Our Time Is Not Our Own

Our Time Is Not Our Own

by | Jun 18, 2020 | Thoughtful Thursdays

 

7 And which of you, having a servant plowing or tending sheep, will say to him when he has come in from the field, ‘Come at once and sit down to eat’? 8 But will he not rather say to him, ‘Prepare something for my supper, and gird yourself and serve me till I have eaten and drunk, and afterward you will eat and drink’? 9 Does he thank that servant because he did the things that were commanded [e]him? I think not. 10 So likewise you, when you have done all those things which you are commanded, say, ‘We are unprofitable servants. We have done what was our duty to do.’ ”

 ~ Luke 17:7-10

Last week I talked a bit about digging out the roots of our own sins with faith, and not causing our brothers and sisters offense, making them stumble. It’s hard stuff. So hard that when Jesus told His disciples that no matter how many times they were offended, they had to forgive, their only response was, “Lord, increase our faith!”

After Jesus answers that with needing faith to dig out those roots of sin and unforgiveness, he goes on to the part I just quoted above. It might seem a bit like a non sequitur, right? That these things aren’t related.

But they are.

Jesus just got done telling the disciples about the hard work required for growing faith, and the hard work faith must perform. And I imagine He was anticipating our very human reactions:

“Seriously?? You want me to do all that? All the time? Day in and day out? Come on, Lord…I need a vacation. I tell You what—I’ll give you this many hours a week, okay? Or maybe this many years of my life. Then I’m going to travel. Then I’m going to relax. Then I’m going to put some of my hard-earned money into this thing over here and live the good life.”

Christ does tell us that His yoke is easy and His burden light…but He also says this thing here in Luke 17. He says we are His servants—and what is the role of a servant? To do the work of the master. When? Always. Even after we’ve put in a full day’s work. Even when we’re tired and fed up and lonely and in need of a nice hot bath and pizza. Even when we’re not sure we can keep going another minute.

Scratch that—especially then.

Because when we’re tired and worn out and hangry, that’s when we’re made strong in Him.

When we’re not sure we can take another step, that’s when we lean on Him.

When we’ve given Him our best hours and days and months and years out in His fields, that’s when we get to come inside and bask in His presence. Still serving. But serving the One we love, giving Him what he asks of us, and knowing that we’re doing what is necessary for the Kingdom.

In The Screwtape Letters, C. S. Lewis has a rather brilliant observation about mankind. We have this mistaken idea that our time is our own—that we just give some to God, or to our families, or to our bosses. But that ultimately it is ours, something we own, and so we have every right to be resentful of that time “taken” from us by annoying neighbors or unforeseen problems or work we don’t want to do.

But we’re wrong. Our time is His. Our every moment, our every breath is a gift from God. We are only here because He put us here; and He could call us home at any moment. These seconds and hours and days we spend on earth are for one purpose: His.

He has every right to our time. Because He is the master, and we are His servants. Which means that our every day ought to be given to Him, to whatever He wants for us. Maybe sometimes that will mean a time of refreshing, a vacation, a rest—He’s a loving Master, after all, He knows we need that. But never will it ever mean that it’s time to think only of ourselves. Our wants. Our desires. Never will we have earned that right. Because we are unprofitable servants, and we are only doing our duty when we serve Him. We’re not putting time in the bank that we can then cash in.

So how do we do that? How do we give each moment to Him? Well, I think it’s by knowing our “why.” Knowing why we’re in the job we’re in; knowing why we’re doing what we’re doing with our families; knowing why we go to church. Is it just for us? Or is for His kingdom? Am I working for a paycheck, or to reach others for Him? Am I just treading water, counting down the hours or years until some other thing happens? Then I’m doing it wrong.

Now is the time to serve. Today is the day of the harvest. And tonight we set a feast before the Lord. Not resentful of the time we have to spend doing it…but knowing He granted us those moments for this purpose.

Digging Out Roots

Digging Out Roots

by | Jun 11, 2020 | Thoughtful Thursdays

Then He said to the disciples, “It is impossible that no offenses should come, but woe to him through whom they do come! 2 It would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were thrown into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones. 3 Take heed to yourselves. If your brother sins against you, rebuke him; and if he repents, forgive him. 4 And if he sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times in a day returns to you, saying, ‘I repent,’ you shall forgive him.”

5 And the apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith.”

6 So the Lord said, “If you have faith as a mustard seed, you can say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be pulled up by the roots and be planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.

 

Luke 17:1-6

 

I don’t think it’s any coincidence that Jesus talks about offenses in one breath in this passage, forgiveness in the next, and then follows it up with a lesson from a mulberry tree’s roots. He in fact then goes on to talk about a servants’ time, but you’re just going to have to wait for next week to get my thoughts on that one. 😉

For now, I want to look at this passage in the light of current events. In my church, we’ve been working through Luke in the sermon series, and this just happened to be the chapter for this week. But man, again, I can’t call that a coincidence. These verses hit home with me, and they hit HARD.

“It is impossible that no offenses should come.” We’re seeing them now, aren’t we? Offenses all around us, people causing each other to sin, to stumble, to lose faith. This is an inevitable part of the human nature—we’re going to upset each other, hurt each other, and influence each other in negative ways. We’re going to…but that doesn’t make it excusable.

That doesn’t mean that I should jump to the defense of those who have given offense. And yet that’s often our first reaction, right, when we identify with the first party more than the second? How many times have we heard (or have we done) this? We hear something negative about a politician, a church leader, a police officer, a teacher—someone like us or behind whom we’ve put our support—and our gut reaction is “No, that can’t be right. Or they had good reasons.” And then, because our emotions have already decided that they’re in the right, we seek evidence to back that up…whether they’re really right or not.

We forgot that One with whom we should really identify already warned us against this. “Woe to him through whom they come.” We forget that Jesus never once in Scripture sided with the authorities. Never. Once. He never supports the status quo. He never says that The Way Things Are are good enough. No, He turned over money-changing tables in the temple courtyard, rooted out injustice and corruption, and let His heart be moved by compassion for those whom society wanted most to forget.

Is that what we do though, we Christians? Or do we instead ignore that offense has even been given? My friends, I’ve been as guilty of this as the next person. Again, it’s human nature. It’s what we do on a basic level, subconsciously, without even realizing it. We support Those Like Us. It’s that tribal nature coming out.

But there comes a time when we have to stop doing that. When we have to #BeBetter than our natures. When we have to remember that Jesus made us someone new, someone who can rise above that. And that Jesus expects us to identify with the downtrodden, not the leadership. The sick, not the keeper of the medicine. The broken, not the strong-arm.

Why, though? Because—this should come as no surprise to anyone—power corrupts. Power has corrupted in America, and not just politicians. We have systems in place that train people to act in wrong ways. That offend.

I think we’re seeing the “woe to them” part of that right now, and it makes me so, so sad to watch. So many people are hurt on so many levels. So many communities are desperate for change.

And so many people “like me” are so busy defending the offenders who are “like us” that they can’t see the offense.

Or maybe…maybe it’s just too hard to fix it. Maybe they get glimpses of the wrongs done, but find it easier or more in line with their emotional wants to deny it than to do the work.

But how many times can we wrong people before they give up? And that’s when the offender sees the wrong they’ve done and apologizes for it! I pray my minority brothers and sisters can forgive me for the times I haven’t seen, haven’t understood, haven’t even given a thought to hurts inflicted on their communities by people “like me.” I never meant to hurt them—as I said last week, I want equality…and thought wanting it was enough. I hope that when I ask them to forgive me, they will. That they’ll see intention. But it’s significantly harder to forgive those who don’t ever ask for it. Who insist they’ve done nothing wrong.

Oh Lord, increase our faith. Increase their faith.

Because that is the only way we can dig out those roots of resentment, of offense, of injustice, of prejudice.

We have a mulberry tree on our property that had died, so my husband cut it down. But cutting it down didn’t get rid of the stump. And it didn’t get rid of the roots. Are you familiar with mulberry trees? Their roots go DEEP. I’m talking DEEEEEEEEP.

You can’t dig them out by your own strength. A shovel won’t work. Elbow grease won’t work. Persistence won’t work.

It takes something more than that.

To turn it back to the analogy…it takes faith. The kind of faith that starts as something tiny, but which grows and multiplies and becomes huge—so huge others can rest in it and take shelter under it.

That’s the only way we can dig out those roots of offense, of sin. Faith, my friends.

That’s the only way we can #BeBetter.

I want to see healing come to this land. Do you?

Do we REALLY? Knowing that healing requires cleansing the very roots of the infection? Knowing that it’s hard work, that it’s long, that sometimes it requires treatments that are painful? Are we willing to do the work?

I’ll be honest—I don’t know what it looks like. I don’t know what God might require of us. I don’t know how hard it’ll be to keep it up when these protests fade away and routine takes over. But I do know that that’s where the test really comes.

I’m praying for spiritual eyes to see the problems around us and wisdom to know how to act to fix it. And I pray you’ll help me plant my mustard seed of faith and water it so it can grow.

We can change our world, my friends. But not on our own, equipped with only shovels. We need Him.

I’ve started an email group called #BeBetter, where we can support each other with daily prayer, share our stories, ask our questions, and seek encouragement. I don’t honestly expect a ton of people to join, but I hope you do. I hope that together we can seek and find small ways to effect real change.

 

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.

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