Fasting

I haven’t fasted for years. Sometimes I have tried, but I usually only lasted a few hours before I gave up.

Today I decided to fast.

I was struggling with insecurity in relationships. A friendship at work was strained, and I wasn’t sure how to break down the walls that had been built. I always pride myself on being able to get along with everyone. But sometimes people refuse to get along with you. They don’t want your friendship. That hurts.

I was struggling with feeling rejected by another friend. It felt like it was all up to me and I failed. I was struggling to keep the negative thoughts at bay. When the Holy Spirit put the idea to fast in my head.

People have different ideas about what fasting is. Sometimes it’s influenced by what we’ve learned as children or read in the Bible or other books. For me the purpose of fasting is to learn to depend upon God to meet my needs—physically and spiritually. Going without food is a way to help me focus on God. When I’m hungry, I pray and think about God instead of eating. So I decided to fast from food for a day.  

I hesitate to even blog about this because I don’t want you to think that I’m super-spiritual. To be honest, this was the first time in over 15 years that I’ve fasted. So it’s not like fasting is a big spiritual discipline for me. It’s because I was weak that I felt that I needed to fast. Here’s my account of my day.

9:00 AM—I’m at work. Things are busy and tense. I feel God calling me to fast for the day. I decide to drink only liquids for the entire day. (I had already had a bowl of Cherrios for breakfast.)

10:00 AM—I refill my cup at the coffee bar at work. Every day for the last week, new holiday treats have littered the counter. Today is no different. An array of Christmas cookies and candies cover the counter. It’s crazy how much food there is. What a great time of year to fast! But I’m focused. I don’t want sugary treats. They are sweet, but won’t satisfy. I meditate on how God has provided for all my needs. I want God more than those treats.

10:45 AM—I e-mail a few friends and ask them to pray for me today.

11:00 AM—The morning has flown by. I’m busy with several projects at work. I feel pangs of hunger, but I’m focused on my goal. I can depend upon God. He is my strength in time of need.

1:00 PM—I begin to think about how most people in the world feel hungry all the time. I have chosen to go hungry for one day. Some people go days without food. I can walk to the refrigerator and eat something anytime I want. I have a new appreciation for what I have and what people in poverty go through every day.

2:30 PM—There is a party for our president at work. Birthday cake is served, but because I’m not eating I sing and then leave. I feel a little antisocial. There’s something about food that unites people. I’m reminded that I’m a stranger on this earth. This isn’t my true home. I’ve got a family waiting for me in heaven. I feel peaceful.

3:30 PM—Now comes the real test. I pick up my kids from school. When I’m hungry, I’m usually very grumpy. I’m short tempered with my family. I remind myself that God will help me. I depend upon him. Amazingly when my kids fight over their favorite chair, I don’t yell. I calmly tell them that they are going to take turns sitting in the chair. If they rush in the door and jump in the chair, they will forfeit their opportunity to sit in the chair. Wow! The Holy Spirit really came through that time.

5:00 PM —Dinnertime. I slip up once as I’m cooking the spaghetti and pop a strand in my mouth to see if it’s done. I feel a little guilty. I realize how I often eat something without even thinking about it. It’s a reflex, not a choice. I think about how sometimes I respond to situations in anger, fear, or hurt as an impulse. But I’m not impulses. I can feel those emotions and then choose to dwell on them or to surrender them to God and ask him to transform them through the light of his truth.

5:30 PM—I sit down to eat with my family. I actually think about serving them instead of how soon I can eat. Instead of shoveling the food into my mouth, I focus on what each person is saying. My mind seems clearer. I use my hunger pains to remind me to focus more sharply on what my family members are saying. The French bread they are eating looks really good. I love a nice crusty bread, but I resist.

7:30 PM—My head hurts. My stomach aches. I keep drinking water and coffee. It staves off the hunger for a little while. I read John 6. It’s all about bread. Jesus feeds 5,000 people with a few fish and loaves of bread. The next day the crowd comes looking for Jesus. However, he realizes that it’s not him and his message they want, but more food. He tells them that he is the bread of life, that anyone who comes to him must eat his flesh and drink his blood and then they will have eternal life. Gross, huh? Yeah, the crowd didn’t like it too much. They thought it was too difficult. But that’s the point. You take a risk when you put all your eggs in the Jesus basket. It’s all or nothing, but what you get is so much greater than anything this world can offer---eternal life, relationship with God. These truths take on new meaning when your stomach is empty and a chorus of stomach rumblings fill your ears. How far will you go, Andrea?

Give me the true bread. I long for eternal life. I am nothing without you.

9:30 PM—I drink some hot chocolate with egg nog, and my stomach hurts. I think it was too rich. I read John 6 again once more before bed. I try to meditate on the truth. Jesus is the bread of life. I go to sleep.

6:00 AM—I wake up and make some coffee. I don’t feel hungry at all. My mind is clear. It seems that the Holy Spirit is teaching me about the relationships I am struggling with. I try to listen. I meditate on John 6.

“Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the son of Man will give you.”

“I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever. This bread is my flesh which I will give for the life of the world.”

“Very truly I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise them up at the last day. For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me and I live because of the Father, so the one who feeds on me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven. Your ancestors ate manna and died, but whoever feeds on this bread will live forever.”

These are tough words to swallow when your stomach is full, but when you are hungry, you realize how much you need God. When there is no food in your belly, you realize you are weak and frail.

Taking away food for a day and replacing it with mindful meditation on God was a really helpful spiritual exercise for me. I believe the Holy Spirit will use it again in my life to bring clarity and humility to my relationship with God.

Perfection

I looked back at the date of my last post. It's been over two weeks since I've posted. Immediately I feel guilty. I should be posting more. Why don't I?

I could use the old "I'm busy" excuse. I could list all of the stuff I have to juggle—work, family, church, house. . . on an on it goes. (Are you asleep yet?) I know you can relate.

But the truth of the matter is that I don't blog more because I am a perfectionist.

If you only knew how I agonize over every word of everything I write. First I go back and forth about the topic. Is this relevant? Can I really speak to these ideas? Will it have any impact on the readers? Then I fret about the writing itself.  I read and reread each post, trying to make it better. When it's finally "done," I sit with my finger poised over the publish button. Should I or shouldn't I? Is it really good enough? Are there any grammar mistakes? (Oh, the life of an editor!) ARRRRGGGGH!

I know what the real problem is. I'm addicted to having to be perfect. I've struggled with perfectionism for years, and I know I'm not the only one. Most women today feel the pressure to be perfect in some area of their lives—to have the perfect home, the perfect children, the perfect appearance, the perfect marriage. It's insane the lengths we go to create the illusion that our lives are straight out of Martha Stewart Living (or Focus on the Family.)

When my illusion of the perfect life starts to crack, I resort to all kinds of tricks to get things back together. I yell. I manipulate. I bribe. It's not pretty. I end up hurting the people I love the most.

What about in the Bible, aren't we commanded to be perfect? "Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect." (Matthew 5:48) I did a little study of the word "perfect" and I found out that it doesn't have anything to do with being flawless or without sin.  Instead it means to be mature or complete. Many verses that discuss perfection explain the type of attitude a mature person.

A mature person . . .

• loves her enemies
• endures hardship 
• knows that she is being made mature through Christ's sacrifice on the cross
• is not ruled by fear
• is more mature when she is weak than when she is strong (because then she has to depend upon God.)

That last one really gets me to thinking. My addiction to perfection is really a desire to play God. It's totally up to me to craft my little flawless world. Perfectionism is really selfishness. My kids need to be well-behaved and perfectly dressed. No one can ever have a bad attitude. Discipline is more about controlling behavior than training in love. 

I think it's also related to my desire to please people. If everything looks good in my life, people will praise me. But I think perfectionism pushes people away. Who wants to be a friend with someone who has no problems? Her perfect life only highlights the problems in my only life. And what happens when I can't live up to her standards? 

What if I focused on the biblical idea of being mature instead of being perfect? What would that look like? Maturity realizes that sometimes it's sometimes more important to spend time with my husband than clean my house. Maturity allows children to make mistakes. Maybe I'd realize that kids will sometimes have bad attitudes and I could see it as an opportunity to train kids instead of as an affront to my authority. Maturity knows when something is a big deal and when something really doesn't matter. Maturity offers grace to people instead of condemnation. 

So I'm going to take a step toward freedom from perfectionism and stop writing right now. I know this blog isn't perfect. There are probably spelling mistakes and phrases that don't make sense. It could be much clearer and more effective. I could rewrite it until I think it's perfect, but I'm not going to. It's not perfect and that's okay. 

I'm hitting publish . . . 

I can't hear you!

Recently a friend and I were talking about how much we avoid silence. We fill every moment of the day with sound—the radio, the television, music. If I happen to have some time alone in the house, it's eerie. I can't stand the quiet. After about five minutes, I'm running for my ipod and filling the house with noise.

Filling every moment of the day with sound keeps me from being able to hear what is really important--God's still, small voice. Often in the Bible God's followers must get away and be quiet in order for him to speak to them. Moses heard God's whispering on the mountain, Jesus in the desert.

Why don't I take more time to sit in silence and talk to God and then listen to him speak to me? Sometimes I think I'm scared of what I might hear. I don't really want to know when I've sinned or how God is calling me to change. But when I'm quiet, I also hear the things I long to hear from my God--"I love you. You are my precious child. I have a plan for you. You can trust me." When I avoid quiet time because I don't want to hear the hard things, I also miss out on the words of comfort.

Somehow sitting quietly doesn't feel like I'm accomplishing anything. I love to read my Bible. I just feel like I'm filling up my spiritual gas tank. I can count how many verses I've read or how many blanks I've filled in my study guide. I'm making progress. I can check it off the list. But how do you measure what is accomplished by stillness before an awesome God? How do you measure intimacy with God?

Recently, I've felt led to turn off the radio in my car on the way to work. Usually I listen to the news or to Christian radio. These aren't bad and can be good and encouraging, but I want more. I want some time to pray for people in my life and listen to how God wants to use me to encourage them. I need to offer some challenging situations to God and then listen for his eternal perspective on them. He has given us the Holy Spirit to indwell us and to teach us the truth. But how can I learn if I'm not paying attention?

I'm excited to get away for part of the day next Saturday at the ladies' retreat. I know that God is always ready to speak. When we take time to listen, he murmurs his words of love and encouragement. God won't yell at you over drone of the television. He waits in the silence for you to come to him. What are you waiting for?

Romans 8:35-39

“Can anything ever separate us from Christ’s love?”

“Does it mean he no longer loves us if we have trouble or calamity, or are persecuted, or are hungry or cold or in danger or threatened with death? . . .”

Does it mean he longer loves us if our car doesn’t start or our business never takes off?

What about if the cancer returns or the surgery didn’t work?

What if I lose my job or my house or my retirement savings?

Does it mean he no longer loves us if the only car we can afford is a ten-year-old lemon or if our house is a “fixer-upper”?

Does it mean he no longer loves us if our kids rebel, our parents get divorced, or our spouse has an affair?

No, despite all these things, overwhelming victory is ours through Christ, who loved us.

If this is true then, Christ’s love for us is not demonstrated by an abundance of blessings or a lack of trouble. God’s love for us is not measured by the size of our bank account or our popularity in our social circle.

Victory is ours. The ultimate foes—sin, Satan, and death—are defeated through Christ Jesus. Could the physical troubles of this world pale in comparison to the spiritual promises of knowing Jesus?

“And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from his love. Death can’t, and life can’t. The angels can’t, and the demons can’t.”

Controlling in-laws, and whiny children can’t. Bankruptcy can’t, and the tax auditor can’t.

My own fickle feelings about whether God loves me can't separate me from God's love

“Our fears for today, our worries about tomorrow, and even the powers of hell can’t keep God’s love away.”

Not my own stupidity or foolish choices. The times when I run head long into sin or the times when I inch up as close as I can get and dip my little toe into evil. Nothing can keep God’s love away.

Satan, the deceiver, and all his minions of tricky little demons can put all their heads together and try as they might they can’t keep God’s love away.

Because God's love isn't based upon me, it's based upon his unchangeable character.

“Whether we are high above the sky or in the deepest ocean, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Jesus Christ our Lord.”

There is nowhere, no how, no place on earth, under the earth, or in heaven that will separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

Amen. Amen. Amen.

Romans 8:35–39

A Sinking Feeling

 It's late at night and there's a storm at sea. The winds are howling, and a ship full of rough fishermen are scared. They're rowing against the wind, trying to stay afloat, wondering if they are going to make it to shore.

Suddenly, one of them points to something out in the distance. The others follow his finger to a shadowy figure hovering over the water. Wait, it's not hovering. It's moving directly toward the boat. This boat full of rough sailors begins to scream like little girls. AHHH! A ghost!

Peering over the side of the boat, Peter suddenly hears Jesus' voice. Wait a minute. It's not a ghost; it's Jesus. "It's alright! I'm here!" Jesus calls out.

Now Peter could've left it at that. He could have sighed with relief and wonder and chalked it up as another incredible feat of this miracle man, but he didn't.

Perhaps Peter's mind was filled with the amazing miracle he had witnessed earlier that evening when he had seen Jesus take an afternoon snack and transform it into dinner for over five thousand people. Perhaps Jesus' challenge to the disciples, when they suggested that the people should go home and eat, was still ringing in his ears. "You feed them." Rather than believe in the power of Jesus, the disciples had just looked at each other in disbelief. "How are we going to that with just a little bread and some fish?"

With this embarrassing display of faithlessness still fresh in his mind, Peter wasn't going to be ashamed again. If it really was Jesus (and not a ghost!) out there, Peter was going to show him that he had faith this time. Peter cries out,  "Lord, if it is you. Tell me to come to you on the water!"

The wind howled. Rain blinded him. But he heard Jesus' voice loud and clear: "Come on."

One leg over the side of the boat, then the other. No time to think, just go. Waves beat against him, but he's not sinking. He's gliding on the water. It's working. He's doing it. . . He's walking to Jesus. He's passing the faith test.

But the waves are so high; the wind so strong. Fear sinks in and pulls him down into the water. But Jesus is there instantly, pulling him up out of the water and into the safety of the boat. Then and only then, the wind stops. The lake becomes a smooth mirror reflecting the pale moon.

Then the entire boat bursts out in praise. If they didn't believe before, they certainly believe now. Jesus is the Son of God.

But Peter sits in the bottom of the boat in a puddle of water. He is still thinking about Jesus' words to him as He reached out and saved him from a one-way trip to the bottom of the lake: "You don't have much faith. Why did you doubt me?"

"You don't have much faith" is an observation, but it must have hurt Peter. His rating on the faith-o-meter ranked somewhere between a pinch and a smidgin. He's not going to be voted the most faith-filled disciple any time soon.

"Why did you doubt me?" I'm pretty sure Jesus means this as a rhetorical question. He's not really looking for an answer. He just wants Peter to mull it over a little bit. "What's holding you back from completely trusting in me?" he queries.

Let's leave Peter shivering in the bottom of the boat for a moment and fast-forward to Matthew chapter 15, where a Gentile (!) woman (!!) is praised for her faith. Ouch! That had to hurt the egos of Peter and his macho Jewish friends.

But wait, there's more. In verses 32–39, once again there's a crowd of people to feed. Certainly this time the disciples will remember the miracle Jesus performed before. Certainly they'll believe that Jesus will provide for the crowd. Nope. Once again, Peter and the disciples are throwing their hands in the air. "Where would we get enough food out here in the wilderness?" they ask Jesus.

But don't count Peter out just yet. In Matthew 16 Jesus asks his disciples who they think he is, and Peter is first one to pipe up, "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God." Then Peter gets some awesome affirmations from Jesus. Jesus blesses him and gives him a glimpse into how he will used to further the kingdom of God.

Back to Peter in the bottom of the boat. Think about this: no one else even attempted to get out of the boat. Just a few hours before, Peter had refused to believe that Jesus could provide food for thousands of people. Now his eyes were open to the possibility of what he could do with God's help. In Peter's water-walking (or perhaps water-falling), there is spiritual progress. His faith had grown a little.

Jesus doesn't see Peter's failure as permanent, but as an part of a journey. Jesus makes an honest judgement when he says, "You don't have much faith." There's not much, but there's some. That means there is room for growth. Then Jesus poses a question to help Peter get to the crux of his unbelief. "Why did you doubt me?" I like the fact that the verb is past tense. It's not "Why do you doubt me?" It's almost like Jesus sees the doubt as something that happened in one instance, but he doesn't consider it a continual part of Peter's life. Jesus is already looked ahead to Peter's faith growing and increasing.

Maybe in your life right now you can totally relate to Peter curled up in the fetal position in the bottom of the boat. You were in the middle of the storm, and you stepped out in faith. You gave it your best shot, but the wind was too strong. You sank. This isn't the end of your story. Keep on learning from Jesus. Keep reading the Word and praying. You can't see what the next chapter in the book is, but it might be a faith triumph.

Like Peter, take the opportunity to learn from failure. Take the time to ponder those hard questions: Why do I doubt? What is holding me back from completely trusting God? Someone said that we learn more from failure than we ever learn from success. Instead of running from the shame and disappointment, ask God to forgive you and heal the broken places.

Remember that when Jesus got back into boat, the storm instantly disappeared and everyone in the boat worshiped him. In your struggle, remember to praise the God who rescued you even when you deserved to sink.

I wonder if later when they were safely on shore, the disciples didn't give Peter a rough time about his walk that turned into a swim. And I wonder if Peter didn't later come to realize that what appeared to be a huge failure was the first step to deep faith.

Don't let that sinking feeling get you down. Keep on getting out of the boat and walking toward Jesus.

How Does Our Garden Grow?

I love buying fresh flowers. Roses, gerbera daisies, lilies. I can't resist them. It's amazing how a vase of flowers can brighten an entire room.

Unfortunately, cut flowers don't last long. After a few days their blossoms fades; after a week they are brown and wilted. Flowers that I grow in my garden are a lot more work, but also much more gratifying.

If you've ever tried to grow flowers, you know that it's not easy. You have to plant the seeds according the specific directions on those tiny little packages. Care must be taken to water the seeds every day. When the seedlings appear, you must pull up some of them, or the plants will grow too closely together and choke each other. Then of course there is constant weeding and watering. Oh, yes, fertilizer helps too.

It takes months of persistent care for the plant to finally produce a flower. When it does, it is a beautiful thing.

That's why our Women's Ministry is called "Bloom." When a plant reaches its full potential, it bursts forth in color and fragrance. It's a visual display of the healthy growth of the plant. In the same way, when a women is maturing spiritually, she is truly beautiful, bring joy to everyone in her life.

But flowers in a garden don't bloom by chance. And unlike cut flowers, you can't just buy your spiritual maturity next to the hand sanitizer in the checkout aisle at Wal-mart. There's a Spirit-led process that starts with a tiny seed of faith. That seed of faith needs fertilizer: the Word of God, prayer, and the encouragement of other Christians.

The goal of Bloom is to help all women become fully-devoted followers of Jesus Christ. In order for all the women of Rechurch to bloom the way God intends, we have planned events that will help women grow from seed to flower.

Plant the Seeds—opportunities to experience God's love through friendship. Great for women who aren't yet believers or for women who long to take the first steps to get to know other women.

• Bunko the 2nd Thursday of the month, 7 PM, meeting in various homes. We need people to host and provide simple snacks. 

Apply the Fertilizer—times for concentrated spiritual growth through small groups, retreats, and conferences where women can dig into God's Word and apply its truth to their lives.

• Ladies' small group on Monday nights from 6-8 p.m.
• Mini-retreat on Saturday, October 16 from 8 to 1 p.m.

Growing the Garden—events and outings to help women connect with other women.

• Shopping trip planned for November or early December.  Details to be announced.

Bloom in the Community—opportunities to spread God's love in the community though service projects.

• If you have an idea of how we can do this, let me know!

Whether your faith seems like a tiny seed or you're blooming like crazy, you belong at Rechurch. Together, we are God's incredible garden filled with flowers of every shape and color. Don't let fear or busyness hold you back. Together we can bloom.

What are you waiting for? Come on. Let's grow!

andrea

Minor Prophet, Major Message

Ever read the book of Hosea? It's one of those minor prophets—those brief books at the end of the Old Testament that never get a lot of playing time during Sunday morning services.

I'm thinking that back in the day, it was pretty cool to be a prophet—even a minor one. Prophets listened to God's message and then passed that message along to Israel. Sometimes God even used you to do some cool miracles, you know, healing people or making the food in poor people's pantry last for years. Sometimes you were one of those unlucky prophets who had to tell a bad king to shape up. That's why some prophets ended up being public enemy number one.

Hosea was one of those unlucky prophets with a strange calling from God. I'm sure when God first called him was like "Okay, God, I'm really excited about my mission. What's it going to be? I kind of like the whole Elijah thing, where it doesn't rain for a long time, but ravens show up with food for me. Although wouldn't it be more cool to have like, I don't know, lions bring me the food? You know it might show off your skills and add a little dramatic flare to the story when people are telling it years later around the campfire. Of course, I'd be just as happy to make the sun stand still or heal a leper. Whatever YOU want, God."


I can imagine Hosea's disappointment when God tells him that the central job of his prophetic career is to  go and marry a prostitute. But to his credit, Hosea obeys God. He marries Gomer. (You'd think she'd have the sense to change her name to something more appealing like Lola or Candy.) Then Hosea and Gomer have a son, and God tells Hosea to name him after a place where a horrible massacre took place. Imagine naming your kid Hiroshima. Then Hosea and Gomer have a few more kids, and God tells them to name them stuff like "Not loved" and "Not my people." Nice. Just make it easy for the bullies at school.

Gomer runs away and become a prostitute again and God tells Hosea to go get her and buy her back from slavery. Hosea does. Why? What is the point? My husband says that it's like performance art on a huge scale. Everyone is looking at Hosea saying, "Dude, you are crazy. Why did you marry a whore? Why didn't you let her go when she bolted? She's no good. You're better off without her." But God was making a point.

Then comes Hosea's shining moment. He stands up on his soap box in front of all of Israel and says, "This is a picture of you and God. Can you guess who is the whore? That's right. It's you, Israel. You've been running after false gods, cheating on me, treating yourselves with no respect, getting involved in every sin in the book. Yet, I still want you. I want you to come back. I'm not going to start over with some other people. I want you."

In the book of Hosea, God shows his dark side. He says he's going to do some pretty awful things to Judah and Israel. (The two kingdoms which make up the nation of Israel at this point in the Old Testament.) Reading the book of Hosea without a New Testament perspective is pretty scary. God seems rude and angry, hell-bent on punishing his wayward people. As I read it, my stomach churned at the violence described. I kept wondering, "God, what is going on? Why are you acting like some angry man who's been cheated on?"

Then I came to chapter 11. God describes his relationship with his people as a father who lovingly cares for a little child. He mourns for them and he comes to a decision:

My people are hell-bent on leaving me. 
   They pray to god Baal for help. 
   He doesn't lift a finger to help them.
But how can I give up on you, Ephraim? 
   How can I turn you loose, Israel?
How can I leave you to be ruined like Admah, 
   devastated like luckless Zeboim?
I can't bear to even think such thoughts. 
   My insides churn in protest.
And so I'm not going to act on my anger. 
   I'm not going to destroy Ephraim.
And why? Because I am God and not a human. 
   I'm The Holy One and I'm here—in your very midst.


God, an emotional being, vents his deepest feelings, sharing his frustrations at being rejected by the people he created and rescued from slavery time and time again. Yet in the end, he can not totally forsake them. He disciplines them to bring them back. Yet he will not do the evil things he contemplated doing. Why? Because he is God and not human. He is holy and doesn't act the way we humans do. 


Our book club from church recently read Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers. This excellent book weaves the basic elements of the story of Hosea and Gomer into an amazing story of unconditional love. The central character is a prostitute named Angel. Rivers deftly shapes the character of Angel so that the reader can get a glimpse of why Gomer ran from Hosea—and why we sometimes run from God. It's a great book, and I highly recommend reading it.
Amazing.

Baptismal Affirmations

¹³Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John. ¹⁴But John tried to deter him, saying, "I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?"
 ¹⁵Jesus replied, "Let it be so now; it is proper for us to do this to fulfill all righteousness." Then John consented.
 ¹⁶As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him. ¹⁷And a voice from heaven said, "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased."
Matthew 3:13-17


I'm always amazed when I read this passage. Jesus is baptized, a special moment in the life of a Christ-follower, when a voice from heaven speaks words of encouragement and affirmation. God proudly claims parenthood of Jesus. He confirms his love and acceptance of Jesus.




The timing here is important. Jesus has not even begun his ministry. Right after this he will go into the desert to fast and be tempted by Satan. Then he will begin preaching and calling his disciples. He hasn't even done anything yet--no miracles, no official preaching. But God is pleased with his Son.


This little story helps me see the relationship between God and Jesus in a new light. Too often I view God as all-powerful and all-knowing. He's the busy CEO, keeping the universe on tract, listening to a prayer here, rescuing people from burning buildings there. Sometimes it's hard for me to see God as Jesus' father. The father who takes time out from running the universe to come to Jesus' baptism. The father who is not afraid to say "I love you" in front of a crowd of people. The father who takes pride in his child, who delights in his son. God seems genuinely thrilled with Jesus and bursts out in a spontaneous chorus of love in front of . . . well, God and everyone.


There are moments when I'm just overwhelmed by love for my children. I just have to reach out and hug them and tell them I love them. Usually I just grab them out of the blue. Carter wiggles away and says "That was random." Sometimes I'll be dropping them off at school and in the middle of a crowd of kids I'll call out, "I love you, Bubbers." And Carter will say under his breath, "Mom, don't say that here! You're embarrassing me."


They don't understand what it is like to have a child a separate person who came from you. A person with unique thoughts and a will of his own, yet wholly amazing. A parent's love for a child is not based upon their performance. They haven't done anything yet. They don't have a job, haven't written a book, or brought about world peace. I love my kids because they are mine.


The scripture doesn't record Jesus reaction, but I can imagine he had a huge smile on his face. He didn't hang his head in embarrassment or look around to see who had heard. He was secure in his Father's love.


When I read that this is how God feels about Jesus. It helps me believe that God feels this way about me too. Through Jesus Christ, I am adopted by God; I'm his child. Sometimes, I put my own name in the verse. "This is my daughter, Andrea, whom I love, with her I am well-pleased." 


Sisters, may you experience the love and acceptance of God in your own life. May you feel God's delight in you. You are his beloved daughter, in whom he is well-pleased.

Bully Me

Carter was late.

Natasha and I had been sitting in the van on the street behind the school with the air conditioning full blast for ten minutes. I was hot. And I was starting to get angry. Had he stopped to play on the playground? Was he distracted by some friends Where was he?

 As I got out of the car to look for him, I saw him coming down the sidewalk, the top of his giant backpack bobbing along behind his blond head. "Carter, where have you been?" I began, and then I stopped. He was crying.

"What happened?" I asked, bending down to look him in the eyes.

"There was a bully," Carter explained, "He grabbed me and squeezed me really tightly. Then he threw me down and put sand down the back of my shirt."

Then Carter said, "One minute we were playing together and the next he was grabbing me. I thought he was my friend."

I put my arm around Carter and walked him to the car. Sometimes bullies come from unexpected places, I explained.

I could relate to Carter's feelings. It had been a rough day at work. During a meeting, several things had happened to make me feel insecure about my abilities. Then the negative self-talk began, "I can't do this. I don't know as much as they do. I shouldn't speak up. I'll just say something dumb. I have nothing to contribute."

Instead of banishing these thoughts immediately, I invited them in like old friends. Sit down and stay awhile. Would you like something to drink? A snack, perhaps?

Like Carter's friend turned bully, I become my own worst enemy. A frienemy.

Last fall my neighbor called me and told me that my son Cory and her son had been bullied at school by a kid who had been calling them names. "Did Cory tell you what happened?" No, he hadn't. He had come home and marched into the kitchen to get a snack just like every other day. I went to his room to find out what had happened. I'll never forget what he said, "Mom, what that kid said didn't hurt me. His words had no power over me. You can't be bullied unless you give someone power to hurt you."

Yet I hurt myself every day by allowing harmful lies to ramble around in my head. I can't blame it on other people. No one can make me feel insecure unless I let them. In a weird way, I'm bullying myself.

But then a different thought occurs to me.  When I believed in Jesus, God gave me the Holy Spirit. The Bible says that I am the temple, the dwelling place, of God. The God of the universe trusts me enough to come and live inside of me. Ephesians 1 says that when I believed in Jesus, God gave me the Holy Spirit as a seal that guarantees that I belong to God and that someday I will inherit eternal life. The Spirit marks me as his precious child. The God of the universe allows me to carry around his Spirit every day. He didn't wait to see if I could perform well enough. There wasn't a trial run to see if I could make the cut. He just lavished himself on me. God believes in me. He trusts me.

I know that I must believe in God, but rarely do I consider that God believes in me.

As I mediate on this, my insecurities start to melt away.  I want to pipe up in the meeting at work and say, "Excuse me, but the God of the universe is living inside of me right now." I can just imagine the looks I would get from the president of the company. Maybe I can't say it aloud, but I can say it to myself. I can slam the door when the negative thoughts come to call. I can turn the key in the lock and then sit down with my soulmate, the Holy Spirit, for an encouraging chat. I can remember that my security comes from Christ and not from my ability to perform as an employee, a mother, a wife, or even as a Christian.

It's time I instituted a zero-tolerance policy for bullies. And that includes myself.

My Grandpa's Legacy

Last week my 87-year-old grandfather passed away. The family asked me to share some memories about Grandpa at his funeral. As I reflected on his life, I was amazed at his faithfulness. Grandpa was never a flashy guy. He was an Iowa farmer, like his parents before him. He knew what he believed and he lived by his convictions. I don't think I really appreciated him fully until I took the time to think about his life last week. Here's what I wrote for the funeral. . .

I Corinthians 13: 4-8 says 

4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 8Love never fails.

As I reflected on the life of Grandpa Allyn, this passage came to mind. I was struck by the consistency of what loves does and doesn’t do, the list of always and nevers. It was with this same kind of consistency that Grandpa Allyn lived his life. Grandpa really was pretty uncomplicated. He lived his life by simple truths of the Word of God. So in the spirit of I Corinthians 13, we like to share some of the always and nevers of Grandpa Allyn’s life.

Grandpa always began his day by having devotions with Grandma around the breakfast table.

Grandpa never failed to do the chores on the farm, come rain or shine.

Grandpa always spent quality time with his grandchildren, taking us to the fish-hatchery, the Strawberry Point zoo, the Dairy Queen, or just on a Sunday afternoon drive through Manchester.

Grandpa never let us win at Uno.

Grandpa was always at church whenever the doors were open.

Grandpa never missed his afternoon nap in HIS chair in the front room of the old farmhouse.

Grandpa always let us think we were helping him out on the farm.

Grandpa never let the grandkids win at croquet.

Grandpa always prayed for his family faithfully.

Grandpa never let us win at ping-pong.

Grandpa always played golf everyday after he retired.

Grandpa never let us win at caroms.

Grandpa always said “All donations are appreciated” when we accidentally shot his caroms into the pocket.

Grandpa never knew a stranger. He could strike up a conversation with anyone, in any place, at any time.

His family was always amazed and sometimes embarrassed by this. . .

Grandpa never missed the opportunity to serve the Lord by helping those in need by giving people rides to church.

Grandpa always believed that his family was just as passionate about genealogy as he was.

Grandpa never cussed when he was teaching us how to drive the tractor.

At Christmas, Grandpa always gave us egg cartons of golf balls he had collected when he played golf.

Grandpa never failed to ask us questions: “What’s the weather like?” “Is there snow on the ground?” “Did you shoot a deer yet?” “Didn’t I do good?"

Grandpa always held his grandkids on his knee and sang his lyrically-challenged, yet oddly comforting Boody-Boodle song when we were grandkids.

Grandpa always treated everyone the same no matter how much money they had.

Grandpa always tried to live his life as an example of Christ for all of us to mirror.

Grandpa always put his trust in Christ alone as his Savior and thanked God every day for his gift of salvation.

Thanks, Grandpa for always being patient and kind, for not being self-seeking or easily angered, for not keeping record of our wrongs. Thank you, Grandpa, for never delighting in evil but rejoicing in the truth. You always tried to protect, to trust, and to persevere.

Grandpa, we love you and we know you are celebrating with your Savior in heaven.

Thoughts on Turning 40

Sunday I turned 40.

I wasn't sure how I would feel about reaching this milestone. In the last year I've really started to feel my age. My knees complain loudly when I sit too long on the floor with my kids. I've begun to notice those fine lines (as the cosmetic companies like to call them) developing around my eyes and mouth. More and more stubborn gray hairs are coming in and my little box of hair coloring is becoming less and less effective. Everything seems to be sagging a bit, heading south, but not just for the winter.

My initial dismay about these changes was a bit perplexing to me. After all I've always prided myself on not being absorbed with my looks. I guess I was just in denial about how important my appearance is to me. The last few months I started looking at women in their 40s in magazines. They look really good, I thought to myself. Then I realized that most of them have had a little help to help them look that good. A little plastic surgery goes a long way.

I scorned the thought of having work done. I would be proud of my wrinkles. I'd wear my age like a badge of experience. Every time I saw the lines around my mouth, I'd remember they were caused by fits of unrestrained laughter. Those wrinkles around my eyes are from smiling at my kids or winking at my husband. Why would I want to erase the effects of happiness?

Whom do I want to look younger for? My kids? My husband? No, I really want to look younger so other people won't think I look old. My family loves me for who I am, not what I look like.

Sometimes I get down when I think of all the things I wanted to accomplish by this time in my life. All the things I've wanted to do but haven't yet. It's funny though, the things we think we will do in our lives are always events like getting married, having children, and getting a dream job. But these aren't the only things that make up a life. What about the innumerable little things we do everyday. Taking time to encourage a friend, playing with your children, praying with your spouse, giving to someone in need, feeling the love of God. It's these tiny, everyday things that make up a life, but never show up in an obituary.

All of these thoughts caused me some distress leading up to my birthday. But last weekend changed all that.

Saturday was going to be a relaxing day. I had nothing scheduled except dinner with my parents that night. I decided I needed to wash the gray out of my hair before I turned the big 4-0. There I was in my kitchen, a strong chemical smell wafting from the damp hair piled up on my head, when the doorbell rang. I tried to get one of the kids to answer it. When yelling for my kids didn't work, I went to the door myself. There was my entire family--my parents and my brother, his wife, and their kids--standing at the door. Of course they were videotaping me and my beautiful hair.

I was wisked off to the spa, then a hotel with a water park, and then dinner. The next day there was a birthday party with cheesecake. To top it all off, my mom and sister-in-law created a memory book for me. They contacted over 40 people from my life, both family and friends who wrote messages to me. There were notes from people I hadn't talked to in years. It was amazing to see my life contained in one book. Even now I get a lump in my throat thinking about all the people I've impacted in my life. It was strange to see them all contained in one book. In a weird way, it was like seeing all the little things, the day to day things I've done for my entire life, captured in a book. I felt both humbled and encouraged.

After last weekend, I haven't been too worried about those lines and wrinkles. I'm less concerned with which bathing suit will cover up the cellulite on my thighs. (Okay, a LITTLE LESS concerned, but I'm only 40. I'm not dead.) Friends keep telling me that the forties are best decade yet. I plan to make sure they are.

Thanks to everyone who helped make my day special.

Love,

andrea

Paradigm Shift

She was just the lady in the cubicle across from mine.


Well, to be honest, she was "the rather annoying lady in the cubicle across from mine." She was negative, always complaining about something—work, the weather, co-workers, the government—you name it, she'd complain about it. I'd plaster a sympathetic smile on my face and politely nod as she talked, but in my head I wrote her off. I'd already cut her up and put her into neat little boxes.


Thirtysomething, married, no kids—probably too caught up in herself to have children. She seemed to avoid getting to know people at work—anti-social. Pessimist. Complainer. I stuck on all my neat little labels, dusted off my hands, and felt rather satisfied with myself.


Then today, she shattered all my boxes.


She came over to my cubical and asked me to pray for her. Okay, I said. Then she explained that she had to have a difficult conversation with a friend about a man the friend was dating. She was concerned that the man might be abusive. "Of course, I tend to be overprotective." she said. Then she paused and said, "You know my story, right?"


I shook my head. No, I didn't know her story.


There in the middle of my cubicle the words tumbled out in hushed tones. She had been married to an abusive man. They had a beautiful little girl who charmed everyone. "My daughter even talked to me about God and Jesus,"  she said, her eyes large with amazement, "and I NEVER took her to church." The woman explained that when she couldn't take the abuse any longer, she took her six-year old daughter and left him. She was getting help, turning her life around. Then one day while the daughter was in the care of some friends, the ex-husband came and took the girl. He killed her and then himself.
That was eleven years ago. Since then she had slowly put her life back together. She had married a man who was honest and stable. She was working toward her life-long dream of owning and training a horse. "But I don't think I could ever have any more children. No one could take the place of my daughter."


I felt as if someone had taken a bat and hit me in the head. All my neat little glass boxes shattered into pieces. There were tiny shards in my hair. I could hear the glass crunch under my feet. Before my eyes, the labels suddenly changed. Selfish, negative, and complaining melted into wounded, courageous, hopeful, resilient.


At first I wept for my co-worker and her pain. Then I wept angry, remorseful tears for myself. How could I be so judgmental? Why do I feel the need to label people? Perhaps I'm lazy. Loving people unconditionally takes time and who has a surplus of that? It's faster and easier to stuff people into boxes. Perhaps I'm stingy with my love. I only have so much emotional energy—barely enough for my family and friends. Sorry, folks, but some of you get written off.


Unlike Jesus, we can't go up to the woman at the well and see everything she had ever done. We only get what people choose to reveal to us, and often those insufficient glimpses color our entire attitude toward the person. Grace tells us to love people whether or not they chose to reveal the forces that have shaped their soul. Grace compels us to love people whether or not we feel their backstory justifies their behavior. Grace refuses to affix labels or stuff people into boxes. Loves always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.


So I sit here in my little cubicle and vow to change. No more boxes. No more labels. 


Excuse me, but I've got a mess to clean up.


andrea stark


"It is a serious thing . . . to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no 'ordinary' people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. . . . And our charity must be a real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinner . . ."
—C.S. Lewis

What Is Your Hook?

   I have been procrastinating this task long enough. Why? This is my first blog so I am a little nervous but I don't think that's it.  I used to write "stuff" but never really knew what to call it; my thoughts I guess,  it  just wasn't called blogging ten years ago. So anyway, here I sit; waiting, hoping and trusting the thoughts will come as they used to.
  
    I think the reason I have been putting off this task is because I couldn't decide what I was going to write about.  This has always been a stuggle for me.....making decisions....even litttle ones. This past week there was a situation in which God showed me something rather significant about this struggle of mine. It's as if he gave me an outside perspective or let me see an  instant replay of what I had just done.

    There were some small decisions to be made within a group. I  took control by telling the others, in a not so obvious way I hope, what they should do.  So now, the decision I had to make for mysef, was made by default, right? I had no choice but to do what was left.  In another scenario I might have said, "you decide, I really don't care."   Whatever the scenario, I put off decisions or procrastinate becasuse I fear others may be disappointed in my choice or my failure.

    After seeing the instant replay of what took place I remember thinking, " I can't believe I just did that!" It seemed so out of character for me, or was it?  Through this silly and seeminly insignificant situation the Holy Spirit convicted me of what my indecisiveness really is; selfishness and control, rooted in pride and fear.

    How does this effect my life as a whole? It's as if I choose to sit in the passenger seat and put others in the drivers seat. It's the safe seat  for me. It's the way I keep myself safe from the affects of disappointing myself and others. It's one of the hooks Satan  uses to hold me back.

    You see, when I was growing up, life experiences taught me to believe this lie; when you disappoint someone, they stop loving you.  Those experiences were hurtful, the kind of hurt I did't want to keep feeling.  As I grew, the lie grew more powerful.  For protection, I started to build a wall around my heart.  With every added painful experience, I would reinforce the wall, making it a little bit safer and stronger.  This false perception of my experiences, led to my distorted thinking and the distorted thinking influenced my behavior.  After time, the repeated behavior became a habit; something done often, even mindlessly after many years.

     I wonder how many opportunities I missed because of this nasty hook of the enemy. How much of life have I missed by living in fear of diappointing myself and others. I want to break this bad habit of retreating to the passenger seat.  I want to live my life with more intention, making the  moments of my day count for Him. I want to get in the drivers seat.

     It's not easy to take a close look at ourselves. It's not easy to break a bad habit.  My thinking must change to make way for new behaviors. The truth must replace the lie and  the truth will set me free.  The Holy Spirit is doing a good  work in me and I will be in a better place through this process.  I love the verse that says God will never give up on me; the work He has started in me will be completed.  He's got me in His hands I know that for sure.  I can feel  his hands around me as He  whittles away at that wall around my heart. 

     The process is hard but it is far better when there is less of me and more of Him.

shirley
   
     

Random thoughts at 4 AM

It's early. Too early. But I can't sleep.

Waking from strange dreams I am overcome by random worries and fears.


Did I put the garage door down last night? Am I doing a good enough job at work? Will God really provide for all our needs? What if my ideas of needs are different from God's idea of needs?

The questions come in the early hours. Satan catches me unaware. So I get up and come downstairs to make coffee. And reflect as I'm typing

It's been a few weeks since I've posted something. They've been busy weeks filled with kids' activities and a few days away with Jason. The days have been a blur. I've been in perpetual motion, a moving target. Instead of dealing with emotions, I've been stuffing them and forging ahead.

Then at 4 am they catch up with me.

Why can't things be easy? Why must relationships change? How can two people see things so differently?

During the day I can distract myself with tasks. If I can't order my thoughts, at least I can wash clothes or clean the shower. I attack the soap scum with a vengeance. I am queen of the laundry.

But at night, my mind is vulnerable and Satan knows it.

So I get up. Throw on my slippers and robe. Make some coffee and sit in my chair.

Fingers curled around the steaming mug, I breathe in and out slowly.

My husband and I once attended a service at a Jewish synagogue, and the rabbi reminded us that every time we breath, we speak the Hebrew name of God. Yahweh. I whisper God's name as I slowly take a breath in. Yah. Then out. Weh. Yah—weh. Yah—weh. He's as close as the breath I breathe. He lives inside of me through the power of the Holy Spirit. I know He's here, present with me.

The questions fade in the face of truth.

I have loved you with an everlasting love. I have drawn you with loving-kindness.


The Lord is close to the brokenhearted. And saves those who are crushed in Spirit.


I sought the Lord and he heard me; He delivered me from all my fears.


God has said, "Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you."


The night sky is giving way to dawn. I choose once again to put my trust in God. God, continue to give me the faith to believe. Yah–weh. Yah-weh. You are here with me.

andrea stark

Jumping off the Multitasking Merry-Go-Round

As I'm typing this, I'm trying to get my kids in bed, folding a load of laundry, and thinking about what I have to do tomorrow. . .and oh, yes, . . . shopping for a new spring coat at target.com. (Thank goodness for tabbed browsing!)


Yes, I'm a multitasker. I find it difficult to limit myself to doing one thing at a time. I'm addicted to the challenge of trying of eat breakfast, pack my kids' lunches, put on my makeup, and read the paper all at the same time. I find myself getting angry if I'm forced to only do one thing, like when I have to wait in line at the grocery store. I'm desperate for something to do. I start getting jittery. I look at the magazines. I catch up on the latest celebrity gossip. Are Brad and Angelina on or off this week? I organize the chapstick in my purse. I reorganize the groceries in my cart according to size, then type of packaging, then according to if their frozen, refrigerated, or canned.


(Okay, now I'm also checking movie times for this weekend. . .I'm telling you, the guy who invented tabbed browsing should be given the Nobel Peace Prize.)


Where was I? Oh, yeah. . .multi-tasking. . .I can't even watch television without folding the laundry or checking my e-mail. Doing one thing at a time just seems so unproductive. And it's all about getting things done, isn't it?


Lately my kids have been saying things like "Mom, you don't listen to me." Usually it's after I've asked them for the third time what they want for lunch. They told me the first time I asked, but somehow I can't remember what they said. I thought I heard someone talking, but their voice sounded like a fly buzzing in the Grand Canyon of my brain. I was thinking about the groceries I need to buy or the bills I have to pay. Somehow in all the things I had to do, listening to my child ended up low on the priority list.


Then my husband starts talking about the importance of living in the here and now. He's throwing around phrases like "be present in the current moment." Then there was something about "becoming like little children in order to see the kingdom of God." I guess children don't fret about the past or make plans for the future. They just focus on today, right now.


All these things have caused me to start thinking (as I fold, type, and shop online) maybe I'm missing something by trying to do too many things at once. Maybe I should just stop, sit down next to my daughter, look her in the eyes, and listen to her. Just listen and nothing else.


Maybe I'm missing something important by multi-tasking my life away, by never fully giving myself to one thing. Perhaps I'm not really living life the way God intended. My mind goes back to the old Mary and Martha story from Sunday School. Martha was my kind of girl—a born multitasker. I can just see Martha in all her flannelgraph glory, stirring her bowl and wearing a scowl on her paper face. But Mary is sitting cross-legged at Jesus' feet, smiling up at him. He was there, in her house and she wasn't going to miss a minute of time with her Savior.


I think I could learn something from Mary because I have to confess that I'm even guilty of multitasking when I'm trying to read my Bible, or praying, or just trying be quiet and rest in the presence of God. For some reason doing these things just doesn't feel as productive as serving at church or making a meal for someone who's sick. 


It hurts when my children tell me that I'm not listening to them. I've decided to be more aware of what I'm doing when they are talking. As much as possible, I want to stop and give them my full attention, to reign in my crazy brain so that I can be fully present, savoring the moment. 


It hurts to think about Jesus telling me that I'm not listening to him. Am I scared of what he might say if I really was quiet and tried to listen to him? What if I'm missing some of the best moments of my life by not savoring time with Him?


Okay, I'm closing the tabs. The laundry can wait until tomorrow. It's been on my bedroom floor for two days now. One more day of wrinkles isn't the end of the world. 


Wow, it feels kind of good to focus on just one thing.


"Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her."




andrea stark

I'm Insecure

Yep, I said it and I guess I've gotten over the fear of admitting it. I am insecure.

I am currently reading So Long Insecurity by Beth Moore and am learning how chronic insecurity is in our society today.

And in my life.

A few months ago, I remember pondering how insecurity and the desire for the approval of others is so interwoven into my life. That particular day, I talked with Jared on the phone while he was at work and told him the enormity of my discovery. Poor guy. These are the things I told Jer, maybe you can relate:

I clean my house with the disapproving thoughts of others playing through my mind. What would they say if they saw that dust bunny on the floor? As if they even notice.

After almost every conversation with a friend, I go over what was said and wonder if I was nice or compassionate enough, too pushy or opinionated, if I listened good enough, asked enough questions about their life or if I just used the time to talk about myself. Usually I feel like I have failed.

I love interior design and am completely insecure that people will think I am bad at it. Many times a day, I think of my friends or even the people from HGTV and wonder what they would criticize if they saw my house. Yeah, the people on HGTV don't even know I exist and I don't think my friends are worried about how I decorate.

I am paranoid that people won't agree with my parenting style and will hold it against me. I know God has made each one of us different and that's OK, but when it comes down to it, I want everyone to agree with me so that I am regarded as a good mother by everyone. Not gonna happen and I need to be OK with that.

I always feel like people are misunderstanding me and like I have to prove to them that I am a good Christian, loving wife, wise person etc. Do other people really even notice how I fail as much as I do? Am I beating myself up over failure that's not really important or even there?

I am regularly comparing my looks to others', my husband to others', my faith to others', my possessions to others', my relationships to others'. The list never ends in the comparison game.

I am so afraid of people thinking I am a controlling wife. This is probably one of my biggest fears. Even right now, I want to list a million reasons why I think I'm not. I often wish people knew the "real me".

I obsess when I feel like I have done something wrong (even if I haven't) and can't help but have a huge desire to make amends. I can't stand it when people don't like me.

It seems like almost everything I do or say, relates to some sort of insecurity.

I am a very relational person and so a lot of my insecurities relate to my relationships. When I step back and look at myself, I know I am good with my relationships, yet, my failures eat me alive.

Based on my personality, would most people think I harbor all these insecurities? Maybe not, but I guess that's why I share these things. My insecurities may be different or more or less extreme than yours but insecurity is so prevalent with women today, that I know I'm not alone.

Anyway, I haven't gotten to the "so what" part of my book yet, but I can't wait to know what it's going to say. My insecurities haunt me and I am dying for freedom. For now, I wanted to share with you the beginnings of my journey. I believe God wants me to come to the end of being ravaged by insecurity. I know He can set me free from this.  And you too, just in case you happen to know where I'm coming from.

If this sort of thing resonates with you- we are planning on going to Beth Moore's So Long Insecurity simulcast April 24th.  See more details on the right side of the blog.  Please pray and consider joining us.

Rachel Sweerin

Flower Power

I really need some flowers in my life right now. I stand and look out my front window at a shoulder high pile of snow. Last summer in that very spot a flock of golden daylilies bloomed. It was amazing. There were so many flowers the color of sunshine that they glowed. Neighbors whom I rarely talked to would stop and tell me how beautiful my flowers were, how much they enjoyed them. On summer afternoons I would sit on my porch with a glass of iced tea and watch my kids play in the yard with my flowers to keep me company.

But today a five-feet high mound of snow covers my flowers. I cling to the hope that they are under there--somewhere. I pray that their roots are still alive in the cold earth. They're bidding their time, waiting. Waiting like me for the first warm day when you can smell spring in the breeze. Waiting, not dead, just dormant.

Sometimes in my spiritual life I feel cold and dormant. I struggle with sin or fear. Why can't I be different, more loving and less selfish. I really want to be the person God has created me to be--loving, joyful, patient, kind, but forty winters of snow has accumulated on my soul. Will some areas of my life ever be beautiful? 

Since birth, one of my children has always been much smaller than average. Finally a few years ago we decided to run some tests to make sure there wasn't a medical reason for his slow growth. The doctor's final verdict: "He's just a late bloomer." This sounded more like grandmotherly advice than a professional diagnosis. I wanted a nice neat solution. Isn't there a medicine that will fix this problem?   

What the doctor was essentially saying is that my son will grow when his body is ready. Everything his body needs is there. It's just not quite the right time for him. So maybe the diagnosis should have been "He's just a different bloomer." His body isn't following the path of everyone else's and that's perfectly fine.

I try to think this way about my own life. Some areas of my life bloom faster and easier than others. I think this is a gift from God. Other areas are slower in growing. Each little hurdle is a struggle. I have to realize that this is okay. I learn much in the struggle. I learn to depend upon God, rather than my own strength. When I fail, I experience God's grace and gain the courage to try again. Growth happens in small increments through trials. God brings friends into my life to encourage me not to give up. I'm not a late bloomer. I'm just a different bloomer.

Sometimes I stand at my front window, and as I gaze at that pile of snow, I give my flowers a little pep talk. "Hang in there. Spring is coming. You're going to be so beautiful! I can't wait to see you!" Then I'm reminded of the verses in Ephesians 3 where Paul prays "May your roots go down deep into the soil of God's marvelous love. And may you have the power to understand, as all God's people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love really is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is so great you'll never fully understand it. Then you'll be filled with the fullness of life and power that comes from God." 

If I want to bloom, I've got to keep my roots planted in the truth that God loves me with an everlasting, supernatural love. God's love keeps me cooperating with the Spirit as He prunes away the dead leaves and stems in my life. His love motivates me to keep striving to become the woman God created me to be. His love is what will ultimately cause me to burst into bloom, bringing joy to Him and beauty to those around me. 

I cling to this hope: the snow will melt and the flowers will return. 

Hang in there, friends. Spring's coming.

andrea

Welcome to BloomBlog

Hello, Ladies of Rechurch.

I'm typing this with sweaty palms. It's our very first post on our new BloomBlog. I'm hoping and praying that this blog will be a place to share encouragement, as well as struggles with you. The ladies' leadership team (Rachel Sweerin, Shirley Sterk, and Rona McMurphy) have all agreed to contribute to the blog. We're hoping to post at least once a week and maybe more. 

Our goal is to help each other to grow, to blossom, to bloom, so that we can all become the women God called us to be. We need each other to do this. We have to be real, because pretending and hiding keep us from flourishing. It's our prayer that this blog will encourage you that you aren't alone. We're in this together. 

Are you ready? Let's grow.

andrea