dependence on God

Manna for the Moment

Manna for the Moment
Photo by Nicholas Barbaros on Unsplash

 

It’s safe to say we’re all worn a little thin these days. As Bilbo Baggins said, “Like butter scraped over too much bread.”

Sometimes it’s just because we’re looking down the road and we see all that’s ahead. We’re at the beginning of diagnosis. Getting our kids to college feels daunting. We wonder how we’ll keep our heads above water with all the work we have to do.

Sometimes life comes at us hard. We’re reminded of our frailty, of how little we can actually control in our lives, or in the world.

I felt that way a few weeks ago, burdened by the weight of a situation in my life. I realized the anxiety I felt was because I wanted the grace, not just for this moment, but for all the moments. Looking ahead, I wanted all the grace for all that might happen in this area of my life.

And God said, “I only give you manna for this moment.”

What Is Manna?

Manna, the bread the Israelites were given as they wandered in the desert. The bread that literally made them say, “what is it?” I mean I’m not a foodie, but the thought of that same old same old every day for years sounds blech.

And yet it sustained. It was enough. From the hands of a God who knew what they needed, it was just right.

But it was daily provision. Not “store up for tomorrow” or “store up for when you really need it” provision.

Manna for the moment.

So when that anxiety tried to creep back in, I went to God to remind myself that I don’t need now what I will need then. I only need Him to give me what I need for where I am right now. And a few hours later, still-manna for this moment.

I thought of it again a week later when I stared ahead with anticipation to a new project I started at work. It was to start on a Thursday. I worried about it on Monday, and God said, “Are you doing this today?”

“No.”

“So I will give you manna for today. And when we get to Thursday, I will be there too. I will give you the grace you need when we get there.”

Manna for Each Moment

It’s such an invitation into trust that not only will God be there but His grace will be too. It doesn’t run out. His storehouses don’t empty. We don’t have to store up out of fear that we will lack later. Perfect provision for the place where we are.

But gosh, it’s hard, this moment-by-moment dependence. It keeps us close to our need, aware of our lack. But it’s also this amazing opportunity to turn our eyes off our weakness and onto His strength, His sufficiency.

Whatever circumstance we’re in today, God will give us the grace we need. Not for what comes tomorrow. Just for what we see today. Because then tomorrow we get to wake up and do this dependence dance all over again.

This dependence disciplines us. It humbles us. But it also frees us to live in the moment. Why do we worry about tomorrow? His grace will be there.

This is how we traverse the wilderness; one manna moment at a time. We walk with God as He feeds us His grace.

 

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Living with a Slow Drain

Living with a Slow Drain
Photo by Pedro da Silva on Unsplash

 

In so many of my conversations with others, I heard phrases like, “I don’t understand why I’m so tired,” or “I’m not usually this impatient,” or “Why does this seem so much harder?”

I have a simple answer: we’re not living at full.

By that, I mean that there is a slow and constant drain that keeps us from living at a full tank every day.

When we lived overseas, we became aware of this dynamic. We likened it to our lives as a bucket of water, the water as our life energy. The challenges of living cross-culturally were not poking huge holes in our buckets that drained us. Then why were we so tired?

Because the challenges, while often small, still made holes. They were just little pinprick holes. From those holes, life drained.

One pinprick, OK. A few, no big deal. But we had a thousand pinpricks, and that adds up.

Living with the on-going challenges of the pandemic is like a thousand pinprick holes in the bucket of our lives. Constantly adjusting to a different way of living is exhausting. No, it’s not as big as in the beginning when we were stuck at home. But think of the mental and emotional energy that a series of small events in one day can take:

What Drains Us

Remembering to bring a mask with you everywhere.

Awkward social greetings because you don’t know if your friend is OK with physical touch.

The isolation of working from home.

Being surrounded by family while you’re trying to work.

The kids need you for their calls.

You forgot to mute yourself.

Or you forgot to unmute yourself.

Hours of trying to read people over zoom.

Zoom butt (my husband complains of this daily)

You just got exposed to someone with the virus.

Watching people argue on social media.

You are the one arguing on social media.

We don’t see eye to eye about the pandemic.

We don’t see eye to eye about politics.

It’s unclear where either of us stands on the pandemic or politics so now it’s awkward to have a conversation.

Another event date that should have happened passes by.

And all that on top of normal life events that would be a challenge even without a pandemic.

Every day there are a thousand little things that drain us. A thousand ways life is different, not the way we knew, not the way we hope.

We could pretend it’s fine. Just look on the bright side. Console ourselves with, “Well, it’s better than it was.” But those thoughts don’t fill holes.

So what do we do about the drain?

We need more filling. So much has drained us this year, and few of us have taken the time we need to refill. It’s hard to find the time, honestly, between zoom calls and online learning and navigating new social situations.

We can’t control the situation we live in, but we can be kind to ourselves by recognizing that this “new normal” isn’t normal. It’s not the way we are meant to be. And we are human. It wears on us to live like this.

We need this grace. Grace to acknowledge that we’re not operating from full tanks right now, and that’s normal. When we’re impatient and tired and it’s harder than we think it should be, we need to remember that we’re running low. Deep breath.

These days, our buckets drain more quickly. We need to go to the well of God’s grace or the well of relationships in our lives more often. Not just daily but even moment by moment. Every hour we need Him.

We need more of God. We need more kindness. More grace. More of that which fills us up while the world drains us. In that sense, there’s something good about this season. It can make us more dependent, keep us closer to that which ministers to our souls. We may not be able to stop the slow drain, but we know where to get filled up again.

 

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God Owes Us Nothing

God Owes Us Nothing
Photo by Aachal Lal on Unsplash

 

This summer, I almost threw a Tim Keller book out the window of our car.

That’s not normally how I respond to Keller-we’re generally on the same page. But his book, Walking with God Through Pain and Suffering, kicked me with a simple conviction, “God owes you nothing.”

Earlier this spring, God had me in a wilderness of ill health. I learned a lot there, so much so that when my symptoms went away for a brief time, I was a little disappointed. I didn’t want to lose the intimacy I had with God.

But then, the symptoms came back. And left. And came back.

I have to say, I didn’t respond well.

While I had come to a point where I could even thank God for the wilderness initially, being led back in again struck a nerve in me. I couldn’t find my way back to the contentedness I had claimed. I went from, “I have stilled and quieted my soul” to “forget this, I’m out.”

What We Think God Owes Us

It wasn’t that I didn’t believe God could use this in my life. I just couldn’t see the point of it anymore. I wasn’t hearing His voice speak comfort or encouragement to me like before. Or maybe I just grew weary of trying to listen for it.

In essence, I held my hand up to God in an act of defiance: I do not want this suffering.

And to be honest? My resistance rested on a simple idea: I don’t think this is a good thing for me. Follow that thread and you’ll see it’s based on a lie that I know what is best for me, and this ain’t it.

We might be OK with suffering for a time, but when it wears on our souls, it’s easy to believe: God owes me better than this.We might be OK with suffering for a time, but when it wears on our souls, it's easy to believe: God owes me better than this. Click To Tweet

We are so quick to claim, “All things work for the good of those who love Him” but we have such a narrow, shallow view of what that good entails.

And it leads us to think that He owes us. If He claims to always do good for us, then we think good should include our health. And while we’re at it, our jobs, our marriages, our kids, our general happiness. Doesn’t suffering mean God is lying down on the job of giving me a good life?

But what Keller pointed out in his book is that God has already done more than enough. The breath in our lungs is because God breathed it. Life itself is an unmerited gift, in whatever form.

And so much more than that: He gave everything by giving us Jesus-the ultimate gift we did not deserve or earn and can never repay. Do we really have the right to ask anything of Him?

Why not us?

Recently there was an incredible interview between Anderson Cooper and Stephen Colbert, the latter being a man of some measure of faith. Anderson Cooper referenced a comment Stephen had made, “All punishment is a gift from God.”

Through tears, and perhaps some doubt, Anderson asked, “Do you really believe that?”

Stephen’s response essentially was ‘yes.’ He said that “all life is a gift we don’t deserve.” And suffering is part of that life. It’s all a gift from God.

They went on together to agree that while it’s tempting to ask, “Why me?” maybe the better question is, “Why not me?”

I confess I was humbled by their words. They keep turning over in my heart.

Why should I be exempt? Why should you? Is there a reason God owes us more than the next person? Do we deserve a “better” life because we follow Him?

He has already given us life. The fact that we breathe air every day is an undeserved gift of grace.

But more than that, He has given us salvation. He has given us His Spirit. We did not earn or deserve that in any way. It is grace upon grace.

He owes us nothing, yet He is always giving us what we need, if we let go of our idea of what that looks like.

So instead of holding my hand up in defiance, I ask Him to help me hold it out to receive.

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Learning to Relinquish Control

Learning to Relinquish Control
Photo by Gabriel Benois on Unsplash

 

During the 48 hours at our spiritual retreat this June, we were meant to disconnect completely from technology. But I was headed out to walk one morning, and I wanted to check the weather.

No matter that I’d checked it prior to arriving. What if it changed? What if the afternoon rain suddenly came in the morning? I didn’t want to be caught off guard.

In other words, I didn’t want to be out of control.

The Subtle Ways We Control

There was a time, not long ago, when I wouldn’t have been able to check the weather before going outside. What would I have done then? Maybe get caught in the rain. Maybe have been underdressed. Or overdressed.

But now all that’s over. That little weather app on my phone gives me a small measure of control over my life I didn’t have before. I can avoid looking foolish or being uncomfortable. Thanks, weather app!

Throughout those 48 hours of retreat, I saw more and more how control plays out in subtle ways in my life.

When I couldn’t look up a quote or person someone mentioned, I hated that I couldn’t control my ignorance.

If a book title I’d like to buy came up, I couldn’t exercise the agency to buy it on my time.

When our group was invited to sit in silence after sharing, I couldn’t manage their image of me by responding in an empathetic way.

That I like to control life is not a surprise to me. Remember the Little Miss books? I used to joke that mine would be called “Little Miss Control Freak.”

Starting to Let Go of Control

But God’s been working on me. Slowly prying my fingers off areas of my life, inviting me to relinquish my grip and let Him be God. Reminding me that I don’t really control what I think I do. As Anne Lamott says,

“It helps to resign as the controller of your fate. All that energy we expend to keep things running right is not what’s keeping things running right.” Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

So waking up to this still pervasive itch to control was a bit disappointing. Haven’t I grown out of this by now? But as I’ve said before, we’re all recovering from something.

And this: this felt a bit like God just found my secret stash of control in a back cupboard.

But in true God fashion, He opened that cupboard on the retreat with kindness and compassion, gentleness and patience. He opened it because He wants me to be free. That’s always why He shows us our sin. His kindness leads to repentance.

The desire to control is often what fuels anxious thoughts. Perhaps something in us realizes that as much as we would like to be the ones in charge, we know we aren’t. The distance between desire and reality is bound to cause fear.

The Freedom in Surrender

That is unless we surrender. Raise the white flag. Admit that despite our best efforts, we are not enough.

Surrender means a willingness to be caught in moments of foolishness. Ignorance. Discomfort.

But it also means freedom.

We’re freed from being the rulers of our little kingdoms, which, as I’ve said before, we’re terrible at. There’s something in surrender that allows us to breathe again and relinquish the burden of holding things together. We’re free to trust in the God who is capable.

And I’m finding that’s the key to surrender: resting in the fact that while I am wildly out of control of the world, God is not. We can rest in His wisdom, His power, and His love. In other words: God knows what is best for us, He can do what is best for us, and He always wants what is best for us.

The more we sit in those truths, the more our fingers relax. Our grip opens and whatever we hold so tightly to-our reputations, our security, our agency over life-can be released into His care. If we can’t believe in His ability to care for us, we will never open our hands.

The word “surrender” has become a breath prayer, one I say on my exhale when I sit in silence and all the cares of the world come flooding at me. When the temptation is to grab each one and do what I in my small power can do, He reminds me to keep my hands open, palms up, to both give and receive.

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Are You Childlike?

Are you childlike?
Photo by Robert Collins on Unsplash

 

I am not, by nature, childlike.

Responsible. Trustworthy. Mature. Those were the words more often spoken over me as a child. Even as a child, I was not very childlike.

“Childlike” used to equate with “childish,” in my mind. In other words, foolish, flighty, immature. Aren’t we supposed to grow up and be done with childish things?

Childish, yes. But childlike, never.

What Are Children Like?

Lately, I’ve taken to volunteering in the nursery through pre-school rooms at church. Aside from the occasional hilarious soundbite (one kid, when I commented on his excellent coloring skills, replied, “Thanks. I’ve been coloring for about a year now”), they help me remember what children are like.

Kids are full of wonder. Delight. Joy. Boundless energy. Everything is new and therefore interesting. They are poor in spirit, dependent, needy. And those needs pour out freely, sometimes overwhelmingly. They cry and laugh without editing. Certainly, they trust.

But maybe most baffling to me is how time slows with children. And how one simple act-swinging in a swing or throwing a ball-they can repeat again and again. It reminds me of this quote from Chesterton:

“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony.

“But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon.

“It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”
– G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

So what does it look like for us, as adults, to be childlike?

What It’s Like to Be Childlike

Maybe it starts with wonder. May God give us eyes to see the glory all around us-the blessings He gives us in every small moment. That kind of wonder leads to grateful hearts who recognize the goodness of our Father.

To be childlike is to be poor in spirit, accepting of our poverty, and willing to live from it. That is to say, we are honest about and unashamed of our weakness and need. That leads us to live each moment in dependence on God and others.

Children know they don’t have it all together. They know they’re still learning. That knowledge doesn’t lead to condemnation but to openness. To be childlike, we live teachable. No matter how far we’ve come, we believe there’s more to learn, and are open to how we might learn it.

And woven through all that there is grace. Because kids don’t beat themselves up for their humble position, and neither should we. Instead, may it leads us to trust others to carry us when we reach the end of ourselves. And may kindness and compassion mark how we respond to our souls.

The Childlikeness of God

Being childlike is, in some way, to be like our Father, because He too is full of wonder, delight, joy. His creation invites us to play and discover. Jesus humbled himself in the greatest way in order for us to have life. He chose poverty for our sakes. Moreover, He lived grace, kindness, and compassion. Growing old in our souls moves us away from His heart.

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

The kingdom belongs to those who embrace their position as children before God. Those who humbly acknowledge their need and let it lead them to trust and dependence. Those who live loved by the Father. At His feet may we be filled with wonder and awe.

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Finding God in the Wilderness

Finding God in the Wilderness
Photo by Tyler Nix on Unsplash

 

In March, I spoke at a women’s conference about finding God in unexpected journeys.

I talked about the Israelites as they left Egypt (when a season isn’t the good you expected), wandered in the wilderness (when God makes you wait and you don’t know why), and experienced the promised land (when life is just the way you want it to be).

Last fall, when I was writing these talks, I was living in a pretty good season. I resonated with the promised land experience.

And then God invited me back into the wilderness.

Suddenly, I need to listen to my own words.

Finding Myself in the Wilderness

I warned the retreat attendees about this: our real promised land is ahead. God doesn’t leave us long in those seasons. He has more for us to learn. Hence, the journey back into the wild.

See, for most of 2019 so far, I’ve experienced bouts of dizziness and headaches that at times have been debilitating. At the least, they are rarely completely gone (thanks for nothing, new year).

Finally, after an MRI (thankfully clear) and a trip to the neurologist, I was diagnosed with basilar migraines, a diagnosis that still leaves me skeptical, but at least gives me some direction.

It’s been a strange season to walk through. It’s hard not knowing how I will feel from day to day, how long it will last. I’ve wondered what He is doing, what He wants to teach me through this.

Like the Israelites, once I realized I was back in the wilderness, I started asking God for the shortest way out. Sure, You can teach me something, but could you make it fast? And easy?

It’s hard to be in a place where we realize we aren’t the ones in control. The wilderness is tiring, humbling, and at times confusing. A friend of mine put it recently, “God has you in a fog.” Indeed.

I don’t know about you, but I can’t see well in the fog. Yet as I said at the retreat (curse my words coming back to haunt me!) we can find God in the wilderness, no matter how foggy it is.

Better yet, He can see through the fog. He knows the way out of this wilderness.

So I’m looking for God in all of this.

And I’m finding Him.

Finding God in the Wilderness

He is using this season to slow me down even more (I swear pretty soon I’ll be going backward). As much as I hate doing less, He reassures me that it doesn’t diminish me.

Prayers I have prayed are being answered through this (be careful what you pray for!).

In my hardest moments, I have heard His voice speak tenderly and consistently to me words of comfort and invitation. He has felt closer than ever.

Friends have stepped in and wrapped my weakness, fears, and grief with love and care, and in the process taught me more how to let others care for me (a much needed and on-going lesson).

In a sweet moment, our daughter asked me, “What would you do if this was happening to me?” It invited me to consider how to extend compassion, kindness, tenderness, and patience to myself as I would want to give to others.

Finding He Is Enough

I believe it’s in the wilderness where God tries us to see what we really want. Do we want Him? Or do we just want what He gives us?

Will we sit in this desert place long enough to experience His sufficiency, regardless of our circumstances?

This has been a hard season, yes. At my lowest times, I beg God to just make it better. I decide I don’t want the lessons I know He wants to give me.

But God is with us in the wilderness. He meets us in the middle of it to show us more of Him, to transform us, to shake us loose from the trappings that hold us.

He uses these places to bring us to our knees. They humble us to receive from Him and others what we’ve wanted all along but have been too proud and self-sufficient to cry out for.

So I’ve tried to sit patiently in this. Keep my eyes focused on Him. Giving thanks for the good I see, trusting Him for the things I cannot see.

It’s easier to have peace on the days when I feel better. But I want peace no matter what. God keeps bringing to mind Psalm 131:2, “But I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content.” 

God grant us that kind of trust in the wilderness. Calm and quiet souls who wait on Him.

I know it won’t last forever. God will lead me out eventually.

Maybe you’re in a wilderness too. He will lead you out as well.

So let’s stay close to Him. Let’s trust. Know that He is with us. He will do good to us in this place.

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What God Doesn’t Need Us to Tell Him

What God Doesn't Need Us to Tell Him
Photo by Bryan Minear on Unsplash

Sitting in a time of silence one morning, I felt led to pray for our son. In the words that poured out, I sounded like I was informing God of our son’s situation. Like He didn’t know.

I do this sometimes. Talk to God about my life like He needs more information. Like if only He really knew what was going on, He would spring into action in a way He seems to not be.

Alongside this news briefing is a desire to get God to care as much about the situation as I do.

As if He doesn’t.

I beg God to love my kids as much as I do. Care about this crisis in my life as much as I do. As though He’s indifferent.

Why do we do this? Why do we pray this way? God is not a sleeping giant we must rouse to compassion and action on our behalf. He doesn’t come help the ones who scream the loudest and seem the neediest.

God already knows

He is able to do more than we ask or imagine. We are engraved on the palm of his hands. Nothing escapes Him. He’s got this. He’s got us.

Even the care we feel about our part of the world pales in comparison to how He loves it. He IS love. I can’t say that about myself, even toward those who most have my heart. He aches for what we love, more than we ever could.

May that perspective fuel our prayers.

[ictt-tweet-inline]Rather than screaming for God’s attention, may we sink into the awesome awareness that we already have it. [/ictt-tweet-inline]The hairs on our head numbered. His thoughts of us more than the grains of sand on the shores of the world.

Every one of those thoughts fueled by love, goodness, compassion, grace, mercy. Fortified with wisdom, power, insight, sovereignty.

Then our prayers won’t be us waving our arms to be seen but raising them in praise and gratitude. Instead of wringing our hands, we open them to release these things we love and hold so tightly. Rather than pleading, our prayers will bring us to peace and perspective.

We join in with what He’s already doing for our people, the world. Step into the confidence that comes from knowing He is at work. Rejoice that our hearts are known, and already His plans are laid for us. He doesn’t need us to tell him anything. He just needs us to trust.

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A Steady Diet of Truth

A Steady Diet of Truth
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

My daughter and I recently watched a few seasons of Survivor. It’s fascinating. I would be terrible on Survivor for so many reasons, one of which is that I get seriously hangry when I’m deprived of food. I would be useless in the challenges. Grumpy around camp. They would vote me off SO fast.

Nearly starving yourself in extreme conditions looks insane, but that’s the way many of us can live. I’m not talking about food. I’m talking about truth.

Why We Starve Ourselves

When we get busy, one of the first things that can get pushed out of our schedule is time with the truth.

We might have the best intentions to spend long periods of time soaking in scripture, parsing verses, digging deep into a word study. But then we stay up too late and sleep in and decide to skip the word that morning.

Or the responsibilities pile up and instead of feeding on truth, we take up the time with one more task. I know that’s been the case with me the last few weeks in the rush of graduating a child. It’s, “I’ll pray while I walk,” or, “I’ll listen to a spiritual podcast while I (cook, do laundry, etc).” But instead of praying my mind wanders, and instead of spiritual podcasts, youtube seems more entertaining.

For a while, we can get by that way. But if we do it for too long, we begin to be people who truth snack our way through life. We eat just enough to get by. When our souls feel a little weary, we throw them some scripture, a short devotional, a few minutes of prayer.

And so we starve.

But why?

Why do we just get by, when we could be gorging our souls on what they desperately need?

We can gorge ourselves on truth.

If there is one area of our lives where we can eat until we are stuffed, it’s on truth. Reading scripture. Spending time listening to God. Filling our minds with what is true, instead of listening to ourselves.

And we need food for our souls not only on a regular basis, but even more so in those difficult times. The times when our souls are strained, pushed to the limit, when more is asked of us.

When we are most tempted to get by is when we need to stop and gorge ourselves. Admit our human need for something greater to sustain us, and eat what is good. Feed on the bread of life. Drink the living water. The more we do, the better able we are to face the trials that come.

Feeding Ourselves Takes Time

In some seasons, I wish things were easier and I didn’t have to eat so much. I wish I didn’t feel so needy, or that it didn’t slow me down. But that’s when we need to get over ourselves and surrender.

In Isaiah 55, God invites us,”Come and eat. Buy wine and bread without cost. Feed on me.” Why would we say no to this invitation? There’s no reason for us to starve. We can always be going back and asking for more, finding that truth that satisfies our souls, that carries us through the day.

Our son is going to college this summer. We had to choose a meal plan-either pay through the nose for an all-access plan in the dorms, or do what they call, “Declining Balance.” In other words, put money on a card that they can use anywhere. This plan leans heavily on finding cheap ways to eat-think cereal and ramen. Seems like a sure fire way for our son to lose weight and/or contract scurvy from lack of vegetables.

Friends, we don’t have to choose. We have the all-access plan, and the glorious part is that it’s free. We don’t have to live on a declining balance. Stopping to eat does not slow us down-it fortifies us for the journey.

So friends, let’s eat.

“Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare.” Isaiah 55:2b

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How to Avoid Being Poor in Spirit

How to Avoid Being Poor in Spirit
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“The poor in spirit . . . have made peace with their flawed existence.”

I remember reading this quote from Brennan Manning when I was barely out of college. It did not sit well. Poor in spirit? Doesn’t sound fun. Flawed existence? Eesh.

But he spent a lot of time talking about being poor in spirit in his book The Ragamuffin Gospel. While he spoke of it as something to emulate, it brought to mind worthlessness, weakness, helplessness, being lesser. I wanted none of that. When I read in the beatitudes that the poor in spirit inherit the kingdom of God, I thought, “well, at least they get something out of it.”

Fast forward 20 years, and I can’t say that in the interim being poor in spirit was something I even thought about. Until now.

This phrase, “poor in spirit”-I can’t get away from it. When I mention it to others, they say, “That’s not good, right?”

We don’t want to be poor in spirit. I have wondered what it really looks like. So I’ll start with what I know-how to not be poor in spirit.

How to avoid being poor in spirit

If we want to avoid being poor in spirit, we take everything for granted. Believe that whatever we have, we deserve. We have a right to it. That includes religious freedom, answers to prayer, a smaller waistline (c’mon 2018). Come to think of it, we should include salvation in that. After all, we’re decent people.

We should also get the glory for where we are in life. We have gifts and we used them, simple as that. Give us some credit.

Of course, we should rely on our own resources. Don’t admit need or ask for help. We don’t want to be a burden to anyone. People like you better when you pull yourself up by your own bootstraps, right?

Naturally, we should maintain some semblance of control. We can do it all and have it all if we just exercise enough autonomy over our circumstances.

We should be underwhelmed by life in general. The sun comes up every day-no need to be wowed by it every time. If people are kind, loving, generous, or gracious to us, just accept it. No need for gratitude.

But if we do all this, we lose the kingdom.

I don’t know about you, but I’m done being underwhelmed. Relying on myself hasn’t gotten me far. Everything I have is a gift, and I want to treat it as such. There but for the grace of God go I, in every single thing. I want that truth to permeate my being.

So what does it look like to be poor in spirit? Here’s where I’m starting:

The poor in spirit are humble. The truth is we have nothing apart from God, and everything with Him. When we are poor in spirit, we own our brokenness and our wholeness, and see ourselves rightly before God and others. We make peace with our flawed existence.

The poor in spirit are generous. If we know nothing we have is ours to begin with, we won’t hold tightly to it. Instead, we will be open-handed, giving and receiving freely. Beggars showing other beggars where to find bread.

The poor in spirit are grateful. When we remember that nothing originates from us, and yet we are swimming in blessing, how can we not be thankful? The first breath we breathe every morning, the work we do, the people we love, the fact that we have purpose, joy, peace, salvation-it is all an undeserved gift.

The poor in spirit are dependent. Dependent not only God but on others. Our weaknesses will not drive us to hide but to lean. Daily bread will be our food, limping our stance, and all without shame.

I want the kingdom.

So this is my intention for 2018: to live out what it means to be poor in spirit. I’m still learning what it means, but I’m going to start with this: humble, generous, grateful, and dependent.

What about you? What is your intention for 2018?

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Continue ReadingHow to Avoid Being Poor in Spirit

When “Do Not Be Anxious” Isn’t Enough

When "Do Not Be Anxious" Is Not Enough
Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

 

After an intense October and November last year, I finally found a day to catch my breath. Or rather, to realize how hard it was to breathe at all. My chest was tight, my heart rate elevated. All the activity of those months left much undone, and the strain of getting my footing back was overwhelming.

Most of my tension stemmed from feeling I had not planned well. I had failed to keep a restful pace. I felt pressure to live up to an image of the working mom who can have it all and set a good example doing it. And in the middle of all of it was a lack of trust that God would help me through it.

But the Bible says we shouldn’t be anxious, right? Anxiety means somewhere along the way, I must have lost faith or perspective or something.

When it arises, my desire is to eradicate it as soon as possible. Leave those negative feelings behind. So I try to do what others tell me to do, and claim Philippians 4:6, “do not be anxious about anything.”

I wish “do not be anxious” was a magic wand that instantly wiped away all the feels every time worrisome thoughts pop up. It would dissolve the physical manifestation of anxiety as well as the emotional strain.

Sometimes, when the worries are small, it does the trick. It brings my mind and heart back to the right place.

But sometimes, “do not be anxious” just isn’t enough.

Because fueling those anxious thoughts are lies. Skewed perspectives. Ruts of wrong thinking. They do not easily leave.

Behind my anxiety about my schedule is often the lie that my value comes from doing more, being successful. Worry grows when I slip into thinking I can control my world, keep all the bad from happening, make all the good come into being. The more I focus on my worries, the more my heart loses faith that He will care for me.

Those lies do not simply vanish. Our hearts will not naturally drift back to the truth on their own. We have to address what got us off course in the first place.

It’s a little like the “Just Say No” campaign from the 80’s, which failed miserably. Why?

Because while we told people to say no to something, we did not tell them what to say yes to instead. Those underlying needs that drove people to drugs were still there.

So while the admonition, “do not be anxious” is true, in order to live it well, we need to dig deeper. We can’t just say no. We need to say yes to something else.

When we say yes to truth, we can say no to anxiety.

So I go back to the words that whisper my worth, not in what I do, but who He is. I feed on His faithfulness to remind me that whatever is coming, He’s got it, just like before. When I feel the pressure to perform, I read and re-read the invitations to rest, breathe, trust. I tell myself the gospel over and over so I remember who is God and who isn’t (namely, me).

And on and on it goes. To not be anxious, we must soak ourselves in truth. Bathe in it. Breathe it in. Feed on it. Fill our minds with it so there’s no room for anything else. When we live again in what is true about us, and about Him, we can relax.

We need to talk to ourselves more than we listen to ourselves. 

It’s not always easy. It takes intentionality. But the peace that doesn’t make any sense at all in light of our circumstances is waiting at the end of our fight.

“Do not be anxious about anything” is absolutely true. There is no reason to fear anything. Peace is ours for the taking. To get there, we need to examine why we are anxious in the first place. How is the enemy lying to us? Where have our minds and hearts gone astray? What truth do we need to embrace?

Whatever is weighing our hearts, God speaks to it. His word is the yes we need to say no to anxiety.

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