Being Willing Clay

There are 1,000,001 other things I should be doing right now than writing a blog post.

But I'm sitting on the front porch, and I keep smelling apples, and little bee wings keep buzzing around the hostas like a little symphony, and I am overwhelmed by God's grace.

I've been thinking this week about that JJ Heller song, the one where she sings, "Be gentle with me, Jesus, as You tear me apart." It is kind of a modern-day prayer of the passage in Job that says, "For he wounds, but he binds up; he shatters, but his hands heal."

What a great God, to care so much about us that He doesn't leave us the way we are.

He could easily leave us as marred, chipped, and broken clay pots, but, loving Potter that He is, He instead knows that there is so much more for us, so much better for us, if we let Him shape us into something more beautiful.

If we let Him.

It has been my experience that "letting Him" is often very painful.

But His hands heal.

I would rather be broken by my God and healed by His hands than left as the imperfect vessel far from Him. Each time we are broken and put back together we are a little more whole than we were before, a little more like Him, a little nearer to Him. Praise God! There is nothing sweeter than tasting just a little bit more of God's goodness.

He doesn't need to give us the affirmation that He sees us, but He does. He doesn't need to give us the affirmation that He is with us, but He does. He doesn't need to tell us that He is pleased with us, that He delights in us as His beloved and paid-for children, and that neither death nor life nor angels nor demons nor past nor present nor height nor depth nor anything else in all creation can separate us from His love...but He does.

He tells us all these things while tearing away the things that keep us from knowing Him more. He is just, but He is gentle. I am so grateful that amidst showing me the ugly parts of me that need to go, He holds me close and reminds me of how His blood has beautified me and how precious I am to Him. He doesn't need to do either of those things. But blessed God! He does both.

Just a few more days until I drive back down to Kentucky, once again embarking on a new journey into a new job and new city and new life. Sometimes I worry about it, but God says to me, "I am faithful to work in the little crevices of your heart, so trust me to be faithful in working out the bigger details of your life."

I do trust Him. Oh, for grace to trust Him more!

If you haven't already, please consider helping support me for this next year of my internship in Louisville. You can read about it and donate here.

Thanks for sharing in life with me, y'all.

May the Lord lead your hearts into a full understanding and expression of the love of God and the patient endurance that comes from Christ. - 2 Thessalonians 3:5 NLT

It's all about perspective.

I needed a light bulb for my IKEA lamp - the kind that are only sold at IKEA, of course, because IKEA is the Apple of home furnishings.

So I detoured to Cincinnati on my way home from Wisconsin, after seven hours already on the road, a cassette tape on spiritual warfare, and lots of Amy Grant (the "Heart in Motion" album).

The moment I pushed on my brakes to take my exit, my oil light came on. Not a casual light-up like when you're running low on gas and your gas light kind of fades in and out as if saying, "So, hey, you could use some gas. But no rush. Whenevs. I like your sweater." This light blared like it suddenly realized WE WERE ALL GOING TO DIE.

I quite audibly heard my dad say, "As soon as the oil light comes on, you need to take your car to a mechanic. You could ruin your engine."

I, alone in my car, quite audibly responded, "What do I do what do I do what do I do."

I decided that if I could make it to IKEA, I could check my oil and see if my light was bluffing. (Guess what, everyone: I know how to check my oil. Guess what, everyone: That's about as much as I know.)

There just happens to be a mechanic right across the street from IKEA, did you know that?

I pulled into the IKEA parking lot (because I still needed a light bulb, regardless of the state of my car) and popped my hood. My hood has seen a lot in its days, so after climbing on top of it and stomping on it while growling "What. is. your. problem" through clenched teeth, a nice man with his wife and two kids passed by and helped me open it. "Mommy, why was that lady jumping on top of her car?" his daughter probably asked as they walked away. To which she probably responded, "Walk faster and don't make eye contact."

(I later discovered that sticking a cassette tape in the release lever inside while pulling on the hood up front does just the trick. It helps if the cassette tape is about spiritual warfare, but it's not a necessity.)

There was no oil in my car. None. And IKEA on a Saturday night is a ZOO.

As I pulled across the street to the mechanic place (with my light bulb in possession), my engine made rattling noises. I pictured it blowing up and told Jesus I was ready.

The man inside told me they didn't have time to look at my car that night. I think he saw that I was going to cry, because he told me to pull up to the bay so he could quickly check my oil. (I then learned what a "bay" is.) Inside my own head I kept pleading that my dad would magically appear and solve all my problems, because that's what dads do.

The mechanic confirmed my discovery of 0% oil, seemingly shocked. Then he walked to the back of my car, stuck a finger in the tailpipe, and pulled it out covered in black gunk. He showed it to me like I should be very concerned. I shook my head as if I couldn't believe what this meant. Really, I had no idea what this meant.

"And it's not powdery," he further proved the point I was oblivious to. "It's wet."

He probably realized I was clueless (he was very observant, apparently - or maybe my face just displays everything I'm thinking [yeah, probably that]), because he then explained that my car was burning up my oil. Depending on how much it was burning, I could've done serious damage to my engine and might need a new one. I tried not to cry. He called another mechanic over to take a look.

There are two things that can happen when you are a.) a girl and b.) clueless about cars. Mechanics can either take advantage of you ("You need a new hoojamawhatsit OR ELSE and that'll be $2,500 - cash or credit or blood?") or they can take pity on you and be overly kind and call you things like "honey" in a fatherly and non-creepy way.

I thank God that these two mechanics were the latter kind.

While one guy filled my car with oil and commented on the weather, the other refilled my windshield wiper fluid and checked my transmission fluid, and I stood there dumbly. Then they gave me directions to the nearest AutoZone and wrote down exactly what oil I needed to buy.

"Don't let them trick you into getting anything more expensive," Observant Mechanic said. He handed me a cloth. "You'll need this. It's clean. Stop in about an hour to check the level of your oil. Do you know how to check your oil?"

Yay! I know something.

"Don't rush it," Weatherman Mechanic said. "Take your time."

"Can I pay you something?" I asked.

Observant Mechanic waved a hand and crinkled his nose. "Nah. That's what we're here for."

I drove home and cried a lot. Because at first I had been terrified and frustrated and exhausted at the thought of more bad things happening to me. At first.

But then I was overwhelmed by God's grace. What if I hadn't gotten off in Cincinnati and my engine had exploded on the highway? What if I had gotten off somewhere else where there wasn't a mechanic right across the street? What if the mechanic I had gone to was grumpy and greedy and either didn't help me or charged me a lot?

"I took care of you," God said. "Look at how I took care of you."

You can choose not to see God's grace. You can choose to only see the dark and murky places and things. You can choose to complain and pity.

Or you can choose to see how He has watched your every step. You can choose to see how He met your needs. You can choose to see how He rescued you. You can choose to see how He was with you (Deuteronomy 2:7).

Because He has and was and is. It's just all about perspective.

"Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows," Jesus said. "But I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me, and take heart, because I have overcome the world." - John 16:33 (paraphrased and emphasis added)

Things I've Learned in 2013

How to process events, thoughts, and emotions with the Lord. He knows your heart better than anyone (Psalm 33:15) and is the greatest Counselor and Comforter in helping you work through what needs to be worked through. The greatest peace I have felt this year has come not when I have had answers, but in the lonely moments when I've poured my heart out to a seemingly empty space, only to feel afterward that God has taken all of my spewed-out words, put them in order in His little book, wrapped His big arms around me, and said, "I know; I understand; I see; I've got it; I will help you; trust me."

How to give others the same grace God gives me. God is so faithful to work deeply and gently in our hearts (Ephesians 3:20-21). I've experience this beyond measure this year. And when I am tempted to look at others and ask, "How could they do that?" God reminds me of all the times this year that I have wished to receive grace from others and haven't. He reminds me of how patient He has been with me (and He has been patient, my friends). And He asks me to trust that He will work in their hearts as deeply and gently and patiently as He has worked in mine (Romans 14:4). My only responsibility is to love, too, let Him do what He will in His own time, and allow Him to keep working in me.

How to keep a tender heart amidst loss. This has been one of the hardest lessons of all. Hardening your heart to avoid pain is a much more appealing option. It gives you a sense of control and confidence. I like both of those things! But hardening your heart to avoid pain hardens your heart to be met by God, too. And in being met by God, you are given a deeper, unshakable confidence in the Lord that has nothing to do with control and everything to do with surrender. And the ironic thing? Freedom comes in surrender. (Warning, however: Keeping a tender heart also means you may cry at ridiculous times, like when you see a dead chipmunk on the sidewalk, or when you pass a broken highway sign, or when watching Edward Scissorhands.)

How to find Jesus as my place of safety and protection. I must've repeated Psalm 91:2 hundreds of times over the course of September. "You are my place of safety and protection; you are my God and I trust you." A "place" should be something tangible, like a house or a church or a city; something you can see on a map. But God shows me that He is a place. This supernatural, undefinable place that we can hide in and find rest in and run to (Psalm 32:7, Proverbs 18:10). This place that He actually asks us to set aside all achievements and accomplishments before we enter into. The only place we are defined apart from our successes and failures (Jennie Allen*).

How to be defined apart from my successes and failures. Applying for jobs and going on interviews and writing up countless cover letters is nothing but selling yourself, talking yourself up, and trying to prove you are something and someone and valuable and an asset. But God has used this season of barrenness to show me how valuable I am with nothing. When I present Him with all that I have and ask, "Does this make me somebody?" Desperately hoping He approves of my efforts, because I try so hard, He pushes it all aside, pulls me onto His lap, and says, "I make you somebody. You are mine."

How to let things die with hope. Lots of things have died around me this year. I have battled a lot of hopelessness and fear. I have tried hoping that things will get better. I have tried hoping that people will act a certain way. I have tried hoping that I won't lose one more thing. But hoping in all those things makes my hope a very fragile thing that is easily broken, and I am left reeling in wreckage all over again. So instead, I hope that God will make me new. I hope that God will keep doing a work in me and making me more like Jesus. I hope that God will use what little I have to glorify Himself and build His Kingdom and bring people to Him. And that kind of hope never disappoints, because God is true to all He promises (Romans 5:5, Psalm 119:114), and He makes things new (Romans 12:1-2). You cannot control what dies around you, but you can control how much you allow God to grow within you.

I will still fail and forget and make mistakes. But I am thankful for, beyond thankful for, sometimes breathless at, God's grace, nearness, love, and ever-faithfulness, that picks me up and helps me try again.

So that is what I do.

"Who is to say what is good or bad anymore? Not till heaven will we know. From his eternal perspective, it's tolerable to allow our temporary dreams to fall apart. But we seize more of God when he seizes us through our broken dreams. He is wildly unpredictable, and learning to question and accept his ways is part of the journey of following an unsafe, invisible God. He calls the shots on what happens to us in this short stint here. He calls them, whether we want to let him or not. Our faith must remain greater than our pain and our fears." - Jennie Allen

* Readings throughout this season:
Anything: The Prayer That Unlocked My God and My Soul by Jennie Allen
Victory Over the Darkness by Neil T. Anderson
Enemies of the Heart by Andy Stanley
Until the Day Breaks by Dana Candler

The F-Word

Twenty-six years of hearing sermons, speeches, and workshops about forgiveness, and I still don't quite understand it.

Probably because it's this intangible thing that doesn't quite have a "follow these seven steps to forgiveness in 30 days" instructions guide. And when someone asks me, "Do you forgive me?" there's no gauge I can check or meter I can read that proves I've accomplished all seven steps and forgiveness has been achieved.

I have always considered myself a forgiving person. I like when brothers dwell together in harmony. I like conflict only because it produces resolution. I like peace and healthy relationships. I like loving people, because we all make mistakes, and I don't like dwelling on unpleasant things. I like being happy! Let's all be happy.

But a few weeks ago I realized that this whole time I've been forgiving all wrong.  See, I thought I was forgiving because:

a.) I continued to love that person even after she hurt me.
b.) I gave that person a second, third, or fourth chance.
c.) I understood why the person did what he did.
d.) I still wanted to be with that person, and around that person, and have that person in my life.
e.) I know that Jesus has forgiven me for much worse, and continues to forgive me every day.

Then I realized that all of the above can be true while still harboring unforgiveness. Which is exactly what I've been doing.

Here I thought that forgiveness was something you bestow upon the other person, as in, "Here you go, I am forgiving you, take this gift and let it water the barren ground of your thirsty heart." That by giving forgiveness to someone, you are packaging up all the hurt, anger, fear, and brokenness and giving it away so that you don't feel it anymore.

That's not forgiveness.

That list up there, that's how you treat someone even when they deserve to be punished, and we call that grace. Grace is what you give the other person. But forgiveness is what happens in your own heart.

I realized that I haven't truly forgiven people for things they did to me years ago. I don't walk around begrudgingly and curmudgeonly, fostering hateful thoughts towards them, but I still get angry when I think about it. I still feel like chiming in on discussions about their faults. Sometimes I still want the world to know what they've done to me and how they've hurt me.

That's not forgiveness.

Forgiveness is the process of letting go of the anger every time you feel it. (As defined by my friend Courtney.) And that's something that happens in me, and has very little to do with anyone else.

I'm thankful for a God who is more patient with me than I am with myself. I'm thankful for a God who I can trust to work in other peoples' hearts as kindly, graciously, and firmly as He works in mine. It's not my job to show other people where they've screwed up. It's only my job to ask God to continue to reveal what needs to change in my own heart, and ask Him for grace and strength to change it.

Love prospers when a fault is forgiven, but dwelling on it separates close friends. - Proverbs 17:9 NLT