A Good Lesson from A Lost Key

I went walking on the beach today in my ever-so-stylish swimming trunks. Imagine the polar opposite of speedos and you have an idea of what they looked like.

I headed out to the beach and went about waist-deep into the ocean. I waded like that for a while before I remembered to reach down and see if my key to the condo was still in my pocket. It was not.

I had a moment of panic. Or more accurately, a minor heart attack. I was thinking of how my keys were probably halfway to the Bahamas, or wherever the next destination is across from the ocean in South Carolina. I was figuring out in my head how much the fee for a lost key would be.

When I got back to my beach chair and looked through my backpack, there my key was where I left it when I took it out of my pocket. Apparently, I outsmarted myself again.

Sadly, this was not the first time I was too smart for my own good. On a college and career retreat to Panama City, I was convinced that I had lost my watch on the beach, only to find it in my bed. After much panicking and searching and fretting.

I was reminded tonight of the prodigal on his way back home to see his father. He was thinking, “I have lost everything. How am I going to explain that? What excuse could I possibly use to keep from getting unceremoniously thrown out the door?”

Little did he know that his father was already running down the road to meet him, not caring about all the money he wasted. All the father cared about was that his son had come home.

God doesn’t care about your wasted days and years. He doesn’t care about how you misused all those gifts he gave you. All he cares about is seeing you come home.

I worried for nothing. I made a big deal out of nothing. All my fears turned out to be groundless lies.

Whatever is keeping you from coming back to God is a lie. As big as your sin or mistake or failure, God’s grace is bigger. A past of shame and scars and waste is no barrier to the great love of God. There is nothing to heinous or scandalous that he won’t forgive. Nothing.

Your Father God is calling you. Will you come home?

The Hardest Person to Forgive

despair
I  recently messed up with a friend and spent the whole day beating myself up. Believe it or not, that’s an improvement over what I would have done a year ago. My whole day wasn’t ruined, at least.

I got admonished and I deserved it. I won’t go into details or name names, but I certainly had it coming. In fact, it was much more kind and graceful than I really deserved.

I kept running lines from the note through my mind and wishing I could go back and undo what I had done. I couldn’t and I can’t.

All this is to say that the person who most needs to forgive me is me. I hope and pray my friend forgives me, but I know that unless I do, I’ll be stuck and unable to move forward.

Did I mention I am hard on myself? I am better than I was. I used to be extraordinarily hard on myself, but I’ve eased up a bit in my old age.

If you feel like you can’t forgive yourself, let me tell you you’re not alone. I’ve felt that way and I understand. You may think you never will come to that place, but I am living proof that you can and you will.

Just let the Word of Truth wash over you. Let Jesus speak healing over you. Remember that you are still His beloved, no matter what. He at least will never give up on you or quit wanting to be around you.

Anyway, that’s my confession session for the day. I pray it will speak to someone and bring deliverance where it is most needed.

5 Minutes

I’ve been trying to lose weight and get in shape. Lately, that means putting in an hour on the elliptical. For me, that’s a lot.

Some mornings, I feel there’s no way I can last that long. So I try for the first 5 minutes. After that, I try for 10. And so forth. If I break an hour down into 5-minute segments, it’s not nearly so bad.

Life is like that.

Some days, you think there’s no way you can survive for the next 24-hours. You feel completely and utterly overwhelmed. Don’t try. Just take the next 5 minutes and breathe deeply and slowly and think to yourself, “I can survive the next 5 minutes.”

Sometimes, you are held captive by your fears telling you that you’ve really messed it up this time and that friend is gone for good. It’s tempting to try and fix what really isn’t broken (which never works, by the way). Or you take the next 5 minutes and are able to start seeing the cracks in the fabric of that lie.

You can do anything for 5 minutes. You can pray or be silent or wait. You can breathe slowly and deeply. You can remember one blessing God has given you and dwell on that.

When I’m stressed out and can’t sleep, 5 minutes of meditating on the goodness of God can make all the difference. It can take me from almost falling back into my old approval-addiction, “nobody likes me” trap to remembering that I am still blessed with family and friends who surprise me all the time in unexpected ways with grace at every turn.

So set your stopwatch or your phone for 5 minutes. It may be a small start, but sometimes all Jesus needs in your life is the smallest place to start. Then He can do amazing things in your life.

I am living proof of that.

 

Baggage Part II: Polaroids of the Past

If you’ve lived long enough to make at least one incredibly stupid decision, you’ve got some of these. Maybe you’re like me with lots of small regrets, moments of time captured in your mind as clear as the images on a polaroid.

They call it flash bulb memory, where you can remember every single detail of a certain moment in time where something in your life changed. Those happen in good moments, in tragic moments, and most of all, in moments where you and I screwed up.

Maybe you are like me and have been carrying around a suitcase full of those images for years. The suitcase keeps getting heavier and heavier as you compile more polaroids of shame and guilt. More moments you would give anything to go back and undo.

Jesus wants those polaroids. Not for the reasons you think. He’s not going to be shocked or surprised by what He sees. He knows about each and every one. In fact, He was there when they happened.

He wants all of these pictures, not to hold them over your head every day or to make you feel perpetually ashamed. He wants to take them from you and case them as far away from you as possible. As far as the east is from the west. As far as the heavens are above the earth.

I am not my mistakes. Neither are you. Who I was in my weakest moments is not who I am. The way you acted all those years ago isn’t really you anymore. If anyone is in Christ, he or she is a brand new creation. Not a better you, but a completely new you.

It’s time to stop being weighed down by the past and start walking in the freedom that comes with new mercies and clean slates each morning. It’s time to really live in the freedom Christ purchased for us, the condemnation-free life that is now ours.

Baggage Part I: Letting Go

Who doesn’t have baggage? I certainly know I do. I’m pretty sure anyone who is over the age of 5 and who still has a pulse has accumulated some kind of baggage over the years.

What is my baggage? Probably right now, I’m carrying around the constant need to be validated, affirmed, approved, and liked every single moment.

I find myself at the end of conversations thinking I’ve said or texted the absolute wrong thing and ruined the relationship. Things like, “Did I really just end the conversation with ‘Text me’? Is it even possible for there to be a lamer ending to a conversation?”

I think I let go of a little bit of my baggage tonight. I think I’ve finally come to the point where I may not trust myself to keep my relationships alive, but I know that God will keep the right people in my life for as long as they need to be there.

I’ve mentioned before that I am a work in progress. I’m 4o and my dating history reads like a black comedy or a tragedy (either one works, so take your pick). I haven’t had a real girlfriend since I was 5 (her name was Carrie, by the way).

I think I’m more comfortable with my own path and not trying to hijack God’s plan for someone else. I’m learning to enjoy the process and the journey and not be so OCD about the destination.

I think I’m learning that I don’t have to be clever or witty (or even overly coherent) for God to speak through me.

I’m finally learning to be patient with my own process and who I am becoming. I’m more patient with the shortcomings of others, because I’ve seen so much of my own and I’ve seen how very strong God can be in my weakness.

What is your baggage? You have a choice. You can either hold on to your shame and guilt and fear and anger or you can hold onto Jesus, but you can’t hold on to both. And yes, I borrowed that one from Mike Glenn.

You don’t have to carry that baggage forever. You don’t have to let it define you or be a pemanent part of your wardrobe. It all begins with saying, “I can’t do this anymore. I need you, Jesus, to take this and carry it for me.” It may be a process, but it’s so much fun to feel the weight fall off.

May you find that what you’ve carried all this time is one day no longer a part of you. May you find more and more freedom in Christ. May you hear and believe the words at this very moment that “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Amen.

Why Fairy Tales Last

I saw Snow White and the Huntsman, based on the fairy tale, tonight in the theatre. I think for me there’s still something about a fairy tale well told that still tugs at my heart strings.

It’s more than just a damsel in distress. Or at least I think so.

We’ve all at some point pricked our fingers on a spindle or taken a bite of that apple. Suddenly, we find ourselves dead inside and out.

You and I need to be rescued. We need Someone strong and brave enough to fight for us. Someone who’s not afraid to die for us.

That’s the Gospel in a nutshell.

I love the story where Tolkien finally wins C.S. Lewis over when he tells him that the Gospel is a myth, but at the same time, a true myth.

I read a book recently that spoke of the Gospel as a tragedy, a comedy, and a fairy tale. The last third of the book made my heart come alive inside my chest. The idea of the Gospel being a fairy tale come true is something most of us have never thought or dreamed of, but that’s what it is.

We get the Rescuer. We get to be Princes and Princesses, royal children of the King of the Universe. And we get the happily ever after (read the last chapter of Revelations if you need proof).

That’s why fairy tales will never, ever go out of style.

Vessels: Meditation on Kairos Tonight

I love the illustration Mike Glenn used tonight in Kairos. He spoke of washing down an Oreo with a glass of milk, only to discover at the bottom of the glass some residue left from the dishwasher.

You woudn’t say the top half of the milk was clean and keep drinking. You wouldn’t say the glass was mostly clean. You’d say the glass was dirty.

How can I call my life clean if I have unconfessed sins and hidden bad habits and areas of mine that I’ve not put under the Lordship of Jesus? How can I expect God to use me if I am mostly clean? God doesn’t use lives that are mostly clean.

I need to be completely clean.

But that’s the beauty of it.

I can be clean if I just simply ask. First I confess. I agree with God that I did or said the wrong thing and left undone the right thing. That I chose my way instead of God’s way. Then I repent, turning 180 degrees from my way to God’s way.

Furthermore, if you want to be a vessel used by God, you can’t wait until the storms of life to get ready. You have to be ready.

Mary was already God’s servant when He called her to be the vessel to bring Jesus into the world. Joseph was already a righteous man when God called him to take Mary as His wife and raise Jesus as his own son.

They didn’t wait until God called them to get ready. They were ready.

The beautiful part of all this is it’s never too late to get ready. It’s never to late to ask God to mold and make you into the person God can use to impact the world around you.

Whether you’re 20 or 40 or 60 or 80, God can still take your life and use it to bless many more than you could possibly imagine.

I want to be like the loaves and fishes Jesus used to feed the 5,000. I want to be broken and blessed, so that the pieces of my life can bless far more people than a safe, unbroken life ever could. I want to be confessed and clean and ready when the time comes that God takes my life and uses it as He sees fit.

I hope you do, too.

Night Volleyball

I participated in a game of volleyball at a Memorial Day cookout with some friends. Needless to say, none of us will probably be making the U.S. Olympic team in 2012 or anytime soon.

From a volleyball purist standpoint, we played the game all wrong. We didn’t set the ball up or even hit it correctly. More times than not, the ball went in the opposite direction of the net or under the net or even into the net.

Whoever invented volleyball was probably rolling over in his grave. Or else he died just so he could be buried and roll over in his grave. It wasn’t pretty.

But it was fun.

We gave each player a do-over on messed-up serves. We complimented each other on near-misses and flat-out whiffs. When the automatic lights went out, one of us would go do our best version of the Riverdance to get the lights back on.

By the time we were done playing, the game was more of a comedy than a competition. But we had fun and laughed at ourselves and with each other.

It was grace in action. Too bad we as believers aren’t that way all the time.

For the moments when I open up my mouth and say something stupid, I need grace.

For the moments when you send the text before you think it through and wish for the next 24 hours you could take it back, you need grace.

For all the times when we break our promises and fail to be light and salt and witnesses of the great God who saved us, we all need grace.

For all the times we screw up royally again after promising God and the world we wouldn’t, we all need grace. For daily falling short of all God meant for us to be to ourselves and each other and to Him, we all need grace. Desparately.

Grace isn’t just undeserved favor. That falls short of what grace is. Grace is undeserved favor in the face of deserved wrath. That’s something I learned recently and something I’m still thinking about.

Grace means that you’re not alone and neither am I. Grace means we walk together, we fall together, and we get back up together. We laugh together, we cry together, we fail together, and we overcome together.

And it took a game of night volleyball to remind me of all that.

Prodigal

Both sermons I heard today touched on the parable on the Prodigal son. I can think of no better story that really illustrates the scandalous nature of God’s love for His children.

In fact, the parable could more accurately be called The Prodigal God, since the word prodigal means “characterized by profuse or wasteful expenditure” or “recklessly spendthrift” (according to Merriam-Webster). God’s love is both.

It’s prodigal that God paid way too high a price for me with His Son Jesus. It’s prodigal that Jesus didn’t shed some or most of His blood, but all of it for me. It’s way more than I or anyone else deserves.

There’s a fantastic book that’s been out of print for years called The Autobiography of God by Lloyd John Ogilvie. He has a chapter on “The Prodigal God” that impacted me when I read it the first time and still comes to mind every time I hear the Prodigal Son story.

It was shocking to the hearers of the parable the way the father in the story let the younger son have his share. For the son to ask for it while the father was still living was to say in essence, “Drop dead!” and show the utmost comtempt for him.

Even more scandalous was how the father not only received his son at the end of the story, but how he ran to him and threw his arms around him and kissed him. Well-respected men in that day didn’t run. It was not considered dignified. But this father wasn’t about to wait one more second for his son who was coming home.

The Cross is so much more shocking and scandalous than we normally paint it in our sanitized sermons on the subject. By the time Jesus got to the cross, He was barely recognizable as human.

That’s the kind of scandalous, prodigal love God has for those of his prodigal children, whether we rebel in a far country or at home. Honestly, the far country doesn’t have to be geographically distant. It can be relational distance, too.

So if you have experienced radigal grace and forgiveness, take time today to express your gratitude for this prodigal God whose prodigal love for us is the reason we are forgiven and free.

Trusting

I’ve always heard it this way: Don’t trust people, but trust the Jesus in people.

I think there’s some truth to that.

People in and of themselves have good intentions, but short attention spans. They are forgetful, busy, distracted, and human. They make promises and break them, not because of malice, but because of everyday life getting in the way.

If you are my friend, I make this pledge. I won’t promise to keep every promise I ever make to you. I know myself too well for that.

I can promise to extend you grace for when you fail. I can promise to pray for you when you’re happy or sad, whether you are in a good place or struggling, whether you live out of the joy of being Abba’s Child or don’t know who you are that day.

I can promise to always give you the benefit of the doubt and no matter what, see the best in you. I’ve had people who saw good things in me even when I couldn’t and helped bring those things out in me. And I’m better for it.

I want to see Jesus shining brightly through you and you to be every bit of who God made you to be, confidently standing strong in your faith and taking a bit of Heaven with you everywhere you go.

I love hearing your stories. I love seeing how God has worked in your life and how you are being transformed daily. I would love to meet with you and hear your faith stories (the ideal place is Starbucks, but I am flexible).

May the Lord bless and keep you and make His face to shine on you. May you hear Him singing over you tonight and leaping for joy over you in the morning.