Where Can I Find Joy?

"And do not be grieved, for the joy of the LORD is your strength.”
Nehemiah 8:10

I think I do a pretty good job of hiding behind my sense of humor but those that know me well know that on the inside I'm a melancholy, introspective kind of sorts that thinks, cares and lives too deeply. It's my nature as a "realist" not to look on the bright side but rather to think through what might happen if one were never to reach the bright side. My mind tends towards depression and I must always be reminded that things aren't "so bad."


So when I'm told to "choose joy" I have to wonder if joy is a choice. By God's glorious grace I can choose to have the right attitude, one that glorifies God. I can choose to hold my tongue in obedience to the word. I can even choose to believe that God is for me even on the particularly rough days. But how does one go about choosing joy?


I lived a very long time bound up in the chains of the law believing that I must do this or that in order to earn God's good favor. I was told that obedience led to joy and the reason that I didn't have joy was because I wasn't being obedient enough.  What a soul crusher for this girl who just wanted to please a God that she thought was angry with her. So I began on a journey of reading my Bible more, praying more, serving more...still no joy.


I tried with all my might to live as the old hymn says, "Trust and obey, for there's no other way to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey."  The hymn goes on to tell us that His favor and joy are only for those who are doing it right. I concluded that since I couldn't get it right I didn't deserve His favor and joy.

And so the endless cycle of trying harder to do better so that I could be happy in Jesus ceased. It sounded a little too self-serving anyways.

You see, the law entices us with the words "do this and you will be happy" just the same way that sin does. Either way you have it we are being fed a big fat lie.

It's not "do this and get that."
It's "He's done this and now you have everything."

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that there isn't joy in obedience. There certainly is but only when it is TRUE obedience. True obedience doesn't come from a heart that is only trying to obey so that it might find joy. When our actions are fueled by fear instead of gratefulness we are merely trying to find a way to please so that we will not suffer wrath but because of the gospel we now have the ability to serve out grateful obedience.

Joy...true, everlasting joy can only be found in one place - the gospel. It's the gospel that saved my life when I had given up on finding joy.

Once I began to grasp the meaning of the gospel my desire for life began to flourish. I began to see that although in the midst of the pain and the sorrow there was one thing that never changes...Christ. His love, His grace and His mercy that He has poured out on me will always continue to pour out on me no matter the circumstances.

God chose me to be the recipient of the gift of perfection by replacing my tattered, desperate self-loving record with Christ's perfect account of righteousness. A righteousness that is so incredibly undeserved that it makes me want to dance. It lifts my soul up bringing a lightness to my step and gives an unusual carefree attitude to my joy opposing genetics.

It's the gospel that enables me to wake up and face the mundane again and again. It frees me to love without fear of being hurt. It gives me grace for my weakness. It proves that God is for me.

So if the gospel can turn this party pooper into a freedom-embracing, grace-giving, party-loving girl then you know it's gotta be good!


And by the way...if you are still singing "Trust and Obey" in church, it's time to have a talk with the worship leader. Just sayin'

A Gospel That Trumps the Heart

"By this we shall know that we are of the truth and reassure our heart before him; for whenever our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart, and he knows everything." (1 John 3:19, 20 ESV)

What is this guilt that is flooding over my heart washing away the shiny coat of freedom that I have worked so hard to build?

My thoughts have been haunted by the law that I used to live by. The law that tells me that if I "do this" I will feel better about myself and appear more holy.

There was the guilt that came from wanting to use our money to remodel our bathroom instead of for an overseas adoption (that has not even been put on our hearts or discussed at this point and came out of nowhere blindsiding me in my home decor thoughts). The whisper was quite loud, like my four year old at the library; technically it's a whisper but it sounds more like a scream. "You are so selfish! How can you use this money for yourself when there are orphanages overflowing with lives that you can change?"

The screaming whisper continued after a short visit with my neighbor, "Why can't you home school the kids? Why must you spend so much money on private school when you can use that money to help others? Your neighbor can't even afford groceries! So selfish!"

"Why aren't you praying more? Praying for special attributes for your children like that friend on Facebook announced that she was doing? Did you even remember to pray for them today? I mean besides the prayer earlier that they wouldn't yell at each other when they woke up from sleeping in the car? They NEED your prayers and you are too selfish to give them up!"

Yes, I know that there is  no condemnation for me in God's eyes but why do I still feel condemned?

Where does this come from when I know the truth that sets me free?

The truth that tells me that Christ has completely obliterated all due guilt on my behalf.

The truth that Christ took on hell for me so that I'd be free to live with Him in eternity.

The truth that Christ didn't just take my sin but rather became sin so that there is no longer an account against me...ever!

The truth that Christ replaced my marred record with the perfect righteous record that only He could earn.

Yes, I know all of this...but my heart.

Oh, my wandering heart that deceives and blinds me into shame. The heart that takes all of God's mercy and kindness and perverts it into religious guilt, causing me to think I am unworthy. The heart that speaks a law that makes promises but never pays up.

As I stand in front of my refrigerator adorned with "art", calendars, grocery lists and baseball photos I see my answer. Right next to the heart shaped doily with the words "I Love You!" so carefully crayoned into the faux lace.

It was a haphazardly taped index card with faded writing that read, "By this we shall know that we are of the truth and reassure our heart before him; for whenever our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart, and he knows everything." (1 John 3:19, 20 ESV)

BINGO! This condemnation, these lies that grab at my wrists and ankles trying to shackle my freedom are coming from within. The truth of the gospel is greater than any self-serving law that my heart has ascribed to. 

My conflicted conscience begins to break loose.

Overseas adoption...a beautiful thing.

Homeschooling...really great.

Praying for my children more...quite lovely and desperately needed.

But freedom, beautiful freedom!

Freedom to adopt because I'm moved by His love for me.

Freedom to home school because I'm moved by His grace for me.

Freedom to pray more because I'm moved by His desire for me.

Sweet rest comes to me and I pray once again for His hand of grace to lay gently on my shoulder and guide me as He is the only One that truly knows this heart of mine.

The gospel trumps my heart again.

A Review of Three Free Sins...and a Giveaway!

The first time I heard Steve Brown on the radio I made my husband turn it off. You see, my law bound heart was afraid of freedom. I was afraid that teachings such as Steve’s would cause my husband to jump off the deep end and, I don’t know, smoke a pipe or something. Funny thing is that I kept trying to listen and kept turning it off. Over time I made it through the whole talk and was immensely grateful for the message of grace that was starting to penetrate my heart.

I’d have to say that over the years Steve has grown to be a bit of a spiritual “Daddy” to me and if I were to stalk anyone it might just be him. It’s borderline idolatry but I figure that I can use one of my three free sins to cover that one...

Would you like to know more about what I think of Steve Brown's Three Free Sins? Head on over to Quieted Waters to continue reading and to enter for your chance to win your very own copy.

When "Mom of the Year" Isn't Enough

"And he said to them, “It is enough.”
Luke 22:38b

Spring break has come and gone for my four children and I.


There was the trip to the beach; and the day that we had to stay home because I woke up in pain and sat in a chair all day while they watched copious amounts of t.v., fought over computer games and indulged in Easter candy from breakfast on.


There was a day spent hanging out with best friends; and there was the cat fight between my girls that I joined in on instead of correcting them in a calm and mature manner.


There was the date I had with my boys at Chuck E Cheese; and then there was our outing to the mall in which I spent the entire time complaining about the hoards of people, heavy rains and distance in which we had to walk to find food. Good times...

As I look back on the week it's tempting for me to think of it in terms of successes and failures instead of what it was...a week off of school.


And while our week was what it was, one question has been swirling around in my head. Am I really enough? Was this week really good enough? Am I really what my children need?


I long to be praised for being a good mom, don't you? When I've done well I am ready to step up and accept that "Mom of the Year award" that I have been striving for the past 11 years, yet somehow in all of my efforts I have yet to obtain it. This causes me to think that there must be other moms out there who are receiving it instead of me.

Let me tell you a secret, there is no award! Gasp! Really? I'm sure this is not a shock yet I'm sure you would say that deep in the recesses of your heart you are a bit disappointed. What are we all working so hard for anyway?

Here's the thing; we long to be told that we are good moms. We long to approve of ourselves and to have others approve of us. But the fact is that we can't be good enough. Only Christ was and is. It is only by His perfect obedience that we are called good because we were given His righteousness in exchange for our vileness.

It is only in Christ that we can approach a Holy God, one who would otherwise turn away from us because we yelled at our kids before we even got out of bed this morning.

Because of Christ we can boldly approach the throne of Grace instead of running and hiding in shame when we join in the cat fight with our girls.

Without Christ we have nothing to praise and adore but ourselves. Leading only to one of two things, pride or despair.

My concern for believing mamas is that we are encouraging each other to look within instead of to Christ by telling one another that we are good. Do we need to encourage each other? Of course, but let's do the loving thing and instead of pacifying one another with mommy compliments let's point one another to the One who is the only perfect parent.

We are not enough for our children. Our best efforts are not enough and never will be. We actually aren't what our children need. They need so much more.

Christ is the only one who has kept the law completely and His efforts were enough and remain enough. He is the only one that can fully satisfy our children's needs.

So when we are feeling like a bad mom and that we aren't good enough it's not time for a little self-esteem pep-talk so that we can approve of our efforts or condole ourselves for the lack there of. It's time to speak the truth.

You CAN agree that you are indeed a bad mom. Go ahead, try it. Admit that yes, you do fall short of every expectation laid upon you. But don't leave it there or you will only end up trying harder and failing again. Give yourself the gospel, give your mom friends the gospel.  We needed Christ to be good enough for us.

Telling ourselves or others that we are enough only turns us back on ourselves. It brings rest for the moment but not the true rest that knowing that our risen Savior has given us His record of being enough through the work on the cross.

It's not a "Mom of the Year" that my children need. They need a Savior that rules for all eternity. He is the only one that can meet my every need and the only one that can meet theirs.

And with that we can find true rest and joy.

Easter Is For Losers Like Me

Holidays always make me feel like a loser.

It's a time that I let the comparison crud creep into my heart more than others.

It's all around me, in my face; the crafts, the traditions, the moms who make every day special or so it seems. It's what I begin to rate my motherhood by.

Am I doing enough? Is it special enough, unique enough, healthy enough, elaborate enough, simple enough, spiritual enough, fun enough?

I make excuses in my head of why I can't seem to get it right. I blame my lack of ________ on my resources, my gifts, my number of children, my health, my upbringing.

I compare because I want to believe that I'm keeping up.
I compare because I want my work to be enough.
I compare because I want to somehow prove to myself that I'm not a loser.

And then I remember.

I confidently cut the comparison crud and stop trying to prove what I am not and start rejoicing in what I am, a far bigger loser than I will ever believe that I am with a far bigger Savior than I will ever comprehend.

So while I call myself a loser He calls me beloved. While I fret about dying eggs and filling Easter baskets He is pleased to pour out His mercy and kindness on one who is proven unworthy. It is for this very reason of grace and mercy that He takes pleasure in proving Himself over and over.

It is for the losers that Christ came and lived the sinless life because we couldn't get it together. That's all of us. Not one of us has kept the perfect law; not one of us ever will. He knew this and willingly submitted Himself to the Father to take our place.

He quietly suffered the mocking, the spitting, the torture, the scathing, the whipping, the torn flesh, the unbearable pain, the spiked thorns, and the unthinkable separation from His perfect union with His Father.

As the darkness crept on, the relentless pain of separation tearing at His heart until the work was done. The final cry of "IT IS FINISHED!" was not a cry of death but a cry of life and freedom for all whom He shed His blood for. A plea for me to stop trying to prove my worthiness because His gift of righteousness has made me worthy.

And if that wasn't enough, He proved Himself by the resurrection. He fulfilled His promise and continues to pursue those whom He loves...the losers.

He rose that I may have life. That He may reside in me, bringing comfort to my soul and correction to a heart that doesn't always believe that "It is finished" was for me.

He died and ascended that I might be freed from wondering if what I'm doing is enough.

It is enough because He is enough.

The Gospel In My Chaos

School, baseball, horseback riding, baseball, 4-h, bible study, calling the fire department to rescue my four year old, t-ball, public speaking contest, baseball, putting our house on the market and having it sell in five days, major emotional breakdown on the baseball field by my son, prayer meeting, real estate phone calls, baseball, papers to sign and a now a child with a fever.

To say that the past seven days have been chaotic is an understatement.

Where is the gospel when the rubber meets the road and I am stressed to the point of not being able to swallow my food? How does it change all of this chaos?

When I am in the heat of the moment and my four year old is banging on his bedroom door as he awaits his discipline;

or my six year old won’t stop crying and whining about me not buying her a turtle;

or when I get that phone call from the school telling me that my son has just tried to run away;

or when my eleven year old cracks open an egg from under a hen to see if it’s ready to hatch yet, killing the chick inside again

or…

How does the gospel affect me?

Does it make me kinder? Sometimes, but not usually.

Does it make me more patient? Probably, but I’m not really aware of it.

Does the gospel make me sin less? Well, no I don’t think so.

So what does the gospel do then? It tells me who I am. It forces me to get over myself, to be real, to call on Christ for help because I understand more fully how incredibly weak and unloving I am. It frees me to desire what is right because I don’t have to have my own way. I have nothing to prove because the gospel has reassured me that I already have it all.

And when I forget the gospel and I stomp around the house trying to prove myself worthy, He’s there. He knows I’m going to botch it up yet He loves me anyways.

What the gospel does in those moments of chaos is that it frees me to believe that I am still loved.

It frees me to believe that there is no condemnation for me because I am in Christ.

It frees me to believe that He is being glorified in that very moment even in my sin because that is what He does.

He will always glorify Himself.

And when I don't believe that His grace is for me, He believes it. In those moments of chaos He is praying for me when I forget because I'm trying to restrain a screaming child, break up a fight or clean up barf so the dog doesn't eat it. He's praying for me when I don't want to pray because it just seems like another thing on my too long already list.

The Gospel tells me that He loves to love me even when I'm unlovable.

That's what the gospel does in my chaos. What does it do in yours?

A Prayer for the Weary Mother

When my child is angry and confused...Lord, lead me to the cross.

When I want to help but am at a loss...Lord, lead me to the cross.

When I have nothing good left to offer them...Lord, lead me to the cross

When I want to shake some sense into them...Lord, lead me to the cross.

When my heart is intertwined with guilt...Lord, lead me to the cross.

When the promise of sovereignty is not believed...Lord, lead me to the cross.

When I want to fix it but don't have the wisdom or patience...Lord, lead me to the cross.

When grace seems unreal and too good for us...Lord, lead me to the cross.

When harsh words seem easier and more effective...Lord, lead me to the cross.

When the noise is too much to bear...Lord, lead me to the cross.

When compassion doesn't come...Lord lead me to the cross.

When the mess is too big to manage...Lord lead me to the cross.

When I want to lock myself in the car and scream...Lord, lead me to the cross.


Lord, lead me to the cross where You saved me by Your grace and move me to walk in Your will. Open my eyes to Your glory when I make parenting about me. Take away all of my doubts and fears that You are not enough for me. Show me that Your grace is true and real and much bigger than I can imagine. Help me to run into Your open arms when I want to parent in my own power. May I see Your all-sufficient, never-ending love working in my life. Help me to see Your strength in my weakness and rejoice instead of fight. Make known Your marvelous power to change my children's hearts. Soften my harshness, quite my lips and make prayer my first response.


Lord, lead me to the cross.

Living by the Light

Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

John 8:12

“Mommy, you have to leave the hall light on.”

“Yes Buddy, I will.”

“Because I have to sleep with me eyes open; looking at the light. If I don’t look at the light I get midnights (my four year old’s word for nightmares). I always have to look at the light.”

Like all children my little guy has had more than enough nightmares about monsters and sharks and whatever else that may threaten to eat him in the dark. What was once a peaceful drift into sleep has become a dreaded fight as repeated nightmares have tainted the lure of a restful slumber.

My son will position himself in his bed or wherever else he is sleeping to be facing the nearest light source and will not look away until sleep closes his eyelids. His longing for the security of the light can be satisfied by just having one small sliver shining through for him to keep his eyes on.

As I think about my own life, my fears and insecurities, I realize how similar I am to my little boy. I need something to be looking at, something that comforts and brings a promise of safety to me. And unlike my four year old's obsession with the light which cannot truly provide everything he needs, my light is an all-providing, life-shaping, comfort-bringing, freedom-bearing light.

It is the light of the gospel. The light of Christ.

A Light that has shown through the darkness of sin; saving me from destruction.

A Light that continues to shine at the right hand of God; interceding on my behalf.

A Light that resides in me; providing for my every need.

A Light that will never grow dim nor be extinguished; canceling all powers of darkness.

A Light that floods my dark and sinful heart with inexplicable grace that can never be snuffed no matter how nasty I've been.

If I dare to turn my eyes from the light of the gospel I fall into looking to myself or to the world for my comfort and encouragement. It’s when I think that something other than Christ can satisfy my needs that I fall into a slumber that only produces lies from the enemy.

When my eyes are not fixed on the light of the gospel my life is a constant evaluation of how I am doing, what I should be doing, why I’m not doing it, and what I could be doing right now instead of thinking about why I’m not doing what it is I think I should be doing. I drive myself crazy with my self.

Here’s the thing, the more I start to look away from the light the more my gaze is turned to myself. I start to look for evidence that I am good enough but all I find is a selfish, loveless being that can’t seem to ever get it right. Now lest you think that I am playing Eeyore let me say that I actually do have thoughts of my greatness and usefulness but since those thoughts come in the form of pride and boasting I’m back to wear I started from.

You may say that I have terrible self-esteem problems and that I don’t love myself enough but the truth of the matter is that I actually have quite a healthy view of myself. You see, I know the depths of my sin and unworthiness. I know that every effort that I make to please God or serve others is tainted with sin. And I also know that I have no need to despair over not being good or being able to approve of myself.

My esteem is not based on the good that I do or how much I love myself but rather what Christ has done for me and how much I am loved by Him.

My approval of myself is irrelevant.

Your approval of me is irrelevant.

I have only one verdict that has become who I am. It was declared on the cross a long, long time ago. Because of Christ's righteousness imparted to me on that day I am esteemed as His beloved daughter with whom He is well pleased. All other verdicts have been tossed aside and don’t have any effect on who I am as a person.

The more I steep myself in the gospel the more I find that the gospel of Christ is all that is needed to satisfy my every longing. His light supplies me with an all-encompassing view of where I stand in this world.

So as I look to the light, remembering who I am, I can live secure in His love for me. Knowing that I have nothing to fear, nothing to prove and nothing to lose I can close my eyes and find the rest that only He provides.

“I heard the voice of Jesus say, “I am this dark world’s light:

Look unto Me- thy morn shall rise, and all thy day be bright.”

I looked to Jesus, and I found in Him my Star, my Sun;

And in that light of life I’ll walk, till traveling days are done.”

Horatius Bonar, 1808-1889

Love, for Cynics Like Me

"We love because he first loved us." 1 John 4:19

Love.

I shy away from this four letter word more than the others. Amazing how one little word can come with such baggage and freedom all in one tiny package.

I question the radio ad I hear that says the more we love, the more we will be loved. Sounds a bit self-seeking if you ask me. Call me a cynic (because that's what I am and yes, I pray about it) but is that true love?

I remember the day my dad first told me that he loved me. He sat in the worn recliner, crying. His father was dying. At eighteen I didn't know what to say so I sat and waited. I knew that he wanted to tell me something important. I'd never seen the old cop cry and have only seen it one time since.

He told me something that his father had just told him for the first time on his seventy-two year old death bed. "I love you." My stomach flipped, I repeated the words back to him, gave him a half hearted hug and walked away.

As I went off to college soon after, I heard the other girls in the dorm declaring their love for their parents on the line-demanding pay phone in the hall.

These words that were so foreign to my family. Forced words that seemed to be saved only for weddings and funerals.

Wanting to fit in with the other good Baptist girls I began to force the short little phrase into the goodbyes of my parental phone conversations. After all, the other girls were listening. To my surprise my parents began to say it back.

It all seemed so forced, but it was said nonetheless..."I love you, too."

Things have changed since my college days. We've walked through more weddings and funerals, and endless amounts of weekly phone calls. All ending in "I love you."

Its not forced anymore. It's out of a non solicited, genuine love. A love with baggage. A love with walls. But it's real love.


The First "I Love You"

Some of you have heard the tender words of "I love you" since the moment you caught your first breath. Yet others still await the words you've longed to hear since you were a child. But as you and I walk in the shadow of the cross we both hear the same sweet whisper from our Savior's lips, "You are my beloved child."

No matter how many or how few times we hear the enchanting words "I love you" here on this earth we know that there is only One that truly loves us. There is only One that can speak these words and fill our souls with a love that is pure and can never be taken back.

Christ's incarnation, life, death and ressurection were the first "I love you" spoken to this world. A gift of love from a God who longed to save us through His son.

-It was love that reduced Him to the size of a seed in His mother's womb.
-It was love that was helpless at the hands of first time parents, learning to eat, walk and speak.
-It was love that grew as a boy, being completely God and man, under the submission of sinful parents.
-It was love that perfectly served an imperfect family.
-It was love that resisted every temptation known to man.
-It was love that was falsely accused, mocked and beaten.
-It was love that went to the cross without opening His mouth.
-It was love that was humiliated and spat upon in open nakedness.
-It was love that saved the sinner next to Him while in suffocating pain.
-It was love that was separated from His Father, void of perfect fellowship for the first time.
-It was love that took the most tragic day in human history and redeemed it for my Salvation.
-It was love that united us to Himself, leaving with us the Holy Spirit so that He would still be near.

He loved me when I had no love on my lips, when the other four letter words outweighed the L-word.
He knew I'd struggle to love Him back yet He chose to love me.
He knew I'd love myself more than I love others yet He pursued me as His bride.
He knew I'd hate my enemies yet He chose to love me when I was His.


Had I never been ship-wrecked and rescued by the only One that loves without self, I would have never known how to love. I would have continued to tag the words on to the end of phone calls, weddings and funerals but only because I hoped to hear them returned.

And now I am free to say those three beautiful words, "I love you", all because and only because He first loved me. 

The Masks We Wear

I once had someone tell me that I should "fake it until I make it." I took those words to heart and flung myself into the art of mask wearing only to end up bound to legalism and fear. The Mask of Acceptability was only one of the many masks that I was proud to wear not realizing the implications that it had on the rest of the church body.

Steve Brown, in his wonderfully freeing book A Scandalous Freedom, encourages his readers to take off The Mask of Acceptability.

“When the requirement for acceptance in any particular group is to think certain thoughts, to act in certain ways, and to fit in certain molds-and we don’t think or act that way or fit the mold-we tend to fake it. We put on a mask that says, “I’m just like you. Now, will you please love me and accept me?” I can think of hardly anything that will kill your joy and freedom more than wearing a mask geared to get others to accept you because you are acting like them.

Allow me to let you in on a secret: Nobody fits the mold, and most of us wear the mask to cause others to think we do. The greatest tragedy of the church is that, in many cases, the most dishonest hour of the week is the hour we spend at church."

My friends, let's take off our masks of acceptability, get real and be free in Christ. We are doing a great disservice to ourselves and to one another when we pretend that we are something other than sinful moms who need Jesus and each other. Let's allow each other to be free! [1]

What masks do you see yourself wearing?

---

[1] Steve Brown A Scandalous Freedom(Howard Books, 2004),108

Dear Discouraged Moms,

I have heard that you are struggling to fight the funk that has found it's way to your doorstep, into your home and has met you lying in your bed paralyzed by the thought of facing the day. I am so sorry that you are feeling this way and can say that I can relate in every way.

There are days that I feel like my life as a mom is only an opportunity for failure. I long for peace from my kids so that I am not faced with the challenge of discipline yet I don't seem to ever come by it. I know what you are feeling when you say that you sometimes liken them to Piranhas and don't want to leave your room for fear of being attacked.

I imagine that most people you have heard from have offered advice. I have probably heard the same things myself in times of despair. Maybe you've been told that you must not be having faithful quiet times. Maybe you've been told to have a stricter schedule so that you always know what to do next. Oh and my favorite has always been, "Get some rest!" I'm not sure about you but not one of these remedies has ever pulled me from the pit. Are they good? Of course! But never the solution.

I hesitate to offer my advice but I feel that maybe you have not heard from anyone else what I am about to say. I write what I know as a desperate, broken mom who has found freedom in her beautiful, soul satisfying Redeemer and who wants you to find that freedom too. So may I?

In all the times that I have found myself in a funk that I can't debunk it has come from an obvious source; my incessant inability to believe that God is as good as He says He is.

I have spun my wheels going nowhere but further into the ground by trying hard to gain an acceptance that Jesus Christ has already earned for me. I convince myself that there is something more that I must do even though Christ is calling out for me to rest.

I fall into the trap of thinking that "IT IS FINISHED" was only about the end to Christ's suffering on the cross and not about the work that was completed on my behalf. So I toil and I worry about whether I'm doing enough to be called His beautiful daughter.

Continual thinking that I must do more and be better only produces two reactions in my heart and both are sinful. Either I fail at the work that I am trying so hard to produce and fall into despair or I triumphantly succeed and fall into pride. The pendulum of works swings wildly back and forth in my heart until I look to the cross to pin it down.

It's when the pendulum stops that I see how Christ's incarnation, sinless life, death and resurrection were so carefully executed on my behalf so that God in all of His blinding holiness could turn His face towards me. It's when I see the beauty of being hidden in the Cleft of the rock as protection, rest and comfort that I stop fretting. I am His.

This life that you are in dear friend is not your life. If Christ is your redeemer then your life is in Him. It is not what you do that makes you His beautiful daughter with whom He is well pleased. It is the fact that your life is Christ's life; Christ's life is your life. You have died and are now one with Him and that cannot be revoked. He is your new life. He is with you in your funk. He is praying for you, loving you and presenting you spotless and righteous before His Father.

Please stop believing the lies that others are telling you that you must work your way into His presence. Stop believing that you must work to keep your status. Stop believing that the work you do today; wiping faces, bottoms and floors must be done perfectly to keep His love. Dare to believe right now that nothing that you do today whether good or bad, or the attitude you have today joyful or resentful, will change the way the Father loves you. Rejoice in His outrageous grace!

And with only having said an ounce of what I think you should hear I pray that your hearts would be comforted by the gospel. Go now...rest in His finished work and believe that God really is as good as He says He is.

Love,
A mom that cares

Moving Out Of Funky Town

So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed. John 8:36

My heart has been living in the slum of Funky Town.

I look at my house and wonder why I can't keep up. I vow to do better tomorrow.

The giant Wrestle Mania sticker remains stuck to the wood floor. Not quite my decorating style, but seeing it there exhausts me. I know it's going to take time and energy to get that up. I tell myself I shouldn't be so lazy.

I go to bed exhausted and overwhelmed and wake up in the morning no different.

I scold myself when I see Justin digging in the dryer for underwear. I must do better. If only I would take better care of him. I tell myself to be a better wife.

I am worn down by the ever changing needs of my kids. Grace for them is hard to find and I want to ignore their needs. I tell myself to be a better mom.

I'm spinning my wheels.

Eat better.
Sleep better.
Clean better.
Love better.
Do better.

This becomes my mantra throughout the day.

Where is my freedom?

Freedom from having to earn my way. Freedom from the need for spotless perfection.

Why must I put myself in this prison again? Why am I trying to earn a freedom that I already have? Have I forgotten who I am?

I am living as though my salvation lies within. As though if I can just "do better" then I will gain the stamp of approval.

And then someone brings me the gospel.

I hear the words of Jesus' incarnation, sinless life, death and resurrection. For me; all for me!

Had I been able to be the wife, mom or person that I desire to be Jesus would have died in vain (Galatians 5:21).



My hope in myself fades and I face my day in a different light. The spotlight that I put myself in is turned to Jesus. My joy begins to return and rest comes quickly.

It has been done. There is no need for my perfection, I can stop trying to attain it. I rest in His completeness.

Telling myself to "do better" one thousand times a day is no more than a ploy of guilt to get my act together.

My act is already together.
I've been called righteous.
I am free from the voice of condemnation that demands my perfection.

In the midst of the chaos I find Him. Leading me, loving me and whispering His promise of "It is Finished" in my ear.

It's time to move on, pack my bags and move out of Funky Town.

I am ready for a day with much work to be done. Ready for a day that no longer seems impossible.

I am free.




Your turn:

How do you get out of funky town? What changes your heart when you get the "do better" blues?





photo credit

Christ in a Motor Home

As our family travels up the great state of California motor home style, involuntarily taking in the smell of cows, onions and whatever else it is that they farm in the central valley, we have grown. Grown Rather grumpy, impatient and selfish that is. Cramming the six of us and a dog together for hours on end sure brings out the yuck.

As I write I have a six year old singing in my ear. Literally in my ear! And when she's not singing she's whining about how she doesn't like the movie and when she isn't whining she is making grunting noises or talking to herself. That's how she rolls. She wants to be heard. Always.

From the back comes the complaining of my four year old because he wants to unbuckle to get a toy just like his sister just did.

The dog is eating the dropped snacks off the floor and someone keeps yelling, "I can't see!" Oh and I can't forget my oldest child who is freaked out about the whole traveling in a motor home thing. Anxious about every noise and bump and intolerant of us all.

But we're making memories y'all (no I'm not from Texas, I've just always wanted to say that).

I look over at Justin who's been so quiet knowing that he is struggling with patience and holding his tongue unlike me. I say something along the lines of, "NEVER AGAIN." He smiles knowing that I don't really mean It.

It's always on these trips that my attitude falls into a sink hole and I decide that our family needs to make some major changes. It's when I decide that we must be the biggest sack of complaining losers this side of the Mississippi. It's when I try to play the role of the Holy Spirit.

So as I feel the need to correct every comment, every intolerant sigh, every complaint over someone touching someone else I become exhausted. I forget to rest. I forget that I am not in control.


I forget about the outrageous grace that is given to this family of six.


It's in these moments when our hearts are being pushed, punched and twisted by the temptation to look only to ourselves that I am reminded of His grace. He never tells me that this is the last trip He'll take me on. He doesn't look at me in exhaustion saying, "Never Again". He doesn't throw his hands up and declare that He can't take it anymore.

No, He simply washes my feet over and over again.

And when I think of my beautiful Savior, a King worthy of all praise on His knees washing the filth from this impatient, irritated mom I can't help but want to do the same for the little girl who's feet keep migrating to the back of my head. Ew!


My desire to say "No" to my flesh and "Yes" to the Spirit increases, not by trying to be a better mom but by remembering His perfect love for this imperfect family.

How to Keep a New Year's Resolution

As I get to the end of this year and read the world's lists of resolutions I can't help but feel like a bit of a loser because I just don't seem to care.

I have no interest in trying harder in 2012. I have no desire to write out a list of what I want to do better this year.

Of course there are things I want to accomplish including writing a book and homeschooling my fifth grader without killing myself. I'm confident that I will accomplish these goals because I am pretty certain that God has called me to do them and He will be faithful in helping me. But really there's just no desire here for much else.

Sure I think it would be great if this was the year that I got in shape or made it past Numbers in my Bible reading plan. But I highly doubt that writing these things down on a list again will get me any further than it has in the previous years.

So what do you think? Am I a loser because I lack motivation to better myself? Is my negativity bringing you down?

I use the words loser and negative because that's what the world would call me but in reality I have much more hope for myself than that. Some may be thinking that with an attitude like mine I will never change or better myself. I'll never grow past where I am in life.

But honestly in all of my list making experience I've never seen much change by trying harder to do better. Oh sure it lasts for a while like everyone else. I hit the gym the first few weeks in January only to end up back on the couch. I say no to the sugar and caffeine only to end up in the Starbucks drive-thru with a vente frappawhatever after I've been up all night with a sick kid. I sleep through the 5:00am alarm to get up and pray because my insomnia gets the best of me. Whether its feeling as if I've failed or feeling proud and self-righteous because I've succeeded, my heart remains unchanged.

But like I said, I have hope. I know that I will change this year. I know that I am growing and being sanctified daily because that is what He has promised me. Even in the years that I had completely given up on life He was kind to change me. 

I can rest knowing that I don't have to earn my way into God's favor in 2012 because I cannot gain or lose ground with God. Failures, successes, whatever comes my way I will remain in His love and His face will never turn away from me. I am His beloved daughter.

There is a list that's already been written. It has spelled out every good and perfect thing that I must do to be acceptable. It's like the New Year's Resolution List Extraordinaire. I look at it and I'm crushed. Love your neighbor, do not be jealous, love God with all your heart it goes on and on. I can't even begin to do these things well; I've failed before I have even started.

There is One and only One who has kept the list of perfection. Jesus never had to make a single New Year's resolution. He never had to try harder to be a better person; to sin less and love more. But at the cross He chose to take my identity as one who can never get it right no matter how many years I put it on a list and in exchange He gave me His identity of the perfect list keeper.

I don't have to make a do better list. I don't have to look inward and find the courage to love myself more. I don't have to put post-it notes around the house reminding myself of the promises I have made to be a better person. I have Christ who has set me free from the need of constant self-improvement. It is Christ who will work in me to complete a good work this year.

And if I don't get any better this year He will love me the same as He did yesterday, today and forever.

My list has been completed. He Has torn it up, thrown it in the fire and dared me to be free.


Now where's that protein shake?!


photo curtousey of Flood

His Story

Last night ended in tears.

Yes, many an evening has had me in tears…tears of frustration, tears of pain, or tears of sheer exhaustion. These weren’t the hot tears of anger nor the free flowing tears of sadness. These tears were ones that have dripped into my heart carving out a special spot to always be remembered.

As I lay on the couch in exhaustion, watching TV and reading my emails I became overwhelmed. I was overwhelmed by how completely and utterly I am loved by my Savior. A Savior that has given me His story to tell, something to live for, something to hold on to.

I had the opportunity to share with the women from my church this past weekend something that I never thought I had until recently, a testimony. As I stood in front of eighty women and my pastor...

Can't wait to hear what happens next? Finish reading my guest post over at (in)courage.

When I Think I'm Better Than You

I stood in line at the drugstore. Cheap wine and a bottle of tums in my left hand, the arm of a floppy four year old who would not stay upright in the other. Not quite feeling put together like the person that my self-righteousness has carried into that same store many times before. I felt just as weak as the lady in front of me who was buying six packs of her favorite cigarettes and some breath spray. Just as weak as the man behind me waiting to pay for his antidepressant and whiskey.

Maybe this isn't how you'd picture this lover of Christ. Nothing about me shouted believer in the store that day.

Nothing.

Maybe that's good.


As I stood there in line I was tempted to wonder how I looked to those around me. After all, if I was standing in line at a homeschool conference, private school spelling bee or women's ministry event; unshowered annoyed and grasping a bottle of wine while impatiently pulling my four year old up off the floor by his arm, I would certainly not have impressed anyone.

Real never impresses.


Nobody knew my story and frankly nobody cared. The wine; bought to replace the one that fell out of the back of my car and smashed in the grocery store parking lot early that week. The kid; a late night party and early morning left him obedience impaired as his body became a wet noodle in exhaustion. But like I said, no one cared.

Except for maybe me.

Maybe just a little.

Perhaps my own self-righteousness was once again wanting those around me to think I was better than them. In my heart of hearts I was truly ashamed that I didn't appear any different. How's that for being honest?

You see, I still feel that obligation to impress.  We all do, but as Christians we falsely believe that we are impressing others when they notice our behavior. We somehow relate our manners and politeness to the amount of godliness within us. We tell our children things like, "Using our manners shows others that we love Jesus." or "They will know we are Christians by our cheerful attitude." We believe that if we dress nicely and don't dye our hair purple then we are somehow more righteous than the rest.

What about the atheistic, humanitarian family that has taught their children to be just as cheerful and well mannered and that they should love others too. There's plenty of polite people out there that don't love Jesus.

While this is not meant to be a post about politeness or parenting it goes to say that there is a disconnect in our hearts between the things that we do and the God that we love. I love my God and one of the reasons that I am free today is that I understand that I will not always be a picture perfect representative.

I am a real person with real needs and real weaknesses just like the people I stand in line with. I don't know their hearts but I do know mine. It is a weak and sinful heart unworthy of the status that He has given me. Yet He loves me in my weakness, He desires me when I look down on others and fight to push my way to the top. He gets me when I say "I'm better than you." I am His, covered in His blood, wrapped in a robe of His righteousness.

And when I think I should look, smell or smile differently than I do He reminds me that He has made the only impression that matters. And that final impression was made for me, becoming mine.

Because of Christ...I have no need to impress.

The Gospel for the Good Mom

I hate that I can't sleep. I'm tired of watching reruns of The Office.  I was tired when I went to bed. Dead tired like every other night. But once the lights are off my mind is on, ready to make big out of what is little.

I replay the stupid question that I asked that was never answered and wonder what others thought. I remember that the kids' lunches aren't packed and that my mom is sick. I hate my apathy for buying Christmas gifts and wonder why I find gift giving such a bother. But even more, I hate my newly discovered cynicism. I barely know what that means but after looking up the definition on Wikipedia I think that God might just be right about me.

I wonder if I'm well liked, I wonder if what I wrote or said today offended or impressed. I'm obsessed with myself when the lights go out. Obsessed with wanting approval so that I can sleep peacefully. If everyone is happy with me; my husband has his needs met, the kids are content, then I can rest.

But is that really it? Is my sleep contingent on how I am esteemed? Better yet is my happiness dependent upon others approval?


My desire to be good hunts me down and finds me lying awake at night. Good inasmuch as my identity. "Good Wife", "Good Friend", "Good Mom", "Good Writer", "Good Daughter", "Good Christian" good, good, good.

And when I can't prove myself worthy of these titles I scramble. I get to work trying to find ways to approve of myself, to earn my standing. But this all seems a bit far from the gospel if you ask me. Is good really what I need to be?

What happened to my true identity? Do I hang that on the back of the bathroom door before I climb into bed? Does my memory fade in the horizontal position?

I find myself wondering who I am, scheming to be better in the morning and then I stop. I am drawn to prayer. Asking Him to remind me of who I really am. I'm not going to wake up in the morning as "Mom Extraordinaire" my husband will have no reason to bow down to a "Wife Above Rubies" I will not have published a book in my sleep becoming an "Influential Writer".

No. I will wake up as me. A "Sinful and Flawed yet Loved and Welcomed, Righteous Daughter." A title that cannot be stripped, destroyed or forfeited. A title that needs no living up to. One that cannot be gained or lost in the midst of a sleepless night. I am His and He keeps me. I cannot be unredeemed.

I need no other approval then that of the only One who's approval matters. And that approval I have a gazillion times over. I need not be esteemed by anyone but the one who has diligently pursued me since the dawn of time. In His love I remain forever and always not because I have done good, not because I am doing good and not because I will be good but only because He is good.

Good when He came to earth, was born and placed in a manger.

Good when He lived sinless, perfectly loving those who hated Him.

Good when He was mocked and spit upon.

Good when the scourging He endured ripped into His flesh exposing His true human state. A body that He suffered in for me.

Good when spikes were driven through His flesh, muscles, tendons and joints to secure Him to the beam of His death.

Good when the sky turned dark. Pitch black. Forsaken, bearing the weight of my sins.

Good when in the darkness He suffered the agony of being separated from the perfect and complete union with the Father.

Good when He rejoiced in His suffering, knowing it was right for our sake.

Good when He called us His brothers and sisters.

Good when it began.

Good when it was finished.

And He continues to be good. Calling us righteous, serving us through the Spirit. Interceding on our behalf.


Lying awake at night, trying to prove myself as good melts away in comparison to this. No, I'm not good. No, I don't need to be good. There is only One who is truly good so that I don't have to be. And now I am free to sleep knowing His goodness is mine and will always be.

Grace for "One of Those Days"

This morning I was met with "one of those days".

One of those days that the tears sit in the gutter along your lower lid waiting for a blink to push them out. One of those days that you rack your brain to find an explanation for your urge to fall apart. A continual holding it together hoping to avoid a trigger because if you cry you can't say why. You know...just one of those days.

It's a day where I feel confined when I'm really not. The pain in my back keeps me from from doing as I wish and even doing as I need. My little buddy can't understand why I don't want to push him on the swing and he doesn't want to watch as much TV as I need him to.  He asks why we are doing preschool from the couch again.

It's one of those days that I have learned to stop asking "why?" A day that I learn that we will indeed survive if no one does the dishes and the laundry waits. It's a day that I learn patience, give up the guilt and wait. A day to listen, a day to petition. Not a day to figure it all out.

These are the days that  His promises become real. This is the time that I am grateful to have read Luther and gained the freedom to rest. The time to say "no" to the law that heaps on guilt and "yes" to the grace that sustains me. This is when I call upon what I have learned about my justification, sanctification and my identity as His daughter. It's when theology is lived out and why I'm glad it's in my heart. If it depended on me to "work for God" today, oh what guilt would await me.

This is a day that the gospel of grace tells me that I am still loved and accepted even when I don't live up to the demands of the day.  This is when just being His daughter, resting my head on His chest and waiting it out brings me close to Him.

These are the days when my couch becomes an alter of praise.

The Gospel for the Grumpy Mom

It's always hard coming back to a house full of kids after being away serving myself for three days. I love my kids, miss them while I'm gone, and thoroughly enjoy every moment of freedom that I have when I'm not with them.

Therefore, coming home is always an adjustment. 


As Justin and I traveled home from an amazing three days of rest we received a phone call from the in-laws. The amazing in-laws that agreed to stay with the kids one more night so that we could extend our trip, the amazing in-laws that had all of our laundry done and house cleaned when we returned. I was glad to know that the string of uh-ohs I overheard Justin repeating were not because a child had broken something or someone but rather our suburban had broken down. But none the less this was a big uh-oh. 

After returning home I spent the morning on the phone and met a tow truck, talked to the mechanic and retrieved forgotten car seats. Quite the contrast to my weekend. My four year old finally had enough of my neglect and made sure that I knew it.

I was exhausted, disappointed and just plain grumpy.

My grumpiness followed me to bed that night along with my old friend guilt. The list of "should haves" ran through my head waking me up the next morning. By then I had just decided that it wasn't possible for me to live with my children without being grumpy. I had given in to the lie that grumpy is who I am and that's who I will always be.


I was mean to them getting out the door, blaming it on the stress of having my parents flying in that morning, blaming it on their foot dragging and complaining. 

Arriving at school I asked for the forgiveness of my all too frequent morning grumpiness and it was met with the usual forgiving smiles of their sweet faces. That's when it changed. That's when I started to smell the smoke of the lie I had been living in.

Sitting in the car wash annoyed with my four year old, Christ reminded me of who I Am. I am His. He loves me in my grumpiness. He adores me when I am unlovely. He sings over me when I am miles away from praising Him.

Through Him I have been made righteous.

I'm not grumpy. That's not who I am. I am loved, redeemed and forgiven. My identity is not in what my attitude is and whether I am remembering to be thankful. It's Christ that defines me. It's His forgiveness, acceptance and love that I am called to live in.

And do you know what happens when I think on these things? My heart softens and thankfulness replaces complaining. I repent and draw close to the one that I was ignoring thinking He was disappointed. I soften toward my children. I look forward to seeing my parents.

My grumpiness can't help but melt away as I think about how much I have been loved.  

It's His love that breaks me from my cycle of self-pity. It's His love that gives me the power not to be grumpy. To know that I can never disappoint Him, to know that my attitude hasn't pushed Him away is the one and only thing that will get me home with a smile.

Love Pursues

As I bustle about my day, baking pies, smashing sweet potatoes and enjoying my parents' company a friend is in Uganda fighting to bring home her little girl.

After being in Uganda for seven long weeks pursuing the little girl that she loves my friend is told that the United States will not grant her a VISA.

We need to pray!

My friend has pursued this little girl, she has done everything she can for her, she desires her, loves her and calls her daughter. She longs to bring her home into her family. Her brothers and sisters long to share what they have been given with her. A beautiful picture of what Christ has done for us.

He pursues,

Never gives up,

Calls us His own and brings us into His family, lavishing us with all that is His.

Please, please pray for this family. They long to bring her home and give her all that is theirs. Please pray that the Lord would move quickly. And if you have prayed will you please share?

Failure, Fear and Freedom

This week I am happy to present to you a guest post from Amy Kannel. Please go visit Amy at her blog Lavender *Sparkles* and say "Hi." Thanks for sharing with us Amy!


Motherhood has laid me low like nothing else.

Over the last four years, God has used two precious little boys to humble me to the dust, to expose just how "false and full of sin I am," just how inadequate and helpless and dependent I am, no matter how much I might wish otherwise. I have, to be totally honest, hated it at times for that very reason. I don't like being brought face to face with the reality of what a mess I am, what a failure I am and how totally I screw up all the time.

And if I don’t like knowing how far I fall short, I certainly don’t like for others to know it. I want to be the mom people admire; I want to have the kids everyone finds delightful. Instead, those around me see me fumbling and stumbling, no more awesome in this parenting gig than I was four years ago when I held a tiny newborn and wondered, “What have we done?”

So when I am full of despair at how little I have grown and changed in the last four years…when I am embarrassed by my children’s behavior or fearful of how other moms are judging me…I have only one place to go.

“In the fear of the LORD one has strong confidence, and his children will have a refuge” (Proverbs 14:26).

When I look to God alone in reverence and awe—when I believe that His judgment, His truth alone is authoritative, and no one else’s opinion matters—when I find my identity and status and worth in Him alone—then I can have strong confidence. Not confidence in myself or in my ability or methods, but confidence in His mercy and grace, in His love for me as His daughter, in His acceptance and approval of me because of Jesus, in His promises to give me all that I need and to complete the good work He began in me.

To fear man in my parenting, to obsess over the opinions of others, will only bring grief and pain to my children. It will cause me to act not out of my convictions about what is best for them, but out of what will make me look good to those watching. It will cause me to resent my boys when they make me look bad, and to respond to them with anger and frustration instead of patience and compassion and gentleness. It will burden them with the crushing weight of my reputation, my identity, my happiness—burdens they were never meant to bear.

But if I will fear the LORD instead, I can give my children a refuge instead of a burden. I can show them the joy and freedom and rest that come with living for God rather than living for the approval and acceptance of fallible men. I can love them unconditionally, in the midst of their misbehavior and sinful hearts, because that's how He loves me. I can breathe a sigh of relief in knowing that my standing before Him does not depend on how my children act. I can extend to them the mercy and patience and compassion that He extends to me. I can lead them to the cross, where we both can find help and hope as desperate sinners in need of grace for forgiveness and transformation. And they can learn that if you place your hope and trust in the loving, wise, sovereign God who plans all things for good, you have nothing to fear.

Bad is Better

As I promised, here is a fabulous guest post by Brenda Jung. Brenda's authenticity and understanding of God's outrageous grace for sinners makes her blog OPEN KIMONO a must read. Go on over, look around and make sure to say "HI!"

Bad is Better.

If you are willing to be a “bad” Christian, you are ready to be a true Christian. If you insist on being a “good Christian,” you will never get on your way to experiencing a real life of faith. The pursuit to be a good Christian is an illegitimate quest. You must be a bad Christian or no Christian at all.

“All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away” (Isaiah 64:6).

When we set out to follow Christ, sometimes we expect to look like a champion marathoner. We envision ourselves running steadily on a dirt path through a beautiful amber canyon at dawn, a bird chirping while a gentle wind conveniently nudges us forward. But as many of us have already experienced, there is a gap between the ideal and the actual—between fantasy Christianity and real Christianity. Instead of running like Olympian Florence Griffith-Joyner (“Flo-Jo”), we run like a college freshman making a mad dash for the campus shuttle that is pulling away from the curb. Complete with spilled coffee on our shirt, heavy backpack slugged over one shoulder and arms flailing, we yell, “Wait!”

And we wonder: Am I going to be a rookie-Christian forever?

The short answer is: Yes. When we recognize Jesus Christ as the only "expert" Christian, we will realize that even the best we can offer is not so hot. Nobody has it together. Not Billy Graham, not Charles Spurgeon, not R.C. Sproul, not even Mr. Mere Christianity himself, C.S. Lewis. Only Jesus had it together. No believer will ever "arrive" at the apex of discipleship; only Jesus arrived. On the spectrum of Christ-likeness, every one of us will (for the rest of our lives) have to settle somewhere in between total success and total failure.

I find being a rookie-Christian repulsive, and yet...strangely attractive. Rookies are amateurs. Goof-ups. Immature and inexperienced. These are not words I would choose to describe the kind of person I aspire to be. In fact, these are words I would use to describe a “bad Christian.” There is nothing initially appealing about being a rookie; that is, until you consider the qualifications required to be a "good Christian.” Think of it. To be considered a good Christian, you’d have to think all the right thoughts, say all the right words, do all the right things and have all the right motivations—all the time. Basically, you'd have to be Jesus. If that attempt isn’t a slow and painful death, then I don’t know what is! And yet, so often I place this heavy yoke of being a good Christian on myself. So often, in my efforts to be a faithful, worthy disciple, I end up killing myself. Because in order to be good, holy, upright and blameless, I have to resist my humanity, deny my limitations and suppress my fears. On top of that, I have to feed a secret desire to be like God. Having it "together" comes at a high—yes, impossible, price.

God loves rookies. God loves those who stumble toward Him. The beauty of the Gospel is this: We do not have to be Jesus. But we do have to be His disciples: imperfect, fallible, selfish and sinful, yet deeply loved, always accepted and ever changing to be more like Christ. We do not have to get over our weaknesses; we only have to get used to them. A pastor once said, “We live and minister out of weakness.” Every time I remember this, I breathe a sigh of relief. Christian growth is not turning every one of our weaknesses into strengths, but learning how to live with our weaknesses, and even with some of our sins. If we want to be a real Christian, we must learn how to be a weak person: dependent as a branch, malleable as a heap of clay, needy as a baby. When we realize that we bring nothing to our relationship with God except a broken heart and contrite spirit, it is then we will experience God’s grace to be sufficient, and God’s love to be unfailing. Paul understood this, saying, “For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:10, emphasis added).

We should be grateful that God never asks us to "get it together." He only asks us to admit our need for the One who had it together and allow Him to represent and change us. Believe it or not, God is content with our needs and our shortcomings. He proved this by choosing to die for us when we were in our worst (but also our truest) condition—while we were sinners. Chances are, you are still a sinner.

And the last time I checked, I'm still one, too.