IT'S NOT ABOUT ME

Some people love talking about their work. Others love to talk politics or pop culture. I’ve been a stay-at-home mom and homemaker for twenty-two years. I’ve learned to take great pride in this undervalued job thanks to my encouraging husband. (Thanks, Honey XO.) However, there’s only so much I can talk about that anyone cares to hear. Most people want to be intrigued and at this point in my career, doing laundry and paying bills does very little to hold a crowd. And politics . . . well, I know enough to engage in a conversation, but care to discuss it about as long as the length of my arm. 

Ask me about Jesus and I have plenty to say. If you spend any amount of time with me you’ll soon find out He comes up often. And if you like talking about Him too . . . man, we’ll be here for hours.

I remember being on a walk with a friend about a decade ago. It wasn’t the only time we walked together. Living around the corner from each other afforded us countless walks over the years. And countless conversations. We’d talk about mom stuff, and politics, and current events. And more often than not we’d talk about God. She loved Him too so naturally He was infused into nearly every topic. 

I learned so much about being a godly wife and mother from her during those years. That was also when I discovered my passion to talk about Jesus and how amazingly awesome He is.  

“God just might use you to share with a lot of people,” she once said.

On the surface, I rejected that idea immediately. Who am I? I’m nobody, I thought. Safely, I suggested I was confident in a one-on-one conversation; even pretty comfortable in a small group scenario. But a room filled with people? With a microphone? Absolutely not. Heck, I blew the fourth grade Spelling Bee on the very first word—“should”—all because of that dumb microphone. (Scarred for life.)

But in spite of my insecurity and fears, deep down I fantasized about telling a massive crowd about how Jesus saved me and is still saving me. The thought thrilled me. Would God really want to use me like that? . . . Nah, not when there are so many brilliant, articulate, passionate believers whose testimonies have been forged by greater transformations than I could claim. (Answering our own questions always works because we know best.)

Fast forward ten years later. My friend was right. She saw something in me that I never would've chosen on my own.  Public speaking. About Jesus. With a microphone. Oh, and video-recorded. (The younger me cringes to consider watching that. Oh my gosh, look at my hair . . . did you hear me mess up there?) 

But, I’ve come a long way through this mind-torturing, self-centered process to discover God's calling on my life. A long way.

The first time I was asked to share my testimony to a room full of women, I said 'yes'. And I bombed. How do I know? Let me just say . . . you know. 

A few years had gone by when a kind unknowing person thought it was a good idea to ask me to share at another women’s event. "I can do this," I prodded myself. I prepared my notes. I studied Scripture. I prayed. And I didn’t tell anyone. One, because I didn’t want to seem braggy that someone asked me to speak (red flag); and two, because if I choked (again) I wouldn’t have to tell anyone if they asked, “How’d it go?” 

Can you say, “deja vu”? It was not good. Like the first time, I was all over the place. I stumbled over my words. I lost my place in my notes. I flopped.

And then it hit me. I was so worried about how “awesome” I needed to be that I forgot the real reason why I was asked to share in the first place.  It wasn’t about me, but them. And Him.

Have you ever had sorrow sweep through your gut like a whirlwind? That’s what it felt like when God showed me my pride. Even the pride I had when I realized I had pride . . .  it was too much. Pride upon pride. I cried. For real.

I wanted to disappear even more than that day I awkwardly sat center stage among my peers in the elementary school cafeteria. “Should. S-H-O-U-D . . . “ Nooooooo! But, it was too late. I couldn’t take it back. And that’s how I felt about my, not one, but two chances I was given to talk about my Savior. Sorry, no good. You blew it. Even on your do-over. Nooooooo! Embarrassment and disappointment taunted me as I regurgitated every personal public failure. But why? Isn’t that so like the world. The grace we as Christians fail to give ourselves (or others) looks nothing like Jesus sometimes. 

About three months later I was approached again. Our pastor’s wife asked me if I’d share about the Lord’s Supper and present communion to the women’s ministry. “God put you on my heart,” she said.

Me? I quickly took inventory in my mind. One ill-experienced Jesus freak with wounded pride and stage fright plus one hundred God-fearing ladies, maybe more . . . I can’t. Is she insane? Did the others say no? I say 'no' too!

“I’ll pray about it.” I said, graciously. (After all, isn’t that what most spiritual people say?)

I hung up the phone. 

And then God spoke to my heart, “You will do this.”  

“I know,” I responded, with my head down. Literally. I dropped my head down during our internal conversation. 

Good news for this over critical, self conscious girl—it wasn’t so bad that time. Yeah, I was a bit stiff, I fumbled a couple words, but something was deeply different. Maybe not so much on the outside, but the inside. I cared far less about what I looked like and far more about the women listening. I knew I honored the Lord. I took a deep breath and exhaled with a smile. “Thank You, God,” I whispered. 

Over the last couple of years, I’d said ‘yes’ many times. And any time I start to get freaked out or wonder if I have anything worth saying, I remember something a dear friend instructed me to do as we prayed together, “Love them with your words.” 

And I say this to you: if you have the gospel of Jesus Christ living within you, it’s worth sharing, no matter your stage. So, keep saying ‘yes’! It's your calling too.

. . . . . . 

"You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a basket. Instead, they set it on a lampstand, and it gives light to everyone in the house." Matthew 5:14-15

WAITING FOR YET

When I was a kid, we’d visit my grandparent’s once a month. I always looked forward to it. Grandma knew the best card games and made the best fudge. She also made sure her candy drawer was stocked when the grandkids came over. Those Brach’s Butterscotch ones with the yellow wrapper were my favorite. 

And she gave us coffee. From her electric percolator she’d pour about an ounce of fresh brewed coffee into delicately decorated china teacups and then fill them to the top with milk. We got to add the sugar. (Oh, the liberty!) While my little brother gripped the dainty cup with both hands, my sister and I practiced holding out our pinky finger as we sipped coffee with Grandma. I felt so mature. 

We always took the freeway there. The freeway meant it was far. I’d sometimes doze off until wafts of strong citrus from the orange groves announced we were getting closer. But to a kid, a mile felt like ten, so if it weren’t my brother, or my sister, I’d certainly speak up. “Are we there yet?” 

“No, not yet,” my mom would say.

Next question: “How much longer?” 

“Fifteen more minutes,” she’d answer, with a tone that carried a silent 'Don't ask again because you've done this before' tagged to it.

One of us kids in the back seat would let out an impatient sigh. Gotta love that bold rebellion.

I could taste the pale brown sugar milk waiting for me so I’d try to will my mom to drive faster in my mind. It didn’t work. 

But like every time, it wouldn’t be long before Mom would say “We’re here,” and we’d scramble up the stairs to greet our grandparents with a hug, then bee-line to the candy. Yet had gloriously transformed to now, and all was well.

Waiting for yet isn’t just a kid thing. I do it now. And as a Christian, I probably do it more than ever. It happens a lot when we talk about those mind-consuming prayer requests that go unanswered month after month, year after year. 

“Ah, trust the Lord,” we tell each other. “He’s always working . . . you just can’t see it yet.” [It] being the thing we so pathologically pray for. 

I’ve heard this persuasive vote of confidence so many times that I’ve adapted it myself. It sounds so good, so promising. It puts God in a generous and responsible light, and wards off our impatience. It’s that unassuming little three-letter word at the end of the phrase that keeps us praying, trusting, hopeful. Yet. 

Definitely, God is always working. I believe this with all my heart. He is incredibly dynamic, always active, always blessing, always moving. So the times I feel like my pleading for Him to change things is wearing me out, I’ve held on to the yet. 

But lately I’ve been pretty convicted. Waiting for what I’m begging God to do can become more important than God Himself who is often silent as He orchestrates it all perfectly. I realize I'm not as content in His plans and timing as I should be. Could it be I'm not content in Him?  

He owes me nothing. Just because I pray for something one time or a thousand doesn’t mean He’s obligated to let me see what He’s doing behind the scenes.  The word “yet” presumes an expectation on God’s performance. What if the thing I’m waiting to see isn’t to be seen this side of heaven? If at all. Yet, I hold on to the yet.

And how often have I attached a time frame to God’s big reveal of what I think is best?

“He’s working, Dana . . . you just don’t see it yet.” 

Oh how those words tempt me to hold out for that treat in God’s candy drawer. Like a sugar addicted, (pretend) coffee drinking child, I convince myself that because God loves me so much He'd never withhold a good thing from me.  

God is gracious. Beyond gracious. His grace stretches far beyond the cross. He is the giver of every good and perfect gift and He answers prayers. The thought of His awesome gift giving skills humbles me. God can do anything. Anytime. Anywhere. God has definitely blown my mind a time or two, or three . . . 

But, here’s the thing—He doesn’t have to. He owes me nothing. And when I get so focused on waiting for "my" it to arrive at yet, I miss the greatest answer—who is a Him and not an it—to my greatest need even though He is revealing Himself to me everyday. 

. . . . . . . . 

"The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us. We have seen His glory, the glory of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth." John 1:14

GIFT OR GRIND

We have this running joke in our house. It's about Lola. She's our 14-year-old Shih Tzu. Yeah, she’s like 98, but she can still kill us with those ASPCA “poster child” eyes every time we leave her.

     “Don't turn around . . . don't look back . . . don't be like Lot’s wife,” someone'll say.

We all kinda chuckle because we know the temptation to linger, to pacify Lola (and our guilt) just a little bit longer before we finally let the door close in her face. We feel bad for her, and for ourselves. Well, because . . . that face. That sweet, helpless little face. 

I do love our little girl, but I’m not a dog lover per se; not like my family. I can walk away. I have no problem not looking back. 

     “She’s a dog,” I say. “She’ll be fine. She has no concept of time, anyway.” They don't buy it.

Whether that’s true or not, my family thinks I’m a little cold for my indifference. I’m not too bothered.

But, I started thinking about my attitude toward this little creature. Convicted? A little, maybe. Like I said, I love her. She is the cutest thing, but she is the most high maintenance dog I’ve ever known. Special prescription food, special shampoo, special medications for her skin, for her eyes, for her ears. On and on it goes. And we all know special means expensive. She’s old—I get it. But this stuff has been going on for a decade. 

     “Its her breed,” they say.

Whoopee. Fine.

But what about her need to have ice cubes in her water? Or her canned food microwaved? Or smooth jazz streaming through the T.V. music channel while we’re gone? This dog may be adorable, but I think we have a problem here. 

Except one thing; I forbid Rick to buy one of those dog steps for next to our bed. Call me heartless, but that’s just weird.

I suppose its no wonder she gives us (not me—my family and especially my husband) those sad eyes when we leave her. She’s got it made. So she works it. Or rather, she works him. (Arrow pointing up to the words "my husband".) She sees he's a sucker for dogs and for the most part he tends to her every whim. It started out sweet. But he's created a monster; a fourteen pound, yellow feather wearing (I'm assuming because her name is Lola it automatically gets her the diva treatment from the groomer) monster who's entire identity revolves around him.  

Yet, I can relate. Though I know my identity is in Jesus Christ I have gotten caught up in the attention of others too. A lot of attention equals valuable. A little attention, not so much. And the rollercoaster begins. Without seeing it coming, I'm swooped into the cycle of measuring my worth by the level of attention and approval I receive.

Am I of any value to their circle of friends? Do they care about what I think? Have I been a good enough, fun enough, godly enough person to keep around?

This is when the beautiful gift and authentic enjoyment of relationships becomes a grind. How can I elevate my worth? Oh the drudgery of it all.

Even my relationship with the Lord. It's a gift. He is a gift. The true gift. The ultimate Gift-giver gives Himself. In love and mercy, God gave His Son for me and He chose me. Not because I was worthy of being chosen, but because I was chosen, I am made worthy. 

But from time to time I fall back into thinking my self worth is gaged by my performance with Him too.

Do I satisfy God to the standard He requires? Do I stay long enough with Him in my quiet time or am I too quick to leave? Is Jesus, like Lola, watching me with lonely and rejected eyes as I walk away? Does my occasional indifference toward the things that matter to God only prove I am cold and heartless?

The guilt. The shame. The condemnation. My natural reaction—make it up to the Lord. Cover up my lack. Perform. And then it starts to happen: the gift becomes a grind. But it’s not supposed to be that way. 

If the Lord were like Lola . . . or like me, I’d have to play Him a nice song to soothe His forlorn feelings. Heaven forbid. To pity God is foolish. And where I go really wrong is when I think my love and attention toward Him makes Him worthy. If that were true, my God would be small. And neurotic.

Thank God His worth isn’t based on humanity. And that’s exactly why I love Him so much. As incomplete as my love for Him is today, I am learning to rest in our glorious relationship because it is built on Jesus Christ alone. God-initiated, God-sustained and God-perfected. And worthy of all I am.

. . . . . .

Father, please forgive me for ever laying on others and myself the expectation to define Your worth. And forgive me for expecting other people to define mine. You alone are God. Amen.

 4 But God, being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, 5 even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved), 6 and raised us up with Him, and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, 7 so that in the ages to come He might show the surpassing riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. 8 For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; 9 not as a result of works, so that no one may boast. 10 For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them. EPHESIANS 2:4-10

USED BY GRACE

The soles of my running shoes slapped the rubber conveyer belt of my favorite treadmill. The end one. An obvious reminder of unpredictable claustrophobia. One after the other, my legs responded to my mind's demand. I don't want to be here. But . . . those cookies. Guilt is almost always a good motivator to commitment.

An agonizing situation forces its way into the forefront of my thoughts and a lump rushes to my throat. I don't stop it and begin to grieve the used parts of my heart and whine over the unfairness. To myself. To God. Whoever'll listen. 

Convicted by my internal trash talk to self protect, I back peddle the scandalous thoughts. Don't go there. Focus. Worship. Run. 

Pressing my ear buds in tighter, I order my mind to praise Jesus after I take a quick swig from my water bottle. I push to find that harmonious stride of body, mind, spirit and soul. Just give yourself a few minutes.

Then it happens. The undeniable speaks over my wounded life. "Do you want Me to use you?" Stunned and defensive, I swallow hard. Divine inquiry is often painful because the truth asks hard questions. Is this really what's going on here? No! I demand. I try to refuse it. But His examination brings weeping. 

Sweat mixed with tears wet my cheeks. I slow the speed on the display panel and wipe away the muddled mess of striving and self-preservation. How could I have missed it all along? Because being used by grace actively working in humble and quiet places looks a lot like passive suffering—victimhood.

To be used by people really hurts, but to be used by grace . . . well, that hurts too. I want to run away. I just want to run far away where I don't have to be used anymore.

I look down to track my feet. Somehow this pushes me to drive my legs harder as I raise the speed. I notice a new hole at the tip of each big toe. Quick mind shift. I feel accomplished by the evidence of how hard I work out. How easy it is to wander from the Lord's most difficult commands. 

A not-so-random question redirects my mind. "Does your Bible show the same wear?"  I answer myself. "Well, yes . . . yes, it does." I picture its loose, wrinkled pages and unraveling spine. Feeling good about my goodness again, another question comes: "Do you not expect to sweat and weep when you spend time there too?" In that moment I realize that being used by people and being used by grace does look and feel the same. 

But there's one difference. Perspective. And that changes everything.

. . . . . . . . . . 

 27 “But I say to you who hear, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, 28 bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. 29 Whoever hits you on the cheek, offer him the other also; and whoever takes away your coat, do not withhold your shirt from him either. 30 Give to everyone who asks of you, and whoever takes away what is yours, do not demand it back. 31 Treat others the same way you want them to treat you. 32 If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. 33 If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. 34 If you lend to those from whom you expect to receive, what credit is thatto you? Even sinners lend to sinners in order to receive back the same amount. 35 But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return; and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High; for He Himself is kind to ungrateful and evil men. 36 Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful." LUKE 6:27-36