This was the highlight of my week at Blue Ridge Mountain Christian Writers Conference. Well, highest of many. I was awarded 3rd place for Unpublished Article for Print.
It was an amazing week and I’m still processing through things. I have so much to share. I’ll be back to fill you in.
“10 Things Jesus Never Said…and why you should STOP believing them” Written by Will Davis Jr., Published by Revell, 2011.
I was pretty sure I had the general premise or direction of this book figured out before I ever opened it. Having read the author’s other book, “Pray Big”, I was just looking forward to getting his perspective because I really appreciated his fresh style that made me think and occasionally say ouch. What I didn’t aticipate was our mode of transportation for this trip. The vehicle used to transport us to the truth is my favorite text, Jesus’ words of comfort and invitation from Matthew 11:28-30.
As I started reading, I began to wonder if I would make it out of the first chapter. I have always considered this passage as “mine.” Just ask my husband. He thinks he’s heard every possible message on it. But he like me had never read Will Davis’ take. I wept through the whole chapter. It was exactly the message my wounded and weary soul needed.
I am certainly glad that I have my own copy of the book. Almost every page has underlining and notes. Many pages are dogearred. Exclamation points, amens, and arrows are thrown in throughout. I got so excited about the message and invitation to move into or return to a deeper relationship with the giver of grace that I hinted to my Sunday school class that I had found our next study before I was even done reading the book!
I was able to see how this material could lend itself to a study with established ‘churchized’ folks, but also how it would be applicable and appropriate for people whose woundedness has kept them feeling like they could never feel welcome in a church, even if they wanted to go inside. Each chapter ends with Jesus’ invitation, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened.” Those words are just as fresh and necessary today as they were two thousand years ago.
Pastor Davis anchors his points solidly in scripture. His examples and case studies are relevent and broad enough in their scope so as to not come across as finger pointing or judgmental. At the close of his examening each of the lies, or things that Jesus never said but we have somehow come to believe, there are a set of questions that can be used for personal or group study.
When I came to the end of the book I found an appendix. Its title is “You’re Disqualified Because You’re Divorced.” I’m not divorced, so I almost didn’t read it. But because I do know several people who are divorced, including my daughter, I decided to at least see what the author had to say on the subject. This is the one place I found myself disagreeing with Will Davis. This chapter is far too valuable to be tucked in at the very end, appearing as a possible afterthought. I found myself finishing this book as I had started it: in tears! It is a tender treatise on the topic, with truths that shine light on almost each of the ten lies previously discussed in the book.
I stumbled across Will Davis Jr’s writing in January of this year when I found his book, “Pray Big” at my public library. I wasn’t sure, but gave it a read. I was blown away by the fresh approach to a topic everyone thinks they know everything about. I was ready to go out and buy a case so I could just start giving the books away. When I finished “Ten Things Jesus Never Said” I was ready to buy two cases. To say that I recommend this book barely comes close enough to how strongly I want to urge you to read it. I found healing in these pages, and a restored sense of my place in the yoke beside the Master. Don’t miss this one!
In case you’re wondering what Jesus never said:
My grandson turned six in January. The recent warm weather seems to have awakened a piece of his boyhood. Up to this point he has just not been all that interested in bike riding. His cousins’ love for this hasn’t even been motivating to him. Watching all the neighborhood kids ride by the house has not seemed to phase him. So I’m not sure what brought about the sudden interest or surge of importance, but it was imperative that Pepa get those training wheels off and the riding needed to happen. Now. Now, as in instantly and perfectly. It reminded me of my daughter when she was three. I took her to the library to introduce her to the world of books and she promptly looked at me and told me that she wanted to learn to read. Extatic and feeling like I had acomplished my task, I set out to explain how we would learn letters and then words. She wasn’t having any part of that. She stomped her little foot and in a voice way too loud for the library told me, “No Mommy, I want to learn NOW!
So there I was out in our front yard trying to convince the grandson that I really knew what I was doing and that I would not let him fall to the ground and crack his skull open. I’m not sure where he got that idea from.
At first he insisted that I hold onto both the handle bar and the seat. He wasn’t all that comfortable with that but I was able to get him to allow me to let go of the handle bar so he could do the steering. This accomplished two things: it gave him a sense of control but also reinforced his fear of not being in control. Yeah, I know, it confused him too.
In an attempt to ground this in something he could understand, I reminded him of one of his games on game cube where the character needs to jump from one platform to the next while the platforms rock back and forth. To complete the jump the character, directed by the grandson, has to balance the platform by finding that special spot in the center. He got the concept. What he didn’t get or appreciate was how I was loosely holding the seat which allowed for some uncomfortable tippage. I was soundoy scolded repeatedly for everything from wanting him to fall and to fail. In his mind I was crazy if I thought thisbwas going to work. And ultimately, I must not love him if this was how I was going to treat him when he asked for something as simple as just a little help in learning how to ride his bike. I’ll spare all the anger about the stupid, worthless bike that was obviosly horribly defective since it couldn’t follow his directive.
After about a half hour of more excuses than riding, I told the grandson that I loved him very much, but I needed a break and so did he. I suggested we try again another day. I put the bike in the garage and not the garbage, as he suggested. Then I went and sat on the porch where I could lick my wounds, and contemplate my obviously ineffective teaching strategy. But the teaching wasn’t done.
Sitting there, I felt that gentle nudge that comes from the Spirit. You know the one. It’s just enough to help you stop what you’re thinking so you can see it from a diffrent perspective. From God’s perspective. Then with the exhale that comes from a big sigh, I began to see this riding lesson was less about my grandson learning and much more about the imbalance in my own life. It wasn’t news to me that God had been trying to get my attention, but what he was asking of me and directing me towards seemed so impossible. I had given up on those dreams. But he hadn’t.
I got my teeth cleaned this week. There are two reasons that encourage me to actually do this twice a year. First, I have insurance coverage, and since it’s paid for why waste it? The second is less “logical”. When I turned 50 (why does that seem so terribly long ago?) when I would see doctors, they would add this little phrase to their discussion: “Well, you know, you are the age…” When they talked I felt like I had just entered a time warp where everything was going to fall apart.
Confession time. I haven’t always been as committed to keeping my regularly scheduled appointments with the dentist. Cleaning hurt because I’m one of those people who naturally build up tartar, no matter how faithfully I brush and floss. I became so reluctant to go that my husband cancelled the insurance coverage. Now as is often the case, no sooner had he done this than I broke a tooth and needed a crown. That was an expensive boot to my behind. So I’m back to cleanings every six months.
So I show up for my appointment, and am quickly informed that the usual hygienist just had a baby and someone would be filling in today. I didn’t think much about it. I trusted that they would have someone competent there and just climbed into the chair. The woman was very chatty, discussing family, weather, and even politics. She was also painfully thorough at cleaning off my tartar. Scrape, scrape.and Wince, wince.
When the tooth torture and gum stabbing was done, the dentist came in to check the work and go over my teeth. I really like my dentist. The lead dentist was the one that was recommended when my tooth broke, but he was unavailable so I agreed to see his associate and I’m so glad I did. After a short discussion about my jaw pain she put on some gloves and began her exam.
Immediately I realized and experienced an enormous difference. The dentist’s touch was smooth and light, and quite gentle. She used the pick but it slid across my teeth causing no pain in the process. The difference I felt was amazing to me…and of course started me thinking spiritually.
Next Sunday is Mothers’ Day. Nelson and I are scheduled to sing for the worship service. I had recently heard a song on the radio while traveling that we had sung together in the past. The song was sung by a group called Truth, popular back in the 70’s and 80’s–I told you it was old. And obviously, it’s not very familiar since it’s not on youtube or godtube. (Insert disappointed sigh here.)
Anyway…the touch of the dentist hand reminded me of the master’s hands while the hygienist was more like me: well-intended, thorough, but just not as skilled or gentle. The dentist’s gentle touch reminded me of Jesus’ invitation to the people to come and learn from him for he was gentle and humble (Matthew 11). Gentle there doesn’t have anything to do with wimpy. No it’s strength under control. Just like the dentist. She had a weapon in her hands that could cause intense pain, but she wielded it as if it was really a feather in her hand.
I am drawn to feathers and a feathery touch. In this politically charged climate, I’m finding myself withdrawing from people because they seem more intent on throwing stones. I’m tired of all the wounding. There’s too much bludgeoning with the truth. Scripture says to always be ready to give an answer for the hope we have, and to do so with gentleness and respect. Yes, we need to speak the truth, but we’re to do so in love.
I needed my teeth clean. There was gunk there that needed scraped off. The hygienist did her job. I’m thankful. But it was the gentle hands of the dentist that really touched me–all the way to my heart. I guess we just need to remember that there really is more than one way to get the job done. Who will you gently touch for Jesus this week?
Yesterday I posted about coming out of the corner. I mentioned something about wondering whether there was paint still on my nose because of the way it seemed some people were looking at me. This morning I was reading in Max Lucado’s book, “Fearless” and it came to me that perhaps it’s not paint but that I continue to carry the corner with me.
Can you imagine how ridiculous a three or four-year old would look trying to carry their corner of punishment with them? It would be hard enough to just carry the time out chair and still be able to function or enjoy. As I tried to imagine that I got the picture of Laugh In’s Edith Ann (google or check youtube if you’re too young to remember) trying to haul around her great big rocking chair. It just couldn’t be done. And we were never meant to.
Our six year old grandson has a behavior that just infuriates his mommy and Pepa too. I’ll confess until just now as I was thinking about it, I didn’t much care for it either. We can be right in the middle of a good scolding and he all of a sudden is ready to move. The infuriating part is that it appears that he is dismissing what we’re saying. It comes across as pretty disrespectful. I know that if I would have just thought about doing something like that a hand would have been flying in the direction of my smart mouth. But what if it wasn’t sassyness or disrespect? What if this child really has something and it’s preciousness is not to be squelched or denied? He lets go and moves on.
Reflecting on this, I was reminded of a comment made by a pastor I heard many years ago, “God has dumped our sins into the Sea of Forgetfulness and posted a no fishing sign.” It made such an impression on me that I wrote it in my Bible so I wouldn’t forget. Trouble is I should probably tattoo it on my hand instead because out of sight is really out of mind, and practice. Typically you’re not going to find me fishing unless my keys are hiding in the dark depths of my purse or I’ve returned to that
Sea and I’m trying to carry some long forgiven sin. There’s little more non-sensical than this.
In an effort to find more lasting relief and release, I went to the scripture to find this Sea of Forgetfulness and while there is no exact reference there are definitely verses that support the concept. Here’s some of what I found:
Micah 7:19 You will again have compassion on us; you will tread our sins underfoot and hurl all our iniquities into the depths of the sea.
Isaiah 43:25 I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more.
Psalm 25:7 Do not remember the sins of my youth and my rebellious ways; according to your love remember me, for you, Lord, are good.
Psalm 103:12 As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
Hebrews 8:12 For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more.
Hebrews 10:17 Then he adds: Their sins and lawless acts I will remember no more.
Others may see paint on me, but God doesn’t. He’s a lot more like my grandson–he’s ready to move on.
As I wrote this reflection I was reminded of a song that our choir sang at church recently. I found it one youtube:
Davis Bunn is a fiction writer whose work I really enjoy. He recently posted that he was looking for people to be influencers. I like the concept as much as I like his work, so I thought I’d pass the word along! Here’s the link: http://www.davisbunn.com/blog/?p=2720
As I began the year, I asked God to give me a word or theme that would be a guide for me as I journeyed through the days. The word that seemed to bubble up for me was prayer. Right on the heels of that I found and ended up teaching Will Davis, Jr.’s book, “Pray Big” at church. No sooner had I started that than I was asked to participate on a parachurch weekend team in the position of prayer. I like it when God makes things that plain.
This weekend is the time when I will be sequestered away and focused on prayer. I can barely describe how honored and humbled I feel to be given this opportunity. I have been part of the music ministry, given talks, and even been responsible for the spiritual direction of the weekend, but being asked to pray…wow.
During our last team meeting I was sharing with someone how blessed I feel to participate this way. I mean, when was the last time someone told you that all you had to do for the next three days is pray? Some might consider that boring or a daunting task. Not me.
Now the downside to this hit me last Sunday as I sat quietly in my pew at church preparing for the worship service to begin. I read over the list of prayer concerns within our congregation and was immediately aware of a heaviness in my heart. My eyes filled with tears as I realized that to really be engaged and involved in the ministry of prayer is be broken, broken and open to the needs and hurts of others and broken and open to the God of Heaven whose deepest desire is to meet those needs.
I have thought about that a lot this week. I have walked through the week with a new sensitivity and awareness. Prayers have been whispered immediately so as not to be forgotten. I gained a deeper connection with the way the Word describes how Jesus was moved with compassion as he looked out at the people of that day. Are you familiar with those passages? Two places in Matthew’s gospel, Matthew 9:36, and 14:14, describe how Jesus responded when he looked out over the crowd and saw their needs, both physical and spiritual. Later, in Luke 15, we find the story of the Prodigal Son, which could be called the Loving Father. In it we find that when the son finally comes to his senses and is walking home, practicing his apology along the way, he is swept off his feet by his father who deaf to the son’s words meets him “filled with compassion.”
I have often been put in the position of pray-er because of my former ministerial roles or my personality, spiritual and extrovert. It’s like being given the job of secretary in a group because you’re the only girl. I used to respond with a ready, “Have prayers will pray.” I never minded it, but I don’t think I really got the real deep meaning until recently. Being looked to as one who prays is an awesome responsibility.
I remember how this awareness came to a church I attended many years ago. Our beloved pastor was dying due to the ravages of cancer. It got to the place where the cure was worse than the disease and were put in the position of standing beside him as he finished his journey. Fortunately, our congregation had several retired or unassigned pastors, I was one, who were able to divide the responsibilities and make sure that there was no lapse in spiritual leadership. During this time, the prayer life of this congregation reached a new and deeper level, and the really amazing thing was how it went beyond the walls of our building. People in the community began to see how our lives and the life of the fellowship was being changed by prayer. We began to receive calls from people asking for prayer, people who had no ties to our body, but who were moved by the prayers of the people there.
I want to be that kind of person of prayer. I don’t want to be a “rent a pray-er” or someone who gets the job just because of a role or theological training. This broken feeling is heavy, but I don’t want to lose it–not because it makes me special, but because it forces me to go deeper in my relationship with God. There are moments when I just feel I can’t not pray. (Yes, I know that’s a double negative.) I’m praying as I walk through Walmart, at the bank, for the loud kid and frustrated parent at the Library. I pray for the car speeding by me that they will arrive safely and if they’re speeding because they’re trying to get to someone at a hospital (because no one should be in that big a hurry for any other reason…). I’m starting to see that anything and everything can be turned into prayer.
I feel ready for this weekend. That’s a little scary. I believe that there are going to be some tough spiritual battles this weekend. It won’t be a cakewalk. But the words spoken to Esther by her uncle have been ringing in my ears: you have been chosen for such a time as this.
Have you ever wondered what you have been chosen for? What will God accomplish through you this weekend? Do you believe that he wants to be that intentional in your life? Will you be open to it?
Coming out of the corner
When you were a kid did you have to stand in the corner for punishment? I don’t think I did. I got my fair share of spankings. I was sent to my room. Only one time did I ever miss a meal. I was grounded as I got older and remember losing car priviledges, too. But I don’t remember my nose stuck in the corner. Oh, and there was no such thing as a time out chair in my house.
So as an adult, who is almost fifty-five, today feels very odd to me. Recently, I completed the final phase of punishment for a crime I committed ten years ago. I was not the kid who got in trouble. Never even got a speeding ticket. A friend made the statement that my worst crime was probably the way I cooked meatloaf.
Before I recieced my sentence, I completed a psychological evaluation to determine the likelihood of my reoffending. I was deemed low risk for reoffending. A PSI (pre-sentence investigation) was also done and it supported the Psych eval. So when it came time for my sentencing, the judge ordered me to spend sixty day in county jail, pay a $500 fine, and serve five years on community control (aka probation). Additionally, this crime automatically carried a ten year period of community registration which came with its own restrictions. This final component has been the mostndifficult for me. In many ways it has been like being in a prison without bars, because of the legal restrictions and the self-imposed shame. There wasn’t a single day in that ten years when I didn’t feel some level of judgement, real or imagined.
Today the bars are gone completely. All phases of that original sentence have been completed. It seemed very fitting that the sun should be shining the day it was all done, because I certainly feel like I had come out of a very dark place.
Putting someone in time out, whether it is in the corner or in prison, can provide the separated individual an opportunity to reflect and plan. My encounters with people seems to reveal to me that much more time goes into the planning than into reflection. The plan may be as simple as how not to get caught again or to exact revenge on those the “prisoner” blames for his or her incarceration. As for me, there was much more reflection than planning. I have spent a lot of time, both in therapeutic counselling and journalistic reflection, thinking about what got me into the place where I made such devastating decisions and what I need to do to be sure I don’t ever repeat those mistakes.
So now I’ve crossed into a new place. In some ways life doesn’t look any different than it did a few days ago, but I can feel the difference.
Sunday morning in worship we sang the chorus, “Trading My Sorrows.” It starts out by saying!
“I’m trading my sorrows, I’m trading my shame. I’m laying them down for the joy of the Lord…I’ll say yes Lord…” I get that. I have exhausted myself. Ten years of shame carrying can do that to a body.
I was trying to explain this feeling and the “change” to a friend. Never having walked this path she just couldn’t wrap her brain around the difference. She has only known me for the past four years, so she didn’t know the pre-crime Tina. She couldn’t understand what difference a day would make. This isn’t the first time we had this conversation, either. So once again, I tried using a current example to help her see.
There has been a job advertized online and in our local paper for a counselor position at the local drug and alcohol counselling center. There is licensure requirement listed. I have a counselling degree and experience. I could do the job. Last week I wouldn’t even considered applying. What makes the difference? Two things. First, I have completed my sentence. That means something. And through the process I re-established my credibility and I have the references to support that. They are the same references I would have had last week, but now it’s their word and my action. Even more than that, I have hope. And that is poweful a thing.
What I know for absolute certain is that I am out of the corner. I sometimes wonder if the paint was wet in the corner where I stood. Or perhaps someone stuck a “Corner” tag on my back when I was reflecting too deeply to notice. I wonder this because there are some people who treat me as if I still belong in the corner. Good therapy has helped me in handling this. I just remind myself: they can’t put me back there unless I let them. And all their fretting about my being “restored” is about them. I don’t have to try and carry their stuff–I have enough of a load of my own to deal with thank you very much!
So I’m going to kick around and enjoy a little fresh air and freedom. No more corners for me!
Seal of God–The Path Is Narrow…But the Reward Is Great
A Memoir
Chad Williams with David Thomas
Forward by Greg Laurie
284 pages
Tyndale Publishers
I’m not in the military. I didn’t think I would really have much to relate to with this book. I was wrong. This is the story of a young man who is naturally gifted athletically. He achieves levels others only dream of and then gets bored–seeking the next thrill, the next bit of excitement. He frustrates his father by never sticking with anything. Here’s where I began to relate.
Chad winds up making a connection with a retired Navy Seal that changes the course and shape of his life forever. The story of his determined preparation and the relationship he has with his mentor is quite encouraging to me, both from the perspective of one who only dreams of being that determined and wishing I had that kind of mentor.
The tragic loss of his mentor in a brutally horrible attack in Iraq serves to amp Chad’s desire to be a Navy Seal. Reading through the grueling process of preparation made me feel like such a marshmallow, but also served to motivate me to start moving. I was about to cheer out loud when he finally completed the training.
That accomplishment, great as it was, only served as the vehicle for the real change and achievement in Chad’s life. The real story within the story is how he came to faith, how he grew, how that faith was challenged while he was a Seal, and then provided the opportunity for him to take that same level of determination and turn it into full-time ministry.
I’m excited to share about this book here, but I had no sooner finished reading it when I began to think of the people in my life with whom I wanted to share a copy. There are quite a few!
The writing is easy to follow and while he leads the reader into the often misunderstood or unknown world of the military, Navy Seals specifically, he does it in such a way that is informative and enlightening.
I highly recommend this book!
To comply with new regulations introduced by the Federal Trade Commission, please mention as part of every Web or Amazon review that Tyndale House Publishers has provided you with a complimentary copy of this book.
This is such a cool idea. What a great way to be a blessing to others. I’ve heard of others paying, but then to follow through with praying. I was very excited to share this ministry with others.
Pot of Manna 