Stand at the Crossroads

Stand at the Crossroads
Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash

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

Don't Doubt in the Dark What You've Seen in the Light

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, and then it looks anything but like what I expect. It’s harder. Darker. There are twists and turns I didn’t expect.

I can be gripped by anxiety and doubt. I question if I heard right. I wonder if the truth holds in this circumstance. I can think he’s led me astray.

When we lived in Singapore, I lived by my Singapore road guidebook. Singapore is not a driver friendly country, laid out on an easy to navigate grid. If you miss your turn, good luck-there’s no block to circle. So many times I pulled over and whipped that book out of the glove compartment to reorient myself.

This is how we need to live. We have to be people who live close to the truth about who we are and who he is. We have to keep reminding ourselves that he knows the way, he is our guide, and it’s true whether or not it looks like it’s true. Sometimes that means stopping again and again to reorient ourselves so we don’t end up wandering aimlessly or getting lost in lies. Pull over and ask for directions. It might take longer, but we’ll stay on the right track and go with confidence.

Bottom line friends: don’t doubt in the dark what you’ve seen in the light.

“But I’ll take the hand of those who don’t know the way, who can’t see where they’re going. I’ll be a personal guide to them, directing them through unknown country. I’ll be right there to show them what roads to take.” (Isaiah 42:16)

Related posts:

Just Enough Light 

When Faith Happens

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We Need to Stop Hitting Ourselves

If you have siblings, at some point you played the ‘game’ where you forced a family member to hit themselves with their own hands, while saying, “Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?” This was really only funny for one of you, am I right?

Too often, though, we play this game all by ourselves. We are the ones hitting ourselves, beating ourselves up over failure and weakness, berating ourselves for being less than. We speak harshly, demanding more, demanding better, rarely letting ourselves off the hook. I know. I’m really good at that game.

This summer, I’ve seen levels of anxiety in my soul I didn’t know were there, and my natural inclination has been to pour contempt on it, willing it away. Instead of sitting with it, I want to run to a place of condemnation for what feels like weakness, failure, a lack of faith, as if that’s where I’ll find the salvation I seek.

Recently, a friend introduced me to this song, Be Kind to Yourself, by Andrew Peterson:

The line that gets me is, “How does it end when the war that you’re in is just you against you against you?”

We can live like our own worst enemies. We speak contempt to our own souls in a way that we would never speak to another. We shut down emotions that we think are unacceptable. We tell ourselves we just need more faith. When we mess up, we are the first in line to call it out and condemn. We admonish ourselves to suck it up and deal with life, rather than listen with grace to that in us which needs a voice. Who wins in this scenario?

So what do we do? For starters, we remind ourselves that we do have an enemy, and it’s not us. 

We can chose to side with him against ourselves, or we can chose to side with the One who loves us. He never speaks harshly. He never condemns. He is patient with our weaknesses. He always speaks with compassion, grace, truth and acceptance. He expects more failure from us than we expect from ourselves, and yet it doesn’t change the fact that He’s wild about us.

So tell yourself it’s ok. You’re doing the best you can with what you have. Cut yourself some slack for your mistakes. Forgive yourself when you sin. Encourage yourself to get back up when you fall. Speak grace. Speak kindness. Speak compassion. Love yourself where you are, because He does.

He is kind to us. He invites us to be kind to ourselves. Stop hitting yourself. Lay down your weapons and rest.

Related posts:

How to Swimsuit Shop without Shame

When Fear is a Dictator

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How to Swimsuit Shop without Shame

How to Swimsuit Shop without Shame
photo by Elizabeth Lies

 

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

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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In Case of Emergency, Remember This

In Case of Emergency, Remember This
photo by Joel Peel

It’s good to have an emergency plan.

Like if you are afraid you might be chased by gators. This was the thinking my friend Laura and I had while walking the Orlando Wetland Park earlier this spring. Our plan constantly evolved according to available assistance (“Ok, so here we’d climb that shelter.” As though we could seriously climb a shelter) and probably would not have helped us at all, but it gave us comfort. (note: do NOT run in a zig zag pattern. That’s a myth, and a pretty silly one).

My husband’s a planner too. This spring he’s had a sign on his desk that says, “In case of emergency, read this.” It’s a list to remind himself why he is leading certain change, the reasons why it’s good. It helps him push through when people are pushing back.

It got me thinking. Emergency plans are good for more than just escaping gators.

I’ve sensed in this sabbatical how quickly my mind can travel to fearful places. Doubts creep in. My faith wavers. I get discouraged and want to give up. I’m ready to climb the shelter (even though I probably can’t climb the shelter). I’m looking for a way to run.

Friends, this is not how I want to live.

So I’ve been mentally making “in case of emergency” lists in my mind:

In case you begin to worry, remember: He loves you. He is wise, He is powerful, He is good. He’s got this.

In case you fail, remember: this is all temporal. Your value hasn’t changed. Just keep being faithful. He’s got you.

In case your kids go to the other side of the world on a mission trip, remember: He loves them more than you do. He is with them. He’s got them.

And on it goes.

We need our go to truths for the times when we need to talk ourselves off the ledges, or we are tempted to run from our circumstances. We need them to combat the stories we’re making up in our heads, to lift our eyes off the things of the world and back onto Him.

In case of emergency, remember truth. Hold on to grace. Breathe peace. Soak in His presence.When life takes us into deeper woods, there’s no need to panic. There’s a way out of this wilderness, but it takes a minute to stop and orient ourselves. He knows the way out. Remember what He would say and let that be your guide. 

Related:

When You Just Have to Do One Day at a Time 

Living a Better Story 

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Seeing Further on Issues of Race

Seeing Further on Issues of Race

So, I’m white. I’m the kind of white where people make jokes about how blinded they are when my skin shows. Hilarious, really. Keep those jokes coming cause they never get old.

I grew up in a white, affluent town. I know there was one black kid in my elementary school, maybe more. There were a few Asians – two of them were my closest friends. As far as I could see, they weren’t treated any differently than me. As far as I could see.

The problem is, I couldn’t see very far. Racism was something that happened somewhere else, but it didn’t touch me there. I assumed that because I tried to treat people equally, I wasn’t part of the problem.

In the last few years, I’ve been involved in more and more conversations about race. It pains me that as a church, we are not the ones leading the way in talking about diversity, or in fighting to break down systems of racism. We should be. We are the ones who know that each of us is created in the image of our beautiful Creator. We are called to justice and freedom for the oppressed.

I’ve realized that we need to see further. Here’s how I’m learning to do that:

First, it doesn’t serve anyone to say, “I don’t see color.” I understand the sentiment behind this because for a long time I said the same myself. But I think of my Asian friends and how often they are asked where they are from, or are told how good their English is (though they were born in America). I think of my black friends, who get pulled over for driving in nice neighborhoods and asked what they’re doing there, or complimented for being “so well spoken” (as though that’s a surprise). I think of the stories I have heard from people of color of not being seen because they are in the minority, of imbalances of power and opportunity due to the color of someone’s skin. I need to know these stories, and enter in to the heartache of them. I must see what other people experience.

It doesn’t serve anyone to say that because I have lived in another country where I was a minority somehow I understand what it feels like to BE a minority. I spent 13 years in that position, and never did I feel I was treated poorly because of my skin color. If anything, I was envied. And if I did live in a place where I was hated because of my skin, I would have the power to leave. That’s a choice so many cannot make. It’s not about being the majority or minority culture, but about what culture dominates. Being white brings privilege. I must see my privilege.

Yes, we have privilege. It doesn’t serve anyone to deny the existence of white privilege. The very fact that we can ignore its existence is, in itself, a privilege. I never have to think about the fact that I am white. I never have to wonder if someone is treating me differently because of the color of my skin. Seeing my privilege reminds me that all is not equal. It helps me see where things need to change.

It doesn’t serve anyone to say, “If you just stay on the right side of the law,” or “if you just work hard and make the most of your opportunities,” you’ll do well. I’m seeing more and more that people can do everything right, but if you have the wrong color skin you can get pulled over for minor infractions and be killed. It is hard to admit that we have a system that has for compounded generations been biased toward the white majority; even harder to admit that I benefit from that system. I must see what that gives me that others do not have.

Racism grieves the heart of God, because all of us are created to be a reflection of His glory. We are all image bearers, every last one of us. He sees it all. I want to see what He sees.

We cannot stand at a distance and condemn obvious acts of racism, thinking we are absolved from the issues. We have to come close, to see how we are part of the problem, to hear the real stories of how racism impacts our brothers and sisters, and work for justice.

Silence is not neutrality. Silence is complicity. We can opt out of this conversation, but so many cannot. We need to opt in because God wants us together. We need to see further.

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What Parents Really Need to Hear

What Parents Really Need to Hear
Photo by Kelli McClintock on Unsplash

 

Erik and I were in a baffling parenting moment recently.

We struggle to find activities that all four family members enjoy together. It’s not surprising to us – for the 13 years we lived overseas, we lived in such a tight community with an abundance of like-minded people that we were almost never alone as a family. Vacations, meals, you name it – we had company. Now we’re in the states looking at each other thinking, “So now what do we do?” It’s hard to know how to fill the space sometimes.

We were pondering this issue as we drove to have dinner with friends one night. We decided to take advantage of the wisdom of other couples and ask them what they thought we should do about this.

They listened. They asked good questions. They gave a few suggestions. But what they seemed to realize, and we quickly did too, is that what we needed wasn’t a solution. We needed to hear two things: “You are not alone in your struggle,” and “you are doing a good job.”

Google “parenting advice” and you’ll get “about 106,000,000” hits. Hope you have a lot of time to read every opinion under the sun. Do this. Don’t do that. You can read opinions that vary so widely it will make your head spin. We all want to do it well.

Some of us like to think we’ve found the answers, and can be dogmatic or defensive about them, depending on the day. Or we hide in the shadows, afraid to ask our questions, thinking we’re the only ones who just can’t seem to figure this parenting gig out. We forget that our situations and our children and the way we are individually wired means that there are so few methods that universally apply.

But what we can say to one another is this: You are not alone. You are doing a good job. God is on your side. He will help you. Keep trusting Him.

Let’s say that to each other, and I think we’ll all find it’s true.

Related posts:

Promises to My Children

It’s Worth It

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The Fight Belongs to Him

The Fight Belongs to Him

We are at war, and I am a lousy general.

There are issues in the world worth fighting for: the hearts and minds of our kids, strong family ties, justice for the oppressed, basic human rights.

I don’t stop there though – I have all kinds of ambitious ideas, expectations and goals for myself, my family, my world. I approach them as hills to be conquered.

I am a fighter. I’ve never been one to sit on the sidelines (remember, I’m the overly enthusiastic sideline coach). The problem is that my weapons are not effective.

I fight in my own strength.

I’d like to think I’m a pretty strong woman. I am, by most standards. That’s my downfall.

When I see these issues around me that I want to change, I tackle them with all my might and wrestle them to the ground. I come at them with my best arguments, lofty goals, high energy, intentionality.

What looks like fierceness is often nothing more than a fearful attempt to control the outcome of a situation.

If I just keep trying and try hard enough, I can conquer them, right? Right? Tell me I’m right.

I’m wrong. These problems are bigger than me. They take more than I have. Others are simply not my battle to fight; they’re my ideas, not God’s. Most of them are spiritual battles, led by an enemy bent on our destruction. Who am I against that?

[ictt-tweet-inline]I’m picking the wrong weapons and the wrong battles.[/ictt-tweet-inline]

I am not meant for this war, but He is. Lately, I’ve been convicted of my need to lay down my feeble weapons and turn to His power. He sees the true battles and sees them better than I do. He knows what it takes, and He has it. He knows what must be hard fought and what is not meant to be.

My best weapon is not inside me but in praying the fight back to Him, trusting that He will do what needs to be done.

[ictt-tweet-inline]He wants to fight for me. My job is to step back and let Him.[/ictt-tweet-inline]

Do I stop fighting altogether? No. There are some problems worth pounding the table about. But there are some hills that I am not meant to climb. Those I leave to God.

I want to fight as one who knows her place as a lowly foot soldier, trusting in my commanding officer’s weapons, wisdom, guidance and strength, not my own. I want to follow His orders on when and where to fight, and with what. The battle is the Lord’s.

“The Lord will fight for you. You need only be still.” Exodus 14:14

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I Don’t Need Rescuing (Except I Do)

Soldier On, Friends

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Just Enough Light for the Road I’m On

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Just Enough Light for the Road I'm On
photo by Gina Butz

 

One of the downsides of living this far south is that the sun doesn’t come up early, and I’m an early morning girl. It puts a damper on any outdoor exercise in the am, mostly because we live in the boondocks where there are no streetlights. People live out here specifically because they want to get away from all that pesky civilization with its fancy electricity that might light my way.

This morning, I decided to brave the darkness with Scout in tow so I could prayer walk around the neighborhood (is that three birds with one stone, since I also walked the dog? Multi-tasking at its best!).

As I walked, it seemed like there were just enough front porch lights, or kitchen lights of early risers, on to light our way. And during the stretches where there was no light, a car or two drove out of the neighborhood and helped us see.

Just enough light. Not the brightness I would like to feel completely confident, but enough to show me what was next.

I so want to see far ahead. I want to know what the next year, two years, 10 years will look like. But God gives me only enough light for the next step, and not always when I want it, but when I truly need it. Hopefully it keeps me walking slowly, looking to Him for what is next, trusting that what I have seen in the light is still true in the darkness.

“Your word is a lamp for my feet and a light on my path.” Psalm 119:105

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