faith

Let Go and Let Him Hold You

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These last few months have been tough. I've ventured in to new areas that make me uncomfortable and scared and bone-weary, resulting in a lot of anxiety, and at times, depression. Being the get 'er done girl that I am, my gut reaction to seasons like this is, "Ok, so what do I need to DO, God?" I can't just let go. Give me the formula to get back to awesome. Show me what scriptures to dwell on, what truth to grasp, what prayers to pray. Show me my error and I'll fix it. Tell me what to think and do and I'll do it. I will make it happen. But maybe instead of doing, we're supposed to stop trying to save ourselves and just let go. I was reminded last night of a poem I read years ago, back when I first started to realize what a winding road faith can be. I read it like God is speaking to me. First Lesson by Philip Booth Lie back daughter, let your head be tipped back in the cup of my hand. Gently, and I will hold you. Spread your arms wide, lie out on the stream and look high at the gulls. A dead-man's float is face down. You will dive and swim soon enough where this tidewater ebbs to the sea. Daughter, believe me, when you tire on the long thrash to your island, lie up, and survive. As you float now, where I held you and let go, remember when fear cramps your heart what I told you: lie gently and wide to the light-year stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you. Have you spent much time floating on water? Picture yourself like this child, trusting her father to hold her as she's learning to swim, when she's scared and tired. There's something so freeing and relaxing about it if we can let go of trying to keep ourselves afloat and just let the water hold us. The father reminds his daughter to look to that which is bigger than her. It's the definition of "Be still and know." Know that He is there. Nothing is wasted. Every tear is caught, and every sigh is heard. He knows what He's doing with us. The way out of our wilderness is clear to Him, and He will lead us in His timing and His ways. The places that seem the most stagnant are often the places where He is preparing us for something we cannot see. His love will hold us, when we let go. Related posts: I Don't Need Rescuing (Except I D0)  Get Quiet Enough to Listen The Battle Belongs to Him 

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What Will We Tell Our Children About These Tragedies?

Our kids return tonight from a month long mission trip during which they have been out of contact and presumably unaware of all that is happening in the world. I wish the only thing I had to explain to them is why people are looking at their phones even more than usual, to the point of running into other people and walls and such. Instead, after sending them off just after the Pulse shooting in our own city, we have to tell them that while they were gone, the nation was in uproar over the sudden deaths of two black men at the hands of police. We have to explain to them that during the protests that followed, five police officers were shot and killed. There were bombings in Baghdad and Turkey that killed over 300 people combined. And last night in France, more than 80 people were killed during a celebration. Lord, have mercy. How do we deal out this information? How do we help them understand why? Part of me wants to shelter my kids from knowing the horror that this summer has brought, but they must know. They must know because we want them to be people of compassion, people of the world, people who enter in to the sorrow of others and weep with those who weep. Will it make them fearful? I don't know. Maybe. But I know the path to peace is not to ignore reality or choose to only see the parts of it that make us comfortable, that we agree with, that directly affects us. We cannot hide from the truth, but we can choose how we respond to it.  We can choose, as a family, to be people who cling to God. We can't explain to our kids why all this is happening, but we can remind them that there is always hope because of who He is. We can cry out to Him for mercy, healing, strength, wisdom, compassion, guidance, help. We can be people who remember that this is not our home, He is. So we will tell our children about the atrocities our world has seen this past month. We will tell them, not to make them fearful, but to make them aware that this is the world we live in. We will tell them that this is when we look up, not for answers, but for help, to navigate this world as people who love it well but hold it loosely. We will cry together for the world. We will pray together for it. We will live, not in fear, but in hope, in trust, in faith. We will face the truth and respond by looking to the One who alone can save.

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When Fear Is a Dictator

Confession: I have been afraid to write. This is problematic, as I am obviously a blogger. I also have a mostly written book I sincerely hope to finish and have published. This fear has been growing throughout the last year. It gnaws at me when I see my computer out of the corner of my eye. It pokes at me when I see other people tweeting links to wonderful posts others have written. It shuts down my thoughts. It keeps my fingers still. It’s a fear that it won’t be enough. People won’t like what I write. It won’t draw the audience I hope it will. It will sit out there in the open like a sad, unpicked girl at a dance, while the other posts are grabbed by the hand and thrown from partner to partner. Oh how I hate this fear. I hate the grip it has on my soul. I hate the way fear turns my eyes from God and onto me. I hate that it is a little dictator, barking at me to stay silent, to give up, to step out of the arena because if I can’t be as great as I hope I could be, then I should quit. It says it just isn’t worth it. I’ve had enough of my little dictator. I recently took a sabbatical from work, a time when I thought I would write more. Instead, I found God calling me first to wrestle this fear to the ground and give it a good dose of truth. It’s time to take these thoughts captive and make them obedient to Christ. The truth is that my fear means my eyes are far too much on me. Fear makes me focus on finding my own glory, not His. Fear tells me to hustle for my worth. It demands I build a kingdom for myself, and at the same time tells me I'll never be able to do it. Fear loves to dictate the what, the how, the when, the how much, of our lives. It tells us to shut up. It demands that we stop trying. It tells us to shrink back and hang in the shadows of the brave places God calls us to live. Fear whispers to us, as we stand on the edge of faith, of all that could go wrong. It takes our eyes off God and turns them to the what if’s, and maybe’s, and you’d better not’s, and what will people think’s. It silences our voices and eventually our hearts. So this morning I am turning my eyes back to Him. I read today in Minding Your Emotions, "We handle fear by going from self-made to God-made, from self-important to God-honoring, from self-satisfied to God-soaked, from self-preoccupied to God-dazzled." There it is - I go from me to Him. I tell fear the truth that this is God's kingdom, not mine. I tell it that I don't have to make a kingdom for myself because this is the place…

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He Makes Me Brave

I recently started a new role in our ministry, and I find myself again in uncomfortable places. They're uncomfortable because they are unfamiliar. I'm being introduced to people I don't know as someone who has something to offer. I don't know how they will respond to my ideas, my actions, if they want what I have to give. They're uncomfortable places because I'm scared. I might fail. I might ask questions that reveal my ignorance. I might get in over my head. They're uncomfortable because I don't always know what to do, because people outside of my family are relying on me for work and that hasn't happened for a long time. It all requires me to be braver than I am. I have this idea that being brave means having no fear, but I know that's not true. It means walking into those uncomfortable places despite the fear. Brave is showing up. Brave is trying, even if you might fail. Brave is offering what you have, whether or not you know it's what someone wants. Brave is uncomfortable. I so wish it weren't. I wish I could jump to the place where I feel like I know what I'm doing, and I am confident that I add value by what I do. But there is no growth without being brave, and there is no brave without discomfort. Thankfully, I don't have to do brave on my own. God is the one who calls me to give what I have in uncomfortable places. He makes me brave. He is the one who goes before me, who sustains me, who catches me when I fall. Because of Him, the uncomfortable places become places where His glory shines, where I become less and He becomes more. "It is God who arms me with strength and keeps my way secure. He makes my feet like the feet of a deer; he causes me to stand on the heights. He trains my hands for battle; my arms can bend a bow of bronze. You make your saving help my shield; your help has made me great."  (2 Samuel 22:33-36) Related: Just Show Up Do It Scared

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Looking for Jesus

It seems like people have always been looking for Jesus. The wise men looked for him when they saw his star in the East. Mary and Joseph spent three days looking for their son in the temple after they realized he wasn't with them on their journey. (Can you imagine? "I thought he was with you!" "I thought he was with you!"). John sent disciples to find him, to see if he was who he said. His mother and brothers sought him out. The woman who was bleeding reached out for him. The crowds followed him. The rich young man. The centurion. Zacchias. The ten lepers. The soldiers, who came to take him to his death. Three days later, the women who came to his tomb and found it empty. My word for this year is "Seek," and God won't let me get away from it. Seek first his kingdom and his righteousness. Child of weakness, watch and pray. Watching and waiting, looking above. Seek his face continually. Seek and you will find. I am trying. I know he's there. But I get caught up in my activities and fall back on my own strength and don't make space for him in my heart or my thoughts. And other times, despite what I know, it feels like he just isn't there. I don't hear his voice. I don't see his hand. I don't know where he is. I think of the disciples today. Today, tomorrow, Sunday morning. They thought he was gone. They couldn't follow him anymore. There was no seeking, no finding. Or so they thought. But when the women came to his tomb and found it empty, this happened: "While they were wondering about this, suddenly two men in clothes that gleamed like lightning stood beside them. In their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen!" Imagine the disciples' joy when they finally saw him. He had made the way for them to always be able to seek him, to be with him, to know him. That's what Easter means - we who seek him will find him. He made it possible. If we seek Him, we will find Him. Related: When Faith Happens Just Enough Light 

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I Am Not My Child’s Savior

I am not my child's savior. This thought occurred to me yesterday as I walked around our neighborhood. Pondering the fact that our daughter's team, playing in a tournament an hour away, was not doing well, left me unsettled. First game was a bust. Second game they knocked two in the goal in the first ten minutes, but let their lead slip away into a tie game. Those two games meant advancing was impossible, regardless of the outcome of the final game. Our daughter walked away from the second game in tears. Nothing is more important to her right now than this sport. All her future hopes are wrapped up in this. And while we both know that the hold on her heart is too strong, I remind myself it is not my job to make sure her dream doesn't die. It's not my job to make it all better. All my unsettledness was because I could. not. fix it. Oh, but that's what I want to do. Take away the pain. Erase the loss and disappointment. We all want that. We want wins, and good grades, and close friends, and safety. Eliminate everything that could hurt our kids. So I set myself up in the position of savior in her heart. Why We Try to Save It's heady stuff to have a person who thinks you can do anything. We slip into the superman complex because it makes us feel good about ourselves that we can be the rescuer, the savior, the protector. Maybe if we just stay close enough, say the right words, step in at just the right moments, we can fend off disasters. We believe the lie that we can control their worlds. It feels right. It feels like love, to protect others from pain. But then I look at God and His word and I remember that the path to maturity always involves suffering. It makes us like Him. Ultimately, apart from putting way too much pressure on ourselves to be more to them than we can be, saving our kids takes away the opportunity for them to look to the real Savior, to learn to rely on Him and receive from Him what they need in times of struggle. Why We Shouldn't Save Being away from my daughter this weekend was hard, but so good for her. She needs me to get out of the way so that she can learn to lean on the One who is always there, who knows the value of failure, loss, loneliness, and pain to mold a heart into His image, and whose wise hands guide her in ways I never could. We do our people a disservice when we don't encourage them to turn to Him in times of fear, hurt, discouragement. Our lives are meant to be lived in dependence on Him. Pain is a pathway to that dependence. "It helps to resign as the controller of your fate. All that energy we expend to keep things running right…

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Why Christmas Reminds Me to Hope in God

I hate waiting. That’s why I have Amazon Prime. ‘Tis the season of waiting. We wait in lines, for packages to arrive, for family, friends, parties, planes. In the Bible, the word wait is often translated hope. They are intertwined. We must wait for the objects of our hope. Hope feels deeper. We don’t just hope for that gift we want for Christmas. We hope for marriage, children, jobs, for needs satisfied. Wrapped up in our hope is expectation. We have ideas of how we want our hopes realized. And when we are asking God to step into our hope and meet it, we put those expectations on Him. What does it look like to hope in God? We place our fragile hopes in His hands, but too often the waiting is long, the expectations unmet. We fear disappointment. Sometimes it’s easier not to hope. The Israelites knew a little about waiting. They waited in slavery, in exile, for the Promised Land, for a Messiah. In their waiting, they hoped. Their expectations grew. They longed for a leader, a savior, one who would protect them from their enemies and carry them to victory. For hundreds of years, they waited and hoped and expected rescue. And then Jesus came, and He wasn’t anything they expected. But when I look at His birth, I’m reminded why God is worthy of our hope. In Christmas I see that: God keeps His promises Jesus fulfilled every prophecy about the Messiah. “For no matter how many promises God has made, they are “Yes” in Christ. And so through him, the “Amen” is spoken by us to the glory of God.” 2 Corinthians 1:20 He has promised us so much – that He will never leave us, He will work all things for good, He will give us abundant life. We can hang our hope on His promises. He meets our deepest needs Four men lowered their paralyzed friend through a roof, but instead of healing his body, Jesus forgave his sins (and then healed him). The Israelites thought they needed a leader; God knew they needed a redeemer. We think we know what we want, but God wants to give us what we may not even know we need. Christ’s birth reminds me that not only does He knows my needs, He can also meet them. His ways are not our ways The Israelites probably would not have chosen an unwed, teenage mother or a poor carpenter to parent the ruler of the universe, or have made Him a Nazarene. So many of the chapters of my life I would not have written the way God did, but looking back, they are so good. We stumble the most when we hold too tightly to the ways we think God should answer our prayers. Like the Jewish people, we might miss His answers entirely. He loves us more than life One of my favorite songs a few years ago was "Touch the Sky," by Hillsong United. It…

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Freedom – guest post at Mudroom

It was in that Bible study that I realized I was not free. We were eight couples, all of us fresh into our time as expats in Singapore, struggling to find our footing in what we jokingly called “Fantasy Island.” That group was a lifeline in the midst of our turbulent transition to a new country, yet I often walked away from times with them feeling insecure and unsettled. Why? Read the rest of the story at The Mudroom blog, where I'm guest posting this week.

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Living a Better Story

When I look at this next month, I'm tempted to think, "How am I going to get through this?" My fallback is, "With a lot of caffeine and chocolate," but there's probably a better option. This is my point of need, and it is a good place. When life feels overwhelming, when the waves are just a little higher than I'm comfortable, and the current is strong, it is tempting to switch into battle mode and just barrel through. The problem with that style is that I tend to leave people in my wake. I get short with my family. I am not present with people. My body responds physically to the stress of swimming harder. My focus becomes "I just have to get through." I miss so much. This morning, as I stare down this week when I know that sitting will be a luxury, there probably won't be actual meals on the table, and if we looked at what we're spending in tolls we would cry rivers, I know I don't want the story to only be, "We made it." There's a better story I could write this week, because God is in the picture. All morning He has been reminding me that this week is an opportunity. This is my point of need, where He wants to show His power in my weakness. He wants to carry us. He wants to give us the strength and peace and patience and joy to do this week like it's the best week ever. It begins by laying down my own efforts. If my worries become prayers, my task list becomes my places of dependence. It can happen if I navigate this week by the power of His Spirit alive in me, and not by anything I bring to the table. If that's where I'm resting, then I can love my family. I can be present with people. I can breathe rest into my body. My focus can be, "Let's see what He can do with this week." I don't want to miss Him in it. We can write a story of dependence this week. We can write a chapter that says, "I can't do it, but He can." We can write love and joy and peace and glory, if we remember where to look for all we need. He is bigger than whatever I face this week, whatever you're facing. We don't have to live any differently in the deep waters than we do in the places where our feet can touch. We can live a better story. Related: Just Show Up  When You Just Have to Do One Day at a Time 

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Called to Do Today (And Just Today)

  I wake up in the morning and the world weighs down on me. There is so much to do. I have goals to accomplish, dreams to make happen and lives to shape. There's a future athletic trainer to develop and a hopeful rocket scientist to challenge. Before that they need to graduate and learn independence, to drive (Lord, have mercy) and get jobs. There are hearts to be molded and relationships to strengthen before they go. That's just in the house. Out there is a husband trying his very best to do what God calls him to do. Right now it's hard and discouraging. So there's a foxhole to hunker down in together while we do all the heart molding, relationship strengthening, independence building and future shaping. In the foxhole, there's cheerleading, listening, believing and praying that needs to happen. I love it, but it's a battle. There is a world of injustices I want to right. Hearts need awakening. Friends are in messy places and I want to sit there with them. Books and blog posts beg to be written. Speeches seek a voice. Coaching and leading and creating and loving call. It's all good and necessary, and I love it all more than life, which is why I want to see it done well so very much. Called to do today But as I walk this morning and lift my weary eyes to God, inquiring what to do about this heavy weight, He reminds me that we are only called to do today. Our energy needs to cover what is in this sunrise to sunset. He will direct and sustain it, and give us what we need for it. He sees the future them, the foxhole us, and the world of needs. He's got it all covered. So I take all that energy I thought needed to cover the next 10 years, and I know it is the portion He gives me for this. Not all it takes for all that I see in the future - just enough of what I need for today. My soul breathes a sigh of relief. The weight lifts because it was never mine to carry. It is His. He's got this. He's got us. We are called to do today. href="https://www.gcx.org/ginabutz/files/2015/08/calendar.jpg">   Related posts: Just Enough Light The Battle Belongs to Him  Get Quiet Enough to Listen

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