In a recent meeting, I was asked to find a song that really spoke to where I am right now, considering all aspects of my life. The idea is that I am to really analyze the lyrics and once this "phase" of life is complete, every time I hear that song, I will be reminded of where I was and what God did in my life then. Naturally, I went to the cool-mama, hipster-34-year-old-Camry-driving section of iTunes looking for inspiration and found none. Oh, there's a section, but it has no good songs for me in it. I mean, "Islands in the Stream" technically speaks to me, but not what I was looking for just then.
Where did I turn for help, you ask? Well...since you asked.
A quick scan of the contents of my iPod looks like the Centricity Music Gift Shop in that it's full of Downhere and Jason Gray. While Downhere tends to write the soundtrack for my life, I have noticed Jason Gray's ability to read my diary without my knowing and write songs that speak to me in deep, meaningful, and timely ways. In particular, his song, "Jesus Use Me, I'm Yours" has become an anthem (thank God digital songs don't scratch when played on repeat for hours at a time).
Listening to that song has reminded me that my deepest desire is to please God. However, there is a real fear of the unknown or, worse still, the fear of what I think I know. With fear comes guilt and doubt, for fear never travels alone, and I am stuck, semi-paralyzed and trembling in the proverbial corner of my mind, wondering if God says what He means and loves me like He says. Surely if God is God, then He must be very frustrated with my constant fumbling of the passes that He puts right in my hands (you're welcome for the blatent sports reference).
Yet, as God prepares me for an old walk down a new path, I am overwhelmed by His grace and compassion and tenderness with my fragile heart. He loves me gently, woos me even, into a place of peace and surrender using the hugs, prayers, and listening ears of friends I never knew I had. His patience and understanding are without compare and words fail me now to describe how my heart is, at present, swelling inside me at the knowledge that my Papa Daddy will never grow tired of helping me obey him. This becomes the point I realize that God's mercy isn't just for the forgiveness of sin, though it applies there, to be sure. God's mercy is also about compassion.
So, as I journey, may I consider these words of Paul to Timothy, "But I received mercy for this reason, that in me, as the foremost [sinner], Jesus Christ might display his perfect patience as an example to those who were to believe in him for eternal life." 1 Timothy 1:16.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Lauren, Fondue, and God's Plan for My Life
As my charming wit (and occasional sarcastic tone) might suggest, I am single. There are seasons of life where that is surely a blessing from God. But there are lonely times, as well, and I every so often I get the urge to ask God for a husband.
Let me be honest. What I really end up doing is giving God a list of attributes and traits that I’d like my Prince Charming to have: be taller than me, have a job and a Bible (and frequently interact with both), be funny, blah, blah, blah. Not that any of those are bad things. But I tend to elevate those to god-things and, to quote Mark Driscoll, “that’s a bad thing.” You see, when I start writing down lists of “Must-Haves” and “Can’t Stands”, I reduce the blessing of a husband down to a grocery list. In the meantime, I’m also saying to God (the creator of heaven and earth), “I know what I need better than you do.”
Ouch.
I have the heart of a teacher and, if there’s an appropriate illustration, I’ll use it. In this case, there is.
I was getting ready for bed tonight and was thinking about Lauren’s 13th birthday celebration (documented in photos on Facebook). The big idea of the day was this: she got 13 gifts on her 13th birthday, one of which was an invitation to join me at The Melting Pot for dinner the next night. The fantastic part of the celebration was the fact that we had friends and framilies (friends who are more like family) join in the fun by being gift holders and clue givers in a scavenger hunt for her gifts. It was epic.
Before we go on, let me ask you: How old were you when you ate at The Melting Pot for the first time? Have you ever eaten at The Melting Pot? Yeah, me neither. It’s kind of a big deal, right? I mean, most folks don’t drive around and say, “McDonald’s or The Melting Pot?” It’s a big deal.
When Lauren read the clue that hinted about the plans, she figured out it was talking about fondue and, having seen a new ad campaign for Golden Corral’s chocolate fountain, says, “YES! We’re going to Golden Corral.” Those of us in the know were shaking our heads.
The thing is, Lauren didn’t know about The Melting Pot. She’d never been, never seen a menu, she’d never seen a commercial, nothing. She had no clue something as wonderful and amazing (and it is – if you have a chance, GO) as The Melting Pot existed.
Wendy, are you saying that The Melting Pot is better than Golden Corral?!?!
Yes. I. Am. When it comes to my daughter, that’s exactly what I’m saying. My daughter is my princess, though she would cringe and show me her Sharpie-drawn skull tattoo to prove me otherwise. I was there to hear her heartbeat before I ever heard her cry. I have kissed every toe she has. I have snuggled with her for years. And if some little Golden Corral comes sniffing around after her, I’ll gladly run them off until The Melting Pot gets here.
Then it dawned on me: I’m God’s daughter. And if I, being evil, know how to give good gifts to my daughter, how much more will my Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him! (Matthew 7:11).
Hear me when I say that I believe it is certainly okay to ask God for things I'd like to have (job, house, husband). But I’m like Lauren in that I’ll settle for Golden Corral because I have no idea there’s a Melting Pot around the corner.
Let me be honest. What I really end up doing is giving God a list of attributes and traits that I’d like my Prince Charming to have: be taller than me, have a job and a Bible (and frequently interact with both), be funny, blah, blah, blah. Not that any of those are bad things. But I tend to elevate those to god-things and, to quote Mark Driscoll, “that’s a bad thing.” You see, when I start writing down lists of “Must-Haves” and “Can’t Stands”, I reduce the blessing of a husband down to a grocery list. In the meantime, I’m also saying to God (the creator of heaven and earth), “I know what I need better than you do.”
Ouch.
I have the heart of a teacher and, if there’s an appropriate illustration, I’ll use it. In this case, there is.
I was getting ready for bed tonight and was thinking about Lauren’s 13th birthday celebration (documented in photos on Facebook). The big idea of the day was this: she got 13 gifts on her 13th birthday, one of which was an invitation to join me at The Melting Pot for dinner the next night. The fantastic part of the celebration was the fact that we had friends and framilies (friends who are more like family) join in the fun by being gift holders and clue givers in a scavenger hunt for her gifts. It was epic.
Before we go on, let me ask you: How old were you when you ate at The Melting Pot for the first time? Have you ever eaten at The Melting Pot? Yeah, me neither. It’s kind of a big deal, right? I mean, most folks don’t drive around and say, “McDonald’s or The Melting Pot?” It’s a big deal.
When Lauren read the clue that hinted about the plans, she figured out it was talking about fondue and, having seen a new ad campaign for Golden Corral’s chocolate fountain, says, “YES! We’re going to Golden Corral.” Those of us in the know were shaking our heads.
The thing is, Lauren didn’t know about The Melting Pot. She’d never been, never seen a menu, she’d never seen a commercial, nothing. She had no clue something as wonderful and amazing (and it is – if you have a chance, GO) as The Melting Pot existed.
Wendy, are you saying that The Melting Pot is better than Golden Corral
Yes. I. Am. When it comes to my daughter, that’s exactly what I’m saying. My daughter is my princess, though she would cringe and show me her Sharpie-drawn skull tattoo to prove me otherwise. I was there to hear her heartbeat before I ever heard her cry. I have kissed every toe she has. I have snuggled with her for years. And if some little Golden Corral comes sniffing around after her, I’ll gladly run them off until The Melting Pot gets here.
Then it dawned on me: I’m God’s daughter. And if I, being evil, know how to give good gifts to my daughter, how much more will my Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him! (Matthew 7:11).
Hear me when I say that I believe it is certainly okay to ask God for things I'd like to have (job, house, husband). But I’m like Lauren in that I’ll settle for Golden Corral because I have no idea there’s a Melting Pot around the corner.
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