truth

Soldier On, Friends

There is a constant battle waging for our souls, and I for one sometimes grow weary of fighting it. There are days I battle discouragement, pessimism, lies, apathy. It would be the easiest thing to let them sideline me. I know there's truth that cuts down all those negative emotions, but it takes energy to fight my way back to it. It takes time, and intentionality, and faith. It's a tiring battle. Every day we have to take up our cross and follow. We have to start again, knowing that there will be arrows of accusation and condemnation from the enemy. There will be lies we're tempted to believe about ourselves and others. Every day we have to fight our way back to the truth. We have to remember who we are and whose we are. And friends, it's tough. The Battle Is Tough It's easier to lay down our weapons and surrender. We wallow in complaining and negativity rather than take up gratitude, especially when it's hard to find the gold. Holing up with Netflix and ice cream hoping the battle will cease is the path of least resistance. Easier than the hard work of dragging those lies into the light. Staying in isolation is easier than inviting others to speak truth into our darkness. I'm reminded of one of my favorite books, Hind's Feet on High Places. In it, the protagonist, Much Afraid, is called to the High Places by the Good Shepherd. What she hoped would be a joyous journey with Him is marred by her relatives with names like Resentment, Bitterness, and Pride, who constantly call to her along the way. They cause her to doubt and fear and wonder if she hasn't chosen the wrong path. She learns to cover her ears and turn away from their voices. She holds doggedly to the promises the Good Shepherd has made to her, however much they might not feel true at the moment. So do we. Keep Fighting the Battle I want to tattoo all His promises across my arms so they sink into my soul and take up permanent residence there. If only I were not such a leaky vessel when it comes to the truth about Him and me. Would that I never find myself in those places where I realize I have listened to the wrong voices and strayed away from that solid ground in Him. I wish fighting was not part of the Christian life, but it is. We are meant to fight hard against the enemy, and we are meant to be victorious. Are you fighting the good fight? [ictt-tweet-inline]Fighting is hard and tiring but it's worth it.[/ictt-tweet-inline] There is truth to be claimed. Joy that is ours for the taking. Peace offered to us. Solid ground on which to rest. There is victory to be had. Yes, there is much that will threaten to knock us off that rock of truth, but there is One who wants to hold us there. He is greater…

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Stand at the Crossroads

It would never have been in my plans to make an international move pregnant, but that is exactly what I did in the fall of ‘99. When I was thrown into the newness of being a first time mama six months later, I was still wrestling to grasp a language as different from English as possible, learning how to lead a ministry alongside my husband, and finding my place in a new culture. I was swimming in transition. My love for our host country, coupled with a deep need for external validation, drove me through the spring to squeeze life out of every hour: studying the language while our son napped, taking him with me to meet students, our team passing him around as we met and planned. I once nursed him with one arm while wiping a poop explosion off the wall with baby wipes so I could finish in time to meet a student for discipleship. I wanted to do it all. Six months later, I was overwhelmed. To read the rest of the story, and how God used this verse from Jeremiah to minister to me, go to my guest post at (in)courage here:  Stand at the Crossroads

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Doubting in the Darkness

Remember paper maps? Ah, the good old days, when we navigated ourselves from one place to another, like pioneers! I loved paging through the giant U.S. atlas we kept in our living room, imagining myself traveling unknown routes. I remember the first time I had to make use of that atlas on my own. I was living in Mankato, Minnesota (famous for being the place Pa Ingalls took his lumber in the Little House series). I was driving home to Rochester for the weekend, then to Eau Claire, Wisconsin (my alma mater) for a party one Saturday night. I had to drive straight back to Mankato after the party to be at church Sunday morning. For the visually minded - here's what it looked like: I had never driven from Eau Claire to Mankato, but I read in my trusty map that at the border, where I normally turned south to go to Rochester, I could continue straight on highway 60 all the way to Mankato and save time. (I was disproportionately proud of myself for discerning this. Like seriously, seriously proud). So, armed with this information, I set off in my Ford Festiva (read "glorified bumper car") at 9 pm after the party. In the dark. In a Wisconsin winter. Deer season. Brilliant. Sure enough, I had a near miss with a deer that left me a little shaken. Shortly after, I arrived at my fateful turn. I could turn left and take the longer, known route through Rochester, or I could follow what I'd seen on the map and plow ahead. I plowed. The first 10 miles of that road were a winding path through dark, snowy woods. No houses, no streetlights, no civilization at all. It didn't look anything like what I had expected. Within minutes, my mind began to run wild with thoughts like: What if this is the wrong road? Maybe I'm driving to Canada. This is going to take forever, and I'm going to fall asleep in the car, then crash. Or what if I hit ice and go off the road? There's no one here to help me. I'll die alone in my car. They'll find my body two weeks from now, gnawed by wolves (lots of potential death in these scenarios). What have I done?!? I doubted in the dark what I had seen in the light.  But every once in awhile, I drove past a sign that said, "Highway 60." I was on the right road, whether it seemed like it or not. I finally had to mentally grab hold of myself and say out loud, "Gina! You are ON highway 60! And the map said that if you stay on highway 60 you are getting to Mankato, so Just. Keep. Driving!" And sure enough, I made it to Mankato. I think of this story often when I navigate life. I can be so sure, when I spend time with God and his word, of what is true. I walk out confidently into the world,…

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How to Swimsuit Shop without Shame

  Last week I took a trip to hell, also known as swimsuit shopping. Not only do you have to see what your half-naked body looks like wrapped in variously fitting and oftentimes unflattering spandex, but you get to do it in a room designed by a sadist. Who thought fluorescent lighting in dressing rooms was a good idea? But I was determined to not let it ruin me. First of all, I felt I would greatly benefit from having this girl with me: And then I thought maybe I should just BE this girl. I decided that whatever thoughts came to mind about what I was seeing in the mirror, I would focus on what I love. Then again, love can sometimes feel like a stretch. But grateful? I can definitely be grateful for what I have. Why I'm Grateful as I Swimsuit Shop Gratitude reminds me that I can stand up and shop on my own, without help. I live in a place where women are free to wear what they want. That's a privilege many live without. This body has housed my soul, been its barometer reminding me when I need to eat, sleep, breathe, for over 40 years. It tells me when we're not doing well, which is kind. I want to be kind in return. I am thankful even for my stretch marks because they mean I have been blessed to carry two babies. The shape of my body means I have never gone hungry, when so many do. How grateful I am for a husband who praises my body when I know there are women who are demeaned because of theirs. I am thankful that I have the opportunity to rest and refresh myself, giving rise to the need for this suit. Thank God I have money to buy a suit since I pulled a Gina and forgot to bring any of the three I already own (and thank God for 60% off sales). And on and on. Gratitude can surround our hearts like a shield, protecting us from that which would tear us down. As we gather the pieces of what we can celebrate, our eyes are turned off what we lack and onto how we are blessed. I survived my swimsuit shopping. Actually, I more than survived. Gratitude kept my head above the water, like a lifesaver made from grace. It keeps us afloat in the deepest waters. Related posts: Let's Be the Grace Givers Beautiful 

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Tell Me the Truth

It's important to tell ourselves the truth, but sometimes, we need others to do it for us. During this time of sabbatical, I have been reminded how desperately reliant I am on God and His truth, and how challenging it can be for me to invite others to carry me in the journey. Years ago, during a time of burnout, God spoke to me about this very need (so you could say I'm something of a slow learner). He led me to write this poem. Consider it an invitation to do this for me (and others) when you see the need arise: Tell Me Tell me the truth about myself Tell me things that free me from the worry cage I’ve built Tell me the upside-down things that correct the world’s twisted weavings Tell me there are rocks to rest on so I can come in from the storm Tell me things that breathe new life into this valley of dry bones Tell me again to draw my sword to cut through the enemy attacks on my soul They say there are no easy answers And I know. But there is One who answers still. Tell me what He would say when I’m weak and lonely and tired. Tell me to listen to Him. Tell me because sometimes I forget. Related: What Parents Really Need to Hear

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Our Anchor in Transition

I have this picture in my head today of me in a tiny rowboat on a vast ocean. I know I've talked about boats a lot through our transition, but it's fitting - we are on a journey. So back to my rowboat. Imagine me in a tiny rowboat, riding the waves, and as I look around I see nothing recognizable in any direction. In fact, forget the boat - it's actually more like a raft, Castaway style. Except unlike Tom Hanks I have not, at any point of this move, made a disemboweled volleyball my best friend and confidante. I am, thankfully, still far from that. Praise be to God. We want life to be like a swimming pool. We want something manageable, something with defined edges, something with a dimension that doesn't wear us out. The walls of the pool are the roles and relationships we form that give boundaries to who we are. We can stretch out on an inner tube and enjoy. Any kind of transition - getting married, becoming a parent, changing jobs, kids leaving home, moving across town - will affect the roles and relationships we have. They stretch our boundaries - maybe to an Olympic size pool, maybe a lake, maybe the whole big ocean. We have to learn to reorient ourselves, to manage this different shape. We need to find those places where we can rest, to become familiar with the edges again. And so there's me, imagining the ocean around me with no land in sight. I long for the edges, the boundaries, the things that make me go, "Oh right, this is where I am, where I belong, who I am, what I'm capable of." My temptation is to look around, paddle frantically, screaming, "WILSON!!" I find myself looking to others to tell me "here's land." I seek affirmation, acknowledgement, value, to make me feel solid again. But the fact is, those things we think give us definition are ultimately not what define us at all. They are merely temporary boundaries, these roles and relationships God gives us for seasons. What we need, what I need, to remember, is that regardless of the size of my current situation, my identity comes from Him. He is the anchor who tells me, "I know you. I see you. You are mine. That is all you need." And in this, transition is a gift. It's an opportunity to have all that I might depend on be stripped away, and to be called back (more frequently than I usually need) to who I am in Him. The truth of who I am in Him is a constant, grounding me regardless of the depth of water or the distance from land.

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