Love Your Neighbor

The "Love Your Neighbor" Yard Sale was planted as a seed back in February on the way home from my daughter's weekend birthday getaway.  Sitting in the passenger's seat completing the "Possessions" chapter in Jen Hatmaker's bible study 7: The Experiment, I hear the Holy Spirit whisper the idea.  Because I am impulsive and like to act before I have time to think things through and change my mind, I call my friend Natalie as soon as we get home and talk excitedly about the plan to host a church-wide yard sale for Matthew 28, a mission run by one of the members of our church.  When I pause for air, Natalie agrees it is a good idea, which is all the confirmation I need.  From that moment, the "Love Your Neighbor" Yard Sale goes from a tiny seed to a sapling, awaiting the approval of our Sunday school class and eventually, my church's Session.

The next Sunday Natalie and I present the idea to our Sunday school class, which after years of being called the young adults realized as a group of late-20s to early-40ers needed a more...um...fitting....perhaps honest title and chose Seekers.  The Seekers know me as well as anyone and still love me; I have dragged them, most likely unwittingly, along with me on the 7 journey.  When after hearing me excitedly flub through the idea of our class hosting and organizing a large-scale yard sale, no one breaks out into hysterical laughter or asks me to leave and never come back, I take that to mean everyone is on board and seek permission to make it happen.

While I realize I am currently in month seven of a six-week-long bible study, I have resigned myself to the reality that God is taking me through this slowly because a) I am stubborn and b) I learn lessons slowly.  In Matthew 6:19, Jesus admonishes not to store up for ourselves treasures on earth where moth and rust destroy but to instead store up treasures in heaven.  I believe we often hear this verse, and those of us who consider ourselves to be low on the wealth scale, assume that we're doing a pretty decent job of keeping our possessions light, when in reality, we're storing treasure on earth left and right and not even realizing it.  I mean the producers of Hoarders aren't calling, are they?  About ten years ago, my in-laws introduced me to yard sales.  I had never had any experience with selling my used treasures for money, but once I learned the ropes, I was hooked on the idea.  My husband and I often have a yard sale twice a year in our own driveway and consider ourselves to be semi-experts on the art of garage selling.  See, I told you I had no issues whatsoever with that possessions thing.

I had never really considered the fact that we have enough junk, I mean, treasure, to have a yard sale twice a year to be a problem.  I know, really?  Even before God hit me between the eyes with 7, I had begun to feel a twinge of guilt about selling my used items, many which had not even really been "used" and pocketing the cash to go out and purchase more possessions.  I couldn't quite put my finger on the rising feelings of discontent, but I knew inherently something wasn't right.  Now, I see it was the Holy Spirit preparing me for 7 and the "Love Your Neighbor" Yard Sale.  Having read Hatmaker's book since my last yard sale, I knew it was the ideal opportunity to turn a unique, albeit bizarre, gift into something that could glorify God.

This past Saturday, four months after Natalie and I excitedly dreamed about the possibilities of sponsoring such a huge undertaking, the Seekers hosted our yard sale.  As always, God exceeded our expectations and allowed us to raise $1,550 for two worthy causes, First Light Women and Children's Shelter of Birmingham and Matthew 28, which runs an orphanage in Haiti.  Beyond the excitement of the day, I found God using this opportunity to teach me more about Him and about service.

You are never to young to serve, and there is no act too small to be considered service.  Because most of the Seekers have children under the age of seven, we often try to include our children in our activities.  We are charged with teaching our children about Jesus and how to live the gospel.  My daughter spent hours helping price and organize items and when she wasn't helping us go through bags of clothing and boxes of ornaments, she worked diligently on weaving pot holders to sell at the lemonade stand.  The highlight of the day for many shoppers was having one of our children offer them a glass of cold lemonade or a fresh baked brownie.  Small acts of sincere kindness brought delight to a community of shoppers.  Plus, each child who participated in this yard sale learned how to take the lessons they learn each Sunday in church and put them to work in the real world.  Jesus's hands and feet come in all ages and sizes.

Serving Jesus isn't glamorous or convenient, but it delivers blessings beyond imagination.  Obedience to Christ requires service, period, end of story.  When Jesus discusses the last days in Matthew 25, he says he will gather all the people of the nations and separate them based on what?  How many laws they obeyed?  How often they attended church?  How many bible verses they memorized?  No, "Come you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world.  For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me..Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters, you did for me."  Service matters to Jesus.  He has a heart for the orphaned, the poor, the widowed, the least of these, and we should, too.  There will probably never be an ideal time to serve; there will not be an easy time to serve; service will never fit neatly into our daily schedule, but Jesus didn't promise following Him would be easy.  He uses language like "take up your cross."  I don't imagine that too be an easy, posh life.  While he promises that His yoke is light, I believe it is because He will help us carry it.  So take heart, that while Christ commands we obey despite the fact that we will see trouble in this world, He also promises that he has overcome the world.  He empowers us with what we need to obey Him.  If He's called us to serve, He will equip us to serve.

Organizing and manning a yard sale was no easy task for any of us involved.  It was downright exhausting.  A yard sale requires days of pricing, sorting, organizing, and setting up, but, it is also fun, challenging, and rewarding.  The blessings received from knowing that God used our small Sunday school class to in turn bless the forgotten homeless women of Birmingham and the destitute orphans of Haiti is beyond words.  At the least, it was an inconvenience; at most it was an opportunity to be the hands and feet of Jesus to a hurting world.  What an opportunity that God chooses us, broken jars of clay, to display His mighty work.  Shouldn't we be falling at His feet for an opportunity such as that?

Service is an opportunity to witness the unique gifts of each member of the body of Christ in action.  In 1 Corinthians 12, Paul outlines in great detail how the body of Christ is made of up many parts, members with individual gifts working as one body to glorify God.  "All these [gifts] are the work of one and the same Spirit, and he distributes them to each one, just as he determines.  Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its parts form one body, so it is with Christ......but in fact, God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be...Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you has a part of it."  Each of our unique gifts adds value to the church and the church can't function smoothly without those gifts.  This came to life in a new way Saturday.  The garage sale rush began about thirty minutes before we were scheduled to open, and my English teacher/writing gift ended up exactly where it should have....at the checkout counter, where I found myself so distraught and flustered that if someone purchased something for $2.75 and gave me $3.00, I entered it into the calculator to make sure I gave correct change.  Don't judge; it's not my gift.  When my accountant friend Heather arrived with her cool accountant calculator and math skills, it took all my power not to jump into her arms with joy.  Each of the Seekers and other church members who stopped by to help is blessed with many gifts.  Some of us are organizers, some are salesmen, some are public relations experts, some have excellent people skills, some make excellent directors, and others are great followers.  Our dear member Patti showed up eager to help and used her truck to haul and deliver furniture.  Non-Seeker members Betsy, Pat, Janet and Al volunteered their Thursday morning and Friday afternoon to help an overwhelmed mom sort, price, and set up.  Each of our gifts was required to make this yard sale work.  It really was a beautiful reenactment of Paul's illustration in 1 Corinthians.

Each stop on this 7 journey has challenged me in ways I never expected.  For "Possessions" I was expecting to discover new ways to loosen my grip on the things I own and try and figure out what owned me.  Instead, God chose to show me "how beautiful are the hands and feet of those who bring good news?" (Romans 10:15).  He gave me a new appreciation for the individual gifts of the body of Christ and how each one works together to serve.  He also gave me a vision of the church's potential to love and to minister to a broken, hurting world.  He allowed me a glimpse of just how beautiful and radiant the bride of Christ can be when she sets aside her own agenda and differences and works together to glorify God.

On Purpose

"Mommy, why was I born after Sara?  Why couldn't I be the same age as her?"  A's question breaks a few minutes of silence, and I can tell she's been pondering extended family birth order for a while.  Not sure what answer she's looking for, I respond, "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm younger and she and Kristy are the same age and I want to be 9, too."

"Well, God had you born at the exact right time for what He has in mind for you."  Kids just love answers like this.  I sense definite eye-rolling coming from the backseat.  "But, Mommy, I want to be the same age as my cousins.  I don't want to be younger."

"Remember Esther?" I ask.  "And how Mordecai told her God had her born at just the right time so she could save her people?"

"Which Veggie Tales is that?"  Because apparently my children hear God speak much more clearly through Bob and Larry than through Mom and her good old-fashioned children's bible, I reply  "The one where the baker tries to drop a piano on the king's head."

"Oh!" she says excitedly "That's the one with the land of perpetual tickling."  Now it's time for me to roll my eyes.  "Yes, that's the one," I respond, shaking my head.  "Well, the point of that is how Esther was born for a purpose and how she had the courage to fulfill her God-given mission." Which clearly sounds like wah-wah-wah-wah to the ears of a sweet seven-year-old.

I hear laughing in the back seat followed by, "Mommy, that tickle guy was so funny."

"Yes, yes he was, sweetheart," I say as A moves on to another topic of conversation.  Perhaps she's a little young to grasp God's will and purpose for our lives.

As I think about it, though, many of us aren't that different from my seven-year-old daughter.  I think we often find ourselves wondering if God has a special purpose for us, pondering what exactly our gift is.  I wondered this often in high school.  When I found myself tripping and falling into the gutter in front of the entire school as my dad dropped me off for school one day, followed by the slamming of the car door and someone, who shall remain nameless but shared a room with me most of her life, shouts, "Keep going, Daddy," because she's too embarrassed to be seen with me.  Or, when you're cheering in the biggest rivalry game of the year and during the "Hello" cheer rather than land on your feet, you bounce off your hiney in front of a packed house.  Sure, moments like that will have you cursing your clumsiness and wondering what on earth God has you here to do.  Perhaps I was created to trip in a big battle and launch a weapon that takes out the enemy?

I recall praying as I planned for choosing a college major that God would reveal His purpose for my life, as if choosing the correct major depended on seeing the big picture, all the pieces of the puzzle fitting nicely together or the arrows on the path all pointing in the exact right direction, and I'd just skip merrily along toward "my" goal with God's blessing. I sought the counsel of trusted ministers and mentors always asking, "How do we know God's will?"

As I've gotten older and "matured" in my faith I've found that for me, discovering God's will has really been more about telling God my dreams and goals and asking Him to divinely direct the way to my destiny, the one I had handpicked for myself based on my evaluation of God's gifting in my life.  Rarely, did my prayers include, "Thy will be done" or "what would You have me do?"  More often it was, "This is my goal; here's my ten year plan; please help me achieve it. Amen."  

Every once in a while a verse or chapter of scripture will seem to appear no matter where I'm looking.  Not like writing on the wall, although that would be nice unless your King Belshazzar.  In my recent quest to better understand the concept of grace, I meditated on the thrilling message in Ephesians 2:8-9 "For it is by grace you have been saved-through faith and that is not of yourself, it is a gift from God- not by works so that no one may boast."  Gift from God just hit me anew as I was typing this, and if that weren't incredible enough, God drew my attention to Ephesians 2:10: "For we are God's handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do."  Let that fall on you for a moment.  Just like Esther, before we were even born, God had prepared for us good works to do in our lifetime.  That verse says so much.

For those who wonder if we're just wandering along aimlessly, stumbling from moment to moment, I believe God is saying, "You have a purpose, and I have a plan."  Before we were even born, God knitted us together in our mother's womb for a divinely ordained purpose.  Does that mean we'll all perform breathtaking missions in distant lands?  Probably not.  But I do think it gives us permission to honor God and bring Him glory in every little "mundane" task He asks us to perform....like changing diapers and cleaning up projectile vomiting at 2 am.

Another segment of this verse that I find compelling is that God has prepared us to do His good works.  As I mentioned earlier, I think so many of us tightly grasp hold of a dream or an idea and fight for it despite door after door slamming in our face then close our own door at night and beg God to make our wish come true. We say, "but my heart tells me," failing to understand the admonition that the "heart is deceitful above all things and without cure" (Jeremiah 17:9)  Not that I've ever done that, ahem.  Perhaps the hardest part of this promise to accept is that God has decided the works and our gifts.  It's difficult to relinquish "control" of our own little kingdom.  I'm not saying He is a puppet master and we're absent of free will, but when we're truly seeking His will and direction, sometimes that means surrendering "our" will and opening ourselves up to His.  "Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him" (Jeremiah 17:7) and not in ourselves.

This isn't always easy, and yes, I speak from experience.  When I was younger, I never dreamed of being a homeschooling, stay-at-home mommy running my own tutoring business.  I swore I'd never teach or that I'd never live in Alabama.  I had big goals, big dreams, big plans.  I, me, this girl here.  When I prayed it was for God to fulfill those dreams, add the divine magic, and I'd do whatever He asked to achieve my plans.  Except, that along the way I discovered that life isn't about me and following Jesus isn't about blessing my plan.  There came a time where I "sacrificed" what I thought I needed to live a fulfilled contented life; I laid on the altar a life that had left me harried, discontent, and ill at ease.  It was at that moment of sacrifice and surrender, where I found peace.  I fully believe complete surrender comes with complete peace.  God isn't there prying our hands open either; He patiently waits for us to willingly hand over our stronghold, so the "One who gives good gifts" can replace it with something better than we can even imagine.

So now that I know God has a plan, now what?  Paul goes on to explain in Ephesians that God gives us the gift of the Holy Spirit, our Counselor and guide.  "In [Christ] and through faith we may approach God with freedom and confidence."  We can ask Him to guide us in His will and trust through faith that He'll show us the way.  We've all been given gifts by the Holy Spirit to use for God's kingdom, so understanding our gifts is a good place to start.  I've also come to understand that my general purpose is to fulfill the Great Commission and to serve the least of these.  God has really taught me to reevaluate my concept of His will and what it means for my life.

So while we may not all be destined to become queens and save our people from destruction, I believe, based on scripture, that we are all here to serve God in a specific capacity, and that alone gives me such hope and purpose, even in the most seemingly insignificant task like pushing a sweet little one on a swing for thirty minutes or reading the same shark book 979 times or dancing one more time to the My Little Pony theme song. Or creating a cartoon that would present the gospel in a way my children can comprehend.  Shout out to Bob and Larry.  Really, moms, when it comes down to it what higher calling is there than to raise the next generation of Esthers and Moredecais?  It's a purpose divinely ordained for me at this moment, and I can think of no other calling I'd rather fulfill.

Life Unplugged

 It only took four weeks to decide on an appropriate time to begin the media fast portion of 7.  The first criteria was it must be spring.  I refuse to be trapped inside on cold, dreary days with two children and no computer, I-phone apps, PBS Kids, or Veggie Tales.  March Madness frenzy must have subsided into one team crowned the NCAA basketball champ of the world.  And, the Duck Dynasty season finale must have aired before I commit to life without Si Robertson.  With my priorities clearly in order, I'm ready.....to unplug.

Let's just say day one gets off to a rocky start.  There is some weeping, a little gnashing of teeth, and that is just me.  After trying unsuccessfully to dry my hair without someone attached to my ankles whining about how bored he/she is, I march downstairs and politely mention to my two that if everyone is so bored with the playroom full of toys then perhaps they could pass the time by filling the garage sale basket with all the items that are producing the boredom.  Because that awesome parenting strategy always produces such quality results, I plod back up to the bathroom with two wailing children now attached to my hips declaring how mean I am. Meantime, I mutter how it should be against the law for mothers to have to work.

Back upstairs, amidst the anguished cries of my children, I look longingly at the television for ten minutes wondering how Curious George is faring without the inquisitive eyes of my little ones, I suggest that A and C dust off their imaginations, now dormant from hours of mindless screen viewing and video-app playing, and create something fun to do while Mommy finishes getting ready for work. Yes, I am aware of the danger in such a request, but desperate times....  Minutes later, I hear giggling and lively chatter.  Curious, I walk into the playroom and discover my children locked in conversation, while A paints her brother's toe nails....wait, is A painting C's toenails?  My daughter has her Hello Kitty manicure/pedicure kit out on the playroom floor, and C has his feet propped on a book.  Innocently, I hear, "Mommy, do you want a pedicure before work?  It's just a dollar."  "Did you charge C?"  I ask.  "It's just a dollar, Mommy," she affirms.  Price gouging and robbing her brother's piggy bank are not exactly what I had in mind, but I do admire her entrepreneurial spirit.  Finally, we get into the car to head to the home school co-op, where I teach two days a week, when I hear, "No TV was fun, Mommy."

The rest of day one continues to improve.  A, C, and I read books, finally get around to exploding the volcano we had molded the week prior, and complete one of the science projects in our new science curriculum.  Tucking A in bed later that night, she confesses, "Mommy, TV is boring.  This was much more fun."  My husband and I close out day one of our media fast with bible study and meaningful conversation rather than sitting on opposite couches lost in Twitter.  Perhaps there's something to this fasting from media, after all.

Day two begins much more smoothly with my two immediately going into the playroom after breakfast to find something to play rather than mindlessly lying on the couch watching Super Why.  I join them for a few books and a game of My Little Pony before taking C to preschool.  The rest of the week progresses in much the same way.  A and C grow more independent in navigating life without a screen and less dependent on me for constant suggestions.  Life without television, social media, or apps becomes quite marvelous, and as always, God uses this fast to teach me, to convict me, and to love me.

I've never been much of a "fast-er."  I've always been more of a freedom not law kind of girl when it came to something as inconvenient as a fast.  Previous posts reveal that I can be quite legal in other areas but fasting, eh, is that necessary anymore?  The lessons learned from 7 shout a resounding, "Yes!"  Fasting is a very effective Christian discipline, one God is using to change my life.  I believe fasting jars our routine, shakes us from complacency, and issues a wake-up call to a sometimes lethargic approach to our relationship with Christ.  A fast wakes us up, drives us to our knees, shakes us to our core, reveals sin yet to be repented, teaches us about our weakness and true dependence on God, and draws us close to the One who loves us more than we can imagine.

To be honest, this was my favorite fast.  I'm an avid reader, so I loved the opportunity to share more books with my children and to read with my husband in the evening after my little ones had been tucked tightly in their beds.  Granted, he would probably have preferred not to have me share every detail of my book, so he could enjoy his in peace.  This was nothing like the despair of giving up chocolate and iced tea (maybe despair is a bit over-dramatic).  Rather than spending days in the same outfit, hoping I didn't stink, I truly enjoyed my children.  Sure, there were times when I needed a moment to myself and wanted nothing more than to switch on Bob and Larry, but overall, what I gained from this fast was more about conviction and less about self-denial.

This fast became uncomfortable when a wave of conviction fell on me about how I have been over-using television and social media.  Don't get me wrong.  I am pretty strict about what I allow my children to view.  Our parameters include no television programs with advertisements, and most TV viewing should have spiritual or educational value, which means a lot of PBS Kids, Veggie Tales, Magic School Bus, and Adventures in Odyssey, balanced by a healthy dose of viewing for family fun and entertainment.  Who doesn't love Brave, How to Train Your Dragon, and Despicable Me?  We have even disconnected cable, preferring to top our home off with 21st century rabbit ears for over-the-air television, which for the record means no DVR; I'm just saying, rather sadly, by the way.  And while TV does offer an opportunity to discuss how to handle real-world situations with grace and respect, I found that my little ones were watching an hour of PBS kids in the morning, an hour while I made dinner or squeezed in a workout, and a half-hour before bed.  That doesn't seem over-the-top, but it adds up to about 2 1/12 hours a day or 17.5 hours a week, which is like an entire day of television watching per week. While much of that time isn't active television watching, it is still on in the background subliminally entering our subconscious.

This figure also doesn't count Leap Pad or I-phone in the car.  Has media become my crunch baby-sitter or substitute teacher?  While educational videos and apps have value, how much trouble would it be to set up a craft or project for my little ones before making dinner?  It is just inconvenient, and let's face it, being a homeschooling/part-time working mommy can sometimes be exhausting, but it's really not about me.  This season is short and the values I pass on to my children are invaluable.

As we practiced this fast, a few verses kept coming to mind:  "Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.  Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is, his good, perfect, and pleasing will."  Romans 12:2 and "Finally brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-if anything is excellent or praiseworthy-think about such things." Philippians 4:8  Whether we like it or not, as followers of Christ we are called to guard not just our hearts but also our minds and to be savvy about what enters our thoughts.  What we watch, read, and hear affects our thoughts, often more than we realize.  Just ten minutes on Pinterest and my thoughts are no longer lovely or admirable.  Comparison Callie takes over, and I begin a conversation with myself about the chasm that exists between me and the apparent super-creative-skilled mommies who create picture perfect rooms, meals, and children to pin on their boards for all the world to see, while also heading Fortune 500 companies.  Then, I hop on Facebook and discover that someone who days ago gave birth to twins has managed to make homemade dinosaur cupcakes for a birthday party that would make Martha Stewart want to bury her head in a fossil.  But clearly, I have no issues with social media or self-esteem.

All joking aside, Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest are all lovely ways to be inspired and to connect to friends and family, but they can also be a major waste of time, a black-hole vortex of time waste.  Two minutes to scan your updates can easily turn into forty-five minutes of liking, responding, and reading articles, and the next thing you know it's time for bed and the mountain of laundry you dumped out to fold before morning is still majestically piled to the ceiling fan.  Television can have the same effect.  An hour of The Voice, thirty minutes of Duck Dynasty, and an hour of the Braves adds up.  The next thing you know Mt. Laundrymanjaro has become Everest  I've heard of someone, we'll call her Jules, who once spent three hours a night after her children went to bed catching up on two seasons of Downton Abbey,so she'd be caught up for the season premier of season 3.  While there's nothing inherently wrong or ignoble or un-praiseworthy about the content of these programs, the time wasted is shameful.

What if I spent that time reading and learning, or what if I spent that two hours of night-time viewing catching up on my scrapbook, or here's an idea: preparing a meal to take to an elderly neighbor or planning a day to give an overworked friend a few hours of free childcare.  Social media and television, in an attempt to connect us to the rest of the world, have disconnected us from each other.  Wouldn't an evening of visiting with neighbors in the front yard be more worthwhile?  When Jesus gave his final command, he told us to go and preach and spread the gospel and make disciples.  How often do I complain of not having enough time for service when I have enough time to post 70 pictures of my children dancing to hamster commercials and hear stories about a "friend" spending 18 hours in a week catching up on Downton Abbey.  Shame on her...  We are quickly losing ground with spreading the gospel in our own country.  Could it be that we're so absorbed in our own little media worlds that we've lost touch with those hurting right outside our doors?  Are we missing the best moments with our children because Dora is on, my Facebook notification just rang, and Alabama is about to score a touchdown? (Sorry Auburn, we have three combined SEC wins for all our sports this year?!)

Again, it's not that these things are inherently bad, but what if it's becoming an idol?  I recently read Kyle Idleman's gods at war, where he shares a story of traveling to India and being surprised to find every chair in the small house he visited being turned to face an idol on a shelf, which may seem ridiculous to Christians in America, that wooden idols would hold power.  Yet, he then shares coming home to his den, where every chair in the room faced a large rectangle with colorful moving pictures poised in the middle of the room.  His remarks are both telling and convicting.  Have we foregone good old-fashioned backyard barbecues and neighborhood block-parties for American Idol and Twitter?  Has our love of celebrities and instant news and mindless entertainment become our god?  I've often gone to bed after watching a program thinking, "What have I accomplished with that moment of my life?"  And while I realize it's impossible to be moving at full-force day-in and day-out, and we need time to unwind, those moments add up to become hours and days.  I've felt compelled this week by the Holy Spirit, not just to evaluate my media choices, but to evaluate how I spend my time, and I think that has been the most eye-opening element of this entire experience.

What we consider unwinding, too, may actually be winding us tighter than that little pink bunny with the drum.  According to Jen Hatmaker's 7, "juggling email, phone calls, and other incoming information can change how people think and behave.  They say our ability to focus is being undermined by bursts of information.  The stimulation provokes excitement-a dopamine squirt- that researchers say can be addictive. In its absence, people feel bored......And for millions of people...these urges can inflict nicks and cuts on creativity and deep thought, interrupting work and family life" (102).  So, we are actually altering our brain chemistry and not in a good way.  We've become so wired that unplugging can cause distress and withdrawal.  That really disturbs me.  When I consider that God created us for meaningful fellowship, that our life mission as believers is to spread the gospel, and that we are crumbling as a culture faster than overcooked cookies makes me want to do more than just pull the plug on cable.

Of course, we, as Christians, also need to be relevant and aware.  Christ's call to be as gentle as doves is also coupled with shrewd as serpents.  We need to understand what's happening in our world to better serve and minister in our world.  Striking balance is critical but not impossible when guided by the loving hand of the Holy Spirit.  While this week wasn't overly difficult for me, it was a wake up call forcing me to evaluate my use of media, particularly where my children are concerned.  So, sure, there were moments when I almost broke down and allowed Curious George to explore the Johnson household, I found that when I plugged into my imagination, fun and creativity often followed.  My children rediscovered their own imaginations and favorite toys and books and even began to depend on each other more for entertainment.  This week became a turning point in their brother/sister relationship.  It also allowed my husband and me to actually sit and listen to each other without the din of television in the background.  The lessons learned from this week our family plans to incorporate into our lives, like media-less days twice a week.  So if I don't return your email for a few days, don't panic; I'm just unplugging from media for a little while and plugging into my God and my family.

Gardening for Dummies

So, I know nothing about gardening.  Seriously.  I know more about rocket science, which makes me an excellent candidate for attempting to grow a garden this spring.  Like any good gardener-wannabe, I purchased several books on gardening, read ten pages, understood nothing, and decided how hard could this possibly be.  I mean, come on, doesn't food just spring from the ground.....naturally....in some places?

Rather than shoot for the moon and because my husband, well aware of my track record and black thumb (I managed to kill a plant the nursery assured was impossible to kill), strongly suggests I aim a little lower, like the back porch, instead of digging up our entire beautifully landscaped backyard, I opt for a container garden.   I did manage to grasp from my books that I need self-watering containers and seeds, so I load my two junior gardeners into the car, and we head off to navigate Lowe's, which requires a separate book.

I am familiar enough to know where the garden department is, so Annie, Connor, and I decide to tackle plant selection first.  "Mommy, you have to get strawberries!"  Anna exclaims.  "Ok," I respond, while pulling Connor's hands away from a shelf of tomatoes he is seconds away from wearing.  I walk to the lettuce section and mull over the thousands of options:   Bibb lettuce, Romaine lettuce, butter lettuce, arugula, Swiss Chard, spinach, wait, that's not a lettuce, or is it?.  Why?  Why are there so many choices?  "Mommy, strawberries.  Are these strawberries?"  "No, Annie, those are blueberries."  Ooh.  Blueberries.  I love blueberries, so I select a blueberry plant and walk away to process lettuces and look for strawberries.  As I walk away, I overhear, "Blueberries need another type to cross-pollinate."  Cross-who?  Edging closer to the couple who exude gardening confidence, I pretend to be looking for that cross-pollinating blueberry plant, so I can soak in any other gardening hints they might drop.  A frustrated, "Mommy!  Where are the strawberries?" interrupts my eavesdropping, so I begin to seek out strawberries, when I overhear a sweet voice from the buggy ask, "Mommy, can we get macaroni seeds, too?" It seems I'm not the only busybody because laughter erupts from my blueberry gardening experts, as well.

After an agonizing twenty minutes of choosing seeds, I mosey over to the soils, stand, and stare, blankly.  "What are we getting now, Mommy?" asks Anna.  "Um, we need soil for the plants." Soil, soil, where is the vegetable garden soil?  I mean seriously, how difficult would it be to put large carrots and tomato plants on  on the correct bag.  An associate clearly senses my ignorance and agony and whispers from behind, "Do you need help?"  "Yes!" I shout with such emotion she stumbles backward.  After explaining my dilemma, she shakes her head with pity and says, "This isn't where you need to be.  Let me show you what I use in my garden."  Of course, she has a garden.  Clearly, I'm the only gardening ignoramus in Birmingham.  I follow her to the gardening soils, which in my defense, are near where they keep the trees.  With soil marked off my list, I head for the containers, where Annie and Connor, in an attempt to be helpful, pull every possible container off the shelf and shove it into the cart, while I desperately try to read the information on the self-watering containers.  I choose the one that has vegetables on the label and clean up the aisle of containers over a chorus of, "This one will be good for the strawberries."  "No, that's too big.  This one, Mommy."  I race to the checkout and head home for phase 2.  Planting.

I lug all of our supplies out of the car and set up a makeshift planting station in the front yard.  Determined to make this an excellent science lesson for our home school, I assign each child a job, which is met with, "But I wanted to do this instead."  "Why does he get to water?  I want to water."  Connor picks up my pruning shears and exclaims, "I want to cut the sticky things off."  What?!  I finally convince each child to pour a package of seeds into a row, cover them, then add water.  I send A and C off to play but to "under no circumstances play in the water" so I can finish planting and watering and clean up.  A few minutes later both walk up to me soaked and whining, "How much longer?  I want a snack." Aaah, this lesson is going exactly as planned.  It's Earth Day, we are one with the soil, a real-life hands in the dirt, open air project, and my two just want to squirt each other with the water hose.

Knowing when I've been defeated, I throw the last remnants of seed packets into the trash and have the kids follow me to where I had just thrown out some old potting soil.  We dig through the soil and discover four worms hard at work tunneling.  I explain how worms help the earth and am surprised when Annie picks one up, names it Rosebud, and takes it over to our container.  "Mommy, you know what else we need to do.  We need to start saving apple cores and banana peels."  "That's right," I respond, wondering how on earth she knows about composting.   She runs off to search for more pets...worms, and my cell phone rings.  Travis, at Lowe's, picking up all the things I forgot to purchase because who knew you needed fertilizer or a watering can, is calling to confirm my list.  Connor grabs the phone, and I hear him tell his dad, proudly, "We planted seeds, Daddy.  We have to wait, but then they'll bloom and we'll have food that we can really eat."  Maybe the lesson is sticking, after all.  The kids' sudden excitement has me believing for a moment that these empty containers may actually soon be filled with real vegetables.  Just maybe......

Defining Grace

Some details of my salvation experience are as tangible as the keys beneath my fingertips; others blend into a haze of childhood experiences fusing seamlessly with other memories to where I'm not clear where the distinction lies.  As I remember, I decided to attend a revival with my grandparents shortly after the birth of my youngest sister.  (After having children of my own, I am growing more aware that the decision was probably made for me by a weary mom.)  I think I was eight years old, had attended church my entire life, even on family vacations, small, intense, churches, so I was accustomed to sermons that would make Jonathan Edwards sweat.  Something about this particular sermon gripped my little heart in fear.  Perhaps it was reminding those of us who were lost of the fiery flames of hell that would engulf our worthless souls if we didn't respond to the altar call immediately.  I even remember pulling my feet up into the pew as if the fire could somehow lick my shiny patent leather shoes from beneath the floor.  Whatever it was, I made my way up the aisle to the altar and asked Christ into my heart.  I was baptized in Big Wills Creek a few weeks later, a story which brings untold amusement to my city students.

For most of my childhood, I saw God as big, powerful, and scary, sitting on the edge of his throne waiting for me to fail.  If I'm completely honest, I came to Him in fear rather than overwhelmed by His mercy and love.  I was vaguely aware God loved me, but it never resonated in a way that left me running into His arms with peals of, "Abba."  I understood God as my judge, but as my daddy, I was too unworthy to receive that kind of love from the Creator of the universe.

Without an adequate understanding of grace, I evolved into a self-righteous good girl driven to guilt anytime I disobeyed one of my own arbitrary rules.  Thou shalt not wear a two-piece swimsuit or immodest clothing.  Check.  Thou shalt not drink.  Check.  Thou shalt not be seen with the "unholy."  Check.  Thou shalt not make anything lower than a 95.  Double-check.  I understood faith without works is dead.  That I grasped.  In fact, it was my mantra, etched firmly into my mind, sending me running in circles earning my salvation with gusto.  But grace....  Crickets.  Grace....  Um, yeah, I was absent that day in Sunday school, but I've memorized the 100th and 23rd Psalm.  Anyone want to hear?    Grace....  Johnson?  Johnson?  Anyone seen Johnson?  Grace....  Wild, unabashed, relentless pursuit, untamed love.  That kind of grace I failed to grasp.  Of all the people on earth, I was the one exception to the grace, not by works, law of love.  That couldn't possibly apply to me.

I'm a doer.....an achiever.  I've run marathons..OK, marathon, but five halves. Graduated valedictorian and summ cum laude.  You want work ethic.  I'm your girl.  My identity is so wrapped up in my achievements sometimes that it's no surprise how the concept of grace can elude me.  There's nothing I can do to earn salvation.  Nothing.  Nada.  Zip.  And for someone like me that's oddly unsettling until I don't measure up, until failure inevitably comes knocking on my door.  Then grace sounds wonderful except that I can't seem to convince myself that God meant me, too.  So, recently, I've been on a quest to truly grasp the grace of God and what it must mean to my relationship with Him, if I'm ever to truly grasp how high, how deep, and how wide His love is for me.  I recently finished reading Brennan Manning's The Ragamuffin Gospel and let's just say it is a book that has ruined me, wrecked me, driven me to my knees weeping tears of release and sweet relief.

It also forces me to realize that I must not be alone.  Browse the recent list of best-selling Christian titles: The Christian Atheist, Gods at War, Grace, The Utter Relief of Holiness, The Hole in Our Holiness:  it seems we're either not doing enough or that we don't understand grace.  We're a nation, or at least we were, a nation of do-it-yourselfers, American dreamers.  Our culture tells us to work harder, longer, and more, and I think that attitude has seeped into our churches, as well.  Manning writes, "the bending of the mind by the powers of this world has twisted the gospel of grace into religious bondage and distorted the image of God into an eternal, small-minded bookkeeper.... Love is stifled, freedom shackled, and self-righteousness fastened.  The institutional church has become a wounder of the healers rather than a healer of the wounded.  Put bluntly, the American church today accepts grace in theory but denies it in practice....Too many Christians are living in the house of fear and not in the house of love....Many Christians live as if only personal discipline and self-denial will mold the perfect me.  The emphasis is on what I do rather than on what God is doing."  That's me.  Living in a house of fear rather than residing in the love.

I live with a fear of failure, a fear of being exposed for the fraud that I am, hiding the real me because if anyone knew my real fears and inadequacies they couldn't possibly continue to love me.  And it's exhausting.  The real me is messy.  The real me is sometimes lazy.  The real me tends to be selfish.  The real me likes slapstick comedy.  The real me likes the taste of wine.  The real me likes clothes.  The real me made some bad decisions after college and wasn't always the straight and narrow vision of perfection I like to reflect.  The real me doesn't have it all together, but don't let anyone else know because what would they think if they knew most nights dinner comes out of the freezer and when company comes, I shove all the toys into the closet.  But, I'm growing weary, tired of trying to earn my salvation through "works of righteousness that are like filthy rags."  A life without grace is a life that quickly unravels.

The past few weeks the God who's always been there, but I've never trusted enough to allow to truly reveal Himself to me has whispered.  Grace.  My grace is sufficient.  Quit pretending.  Quit trying.  He is saying I accept you....just as you are.  Flaws, warts, bad decisions, and all.  Grace through the blood of Christ has covered all that.  You can't earn My love, sweet girl.  There's nothing on this earth you can do to make me love you less.  I've come to a painful realization; one that is wrecking me.  Until I allow myself to accept grace and to see God as love, not just judge, then I'll never completely surrender all of myself to Him because as hard as it is to admit, it's hard to trust the transforming power of the gospel of grace when I don't see how wildly He loves and pursues me.  How that must hurt Him?  Imagine if my children came to me and asked, "Mommy, do you love me?"  To which I'd respond with a heartfelt, overwhelming, "Of course.  More than the very breath of life itself."  Then they came to me the next day and asked, "Mommy, do you really love me?"  That would be crushing to think my children somehow doubted my love, but that's exactly how I treat the one who bled and died for my transgression.  Oh, how that tears my heart!

I love how Manning puts the reality of God's love through grace.  "What a stunning truth!  Justification by grace through faith is the theologian's learned phrase for what Chesterton once called "the furious love of God."  He is not moody or capricious; He has a single restless stance toward us:  He loves us.  But of course, this is almost too incredible for us to accept....Through no merit of ours, by His mercy, we have been restored to a right relationship with God through the life, death, and resurrection of His beloved son.  This is the Good News, the gospel of grace."  and later "Grace is the active expression of his love.  The Christian lives by grace as Abba's child, utterly rejecting the God who catches people by surprise in a moment of weakness- the God incapable of smiling at our awkward mistakes, the God who does not accept a seat at our human festivities, the God who says, "You will pay for that," the God incapable of understanding that children will always get dirty and be forgetful, the God always snooping around after sinners.  At the same time, the child of the Father rejects the pastel-colored pasty God who promises never to rain on our parade."    This is the father of the prodigal extending his arms in love not demanding an apology and explanation from his wayward son.  It's also the God who "disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness." Hebrews 12:10. Grace frees us from looking down our noses at others in self-righteous condemnation and demand them to get it all together, to think like us, to ship up or shape out.  It allows us to embrace a hurting world and declare that Jesus died for you, too.

I've always related to the disciple Paul, the spitfire, impulsive disciple who, in his mind, let God down.  I've lived a life of "letting God down."  He spent years with Jesus in the flesh, broke bread with the Savior, had his feet washed by His king, yet when it came time to stand up for Jesus, he didn't just deny him once.  Peter denied him three times.  I can't imagine how that must have haunted Peter in the hours following the crucifixion.  I can be at a neighborhood party, speaking with non-Christian friend when the conversation turns toward faith, yet rather than embracing the opportunity I stutter, "I love your new curtains," hearing the echo of the rooster in the distance then beat myself up for days over a missed opportunity.  Yet, when Jesus encountered Peter, he didn't scold him or berate him.  Instead, our Savior asked this impulsive betrayer to feed his lambs. He gently gave Peter the responsibility of building the church.  And so moved by this grace, Peter became the rock upon which the foundation of the church was laid.  Grace overlooks our flaws and allows us to be part of the team.  "Grace means that God is on our side and thus we are victors regardless of how well we have played the game."  It's time I loosen my perceived halo, admit my powerlessness, and embrace the love of God.

Does grace mean a license to sin?  "Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase?  By no means! We are those who died to sin.  How can we live in it any longer?" Romans 6:1.  What I believe God is teaching me is that by understanding His love and surrendering to His grace, I then allow the power of his Holy Spirit to transform me.  I cease depending on my own power and rest freely in His.  I will fail, but He will not.  Gripped firmly in the grasp of His love, I am free to be me.  I'm free to embrace my brokenness and lay it at His feet as an offering of all I am then joyously serve in the true freedom of knowing that I am loved.  It is fully engulfed in this truth that I am able to share more freely and honestly who He is and what He has done in my life.  "While Jesus calls us all to a more perfect life, we cannot achieve it on our own.  To be alive is to be broken; to be broken is to stand in need of grace.  It is only through grace that any of us could dare to hope that we could become more like Christ.  The saved sinner with the tilted halo has been converted from mistrust to trust, has arrived at an inner poverty of spirit, and lives as best as she can in rigorous honesty with self, others, and God."  Never have I been happier to tilt my halo, fall at the feet of Jesus, and allow Him to pick me up, cradle me in His arms, and love me.  Under the gospel of grace, I am compelled to live my life in response to Christ's goodness.  Duty is exchanged for sheer delight.  After years of misunderstanding what grace means of trying to earn God's love of living condemned by the guilt of letting Him down, I'm finally ready to run into the arms of my Abba then share that love with the rest of the world!