He Has Shown You, O Man

Micah 7
18 Who is a God like you, pardoning iniquity
       and passing over transgression
       for the remnant of his inheritance?
     He does not retain his anger forever,
       because he delights in steadfast love.
19 He will again have compassion on us;
       he will tread our iniquities underfoot.
     You will cast all our sins
       into the depths of the sea.
20 You will show faithfulness to Jacob
       and steadfast love to Abraham,
       as you have sworn to our fathers
       from the days of old.

Several years ago, my sister Holly wrote these verses for me on the back of a leftover welcome card from her wedding reception. It was a precious gift from her, coming just after a difficult period in my life, when the Lord was restoring me and showing me just how loving and gentle He is. The card has stayed in my Bible since then, and its edges are creased and curled from where the paper has jutted out just so from my pocket-size NIV. Having broken loose and spent the last several weeks floating around in my purse, the poor thing was begging to be rescued, so I pulled it out and placed it in my gratitude journal, but as I did, I paused to read the words again…words now familiar but still so cherished. Tonight, I saw them new.

A fresh wind so needed, I read that He delights in steadfast love. The lovely thing there is that it allows me to stop thinking about all of my junk – all of the things that I think make me so ridiculously difficult as a person – and I get to relax into something that does not depend on me. He delights in steadfast love. That’s honestly just such a relief. Slow reading, I see: He will again have compassion on us. Compassion. Again. Not just this one time. One word: again. And subsequently, our iniquities are tread underfoot. Trampled. By Him. Whether we choose to realize it or not, sin always threatens to enslave and embattle us. So I imagine myself, in a helpless heap on the battlefield, and I think of Trampling Feet, warrior-stomping to my rescue. Again.

Three verses earlier in the prophecy, God references the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt. Then here we see that He promises to cast all our sins into the depths of the sea. That ring any bells for you? It didn’t for me at first; not until I started doing some digging (read: Googling). Think Red Sea. Pharoah’s army. Enemies literally vanishing into the bottom of the sea while the Israelites are free to run onward, away from captivity, away from slavery, into a life of liberty, rescue.

Now, I think I can say with some confidence that the Exodus story, while I believe it fully, probably does not resound with me the way that it would have resounded with an 8th century BC Israelite. So from my modern day viewpoint, I consider: He doesn’t promise to stand on the shore, carelessly toss our sins into the waves and see what happens…we’d be scooping those same things up just as soon as the tide came back in. No, He will cast them into the depths of the sea. Where they will sink. And stay. Never to be found, thought of, or relevant…again.

Finally, Micah reflects on the faithfulness God has shown His people from the beginning. He has not forgotten His promise to Israel’s fathers; it is as alive today as it was when Abram gazed at stars and Jacob used a stone for his pillow; as alive as when Sarah laughed and Jacob wrestled and Israel and Judah rebelled. As alive as when I sang wandering songs and lifted my soul to another.

The prophet Micah wrote a beautiful song of hope to follow some very hard lessons learned. Not surprisingly, that's about when these words fell into my hands. I am as thankful for them tonight as I was five years ago. And forever thankful I will be.

In What Ought To Be A Dream

After a solid year of wondering, puzzling and vaporous attempts at interpretation, I decided it was honest appraisal time, and after a thorough review, I somberly said to myself: this isn’t what I thought it was.

My Self replied: You’ve no substantial reason to suspect anything other.

She really can be quite contrary. Just the same, my next steps became clear: cease and desist. And don’t expect any push-back. Or push-forward, for that matter. An end to expectations, period.

As they say, it is what it is.

For a day, maybe three, I was sad. How, with so little fanfare, does this parade come to an end? I can’t have been the only sponsor. And then, early winter’s days turned to evenings in spring and I found myself in the April Gulf, all sun, sand and bleach-blowing wind. And the truth caught up with me, ringing bold and clear.

Out of sight, out of mind.

At midnight, I stood ankle-deep in chilly waves, gasped at stars and felt an inkling of what I believe will beat within all of our hearts when the ‘is’ is finally made clear, when all questions are answered and all things bright and beautiful finally bear brilliant fruit. Only now, I mourned having spent so many days tied to a thing that had vanished from my heart so easily, without so much as a whimpering hint of a fight. And words that had seemed so sincere from my mouth and to my ears ceased to voice any intention – hidden, mistaken or otherwise.

As the summer began to unfurl, I settled into one of the most contented spaces I’ve found in some time. Then a seemingly harmless hello became a knock at the door and before I knew it, the apple cart was tipping, threatening an upset of epic proportions. I might could’ve joined the circus with the ensuing balancing act – all at once comic, tragic, awkward and strange – until finally, I landed, flat feet on the ground, heaving chest with heavy breath, thinking: whew. Didn’t see that one coming.

Still I hastened to answer, and in my haste, fumbled. And while part of me naturally inclines to feel disgrace, the greater part testifies of grace, protection, contentedness, and beauty. To darling friends who are sent at a moment’s notice to remind me of ease, laughter and the present hour’s joy. Whose tiniest actions urge me to remember my worth and the danger of entering into any contract where it is questioned.

As with so many young single Christian women, for days on end I've been encouraged to be available but not too available, willing but not desperate; to not wear that ring on this finger, and memorize the fine, fine line between feminine frailty and offensive strength because really, in the end, men are such simple creatures who need just the slightest hint of encouragement, dear, and you wouldn't want to miss out on THE opportunity, now would you?

Even when I was younger, I didn't care for the ambiguity game. See, I'm fettered to One whose intentions were established before the foundation of the world, whose promises cannot fail, whose Word can be fully trusted. One who chased me down to show His love for me. That chase is and has been my gold standard. For as long as I've imagined my life falling into the frame of the bridal portrait, I've imagined a holy pursuit. Never once have I enjoyed dancing to the melody of mixed signals. I confidently assert that I never will.

My God is so very, very big. He owns - made - controls the cosmos. I trust that His purposes, whatever they may be, will be realized in my life, without any help from my frantic second-guesses and wildly unsuccessful attempts at being the perfectly balanced image of all womanhood. So, I give. I breathe. I sigh. And I get back to life, most gratefully.

Perplexed...Not in Despair

be·lea·guer

Function: verb
1 : to surround with an army so as to prevent escape : BESIEGE 1
2 : to subject to troublesome forces : HARASS

And so it goes. Not that I'm surrounded by an army. Not that I'm unable to escape. More that I feel a bit as though I've been engaged in this or that type of combat almost constantly since the week's beginning.

Battling my will.
Battling my temper.
Battling my ego.
Battling my fatigue.
Battling my insecurities.
Battling my fears.
Battling that plank in my eye.

Battling.

At first, I was tempted to blame it all on outside attack - an untimely combination of happenings and circumstances joining forces in Operation Unnerve Andrea. Hence, this pitiful thought of being beleaguered. And then I realized: isn't it perhaps that I have walked through a basically normal set of days, and the struggle has existed primarily within my own boundaries?

Perhaps.

Nonetheless, the war rages on. May the Lord answer you when you are in distress... On the drive home, my unsettled spirit was jumping from one irrationality to the next, and I was day-dreaming of rescue. ...may the name of the God of Jacob protect you... Too often I've attempted my own rescue. Never has it held up. Some trust in chariots and some in horses...But lately, He's been showing me just what a relief it is to trust. To trust Him. To hope in Him. ...but we trust in the name of the Lord our God. And there it is. 

Now this I know...When I wake up in the morning, I'm sure to have another fight on my hands. ...the Lord gives victory to his anointed. And a bag chock full of new mercies.

And that, my friends, is good news.

We Do Not Lose Heart

Yesterday I led some of our staff through the first half of a triennial strategic planning session for our organization. We split the staff into two teams (dubbed Alpha and Bravo) and scheduled two off-site planning sessions, one for each team. Alpha Team met yesterday and was responsible for drafting the Purpose Statement, Core Values and Vision Statement. Our Mission Statement is already written, otherwise that would've been in the mix, too. Next week, Bravo Team will be tasked with creating Goals, Objectives and Strategies. By the end of this process, we should have a fairly workable strategic plan, and then we'll get to move into some focused team building with our staff. It's an exciting time in our agency's history, to be sure, and I'm looking forward to the progress we see in the months to come.

I Have a Dream

After we walked through our Mission statement, considered our Purpose and identified our Core Values, it was time for my favorite part: the Vision Statement. I was so excited (and a little nervous) to see what our folks would name as our vision - as the ultimate in achievement for our organization. I tried to give the team as detailed an explanation of vision statements on the front end as possible, and I think I might have even gone a little overboard. You know, really, a vision statement can be summed up as: a description of the ideal - the pinnacle of what we want the organization to be in the future. What is the ultimate for us? Where do we want to be?

Easy enough, right?

Right. I'm pleased to report that, despite my bumbling definitions, the group did a bang-up job of drafting our vision statement. I'm very happy with what we have, and I think they are, too. You know, the interesting thing about a well-written vision statement is that it's not just this ambiguous bag of words that you toss into the air because all of it sounds pretty. Is it meant to be inspiring? Yes. Is it meant to be lofty? Absolutely. But it is also meant to be relevant to the journey. A truly valuable vision statement will provide guidance to members of the organization as they make decisions, it will remind them of why they are about they business they are about, and it will compel them to focus on what lies ahead, rather than what is behind.

Inside Out

So, we wrote this beautiful vision statement, and after seven hours of training, talking, list-making, thinking and debating, we were ready to call it a day. I headed north to pick Livi up and get to worship team rehearsal. I grabbed the songs we're doing on Sunday and fired up the playlist. As I listened to the various lyrics - words of ultimate commitment, faith and surrender - all I could think was: how can I say all of that? Do I really mean this stuff? Does my life reflect that I have a right to speak those words? Maybe I should tell Dena to take me off the schedule...until I can, you know, be perfect.

Then it hit me. No one can say these words and have them be 100% true in the present. Because in the present, we are mortal beings, bound by flesh, torn in the struggle and stained with all of humanity...human.

But it's still the Vision, I heard, and I realized the Truth in what I'd spent my day teaching. In remembering that a vision statement is a perfect-world picture of who and what we want to be in the future. A declaration that guides us from one day to the next as we endeavor to reach the ideal. Is that the key? That echoing these words reminds me to strive ever onward, upward? That, full well knowing I will not achieve absolute holiness in my handful of human days, my steps can still be marked by its pursuit? And by the conviction that this is the best of all journeys?

I relaxed. I took a breath. And I belted out words that are meant in deep, deep places of my soul. Places that this broken down skin cuts off at the pass far too often. And I kept singing because I know that this perfect-world picture of ultimate surrender, ultimate commitment, ultimate trust - it's not just a pretty painting hanging on a wall somewhere. It's my future. It's the vision that is held for me. And the wonderful, amazing, blissfully beautiful thing about it is that I can trust that I will get there. My agency may never completely and fully realize its vision. Google probably won't 'develop a perfect search engine'. Toyota most likely will not 'provide the best customer experience and dealer support'. But one day...one glorious day, my reality will be...free at last, meeting face to face, I am Yours, Jesus, You are mine...

"Now it is God who makes both us and you stand firm in Christ. He anointed us, set His seal of ownership on us, and put His Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come."

2 Cor 1:21-22

Think on These Things

Fear has been trying to set up shop here for a while now. At the end of last month, it looked like the big day had finally come. Fear was going to live here. Move right in. Grab the sleeping bag out of the tent, ‘cause baby – we’re laying bricks on this foundation now.

I’d like to blame technology and the amount of information we’re able to instantly access at any given moment. And CNN and Twitter and Steve Jobs and Jim Cantore and iReporters everywhere. But I can’t. It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s my wiring. How I’m built. I’m sensitive.

In April, when the storms began, I learned how to quickly access the information needed to help keep us safe. If I can just outsmart the wind... So I glued myself to the iPad, constantly switching between Twitter and The Weather Channel, checking radar, watching the #arwx stream, and cussing TweetDeck for being such a gimpy app. A single clap of thunder and I’d fire up my own little command central. As you can imagine, this begins to wear on a person.

Then the storms became Osama bin Laden and bin Laden became a beheaded British woman in Spain and she became the flood victims and flood victims became the world, all of us, battered, beaten, dying. I read pain, and I’m present. I feel it in my bones.

By mid-May, I was in despair. Only once before in my life do I remember feeling true hopelessness. It lasted about ninety seconds, and it was the most miserable emotion I’ve ever experienced. And now it was beginning to seep in through tiny little cracks in the wall. I was so tired. How long, O Lord?

And how can I live here without fear swallowing me whole and alive?

I pen the questions and they hang there for eight days, until this:

“Sitting at my desk doing that weird woman thing where u sorta laugh & cry @ same time. @AmandaMoJo just [sent] me a pic of her sis-in-law’s brand new baby girl. Precious Ava Hope, born in Missouri today. Oh, this world is filled w/so much pain & destruction. Our souls will only be war-torn and weary if we do not also stop & behold ‘whatsoever things are true, noble, right, pure, lovely…’ His mercy is w/us.” @BethMooreLPM

My eyes shoot open wide, and it’s all relief, the way a wanderer feels when he finally sees home’s lights. Whatsoever things! It’s the remedy. It’s always been the remedy. I breathe thanks and feel the heaviness begin to fall away. I fill up on truth and nobility and starve myself of reading pain. Later that week, I write my thanks, and a friend calls to say he’s read them, and he needs help cultivating gratitude. I want to laugh until I cry. Knowing that “72 hours without CNN” is not the answer he’s after, I somehow manage to find a story, and I hang up shaking my head at these gifts, all of these precious, crazy moments swirling together in this lovely life.

Bird in the Hand

I begin by stating the obvious: I need to write.

I continue by stating the reality: I have no words.

I have thoughts. I have reflections. I have inspirations. I have themes. I even have notes.

(Never before have I made notes. Kim Roth, I blame the Moleskines on my 30th.)

But I have no words.

What I do have tonight, what I can name, are thanks. I have thanks.

That I am home tonight. Because four trips in two months equals a challenging amount of days to spend away from your home. And I am happy to be here. Even if housekeeping will not be here tomorrow to make my bed and bring me clean towels and mini shampoos.

That there are three more kids who call me Aunnie running around the compound. (Well, maybe just two. The middle Jones still routinely asks me who I am.) And Liv gets all giddy about "the cousins". I know they are ridiculously out of their norm. Is ridiculously a strong enough word? But I am so crazy happy they are here for this time.

That, for all the difficult decisions I have to make each day, grace is there. And sometimes, logic shows up, too. And they reinforce each other.

That I made a superior batch of chocolate chip cookies tonight.

That my gutters are clean. It seems trivial, yes, but YOU try being a homeowner who's afraid of heights! (My thanks to Jim Crabill. He's a good man. Also I pay him in cookies and meatloaf.)

That long weekends exist.

That best friends call on Thursday nights.

That C.S. Lewis wrote Chronicles of Narnia.

And that's that. We're heading out of a straight six weeks of regional calamity into a weekend of memoriam. Of honor. Of thanks.

So.

Thanks.

Receive Your Sight

Get up. Walk in the way of forgiveness.
Walk in the way of life.
Walk in Light. Peace. Joy.
Walk as one who has been forgiven.

Get up.

And this is resurrection power. The faith act of leaving the tomb, of allowing the Life inside to carry me forward, of owning the victory already in hand. Of living as one who is alive, in whom death has been defeated. Over whom the power of sin has been broken and can reign no more.

Still I hide in the tomb. There is nothing for me there, but I pace stone floors connecting bare walls, staring at the gaping hole created for my glorious exit. I see things vibrant just beyond the entrance, but I shrink back. I cower in the corner. The Life within me pleads, Get up.

Unsteadily, I turn my eyes upward. Can I? Asked honest, bare. You have everything you need. Replied gentle, firm. I’m really going to need your help. With knowing where to begin…how. I am with you to the ends of the age; buckled belt of truth, shield of faith, Word sword and ready feet.

Ready, feet?

Get up.