. Someone else had to listen to the Lord. Someone else had to sacrifice for these Great Men’s Great Visions to happen.
And those Someone Elses had to do it before the men even prayed.
Generally when I read or hear those stories, I always imagine myself in the place of the one asking, right? The one with the vision. We cast ourselves in the role of the person who has the calling and who calls out to God. In fact, we’ve done that. We’ve cried out, and then waited for His answer.
But what if they don’t come? Has God failed?
Or have we? Not the we who does the asking…but the we who were supposed to do the answering. The we who were supposed to be listening. The we who should have been willing to do the work, make the sacrifice, knock on the door. The we who God meant to use to provide for that Great Thing.
I’ve been pondering this so much lately. It’s easy to be passionate about our own callings. To be willing to sacrifice or suffer for it. But how do we become so passionate about someone else’s, to the point that we’re willing to sell off our possessions, rise in the middle of night, or do the thing that seems a little crazy in order to provide for someone else’s dream?
We were talking about this in our Bible study and someone said, “Well, we have to exercise our hearts so that they’re ready.” I’ll be honest–I don’t know what this looks like. But it strikes me as true. So the question, then, is how do we do that?
Well, I have to think it means listening daily for the smaller ways He’d have us reach out and help others. Maybe that means something simple like getting up a few minutes early to have coffee ready for our spouse. Maybe it means stopping what we’re doing to make a phone call or send an email or drop a card in the mail when the Lord brings someone to our minds and hearts. Maybe it means skipping that meal out and instead sending a gift card to someone you think could use it. Maybe it means lending someone your car so they can go and do the thing you know they need to do–or even driving them to it.
Maybe it means listening, really listening when we hear about others’ dreams and callings, and earnestly asking, “Lord, what can I do to help them?” Even when it’s not our calling. Even when it’s not something we are passionate about.
This, I think, is how the church builds true community. And it’s also how we grow–as individuals, and as a body. It’s how we bind ourselves together and value the foot and the ear and the nose as much as the hand or eyes.
I tend to give a lot of thought to where God might want me to go. But now…now I’m also going to be listening to what doors he might ask me to knock on for someone else’s going.

Thoughtful About . . . the Purpose of Praise

Thoughtful About . . . the Purpose of Praise

by | Apr 30, 2020 | Thoughtful Thursdays

Last week, my husband asked one of those questions of his that really get me thinking–the sort that sounds straightforward but isn’t. He said, “What’s the purpose of praise?”

Now, I already knew that things like the psalms and even our modern praise and worship songs never stir my hubby’s heart like they do other people’s. That’s just not how he’s made. Which in turn lends him an interesting perspective on it and makes him question whether the POINT is to be moved by it…or something else entirely? Why does God command us to praise? For us? For Him?

This past week I was plotting out a new biblical fiction story I’ll be writing for Guideposts’ Ordinary Women of the Bible line of novels, and the question he asked must have still been lingering in the back of my mind, because I found that emerging as the primary theme, rather unexpectedly, of my fictional retelling of Naaman’s handmaiden.

What is the purpose of praise? Is it to rouse emotions? Does it have some effect on God? We’re told that our praise is like sweet incense to Him, but does a pleasant smell have a big purpose? Are we told to praise God because HE needs us to…because WE need us to…because OTHERS need us to? This was the heart of the discussion David and I had.
I don’t personally believe the charge to praise Him, to worship Him, to thank Him for everything is for God’s benefit at all. If you have evidence otherwise, please feel free to correct me, LOL. But God isn’t, I think, bound by emotions like we are. He isn’t so easily moved one way or the other by circumstances or words.
I think that we praise Him for US. For ourselves–those doing the praising; and for others–those who hear us. So I want to take a few minutes to look at those options.

First and foremost, I think songs or words of praise are meant to remind us of a few very important things: that God is God, that God is good, that God IS above all, despite all. That no matter our circumstances, His nature doesn’t change. And so, by singing or reciting or whispering words that affirm this, we’re reminding our own changeable hearts and minds and emotions that there is a Rock on which we stand. We realign our thinking and feeling. Some of my sweetest moments of praise have been between no one but me and my Maker, my Master. They’ve been moments of awe, when I remember and reflect not just on what He’s DONE, but on Who He Is.

And this private praise is important. Whatever shape it may take–maybe you sing songs, maybe you write down your thoughts, maybe you quietly pray, maybe you simply think about Him–this praise of Him leads your heart to worship Him. But I do also believe there’s another purpose to those words, and they require them to be spoken or sung aloud, in the hearing of others.
Because those words also bear testimony to Who He Is and what He’s done. Have you ever noticed how many of the psalms are a recounting of history? The exodus, for example? Or specific events in the life of the psalmist, whether it be David or another? I will admit that as someone who grew up in church, I occasionally skimmed over the “historical” ones because they were, well, boring. (Hides face.) I already knew the story. I didn’t want to hear it again, so I’d go on to the next psalm that spoke of dejection and hope, sorrow and Joy, darkness and light.

But I was doing it wrong, LOL. Or at least not appreciating fully the purpose of those songs. Because in a day when the primary way of teaching was through recitation, these are powerful, important tools. These songs are the way the next generation is told of His might and power. These songs are the way strangers learn of who the God of Israel is and what sets Him apart from the Baalim or the gods of Egypt. These songs are testimony.

In my fictional story, I decided to make my heroine a singer, someone who has always taken great Joy is singing the hymns of praise. But when she’s captured by Syrians and finds herself serving in Naaman’s house, she doesn’t at first know if she should continue singing. But it’s who she is, and soon her songs start coming forth again. Songs of praise and witness to her God. Songs that change the household. That change Naaman. That inspire them to believe in the God of Israel instead of Rimmon. Her songs convict, teach, and inspire.
And that, I think, is the true purpose of praise. Not just to get our emotions in a frenzy or put a catchy tune in our heads that we won’t be able to knock out of it for days to come–but to put His words in our heart, so that those hearts remember always to incline to Him. And then to remind or teach those around us too.
He doesn’t tell us to praise for HIS sake–He tells us to praise for OURS. And, perhaps even more…for THEIRS.

Thoughtful About . . . Holy, Holy, Holy ~ Even Now

Thoughtful About . . . Holy, Holy, Holy ~ Even Now

by | Apr 9, 2020 | Thoughtful Thursdays

It’s Holy Week. My favorite week of the year. Most of my friends and family are Christmas diehards, but us? My husband and I have always preferred Resurrection Day and the week leading up to it. The week when the focus isn’t on gifts but on sacrifice.

This year, everything looks so different, doesn’t it? A couple of months ago when talking about what we’d do this week, we were considering things like finding a Good Friday service at another local church, since ours doesn’t have one. My husband was joking (or dreaming, perhaps, LOL) about flying to Europe to see a live performance of Bach’s St. Matthew’s Passion in Bach’s hometown. We were planning our usual Messianic Passover Seder meal for tonight, our Sunrise Service for Sunday.

Instead, we’re all going to be home. Using online meeting technology to gather with our church family for that Seder meal tonight. Listening to the Passion in our living room tomorrow. Running any services online as we’ve been doing for the past few weeks. And I find myself wondering–how will the change in routine change my understanding?
This year, everything looks so different . . . but that can be a good thing. It’s when there’s a change, a disruption, an upheaval that we can often see things in a new light. As I listen to other families muse about what life looks like for them in the last few weeks, I admit to grinning sometimes–because suddenly everyone’s life looks a lot like my normal one. Work, school, cooking, meetings–they’re all happening from home. That’s not to say I don’t feel empathy for those who are struggling with balancing these things–I struggle with it too! But I’m also praying that everyone experiences new levels of connection with their families.

Last week, I took a day to write (as I often do) at our office (which is empty unless I or my husband go over for a day, so no fear of sharing germs with anyone!). When I got home, we had dinner, did our evening devotional, etc. It looked, I realized, like a normal day for most families, with everyone doing their own things during the day. And as I was going about my evening chores, I had this realization: on those days when I’m not home all day, I miss the connection with my husband and kids. I might be more productive, but I’m less nourished on a heart level. Which in turn led me to renew my prayers for all my friends and family and readers, that this unusual time of sheltering in place would be one not of frustration but of deepening connection. Sure, there will be moments of getting on each other’s nerves. But I pray that even more, there will be moments of hearts meeting on new levels.

And I’m praying the same thing happens as we celebrate Holy Week at home this year. That somehow, through the isolation and change in routine, new Truths about His ultimate sacrifice, His ultimate victory, His ultimate glory will flood my soul. That when forced to do things in a new way, I’ll also see things in a new way.

I pray that a quieter version of events will silence some of the noise that always creeps in and bathe my spirit with His song.

I pray that this year, Holy Week will be all about the HOLY in our house. Not about eggs or dinners or rushing to get to church on time. But about dwelling in Him. Walking the path, the via delorosa, with Him. Suffering with Him. Rising to new life with Him.
This year, everything looks so different . . . but the most important things haven’t changed. He still loves us so much that He gave His life for us. He still rose from the grave. He’s still sitting at the right hand of the Father. And His Spirit is still with us, dwelling in us, leading us and guiding us. Even when our feet are keeping us in one place.
What are you doing this year to compensate for the quarantine? In place of family dinners, Easter egg hunts, or services at your church, are you doing anything new and special? I’d love to hear about it!

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