On Hardship and "The Secret"

Lately I've encountered some people who firmly believe in the power of a book called "The Secret." If you're unfamiliar with it, the concept basically is that you have the power to attract good circumstances or bad circumstances in your life, based on your attitude and actions.


This book is filled with a lot of feel-good-isms, and on the surface, it may seem perfectly harmless.


But I think it's one that Christians should avoid at all costs, as it takes a very humanistic point of view.


Rather than accept that God allows both good and bad, the followers of "The Secret" seek to wrench control of their futures. There is no acknowledgement of God's role in their lives. Not only that, if you are undergoing immense hardship, this book would intimate that YOU are at FAULT for the bad things happening to you.


This is complete fallacy, folks.


I base my argument on two Scriptures. The first is Matthew 5:45: "He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous." (Jesus)



The second is in Job 2: 9-10: 




"His wife said to him, 'Are you still maintaining your integrity? Curse God and die!'
He replied, 'You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?'
In all this, Job did not sin in what he said."


The point of this is that while we're in this fallen world, good and bad will happen to us, to some more than others. I've been reflecting on this a lot lately, because the past two years have been extremely arduous for me. It's been suggested by well-meaning people that I attracted the poor circumstances (which is what "The Secret" would maintain) or that I sinned and therefore am reaping the consequences (which is what Job's friends tried to convince him of).


I won't lie to you. I have been tempted to think along those lines. Now if you're in a tough spot in life, consider this: ask the Spirit to bring to light anything that you have to correct. You know as a believer that He will make this clear to you, if you need to become right with Him. If there is nothing, go to sleep with a clear conscience and fully lean on Him for His guidance.


God doesn't promise that we won't have difficulty. But He promises to walk along with us if we do, and to also bear our burdens for us. I can't tell you how many times during the past 24 months He has provided unexpected relief and support when I thought my life might be over.


Don't fall into the temptation of reaching for humanistic philosophy that claims you can solve the problem yourself. And don't fall into the temptation of accepting the condemnation from other people that you've done something wrong, either.


Rest on God's love, grace and provision. As I write this, I'm extremely sick with a high fever, chills, a strep throat, weakness -- and I'm still in the midst of a medical mystery where specialists are trying to find the source of an unexplained abdominal pain.


You might say I deserved it. You might say I attracted it.


But I say, God allows both sunshine and rain in my life. I am His, I believe in His goodness, and I will never stop saying that He will carry me through.


You can, too.

The Chocolate Fallacy of Lent

Lent ... the season when people think that giving up chocolate is their glorious way of showing the world that they're honoring Christ's sacrifice on the cross.


Pardon the venting session, but I'm sick of hearing about it, and nothing irks me more than a careless chuckle from a person who admits that they're dying for chocolate because they've given it up for LENT. I don't know about the rest of the world, but here in America, it's a reflection of our paunchy-gut-centered society, where people are so well off that the biggest sacrifice they can think of ... is chocolate.


GROW UP!


I mean it. If you've given up chocolate for Lent, you are nothing more than a spiritual INFANT.


I know I'm not going to make many friends with this post, but I want you to think about something -- really think about it:


Lent isn't about checking off a sacrificial list so that you can feel good about waking up on Easter morning and indulging in Cadbury chocolate eggs.


Lent is about remembrance. And it's not a requirement of Scripture, but it's something we do in preparation for dwelling on the meaning of the cross as we mark the celebration of the Resurrection.


If you really want to make Lent meaningful for yourself, think about the types of sacrifices that Jesus made. Let's see, do you really think you could match those? Of course not, but just humor me here:


1) Forgiveness. Think about it. Forgiveness is a sacrifice, because you are sacrificing your right to be affronted at someone wronging you. As Jesus was dying, He asked God to forgive those who had just tortured Him and left Him hanging to die in agony. What if, during this Lenten season, you made a commitment to forgive people who have really hurt you? I know we're supposed to do this as a matter of course. But what better time of year than this to reflect on wrongs, great and small, and sacrifice your right to feel angry about them? What better time to work on the act of forgiveness -- allowing God to heal your heart so that if that person ever approached you and said, "I'm sorry," you'd embrace them with open arms?


2) Giving. Jesus gave everything -- His life. What if, during Lent, you made a sacrifice to give of your financial resources I mean, REALLY GIVE? No? Sound too hard? What about people in the world who don't have Bibles, food, shelter? Do you think Jesus died for them? If you want to honor His sacrifice by giving up something this Lenten season, why not cough up a little more to help your fellow neighbor?


3) Sacrificing your time. Before Jesus died, His last act was to pray in the Garden. Yes, we're supposed to pray every day to build up our relationship with God. But have you ever sacrificed your TIME in order to intensely pray to God? We know that in our American society, time is of the essence. Giving up your time is indeed a a sacrifice, in our Puritanical mindset. What if, during Lent, you gave up more of your time during the day to pray? Or volunteer? How would you view Jesus's sacrifice if during His prayer in the Garden, He said, "I'm really bummed that I'm going to die, because it means I won't have the extra time on earth to do the things I wanted to do?" Yeah. Pretty self-centered, huh? What if you took your time and gave it to God and to your fellow man, instead of thinking about how you'd use it to fulfill your needs?


This is just to get you started. I'm sure you can think of more things you can sacrifice.


And if I still haven't convinced you, I encourage you to watch "The Passion of the Christ." After you take that trip back in time to the day Jesus was tortured and murdered, think about whether giving up chocolate is what you really want to do this Lenten Season.

On Joy

Imagine yourself in a beautiful meadow.

This place is perfect. There are no insects. There is no humidity. There is only fresh, clear air, 72-degree temperatures and a wispy pleasant breeze for measure. Cotton-ball clouds dot an azure sky, and the golden sun bathes your back and shoulders in delicious warmth.

You're surrounded by flowers. These aren't just any flowers. They're all fragrant, but not the heady type of fragrance that gives you a headache. They're every imaginable hue on the spectrum ... periwinkle, scarlet, emerald, magenta and saffron.

Birds chirp a cadence of trills. And even the deer languidly graze near you, not even raising their heads to your presence.

You gaze at the beauty. You feel peaceful, secure.

Then one of the clouds blocks the sun. The breeze suddenly gives you a chill. More clouds gather, quickly. A drizzle falls. And then the rain begins. You look around for shelter, but there's nothing nearby to shield you, not even a thatch of trees. The air changes from warm ... to cold. The rain turns into giant fluffy snowflakes. The wind picks up. And now it's no longer even a pleasant snowfall. Now it's spitting sleet. You rub your arms and gaze at the sky, and the sleet turns to ice.

Now look around.

The deer are still grazing. The flowers are still colorful and fragrant. The birds are still singing. Nothing has changed, save what is falling on your head. You are in the midst of the meadow as the storm passes through, but the meadow is unchanged.

You close your eyes. You know you're cold. You know you're physically miserable. But you can still smell the flowers. You can still hear the birds. You can walk up to a deer and pat its head, and it doesn't run away. The only thing that has changed is what is being poured on your head and body. But the comfort of the place around you gives you strength to weather the storm.

OK.

This is joy.

We can't control what happens to us circumstantially. Yesterday started out great for me. I was standing in that meadow, and without warning, things overtook me. By the end of the day, I felt as if I'd been through a war.

But here's the thing.

My Christmas tree was twinkling.

My child was singing.

My dog was laying languidly at my feet.

My home was warm.

We were fed, not hungry.

We were comfortable.

We put on Elf.

We listened to Christmas carols.

We lit candles, and we put on soft flannel pajamas and laid down in a luxuriously comfortable bed with warm blankets and soft sheets.

We weren't in danger.

We laid our heads on our pillows, knowing that we were in the most secure country of the world.

My child is healthy. I'm not sick.

I have plenty of work coming in.

Do you see how many blessings I have?

There are more.

They're too many to count.

Despite the circumstances, I was still in the meadow. Despite what was falling on my head, I could rest secure.

Why?

Joy.

God gives me joy. Humanly, I can't cope alone. But God opens my eyes to see the beauty around me -- the colors of the flowers, the song of the birds. I know, no matter what happens, He has me at His breast, hemming me in before and behind me, protecting and securing me.

And giving me joy.

You can rest in that today. You can rest in Him today.

And you can be grateful that joy is steadfast, even when the meadow weathers an ice storm.

A Hug from Jesus

There are moments that can't be explained, miraculous things that occur that remind a person of God's continued presence and love.

I spent this afternoon wondering if I should actually blog this, because more than one person will say I'm certifiable. But in retrospect, I decided to take the plunge for two reasons: 1) Writing this down serves as a reminder to myself in the future when I need to know that God is by my side and 2) Writing this down serves as a reminder to the rest of you (who are also strong believers) that God is by your side, always.

Church is a time of strong communing for me each week, and I don't just mean the encouragement I get from other believers. I sink into deep reflection and thanksgiving each Sunday. I'm a Lutheran. I enjoy the liturgy, while many people may find it boring. I repeat the words, sing the cadence, listen to those around me and most importantly, concentrate fully on the meaning that each Scripture and reading has to my life.

There was nothing particular about this week's sermon that related to my circumstances. There was nothing expressly moving about the organ music or the attempts of the choir at staying on key. Most people might even say the hour-and-a-half service was boring and uneventful.

But something profound happened to me.

I got a hug from Jesus.

And I don't mean something I conjured or mulled over. I had a real experience in which I felt His presence today.

We'd just finished with Communion. Communion is my favorite time of the service, because I enjoy coming to the Table and considering all of the suffering Jesus experienced so that I might live. It's a time when I can tell Him how grateful I am, how much I love Him and also confess any sins or speak with Him about someone with whom I have a grudge.

I returned to my seat, grasping Neil's chubby hand in mine, and continued to sing hymns while others partook in the Meal. And then my mind wandered. I started to worry about the upcoming week. I started thinking about bills. I started churning about whether I would get paid on time by my clients. I started fretting that my child would be leaving for a 14-hour car ride with his father for Thanksgiving and would be apart from me.

All of the goodness from the worship service suddenly started evaporating. All of the peace was filtering away, like water in a tub after a hot soak, leaving me feeling cold and needing comfort. I looked at my watch. I shushed my child, who was rustling pages of a coloring book. I clucked my tongue and rolled my eyes and thought, "When will this be over? I need to get home and take care of things before Monday starts."

Then the last of the people in the congregation sat. Communion was complete. The service was almost finished. The pastor stood to give his blessing over the Communion table and say a prayer. I stood with everyone else and bowed my head.

And that's when it happened.

Suddenly in my mind's eye, unbidden, I saw clearly a snapshot of me, standing there with head bowed, and behind me, His arms around my chest, his head bent forward to rest on top of mine, his robe enveloping my arms ... was Jesus.

Jesus gave me a hug.

In that very moment, all thoughts, all worries, suddenly vanished.

I was flooded with peace. It was as if nothing, none of that, had an ounce of matter. I felt loved and cherished. I felt protected and upheld. I felt no condemnation for allowing worry to take over, but a gentle assurance that He was taking care of me. There was nothing, nothing, standing in the way of His love for me.

Nothing.

I left that service feeling blessed, calmed, thankful ... and most importantly, loved.

Jesus gave me a hug today.

And you know what? Those hugs are available for you, too.

"What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things? Who shall bring a charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is he who condemns? It is Christ who died, and furthermore is also risen, who is even at the right hand of God, who also makes intercession for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written:


'For Your sake we are killed all day long;
We are accounted as sheep for the slaughter.'

Yet in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." -- Romans 8:31-39

The French Connection

When I was 16 and living in upstate New York, my family traveled to Montreal for a weekend getaway. I was studying French in high school, and my father thought it would be great for me to hear the language spoken around me.

In our hotel room, I discovered a New Testament in the traditional place: the drawer of the bedside table, placed by the Gideons. This NT was special, though. It was written in both English and in French. The pages were divided in half, so that while you were reading a verse in English, your eye could travel to the right and see the same message in French.

I wanted to take the Bible home with me, but my father said no. We'd write a letter to the Gideons, asking them how we might purchase a Bible like that.

About a month later, a package arrived in the mail for me ... and it was from the Gideons. Inside was one of the hotel Bibles with a beautiful note, saying they wanted me to have it for free. I took that Bible with me everywhere. In church on Sundays, as Scripture was read, I'd read it silently in French. I used that Bible in my personal devotions as I continued to study French in college.

I've lost a lot of the language knowledge in the past 25 years since graduating. But recently on Twitter, something interesting happened.

A person in another country suddenly started sending me Bible verses ... in French. His name is Mario, and he lives in La Ceiba, a port city on the northern coast of Honduras. When he sends me the Bible verses, he also includes the names of two or three other people who seem to be French.

I don't know why Mario decided to tweet to me in French, especially because he's in Honduras and I'm in the United States. His native language would obviously be Spanish. But I realized one thing: I suddenly was reawakened to connecting with other believers in their language.

Mario tweets Bible verses in various languages to people all over the world. I just happen to get his French tweet messages. What he's doing is taking on the role of missionary in cyber space -- ministering to those of us in other countries, despite our language, despite our culture.

I started to decipher the French and figuring out my old French grammar lessons. When something is too hard, I check it out on Google Translate. Then I go a step further. I look up another verse ... and I send it back to Mario ... in French.

We exchange one or two verses per day. And every day, when I get that tweet from Mario and go to the trouble of sending one back to him, something amazing happens: I feel the vital connection, the encouragement, the joy of sharing with another believer. When he sends my verses out to his 3,000 followers on Twitter, I realize that in French, I in turn am encouraging French-speaking believers, because Mario is willing to take that step for me.

We are commanded: "Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom, teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord." (Col. 3:16)

Mario took that command and acted on it. I thank God for Mario. Through Mario, I've rediscovered the meaning of brotherly/sisterly encouragement -- and the ever-vital mission of sharing with the world the message of Jesus's sacrifice and love.

Abundant Living

Arctic air.
Azure sky.
Sun floods, bright and bold, enveloping, blinding.
Rhythmic drums.
Soulful song.

Heart swells.

Worship alone?
Hardly.
Worship in Presence?
Most definitely.

Heaven enfolds.
Peace invades.
Joy ensues.
Love clings.
God's promise to me.

Not alone.
Shielded.
Emboldened.
Strengthened.
Guided.
Uplifted.

Is this what He meant when He said, "I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly?"

Abundant Living.
Abundant Living, in the face of darkness.
Abundant Living, in the face of despair.
Abundant Living, no matter what the Thief steals and destroys.
Abundant Living, giving my all to One who experienced it all, too.

"I'll stand
with arms high and heart abandoned
in awe of the One who gave it all
I'll stand
my soul Lord to You surrendered
all I have is Yours."

I am living life abundantly
because of what He does for me
because He is my courage
He is my shield
He is my rock
He is my deliverer
He is mine.

Cheesy Broccoli Casserole and the Chinese Visitors

Thanksgiving. Say the word, and if you're a foodie like I am, the images that immediately come to mind are foods we usually (only) eat for that particular feast. As I grew up with a Southern mamma, my Thanksgiving table always consisted of Georgian-inspired dishes: cornbread "dressing" (never stuffed in the bird), fried okra (if we could get it at that time of year), green bean casserole, corn pudding ... and my favorite ... cheesy broccoli casserole. A couple of years ago, the church I was attending invited university students from China to celebrate Thanksgiving at a B&B here in central Kentucky. Our jobs as the parishioners were to sign up for one all-American favorite dish, so that the students could get a real "flavor," so to speak, for the American holiday. I prepared the cheesy broccoli casserole ... topped with Ritz crackers, of course ... and thought it would be scarfed down on sight. As I laid it on the table, I puffed up as fellow church attendees oohed and ahhed. The Cheesy Broccoli Casserole. Somebody had brought it! And it was large! It was one of the hugest casseroles I'd ever assembled. And it was steaming! And it was cheesy gooey! I knew those Chinese students were going to love it, love it, love it. Then I watched as they filed down the buffet table. They whispered to each other as they studied each dish. Suddenly, I realized ... they had no idea what they were putting on their plates. Sweet potato casserole ... a tiny spoonful. Green bean casserole ... the same. Stuffing? They barely touched it. And then they came to the cheesy broccoli casserole. They hesitated. Did they want to really try it? Out of politeness, each one did, but just on the edge of each plate, always in miniscule amounts. I realized that this was foreign food to them, just as if I'd been plopped down behind the Great Wall like Harrison Ford in an Indiana Jones movie and asked to eat a plate of Chou Dofu. I looked at the food not through my American eyes, but through theirs, as if I was seeing it for the first time. And I thought, "Wow. That cheesy broccoli casserole really looks disgusting, if I'm from China and I've never seen it before. It's GROSS!" Then something happened. One by one, each of them tried it. And I watched their eyes widen, their eyebrows go into their foreheads. I watched them poke each other and say something in Chinese and point to the broccoli casserole on their plate. I'd watch the other person look at it with some disdain and disbelief that it could be anything but awful. And then they would try it. And then they'd smile after one bite. Suddenly, they were getting up from their seats and HEADING BACK to the broccoli casserole on the buffet table. Within about 15 minutes, the casserole was empty, and the Chinese guests were chatting happily at the table, all with piles of cheesy broccoli casserole on their plates, all shoveling it happily into their mouths as if they'd eaten it all their lives. I got to thinking about this incident this weekend, because an atheist friend of mine is now embracing God. All things are new to him. And all things are a little scary and unknown, just like that cheesy broccoli casserole. He's hearing things for the first time, deciphering, questioning ... poking at it on his plate and wondering whether to partake. It's all foreign to him, you see. He's looking at it with curiosity, but also with a little trepidation. And yet, now he's giving that cheesy broccoli casserole a try, for the very first time. His eyes are opening. His eyebrows are going into his forehead. He's asking for more, more, more! More. He's reading the Bible for the first time. He wants to know what to hit first, and after that, what should he read? And what's next? And why doesn't he read one book before another? His questions are miraculous, probing, sincere ... hungry. He's hungry. This is what I want you to remember, as you share your faith with others: To an unbeliever, it might as well be cheesy broccoli casserole in the eyes of someone from China. It's daunting and scary. You're not doing them any favors by piling it in front of them and ordering them to eat it. Just give them the option to taste for themselves and find that it is good. Don't be offended if they're too scared to try it at first. Provide the food, but don't force feed it. Allow them to poke at it and taste. And be there for them when they ask you, "What's in this? How was it made? Why is it so delicious? ... Can I have more?" Until then, just look at that cheesy broccoli casserole with a secret smile on your face, knowing that when they finally taste the goodness that God has to offer ... they'll want it. They'll eat it. And they will be satisfied.