Blame Game

Often, if I’m not careful, I flip the narrative in my mind and make my conflicts or challenges someone else’s fault. 

I call it the blame game, and I can be unbelievably great at it.

My bad mood?  Your poor choices. The change of plans. Lack of coffee.  

(Couldn't possibly have anything to do with my media-to-scripture consumption ratio)

My failure to succeed.  Past hurts. People's opinions. Present obstacles. 

(Couldn't be my fear, my pride, or my laziness)

My critical spirit? You should be better prepared.  You should be smarter.  You should be quiet.  You should speak up.

(Couldn't possibly be my own insecurities or my lack of compassion)

My coldness? Your hurtfulness. My inability to forgive? Your shortage of remorse.

You name it - not my fault.

But here’s the deal: stuff happens. I will fail. People WILL fail. We’re all to blame.

And here's the better deal: Christ offered Himself as a sacrifice, pure and blameless, so that we could become pure and blame less.

We can embrace ownership – or more accurately, stewardship - of this life that was purchased for us. God loves us and forgives us our shortcomings, so we can and should follow His lead as He gives us His power and His blessing to be responsible - to be capable of rational thought and merciful emotions, and willing to forgive.

Even when we are legitimately wounded, we can choose forgiveness again and again.

Even when things go wrong, we can work to make them right.

Even when people are unloving, or unlovable, we can take responsibility and choose love.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. 

1 Corinthians 13:4-8

Dear Lord, help us today as we own up to all that is ours, and offer You all that is not ours to carry. 

On This Day

Typically sadness taints the day of March 24th ... first in 1995, and subsequently every year since. Last year marked 25 years since dad died. It was also the year I reached the point of having lived longer than he had. And maybe that's all I needed ... a good quarter century of recurring grief to really see it through.

Because today was ok.

A lot of people who I love and admire opt for more gentler terminology for death, but I always say "Dad died." Because that's what it feels like to me. "Transitioned to heaven" sounds like it was a glide or pivot,  "went home" betrays my very real feelings of fatherlessness, and even "passed away" feels well-mannered and faint.

He died. He was alive and fun and wise and sarcastic and kind, and then, in an instant, he was not. He was not old. He was not sick. He was breathing and talking one moment, and then suddenly, he was not.

I know his soul lives forever and has merely "passed away" from this broken world. I believe he has "gone home", and because he lived his life with Christ's Kingdom as his aim, it could be said that he simply "transitioned to heaven".

But I also believe there is truth and beauty in the idea that "he died".

Every March 24th, the scenery outside is splotched with vibrant shades of green. Fields and lawns beam fresh and lovely. Trees flaunt foliage on limbs that are dotted with bright new buds. Flowering plants convincingly hint of bountiful things to come.

But in these same places, not long ago, there was death. A tearing away and a breaking down only to recede into cold, hard, darkness.  It was expected to some degree and unavoidable. Necessary even. And I'm ok with that.

Because winter isn't the end. It is the silent beginning to all that flourishes. Death precedes life in the truest sense.

For a follower of Jesus, one's own death is not a problem or concern. The apostle Paul claimed to much prefer it over life. But for friends and family, death, no matter how slow or startling, is tragic and overwhelming. There is a cosmic pause in which reality seizes and spews unrestrained until real time resumes and you become painfully aware that the pressurized facts and emotions have caused your own heart to rupture ... though it relentlessly beats within.

And yet, we do not grieve like those who have no hope. We know the truth. Death is not the end. It is the silent beginning to all that flourishes forever.

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?” -John 11:25-26

Rest Assured

Here are some of the texts from friends I'm praying with and for.

* he was admitted to hospital

* i got the job!

* he is responding to medicines! 

* our marriage is healing

* i didn't get the job.

* hospice has called the family in

As my inbox and my thoughts are forced to hold all sorts of sorrow and gladness crammed in the same space, my heart clings to hope. Not hope in an outcome, but hope in the One who comes near when we call out for Him. 

God is so good and kind, and He loves us. But He moves in mysterious ways.

I believe He is working to heal and provide, regardless of what we can see, because that is who He is. He faithfully walks with us as we walk by faith in Him.

I text one person "Praise the Lord! He is able!" because things are looking up. And within minutes, I text another person, "We can trust Him! He is able." because from this pit of heartache, all we can do is look up.

We pray for answers, but rest assured, communing moment by moment with our mighty and merciful God IS the answer. 

It is our only hope.

"Yet I will rejoice in the Lord. I will be joyful in God my Savior. The Sovereign Lord is my strength." 

Habakkuk 3:18

"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you . . . and the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast." 

1 Peter 5:7,10

Rest assured. 🙏

Dear Teachers in 2020-2021

Dear teachers,

My kids are sprinkled around from elementary into college, so I'm talking to all of you.

You must be so tired.

Decision fatigue and going with the flow. All that rolling with all those punches.

The technical difficulties and germ warfare and doing more - doing more kinds of more than ever before.

I just can't.

But you can. And you do.

You keep showing up and giving it a go.

And my kids are good and well because of you!

Are you behind on content and syllabus timelines? I have no idea. Are you leaving stuff out and skipping to main ideas and taking breaks to breathe? I hope so!

Your ability to model grace (for yourself and others) and flexibility while you exhibit top-notch problem-solving skills and resilient enjoyment ... THIS is what my kids will have learned from you this year.

You are educating them with brilliance and grit. Shining bright and hanging tough.

Thank you. We can brush up on the spelling and algebra and speech and psychology another time. I promise. You are planting seeds of selflessness, determination, and knowledge. You are offering them a front-row seat to the thrill of remaining a life-long learner. You are the star of the show!

This is me cheering my guts out for you, clapping hysterically for the greatness I see in you. Bravo! Thank you.

Saving Sabbath

Life can break her down sometimes.

The monotony can be maddening, the chaos debilitating. She gives and takes while fewer and fewer things add up.

Even though solitude seems so helpful, deep down she knows isolation is not the solution.

She needs to connect and recharge with her Heavenly Father, to commune with her Creator, and find kinship with the Author and Finisher of her faith.

So she grabs a spiral and a pen and she brings a thought to life, weaving words to warmly wear and share. Sure enough an insightful story fills a space that seemed empty an hour ago.

She gets a bowl and begins combining loosely related oddities, folding in flavors, rolling out possibilities, turning up the heat until savor takes shape. Soon enough she samples the nourishment that didn't exist an hour ago.

She straps on a gas-powered leaf blower, shoulders strong, arms steady, stepping out and aiming low. As if she has harnessed a hurricane, she pulls the trigger, waves her arm, and becomes the actual winds of change. Insecurities are silenced by the roar of progress, and truth is revealed. When all that has fallen away is thoroughly removed, there lies bright, soft beauty that was not even visible an hour ago.

She is gloriously tired but couldn't be more rested. She recognizes her reflection of His image. She realizes His powerful abilities and chooses to taste and see His goodness. She gratefully abides in this chapter of His story because in His presence she is refreshed.

And, once again, she knows that life is abundantly good.