three steps to living one day at a time

Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” (Matthew 6:34)

I’ve spent a lot of my life worrying. Here’s how it works. My mind, unbidden, invents a number of possible futures. I figure out how to respond to each one: “If this happens, then ….” At some hidden level I’m convinced that if I imagine and prepare for enough scenarios, I won’t be surprised by whatever comes. I’ll be ready. Better than that, I’ll hold hardship at bay. Because how can the worst happen if you anticipate it? How can it happen if you prepare for it?

It sounds ridiculous when you put it into words. The future comes whether you anticipate it or not. If I imagine a hundred possible futures, at least 99 of them won’t come to pass. More likely, none of them will come to pass. Something else will happen, something quite unexpected. In the meantime, I will have wasted hours of mental energy (do you measure mental energy in hours?) trying to prepare for all kinds of events that never happen. Even prayer becomes a cover for playing over them in my mind, and working up enough strength to face them.

Three years ago I found out where this kind of mental activity will take you. Thought patterns are like exercise: perform a certain sequence of motions often enough, and your body grows accustomed to them until they become natural. In the same way, your mind gets better and better at thinking in a certain way, until it’s like a well-worn groove that your thoughts travel down.

So during a particularly stressful year, when our son was in the fourth year of his chronic illness and we still had no answers, I could no longer hold things together. Irrational fears flooded my thoughts. In some small and secret corner of my mind, I knew they were fabrications; but with the rest of my mind, I believed them absolutely. I lived on edge, at the point of panic, convinced that in the very next moment, my fears would knock on the door and walk straight in. It was one of the hardest years of my life, just behind the year my husband got cancer. Anyone who lives with high levels of anxiety will know how that’s possible.

The turning point came when I learned to stop listening to my fears (that sounds simple, but of course it wasn’t). I learned not to argue with my thoughts; not to chase down all the possibilities; not to try to come up with answers. I learned to say, “Yep, that’s interesting, another anxious thought. Another fear. But I choose not to listen. I choose not to engage.” I learned to give my fears to God rather than to steel myself to face them. I had to grit my teeth and do this over many months, but the fears gradually subsided. They still nudge at me when I am under stress. But I no longer pay attention, and these days they disappear relatively quickly.

That was the first step towards living one day at a time: learning not to listen to my fears. Here was the second step:

My husband got cancer. He nearly died. He had surgery, he had chemotherapy, and we entered the years-long waiting period we’re in now. You’d think this would be a time of fear. A time of monitoring every physical sign, anticipating the cancer’s return. And yes, there are moments like that, when my husband is unwell, and I wonder if this is it. But there was a moment, after months heavy with grief, when I sat on the steps leading down from our back veranda and pleaded with God, “Take this away. I am sick of feeling so awful. Please take these feelings away and give me some relief.” He heard my prayer.

I realised that I have a choice. I can live these months and years with my husband anticipating and fearing the worst; or I can live these months and years enjoying what we have right now. There’s no great moral superiority in choosing the second option. In some ways it’s not a choice at all; it’s a psychological necessity. More than that, it’s an answer to prayer. God and circumstances have taught me to leave the future in the future, and enjoy and thank him for the blessings of right now.

Ordinary life has become very precious to me. The many hours I spend in the car driving children back and forth, for example, that used to annoy me so much? Well, I won’t deny that they still exhaust me, but now they seem like a privilege. They are a privilege. This ordinary life, with these ordinary duties and these ordinary people in this ordinary house: this is a precious gift. It’s a pity it took my husband getting cancer to see it. But after facing the very real possibility of his death, just to live this life, with its repeated duties, seems to me to be an endlessly repeated blessing.

That was the second step towards living one day at a time: learning to be thankful for the blessings of each day. Here was the third:

I recently started a job as the part-time women’s worker at our church. It’s ministry I love, and with Steve’s health so precarious, I need to work in case I have to provide for our children one day. I’ve had busy school terms before – most of our terms are busy – but this term has been stuffed to bursting. Family responsibilities, home duties, hospital visits, a new job, challenging tasks that stretch me to the limit, one after another after another: the moment I let my mind slip into the future I feel overwhelmed by the coming demands, and the little time I have to prepare for them.

Most days there’s more than I can easily handle. I’m not strong enough for the duties of each day. I’m learning what it means to live each day in God’s enabling, with the grace he gives for the next task, the next hour, the next moment. Not to think about tomorrow (except if preparation and planning happens to be one of the duties of today), not to wonder how I am going to face it, but to trust that God will give me strength to do the tasks he gives me today, and tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, not now, not in advance, but as I come to each day.

That was the third step to learning to live one day at a time: learning to trust in God’s enabling for each day.

The other morning, weary after a night of little sleep, I parked the car on my way to work and sat for a few minutes under some peppercorn trees. These verses popped into my mind, a little jumbled and out of context, but speaking straight to my need:

Who is weak, and I do not feel weak? ... But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us ... Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day … He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me … For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Cor. 11:29; 4:7, 16; 12:9-10)

I am not strong enough to face today, let alone the next week, or the next month, or the next year. I am aware of that to my aching bones. But God is strong. He promises to give me what I need to keep trusting and serving him, moment by moment, day by day, whatever our circumstances. That’s how I face the future: not anticipating and preparing for every eventuality, but enjoying God’s gifts for today, and trusting him that, whatever he has in store, he will provide what I need to face it.

We live one day at a time, in God’s enabling.

This article first appeared at The Gospel Coalition Australia

what I'm reading: the smile of God

How do you keep your eyes fixed on Jesus? (Col 3:1-4) Here's one way I do it.

Every year I read one or two books about God's character or the cross. I do this on my mornings off, sitting in a cafe, sipping my spiced chai.

I recently read Knowing God. Finishing the last page was bittersweet. I wondered what I could possibly replace it with.

Then I remembered Tim Chester's The ordinary hero. It's been on my shelf for a while, waiting for an opportunity. I'm 4 chapters in, and loving it.

Here's a bit that spoke to me. It's for anyone who trusts in Jesus:

God doesn't merely tolerate you. In Christ he smiles upon you as a Father ...
 
Why should we think that God would abandon us when he's already given us his Son? Why should we think there's any limit to his love when he's already given what was most precious to him? ...

You're not made right with God by what you do. You don't do it in the first place, so why suppose you could undo it! ... Perhaps this is the ultimate humiliation. Not only can we not contribute to our salvation; we can't even wreck our salvation. But who cares? ...

Our heavenly Father is not a stern father who needs to be placated by his Son. Maybe your human father was like that. Stern. Distant. Maybe you approached him hesitantly or reluctantly. But your divine Father isn't like that. The Son's actions are the outflow of the Father's love. ...

The Son didn't placate God to make him favourably disposed to us. No, it's the other way round. The work of the Son starts with the love of the Father. ...

God doesn't merely tolerate us. He delights in us. We make him sing for joy (Zeph 3:17) ...

When you look into the face of God, what do you see? Do you see a frown? Do you see a judge? A schoolmaster? Or do you see a smile?

In Christ, God smiles upon us. Who can resist that smile?

Tim Chester The ordinary hero 39-46.

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.

rules to live by

There is a boy. He sits in a room, surrounded by adults, in a circle of adults. He speaks calm words about himself, about the last three years of his life, about this thing they call chronic daily headaches, about the pain and its beats and measures. He is not calm, but you wouldn't know it. She knows, because later he tells her.

There is a woman, his mother. She is silent, allowing him to speak. She shifts in her chair, and her jeans make an embarrassing noise on the vinyl. She hopes no one heard. She knows they probably did, this room full of attentive adults. She crosses her legs. She crosses them the other way. She listens. She waits her turn.

There are six other adults in the room, four women, two men, members of the chronic pain management team. Twelve eyes to look at the boy and his mother, twelve eyes and three hours of questions. Six different breeds of medical professional: male, female, old, young, serious, kind. They are all kind, so kind. She feels pinned by their gaze.

They ask the boy questions about the pain, how often, since when, what sets it off, what helps, where it is, how it feels. Mostly he can answer them (he's heard them before). Sometimes he can't. The questions have beaten him into silence, too many questions. How can he quantify the pain? How can he put a number to it? What if he is wrong? He has started to ask himself, what if he is a coward, when others experience far worse pain than this?

The boy wears soft grey pants and a grey jumper with a fur-lined hood. The soft edges protect him from the hard edges of their questions. As they walk to the meeting, he pulls the hood up, but his mother pulls it down. He runs his hand through his hair, and she smooths it down.

They notice this. They notice everything. They ask if he likes soft clothes. He does. His mother listens, fascinated, but she wonders what this has to do with anything. She wonders what anything has to do with anything. What are they observing about him, about her? What connections are they drawing? What are they thinking? Why won't they tell her?

They take him from the room. Two adults gone, four left plus her. They question her. They ask about his developmental milestones, relationships, intelligence, family history. Some answers she knows (she's familiar with this line of questioning). Some answers she can't remember (she should have brought his baby book). She asks herself, Why can't I remember? Why don't I know? Does it matter that I don't know?

More questions. What are his thought processes like? Positive or negative? You say positive? But what about these times? What about those? She knows, she doesn't know. She says to ask him.

He returns to the room. They ask him. He answers, or tries to answer. She marvels at the delicate balance of mind and body, so finely tuned, so easily knocked awry. Has she done this? Did they do something wrong, or not do something right? This beautiful, strong, loving boy. What have they done?

The boy and his mother are sent away for fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes of buying him a sausage roll, sitting in the sun, exclaiming at the spinning doors, wondering what conversations are happening in their absence. They return.

And they are told that they are doing okay. They are doing the right things. The doctors they are already seeing - those doctors with all their questions - are doing the right things. Maybe they could change his medication. They should probably bring him back for some physiotherapy. Oh, and there's a pain clinic he could attend. And some more questionnaires to fill in. And the occupational therapist would like to see him. The boy's mother adds the appointments to a diary full of doctors' visits. But, they say, you are doing well. We approve.

She feels relieved. The boy smiles, shifts in his chair. And it's all okay. And none of it is okay.

There is an art to this, an art she has not yet learned. To allow their lives to be examined, probed, dissected, cut open like a rat on the table. To remain undefensive, receptive. To be grateful, to listen and absorb. To know this matters immensely, could mean the difference between health and sickness. To know this doesn't always matter, the doctors don't always know, don't always agree, aren't always right.

To try things, all the time not knowing. To work away at the pain, increment by imperceptible increment, week by week. To make mistakes and pay the price of days of illness and, next week, try something new and lose more days and try again, each time one step closer. To watch her son suffer, watch him make progress, so much progress, but still so slow, so far to go.

To follow the rules, all the times ignoring the rules. To answer the questions but not allow them to strip her bare. To hear conflicting advice and know when to listen and when to ignore. To be full of needs, but not to be needy. To ask for help, yet go home and cope on their own. To do all this and not be swallowed up by it.

To get on with life. To love her son. To find the energy, somehow, to love her other three children. To be tired but not to lose her temper. To lose her temper, ask forgiveness, and not wallow but go on. To turn from tears to laughter, to learn the art of turning from tears to laughter. To be worn out, to be worn down, but to go on.

She has always been a rule-follower. She feels secure when she obeys. She needs to get it right, to get everything right. She needs to please. She is learning that this is not possible, that she can't do everything they say. That she can't do everything. That sometimes - often! - she won't know the best thing to do. That all she can do is what is best for her son, for her family, and love, and serve, and try, and love. She is learning that there is only One she lives to please, and she is already whole and loved in him.

She doesn't have the strength for this, but she knows Someone who does.


I wrote this in response to Meredith's writing challenge. 

give me a broken heart that yet carries home the water of grace

This is one of the beautiful quotes from one of my favourite newly-discovered blogs, Georgianne. 

O changeless God,

Under the conviction of thy Spirit I learn that
the more I do, the worse I am,
the more I know, the less I know,
the more holiness I have, the more sinful I am,
the more I love, the more there is to love...

My mind is a bucket without a bottom,
always at the gospel-well but never holding water.

My conscience is without conviction or contrition,
with nothing to repent of.

My will is without power of decision or resolution.

My heart is without affection,
and full of leaks.

My memory has no retention,
so I forget easily the lessons learned,
and thy truths seep away.

Give me a broken heart that yet carries home
the water of grace.


From The Valley of Vision.

what I'm reading: Tim Keller, inferiority complexes, and King's Cross

I've been reading Tim Keller's King's Cross for nearly a year, and I'm only 8 chapters in. Who says I'm a fast reader?

Some books need to be read slowly. Savoured, one chapter at a time.

Once a month or so, on my rare mornings off, I sit on a verandah outside my favourite cafe, overlooked by oak trees, sipping a spiced chai, reflecting and writing and staring into space.

And I read a single chapter of King's Cross - Tim Keller's exploration of the life of Jesus - and drink in every word.

I forget the gospel so quickly, but this book brings me back to the living water time after time.

Last Friday I recognised myself in these words:

See, there are two ways to fail to let Jesus be your Saviour. One is by being too proud, having a superiority complex—not to accept his challenge. But the other is through an inferiority complex—being so self-absorbed that you say, “I’m just so awful that God can’t love me.” That is, not to accept his offer.

I can be in either camp, depending on the day! But the second comes to me more naturally - and is harder to recognise.

So I love John Newton's words to a depressed man, quoted by Keller:

You say you feel overwhelmed with guilt and a sense of unworthiness. Well, you cannot be too aware of the inward and inbred evils you complain of, but you may be (indeed you are) improperly controlled and affected by them.

You say it is hard to understand how a holy God could accept such an awful person as yourself. You, then, not only express a low opinion of yourself (which is right!) but also too low an opinion of the person, work, and promises of the Redeemer, which is wrong.

You complain about sin, but when we examine your complaints, they are so full of self-righteousness, unbelief, pride, and impatience that they are little better than the worst evils you complain of!

Keller concludes,

Approach Jesus boldly, with rightless assertiveness [I love that phrase!]...Take up both the offer and challenge of God's infinite mercy.

I'm learning to do just that.


Quotes are from Tim Keller, King's Cross, 90-91.

parenting teenagers with grace

For parents of teens, a list worth memorizing:

• The grace to love them when they don’t want to be loved.

• The grace to love when they are not very loveable.

• The grace to keep giving when it seems I can never give enough.

• The grace to keep giving when there’s no giving in return.

• The grace to forgive when I know the sin will be repeated again…and again.

• The grace to ask forgiveness even when most of the sin was on the other side...

• The grace to communicate when there’s no communication in return.

• The grace to offer help when help is not welcomed.

• The grace to give advice, when the advice will be rejected...

• The grace to be resented for my love...

• The grace to never be told, “Dad you were right and I was wrong.”...

• The grace to accept that I’ll never be the super-parent I wanted to be and others seem to be.

Read the rest here.

why God doesn't just get rid of sin

Do you ever wonder why God doesn't answer your prayers and make you instantly holy? I know I do! If God wants me to obey him - which I know he does - and if it's in his power to make me holy - which I know it is - then why do I still struggle with sin?

There have been times, after a long losing battle with sin, when I've glimpsed the answer: humility. When I "succeed" in my obedience (there's a telling phrase!) I get smug and proud. When I fail, over and over again, it humbles me. I need this, because I'm all too ready to think I can get it right!

Here's another, even better answer. I came across it the other day while preparing a Bible study on Romans. It's by David Seccombe:

Over and over again we are disappointed by our own performance. We pledge our day to God in the morning, pray for grace to overcome all trials, and in the evening look back with shame at nasty words and thoughts, greed, pride, cowardice and so on...We may venture the thought that, if God has withheld the grace of instant sanctification, desperately as most Christian would love to have it, it is because there is a greater gain to be had in the lifetime of struggle with evil to which he commits us...The daily reality of sin causes us again and again to look to our Saviour for forgiveness, and to rest our trust in him that we stand accepted by God ever and only because of his gift.

So why does God let me go on struggling with sin? Here's the answer: grace. I didn't just become a Christian by grace; I live in it every day. When I fail, then fail again, it becomes obvious even to me that I can't depend on my own efforts. I'm driven back to the Saviour. That's what sin does. It drives me away from self-assurance and to the foot of the cross.

(There's an even bigger answer: God's glory, and the glory of his Son - Rom 9:22-24, 1 Cor 15:20-28, Eph 1:3-14 cf. Exod 9:16. But that's a post for another day.)


Quote is from David Seccombe Dust to destiny: Reading Romans today 124-127.

image is by Keoni Cabral from flickr

what I'm reading: too much about what I ought to be doing

One thing about reading lots of Christian posts on the internet is that you start to feel bad about all the things you're not doing. Come to think of it, I'm pretty good at that already. So for all of you who beat yourselves up over the head about the many things you're not doing, here are some wise words from Kevin DeYoung:

Most days I don’t feel guilty about all the stuff I’m not doing. But that’s only because I’ve learned to ignore a lot of things well-meaning Christians say or write...I also realize that right now that my main work is to lead my family, shepherd my church, and preach faithful sermons. If I do these things, by God’s grace, and grow in one more degree of glory this week (again, by God’s grace), should I still feel guilty for all that I’m not doing in the world?...

Greater is he that is in me that he that is in the world. The most important work to be done in the world has already been accomplished...

In all our efforts to be prophetic, radical, and missional, we end up getting the story of Pilgrim’s Progress exactly backwards. “Come to the cross, Pilgrim, see the sacrifice for your sins. Isn’t that wonderful? Now bend over and let me load this burden on your back. There’s a lot of work we have to do, me and you.”...

No doubt some Christians need to be shaken out of their lethargy. I try to do that every Sunday morning and evening. But there are also a whole bunch of Christians who need to be set free from their performance-minded, law-keeping, world-changing, participate-with-God-in-recreating-the-cosmos shackles. I promise you, some of the best people in your churches are getting tired. They don’t need another rah-rah pep talk. They don’t need to hear more statistics and more stories Sunday after Sunday about how bad everything is in the world. They need to hear about Christ’s death and resurrection. They need to hear how we are justified by faith apart from works of the law. They need to hear the old, old story once more. Because the secret of the gospel is that we actually do more when we hear less about all we need to do for God and hear more about all that God has already done for us.

Read the rest here.

what I'm reading: come messy (Paul Miller on prayer)

So often I feel like I have to fix myself before I pray. I have to stop worrying. I have to calm down. I have to concentrate. I have to make sure I have enough uninterrupted time. I have to psyche myself up, get into the proper mental state.

We're trying to become spiritual, to get it right. We know we don't need to clean up our act to become a Christian, but when it comes to praying, we forget that...Private, personal prayer is one of the last bastions of legalism.

Prayer becomes performance - something I'm ill-equipped for - instead of a pouring out of my need. I've forgotten the gospel. I've forgotten grace. I've forgotten that prayer is a little child coming to her Father. I've forgotten to come messy:

Jesus does not say ‘Come to me, all you who have learned how to concentrate in prayer, whose minds no longer wander, and I will give you rest.’ No, Jesus opens his arms to his needy children and says ‘Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.’ (Matthew 11:28) The criteria for coming to Jesus is weariness. Come overwhelmed with life. Come with your wandering mind. Come messy.

Paul Miller A praying life pages 30-32

image is by ushtey at 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

what I'm reading: being the perfect woman from From Fear to Freedom

Rose Marie writes about the pressure women feel to live up to the standard for perfect womanhood. She begins by talking about women from the southern US.

Record building for these women meant living for the approval of family, church, and community. Always trying to look good is a terrible burden to bear. The problem is that your conscience condemns you because you must do everything perfectly. You mentally make a list of how to be the perfect wife, mother, or daughter. If you do fairly well, then you become the judge of those who don't make it according to your lists. If you don't measure up, you either try harder or give up...

What had happened to these southern upper-class women? They were heirs to a tradition that values courtesy, authority, the family, and the church. Their social life was conditioned by an emphasis on outward performance and appearance...They were tying to be perfectly moral, perfectly dressed, perfect mothers, and perfect housekeepers. ...People pleasing had become an enormous burden for these women...They saw that the end of this awful struggle is a righteousness bought for them by Christ...

These church women were different in so many ways from the non-Christian women in our northeastern part of the U.S. I was surprised how these traditional family women were so much like the women dedicated to their 'liberation'. Both sorts seemed to me to be entangled in a web of rules. It's just that these women were mentally burdened by the old rules while the women's liberationists are loaded down with the new rules...

An oppressive load of guilt can come on the conscience if the deeper needs of the heart are not met by a powerful Christ.

From Fear to Freedom, 102-104.

image is by Canine Girl at flickr

From Fear to Freedom: book review

Give up your success-and-failure patterns. Seek grace in Christ, humbly and honestly. Understand that a conviction of sin does not make you neurotic, but rather it spells the beginning of the end for neurosis. After all, what is a neurotic? Simply a hurting person who is closed off to criticism in any form and yet engages in the most intense, destructive self criticism that produces neither hope nor help. What a marvelous relief God’s grace in Christ offers. I had been totally criticized, and at the same time I was completely forgiven. As I rested in the work of another, my heart was at peace with God; and for the first time, I felt at peace with myself.

I read this quote in Of First Importance and knew I'd like to read From Fear to Freedom. Neurotic? Yes. Addicted to success? Yes. Not at peace with myself? Yes. Helped by the gospel? Yes, please! So I ordered a copy from The Book Depository and eagerly looked out for a cardboard-wrapped parcel in the letter box.

From Fear to Freedom is a short and easy read. It's a woman's story of her inner landscape: her upbringing by parents who valued order and morality; her own moral successes: a Christian marriage, well-brought-up children, and a busy hospitality ministry; how it fell apart, leaving her doubting and fearful; and how God rescued her.

Rose Marie contrasts two ways to live: as an orphan or as God's child. The orphan doesn't feel loved except when she meets her own and others' expectations (something women are particularly prone to!). Her life is filled with joyless duty. When things go wrong, she sees herself as a victim, blames others, and withdraws into anger and self-condemnation.

The daughter knows she's loved, perfect in God's sight. She has come face-to-face with her own helplessness, and knows only God can rescue her: her righteousness comes from him, not from obeying rules or keeping up appearances. So she's free from guilt and bitterness, free to forgive and relate honestly, free to risk herself in God's service.

It's good - although at times a little unsettling! - to see the old-fashioned gospel (drawn from Martin Luther's Introduction to his Commentary on Galatians) applied to 'modern' issues like neuroticism, victim mentality and blame-shifting. People haven't changed, and neither has God's word. The solution to anxiety, guilt and people-pleasing isn't, ultimately, counselling or a psychological theory: it's the gospel of grace.

This book isn't perfect. Rose Marie talks about a few things I was uncomfortable with, like the power of inherited sin through the generations, and spiritual warfare using certain forms of prayer. At these points the book tends to be 'gospel-plus'. You'll need to read with discernment.

Still, I recommend this book. It will help you find your way out of the orphan mindset into the freedom of a son or daughter of God.

busyness, burnout and the grace of God (12) conclusion

Last week I finished the story of what happened when I got too busy. So where am I at, 9 months later?

My feelings have returned to the usual random collection of ups and downs. The lessons I learned stay with me: wisdom to say 'no', willingness to rest, and an awareness of my warning signs of burnout - things like anxiety, discouragement, lack of perspective, loss of motivation, and the inability to relax.

Am I still too busy? At times this year, I have been, with the usual consequences. It's a little disheartening, after all God has taught me, to still battle the same temptations: perfectionism, ambition, people-pleasing, my drive to fix things, my longing to do everything in one lifetime, and the superwoman syndrome.

I've made some helpful changes. I cut down my extra ministry commitments to 1 a term (I've learned some wisdom!) but discovered that 1 ministry commitment easily expands to fill as much time as 5 ministry commitments (my seminars and articles were very thorough! :) ). You see, the issue isn't really my circumstances - it's my heart.

But God has been at work in my heart. I'm less driven. Instead of grabbing every ministry opportunity, I hold my dreams more lightly, trusting God's timing. As you know, I'm planning to take some time off blogging next year to rest and reflect on what God wants from me - not something I would have done a year ago. God is good.

One final comment: please don't conclude from what I've written that busyness is a bad thing. It's good to be busy in God's service (Phil 2:17, 2 Thess 3:8-9). But when we're so busy that we burn out and can no longer serve, or fail to serve those close to us, or can't trust God and rest - then we've got a problem. And that problem is in our heart. That's what this series has been about: the idols of our heart that drive us to over-busyness, and the way that God's grace sets us free.

Let's work hard, pouring ourselves out in God's service; but when we've done all we can, let's rest, trusting God to work in people's lives.

images are from flik and Laurie Pink 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

when enough is enough (some thoughts on tenacity)

For all who find that tenacity sometimes get the better of godliness.

My children are squabbling. My 4-year-old needs his breakfast. My 7-year-old is playing up to get my attention. My 10-year-old has been on the computer too long. My 12-year-old wants me to help her find something. My husband has just asked me a question.

Me? I'm preparing a Bible study / reading a Christian book / writing a blog post / pursuing an interesting train of thought. I need to study a few more verses / finish my chapter (and then another) / get this paragraph right / work out what it is I'm thinking. I've run out of concentration / read more than I can bear / written more than I have time to /twisted my brain into knots, but I know I can finish this off / go one more / get this right / figure this out.

Meanwhile, things are falling apart on the home front, I've worked myself into a state of irritatable exhaustion, and everyone's frustrated because I can't hear a word they're saying.

Tenacity is a Christian virtue. Commitment to relationships, perseverance through suffering, the disciplined pursuit of godliness, a life lived for Christ to the very end - we could all do with more tenacity of this kind:

determination, firmness of purpose, perseverance, persistence, purpose, resolve, steadfastness.

Tenacity is not a Christian virtue when it shades into this set of synonyms:

inflexibility, intransigence, obtinacy, stubbornness, wilfulness.

In my case, it's blended with a few other character traits (I'm sure you can come up with your own):

• tenacity - the stubborn determination to get something done, however long it takes
• perfectionism - a commitment to getting everything exactly right, whatever the cost
• vagueness - the academic's ability to ignore everyone and everything around them while pursuing a line of thought
• workaholism - an inability to trust God and rest.

Hmmm...sounds just a little too familiar...

A few months ago, after a week of this, I knew something had to change. I went for a walk, sat by the lake near my parents' place, stared out across the water, and prayed. I asked God for a little more wisdom, a little more trust, a little more rest. When I returned to the car, I wrote a new resolution in my journal:

Enough is enough. The world won't fall apart just because I don't push myself as hard as I can. It's time to listen to the small voice of conscience saying "Get off the computer and rest", "Stop reading and serve", "Put it aside until later". Learn when to stop. Trust God. Everything and all is in his hands. Rest in his love, grace and sovereignty. Recharge. Refuel. Take refuge.

Because sometimes enough is enough.

Synonyms are from thesaurus.com combined with definition from thefreedictionary.com.

images are from khrawlings, Dana Lookadoo - Yo Yo SEO and Cuba Gallery - Now on Twitter! from flickr

what I'm reading: one moment with the cross from Octavius Winslow

Here's a quote that sums up everything I've learnt about change during the last two years - and a personal favourite.

One moment’s believing, close contact with the cross will do more to break the heart for sin, deepen the conviction of its exceeding sinfulness, and disenthrall the soul from all its bondage and its fears, bringing it into a sense of pardon and acceptance and assured hope, than a lifetime of the most rigid legal duties that ever riveted their iron chain upon the soul.

Quote is from Octavius Winslow The Foot of the Cross HT Of First Importance.

image is from Jules.K at flickr

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

a poem

Here's a little poem I wrote while sitting in my favourite coffee shop the other day. It's nothing much, but at least it shows I'm starting to relax after a very busy year! There should be indents throughout the poem but blogger doesn't do that. Too bad.

Morning coffee

It's a long time since I have sat
looked
and let thoughts stream through my head
unexamined
uncaught
like trailing drifts of cloud.

Here, in this lovely coffee shop stillness
I sip
and stare.
Leaves move
birds cheep
a group of gossiping mums walk past

and I sit
enclosed in an invisible bubble
of silence
and solitude

held only by the grace of God
held so surely, so securely
that I can drift
lay aside my work
and give myself over

to rest.

image is by 2Bcup at flickr

how we change (13) a lifetime of change

What do you expect when you pick up a book like You Can Change? Two years ago, when I started reading, I hoped that certain sinful patterns would be broken.

I chose a "change project" I'd been avoiding for years: perfectionism. As I read and worked through the exercises, I thought about self-improvement and proving myself, changing from the heart, grace and legalism, false beliefs and idols, choices and obstacles to change, disciplines and accountability. By the end of the book I'd made some breakthroughs.

It's over a year later, and where am I at? Still fighting perfectionism, that's where! Like all temptations, it's powerful, and it hasn't lessened with time. I have a better understanding of why I struggle and how to fight. Best of all, I've learned to flee to the cross. But I haven't found victory. Every day, I take up my weapons and fight again.

Which is why the final chapter of You Can Change is a great way to finish the book. In it, Chester reminds us that, like a puppy at Christmas, change isn't for a day - it's for a lifetime. "It's a marathon, not a sprint." My sinful nature won't die until the day I die. Until then, every day, every moment, I'll be fighting. There are no days off in this war.

Once, when I found change this hard, I would have despaired. I would have tried a thousand sets of rules and resolutions, and despaired as I watched each one fail. I would have given up, because if I'm not going to change, then why bother? I needed a new motivation for change (grace, not proving myself); a new way to change (grace, not rules); and a new hope for change (grace, not willpower).

Which brings me to the other reason I love the last chapter of You Can Change. It doesn't just remind us that change takes a lifetime; it reminds us that we can change, for we have God's grace. There are two images of God's grace that stay with me from my time reading this book:

• An image of God's grace surrounding and upholding me like an over-soft mattress (like our rather old mattress, in fact). I'll never forget the night I lay in bed and realised, more deeply than ever before, that I can't do anything to earn or change God's grace: I can only rest in it.
• An image of a stone rolling downhill. Chester pointed out, back in chapter 3, that change is less like pushing a boulder uphill and more like a boulder rolling downhill. It's harder to stop change than to keep in step with how God is changing me! Change is irrevocable and inevitable, for God's purposes don't fail.

Change is slow, it's up-and-down, and sometimes I can't see it; but it's happening, because God's grace forgives and transforms me. I'll never stop sinning during this life. Every day, I fight for faith and repentance all over again. But God has given me everything I need to change. However often and terribly I fail, I needn't despair. I can change, because God is changing me.

We needn't and shouldn't despair...Sin is never the last word for the children of God. Grace is always the last word...There is hope for change. That hope is not in counsellors or methods or rules. That hope is a great and gracious Saviour who has broken the power of sin and placed his lifegiving Spirit in our hearts.

Amen.

images are from stock.xchng