"How have we kept in step with the Spirit during this transition?" That was the question we were supposed to answer in a brief sharing time last week at the Cru day of prayer.
I'll be honest, my first response was, "The phrase, 'keeping in step with the Spirit' has not crossed my mind at all during this transition. Does that mean I haven't? And how would it go down if I just got up there and threw that out as my opening line?"
And to more honest, I was a little afraid. Afraid that if I got up there and shared how much I've struggled with holding fast to God in this transition, I would be the odd man out.
But I wasn't. We were the last to share that day, and the encouraging thing was that everyone who got up front talked about how they struggle to keep in step with God. By the time I got up there, I knew I was among friends.
Even better news is that I DO see how I've been trying to keep in step with the Spirit during this transition. For me, it's meant learning to slow down, stop trying to figure things out on my own, waiting for His direction, and responding in obedience.
But the thing that encouraged me the most that day was something from one of the other speakers. He talked about being expectant. I have been in the habit recently of starting my day by saying, "Ok God, it's you and me. In it together. I know you're at work. Show me what to do, and I'll do it." All good. Good stuff. Good way to start the day. But I realized that I can do that, and yet not really expect God to do anything. Or maybe just expect not much. So I've been trying to do that this last week, to go beyond, "I'm willing" to "I'm expectant."
What are you expecting Him to do today?
Monday, April 29, 2013
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Bread Upon the Waters
This afternoon I had the opportunity to share a few thoughts about our transition at our World Wide Day of Prayer. It should be noted that until last night, I was imagining the WWDOP here the way it happened in previous years - about 40 of us in a basement sitting around tables. It was good for me to know, at least somewhat in advance, that we would be speaking in front of ALL the staff of Cru. Good thing public speaking is something I enjoy!
As I shared, I was reminded of Ecclesiastes 11. I once spent a good part of a summer meditating on that chapter. If you read it, you will probably think, "Wow. Seemingly one of the more confusing ramblings of the Old Testament." But God really spoke to me through it, to the point where I wrote one of my favorite poems about it.
And THAT is the point of my story. See, I always get around to it eventually. I wrote all that to introduce the fact that - ta da! - I want to share one of my poems. You might want to read Ecclesiastes 11:1-6 first to get some context. In short, what I read from it is, "You really don't know what God is going to do. Just focus on being filled with His Spirit and being expectant, and see what He does."
Bread Upon the Waters
Blow you winds where you will
only let that it may be
upon my back pushing me onward
causing my life to be
as bread upon the waters
poured forth heedlessly
yet anchored to You
I will take no thought of it
for where I fall, there will I lie
as I am filled, therefore will I rain
Rain upon the waters
Life returning to life
Take me, fill me, cast me out
on the path of your wind
O Maker of all things.
As I shared, I was reminded of Ecclesiastes 11. I once spent a good part of a summer meditating on that chapter. If you read it, you will probably think, "Wow. Seemingly one of the more confusing ramblings of the Old Testament." But God really spoke to me through it, to the point where I wrote one of my favorite poems about it.
And THAT is the point of my story. See, I always get around to it eventually. I wrote all that to introduce the fact that - ta da! - I want to share one of my poems. You might want to read Ecclesiastes 11:1-6 first to get some context. In short, what I read from it is, "You really don't know what God is going to do. Just focus on being filled with His Spirit and being expectant, and see what He does."
Bread Upon the Waters
Blow you winds where you will
only let that it may be
upon my back pushing me onward
causing my life to be
as bread upon the waters
poured forth heedlessly
yet anchored to You
I will take no thought of it
for where I fall, there will I lie
as I am filled, therefore will I rain
Rain upon the waters
Life returning to life
Take me, fill me, cast me out
on the path of your wind
O Maker of all things.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
My Anchor
I have this picture in my head today of me in a tiny rowboat on a vast ocean. I know I've talked about boats a lot through our transition, but it's fitting - we are on a journey. So back to my rowboat - imagine me in a tiny rowboat, riding the waves, and as I look around I see nothing recognizable in any direction. In fact, forget the boat - it's actually more like a raft, Castaway style. Except unlike Tom Hanks I have not, at any point of this move, made a disemboweled volleyball my best friend and confidante. I am, thankfully, still far from that. Praise be to God.
I think we generally try to move toward life in a swimming pool. We want something manageable, something with defined edges, something with a dimension that doesn't wear us out. The walls of the pool are the roles and relationships we form that give boundaries to who we are. We can stretch out on an inner tube and enjoy.
Any kind of transition - getting married, becoming a parent, changing jobs, kids leaving home, moving across town - will affect the roles and relationships we have. They stretch our boundaries - maybe to an Olympic size pool, maybe a lake, maybe the whole big ocean. We have to learn to renavigate, to manage this different shape. We need to find those places where we can rest, to become familiar with the edges again.
And so there's me, imagining the ocean around me with no land in sight. I long for the edges, the boundaries, the things that make me go, "Oh right, this is where I am, where I belong, who I am, what I'm capable of." My temptation is to look around, paddle frantically, screaming, "WILSON!!" I find myself looking to others to tell me "here's land." I seek affirmation, acknowledgement, value, to make me feel solid again.
But the fact is, those things we think give us definition are ultimately not what define us at all. They are merely temporary boundaries, these roles and relationships God gives us for seasons. What we need, what I need, to remember, is that regardless of the size of my current situation, my identity comes from Him. He is the anchor who tells me, "I know you. I see you. You are mine. That is all you need."
And in this, transition is a gift. It's an opportunity to have all that I might depend on be stripped away, and to be called back (more frequently than I usually need) to who I am in Him. The truth of who I am in Him is a constant, grounding me regardless of the depth of water or the distance from land.
I think we generally try to move toward life in a swimming pool. We want something manageable, something with defined edges, something with a dimension that doesn't wear us out. The walls of the pool are the roles and relationships we form that give boundaries to who we are. We can stretch out on an inner tube and enjoy.
Any kind of transition - getting married, becoming a parent, changing jobs, kids leaving home, moving across town - will affect the roles and relationships we have. They stretch our boundaries - maybe to an Olympic size pool, maybe a lake, maybe the whole big ocean. We have to learn to renavigate, to manage this different shape. We need to find those places where we can rest, to become familiar with the edges again.
And so there's me, imagining the ocean around me with no land in sight. I long for the edges, the boundaries, the things that make me go, "Oh right, this is where I am, where I belong, who I am, what I'm capable of." My temptation is to look around, paddle frantically, screaming, "WILSON!!" I find myself looking to others to tell me "here's land." I seek affirmation, acknowledgement, value, to make me feel solid again.
But the fact is, those things we think give us definition are ultimately not what define us at all. They are merely temporary boundaries, these roles and relationships God gives us for seasons. What we need, what I need, to remember, is that regardless of the size of my current situation, my identity comes from Him. He is the anchor who tells me, "I know you. I see you. You are mine. That is all you need."
And in this, transition is a gift. It's an opportunity to have all that I might depend on be stripped away, and to be called back (more frequently than I usually need) to who I am in Him. The truth of who I am in Him is a constant, grounding me regardless of the depth of water or the distance from land.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
This is assigned
"How accurate are these things?"
"Umm . . . the box says 99%."
"So it could be wrong. Right?"
"I think that means it might say you aren't, but you really are. Not the other way around."
So began our parenting adventure nearly 14 years ago, just months before we planned to head overseas to live long term. I have to say, it wasn't the most thrilling moment of my life. In fact, I was stunned. I gave serious thought to the possibility that God had made a mistake, like maybe he took his eyes off me for a second and then looked back and said, "Oh, hey, are you pregnant? Oops."
Yes, I know, theologically unsound. Pretty sure God never says "oops." So I spent that summer pondering how on earth this could really be good timing in light of all I hoped to do that fall in China. God led me to Psalm 16:5-6, "Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup. You have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places. Surely I have a delightful inheritance."
Those verses said told me God is two things - sovereign, and good, therefore me being pregnant at that time was from the hands of a good God who knows what he's doing. That was hard for me to accept at the time, but I grudgingly said, "Ok God, show me how this is good" and he said, "Challenge accepted" and proceeded to blow my mind with his awesomeness. True story.
Those verses came back to me over and over again through the years. It was in little moments, like when I stood on the street corner with my 3 month old, hailing cab after cab because each one I called was snaked by a stranger, and I repeated to myself, "This is assigned. This is assigned." It was in big moments, like when we were suddenly asked to move to Singapore and leave all that we had come to love, "This too is assigned."
Sometimes I can look back and see so clearly how it was God who intervened and made things so much better than I planned (hello, Ethan). Other times I am still left wondering, but that doesn't mean they didn't accomplish what he wanted.
I've been mulling those verses again lately, realizing that I haven't been as conscious as I'd like to be, or need to be, of God's hand in the details, great and small, of my life. Something changes in my heart when I settle on the fact that nothing will come today without God's permission, without his promise to use it for good, without his commitment to be in it and above it. This is assigned.
"Umm . . . the box says 99%."
"So it could be wrong. Right?"
"I think that means it might say you aren't, but you really are. Not the other way around."
So began our parenting adventure nearly 14 years ago, just months before we planned to head overseas to live long term. I have to say, it wasn't the most thrilling moment of my life. In fact, I was stunned. I gave serious thought to the possibility that God had made a mistake, like maybe he took his eyes off me for a second and then looked back and said, "Oh, hey, are you pregnant? Oops."
Yes, I know, theologically unsound. Pretty sure God never says "oops." So I spent that summer pondering how on earth this could really be good timing in light of all I hoped to do that fall in China. God led me to Psalm 16:5-6, "Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup. You have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places. Surely I have a delightful inheritance."
Those verses said told me God is two things - sovereign, and good, therefore me being pregnant at that time was from the hands of a good God who knows what he's doing. That was hard for me to accept at the time, but I grudgingly said, "Ok God, show me how this is good" and he said, "Challenge accepted" and proceeded to blow my mind with his awesomeness. True story.
Those verses came back to me over and over again through the years. It was in little moments, like when I stood on the street corner with my 3 month old, hailing cab after cab because each one I called was snaked by a stranger, and I repeated to myself, "This is assigned. This is assigned." It was in big moments, like when we were suddenly asked to move to Singapore and leave all that we had come to love, "This too is assigned."
Sometimes I can look back and see so clearly how it was God who intervened and made things so much better than I planned (hello, Ethan). Other times I am still left wondering, but that doesn't mean they didn't accomplish what he wanted.
I've been mulling those verses again lately, realizing that I haven't been as conscious as I'd like to be, or need to be, of God's hand in the details, great and small, of my life. Something changes in my heart when I settle on the fact that nothing will come today without God's permission, without his promise to use it for good, without his commitment to be in it and above it. This is assigned.
Monday, April 8, 2013
I Quit Pinterest
I quit Pinterest.
Seriously, I did.
I realized that after looking at Pinterest, I would have this vaguely uneasy, discontented feeling, like maybe my health, my house, my relationships, and certainly my parties, were all a little lacking. Sub-par. Less than awesome.
True, I've found some great recipes there. I'm currently looking at what is a highly satisfying DIY project of ceiling medallions adorning my dining room wall, thanks to a pin I saw (but FYI ceiling medallions are NOT inexpensive unless you can magically find them at a salvage yard or something). I have new ideas for exercising. I have been amused by some e-cards.
But what I've found, and I'm finding all over the internet actually, is that we all seem to be striving for just a little bit more, just a little bit better. And we don't just strive for it, we have to put it out there that we're striving for it. And sadly I think that generally produces one of two results, at least it does in me: either a zealous attempt to keep up with the Jones who appear to produce fabulous non-processed organic meals for their continually-improving-through-homemade-activity-children and going on meaningful dates with their spouses while maintaining rock hard abs, all in their chemically free, Pottery Barn inspired yet DIY decorated homes, OR, it makes us want to throw in the towel.
Me - I'm doing the latter. It's not that I don't want some of those things. I just want them not that much. Not so much that I make them my god. My idols. That's what I find happening in my heart when I sit and stare at page after page of what I could do, what I could be, what I could have. I am sure there are people out there for whom Pinterest is nothing more than a fun way to gather ideas and grow, and that's great. For me, I have to go back to my word of the year - content - and own that Pinterest is one of those things that stands in contradiction with it.
Seriously, I did.
I realized that after looking at Pinterest, I would have this vaguely uneasy, discontented feeling, like maybe my health, my house, my relationships, and certainly my parties, were all a little lacking. Sub-par. Less than awesome.
True, I've found some great recipes there. I'm currently looking at what is a highly satisfying DIY project of ceiling medallions adorning my dining room wall, thanks to a pin I saw (but FYI ceiling medallions are NOT inexpensive unless you can magically find them at a salvage yard or something). I have new ideas for exercising. I have been amused by some e-cards.
But what I've found, and I'm finding all over the internet actually, is that we all seem to be striving for just a little bit more, just a little bit better. And we don't just strive for it, we have to put it out there that we're striving for it. And sadly I think that generally produces one of two results, at least it does in me: either a zealous attempt to keep up with the Jones who appear to produce fabulous non-processed organic meals for their continually-improving-through-homemade-activity-children and going on meaningful dates with their spouses while maintaining rock hard abs, all in their chemically free, Pottery Barn inspired yet DIY decorated homes, OR, it makes us want to throw in the towel.
Me - I'm doing the latter. It's not that I don't want some of those things. I just want them not that much. Not so much that I make them my god. My idols. That's what I find happening in my heart when I sit and stare at page after page of what I could do, what I could be, what I could have. I am sure there are people out there for whom Pinterest is nothing more than a fun way to gather ideas and grow, and that's great. For me, I have to go back to my word of the year - content - and own that Pinterest is one of those things that stands in contradiction with it.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
This kind of Jesus
When I worked at Mankato State University, I had a student insist to me that Jesus was white, because she'd "seen the pictures."
Yeah. I've seen the pictures too. Jesus always looks so serene and other worldly, like in that one where he's standing outside the door in a halo of sunlight. I get the feeling that if I were to ask that Jesus what he's thinking about, he'd say something like, "Heaven" and I'd be all, "Oh" because I was thinking about chocolate, and then feel like maybe he and I couldn't relate very well.
But lately we've been watching The Bible on The History Channel. It's a great series, even if Noah has a Scottish accent and Moses seems a little unhinged, and Satan looks like a cross between Obama and Voldemort. What I like the most about it is Jesus.
When Jesus was with Peter in the boat, he just seemed so, well, human. He needed help getting into the boat. He sat casually and looked amused at Peter's lack of faith. He spoke earnestly to him, and with conviction. He looked at Peter like you would look at someone you just really like.
Throughout the series, I have watched Jesus' face with fascination. I see his joy when he's in the midst of friends. He's delighted with children. He's compassionate toward even the guard who came to arrest him. His face fills with sadness and tenderness as he is betrayed by a kiss. He's human.
And then he swirls his hand around in the water and brings tons of fish to the boat and reminds me, "Oh yeah, this guy's God." He walks on water, he heals lepers, he gives the religious leaders looks that penetrate to their souls. When asked, "Are you the son of God?" he answers, "I am" and I think, "These men stood in the presence of God and they didn't know it."
God with skin on. It's really such a gift. We get to see what God is really like. I realize that this is a TV show I'm talking about, but the fact is that God was human for a time, and he did feel all those things. I can relate to a Jesus like that. I have been imagining him, as I go through my days, picturing the look he would give me in moments I am experiencing. I think he would laugh with me. He would cry when I'm hurt. He would speak words of conviction with kindness and tenderness. He would tell me that he likes chocolate too.
And because of Easter, because of the resurrection, there is nothing to keep us from experiencing a relationship with that God, the one who knows all that we go through, who felt it with us, who still feels it with us. He is not someone who stands at a distance. He wants to walk through life side by side, doing life with us. Do you know this kind of Jesus?
Yeah. I've seen the pictures too. Jesus always looks so serene and other worldly, like in that one where he's standing outside the door in a halo of sunlight. I get the feeling that if I were to ask that Jesus what he's thinking about, he'd say something like, "Heaven" and I'd be all, "Oh" because I was thinking about chocolate, and then feel like maybe he and I couldn't relate very well.
But lately we've been watching The Bible on The History Channel. It's a great series, even if Noah has a Scottish accent and Moses seems a little unhinged, and Satan looks like a cross between Obama and Voldemort. What I like the most about it is Jesus.
When Jesus was with Peter in the boat, he just seemed so, well, human. He needed help getting into the boat. He sat casually and looked amused at Peter's lack of faith. He spoke earnestly to him, and with conviction. He looked at Peter like you would look at someone you just really like.
Throughout the series, I have watched Jesus' face with fascination. I see his joy when he's in the midst of friends. He's delighted with children. He's compassionate toward even the guard who came to arrest him. His face fills with sadness and tenderness as he is betrayed by a kiss. He's human.
And then he swirls his hand around in the water and brings tons of fish to the boat and reminds me, "Oh yeah, this guy's God." He walks on water, he heals lepers, he gives the religious leaders looks that penetrate to their souls. When asked, "Are you the son of God?" he answers, "I am" and I think, "These men stood in the presence of God and they didn't know it."
God with skin on. It's really such a gift. We get to see what God is really like. I realize that this is a TV show I'm talking about, but the fact is that God was human for a time, and he did feel all those things. I can relate to a Jesus like that. I have been imagining him, as I go through my days, picturing the look he would give me in moments I am experiencing. I think he would laugh with me. He would cry when I'm hurt. He would speak words of conviction with kindness and tenderness. He would tell me that he likes chocolate too.
And because of Easter, because of the resurrection, there is nothing to keep us from experiencing a relationship with that God, the one who knows all that we go through, who felt it with us, who still feels it with us. He is not someone who stands at a distance. He wants to walk through life side by side, doing life with us. Do you know this kind of Jesus?
Do you miss China?
People often ask me if I miss China. I really don't know how to
answer this question, because what comes to mind is the pollution this
year that has been so high it's unmeasurable by the current systems.
Obviously I can live without that. I miss friends terribly, but several
of them have also left in the last year as well, so I know that life
there would be very different now. I confess I find America a little
boring at times - I go to the store and nothing weird happens, ever. Is
that enough to make me miss China? No. I can make my own weird.
We spent time recently with friends we knew in Singapore. We talked about how, initially, my friend missed it so much after moving back here that she just wanted to go back to Singapore, but the reality was, it wouldn't be the same. We agreed that what we miss wasn't necessarily the place itself, it's the intangibles.
It's things like community. I miss meeting people for the first time and being dear friends with them a month later, because that's how things work overseas. I miss bonding like soldiers during war time, hunkering down together when the waves of living cross-culturally are too rough.
It's feeling competent, knowing how to be an adult in the place where you are. I don't know how to own a house. I don't know the norms of being a parent in America. One day I will figure out this DVR thing.
It's being known and understood, having routine, being more comfortable being the only white face than looking like everyone else. These are the things I miss, because they are the things I think we all desire from anywhere we live (except maybe the white face thing. That was just our normal).
I had those things. I miss having them. I know I'll gradually get them back, over time, for the most part. So do I miss China? Let's just say "I miss that life."
We spent time recently with friends we knew in Singapore. We talked about how, initially, my friend missed it so much after moving back here that she just wanted to go back to Singapore, but the reality was, it wouldn't be the same. We agreed that what we miss wasn't necessarily the place itself, it's the intangibles.
It's things like community. I miss meeting people for the first time and being dear friends with them a month later, because that's how things work overseas. I miss bonding like soldiers during war time, hunkering down together when the waves of living cross-culturally are too rough.
It's feeling competent, knowing how to be an adult in the place where you are. I don't know how to own a house. I don't know the norms of being a parent in America. One day I will figure out this DVR thing.
It's being known and understood, having routine, being more comfortable being the only white face than looking like everyone else. These are the things I miss, because they are the things I think we all desire from anywhere we live (except maybe the white face thing. That was just our normal).
I had those things. I miss having them. I know I'll gradually get them back, over time, for the most part. So do I miss China? Let's just say "I miss that life."
Monday, March 18, 2013
Christ Who Gives Me . . .
This morning I received an email from Ethan that said, "I can do all things through Christ who gives me." I jokingly wrote back, "Gives me what? What is it Ethan? The suspense is killing me!"
But I was encouraged. This is his budding faith in action, as he was gearing up for what we both knew was going to be a rough day, reminding us both who we need to trust. He has a quarter paper due tomorrow, and in defiance of the word "quarter", he has chosen to instead try to do it in about a week. The last seven days could be titled, "The Butz family learns the meaning and consequences of deadlines." This morning he still had about 4/5 actually written, but not edited, and no bibliography. Nothing like a challenge for Monday morning!
To make it more interesting, Megan went to a birthday sleepover on Saturday night with 20 other girls where they were allowed to stay up until 1:30 am. I don't remember the last time I willingly stayed up that late. It was probably my freshman year of college, before I realized that I can't function beyond 10 pm. We learned yesterday that Megan can't function well herself on 6 hours of sleep. Today, we were still feeling the residual damage.
All that added up to an emotional day, the kind of day where my heart struggles to stay engaged with my kids, to enter in to their emotions fully, to just sit with them in their tears. Part of me wants to let them just cry it out, to say, "Yep. I get it. School is hard. Life is hard. I'm totally with you kiddo," and another part of me wants to move them through it as quickly as possible back to a place where they can actually finish the work and put us all out of our misery.
At times, I think, "This is too much God. My heart can't stretch any more. I can't sit through another meltdown. I don't have what I need for this."
But throughout the day, I've remembered Ethan's email. I can do all things through Christ who gives me . . . strength, yes. But really, fill in the blank. Patience. Compassion. Gentleness. A bigger heart. Whatever it is we need.
But I was encouraged. This is his budding faith in action, as he was gearing up for what we both knew was going to be a rough day, reminding us both who we need to trust. He has a quarter paper due tomorrow, and in defiance of the word "quarter", he has chosen to instead try to do it in about a week. The last seven days could be titled, "The Butz family learns the meaning and consequences of deadlines." This morning he still had about 4/5 actually written, but not edited, and no bibliography. Nothing like a challenge for Monday morning!
To make it more interesting, Megan went to a birthday sleepover on Saturday night with 20 other girls where they were allowed to stay up until 1:30 am. I don't remember the last time I willingly stayed up that late. It was probably my freshman year of college, before I realized that I can't function beyond 10 pm. We learned yesterday that Megan can't function well herself on 6 hours of sleep. Today, we were still feeling the residual damage.
All that added up to an emotional day, the kind of day where my heart struggles to stay engaged with my kids, to enter in to their emotions fully, to just sit with them in their tears. Part of me wants to let them just cry it out, to say, "Yep. I get it. School is hard. Life is hard. I'm totally with you kiddo," and another part of me wants to move them through it as quickly as possible back to a place where they can actually finish the work and put us all out of our misery.
At times, I think, "This is too much God. My heart can't stretch any more. I can't sit through another meltdown. I don't have what I need for this."
But throughout the day, I've remembered Ethan's email. I can do all things through Christ who gives me . . . strength, yes. But really, fill in the blank. Patience. Compassion. Gentleness. A bigger heart. Whatever it is we need.
Monday, March 11, 2013
I Am an Israelite
As a family, we've been reading the Bible in a year together. At the same time, the church we've been attending is going through something called The Story, which is a 30 week overview of the Bible. We decided to throw in The History Channel's The Bible series for good measure. We are immersed.
One of the things that always gets me when I read the Old Testament is how the Israelites can seem so dense. I mean, seriously - God parts the Red Sea for you to walk through, and about a minute later you're complaining that you want to go back to Egypt? He provides food out of nowhere, but still you must grumble? The leader goes away for a little while and you decide the best option is to make a farm animal out of perfectly good jewelry to worship? So fickle. So quick to forget. So untrusting.
So much like me.
Sigh. The truth is, I am an Israelite. I have seen God do amazing things in my lifetime, both around me and in me. But give me a new circumstance, a new place in life, and I too often forget what God has done and who He is. I look at myself, my own resources, my lack, and I lose heart. That is what I have done these last few weeks, and it has not been pretty, my friends. Not. Pretty.
Isn't that what the Israelites did? They took their eyes off who God is and looked at their circumstances through their own eyes. God didn't change - their perspective did. They just plain forgot who they were dealing with.
Which is why Moses, in Deuteronomy, tells them about 100 times "do not forget the Lord." Remember what He has done. Remember who He is. That same God who parted the Red Sea? He's with you in your move. He's going ahead of you to find that house. He's here in Orlando. He's got plans for you.
When I realized this a couple days ago, I took some time to sit down, confess it to God, and to remind myself of who He is. He is good, He sees me, He is able, He is love. It doesn't matter the circumstances, it matters who we're looking at to take care of them.
One of the things that always gets me when I read the Old Testament is how the Israelites can seem so dense. I mean, seriously - God parts the Red Sea for you to walk through, and about a minute later you're complaining that you want to go back to Egypt? He provides food out of nowhere, but still you must grumble? The leader goes away for a little while and you decide the best option is to make a farm animal out of perfectly good jewelry to worship? So fickle. So quick to forget. So untrusting.
So much like me.
Sigh. The truth is, I am an Israelite. I have seen God do amazing things in my lifetime, both around me and in me. But give me a new circumstance, a new place in life, and I too often forget what God has done and who He is. I look at myself, my own resources, my lack, and I lose heart. That is what I have done these last few weeks, and it has not been pretty, my friends. Not. Pretty.
Isn't that what the Israelites did? They took their eyes off who God is and looked at their circumstances through their own eyes. God didn't change - their perspective did. They just plain forgot who they were dealing with.
Which is why Moses, in Deuteronomy, tells them about 100 times "do not forget the Lord." Remember what He has done. Remember who He is. That same God who parted the Red Sea? He's with you in your move. He's going ahead of you to find that house. He's here in Orlando. He's got plans for you.
When I realized this a couple days ago, I took some time to sit down, confess it to God, and to remind myself of who He is. He is good, He sees me, He is able, He is love. It doesn't matter the circumstances, it matters who we're looking at to take care of them.
My Friend Dayle
One of the people God has blessed me with in the last few years is a wonderful woman named Dayle. She is quite possibly the most encouraging person I know. It seems to be impossible for me to talk to her and not walk away feeling infused with wisdom and joy, refocused on God. In short, she makes me feel like a rock star. A rock star who loves Jesus.
She recently asked if I would post on her blog, so I thought I would direct you there to read it, but while you're there, linger. She sees God in everyday life and shares honestly from the heart. I know you'll be encouraged!
Dayle's Blog
She recently asked if I would post on her blog, so I thought I would direct you there to read it, but while you're there, linger. She sees God in everyday life and shares honestly from the heart. I know you'll be encouraged!
Dayle's Blog
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