This Is My Daughter

Isn't it strange how a word you've heard a thousand times can suddenly seem to take on new meaning? When Mom first came to live with us she was having obvious issues remembering. As time progressed, her cognitive skills became less acute, more muddled, like slogging through oatmeal some days and like breaking concrete on others -- difficult until you get to the hard part. Months ago, we attended a ladies fellowship, a gathering of Jesus-loving women with whom I had been doing a Bible study. Mom had never laid eyes on any of them, but when one of the ladies approached to speak to her, she attempted to introduce me! I've grown used to this over the years, but oftentimes, the person will turn and give me a confused, "how-do-I-respond?" sort of look. "This is my daughter," Mom attempted to say, and that's when it happened. That was the second time that day the word had come to me: daughter. 

I used to hate when Mom introduced me as her daughter. Our relationship was always complicated, and I was never sure what she thought when she said the word. There was never any of that relational, teach-me-how-to-be-a-woman kind of stuff between us. She never even spoke to me about marriage, or how to make a pot roast, or sex, except that I shouldn't do it. I'm not assigning blame, it just was what it was. We fumbled our way through years of coexistence. Perhaps I was uncomfortable because I wasn't really sure what being a daughter was supposed to mean.

The first time that day the word popped into my head, it was completely out of nowhere, or so I tend to think until God shows me otherwise. I was going about doing what I do when it dawned on me that I am God's daughter. That may not seem so groundbreaking to you, but as I said, a word you've heard a thousand times can suddenly seem to take on new meaning. His daughter. Not some representative title or honorary vestige, but real adoption. Predestined, chosen before the world was even formed, an heir, by the name and work of Jesus Christ (there is no name higher), and because it pleased God. If He and I were to go out in public, He might turn to someone and say, "This is My daughter." And suddenly, that word had an entirely different ring to it. Suddenly I knew what being a daughter was supposed to mean. Suddenly I knew what being a daughter was supposed to feel like. Suddenly it was the sweetest sounding word to my ears. Daughter. 

Sitting at lunch that day, when Mom used the word, to my ears it sounded exactly the same to me as it had for years. But to my heart, it sounded like so much more. It was the name given to me by my Father. I am not just a daughter, I am His.

Communion, Commemorate, Come Celebrate!

"Good morning, Church," he announced. "We're getting ready to take communion, and I'm supposed to read the Bible." His casual, off-the-cuff introduction was typical of this brother. He approaches all he has to do with so little pretense; it is a gift that gives him a very interesting perspective of things. "So, I'm gonna read, and then my wife here is going to say a short prayer." As he began to read, he struggled with the fine print. Glasses on. Glasses off. His wife pulled the Bible further away which seemed to improve the situation and he was able to complete that which he was "supposed" to do. His wife began to pray. Quietly. He turned so his lapel mic would pick up her voice, but it was still quite weak. He stood a bit on tip-toe and leaned in further. A strange sight, but effective. 

The invitation over, we all moved toward the rail at the front of the church. As I knelt down, I felt someone's fingertips on my shoulder. To the left of me beamed a face as bright as her ninety-watt smile. "I moved!" she whispered. "Oh, my goodness! That's so wonderful!" I whispered back. A long-awaited, much prayed-for event. "I sleep so much more soundly and wake up happy," she celebrated. "Oh, I still have my aches and pains," she whispered, "but I feel so much better!" I gave her arm a squeeze and leaned into her. "Praise the Lord!" we said, and bowed our heads to pray silently.

Later in the day, I was texting the woman who had prayed:

"Taking communion. 

S'posed to be think' 'bout Jesus. I'm thinkin' 'bout how cute you two are."

And I was. Not entirely, mind you. But I was admiring how they support one another; I can't imagine one without the other. I was thinking that's what marriage is supposed to be, and the marriage of Jesus and His Church, even more so. I was thinking how blessed I am to be in this community of believers. Believers who have trouble seeing or being heard. Believers who are so excited about an address change, they can't wait to celebrate it at the dinner table. Believers who serve one another and rejoice with one another. I was thinking what a privilege it is to be invited to Christ's table in this place and on the guest list with this unique but loving family. I was thinking about the Twelve gathered around Jesus in His last hours and what a noisy, imperfect bunch they must have been; so many different personalities and no painting to show them how to behave. I was thinking how the word "communion" stems from the bringing of people together for a common purpose, and though we come together in quiet reverence most of the time, sometimes that coming together requires a bit of unsophisticated, unscripted, only somewhat hushed sharing. I was thinking about how far God has brought me --from the person who would have scolded her children for such antics at the altar, to one who relishes the thought of joining in such revelry before the throne. 

However you commune --at the rail, in your pew, virtually-- by all means commemorate, but don't forget to celebrate.

Do You See Them? There They Are!

I am struggling. Despite the way I'm struggling, despite knowing that I'm struggling, I don't always ask people to pray for me. If people knew to pray for me and how to pray for me, they could "stand in the gap," so to speak, when I am in the fray and can't find the words or the presence of mind to pray. But people don't know to pray for me because I don't ask the way I should. I feel guilty for struggling the way I am. I feel guilty for not asking for help the way I should. So, I struggle even harder. Is any of this sounding familiar?

We all battle. We battle everyday. Ephesians 6:12 says:

"For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places." 

We struggle with stuff we can't even see. How are we supposed to do that? 

Just because we can't see them, doesn't mean God can't. Check out 2 Kings 6:8-17 (biblegateway.com is a great source, and it's always helpful to read in different versions). Elisha, God's prophet, had confidence in the heavenly army that surrounded them. Did he see them with spiritual eyes, or did he simply know from walking with God that they were there? His servant, however, could only see with the eyes God had given him at birth, and he feared. When Elisha prayed, God graciously opened the spiritual eyes of the young man and he no longer feared.

First of all, God never calls us to a battle in which He is unwilling to back us. God assures us all throughout Scripture, we need not fear, He will not abandon us. He has equipped us with the weapons and armor we need to secure victory.

Secondly, we are to pray for one another and ask others to pray for us. It may be specific to the circumstances. It may be as simple as the prayer of Elisha: "Lord, open his eyes." We may have to cast aside our pride that we can ask another for prayer, or step out in faith and share our experience with others rather than hiding in fear or shame.

Third, we need to look to our left and look to our right. If we are in a community of believers as we are commanded to be, there should be someone there willing to help in practical ways: run your child to school while you stay home with a sick toddler, make you a meal while you recover from surgery, help you with your move, pay a bill. 

The battle is hard enough. We were never meant to be alone. Open your eyes to the army fighting with you.

Choosing the Opposite of Blind Faith

Did you know that National Opposite Day is actually a thing? I wish I could say it was today and that's why I'm writing this post, but it's not. (Or, maybe it is-- could be Opposite Day, after all 😉.) National Opposite Day is January 25th. I'm not sure who decided we need to nationalize such a thing; I'm not sure why the powers that be would waste time and money doing it, but there you are. Worse yet, I'm not sure how I even discovered all of this. 

I have to admit, Opposite Day seems like something God would invent. Not that He is not everything He says He is, or that He does not say exactly what He means, but the Christian's walk can sometimes seem like one big trail of opposites: rejoicing in suffering, serving to lead, giving all and getting more.

A. W. Tozer, a pastor and author once said:

“Well, it is not to be wondered at. A real [believer] is an odd number anyway. He feels supreme love for One whom he has never seen, talks familiarly every day to Someone he cannot see, expects to go to heaven on the virtue of Another, empties himself in order to be full, admits he is wrong so he can be declared right, goes down in order to get up, is strongest when he is weakest, richest when he is poorest and happiest when he feels worst. He dies so he can live, forsakes in order to have, gives away so he can keep, sees the invisible, hears the inaudible and knows that which passeth knowledge.”

I would suppose, to the casual observer, it all seems a bit ridiculous, maybe even foolish; but, there is nothing about following Jesus that is either. There is no blind faith when it comes to serving the Lord. 

If you're married or have ever been, did your spouse come with a script or game plan? Was everything that would ever be written out and notarized prior to your saying, "I do"? How could it be? So, when she was unfaithful, what did you do? "For better or worse" it and work things out, or did you get outta Dodge? When he began drinking, what did you do? "Stand by your man" and help him through recovery, or did you ride off into the sunset? Either way, you jumped into a covenant, not expecting any of those things to happen. Was that blind faith, or was it faith based on the character and commitment of the person who stood looking into your eyes making the same promise? I'm going to venture it was the latter. If so, what if that person had never broken that promise? What if it was you, but they loved you anyway? What if that person to whom you gave your heart and soul was perfect in every way, they never let you down, they had the power to give you everything you could ever need, and loved you enough to stick it out and walk you through the growing process each and every time you messed up? Would you call your trusting in that person blind faith? 

I'd call it just the opposite: rational choice.