Thoughtful About . . . Faith Like a Tumbleweed

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.

Thoughtful About . . . When We’re Pressed

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.

Thoughtful About . . . Being “Too Young”

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.

Thoughtful About . . . The Mismatched

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.

Thoughtful About . . . Whatever Things Are True

by Roseanna White | May 19, 2016 | Thoughtful Thursdays

I daresay we’ve all read Philippians 4:8-9. I know I’ve read it many times. I’ve heard it quoted. I’ve read bloggers
and reviewers who make it their mantra . . . and occasionally I have been
seriously irritated when people condemn something using this as their excuse.
Because God’s word is beautiful . . . but sometimes people . . . people
use it as a bludgeon. Or worse, as an excuse to look only at the surface of a thing. To take the easy way out.

Last week, I was finishing up our read-alouds for the homeschool year, and Philippians was our final book. Chapter 4, obviously, our final chapter. A great way to end a school year.

Because the kids sometimes had difficulty following the New King James version of Paul’s epistles, I’d been reading from The Message. Here’s how it puts verses 8-9.

The two aren’t terribly different, but a few words are. We have:

I think we can all agree with what Paul is saying here–that by focusing, dwelling, meditating on these righteous things, these good things, on what is holy, we keep ourselves better aligned with God. Absolutely.

Here, however, is the question–what is true? What is noble? What is just and reputable? What is pure and authentic? Lovely? Compelling? Of good report and gracious? What is full of virtue and praiseworthy?

It seems like it should be a simple question.

But it’s not.

What if, for instance, you’re reading a Christian book and you find something objectionable in it? To keep it only somewhat objectionable, let’s say that it’s mentioned that someone curses or makes a rude gesture or sins outright.

Should we toss that book aside, because it’s not dwelling on good things?

I’m not actually talking about my books in particular, LOL. I’m talking about many discussions I’ve seen over the years. Including a statement made with what I deem infinite wisdom a few days ago: if you refuse to read anything that mentions sin . . . then you can’t read the Bible.

How does God show us His light? His glory? His righteousness?
By comparing it to darkness. To deception. To sin.

How does God show us His ultimate love in the form of Jesus?
By sending him into a dying world, to be treated as a criminal and murdered.

How does God teach us how to seek after His heart?
By telling us the stories of those who did, and those who didn’t, and those who mostly did but failed here and there. Or mostly didn’t but then saw the Truth.

A few weeks ago, I had a Skype call with a college class that was teaching Christian fiction writing, and one of the questions they asked was, “What place do dark themes have in Christian fiction?”

I answered them with the answer I’ve come to after many years of thinking about. Praying about it. And trying it out.

I don’t approve of darkness in Christian fiction for the sake of darkness. I don’t like it for shock value or to prove a point. I don’t like being left with darkness at the end of the book.

But God’s light shines brightest when there is darkness surrounding it that is trying–and FAILING–to snuff it out. God’s mercy is the most striking to those who have suffered. God’s leading is the most meaningful when you were lost. God’s healing is the most miraculous for those are sick and dying. God’s grace is the most beautiful in the face of the ugliest sin.

What is true? What is noble? That there is ugliness and nastiness and sin in this world, but that God is bigger. What is just? That we are deserving of death for our sins. What is pure? That He washes those sins away. What is lovely? A sunrise after the darkest night. What is gracious? A Father who gathers His children close and wipes away their tears and whispers that He loves them, no matter what has come before. That they can rise up and sin no more.

There will be dark themes in my books–some more than others. There will be ugliness, and there will be heartbreak, and there will be sin. Because then there will be grace, and there will be redemption, and there will be change. Because that is what speaks Jesus to a hurting, sinful world. Not the picture of a perfect life that they can’t relate to because it doesn’t exist–the picture of a broken world made whole through Him.

I mediate on that a lot. Not on things that look pretty on the surface–on things made beautiful by Him.

And the peace of God is with me.

Thoughtful About . . . Each One

by Roseanna White | May 12, 2016 | Thoughtful Thursdays