honesty: a question for you

Following on from yesterday's post, I'd love to hear your advice about the following scenarios. They're examples of 3 times honesty about sin was a big feature of conversations I had with other women: a chat with a non-Christian mum, a social morning with Christian friends, and a discussion in a small group.

Scenario 1: playgroup, in the long ago days when I had 2 children.
I was telling a non-Christian mum about the effects of sleep deprivation on my temper. Her reaction? "That makes me feel so much better! It's such a relief to know you do that too! I always thought you were so patient and serene!" (It's funny how mistaken people can be.) I'm not sure how to move from here to the gospel without being preachy, so I keep quiet.

Scenario 2: having a coffee with Christian mums
There's lots of laughter. We're all enjoying a break from the constant demands of children. We ask one another how things are going, chat about our lives, and talk about our struggles. One woman with a young baby confesses that she hasn't read the Bible or prayed for the last 3 months. I tell her that it was the same with my babies: I barely ever prayed or read the Bible. She's relieved.

Scenario 3: women's discussion group
I used to lead regular discussions in a monthly group for mums. The most popular study I ever led was about parenting and anger. There was much horrified laughter as we shared stories of times we had lost our temper with our children. We looked at the Bible, but I'm not sure that's what they took away from the evening.

What do you think? Is it better to be open about our sin, or to shut up about it, in situations like these? How could I have made sure that sharing my sin helped, not harmed, the women who were listening? And finally, can you think of a time when honesty from an older Christian about their sin encouraged you - and another time you found it hindered your godliness? What was the difference between the two?

image is from stock.xchng

online meanderings: honesty

Is Archie (HT Honoria) right? Does the devil love secrecy?

Is Simone right? Does honesty normalise sin? She says

I'm thinking increasingly that it's unhelpful to talk about some sins. If I confess that I am struggling with, say, hateful thoughts, and everyone else in my bible study group says 'yeah, me too', I stop thinking that hate is such a dreadful thing. It's been normalised. Unless there is a very godly woman in my group who will take us to a passage and show us that murderers etc will not inherit the kingdom and then ask us all to repent and bring the gospel to us, nothing good has been gained.

Challenged by their posts, I wrote a couple of my own, and decided that it all depends on whether our honesty is loving and helpful, and shelved the issue in the back of my mind.

Until last Wednesday, when I read this paragraph by Paul:

You're sitting in church feeling a little more nervous than normal. If you had known that the sermon was going to be about that, you might have decided to stay in bed this morning. But there it is, front and centre on the service outline. What should you do? Thinking at a speed that would normally startle you, you hit upon the perfect strategy: talk to others about ‘it’ before they talk to you. If you start the conversation and talk about how you struggle with ‘it’ before they raise the topic, you're home free! People will think you're godly and open, and you'll be able to walk away feeling good about yourself without having to change a thing. The best defence is a good offence.

It was one of those times God uses what another Christian writes to perform open heart surgery on me.

I've often wondered why I'm so ready to share my sins and failings. I understand that honesty can be a great starting point for encouragement, and that's ok, but why do I enjoy it? I'm not talking about this blog. I'm talking about conversations like those with other mums, where among all the laughter, there are terrible admissions: "I said ... to my son the other day! Can you believe that?"

Thanks to Paul's post, I understand better my unhelpful motivations for talking about my sin. I'm hoping that if I get in first, and admit how terrible my sin can be, others won't challenge me. I hope that they'll be so busy admiring my honesty, they won't think to judge me. Perhaps they'll even share some sins of their own, so I can feel better about mine. Honesty can be a useful smokescreen to hide my need to stay in control. It looks vulnerable, but it stops me ever being really vulnerable to criticism or change.

So how can I decide when to be honest? I found Paul's suggestions really helpful (I've taken them from this discussion):

I need to ask two questions (1) Am I doing this for myself or the other? - if the answer is myself, then now isn’t the time to disclose (even if it would be genuinely helpful) - for myself includes things like my desire to get it off my chest and feel better about it, my desire to impress others by my humility, and even my desire to get people listening to my preaching because a personal story always gets people’s attention (we are so sinful aren’t we?!). (2) Will this genuinely benefit others in the congregation? (we don’t always get this right, but it is the right question to ask).

I've been reminded, once again, that honesty isn't an end, but a beginning.

images are from stock.xchng

our Melbourne Adventure

Family traditions can be helpful things. They draw a family together with ties of familiarity and fun.

Year after year, they create happy memories. They give children the rare experience of their parents' undivided and extended attention. They help define a family culture, a sense that this is my family and this is how we do things. They bind a family together, provide a feeling of stability and belonging, and are a wonderful opportunity for joy.

I wouldn't elevate family traditions to any great place in the eternal scheme of things, or place burdens on parents to create certain kinds of annual celebrations, as I feel Christians are sometimes prone to do, but I do think they can be a great blessing. And how privileged we are to live in a place and time when we can give some of our annual relaxation (a privilege in itself) simply to enjoying one another as a family!

One of our annual family traditions is our Melbourne Adventure. This came about when we discovered through bitter experience one year just how expensive a holiday by the beach can be! Steve is no fan of tents, after a school camping expedition which managed to combine one boy's hypothermia with another boy's severe sunburn (don't ask me how!), and you know how pricy holiday houses or cabins can be.

So after my parents spoil the kids and me with an annual trip to Apollo Bay while Steve has some down time at home, we devote 10 days of Steve's anual leave to our Melbourne Adventure: no one else, just our family. Every adult and child gets to choose a day's expedition, we go to the supermarket and stock up on cans of drink and chips (much cheaper than buying food when you're out!), I make sandwiches, we collect our discount vouchers, and off we go!

Steve always chooses a morning at Carlton footy training. I choose a day exploring the city and the art gallery, at the botanic gardens, or on a Yarra River cruise. Lizzy loves water slides, and is rejoicing in yet another Christmas kinder raffle win: a free pass to a water park nearby. Ben always chooses the science musem, Thomas the zoo or the museum, and Andrew's too little to choose yet, but we chose Puffing Billy for him this year ... until Steve got sick.

We've put off the kids' chosen days until Steve is well enough to come along, and I've done my best to keep up the annual tradition with help from grandparents. So far, we've:

explored the Botanic Gardens together;



come face to face with penguins, fish, stingrays and sharks at the Melbourne Aquarium;




and learnt to row at the Fairfield Boathouse.





I'd love to hear about your family traditions.

John Owen on despondancy and unbelief

There is not any thing that, in our communion with him, the Lord is more troubled with us for, if I may say so, than our unbelieving fears, that keep us off from receiving that strong consolation which he is so willing to give to us.

- John Owen, On the Mortification of Sin (Carlisle, PA: Banner of Truth Trust, 2000), 77.

HT Of First Importance

No, I'm not doing a series on unbelief - not at the moment, anyway! But no doubt it will come up in just about all of my posts. For we all struggle with unbelief. Every time I'm anxious or desponding I doubt God's goodness, every time I'm proud I doubt God's greatness, every time I wallow in guilt I doubt God's grace. Unbelief is at the root of all my sin and every one of my fears. God help us to trust his love and goodness this year!

Charles Spurgeon on despondancy and unbelief

Beloved friends, let us never look upon our own unbelief as an excusable infirmity, but let us always regard it as a sin, and as a great sin, too. Whatever excuse you may at any time make for others—and I pray you to make excuses for them whenever you can rightly do so—never make any for yourself. In that case, be swift to condemn.

It is a very easy thing for us to get into a desponding state of heart, and to mistrust the promises and faithfulness of God, and yet, all the while, to look upon ourselves as the subjects of a disease which we cannot help, and even to claim pity at the hands of our fellow-men, and to think that they should condole with us, and try to cheer us.

It will be far wiser for each one of us to feel, ‘This unbelief of mine is a great wrong in the sight of God. He has never given me any occasion for it, and I am doing him a cruel injustice by thus doubting him. I must not idly sit down, and say, This has come upon me like a fever, or a paralysis, which I cannot help; but I must rather say, This is a great sin, in which I must no longer indulge; but I must confess my unbelief, with shame and self-abasement, to think that there should be in me this evil heart of unbelief.’

—Charles Spurgeon, “Unbelievers Upbraided” (a sermon on Mark 16:14)

(HT: Pyromaniacs HT: Of First Importance)

speechless

Steve's sudden speechlessness, which makes it more than a little difficult to teach the Bible, has left me considering (irrelevantly) which jobs are least able to be done when you have laryngitis. Here's the list so far:

- preacher
- opera singer
- spruiker
- sports commentator
- voice coach
- ringmaster
- lawyer
- door to door salesman
- rowing cox
- school teacher
- audience warm up person
- interpreter
- call centre employee
- news reader
- stand up comedian
- actor
- interrogator
- speech therapist
- performance poet
- TV reporter
- ventriloquist
- psychiatrist
- phone receptionist
- inspirational speaker

Imagine a spruiker communicating only with gestures, or a ventriloquist limited to writing things on paper, and you'll see what I mean.

Trying to think up additions to the list is surprisingly absorbing. You have a go.

the waves and the "why?"

It was a funny old holiday.

Half way through Christmas afternoon, my throat developed that threatening soreness which is the first sign of a cold or flu, and by 2.00 that night the pain woke me with a start when I swallowed.

It stayed like that through a day of tidying up after Christmas and packing for our beachside holiday, segued into feeling tired and off-colour for the long trip down, and for the first 2 days of our holiday I could only lie on the sofa while my parents took the children to the beach. Three weeks later I'm still feeling tired.

We left Steve at home for a break. He was going to come and join us, but when I rang he had a fever and was barely moving, let alone driving 4 hours to Apollo Bay. Ten days later I returned to a very sick husband, with an awful cough which developed into acute laryngitis. He's even now dragging himself from bed to bath to chair, and is definitely not ready for a return to work, which was supposed to start a week ago. Holidays, wiped out; year, in disarray.

And I'm left trying to see the "why". I think being sick was good for me, because it brought me to a complete halt. I was exhausted after an overly busy year, and needed to stop and do nothing. God knew what he was doing. And if there were less meditative walks along the beach, and no swimming in the surf, I treasured every moment.

Instead of doing what I always do on holidays - asking myself if I'm really making the most of it (applying perfectionism to relaxation) - I found myself intensely grateful for every moment: the waves curling and racing in towards the sand, my 2-year-old laughing as he discovered the joy of splashing through foaming water, and quiet hours spent playing games and reading to children on the grey days (of which there were many).

But if I can find a reason for my own relatively minor sickness, Steve's far more severe illness isn't so easily explained away. I can't see any higher purpose in him being dreadfully ill right through a much needed holiday, and into another demanding year of full time ministry. I can't see any point in him missing his normal holiday with the children, one of the few times they enjoy each others' undivided attention. If I was in control of the universe, I would have arranged things differently.

I always want to know why - to understand God's purpose in every bout of sickness and every painful experience - but what arrogance this is on my part! How great is my need to be in control, even of how God is growing me in godliness! Sometimes I think I see a reason for suffering, but often the reason will remain a mystery. Only God is Creator and Lord of all. Only he ultimately knows why. I can trust him with every one of our days.

One scene from our holiday plays like a moving picture across my mind. My mother and I were going for an evening walk, watching the waves crash on the rocks in the light of the setting sun. We came to a small bay, where the waves run up a steeply sloping beach between two rocky outcrops. The water was unusually calm, filling the bay with the heavy silkiness of molten metal, each ripple edged with glowing silver. It seemed to me that the water was cupped in the palms of two great hands.

We may not know why the waves come, breaking with violence over our heads: but here we will always be, held in the hands of God.

summer reading for kids

These 3 books make wonderful holiday reading for kids. They accompany us to the beach every year. It's good to see that 2 of them are by Australian authors!

Pamela Allen Grandpa and Thomas

I bought this for my son Thomas the moment I saw it, because it describes so well his relationship with his beloved Pa. It's a gently illustrated, gently told story for toddlers and preschoolers, about a grandfather and his grandson Thomas.

They spend a day at the beach, splashing through the surf, munching sandwiches under a green umbrella, decorating a sandcastle, and wriggling their hands through it to find each others' fingers (remember the joy of doing that as a child?).

As they walk to the beach, Thomas independently carries his bucket and spade; by the end, Grandpa carries everything home including Thomas, while the tide comes in and washes their sandcastle away. And all to the repeated refrain, which sighs like the waves through the pages: "Splish, splosh, splash sings the sea".

Alison Lester Magic Beach

I dearly love children's books which describe the wonders created by a child's imagination - and this is one of the best.

One page depicts, in rhyming words and a beautifully detailed picture, one of the wonders of a beachside holiday: splashing through the waves, building a sandcastle, searching for stones and shells washed up by the tide.

Turn the page, and it shows a smaller, round picture, like a peephole into the imagination of a child experiencing each of these wonders: sea horses thundering towards the land, a castle complete with prince and princess, an overflowing treasure chest. I love to celebrate and encourage my children's imaginations, and this book does it with me.

Shirley Hughes The Big Alfie Out of Doors Storybook

Anyone who's read any of Shirley Hughes's books has probably fallen in love with them - especially the ones about Alfie and Annie Rose. Alfie is a loving and loveable preschooler, Annie Rose his toddler sister.

Scruffy haired and rosy cheeked, they enjoy all the normal childhood experiences: arranging soggy cornflakes around a bowl, setting up shop in the backyard, putting boots on the wrong feet, going to the school fair.

One of my favourite Alfie stories is the last one in this book. Do you remember finding that perfect childhood treasure, a smooth, round stone which fitted exactly into the palm of your hand? This is the story of how Alfie's special stone, Bonting, is found, lost among the anonymous stones at the beach, and found again. Perfect beachside reading.

ah! summer holidays

And that brings us to the end of the in all honesty summer reading archives. I hope you enjoyed them! I thought I'd kick off the year with some photos from our 10 day holiday in Apollo Bay:









If you're in the middle of school holidays too, I hope they are happy and blessed.

from the archives: trusting God with the life of a child

It's still tough, watching Lizzy struggle with the effects of coeliac disease. The dietician tells me it will probably be 6 months more before she's herself again. She's a lot better on her new diet - she's lost the dark circles under her eyes, doesn't feel sick at school all day every day, and she's missed 1 day of school every fortnight instead of every week - but we're still waiting for her body to heal. In the meantime, our little gymnast can't get through a 2 hour gym class, her muscles ache when she does too much walking, and she still gets tummy pains and headaches. Here's how it all began:

Last Tuesday afternoon, I sat on our back verandah, looked up at the lemon-scented gums, and sobbed. And no, it wasn't about my father-in-law, who died 5 days before, although I've shed many tears for him.

I was crying out to God for the ability to trust him with the life of my only daughter.

Lizzy has been sick for over a month. Sore stomach, a bizarre headache in the back of her head, aching muscles. She's been dragging herself through school and putting herself to bed an hour early every night, as her skin grows whiter and the circles under her eyes more purple.

The doctor examined her and found nothing wrong. "Try these pills (the implication being they probably won't do much) and come back in 2 weeks if she's still sick." One week later and I'd had enough, so the doctor booked her in for a battery of blood tests last Monday.

The final brick in my towering wall of anxiety came when Lizzy's teacher approached me last Tuesday afternoon, obviously worried about the sick, pale little girl struggling to sit through 6 1/2 hours of school every day.

You probably understand the thoughts that go through a parent's mind at times like these. Thoughts you barely dare to name, certainly not to the doctor, for fear they'll think you're an over-anxious parent (which, let's face it, you are). Cancer. Brain cancer. Leukemia.

And if you give in to the impulse to look it up on the internet (I succumbed after a month of anxiety) you get big medical names for your worries, like slow-growing chronic myelogenous leukemia, with symptoms vague enough for any vague set of symptoms.

So I sat on the verandah and cried out my worry and fear to God.

I committed my children to God years ago. I pray,

Keep them safe. Please keep them safe! But do with them as you will. They are yours, you love them more than I do, you know what is best for them. Watch over them, grow them into the people you want them to be, and use their lives for the good of your kingdom. Even at cost to me - or them.

God's preparation for the times when the pit of fear opens before my feet. So I was able to say through my tears "The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord" (Job 1:21). I was able to tell God I love him more than anything, more than life itself, more even than the life of my children.

But I was unable to trust him.

I know God isn't capricious. I know he doesn't delight in hurting us. I know he's no cosmic kill-joy. I know "all things work together for good for those who love God," the good of making us more like Christ (Rom. 8:28).

I've said it myself: "He gives us only the suffering that is needful, no more."

But is it really true? Does God give me just enough suffering to make me more like Christ? Is the Christian who suffers more in need of being made like Christ than the one who doesn't? Of course not! So what does it mean to say God gives us only the suffering that is needful?

Is there always a reason for the suffering of God's people? What does it mean to say we may never know the reason? Does it mean there isn't a reason, or that there is a reason, but it may stay hidden in God? And what kinds of reasons does God have for our suffering?

In other words: can I trust God with the life of my only daughter?

Here's how my wise husband answered my questions: Yes, there's always a reason for our suffering, as there was for Job. But no, we won't always know the reason, just as Job didn't. God's reasons aren't limited to making us Christ-like, so there's certainly no direct link between the amount of suffering I experience and my lack of Christ-likeness. All suffering is used by God to make us more like Christ, but he may have other reasons as well.

For there are many reasons for suffering. God's fatherly discipline for things I do wrong. His training ground to produce greater Christ-likeness in me. An encouragement to find comfort and joy in God. The testing and and refining of my faith. Prying my fingers away from holding too tightly to the good things of this world. Increasing my sympathy for another's suffering. The catalyst to lead someone else to Christ.

Above all, I hope suffering will always be an opportunity for God's great and holy name to be glorified in my life.

And I can live with this uncertainty. I like to know the reasons, but I can live without a reason. I can live with the absolute certainty that God loves me and my children more than I will ever know, that he always has a reason for allowing us to suffer, and that the reason may stay hidden in his loving Father's heart.

I can trust my heavenly Father with my life and the lives of my children.

It turned out that Lizzy probably has coeliac disease, like her father: an intolerance to gluten, which means she'll be unable to eat wheat, barley or rye for the rest of her life. Good news, especially for a family already used to coping with this condition! I am already praying God will use this condition to grow her in thankfulness, patience and self-control.

27/5/08