Prodigals and Pharisees Come Home

I have always loved the Parable of the Prodigal Son. It simply starts out with "There was a man who had two sons." I remember mostly hearing the story with the focus on the younger prodigal son. But the story is about two sons and there are lessons to be learned from both. 

The younger son approached his dad, asking for his portion of his inheritance so that he could leave. The oldest son in those day would be given a double portion, meaning the younger son would receive a third of his father's property. The father complied and the younger son packed up and left for a far away country where he squandered his money, spending it all on immoral, reckless living. He didn't make poor decisions or lose it in business deals, he simply wasted it on things he thought would bring him fleshly pleasure. As a result, he experienced poverty for the first time. Soon  a famine hit the land making it impossible to get food. He eventually got a job feeding pigs, which would have been a shameful position as a Jew. It was a stinky dirty job that seemed to reflect his spiritual state.  

As food became more scarce, he experienced gnawing hunger and began to eat the slop he fed the pigs. I can't help but wonder if it was then that he began to miss the lovingkindness of his dad who so faithfully met his needs. Could it be that rebellion tends to lead people away from what their hearts most want? In the midst of slurping down slop not fit for humans, he realized his father's servants were eating better than him. So, he headed home, rehearsing the confession he would make, hoping to be hired as a servant. Little did he know his father was constantly scanning the horizon, hoping to see him. And when he spotted his son, the father ran which was something dignified men didn't do. The father grabbed his son and held him in a tight embrace. When I think of that scene, I think of what my son smelled like when he came home from the pig barns with the stench of pig wafting across the room. The love of that father entered into the messy, stinky life of his son. 

 

I can so relate to the younger son. The Word tells me while I was still in my sin, Christ loved me and died for me. That means God loved me with the stench of my sin still on me--the stench of pride, of lust, of selfishness, of self-centeredness, of an independent heart that often chose to quietly do life apart from Him, and of trying to fill this God-craving hunger with worldly things. Yeah, I can relate to him. I wish I couldn't, but I can. 

In response to the son's confession, the father calls his servants to bring a robe, a ring, and shoes. These are not the clothes of a servant, they are the clothing of a chosen son! He has servants prepare a banquet to celebrate the son who was lost , but no has been found, the son who was dead, but who is now relationally alive. This father reflects Our Abba! Some of us for a variety of reasons walked away from God and His fold after having made declarations of faith. Maybe we were wounded by legalism or by people in the church. Maybe we simply rebelled, wanting something more. Maybe we slipped so gradually into sin that shame sent us running from God and His people lest they find out. We may at some time have believed the stench of what we have done could never be cleaned. But this parable tells us the Abba is always scanning the horizon for prodigals and He runs at the first sight of their return. And no matter how deeply the stench has been ground into our pours, God embraces us and clothes us in the clothes of His chosen. God knows we must come to the end of ourselves to recognize Him as the perfect Redeemer, Restorer, Reconciler, Healer, our Satisfaction, and Father. 

The other brother who came in from the fields to see the celebration taking place. A servant informed him that the celebration was in honor of the prodigal who had came home. The older son became angry and refused to go in. The first time I read this parable, I thought his anger was a protective anger toward his father who had been hurt by the child that left home in a manor that stated he considered his father dead to him. But when the father came out and talked to the older son, we see the state of the older son's heart. He was angry because the son who left and squandered the inheritance in an immoral lifestyle was being celebrated and while he who had remained wasn't.  

The older son's attitude makes me uncomfortable, because I see me in him and can relate to his judgments. I wish didn't but I do. There have been times I've worked hard and was not noticed, only to have someone new come along and get praised for one project. I resented it a lot. I also used to pride myself on being nonjudgmental, but a sweet lady once told told me that we all make judgments every  da and sometimes judgments help us make good decisions and sometimes they are sinful. 

I was uncomfortable with her statement, so I paid close attention to the thoughts that ran through my head for a few weeks and she was right. I made judgments about food as I classified it as either good or bad instead of thanking God for His provision. I made judgments about the hearts and the worth of others based on the clothing they wore. I judged myself harshly for having normal feelings and being human instead of perfect. I judged a parent by how she handled her kids in public and was convicted because at one time I was a mom of five littles and knew they could be perfectly behaved one day and then the next day I was red-faced, paying for chocolate bar snatched by little hands when I wasn't looking, I judged a homeless person without knowing his story, not even giving him the dignity of a smile or eye contact every human craves. I judged someone's words without letting them finish their thoughts, something I hate when its done to me. It grieved my heart to find there was a whole lot more Pharisee in me than I thought. But facing this truth humbled me and helped me come to grips with the truth that not all prodigals run physically, some of us run even in the staying. It helped me realize how desperately we (me in particular) need God's mercy and grace. 

I also realized I often chose churches because people in them looked like me. Around the time I had the above conversation with my friend, a therapist suggested I find a support group for eating disorders and there wasn't one in my community. She referred me to a ministry for those struggling with addictions and codependency. When I first walked in, judgments were screaming in my head. I wanted to run, but didn't. There I heard stories that melted my prideful heart, allowing God to fill it with compassion and love. There I saw hardened hearts softened and people extending grace while holding each other accountable in such a beautifully balanced ways. I shared my story one night and there were sniffles, the loudest being among the biggest burliest guys, who had originally scared me. I grew to love them because they were so honest, transparent, and hungry for God.

There I realized the years I had spent in church, I had been trying to earn God's love and to cover up my sinful parts and my judgmental heart. I loved the recovery group because it was there I realized God's love was freely given. There was nothing I could do to earn it and nothing I could do to lose it. The fleshly business of trying to earn love was put to death. I also bumped into a friend there who introduced me to her sister, who was covered in tattoos. At first I judged her, but over time I came to love this gal and her big heart and even got a small tatt to remind myself not to judge. 

When this gal passed away. Her funeral was exactly what I have come to desire all churches to be, and what I imagine heaven already is--a mixture of people from all walks of life. A place where addicts sit next to the "church people who appear to have it all together." A place where the poor are seated among the rich. A place where the tattooed are sprinkled among the conservatively dressed. A place where those with nose rings and piercings are scattered among those with traditional jewelry. A place where the wounded are actually tended to, a place where the vulnerable find safety, a place where differences are celebrated, and a place where every prodigal is restored and rejoiced over. At that crowded funeral filled with prodigals we had one thing in common, our friend and when a song was sung all of our eyes were leaking for the one who had overcome big, big stuff and who had loved so big. To me, the people at her funeral represent the death of the conflict between prodigals and pharisaical siblings. 

For me, moving past judgment took my recognizing my own desire to be loved, acknowledged, and accepted was something written on my heart by my Creator and then accepting that God Himself has lavishly and consistently met those needs through Christ! When I rest in this truth I don't tend to wander like the prodigal or sit in judgment like the Pharisaical brother, Instead, I am free to relate to the One who fills my heart with all it needs so I can celebrate those around me. 

From Fear to Faith

 In 2012 one of the pastors who had a huge impact on my life passed away. I wrote a note on Facebook called "From Fear to Faith" and thought I would edit it and share it here as we are living in times in which fear covered in anger is rampant. I hope that may someone struggling with fear might be comforted and find courage and peace in Jesus, just as I did.  

In January of 1977 my husband and I moved to Mississippi so he could get his doctorate from State. Oh, we were young and moving across the country while I was pregnant with our first child. The night we arrived in Starkville, it was freezing cold, and I was very sick with a kidney infection. We followed the hospital signs to get to the emergency room. The doctor kept me in the hospital for several days, leaving my husband to unpack the U-Haul. A guy he had met at a conference happened to drive and see Joel unloading the trailer. He stopped and helped him and then invited him to dinner with some guys from his church. He got there and met their pastor, who was nicknamed Nap. For a year, we attended another church that had more young student couples and forged some great friendships, but after a year most of them were finished school and left. One of the men we knew told us that because I had such a thirst for Bible knowledge that Emmanuel Baptist Church would help me find the answers to the questions I had. We to the little Baptist Church, where Nap taught verse by verse at least four times a week and stayed there for seven years.

When we first attended, I was very fearful, but if anyone would have asked if I was a believer I would have said yes. Maybe I was a believer, but if I was a believer, I was a terrified one. Every time I sinned or even thought I might have sinned, I confessed over and over and asked Jesus into my heart again and again and again. Right after we married, we had heard some preaching on the Book of Revelation, and I woke up several times crying from nightmares about end times. When I arrived at Emmanuel, I was still fearful and trying desperately to be good, thinking I could earn God's love and bet to heaven.

About the time I began to relax and enjoy our new church, Nap announced he would begin a series on the book of Revelation. I was struggling with my parent's divorce so I went in to talk to him about that and during that conversation I also told him about my fear of the Book of the Revelation and told him I wasn't sure I could handle the series. He suggested I read the little book, Come Lord, Jesus by Mark G. Cambron and then come talk to him. I began to see the grace of God in that little book on Revelation and how it matched what Nap was preaching on Sundays. We met many times and talked about the gospel and eternal security and a bunch about the love of God. Over time, I realized I believed what God said in His Word and that Christ's payment for sin was enough to secure my salvation.

I fell in love with Jesus during the time I spent at that church. I hungered and thirsted to know everything about Him and had to have driven Nap crazy with questions, but he was patient and loving and kind to this needy young believer. I loved his bear hugs as they were tight and purely given. I loved his love of the Savior. It never ever waned, no matter what came his way. I loved his love of God's grace and a pure gospel. I loved his style of teaching and answering the questions I and many others had, because his answers were never his thoughts or opinions, they were straight from the Word! I loved the consistency of his teaching; the truth never changing as he moved from book to book...it was always grace. And he lived out that grace even in the mundane parts of his life. He fiercely protected the flock with which God had entrusted him. His heart grieved as many of his flock were moved to other parts of the world, but he still considered us a part of his Emmanual family.

I remember one time he was preaching on the persecuted church, I went up to him afterward and told him, "Nap, I don't have to worry about anyone persecuting me, because I always prostitute myself." He responded with, "I know, Babe!" but his eyes were twinkling like crazy. So, I quickly thought through what I had just said and got embarrassed. I screamed, "NO!" and he chuckled and said, "I didn't think you meant what you said." I typed the bulletin for several years and I often made him special bulletins with funny announcements he could not read to the church. But I knew he saw them when he came out with twinkle in his eye and a great big smile on his face.

The last week I lived in Starkville, I went by to see him one last time and I asked him some hard questions I had never voiced before about God's sovereignty over things like abuse. There were no glib answers give, but as I turned to leave, he called my name and I turned around, "Wendy, God is Good! Don't ever forget He is Good!" And I heard his voice say those same words over and over in my head when I went into counseling to recover from the pain in my past! Nap also listened to my pain when my best friend lost her babies then again when I lost her. I loved the sound of his voice when he taught. It was a slow southern drawl that calmed my anxious heart after someone broke into our home and comforted us as a church when we buried our loved ones.

One more thing I loved about Nap was that He never said things like, "Jesus, is coming back, you better get ready." He simply lived His life always excitedly looking for our Jesus to return. He was faithful until the very end. Nap was at a camp preaching and sharing the gospel and passed away later in the evening. That very night I was in a worship service, here in California and we sang one of his favorite songs, "Nothing but the Blood of Jesus" and my heart was full of joy as it reminded me of Nap and his impact on my faith, not realizing our gracious God was orchestrating that moment in my life at the time He was welcoming him home. I love that Jesus has riches to share with His faithful servant that bore so much fruit in His life.

I have lived in California with a contentment that is still slightly overshadowed by a homesickness for people who had become a loving spiritual family for this homesick, pregnant, scared wife. This last week I have seen a lot of pictures from Ikthoos, the Camp Nap and others started. The kids who were little campers when we lived there are all adults who are faithfully filling his footsteps as they love kids and teach them how to study the Word to lift their beautiful voices in praise.

Still Showing up Differently

I recently read the testimony of a man who was talking about his struggle with addiction. He said he began his recovery the day he chose to show up differently in the world. The words, “I chose to show up differently” deeply resonated with me when I first heard them. That was because God had used several events to awaken deeply buried pain caused by unresolved traumas I had experienced earlier in life.

For years I had masked pain from the traumas in different ways. I masked it with an eating disorder that led me to sway between severe anorexia to compulsive eating. I masked the shame I experienced over the traumas with a hyper-critical spirit that served o focus others’ eyes away from the messiness of my life and soul that could have potentially bubbled over at any given moment. Third. I masked the fear of being hurt again with self-protective behaviors like defensiveness, obsessing over real or imagined offenses, shutting down, or completely withdrawing.

During an anorexic phase of my disorder, I went to get a haircut and when the stylist finished washing my hair, my neck muscles were so weak I couldn’t lift my head without using my hands. The weakness jolted me into seeing my health was in jeapordy. As I struggled, I also realized I was tired of living a life centered around diets, exercise, and self-contempt. Friends and my church community didn’t know how to help, so I made the brave decision in the face of the fear I was experiencing to seek Christian counseling when it wasn’t a widely accepted thing to do. Essentially, I was choosing to start showing up differently in my world.  

I entered counseling, thinking there would be a quick fix. Maybe it would be the sharing of the trauma that would set me free from the pain it caused. Maybe it would be the confession of the severe self-contempt with which I was struggling that would set me free. Maybe it would the acknowledgement of just how out of control my disorder was as I was seeking control over my life, my emotions, and my body. Maybe it would be the tears I eventually shed as I grieved the losses caused by the trauma and the poor decisions that I had made in response to it.

Looking back, I now realize I was looking for a magical decision like the decision to show up differently to be the “cure all.” The “cure all” would be whatever would helped me become like a person who had never been traumatized and who had never developed an eating disorder. Over the course of my healing journey, I grew to accept and then grew to embrace the truth that my recovery wasn’t about a one-time decision to just show up differently in my world. I would have to make the same decisions over and over on a daily, hourly, and sometimes moment by moment basis. I will share a few of the decisions I have made.    

I chose to show up differently when I chose to talk honestly with my therapist about the different traumas I had experienced as a child, as a teen, and as an adult, facing and accepting the real story I had been living.  

I chose to show up differently every week when I was willing to grieve the life that I had been wishing I had had instead of the one from which I was recovering.   

I chose to show up differently when I decided to face the truth of how serious the disorder was and agreed to work with a doctor and a dietician to get my health back.

I chose to show up differently when I agreed to experience and sit in the pain that I had buried instead of numbing it with eating disordered behaviors.

I chose to show up differently every week when I participated in groups with others who had experienced similar traumas and eating disorders instead of isolating.  

I chose to show up differently when I revealed to my therapist the depth of the self-contempt I was experiencing and began to choose daily to believe I truly am who God says I am.

I chose to show up differently when I began to use my voice in relationships by asking directly for what I needed, desired, or preferred and allowing others the freedom to honor the requests or not.   

I chose to show up differently when I quit trying to control everything and everyone around me through co-dependent tendencies that I used to calm anxiety.

I chose to show up differently when I began to explore and embrace emotions God created me to feel and to manage them by identifying and changing cognitive distortions.  

I chose to show up differently when I had a dream in which every woman that I passed had no mouth and dead eyes and woke up begging God to give women their voices and wrote books to help others.

I chose to show up differently when I began to ask the Lord in faith, to show me where He was in all that I had experienced and began to see how truly beautiful and good God was and is in the midst of the ugly horrific things experienced.

I chose to show up differently when I began to rest in God’s love instead of trying to earn the love that He had already sacrificially given to me.

I chose to show up differently when I realized I had been trying to elicit love from other broken people who didn’t know how to love well and began to focus more on how I can love well by letting Jesus’s love flow through me.

I chose to show up differently when I acknowledged the hard all around us every day and chose to believe our God is bigger than the biggest mountain put in front of me, His love stronger than the vilest hate swirling around us, and His spilt blood is deeper than the sin I commit.

To be honest, this list is not exhaustive and is comprised of things that I have to choose repeatedly day after day, moment after moment so that I can show up differently, hoping to reflect the heart and the character of my God rather than a wounded broken human. I remember getting angry when I realized there was no quick or permanent fix. That anger makes me smile now because I know it is in my weaknesses and in the having to choose again and again to show up differently that I have come to experience God’s love and strength the most.

Desperate Places Revisisted

As I have been watching the war in Ukraine unfold, I was reminded of a post I wrote about desperate places. I wrote it after one of our pastors preached a sermon on John 4:46-54. This is an account of an official who was so desperate to save his son's life that he walked a marathon to beg Jesus to come and heal him. Pastor Matt described the man as being in a desperate place--as we watch news stories about the people leaving Ukraine, sheltering in place, and fighting in the war, we can see that they are definitely people living in desperate places. Desperate places simply defined are the places where life, as we once knew it, has been turned upside down. The very places we sometimes find ourselves feeling like we are at the end of the proverbial rope, shocked, powerless, and unsteady. It is the place we know only our God can help. 

I shared about a few of the desperate places I've been in. One of them being the day I turned ten. My family was planning on celebrating my birthday, but an unexpected phone call radically changed our plans. My mom's aunt, with whom we were close, had a serious stroke and was in intensive care in another town. Our celebration turned into several intense weeks as we traveled to the hospital that she was in. Because they did not let children visit patients, my siblings and I sat in the car or in the lobby waiting while my parents and grandmother visited my aunt and uncle. The first night we went, my uncle came downstairs to visit with us kids and he cried. It was the first time I had seen him cry and his emotional pain scared me. And each time the phone rang at our house, my mom feared the worst and ran to answer it, choking back sobs before she even answered the phone. 

I experienced powerlessness as I watched the adults ride an emotional roller coaster full of ups and downs and scary turns. As a ten-year-old, I couldn't do anything to make my aunt get well and I couldn't do anything to take the pain away the adults were experiencing. All I could do was pray the simple prayers of a ten-year-old heart. I don't remember the prayers, but I do remember wanting her well and for things to be like they were before she got sick. I also remember desperately wanting God. I remember peace flowing through me as He met me in the fear of possible loss, the anxiety of seeing my caretakers hurting, and in my admitting couldn't fix it all. 

The second desperate place that came to mind was when our son had an ATV accident. I met him at the hospital, and we were told his collar bone was broken in several places. He had told the triage nurse he felt like he was bleeding inside, and she noted it in his chart. However, the ER doctor dismissed it as radiating pain from his collar bone. They sent us home and several days later he came out of his room gray. This time an ER doctor discovered his ruptured spleen and his belly filled with blood. When they wheeled him away, we assured him we would see him when he woke up, secretly fearing the worst. I was desperate and knew there was nothing I could do to guarantee the outcome I wanted. I was drawn to God and afraid of Him at the same time as He had the power to heal him but might choose not to. I was too tied up in knots too pray eloquent prayers, but felt His presence growing bigger, reminding me He was with us. There were complications and the stay in ICU stretched to 12 days and the regular hospital floor another 4. I showered and walked during the nurses' shift changes. In the shower tears flowed and on walks the prayers flowed directly from my heart to God's and He was near. 

The third desperate place was when my daughter-in-law was put in the hospital on bed rest during her pregnancy. She and my son were on the other side of the country, making daily decisions that no parents should ever have to make to get their child here safely. As my son kept me posted, I felt the same feelings of powerlessness I had felt as a child. All I could do was listen and tell him I was available anytime he needed me. I daily poured out my heart to God, telling Him everything I longed for in regard to my kids and their daughter. And God met me there in the middle of passionate prayers. We were at the beach when my son called with the news that they had no more choices left, but to deliver our granddaughter. She was three months early and a very sick little baby. Our son's voice was solemn as he gave us the news. My heart ached for them and I stayed up all night praying, asking God to intervene and let her live. Our son called back the next morning and said the x-rays that morning showed no sign of the infection that was there the night before. There was hope even though the next couple of months were critical for her. Our granddaughter was a fighter and held on and was soon thriving. 

When I watch the news, and see people fleeing, fathers saying goodbye to their families as they stay to fight, and the bombs being dropped, the desperate place over there seems so big for those people. Even though my desperate places haven't been as big in scale, I wonder if the lessons I learned might still speak some hope into their hearts. I learned that God can always be found in desperate places, but to find Him we must choose to lean into Him through radically honest prayers. I learned that desperate places were fertile soil for faith to grow exponentially as those places bring us face to face with what we believe about ourselves and what we believe about our God. 

I also learned there is a very real Enemy and if we don't continuously pray, he preys on us, trying to convince us that desperate places prove God doesn't love us. But the truth is that deep intimacy with God happens as we lean into Him in the hard, praising Him for who He is and what He has done, what He is doing, and what He will do in the future. I learned that faith is purified in the hard as it brings us face to face with our human limitations against the backdrop of His pure character and His powerful attributes. I learned desperate places purify our hearts as we have to decide if we really want Jesus or if we just want His benefits. I learned desperate places expose our tendency to make idols out of the things we desperately want and that idolatry is broken when we are put in a place we have to give the desires of our hearts to the Lord.

When I think of desperate places of course the Ukranian people come to mind, but so do many others--people who have stood over child sized coffins weeping, people who have dealt with cancer that came in its ugliest forms, people who have suffered through horrendous abuses whose cries went unheard, people whose lives were turned upside down by someone's decision to drink and drive, people who watched their hometowns burn to the ground, people who watched homes being swept away by floods, and people who were suddenly laid off, wondering how they could feed their families in the face of a pandemic. I also think of people who are currently living long in desperate places--people with debilitating pain of chronic illnesses no one can see, people watching as their loved ones’ minds slip away, others watching loved ones with sharp minds whose bodies begin to cease functioning, those living with infertility and unfulfilled longings, and those who suffer in the aftermath of mass shootings with PTSD and flashbacks they cannot control. Did they lean into Jesus and find hope? 

I also thought of those who will find themselves in desperate places this next year. Maybe they will be parents who will get that call from their soldier's commander because he won't be coming home because he or she sacrificed their life on the battlefield. Maybe it will be the woman whose doctor calls to say she has joined the community of those fighting cancer. Maybe it will be the parents of a student gone missing. Maybe it will be the businessman whose auditor tells him the only way out of debt is bankruptcy. Maybe it will be the couple whose marriage begins to crumble under the weight of betrayal, untreated mental illness, or self-destructive addictions. Will they lean into Jesus or will run from the very One who wants to minister to their heart? Will they see His infinite goodness, or will they believe the lies the enemy speaks? I am praying for them because I know that as much as I care, we have a Savior who cares infinitely more, longing to reveal Himself to them in ways they can't even imagine. Will they let Him instill hope into the desperate places?

A Man Named Joseph

Our church has been going through Genesis and recently covered the story of Joseph. Even though I have written about him before, I thought I would revisit his story. Joseph's father was Jacob and his family, well they were one big hot mess. To start with Jacob had fallen in love with a woman and worked seven years to marry her. But his father-in-law substituted his older daughter for the bride Jacob had worked so hard for. So, Jacob had to work another seven years for the one he loved and ended up with two wives. For several years the loved wife was barren while the unloved wife was birthing sons. Eventually there were twelve sons in all--two from the loved one and 10 from the unloved one and the concubines the wives had given Jacob, each hoping to increase their family size in an effort to find favor with Jacob. 

So, our man Joseph grew up in a family with two mother figures vying for his dad's affection. And his dad was a man who made some pretty serious parenting mistakes. First, he loved Joseph more than his other sons and he gifted him with a colorful coat, conveying his favoritism to the whole family of boys who were all longing for their father's favor. Second, when Jacob sent his older sons out to tend sheep, he sent Joseph out to check on them and the reports he gave Jacob were not always favorable. Needless to say, the brothers didn't grow any fonder of the tattle tale. 

Then there was a matter of dreams. God gave Joseph dreams that indicated his brothers would all bow in submission to him. Being 17, he did what teens would do--he bragged to the fam. In the midst of a family with two wives competing, a dad with rotten parenting skills, a son prone to bragging, and slew of sinful natures begam smoldering as they longed for their father's favor. The sibling rivalry grew into a great big, ugly hatred. 

After the coat giving, the dream bragging, and the hatred growing, Jacob sent Joseph once again to check on his brothers. When they saw him coming, they plotted to kill him and planned to tell their dad he had been killed by an animal. But one brother with a smidgen of integrity left suggested they throw Joseph in a cistern instead. When Joseph arrived, they stripped him of his identity as the favored one by stealing his coat. They threw him into a pit and calmly sat down to eat, which showed just how hard their hearts had become and how deeply rooted their hatred for Joseph was. By getting rid of him, they believed they might get what they craved the most--Jacob's favor. When a caravan traveling to Egypt came near, they pulled Joseph from the pit and sold him as a slave. They then showed his bloodied coat to their dad and Jacob grieved the deep grief parents grieve when they lose a child they love. 

That seems like enough hurt for one person to go through for a lifetime. But there was more suffering in the story God penned for Joseph to live. Joseph was bought by Potiphar and Potiphar realized God was with Joseph and put him over his whole house. Then Potiphar's wife tried to seduce Joseph, and he ran away as she grabbed his outer garment. Angered by Joseph's rejection, she claimed Joseph had attacked her and the lie she told landed Joseph in prison. 

Joseph rose to leadership within the prison population and despite his own circumstances he ruled with integrity over other prisoners. Two prisoners dreamed dreams that Joseph interpreted. One was released and promised to remember Joseph, but he did not and the other lost his life. It was not until Pharaoh dreamed dreams that no one in Egypt could interpret that Joseph was remembered by the freed prisoner. He told the Pharoah about Joseph and Joseph was summoned to interpret the dream that revealed seven years of plenty would be followed by seven years of famine. Pharaoh made Joseph a ruler and told him to prepare Egypt for the famine and he did.

As I read, I wished the story were written by a woman because a woman would have told us what Joseph thought and what he felt. But initially the story makes Joseph seem almost superhuman. At first, we aren't told about the grief Joseph experienced and I wondered if it was because his grief was overshadowed by his need to survive. We also aren't told about the anger that would kindle in his human heart that had been betrayed by his own flesh and blood, the anger fueled by being falsely accused of rape and imprisoned, and the anger added by being forgotten and left in prison. Maybe he was in denial of the pain he felt or maybe he was doing his best to stay focused on the steadfast love of God and His blessings that were poured out on him in each circumstance he faced. 

Just like us, Joseph had choices to make. He could put his eyes on the injustices he had experienced and the suffering he had endured, or He could put them on God who was at work in His life. He could choose to focus on the people who did him wrong and grow a hatred in his own heart or he could focus on the God who was blessing him in a foreign land. He could choose to lie in bed at night and plot the revenge his brothers deserved or allow God to work in their hearts as He filled him with peace and grace. He could focus on the mistakes his dad made, showing favoritism and asking him to tattle or he could choose to forgive. He could focus on his dream-bragging ways and hate himself or he could focus on God's grace and the dreams that He let him interpret and grow humility that dissipated the pride that had once dwelled in his young heart. 

We eventually do get a glimpse of the pain Joseph endured. During the famine his hungry brothers came knocking on his door to buy grain. He recognized them, but they did not know it was him. Joseph devised a plan to get them to bring his youngest brother to him. When they returned, he invited them to a feast. When Joseph saw Benjamin, he was overcome by emotion that he ran from the room to weep. When he decided to tell his brothers, he was so overcome with emotion that he wept so loud the whole household of pharaoh heard him. He revealed his identity and his brothers returned home to bring their dad and their families to live in Egypt under Joseph's rule. Joseph extended them grace, telling them what they meant for evil, God meant for good.  

There are several things we can take from Joseph's story. First, God's plans will not be thwarted by man's schemes. The brothers did end up bowing to the very brother they sold. A modern story that also reflects this same truth is the Jim Elliot and Steve Saint story. God sent them to people as His witness and the people murdered them. But God wanted these people's hearts, and He sent their wives and their families back to the tribes and used them and their grace to win the people's hearts. That abuser. That user. That slanderer. That betrayer. That murderer. They cannot stop God's plans.

Second, no matter what circumstances we find ourselves in God is a God who blesses. God blessed Joseph in Egypt. He blessed him in Potiphar's house. He blessed him in prison. When we take our eyes off of our circumstances, off those who wrong us, off those who hate us, off of the disease we have, off the broken relationship that pains us so much, off the jobs we unfairly lost, and put them on God we will be able to see God's blessings, too.  

Third, God may take us to some places we don't want to go, so He can bless people as He blesses us. Potiphar was blessed. The jailor was blessed. Joseph's family was blessed--all because God blessed Joseph. My friend Mary Esther was taken through a cancer battle with her two-year-old son and she kept her eyes on Jesus and experienced His blessings daily. As they sat with their son after surgery and through chemo, the medical staff, their friends, their church family also experienced the blessings with which God was blessing them. In addition, someone gave her a journaling Bible and she shares the pictures she began drawing during that dark time of their lives and her journaling has gone viral. More and more people are being blessed by their story. Just as Joseph's trust in God saved people, her trust is showing people the way they can be saved.    

Fourth, there is nothing wrong with grieving losses and expressing pain. Joseph held his pain close until he could contain it no more. I believe God brought those brothers at just the right time to force Joseph to face the facts of what had been done to Him. And it was then that he grieved long and hard right in front of his brothers. I have a hunch his pain did a lot more convicting than his anger could have ever done. His pain, the grief their father experienced, and their fear of retaliation may well have been the chisels God used to soften the stone-cold hearts of his brothers. 

Finally, there is no offense so big that a heart in the hand of God can't forgive it. Joseph was hated. Joseph was thrown into a pit. Joseph was stripped of his identity. Joseph was taken from the pit to be sold as a slave. Joseph was taken to a foreign land where he was falsely accused of rape, cast into prison, and forgotten by someone he had helped. Yet, he worked hard, rose to power, and saved lives, including his own family which was the blood line of Jesus.

Suffering well allows God to do his work in us, in our families, in our church, in our community, and even in our nation. Suffering well allows us to experience God's love and blessing even in the hard. Suffering well allows us to see how God works in and through us. Suffering well produces patience, which produces endurance, which produces hope. I want to be like the man named Joseph, who learned to walk humbly with his God whose favor mattered the most. 

Christmas Hope for Anxious Hearts Revisited

 "Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time He may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on Him because He cares for you." (1 Peter 4:6-7) This is one of my favorite verses even though I realize it often gets misused to shame anxious hearted people. With the holidays and covid looming in the background anxiety is increasing. So, today I am revisiting this post first published in 2020 on the topic of anxiety, hoping to speak encouragement into anxious hearts. 

As I have shared in the past, a few years ago we were given a small maltipoo from our kids who moved oversees. Harley is a well-trained dog, who believes she's human. She was pretty anxious when she was dropped off. But at the time I had a viral infection that caused extreme fatigue, which meant she could spend the better part of a year sitting in my lap. This helped her attach to me, my husband, and a son who was staying with us at the time. Then movers came and once again she watched stuff get carried out the door and another person disappeared from her life as our son moved away. She once again grew anxious and wanted to be in someone's lap 24/7.

When I put her down to clean house, she followed me from room to room and there were times I sat down with her and could feel her trembling, which is what she does when she thinks we are about to leave the house without her. Her anxiety still grieves my heart because she gets so anxious anticipating a possible abandonment that she doesn't enjoy the great amount of time she spends on my lap. In watching her, I realized I had a lot in common with her as I spent many years living with the same type of anticipatory anxiety that prevented me from fully enjoying my relationship with God. 

Let's be honest, anxiety is an experience common to us all. This is especially true during the holiday season, especially with Covid 19 numbers rising again. In the past rising numbers caused lockdowns, which has means we had to isolate more, increasing loneliness, depression, and anxiety. There is anxiety in the face of rising numbers and no lockdowns as we fear spreading it. There is still anxiety as people face job loss, devastating storms, closing businesses, and evictions right before the holidays. There is anxiety for those who are in the workforce who know they might be exposed to Covid and carry it home.  

There is also anxiety caused by biased newscasters and social media where key-board warriors spew hate-filled words. There is a higher threat of violence in my neck of the woods and a homeless population who step out into the roads in dark clothing at night. There is anxiety for those who have family members working in law enforcement who know spouses, parents or grandparents on the force may be targeted by violence for wearing a uniform.  

   

There is also anxiety that comes from wanting to have perfect Christmases with perfect gifts and perfect responses to the gifts we're given. There is anxiety in anticipating family dysfunction and family drama that can erupt when people with unresolved baggage come together. For believers, anxiety often leads to toxic shame as we tend to believe we aren't supposed to experience anxiousness. Yet, we do. We may try to either deny or hide it. When we do this, we are choosing to live a lie. It is more honest to acknowledge the hard that comes from living in a fallen world. 

Believers experience anxiety for many reasons. First, we live in a fallen world and may have experienced painful or traumatic events. A normal healthy response to early trauma includes anxiety. Think of a child who experiences trauma at a young age who doesn't have the mental or emotional capacity to process it. Their body responds as it is designed to respond--surging chemicals flood their little systems and they flee, freeze, fight, or play dead to stay safe. Because they are too young to know how to use effectively use that energy, the anxiety of the experience gets imprinted in such a way it recurs when it gets triggered by things the mind remembers subconsciously through a smell, a sound, a season, holiday lights, etc. As they experience triggers as an adult their anxiety rises of its own accord. 

There are also anxiety-provoking things going on in the here and now. I think of those diagnosed with cancer. These people face mortality daily in ways most of us don't. They face difficult decisions about therapies that can potentially poison their bodies as they kill the cancer. They also face soaring medical bills and do battle with insurance companies who refuse to pay. Anxiety can also come from not being sure one can tolerate chemo, from wondering if their faith is strong enough to endure the illness and its painful treatments, and from wondering if they will suffer well and be a light to others or be able to sense God and His love, knowing full well that He can heal, but may choose not to. 

There is compounded anxiety when families deal with sick children during holidays. I follow the posts of mom's whose children were born with heart defects. A little girl named Charlie was born with half a heart and has gone through several open-heart surgeries. The road they travel is long and death will always be a very real possibility. They walk closely with God and the song they sing over her continually declares yes to God's will and yes to His ways. But there is anxiety to be reckoned with when Charlie faces the possibility of new surgeries or life-threatening bumps in the journey and fights to survive with half a heart that loves big. 

The other child is sweet Caleb who has already been given a new heart. But the new heart didn't stop the anxiety for his parents when drugs preventing rejection left his immune system compromised and vulnerable to both blood and eye cancers with which he's battled brave. I know his sweet mama personally and am a part of her tribe. I know she is experiencing even more anxiety this year with Covid numbers rising. She makes healthy choices for her child and trusts God in ways I can't even imagine. 

There is a lot of anxiety felt in families who have someone struggling with addictions, which often raise their ugly heads in holidays. Each person walks on eggshells, fearful they will say or do something that will cause a relapse...and the drinking, the drug use, or visits to porn sites will start up, leaving the house in chaos as wounding behaviors follow in the aftermath. There is also anxiety for the addict because holiday stress can trigger them and if they do not work their program they may drink, snort, shoot up, or return to the darkness of his or her infidelity through internet porn--the fixes that leave a family open to dark spiritual influences that can pass to future generations.

There is anxiety in families in which mental illness dwells. Will this be the holiday depression gives way to suicide? Will mom, dad, or siblings be calm and happy, agitated and angry, depressed and unavailable, or on a mania high or a catatonic slow state?  Will the fear instilled by the paranoid come to fruition? All the while the children are left trying to figure out if there is something they did to cause the confusing behaviors of those they love or if there is something they can do to bring stability to the instability--a responsibility way too big for little shoulders, birthing a debilitating storm of anxiety in a child's soul.  

There is anxiety in homes where marriages are broken as family members wonder if the next mistake made, the next thoughtless word spoken, the next problem experienced with the kids, the next financial setback might be the final trigger that ends the marriage, fracturing a family into two hurting pieces. Anxiety also comes to the children overhearing arguments and assuming responsibility to smooth things over so neither mom or dad leave. There is anxiety in kids whose families have already split as they travel between homes, hoping they won't be the source of conflict and discomfort.

There is anxiety caused by core beliefs developed at an early age--beliefs that impact thoughts, actions, reactions, and feelings. Some of my anxiety-inducing core beliefs were: "I am responsible for everyone's happiness." "My being loved depends on me being a perfect size, a perfect wife, a perfect mom, perfect daughter, or perfect believer." "My value and worth as a person comes from what I do." When I held those beliefs as true, my anxiety was tied to wanting to find the perfect present for everyone and wanting to respond perfectly to every gift received, which is hard for a reserved introvert. That perfectionism was complicated because having the perfect marriage, perfect family, and perfect holidays depends not just on me being perfect, but on others being perfect as well. I learned I've no right to project perfectionism and am simply called to love well, to extend grace, and to lovingly speak truth. 

I've learned things that have calmed my anxious heart. First, I learned God doesn't demand perfection. He desires us to be humble and to express anxious thoughts to safe, nonjudgmental friends. I am graced with such friends who listen well and friends who remind me they hear me and see me. This reminds me that my heavenly Father sees me as well. Sometimes my friends share truth about God's goodness, bigness, and graciousness in non-shaming ways, but most often they just listen, knowing I simply need to bring it to the light. Sometimes they offer to pray with me and give me the opportunity to cast my cares on God, because He cares for me.  

Secondly, I learned to choose wisely with whom I share my struggles. This was a hard lesson learned when I shared with people who were quick to judge and admonish rather than listen and encourage. I now share only with those who understand God's love and grace and who are more about transparency than appearances. They are the ones whose gentle encouragement reminds me to continue believing our God is bigger than Covid, this conflicted world, and family dysfunction.

Third, I've learned that when I feel panicked and anxious, I can talk freely to God about it because He isn't waiting to strike me with lighting because of a feeling I am experiencing. He's always inviting me to remember who He is and who I am in Him. Remembering God's character, strength, love, and grace helps me stay calm today just as it did through other anxiety evoking life events. 

Fourth, I have learned I can dissolve or manage anxiety that is caused or increased by lies I believe. I learned the lies from others who were misguided, from misinterpreting things I saw, and from The Enemy who seeks to squash faith by whispering lies in our ears in the face of the hard. His lies made me feel shame and stirred anxiety when he whispered things that caused me to doubt God, His character, His love, His goodness, and His faithfulness. My anxiety decreases when I confront lies with boldly declared truth. 

The Enemy wants us to forget we are chosen, accepted, redeemed, beloved children who have been bought with the blood of God's own Son and sealed into His family by His own Spirit. Satan wants us to believe our circumstances prove we're bad, forgotten, unseen, or abandoned by God who calls us His own. The Enemy shames us because shame causes us to hide or deny our reality instead of casting it on God through prayer and thanksgiving. The Enemy uses shame to stir this form of pride that drives us to look "all together" while quaking at our core. It causes us to miss out on care and comfort of the God who gives it freely. The Enemy also uses shame to isolate us because he knows when we engage with others, we get out of our own heads and see the lies for what they are. The Enemy wants us to feel responsible for things over which we have no control--things like others' feelings, attitudes, choices, beliefs. and actions. He prompts us with the should of shame, the seduction of power, and reminder of sin already confessed.

I write all of this to remind us that Christmas is a Holy holiday, commemorating the birth of our Savior, the birth of our Shepherd who loves and seeks His sheep, and the birth of our King who had made us joint Heirs with Him. The Enemy wants us to take our eyes off Jesus and put it on anxiety-provoking things like that impossible perfect Christmas, Covid, and unrest. Let's not buy into the lies he tells so we can rest in God-given peace and joy that come through knowing Him who died to redeems us. May our holiday goals be connection, loving well, acceptance of our perfectly imperfect selves, sweet conversations, and simple gifts that remind us of Jesus. 

As Advent Begins, Let's Remember

 This last Sunday was the beginning of the Advent Season; the season in which we all begin to anticipate Christmas. It is so easy to get focused on planning holiday meals, and decorating the house, shopping and gift wrapping. It is also easy to get focused on both the good and the hard of getting extended families together as we deal with different personalities, values, and dysfunction. And as we repeatedly hear the phrase, "Jesus is the reason for the season," we all try to contemplate the  meaning of Christmas. 

We find ourselves thinking about the angel telling a young girl she would bear the Son of God and the beautiful words she penned in response: 

 "My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for He has looked on the humble estate of His servant. For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for He who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is His name. And His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; He has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts; He has brought down the mighty from their thrones and exalted those of humble estate; He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich He has sent away empty. He has helped His servant Israel, in remembrance of His mercy, as He spoke to our fathers, to Abraham and to His offspring."

We find ourselves thinking about the virgin bride and the man betrothed to her, traveling far to pay their taxes. We think think about the virgin, heavy with child, being turned away and directed to rest where animals rest, giving birth in the dark of night. We think about the newborn babe lying in a manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes. We think about the irony of shepherds being surprised by an angel announcing the birth of the Lamb of God and their trek to Bethlehem to the beat of the angel Choir singing praises to God and we can envision those shepherds kneeling before the Lamb in the manger bed. 

We think about the star-gazing Magi who believed in prophecies, recognizing the Christmas Star and following it all the way to Bethlehem, bearing gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh worshiping at the feet of the young King. 

But the truth is, these are just part of the beautiful story we call Christmas. There are many other stories in the Bible which are just as much a part of the epic redemptive saga. The stories are like chapters in a book where each individual chapter is needed to grasp the fullness and the richness of the story.

Christmas is also about God fulfilling the promise He made in Eden to destroy the Enemy. We all know the Enemy for he is the one tempting and taunting us with blatant, ugly lies. He is the one seeking to destroy us through addictions, pornography, and other strongholds of sin that never satisfy and have a deep grip on the soul. He is the one trying to destroy our relationship with our Creator by drawing our attention away from the One who loves us completely, purely, and sacrificially. He is also the one trying to cast doubt on God's goodness by twisting His truth so it looks like rules of deprivation rather than the carefully crafted protection. He is trying to cast doubt on God's faithfulness by by convincing people that the hard we face in this life is proof of God's lack of care. He is trying to cast doubt on God's grace by adding all sorts of legalistic man-made rules to the gospel of grace.    

Christmas is also about God being a keeper of covenants. It is about Him keeping His covenant with Noah, promising to never again destroy all life with flood waters. It is also about God keeping his covenant with Abraham, promising to give him a son, land to call his own, and enough descendants to make a great nation through which all families of the earth would be blessed. Christmas is about God revealing and then fulfilling the dream of Jacob's ladder, providing mankind a gateway to the courts of heaven. It is about Him changing Jacob from being a deceiver and manipulator to one who wanted nothing more than to be blessed by God.   

Christmas is about preserving the life of Joseph while he was living in Egypt so that He could preserve Israel through a famine. It is also about God then freeing Israel from the slavery that they were forced into. It is also about God walking them all the way back to the promised home land, drowning Pharaoh's army that was in hot pursuit.

Christmas is about the prostitute Rahab being saved as she clung to the hope promised in a scarlet cord hanging from her window as the walls of Jericho came crumbling down around her. It is about her being taken from the life of prostitution and being placed into the family line of the Savior.  

Christmas is about Ruth finding grace in her mother-in-law's family, enabling her to give birth to the grandfather of David.

Christmas is about the covenant God made with David, promising that through David a King would come whose throne would never end. It is about the King who would reign in righteousness, love, power, truth  and grace unlike David who, though passionate in his pursuit of God, stumbled and fell. 

Christmas is about the fulfillment of prophesies given by the God who wants us to know His Son. He told us Jesus would be born to a virgin in Bethlehem. He told us He would be from the tribe of Judah. He told us He would be from the family of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and David, which in all honesty is a family as messy and dysfunctional as any one of ours. He told us Jesus would spend time in Egypt and Nazareth, while the enemy would slaughter many children in an attempt to kill Him. He told us Jesus would be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty Prince, and Emmanuel. 

The Father told us Jesus would be tempted by Satan and not give in. He told us Jesus would be rejected by His own country and He was as they accused Him of being crazy, the Spawn of Satan, and a liar. He told us Jesus would speak to crowds through parables and would heal the brokenhearted--the lady at the well, the woman with a bleeding issue, the adulteress cast at His feet, the lepers, the lame, the blind, the deaf, the demon possessed, the harlots--all people separated and marginalized by sin, deformities, or illnesses were made whole and brought into His fold. He told us Jesus would be betrayed for 30 pieces of silver, falsely accused, illegally tried, spat upon, hand-slapped, mocked, hated without cause, and crucified between criminals. His hands and feet were pierced and His side stabbed just as God said it would be. God also told us Jesus, the forsaken One who prays for His enemies, would be a sin offering and bear the wrath of God for each of us so by faith we could be imputed with His righteous.

Christmas is also about future prophesies. Our Jesus will return for His bride, the church--not as a the Lamb--but as the Lion of Judah. He will come on a white horse and be called Faithful and True. He will make war on evil as He judges in righteousness and truth. His eyes will be like flames of fire. On his head will be many crowns. He will be clothed in a robed that is dipped in blood and He will be called The Word of God, the King of kings, and the Lord of Lords. From His mouth will come a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations and He will rule them with a rod of iron. As He reigns, He will make all things new and there will be no more sickness, no more death. He will be the ultimate Comforter as He wipes away every tear from our eyes. Things that are evil will no longer be called good, lies will not longer be viewed as truth, love will overcome hate. Those made righteous by the blood of the Lamb will rule and reign with Him forever and ever. Death will be nor more. Sin will cease. Relationships will be ruled by love, not power and abuse. And addictions will be nor more. 

And, this, all of this and so much more is Christmas.