Throwing Sand in the Sandbox

I’ve been in Christian industries and nonprofits for 13 years – more than 13 if we count volunteer time, but 13 as a full-time professional. Like others in these sandboxes, I’ve heard my share of judgment, encountered plenty of individuals who don’t act like Christians and have probably been one of those individuals somewhere along the way. It’s a tough thing, to work alongside others of whom you have the expectation to act Godly – when there are so many gray areas about “Godly” when it comes to specific actions.

I have realized there are basically two types of people in this sandbox when it comes to the management of resources – resources being money, relationships, and knowledge. The closed fists and the open hands.

Closed Fists

Closed fist folks work hard to develop a network and a financial stream to support their vision. Let’s call them CFers. They are tireless workers, always on the go, never absent from a meeting or event that can help them forward the mission. CFers are staunchly dedicated to their ministry. They see no responsibility toward those in other ministries because taking their eyes from their own focus would be a “poor steward” of a CFer’s own resources of time and money. If there is an event with a major keynote speaker, for example, it is anathema to consider introducing other ministry leaders to that speaker – the focus must be and remain on only the CFer’s ministry.

Open Hands

Then there are the open hands. They are as passionate about and dedicated to their vision as CFers, but they believe there is strength within the body as a whole and wisdom in growing it along the way. Let’s call them OHers. If a fellow ministry leader calls with a request to meet someone who is a supporter of an OHer’s ministry but might also be interested in an additional ministry, or they request to use a piece of equipment, the OH leader is ready to acquiesce. OHers spend little time wondering if the act of sharing their own resources will stunt or harm the achievement of their own mission. For an OHer, the question at hand before sharing resources is whether the requesting ministry is legitimate. If it is, then sharing is a given.

Which One?

Which do you think is preferable? To have a singular vision and stay firmly focused on it and only it (CF)? Or to approach resources as something to be shared with other ministries, possibly impacting your own path to fruition in the process (OH)?

Looking forward to hearing others’ thoughts on this!

 

Enjoy!

The perspectives of my children routinely amaze me. Not just because they’re insightful – but because they force me to realize I’ve become [gulp] an adult. When did that happen? When did I begin viewing life more through grown-up eyes than with childlike wonder?

Earlier this week, Andy (now 7 years) grabbed the copy of “Discover Magazine” lying out and began reading. He then explained – in great detail – how the sun is at its hottest right now and is shooting out vast streams of hot plasma. In the course of the conversation, he asked how the sun causes our day and night. As I told him about the earth turning on its axis, about the moon reflecting the sun’s light so that we have some light even at night, and all the wonders of how our 24-hour cycle works, I said, “Isn’t that smart of God? He gave us light – just enough light – so we could see to work and then he turns the light off so we can rest.”

Then, as happens so often I should expect it by now, Andy burst forth with a bit of brilliance.

“Or enjoy it.”

“What?” I was pretty happily congratulating myself for explaining a scientific concept while incorporating our faith, so I missed his meaning.

“You said God gave us light so we can see to work. Maybe he gave us light just to enjoy it. Just to have fun with all the stuff He put on the planet.”

That thud, dear reader, was me coming back to earth.

Enjoyment. Pleasure. Fun. These aren’t evil. Allowing them to become a god is evil, of course. But a life of faith can also be a life of fun. I’d forgotten.

As the God of Fate would have it, the iPod switched to a new song just after my conversation with Andy. “The Great Adventure” by Steven Curtis Chapman. Funny, God. Very funny. 

 

Final Lesson of a Friend

Dr. Jack Acree, my pastor for several years and a dear, brilliant friend, went Home to the Lord last Saturday. Brother Jack and I shared an enormous love of books. He forgave me my fiction predilection, I ceased attempting to understand his nonfiction obsession. True or non, though, we both loved good stories and I think he’d get a kick out of the one I could tell today, having just arrived home from attending his funeral service.

Arriving at the church with my husband and son brought its own swirl of memories. Next door was the church where I’d been honored with incredible support from Brother Jack in 2007 as a group of ladies and I worked diligently to create a women’s ministry in the face of opposition from those who liked things just as they were. It was also the church where the deacons forced Brother Jack’s resignation, a story on its own that serves as a stark example of what happens when a leader of deacons desires power and control more than exhibiting the kindness and humility our Savior practiced. Brother Jack, though, taught me how to love and pray for enemies by his walk through that particular fire.

I tried to set those memories aside as we entered the church and saw familiar faces from those days. Walking down the aisle with my seven-year-old son, I began to answer his questions of why Brother Jack was in that box and to assure him that, yes, Brother Jack’s soul was now in Heaven with Jesus. We hugged the family, said our Until That Days, and circled back around to find seats for the service.

That’s when I ran into Dr. Don McCulley – my pastor from elementary school and junior high. I babysat his daughter waaayyy back in the day and had just been surprised by a friend request from her on Facebook yesterday. We hugged, said it was good to see each other, then went on our way. I didn’t have much time to reflect on the strangeness of seeing him in this place…two towns and two decades removed from the last place I knew him…before the service. With confusion, I watched him file onto the stage and take a seat alongside our pastor, our worship minister, and two other men. Hmm.

After two speakers shared their memories and reminded us all why we loved Brother Jack, Dr. McCulley stood up. He, too, began sharing memories of this friend he’d known since seminary days. He talked about visiting Brother Jack, about talking on the phone in those last days, about their days on the golf course discussing theology.

And, despite the tears over how much I’ll miss Brother Jack this side of Heaven, I realized a smile rested on my lips. Here stood the embodiment of a characteristic both Brother Jack and I so love about the God we serve: His infinite storywriting. Brother Jack knew me as a married woman, as a mother, as a ministry leader, as a member of his flock. I knew Dr. McCulley as a student, a daughter, an adolescent, an employee, and a member of his flock.

Here, in this place, I learned that two men separated in my life by two decades and two towns had known each other for years. They no doubt shared lots of laughter and words along the way.

It’s like discovering a prequel to a favorite novel. How incredible, how brilliant, our God must be to weave our lives in ways we may never even see until we see Him face to face. How much fun it’s going to be, to see each other again one day and realize how we all fit together! We don’t know how our relationships this side of eternity play into our existence there, but it’s awfully fun to think about running into Brother Jack, telling him I want to introduce him to my friend Dr. McCulley, and having both of them exclaim, “Hey, I remember you!”

As a writer, I often share the lament with my author clients about keeping characters straight – especially when writing a series where relationships get entangled and untangled. What a God, that He not only keeps us all straight, but is working with every single one of us individually toward His ultimate purpose: everyone experiencing his love and forgiveness.

One last flash of insight into the God we adore from my friend and pastor who spent a life loving Him: Brother Jack.

 

“Why is there a car wash next to our table?” I settled into one of four seats surrounding a standard square table at Max’s Café in Kalispell, Montana. My kind host, John, and his assistant, Kris, smiled.

“This place used to be a car wash.”

Only in Montana. I nodded as if that was the most natural thing in the world. Sure, if your car wash goes belly up, try the food service industry.

We ate in blissful silence for a few moments, watching the long strips of blue canvas bathe each vehicle in a slow parade of renewal. The Montana-sized spices in my bison and elk chili had nearly singed every taste bud on my tongue before I finally pushed the yummy local goodness away.

“You know, it doesn’t look very violent from this side.”

John looked up. “What?”

“When you’re inside the car, those strips and rollers shake the car and it always feels a little scary to me, a little violent. But, looking at it from out here, it seems pretty peaceful.”

I saw the glint of wisdom in John’s eyes a second before my words echoed back through my brain. John’s been through the wringer himself these last couple of years. He’s still healing, but he’s far enough on the other side to see perspective on the horizon.

I gave voice to what was in his eyes. “Guess that’s a lot like life.”

He smiled, nodded.

“How so?” Kris had given up on her brownie – also the size of Montana – and sat back.

“When you’re in the middle of that process, of getting clean and better, it can feel like you’re being destroyed. But, if you can remember in that place that this place,” I tapped our table that sat safely outside the window of the cleansing strips, “exists, you can lean into the experience and trust you’ll come out the other side something better than you were when you went in.”

 

Devil Went Down to Florida

I’m concerned. And nervous. And confused. This week, I attended the International Christian Retail Show in Orlando. It was my 11^th show. The previous 10 times, I left optimistic, excited, and eager to get back to work. This year, I’m uneasy.

This year, I walked the floor with a witch.

Well, a former witch. Kristine McGuire, one of the authors we manage at Glass Road, spent nine years in the occult as a witch, medium, and ghosthunter. She chronicled her journey into and out of the occult in Escaping the Cauldron, which releases from Charisma House in September.

As I walked the floor with Kristine and her husband, a sensitivity to occultic influences in our products and people developed. At one booksigning, an author signed copies of the story of how her deceased husband communicated with her after his death and appeared to her as a “wispy, white creature”. (Ghost) At another, we saw items designed to provide protection, healing, and wisdom by their very presence. (Talisman) Another was rumored to be the front for a cult. And at still another, Kristine introduced herself to the man operating the booth only to have him assert he was a, “Reiki Master and light energy healer”.

That same man had been selected by CBA as a teacher of a workshop. Surely this isn’t what they intended when they selected this year’s theme of, “MORE”.

Maybe the occult has been present every year I’ve attended ICRS and I remained blissfully ignorant as I bopped from publisher booth to media interview to publisher booth. I definitely spent more time walking the entire floor this year and made an effort to learn about vendors with whom I haven’t worked before.

Still, I’m alarmed. At the International Christian Retail Show there were no less than five booths clearly associated with some form of the occult.

It’s not the International Spiritual Retail Show. Or Faith-Based Show. Or any of the terms we employ when attempting to lessen the controversial nature of the term Christian.

When Kristine asserted that the occult is present in our churches and Christian life in ways we don’t even realize, I’ll admit I only believed her in the abstract. Certainly there was no cultic presence in my church or in the industry of Christian product creation, I thought.

But now, having walked the ICRS floor extensively and seen the infiltration in stark reality, my heart is broken. We are a people called to live differently, to be a walking illustration of the God we adore. What must He think as He sees what is inside the temple walls?

 

Dead End Places

Those of you who know me are aware of the recent upheaval in my world. Those of you who don’t probably know upheavals of your own, or are praying someone through a world turning upside down.

Questions from within and without became a barrage as I navigated through the intricate maze of emotion, faith, reality, and action. Had I done something wrong? Should I have seen this coming? How would all this affect my career? My family? My finances? Relationships? Reputation?

Ultimately, every question came back to the same place: Did I not hear God correctly?

When I found myself backed into what appeared to be a dead end, I couldn’t help but wonder if my feet had somehow slipped from the path He carved for me. Surely if I’d followed him correctly, I wouldn’t be here. Right? I felt like Job, eagerly listening to all his friends espouse their views, sifting through the words to find the elusive wisdom.

On the day I went to move out of what had become my former office, (hubby at the wheel and me firmly ensconced in my passenger seat with reading material) one thought kept popping into my consciousness: Exodus 14.

Exodus 14. At least I’d grown enough in the faith to recognize this prompting as being Holy Spirit-driven. So, I inwardly responded, “Yeah, yeah, be still, be quiet, be amazed. I get it, God.” And then that quiet voice again. Exodus 14.

Since embarking on this major career expansion two years ago, I’ve lived in Exodus 14 and various passages in Nehemiah and Isaiah. Comfort could always be found in reading again how God called His people, then equipped and provided. So, when I heard Exodus 14, I remembered well how the Israelites came screaming at Moses with the Egyptians bearing down on them. They were panicked, asking him why he brought them into the desert to die when they could have done that in the comfort of their own homes back in Egypt, thank you very much. Moses responds with some of the most comforting words in all of Scripture,

“Do not be afraid. Stand still and see the salvation of the Lord, which He will accomplish for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you will never see again. The Lord will fight for you; you need only be still.”

Exodus 14.

Yeah, God. Be still. Be quiet. Be amazed at the deliverance.

Exodus 14.

Okay, fine, evidently I’m missing something.

I grabbed the Bible from the dashboard and flipped to Exodus 14. Here’s what I read:

“Now the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, ‘Speak to the children of Israel, that they turn and camp before Pi Hahiroth, between Migdol and the sea, opposite Baal Zephon; you shall camp before it by the sea. For Pharaoh will say of the children of Israel, ‘They are bewildered by the land; the wilderness has closed them in.’ Then I will harden Pharoah’s heart, so that he will pursue them; and I will gain honor over Pharaoh and over all his army, that the Egyptians may know that I am the Lord.’” (vs 1-4)

Hmm. God sure was specific about exactly where He wanted them to go camp. Crazy specific. Did you catch that? God told them to go to a place of death. He sent them to a dead-end place. Hemmed in by the sea, there was no escape if the enemy came against them. No earthly escape, anyway.

With moving boxes tucked under an arm, I climbed the three long flights of stairs to my office, my dead-end place, and stopped just before the final seven steps. Did I believe God led me here? Yes. Absolutely. I’d never moved without talking to Him and asking for His direction, submitting myself to it.

If I believed that – if I believed that God sent me to this place, then running to Moses screaming wasn’t necessary. I knew what Moses would say.

Do not be afraid. Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord…

If you are in a dead-end place and you know that you didn’t get there as a result of disobedience or not seeking God’s will, you might want to consider – is your Red Sea moment almost here?

And if that could be true, then remind yourself: even when the dry ground comes, you’ll still have walls of water on both sides and an enemy bearing down from behind. Step firmly on that dry ground. There’s a bank of freedom on the other side.

 

That pesky outcome problem…

Divorce sucks. A dear, fantastic, beautiful woman I love (“Joy”) is going through it. She and I headed off to lunch recently so she could catch me up. Little did I know we were headed into a veritable shouting match about God’s attributes.

My life’s ups and downs could rival those of Trump’s career. I’ve been loved. I’ve been divorced. I’ve been hugged. I’ve been hit. Sung to. Screamed at. Birthed new life. Had life die within me. Securely debt-free. Crazily debt-ridden. Mt Everest to The Dead Sea. That’s me. Lots of lessons learned along the way. The one that caused Joy’s eyes to blaze with anger and forehead to wrinkle: outcome is not our responsibility.

She’s faced with a tough choice. A ministry unaware of her husband’s infidelity (with a major donor to that ministry while he was in charge of the ministry’s development) submitted an affidavit on his behalf which affected the custody dispersal of their children. Her dilemma is whether to make the ministry aware of the circumstances that caused his abandonment of her and their children. I urged her to, at all times, speak truth in love. Operate from a motivation of love. Stay in truth. She’s a former client of and donor to that ministry. She has a responsibility to provide truth to them. She’s scared of doing anything that will further affect the custody situation. I told her that outcome was in God’s hands, not hers. Her job is to speak truth, be motivated by Godly love. She ultimately realized her motivation right now would be vengeance, so she’s got some more discussing to do with God. Our conversation, though, is still churning through my mind.

I used to cling to the façade of control. Take Action A, follow with Action B, Outcome C will occur. Follow rules: pain and suffering remain at bay. Take the medicine: sickness leaves. Eat correctly: get a healthy body.

As a Christian, though, I have to accept that my life is no longer ordered this way.

God is in charge of the processes and He’s anything but predictable in action – only in motivation. His motivation is always love, but it’s not always a love I can comprehend given my lack of His perspective and overall purposes. He’s a God who says, “Yes, I know you’ve never known a man, Mary, and it’ll wreak havoc with the man you’re engaged to, but you’re going to give birth. Trust me.” He says, “Yes, I know you can’t speak well and there’s no discernible food or water out there in the desert, Moses. Trust me.” He says, “Yes, I know you’ve no concept of rain or flooding or need for salvation from such, Noah. Trust me.” He watches Elijah have those four jars of water filled and poured on the 12 altars three times, then produces a blazing fire on them. Over and over He makes no sense on this side of the lesson. Over and over we see His glory as a result. His awesomeness. His ability, not ours.

It’s easier to give up the need to control outcome if we value His outcome over the one we can dream. If His outcome hurts today, we have to be confident of the tomorrow that reveals His glory. We have to long for that glory more than our comfort. God glorified must be our source of peace.

I ache for Joy. I know the overwhelming hunger to control. To prevent pain – of self and of those under my care. To believe myself a failure if I don’t shield them from hurt or a bad outcome. Ultimately, it’s a reflection of our design. We’re made in the image of a God who controls. And I think it becomes an offering to Him when we sacrifice that particular part of our design back to His authority…trusting that He can do something more fitting with circumstance than we could dream.

Joy reminded me if she pointed a gun at my head and pulled the trigger, I’d die.

I reminded her that would only happen if God allowed it. And, if He did, He’d ultimately be glorified in it.

She reminded me of an abused boy, chained to his bed for years, recently discovered by authorities. “Was that God’s will? You think God’s going to be glorified in that?”

I reminded her of some of my Dead Sea moments. A client who recently reneged on $19,000 that was supposed to help move my family nearer my in-laws’ who need our presence and help. A former boyfriend who thought pushing and slapping were acceptable ways to keep me in line. Another one who made me long for the days of just pushing and slapping.

“You think all that was God’s will?” Her beautiful blue eyes opened wide.

“I think God allowed it,” I responded. “I don’t think I can know fully why. I don’t have His mind. But I can tell you I have a good sense of how He hurts because I’ve hurt. I can think of that man who owes me money and hurt for the impact his ministry will experience as a result. I can feel that more honestly than I can want justice from him. I can think of the men who hurt me and ache for how lost and scared they must be more than I want them to be hit back. And I know that’s God. The world tells me if I’m hit to hit back harder. If I’m cheated, to exact vengeance. But God says to love your enemy. He says to turn the other cheek. I’ve learned that doing so gives Him freedom to be seen. And Him being seen – and known – matters more than me. There’s freedom in that.”

She shook her head.

We sat back in our chairs.

 

On working

I’m often told I work too much. A fellow branding professional asked me not too long ago about my work schedule. “When can clients get you on the phone?” he asked.

“Always.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “What if you’re playing with your kids or it’s nighttime or the weekend?”

I smiled. “My kids know Mommy is clear on what she’s been called to do. They know I love them because I say it. I hug them. I play with them. I’m engaged with them. But, I answer the phone. They listen. They learn.”

We talked more about why I don’t have “office hours” and how that impacts the other areas of my life. I considered our conversation after he left and have continued thinking about it. Why am I content – peaceful, even – about the mountainous amount of hours I work?

Two reasons: It isn’t work. It will stand the test of time.

It isn’t work
I’m very blessed to have figured out early on how God made me to operate and in what fields that works best. Okay, I didn’t really figure it out – wise people pointed it out, but that’s close, right? What I do for a living, I’d do anyway, even if money wasn’t involved. It’s who I am. Who I was created to be, just as much as I’m meant to be Mom and Wife and Daughter and Sister and Friend.

It will stand
More importantly, though, is the sure knowledge that the work to which I put my head, heart, and hand is work that will stand. I just re-read Jeremiah 51, another rendition of how God will avenge Israel and basically annihilate Babylon, the country that dared to mess with His people and His consecrated worship items. The lines of verse 58 gave me pause.

The builders from many lands have worked in vain, for their work will be destroyed by fire!

A spurt of sympathy shot through my heart, thinking of those guys watching the ruin of all their work. Walls that their bloodied hands struggled to build would come tumbling down. Why? Because they worked for the wrong boss. As we say here in the country, they hitched their wagons to the wrong horse.

Once again, that conversation with a colleague came to mind. Why do I think letting my children see me work is more important than playing CandyLand uninterrupted? Because they need to see their mother make a decision for the work that lasts. They need to know the hard truth: God is a priority above them. I love them more than my next breath, but I must love the One who gives me breath more. I have to trust that He really is in charge. That His timing really is loving. That, when a project lands in my lap which requires urgent focus and attention, He knew what was coming even before we got the CandyLand box from the closet – and He’ll hold my little ones’ hearts while I am about His work. As a matter of fact, He’ll hold them more perfectly than I ever could.

And, just maybe, I’ll raise kiddos who trust Him, too.

 

Should Adults Correct Adults?

Correction. The word breeds conflict and discontent. Visions of iron bars. Shackles. Life sentences. Judgment. Yet, if you’re going to do anything in life like, oh, step outside your bedroom, you’ll eventually encounter an individual who clearly needs correction. (That encounter comes more quickly if you check the mirror before heading out.)

Managing conflict wisely is a hard-won skill acquired through painful trial and error – a/k/a choking on a lot of crow, washing it down with a shot of regret. We all walk around with so much hurt, need, desire, confusion, anger, and disappointment that the actions we take to cause conflict are often inexplicable to the ones we hurt.

It’s testament to my mother’s consistency that I can recite for you nearly every instance in the Bible where parents are given authority over their children, where they are instructed to train a child, to teach a child, to correct a child. What I don’t see in the scriptures are verses giving me authority as an adult to correct other adults.

Now before you go all Matthew 18 on me…well, okay, let’s go there. Matthew 18 says if a brother or sister sins against you…that Greek word for brother or sister is adelphos and refers to a fellow disciple. It’s the same word used in the same chapter – twice! – when we’re told to forgive our adelphos seventy-seven times, and to forgive from the heart. I’ve always thought this verse to reference Christians with whom I am in real relationship. For instance, if my girlfriend Denise at church with whom I text daily, suddenly sins against me, Matthew 18 instructs me to “go and tell her her fault, between her and me alone.” And steps are given if she doesn’t listen.

On the other hand, I don’t take Matthew 18 to instruct me to “go and tell” a fault to every Christian in my church, despite that fact that those Christians are brothers and sisters in the faith. Can you imagine the back and forth bickering that would ensue? “Sally Sue, your hemline was so short you should be ashamed. Christian ladies cover their legs at least to the knee.” “Well, Rebeca of Storybook Farm, Christian mothers stay home and raise their children. They do not have callings to fulfill outside the home in a job.” Oh my, I can just picture purses flying and high heels coming off while a weary pastor looks on.

No, Matthew 18 exists to protect and develop relationship with each other. If Denise commits a fault against me, it hurts. There is a break in our bond. Breaks have to be acknowledged or they fester into full-blown feuds. So, I’m instructed to go to Denise and make her aware of the fault she committed against me. (Love ya, Denise. Sorry you’re my guinea pig here.) If our friendship is truly based in love, it will pain Denise that she hurt me (intended or otherwise) and we’ll talk it through so that forgiveness is requested, given, and received. The relationship—like a broken bone now healed—is stronger for weathering the conflict.

It’s also important to see that Matthew 18 says to point out the fault (even KJV uses that word). Why is fault important enough to risk conflict among each other by pointing out? I think there’s a clue in Jude 1:24, “To him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy…” Being faultless is something Christ alone makes us. Learning to recognize fault in ourselves and eradicate it, then, makes our minds more like His. There is no greater goal than to be more like Him.

Pointing out fault, though, is not the same as correction. I see a big difference between, “Hey, I think it was wrong when you lashed out at me in anger. It hurt,” and “Hey, I think it was wrong when you lashed out at me in anger. You should have responded with kindness instead, remembering to love me even when speaking truth.” The latter involves correction. (Not to mention spines stiffening and hackles rising.)

When the Bible uses the word correction, it gives authority for such to God. Solomon talks repeatedly in Proverbs about the foolishness of not accepting correction. He never, though, ascribes the source of that correction to a human being.  In fact, for humans with a desire to correct, Solomon says, “Whoever corrects a mocker invites insults; whoever rebukes the wicked incurs abuse.” (Prov 9:7) In Jeremiah, God is speaking to His people Israel and says, “In vain I punished your people; they did not respond to correction.” Later, Jeremiah says, “Lord, do not your eyes look for truth? You struck them, but they felt no pain; you crushed them, but they refused correction.” Accepting God’s correction is an action taken by those who love and respect the Lord. He’s clear about that all over the Bible. Check out Zephaniah 3:7, “Of Jerusalem I thought, Surely you will respect me and accept correction!”

The only Biblical instance I’ve ever found of adults being told to correct (reprove) adults comes from Paul’s first letter to Timothy—and even then it’s a reference to correcting an elder after three people have brought the same charge against him. I think sometimes Paul was just too tired to be writing in portions of this letter. I mean, he contradicts himself regarding widows (I Tim 5:11-12—young widows who marry are breaking their first pledge, then check out verse 15 where he tells young widows to marry. Notice I’m holding my tongue on the statements in between.). He tells us women to not wear gold or pearls, so there goes my wedding ring. There’s more, but I digress. The point here is that the one instance of an adult being instructed to correct (reprove) another adult is here…and it’s an instruction for when to publicly bring fault against an elder in the church.

“Semantics, Rebeca. What’s the point of all this?”

To me, whether we desire to point out fault to a fellow believer with whom we have relationship OR correct a fellow believer is an outward manifestation of an inward motivation. Pointing out fault requires vulnerability – admitting to someone that they have power to hurt you, or that their actions in your regard matter to you, have an effect on you. Pointing out that someone sinned against you opens you up for rejection. You wouldn’t take the risk if you didn’t love the person and value the relationship.

Correcting puts you in a position of authority. You can hide your hurt or embarrassment or pain within the cloak of “teacher” whose self-worth and identity are impervious to the fault-doer.

But only God stands alone from humans in identity. He made us dependent upon each other for relationship. He made us dependent upon relationship with Him. He is not dependent upon relationship with us. He allows us to exist in relationship with Him, but He doesn’t cease to be all He is without that relationship. We, however, do cease to exist as full creations when we are not in relationship with each other and Him.

And that very lack of dependence on us is what suits only Him for correction. (Incidentally, it’s also why parents are given authority to correct their children. A child’s actions toward a parent’s correction shouldn’t affect the parent’s self worth or identity.) God brings our faults against Him to our attention. He did so over and over in Scripture. He does so today—we put the term “conscience” on it most times. He gives us that opportunity to reject Him. Too often, we do. So, he knows that hurt of rejection to a degree far more than we ever will individually because He’s experienced it since the first human opened eyes and gazed upon planet Earth.

But His being doesn’t alter when He is rejected the way ours does. He is not vulnerable in that way; we are. Rejection does not change His motivations; it changes ours.

This is why Scripture shows a God who corrects. It requires complete removal of self-interest and pure, loving desire for the one at fault to be whole, even if that wholeness requires His pain. Humans do not eradicate self-interest when they are wronged. We do the opposite; we exalt self-interest and demand vengeance. We lose care for the one who wronged us. Our motivation for action shifts to self. God’s motivation remains what it has always been: loving us into the wholeness He alone provides.

Given the fiery discussion I recently had on this topic with a colleague, it’s probably a good guess that some out there think my position is nuts. Maybe I’m totally off base. Maybe I’m showing my immaturity as a believer (27 years is a long time to be a Christian, but a blink compared to others’ journeys.) or ignorance of Scriptures (I haven’t completely finished my re-read of the Bible yet this year!) or obsession with word choices (wordsmiths unite!). Here’s your chance to point out my fault.

 

When Dad Goes Silent…

1979. Birmingham, Alabama. Daddy and me in his 1975 black Chevy Impala. On our way to pick up Momma in Florida – she’d gotten homesick while attending a Tupperware convention. (Seriously.)

Daddy, no doubt tired of my incessant 20-month-old babble, had grown silent. Silence and I get along as well as tornados and trailers. We didn’t use seatbelts back then, much less car seats. I crawled my way over to Daddy and planted a chubby little hand on each of his cheeks. Jerking his face toward me, I declared, “Wook at me when I’m talking to woo.”

So, yeah, I’ve had a thing about silence from a father figure for a while now. Recently, my heavenly Father went silent on me. He’s done this a handful of times in my twenty-seven year walk with Him. You can just imagine how well I respond to it. That Presence that is as real as a heartbeat, as my next breath, goes still. Quiet. Unnoticeable. There’s nothing to check my thoughts against. No inner compass. No guide. No direction. Nothing. Just quiet.

Tailspin.

I begged. Pleaded. Raged. Cajoled. Altered behavior. Changed course. Resumed course. Gave my own silent treatment (because that’s such a wise thing to do – attempt to manipulate GOD). Still, nothing.

Exhausted from my attempts to goad Him, I quit. Last Saturday night, I sat down in the doorway of my two-year-old daughter’s bedroom. Ella had tried every toddler stall tactic in the book to withstand bedtime.

A drink. “No, Ella. It’s bedtime. Go to sleep. I love you. Goodnight.”

Another trip to the bathroom. “No, Ella. It’s bedtime. Go to sleep. I love you. Goodnight.”

Something to cuddle. “No, Ella. Go to sleep. I love you. Goodnight.”

Another book. “Go to sleep. I love you. Goodnight.”

A different pillow.

Another nightlight.

On and on she went. After a while, I quit responding. My heart ached. I hate telling my kids no. I always second-guess if I have to say no in that moment. I thought it through and knew my responses were only giving her the idea that the conversation needed to continue. She hadn’t asked for anything extraordinary. As the parent, however, I knew she needed to put herself to sleep and rest more than she needed any of her requests met.

Which is about the time that nudging came. Nothing giant. No Damascus Road blinding light. More like a subtle clearing of the throat. But I knew that Presence. I knew that Voice. I sat up.

What?

Reviewed my thought process.

You’re kidding. THAT’s why you’re quiet? So I’ll REST?

If you know me, you know I’m never still. Ever. If I’m still, I’m dead or have fainted. I keep the caffeine drip of Diet Mt Dew up all day long. Some burn the candle at both ends. I say a candle with two lights can light up two more pretty quickly. I’m fairly faithful to take everything to God – to run it by Him, ask Him to do this or cause that if He needs me to know something.

I’m not so good at sitting down and waiting on Him to speak. I bring him topics, ask for His input, and race on. But what about just coming into His presence and having Him choose the topic? What about resting and letting Him lead the conversation?

I took the next day – ironically, Sunday – to rest. He talked. I listened. Okay, I argued. He loves me and gives me grace to do that. (Whew.) He got some stuff on the table I’d been neglecting. Let me see His perspective on my walk. Still no Damascus Road moments. At the end of the day, my life wasn’t sewn up perfectly.

But He was back. Which meant I could breathe again and know that it isn’t always about taking the next step forward, even if I’m checking that step through with Him.

Sometimes, it’s about shutting up and lying down.