ThanksGIVING

Thanksgiving is literally within reach. Elaborate menus and decorations have been made within a "theme". (Thanks a lot Pinterest!!!) Turkeys are defrosting. Cornbread, dressing, rolls, and desserts are being made in advance. Stores are running low on "necessary" Thanksgiving items and mad dashes will be made to grocery stores everywhere for that one last forgotten ingredient.

As a child, it was one of my favorite holidays. Seriously, what is not to love? Food abounds. Football  is on pretty much non-stop. Friends and family get together with no agenda other than nearness and community. If you let it, life seems to slow for just a few days and love seems to fill hearts and homes.

But the tragedy of it all is that for the vast majority of us, Thanksgiving is little more than a pit stop between Halloween and Christmas. Although in many ways we seem to go WAY overboard on decorations and elaborate menus in an attempt to host a flawless holiday extravaganza (pinterest), the reality is we approach the heart of the holiday as if we don't have time in the busyness of our lives for it. Oh sure, we might make a thankful tree like we saw someone else post on instagram. What a great idea, we thought. It will help us be mindful of the the season, to ponder and count our blessings.

But let me speak "hypothetically" for just a moment (or maybe be completely transparent). We've all had those sweet little thankful tree sticks sitting in the vase completely bare for awhile now. The boys have taken out the sticks to use as swords and you have yelled at them for it. Sweet little colored leaf shapes sit BLANKLY beside them just waiting to be filled with all the many things you and your family are thankful for. Your daughter has picked them up and tossed them into the air above her and you have yelled at her for it. Then the day comes that you realize that Thanksgiving is 2 days away and you plop your kids down with some markers and the leaves and you barkingly demand they list all they are thankful for quickly so you can get the leaves on the tree and everyone can appreciate the sentiment of the holiday they are about to partake in. You're just trying to do your part to help everyone embrace all that Thanksgiving is and should be, right? Of course, this is all "hypothetical."

Except it's not. The thankful posts and lists and trees and garlands are all so alluring. I want to do them, I really do, but it never seems to happen. It's not a lack of thankfulness, honestly it isn't. Sometimes it is that I am SO thankful, that I don't even know where to start. Sometimes it is because everything I write down seems boringly predictable and cliche. Sometimes its because my kids come up with the MOST ridiculous things (like anything their eyes can currently see. Broom has been thrown out there before...just saying.)

But mostly, I just think the lists seem to stop way short of the depth of the holiday. The lists are just the "thanks" part. Don't get me wrong, I believe in the thankful part wholeheartedly but I don't want it to end there. THANKS should always lead to GIVING. Our gratitude for the blessings we recognize in our own lives should spur us on to bestow those same blessings on others. Our thankful hearts should lead us to action.

So this year, we're doing our thankful lists a little differently. It won't be pinterest, fb or ig worthy...but it will be worthwhile.  We are going to sit with our kids and each of us will thoughtfully list out at least 5 things that we are truly thankful for. (No, broom is not accepted:) And then we will figure out together how we can in turn "give" that same blessing to someone else.

(An example I am already anticipating is family. If we are thankful for our family, how can we "give" family to someone else? Maybe include the neighbor widows in some intentional family activities??)

The point I hope my kids (and I) get from this is that we do indeed have much to be THANKful for and much to GIVE as a result. God is the giver of all good things and it is His love that compels us to do the same for others.

Will you join my family? 

 I know what you're thinking because I'm right there with you.  We are literally ONLY 2 days out from Thanksgiving!!! But the truth I'm embracing and the truth I want my kids to embrace is that it's never too late to let your THANKS lead to GIVING!

So join in...and have a Happy THANKS GIVING!

When I just can't sing

I love to sing. I sing all the time. I sing loudly and passionately and expressively. In the moment, I am unashamed and unapologetic. (Afterwords when people mention it is a whole different story.) I sing from the depths because worship lays my soul bare before Jesus in ways that nothing else seems to do. For me, singing in worship is both comforting and convicting. It is where my greatest delight and deepest longing intersect. I love to sing...

except when I can't.

 

Have you been there? The words just won't come. You can't find a way to form them with your mouth. Your heart rises up into your throat and prevents you from vocalizing words it knows you don't mean, words that don't ring true with your life, words that refuse to settle with your soul, words that just don't seem like worship to you at all.

 

Here's where I get honest. I refuse to sing just because it's in the program or on the screen. I refuse to sing just because it's a well accepted hymn or praise song. I refuse to sing just because everyone around me is singing. I just won't do it. I just can't do it. It has nothing to do with style or instrumentation. It has nothing to do with the worship leader or the light setting. That's irrelevant.

 

What's not irrelevant, however, is the condition of my heart and the focus of the song. I cannot mutter words that I do not mean and I cannot fain worship with words that focus on something other than the object of my worship, Jesus.

 

I was there recently.

 

We were sitting in church during the announcements and my husband received an urgent e-mail alert. He read it and then visibly looked concerned and handed me the phone. As everyone around me greeted one another and talked about the weather, I sat and read the e-mail in disbelief. It was from a missionary friend living in the Middle East. Of course living as an unashamed believer in the Middle East, he and his family are constantly in potential danger but this was different. It was about ISIS activity in a town near his. The jist of the e-mail was that ISIS was active near he and his family and they were on their way. Confrontation was probably imminent at some point in the future. Unless you have ignored the news altogether, you know that confrontation with ISIS ends in 1 of 2 ways, conversion or death. He was imploring us to intercede with fervency and urgency, on behalf of his family and all the other believers in the area. I sat there and did just that. In anguish, I mumbled through a gut-wrenching prayer, words that probably didn't even make sense. I sat there in stunned disbelief.

 

Just like that, the greeting was over and the music began. My 6 year old son grabbed my arm and pulled me up to standing. As the congregation began singing, my son slid in front of me and wrapped my arms around his head and neck and held my hands tightly to his chest. And then I heard the words...

 



I'd rather have Jesus than silver or gold

I'd rather have His than riches untold

I'd rather have Jesus than houses or land

I'd rather be led by his nail pierced hands 

 

AND I STOOD SILENT

 



I could not sing. The words would not come. My heart was throbbing in my throat. My son sensed something was wrong. After all, I love to sing. He looked up at me, squeezed my hands and turned his head to kiss my arm. I caught a glimpse of the sweet little freckle on his neck.

 

AND I STOOD SILENT

 

How could I sing this song? 

In what seems like a world away, brothers and sisters in Christ were choosing Jesus.

 

AND I STOOD SILENT

 

How could I sing this song?  

In what seems like a world away, brothers and sisters in Christ were choosing Jesus over their very lives.

 

AND I STOOD SILENT

 

How could I sing this song?

In what seems like a world away, brothers and sisters in Christ were choosing Jesus over the lives of their precious children.

 

AND I STOOD SILENT

 

How could I sing this song?

 

I squeezed my son. He responded by pulling my arms tighter around his neck. There I stood in my comfortable climate controlled, sound equalized, cushy sanctuary, free from religious persecution. I looked down my row, filled with my husband and children. And my mind wandered. I feel fairly confident that in the face of such persecution, I could choose Jesus for myself, but could I choose it for them. I didn't know...I don't know.

 

AND I STOOD SILENT

 

In what seems like a world away, brothers and sisters in Christ had watched their children beheaded for Jesus in front of them, boldly declaring with their very lives and their most precious gift that they would rather have Jesus than anything this world affords them.

 

How could I possibly sing this song?

 

SO I STOOD SILENT

 

Soon enough the song was over and I sat down. My six year olds, one on each side, cozied up next to me and started drawing in their notebooks, unaware of what children just like them are facing in what seems like a world away. I didn't hear a word the pastor preached because I prayed through that entire service...and I ached for Jesus.

 

CONFESSION - Now to be perfectly transparent, it isn't the first time I have stood silently as that paticular song was sung in church. Last time I stood silently, I had just returned from Haiti. While there is always some reacclimation, worship seems to be one of the hardest things to process. In general, our modern, western, christian culture is pretty posh. We live in relative luxury and comfort and ease, and so for the most part, this song is pretty irrelevant to our lives. Most of the things listed in this song that we'd "rather have Jesus than" aren't realistic choices in our lives. We don't deal in silver, gold, treasures, houses and land anymore. No one's going to offer me a kingdom and fame is fairly unlikely. So its painless and risk-free to say we'd "rather have Jesus" than things that aren't a part of our lives right now anyways. BUT God doesn't ask us to live risk-free, painless lives. On the contrary, He asks us to live lives of absolute abandonment to His will and His name and His glory. You see I can't stand in a place and sing "I'd rather have Jesus" beside a body of believers unless we are ready to put our actions where our words are and honestly let go of all of the things this world affords us...and it affords us A LOT.  Just like the rich young ruler, we have a lot individually and collectively to let go of!  

 

I believe that Jesus is greater than anything...and I believe that Jesus is worthy of everything. I believe that with every fiber of my being BUT I can't stand in my comfortable, safe, climate controlled sanctuary and declare things to be true that I know are not lived out by me individually or us collectively...so  sometimes I stand in silence and that's okay. When my mouth can't form the words and my heart rises up in my throat and prevents me from vocalizing a song, just know that I am worshipping in a way that is not me at all, a deeper, more intimate way than I ever could with my voice.

 

****Let me be really, really clear before some of you unfriend me and send me hateful, condemning messages...I don't have anything against this song and I am sure to some of you it is a beloved hymn that you cherish deeply...please continue to genuinely cherish it but understand that I just can't. ****

 





When God steals your vanity

I know...it's been months since I last blogged. To be honest, once I finished my health journey, I struggled a little bit with where to go from there. I had so many ideas floating around in my head and heart that I didn't know what topic to launch into...but like always, God showed me exactly what He wanted to address in me and like always, I just stubbornly resisted.

 

 I didn't want to. I couldn't. I wouldn't.

 

But here I am. Writing about something I don't want to address in myself. Why? Because God is relentless in His pursuit of us. He is determined to have His children become more and more like He created them to be. And so the story goes...

 

As a young child, I had gorgeous, thick, beautiful blonde hair, which reached almost to my waist in the back. It was my "crown of glory" and like most little girls, I LOVED my hair...I mean EVERYONE loved my hair.

The summer before 3rd grade, my family moved from the Texas Panhandle, where summers were filled with windy dry heat, smack into the middle of Central Texas, where I was quickly introduced to the misery of humidity. IT WAS UNBEARABLE and so I begged my mom to get my hair cut. We had literally only been in town a few days and didn't know anyone so we made the dreadful choice of going to the mall. (Yep, you can see the writing on the wall, can't you?) I had this cute little shoulder length "bob" haircut in mind. I described it to my mom. She understood. We both described it to the beautician. It didn't translate.

 

The beautician had my back to the mirror for the entire haircut so I couldn't see what she was doing...but I could see my mom's face and I could see the amount of hair piling up on the ground around me and I could feel the air on my neck. By the time either of us realized what was taking place, it was too late to stop her. The damage had been done. She spun me around after drying and styling it so I could "look" and big hot alligator tears just streamed straight down my face. Somehow, shoulder length "bob" translated into "page boy". (If you can't picture what that would look like, think Dorothy Hammill or Mary Lou Retton.) My hair was short and ugly and the girl in the mirror didn't resemble me at all and I didn't know what to do.

I cried off and on for days, maybe even weeks.

Every time I passed a mirror, tears.
Every time I reached up to play with my hair, tears.
Every time I thought about not looking the way I wanted to look, tears.

 

It was the only time I ever remember my mom trying
to buy me something to stop me from crying. 

It was the first time I ever remember crying and
not being able to be comforted by my mom.

It was the first time I ever remember God calling out
to me that there was more and not listening.

It was the first time I remember when God stole my vanity...but it wouldn't be the last.

 

Not that I think it's unusual, but the battle with physical vanity raged in my teenage years. I remember making my mom late to work because I selfishly refused to get out of the car in middle school until my jeans "tight rolled" just right. I remember carrying around a butane curling iron (not sure how that was legal) and fixing my "big bangs" in the car because I couldn't walk in somewhere without my big bangs. I remember practically starving myself so I looked like some of my friends who were just natural born stick figures. I remember throwing shameful tantrums and spending ridiculous amounts of money on Guess jeans and Esprit clothes so I could present a certain facade. All of these things seem ridiculous to me now and they certainly aren't the memories I long to embrace but they also aren't memories I can escape either.

 

The amazing thing is that during all of this,
God desperately called out to me that there was more...
 

 And when I wouldn't listen, He would mercifully steal my vanity from me all over again.

 

There are in this world people that I classify as the "pretty people". You know who I'm talking about...and if you don't, you are probably one of them. They seem to effortlessly look good, in anything and at all times. I wasn't one of them, but there were times where I, for some reason or another, had an inflated view of myself. Going into my sophmore year was one of those times. As the year began, God called that there was more. I wouldn't listen. Almost right away, I got an eye infection that required me to wear my glasses in public for the first time in my life. It was no big deal but I was mortified since most people didn't even know that I wore contacts. It lasted a few weeks and it was back to life as usual, disproportionately inflated. Then I tore my ACL and meniscus. I was in a leg brace and on crutches for almost 3 months. My choice of outfits were windsuit or athletic shorts, not exactly ego boosting for a high school girl.

 

But don't worry, my ego made a comeback.

 

By the time my senior year rolled around, I had worked myself into the good graces of a boyfriend's mother by losing enough weight to cinch my XS belt on the smallest hole and surprising her with my ability to be "made up" when I tried.  My vanity had finally made it so God called once again that there was more...and once again, I refused to listen. These vanity milestones were immediately followed by concussion/whiplash from a car accident, an obviously broken nose and a torn ligament in my back, both sports injuries. These were ego setbacks for sure.

 

Through all of this, I put up a good front of not caring just in general but all of that was part of the illusion and deception. No one knew what was really going on in my heart and mind.  After all, I wasn't one of the "pretty" people and probably not someone that most people would consider vain in regards to my appearance. I was just "cute" average, not breathtakingly TV pretty like a disproportionate number of girls that walked the halls of my high school.

 

(Sidenote : they are ALL still breathtakingly TV pretty nearly 20 years later). 

 

Unlike them, make-up and hair certainly didn't consume my life, mostly because I knew very little about either of them. I wore "fashionable" clothes, but I certainly wasn't the obsessive trendsetter. So I would convince myself that I clearly wasn't struggling with vanity because I didn't primp and obsess and consume my life with the way I looked. I was so beyond that, because

van·i·ty

was excessive pride in or admiration of one's own appearance

 

The truth was that type of vanity eluded me the same way I believe it still eludes so many of us today. Since we are steeped in self criticism and self doubt, most of us would not embrace the thought that we have excessive pride or admiration in our own appearance. After all, we criticize ourselves far more harshly than anyone else. (Even the "pretty" people do this.)

 

No, our vanity is something else altogether, something far more damaging. We don't suffer from vanity in the sense that we feel as if we have "arrived".

 

No, we chase vanity...and we chase it hard.

 

You see there's a second definition of vanity, one that I believe affects far more of us than the first, one that I believe competes far greater for our attention than the first and it is this: 



 the quality of being worthless or futile





We chase it in the form of fashion and diets and spanx and wrinkle creams and tanning and "magic" make-ups and prescriptions that make your eye lashes thicker and possessions and appearances.

 

All the while, God is calling out to us that there is more...and we don't listen.

 

Why?



 

Others are cheering us on in the chase of vanity.

Others are racing alongside us in the chase of vanity.

Others seem to have "arrived" and we just want to "arrive" so badly

but we never seem to make it..and we never will.

 

The chase is worthless and futile and never ends.

 

As an adult, I have been on and off of the chase of vanity many times. It seems to come in waves in my life. It's pull is really, really strong at certain times and in certain places and around certain people. 

 

It is during those times that God loudly calls out to me that there is more...

that I should chase Him because He is worthy and purposeful.

 

Sometimes I don't listen, and He has no other choice but to steal my vanity because it is stealing my focus and chase from that which I need most, that which is best for me, Him.

 

As I sit here typing this, I see the most visibly lasting reminder of a time when God stole my vanity. It's a vitiligo spot on my right hand between the knuckles of my ring and pinkie fingers. It was the first vitiligo spot that appeared. Before I knew what it was, I tried hard to scrub it off. That didn't work. I waited for it to gain its color back. That didn't work. After realizing what it was and that it wasn't going to go away, I tried to cover it up with make-up and then self-tanners. Nothing worked. I was embarrassed by it and pulled that hand away from people, even my husband, for fear that they might see it and ask what it was and critique me. And then one day I looked down and saw another spot on my foot, larger and more noticeable than the one on my hand...and another spot...and another spot...I sat and cried. I mourned the loss of my vanity...

 

and in that moment, I heard God call out to me that there was more,

 that He was worthy and purposeful

that I could not chase both Him and vanity...

 

and I chose to chase Him.

 

I would like to say that my chase of Him since that day has been perfect, but it hasn't. There are still certain times and certain places and certain people that call me back to the chase of vanity. Those times seem to be fewer now, maybe because I've experienced the fullness that comes in the other times, the times when I have been able to disregard vanity altogether, when I have "Ecuador" hair or clothes covered in "Haiti" dirt or the tired make-up-less face of a mom whose cared for a sick child all night.  Not surprisingly, those are the times I have felt closest to and most used by Him. Those are the times that I feel free and fulfilled and lovely and valued.

 

Chasing vanity is like walking down the runway of a fashion show. It is miserable and useless and pointless, literally leading to nowhere.

 

Chasing God is like running through a flower-filled meadow with the sun warm on your face towards the happiest place you have ever known. It is beautiful and freeing and lovely and lifegiving...and though it becomes your one pursuit, it is worth it.

 

When I got that terrible haircut as a fragile little 3rd grade girl, I was devastated because I was walking down that miserable runway chasing vanity and the me in the mirror didn't resemble the me I wanted to see.

 

 

In the process of becoming not me,

I am learning to chase God into places that don't have mirrors

so that I can see the me I was always created to be...

 

which is not me altogether.