Currently viewing the tag: "New Testament"
Recently I was sitting in a meeting—paying only a small amount of attention, quite frankly—when the leader said something that made me laugh and reach for a pen to write it down.
“Well, you can’t worry about that,” she said, in answer to someone’s question. “You just have to munch away on your caterpillar leaf, every day.”
I laughed, first of all, because I couldn’t help but picture everyone in the room munching on leaves. But I also laughed because her simple words were very wise. Too often, I get bothered by other people’s business. “Why did she say that?” “What was he thinking?” Or, I get upset over my own “bang-ups and hang-ups,” as Dr. Seuss would say. Fear, doubt, hardships—all things that distract me from obedience. From simply doing the things that God instructs.
A caterpillar munches away on his leaf, every day, until he enters his chrysalis and emerges a beautiful butterfly. Transformed! Changed because he simply did his thing.
“You need to persevere,” the Hebrew writer says, “so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.” (Hebrews 10:36)
Or, in other words? “You just have to munch away on your caterpillar leaf, every day.”
We Stormses are hardly what you’d call rule-breakers. In fact, I rather enjoy keeping the rules, and the mere thought of breaking one makes me feel a little itchy inside. I’ve also, for better or worse, passed on my rule-keeping tendencies to my children.
However.
In spite of the fact that we don’t, as a rule, break the rules, lately we’ve had a few run-ins with our home owners association. Nothing much…one parking violation, and one tree-climbing violation…but oh. My. Lands. The reaction!
And to be clear, we did break those two rules. We parked where we shouldn’t have parked and we (well, one of us, anyway) climbed where we shouldn’t have climbed. We were in the wrong and we accept the consequences.
However.
The drama? The over-the-top meanness? I think we can all do without that. A few ladies in our HOA take rule-keeping to a whole new level. These women make Javert from Les Miserables look like a pansy.
One of us came home in tears today, and finally got composed enough to say, “I was in a tree, and an HOA lady came by and said, ‘Hey, KID, get out of there!’ So I jumped out, and then she said, ‘Did that hurt when you landed?’ I said, ‘No.’ And then she said, ‘Well, it SHOULD have hurt…I WISH it WOULD have hurt…because YOU are a BAD kid who did something BAD, and it should always hurt when you do something BAD.’”
Excuse me?
You wish it would have hurt?
The rule-breaker and I hugged and dried our eyes and blew our noses, and yes, we discussed that we were wrong to climb the neighborhood trees (which, by the way, are so puny that we can jump out of the tops of them). At the time, I was outside sanding varnish off an old rocking chair, so during the eye-drying and nose-blowing, I took my frustration out on that poor chair. I was so angry with Mrs. Woman-who-was-never-a-child-and-has-too-much-time-on-her-hands that it’s a wonder I didn’t sand it into a pile of toothpicks.
But then, the rule-breaker walked back outside and said sadly, “Maybe that lady was so mean ‘cuz she had just, like, buried her sister or somethin’.”
“Maybe,” I said, “and I’m proud of you for trying to understand her.”
“I guess,” continued the felon, “that I’m supposed to ‘love my enemies, and pray for those who persecute me,’ right?”
“Right.” (That, or, just sand the daylights out of a rocking chair.)
So, that’s what we did. Right there, in the middle of rules and rocking chairs, we took turns praying. We asked God for help remembering to not climb trees, and we especially asked for extra love for someone who may have just buried her sister or somethin’. The rule-breaker even asked God to bless her. Finally, we thanked Him for His forgiveness…to her, and to us. And then, we blew all the sandpaper dust off the rocking chair. Every last particle.
It, and we, were ready for a new start.
My son is 12.
Need I say more?
I could go on. I could write about his tension between being big but not quite big enough. I could tell what a mix Nathan is of confident and afraid, grown-up and childish, intelligent and ridiculous, mature and yet…not very. Hygienic but also at times, so very not.
I could tell you all these things, but really, all I need to say is just this: my son is 12.
We all understand.
And we all understand Mary’s confusion, then, at her 12-year-old Jesus. He left the family caravan and decided to stay a little longer to teach the teachers.
“Son, why have you treated us like this?” Mary asked when she finally found him three days later. Why, Mary? Because your son is 12.
Jesus explained that he had to be in his Father’s house. He seemed surprised that Mary didn’t read his thoughts. I know the look on his face, because I’ve seen it on Nathan: astonished at her astonishment. Mothers and 12-year-olds often view one another with mutually astonished faces. Luke explained, “But they did not understand what he was saying to them.”
Oh, Mary, don’t try to understand. Your son is 12!
Luke then recorded that Jesus returned home, obeyed Joseph and Mary, and grew in wisdom, stature, and favor. (He didn’t stay 12! A word of hope.) Of Mary, Luke wrote, “…his mother treasured all these things in her heart.” No need to explain more there, either. We mothers get that. Mary treasured Jesus’ teaching that day in the Temple, just as she’d treasured his birth in the stable (Luke 2:19). No doubt she’d treasured up a million other memories, too, from the Christ’s first smile, to his first tottering steps, to the prophecies Simeon and Anna had pronounced over him.—Mary “marveled” at those words (Luke 2:33).
We moms treasure every bit of it, and the parts that seem the least treasure-worthy at the time, well, perhaps someday those will turn out to be the most precious.
Mary had a treasuring heart, and like mother, like Son. Years later, Jesus spoke of a treasuring heart this way: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:19-21)
Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Mary’s heart treasured her son, the Christ of God. She treasured, not just her memories of motherhood, but also the God who had chosen her. Mary’s heart overflowed with treasure.
Lord, let me treasure You, as Mary did. Let my hope not be here, in the temporary, in security, or even in people. Let me hope in You, and build my treasure on You. And the things I store up now that seem the least treasure-worthy, well, perhaps someday they will prove most precious. Give me a heart like Mary’s, Lord, because You are my greatest treasure! Amen.
- Like Mother, Like Son – part 1: A Willing Spirit
- Like Mother, Like Son – part 2: A Believing Mind
- Like Mother, Like Son – part 3: A Worshiping Soul
The summer I was pregnant with Nathan, Andy and I took a group of grade schoolers to church camp. Hot sun, hard bunk beds, and a vanload of hyper children made for not-so happy times for the uber-pregnant. I met a woman there, though—another pastor’s wife—who gave me this advice about delivering my firstborn:
“When I had my babies…when I was in labor and having all those contractions…I just praised God.”
Excuse me? I thought. Isn’t it supposed to be painful? I must’ve looked at her like she was crazy, because she continued, “No, I’m serious. I just sang and thanked God the whole time, and it really helped. You should try it.”
I decided that this woman was, in fact, a nut. I’d heard of women screaming in labor, but never singing. Still, I determined to try her worship idea, or at least a variation of it. I grabbed my spiral notebook and copied down all the verses on God’s “help” and “strength” that I could find.—If a verse said anything about God being with me and giving His power, I wrote it in the book. My doctor was a believer, so he wouldn’t mind. I wrote page after page of truth, and then, I did what pregnant women do best. I waited.
I waited, but not as long as I’d planned. I waited until August 1, when Nathan David decided to come six and a half weeks early. Andy and I went to the hospital, thinking I was having terrible back spasms (which turned out to be back labor…oh, was I brilliant). For some reason, even though I didn’t realize I was actually in labor, the only thing I brought with me to the hospital was that spiral notebook. From the moment we arrived, everything went like a blur. The nurse announced I was already dilated to eight centimeters…a placental abruption was discovered…the surgery team waited right outside my door…and through all the chaos and rush and fear, Andy stood beside my bed, held my hand, and quietly read those spiral-scriptures to me, over and over and over.
Turns out, not only was my doctor a strong Christian, but the nurse on-call that day was, too. She was also a pastor’s wife, and she said she “loved” hearing scripture throughout. At the end of the scariest day of my life, I had a tiny, flesh-and-blood testimony to God’s miraculous power. We all knew that God had—pardon the pun—been our mighty “deliverer.”
Amazing.
“My soul glorifies the Lord,” began Mary’s song in Luke’s gospel, “and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” No one had to advise Mary to have a worshiping soul about her own delivery; she praised sincerely, humbly, adoringly. Mary worshiped God for his greatness and holiness. She praised his mercy and might. But most beautiful to me is this: after Mary’s waiting was over…after she received her tiny, flesh-and-blood miracle…she held in her arms the very embodiment of all that she worshiped! The things for which she praised God were the very things that her baby came to be. He was Emmanuel. God with us. God in the flesh. Like Father, like Son.
“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.” (John 1:14) We have seen his glory…and Mary held his glory!
Mary delivered the mighty deliverer! She worshiped God with her soul, and then she held God in her arms.
Amazing.
Eleven Christmas seasons ago, I was pregnant with Anne Elizabeth. Born on December 14, little Anne even got to be Baby Jesus in our church’s Christmas performance. Jesus, it turned out, was very hungry that night, and cried “his” little lungs out through the entire show.
Something about being pregnant in December made me feel extra motherly, and Luke’s gospel telling of Christ’s birth jumped off the pages of Scripture to me that year. I was especially taken with Mary herself, as though she and I were somehow connected by our round bellies and swollen ankles. I saw four attributes in Mary to emulate in my own life, and the first is this: Mary had a willing spirit.
As a young, engaged virgin, Mary’s angelic encounter must have been overwhelming at best. Terrifying, too, and even absurd. “Mary, I know you’re a virgin and all, but you’re about to be pregnant. And also, your baby will be God.” Crazy! But “nothing is impossible with God,” Gabriel concluded, and Mary replied, “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said.” (Luke 1:26-38)
May it be to me as you have said. It doesn’t get much more willing than that. I can’t think of the last time I uttered anything close to Mary’s response, at least not without months of arguing and wrestling and trying to figure things out first. Mary did none of that. Just simply, “May it be to me as you have said. I’ll do whatever you say, Lord, and I’ll take whatever you give. I’m your servant.”
And, like mother, like Son. More than three decades later, Jesus himself would speak very similar words to his Father, on an agonizing night in a garden. “Everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.” (Mark 14:36)
Nothing is impossible…everything is possible.
May it be to me…not my will but yours.
Oh, what God can do with a willing spirit! With Mary’s willingness, God brought the Messiah into the world. With Christ’s willingness, He brought salvation on the cross. I wonder…if I had the willingness of Mary and Jesus Christ, what impossible feat would God accomplish through me?
Maybe He’d restore a relationship.
“Amy, I want you to forgive her. Let her off the hook.”
“Okay, Lord, I will. I’ll do whatever You ask.”
Maybe God would quiet an anxiety.
“Quit telling me this is impossible, child. Trust Me.”
“I believe You, Father! May it be to me as You have said.”
Maybe, if I were willing, God would use my life to bear much fruit for His glory.
“Just remain in me, and let my words remain in you. I’ll do more than you can more than you can even imagine.” (John 15:7-8; Ephesians 3:20-21)
“Oh, use me. I’m your servant.”
Lord God, You accomplish the crazy. Nothing is impossible with You! Grant me a more willing spirit, Father. Make me more like Mary and more like the Christ. What can you do—through me—with a willing spirit? Whatever it is, God, may it be to me as you have said. I’m your servant. Amen.
June 21, 1997–the day I dressed in white and changed my name from Miss Amy Dunson to Mrs. Amy Storms. So much went wrong in our wedding that remembering it still makes me cringe. Amid the bridesmaids’ dresses going missing, the photographer getting in a fight with Andy’s grandma, and the flower girl spilling water down the front of her dress, I forgot to pull my veil over my face. No blusher for this bride. And I could’ve used it, too, to hide my tears as I cried my way down the aisle.
Veils aren’t always a good thing. To the believers in Corinth, Paul wrote about the veil Moses wore after being in the Lord’s presence. Paul said that some people have veils, not over their faces, but over their hearts. The veil keeps them from experiencing God’s salvation and freedom. “But whenever anyone turns to the Lord,” Paul wrote, “the veil is taken away.” (2 Corinthians 3:16)
A veiled heart keeps us from God…oh, let’s remove the veil! No blusher for the Bride of Christ. Lord, let us turn to you, and let nothing separate us from You. Let us encounter You, as Moses did. Give us minds to know You better and hearts to love You more. (Ephesians 1:17-18) Let us be as Paul described: “And we who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.” (2 Corinthians 3:17-18) Amen.
When the kids were young, and I was up to my eyeballs in diapers and sippy cups, I nearly punched a woman in the face.
Andy and I were having dinner with several couples we didn’t know. We introduced ourselves to one another, and to a young, newly-engaged woman, I said that I was stay-at-home mom. With a nod toward her fiancé, she replied assuredly, “Yeah, when we have kids, I won’t stay home. I’m not really the kind of woman who likes to cook and clean all day.”
And I very nearly punched her, square in the nose.
Instead, I blurted out a comeback that made Andy laugh for weeks. “Well, I don’t do it because I like it!”
I love being a mom, of course, but there are certain aspects of the job that I don’t always like. What I meant to say…what I should’ve said to the poor girl…was something more like, “I don’t like to cook and clean all day. In fact, I don’t cook and clean all day. But I stay home with my kids because I think it’s what God wants me to do.”
And for the record, my mom-friends who work outside their homes do so because they’re confident that God has called them there, too. I also know moms who love to cook all day, and even a few women who love to clean…because God has simply wired them that way.
Every mom—stay-at-home moms and career moms alike—does some things that she doesn’t like. That’s part of being an adult, really. Maturity is the ability to delay gratification…to put what’s required ahead of what’s just desired. Moms make sacrifices out of love, whether or not they like it.
Moms understand Paul’s call to humble service in his letter to the Philippians. “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others. Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 2:3-5)
Paul goes on to explain the servant heart of Jesus. He left his throne, humbled himself, and obeyed even to the point of death by crucifixion. Why? He didn’t do it because He liked it. Christ endured the cross because He loved us. He made the ultimate sacrifice because He knew it’s what God wanted Him to do.
And what was the result? Paul says, the sacrifices were worth it. “Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus is Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” (Philippians 2:9-11)
For moms, duty calls. Duty to children, yes, but more importantly, duty to the Lord. We don’t do it because we like it. We make sacrifices because we love our children—and our God.
Lord, the sacrifices I make as a mom pale in comparison to the sacrifice You made for me. And yet, on the days when I’m overwhelmed by it all, will You remind me that it’s worth it? Remind me to have the same attitude as that of Christ Jesus. Thank You that Your Spirit empowers me to accomplish everything You call me to do…whether or not I like it. Amen.
A few days ago, Anne and Molly played with water guns. They squirted and squealed and skipped around, like two little girls who have no idea how to fire guns, but just want to get wet. Which is exactly what they are.
“Hey!” Molly laughed after taking a squirt to the face, “Watch the eyes!”
Anne confidently called back, “Well, I don’t aim! I just fire!”
I don’t aim. I just fire. How many things in my life could be described that way? My physical health: I don’t aim to exercise regularly. I just eat whatever I please. With writing…the books I dream of writing won’t get written unless I aim to write more than I facebook. In my undisciplined speech, my selfish attitude, and even at times when it comes to my parenting, I’m reactive rather than proactive and intentional.
I don’t aim. I just fire.
So what is my aim? The aim in every friendship? My aim for my marriage, my kids, my life? The apostle Paul knew just where to aim.
“I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his suffering, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.” (Philippians 3:10-11)
To know Christ—that’s the aim. That’s the goal toward which we “press on”. Knowing Christ and becoming like Him, representing Jesus and pointing others to Him. The aim, in a word, is Christ.
Sunday afternoon, I typed an entire list of “security scriptures”—several verses about insecurity and fear.
Any guesses on how my week had gone?
My old friends, Fear and Doubt, had come back for a visit. Actually, they seemed rather determined to take up residence. And so, I printed off my list, read it over and over, and kindly asked my unwelcome guests to leave.
When fears press in, I often remember the story of Thomas, Jesus’ friend and disciple who is most famous for his doubts. Not convinced of Christ’s resurrection, Thomas said in essence, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
So, the Lord, who was, in fact, very much alive, graciously showed himself to his friend.
“Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”
Stop doubting and believe.
Stop. Doubting. And. Believe.
Stop doubting, Amy. See my hands, faithfully at work? I provide for you every single day. Reach out your hand and experience my goodness. Your children, your loving husband, your faithful friends are all examples of my good gifts to you.
Stop doubting and believe.
Believe I am enough. Believe I am good. Believe I work for your good. Believe that I love you.
Stop doubting and believe.
I love Thomas’ reaction to the resurrected Lord—to the Christ, who, by conquering death, made it possible for him to stop doubting and believe. Thomas the Doubter became Thomas the Worshiper as he exclaimed, “My Lord and my God!”
God, help me to trust You. You haven’t given me a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. (2 Timothy 1:7) How, then, am I insecure?! Why, in light of the cross, do I possibly doubt? Indeed, in light of Your resurrection, let me stop doubting and believe. Let me live in boldness and freedom and awe, my Lord and my God! Amen.
If you can relate, download a copy of my verses list, or add your own Security Scripture in the comments! Security Scriptures
Today Andy showed me Eugene Peterson’s translation of Matthew 6:9-13, and we both loved it. The Lord’s prayer is so familiar that we sometimes miss it, but The Message made it fresh to me. Hope it does for you, too.
With a God like this loving you, you can pray very simply. Like this:
Our Father in heaven,
Reveal who you are.
Set the world right;
Do what’s best— as above, so below.
Keep us alive with three square meals.
Keep us forgiven with you and forgiving others.
Keep us safe from ourselves and the Devil.
You’re in charge!
You can do anything you want!
You’re ablaze in beauty!
Yes. Yes. Yes.
