Grace, Relationship, and Religion

I've been trying to write this post for a long time. I keep digging into the topic in an attempt to understand, becoming baffled, and wandering away, only to be brought right back. This post isn't organized well. My head keeps getting muddled and I haven't come to a concise conclusion. But I'm curious to see what others' thoughts on the topic are, so I'm posting this anyway. 

There seems to be two kinds of grace. One group of people preach strongly the grace that brings freedom, so afraid of legalism that they swing to the far side of “Let me do as I will!” Then also there are others just as strongly afraid of darkness and the impurity it puddles about its victims that they too swing, but to the opposite side of strived after perfection. Both stand on the Word of God and shout grace—grace to do and grace to be. The pendulum keeps swinging and the church continues to shun unity for longing to agree. Back and forth, back and forth, the question longs to be answered, which one is correct?

Wherein lies the truth? Perhaps with peace. And peace waits right where most pendulums rest—smack dab in the center of both arguments.

Grace is a sticky notion. It allows freedom where none is deserved and yet calls to reformation the slightest of wandering errors. It is only because of the grace brought through the cross that Jesus could call people to “Be perfect, just as my Father in heaven is perfect.” But if you go back a couple of verses, you’ll find a description of perfection rather different than the spotless reputation of goodness that long standing church members are often determined to maintain. “But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you…and if you greet your brethren only, what do you do more than others?” (Matt. 5:44, 47-48) This verse speaks a lot louder about the treatment of others than personal actions. But both are important. 

Most Christians have heard a sermon or two on not using God's grace as a license to do whatever they want. But see, it's deeper than that. When you accept Christ into your life you step into a covenant with Him that is made possible by the blood He spilled at the cross. Hebrews 10:29 says that continuing to sin after receiving the truth is like one "who has trampled under foot the Son of God, and has regarded as unclean the blood of the covenant by which he was sanctified, and has insulted the Spirit of grace." The popular slogan, "It's a relationship, not a religion" comes to mind, but suddenly the phrase gains a much deeper meaning after reading that verse.   

Grace is like as a vast, flat expanse before Jesus. It’s so large, there’s more than enough room for all the messes you ever have or will make in life. But it’s also so open, that there’s no place to hide those messes. You can’t jump behind a bush and say, “Don’t look, Lord! I’ve realized I’m naked!” Adam tried that one, forgetting that God had made him that way in the first place. It’s that place where the woman was left with Jesus after her accusers scattered, realizing they couldn’t throw the first stone. Sinless, Jesus declined throwing a stone as well, but still told her to “go and sin no more.” (John 8:11) 

Without grace there wouldn't be a key to open the door to a relationship with Jesus. That same grace though, calls us to a responsibility of action that others may see and label as religious. Luckily, there's grace for that too. 

Twinkle Of The Father's Gaze

I'm finding everyone has a story of some kind that leaves them carrying "broken pieces" of themselves. Everyone has lost a loved one, been abandoned, been abused physically or verbally, been let down, or in some way found out just how fragile human emotions are when faced with the friction of other humans. Filling up the earth from top to bottom, imperfect beings try to carve out a track to happiness, inevitably bumping into each other and leaving often ugly bruises. But there is a healer, and a guide ready and waiting. This is something that has been on my heart and is written to all those who've carried "broken pieces."    

             Look! It springs up even now. Life is being birthed from the promise and nurtured by hope’s gentle kisses. How sweet is the laughter of new life. How precious is the sound to your Father dear. Sweet child, grow up sweetly. Brush away those lies that like to fall on tender ears. O innocence, keep close to your Father’s side and someday He will present you as the spotless bride.

            I did not stray, but another did. Why did he want my life when he had his own? He took from me what I did not know I had to give. He was careless. He dropped that stolen part of me, and it shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. But I picked them up.
           

            One by one by one.

            They were broken, but they were me. It hurt to hold them, their edges sharp in my clutching hands, but I did not let go. I knew the Healer could help me. I brought Him those pieces, those broken shards of me.
            “Twirl,” He told me. Twirl for the world to see.”

            “But Papa, first you have to fix me! They won’t like what they see.” And I held out my hands to show Him the damage done to His handiwork. As I reached out though, the broken pieces I had carried so carefully disappeared. Instead, I saw only the scars on my hands where I had gripped too tightly.

            He took my hands in His own, and I saw He had scars too. He kissed those places where the blood had streamed through, and simply said, “My daughter, I love you.”

            In His eyes I saw myself as I had never seen before. The girl in the reflection was a little girl, but she was grown too. Her eyes laughed at me, as if to say, “Don’t you see who you are?” For it was me in the mirror of the King’s eyes, me who fit perfectly in the twinkle of His gaze.

A Wooden Roller Coaster And A Missed Ride

Do you ever have moments in life where the world suddenly slows down and you catch a glimpse, however small, of something that makes you pause to wonder? It’s like that moment when you’re about to get on a big roller coaster, when you suddenly see the rust on the poles holding the structure up, and the clack! clack! clack! becomes a louder sound in your head as you consider anew the stability of the machine you’re about to entrust your safety to.

I went to the fair last summer and enjoyed a day keeping up with friends amidst the pungent smells of deep fried foods, sugary sweet refreshments, bumping pushing crowds, and colorful blinking lights that accompany it. After eating more greasy food than we should have, as that’s just what you do at a fair, we wandered through the booths looking at what people had to sell. As we were purchasing something from one particular lady, she happened to mention as she was running our card that a previous customer had tried to put a hex on her.

That was my moment, my pause that made me stop and wonder. What if I stepped out and told her what I knew of the One who could protect her from those attacks? What if I told her about the blood that was shed to keep any thing of that nature at bay? The incident obviously bothered her, because she called a friend who was supposed to be able to recognize the presence of those things, the friend had confirmed it and gave her advice that I wouldn't recommend to get rid of it.

She had a steady stream of customers to help and the friends my husband and I had come with had already wandered away to wait for us, so we walked on to join them. But something inside my spirit was stirred and disappointed that I didn’t go back to talk to her. People so desperately need Jesus, they need the truth to set them free in their lives. Not just the Jesus that the people outside the fair held signs about and handed out tracts disguised like million dollar bills to explain. They need the Jesus who breaks the chains of the captives and meets them in the often-overwhelming realities of their lives. I am not at all meaning to speak negatively about the people handing out tracts; I hope others were blessed by it. But unless the tract has a way of letting them see a glimpse of the tangible closeness of the King and His ability to breath new life into their circumstances, it’s just going to be another nice story.

I got on the wooden rollercoaster despite my head’s reprimanding warnings. I jumped aboard the ride and had a blast as it swerved around the rickety track. But I missed the all aboard call to the ride that could have ended in a saved life. Assessing the risks, I stepped back. I told myself I was inadequate, but forgot that it wasn’t my competency that mattered. Somehow I could put my trust in a ride enough to raise my arms in the air, letting go because I believed that the safety bar would keep me in place, but not that the God who gave everything for me would give me the words to speak.

Sharing the love and power of Jesus Christ with people like the lady at the fair? That’s where the core of evangelism should be. The gospel is so much more than just a good story. It’s an encounter where desperation meets divinity and God’s radical love begins the process of changing individuals from glory to glory.

I pray that the lady we saw will soon have an encounter in the Father’s embrace, and I thank God for the continuance of His grace. 

What Does Hope Look Like?

I wonder if the wise men that came to see Jesus were slightly disappointed that the hope of the world looked so small, so very much like the baby that Jesus was?

Looking through stories in the bible, hope often takes a strangely unhopeful appearance. For the Israelites fleeing Egypt if looked like a nervous man with a big stick. For Noah and his family it was a boat in the middle of a desert that had never known rain. For Daniel it was kneeling in prayer as hungry lions threatened to lung. For David it was five rocks and a sling against a man an entire army cowered from.

Hope is God meeting people in the midst of impossible situations and partnering with them right where they are. It doesn't matter what one has or doesn't have, God is without limits. He would have helped David defeat Goliath with a pocket knife if that were the weapon on hand. It is very easy for me to look around and realize how ill equipped I am for the challenges that come in life. But all too often, I forget to also take into account the fact that the storehouses of heaven are open and available through Christ. I've been pondering this verse lately: "The kingdom of heaven is at hand." (Matt 10:7) Hold up your hand and look at it. That's how close heaven is! Not at the stars, or even at the tops of the trees, it's "at hand," ready and waiting to be accessed by those that God has commissioned to establish His kingdom on earth. In case you're wondering, that includes any one who has accepted Christ, not just the pastors or famous evangelists.

God doesn't need the help of people to save the world and accomplish His will. He chooses to partner with His kids in a such a way that they become not only the avenue He works through, but also a vital part in bringing God's glory and hope to earth.

Colossians 1:27 says, "Christ in you, the hope of glory."I've often read that verse and cynically thought, "Well there's not much hope in that!" But that mindset only looks at one half of the equation. Through my acceptance of Christ, I have been infused with the same power that conquered the grave and shattered the plans of the enemy. Slowly, I am learning to change my perspective from telling God what I have, to asking Him what He has. I want people to see His glory in me, that hope might rise up in them, even if it looks like all I'm equipped with is a stick, boat, or sling.

God's Newest Wonder

I don't pretend to understand the pain felt by parents who have experienced a miscarriage, but my heart aches for my husband's brother and his wife whose baby is being held by Jesus right now. The poem is written from the parents' perspective. Looking forward to meeting you in heaven little one. 

God's Newest Wonder

Hey there baby, I never knew a heartbeat

Could bring such joy.

Hey there baby, I even began to wonder

Would you be a little girl or boy?

But pink and blue turned to black and grey

 In the sudden wake of a single day.

So hear my lullaby

Sweet baby who’ll never cry.

I know heaven’s watching over you,

And that to this world God’s still faithful and true,

Though how I wish I could have first held you.

Here’s my love God, won’t you wrap my baby in it?

And thank you for the joy brought in fleeting minutes.

Right now the angels are in awe of God’s newest wonder

And I’m trying to remember we’re not forever torn asunder.

Even though my arms are empty, I still hold you in thought and prayer,

Waiting for the day I’ll touch your tiny fingers, toes, and hair.

Goodbye baby, forever I’ll remember.

Goodbye baby, that was due in September.

She I Was Called To Be

This is my woman's heart, how You made it from the start: delicate and vulnerable. My walls I've broken down, and even though I'm scared, I'm not going to bring them back around, because in this place I've begun to blossom into she I was called to be.
This is my cry to all the girls who've lost their way or been pushed astray: "Follow me! I've found a way to the Father's heart; His love will bind the brokenness and fit the fallen pieces of your heart. Follow me to the Bridegroom's house! His touch restores purity and provides true safety. Stop looking in the world's mirror, fellow daughters, and see instead your reflection in the eyes of the one who counts each heartbeat as more precious than emeralds and sapphires.
A soft but unbreakable strength is worn by the woman who knows undoubtedly that she is loved. A loved woman will remain firm when the rest of the earth trembles, for she knows what she is standing on and is anchored securely in that love. Love not as man sees it, and perhaps thinks he knows it, but love that surpasses all height or depth of knowledge and is the very nature of God.

Vintage Bride

Vintage. Shabby chic. Refurbished antiques. It's a trend that's caught on like wild fire and doesn't appear to be going out any time soon. I noticed it a lot more this last year as I planned my wedding. You see it here and there in the every day world, but in the, as I've come to call it, wedding world, it's glaringly everywhere. It's so wide spread, anyone not following the trend feels outdated about not using outdated things.
It didn't really find it's way into my wedding because I felt seriously inadequate to do justice to the theme. Not everyone can decorate with things gathered from a garage sale and end up making it look like a magazine shoot. I had a feeling if I attempted the feat it would look more like, well, a garage sale. I like the look though. It adds a warm homemade feeling, something akin to that sensation you get when you hug your grandma after she's been baking and smells like cinnamon and snickerdoodles. It reflects a heritage while leaving room to add touches of "you." Connecting generations, if you will.
That being said, I find it a rather ironic trend, in the wedding world especially. Why? Because the supposed antiquated ideals have been peeled away from the vintage replications. To put it simply, marriage is being celebrated in a way that appears similar to how it might have fifty years ago, but lived without those fundamental values that make it last that long.
Vintage is popular until it comes to morals.
People have a tendency to express surprise when they find out the deeper details of the beginning of my marriage: You didn't live together or sleep together before you were married? No. He asked your dad if he could date you? Yes, the word court might have even been mentioned. You changed your last name to his and didn't even hyphenate? Yes. You didn't put a note somewhere acknowledging the injustice of gays not being able to marry? No. Your dad gave you away at the wedding, not just his blessing? Yes. Yes, we did, along with many other traditions that are suddenly non traditional.
Personally, I really like some of the ways weddings have changed over the years. We had a photobooth at our wedding and danced back down the aisle to a song from Grease. The bridesmaids' dresses were all different styles and we served our guests ice cream cupcakes. I love seeing how each couple makes their wedding unique to them and had fun doing so with ours. But there are some traditions that I refuse to let go of no matter how outdated they may seem. "Til death do us part," is one of those. Not the death of feelings or emotions, but a commitment to the unification of our lives until our bodies no longer house our spirits.
I'm not going to pretend to be an expert on marriage after two whole months of wedded bliss. I'll be the first to admit that I have a lot to learn; I might as well be on my honeymoon! (Which I don't intend to end, by the way.) Regardless though, I plan to build my marriage on values that many have declared outdated. Even though it didn't show in the decor, apparently I am a vintage bride.