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.