Centimeters, Inches, and a Mental Block

The metric system baffled me as a child. I agonized over my math book until Mom gave up.  Home schooling offered us that blessing—the freedom to say, "Let's try again next year."

I have no idea why it was so hard for me to measure things a different way. Centimeters? Inches? Who cares? My young mind couldn't do it, and my struggle continues to this day.

Oh, I can handle centimeters now, but changing other measurements in my life has been harder. How do I measure myself? I tend to measure my success, and thus my value, by what I accomplish. Did I get my work done today? I measure myself by what other people think of me and my ability to live up to their standards.

The apostle Paul understood this struggle. Many people judged him, evaluating whether he was the best speaker, the most gifted teacher, or the greatest one to follow. His answer? "Big deal! I'm a servant of Christ, and God asks me to be faithful." (See 1 Corinthians 3:4-6; 4:1-2.)

But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by a human court. In fact, I do not even judge myself. For I know of nothing against myself, yet I am not justified by this; but He who judges me is the Lord. Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord comes, who will both bring to light the hidden things of darkness and reveal the counsels of the hearts. Then each one’s praise will come from God. (1 Corinthians 4:3-5 NKJV)

I try to measure myself by God's standard and not the measuring stick of our current culture, but I don't fully grasp God's ways. Besides, I know I fall short. Am I getting a B or a C? Not a chance. When I look at God's holiness, His absolute perfection, I know I'm at a solid F. Maybe I should go back to the world's standard. I have more hope there.

But God stops me with His gentle whisper, "Jen, you're My daughter. Quit grading yourself. Be faithful, and I'll praise you. I promise."

Forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 3:13-14 KJV)

Don't Press Record!

Record buttons make me freeze. Worse yet, they make me shake in fear and trepidation, a fact I tried desperately to hide in yesterday's recording session with the Chippewa Valley Symphony Orchestra.

After a year of no orchestra rehearsals, we met and recorded a concert to be premiered on the symphony's website on May 8 at 7:30 p.m. The recording session began well, but the gently rising melody of Tchaikovsky's Elegie ruined me. Its whispery entrance accentuated the tremor I hoped to suppress.

Recordings unmask my secret horror, "All my mistakes will be permanent."

This angst plagues my relationships too. What if I say something wrong? What if I accidentally hurt someone? Is there any way to erase the pain?

I'm growing in the humility of seeking forgiveness, but I have no control over whether that forgiveness will be granted. However, I can control one thing—my responses to others. I can choose to forgive. 

1 Corinthians 13:5 says love "keeps no record of wrongs." Our culture paints many pictures of love from gushy romances to friendships built on shared interests and time spent hanging out. But God's love is deeper. It's a love that does the tough stuff, a love that forgives.

So I'm embracing God's love today and choosing not to press record.

Image by THAM YUAN YUAN from Pixabay

Happy Holidays?

Christmas won't be the same this year—no Christmas parties with my relatives, no white elephant gift exchange, no excuse to bake pans and pans of cookies. How do you cope when the happy slips off of holidays and you're left with a...holiday? What's that?

According to Merriam-Webster.com, a holiday is a holy day, and holy means "devoted entirely to the deity or the work of the deity."

Christmas never was about the presents or the cookies. Of course, I won't tell my mom that because she has been baking, and I'm enjoying eating the sweets.

Christmas is about giving ourselves entirely to God because He gave Himself wholly for us. So I'm not giving up on joy this year, and I'm not giving up on the holidays. In fact, I refuse to wait until December 25. When I roll out of bed tomorrow morning, I'll give my day to God, and I'll have a holiday.

And the angel said to them, "Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord." Luke 2:10-11 (ESV)

 

 

The Gift of Disagreement

Image by congerdesign at Pixabay

What is the best gift you received recently? Was it a physical item—big and expensive or small and thoughtful? Was it time or encouraging words from a friend? 

I have the most generous friends, and their kindness touches my heart. But there is a gift that I often overlook. I seldom think back on my day and say, "Wow! I'm so glad my friend disagreed with me today." Yet disagreement can be a gift. 

The philosopher Vince Vitale described this in the book Jesus Among Secular Gods. 

Academic philosophy has its vices, but, at its best, one of its virtues is that it places a very high value on truth. And one result of this is that disagreeing with someone about their core beliefs is seen as a compliment and an act of service. It's a way of saying that the other person's ideas are promising enough to take seriously, so much so that you are willing to invest time and effort into them yourself... 

 

Something similar is true in sports. Extensive critique by a good coach means that the coach sees potential in you, and therefore believes that putting extra time into you is a good investment. (p.211)

Am I humble enough to receive this gift? How well do I give it? With love, gentleness, and respect?

That's the challenge with disagreement. It's a lot like tomatoes. We've been feasting on juicy tomatoes from Dad's garden, freshly picked and sprinkled on salads or sliced with olives and feta cheese. We share them with friends and neighbors and relish the homemade tomato sauce they share with us.

But tomatoes also spoil. They get thrown in people's faces, leaving emotional scars that are hard to heal.

Disagreement is a priceless gift that spoils just as easily, but I'm slowly learning the best methods of preservation. I'm collecting recipes to enhance its taste, and I'm training my taste buds to accept it as a gift.

If you wonder why I have been silent on my blog this summer, I've been in cooking school—studying divisive topics, trying to understand, dialoguing with a few friends. And that's where disagreement works best, in private where we feel safe and can communicate well how much we value each other.

So I invite you to join me in these culinary pursuits. If you disagree with me, message me. I respect your opinion. I treasure you. And if I ever fail in communicating that, please tell me. Tomatoes should always be served with the best olives.

Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. (Romans 12:10 ESV)

Skipping Church

 Image by Michael Gaida at Pixabay

I received a kind email the other day, closing with “Blessed Easter to you!”

“This will be a strange Easter,” I thought. “No dressing up in our Sunday best. No rousing rendition of ‘Up from the grave He arose,’ sung in harmony with my whole church family. Will the day be a dud?”

But then I thought of Good Friday and the moment the veil in the temple was rent in two. The curtain that kept people out of the Holy of Holies, that kept them away from the overwhelming presence of God, was destroyed. God would never again live in the temple.

Jesus’s sacrifice paid the price to wash me clean. God says, “Accept My gift, and I will make you the Holy of Holies.”

We long to praise Him for this on Easter, but the church is locked up tight. Can skipping church be an act of worship? It is when we remember God doesn’t live in the church building. He lives in us. All because of Easter.

Christ in you, the hope of glory. Colossians 1:27

Jesus's Identity and Mine

I’ve been reading John in preparation for Easter, and I found Jesus’s worldview beautifully pictured in John 13:3-5 (ESV):

Image by falco from Pixabay

Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God, rose from supper. He laid aside his outer garments, and taking a towel, tied it around his waist. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around him. 

Jesus knew who He was, the Son of God and possessor of all things. He knew where He came from and where He was going, and He acted on this truth by serving His disciples. Then in the greatest act of love, He died for us.

His death and resurrection are the ultimate declaration of His identity. He is the Righteous Judge who won’t ignore the tangled mess of my sin. He is the Merciful Savior who paid the penalty for me. And He is God incarnate, life itself, so He couldn’t stay in the grave.

Now He invites me to find my identity in Him. He tells me where I came from, from His loving heart (Psalm 139:13-14). He guarantees my destiny in heaven if I accept His gift by faith (Ephesians 2:8-9). And He offers to remake me in the moment, taking away my sin and filth and giving me His holy, blameless heart (Colossians 1:22).

Then He calls me to go out and serve like He did.

If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet.  For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you. John 13:14-15 ESV

When God Doesn't Speak

Image by skeeze from Pixabay

As we muddle our way through the coronavirus pandemic, I wish God would speak out loud. Should I cancel everything and stay home? Love says I shouldn't expose myself to germs and share them with the vulnerable people in my life. But are some activities safe? How can I know? God, just speak!

When King Ahab wanted to kill Elijah, God spoke clearly, "Hide yourself" (1 Kings 17:3). Elijah hid by the brook, not from fear but from a heart of obedience. When God said, "Show yourself to Ahab," Elijah immediately obeyed (1 Kings 18:1-2).

But God wasn't always that clear. The next time Elijah's life was in danger, he was afraid and ran. The Bible doesn't tell us whether this was God's will. God miraculously provided food for Elijah's journey, but when he arrived at Mount Horeb, God asked him, "What are you doing here, Elijah?"

Was Elijah right or wrong? Does it matter? God in His mercy gave food and comfort to this faithful prophet. God spoke to Elijah in a still small voice, and in the silence Elijah could hear.

I wonder if fear of the coronavirus is forcing us to face our greater fear--our fear of silence. I didn't do too well my first couple days of self-imposed confinement. I couldn't stop. I emailed assignments to my students. I hunted for music to practice. I cleaned. I chatted with friends online. I left little space for God to speak.

Can I learn to embrace the silence? Can I stop to listen? It won't be easy, but I'll do it. I'll learn because it's the one thing I'm sure God is saying to me.

"Be still, and know that I am God..." Psalm 46:10