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.