Category: life thoughts

Pure and Undefiled

“Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” James 1:27

 

I love this verse and I hate this verse.

This verse nails me to the floor every time.

My husband did a great, God inspired, job of preaching a sermon on this verse many months ago (maybe even a year ago now). It was one of those sermons I haven’t been able to shake from my head. One of those sermons that revisit me periodically to poke… and push… and chisel away at me, that I would look more like Christ.

I love this verse so much… and my flesh hates it so.

Widows, orphans. I want to make those the cute little people in Hallmark worlds, so far removed from us. Annie, the classic redheaded example of an orphan. And then pictures begin flashing through my head.

See, this verse uses these terms in their specific contexts of literal widows and orphans, but it also applies beyond the fatherless and the spouseless. It refers to the “least of these”. The filthy. The “left for dead”. The abandoned by society and the world. The hated. The devastated by culture and community. The utter and completely undesirable.

And it’s meditating on this verse that draws the pictures of those hostages in the brothels, and their captors. Those walking the shores half-naked after a tsunami. Those faces I have seen of children and families trapped in poverty all around the world. Those rendered useless because they are too disabled to hold a job. Those penned as mentally unstable, and therefore are wandering the streets.

And my flesh cries out, “I don’t want to go there!”

“I don’t want to sit down in the filth and the pain and the destruction! I don’t want to walk a mile with that burden I’m called to help carry.”

But then the Spirit within me reminds me of my own filth. My own utter desolation and destruction without Christ and even my own ugliness when I operate in my flesh while IN Christ.

The filthy rags of the orphan and the widow still smell putrid.  The hurts are still real. And deep. And there are still so many unanswerable questions. And sitting beside the girl on the brothel floor may not remove her from the brothel. But is Christ still Beautiful in a brothel?

“PURE and UNDEFILED religion”

Oh there are certainly times I wish God didn’t define work with widows and orphans as “pure and undefiled religion” and yet He has opened my eyes. He has given me His heart. Even though I so don’t deserve it.

See, religion is and can be pure and undefiled when I am not in it. When it’s not about me. When it’s all about Christ.

See, my flesh doesn’t want to “visit”, which in its context is not talking about a one-time affair but instead is referring to a “living with” or “traveling with” affair – a “walking alongside” and “carrying their burden” kind of visit. Yeah, my flesh doesn’t want to visit… so I have to leave it at the door to accomplish this command.

I am forced to shed my desires, my wants, my reservations, my discomforts and instead put fully on the robe of Christ. Maybe, just maybe that’s what Christ was referring to when He said “If you abide in Me, and My words abide in you…” (John 15:7). Maybe that’s what it means to let His Words abide in me. Let Him abide in us…

Oh that He would even stoop down and find me desirable – not in any way needed for His mission – but desirable to be a vessel of His unconditional love.

“Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” (James 1:27)

It nails me every time.

 

 

“I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself up for me.” Galatians 2:20

 

 

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Without Apology

I am a strict Mom.

Without apology.

I lay out clear, age-appropriate expectations because I want you to know good and bad consequences follow your choices, learn appropriate boundaries and work out mastering self-control.

I require respect because I want you to understand the value in people.

When you do wrong, I explain your sins because I want you to first be concerned about your relationship with God, then learn to identify your sins so you can combat them through Christ.

When you do wrong, I explain how you can seek forgiveness because I want you to be able to let go of guilt and grow.

When you do right, I compliment you because I want you to take pride in doing the right thing.

When you do right, I point out how your good deed affected others because I want you to know the positive impact you can have on others’ lives. You can be such a wonderful example!

And regardless of your choice, I hold my arms out to you because I want you to know love that is not contingent upon behavior.

I am a strict Mom. Without apology.

I am not perfect. (I do find myself apologizing not for trying to teach you, but for my particular method of communicating the lesson sometimes. You are ALWAYS worth the lesson.)

But I strive to be intentional and consistent.

Because I know you’re watching. And my example is teaching you about Who God is and how He loves.

Discipline is out of love. A love that knows no boundaries, yet comes to where you are and says, “let me help you be the better version of yourself not for your own name, but for the glory of God”.

How in the world could I ever just leave you to yourself? To your own sinful guidance? To your own self-governing ways?

This Mommying is a process. (Thank You for Your grace, Lord.)

But I am a strict Mom.

Strictly out for your best.

Without apology.

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Truth Friendship

I am so thankful for a friend who refuses to allow me to make excuses for immaturity in my walk with Christ. I am thankful for a friend who pushes me to move beyond the ample excuses I could easily use on why I don’t have time for the Word, or prayer, or ministry. I am thankful for a friend that is more concerned with the crown I throw at Jesus’ feet than the inconvenience of today’s dying to self. I am thankful for a friend that says hard truths, compelling me toward Christ, in full and complete love. I am thankful that she is so in love with Jesus that comfort in our walks with Christ bothers her. We should always be wanting more of Jesus and less of ourselves. I am thankful that she refuses to allow me, or her for that matter, to rob Jesus of His due glory for our temporary gain.

I am thankful that her heart is so hungry for God that injustice breaks her heart, “the least of these” draws her lifestyle worship, and complacency is completely unacceptable. And I am thankful for a dear friend who would be the first to step up in humility and say, “don’t follow my example, I am the first to mess it up. Just follow Jesus.”.

Jesus, how my heart needs You. Thank You that I can draw near to you through the reflection of Your light in my dear friend’s eyes.

I cannot thank You enough, Lord. She is such a frustration and a challenge and a spurring to me. Such an answered prayer! Thank You for pushing me to discontentment in my walk – not discontent with You, but discontent with me – the very me that needs to die that more of You would be seen. That I might be useful. And truly alive. For Your glory.

Lord, create in me a clean heart, that I may not sin against You. Open my eyes to the things unseen. Oh draw me, Lord. For all the glory and honor and praise are unto You forever and ever. Amen.

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13.1

I was asked once what the cure for laziness is.

Hard work.

No really, hear me out. The complete opposite of laziness is working your butt off. So want to overcome your idleness? Pray and work hard.

A friend put up a little status update on Facebook a while back. She was biting off a big one… the Air Force half marathon. I instantly remembered my triathlon training days.

Matt and I have made it a point to place health as a priority in our household. Almost everyone takes vitamins, we try to eat balanced meals, proper portions (which goes an awful long way), be careful how much soda we drink (we don’t usually keep it in the house or buy it at restaurants). But health goes beyond just eating and drinking. We try to provide the opportunity for enough sleep (sometimes it works better than other times), knowing that a lot of our impulse eating choices has to do with a weakened self-control filter, a byproduct of minimal sleep. But then there also comes the active lifestyle piece.

We decided to try to get some 5k’s on the calendar yearly. Realistically with past pregnancies and little kids in the household doing a jogging stroller friendly event is a must. We don’t mind walking during the more “full with child” times of pregnancy, but maintaining activity and exercise in our lifestyle is important in being ready to go and do all that the Lord has for us.

Then I saw my friend’s update. I reminded Matt of my bucket-list desire. We talked it over and within 48 hours we purchased our registration spots.

That’s right… we signed up for the airforce half marathon. 13.1 miles of pain.

My goal: Survival. And no walking. It doesn’t matter how slow I jog… there will be no walking.

Matt’s goal: keeping my slow pace.

I think he’s going to have to work harder than me since his stride is almost twice of mine.

But our training looks different from most. See, when I trained for the triathlon I was not married, and certainly no kids. I stepped back from social groups a bit and found myself running and biking (canoeing wasn’t available. I did that for the first time on race day) in almost all of my spare time. I found a plan online that took me from the couch to a triathlon in 2 months, and did it for 4 months.

Today, well look to the sidebar, friends… *ahem* there’s a bit more riding on my shoulders.

So training for us looks like running at 6am. Or at 9 or 10p when the kids are sleeping. Sometimes it’s cramming in a cardio workout (thank you p90x pain) with a baby on your hip. Or taking turns stretching with a baby teething on our legs.

See, we don’t believe our family should take the back seat. Oh they certainly have to make some sacrifices sometimes because Mommy and Daddy are some seriously smelly people after running on a Sunday afternoon. But we really don’t think our fitness should be at the expense of our children. So we try hard to meet the training needs while also guarding our time with the kiddos and each other.

It’s been going decently… you know, as decently as being dragged from the tailpipe of a car… over shards of glass. But we’re rolling with it. In all honesty I think I have recently made a breakthrough. The utter and complete pain after mile 1 has subdued to a, ironically, comfortable pain that I barely notice any more… well until the next hill comes. I honestly hit a point in my running yesterday that I thought I could go on for so much further than the run’s end. And I hit a lung maturity where I actually stopped breathing out of my mouth (don’t judge) and breathed out of my nose with my fly trap shut for a whole block. I don’t expect that to ever happen again, but it was nice.

We’ll hit the halfway mark this Sunday before Matt leaves for another week of youth ministry. Then I’ll have to run alone. Or, sniff, use the treadmill of death.

I’ve been told by a few people since starting this endeavor that they could not find the motivation to push themselves into exercise. I totally agree. That’s why we were speedy to pay our registration. Cause now we’re stuck. We are running come race day, ready or not. That motivates me to get out there in the heat (sometimes) and the rain (sometimes) and the bugs (all the time). I used to joke that it’s a pride thing now… how ugly am I going to look when I cross the finish line. But it’s really a Spirit verses flesh thing. Christ. Will. Overcome. I believe I can do all things through Christ. Now it’s time to strap my belief into my running shoes.

I am no runner, people. My left knee does not like me. I look like I’ve been hit by a car at running intervals and I feel like it for most of the first and last mile. And my face doesn’t stop looking like a tomato for hours after my run. But I am confident that hard work for Christ and calling on Him in my time of need (during every run) has brought my flesh into greater control than I could ever do from the couch.

In Christ Alone… 13.1.

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The Next Seat Up

Well it happened. I switched her pumpkin seat out for the convertible carseat. And as I was preparing to wrestle that seat into safety, a little lump welled up in my throat.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

She’s getting so big.

It may seem a little whimpy, but it is real.

She’s getting so big.

Abi’s third birthday has come and gone. (I promise I’ll get that birthday post up before her next birthday… er maybe before she moves out.) And while Hannah is “Mommy’s baby” … so is Abi.

There’s this little part of me that holds the bittersweet memory… sweet little blondie in my arms. Oh she had her flaws – she would be in no one else’s arms…. EVER. But it was just my Abi Grace. Those piercing blues.

And look at her now.

I see Abi in Hannah’s eyes.

And I see a Rachael I struggle to remember in the wake of her four year old personality. She really was tiny once, right? It’s hard to remember what the normal felt like.

So maybe that’s why Hannah moving to the convertible seat comes with a little sting.

I know how quickly she’ll soon be forward facing.

And then in a booster.

She is my Joy.

And I have learned that Joy comes with some bitter moments at times too.

Just like retiring the little patten-leather church shoes. Size ones come with a slight laugh. They’re so not going to happen anymore.

That little squishy stage has slowly rippled away. 10 and a half pounds at birth has melted into a long, skinny busybody.

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Thank You, Lord, for Hannah’s Mommy-clinging times. Thank You, Lord, for those quiet nursing moments when she lets me just stroke her strawberry locks. Thank You, Lord, for that smile only Mommy and Daddy can get out of those beautiful browns and open-mouthed squeals. Thank You, Lord, that she still comes to find me on those knees, sharing her delighted exploration finds.

Thank You, thank You, Lord…

it helps this Mommy let go

…and install the next seat up.

– I love you, my babies. From four on down to the floor. [And my extras ; ) ].

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That I AM

Matt and I were chatting yesterday after church. The babies were down for their naps a bit early. The older kids finishing a movie that helped me get ready for church earlier that morning.

He said it so clearly. Articulated with such wisdom.

We were mulling over why we Christians get in such funks. Satisfied with mediocre faith. Church attendance only. Going through the motions. We’ve all been there, but the conversation can’t just stop there. Else we run the risk of taking up residency there.

We’d landed that being challenged is certainly a key factor. But we don’t challenge ourselves. I’m certainly not going to push myself out of myself. We need someone else. Someone full of the Holy Spirit. Jesus speaking through someone.

And he hit it right on the head. We need someone to say, “Shouldn’t you be asking yourself if God wants that for you?”

You know, I’ve found in other peoples’ support a similar theme arise. The “that’s good for your family” theme. You know, it’s as if orphan care is a sole calling of my family. Or a few families. And their call is something else.

I used to think like that. Nursery care was my calling. You do the other stuff. Senior adult care is for you. Or those rowdy youth. Or crazy VBS kids. In fact, I’ll just fold the bulletins and sharpen the pencils. You mediate the funding argument. You pray for the terminally ill child.

Once He moved me past that phase I started praying for the terminally ill. Those with the life sentence and the failing lungs. Those that would most likely never get well. Those that went to see Jesus before I said my “amen”. Prayer became more than a “give me” fest. Prayer with it’s mystery slowly became comfortable. And the ‘no’s felt a little less stinging.

I started to pray for those missionaries I will never meet. The ones giving their lives overseas. The ones being tortured. I started reading some accounts. Those martyrs. Those starving to death to feed the lost. Prayers felt like portals. Intercession felt more alive. The mystery not so uncomfortable and unstable.

And suddenly my living room became a throne-room. Falling at His feet. Crying over injustice. Hurting for the aborted. Those who lost their life before taking a breath. Those stuck in sexual trafficking. Those little children lost in slavery. Doing sickening crimes. My stomach started churning. Such hurt. I couldn’t ignore it anymore. My prayer life had pushed me there. God was unveiling how much He wanted the lost and dying world… even when they’re still in their sin.

World Vision became an opportunity. An opportunity to be faceless and yet still foster Hope.

The orphan suddenly expanded to the helpless, the lost, the estranged, and the poor. The widow suddenly expanded into the hopeless, the stuck, and the ugliest least. The swept under the rug. The forgotten.

That’s what brought me to “my” boys. That’s what will bring you to “yours”.

It had nothing to do with comfort. It had nothing to do with ease. Or thrill. Or some kind of higher purpose.

It had everything to do with obedience.

When your Father calls. You say “here, I am, Lord. Send me.”

You don’t ask how much it’ll cost. You don’t weigh the heartache.

You don’t offer an alternative plan.

When you hear His voice. You RUN to meet Him.

It’s easy to get lost. I am not for foster care. I AM for Christ.

And He has brought me to fostering.

It would not have been my choice. I am not designed for fostering. I am not designed for mothering. I am designed for worship. And I worship through obedience.

He equips. He constructs. He ignites. He sustains. He recollects. And He rebuilds.

And it is through His love that I feel compelled.

Compelled to reach out to the orphan. Compelled to love the neighbor. Even when it’s not convenient. And when it’s frustrating. And when I just want to be “our family” without someone else calling the shots. Even when I just want to get away from always asking for help. Even when I want to be selfish and just hold my babies. Even when I’m jealous and don’t want him thinking so fondly of his mother when I know the choices she is knowingly making. Even when I am prideful and want to the world to acknowledge my struggle. Even when I want to hide because I don’t want exposed the worse version of my tired, undone self. I am compelled to run to the darkness. The Light cannot be contained.

I don’t have to fear losing myself. I AM.

I don’t have to fear walking a narrow path. I AM.

I don’t have to fear losing these boys. I AM.

I don’t have to fear never sleeping again. I AM.

I don’t have to fear life feeling disrupted. I AM.

It’s not my life to live.

It was crucified on the cross.

… And yet I live.

I Live.

Truly LIVE.

Not I but Christ that lives within me.

And I can do all things through Christ who gives me the strength that I need.

The strength that I need daily!

To daily set myself aside and say, “Yes, Lord. I choose to obey today.”

I don’t know what today holds. But I AM.

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