Christmas in August ... What???

I want to say now that some parts of this particular post may surprise you.  You may not agree with it, and that is okay.  It may have the potential to upset some, however that is not my aim.  Neither do I write to push any particular agenda.  I only write to share my thoughts on life in light of grace, mercy and love.  Now, that said ...

It's August.  Time for the back to school rituals of shopping for clothing and supplies, attending open houses and orientations, setting alarms to rise and shine early, lamenting the inevitable fact of following a school bus for what seems like endless miles ... so why is my mind on Christmas?  Allow me give you some background.

In the last year, my family has undergone a transformation in some of the ways we celebrate Christmas.  It all started when my husband, Landon, and I discussed the fact that Brody and Aubrey would be with their dad on Christmas morning.  As a result, "Santa" would have already made his magical appearance in that home.  Would he also show up in our home, even though the kids would not be there Christmas morning?

Thus it began.  Santa had always visited my home in the past.  Can you change something that's always been a "tradition"?  The question had much deeper implications for us as we prayed and searched for an answer.

While Christmas has many of its roots in pagan rituals that were "christianized" by the roman catholic church, we evangelical Christians nonetheless celebrate the day. We remember Christ's birth and purpose in being born as man, which was to die for our sins and impute His righteousness to us when we are born again.  So of course we teach our children that we celebrate Christmas to remember Jesus' birth. It's not all about the presents under the tree and it's definitely not all about Santa.   

Last Christmas, we focused even more on Jesus and why He was even born.  We did not promote Santa, did not encourage our kids to "be good because Santa is making his list", and Santa did not visit our home.

As expected Santa came to visit my kids at their dad's house.  And when the kids arrived home on Christmas day at our house, they had plenty of gifts, blessed far beyond the majority of the world's children.  But when asked who the gifts were from we truthfully told them that they were from Mommy and Papi (the kids' name for Landon).  They asked about Santa's gifts and we explained that Santa had already visited them, but more importantly that in our home, Jesus will be the focus, not Santa.  They accepted it and enjoyed their day with the family.

Then came the day this past spring, sometime near Easter, when Brody says to me, "Mommy, (so and so) said at school that Santa's not real."  (I'm thinking this young kindergarten conversation may have stemmed from a discussion of the easter bunny, which, in my mind, is an even crazier thing to expect children to believe.)  I asked Brody, "Well honey, what do you think about that?"  He began to talk his way through some rationalizations that Santa couldn't go to every home in one night, that he couldn't carry that many gifts in his sleigh, that he was too big to fit down a chimney, and he couldn't really be real ... then  he asked me, "Mommy, is he real?  Is Santa real?"

My moment was here.  Landon and I had worked tirelessly at Christmas time to make sure that the kids knew the reason we celebrate Christmas. We had lifted the name of Jesus to the best of our ability.  Now, the question I expected had come sooner than expected.  Would I tell them what most parents say, "Well you just have to believe!"  That seemed silly to me now ... we teach them belief in Jesus, who is real, by telling them to have faith in someone they cannot physically see and touch.  To ask them to likewise believe in Santa, who is not real, seemed absurd.

One day they will know the truth - Santa is not real.  Will they then ask, "What about Jesus? Is He real?"  Will I then say, "Oh yes, Jesus is real.  I know you can't see Him working in your life (just like you couldn't see Santa bring your gifts), but you must believe me, Jesus is real.  I know I told you to believe in Santa, and now you know I wasn't truthful about that one, but I'm serious about Jesus, He IS real."  Poof.  Just like that, my credibility with my children in matters of faith would have its chance to go up in flames.

So, I took a deep breath and asked my son, "Brody, do you want mommy to tell you the truth?"  Brody said "yes mommy, the truth."  I answered, "You are correct, son, there is no way Santa can be real.  He is not.  Jesus is, and that's all you need to trust in."  Exhale.  Job done.  Or so I thought.

Just this week I received a phone call from a parent.  My daughter, age 4 and a half now, out of the blue decides to tell another child, age 9, that her mommy told her Santa is not real.  This parent was upset with me for telling my children this.  I explained the same background that I just shared with you, and then I proceeded to share the gospel the best I could, that as Christians we say Christmas is about Jesus, who was born only to die for us, and that Satan just loves to use things like Santa to draw our focus away from our Lord and coming King.  Ironically, this individual was upset with me for speaking truth. This parent did not share my view of being truthful about Santa, and that is okay.  I did not set out to condemn or expect to change the way children are raised.  However, I was not willing to compromise my stance on Christ as most important.

I know that the majority of Christian parents will not agree with me.  They may say it's just a tradition ... it's the fun of Christmas ... it's the magic of the season ... it's what the kids look forward to ... you can celebrate Jesus' birth and still have Santa.

I am not the final authority on these matters.  I am only a redeemed sinner, saved by the grace of God through the perfect sacrifice of His perfect Son.  And because of that, I am called to be set apart.  In our household, we felt that allowing Santa to have any claim, however small, was asking God to share His glory with a myth.

You may join with others and call me crazy ... a Christian freak ... a woman obsessed with Jesus. But isn't that what I want to be?  I should be glad that I look different from the world.  It can be messy and doesn't make for being popular, but is that important?  I have a long way to go to look more like Christ, but I believe when I seem weird to others because of Him, I'm stepping in the right direction.

My final thought for you centers around this verse:   "Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ." (Galatians 1:10)

This post may not have pleased you.  I humbly pray that in my own weak effort, strengthened by Christ, it pleases God, and I trust that He will use it for His glory.

Just Listen!

Why is it so hard?  I mean, really.  Is it truly all that difficult for children to listen to their mother?

I ask myself that question almost every day.  I can't tell you how many times I say to Brody or Aubrey, "Listen to me!"  The worst is when they are asked to or not to do something and they do the exact opposite of what I asked!  Some days it upsets me to no end.  Other times I have a little more patience and use what has happened as a teachable moment.  But no matter how I feel in the moment of their failure to listen, when I think about it later I am disappointed and saddened by how easy it is for them to ignore what I say.

All they have to do is just listen and we enjoy each other so much more!

Last Friday, however, proved to be a lesson-filled day about listening...for me, not my kids.

As we were preparing for our last day of Vacation Bible School, God spoke to my heart and told me to do something ... told me to take something with me to church.  I pondered.  I thought.  I rationalized.  I came up with an excuse.

Then He spoke again, saying the same thing.  I considered listening a little more this time.  But I still did not do what He told me to do.

I walked out the door, intending to go on with my day and not obey.  I knew what God had said.  I had no trouble recognizing His voice.  But I thought my ideas and ways were better, and I made the choice to not listen to Him.

As I got in the car I realized I had forgotten something, so I walked back inside for that item.  The thing God wanted me to take to VBS was still sitting there on the counter as I stepped into the kitchen.  I looked at it, heard God's nudging again, this time a little more insistent.

Can you believe I started to exit once again without taking with me what God wanted me to???  But then, God spoke to my heart again, forcefully, and I said out loud the words I heard, "JUST LISTEN!"  I grabbed the item from the bar, closed the door behind me and got in the car.

Why won't my children just listen to me?

Does God ask Himself that question?  Maybe so.  As the omniscient God of all creation I have a pretty strong feeling He already knows the answer.

You see, when someone speaks,"listening" usually involves more than just hearing and recognizing the source of the sound.  The one who is to listen typically has a response to make.  Perhaps they need to do something, or not do something.  Maybe they are to say something in response, a "yes ma'am/yes sir" type answer.  I believe the same principle is at work when God speaks - He wants us to listen and respond to what He has said.

He wants us to obey.

The Bible is full of God telling His beloved ones to listen.  Jesus often began His teachings with the word "Listen!"  Why is that?  God knows that even while we have His spirit dwelling inside, we still have a sinful nature that wars with our hearts and minds on a daily basis.  We must submit every minute to Him.  I believe that is why Paul tells us to be transformed by the renewing of our mind (see Romans 12). It does not come natural for us to listen and obey.  What is natural is disobedience.  Not listening.  Doing our own thing.  Thinking we know better.  Ignoring God.

But oh the joy, the peace, the comfort, the blessings we find when we just listen ... when we choose to submit to our Lord in the little things, the big things, and everything in between!  "Now therefore, listen to me, my children. For blessed are those who keep my ways."  (Proverbs 8:32)

I am glad I listened.  I am sorry it took God speaking to me several times before I listened. I was already bothered by my intent to disobey, yet had God not given me that last "just listen" command I may have continued in my own way.  I would have saddened and disappointed Him.  Thankfully, my heavenly Father is patient with me.

The rest of that day proved to be a day of listening.  God spoke to me twice more that same day and asked me to do some things I had never done before that made me a little nervous.  But I am happy to say it was easier to listen and joyfully obey each time He spoke.

I know He was teaching this mother, who just wants her children to listen, a lesson of her own in obedience.  Just as it seems easy for the kids to not listen to me, I saw how simple it is for me, an adult, to ignore my heavenly Father.

Has God spoken to you lately?  Asked you to do something for Him?  Asked you to refrain from something for the sake of holiness?  And how well do you listen when you hear and recognize His voice?  Remember ... He wants us to "just listen" to Him.

"I'm obsessed with him!"

Hello friends!  It's been a very busy couple of weeks.  After time at the beach with my family and then a few extra days with just my husband to celebrate our anniversary, I took off to New York with a group of kids and adults from my church for a week of camp.  It was my son's first experience at an overnight camp and I am so thankful and proud to say he did very well.  My daughter also did well at age 4 with riding such a long distance and participating in her own "day camp."

As we travelled for hours on the church bus I had the chance to do lots of things including sleeping, reading, talking, and listening to the young children around me as they chatted.  Their conversations changed like the wind as they moved from one topic to the next.  However, as I listened, one comment struck a chord with me, "I'm obsessed with him!" I couldn't help but insert myself in the conversation, look back and ask, "Who are you talking about?"  The bright-eyed little girl, not yet quite old enough to be called a "tweener" replies, "Justin Bieber!"

I chuckled as I shook my head, for this was not the first time I had heard this tender one mention the pop star.  She had spent a large part of the trip looking at his pictures on her iPod Touch, telling her friends all the things she liked about him, and vehemently defending him anytime someone (usually a boy) said anything against the one responsible for the twinkle in her eye.

I turned back around in my seat and I did what this blog is all about; I reflected on this young girl's statement through redeemed eyes, in light of grace, mercy and love.

She's obsessed with him.  She talks about him all the time.  She tells why he's so great. She's constantly searching him out and looking at him.  She defends him and her love for him no matter what anyone says.

Is this what someone would say about me?  I certainly hope not if the "him" they are referring to is Justin Bieber!  But what about concerning Jesus Christ?  Am I obsessed with Jesus?  Do I talk about Him all the time?  Am I constantly seeking His face and turning my eyes on Him?  Do I defend Him no matter what anyone may say?  If not, have I potentially allowed someone or something else to take this position in my life?

You see, with no shame this young girl on the bus made sure everyone around her knew her heart and mind.  She said it herself - she is obsessed.  No apologies.  No taking it back.  If I, as a redeemed, born again believer, do not profess Christ in such a way and live out my profession with every thought, word and deed, then I fear I am leaving room for something else to set itself up as an idol in my life.  I've been challenged by this unknowing little girl's statement to make Christ my obsession.  I want to be transparent here and admit to you that I have some repenting to do and some changes to make by His grace and with His help.

Here's the thing - no thing and no one is worthy to be the object of the sort of obsession I am talking about except my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  "Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!" (Revelation 5:12, emphasis mine).  So let's go forth and give Him what He rightfully deserves!

Jesus alone is worthy.  He alone deserves my every thought. He alone shall I proclaim.  My eyes shall stay fixed on Him. No one will turn me against Him.  He is beautiful.  He is perfect.  His eyes look on me tenderly with affection.  He loved me before I ever considered loving Him.  He pursued me and He saved me while I was steeped in my sin.  May I live obsessed with Him!

I challenge you ... be obsessed with your creator, redeemer, healer, sanctifier, and coming King!

Broken and Still Chosen

The beach is one of my favorite places to spend time.  The last few days my family and I have enjoyed the sand and sun while basking in one another's company.  Yesterday, my children and I spent some time walking the shores of the Intracoastal Waterway in search of shells.  Aubrey was on a mission to find a clam shell that had its two halves still in tact.  Brody just looked for anything cool, and in fact came away with a crab shell and a spare crab claw.  I kept an eye out for pretty shells, pointing them out with my toe so that the kids could have the joy of picking up the treasures and depositing them in their buckets.

As I scanned the sand, I saw a nice-sized clam shell that was in great shape.  Or so I thought.  I called Brody over, indicating the shell as he eagerly reached down for the grab.  As I started to walk on, I heard him say, "But mommy, this one is broken!"  I looked back to see him holding the shell to show me the jagged edge.  The shell was not as great looking as I had originally thought.  "It's okay buddy," I said, "you can keep it even if it's broken. It's still a pretty shell."  He shrugged okay, placed the shell in his little yellow bucket and went on his merry way.

While we continued our journey I began to reflect on that shell.  It had seemed to be almost perfect. However, because it was somewhat buried, the sand had covered the shell's flaws.  How long had that shell been laying there with its beauty showing forth for all to see but its brokenness hidden by the sand?  How many others had reached down to pick up that shell, only to see the rough edge and toss it back to the sand?  And how much are we just like that shell?

We all have been broken in this life.  And if you haven't experienced anything of the sort, don't worry -  you will.  Jesus assured us that in this life we will have troubles (see John 16:33).  The troubles and trials often leave us with jagged edges, rough to the touch, that scar our appearance.  And how do we handle our brokenness?  Do we put our imperfections on display for all to see?  Not usually.  We cover them up with all sorts of things.  Just like that shell in the sand, we seek to hide our blemishes with the surroundings of our environment so that only the "pretty" and "acceptable" parts of our lives are visible to others.  

As I pondered how much I was like that shell, I was comforted in knowing that I have a Savior who chose to pick me up ... "He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand." (Psalm 40:2)  Not only that,  my Redeemer died for me while I was yet a sinner (Romans 5:8).  He didn't mind that I was a broken mess, He loved me first.  And now that I am His, I take comfort in knowing that "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." (Psalm 147:3) My rough edges were not a reason for Him to toss me back in sand, and my brokenness becomes the means by which He shows me He is the great healer.  

Tonight is the eve of the one year anniversary of my marriage to a wonderful husband, Landon.  He shows me Christ in so many ways and one of the first ways he did so was by choosing me, despite my fractured past, to be his wife.  After divorce, I wondered if anyone would want such a damaged woman.  Trials had injured me; and even though I had allowed Christ to repair me, I had scars.  Lots of them. I wanted to hide those imperfections in the sand, but with shaky trust I hesitantly shared them with Landon.  It was like the moment of revealing the shell, free from the sand, and discovering the jagged edges.  Would he keep me or toss me back?  I'll never forget the words he said: "Are you a new creation in Christ?" I met his gaze and said "Yes."  He responded, "Okay then, the past is over."  

He picked me up out of the sand!  He kept me!  (And yes, we were married on the beach!) Just as my heavenly groom had picked me up out of the miry pit of clay and healed my wounds, my earthly groom showed me that he loved me, no matter how many chips in my exterior.  

I think I will keep the shell that is pictured at the start of today's post.  It reminded me of some important truths in my life.  Thank you Lord for using a broken shell to refresh me with your love ... 

  

"A God Itch"

It's been a week since I last posted to my blog.  One may ask if I have nothing to reflect on in the past week, but as always there has been plenty going on.  For instance, I spent two days of the last seven cleaning out my garage and garage closet.  Oh my was that an adventure.  I also spent one day pulling weeds from the flower garden in front of my house.  There were lots of weeds and may I add that my hamstrings are still feeling the pain!  But the front of the house looks great!  The kids were with me for most of that work around the house, so trust me when I say there was plenty of blog fodder up for grabs!

The last couple of days, however, have been heavy with deep meditation.  I've wanted to blog, but instead I wrote last night in my prayer journal (you know, one of those books with actual lined paper and you use a pen to write your thoughts).  I needed that private time with my thoughts.  I needed to see the ink flow from my pen just as my heart's contemplations were pouring out of me in tears.  I needed to be able to read my prayers in my own handwriting, to know that I had released the questions I had been trying to restrain.  I had a need to pray and write, like an itch that had to be scratched.

Yesterday, as my husband Landon and I were slumbering away the morning, we talked and held each other in snug comfort.  As we were chatting, I had an itch on my right arm.  I needed my left arm to scratch it, but my left arm was wrapped up, unable to reach far enough to satisfy the itch.  I struggled a little against my husband and, thinking I was initiating horseplay, he held me tighter until I told him that I had an itch and I just had to get to it!  Oh the relief when my left arm finally made it across my body to scratch it's right side counterpart!

Landon made the comment that an itch was so amazing ... how your mind sends out that signal to scratch and you can't hold back - you must scratch!  He then said, "wouldn't it be something to have a God itch?  You know, have such a need for God that you can't do anything else till you scratch it?"  As I've reflected on his question, I've realized how important it is for us as believers to know a God itch when one comes along.

What made my arm itch yesteray morning?  I don't know exactly, but something did.  Maybe it was a stray hair from my head.  Perhaps it was a fuzzy from the blanket.  It might have been a tiny speck of dust that landed on my arm and tickled my nerve endings just enough.  But whatever it was, however small or large, the response was an itch that had to be scratched.

So how do we get a God itch?  And have you ever had one?  Ever had one of those moments when the need to meet with your Lord was so strong you couldn't do anything else till you fulfilled it?  I believe I had a God itch yesterday as I wrote (on paper with ink) in my prayer journal.  But what brings us to those moments?  What got me to the point that I just had to express my prayers in writing, something I used to do regularly but haven't done in a while?  Just like the blanket fuzz or speck of dust, God uses circumstances in our lives to cause an itch for Him.  A need that nothing other than time alone with Him can relieve.

The psalmist wrote of feeling a God itch when he said "As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God.  My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?" (Psalm 42:1-2)  Nothing would satisfy his thirst, only God.  He had an itch that needed to be scratched.  I truly believe that each redeemed soul living here on earth and walking with the Lord should have a need like this for the Savior.  And when our desire for our Lord wanes, for whatever reason, God will give us an itch with His name written all over it.  You can try to ignore it, or get your mind off of it by thinking of something else, but that God itch will not go away till you steal away with your Lord and scratch it.

My own God itch is still in need of scratching.  One night of prayer did not satisfy.  I praise the Lord for bringing me closer to Him with this itch, and is it ever a big one.  Like the psalmist, my soul is panting for God, my itch is requiring my time...I must go now where I can meet with God.  I ask that each of you following my blog please be in prayer for the circumstances in my family that have caused this God itch.  May we draw closer to Him with every scratch ...