by Roseanna White | Apr 28, 2016 | Thoughtful Thursdays
I got up this morning and realized it was Thursday. Time to get thoughtful. I opened my blog. Drew up a clean post. And sat. Staring. Waiting for inspiration to strike. Sometimes I know days or weeks in advance what I want to write about on Thursdays. Sometimes I even have my posts written on Sundays.
Today . . . not so much. =)
So I opened up my next project–editing Giver of Wonders, which will release November 1. And I started to read.
In chapter 2, a single line jumped out at me.
“Forgive me, my love.” But his tone asked for
indulgence, not forgiveness.
I know I wrote those words, but I frankly didn’t remember them. As I read them, though . . . it’s a commentary, isn’t it, on our culture today? It’s a commentary, too often, on our churches. On our very lives.
I decided to hop over to the dictionary to see what the technical differences are.
INDULGENCE:
1. the act or practice of indulging;
gratification of desire.
4. a catering to someone’s mood or whim; humoring:
6.
Roman Catholic Church. a partial remission of the temporal punishment, especially purgatorial atonement, that is still due for a sin or sins after absolution.
FORGIVENESS:
the state or act of:
1. to grant pardon for or remission of (an offense, debt, etc.); absolve.
2. to give up all claim on account of; remit (a debt, obligation, etc.).
3. to grant pardon to (a person).
4. to cease to feel resentment against:
5.
to cancel an indebtedness or liability of
Some of the same words are used in those definitions, it’s true. But there are some vital differences, aren’t there? Indulgence is giving in to a person; forgiveness is giving up the account of their wrong.
Indulgence is saying “It’s okay that you sin.” or “It’s not a sin.”
Forgiveness is saying, “You sinned. But the account has been paid.”
We live in a very “tolerant” society, which means one that makes an art of indulgence. Funny, isn’t it, how that renders forgiveness, too often, powerless? Because if people have been told all their lives that it’s okay, that it’s not wrong, that we’re entitled to live our lives as we see fit so long as we don’t hurt anyone else . . . then how can they value the forgiveness of those sins they’ve been taught aren’t sins?
One of the greatest gifts ever given to man–cheapened. Our society has filled up on the junk food of indulgence, and now we don’t have the stomach for the real feast: forgiveness. We’ve embraced the look of a shirt with stains rather than taking the time and putting out the effort to scrub them clean.
Just one little line from a scene I added in at the last minute when wrapping up my first draft–but I’m going to be pondering that one . . . and wondering where, in my life, in my world, I’m substituting indulgence when really I ought to be doing the hard work and forgiving–or seeking forgiveness.
by Roseanna White | Apr 14, 2016 | Thoughtful Thursdays
It’s no secret that there are a lot of different types of people in the world. That we all have different personalities. Different outlooks. That there introverts and extroverts and whole personality-naming-systems with letters to label each part of your personality.
Yet we all expect others to be like us. Ever notice that?
It’s not that we don’t recognize people are different. It’s just that when it comes to handling situations . . . when it comes to dealing with grief . . . when it comes to solving problems . . . we cannot fathom that our way is, not just the best way, but the only way.
For instance. I’m not a neat-freak. I am capable of cleaning, and cleaning well. But I do not feel a daily drive to do this. I feel a daily drive to reach a certain word-count goal. I feel a daily drive to pray with my children. I feel a daily drive to do a certain amount of design work. I feel a daily drive to spend time with my husband. Housework slides. Which means that occasionally it gets to the point where I just can’t handle it anymore and I get a bit snappy with the rest of my family for never picking up, and I go on a cleaning rampage. That doesn’t happen often. More often is that once a week I set aside time to take care of the whole house at once.
Those in my family who have the neat-freak drive have tried to tell me that my house would be more manageable if I cleaned, say, twenty minutes every day. And I’m sure that, objectively, this is true. But the thought of finding twenty minutes every day to clean, when I’m going without a pause from 5:30 in the morning until 9:00 at night, Stresses. Me. Out. And the daily stress of, “Ah, man, when am I going to pick up??” adds up, for me, to more stress than that of finding one day a week to do it. Because that’s how I am. It’s who I am. Is it right or wrong? I’m going to go with no. I don’t think my cleaning schedule or lack thereof constitutes a moral dilemma.
And with something like cleaning, most people will shrug their shoulders and say, “Whatever works for you. To each his own.”
But when it comes to more serious topics, people are less likely to say that. As I’ve watched two different people grieve in two very different ways over the last couple months, though, I can’t help but think that it’s about the serious things that we ought to be more willing to understand that people are different.
A lady in my church recently lost a husband. And she knew herself well enough to know what she needed to do after this: establish her schedule and get out of the house. This has helped her cope with the loss. She has good days and bad days, and that’s to be expected. But she’s doing what she needs to do.
My mother-in-law is a very different type of person. When her father passed away, to whom she’d been the sole caretaker for years, everyone was ready with the same advice: “Tell her to get out.”
But to my MIL, getting out is not her feel-better thing. Getting out can cause her stress. As long as I’ve known her, she’s been more likely to want to stay home than to get out. So while, yes, taking my daughter to ballet is something she has volunteered to do on those days she needs a break from her house, what ministers to her more is something like working in her garden.
And that’s okay.
For some of us, people help. For some of us, people hurt.
But if everyone were shouting at my MIL “GET OUT OF THE HOUSE! That’s what you need!” how do you think that would make her feel? Pressured. Frustrated. Like a failure. She’d start wondering if she’s wrong to not want to go out. Which would just upset her more.
Is that healthy? Is that what anyone would be trying to achieve by giving her that advice?
Er, no.
What it comes down to is that there’s no right way to handle emotions–because emotions are different for all of us. My instinct is not to call someone when I’m having a problem. My instinct is not to cry when things go wrong. My instinct is not to throw myself into a crowd when I’m upset. Because when I do those things, they make it worse.
I try, in my writing, to examine this now and again. And when we’re engrossed in the pages of someone else’s story, we can see it. Because we know their thoughts. In life, we don’t have that advantage.
So before I judge anyone for the way they handle their problems, their emotions, their griefs, their joys, I need to stop. I need to consider who they are. I need to wonder what they need. And rather than trying to force them into my mold . . . I need to instead ask, “How can I help them where they are? How they are?”
Sometimes that means joining them at lunch at a restaurant. And sometimes it means coming alongside them in the garden.
And sometimes it means letting them know you’re praying and letting them quietly do the same.
by Roseanna White | Apr 7, 2016 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
Yesterday, I was talking to my husband about loss. His grandfather recently passed away; and this was a man we saw nearly every day. We’re currently living in the house he’d had built on the family property, just a short walk from the apartment we’d helped build for him at my mother-in-law’s house. Her last couple years have been dedicated almost exclusively to caring for him. To say he’s missed is an understatement.
My husband said something that really resonated with me. He said, “I’ve heard this analogy for sin–that every sin is a nail through us. And that when we’re forgiven, the nail is removed–but the hole is still there. I keep thinking that’s how grief is. When we lose someone, we’re left with a hole. That doesn’t just . . . go away in a few days or weeks or months.”
Brains being quick as they are, my first thought was the one you’d expect a girl raised in the church to come up with–that God fills those holes. That’s His job.
Then another thought quickly followed. Do we ever stop missing those we love? The pain fades, yes. God gives us new purpose, yes. God fills us, yes. But no. We never stop missing those we love. And we’re not supposed to. So in that respect, we always carry those holes with us. Like Swiss cheese, maybe?
Then an image filled my mind. You see, I’ve been knitting for about 7 months now, and some of my favorite pieces are lacework. Lace . . . such beautiful stuff, right? But when you’re making lace, it isn’t just about the yarn. It isn’t about the knits and the purls.
It’s about the holes.
One of the things I love about knitting is realizing how long people have been doing it. How this is something that has been passed down for literally thousands of years. Some things I wonder how anyone ever figured them out. But lace . . . I get lace. Lace is made by purposefully adding in holes that are pretty easily added by accident. Lace is taking a process that could have been a mistake and turning it into a work of art.
Maybe that’s what our lives are meant to be. We’re not supposed to just fill in those holes. We’re supposed to turn them into something beautiful.
Because there will always, always be loss. People die–it’s inevitable. And we’re supposed to feel it. We’re supposed to miss them. We can’t just push past it. We can’t just rush to fill in the hole their passing leaves with stuff, with activity, with new things. But each event like this in our lives is supposed to change us. Maybe . . . just maybe it’s up to us whether we’re left with a hole-ridden garment of our lives…
Or lace.
by Roseanna White | Mar 31, 2016 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
What makes a hero of the faith?
A Paul? A Nicholas? A George Muller? A John Lake? A Mother Theresa?
What makes someone the kind of Christian that earns him a place in church history? The kind whose stories we tell each other to buoy each other up, to teach each other truths?
During out Bible study talks during church in this last month, we were talking about this. About how John Lake had given up his family fortune and set off to be a missionary, not funding himself but relying on God. About how George Muller had given up his family wealth and a promising career to live on nothing but prayer and faith and ended up in charge of over a thousand orphans.
That’s when the question came to me–are these men capable of making these sacrifices, these decisions, because they’re great men of faith?
Or do we know them as great men of faith because they were willing to make these decisions?
Are more of us called to the same sort of sacrifice, the same sort of faith . . . but ignore it?
My grandmother was quick to say, “More are called than answer.”
I think this is true. I think this is undeniable. I think, without doubt, God calls more people to do His work than those few toiling in the fields. So what happens? Where is the breakdown? Not in Him doing the calling, that we know.
The problem is in us. The listener. We are so quick to say, “Oh, He doesn’t want us all to give everything. He doesn’t want us all to be missionaries. He doesn’t want us all to be preachers.”
No. He doesn’t. But He wants us all to do something. He doesn’t call us all to the same thing, but He calls us all. And the call of God always requires sacrifice. Reading through the Gospels back-to-back as I just did, that stood out loud and clear. When Jesus calls people to follow Him, He expects them to follow. Not look back.
The Church today looks back. And back again. And wanders toward home. And has perfected the line they tell themselves and each other: “God doesn’t expect that.”
Well, I’ll leave us with one last question to chew on this weekend:
What if He does?
by Roseanna White | Feb 4, 2016 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
Last weekend my husband, dad, and I went to visit a local church and speak about the missions trip they had taken in October, and of the service organization we’ve begun. After speaking of the trip for so long, the mike got handed to me to cover the org–though I’d said I was just there for moral support, LOL.
As I stood up there in front a group of strangers who are my family in Christ, as I tried to convey why this was important, a truth settled in my mind.
We’re not all called to foreign missions.
We’re not all called to domestic missions.
We’re not all called to adopt.
We’re not all called to minister to refugees.
We’re not all called to any one thing.
But we’re all called.
We’re not all asked to sacrifice our riches.
We’re not all asked to sacrifice our houses.
We’re not all asked to sacrifice our days.
We’re not all asked to sacrifice our hold on our children.
We’re not all asked to sacrifice our dreams.
But we’re all asked to sacrifice.
And if we don’t think we’ve heard a call or been asked to sacrifice…then it’s not because God hasn’t spoken. It’s because we’re not listening. And if we’re not listening, how long before He asks someone else to do, in our place, what He’d intended for us?
My husband put it like this on Saturday, and it’s so good an analogy that it’s stuck in my mind. Let’s look at our relationship with God like a romantic one. We’re told, over and over, that we need to learn to listen to God’s voice.
So maybe we sit around on the phone with him. We pray, we read the Bible. We concentrate on that voice.
Then one day, God says, “Hey, wanna catch a movie?”
We say, “Well…not tonight. I’ve got all this other stuff going on.”
So the next week, God says, “How about dinner?”
And we say, “Well…I’m kinda busy.”
If this plays out time and again, how long is it before you can’t honestly call yourself “dating” anymore? If you have the opportunity to DO and choose not to, is that an active relationship?
God doesn’t call us to an inactive faith. The Great Commission doesn’t say, “Stay ye at home and pray.” Jesus doesn’t answer the rich young ruler’s question about what he needs to do to be saved with, “Give a nice offering every week and pray you use your wealth wisely.”
He calls us all to GO.
He asks us all to GIVE.
Where to go? What to give?
That’s where we’re all different. But I say this: the example of the rich young ruler is a good one. Because He doesn’t ask for the easy way. He doesn’t ask for a sacrifice that costs him little. He asks for complete dedication. He asks for the removal of the thing that the man valued most.
What do you value most?
Family?
Security?
Ritual?
Comfort?
What if He asks you to sacrifice that? What do you do? Do you give it all up? Let your family members go? Give up the steady job and good insurance? Leave the comfortable confines of the denomination you know best? Give up your home?
Or do you just stop picking up the phone when God calls?
Because here’s the thing. He always calls. And if we don’t hear that phone ringing…maybe it’s because we ignored it too long.
American Christians are very good at talking. We value hearing His voice. And honestly, we’re good at throwing money at things…so long as it’s not enough that we’ll notice it missing when we’re at Walmart or browsing Amazon.
But when it comes to sacrificing…when it comes to going…when it comes to doing…
Are we really Christ-like? Or are we content with a mask of Christianity that costs us nothing?
by Roseanna White | Jan 21, 2016 | Thoughtful Thursdays
(First, I’d like to apologize for my blog being abandoned this week–we’ve had internet connectivity issues, and though I thought I posted, it didn’t go through, apparently…so those posts will just be saved until next week, LOL.)
In our homeschool Bible reading, we’re currently in 2 Chronicles. I sometimes dread reading those Old Testament books to the kids, because I remember Xoe’s reaction last time we went through them in a Bible story book. The heartbreak in her eyes as she asked, each time I read a heading about a new king, “Does this one love God?” And all too often having to answer, “No, baby. This one did what was wrong in the eyes of God.”
It can be a sad, sad history to read. But this week we got to the story of Josiah in 2 Chronicles 33-34. A king that sought after God. Who tore down the high places. Who had the house of the Lord cleaned and ordered and ready for service.
And I love this part of the story–how in preparing the temple for service again, the priests and Levites found the book of the Law of Moses. In a wall. Where, presumably, it had been hidden to avoid destruction by some devout man of generations past. But when? How long ago? Because no one knew it was there…and worse, no one seemed to know it was missing.
Think of it. The one copy of these words from God himself (presumably, since no one knew what it said anymore, so it isn’t as thought it was just the old copy found). THE way to know what God of expected of them.
Gone.
Missing.
Vanished.
Buried under generations of rubble. Under disbelief. Under hatred. Under the constant battle between those who served God and those who sought after Baal. Buried under generations of rubbish.
Then found again. The priest rushed it to King Josiah and read it to him. And Josiah tore his clothes, because he finally realized how wrong they’d all been. He begged God for mercy. He called all the people to come and hear His word. And they came. And they repented. And they rejoiced. They held a Passover for the first time in generations.
In this day and age, in this country, we have the Word of God everywhere. I have a whole shelf full of Bibles. I have a smart phone and a computer with every possible translation available at my fingertips. We have the Word all around us.
But how often is it buried? Buried under generations of rubble. Under disbelief. Under hatred. Under the constant battle between those who serve God and those who serve the world. Buried under generations of rubbish.
The walls covering it now are worse, aren’t they? Because they’re metaphorical. Invisible. And an invisible enemy is, I have always said, the scariest.
This enemy doesn’t need to destroy the physical books…because instead he can distort our understanding of it. How much more effective is that? How many lies does the modern church belief?
God doesn’t do that anymore.
That was only for the first century church.
Or perhaps more specifically.
When God warns against loving money, he’s talking to the REALLY rich, not to me.
He doesn’t ask ALL of us to give things up.
That warning is for someone else.
We’re so quick to read a warning in the New Testament and try to figure out who else it applies to. But I say this–let our first question be, “Lord, am I guilty of this? If so, forgive me–and show me how to fix it.”
It took those priests and Levites months to purge the Temple building of years of garbage in 2 Chronicles. Purification isn’t a quick process. It took the messengers months to spread the word to the people. But truth spread, and in this case, prevailed.
They tossed out all the trash. They burned it. More–and this is something that struck me as I read it–they ground it all up to dust and scattered that dust to the winds. How’s that for symbolic actions?
What’s cluttering up our faith these days? What walls have we shoved it into? What idols and trash and abominations have we let pile up in front of it? What Truths are we ignoring?
When we find one, I pray we don’t just shove it aside a little…rearranging it. I pray we break it down. Grind it to dust. And scatter it to the wind. I pray we fall to our knees and repent, seek God with a brand new fervor.
I pray we take whatever time is needed to purify ourselves. And to fill our ears with His Truth.
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. 