As a young adult and college student, I have begun to notice many things from the past and the present with a new perspective. Recently it has come to my attention that it is hard for me to love the people who love me the most. Maybe this is not a revolutionary concept, but let's seriously consider it for a few minutes.
First and foremost, love was perfected (1 John 4) when Christ gave Himself as a sacrifice for me. He, above all others, loves me. He knows what it means to love me. He has loved me and continues to love me. Let's be honest though, it is hard for me to love Him. It does not come naturally, due to our fallen nature, to love and serve the Creator. Our flesh wages war against us so it is not easy to love Him. It takes energy, commitment, and diligence to devote love and service to Him. There's no room for complaint here, I'm simply making the observation that it is, at times, hard to love Christ, especially when we are faced with uncertainty and heartache.
Next in line to take the blunt of my inability to love perfectly are my family members. Quite frankly, I have never seriously doubted that I was loved by my family. However, I constantly am faced with failure to love them. My parents and sister never deserved the way I treated them in the past. Why is it hard to love them? I don't know that I have an answer.
Admittedly, sometimes I "make up" for my inadequate love for Christ and my family by easily loving, serving, and giving to close friends and even acquaintances. Maybe I do this so I can selfishly feel that more people love me; to fulfill a desire to feel more and more love from those around me. Should I not feel sufficiently loved by Christ? That should be my sole contender for love, and yet why do I so badly "need" to feel loved by those around me?
Noticeably, there is no tangible solution. Maybe our solution is to consider the other side of the perspective: why is it hard for the people who I love the most to love me? I think we'll find that the answer to that question is rooted in how we love Christ and how we see the world and those around us; because I love imperfectly.
It's a perspective change that must take place. I delight to know that the transformation of the renewal of my mind is opening my mind to change how I view the simple nature of loving and serving others. It is hard to love those who love us the most.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
Inadequacy
Yesterday I was blessed by six one-on-one fellowship times with three brothers and three sisters in Christ. Each one was innately unique, special, and encouraging. Although such a social day can be wearisome, I finished the day with a great smile on my face for I had heard six accounts of what God is doing, six accounts of lives being transformed, and six accounts of inadequacies.
By the conclusion of the evening, I came to understand the common theme of our stories, which are complexly interwoven on various points: we are inadequate, we have failed, but we have hope.
In the words of one, "...my self-focus limited by ability to love myself and consequently love others."
In the words of another, "...I was ashamed that I had not stood up for what I knew to be true..."
And yet the words of another, "...I am inadequate, but may my inadequacies be found in Christ."
Our stories are not all that different. Sometimes we forget that when we have our "self-focus" perspective. We tend to think we are the only one's struggling with this or that, or that no one understands, or that somehow our perspective is inherently unique. While there are aspects of each of those statements that are true, our stories still are not all that different. We each struggle with failure, we each have inadequacies, and we all know these truths, but do we believe them for ourselves?
On a practical level, nothing changes except our perspective. We still have regrets, we still have inadequacies, and we still fail. Perhaps we need to be reminded of the most complex aspect of our faith: Jesus Christ died for our inadequacies because He loves us. Even better, those inadequacies died when He died and we are now adequately alive in Him.
Hearing the stories of our friends, our families, and even strangers should entice us to examine how our stories are intertwined in the story of Christ. What an encouragement that we share that story so that we may fellowship, rejoice, mourn, grieve, laugh, and celebrate our lives together as brothers and sisters!
As one of my dear friends told me yesterday, "...my heart is heavy with the weight of inadequacy and failures...thankfully I am not alone."
By the conclusion of the evening, I came to understand the common theme of our stories, which are complexly interwoven on various points: we are inadequate, we have failed, but we have hope.
In the words of one, "...my self-focus limited by ability to love myself and consequently love others."
In the words of another, "...I was ashamed that I had not stood up for what I knew to be true..."
And yet the words of another, "...I am inadequate, but may my inadequacies be found in Christ."
Our stories are not all that different. Sometimes we forget that when we have our "self-focus" perspective. We tend to think we are the only one's struggling with this or that, or that no one understands, or that somehow our perspective is inherently unique. While there are aspects of each of those statements that are true, our stories still are not all that different. We each struggle with failure, we each have inadequacies, and we all know these truths, but do we believe them for ourselves?
On a practical level, nothing changes except our perspective. We still have regrets, we still have inadequacies, and we still fail. Perhaps we need to be reminded of the most complex aspect of our faith: Jesus Christ died for our inadequacies because He loves us. Even better, those inadequacies died when He died and we are now adequately alive in Him.
Hearing the stories of our friends, our families, and even strangers should entice us to examine how our stories are intertwined in the story of Christ. What an encouragement that we share that story so that we may fellowship, rejoice, mourn, grieve, laugh, and celebrate our lives together as brothers and sisters!
As one of my dear friends told me yesterday, "...my heart is heavy with the weight of inadequacy and failures...thankfully I am not alone."
Friday, April 9, 2010
One Cat, One Liver
Friday evenings tend to be either exhilarating or mundanely indicative of a weekend of homework. Nonetheless, tonight would classify as exhilarating.
One of my friends is a biology major. She is highly intuitive and deliberately thoughtful in her continual quest for knowledge. Tonight, she superseded the realm of normal by enticing myself and another cohort to accomplish a dangerous, smelly mission in order to obtain one thing: a liver.
Our options were as follows: recent roadkill that was preserved enough for dissection, a live animal from a pet store to be sacrificed for science (ethical questionability was noted), or human biopsy (most likely living). The most cost-efficient and practical method was to find roadkill, which is seemingly not a complicated issue in Midwest America.
So, tonight, we embarked via vehicle onto the freeways and byways of central Indiana in search of recent roadkill. Within five minutes of our travel, we saw several options. However, it was my keen sense of sight which ultimately led us to the perfect specimen: a deceased cat, later named Mocha, preserved outside a home along a state highway, wet from previous day's rain, but in great condition for dissection and extraction of a liver.
As is custom in America, the man, myself, allowed my two fellow female colleagues to have the pleasure and opportunity to retrieve Mocha from the ditch with trash bags and latex gloves. Quick retrieval and a steady foot to the pedal led us back to the science facilities available to us for the dissection of Mocha.
Upon the arrival of said biology major's lab partner, we (they) proceeded to remove the cat from the trash bags only to discover a plethora of maggots, roaches, lice, and various other infectious creatures. At this point, I was safely on the other side of the room with an abundant amount of paper towel in my nostrils as not to smell the rotting carcass.
A quick decision making process led us to move the laboratory surgery outside of the facilities with fresh evening air and a perfect sidewalk for infectious insects to run away. Within ten minutes, surgery was underway; scalpel to skin, scissors to ribs, and tweezers to greater omentum. The liver was found beneath the diaphragm (where it normally is) and all four lobes were successfully excised with a small presence of maggot inhabitation.
After cleaning up the surgery "room" and equipment, the liver biopsy was placed in a protective tupperware container and placed in freezing conditions for later analysis.
Friday evenings tend to surprise you in many ways. Mocha surprised me tonight. I'm sure we surprised her too. There is great joy in surprises. God continues to surprise me everyday by what He's teaching me and those around me. "Be still and know that I am God." Perhaps we just need to be still before Him, trust Him, and take time to see what He's doing. I think that doing so will surprise us. And that will bring us joy, which we will hold onto until our faith is sight.
Whether you dissect a cat (RIP Mocha) or study organic chemistry, Friday nights will surprise you. Be willing to cherish those surprises.
One of my friends is a biology major. She is highly intuitive and deliberately thoughtful in her continual quest for knowledge. Tonight, she superseded the realm of normal by enticing myself and another cohort to accomplish a dangerous, smelly mission in order to obtain one thing: a liver.
Our options were as follows: recent roadkill that was preserved enough for dissection, a live animal from a pet store to be sacrificed for science (ethical questionability was noted), or human biopsy (most likely living). The most cost-efficient and practical method was to find roadkill, which is seemingly not a complicated issue in Midwest America.
So, tonight, we embarked via vehicle onto the freeways and byways of central Indiana in search of recent roadkill. Within five minutes of our travel, we saw several options. However, it was my keen sense of sight which ultimately led us to the perfect specimen: a deceased cat, later named Mocha, preserved outside a home along a state highway, wet from previous day's rain, but in great condition for dissection and extraction of a liver.
As is custom in America, the man, myself, allowed my two fellow female colleagues to have the pleasure and opportunity to retrieve Mocha from the ditch with trash bags and latex gloves. Quick retrieval and a steady foot to the pedal led us back to the science facilities available to us for the dissection of Mocha.
Upon the arrival of said biology major's lab partner, we (they) proceeded to remove the cat from the trash bags only to discover a plethora of maggots, roaches, lice, and various other infectious creatures. At this point, I was safely on the other side of the room with an abundant amount of paper towel in my nostrils as not to smell the rotting carcass.
A quick decision making process led us to move the laboratory surgery outside of the facilities with fresh evening air and a perfect sidewalk for infectious insects to run away. Within ten minutes, surgery was underway; scalpel to skin, scissors to ribs, and tweezers to greater omentum. The liver was found beneath the diaphragm (where it normally is) and all four lobes were successfully excised with a small presence of maggot inhabitation.
After cleaning up the surgery "room" and equipment, the liver biopsy was placed in a protective tupperware container and placed in freezing conditions for later analysis.
Friday evenings tend to surprise you in many ways. Mocha surprised me tonight. I'm sure we surprised her too. There is great joy in surprises. God continues to surprise me everyday by what He's teaching me and those around me. "Be still and know that I am God." Perhaps we just need to be still before Him, trust Him, and take time to see what He's doing. I think that doing so will surprise us. And that will bring us joy, which we will hold onto until our faith is sight.
Whether you dissect a cat (RIP Mocha) or study organic chemistry, Friday nights will surprise you. Be willing to cherish those surprises.
Monday, March 29, 2010
The Beauty of Grief
Last night, there was a full moon amidst ominous clouds and a slight breeze. It was just another night like so many before it. However, my perspective was different than most nights. Like in all things, one's perspective worldview determines the values, attitudes, and beliefs about the simplicity of life.
And so, after time reading the word, praying, and singing hymns, I simply sat outside. Alone. Very alone. My perspective enabled me to see that in the scheme of this life, I was alone and will be alone. Family, friends, strangers, and those gone before me, cannot be with me in a value that permits me to be not alone. In other words, no matter what, I will be alone because people will fail me and the walk of life ends alone.
At face value, this sounds like a downer, but it's not. To me, this is joy: that I recognize that I am alone so that I must be dependent on the One who loved me and provides grace and mercy to love me still for eternity being humble before His throne. I am very alone and by being alone I have a great sense of belonging.
The past week of my life has been grievous with much reflection, sharing, mourning, and laughter. I have realized that I am alone throughout this week - no one else can know what or how I feel, no one can offer assurance of hope, and no one can comfort me completely.
The beauty of grief is that because I recognize that I am alone, I have been dependent on God for comfort, assurance, and hope. Revealed through nature, through loved ones, and through His word, God provides avenues for the beauty of grief to be realized. Our dependence on Him alone brings strength, hope, and joy amidst sorrow, grief, and pain.
Before the throne, in a state of grief, there is joy in being humble enough to be completely dependent and have a perspective that encourages growth. When we are at our lowest, is that not when Christ is glorified the most and our weaknesses become our strength?
There is beauty in grief - there is joy, hope, assurance, and ultimately salvation in dependence on Christ. I pray that I may delight in my grief and that my joy may be found in my lonely dependence on Christ.
And so, after time reading the word, praying, and singing hymns, I simply sat outside. Alone. Very alone. My perspective enabled me to see that in the scheme of this life, I was alone and will be alone. Family, friends, strangers, and those gone before me, cannot be with me in a value that permits me to be not alone. In other words, no matter what, I will be alone because people will fail me and the walk of life ends alone.
At face value, this sounds like a downer, but it's not. To me, this is joy: that I recognize that I am alone so that I must be dependent on the One who loved me and provides grace and mercy to love me still for eternity being humble before His throne. I am very alone and by being alone I have a great sense of belonging.
The past week of my life has been grievous with much reflection, sharing, mourning, and laughter. I have realized that I am alone throughout this week - no one else can know what or how I feel, no one can offer assurance of hope, and no one can comfort me completely.
The beauty of grief is that because I recognize that I am alone, I have been dependent on God for comfort, assurance, and hope. Revealed through nature, through loved ones, and through His word, God provides avenues for the beauty of grief to be realized. Our dependence on Him alone brings strength, hope, and joy amidst sorrow, grief, and pain.
Before the throne, in a state of grief, there is joy in being humble enough to be completely dependent and have a perspective that encourages growth. When we are at our lowest, is that not when Christ is glorified the most and our weaknesses become our strength?
There is beauty in grief - there is joy, hope, assurance, and ultimately salvation in dependence on Christ. I pray that I may delight in my grief and that my joy may be found in my lonely dependence on Christ.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
The Walk of Life
A walk can cure many ailments. A physical walk with a friend can be encouraging, helpful, insightful, and fun. A spiritual walk with the Lord can be, and is, and will be, a challenge, troubling, scary, intriguing, and joyous. Whichever, or both, walks that we choose to take each day, shape us a little bit more into the image of God.
Tonight, I had the pleasure of taking a walk with a dear friend. Not only did we walk together around the back roads and alleyways of Upland, but we had the graceful opportunity to have our friend, our High Priest, our elder brother, our Father, and our Creator, walking right along beside us the entire way. We struggled through fears, emotions, and heartache and rejoiced in thanksgiving, praise, and hope.
The walk of life is hard, it's scary, and it's fun. Sometimes we just have to walk a little bit longer before we understand the complete nature of the meaning of the path taken. That's our hope: that we may walk just a little bit longer before our walk comes to an end and we look back on the joys, trials, and triumphs of the walk.
A walk can cure many ailments. We just don't always know how, when, or why those ailments come. At the end of the walk, we'll know that it was all worth it and that our walk has brought glory and honor to the One who walked alongside us the entire way.
Tonight, I had the pleasure of taking a walk with a dear friend. Not only did we walk together around the back roads and alleyways of Upland, but we had the graceful opportunity to have our friend, our High Priest, our elder brother, our Father, and our Creator, walking right along beside us the entire way. We struggled through fears, emotions, and heartache and rejoiced in thanksgiving, praise, and hope.
The walk of life is hard, it's scary, and it's fun. Sometimes we just have to walk a little bit longer before we understand the complete nature of the meaning of the path taken. That's our hope: that we may walk just a little bit longer before our walk comes to an end and we look back on the joys, trials, and triumphs of the walk.
A walk can cure many ailments. We just don't always know how, when, or why those ailments come. At the end of the walk, we'll know that it was all worth it and that our walk has brought glory and honor to the One who walked alongside us the entire way.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
The Standards of Life
As persons of the 21st Century, we adhere to many standards. Our standards are based, primarily, on what is acceptable, normal, and enduring. We conform to these standards, ensuring that we meet these standards for normal participation in society, without knowing why those standards exist and how those standards came to be in existence. We simply accept them, embrace them, and strive to better meet those standards.
In a Christian community, the first standard for societal living is dogmatically accepted as the Biblical text and its applications for daily living as a Christian (2 Timothy 3:16). At the same time though, we desire to adhere to standards that the world has set for us, that society deems as normal, acceptable, and that which promotes longevity. What we eat, wear, say, listen to, look like, think of ourselves, think of others, study, create, dream, and the like are according to some standard that we embrace as "right." Why? We want to fit in. We want to be loved. We want to have hope. We want to be successful.
If we choose to say that we do not adhere to standards and we are simply independent, free-living beings, then we are blatantly lying to ourselves. Everyday we compare our lifestyle to others, to the world, even to Christ. Every time, we fall short. We cannot meet those standards; no matter how much we try or blind ourselves to the truth. We will never live up to standards (Romans 3:23).
I have standards for myself, most prominently in academia. No matter how much work I accomplish or what grade I get, I'm not satisfied until more work is done, a better grade is achieved, and the cycle continues. I have expectations for others that they would be observant, responsible with time, and hard-working. These standards fail for me even with my dearest friends. Others have standards for me that I may more wholly serve them, love them, and invest in them. I know that I fail them daily. God calls me to live a life of holiness, and yet my flesh fails me.
And so, where is there hope? We cannot live up to what is expected of us from others, from the world, from ourself, or from God. We will fail. We have failed. We are failing. That is the hope. We cannot measure up to standards, not even God's, so instead, we fall humbly before our Creator and admit that we are inherently not good enough. We bow down and rid our life of ourself. We say, "I have nothing to offer. I cannot even live up to my own standards, so I give myself to you, as a living sacrifice (Romans 12:1-2)"
Is that a solution for the failure of meeting standards? In this life, no. Eternally, yes (1 John 4:9-10).
During our earthly life, the failure of meeting standards will continue, but as a living sacrifice for the living God, we live each day not with the attitude that we have failed to meet the standards of ourself, others, or even the complete holiness of God; instead, we live with the joy that we are not living for our own gain, but for the gain of the ultimate sacrifice that we may glorify and honor the Lord until we await deliverance to meet the ultimate standard in eternity (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18). We won't meet standards to perfection in this life, but in our imperfections, we know that we are loved, we are valued, we are cared for, and we have hope for deliverance in the One who has loved us from the beginning (Zephaniah 3:17).
As brothers and sisters of the living Lord, we must encourage one another, carry one another's burdens and spur one another on as we struggle with failing to meet the standards that we encounter everyday (Galatians 6:2). In our failure, we are at our knees crying out, "Only you Lord are worthy and only you will remain as my standard for all ages."
Our hope and joy does not come from meeting standards and expectations, for we shall fail. Instead, our hope and joy lies in our submission to Christ (Jeremiah 17:7, Psalm 71:5). In our submission, we are utilized (2 Corinthians 6:16) for His sake in order that we may more fully serve Him (2 Corinthians 12:9).
In a Christian community, the first standard for societal living is dogmatically accepted as the Biblical text and its applications for daily living as a Christian (2 Timothy 3:16). At the same time though, we desire to adhere to standards that the world has set for us, that society deems as normal, acceptable, and that which promotes longevity. What we eat, wear, say, listen to, look like, think of ourselves, think of others, study, create, dream, and the like are according to some standard that we embrace as "right." Why? We want to fit in. We want to be loved. We want to have hope. We want to be successful.
If we choose to say that we do not adhere to standards and we are simply independent, free-living beings, then we are blatantly lying to ourselves. Everyday we compare our lifestyle to others, to the world, even to Christ. Every time, we fall short. We cannot meet those standards; no matter how much we try or blind ourselves to the truth. We will never live up to standards (Romans 3:23).
I have standards for myself, most prominently in academia. No matter how much work I accomplish or what grade I get, I'm not satisfied until more work is done, a better grade is achieved, and the cycle continues. I have expectations for others that they would be observant, responsible with time, and hard-working. These standards fail for me even with my dearest friends. Others have standards for me that I may more wholly serve them, love them, and invest in them. I know that I fail them daily. God calls me to live a life of holiness, and yet my flesh fails me.
And so, where is there hope? We cannot live up to what is expected of us from others, from the world, from ourself, or from God. We will fail. We have failed. We are failing. That is the hope. We cannot measure up to standards, not even God's, so instead, we fall humbly before our Creator and admit that we are inherently not good enough. We bow down and rid our life of ourself. We say, "I have nothing to offer. I cannot even live up to my own standards, so I give myself to you, as a living sacrifice (Romans 12:1-2)"
Is that a solution for the failure of meeting standards? In this life, no. Eternally, yes (1 John 4:9-10).
During our earthly life, the failure of meeting standards will continue, but as a living sacrifice for the living God, we live each day not with the attitude that we have failed to meet the standards of ourself, others, or even the complete holiness of God; instead, we live with the joy that we are not living for our own gain, but for the gain of the ultimate sacrifice that we may glorify and honor the Lord until we await deliverance to meet the ultimate standard in eternity (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18). We won't meet standards to perfection in this life, but in our imperfections, we know that we are loved, we are valued, we are cared for, and we have hope for deliverance in the One who has loved us from the beginning (Zephaniah 3:17).
As brothers and sisters of the living Lord, we must encourage one another, carry one another's burdens and spur one another on as we struggle with failing to meet the standards that we encounter everyday (Galatians 6:2). In our failure, we are at our knees crying out, "Only you Lord are worthy and only you will remain as my standard for all ages."
Our hope and joy does not come from meeting standards and expectations, for we shall fail. Instead, our hope and joy lies in our submission to Christ (Jeremiah 17:7, Psalm 71:5). In our submission, we are utilized (2 Corinthians 6:16) for His sake in order that we may more fully serve Him (2 Corinthians 12:9).
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Spare Some Change
" 'scuse me sir. Can you spare some change? I just want to get a bite to eat."
I heard these words immediately after getting out of the car after parking next to a parking meter in a thriving metropolis.
The man, dressed in sweats, walks timidly closer.
"It doesn't cost to park on Saturdays."
"I'm sorry sir, the sign says it cost before 5pm."
"Oh, it does, okay," he replies as he retreats and walks away.
When presented with this situation, there are many options, each for different walks of life. The respectable person may just give the man some cash. The disrespectful person may walk away without any words or with words of profanity. The logical person has various thoughts of concern about the beggar's use of the money and maybe selfish concerns. The Christian, I believe, has yet another response.
It is with great regret and agony that I failed, along with the company of four other friends walking with the Lord, to respond to the beggar in the way that Christ has called me. I don't know what went through my head at the time, but I immediately retreated within myself. My heart was torn between complying with him and answering to my "logic."
Contemplating the situation the following morning, I know that I failed Christ, myself, and that man. What would I have said? "Let me tell you about what I rely on for food and thirst..." and then proceed to tell him about Christ. Would I have given him money after that? I should have. Or, should I just have demonstrated love by complying with his request and not even share the Good News in words, but rather through actions? In any case, Christ has called me to care for the poor. He's also called me to share His love.
"Why didn't you share my love with that man?" the Father asks me.
I have no good reply. If I would have at least told the man about my Lord, then I would know that he has heard the opportunity for more than quenching earthly hunger. Even if I hadn't given the beggar money, I would have shared an even better gift. Or, if I would have just given the man some money, or gotten food for him, then I would have been demonstrating His love, not just dictating my faith.
The harvest is ripe (John 4). He expects me to love others uncomfortably for His glory. I can't go back to what was, but I can pray for what is to come and know that the Spirit will give me the words to speak and the confidence to act in order that His temple may be utilized for His good.
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