Currently viewing the tag: "Transformation"

Having Words

By On August 14, 2009 · Leave a Comment · In Devotional

Reposted from August, 2007, in honor of the new school year. And I do plan on writing new posts again soon. Mostly because, I’m running out of old things to re-post. But for now, enjoy this one. Again.

Happy New School Year to my third grader, first grader and kindergartener! Last Sunday night (on New School Year Eve), our family had a prayer time for the upcoming year. Andy asked all of us to choose two words to describe ourselves: one word to tell a personal weakness that we need to work on, and one to tell a personal strength. Andy said that throughout the school year, he’ll remind us of our words to encourage and “grow” us. (He even typed all ten words into his phone, which means he’s serious about it.)

First of all, can I just say that I love having a husband who is this committed to his family? Thank You, God. But secondly…can I also say that I hate having words? Specifically I hate having “weakness” words that describe ME. And I really hate that I had trouble picking from among all the negative words that came to mind.

While the kids discussed their words, I agonized over mine. Where to start? Too opinionated? Too fearful? Too obsessive? A bad cook? Yes, yes, yes but I prefer to call it “organized”, and yes.

I thought about that annoying woman in Proverbs 31—the one who is held in high esteem at every Christian women’s event I’ve ever attended (and who apparently loved pink). Her children rose up and called her “blessed”, for heaven’s sake. I dare not ask what my children call me, but I gather from their muttering tones that it isn’t entirely complimentary.

Words, words, words. Which word should I choose? I thought of the angry words I’ve spoken, and the impatient ones, and the just plain dumb ones. And speaking of dumb, that reminds me…about a year ago the kids and I were driving across town in the minivan, when Anne asked, “What’s a moron, Mama?”

“Well, it means a person who isn’t very smart. But it’s not a kind word at all, and we need to never call someone that. Where on earth did you hear it?”

She hesitated. “Ummmm, you just said, ‘Go ahead, moron,’ to that red car back there.”

“I did? Oh. Well, Mommy shouldn’t have said that word.”

Words. My family waited for me to pick one. I felt like writing them all down in a giant list, closing my eyes and randomly pointing to one. I finally cheated a little by summing up several words into a full sentence. “I need to be more joyful, because sometimes I’m too afraid and sad and mad.” Diplomatic enough, I thought.

My children arose, just like the pink lady’s. But they didn’t call me blessed. They agreed. From Anne: “Yeah, because sometimes you’re crabby.” From Molly: “And you always yell at Daddy.” From Nathan: “Yeah, and you always work on your computer. Sometimes you should stop working.”

Ouch. But every word of it was true. I hate having words. And I hate that lady in Proverbs 31. What a moron.

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Hannah Montana and Humble Pie

By On August 10, 2009 · Leave a Comment · In Devotional

“…Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought…. Do not be proud….Do not be conceited.” (Romans 12:3, 16)

I was choosing chicken breasts at the grocery store when a woman approached Anne, Molly and me. She pressed a business card in my palm, shook my hand hard, and asked me how old my “beautiful” daughters were. I gave their ages with a polite-enough smile, and she gushed on. “Oh, that’s exactly what we need! And just look at her red hair! They really do have the look we want.”

She was a talent agent, and it just so happened that her agency was holding a free screening that very weekend. My girls, she said, were exactly the right age and had the right appearance for commercials, or even a show like Hannah Montana.

(At the words “Hannah Montana”, Anne and Molly grabbed one another’s hands and said “Eeee!” in that high-pitched squeal that only little girls can make.)

I thanked the woman and pushed my shopping cart down the aisle. I had no intention of taking the girls to a talent agency. After all, I’ve read what happens to child actors. And frankly, I’d stink as a stage mom.

But I must admit, I shopped on with an air of smugness. I bagged up bananas while silently patting myself on the back. My girls wouldn’t be on TV, no…but they could be. The right age, the right look, the red hair. Beautiful. Yep, my girls. And Hannah Montana. And mostly, my girls.

And then it happened. I wheeled my cart toward the checkout, and there she was again. That talent agent who adored my daughters. Only now, she was talking with another mother—the mother of a boy who was four or five years older than Anne and Molly, and who frankly looked nothing like them. His hair was brown. Plain old, boring brown hair—not red. Not beautiful.

I passed by in time to hear the talent agent excitedly tell the mother what I thought had been a message for just me: “He really does have the look we want.”

I don’t remember putting humble pie on my grocery list, but I sure got a slice anyway.

Obviously, every kid is beautiful to his or her mama. That’s how it should be. But my arrogance—my smugness and my vain ambition and my superior attitude…ugh. I couldn’t have looked less like the humble Christ than I did in that instant.

A prayer from a pseudo-stage mom:
God, I confess that I think more highly of myself than I ought. (And also, more frequently.) Will You help me to think correctly about myself and my kids and my ambitions? Transform my mind so that I want what You want.—Your glory, not mine. Your name, not mine. Remind me of grace. Keep it always fresh on my heart so I never forget who I really am in You. Thank You that, because of Jesus, I “really do” have the look You want. I love You, God. Amen.

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Concealer

By On July 29, 2009 · Leave a Comment · In Devotional

Andy and Nathan are at camp this week, so the girls and I are cramming everything girly into seven days. On the first evening, we put on makeup. Monday night, we braided hair. Yesterday we went to the mall, and last night we did our nails.

And tonight I’ll be rocking in a fetal position, reminding the Lord that my non-girly self is completely inadequate as a mother of daughters.

During Sunday’s makeup fun, I described each cosmetic and its job as we put it on.

“This is eyeliner. It makes our eyes look bigger.”

“Why do we want big eyes, Mom?”

(As it turns out, makeup sounds rather pointless when explained.)

With my concealer, I said that “conceal” means “hide”. “We use this to hide the yucky spots on our faces.”

Anne looked thoughtful. “So…do Molly and I need it then? Because we don’t have any spots on our faces. But YOU need it, dontcha?”

(Hush, honey. Mommy needs to rock a bit.)

Later, I wondered again about the purpose of makeup. Really, it’s all about pretending and concealing, isn’t it? I try to make my skin look as flawless as my daughters’. Ultimately, I hide my true appearance.

I can also hide behind “makeup” in a spiritual sense. I use a deceitful, hypocritical concealer—and apply it liberally!—to hide the true condition of my heart. It’s phony, it’s sinful, and it’s exhausting. Solomon and his father, David, talked about this kind of concealer:

“He who conceals his sins does not prosper, but whoever confesses and renounces them finds mercy.” (Proverbs 28:13)

“Surely you desire truth in the inner parts; you teach me wisdom in the inmost place….Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.” (Psalm 51:6, 10)

God, I’m not fooling anybody—least of all, You. You see the sins I conceal. You know the “face” beneath the makeup. Wash my heart, Lord. Bring me out of hiding into Your mercy, and keep me ever clean before You. Amen.

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Razors, Hoverounds, and Prayers

By On July 15, 2009 · Leave a Comment · In Devotional

First in line at a stoplight, Andy and I watched as an elderly man crossed the street in front of us. He couldn’t have been any younger than 80, but to our surprise, this gentleman coasted from corner to corner…on a Razor scooter! A two-wheeled, red and silver Razor scooter, just like the one my 9-year-old son rides around our neighborhood.

When the man reached the other side of the intersection and rolled on down the sidewalk, Andy remarked, “Well, you don’t see that every day.”

And then, I had a funny thought. What if—this is entirely in my imagination, of course—but what if that man had told his family that he needed a scooter to get around? What if he meant, as most 80-year-olds would, a motorized riding scooter? And what if his well-meaning family misunderstood, and bought the wrong kind?

Poor man. Ask for a Hoveround, and get a Razor.

“Thanks, but that’s not exactly what I meant. Maybe I should’ve been more specific.”

Silly imagination aside, I sometimes feel the same way about my prayer life. I ask God for one thing, but seem to get another. “God, we need more money!” So the van breaks down, and He gives me the chance to trust Him. I pray, “Make me like You, Lord,” meaning, of course, that I want God to change my heart instantly and painlessly. Instead, He begins a transforming process in me. He allows situations or friendships to stretch me, so I’ll have an opportunity to develop His love and grace and kindness.

Ask for a Hoveround, and get a Razor.—Ask for comfort and ease, and get a chance to trust and grow. Frankly, God, that’s not exactly what I meant. Maybe I should’ve been more specific. But then again, You know best. You meet all my needs according to Your glorious riches in Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:19). You give me good gifts. (Matthew 6:11) Help me to trust that You are wise and good, and thank You for giving me what I need instead of what I want. Let me want what You want. Amen.

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Throne Room

By On July 10, 2009 · Leave a Comment · In Devotional

This post first appeared here, on Ungrind‘s blog, Fresh Brew.

Embarrassing confession: sometimes I read my Bible…in the bathroom. Not while I’m going to the bathroom, mind you. But since the bathroom door locks, and since the noisy exhaust fan can drown out most of the children’s chatter, well, a porcelain stool is sometimes the best this mom can manage.

When the kids were younger, and even less likely to “give Mommy some quiet time,” I met God in that throne room quite regularly. Once, after a particularly kid-crazy afternoon, I locked myself in the bathroom, sat cross-legged on the linoleum floor, and opened my Bible.

Knock, knock went a little fist on the door. I ignored it.

“Doin’, Mommy?” came my toddler son’s voice.

“Mommy’s reading, honey. You go watch the show while Mommy reads.”

The little feet padded off and I read on, until two chubby fingers wiggled under the door.

“I pay you some music, Mommy!” And with that, a toy kuzoo appeared where the fingers had been, and my son, laying in the hall outside, began to blow. Loudly.

Isn’t that how most mommy getaways go? And yet, even though a young mom’s “quiet time” is infrequent and interrupted, it’s still important. Too important not to take. After all, “You cannot impart what you do not possess.” I can’t give away what I don’t have, which means I must stay in constant contact with the Source of life. I can’t impart faith to my children if I don’t have my own relationship with God. At church, I can’t teach what I haven’t learned. I can’t speak kind words to my husband unless I let God soften my heart through prayer and His word.

What can I offer, if I don’t spend time alone with my Savior? And so, I lock myself in the bathroom, and ignore my sweet children (and their kazoos) for just a bit, so that I can come into the transformative presence of God…in the bathroom.

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Famous U-Turns

By On July 8, 2009 · Leave a Comment · In On the Bookshelf

(This post first appeared in September, 2007.)

If I were to make a list of things I hate, driving would be very near the top. Just after diet soda and CSI: Miami.

Driving has always scared me. I didn’t get my license until I was 20, and I only did then because Andy said he wouldn’t marry me until I could drive. For some reason, being responsible for the lives of others while trying to maneuver a giant flammable machine has never excited me. I often dream about car accidents or driving without brakes, and I have to gulp down my fear for a simple trip to the grocery store. I’m a chicken.

I also don’t like driving because, quite simply, I get lost. A lot. In places I’ve been many times. Absolutely no sense of direction. It’s not that I don’t try; I rarely leave the house without turn-by-turn instructions from Andy. But I still manage to somehow choose the wrong way. A lot.

For example, there was the time I attempted to bring a McDonald’s lunch to Andy, but I couldn’t find his office. I wandered around and around, with my children calling from the backseat, “Are we almost there, Mama?” I lied that I thought so, and passed back fries by the handful to keep them quiet.

Once I went looking for a house for sale, and ended up on a dead-end dirt road in the Angeles National Forest. When I tried making a 27-point turn to get back to civilization, I high-centered across the low-shouldered street and got stuck.

But my best story of lostness happened when I took my friend to Ventura for a beach day…only I couldn’t find the beach. I could smell the water, I could see the gulls flying overhead, but I could not locate the entire Pacific Ocean to save my life.

My kids have a name for what to do when I get us lost: “Mom’s Famous U-Turns”. “Mom, shouldn’t you make a famous U-turn?” “Do you know where we are? Just do one of your famous U-turns.” Delightful children. But I suppose it’s nice to be famous for something.

Wrong turns are harmless enough when it comes to driving. They’re an annoying inconvenience, but little else. However, when it comes to my spiritual journey, bad choices have much greater—even eternal—consequences.

Lately I feel like I’m standing at a spiritual crossroads—as though I’ve come to a giant fork in life’s road and I’m choosing which direction to take. One path will leave things much the way they are: manageable. Little will be required of me if I choose this direction. After all, I already attend church, tithe, and obey the rules (usually). I will continue to say whatever pops into my head, to lose my temper or complain, and to keep everything else under my control.

But the other path—the one I feel drawn to, yet scared to start down—is much more difficult. I don’t know exactly where it leads, but I know it will require growth, and faith, and love. I will have to trust other people rather than protect myself from them. I’ll let myself love completely and be loved in return. On this path I’ll give away my possessions generously, trusting God to provide. I’ll make my thoughts “obedient to Christ” and my speech “helpful for building others up”. Here I will never be in control, yet I will experience a freedom like never before.

These two roads remind me of a passage in Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis:

“…every time you make a choice you are turning the central part of you, the part of you that chooses, into something a little different from what it was before. And taking your life as a whole, with all your innumerable choices, all your life long you are slowly turning this central thing either into a heavenly creature or into a hellish creature: either into a creature that is in harmony with God, and with other creatures, and with itself, or else into one that is in a state of war and hatred with God, and with its fellow-creatures, and with itself. To be the one kind of creature is heaven: that is, it is joy and peace and knowledge and power. To be the other means madness, horror, idiocy, rage, impotence, and eternal loneliness. Each of us at each moment is progressing to the one state or the other.”

I want to make the right choice—to become the creature in harmony with God. And unfortunately, I will most likely veer off in the wrong direction at times. I’ll get lost, as usual, and make many bad choices along the way. But good news! God allows U-turns. He is famous for them.

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Not My Kid

By On June 26, 2009 · Leave a Comment · In Devotional

“I’m like, the only one who can’t say bad words,” Nathan announced one afternoon. He wasn’t complaining, just stating fact. The neighbor kids had taken a poll on which curse words they were each allowed to say, and Nathan couldn’t say any of them.

He’s also the only one who can’t watch certain TV shows, and the only one who can’t ride his bike beyond certain streets. And, sadly, he’s the only one who must come home at a certain time for dinner.

Occasionally Nathan complains.

“But he doesn’t have to go in yet….”

“But he can watch the movie….”

And my response? “He is not my kid. You are mine, so you have my rules.”

Ah, that’s one of those parenting lines that echoes around in my head as God’s Spirit gently nudges, “Yes, Amy, that’s what I’ve been trying to teach you, too.”

Sometimes I complain.

“But she gets to retaliate when she’s angry. She complains and pouts and gossips.”

“But she handles things on her own. She sets her own agenda, and she’s very successful. I know You tell me to wait on You, but God, she gets things accomplished by herself!”

And God lovingly replies, “She is not My kid. You are Mine, so you must live by My rules–according to My life-giving word, given for your own good!”

“My children–those who would follow Me and call themselves by My Son’s name–must love and forgive, not retaliate and hold grudges. My kids don’t complain or gossip. My daughters trust Me, and hope in My promises, and wait for Me to advance My kingdom through them, rather than take matters into their own hands, for their own selfish gain. Child, do you insist on being unloving? Untrusting? Then you are not My kid.”

A prayer: God, I want to be Yours! Oh, how I long for it! Why am I tempted to settle for less than what You’ve promised? Let me not be completely happy until I completely submit. I love You, God, and I’ll obey. Thank You again and again for letting me be Your kid. Amen.

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Lessons from Naaman (2 Kings 5:1-15)

By On April 28, 2009 · Leave a Comment · In Devotional

I’ve always liked the story of Naaman—ever since I first heard it on an Ethel Barrett record when I was a little girl. I played that record over and over, and loved how God healed and restored a skeptical, proud army commander of his leprosy.

In those days, Naaman’s story mainly taught me that God can do anything. If He wants to heal in some crazy way—seven baths in a muddy river, for example—then He can do it. Recently, though, when I read this passage again, I caught a few more lessons. As it turns out, Naaman and I have a lot in common.

Lesson 1: I’m a leper.
Now Naaman was commander of the army of the king of Aram. He was a great man in the sight of his master and highly regarded, because through him the LORD had given victory to Aram. He was a valiant soldier, but he had leprosy. (2 Kings 5:1)

Naaman had a lot going for him: commander, great, highly regarded, victorious, valiant. But he had one problem. He had leprosy. The leprosy overshadowed everything else, and hindered him from being who he really was. Maybe Naaman could hide his infected skin under his shiny armor, but the leprosy was still there.

In a way, I have leprosy, too. Sin is my leprosy, and no amount of hiding it beneath a shiny public image will make it go away. My story could read, Amy was a faithful wife, and a patient enough mother, but she had….a lack of faith that cheated her out of all God had for her. A rebellious heart that kept her from resembling Jesus. A giant ego, discontentment, jealousy…all these are my “leprosy”.

Lesson 2: I’m proud.
But Naaman went away angry and said, “I thought that he would surely come out to me and stand and call on the name of the LORD his God, wave his hand over the spot and cure me of my leprosy. Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than any of the waters of Israel? Couldn’t I wash in them and be cleansed?” So he turned and went off in a rage. (2 Kings 5:11-12)

God didn’t act according to Naaman’s plan. In fact, Naaman didn’t even talk with Elisha—the very man he had traveled to see. Naaman got angry, and his pride got in the way. He wanted a cure, not a bath. “I thought that he would surely” do something with a little more flair and prestige, since I am, after all, the commander of the army of Syria. Never mind, man of God, I’ll just handle it my own way. “Couldn’t I” take a bath wherever I want?

I do the same thing. I finally bring my sin to God, and confess to Him what He already knows, but when He replies with an instruction I don’t like, I stiffen with pride.

When I confess anger, God tells me to forgive. I thought that You would surely punish the person who hurt me, God. Couldn’t I just ignore her, instead of forgive?

When I confess greediness, God tells me to be generous. I thought that You’d bless me with more stuff, since I apologized. Couldn’t I just promise to manage my money better, instead of having to give it away?

God’s way may not be what I expect, or even what I want. But it’s the only way to healing.

And so, Naaman finally humbled himself. The “highly regarded” commander of the army, with his horses and chariots and gold and silver, listened to a little slave girl. He took the advice of his wise servant, who encouraged him to give the river a try. And he obeyed the lowly messenger of a prophet of a God that he didn’t even serve. Over and over, seven times, Naaman bathed in the river. It wasn’t an instant healing.—It was a humbling transformation. His heart was being cleansed, right along with his skin. True change requires true humility.

3. I’m able to know God better.
Then Naaman and all his attendants went back to the man of God. He stood before him and said, “Now I know that there is no God in all the world except in Israel.” (2 Kings 5:15)

God healed Naaman. He restored his skin and made him whole. And what was the result? Naaman came to know God like he hadn’t before—as the one true God. “Now I know what God is like; now I see who He is.”

In the same way, when I confess my sin to God, and let Him do a restoration within me, in my wholeness I can experience God like never before. I am more acquainted with His character; I know Him more intimately.

Now I know that God gives peace and joy and full life.
Now I know that when I forgive others, I’m the one who is set free.
Now I know that God’s praise is so much better than man’s.
Now I know that God can truly satisfy the lonely places deep inside me.

Prayer from a Naaman like me:
God who cleansed and restored Naaman, cleanse and restore me! Thank You that You are bigger than my “leprosy”, and that You love me in spite of it. Sometimes I try to hide my sin or find a way to get rid of it myself. But I can’t have true, lasting change unless You do the work, Your way. Show me any parts of myself that I haven’t completely given over to You yet. Let me be humble before You, and honest, and let me trust that You can bring about the healing I need. There is no God in all the world except You, Lord. Amen.

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Bookshelf: Eyes Wide Open by Jud Wilhite

By On April 14, 2009 · Leave a Comment · In Devotional

In a few weeks, I’m getting my eyes examined. I haven’t been to the eye doctor for a few years, and lately my eyes feel tired and a little fuzzy. I catch myself squinting a lot. I’m just not seeing as clearly as I should.

Spiritually speaking, I often don’t see things clearly, either. I don’t see myself as God sees me—through His loving viewpoint. In his newest book, releasing today from Multnomah, Pastor Jud Wilhite discusses just that: how to embrace God’s perspective of you, and live with eyes wide open.

“Too many of us live with a distorted perspective of God,” writes Wilhite. “This distorted perspective also affects how we see ourselves.” To “see and live the real you”, our eyes should be wide open to God, identity, change and influence.

A few of my favorite quotes from Eyes Wide Open:

“Uncensored grace is not simply grace for when we first come to faith; it is grace for each day after, as we fail and struggle. It is one thing to come to God for salvation, but it is something else to experience His work of transformation over an extended period of time. One should lead to the other, and daily uncensored grace is what we all desperately need from our Father.”

“God’s favor is real. It’s not just the power of positive thinking. This is the message of the Bible. Accepting this message deep in our souls is how renewal springs forth. Not more effort to be perfect, but more awareness of our perfect God, who is for us.”

“Spiritual growth and spiritual becoming aren’t a simple linear process that moves from point A to point B. It’s better to see spiritual growth more like a spiral that’s gradually moving toward a destination of becoming like Jesus. You may head this way for a while, and you may head that way, but you’re still moving toward the destination. You are becoming the person God already says you are.”

Jud Wilhite is the senior pastor of Central Christian Church in Las Vegas, NV. In addition to Eyes Wide Open, his other books include Uncensored Grace, Deadly Viper Character Assassins, and That Crazy Little Thing Called Love.

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It Occurs to Me

By On February 11, 2009 · Leave a Comment · In Devotional, On the Bookshelf
“One can give without loving, but one cannot love without giving.”
-Amy Carmichael

Every Monday, Andy gives me what I call “Amy Day”. He teaches school, drives the girls to ballet, and makes spaghetti while I read, write, and eat plenty of Mexican food. Amy Day, not surprisingly, is my favorite day of the week.

One Amy Day, I headed for the library. I found a cozy spot—just across from a homeless man, sound asleep in his chair—and settled in to read a book. I pulled several books from my bag, stacked them on the table next to me, and selected a biography about Amy Carmichael, missionary to India. Amy Carmichael left behind her family’s wealth and comfort in Ireland, sacrificed everything she knew and loved, and started an orphanage in Dohnavur. She labored for 55 years without returning home on furlough. Fifty-five years! She could’ve used an Amy Day.

I devoured the biography, pausing only to underline the good lines and dab my eyes at the sad ones. After about two hours, I noticed that my napping neighbor was now awake, but he still remained perfectly still. He stared blankly at the patch of gray carpet between us. He never raised his eyes to meet mine, never glanced at the newspapers by his side, never shifted in his chair at all. But all at once, as though someone had called his name from another room, he suddenly stood up and rushed out. Just left—so abruptly that it startled me. My eyes followed him through the rows of books and out the door, and looked back down again toward my book.

And then it hit me. As though I had been the one sleeping, my spirit finally jolted awake. I realized the shameful irony of what I’d been reading, versus what I’d been doing. Only then did it occur to me that I could’ve—should’ve!—done something to help that man. I, with a wallet of cash and credit cards. I, with a granola bar and liter-sized water bottle in my book bag. And I, with my Bible—the one I claim to know so well—on top of that pile of books next to me. Here was a man who needed so much, directly across from a person who had so much, and I did nothing. It simply didn’t occur to me.

How self-absorbed. How apathetic. How unlike Jesus Christ. I had truly made “Amy Day” all about me. I had been reading about Amy Carmichael—even taking notes on her devotion and service!—and yet learning absolutely nothing. Her poem If described me well:

If souls can suffer alongside,
and I hardly know it,
because the spirit of discernment is not in me,
then I know nothing of Calvary love.

I shut the book, closed my eyes and confessed to God that I truly knew nothing of His Calvary love.

God, forgive me! Forgive my apathy and complacency and selfishness. Open my eyes to the people You love, and to the ways that I can serve them…because Jesus came to serve me. Let me be a doer, not just a hearer. I want to love like Jesus, wholeheartedly, consistently, and not just when it occurs to me. Amen.

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