Hidden Idolatry

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Even with truth living in and around me, somehow the lie came along too.

I believed in Jesus so young. No major questions, just a big Yes, I believe. I don’t ever remember saying yes to the lie, but it followed me anyway.

It’s the oldest lie on the books, the same lie that poisoned Eden. It wears the mask of something more, something better. But it spoils. After it weasels in to take root in our hearts.

God doesn’t truly love you, not enough. You need more. That’s the lie.

Did you know we can hold the truth in one hand, and reach for something better with the other?

We live in such a broken-down place, but we still build our towers to the skies. We fill ourselves up, or we try.

Even when we hold the truth, we can be living under the influence of the lies.

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We need to remember, on thousands of days–God loves us. Oh, how He loves and made a way to rescue us. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. He who came not to condemn the world, but to save it.

And we need to be reminded, Jesus is enough. He didn’t only die for us. He was raised to life for us. Because He IS life, and He wants to create new life in us.

Why do we still look for life in other places? We wouldn’t usually call it that. Okay, we’d never call it that.

But the root of all our sin is—we desire created things more than we desire the Creator. We are idolaters, of the hidden kind.

We need to remember who God is, and we need to remember who we are. And then, the only way for us, is to repent.

We need revival, the life of Jesus poured into us.

It starts here. Not at a spectacular event. Not under a big tent on a summer evening with a preacher’s voice booming and a call to come forward.

But here, in my heart, in the middle of April at my kitchen desk. With the Word open and my heart open. In this moment, I desire nothing more than Him. And when I stray from here, I need this revival again. {So I will need it by tomorrow. But actually much sooner.}

My life, in Christ, depends on it.

So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives IN HIM, rooted and built up in Him… Colossians 2:6-7

 

Glue {Five-Minute Fridays}

IMG_3875I know far too well the old way, the flesh and self-will in me. I know how to live this way, without even trying.

My heart is divided.

I knew it for certain one morning in January, with my Bible open to David’s prayer,

Give me an undivided heart, that I may fear your name.

I came undone. I knew my heart was divided, and this prayer has become my own.

I read this morning, The old has gone, the new is here.

This explains the division in me, at least a little. Why sometimes I desire what the Spirit of God desires, and other times, I only want what I want. We could talk about the way we waver between flesh and Spirit, for a good, long time. We could write a book about it, maybe a series. But I know this: I am not already grown-up in Christ. I am growing in Him. And He is growing in me.

Regardless of my state of (sometimes) being, God reconciled me to Himself through Christ.

He did this also for you, if you will believe. Instead of counting our sins against us, He glues us to Himself. Then He gives us a role in His story, a ministry. He makes us ambassadors of Jesus Christ, not because of what we might offer Him, but for His undeserved love.

He has done this, and He still does this, for all who are willing to believe. The brand-new followers of Christ and the leaders with heady degrees. God pays no mind to human ranks. He makes every believer His ambassador to the world.

What an honor. We represent Jesus Christ in this world.

We get to extend His offer to all people–not as a threat, but an invitation. Not to exclude, but to welcome. Oh, that we would handle this role humbly, with so much love and mercy.

We have been glued to Christ, with the glue of God, and we have been made His representatives, with an endless supply to give away.

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So on behalf of Christ this Good Friday–

Come back to God. Be reconciled to Him.

Because here’s the thing:

God made Him {Jesus Christ} who had no sin

To be sin for us,

So that IN HIM

We might become innocent,

The righteousness of God.

{2 Corinthians 5}

Surprised by Mom {Book Giveaway}

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I remember being 22, freshly wed and busy building a new life 12 hours from home.

12 hours from my Mom. Who I dialed up daily, because somewhere in time, she’d become one of my best friends. My chosen counsel. We didn’t need to squabble over the length of my shorts anymore, and I realized, by then, she’d only held me to high standards because she loved me.

One afternoon, I stood on the back deck of my first home, holding a bulky cordless phone in place, and watched my two little puppies play. Mom and I talked about living a life of purpose. I was trying to figure out what that meant for me.

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It sunk in suddenly. She was only 19.

When the doctor handed her my baby flesh, and she carried me over the threshold to Dad and my 14-month-old sister. Before her 20th birthday.

I thought about myself at 19.

A college sophomore, that year I went to a party with the boy I would marry. I studied and worked and played and figured out who I was and dreamed of all I wanted to do with my life. I loved that year. All those years. We had a ball without the seriousness of bills and jobs and adulthood.

But my Mom, barely more than a little girl caring for 2 baby dolls–she had us both so young. Young in years. Young in her faith in God. Young and crazy in love with my Dad. {Some things never change.}

Back when we liked our shoulders big and fluffy.

Back when we liked our shoulders big and fluffy.

I cannot comprehend how she did it. She was really an amazing (baby of a) Mom.

That’s not to say there weren’t those days. Those days she locked her bedroom door and cried her eyes out. And we had no idea what could possibly be wrong with her. Why did she ever need a break from us? We had no idea. There were 3 of us little girls then, burst onto her scene within 3 years.

Oh, now? I get it.

My friend Lisa-Jo Baker just released her first book, Surprised by Motherhood. In it, she says she’s learned 3 things:

1. Motherhood is hard.

2. Motherhood is glorious.

3. Motherhood is very hard.

I could not agree more, and I waver between the 3. I often want a break, yet I never want this to end.

It’s the best thing I can imagine, but still I complain about the hard parts. Because you know, often their needs and issues get in the way of my desires. Of my life. And yet, my Mom never really had a life, of her own.

But she loved her life as a Mom. I mean, she wanted to control the outcomes. Who doesn’t?

And the three of us “learning to compromise” over dolls and toys and the neighbor’s dog and who would get to be Daisy when we played Dukes again…add the tears and drama and messes and tempers and high-pitched voices erupting in a house full of girls. She rarely lived a day without serving little ones around the clock. It was overwhelming sometimes.

I remember the whole circus fondly, but I never had to be the one in charge. I don’t know how she pulled it off, but I grew up feeling like Mom really loves this. Like it was all she ever wanted.

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And then we grew into 3 teenage girls at once, with our sweet, little Tany, our well-mothered (smothered?) baby sister trailing a decade behind. I’m sorry to say, we became a little gang of sisters, who thought Mom was the enemy, too often. We were well aware of all the things she did wrong. In our opinions.

It took some time before we were just as aware of all she did right. Of all her whys and how she tried. The ways she served and blessed us. Her hugs and presence and neverending “I love you“s. Her endless teaching of truth and skills she gathered when adulthood arrived so early at her doorstep.

Who would I be, without her? I mean, honestly. Who would any of us girls be? Without our Mom.

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And her outer beauty has nothing on her beautiful heart!

 

**This post was inspired by Lisa-Jo Baker’s amazing, new, selling-out-everywhere book, Surprised by Motherhood, in which she tells her own unlikely journey to becoming a Mom after she lost her Mother at 17. The beauty of Lisa-Jo’s words help me make more sense of my own story, and I think it will do the same for you. Don’t miss this one!

Because I LOVE this book, and it makes me love motherhood more,  I’m giving away a copy Friday. Leave me a comment before midnight Friday, April 11th, and we’ll throw your name in the hat. :) Just tell me one reason you’re thankful for your own Mom.

And if you have a minute, please watch the trailer  below. It’s worth your time. Tissues, anyone?

** Update: Congrats to Kyra C. for winning the book giveaway! I messaged you… :)

 

 

Five-Minute Friday: Writer

Today’s Five-Minute Friday comes to you from a roomy bungalow situated on a breezy Costa Rican beach.

I know, I know, everyone hates me now. Last week Paris, and now this? It’s another gift-trip, and we’ve had to pinch ourselves. In between loving every minute of it.

So the writing prompt, this week, is WRITER. And I know that because I had to take a timeout this afternoon. To write.

My 3-year-old napped, and my husband and big kids took an ATV tour (with monkeys and snakes). I stole away from a handful of pools with their frozen drinks, from hangout time with friends and the kids’ nonstop laughter, from catching them sneak extra drinks at the swim-up bar and from the sunshine I’ve been desperate to meet up with again after a long, hard winter. (Northerners, I mean no disrespect. Your winter won, hands down.)

I couldn’t wait for this pocket of time, because there’s this thing I cannot shake. It won’t let me go. I have to write. I am a writer.

I look for time day after day, and don’t always find it. Because I am not only a writer. I schedule time, and it doesn’t always work out the way I plan. Sometimes, I end up writing with wrestlers grunting a few feet away or a preschooler on my lap or a little princess brushing my hair, or in between frosting bread with peanut butter and jelly, because the merry-go-round rarely stops and I can’t always find a quiet space with time attached.

But I still write, because somehow I must make sense of things and this is how I figure out what life is teaching me or where my heart is in a given moment.

My husband shakes his head and says, “Really? You really want to do that when no one is making you?” The way I shake my head about his mornings of leaving this bungalow at 5 am to spend hours in the cold, pruning water where the sharks live paddling around on a board, looking for another ride on a wave. Five AM! Did I mention that?

But yes. For both of us, the answer is yes.

Even though writing’s the thing to do these days and I don’t like doing what everyone else is doing. Even though I hate the idea of platform-building. I wanted to write at age 6, and for 30 years after. So I write.

I still don’t know what I am meant to do as a writer. I want to love God and bring Him glory, through my writing. I want to love people. I want to grow deeper faith and live it in the routine of my daily life. I want to grasp His grace, more and more. I want to help someone, anyone, with anything I can offer. You know, just a few small aspirations. :)

But I know, as certain as I know my name, as easy as I wear my other titles. I know because this is what I actually do, because I have always done it to some extent, because when I don’t do it, I can feel it, and it feels exactly wrong.

Because day after day, I write.

I am a Writer.

STOP.

*Find out more about Five-Minute Fridays here.

 

To Fall In Love With Paris

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I’d always wanted to visit Paris. I’d toured another part of France, but had not yet fallen in love with the City of Light. With her magical avenues, delicious crepes, stone steps to climb by the hundreds, and unbelievable architecture.

It only took 4 days to fall in love with Paris. 4 hours, really, so there were days to carry on the affair. Here’s how it happened.

Day 1. After a long, “overnight”, wide-awake flight, we checked into our hotel (at 7 am) for a few hours’ sleep.

We ventured out toward Arc de Triomphe, close to our hotel. That is, if you go the right direction. :) Oh you guys, it’s a glorious structure!!! Just. Oh. How do I??? You’ll have to trust me. I was TAKEN by its beauty.

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In homeschool this year, we studied all the big French stuff. Which makes me sound not smart enough to teach history, but I promise. I was interjecting historical facts all week long. DP, you’ll vouch for me on this, right? (He was impressed.)

And then we beheld the most beautiful avenue in the world. So they say, and I agree.

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The Champs Elysees, which is addicting to say when you get your French on, is lined with horse chestnut trees, cafes and luxury shops. But here’s my truth: I am not a real shopper. I do squeal over cute shoes and handbags, but I only pretended to be a shopper because it seemed like the Parisian thing to do.

Until it rained.

We ducked into an adorable pastry shop on my list of places to visit, La Duree. Which should mean Heavenly Pastries. But I don’t think it does. Looking around (read: people-watching), I learned, and you can quote me on this, Sugar is not the devil in France. People ordered multiple desserts, as well as a sugary café or chocolat chaud. I listened for accents. These were not Americans ordering the multiple desserts. How do they get away with this??? Oh yes, the walking…

We ate dinner in the Manet-Degas room at our hotel that evening with our company hosts. Catching up with some of our favorite travel buddies, we stayed awake until my eyes glazed over.

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Day 2. Tour of Il de la Cite, an island at the center of Paris, began at 9 am. Why did we sign up for this again? I will never understand because at this point my body was begging for sleep. As long as I kept moving, I was fine.

We toured Sainte Chapelle with her unforgettable stained-glass windows and the magnificent Notre Dame where a Super-Excited Catholic Girl in our group made me rehearse scenes from Superstar. Repeatedly. Remember that movie? Anyone?

To continue our perfect day in Paris, we headed to the Latin Quarter. Ate an amazing veggie burger, strolled cobblestone streets, became photo-obsessed for a short time, and then back to the hotel. Realized it was Wednesday, the Louvre stays open late, and we went for it. We loved the museum, but did not care about seeing it all. If we had, we would have hated it.

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We topped off the night with an hour-long walk…accidentally…back to Champs Elysees for a late dinner. The Chinese President was visiting Paris, so much of the street was blocked off and lined with Policie….very safe, at least. The Eiffel Tower sparkled, and that night we slept like well-fed babies. (Not newborns.)

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Day 3. Met friends for breakfast at Starbucks, our home away from home, even if my simple unsweet iced tea throws Europe for a loop. Headed off to Place de la Concorde and Tuilleres (gardens) for almost-endless photos. (Sorry honey.) Had planned to visit Musee de Orsay for the impressionists, but the rest of Paris planned the same, so we’re saving it for next time. Took a rickshaw cab back to the Latin Quarter to meet friends. Loved our hilarious driver, Igor, but learned there are “10 deaths a day” involving rickshaws in Paris, according to our chic French concierge. Enjoyed lunch with friends and a Seine bateau cruise to see it all by daylight.

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At almost evening, we did the Eiffel Tower. Climbed over 600 steps to the 2nd floor, which had me seriously doubting my belief that Paris can only be experienced in cute shoes. My feet paid the high price, but something about Paris told me to leave the workout shoes with the workout. Which is my rule in general. (I hated myself right then.) Hours later, my feet were surely BROKEN. I dreamed of Brooks running shoes and an Epsom salt bath, and didn’t even care about dinner. Not only because of the tower, but all the other hours of walking. In cute shoes. Nonetheless, a good night’s sleep does a body good.

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Day 4. Are you Friday? Adrenaline, one more day, yes?

I kept trying to pick favorites. Impossible! But Montmartre, the highest point in the city, was most definitely my favorite. We headed to Sacre Couer (cathedral) with friends, and I’m not sure there could be a more beautiful structure. Have I used that line yet? I’m serious. Unbelievable.

 

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And then on to Place du Tertre, the square where artists gather….my people. I could not wait. There was another slight directional mixup involving hundreds of stairs in cute shoes. Again. It turned out, my people were a group of old men with long gray, matted, messy hair and paintbrushes. But I felt a connection.

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We spent our last evening cruising the Seine, looking forward to the people we call home, and dreaming of all the places we’d go on our next trip to Paris-dise. 4 days in Paris is totally doable, if you have littles back home you can’t stand to leave for much longer. Totally enough time to fall in love with Paris. Au Revoir!

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The Art of Changing Thoughts

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First, the blue socks. They were too long, and he hated them.

Then, tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. He didn’t want that. *Insert fit.*

Next, the green dinosaur shirt with 2 buttons at the top. He liked the shirt before he put it on. It made him roar. He liked the shirt 18 other times he wore it. But not today. The buttons bothered him. Not just bothered, he hated the buttons.

I tried to convince him to thank God instead. (But he hated that idea.)

So I told him to repeat me, It’s going to be okay.

Again and again he grudgingly said it, with an angry face, slowly softening. In a voice so delicious, I would bottle it. Suddenly, all was good, and he bounded off, yelling happily about race cars.

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This morning, he needed a little repeat-session again. It’s going to be okay…It’s going to be okay.

The repetition is no magic answer that will cancel all fits beginning tomorrow. But it’s a start. And the more I walk through this with him, I realize, I need it too.

Because I run through days, thinking and feeling, and sometimes I get pretty tangled. I don’t go around telling myself what to think very often. {This is why the lies I owned as a little girl were still kicking and screaming in me up until–oh, last summer.} (Read about that here and here.)

I knew the truth. But I needed to rinse the lies away thoroughly, and repeat truth until it played on auto.

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You and I may not turn all huffy-face because of socks that don’t fit right. But there are things, no?

I live in a wonderfully noisy home dominated by not-so-orderly boys. So, there’s a thing or two to get all hot and bothered about. Once in a while. (They’re laughing.)

And then what happens? I suddenly develop great focus and concentration. I think about the bothers, only the really important ones. I try to change them. I pray about them. I write something up on the kitchen dry erase board to remind my people to change!!! I try to inspire change. Or just force it.

But recently, it hit me. Shoot. I need to gulp down a little dose of, It’s going to be okay. Or some other line I don’t overuse. It just might be the secret weapon in my own mental battles.

Think about it differently. Think on something different altogether.

Change–your–thoughts.

Now I would love to hear from you. Do you struggle with tangled thinking? Discontent? Ungratefulness? Lies? When you’re THERE, how do you turn yourself around and change your thoughts?

And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.  Philippians 4:8, NLT

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Oops, We Did It Again

IMG_1125I was going to ask, Do you ever…? But instead, how often do you completely overdo your weekend? Because oops–we did it again.

This morning, it showed. It was ugly. Not one child wanted to get up, so there was coaxing, soft and sweet at first. I always begin this way. It doesn’t often yield the intended result. So I persist, in between trying to get my own overtired self ready.

Then I flip lights on, hard and fast–the morning kiss of death. I hate bright lights in the morning. Sunlight coming in the windows? Yes, love. But manufactured overhead lights? Oh, please no! Anything but that!!!

Then my voice gets higher and louder. And I issue threats. Do you need to lose {fill in the blank} this afternoon? If you don’t get up and get ready, YOU WILL, buddy. TRY ME.

The threat works. Shew! They forgot how inconsistent I tend to be. They believed I would remember to carry it out. Thanks for the confidence, kids.

With the seriously amazing, above-and-beyond help of my husband (He is the greatest!!!), all we tired people have gotten to school or work or the quiet café this morning. But we’re feeling Monday. The late nights because of sleepovers and long dinners with friends and a handful of basketball games played or cheered for (GO DUKE!), and then rounding it out with the Food Truck Rodeo yesterday afternoon…Wow. That was a weekend!

I sat cozied in my car a few extra minutes this morning, asking God to help me live in the light of His presence today. To help me not to ignore Him as I walk through “my” day. I know that sounds wrong, that I might ignore God, but sometimes I do. I focus on what I need to get done. I just get moving, and I forget Him until I need Him.

That’s my sometimes truth, and I’m sad it’s true, but it still is. What’s beautiful is this: God is not thrown off by my inconsistencies. He is not overshadowed by my weaknesses. He doesn’t go away, even when I do.

Instead, God hears me, from a car polluted by kid shoes, loom bands, water bottles, paper scraps, messy windows, and a hundred pieces of crayola. A car I told my little sweethearts to “clean out before they get out” yesterday, but clearly, not a car I followed up on.

I sat there praying, and He filled me. It’s hard to explain to anyone who doesn’t know what it is to be filled by God. But that’s what happened. I entered His presence, staring at one of the many messes in my life, but when I fixed my eyes on the God of the Universe, my whole tired outlook changed.

Suddenly I noticed the air full of spring. Birds flitting about a sky more blue than winter. It’s Monday, yes, and I love this world we get to live in. I love the Creator Who spoke it into being and gave us all a speaking part. My heart turned grateful again, and my lips spilled it for a while.

Thank you, Father, for Mondays and spring and messes and all the loves this tiredness represents. Thank you, Father, for YOU and this life…and everything.

God bless you, truly, this overtired Monday…

If We Only Knew {& Movie Ticket Giveaway}

It was all very good. They’d been gifted Eden. Placed amid perfect beauty we cannot imagine. They walked with God, blessed and flourishing.

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Nothing about God changed, but they changed. They listened to their Father’s enemy, the enemy of their souls. He deceived them, by accusing God of impure motives.

The deceiver accused, and creation listened, touched, consumed, worshiped. Then they realized what they’d done and felt shame. So they hid.

God didn’t walk away. He came to them and asked, Where are you?

Of course He knew.

What is this you have done?

I could read this a lot of different ways. I know what the enemy says. He says God is like an arresting officer. He came to uncover their wrongdoing, kick them out, and curse them. But the enemy lies.

God came broken-hearted.

Loving Father came to His own babies, for whom He’d gone to great lengths to prepare something better. He held in His heart the truth of their response to Him. They did not obey Him; they did not trust Him. They followed someone else–His greatest enemy. He grieved.

God longed for their love and fellowship. He wanted them to stay within His motivated by love boundaries. He wanted them to enjoy beauty He’d made for them, and to enjoy relationship with Him. But they went a different way.

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He sent Jesus many years later, so that all, through Jesus, might believe. Jesus lived among human beings, and suffered here, to make the One true God known to His creation.

Before Jesus laid down His life to redeem us, He wept over Jerusalem, His beloved city, confirming God’s heart toward the disobedient, the unbelieving.

Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings,

But you were not willing. (Matthew 23:37)

Jesus came because our Father in heaven is not willing that any of {us} should perish. (Matthew 18:14)

The enemy opposes God’s redemption plan. He cannot overcome the light of Jesus, but he fights it hard. Along with rulers of the darkness of this world, He maligns God and deceives His creatures. The enemy hopes to keep us from knowing God’s true heart and character. To hold us back from fully understanding God’s love.

For God’s love, mercy, and kindness lead us to repent and know God’s heart.

Praying for myself today, and anyone who reads this, that we’ll grasp {more fully} the width and length and height and depth of the love of Christ. That we’ll walk with our Father, blessed and flourishing, never turning away to deception, never hiding.

** I have 4 tickets to the movie, Son of God, to give away to 2 commenters. To be entered in the drawing, leave me a favorite verse from the book of JOHN in the comments. I’ll choose winners Friday at midnight. Movie opens Friday February 28, and tickets can be used through May.

**Update: Congratulations to Mike D. and Amanda S.–you have won the movie tickets! Look for my email!

 

Small {Five-Minute Friday}

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He climbs up on his Captain’s bed, stands tall and grabs onto little wooden sailboats floating from the ceiling. “Look, Mom, I getting this big! Now I can get the boats, Mom!”

He knows he’s the little one around here, and three’s as good an age as any to aspire to greatness.

I remember when I couldn’t wait to get bigger. Do you? I wanted to do everything all by my big self and keep up with my big sister and cousins. I dreamed of arriving, and there’s nothing wrong with looking forward.

But today he applauds his growth, and I cheer him on. You grow up thinking growth looks like climbing, increasing, spreading influence. You come up hoping to make something of your one little life.

Yet Jesus came in the quiet, small and helpless. He waited out childhood and grew through awkward years and lived three decades of limitations.

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I think of how Infinite made himself finite, to live His Father’s plan. He became a man of flesh to reveal God’s glory and His coming redemption–to reveal it to all of creation.

But people cared more about climbing. People have always cared more to achieve greatness, to accomplish, to make a name for ourselves.

Jesus’ disciples asked Him, Which way to greatness? He rattled our concept of greatness with His answer.

Be like a little child.

Humble yourself.

Serve.

Set aside your own needs, and become a slave to the needs of others. 

Forgive every wrong done toward you.

Go last.

Give your life.

Every day, we choose–elevate and climb, or lay ourselves low and serve. We choose to reach for the greatness of the finite, or the greatness of the Infinite.

Still the words of Jesus echo–Be small, my child, be small.

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*This is another Five Minute Friday post…find out more about FMF here.

Garden {Five Minute Friday}

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Out the sliding glass door of our kitchen, past the homemade supersized deck, Mom kept the garden of my childhood.

All summer long, hair secured in a ponytail, she wore her swimsuit like a uniform. She tended our garden, pulling weeds on repeat. I still recall the taste of dirt on green beans straight from that garden, the only dirt I’ve ever enjoyed.

We remember what we remember, and gardens pluck memories long hidden.

Back then, gardens were necessary, both for budgets and strawberry rhubarb pies. Mom baked from scratch, before we learned a hundred varieties of flour, before we lost hours engrossed in conflicting research, weary over making the best choice possible.

The garden reminds me of a time before life got hurried and sterile. When we spent long summer days running through our above-ground pool yelling Marco…Polo. We slathered pale skin with olive oil and dumped lemon juice on big heads of hair. We lounged around the deck on black blankets, next to a fat, orange Fluffy cat who shared a towel with a happy little dachshund named Scooter.

Those were the days before life became processed and plastic. Before we took daddy steps to ensure all our opportunities came safety-guaranteed. We knew there were no guarantees then. It wasn’t just a slogan. We didn’t believe in perfect.

We lived simply. We pulled weeds and watered, enjoyed the angel food cake, and carried on neighborly conversations across lawns in the middle of the day.

I’m afraid I don’t have what it takes to garden successfully anymore. Time, for one, to understand this art. Consistency, attention, green sense… I fall short. I relate more to plastic than I do to earth, sometimes. I understand formulas, little screens filled with words, and the importance of success.

But I long for a time I can remember. For summer, childhood, a simple garden that fed us all, with regular old dirt and seeds and sunshine and water. Unfiltered and messy, days made easy.

**This is another Five Minute Friday post with Lisa-Jo Baker. Lisa just introduced a project she’s excited about today, to build a sustainable community in her homeland, South Africa. Phase 1 will be a community GARDEN!  You can find out more about this project here. I’d love for you to visit and take part in this opportunity.

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