what I'm reading - a book for homemakers

So you're a homemaker. What book tops your homemaking list?

Or maybe you have a homemaker in your life. What book would you give them?

Until now, I didn't have a top pick. A book on biblical womanhood in the home? A book of household tips? A book on time management? They've all helped me, but more often they leave me feeling guilt-ridden and defeated.

What I really want is a book about the gospel. A book that shows the gospel peeping out of my overstocked pantry. A book that gives me grace when my kids won't stop arguing. A book that frees me to be hospitable, smudged walls and all.

Gloria Furman has written just that book: Glimpses of Grace. She says,

I used to believe that this journey of sancitification - the adventure of God working in me, both to will and to work for his good pleasure (Phil 2:13) - would only be accomplished when I am free from the "distractions" of my life.

If I set my alarm clock to attempt to wake up before one of my babies and had my plans foileed, then I would think, "Well, there goes my communion with God today!"

I had allowed my spiritual life to be relegated to an easy chair with a cup of hot coffee in a quiet house without any moise or clutter or life.

Your spiritual life is not restricted to early mornings before the noise makers in your life wake up. If you feel that God meets with you only when the house is empty or quiet, you’ll view every noise and every noise-maker as an annoying distraction to your communion with God. ...

God fellowships with us as we are in the midst of our mundane.

I'm really enjoying reading this book. It's not hard to read - it's a dip-in, dip-out kind of book, which suits us homemakers just fine!

My guess is you'll enjoy it too.


Quote is from Gloria Furmans's Glimpses of Grace, 19, 53, 55.

grief: a line with three points

There's so much to like about Abe Mysenburg's posts grief and the gospel and a gospel guide through grief.

So much wisdom about responding to suffering and sin as we follow Jesus, who also suffered and wept and grieved.

Here's a bit that spoke to me:

Fixating merely on the hard circumstances of life—past or present—is driven by pride. Effectively, we are casting our cares on ourselves. Casting them on God requires humility, an acknowledgement that life is not ultimately about us, but is about Him and His glory. 

The trials of life can cause us to tell our stories with our eyes pointed downward into our cupped hands, looking at our circumstances as if they were an unintelligible pile of garbage. It’s a line with two fixed points—us and our pile of stuff.

The challenge is to humbly bring your pile to the Father, to hold your cupped hands out and lift up your head, gazing not on your circumstances but on the One who is sovereign over them and present in the midst of them. The line becomes a triangle with three points—us, our pile of stuff, and our perfect Father.

keeping the gospel in your sights in pastoral ministry (or just in life, really)

flickr: Prayer by Chris Yarzab

Late last year, our ministry team looked at 1 Timothy 3 and 4.  We noticed how, smack bang in the middle of these chapters on Christian leadership, is “the mystery of godliness”: that is, Christ our Saviour (1 Tim 3:16 cf. 4:10). In other words, to be faithful in pastoral ministry, you have to keep your eyes on Jesus. You have to fight to keep your eyes on Jesus.

And what a fight you will have on your hands.

I start the year with good intentions. This year I won’t get so swallowed up by everything that needs to be done that I’ll forget the gospel. But by the end of the year I’m in coping mode, and when I’m in coping mode, the gospel is that last thing to come to mind. In this desperate race to the finish line, surely it’s my own efforts that will get me there. If I just knuckle down and get these Bible studies written. If I stay in control. If I keep on top of things. If I wake up earlier, go to bed later. If I…

And in all that busyness, the gospel slips from view, and I’m on a treadmill, endlessly running to keep up.

So how do you keep your eyes on the gospel? Our leadership group brainstormed and came up with some ideas. Here are eleven of them (I've included a few of my own).

• Read the Bible for the sake of your own soul. I try to read something every day that has nothing to do with preparing anything. Or when I must read to prepare – and let’s face it, there are times like this – then I try to turn what I read into reflection, repentance, praise and prayer. At the moment I’m preparing Colossians, and I’ve found it helpful to add a psalm to my Bible reading each morning. 
• Do evangelism. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that reminds me of the wonder of the gospel like seeing it light up someone else’s eyes for the first time. As I read a gospel with a friend, the very passages that seem odd or embarrassing to me are the ones that impact her most deeply, and I’m convicted afresh of the beauty and power of the gospel. 
• Pray. Prayerlessness is a vicious cycle: I don’t pray because I’m trying to do things in my own strength; then I have to do things in my own strength because I’m not praying; and, before long, I’m running to keep up, God is out of the picture, and it’s all about my own efforts to stay in control. Prayer reminds me that it’s God’s grace that changes people, not me. 
• Invite others to teach and admonish you (Col 3:16; Heb 10:24-25; James 5:16). It’s good to confess our struggles to wise, mature believers who hold us to account. Over the years, I’ve prayed with a couple of friends who know me well, comfort and challenge me, and keep my eyes on the goal. I meet with another group of women to pray for our non-Christian friends; this keeps us sharp and gospel-focussed. 
• Meditate on the gospel. Some ways to bring the gospel to mind include reading, memorizing, meditating on and praying through Bible passages about Jesus;1 listening to gospel-centred music;2 and deliberately making the cross and resurrection part of our daily thanksgiving and prayer. 
• Let life and leadership be cross-shaped. Like our Lord, instead of lording it over others, we serve (Mk 10:42-45). We choose humility over pride and ambition (Phil 2:3-11). We work hard and endure patiently (2 Tim 2:1-6; 1 Pet 2:20-25). We lay down our lives in love (1 Jn 3:16; 4:7-12). Our leadership becomes a living mnemonic, a reminder to us and others of the cross. And it’s a wonderful, non-vicious spiral: we live this way because of the cross, and living this way, are driven back to the cross; for who can live like this apart from the strengthening grace of God? (2 Cor 4:7-12; Phil 4:11-13; 2 Tim 2:1-6) 
• Rest. Every night my head hits the pillow, I’m reminded that I am not God, who alone ‘neither slumbers nor sleeps’ (Ps 121:3-4). A regular day’s rest, enjoying God’s good world and his gift of family and friends, reminds us that God sustains our life and provides all good things. Over-busyness, of course, has the opposite affect: it’s a symptom of I’m-running-the-universe disease, and leads to burn-out and loss of energy and purpose. 
• Read books about the gospel. I aim to read about one a year. At the moment, I’m slowly working my way through Tim Keller's King’s Cross. Others that have helped me are John Stott’s The Cross of Christ, CJ Mahney's The Cross-Centred Life, and Nancy Guthrie's Jesus Keep Me Near the Cross.3 
• Set aside a few regular hours for deeper reflection and prayer. Once a week or once a month, I sit in a cafe with an open Bible, a Christian book that I reserve just for this time, and a journal to write down thoughts and prayers; then I go for a long walk and pray. It keeps me refreshed and ready to serve, and the act of writing orders my thoughts and re-orients them to the gospel. 
• Make teaching gospel-centred. Not in a forced “every Bible study has to end with Jesus” kind of way. But the gospel should be where God’s word drives us. I don’t think I’ve really understood a Bible passage until it brings me back to the gospel naturally, of its own accord, by its own route. 
• Keep training and leadership gospel-centred. My husband, who heads a ministry team, makes sure that every staff meeting includes time, not just for administration, but also for encouraging each other from the Bible, praying, and discussing big issues from God’s word. It’s a great model for keeping the gospel on the agenda.

Christian ministry is hard, hard labour. It’s a marathon, not a sprint; but sometimes we can feel like we are sprinting! In the constant busyness and exhaustion, it’s tempting to turn to other things besides the gospel for comfort, like alcohol or inappropriate intimacy. It’s tempting to think we can do it all ourselves, until we crash and join the long list of those who’ve left pastoral ministry. I pray that we can remember God’s words to us:

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted. (Heb 12:1-3)

How do you keep your eyes on the gospel?


1. You’ll find some suggested passages and methods for memorization in my posts a three-course banquet of Bible memorization and A smorgasbord of Bible memorization methods.
2. For example, Sovereign Grace’s Songs for the Cross Centred Life.
3. Others I’d like to read include Don Carson’s The Cross and Christian Ministry; Steve Jeffery, Michael Ovey and Andrew Sach’s Pierced for our Transgressions; and JI Packer and Mark Dever’s In My Place Condemned He Stood. ↩

reading Leviticus

I’m reading the Bible through, chronologically this time. I’ve just got to Leviticus: the shoal that’s wrecked a million Bible reading plans (at least, it did mine when I was a teenager). Once again, as I read this hard part of God’s word, it seeps into my skin and reshapes my insides.

There’s something beautiful about Leviticus. Sometimes, like those 3D pictures, you have to blur your eyes to see it. As you persevere through the bewildering details (split hooves? a sore with white hairs in it? two materials woven into one?) you begin to sense the outlines. Laws that protect life and relationships. Laws that forbid detestable practices and depraved worship. Laws that uphold justice and provide for the poor.1

There’s also something terrifying about Leviticus. It opens with sacrifice upon sacrifice, described in brain-numbing detail. (As I read, I feel my mind glaze over. I pull my attention back to the page.) Blood must be shed, atonement made. For in the midst of his wayward people God has put up his tent, his palace. Infinite in size, the universe his footstool, he rules from a hidden, golden throne.

To serve such a God comes at enormous cost. The disabled are excluded from the priesthood, those with discharges can’t enter God’s tent, and the diseased live outside the camp (Lev 13:1-15:33, 21:16-23). There is food that cannot be eaten, first-born and first-fruits set aside, the best of the herd given in offering (Lev 11:1-47, 22:17-25, 23:9-14, 27:26). Everything is affected: the shape of the year, mourning for the dead, a woman’s period (Lev 15:1-33, 19:28, 23:1-44). Every moment repeats,

You shall be holy, for I the LORD your God am holy. (Lev 19:2).

Who can live up to such a law? Who can live up to such a God? Who among us has never endangered or slandered his neighbour (Lev 19:16)? Who has never lied or stolen (Lev 19:11)? Who has never sinned unintentionally, habitually, without even noticing (Lev 4:1-6:7)? Who doesn’t put her own needs before others (Lev 19:18)? Who doesn’t allow what he loves to steal his heart from God (Lev 19:4)?

Repetitive, relentless, Leviticus drives the point home: God is holy, made of different stuff from us. To be his people, we must be holy, set apart, pure, clean, all the things we cannot and will never be.

It’s easy to forget the gospel. We’re told to be gospel-minded and gospel-hearted, but it slips away from me, time after time. I feel secure because I’m not doing a bad job of things today. I slide into despair because I can’t live up to the pathetic standards I set myself. I think of Jesus’ death, and it seems an irrelevance, a song once loved but now forgotten, wiped from my iTunes list.

Leviticus won’t let me forget. Like a dark sky that makes the morning shine more brightly, it reminds me that the gospel means something. That this holy God can’t be approached by someone like me. There’s no hope that I could waltz into his presence. What’s in store is not a welcome but a fire (Lev 10:1-20).

Leviticus helps me to see. It’s scattered with stars, small pictures of the dawn. When Jesus comes, he keeps every one of those pesky laws. He touches those who are unclean and – how this should surprise us! – they become clean (Matt 8:1-4 cf. Lev 5:2-3). He carries the sacrifice of himself and walks boldly into God’s heavenly tent, where he offers priestly prayers for our forgiveness (Heb 7:23-28, 9:11-10:25). He does what I can’t do, and I dare take it for granted, let my eyes glaze over, let it slip away.

I’m half-way through Leviticus when I take a walk along the beach. Waves pound the shore after a storm, reminding me that the Creator of all this is holy, different beyond knowing. To glance at him is to be incinerated by his glory. Even the smallest of sins keeps me from him, and sin runs through me like veins in a rock.

I taste the word “Father” on my tongue, and all at once it feels like a miracle. I barely dare say it, even as I know I must say it. For this – this passage into the throne room, this invitation to speak with God, this unchanging welcome – this is the privilege that Jesus won for me.


1. This became clear to me as I was reading Leviticus chapters 18-20. The other references are from chapters 11, 13 and 19:19.

This post first appeared at The Briefing.

image is by natematias at flickr

better than marriage

During my recent bloggy silence I wrote and led a seminar on marriage. One of the things that struck me as I read and reflected on marriage is how there is something much, much better.

Human marriage is just a shadow. Just a hint. Just a pale echo. Just an appetiser. Just a teaser. Just a foretaste of the real context in which love can be given and received and enjoyed…(Eph 5:22-33)... All the love and security and protection and companionship and intimacy and ecstasy of any healthy human marriage is just a pointer to the far greater love and far greater security and far greater protection and far greater companionship and far greater intimacy and far greater ecstasy of being with God himself. (From my husband's sermons on the Song of Songs)

Marriage…is a momentary gift. It may last a lifetime, or it may be snatched away on the honeymoon. Either way, it is short…Very soon the shadow will give way to Reality. The partial will pass into the Perfect. The foretaste will lead to the Banquet. The troubled path will end in Paradise. A hundred candle-lit evenings will come to their consummation in the marriage supper of the Lamb. And this momentary marriage will be swallowed up by Life. Christ will be all and in all. And the purpose of marriage will be complete. (John Piper This Momentary Marriage 178)

teaching our kids Two Ways to Live

The other day, my husband Steve told our four children to grab a piece of paper and a pen. Then he rolled out those old, familiar words: "God is the loving ruler of the world...".

We're teaching the gospel outline Two Ways to Live to our kids. Steve told them they'll get five dollars for every panel they get word-perfect. Actually, he wanted to give them one dollar, which says something about what a dollar was worth back when he was a child!

We figure that kids have great memories, so why not make the most of this by stuffing their heads with good things? And what better to fill their heads with than a simple gospel outline?

So far, our eight-, eleven- and thirteen-year-olds are word-perfect on the first panel. We're yet to see if the five-year-old can get his head around it. Although now I think about it, jelly-beans might be a better bribe reward for him than a five dollar note.

Oh, and we're getting the Two Ways to Live app on our daughter's iPod.

(By the way, please don't think our family is super-spiritual because I write about all the ways we teach our kids the Bible! We vary what we do from week to week and year to year. You'd never find us doing everything I've talked about in a single week. In fact, some days you won't find us doing anything at all!)

This post first appeared at The Briefing.

image is by Andy, age 5

gospel speech at our school

Late last year I wrote about praying for our school and loving people at our school. Today I conclude my mini-series with the bit I find the hardest: gospel speech.

I’m no saleswoman. I don’t have the thick skin, the showmanship, or the gift of the gab. But apparently, that’s not what I need to help people get to know Jesus. The best salespeople, I’m told, show genuine concern and sympathy, and believe in what they’re talking about.1 That sounds a bit more like me. I can love; I can believe; I can pray. But I also have to open my mouth and speak.

That, I’m not so good at. Clever ideas for gospel conversations run off me like water off a waxed car. I’ll never be one of those gifted individuals who can turn a chat about graffiti into a conversation about Jesus. Instead, my tongue ties itself in knots, and only later do I have that lights-on moment when I realize, yes, that’s what I could have said. I’m queen of the sweaty palms, the awkward silence, and the fumbling answer.

I’m beginning to realize that it doesn’t have to be so hard. Speaking about the gospel isn’t some obscure skill I have to master. I don’t have to become like someone else to do it. In fact, it’s not even something I “do”, an added extra to my faith. It’s just me being who I am, chatting about the things that really matter to me. So what I want to do here isn’t to talk about gospel outlines or apologetics, useful as they are.2 Instead, I want to share ten things that have made gospel speech more natural and joyous for me.

• Close the gap
  When I’m with Christians, I’m relaxed and open: I share what God has been teaching me and talk about my struggles. When I’m with others, I’m cautious and reserved: I weigh what I say and look for rejection in their eyes. It’s exhausting. I’m tired of being two people! It’s time to close the gap. It’s time to talk the same way whoever I’m with. There’s something deeply attractive about people who talk about their faith with enthusiasm and warmth. What have I got to lose?


• Don’t assume people will respond in a certain way
  For so long, I’ve assumed that people will respond badly if I talk about Jesus. They’ll be bored. They’ll be offended. They’ll be embarrassed. Inevitably, this makes me nervous, and invites the very reaction I’m trying to avoid: I’m embarrassed, so they are too. To my surprise, I’ve found that people are often interested in what I believe. One woman even wanted to read the Bible with me! It took years to work up the courage to ask her; now I’m kicking myself for not asking sooner.


• Speak the way you speak
  I’m not sure where my mental image of “evangelism” comes from. I know one thing, though: it doesn’t look like me. It’s masculine and argumentative, maybe because much that’s written about evangelism is by men. It’s extroverted and eloquent, like my gifted female friends. Lionel Windsor says, “Different people will speak the gospel in different ways.” Phew! I’m introverted, relational and reflective, so these things will characterize my gospel speech, and that’s just fine.


• Talk about your life with God (and do it from the start)“I’ve been praying for you”; “We went to church on the weekend”; “I’ve been thinking about…”: there are lots of little ways to talk about God without explaining the whole gospel. Some people show further interest; some don’t. I’m learning to put it out there and see where it goes. It’s important to do this right from the start: this avoids that embarrassing “Oh, gosh, I never let them know I was a Christian” moment.


• Listen more than you talk
  “Do twice as much listening as talking”: so says my friend Ben Pfahlert. I’ve got a long way to go on this! Too often, I shut off a conversation by talking about what I think instead of asking others what they think. Next time someone tells me they’ve got a Catholic-Charismatic background (something that happened to me recently) I hope I’ve got the good sense to ask them to tell me more about what that was like, what stopped them being part of it, and where they’re at now.


• Get ready to answer the questions you know are coming
  We all know what the questions are likely to be: “How are you?”; “What do you do?”; “What are your plans?”. Why not get ready to include God in the topics you know are coming? It’s a little corny, but sometimes I rehearse – out loud – what I want to say. “My father-in-law died, but I know he’s gone to be with Jesus” rolls more easily off the tongue when I’ve practised, or at least thought about, what to say.


• Live differently – and be ready to explain why
  Here’s a fine moment from the life of me. I was chatting to a friend when she said, “I can’t believe how some parents over-protect their daughters, not letting them go out with guys and stuff.” Through my mind ran the words, “Well, actually, that’s pretty close to how we plan to raise ours”, but I laughed sheepishly and didn’t say anything. Later, I realised that living in a way that’s shockingly different can be a good thing, because it gives me a chance to explain why we live the way we do.


• Relax
  One of my friend’s friends told her that when she talks about her faith she sounds anxious and unnatural. That’s a little close for comfort! Telling yourself to relax can be a bit like trying not to think of a purple hippo (try it now), but it helps me all the same. I remind myself that this isn’t the Roman arena: it’s just a chance to chat about something I care about. I take a deep breath, smile, and make eye-contact. It can also help to admit, “I’m a little nervous telling you this. Would you mind if I talked about it?”.


• Get lots of practice - and make lots of mistakes
  I think the main reason I find gospel speech hard is that I don’t get much practice. It took time to learn to lead a Bible study: why do I expect this to be any different? The more I talk about my faith, the easier it gets. I make heaps of mistakes; but instead of berating myself, I try to learn, apologise (if needed), and do better next time. In the meantime, I remind myself that God is sovereign: he’s the one who chose me to be part of these people’s lives.


• Bring it all back to Jesus
  In the end, it’s Jesus I want people to meet. It’s the gospel – the good news of his life, death and resurrection – that will bring people to him. So that’s where I want my conversations to end up. If I can bring every question back to Jesus; if I can talk about the hope I have in him; if I can read a gospel with a friend: well, that’s half the battle. The rest happens as God’s Spirit works in people’s hearts.

This probably all sounds very upbeat. The truth is, I find talking about my faith difficult. I battle fear, laziness and inertia. It’s easier not to bother. But to my never-ending surprise, when I start chatting about Jesus, I discover an openness in people’s hearts (because God is at work in them), and a joy in my own heart (because God is at work in and through me), beyond anything I expected. And if I can learn to talk about my faith, anyone can!

1. See Colin Marshall and Tony Payne, The Trellis and the Vine, pages 169-170. ↩
2. I’m not sure I would have any confidence in explaining and defending my faith without the evangelism training course Two Ways To Live and books like Paul Barnett’s Is the New Testament History?. ↩

This post first appeared at The Briefing.

image is by activefree at flickr

two love stories - or three

'Every adult life is defined by two great love stories,' writes author and philosopher Alain de Botton. On the one hand, there is our well-charted quest for romantic love, and on the other, our quest for love from the world ('a more secret and shameful tale'). In his book Status Anxiety, de Botton argues this second love story 'is no less intense than the first...and its setbacks are no less painful.'

It's an intriguing idea, and one that has stuck in my head like a burr since I read it in a magazine article earlier this year. Because it's true, isn't it?

Our first quest is to be loved by someone, to be chosen by them above all others, and to choose them in return. With this love, we hope, will come all the trappings: family, security, home. In this small circle it matters supremely what others think of us.

Our second quest is to be loved or respected by others: by the whole crowd of anonymous strangers. We pass them in the street and wonder what impression we're making. We sit next to them on the train and hope they admire our choice of reading material. We push our trolley past them in the supermarket and stage a happy-family-performance just for them.

Perhaps we want fame, success, a name that's recognized. Perhaps we'd settle for the admiration of a smaller group: our co-workers at the office, the wider Christian community, the people in our church. If we win their respect, we've succeeded. If we fail in their eyes, we've failed indeed.

There is a third quest: another love story. It's not mentioned in the article I read, for when it comes to this love we are blind (2 Corinthians 4:4). In this story, we're not the ones who seek: we're the ones who are sought, pursued from heaven to earth by a lover who laid down his life to win his bride. Paradoxically, although we haven't sought this love, it alone can satisfy (Psalm 16:11).

When I devote my life to the first two love stories - to the quest for romantic love and the love of the world - I'm left empty, for human love is fallible and fading, and the world's opinion shifts and changes. Worse, I'm an adulterer, turning to other lovers to give me what only God can give, giving them the devotion and service that belong to him. (Jeremiah 2:12-13; James 4:4-5)

To people-pleasers like me, so quick to seek the glory of the world rather than the glory that comes from God (John 12:43), Jesus says,

I tell you, my friends, do not fear those who kill the body, and after that have nothing more that they can do. But I will warn you whom to fear: fear him who, after he has killed, has authority to cast into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him! (Luke 12:4-5)

There's only one whose opinion matters, and that's the God whose Son died in my place. It's before his judgement seat that I stand or fall. And he is able to make me stand, for Jesus rose from the dead, speaks for me before his throne, and will one day gather me - and all who live for him - to himself (Romans 14:4; 1 John 2:1; Rev 19:6-9).

Who cares what others think of me? It's God I seek to please. It's his praise I long for, not the praise of men (Romans 2:29). It's from him I want to hear the words, 'Well done, good and faithful servant' (Matthew 25:23).

I have to remind myself of this a dozen times a day, people-pleaser that I am.


1. From Candice Chung's article Finding success later in life in Sunday Life magazine, July 10th, 2011.

This article first appeared in The Briefing today.

image is by kelsey_lovefusionphoto
from flickr

unlovely

Sometimes I feel so unlovely.

Sometimes it rises up and sickens me: the horror of my lovelessness, the ugliness of my self-absorption, the scandal of my greed. How God hates my impurity and despises my pride and abhors my complaining (Psalm 26:5; Proverbs 6:16-19; 1 Cor 10:10; Ephesians 5:5).

I’m left gasping for breath, as if the possibility of God's love has been sucked from the air. My sudden self-awareness squeezes out any sense of God's grace. Stripped of my defences, I'm naked, ashamed, exposed.

The fact that I'm so stunned by this view of myself shows how seldom I see the truth. How, at some level, I believe God loves me because he finds my personality winsome and my potential impressive. Because he rates my performance at least above a pass mark. Because I'm, well, lovable.

This is, to put it mildly, an entire tip-full of garbage.

When I see my unloveliness, I see more clearly than I usually do. The rose-colored glasses are shattered, the make-up scrubbed off, the mirror wiped clean.

I am unlovely. That’s precisely the point.

God loves the unlovable. Jesus died for the unlovely. It's the blind who see, the leprous who are healed, the lost who are found. It's the guilty who are forgiven. (Matthew 11:2-6, Mark 2:13-17, Luke 15:1-32, 18:9-14) Full of the illusion of my loveliness, I'm bereft of grace. Emptied of myself, I'm ready to be filled.

Unlovely, I am loved.


This article first appeared at The Briefing yesterday.

image is by gogoloopie at flickr

busyness, burnout and the grace of God (10) superwoman says 'yes'

April 2009. I've been saying 'yes' to every ministry opportunity: blogging, writing, speaking. I've just raced in the door after school-pickup, half-way through a term crammed to bursting. I watch myself with a kind of awed fascination. How many balls can I juggle before they fall to the ground? I'm about to be presented with another ministry opportunity I'll accept despite the advice of concerned friends: the last ball I get into the air before it all comes crashing down.

I get too busy when I ... try to be superwoman.

What I was thinking. "I can do this whole juggling act! I can keep these balls in the air! Let's see if I can fit one more thing in! Other women can manage it - why not me? If I say 'no' to these opportunities, who knows when they'll come again?"

What I'm learning.
I'm not that woman over there.
Like most women, I'm great at the comparison game! Some of my friends are energetic, extroverted women who raise children, work in challenging ministry jobs, and are far more involved in church and community than I will ever be. Other friends do all this and manage to be respected writers, theologians or conference speakers at the same time. They're my age, and they've achieved so much more than me! It's hard not to compare myself and feel worthless. I need to remember that...

God has made me just the way he wants me to be.
God knows my strengths and weaknesses (he made me!). He knows my energy levels and limitations (he gave them to me). He knows my temperament and the demands on my time (they were shaped by him). He's made me just the way he wants me to be, to do the work he's given me to do. He does nothing without a purpose, and his purposes are good. Rather than hanker after bigger and better things...

I'm learning to trust God and be content.
There are many reasons we can't do as much as we'd like. Some of us struggle with long-term illness. Some of us care for disabled children or sick family members. Some of us are in a demanding season of life, and aren't as physically or emotionally strong as we'd like to be (that's me). May God help us to trust him and to be content, for he's in control of our circumstances, and he is loving and wise.

Love defeats selfish ambition and envy.
What's really behind my longing to be more like my friends is envy and ambition. I see them achieving so much, and I want the recognition and respect that is theirs, and the energy and ease they seem to bring to life. It's time to examine my heart and uproot the bitter envy and self-centred ambition that have grown there. May God help me love my friends with a generous spirit, and to serve those around me even when it's unseen.

Superwoman is a myth.
Superwoman doesn't exist.* My friend isn't superwoman: she's just a sinner with her own struggles, and she has different gifts and has made different choices to me (despite appearances, no-one can do it all!). When I treat her like superwoman, I don't love and support her. I give glory to her rather than to God. I try so hard to be like her that I don't serve the people around me.

'No's give value to 'Yes's.
I'd like to believe I'm superwoman. I'd like to believe I can say 'yes' to every opportunity and do them all brilliantly. I tried to do just that for a while! But when I say 'yes' to everything, I do nothing well. I neglect my primary responsibilities. I'm constantly stressed and on edge. Eventually, things fall apart. Rather than say 'yes' to everything, I'd like to prayerfully and thoughtfully say 'yes' to a few things and do them well.

Life is not a performance and God isn't keeping score.
Grace. Grace. Grace. I can't shut up about it! And that's exactly how it should be. The reason I don't have to achieve everything, or perfect my performance, or despair when I drop a ball (which I do every day!), is the grace of God. I don't have to be superwoman. I don't have to perform. I'm an ordinary sinner justified by grace, not by what I do. When God looks at me, he doesn't see my failure and weakness: he sees me clothed in his grace.

* With thanks to Rachel for the ideas in this paragraph.

images are from garryknight, K. awyer, hansvandenberg30 and Dean Ayres at flickr; 3rd image is from stock.xchng

how we change (14) conclusion: my story

Many months ago - on July 13th, 2009 - I started this series with a post on God's grace. It seems appropriate to finish it in the same way: with some reflections on grace I wrote last year soon after reading Tim Chester's You Can Change.

I lie there and soak myself in God’s love.

It’s starting to dawn on me – after 30 years of being a Christian! – that nothing I do can change his love for me. No quiet times faithfully or unfaithfully performed. No backsliding into over-spending or over-eating. No failures to fulfil my responsibilities to husband or children or neighbours.

As a teenager, I’d write vows in my diary - “I promise to pray every day. I promise to read the Bible every day. I promise never to complain again.” – then wonder if God would strike me down when I broke them.

As a young woman, I’d wake in the night with a sick feeling in my stomach and write yet another midnight list of rules to control my spending, agonizing over whether I could possibly be a real Christian and give in to sin so often.

As a mother, I’d create elaborate plans for every aspect of marriage, homemaking, child-rearing and ministry, only to burn out after a month of trying to do everything and swear never to write a plan again.

None of it worked. Not for long, anyway. Until I realized that at the deepest level I’m a legalist, a perfectionist, a fulfiller of expectations, constantly trying to prove myself to God, myself, and others.

I believe the lie that I have to earn God’s love. My idol, my deepest desire, is to be worthy, complete, respected. It’s time to start believing God when he says I’m forgiven. It’s time to start resting in God’s grace.

It doesn’t matter how other people see me. It doesn’t even matter how I see me. What matters is how God sees me, and he sees me through the lens of his grace, clothed in the perfect righteousness of his Son. He see me, and he forgives me and changes me into everything he wants me to be.

As I realize this, it’s like opening a door into a new world, glowing with grace and freedom. In this world, I don’t obey because I have to. I don’t obey because my self-concept will fall apart if I fail. I don’t obey because I’ll let people down if I don’t meet their expectations.

I obey because all I can see is Jesus dying on a cross for me.

images are from stock.xchng and from David Gunter at flickr

busyness, burnout and the grace of God (8) perfectionism

August 2008. Perfectionism: it's the sin I've never wanted to face up to, but I can no longer avoid it. When I'm working on something, it drives me to read every book and Bible reference, address every issue, and check everything a hundred times. It's the heart of my busyness and the hardest thing for me to shake.

I get too busy when ... I pursue perfection and completeness.

What I was thinking. "I have to get it right. What if they notice I make a mistake? I need to cover everything. I can't miss anything important. I have to work hard. I have to stay at the top of my game. I can't face not being perfect."

What I'm learning.
Perfection is an idol.
I've never forgotten the day I asked a mentor about a sin I had battled for years, consumed by guilt and failure. She pointed the spotlight on a different issue: "If Jesus was speaking to you, I think he'd say you need to repent of your perfectionism." We all have an idol that goes deep to the heart of us: perhaps for you it's pleasure or peace, but for me it's perfection. I've discovered that perfectionism and workaholism go hand-in-hand, because perfection is an ever-receding goal. It takes everything you pour into it and still asks for more.

Perfectionism is pride.
The same mentor pointed out to me recently that perfectionism is arrogance. Who am I to think I can get things exactly right? Why do I imagine the world will fall apart if I don't? If I miss something when I teach others, will those who listen fail to grow? Of course not! Perfection isn't really about helping others: it's about making me feel better about myself. It's about avoiding criticism. It's about that wonderful (and fleeting) feeling of completeness when I get something right. God alone is perfect: not me.

Perfection is already mine.
God has given me the perfection of his Son. Because Jesus bore all my sins and failures on the cross, I am perfect in God's sight, pure and free from blame. I find it so hard to wrap my head around this! But it's true: my sins are forgiven, and the good things I do (so marred by sin!) are washed clean and presented to God without flaw. When I pursue perfection, I deny that Jesus has already won it for me. I act as if his righteousness isn't enough. I try to prove myself to the One who has clothed me in the perfection of his Son. Over and over, I need to preach the gospel to myself again.

The 20/80 rule.
Here's a great little observation from Tim Chester: we spend 20% of our effort on 80% of what we do, and 80% of our effort on 20% of what we do. I have to admit I'm still pursuing the 20%! But I remember the 20/80 rule when I obsess about getting something exactly right.

Plan before I start, and stop when it's still imperfect.
Once I'm in the middle of a project (or a decision, or a responsibility) it gets its teeth into me and it's hard to stop. There's always more I could do! I need to plan carefully before I start: what I want to do, how long I want to spend on it, how much time to give to each part. I'm realising that, at whatever point I stop, I could always have done some things better. I'm still learning (slowly), but each time I start something new, I work a little smarter.

The answer to perfectionism is grace.
During the last few years, I've discovered just one cure for perfectionism: the grace of God. As I begin to see that nothing I do can change his grace - that it will never let me go, however often and terribly I fail - perfectionism loosens its grip on me. I know I'll battle perfectionism until the day I die, but God is growing me deeper into his grace. My sin is greater than I will ever know, but God's grace is greater still.

images are by Nomad Photography, rachel_titiriga, tabogarcia and Jules.K at flickr

happy blog-day, and a break from blogging

It's that time again: my bloggy birthday (well, it's tomorrow, but I don't post on weekends, and I doubt you read then either). Three years into blogging, and I enjoy it as much as ever: putting my thoughts into words, writing about what God has taught me, and being encouraged and challenged by you.

It has its downside. The pressure (self-imposed) to produce something, the times I realise (whoops!) I forgot to write tomorrow's post, the time taken from other things, the vulnerability and uncertainty, the temptation to compare my blog with others: it's a cost worth paying, but only if this is worth doing.

Where am I at, 3 years into blogging? I heard a talk on Romans 12:1-2 recently (I'll tell you about it soon) which laid it on the line for me. I want to respond to God's mercy by giving myself to him as a living sacrifice, to bring him glory and make his Son known.

I'd like to make wise plans for the next 5 or 10 years so that I use my time, energy and gifts to glorify Jesus. Will this include blogging? I don't know. But I do know I need some time away from blogging to pray and find out.

After 12 years of raising young kids and 3 years of new ministries, I'm exhausted. So next year I'll share my husband's long service leave (which has been 12 years coming). I'll settle my oldest child into high school and my youngest into preschool, take a long family holiday, and build strong relationships for the teen years. I'll regroup, reflect and renew (the 3 Rs, as my friend puts it).

I'm planning to blog until the end of this year, God willing, then stop for a while - maybe 3 months, maybe 6 months. I'll pray about whether this is the best use of my time and energy, or if there's something else I should do. I have so many dreams and ideas, but who knows what God has in mind?

Taking time off is scary for a doer like me, and slowing down is already making me feel a little empty - which just shows how deeply I take my worth from what I do! But I'm not a doer, I'm a receiver of God's love and grace.

I'm praying that during my months of not-doing, God will teach me I don't need to achieve, get things right or prove myself, because Jesus has done it all for me. Only then will I be able to serve, not so I can feel worthwhile, but "in view of God's mercy" - his astounding, undeserved, unchanging grace to me in Jesus.

In the meantime, until the end of the year, I'll still be here, blogging. Happy blog-day!

images are from soapylovedeb and hyku from flickr

women of the Bible (5) Hannah and the God of the nobody

Hannah is a nobody, the insignificant wife of an insignificant member of an insignificant tribe. Compared to Eve, mother of all living; Sarah, mother of God's people; or Deborah, judge of Israel—who is she? Just a barren women loved by her husband but jeered at by a younger, fruitful wife (1 Sam 1:1-8).

Hannah is a nobody, a humble woman who pours out her private grief to God so fervently that high priest Eli thinks she's drunk. She prays not for show, but silently, out of her anguish and bitterness of soul (1 Sam 1:10-16). She begs God to ‘look’ and ‘remember’ her sorrow using words that are much too big for her, words that recall what he's done for the nation Israel (1 Sam 1:11 cf. Exod 2:24-25, 3:7-8; Deut 26:7-8).

Hannah is a nobody, but she's faithful in a time when even the high priest's family has fallen into wickedness (1 Sam 2:12-17). She keeps her promise—if God will only ‘give’ her a son, she will ‘give’ him back to God (1 Sam 1:11)—when she hands Samuel over to live and serve in the temple although he's only a toddler. Every year she's reminded of her sacrifice as she sews a robe, a little bigger than the last, and takes it to her son (1 Sam 1:21-28, 2:18-20).

Hannah is a nobody, but her small story is caught up in a bigger story. At the end of the book of Judges, all is chaos and disorder, for “there was no king in Israel. Everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (Jud 21:25). The birth of Samuel changes all that. The last and greatest judge, Samuel calls Israel to turn from idols back to God, and oversees the anointing of Saul, the first king of Israel, and of David, Israel's greatest king.

Hannah is a nobody, and that's the point. At first reading, her song of thanksgiving for God's gift of a son seems a little over-the-top:

My heart exults in the LORD … My mouth derides my enemies … The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble bind on strength … The LORD … brings low and he exalts … he will give strength to his king and exalt the power of his anointed. (1 Sam 2:1-10)

Look closer, and it's clear that this is not just Hannah's song. It's the song of a God who rescues his people, who humbles the proud and exalts the humble, men and women like Hannah. It's a song for a son who will be used by God to help bring about his saving plan. Most remarkably, in a time when Israel has no king, it's a song which prophesies the coming of God's ‘anointed’, his ‘messiah’, his king.

Hannah is a nobody, like another nobody who echoes Hannah's song of thanksgiving for the gift of a son:

My soul magnifies the Lord … for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant … He has scattered the proud … and exalted those of humble estate … He has helped his servant Israel. (Luke 1:46-55)

Mary, mother of Jesus, is also the insignificant wife of an insignificant member of an insignificant tribe. Like Hannah, she sings of the God who humbles the proud and exalts the humble. She too is given a son she will give back to God at great personal sacrifice (Luke 2:35), a son who will grow up to fulfil God's saving plan and rescue God's people. Indeed, the story has come full circle, for Mary's son is the very one promised in Hannah's song: Jesus, great David's greater son, God's anointed, his messiah-king.

Hannah is a nobody, and so are we. Like Hannah, we have nothing to bring to God but our need. It's not the proudly self-sufficient but the broken and contrite in heart, those who realize they are nobody, who receive God's gift of salvation won through the death and resurrection of Jesus (Ps 51:17; Matt 5:1-12; Luke 18:9-14; 1 Cor 1:18-31). The gospel shows that God's character hasn't changed: he is still the one who humbles the proud and exalts the humble, the God of the nobody.

This post first appeared on Sola Panel yesterday.

overheard conversation

Tommy (6) - Andy, do you want to go to heaven?

Andy (3) - Yeah.

Tommy - Then you have to do two things. You have to believe in Jesus, and you have to die. Do you believe in Jesus?

Andy - Yeah!

Tommy - Then you have to die. You die by keeping on bashing into things and crashing into stuff and falling from a long way and stuff like that.

Andy - I don't die yet!

Tommy - And if you don't believe in Jesus you go to hell and you have the baddest day ever.

Ben (9, giving the correct theological explanation) - It's not really a day, Tommy. It's the second death. First you die, and then you die again. It's eternity, not a day.

Andy - I do die. Everybody dies.

Tommy - Heaven is the funnest place ever.

Andy - Yeah.

of trees, trains and Christian growth

There's a stand of huge old oak trees in the park where I walk. They have a slightly surprised air, as if they've been transplanted from a genteel English landscape and are wondering how they ended up here, surrounded by scruffy wattle trees under a burning Australian sun, with graffiti tags on their trunks and white cockatoos squawking from their branches like rowdy antipodean visitors.

Like all oaks, they are firmly rooted, growing down and out as much as up, offering a dense, dark shade. Every year of their long lives, they have put out new growth in spring, watched it harden into summer's dusty green, lost dry brown leaves in autumn, and bared their twisted black limbs in winter.

There's a railway track running through the park. I watch the trains gleam and flash through the trees, humming and creaking over the heritage-listed timber bridge on its sturdy, numbered trestles. The trains are always in a hurry, tooting their horns, bustling self-importantly to the next station.

For over a century, the oaks have grown steadily as the trains have shed old fashions and adopted new ones—steam trains, red rattlers, blue trains, sleek silver trains, silver trains with green and gold, silver trains with blue and yellow stripes. (This is a Melbourne story; no doubt in your part of the world, the trains have different fashions.)

The trees and the trains bring to mind a Bible verse I read recently:

Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving. (Col 2:6-7)

We don't grow as Christians by hurrying from place to place, taking on the colour of each year's new spiritual fad—second blessings, signs and wonders, slayings in the Spirit, guiding visions. We grow in the same way God's people have always grown: by sinking our roots deeper into Christ. Here, fed and nourished by the gospel, we gain an enduring wisdom. We give shelter. We stand firm through all the seasons and storms of life.

May God help us to be more like trees than trains.

This is reprinted from last Friday's post in The Sola Panel.

images are from formalfallacy and Mugofevil at flickr

preach the gospel to yourself

I think you'll really enjoy EQUIP books this week. Today's post is about how to remember the gospel, on Wednesday I'll write about the Bible, and on Friday I'll talk about prayer. There'll be lots of practical ideas, and links to what other people have written, in a kind of extended online meandering. Here's how today's post begins (click here to read the whole post).

Preach the gospel to yourself. Ever since I was first encouraged to do this, it's become one of my most important weapons in the fight for joy.

Preach the gospel to yourself. Women especially need to heed this call. We hear a talk on biblical womanhood, and are burdened by a hundred ways we need to change. We're self-aware, and emotionally and relationally aware, so we're often very sensitive to our faults and weaknesses. We need to be reminded, over and over, that God's love doesn't depend on what we do, that change is motivated and enabled by grace, and that obedience isn't about rules but love. We need to keep returning to the cross.

Preach the gospel to yourself. This is the first and central strategy in the fight for joy. Any helpful spiritual practice is really just a way to make this happen.

Hearing the word of the cross, and preaching it to ourselves, is the central strategy for sinners in the fight for joy. Nothing works without this. Here is where we start. And here is where we stay. We never outgrow the gospel. Here we see the glory of Christ more clearly than anywhere. ... And here in the cross is where every enemy of joy is overcome. ... What could stop our joy if we really believed this truth: Everything we need to be satisfied in God, the cross has made certain. It cannot fail. (pp.91-92)

... How do you preach the gospel to yourself? Tell us about it in the comments! Here's my ideas ...

You can read the rest at EQUIP book club - just click here.

image is by abcdz2000 at flickr

how we change (7) what truths do you need to turn to?

Here's where it gets exciting. Let me introduce you to what I call "the 4 Gs". For me, the 4 Gs are the highlight of Tim Chester's You Can Change, and I'm not alone: my friend, whose life was turned upside down by God through this book, turns to the 4 Gs every day. Here they are:

1. God is great – so we don’t have to be in control
2. God is glorious – so we don’t have to fear others
3. God is good – so we don’t have to look elsewhere
4. God is gracious – so we don’t have to prove ourselves

Easy to remember, bursting with the conviction of God's loving sovereignty, full of hope: I turn to the 4 Gs every time I feel anxious, overwhelmed, depressed, discouraged, or guilty. Every time I'm tempted to value the praise of others over the praise of God. Every time I'm tempted to put my hope in possessions, pleasure, or relationships. Every time I'm tempted to prove myself through my perfectionism.

Why is it so important to turn to God's truth when we're tempted? Because every sin begins with a lie (Rom 1:25, Heb 3:12-14). You can't sin unless you believe happiness is found in something other than God. You can't worry unless you forget God's wise sovereignty over your life. You can't despair unless you doubt the love of the One who sent his Son to die for you.

I love how Chester puts it: our sin lies in the gap between "confessional faith" (what we say in church on Sundays) and "functional disbelief" (what we do and feel on Mondays). "We can sin only if we suffer from a radical loss of perspective. Only if we forget that God is great and good can we sin."

If sin begins with a lie, the cure is faith: believing the truth about God and the gospel. When the Bible talks about change, it begins with the gospel transforming our minds: "be made new in the attitude of your minds", "set your hearts" and "minds on things above" (Rom 12:1-2, Eph 4:22-24, Col 3:1-4, Heb 12:1). As we fill our minds with God's truth from his word, it burrows its way deep into us and transforms our emotions and choices.

One of the things which fascinates me about this cure - the idea that change comes as we turn from our wrong beliefs to the truth - is that it's as old as the psalms, and as new as the methods of modern psychologists.

It's as new as modern psychology. Cognitive behavioural therapy, the method now used most widely for treating anxiety and depression, is just a secular form of turning from wrong beliefs to more "realistic" interpretations of our circumstances.

Psychologists recognise that what causes my emotions and behaviour isn't ultimately my circumstances, but how I interpret my circumstances: "No-one will ever love me. I'm worth nothing if he rejects me. I can't cope if that happens." The alternate thoughts they offer are void of God, but they imitate sanctified wisdom: "It doesn't matter what people think of me. This feeling won't last forever. There will be other opportunities."

As Christians, we'll turn not only to common-sense and wisdom, but more importantly, we'll turn to truths about God: "What matters is what God thinks of me, and he loves me and sees me as perfect in Jesus. God's promises are more reliable than my feelings. My loving Father is in control of my circumstances." Alison Payne says that You Can Change “is like cognitive behaviour therapy driven by the gospel and the character of God.”

This cure is also as ancient as the Psalms. Listen to the Psalmists as they argue themselves out of fear, doubt and despondency and into trust and hope in God:

The LORD is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear? ...
Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God ...
Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; ... he is my fortress, I will not be shaken. ...
Has God forgotten to be merciful? ... To this I will appeal: ... I will remember the deeds of the LORD ...
Praise the LORD, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name.
(Ps 27:1, 42:5, 62:5-6, 77:9-12, 103:1-2)

Can you hear them arguing, begging, pleading with themselves? Can you hear them taking their glooms and fears and beating them into submission with the weapon of God's truth? Can you hear them turning their anxiety into trust and their joy into praise?

The same cure has been handed down through the ages by wise Christian writers and preachers like the Puritans and Charles Spurgeon. Who could forget the words of Martyn Lloyd-Jones:

I say that we must talk to ourselves instead of allowing ‘ourselves’ to talk to us! … You have to take yourself in hand, you have to address yourself, preach to yourself, question yourself. ... And then you must go on to remind yourself of God, Who God is, and what God is and what God has done, and what God has pledged himself to do. Then having done that, end on this great note: defy yourself, and defy other people, and defy the devil and the whole world, and say with this man: ‘I shall yet praise Him.’ (Spiritual Depression pp.20-21.)

God's truth - his word and gospel - is our greatest weapon. Let's take the great truths about God - that he is great, glorious, good and gracious - and preach them to our souls. Let's believe God's word instead of our feelings and sinful desires. Let's take the gospel and dwell on it until it lives in our minds and hearts. Only then will true change become possible - change from the inside out.

For reflection:
When you struggle, what lies are you believing? What truths about God and the gospel could you turn to?

It might help to draw up a thought chart. You'll need 4 columns: 1 = situation, 2 = moods and actions, 3 = thoughts, 4 = thoughts and actions based on God's truth. In the 1st write what situation you were in when you struggled with a particular emotion or sinful behaviour. In the 2nd write what you were feeling and what you did. In the 3rd write the thoughts that were going through your head at the time. You might like to circle the "hot thought" - the one which was most strongly connected to what you felt or what you did. In the 4th write out new ways of thinking based on truths about God and the gospel, and on common-sense and wisdom; and some new ways of acting which will support these beliefs. If you'd like to see a worked example, please contact me.

If you'd like to see or use my seminar How Change Happens, which is based on Tim Chester's You Can Change, please contact me.

Tim Chester quotes are from chapter 5 of You Can Change

images are from Giampaolo Macorig, Leo Reynolds, LU5H.bunny, twenty_questions and Dimi15 from flickr; second last image is from stock.xchng; used with permission