One of the most amazing things about our God is that He’s eternal. He exists somehow outside of our understanding of time, beyond the line of it that we perceive. We can understand the “unchanging” aspect of His nature best when we realize that change requires time, and He is not subject to it. Now, our perception of Him can change. Our understanding. That can evolve and grow over time, as we experience more and contemplate more. But God Himself remains unhindered by time. Eternal.

Perhaps this is also how His love can be unceasing. How His mercies can be new every morning. They are new…and yet older than anyone. As is everything else about our Lord.

Several months ago I came across a discussion about a current movement among women in the church, women whose message seems bound up in the idea that they’ve discovered something their mothers and grandmothers didn’t know about God. Okay…understanding can certainly evolve over time, so maybe. Until you ask those mothers and grandmothers, who look at these young women like they’re crazy and say, “Well of course. We’ve always known that. Weren’t you listening?”

On the one hand, this sort of example makes me shake my head in dismay–why can’t we just learn from those who come before without thinking we’ve grown beyond them, that we’re better, more faithful, closer to Him than they could have been? It’s really kind of strange–we look to the first century church for so much wisdom and so many examples…but many people also just dismiss those early church fathers out of hand, unless their words were canonized in the Bible. Not named Paul, James, John, or Peter? Sorry, dude. Not interested.

And there’s still something relevant to this idea of “new knowledge.” It is new. New every morning, like His mercies. It’s new to us. We get to discover it every day, every year, every generation. More, we must discover it anew, for ourselves. We have to find that thing that makes us go “Aha!” and internalize it. That thing that makes the faith ours, not just theirs.

There’s truth there. But there’s opportunity for deception too. Because we need to understand what that possessive pronoun means. It’s ours, not just theirs…but NOT “ours, so not theirs.”

See the distinction?

Faith, Christianity, Truth itself is not like a shoe. One person owning it doesn’t mean another can’t. It’s more like…a planet. We can all live here. There’s room. We can occupy different parts, we can travel around, seeking to understand. One person can study one aspect, another a different one. It’s big enough, mysterious enough to accommodate all our curiosity.

But let’s not fall into the trap of saying, “Oh, no, you’re so wrong to describe it as mountains. Clearly it’s plains. God wouldn’t have done that.” Or, to go back to my original example, “Look at this waterfall I’ve discovered, that’s been completely unknown until now!” (And it turns out to be Niagara Falls.)

The faith is new every morning. Every generation. But it is also–MUST also be eternal. Otherwise, why would it have survived this long? The Truth we discover today is the same Truth Jesus preached. The same Truth that founded the Church. The same Truth that led Christians onward before there was even a Bible compiled. The same Truth people have been contemplating and writing about and preaching about all these centuries.

We need to learn anew each day what those before us have already learned. We can follow their examples, we can build on their work. We can discover new facets…but chances are, if you pick up a few ancient works, you’ll find those same facets already explored. Because He is new every morning–always relevant, always discoverable, so vast we’ll never comprehend all of Him–but He is also eternal. Unchanging. The same today as at the dawn of time.

He is new every day for us. But let’s remember He was new every day, in the same way, for them. For all who have come before, and for all who come after. Our faith is ours, but we don’t own it. If anything, it ought to own us.

How do we approach conversation? Is it just a means of exchanging information? Letting our opinions be made known? Are we trying to help others? Broaden our understanding? Do we go at it with no purpose–or with a self-serving one? If you’re anything like me, the answer is simply “yes”–we use conversation for all those things.

But how SHOULD we use and approach it?

After having some truly amazing conversations over the weekend with friends we don’t see nearly enough, I realized anew that conversation can be so much more than we usually allow it to be. Think for a moment about the power of our spoken words–the very things God used to create the universe. The very thing John calls Jesus. The very means Jesus himself used to express Truth to the world.

How often do we use it for that purpose? Sometimes (I hope, ha ha). But enough? I know I don’t.

But as I contemplated WHY I find myself falling into the comfortable, routine, surface conversations more often than not, I realized that this isn’t what I want to do.

I want to actually know what you think, believe, feel about things.

I want to know where our thoughts merge and where they digress.

I want to know why they digress.

I want to let my understanding grow based on what you teach me.

I want you to know that you have taught me.

I want to be able to share with you anything I’ve learned that might help you.

I want you to leave a conversation with me knowing that I heard you and value your words.

I want us both to walk (or tab, if it’s online) away with that certainty that the Lord was in our words.

I want, most of all, for our conversation to lift us both closer to Him.

I want our conversations to change me.

We need to be elevators. Not the metal box that transports our bodies upward in a building–but the spiritual equivalent. We need to use our words to lift others–and ourselves–closer to the Most High.

How do we do that?

I’ve been pondering that question all week. In part, it’s by teaching, when that’s appropriate. But it isn’t always, is it? What about when we’re talking to someone older, wise, and more educated? Is there just no way to elevate them?

I don’t think that’s the case. Because I think the true way to lift ourselves and others toward God in conversation is this: to ask good questions. To actually listen to the answers. And to adjust our thoughts accordingly.

That last part is key–the greatest conversation means absolutely nothing if both parties walk away and dismiss it. We have to let it change us. Change our opinions, our approach to a subject, our actions. We have to be willing to be the clay if we want the Potter to continue shaping us daily–and conversations with others is a way He’s done this throughout the ages.

Now, we can’t control whether other people will change–but we can control ourselves. And if we model it, if we demonstrate that they had a real effect on us, if we make it clear to them that we took their words into account and adjusted accordingly, they’re going to be more likely to do the same. Because it will allow us all to lower our defenses. And that’s where real change can occur.

This works whether we’re the teacher or the pupil. The shepherd or the flock. It works whether we’re talking about how to convince the world to entertain ideas about God or about our kids’ interests. It works if we’re talking about fashion, and it works if we’re talking about salvation. Why? Because it shows the other person that we value them, it gives us both the opportunity to entertain new ideas, and it lets the love of Christ Shine through us. It builds relationship.

This is a challenge I’m making to myself. I want to start THINKING about the conversations I engage in, and I want to be deliberate about how I participate in them. I want to always be looking for what I can learn from them, and also for places where I can share the truths of God’s love that He’s shown me. I want my conversations to reach for something higher than myself.

Words are some of the most powerful things the Lord has given us–and some of the most ill-used. Let’s change that.

How do you lift others toward Him in YOUR conversations?

I’m not the world’s best housekeeper. This is no secret–I mean, I put it right in my official bio. ? Yes, “pretending my house will clean itself” is part of my charming naivete. Ahem. Or at the very least, keeping everything put in its proper place isn’t my priority. That goes to educating my kids, writing books, designing covers, feeding the family, exercising, reading…pretty much anything else, LOL. I do keep up with the dishes and laundry. Just not with putting everything away.

Over the weekend, even I had had enough of the clutter, so I spent a few hours reorganizing the utility closet, breaking down boxes that were trash, and clearing off counters. And, as usual, as I did so, I kept coming across things I’d forgotten were there. “Oh, so that’s where that was.” Or “Why in the world didn’t I throw this away yet?”

Even the neatest people probably have little corners or drawers that gather clutter, right? We’ve all experienced this. And as someone who has experienced it more than, say, my sister (LOL), allow me to explain how it happens:

When something’s been there for a while, we cease to see it. It becomes part of the background. Normal. Our eyes adjust to it being there, and it no longer strikes us as wrong, as worth fixing…until eventually, the mess gets too big to be ignored.

When it comes to the empty boxes that pile up in my kitchen, this seriously isn’t that big a deal.

But what about when it comes to our souls?

Sin, my friends, works a lot like clutter. It sneaks its way in, and maybe when we see it the first time or two, we think, “Oh, that won’t do. I’d better take care of that…” But then we don’t. Why? Because it’s easier to ignore it. We’re busy. Because, frankly, clearing out sin is no fun and usually involves a bit of humility (much like cleaning out my junked-up counters does). It’s easier to say we’ll take care of it soon. Tomorrow. Sunday. Next week. Sometime when we’re not running out the door or overwhelmed by “more pressing” matters.

But then we cease to see it. It becomes part of the background. Normal. Our spiritual eyes adjust to it being there, and it no longer strikes us as wrong, as worth fixing…until eventually, the sin gets too big to be ignored.

And then where are we? Exactly where I am when my house has gotten to that point–in for a long clean-up effort.

Because let me just tell you, it’s a whole lot easier to nip jealousy in the bud the first moment it rears its ugly green head than after we’ve let it fester into resentment and hatred. It’s easier to apologize for that nasty thing we said right away than after we’ve walked away and let it keep on battering the recipient.

It’s easier to choose to love and forgive the moment we’re hurt than to have to wrestle with it years later.

Hmm…not sure of that one? I wasn’t either when the example popped into my head. And I’m not going to say it’s humanly easier. But isn’t that exactly the example Christ gives us? While He’s still hanging on the cross, He’s forgiving those who put Him there. What would our lives look like if we forgave those who hurt us while we were still suffering the first throes of consequences?

I try to find little ways to train myself into better housekeeping habits–things like watching something fun while folding laundry, and vacuuming the floors before I sit down on them to do that. Things like certain days being Bathroom Cleaning days. 

But far more important is tidying my soul. What are we doing to make sure we stay clear of the clutter of sin? Are we vacuuming up the filth of this world from our selves, keeping our spirits white as snow?

We know we need to tidy our houses…but let’s not forget to tidy our souls with far more care and attention.

“Blessed be the name of God forever and ever,
For wisdom and might are His.
21 And He changes the times and the seasons;
He removes kings and raises up kings;
He gives wisdom to the wise
And knowledge to those who have understanding.
22 He reveals deep and secret things;
He knows what is in the darkness,
And light dwells with Him.

~Daniel 2:20-22

Daniel–one of the wisest men we ever read about in the Bible. Daniel, who rose from captive slave to ruler of provinces. Daniel, who remained ever faithful to God. Daniel, who served king after king with his knowledge and wisdom and always remembered to point to the Giver of said knowledge and wisdom.

I’ve always loved this second chapter of Daniel, where Nebuchadnezzar calls all the wise men in to tell him what his dream was and then the interpretation. No one else could do it (duh), but Daniel, upon hearing that the king had ordered all his wise men killed in a fit of rage over their failure, begs for just a little time. He closes himself in his room with his friends and fellow God-followers. And he prays. He prays, and God reveals the secrets. God brings light to the darkness.

It was a literal life-or-death situation–one that affected not only Daniel and company, but hundreds if not thousands of other learned men who had been asked to do the humanly-impossible. It’s no surprise, then, that God provided. God saved not only Daniel, Hananiah, Azariah, and Mishael–God saved all the wise men of Babylon through them. God made His might and power known to the king. God proved Himself not only faithful but omniscient and omnipotent in a land known for its value of things of learning.

We’re never surprised when God shows up on the grand scale. But if you’re like me, sometimes you forget that He shows up just as spectacularly when the secrets that need revealed are small.

Daniel needed God to move in a big, noticeable way that day–just as his friends needed Him to do when they were tossed into the fiery furnace. As Daniel needs later when he’s thrown into a den of hungry lions. But let’s not forget chapter one, shall we? From the moment they were brought to the palace, these four young men were determined to remain faithful to their God–and from that first moment, God answered by revealing His small secrets to them…which is to say, by filling them with wisdom and knowledge. They could out-think the Babylonian sages. They could out-perform the wise men in their own realm.

Because God gave this to them. God filled them. Their lives weren’t yet in danger…and if He hadn’t filled them with all knowledge and learning and wisdom, one could argue that they wouldn’t have been in positions to need His later intervention. But our God is one who sees far ahead…and into all the crevices.

We don’t know yet what Big Deals will be coming later in our lives, do we? We don’t know what moments of life-or-death will await us. We don’t know if or when we’ll be in a position where we need to cry out to Him for our very survival. But we do know this:

Our God doesn’t just move on the grand scale–He moves on the small.

Our God doesn’t just reveal the big secrets–He reveals the tiny.

Our God doesn’t just direct the movement of kings and prophets–He directs the faithful widow.

Our God doesn’t just heal the generals–He heals the servants.

My family’s in one of those places where our feet are pointing toward new, unknown paths. That’s stressful. Not life-or-death. But stressful. And as I contemplate Daniel this week, I’m reminded anew that we all find ourselves in those places, right? We all have been and will be there. But the God who foretold the rise and fall of the greatest kingdoms of the ancient world is the God of this too. If nothing’s too great for Him, then nothing’s too small either. He’s the God of the infinite…in both directions.

More, the God who holds us all in His hand will fill us when we ask. He’ll give us what we need to know to take the step He wants us to take. Now, He doesn’t usually reveal EVERYTHING, right? When Daniel prayed for revelation about Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, God didn’t show him that if he revealed this to the king, he’d be given a promotion, but that it would make him enemies so numerous that they’d start plotting ways to kill him and his friends so that, for the rest of his life, he’d be miraculously avoiding other death sentences. That may have been too much even for Daniel!

No, God told him what he needed right then. To save his life. To take the next step. And because he was faithful in that, more followed.

My friends, we don’t always have to know what our grand calling is. We just need to be willing to take one step with our hand in His. We just need to trust Him in this mystery, knowing that the rest will follow.

Whatever unknowns keep you up at night, know this: they’re not unknown to Him. He is the Revealer of Secrets. And, more importantly, He loves you.

We all know the story of Moses bringing water from the rock. We know it not only because it was another in a long line of miracles, but because it’s the one that he did wrong–the one that made God say Moses wouldn’t be allowed to enter the promised land. In case it’s been a while since you’ve studied the passage, here it is from Number 20:7-12.

I’ve read this countless times, but only recently did something new jump out at me. I think I’d always assumed–or perhaps heard taught–that it was because Moses got angry and struck the rock that he was punished. But that’s not what it says, right? And we happen to know that Moses has gotten angry before, and the Lord didn’t punish him…like when he broke the very tablets God had written on with His own finger. I’d have thought that would have earned a rebuke, but no mention of one is made. So what makes this time different?

When I looked at what God said to them in response here, it was like a light bulb moment for me. First, Moses did not believe Him. God gave specific instructions for what should be done, and what would happen. Moses had every reason to believe that God would be faithful–this was after far bigger miracles had already been done. So what happened? Did Moses doubt that God COULD? That He WOULD?

I’m not sure. But when we look at what Moses said to the people, I think the doubt wasn’t in God…but in their worthiness. Moses was so frustrated with the people that his entire speech was not at all about God–it was entirely about THEM.

Which leads to what really struck me. God doesn’t just tell Moses he failed to believe. He says “to hallow me in the eyes of the children of Israel.”

That, my friends, is the real sin here, I think. That here he was with another beautiful, miraculous moment when God is about to demonstrate His love and power–and what does Moses do? He berates them. He rebukes them. He calls them rebels. And he says WE (as in, he and Aaron) will bring the water from the rock.

Never once does he point the Israelites back to God. Never once does he address the rock, as he’s instructed, or even address the Lord. Never once does he direct either his own heart or theirs to their Lord.

But something else struck me here too. God was still faithful.

Moses screwed up–but God still delivered.

The people weren’t faithful–but God didn’t abandon them.

No one believed–but God still gave a miracle.

There were consequences for Moses’s disobedience, unbelief, and failure to point the people to God–but they were consequences for him alone. God still met the need that required the miracle to begin with.

I find that so encouraging. Because let’s face it–we all screw up. We all address the problems in our lives instead of trusting Him for the solution. We all fail to have perfect belief in the promises He’s made us.

But God still delivers.

God doesn’t abandon us.

God will still provide the miracles we need.

Sometimes it certainly feels like we’re surrounded by a rebellious, faithless people. But there’s a lesson here for us in those times, isn’t there?

Sometimes, when God’s about to move, we shouldn’t be addressing the problem at all. We should be addressing, looking to, focusing on the thing from which the miracle is going to come.

Don’t look to the masses, my friends.

Look to the Rock.

I’m in the midst of reading Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis . . . something I can’t believe I’ve never read before. And something I’ve already been nodding along with so much it’s a wonder my head hasn’t come loose. ? Given that the release of The Number of Love has also triggered several emails to me about this (in an awesome way!), I wanted to take some time to address the topic of [brace yourself] our faith backgrounds and denominations. (Still with me? LOL)

If you’ve read The Number of Love–or, frankly, A Song Unheard–then you know that these particular characters, being Belgian in the early 1900s, are Catholic. This wasn’t something that was debatable–at the time in question, something like 98% of Belgians were Catholic. When I realized that writing accurate characters would mean writing Catholic characters, I admit to a bit of fear. NOT because I have an issue with Catholicism. But because (1) I had no idea if it would fly with my publisher and (2) I didn’t want to mess anything up.

My background: I grew up in the United Methodist Church. When I was in high school, my dad, as a certified lay speaker, filled in as a pastor to 2 churches in a 3-church charge to relieve the burden on the actual pastor assigned to them, who was having medical issues. (Yes, this is important, LOL.) I attended St. John’s College, which has no religious affiliation, but which, in reading the “Great Books of Western Civilization,” spends an entire year studying the Bible and early Christian philosophers, all the way through Luther. (Sophomore year forever, woo!! LOL) 

During college, my husband and I began attending a Seventh Day Baptist church that my dad found and visited first–when he was filling in as a pastor, he preached a series on the Ten Commandments and felt a conviction about the Sabbath that soon spread to the rest of us. When we moved home after college, my family actually decided to plant an SDB church in our area, as the only Sabbath-keeping option was Adventist, which wasn’t what we were looking for. We’re still there. ?

So, here I am. I keep the Sabbath in a division of the Baptist church. I know that makes me weird, LOL. Pretty much all of my friends from college are Catholic (some were at the start, some converted during or after college). My background is UMC. I’ve read and studied about the history of the church, the Judeo-Christian world in general, and have read many of the early church fathers’ writers.

My conclusion? C.S. Lewis had it right: Christianity has a lot of rooms in it. But they’re all in the same house–whether Catholic or Protestant, Methodist or Baptist, no matter what day we worship. It’s important to pick a room because that becomes our community. But it’s also important to remember that there’s something common at our core that is MORE IMPORTANT than any of the differences.

I absolutely love that I’ve been getting emails from Catholic readers asking me if I’m also Catholic, because my treatment of the faith of Margot and the Eltons in The Number of Love is so authentic, so real to their own experience, and so different from what is usually portrayed in Christian fiction. The fact that I’m getting these questions means I did my job well, and that my immense respect is coming through. While I’m not Catholic, some of dearest friends are, and their faith is not only deep and genuine, it permeates every corner of their lives–and I love that. I had one of these dear friends from college read my manuscript while it was still in edits to make sure I didn’t get anything wrong. She had a few corrections to the scenes where they’re leaving mass, to my terminology, but I’m happy to report that the faith aspect itself met with her full approval.

I also think it reflects well on my publisher that never once did they even question this part of any of my books. While I’d heard stories (in years gone by) of publishers insisting that no denominations could be mentioned, certainly no Catholicism could be shown, this wasn’t at all my experience. In fact, when I said I had changes to make that aspect more authentic, based on the advice of my Catholic friend, they were excited I’d taken that step to make sure we were portraying this accurately.

My early fears, it seems, were unfounded. And isn’t that the way of fear? It tries to convince us not to do the hard thing, the unknown thing…the right thing. But I’m so glad I didn’t listen to it. Because I absolutely love that this book has opened up conversations about how, despite the differences, our faith rests on the SAME solid foundation–Christ. I love that I got to explore Catholicism more and have a series of amazing conversations with my friend Rhonda (who is also an amazing author–unpublished but on her way! You can check out her new website at www.RhondaFranklinBooks.com). I love that non-Catholic readers have commented in their reviews about how the portrayal of the faith of Margot and Dot and Drake made it approachable and relatable to them. 

We have differences, yes. We have to choose which room to settle in–and sometimes change rooms when we’re unsettled by something our chosen denomination has decided to do. We have to follow our conscience and find the place that makes our faith bloom and grow. But we also have to remember that we’re still in the same house. That we’re all Christian. That it’s our foundation–Christ–which matters most.

We have to remember that the unknown, the unfamiliar, the strange, the thing that makes us fear is something we should seek to understand, not something we should tear apart.

I love that I have, and hear from, readers of all sorts of backgrounds. I love that I have friends in those backgrounds too. I love that I have the opportunity to explore how faith looks through each of those lenses. And I love that one of the things my husband and I are passionate about–community and unity among and between the different rooms in God’s house–has found a voice in these stories. I honestly didn’t intend it. I was just writing the story, LOL. But then, that’s what makes it all the more fun. And, I think, all the more authentic.

What are you thoughts on the divisions between us? On ecumenism? Do you enjoy reading stories that show characters in a different side of our shared faith?