An Unexpected Gift

"Ooh, that's good! I better jot that down." It's a thought many of us had throughout the weekend. I was in Nashville attending that blessed convergence of wisdom and kindness, beauty and truth, ideas and service called Hutchmoot.

I reached for my notebook, opened it, and started with surprise. For there staring back at me was a ferociously whimsical face. It had disproportionate eyes, an open mouth, jagged teeth, and a single strand of hair atop an otherwise-bald head. Who sketched this creature and left it for me to uncover? Was it boredom that bore this beast? Was it mischief? Did the monster bubble up from the deep well of delight? Did he spring from some chasm of unnamed fear? However it came to be, it came to me as a gift.

Faces flashed to mind, faces of children I know and love, faces of those who know me and love me still. My story is not one of new characters, plots, and places, but of recognizable ones. I continually bump into people from my past: former coaches, teachers, and friends. I trod familiar ground: my home church, my alma mater, childhood playgrounds. Just last month, I stood in my high school gym and coached volleyball alongside my Freshman coach. I bought a house next door to the place I played as a kid. At Hutchmoot, I sat in on a session led by Andrew Peterson, singing Rich Mullins songs alongside the man who introduced me to the music of both. Memories rise and mingle with the present.

And yet, I only see a pinch of the history in these places, only a fraction of the narrative written in the lines of these faces. There’s enough gold in them hills to mine for a lifetime. There’s enough mystery to keep a girl searching, enough wonder to keep her seeing anew. There’s enough sadness to bring her to her knees, and enough joy to fill her days with laughter.

I remember sitting in attendance at the first Hutchmoot, observing the friendships around me. I longed so desperately to have what I saw. I even prayed for such a community. And God answered my prayer. No, a new group of people hasn't moved in, and no, I haven't moved, but something has moved in me. Instead of giving me what I saw, God allowed me to see what I had. I have a community. We all do. And I'm beginning to see the people I come in contact with each day, not as I wish they were, but as they actually are.

As a child, I remember marveling at the fact that I have control of when my fingers move. I once asked my mom, “What if I wasn’t me? What if I were someone else?” It’s a thought that baffles me still. Why this place? Why this time? Why this plot of earth and this passel of people? I can’t reason out an answer to those questions, but I can live out one. Here I sit at the crossroads of the past and the future. And it is here, right now in this present moment, that God’s kingdom can come to, in, and through me.

The sketch in my notebook stands as a reminder. It's a reminder of you, my friends and neighbors. It's a reminder of all who daily share their thoughts, food, home, time, and yes, even their art with me. I look upon this drawing and thank God for you. More than marks upon a paper, you leave an imprint upon my heart. You are to me, a living letter of Christ, "written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts" (2 Cor. 3:3).

A Christmas Invitation

Jacob runs. He runs until the sun sets and darkness descends. Taking one of the stones, he puts it under his head and sleeps.

Jacob dreams. He dreams of a ladder, resting upon the earth and stretching to heaven. He dreams of the Lord atop the ladder, His angels walking up and down.

Jacob stirs. He awakens aware of another presence. "Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it."

And Jacob trembles. "How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven." Could Jacob have stumbled upon a portal between heaven and earth? Jacob seems to think so. He sets up the rock and names the place, Bethel, meaning "the house of God."

1800 years later, in a stable in the town of Bethlehem, the ladder fell once again. The gateway between heaven and earth opened and God, Himself, passed through. From the womb of an innocent girl, a baby came.

Christmas is about coming. Christ came and bids us come. You see, the portal between heaven and earth opens both ways. This morning, I read through the lyrics of Jason Gray's [newly released] Christmas album. The album feels to me like an invitation.

Christmas excites different feeling in different people. Some look back on Christmas past with warm nostalgia; others with regret. To some, the season is a happy reminder there are better times and brighter days ahead. To others, every peal of laughter is a mockery of the silence felt, every family gathering a painful reminder of those absent. Some get lost in lists; others feel unprepared. Some thrive on hope and expectancy; others temper giddiness and lower expectations. Perhaps you've felt one or all of these emotions yourself. I know I have. This album is for you. You are welcome, come.

Come, step back in time and see the events unfold through the eyes of the characters present. Christmas Stories: Repeat the Sounding Joy intersperses classic Christmas hymns like "O Little Town of Bethlehem" and "O Holy Night" with original songs telling the stories of the Christmas characters. While we can easily dismiss cold facts, stories don't allow that luxury. They spark imagination and draw us in. Story disarms us. Before we know it, we turn from a passive observer to an inhabitant within the tale. We are the Innkeeper looking for Sabbath rest. We are Mary, carrying hope and bearing shame through the darkness. We are Joseph, faced with a choice between resentment and forgiveness. We are the Shepherd, bursting with good news. We are the Wiseman, hiding behind gifts.

Come, be filled with joy. Though the songs lead us through the darkness of betrayal, fatigue, disgrace, and fear, this album, ultimately, is an invitation to joy. How fitting that "Joy to the World" puts the punctuation mark on this collection of songs.

Come, let the season awaken your inner child. Christmas Stories celebrates little things: a baby, a town, the humble. What better way to illustrate that God's Kingdom "belongs to such as these," than to turn the lead vocals over to a child? "Christmas for Jesus," sung by Jason's son, Gus, wonders what kind of present God would put on his list. Bracketing the album are "Christmas is Coming," a song about how the season beckons the child in us all, and "Children Again," a song for the wizened grown up. Christ came as a baby. Could it be that, in order to come to him, we must become children, as well? "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of God" (Matthew 18:3).

So, come. Oh Jacob, what you once knew in part, may you now know fully. The portal was never a place. It is a person. Christ descended the ladder. He came that we, too, could come. "Love found a way in and left open the door." Will you crawl through?

...the things themselves told her.

He showed her things on the mountain, things in the sky, things in the pools and streams wherever they went. He did better than tell her about them; he made her see them, and then the things themselves told her.

(George MacDonald's, Sir Gibbie)

When I teach, I want to do better than simply tell my students about the things of God. I want to sit them down at the feet of Christ, himself.

More than speak of beauty and truth, I want them to taste of it. I want their thirst slaked by living water, their hunger satisfied by the bread of life.

Word of God, speak. Illumine our paths. Sword of the Spirit, penetrate. Judge the thoughts and attitudes of our hearts. Cloud of His presence, come down. Fill us with your glory.

"Soaked in silliness and seasoned with truth."

Each Sunday, Kingdom Kids starts with a "Stop." It's a song from one of my favorite children's albums, Slugs and Bugs and Lullabies.

Slugs and Bugs is recording a new CD, and you can help fund the project. Here's how. Become a backer and join me in promoting music for kids that is "soaked in silliness and seasoned with truth."

"I know I'm not worthy, but please pass the salt."

I like this introduction to "I Am New." I think there are times when it is good and proper to pray, "I am not worthy." It's the prayer of the publican in Luke 18, "God, have mercy on me, a sinner." But I find myself hanging out in this state of unworthiness all too often. The shame becomes crippling.

Yes, it's true, God desires a humble heart. But I wonder if my view of humility has become skewed. Maybe humility isn't as much my low view of myself as it is the recognition that I am a child, a child who relies on her Father for all things, including my righteousness, worth, and identity. 

Am I worthy of God's love and grace? Without a doubt, no. But does God lavish it on me anyway? Yes. And when God poured out His love and grace on the cross, something else happened...Christ's righteousness became my own. Today, I'm trusting that this is true, and I'm moving on to deeper and more intimate conversations with my Father.  


Check out the special edition of Jason Gray's new album, A Way to See in the Dark (set to release September, 13th). You can pre-order the CD today and get an immediate download of the newest single, "Remind Me Who I Am."

Sunday Highlights

This week was Promotion Sunday. I'm grateful for the opportunity to watch Christ grow in and through these young ones as they mature in their faith. 

In Kinder-Kingdom, we talked about God's act of creation. The class went on a nature walk to observe God's handiwork firsthand. One of my favorite things about kids is their ability to see things that adults pass over (tune out?). Annie Dillard writes, "Only children can hear the song of the male house mouse. Only children keep their eyes open."Here are a few pictures from the nature walk:

In Kingdom Kids, we studied the first chapter of the book of John. Jesus is the Word. Jesus is the Light. Jesus is Life. Jesus is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. We learned about John's purpose in writing, "But these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name" (John 20:31).

Appearances (Fear, part 4)

Perspective (Fear, part 1)
Naming my Fear (Fear, part 2)
The Eternal God (Fear, part 3)


March 13, 2011

Max: I'm just going to play this piano for a minute. [Max sits and starts playing.]
Me: Oh, do you take piano lessons?
Max: No. I'm just good.

Kids are seldom inflicted with false modesty. They have an honest appraisal of themselves and speak what they see and feel. Too often I worry about appearances. Sometimes I even wonder if I desire the appearance of a virtue more than the virtue itself.

Last year when I was given a new car, I remember a good friend of mine saying, "You are so worried that someone will think you are materialistic." I wanted to retort, "Don't you mean, 'I admire your determination to avoid the trap of materialism?" But in time, I came to realize the truth in her statement. The appearance of humility (driving an old car with no air conditioner) had become my pride. I was worried about how others would perceive me in a new car.

In a sermon at Ozark Christian College a few years ago, Professor Kenny Boles said something that has floated in my memory ever since. He said, "We don't want to be holy as much as we want to be viewed as holy." Ouch.

So how do I change my desires? How do I become childlike? How do I gather the courage to step out from behind the lobster tank?

Trust. Community. The answer seems to lie in those two words.

Though we're strangers still I love you

I love you more than your mask

And you know you have to trust this to be true

And I know that's much to ask

But lay down your fears

Come and join this feast

He has called us here

You and me

("Peace" by Rich Mullins)