Yet what we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will reveal to us later.

–Romans 8:18

I think one of the most reassuring thoughts during these last couple months is that we may not get answers for why we face hard things, but we know that our God doesn’t waste them.

In his hands, pain and brokenness are more than just losses. If a hard experience has left me calloused and hardened, He is not finished with it yet. He works with even the most awful situations to work in me gentleness and grace and confidence in Him. And He promises that, as hard as right now is, it cannot be compared to what He is preparing for us.

Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think.

–Ephesians 3:20

I take hope in this: on my sickest, weakest day, when I have the least to offer, this is STILL the day that the Lord has made. He is still using it, working in it. He is not wasting it, even when I’m not the one being productive. I can rest and be helpless and He is faithful to use this time to make me more like Him anyway.

And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image.

–2 Corinthians 3:18

may he equip you with all you need
for doing his will.
May he produce in you,
through the power of Jesus Christ,
every good thing that is pleasing to him…

–Hebrews 13:21

It was never up to me, my preparation, and my hard work to produce growth and maturity in my life. Good growth comes slow. Good growth comes with growing pains. And God produces good growth when we are at a loss to produce anything at all.

So let me say it again:

This is the day the Lord has made.
We will rejoice and be glad in it.

–Psalm 118:24

My God has made this day and I can be glad in it because of what HE is using it for. Not a moment is wasted in His capable hands.

 

This isn’t Wasted – music video by Beka Burns

“There was a man named Jabez who was more honorable than any of his brothers…He was the one who prayed to the God of Israel, “Oh, that you would bless me and expand my territory! Please be with me in all that I do, and keep me from all trouble and pain!” And God granted him his request.”

–1 Chronicles 4:9-10

 

I’ve been doing more reading than writing lately. I write to process life and life has been difficult to process. I didn’t know how to handle what I’m facing and didn’t have much to offer anyone else. (If you want specifics, see Hyperemesis Gravidarum).

Cody encouraged me to lay aside the burden to produce and just have a season of taking in. He pointed out that I, myself, am in the process of writing a devotional for people in busy or difficult seasons, who might benefit from a quick read where someone else has done the digging and drawing out for them. He said that if I’m going to write for this audience, sometimes I need to be willing to be this audience. He said it’s okay, even in a relationship with the Lord, to be sick and let the other person do the talking for a while.

During this season, I have been so encouraged by Kara Tippett’s devotional The Hardest Peace: encountering God’s love in suffering and sickness.

My favorite nugget?

“Your story is a good story.”

She went on to talk about how our culture views success, beauty and stuff as the hallmarks of a good story.

I think that’s part of why we are so quick to escape to our phones, our social media and our netflix when things are challenging or painful. We want to be part of a good story and ours doesn’t seem good anymore. 

My heart desperately needed the reminder that my story is a good story, even when it’s a hard story. Maybe yours does, too.

Kara mentioned that we are not the author of our own story, we are the characters. This, too, I needed. I needed to remember that it’s not my fault if I can’t seem to find a way to make this better. Life doesn’t follow my script. 

Apparently, I’m not writing this thing. God is. He is good and He is in control of it. He knows my frame. He knows my limits. He has promised sufficient grace. So I can relax and be a character. For even when I can do nothing, God is writing, and He writes good stories.

Kara wrote this about the prayer of Jabez:

“I am not accusing the prayer of Jabez as being a false, unfair prayer…but I think we should all be honest with our love of that verse. We all wanted more and ease, and we wanted to use God to get it. But we are not the author of our story. We are the characters.”

Disclaimer: I think Jabez is great! But I agree with her that his story is a hard one when you’re sick and not getting better. God gave Jabez land and kept him from trouble and pain….why doesn’t He answer me that way? What did Jabez get right that I didn’t?

For the last eight weeks, the number one danger to my morale has been comparison. I cannot go there. There are stories lived right alongside of mine that look so much easier, and I nosedive when I wonder why. God writes different stories for different people, I don’t always see the whole picture, and I don’t always get the answers I want.

But this has been my go-to verse:

Peter asked Jesus, “What about him, Lord?”

Jesus replied, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? As for you, follow me.” 

–John 21:21-22

So many questions don’t have a direct answer from Jesus. But for the “what about them?” question, I have my answer: You follow me.

So here is how I cope with Jabez (because, let’s face it, right now it’s a rough story for me). He was honorable and upright and I think his prayer was a good one, but I also think maybe he could have asked for more. Jabez asked for territory and protection and ease and he got it; and his entire story is two verses long.

 

But Moses asked to see God.

Jacob wrestled for God’s blessing.

Joseph dreamed.

David longed for the courts of the Almighty.

Solomon wished for wisdom from God himself.

Daniel purposed to honor Him and faced down lions.

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego walked with Him through flames.

 

There is more to be desired than our world’s version of a good story..

Their stories were not easy. Their stories were not two verses long. Their stories were not about enlarging their territory, avoiding difficulty and staying safe. Their stories show that God has more to give than just success and ease and treasure. Their stories rubbed shoulders with glory.

And given the choice, I would take the difficult story where I saw a more of Jehovah. 

So it’s okay with me that my story looks different than Jabez.

 

So Lord-

May my prayers ask for more than a successful, easy life. This life is not the end-all. It is time spent; it is the camping ground on our way to so much more. And it can be spent arranging comfort or chasing after wonder, but it will not be defined by both.

May I lay aside comparisons and the question of “what about them?” and dwell instead on difficult stories where you showed yourself faithful.

May I learn to have a hard time and wish for more than relief. If I allow relief to be the only thing I want, I have chosen unhappy disappointment for all the time I wait for it. If I can learn to want more than relief, hope does not have to be so far out of reach.

So may I desire more. May I seek growth and learn endurance. May I wish for sweet moments and experience a joy that runs deeper than the difficulty. May I see who you are from a new angle. May I invite you to showcase yourself in my life.

Help me to desire more of you in my story.

Teach my heart to look beyond the challenge to the treasure I have in you, to the calling I have been given to pursue you through it.

Oh Author, help me to believe that you are crafting the details of my life, that this day is a good day because you have made it, and that

my story is a good story even when it’s a hard story.

 

“But as for me, I trust in you, O Lord; I say, “You are my God.”

My times are in your hand…

–Psalm 31:14-15

 

 

 

“On the tenth day of the appointed month…you must deny yourselves. Neither native-born Israelites nor foreigners living among you may do any kind of work…It will be a Sabbath day of complete rest for you…

…This is a permanent law for you, to purify the people of Israel from their sins, making them right with the Lord, once a year.”

–Leviticus 16, excerpts

It was significant to me that on the Day of Atonement – the one day of the year designated for clearing the slate and making Israel right with the Lord – no one but the priest was allowed to work.

The priest worked on their behalf, but the people could not make things right for themselves. On this day, they were not allowed to do. The day when they were made right with God was also “a day of complete rest” for them.

Can you imagine an entire day where the “to do” list is forbidden? No errand, big or small. No cleaning. Not a single job. All the work is still there. Urgent. Calling to you as it ever does. The pile is building. But you are not allowed to touch it. Because on this day, you have an order to leave the work alone.

On this day, your work is to obey that order and not become frantic about what isn’t getting done. On this day, your work is to rest completely with tasks left unfinished, and it’s harder work than you think.

Can you think of a few people who would develop an eye twitch just attempting it? If you know me, my name might be on your list.

When I ask the question “What does God want from you?” What answers bubble to the surface?

 

[The people] replied, ‘We want to perform God’s works, too. What should we do?’

Jesus told them, ‘This is the only work God wants from you: Believe in the one He has sent.’

–John 6:28-29

 

This is the only work God wants from you…

This is a permanent law for you…

It confounds me how rarely my priorities match His. I organize and plan ahead and work late and wipe the sweat from my forehead and say, “Look! Look what I have done! Are you happy? Is this what you wanted?”

But this is the God who put a day off into permanent LAW and fought His people on it for centuries because they were afraid to stop working.

God is not the slave-driver here. Fear is. And Rest is the opposite of Fear.

He has told me what He wants.

He wants me to not worry. He tells me not to be afraid. He calls me to see and believe in what HE has done. He wants me to live in a way that shows I believe it is enough; that I do not have to add something. He asks me to rest.

And true rest takes courage.

In the same way, the people of Leviticus could not please God by working hard, but by relying on the man he had put in place to mediate for them. It was not better to storm the Tabernacle because “These are my sins and I have to make things right myself!” It was better to rest completely.

Rest is the evidence of the work God wants from me – the work of believing what He says, of NOT trying to fix what He has taken care of.

As an Israelite, I think I would have struggled. I know in my marriage I have to fight the urge to fix and “make up for” what has already been forgiven. Complete rest feels wrong, but it only feels wrong when I still believe there’s something left for me to do.

Rest feels wrong when I see myself as the solution, when I argue that what has been done is not enough. I can only venture into rest when I choose to take Him at His word  rather than seeing to the matter myself. And that grows harder the more something matters.

True rest is hard work. It is not for the faint of heart. But our God handles expertly what we entrust to Him, and He is good to those who will take Him at His word and rest.

…Then you will know that I am the Lord;
    those who hope in me will not be disappointed.

–Isaiah 49:23

The Lord is good to those who wait for Him,
To the soul who seeks Him.
It is good that one should hope and wait quietly
For the salvation of the Lord.

–Lamentations 3:24-25
Lord-

Produce in me the rest that comes from confidence in your work. Help me to finally stop and lay aside my own work long enough to gaze at you and see what you have done.

The work you want from me?
Believe you.
Rest.

So, Lord, help my unbelief. Help my unrest.

 

“Let us therefore be diligent to enter that rest…”

–Hebrews 4:11

“Then Moses took the anointing oil and anointed the Tabernacle and everything in it, making them holy…then he poured some of the anointing oil on Aaron’s head, anointing him and making him holy for his work.”

–Leviticus 8:10-12

 

Moses walked through the Sanctuary spilling out oil to signify that each place, each item was set apart to God: special and holy and marked for His use and His purposes. He offered each carefully crafted article to God’s service and worship and thus they transformed from common to holy.

Oil slid over the surface of the altar, the tools, the washbasin, the washbasin stand, and finally, it trickled down the face, neck, and chest of a man.

Moses took the time to label with oil all that was sacred, and he included Aaron.

Every morning, as I wake up and decide to how to order my day, a battle takes place between my craving for self-sufficiency and the call to surrender.

God once asked ancient Israel to give to Him the “first fruits,” (AKA the very first and very best fruit of the harvest), as a way of recognizing that He had provided for them, and He would continue to meet their needs, even if they gave up the best of the harvest when they were tempted to keep it for themselves. In the same way, I have been challenged to lay down what “must” be done and submit my “first fruits,” the “first time” of my day to His agenda, instead of my own. And His agenda holds a lot more “wait” and “be still” than mine does.

I can launch into my day, chasing after the desire to get things done! I can try to force my day into submission and spend the entire twenty-four hours trailing behind and lugging a hefty list of all I am trying to squeeze in. I can scurry along frantic under the massive weight of how to manage and control and plan for all of my responsibilities.

Or, like Moses in the tabernacle, I can pause and mark my time, my day, my resources, and myself as belonging to God and set apart for His purposes. I can surrender it to Him and find myself breathing easy, ahead of my day, taking it as it comes and trusting that someone way smarter than me is running this thing and I’m going to end up where I need to be.

This does not come naturally for me. Hurry is my theme song and stress is my default. I don’t ever wake up NOT needing re-orientation.

This first stopping, right at the start, even while urgent tasks fight for my attention, this Sabbath in my morning, acknowledges that this is the day that the Lord has made, and it is holy. It helps me to shift into step with His plan instead of straining after mine. It reminds me that I am HIS workmanship, created for good things, and good things are in store, even if I can’t guess or plan for what they are.

And my soul feels sorely the restlessness when the pause is missing.

I can choose to skip meals because I just don’t have time, or I can choose to MAKE THE TIME for a lunch break, because I NEED TO EAT. I can choose to skip the pause because I just don’t have time, or I can choose to MAKE TIME for the quiet, because MY SOUL NEEDS HIM. Anxiety, disillusionment, overload, and burnout are the predictable hunger pangs of the soul that let me know I have gone too long without pause. It is not a side-ritual to squeeze into my spare time, it is a daily rhythm, and I must decide to protect its place. I must pause to pour the oil.

Lord-

Like smooth oil slowly claiming every inch of the High Priest, may this time before you, this first pause of the day be my way of allowing you to re-claim my heart.

I am yours.

I am set apart for your purposes.

I am specially made for your worship.

And this is not my day. It is yours.

This is not my time, my money, my energy, my gifting. I am not cast by myself into the world to come up with where I will go and what I will be on my own. I have a Good Shepherd.

I belong to you. I am holy unto you.

And this morning, I see it.

Help me, Lord, to rest in your leading, and not to take off on my own as I try to manage this day. Help me to stop, even as I’m just beginning, to think on you and let your truth trickle over my face, my neck, my chest, transforming me again, renewing how I think.

Every single morning, I need the re-orientation. The permission to pause in the silence. The slow, cool, sensation of oil spilling over the sacred.

 

“And so, dear brothers and sisters, I plead with you to give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice—the kind he will find acceptable. This is truly the way to worship him. Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect.”

–Romans 12:1-2

“Aaron’s sons, Nadab and Abihu…disobeyed the Lord by burning the wrong kind of fire, different than He had commanded…and they died before the Lord…And Aaron was silent.

Moses then asked them what had happened…“Why didn’t you eat…? He demanded.

…Then Aaron answered Moses, “…If I had eaten the people’s sin offering on such a tragic day as this, would the Lord have been pleased?” And when Moses heard this, he was satisfied.

–Leviticus 10, excerpts

Aaron didn’t eat that day. He was silent at the death of his sons. He didn’t tear his clothes or run away. He and his other sons completed the offerings and carried on. But when Moses challenged him for not eating, Aaron spoke.

The sacrifices are done. The instructions have been obeyed. But on a day like this, would it REALLY please the Lord for me to eat as if nothing has happened??

And Moses was satisfied.

God wanted Aaron’s obedience, regardless, but it does not please Him to pretend. It is the same with me. God wants my obedience, but He does not want my lies. And I am treading water between the two, finally sorting out what in my life has been an act; trying to be honest with Him, with myself.

There is a real tension to work through: God asks that I submit to His instructions, even as he invites me to pour out my heart to Him.  He teaches me to be holy. He asks me to tell it like it is when my heart is full of unholy. He asks that I obey, but He does not ask me to pretend.

I can claim the dignity of real reactions to the hard stuff, the irritations, the discouraging, but I cannot ignore His claim on me. I am not supposed to ignore my feelings, but I am not supposed to run wild after them either. And this tension is front and center in my interactions with other people.

So here I am, caught between:

“…Let everything you say be good and helpful so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them.”   –Ephesians 4:29

and

“Obviously, I am not trying to win the approval of people…”    –Galatians 1:10

Don’t try to get people’s approval, but do use EVERYTHING you say to encourage them. Don’t let them rule you, but DO choose to serve them. The line is almost invisible, and I am the pendulum between.

Here is my litmus test: Who is it I look to when I ask “did that go okay?”

Is it Him, or is it someone else?

Paul finishes Galatians 1:10 with: “I’m not trying to win the approval of people, but of God. If pleasing people were my goal, I would not be Christ’s servant.”

 

Lord,

Where people-pleasing inhabits my way of life, there’s an issue. Those ways are an act, where I push down what I really think and try to meet all the heavy expectations out there. Those ways prevent and distract me from being fully your servant. Those ways must die.

But, Lord, I must look to you to bring life through the disrupted soil I leave in place of those ways when uproot them. People-pleasing is a thornbush, but it is still prettier than what is left when I rip it out. And I sit, exhausted from the effort of pulling and pulling at this area. I stare at the fractured ground and think

Oh no, oh no, what have I done! What if I needed that? What if some part of that kept me in check and made me a better person?? What will I become now?

That’s how I feel: gritty, abrasive, unkind, uncaring, dry, cracked, where once there stood a prize-winning rose. But I am not the domesticated, predictable and perfectly-shaped blossom bred by man to look “just so” on a Homes & Gardens magazine cover. I am the rich and stunning life of cascading wildflowers sweeping over grassy hillsides and tousled in the wind. I have always preferred the gardening of God. So the roses must die.

Help me, Lord, to be patient with your process in my own life, as I wait, teeth clenched, pacing nervously, scanning for something to break through the surface in the space I have held for it.

Grow your sincere kindness in me, Lord, to replace the pretending. Help me to end this show where I do what’s expected of me with a painted-on smile and a restless heart. Teach me to give you room to garden as you see fit, to pull out whatever you choose, no matter how carefully I have tended it, and to water even the seemingly empty ground, as ugly and undeserving as it seems.

I cannot grow what I want to see in my life, but it flows from you without pretending. So help me to stay and to water and to watch what will break through. Your beautiful life is forming here.

So displace my pretending

and help me wait

for grace and truth to grow.

 

 

 

“…You must never eat any fat or blood. This is a permanent law for you, and it must be observed from generation to generation wherever you live.”

–Leviticus 3:17 (NLT)

NKJV says it: “in all of your dwellings.”

Amplified Version translates it: “wherever you may be.”

I realized as I read this, three chapters after the close of Exodus, that the Israelites were not yet home. They had escaped Egypt, but would not settle for decades to come. And yet, God did not wait until they were all moved in to set out guidance for how they should live.

Walking away from the polytheism of Egypt, they still had a lot to learn about the one, true God and how to interact with Him. God decided these were not lessons for later. Right there, in the sandy shadow of Mt. Sinai, He gave them rules for wherever they may be.

They were more than a century away from erecting the Temple, so God told them to make Him a holy tent and taught them how to worship Him while camping out in the desert. He did not standby until they had a routine down that He could “fit into.” He explained how Israel should approach Him, honor Him, and follow His laws for their lives while they camped, right where they were.

These were guidelines that would hold both in the land they would someday call their own and in the upheaval of travel while they picked their food from the ground and made do with homes of canvas. They did not have to learn a whole new set of policies and scrap the old rule book when they entered new territory.

The worship of the living God is not a rhythm only for stable lives and steady routines. It is an essential anchor for wherever I may be: a temple for the city and a tent for the wandering, but not something I leave behind until I have life figured out.  It is something I pack up and take with me, for I will need it wherever I am; no matter how predictable or up-in-the-air things are that day.

Lord –

You gave Israel tent pegs and anchor points that held regardless of the situation, because they were going to see a LOT of change in the coming years. Here was your reminder that in all the transition, you would always remain the same. Wherever they landed at night, whatever they were walking through, your rules didn’t change and neither did your invitation to come and worship and find you ever steady.

Meanwhile, I’m not sure I can handle the fact that the fence next door is changing. Talking to my neighbor, I had to consciously breathe slow and remind myself everything would be okay even though I liked the wood fence better.

It just doesn’t take a whole lot to throw me off, and it doesn’t seem to be getting any easier to face transitions. Big or small, no matter how many times I’ve gone through them before, they always throw me. It’s overwhelming to think of all the changes that still lie ahead for us: new homes, new jobs, new people, new culture, new language…new fences.

How important it is for me to hold on tight to the steady, daily rhythm of time before the unchanging One.

Lord, be ever steady for me. I so need something not to change. And remind me that I don’t have to wait until I get my bearings to know exactly where you are.

“…be content with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”  So we may boldly say:

 

 

 

 

“Season all your grain offerings with salt to remind you of God’s eternal covenant. Never forget to add salt to your grain offerings.”

–Leviticus 2:13

 

Never forget to add salt. Why? Did God taste the difference?

It seemed like a strange command to me, so I dug a little deeper and was intrigued with the cultural parallel. Apparently, it was a thing to “share salt” with another person. AKA, a shared meal was a pact of loyalty, and there was a level of trust established once people had eaten together.

An oriental considers as sacred the expression “bread and salt.” When it is said, “There is bread and salt between us,” it is the same as saying, “We are bound together by a solemn covenant.” A foe will not “taste the salt” of his adversary unless he is ready to be reconciled to him.

-Fred H. Wright, Manners and Customs of Bible Lands

Perhaps this is why the older brother remained outside when his father threw a feast for the Prodigal Son. A meal together meant friendship. Shared salt meant you were on the same side. And here in Leviticus, God drew this symbol of hospitality, loyalty and peace into Isreal’s worship.

The Amplified version says it this way: “ You shall season every grain offering with salt so that the salt (preservation) of the covenant of your God will not be missing from your grain offering.”

So God and Israel “shared salt” with each grain offering and He told his people to never forget the salt when they came to Him. It was a tactile memorial of their agreement, as grain by grain, they were prompted to remember His promises and keep them close.

I think what I noticed most was the word never. It carries the tone of warning, of heaviness, of grave importance.

“Never forget to add salt.”

NKJV reads: “You shall not allow the salt of the covenant of your God to be lacking…with all of your offerings you shall add salt.”

In other words: Do this every single time. Never bring an offering to me and leave out the reminder of what I have offered you. Worship. Thank. Confess. Sacrifice. Surrender. Pray. Do all of these, yes. But Remember most of all. Come to me and sprinkle the symbol of my covenant with you into every interaction. Do not, in your rituals, forget who I am and what I have promised.

Never forget the salt.

 

Lord-

How much of my interaction with you is steering my mind back to the salt? How often do I become concerned, frustrated, and stressed because I have lost sight of who you are and what you have promised me?

Like the presence of salt in a meal, a mindfulness of your promises changes the whole experience. It’s not a good idea to leave it out.

Israel was given a covenant: obey and God would bless them, disobey and He would curse them. But I have been given “a far better covenant.” (Hebrews 8:6) I am not just one of your own people, I am your own child: made righteous, wholly loved, given power, offered rest, called to purpose, washed clean, held safe.

How much more important it is that I never forget the salt?

Remind me today, Lord, in all my tasks and interactions, to come before you often, and to keep close in mind who you are and all you have promised me. It is the savory flavor of hope to my soul.

 

“I was given a thorn in the flesh, a messenger from Satan to torment  me and keep me from becoming proud. Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away. Each time He said, ‘My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.’ “

–2 Corinthians 12:7-9

 

Why does God’s power work best in weakness? Because the weak accept His help.

Why allow a tormenting burden on Paul, a servant who was so ready to obey God, when it holds him back from what he could do? Because holding us back from what would feed our pride is not holding us back at all.

I tend to think “If only…”

If only I wasn’t chubby, or consumed with crippling insecurity. If only I didn’t overthink everything. If only I glided through life smoothly instead of catching corners with my shoulders and doorknobs with my hips. If only I could make it across a room or a conversation without stumbling like an awkward baby deer. Imagine what a person without my issues could do with my gifting!

But we, none of us, get to be just our gifts without our issues. And maybe that’s the whole point, because the focus would so quickly become the person and what they could do, instead of our God and what He can do.

Oh Lord-

I am held back by the constant negative stream of thought, by the assumption that I bring more burden than joy to people, by clumsy hands that drop and break and shake, by allergies, by a tendency to ramble, and by the terror that I might be that person who obligates others to politely listen when I think I’m offering something helpful, something that moves them.

But Lord, you are not held back by any of these things.

All weaknesses and issues and thorns do is prevent me from plunging ahead by myself. There is no place they hold me back from if I have help. It is a good design, so that I do not reach summits alone and gaze back at my own hard work; I kneel on mountaintops before you and thank you for carrying  me here.

Teach me to bring my limits to you, and look for how you will show your strength.  Teach me to embrace the whole person you made me, rather than obsess over the things I wish were different. Lord, you have loved me by allowing ever-present reminders of my need for you. They are safeguards against the pride that poisons and isolates and pushes away the help I am desperate for.

So here’s to thorns. Even you wore them.

 

“I am the Lord, the God of all the peoples of the world. Is anything too hard for me?”

–Jeremiah 32:27

We prove ourselves by our purity, our understanding, our patience, our kindness, by the Holy Spirit within us, and by our sincere love…We serve God whether people honor us or despise us, whether they slander us or praise us…”

–2 Corinthians 6:6,8

 

Have you ever paid for groceries with a fifty dollar bill? You know how the person running the check-out will pause, pull out the marker with the magic-test-my-cash-to-see-if-I’m-counterfeiting ink, hold the bill up to the light and then nod and move on?

I don’t know about you, but sometimes I feel like I go through life holding myself up to other people’s reactions, the way the grocer squints at a fifty dollar bill against the florescents. He holds it up to see if it’s any good. And I hold myself that way, too.

People have no idea. They’re just out there reacting to life, thinking about how tired they are and how far away is the coffee? Or maybe it’s the oil change the car needs or the late mortgage payment. They are totally unaware that I’m reading into every facial expression, every word, and asking the silent question: Am I any good?

I know this. I KNOW this. And yet I forget that they’re probably distracted with their own stuff and I decide they’re reacting to me. Good or bad, I read their responses as an authenticity check. Am I the real thing? Am I any good? What a minefield for my security.

Even if they do give a sour reaction that’s specific to something I did or said, how often is that an accurate gauge on which I should base my life from that moment forward?

For years I have been trying to figure out how a sensitive person like me, who probably isn’t going to just stop being quite so sensitive, (believe me, I’m a flight medic, I’ve tried), can learn to ignore the constant distraction of what other people think.

Here’s the answer I got in this verse: Don’t serve them. Do serve Him.

Serving God produces in me all sorts of proof. But I must serve Him, not an image that’s impossible to keep up, not someone else’s idea of what it is to be good, or I will always be off-course, reaching, grasping at air, insecure, unsteady, X-ray-ing myself by the flourescents, just to be sure.

But if I set aside how I look to others and focus on Him, on just serving and obeying Him, His spirit in me shows me how to offer purity, understanding, patience, kindness and sincere love.

He doesn’t just shut down my reactions so that I will behave right. He transforms ME so that I am totally sincere and what I say is still loving, what I do is still kind.

Hold that kind of life up to any light, and it’s gorgeous.

So what about the here and now? Where, if I was sincere, I’d tell you that I quickly run out of understanding and patience, that a ten-minute off-kilter interaction can be under my skin for days, and that I find myself living under the rule of other people’s reactions all the time, desperate for their approval, easily hurt, easily angered.

I must learn that where my understanding, patience, kindness and love run dry with so little provocation, HIS DOES NOT RUN OUT. His love keeps pace with the hurt, His strength rises to meet the challenge, His welcome overturns the rejection.

No matter what the day holds, I think the most challenging thing about it is the people, but I do not have to offer myself up for their opinion. I am not a fifty dollar bill. I am the real deal: a channel through which He gives his love freely and sincerely, a small person through whom a big God proves Himself, and IT IS NOT ABOUT ME, it is about Him. So I can set aside the agony, the scrutiny, and the comparison. No one compares to Him.

Oh Lord-

Help me to serve you, to be sincere, and to offer kindness again and again.

Help me to know I can just break down and ask you for help when I’m struggling. You never said I would get it perfect. You said your grace would be sufficient for my weakness. (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Live through  me so that people see you. Help me to be secure in you, steadied by you. When I measure myself by the reactions of others, I am in constant limbo. When I compare myself to others, I forfeit whatever emotional margin I had to offer them. Comparison poisons compassion. And you never said I had to be like them or liked by them, you said to love them.

Help me choose to be led by you, not controlled by others, so that I can take the hits and still offer sincere love.

Help me see that I am no fifty.

I am your work.

 

 

“Take our comparison and give us compassion, for others as well as for ourselves.”

-Emily P Freeman, Simply Tuesday

 

“I will never forget this awful time as I grieve over my loss, yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: the faithful love of the Lord never ends!…His mercies begin afresh each morning…”

–Lamentations 3: 20-23

 

When I have been washed under by loss and each step forward took gritting my teeth  through ragged, broken breaths, fighting back the ocean of pain always rushing to my eyes at the slightest suggestion, I have found this verse a life-line.

It steadily acknowledged that there are times that are legitimately awful. It did not say “count your blesssings.” It said “this is really bad.” It allowed me to hate how life was. And yet it held out this:

Dare to hope, because He offers fresh mercy this morning.

It would be hopeless, except you have Him. 

So dare to hope, even in this.

Words to live by, because my hope rests on His solid love. Words to take up in dark hours, overwhelming moments, heartbreak and loss. Words to rally toward when I look at the situation and can’t come up with a way to make it work out, when I’m at a loss and see no good outcomes.

And words to take hold of when mornings don’t feel like fresh starts.

This morning, it was not a huge loss or a major transition, but a thousand small weights that I carried when I met this verse again, and still He spoke through it. Because it’s easy to feel buried the moment I open my eyes to the alarm clock, and even with daily things, hope takes daring. Even in the daily routines, my insecure soul longs for new reassurance.

Lord-

Teach me. Show me how to use this day. Show me who you are in it.

Thank you that struggle leads to life and that my growth is a process you tend to with such care. Thank you that your mercies are fresh, for the deep hurts of life and also for the daily burdens.

I’m buried under too many urgent things today. I find myself developing “alarm fatigue” and shutting off my brain, my desire, to all of it, because I don’t know how to choose which thing is next, which thing most deserves my attention.  Or if I know…I falter at how to do that thing, because it is big and important, difficult and time-consuming. And whatever I choose, I still feel the sting of what I’ve neglected. There is more I need to get to than I have time for, and urgent things lose their urgency when I lose hope that I can ever get to all the needs before me.

Oh Lord, what is it like to have no limits?

What was it like to step into a body that suddenly had them?

Only you know the balance.

Lift the pressure and give me your settled peace in its place. Show me your radiant joy for this moment, here, now, beneath all that remains unfinished.

Show me how to enjoy that even I am unfinished. For you are doing the work. You are not in a rush, and I don’t need to be either. It is enough to lay the needs before you and do this next thing well. It is enough to see I am too small to get to everything and to breathe easy because it is not my job to get to everything after all.

Lift my eyes from the worry that steals away my energy and teach me, Lord, to dare to hope. In the big and the small. In loss and in busyness. In emptiness and in overwhelm.

You offer fresh mercy for this day, too. Unbury me that I may taste it.