Great News: Great Joy!

I had an opportunity to bring the sermon this past Sunday morning at my home church, Tennison Memorial United Methodist Church of Mount Pleasant, Tx. The recording is available below, followed by a transcript if you prefer to read rather than listen.

Automated Transcript Below:
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Today’s scripture reading is from the letter that Paul wrote to the Galatians (chapter 5, verses 22 through 26). By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There’s no law against such things. And those who belong to Christ have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the spirit, let us also be guided by the spirit. And let us not become conceited competing against one another and envying one another.

This is the word of God for the people of God. Thanks be to God. 

“Joy is the characteristic by which God uses us to remake the distressing into the desired, the discarded into the creative. Joy is prayer. Joy is strength. Joy is love. Joy is a net of love by which you can catch souls.” -Mother Teresa.

I have always struggled with joy. So when the DS asked me to fill the pulpit, one Sunday during Advent this year, I was looking forward to doing the love Sunday. 

Love comes much easier to me. I can preach about love all day long. Imagine my dismay when I realized that I had agreed to preach the joy Sunday instead! Joy and I are not exactly besties; we’re more like distant family members. We exchange hugs every few years and then we go our separate ways. It’s not that I dislike joy. It’s just that it’s so hard to recognize her when she shows up.

Growing up, I had a misunderstanding of the application of the passage, of Galatians 5 in general. To me, this just looked like a bulleted list of all the ways that I was absolutely not the spirit-filled reflection of Christ that I was supposed to be. 

So starting at the top, working to the bottom, these were the things I needed to produce in myself in order to grow in my faith and relationship with the Lord, things that I would need to produce in myself in order to be a good valuable member of the human race. 

But Galatians 5, just like all scripture, does not exist in a vacuum. It’s part of a whole message and it ought to be considered in that context. So let’s go back, and for the sake of time, I’m not going to read the first five chapters of Galatians to you. (But you should.) And you’ll also be pleased to know that even though I was raised Baptist, I have edited my sermon down from seven pages to four and a half. So there’s not going to be any danger of whether or not you can beat the Baptists to lunch.

So if you have brought your bible, please feel free to follow along. 

The letter was written by hand and it was carried to various churches out throughout Galatia, and like all letters, it’s going to start with an address. And then remembering that the letter didn’t have verse numbers back in AD 55, we move past the greeting of the letter into the body into verse 6. 

So right out of the gate, Paul skips his usual glowing accolades about their behavior and he jumps straight to chastising them, and this is not his normal formula. Normally Paul spends quite a bit of time giving the church a compliment sandwich: here’s some great things you’ve done, here’s some gentle criticism, here’s some encouragement and a few more compliments to finish up. Instead, right after the greeting, this is what we hear:

“I’m amazed that you are so quickly deserting the one who called you by the grace of Christ to follow another gospel. It’s not really another gospel but certain people are confusing you and they want to change the gospel of Christ. “

That that’s a pretty harsh accusation. So what does Paul say that they’re changing to? And he doesn’t get to that right away, he spends the next several paragraphs backtracking to provide a little bit of personal history. Who is he? Who was he? What did he do in his previous life, where he was this militant enforcer of the letter of the Jewish law? 

And then he was dramatically converted by the risen Christ and ordered to preach to the Gentiles. Not the Jews. 17 years after his conversion, Paul explains to the apostles in Jerusalem what he’s been preaching to the Gentiles, the uncircumcised people. The apostles who’ve been preaching to the circumcised people agree with what he’s been preaching. Everything looks great; they send him off. But then Peter, one of the apostles who’s been preaching in Jerusalem, visits Paul in Antioch, and Paul has a serious problem with him. It turns out Peter has been hanging out with gentile believers until his old circumcised friends show up, and scripture even says that he carries off several of the other apostles with him in his hypocrisy.

And Paul wasn’t having any of it. He lit into him. So, starting in verse 14, Paul tells Peter to his face, “If you though, you’re a Jew, live like a gentile and not like a Jew, how can you require the gentiles to live like Jews?” And then he says, to the Galatians, “we’re born Jews! We’re not gentile sinners. However, we know that a person isn’t made righteous by the works of the law, but rather through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ.”

So there it is; this is the whole point of the letter that he’s getting to. Paul found out that the Galatians are doing the exact same kind of nonsense that he’s been seeing happening in other places:

Trying to add to the grace of God by piling extra works on top of it.

And when you listen to what he says next, you’re going to understand why the way that I previously understood Galatians 5 was so damaging. He said,

“I don’t ignore the grace of God, because if we become righteous through the law, then Christ died for no purpose. You irrational Galatians who put a spell on you? Jesus Christ was put on display as crucified before your eyes. I just want to know this from you: did you receive this spirit by doing the works of the law, or by believing what you heard? Are you so irrational? After you started with the spirit of you, now, finishing up with your own human effort? Did you experience so much for nothing?”

How many times are we just as guilty as the Galatians, of adding our own little rules on top of grace? Wear this, don’t wear that. Eat this, but don’t eat that, and pray this way, but don’t pray that way — and cut your hair, but good gosh! Not like that!

And we’re reminded in chapter 3 verse, 28, that there is no longer Jew, or Greek, or slave, or free, or male, or female, but we divide ourselves up by race and class and gender and everything else we can think of, and we are just so interested in what we can do that we forget about who Christ is and where we’re all going.

My old friend JJ Jordan, before he passed away, he used to preach that if all of scripture is going in one direction, and you find one verse that sticks up, that seems to point in another direction, chances are you’re the one that’s wrong. 

So if Galatians 5 is not supposed to be this bundle of tasks that is to be completed, then how are we supposed to interpret it? How exactly am I supposed to bear this fruit of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, and all the rest. Let’s consider the lilies of the field like Jesus said. 

A farmer who plants a tomato seed does not expect apples. And despite his best efforts, a farmer cannot force the seed to do anything at all. He may cultivate the soil to loosen the hard clay. He might fertilize the soil, he might change the fertilizer, right? Because one plant needs more nitrogen and one plant needs more calcium. 

And it’s just the same with the fruit of the Spirit. The fruit that is produced in us by the Spirit is through no works of our own. No amount of effort or stubborn determination or calendar planning. (laughter) is going to create in us this fruit of joy. There’s no feat of strength that will produce love, or generosity for that matter. 

So what are we supposed to? Just throw our hands up in the air and say “oh just let it do what every it wants to do”? No.

Let’s look at this, another way. A tomato vine: if it’s not trained, it runs all along the ground. Right? And the fruit can rot because it’s sitting right on the ground. 

But if you try to train the tomato plant at the wrong time, what’s going to happen it? The branch snaps right off in your hand, right? Because you didn’t train it early enough. Now, let’s imagine instead of a tomato, we have a human child. Like, one of my kids. 

A child that’s untrained is going to run around, just the same as an untrained tomato. And if we just wait around until we see that there’s this undesirable pattern, we may end up with a broken child. We can’t force the child to grow, right?

We can provide them with stability. We can remove barriers that are preventing them from growing. We can treat them according to their temperaments and to their talents and we can support them in the ways that they’re the weakest. Adults are no different. Children are born persons, just like Charlotte Mason said.

We’re just children in big bodies. 

The fruit that is produced in us by the Spirit cannot be brought about by any work of our own. The fruit that is produced in us by the Spirit is produced by the Spirit of God himself through the miraculous mechanics of His grace. If we want to produce more fruit, we don’t add more weight to the branches. We can cultivate the environment for the best growth, and the fruit will produce itself.

And because I have always detested a sermon in which I was always told what I was doing wrong and never how to do it right, here are some things that we can do, today, right now, to begin to cultivate the kind of soil that the fruit of the Spirit can grow in easily and abundantly, produce and reproduce.

If you want to see more joy, encourage it first by no longer comparing how happy you are to how happy everyone else around you seems. Theodore Roosevelt said that comparison is the thief of joy, and I think he was on to something. Study after study has shown a direct correlation between how much time we spend scrolling on our news feeds and how miserable we feel afterward. And after seeing perfectly crafted images in magazines on tv, on Facebook, on Instagram and even in our own friends living rooms, our own little Christmas tree seems much smaller and more humble. And a child who is delighted by the offer of a bowl of ice cream might become dismayed when they start examining the contents of their neighbor’s bowl. Just like verse 26 in the text points out, let us not become conceited, competing against one another and envying one another. 

So as I often tell my children, “hey Bethany, When’s the only time we look at our neighbor’s bowl?” (To see if they have enough.) That’s right, to see if they have enough.

And that brings us to the next point: generosity is more than just a fruit of the Spirit that’s produced within us. It’s also a healing medicine. My husband’s grandmother, who happens to be a retired, professional counselor with a doctorate, she told me this: she said when you’re in an unbearable funk and there’s nothing to be done, nothing to be done about your own situation but move forward, turn your gaze outward. Right? Turn your gaze outward and reach out to a friend or a neighbor.

I have an alphabet soup of anxiety disorders that comes from the kind of history that just doesn’t really suit a sermon about producing fruit and joyfulness. And if you want to hear that kind of history, I’ve got a recording somewhere that you’re welcome to hear about. But until then, please trust me when I say that I am anxious a whole lot more than I am joyful. And my favorite thing to do, when I’m anxious, is to text someone else that’s going through a hard time and check in on them, or surprise a friend with a small gift: a cold drink, dessert that I happen to have a coupon for, a card that made me think of them. It doesn’t take a fortune to be generous. Some of the most generous gifts that I have received have been from friends who had as little or less than we did. 

When Charlie and I first got married, we were invited over several times a week to join one of the church families for dinner, and they were some of the few people that were kind of like close to our own age, and it was their absolute delight to invite us over. They called it “sharing their nothing” with us. And it was so much more than nothing.

So there’s this ancient Jewish parable that has since made its way throughout the world into many cultures, and it’s got many iterations. And it’s this, there’s this vision of paradise and hell and in which there are two identical banquet tables. And they are filled with diners and they’re all seated and the tables are full of this huge feast, and the only handicap that these people have is really long spoons. They’ve got really long spoons. And in paradise, all of the people are happy and well fed and they’re kind to one another and they’re just chatting away. 

And you look, and the people in hell are just withered and they’re cranky and they’re thin. And the only difference between the people that are in paradise and the people are in hell, is that the people in heaven, have already learned how to feed each other. And the people in hell are still thinking about themselves. 

Besides the instruction in the text to avoid comparison and seek generosity, there’s plenty of other ways to cultivate opportunities to be surprised by joy. There’s no need to chase after joy. Again, we do not produce joy through some active sheer determination, as much as I would like to try. We were created to experience joy, and the joy is there waiting for us to notice.

We can spend time in green places in nature. We can sing loudly, alone, and in groups, you can join the choir. Just saying, if the pew fits, you know. We can share a meal with a friend. We can volunteer our time serving others. These are all rooted in scripture and in science as conduits of joy, peace, and spiritual healing.

There’s even a style of meditation. It’s called mindfulness meditation, and it’s the discipline of observation. In the 1600s Brother Lawrence called this, The Practice of the Presence of God. It’s this state of drawing your attention back. Drawing your attention back to this moment that you’re in. Right now. Just like a small child experiences complete delight at every turn, just from the joy of being alive. Have you ever heard a baby laugh? They’re really easy to get to laugh. They’re easily amused. Everything is delightful because it’s brand new. Mindfulness, practice allows us to just simply be in a non-judgmental form and observe life as it’s happening. One moment at a time, the beauty of this sunset. The taste of this bite of pie. CS Lewis highlights this in his book, The Screwtape Letters, where the protagonist attempts to distract his patient, the Christian, from the simple joys of life that might remind him of his faith. 

In fact, CS Lewis said “we are mirrors, whose brightness, if we are bright, is wholly derived from the sun that shines upon us.” The lightness in our life was never dependent on us.

The joy of Christmas looks forward to Easter. It’s the other half of this pair of bookends that represent the Creator’s mortal time and visibility on this planet. It represents both our own mortality, and the blessed hope that we have in him: that our mortality will be raised in immortality. It is a beginning without an ending.

During Lent, we prepare our hearts to Good Friday and Easter down the path of mourning. We open our observation to the griefs and sorrows endured by Christ. So during Advent, let us open our eyes to the possibility of joy, preparing our hearts to rejoice in the audacity that is the incarnation. A creator who pursues us and delights in us as though we were each his individual favorite and favored child. 

Let me end with a final example. I have a dear friend. We’ve been friends since eighth grade. He was telling me about an evening that he spent recently playing Lego with his toddler, while his wife sat on the couch with their newborn baby, He said he was suddenly overcome with the sense of gratitude and awe of his little family that he was nearly in tears. And then of course the moment passes, right? The baby cries, the toddler needs bedtime. But the moment was there, waiting to be observed. And this is great news. Because it means the joy that you’ve been searching for has been there this whole time. 

Galatians 3

There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.
Galatians 3:28 NRSV

If there is no longer a social structure in Christ, then arguments about who is allowed to have authority over whom are irrelevant. Christ is our authority now. Do not presume to order others around because of their station.

If there is no longer a racial barrier in Christ, then arguments about cultural differences, family history, and skin color are irrelevant. We are one race. We are one family. Do not presume to divide one from another; be without borders.

If there is no male or female in Christ, then arguments pertaining to gender are irrelevant. We are genderless in His sight.

Do you presume to call upon the law of Moses to condemn your neighbor? We have been redeemed, traded out from under the law in Christ. In fact,

...now that faith has come, we are no longer subject to a disciplinarian.
Galatians 3:25‭, ‬NRSV

Do you presume to condemn those who choose to resist a rule they find unjust? I suppose you then must condemn Shadrach, Mishach, and Abednego, who would not bow to a dictator (Daniel 3). I suppose you then must condemn the gospel writers, who defied even one another when pressed to compel the new Gentile converts to obey the law of Moses (Galatians 2). I suppose you then must condemn Christ himself, who defied the religious authorities by healing (John 5) and gathering grain (Matthew 12).

Do you presume to condemn those who refuse to punish those rule breakers? Then you must condemn Christ himself, who refused to condemn the woman caught in adultery. (John 8)

You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor's eye.
Matthew 7:5 NRSV

Children Are Born Persons

“Children are born persons.”

Charlotte Mason

I started my day thinking about this quote.  I even mentioned in passing during my morning work day.  Then, I went to run errands and grab some lunch.  I went across town to a place I often go on Mondays when I’m in town alone, because I can eat quickly and return within the hour, and because I can get a pretty good amount of vegetables on my plate at the same time.  I grabbed the workbook I’ve been moving through, thinking I might have a moment to tolerate another page or so before I have to put it down out of a sense of self-preservation.

I was surprised to have my precious waitress ask me if it was a good book!  You don’t often have people asking you about your weird psychology trauma books.  I enthusiastically showed it to her, flipping through to see how it was a workbook with lines for responses; I jokingly commented that I have so many blank places because I have seven kids, and I didn’t want to traumatize any of them if they stumbled upon it.

Then she surprised me again, with a question no one has ever directly asked me: “Since you have kids, what do you think is the best way to raise them?” After a moment’s deliberation, I responded seriously with that quote.  I told her that there’s a thing called gentle parenting, but I like to call it respect parenting.  A little hesitantly, I added,  “you know how the Bible says we ought to love our neighbor?  Well, your kid is the closest person to you.  I figure if we treat them like we want to be treated, it will all work out.” We laughed and chatted a bit more and she went about her business.

Normally I would quickly pack up and head back to the office, but I felt strongly as though I was supposed to stay longer.  I went ahead and worked through another page (ouch!) and sure enough, she came back.  “You know it’s so funny,” she says, “I pray to God and ask him to show me how is the best way to parent my kid, and this is really confirming, you know?” And with her giant, beautiful smile, she starts apologizing for being shy and awkward.  I assured her that she was doing a wonderful job, and that I was proud of her. It seemed very important to tell her those words.

Again, I went to pack up, and was rebuffed immediately in my spirit. It wasn’t time yet? I was done with my lunch, and I didn’t want to touch that workbook again. I sat, sipping on my drink with the oddest sense of urgency.

I was not even a little surprised when the waitress appeared a third time, with tears in her eyes. “It’s just that no one has ever told me that, you know?” With her permission, I hugged her, and told her those words we all need to hear:

“The Lord bless you. You’re going to be a good mom. You can do this. It’s going to be okay. Do you know how I know you will be a good Mom? Because you care. You care about being a good Mom, and that means you will be. I needed someone to tell me that, too.”

We went our separate ways with tears in our eyes, and when I sat down in my car to drive away, the little message in the fortune cookie showed me how much I’ve grown. “A person is not wise simply because one talks a lot,” my little white paper encased in cookie and cellophane declared. You see, little me reminded me of all the times I was beaten for talking too much, but the grown me who is healing reminded her how much we accomplished today by sitting and waiting with our uncomfortable feelings, and using our words to heal instead of hurt.

Book Cover: The Complex PTSD Workbook: A Mind-Body Approach to Regaining Emotional Control & Becoming Whole by Arielle Schwartz, PhD
Paper Fortune: A person is not wise simply because one talks a lot.
The book and fortune in question.

Life is Not A Hashtag

Life. Life is on my mind.

How precious, and brave, and terrible it is. How thrilling, and how mundane. How fragile.

All lives matter.

Regardless of your family history.
Regardless of your age.
Regardless of your skin’s tint.
Regardless of your theological standpoint.
Regardless of your opinion of yourself.
Regardless of your occupation.
Regardless of your uniform.
Regardless of your triumphs.
Regardless of your mistakes.
Regardless of your ridiculous choices that weren’t mistakes at all.
Regardless of your poverty.
Regardless of your wealth.
Regardless of your weight.
Regardless of your clothes.
Regardless of your lifestyle.
Regardless of your talents.
Regardless of your education.
Regardless of your intelligence.
Regardless of your immigration status.
Regardless of your health.
Regardless of your mobility.
Regardless of your contributions to society.
Regardless of your ability to communicate.
Regardless of your level of responsibility.
Regardless of your gender.
Regardless of your preferences.
Regardless of your prejudice.
Regardless of your love.
Regardless of your hate.

Your life is precious, and worth protecting. All lives matter.

Life is not a hashtag.

Good to Eat: How I Said “Goodbye” to Anorexia and “Hello” to Cheese

This piece is a wonderfully written perspective on disordered eating.

Emily Stimpson Chapman

I was all set to write a fun, breezy little post about one of my favorite things in the universe—wine—when the Great Hive Mind informed me that this is National Eating Disorders Awareness Week. Thanks, Facebook. Now I feel guilty writing about wine.

Because I don’t do things I feel guilty about—or, at least, I try not to do them—the wine post is on hold. Instead, I’m going to share a few thoughts about how I walked away from anorexia for good 14 years ago.

For those of you not familiar with the disease, the prognosis for those battling eating disorders isn’t exactly rosy. While most people who struggle with anorexia get somewhat better, few get all better. The majority spend their lives waffling on the edge of a relapse. Many fall right off that edge.

But me? You couldn’t drag me back to that edge with a thousand horses…

View original post 1,841 more words

Song for a Fifth Child, by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
Sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

–Song for a Fifth Child, by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton —

I first came across this poem at http://holyjoe.org/poetry/hamilton.htm

In Memoriam: Ruth Jeanette (Owen) Williams

In case you think I’ve forgotten, I haven’t.  6 years without your mama is long enough for anyone.  Thanks to my dear friend Sarah for filling in for me behind the piano tonight.  Sometimes a soul can only take so much grief in a day.

I’ve nothing profound to say, really.  The Sunday school lesson this morning included talking about adoption.  I can never, of course, read a single word of scripture about adoption without the remembrance of Mama, who took me when no one else wanted me.  These last few months I’ve been working on dealing with all the baggage that comes from being an abandoned child.  Every child who is adopted at birth, though I know all adopted children wrestle with a sense of purpose, I rejoice for them.  No child ought to be the recipient of broken promises.  No child ought to be left behind, never to be retrieved.

I bless God, of course, for Mama.  Granted, any self-respecting citizen with a shred of human decency would take in a child known to be abandoned; that doesn’t, however, lessen the gratitude I have.

I remember begging her to adopt me, as she had done with my brother.  We share the same birth mother, my brother and I, and we share the same adoptive parents as well.  For years, I couldn’t understand why my grandma didn’t seem to want me any more than my birth mom did.  Little did I know that she was trying to get her daughter to actually care for THIS child.  She was only doing as she knew best.

I remember the conversation well.  “Jeani, your grandpa and I are old, and unable to do the things with you that other children do.  You will not have the things other children have.”

And what could I say, with the piercing reality that children see?  “At least I won’t have to worry about whether I will have a roof over my head, or food to eat tomorrow.”  Needless to say, court proceedings began.  The birth mother gave up her rights without a whimper.  There wasn’t even a discussion; she just signed her rights as a mother away as if I were nothing more than a discarded plaything she had found no more use for.  The birth father proved to be a challenge; though he had long abandoned me, and I had never knowingly even seen the man, he fought for custody in what turned out to be an overlong, grisly sort of endeavor.

I remember the day that Mama retained her rights as managing conservator.  She hadn’t even won sole custody yet–just retained the rights to let me live in her home.  I had been sent from the courtroom as details of my birth father’s past started rolling past the judge’s ears, and mine, details that sent me hiding under my coat in embarrassment.  I sat in the secretary’s office in my frilly dress, filling sheet after typing sheet with pen drawings of roses.  My big brother, all bluster and cowboy boots and terrible acid wash jeans (sorry, Jer) burst through the door, and caught me up into his arms.  “You’re still mine!” he exclaimed triumphantly.

“I know,” says I, in my little know-it sort of way.  The judge, of course, had told me already that I would live with my grandma and grandpa until further notice, while my birth father retained some sort of visitation rights.  All the proceedings had been more of a formal function.  The hug, though.  It let me knew that I was wanted.

Someone wanted me.

After all these years, someone wanted me.

Daddy has been gone for nearly 11 years.  6 years ago, yesterday, my brother called and asked to speak to my husband instead of me.  6 years ago, I made the four and a half hour drive, my husband and I, our toddler son, and my very pregnant, supposed-to-be-bedresting belly.  6 years ago today, I could not stand and watch them take Mama off of life support.  I tried.  I wanted to be brave.  I crawled up next to her in that bed with those awful tubes and pumps and put my head upon her arm as I always did.  I cried and cried and cried.  I prayed, and cried, and told Mama that she ought to go with Jesus.  Only the Lord knows of how much she was aware in that artificial state, no breath or life within her, only electrical impulse and medication induced coma.  But in the end, I left the room.  I looked at my aunt, and my uncles – her siblings – and I, ashamed, excused myself.  In tears, I said that the Lord Jesus would have to stand in my place.  I couldn’t watch as they allowed my mama to die.

We never want to let go.  There was not breathe, nor life, nor beating heart.  She was even flat-lining on the machines.  Yet I wanted it to be wrong.  I wanted her to open her eyes, to look upon my face, and to hold me again as she never would.

I felt lost in the world.  Without Mama and Daddy, I felt as an orphan would.  I felt again as I did as a child, abandoned and alone.  My poor husband has borne with me all these years, years that I’ve spent denying that my history as an abandoned child had any impact on me at all.

Well, it did.  It has.  I am that child.  I was the daughter of an addict who didn’t want me; I was adopted by a Southern Baptist queen and her king.  I was homeless, and thin, ill-dressed.  Someone had done a terrible hack-job to my hair.  I was used to making my own decisions, and caring for myself.  Mama and Daddy had their hands full with me.  Mama used to tease that I was 9 going on 21.  It wasn’t easy on any of us.  Quite frankly, trying to submit to actual parents after what I’d been through was terrible.  I can’t even tell you how many nights I spent sobbing, trying to understand why I couldn’t just obey, why I couldn’t just keep the snarky comments at bay, how many afternoons spent in Brother Dean’s office trying to understand.

Bubba and I, we refused to bury Mama on Valentine’s Day, so we insisted on having the service on the 13th.  We put pink tea roses on the casket, a tribute to the years of gardens and pruning and mulch and awkward pink granite rocks.  We sang, and we spoke.  My pastor drove from East Texas to support us for the funeral, and ended up being a pall-bearer.  Angie played with Ethan in the funeral yard so that I could participate in the service.  We buried her in Baytown, and the family met at that little Cracker Barrel on the end of the old highway.  Uncle Leonard ordered an egg and toast.  We sat around the table as and normal, happy family, telling stories about Mama (like the fact that she really was late to her own funeral).

And now I’m thirty.  I’m thirty, and I’m dealing with all the nonsense that comes with admitting that being abandoned, insulted, abused, and unwanted ACTUALLY has an effect on me. I guess I’m finally growing up.  Every moment of the first thirty years of my life was colored by the false notion that I was fatally flawed and incapable of receiving love or happiness.  Every foolish decision I have ever made was instigated by the compulsion to please others, to receive praise, to receive love.  When I realized that, I was angry.  I even called my big brother and talked his ear off for an hour or so; gratefully he’s always been tolerant of my never-ending commentary.  But thanks be unto God, who gives unto us the victory, I get a little better every day.

I hope the Lord reads a transcript to Mama, because although she didn’t necessarily agree with every turn my life has taken, I know that she would be proud to see me leaving the nonsense behind.

What is Stress?

Hans Selye, the pioneering endocrinologist who first coined the word ‘stress’, defined it as the amount of energy spent by the body when adapting to a change in its environment. He ultimately gave the official term ‘general adaptation syndrome’, and was the forerunner into research of our bodies’ response toward change, both physical and non-physical.

This is just one of the many things we learned today during the class on How to Hang Loose in an Uptight World. Contact me if you would like to learn more about stress, its effect on the body, and how you can combat it, as well as how you can support your body during times of stress and facilitate the healing process.

I also highly recommend Elizabeth Baker’s book, How to Hang Loose in an Uptight World to everyone, whether they think they are stressed or not. It is available through Amazon.com in both paperback and ebook format.

Dear Christians on Public Forums

Dear Christians On Public Forums

Disclaimer: This is a reprimand. You may have your toes stepped on. You have been warned.

One of the things that really frustrates me is when people within a movement give other people within that movement a bad name. Realistically, I guess that means that it frustrates me when people open their mouth to speak without having anything solid to say.

Lord have mercy on us.

Christians, people are not going to take you seriously when you talk if you say things like, “scientists use big words,” and “it doesn’t really matter; trust Jesus anyway,” or anything even remotely similar. People are just going to laugh at you. If you expect to win over an intellectual, you’re going to have to bring yourself up to his level when you speak.

While we’re on the subject of speaking, here’s a couple of things the Bible has to say about what and when and how:

“…but in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect…” –from 1 Peter 3:15, ESV

The KJV uses the terms meekness and fear. Christians, when you open your mouth to speak, are you defending your faith, or are you attacking someone else? Are you speaking respectfully? Are you putting your passions under control? Quit trolling.

“Wherefore, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath: For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God.” — James 1:19-20, KJV

I don’t think that needs any further commentary.

 ” A fool takes no pleasure in understanding, but only in expressing his opinion.” — Proverbs 18:2, ESV

Please don’t be that guy. This is the person that everyone hates and no one listens to. You may have thought you’ve made a point, but everyone else just thinks you’re an idiot.

Many of you are familiar with the sentiment, “Better to be silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.” The Jews have been saying it for millenia:

“He that hath knowledge spareth his words: [and] a man of understanding is of an excellent spirit. Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise: [and] he that shutteth his lips [is esteemed] a man of understanding.” — Proverbs 17:27-28, KJV


Stop over-talking. Nine times out of ten, it’s better to keep your mouth shut. Even the Apostle Paul told his pupils not to feed the trolls. (Titus 3:9) If you’re feeling guilty about not being able to give a defense,continue to keep your mouth shut.  Maybe the shame of having nothing to say for yourself will inspire you to educate yourself about your own faith.

What is Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?

The best illustration I ever received in describing the physical nature of OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) was from Elizabeth Baker, who happens to be my dear grandmother-in-law as well as a valued mentor and teacher.

She described the human mind as a fishing net through which thoughts pass; thoughts were represented as varying degrees of gravel, sand, etc. Sand represents fleeting thoughts. Then you have pea gravel, small rocks, large rocks, and ultimately boulders. In a normally functioning mind, only the boulders get really “stuck” and need help being removed.

Then she described the OCD mind very succinctly: the net is too tight.

What a fantastic illustration! Having a spiritual nature, all humans must at some point battle removing the obstacles of the mind; Christians in particular have a pressing motivation for removing the objects that we don’t want to keep. Now, imagine for a moment that a Christian has OCD. Without divine intervention, the mesh in the defective net isn’t going to get enlarged; however, we still need to work spiritually at removing the obstacles, right?

The problem arises because so much more gets caught in the mind of an OCD believer. As Christians, we know that we have become a new creature in Christ, and as such, we are much disturbed by the things that are getting caught in our nets. The enemy fights dirty! He attacks us where we are weakest. For an OCD believer, the assaults of the evil one are particularly painful because not only can we not control the obsessions or compulsions that enter our mind, but we become distressed by the fact that we cannot rid ourselves of them. No amount of logic will deter the obsessions held in an OCD mind; we are fully aware that our obsessions are irrational.

For the believer, this is most distressing. We are admonished by scripture to cast our cares upon the Lord, and here we are: held in helpless captivity by our cares. This, of course, is precisely what the enemy wants. Not only can he attack us by causing us to be anxious, even limiting our ability to function at times, but now he is provided with an almost limitless source of shame with which to taunt us.

At one point in my battle against OCD, it was liberating to recognize that my OCD and the resulting exacerbation of my panic attacks (the body’s response to an adrenaline switch stuck in the “ON” position) was, in a great way, the product of my fallible human body. When I became able to separate my OCD from my panic attacks, and furthermore the physical aspect of my OCD from the spiritual aspect of the fears that were getting stuck in the first place, I felt as though the battle had been won.

However, this stage in my spiritual walk is completely different. This new frontal assault on my OCD, I feel, has been a direct result of the building up of spiritual strongholds. I allowed myself to become spiritually parched — unwatered, and unfed. I nurtured tiny sins that blossomed into full grown trees of spiritual captivity. By not being vigilant, I had opened myself up for spiritual attack. In my position of weakness, my faith became the perfect target, and my OCD the perfect vehicle to carry the fiery darts.

Now every day, every moment, is a fight. Every day the Lord is opening my eyes to areas of my spiritual hedge that I have allowed to become weak, areas of my life that I have allowed to stagnate or even fester. Every moment is an act of pure will to survive, to recover the spoils that the enemy has claimed. I am hanging onto the Lord in a way that I would never have imagined — when, as C.S. Lewis said, I look all around me to discover all traces of the Lord’s presence gone from me, and still choose to obey Him. This month has been a moment by moment battle in sweat and grit and tears, a focusing of my mind like a laser in order to allow no room for the OCD.

There’s where the clincher comes in: my physical body, and its weakness, are affecting my spiritual walk. I made a difficult decision today — I allowed the provision for an escape valve.

Those of you who know me personally know that I have a personal aversion to psychotropic medications. In fact, I rather dislike any pharmaceutical medication. Of course I recognize their uses and vital necessity in the saving of many lives, but I also hate to use them myself. It’s a personal opinion, perhaps weakness, of mine. So, even the consideration of having an escape valve in the form of a pill was abhorrent to me.

I wrestled back and forth with it. In taking something in the heat of a debilitating panic attack, would I simply be ignoring my mind? Would I be avoiding a spiritual battle that needed to be sweated out? Or was my avoidance of medication ruining my ability to function so that I could not move ahead spiritually?

The biggest obstacle in this phase of my battle has been “trying to figure it out.” I want to rationalize it, label it, box it in, and squish it. I want to gain peace by understanding, and understanding by the work of logic. I am fighting against the Holy Spirit with the concept that I cannot, will not ever be able to, have no hope of ever answering the riddles that plague me. Worst of all, I recognize that the faith that will quench these fiery darts is not something that I can work up within myself, or just try harder to obtain and thereby succeed.

It was then that I came to my conclusion. By allowing myself an escape valve, it was an act of proclamation. It was, in a sense, my decree that when, after fighting and sweating and doing all that is within me to battle against my OCD, it becomes a giant so huge that it starts to take over my body, and I begin to panic so that I cannot think, cannot breathe, cannot function, and feel that I cannot live, that I have the choice to say this:

“I have a disease. This disease causes me to be weak. You are attacking my weakness. I am tired of wrestling with you. I am tired of trying to rationalize you and figure you out. I don’t care if you’re right or not. You can be right. I am going to exercise my faith based on God’s word, not how I feel or how I cannot rationalize or understand. Therefore, I am choosing not to listen to you any more. By the grace of God, you can be right all you want to — I’m not listening to you any more. I’m going to rest now.”

I have not yet had to take the medicine, which is a very mild, non-habit-forming sedative prescribed to me by a trusted physician who is a mature believer in Christ. Just knowing that I have the the “out” has been enough. It is my own weapon, as if to say, “Fine. Go ahead. Taunt me. But just know this: you aren’t going to win.”

Do I think the battle is over? With a certainty, NO. Not even close. But for this day I have been given strength — and that is all that has ever been needed.