Nothing More Than Feelings

For the better part of a week, I was convinced my car was done for. Whenever I hit the brakes, it made a weird sound and jiggled a little. Actually, now that I think of it, it started doing that the week before. I vaguely remember my husband saying something about some maintenance needing done and that he would have it taken care of soon. Anyway, the jiggling and noise bugged me, and the rest of the time, the car just felt…odd. 

Each time I got behind the wheel, I could feel the anxiety creep up my spine like a spider. I drove to and from work each day, dreading each stoplight, cursing the stop and go traffic on the interstate, and praying my faithful car would hold itself together, at least until we got home. The weird thing was, the more anxious I got, the stranger the car felt. Day by day, the tension rose as I began to imagine all sorts of unpleasant situations. 

God's Workmanship, Not Mine

I was having a bad day, though at the moment, I can't remember why. Most likely, I had worked myself into a funk over little things. It may have been a bad hair day, or maybe I felt I'd made more than my share of mistakes. I could have been embarrassed about something stupid I said or some public gaffe, or maybe I  was feeling left out or overlooked or frumpy. It was likely a combination of several things, but the common thread in these "bad day" triggers is a failure to live up to my expectations. Once I give in to the nagging feeling that I don't measure up, a dark cloud gathers around me, and all looks grey.   

And it was under one of those dark clouds that I found myself reverting to a bad habit. As I let my mind wander at the end of this bad day, I started thinking about my resume, the cool projects I had worked on and the volunteer work I had done. I recalled treasured compliments and lingered over a mental list of achievements. I'm not talking about huge, earth shattering accomplishments, but merely things I could look back on and say, "I did a good job."  

I was feeling like a loser, and so I was seeking solace in past successes. That is, until I realized what I was doing and gasped out loud.   

Borrowed From The Creator

I hate it when people steal my ideas. Well, the good ones anyway. I joke that one of my goals is to come up with 100 ideas a week in hopes that one of them will be really good. That’s probably a bit ambitious, but between parenting, running a home, work, writing, speaking, and just life in general, there is always room for new ideas. Alas, a lot of them are just okay (you may have read a few posts that stemmed from those “okay” ideas). A great many of them are terrible. Some I forget before I have a chance to capture them, and some are just sparks that eventually lead to something else.

In any case, I’m convinced it’s all part of the creative process, and every once in awhile, I have a “eureka!” moment and come up with something I fall in love with. Sometimes I can use it right away, but more often it’s tucked into one of many notebooks where it is tweaked and groomed as it waits for its debut. Such ideas are my pets. My sweet little chicks in my incubation tank of a notebook. And that’s why I get so annoyed when someone steals one of them.

The Finish Line

This past weekend, I had the pleasure of walking (yes, walking…intentionally) the USMC Historic Half with two of my favorite people. During the course of a 13.1 mile walk (or run, I imagine) there are good times and bad times. You have lots of time to talk with your friends. You laugh at the signs, you commiserate and celebrate with the people around you. People spill into the streets to encourage you and support you with water or Gatorade, or just a smile and a wave. There are sites to see and a variety of things to keep you entertained. It feels good to be outside and alive.

Fearless Follower Focus (Guest Post)

Today I have the pleasure of turning my little piece of internet real estate over to Liz Swauger. Liz is truly a remarkable young lady and a treasured family friend. She will be leaving for a 12-14 month mission trip to Thailand in just a few weeks. I will miss her terribly, but am so excited to see what God has in store for her and those whose lives she will touch. I am so inspired by her willingness to step out in faith and follow where the Father leads...even halfway around the world. Please join me in praying for Liz as she faithfully responds to God's call and embarks on this new adventure.

Last summer, the small group I co-led went through David Platt’s book, Radical. That study quickly wrecked my lofty Christian metaphors and spiritualized motifs and instead demanded practical and courageous Christ-like living. Platt argues that while God does call us to teach others to “obey everything [Jesus] commanded [us],” there is another half to the Great Commission, the “go” part. “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” (Matt 28:19-20). That part requires a lot more intentionality and proactivity.

The more I dug into the Gospel (God’s goodness, my sin and rebellion, Christ’s substitution and sacrifice, and my response to that), the more I wanted to share it. This desire led me to travel with my church on a vision trip to Bangkok, Thailand in August of 2011. While there, we walked through a red light district; we played with children in the slums; we taught English. We stood at the top of the Baiyoke Tower, the tallest building in Bangkok, and looked over a city with a population twice the size of New York City and where less than 1% of them are believers. That is spiritual darkness.

A Picture Worth a Thousand Words

Today is Zack's birthday. I've always liked that it falls so close to Mother's Day because I am doubly reminded of what a blessing he is to me.  A couple of years ago, I wrote a post about how being a mom has provided me with just a glimpse of what it means to be a beloved child of God, and I thought I'd share it with you today.

From Good andPerfect Gifts, 5/13/10

This past week marked the celebration of both Mother's Day and my son's birthday. Any attempt to describe what a blessing my son is to me would wear out my keyboard and deplete my vocabulary, so I'm not even going to try. However, one of the blessings of parenthood is that it gives us a better understanding of God's love for us. Through Christ, we are God's beloved children, and our love for our children gives us a taste of the immensity, depth, and steadfast nature of God's love for us.

In Pursuit of Peppy Cola

When my little sister, Lisa, was two, she discovered the bubbly, sweet goodness of "Peppy Cola." You might know it by the more widely-used name of "Pepsi." In the late seventies, you could get a half gallon of Pepsi in a giant glass bottle called the Pepsi Boss, and it was a staple in our house. Of course, my mom understood the folly of fueling up a toddler with large amounts of "Peppy Cola," so Lisa was only allowed to have it occasionally, and only in small amounts. And Lisa responded by locking my mother in the basement.

At the time, we lived in one of those big, old houses that had keyhole locks on every interior door, with charming little keys to match.  My unsuspecting parents—clearly underestimating the clever machinations of their cola-craving two-year old—foolishly left the keys in the keyholes.

On a day when no one else was home, and Lisa was occupied with a book or Sesame Street or something, my mom ran down to the basement to grab a load of laundry from the dryer. Knowing she'd be gone only long enough to fill her laundry basket, Mom's only worry was that Lisa would follow after her and fall down the basement steps. Confident her preschooler couldn't turn the old-time door handle, Mom closed the basement door firmly behind her and ran downstairs.

Something to Look Forward To

What a blessing it was to spend this past Saturday basking in Amazing Grace at the NLICC Women's Conference. I was especially blessed to hear the personal testimonies of "grace moments" and to share one of my own.

It is always uplifting to hear (and tell) stories of God's faithfulness, mercy, and provision. Stories that tell of how He has comforted us in distress, sustained us through our struggles, and triumphed over our difficulties. How wonderful it is to reflect on God's grace and declare to His people, "Look what our God did! How great is our God!"

In the midst of our difficulties, however, it is sometimes easy to lose sight of that. Sometimes the heartache, uncertainty, fear, disappointment, or pain of our troubles press down on us, and it seems our joy can never be restored. There are times when we are weary, disheartened, and struggle to hold on to hope.

If that is where this post finds you today, I encourage you to take heart. The One who shed His blood to save you will never abandon you. The LORD's compassions are unfailing, and His heart is tender toward His children. Though you may have cause to weep today, He will give you cause to rejoice in His perfect time. Look forward to the day when you can declare to His people, "Look what our God did! How great is our God!"

Matthew 28:20, Lamentations 3:22, Psalm 30:5

"Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise Him, my Savior and my God." Psalm 42:5-6a

A "Good Day" vs. A "God Day"

I’m pretty sure the first thing I do every morning  is sin. At least on the days that are heralded in by that incessant beeping. In those first few seconds of consciousness, I am filled with contempt for the new day God has created. I usually take it out on my alarm clock. Wrapped in my cocoon of comfort, I want nothing more than to wallow in self-indulgence indefinitely. Since asking God to turn back time a few hours is futile (I know, because I’ve asked), I begrudgingly drag myself out of bed and often settle instead for asking for a “good day.”

I’m ashamed to admit what I mean by a “good day” in those first few minutes, when my selfishness is at its peak. In those earliest moments, a “good day” is a day that is easy, safe, and comfortable. A day free of conflict, hassles, hurdles, opposition, and surprises (well, good surprises would be okay).

Tuning In

About halfway into our trip home from Club Nan on Friday, Zack's iPod battery died and I got bored with the songs on my iPhone. Scanning through the radio stations, I found two stations (Oldies and Classic Rock) to alternate between which spurred an impromptu game of Name That Tune. Admittedly, it was a one-sided game. Keenly aware that he was no match for my vast knowledge of popular music (at least anything pre-Y2K), Zack feigned disinterest and bent his head over his video game.

As someone who grew up in the pre-digital music era, when you couldn't instantly download single songs to something that would fit in your pocket, but instead just had to listen to whatever was on the radio, I am awesome at Name That Tune. Just ask Zack. I still remember almost all the words to the songs too. Really, it's true, just ask Zack. He tried to pretend he was kind of annoyed, but deep down, I think he was impressed.

"My World is Empty Without You" by Diana Ross & the Supremes, "Do You Believe in Love" by Huey Lewis & the News, "Two Less Lonely People in the World" by Air Supply, "Boogie Oogie Oogie" by Taste of Honey, "I Love Rock & Roll" by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts, "Baker Street" by Gerry Rafferty, "Faithfully" by Journey, "Le Freak" by Chic, "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" by Cyndi Lauper, "September" by Earth, Wind, & Fire, and "Honky Cat" by Elton John. I was kind of miffed that "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" and "Do You Believe in Love" (two songs from my high school days) were played on the Oldies station, but I'm sure it was just a mistake. The only one I didn't get was "Teenage Wasteland" by the Who, which I technically guessed correctly, but I didn't count it because the fact that they just sang the words "teenage wasteland" over and over again pretty much gave it away.

Hallelujah! He Has Risen!

"It is finished!" The debt has been paid! What incomprehensible love is this that God-made-flesh would pour out His blood as a ransom for sinners? Christ has triumphed over sin and death and has reconciled us to the Father. Saved by His mercy, renewed by the Holy Spirit, and justified by grace alone, we have "become heirs having the hope of eternal life" (Titus 3:5-7).  Our King rules over all creation, and surely He who has loved us so lavishly is worthy of our trust and praise.

"Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory for ever and ever. Amen." -1 Timothy 1:17

(Zack and I are celebrating Easter break at Club Nan (what Zack calls my mom's house), so I will not be posting anything mid-week. Look for a new post next weekend. Have a blessed Easter!)

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In His great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil, or fade…" 1 Peter 1:3-4

A Mysterious Sort of Beauty

Yesterday, while waiting for me to clean the baseboards so he could caulk them, my husband turned to me and said, "you look like a movie star." (I bet you didn't realize how romantic home maintenance could be.)  In response, I made a face. I was wearing no make-up, not even lip balm. My hair, which I had spent all of five seconds twisting into a hair clip several hours earlier, had gotten sweaty and wind-blown on my walk. I had not showered since said walk and was wearing paint-splattered walking pants and an old t-shirt. Oh, and I was holding a dust mop.

It was clear, however, that he was serious, and my husband is not a flatterer. He answered my "yeah, right" face with a simple nod of confirmation. It was enough to make me turn to get a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. I made a face again, this time at my own reflection. "Do you mean like a movie star playing a deranged housewife?" I asked. "No," he said firmly, "you look beautiful." Protesting, I ticked off all the things that made that impossible, but he would not be deterred. In the end, all I could do was laugh and wonder what he sees. I can only guess it's something that flows from his love for me.

I often have similar conversations with God.

The Color of My Heart

I have a confession to make: I color my hair [cue the collective gasp].

Seriously, as much as I'd like everyone to believe my natural hair color is Sunflower Princess, I'm sure that anyone who bothers to look closely can tell it's something else entirely. Even with diligent touch-ups, it's only a matter of weeks before my dishwater blonde roots betray my "secret."

I've been coloring my hair for over 20 years (more than 25 if you count Sun In and that terrible mishap that turned my hair a lovely shade of cheese popcorn). That works out to around 210 bottles of hair color…and counting. No matter how many times I cover up what naturally sprouts from my head, it still grows back in the same old color because I can't change the roots.

Not So Bad is Not So Good

During the years I struggled with debt, one of the ways I soothed my conscience was to tell myself I wasn't as foolish or extravagant as "those people." After all, my husband and I weren't spending money we didn't have on new cars or charging lavish vacations, what was so wrong with my little recreational shopping habit? Sure, I occasionally hid purchases from my husband, but don't all wives do that sometimes? It's not like I was being unfaithful or anything, it was just a pair of shoes.

However, none of my comparisons could change the fact that I was out of control.  The simple truth was that I was deceiving my husband each time I pulled out the credit card without his knowledge, and I did it more often than I cared to admit. My perpetual over-spending and insistence on handling the money my way defied both God and my husband and eventually brought me to a place where I couldn't imagine living without credit. 

A Little Help From My Friends

I'm currently training to walk in my second half-marathon. [Excuse me a second, I have to stop and laugh with God. Not an evil, super-villain laugh, but a "this-is-so-crazy-it's-got-to-be-a-God-thing" laugh. Okay, I'm done. That's another story, and you can read about here.]

Despite knowing this particular race comes around every May, and despite cementing my intention to participate back in January with a cold, hard debit card transaction, I've been kind of a slacker. Oh, I've been walking. Mostly. Sort of. Just not very far and maybe not as often as I was before. This was due in part to the shorter winter days which make it difficult to squeeze in a walk before dark. Oh, and my son had basketball on Fridays and Saturdays. And it was cold, well, it was cold a few days. And part of it was that I was just lazy.

However, March 11 marked the beginning of Daylight Savings Time and 10 weeks to race day. No more excuses. Game on.

The first week was awful. After walking just 2ish miles at a leisurely pace through the winter, going back to my usual 3.5 to 4 mile walk at a steady clip was drudgery. I was clumsy and tired and sore and annoyed. I blamed my shoes, the uneven road, and the people who had the audacity to drive their car down the street, forcing me to slow my pace and walk on the shoulder. For a week, I grumbled through every walk. I told myself I had slacked off too much and that I was hopeless. Despite exceeding what I thought I was capable of less than a year ago, I chose to ignore my own testimony and started telling myself I should give up. I wanted to quit. 

Better Than Light and Safer Than a Known Way

Almost fifteen years ago, a pastor at a church I was visiting quoted a few lines from a poem. While the precise wording faded from my memory over time, the message did not.  I was reminded of the quote a few nights ago, and decided to look for the entire poem online. I liked it so much,  I thought I'd share it with you.

When faced with the loss, disappointment, danger, and sorrow that is inevitable in this world, I often deceive myself into thinking that if I could know what lies ahead, I could somehow avoid difficulty, pain, and unpleasantness. I can't, however, and this uncertainty and feeling of helplessness is at the heart of all my worldly fears and anxieties.

The only answer for me is to place my trust in the One who not only knows the future, but is sovereign over it. Though my hand may tremble when I reach out into the darkness, I have learned enough of God to trust that walking with Him is "better than light and safer than a known way."

Trading Guilt For Grace

Before I began to understand grace, I viewed the directives in God's Word as a list of To-Dos and To-Don'ts. Grateful that God had provided a Savior, I earnestly wanted to please Him and show how much I appreciated Christ's sacrifice. I so wanted to be "good," and embarked on a crusade to win God's favor.

When I faced inevitable failure, I responded with a myriad of unpleasant thoughts and reactions, including:

• Resentment: "Why did God make me this way? Why can't I be more like...?"
• Rejection: "God's expectations are too high."
• Revision: "Maybe I'm taking God's Word too seriously. Maybe this isn't even a sin."
• Running: "If I talk to God, I'm going to have to admit I've failed, so I'm not going to talk Him."
• Rehabilitation: "I'm going to try harder."
• Resignation: "This is hopeless. I may as well give up."
• Run-down: "I'm exhausted from trying so hard, and I can't do this anymore."
• Rebellion: "It is impossible to please God, so I'm going to sin anyway."

While my responses varied, the end result was always the same: remorse. I was mired in guilt, and while guilt may influence our behavior, it doesn't change our heart. When I viewed God's Word as an insurmountable list of rules, it seemed as if all of Scripture pointed to my flaws and set me up for repeated failure. No matter how much I wanted to please God, it was difficult for me to muster the enthusiasm to carry on in the face of such futility. Guilt is a terrible motivator. 

How Much Jesus Do You Want?

As soon as I spied the enormous wafer among the smaller pieces in the communion plate, I knew which one my son would take. It was a good four of five times bigger than all the other pieces, and Zack didn't hesitate a moment before selecting the Saltine-sized representation of the broken body of his Savior.

I don't have any illusions regarding his motivation. I'm sure it was simple 10-year-old boy philosophy: why have a little when you can have a lot? However, in that moment, that simple philosophy begged the question, "how much Jesus do I want?"

Do I want just enough of the gospel to be comfortable, or does the reality of the gospel give me the strength to fearlessly follow Him, and persevere even when it's difficult? Do I want to chase after my own agenda and attempt to control everything, or do I trust Him enough to abide in Him and allow Him to work through me?

Talk Back Tuesday: Sermon Podcasts

I love technology. I know, I know, it doesn't always cooperate, it can be a time waster and a distraction, and our near-constant access to the digital universe has raised our expectations of productivity, making us busier than ever. Certainly, being perpetually plugged in has its drawbacks, but like money or cars or sharp knives, technology is simply a tool. It’s up to us to use it wisely, so I try to make it work for me instead of the other way around.

One of my favorite ways to do so is to listen to sermon podcasts. Like you, I juggle a potpourri of responsibilities and activities, and the busier I am, the more I need a fresh supply of God's truth during the week. I usually listen while driving to work or when I’m walking. I love having so many great sermons at my fingertips, and the ability to pause or replay portions later comes in handy since scribbling notes while driving is usually not a good idea. Another bonus is that my son often listens with me when we’re in the car, and sometimes the sermons spark great conversations between us.

Mr. Know-it-All

When our son was four years old, we bought him a shirt that read, "Mr. Know-It-All." He didn't get the joke. I still remember chuckling at his self-satisfied reflection in the mirror when I told him what the shirt said. "At last," he seemed to be thinking, "the recognition I deserve." Kindergarten may have tempered his know-it-all notions a little, but by the middle of first grade, he was trying to convince me to let him quit school because he "had already learned everything" he "needed to know." After all, he argued, he had learned how to read, write, and do math, what else could there be?

As he's gotten older, the particulars of our debates may have changed, but his steadfast dedication to his own point of view and propensity for passionately arguing his case have remained constant. I don't expect it will change as he enters his teenage years. As long as he states his opinions and objections respectfully, I welcome the opportunity to talk things through with him and lovingly teach him that he does not, in fact, know everything.  

I Triune God Dare You

Let's get this straight right from the beginning: I'm not going to triple dog dare you to do anything. This is not a call to stick your tongue to a metal light pole in winter, or jump over a tank of sharks on a motorcycle. This isn't about mustering up courage to do something foolhardy for the sake of defying a challenge.

But it is a challenge, nonetheless. It's a challenge to set down a burden. Perhaps it's a pattern of sin that needs to be dealt with or an idol you're convinced you can't live without. It may be there is someone who needs your forgiveness, and it's even possible that person is you. Or maybe you're ignoring or resisting something you feel God is calling you to because it stretches you beyond what is comfortable.

Whatever it is, it's something you don't think you can handle. You may have attempted to contain it, avoid it, or excuse it, but it hasn't gone away. You're  tired of carrying it around, but the prospect of letting it go makes you uncomfortable and scared. I know because I've clutched burdens of my own for the same reasons.

Life Out of the Box

I present to you Batgirl Barbie, NRFB (never removed from box). I was well past my Barbie-playing days when Mattel produced Batgirl Barbie almost a decade ago, but if she had been available in the 1970s, I am certain she would have made her way onto my "Toys to Beg For" list.  I mean, just check out those boots and gloves, and, according to the description I found on an online auction site, her entire fabulous costume is trimmed in blue glitter--blue glitter! She also comes with a cool, color-coordinated batcycle and a batarang.

Despite being outfitted for style and adventure, this particular Batgirl Barbie never did any crime-fighting. She's never even met Ken or Skipper and has never seen the inside of the Barbie Townhouse. Everything about her has been carefully preserved for…well, I'm not sure exactly. She's selling for over $100.00 on some sites, but the sole source of her value is that she's never been removed from her box. To maintain her value to collectors, she'll have to remain perfectly packaged and perpetually poised in her current position (which looks terribly uncomfortable, by the way).

Burger King vs. The King of Kings

In a few short weeks, I will finally get my iPhone. It's technically a birthday present, but as I learned back in September, Verizon doesn't care that it's your birthday, you still have to wait for your upgrade date. As I edge ever closer to that date, I've been comparing iPhone cases, browsing the iTunes app store, and daydreaming about all the tasks I'll be able delegate to my new personal assistant, Siri.

Except I'm not really sure I like that name. In my daydreams, my assistant (or lady-in-waiting, if I'm reading something Austen-esque or Elizabethan) has a name like Ella or Cressida, and she usually has an English accent. Someone like Alfred in Batman Begins might be nice too. Is there an app for that? Can I personalize my personal assistant?

In a culture where choices abound, I delight in tinkering with things to suit my mood, schedule, or tastes. I love my sleep number bed. I will happily wait for a special order at a fast food restaurant. I am still working on getting my mii just right, and but for the wonders of DVR, I'd never watch television. I suspect you can relate. I can't prove it, but I think it all began with Burger King in the 1970s. We have become a "have-it-your-way" society.

"If I Should Die Before I Wake..."

Can we agree this is the most unsettling couplet ever taught to children and the worst possible way to send a child off to Dreamland? Who knows, maybe it was written for a braver generation of children not terrified by the possibility of not waking up in the morning, but I spent many of my 4-year old nights clutching my Sesame Street blanket and struggling in vain to stay awake so as not to be surprised by Death's cold hand.

I hope this "prayer" has gone the way of purple corduroy slacks and candy cigarettes, but despite his lack of exposure to  "Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep," my son still developed an awareness of his own mortality and has already started to worry about it.

A few weeks before he turned 10, his enthusiasm for finally entering the double-digits was temporarily tempered. In a pensive moment on the way to school he said, "You know Mom, I probably only have another 80 years or so left." After I finished chuckling, I reminded him that 80 years was eight times as long as he'd lived already, and it was quite possible he'd live even longer than that. "Besides," I told him, "only God knows how long we will live. He has planned and purposed each of our days, and it's up to us to make the most of each one." And that's when it occurred to me that a little fear can sometimes be a good thing.

As Christians, we need have no fear of death, but we've also been given new life in the here and now. As recipients of this gift from a sovereign God, we should bask in the blessings from His hand and live boldly.

And yet, it's so easy to get caught up in what is comfortable and routine, to focus on our to-do lists and how we're measuring up. To plod or rush through each day, simply to tick it off and move to the next one. As someone who is task-focused and performance-driven, I have to fight against this tendency.

Who Do You Think You Are?

"Who do you think you are?" sneers the nasty voice inside my head. The internal interrogation begins each time I feel called to something that stretches me beyond what comes easy. Bent on self-preservation and obsessed with self-image, the voice knows my fears and insecurities and uses that advantage to craft a most convincing argument.

Sometimes, it insinuates I am ill-equipped for the task, insisting that whatever resources I have—be they talent, time, energy, or determination—my supply is insufficient. If that tack is unsuccessful, the voice will accuse me of delusion or pride and attempt to shame me into submission. The final arrow in the voice’s quiver is a devastating list of past failures and sins that disqualify me for service to a holy and perfect God.

The voice is a bully and a distraction, and the only way I can quell it is to answer it.

Led by the Father

For years, one of the greatest stumbling blocks I faced as I tried to follow after God was underestimating my sin, God’s love, and the impact of Christ’s work on the cross.

Despite my best efforts, I knew I could never measure up to the standard of righteousness set forth in scripture. Frankly, sometimes I didn’t even want to. But I figured that was the whole point of Christ’s sacrifice. To provide cover for my sin so that I could gain access to Heaven.

But my sins were more than just broken rules. My sin alienated me from a holy and righteous God, and I was powerless to make things right. And though each offense was an act of rebellion that separated me from Him, God’s love was such that He was not content to leave me there. God intervened to restore what I could not.

Christ’s work on the cross accomplished so much more than forgiveness of my sin and a place in Heaven (though even that was more than I deserved). Christ was not a tragic figure on the stage of human history, but God-made-flesh on a rescue mission. His death and resurrection was a battle fought and won to reconcile me to God.

Why Do I Follow?

Because I believe in the One who called me.

I don't remember a time when I didn't believe in God. I wasn’t raised in the church, and my family wasn’t particularly religious, but my mother and grandmother both shared the basic message of the gospel with me at a very early age. My grandmother taught me a few hymns, and she occasionally read her Bible, but my exposure to scripture was limited to a few “popular” verses. For years, the sum of my faith amounted to an acknowledgment of God and the belief that I had somehow gained a ticket to Heaven because Jesus had paid the price for my sins.

I professed faith, but I wasn’t  a follower. I believed God was there, but I chose to keep my distance.  Knowing little of His character, and mere snippets of scripture, it was easy for me to define God—and  what following after Him entailed—based on my skewed perception and rationalizations. In truth, I was a follower of a god I had concocted and a faith of my own design. The consequences of this self-absorbed religion were frustration, foolishness, and futility.

Fearless

Welcome to my new blog! I blogged for a little over a year at Good & Perfect Gifts, but want to shift my focus and address a wider range of topics. To find out what they are, look for new posts here once or twice a week.  Good & Perfect Gifts will stay up for awhile, but I'll no longer be posting there.

It's important to understand that "fearlessly following the Father" is a calling I pursue, not an achievement. In fact, I have struggled with fear in so many forms, I'm practically guaranteed an endless supply of blog fodder. Some of my fears are rational, others are laughable, but I suspect you and I have a few in common.

Fear stems from an insidious deception that denies God's sovereignty and rejects His love. Fear whispers that God is limited and indifferent, that He is unworthy of our trust. Fear convinces us that it's all up to us, and provokes us to frantically push God aside and try in vain to control everything ourselves.