by Roseanna White | Aug 11, 2016 | Thoughtful Thursdays
As a writer, I know all about picking the interesting times to write about–we leave out the boring stuff, right? Or the unimportant stuff. We certainly don’t spend pages describing something that will never come up again.
It’s something I’ve noticed in biblical narratives as well. When the ancient writers are telling us a story–like in Esther or Daniel–they don’t tell us all. They tell us the parts that are relevant to the particular idea they’re trying to get across, or to the particular events they’ll really be expounding on. I noticed this quite a lot back in the day when I was writing Jewel of Persia. It was the first I’d really noticed the huge gap of years between when Xerxes had the queen removed from the throne and when he started looking for a new queen. This wasn’t a next-day or next-year thing. It was literal ages later.
We’ve been reading Daniel in our Bible study the last month or two, and the same thing is apparent there. Nebuchadnezzar reigned 43 years. We know it was near the beginning of his reign when Daniel and compatriots were brought to Babylon. And we see his story all the way to the end of his reign. But it’s easy to read it as if it all happened within the course of a couple years.
Nebuchadnezzar had a dream of a statue.
Nebuchadnezzar built a statue–surely they were linked, right? The nerve!
Nebuchadnezzar admits to the greatness of God.
Nebuchadnezzar thinks only of his own greatness–what a short memory he has!
I said several times in our study at church, and keep thinking now . . . it’s not that his memory is short. It’s that our narrative is truncated. And then I ask–how would our life stories sound if we only hit the major ups and downs?
What if our story were written, and included, say, the first time we admitted that God was up in Heaven watching us . . . and then skipped to the first time we questioned Him? What would our story sound like if the next tale written were of our conversion . . . then it was directly followed by that time someone died suddenly, and we railed at God?
To a reader, it would look like our memory was short. Like we forgot how great God is. To a reader, we might seem to go from praising God for taking us out of Egypt to crying out against Him in the wilderness in a couple seconds. A reader might not understand that our children are dying of thirst, so of course we cry out. Right? A reader might not understand that it’s been a decade since that high point, and the world has been pressing in, and it seems like God has forgotten us . . . so we question whether He’s what we first thought.
In this world of commentaries and footnotes in our Bibles, it’s sometimes easy to take the quick, simply explanation–and in the case of Nebuchadnezzar, most all the notes I read on him were pretty harsh, dude. But I think the man deserves a lot of credit. His chapters in the book of Daniel are the only chapters written by a so-called pagan. Ever wonder why? I think it’s because of the ending of his story.
Yeah, he had his ups and downs with God. He didn’t quite believe fully at first–it didn’t square with everything he’d been taught since he was a kid, you know? In his world, admitting to the power of one god didn’t negate the others. He had to go on a journey to understanding the true nature of the one who is God over all. It involved some fits and starts. Some battles with pride. Some days where he forgot what Israel’s Lord was all about.
But it ended with him declaring our God supreme. It ended with a declaration of faith. Think of that–a Babylonian king, declaring his faith in the God of Israel. That is why his story is worth writing about–and why Daniel took such care to show us the rocky road that led him there.
Our own roads not be rocky to the same degree. But they all have their peaks and valleys. And if those were all anyone knew of us . . . what would our footnotes say?
by Roseanna White | Aug 4, 2016 | Thoughtful Thursdays
I just got back from a couple days at a church conference, and the director said something in one of his presentations that resonated with something my husband and I had been discussing too. And that is this:
One of the greatest perceived failings of the modern church is that we put more thought into what we’re against than what we’re for. As in, in a survey of modern America, this was listed as one of the top 5 reasons that people stopped going to church. All they ever heard was the negative. The don’t-do. The can’t-have. The stay-away-from.
The negatives are important. They are. God’s pretty clear on what we shouldn’t do.
But . . . but. If we carve out those places, what are we then filling them with?
I kinda look at it like this. A successful diet isn’t one that just says “Eliminate these foods.” Right? Because if you just cut out the chips and dessert and saturated fats or whatever and don’t fill your meals with anything else in their place, what happens?
You get hungry.
A successful diet is one that says, “Eat this. Instead of a banana muffin, have a banana. Instead of chips, have some hummus.”
Not that I’m an experienced dieter, LOL, but I have definitely noticed that when I’m focused on getting my five servings of fruits and veggies in a day, I don’t have room for the junk food. If I make conscious decisions to eat something healthy first, then I rarely get around to the unhealthy stuff.
This is true of spiritual health too. Yes, we definitely, 100% need to avoid things. But if all you preach and teach is a system of DON’T, you leave your people empty . . . and that makes the way for apostasy and legalism.
When it comes to faith, we need to be careful to focus on how to fill ourselves with Him. That is the #1 most important thing. Because if we’re filled up with His Spirit, there’s no room left for the sins. If we’re full of His love, there’s no room for hate. If we’re dwelling in Him and He in us, that old man will fade away and we won’t still desire the same old junk. If we’re basking in His grace, we won’t even notice the “lack” we now have of those things of the world–we’ll only notice the fruit of His presence.
I don’t want to be known as “the person who doesn’t . . .” even if that “doesn’t” is an important distinction. Yes, I am absolutely the person who doesn’t murder, doesn’t steal, doesn’t commit perjury. But that doesn’t tell you a thing about who I am. What I do.
This holds true in a church as well. We can’t just be known for the sins we don’t embrace–we have to be known for the spiritual fruit we do produce. Let us be known for our kindness and goodness and self-control. For our giving and serving and need-meeting. Let us be known for being Jesus’s hands and feet in a hurting world. Not for just shaking a finger at that world and judging.
Let’s not just be against things . . . let’s stand for things as well.
by Roseanna White | Jul 7, 2016 | Thoughtful Thursdays
A few weeks ago, I heard an analogy about the kind of life we should live; that we should be an oak tree, solid and tall, a pillar of the community, the kind of person people respect and will miss when we’re gone, etc. That we shouldn’t be a tumbleweed, aimless and despised and dismissed by everyone.
I got the point of the story. And I certainly love oak trees as much as the next person. But this analogy also bothered me. Maybe that’s a fine image for the world, but for a Christian? I’m not so sure. Not that there’s nothing to learn from an oak, but that we should dismiss tumbleweeds so quickly. I think . . .
I think that we need to be tumbleweeds when it comes to our faith.
In our homeschool science, we read about these plants, and they’re pretty amazing. The tumbleweed bush can grow with very little water. The seeds can lie dormant until moisture comes, then bang! Up the plant sprouts. Quick, but also firmly rooted. The wind doesn’t rip it from the ground. Oh, no. When it’s time to reproduce, the tumbleweed, its seeds ripe and ready, breaks off from its roots. It’s so light that the wind can take it anywhere. Everywhere. And it rolls around–but not aimlessly. It’s spreading its seeds. Seeds which can lie dormant until that little bit of moisture touches it. Then bam. A new bush springs up.
How perfect an illustration is that of what Christians should be? Yes, we need to be firmly rooted in God–but not in one particular place. Our faith isn’t tied to our geographical location, like a tree. Our goal shouldn’t be just to reach ourselves toward heaven, right? Our purpose here isn’t to stand strong and tall and thick, to drop our seeds right by our feet, where maybe one or two eventually grow a bit . . . if they’re not gobbled up by the world or denied water and light by our shadows and thirsty roots.
Our purpose is to spread the Word. Spread those seeds of faith. Far and wide. Our goal is to go and make disciples. Our faith should be fast to spring up in Him, should be able to survive even the driest spells. And oh, if those seeds we planted could spring up so readily!
Now, I’m not saying there aren’t lessons to be learned from an oak tree. Their nuts feed the forest creatures–that’s important. And the cycle of acorn crops is pretty amazing too, the way they go through lean cycles to actually decrease the animal population that feeds on it, then produces a bumper crop that’s way more than the animals can eat, so that some acorns have the chance to grow.
But oak saplings are easily choked out by other species.
May our faith not be like that.
Oak trees can’t move.
May our faith not be like that.
It takes an oak 20 years to mature enough to produce acorns.
May our faith not be like that.
I say, let’s give those things called weeds their due. Why are they called a weed?
Because they grow everywhere.
May our faith be like that.
Mankind can never get rid of them, because the seeds are so numerous and spring up so readily.
May our faith be like that.
Tumbleweeds break off from their roots to spread their seeds.
May our faith be like that.
They roll far and wide, spreading those seeds.
May our faith be like that.
They can flourish with the smallest bit of nourishment.
May our faith be like that.
It takes a single season for a tumbleweed plant to grow, reach maturity, and produce.
May our faith be like that.
Animals feed on tumbleweeds where no other plant can grow.
May our faith be like that.
When a tumbleweed breaks off, the dying of the original plant is the fuel for new life.
Our faith is founded on that.
I really pray that Christianity be what the world terms a weed–that we spring up everywhere. Quickly, incessantly. That we constantly get in the way of the ideals the world is trying to sew. That we are so numerous we cannot be counted. That we spread our seeds of faith far and wide, caring not about our selves, but about the message we’re spreading. That we care little for where we are, so long as we’re where He planted us.
There’s beauty, yes, in that grand oak tree planted and fed by the water. There’s beauty in the strong and sure, in the fact that such a huge tree can grow from a little seed. There’s beauty in the scads of animals that eat of it and rest in its shade.
But don’t dismiss the weed. The weed is vital to nature–it’s just to man and his desire to control his environment that it’s a nuisance. Exactly what Christianity should be. Make me a dandelion, Lord. Make me milkweed. Made me a tumbleweed. I don’t need man’s praise and glory–I need only to spread Your word.
by Roseanna White | Jun 30, 2016 | Thoughtful Thursdays
Life is hard. So often we feel pressure. People are pushing us. Prodding us. Poking us. Sometimes, when circumstances are weighing heavy, we get that tight feeling in our chest, right? Or in our stomach. Stress. Overwhelm.
We get tired.
We get frustrated.
We react.
But how do we react? Or the better question, how should we?
In his sermon last weekend, my dad used this analogy, and it really struck me. Take an orange and squeeze it, press it–what do you get? Orange juice. Not apple juice. Not grape juice.
Take a sponge and squeeze it, and what do you get? Whatever liquid it has soaked up.
Take a plant and press it, and what comes out? The oils or fluids from inside the plant.
Now, take a piece of rotten fruit and squeeze it, and what comes out? Rot. Decay. Stench.
Getting the picture? When pressed, what comes out of a thing? What’s inside it.
So let’s take that back to us. What comes out of us when we’re pressed? (Yes, the comedian in me said, “Blood and gross-squishy-red-stuff.” [Bonus points if you get the Phineas and Ferb reference.] But let’s be serious, LOL.)
What comes out is what’s within. So if we’re frustrated, that frustration comes out. If we’re unhappy, we spew unhappiness. If we’re bitter, that bile is just going to come oozing out of our mouths. But is that all that’s inside us, even when we’re not at our best?
When we’re people of faith, there is always Something else inside us. Someone else. The Holy Spirit lives here. He’s inside me. Jesus is inside me. So with them, what else is inside me?
Love. Joy. Peace. Patience. Kindness. Goodness. Faithfulness.
When we’re pressed, squeezed, put under pressure, when we’re poked, prodded, and pushed, that is what should come pouring out of us–that should be what’s within us.
Humbling, isn’t it? When you’re feeling the pressure of life, are you greeting it with love? With Joy? Do we greet evil with goodness? Prodding with patience? Are we, when we’re at our lowest, when we’re been squeezed so much by life that the pain is palpable, shining with faithfulness?
If we’re not, than that says something about what’s inside us–and about what isn’t. We can’t pour out what we don’t have; and we can’t have good fruit inside us yet spill out rot and decay. If that’s what’s coming out, it’s because that’s what’s within.
And if that’s what’s within, then we need to do some serious work on ourselves. We need to turn those rotten spots over to God and let Him prune them away. We need to plead with Him to fill us with the good stuff inside.
And He will.
Until our cup runs over with His light. It’ll spill right out of us . . . and right into the world. And then, when we’re pressed, people will see Him.
I can’t think of a more beautiful way to show people who Jesus really is.
by Roseanna White | Jun 16, 2016 | Thoughtful Thursdays
It’s a busy week here in the White House. David’s birthday was on Sunday (and I’d like to give a big shout-out of thanks to the Penguins for winning the Stanley Cup that day, which made a fantastic birthday present for that die-hard fan. When they won, I looked over and said, “Happy birthday! See what I got you?” Oh yeah. All me. 😉 Ahem.) Friday is our 15th anniversary. Sunday is my sister’s birthday and Father’s Day.
Yes, much to celebrate this week. And as I look over at that man I love so much, I know I’ve already said many, many times how much I love him. I’ve mused endlessly over the years about love and anniversaries and how I wouldn’t change a thing.
And I still wouldn’t change a thing. Just the other day, we were talking about how we’re at the age where people look back on their teen years and think, “What in the world was I thinking?” But I don’t. I still look back on my teen years and nod. I knew what I was thinking and doing. I was responsible. I was mature. I was determined. And I was right. I think I’ve earned the privilege of saying so at this point, LOL.
See, the world told us then that we were too young to get married. We were too young to know what we wanted. We were just too young, and we’d pay for it. We had people aplenty saying it wouldn’t last and asking us why we didn’t just live together.
And I shook my head, anger rising. I shake my still, and still feel that anger. This world, that condemns so quickly, is so very off. This world deems it acceptable to sleep with someone but risky to commit. This world tells young people that they can’t make decisions to stay with one person for the rest of their life, but they can decide to give their bodies to countless people if they so choose.
This world is backward.
And it still frustrates me when I hear people saying, “You’re too young to be thinking about dating so seriously. You think you’re in love, but you don’t know what love is. It won’t stand the test of time. Do you have any idea how few people actually stay married to their high school sweetheart?”
But think how different our world might look if we taught our kids what real love looks like–sacrificial and brave, selfless and strong–rather than telling them they can’t recognize it. Think what our world might look like if we taught children to make good decisions rather than telling them they don’t know how. Think of what it could mean if we gave them confidence in who they are rather than telling them all their lives that they don’t know their own minds and can’t be trusted.
Think how different the world would be if we taught people to respect marriage as something created to make us holy rather than to use it as a tool to gain our own happiness.
Because a good marriage has nothing to do with the age of the people going in. It has to do with the emotional maturity of the people going in. And we live in a world where emotional immaturity is the order of the day. We live in a world that preaches personal happiness above all. We live in a world of “You’re Worth It” and “Put Yourself First.” These are antithetical to a good marriage. A good marriage is about telling the other person that he is worth the sacrifice. It’s about putting her first. It’s about going through each day asking, not “What’s in it for me?” but, “What can I do for you?” It’s about knowing that God didn’t design this sacred union to make you happy–He designed it to draw you closer to Him and to make you stronger together than you can be apart.
Do I think most 18-year-olds today are ready for marriage? Um, no. But it has nothing to do with how long they’ve been on this earth and everything to do with how they’ve spent the time they’ve had here. I think 150 years ago, 18-year-olds were absolutely ready for marriage. I think 350 years ago, 18-year-olds were considered past their prime. I think much of our opinion on this comes from the very newfangled idea of adolescence and teen years and the place we’ve given that oddity in our society. Historically, this idea of in-between didn’t exist. There were children. There were adults. You were one, then you were another. The goal of the first was to prepare them to be the second. These days, we hurry our children through those early years (put them in school earlier and earlier, teach them to read earlier and earlier, cut back on play time…), but then we tell them to slow down (you’re too young for that, you don’t understand this, it’s just your hormones, not your heart…). Is it any wonder kids are confused? We rush them out of the time they should spend a few more years in, but then we tell them to put on the brakes. We’ve created a limbo for our young people that has no responsibility and yet huge expectations.
If I had my “druthers,” society would focus on teaching youth to handle responsibility rather than telling them they can’t. We’d teach them to think and reason rather than to react with nothing but emojis. We’d teach them to look ahead rather than to hit the backspace key. And we’d stop judging maturity based on how many years a person has lived and start judging it based on the decisions they make.
The world told me I was too young to get engaged at 17. Too young to get married at 18. The world thought I should have just given my body to the man I loved, that that would have been more responsible than waiting for sex and marrying young. The world told me it wouldn’t last, and that marriage is a failure unless I’m 100% happy every day.
The world is stupid.
I wasn’t too young. I made the right choices. And while I would indeed say that I’m happy a huge majority of the time, it’s because I know that happiness isn’t to be found in what I get–it’s to be found in what I give. And because my husband and I both understand this and both deem it worth fighting for, we’ve got 15 years under our belts already.
There are bumps in the road. Facing them has nothing to do with how old we are–it has to do with Whose hand we put ours in as we do. Each other’s…and God’s.
by Roseanna White | Jun 2, 2016 | Thoughtful Thursdays
When I got married, I filled out a registry. A wish list. It had on it all the things one would expect–dishes and cookware, sheets and towels.
All of them, sets. Matching.
Off-white plates with flowers around the edges. Matching cups. A set of cutlery. Glasses that complemented. Things designed carefully to look good beside each other. That wore a uniform. That were all the same in their perfection.
Over the years, plates and bowls and glasses have gotten broken. Cutlery has, somehow or another, vanished. This piece and that piece have been lent out and forgotten. Over the years, our collection of dishes has been subtracted from and added to.
Now it’s a hodgepodge. It’s a mixture. A motley array of mismatched this-and-that.
And I love it.
I’ve heard before (though I don’t honestly remember from whom) the statement, “I just want dishes that match!” At the time, I commiserated. This seems like a good thing, you know?
But when I pause to think about it . . . which coffee cup is my favorite? The Disney mug I bought for myself when I was 14. The one that has no match. Is part of no set. The one that’s unique. It fits my hand, and I like how much it holds. I’ve even caught myself, when in a rental house for vacation or in my church kitchen, always seeking out a mug that’s different. That won’t be confused with anyone else’s. That’s unique and inviting.
Still, I was somewhat surprised when my kids, a couple years ago, began the following conversation:
Rowyn: “Can I have that spoon instead of this one? That one’s my favorite.”
Xoe: “Really? I don’t have a favorite spoon. But I have a favorite fork. It’s the one with the stars on it.”
Rowyn: “You can have that one. I like the little one with the flowers.”
I smiled as I heard them talking oh-so-seriously about which of the mismatched cutlery they preferred. Why?
Because they both favored the unique pieces. The one-of-a-kind ones. Yes, that’s part of it.
But also because only then did I realize that their favorites were my least favorites. That the ones that don’t please me aesthetically for one reason or another, they find beautiful.
And that this is something I never would have learned in this particular way if all my silverware still matched.
When we’re surrounded by the same, we’re not given the chance to find our preferences. When we have only that perfect set, there isn’t room for individuality. When everything matches, nothing stands out. Not that there’s anything wrong with a matching set of dishes, LOL. It’s certainly a handy way to buy something you need.
But there’s something so beautiful in the mismatched. There’s something freeing. Something encouraging.
Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t quite fit in a set. Right? We’re all a little different. A little off. A little bigger or smaller or cracked. We’re different colors. Different shapes.
And that’s how we’re supposed to be. Because different people find different things beautiful. We have different needs. My favorite will not be yours, necessarily. And that’s good. That’s right. We all appreciate different facets of this beautiful world. For different reasons that invite us in different ways.
God didn’t create much of anything in neat, orderly sets. He created a wild profusion of beauty. He created the this-and-that. The hodgepodge. Mismatched. Mountains and valleys, rivers and seas, deserts and rain forests. And He declared it good.
I’ll probably never have a matching set of dishes again, much less cutlery or glasses. And you know what?
It’s good.
Roseanna M. White is a bestselling, Christy Award winning author who has long claimed that words are the air she breathes. When not writing fiction, she’s homeschooling her two kids, editing, designing book covers, and pretending her house will clean itself. Roseanna is the author of a slew of historical novels that span several continents and thousands of years. Spies and war and mayhem always seem to find their way into her books…to offset her real life, which is blessedly ordinary.