You’ve heard it. You’ve probably said it. “Someday when I have a larger house…” “Someday when I don’t have to work…” “Someday when my house gets clean…” Maybe “Someday when I learn how to cook…”
For me, it was “Someday when I’m a housewife and the ministry of home can be my full-time job…”
That was the someday I eagerly anticipated all through my high school years.
It’s a someday that still hasn’t arrived.
Yet by God’s grace, He revealed to me a little secret…
I’m honored to be a guest poster at Offering Hospitality today. Click through to read the rest.
On this day in history 38 years ago, a court decision legalized the genocide which has since killed over 40 million unborn babies.
In 1973, my cousin Danny was a baby. 615,831 of his peers were murdered.
In 1974, my cousin Donna was born (I estimate). 763,476 of her peers were murdered.
In 1975, my cousin Shiloh was born. 854,853 of his peers were murdered.
In 1977, my cousin Judah was born. 1,079,430 of his peers were murdered.
In 1979, my cousins Sarah and Janalynn were born. 1,251,921 of their peers were murdered.
In 1980, my cousin Jamin was born. 1,297,606 of his peers were murdered.
In 1981, my cousin Adam was born. 1,300,760 of his peers were murdered.
In 1983, my sister Anna was protected in our mother’s womb. 1,268,987 of her peers were murdered.
In 1984, my sister Anna and cousin Ariann were born. 1,333,521 of their peers were murdered.
In 1985, I was born. 1,328,570 of my peers were murdered.
In 1986, my brother Joshua was born. 1,328,112 of his peers were murdered.
In 1987, my cousins Joseph, Vicki, and Luke were born. 1,353,671 of their peers were murdered.
In 1988, my cousin Joseph and sister-in-law Debbie were born. 1,371,285 of their peers were murdered.
In 1989, my brother Daniel and cousins Elizabeth, Becca and Christine were born. 1,396,658 of their peers were murdered.
In 1990, my brother John and cousins Matthew and Paul were born. 1,429,577 of their peers were murdered.
In 1991, my cousins Patrick, Joanna, and Jennifer, and sister-out-law Joanna were born. 1,388,937 of their peers were murdered.
In 1992, my brother Tim and cousins Joel, Jesse, Jeremy, and Caroline were born. 1,359,145 of their peers were murdered.
In 1993, my cousin Eric was born. Another cousin, Melinda, was born stillborn and grieved for by a loving family. 1,330,414 of their peers were murdered.
In 1994, my sister Grace, cousins Michael, Aaron, and Naomi, and brother-out-law John were born. 1,267,415 of their peers were murdered.
In 1995, my cousins Dominique and Kyle were born. 1,210,883 of their peers were murdered.
In 1996, my cousins Ben, Joel, Clayton, and Hannah were born. 1,225,937 of their peers were murdered.
In 1997, my cousins Caleb, Bethany, and Susannah were/was born. 1,186,039 of their peers were murdered.
In 1998, my cousin Lauren was born. Over 884,273* of her peers were murdered.
In 1999, my cousins Isaac and Tabitha were born. Over 861,789* of their peers were murdered.
In 2000, my cousins Megan and Brett were born. Over 857,475* of their peers were murdered.
In 2002, my cousin Anthony was born. Over 854,122* of his peers were murdered.
In 2004, my cousin Brooke was born. Over 839,226* of her peers were murdered.
In 2006, Ezekiel was born to my cousins Shiloh and Janalynn. Over 846,181* of his peers were murdered.
In 2008, Lexie was born to my cousins Sarah and Byron. 1,212,350 of her peers were murdered.
In 2010, Mackenna was born to my cousins Ariann and Mike, and Carter was born to my cousins Adam and Theresa. A thus far unnumbered multitude of their peers were murdered.
In 2011, my nephew or niece will be born. How many of his peers will be murdered this year?
Please pray…
and take action
to end abortion
Are you or your children survivors of this genocide? Would you like your name to be listed within these rolls? Please leave a comment or send me an e-mail and I’ll add you/them to the list. And please, please pray for the end of this genocide.
*Statistics were not reported by the states of California or New Hampshire from 1998 to the present. Alaska did not report from 1998-2002. Oklahoma did not report from 1998-1999. West Virginia did not report from 2003-2004. Louisiana has not reported from 2005 to the present. The children in these states murdered through abortion remain unnumbered, but not forgotten.
Recently, Christianity Today asked a collection of prominent evangelicals whether they thought “Away in the Manger” should be done away with.
Why do away with “Away in a Manger”? some of you may ask.
The bad theology, of course.
You know…”The little Lord Jesus no crying He makes…”
At best, it’s extrabiblical. At worst, it’s unbiblical.
It’s a denial of the full humanity of Christ.
But it’s a pretty song, a cute song, a song rich with memory for many of us.
The question brings to mind a whole slew of other songs that I love and hate. There are the songs whose melodies I love but whose words I abhor. And the ones whose words I love but whose melodies I hate. And then there are the worst ones, the ones whose melodies and words I love–except for a couple of lines.
Songs like “Above All”.
I think it might’ve been my favorite song except for its one huge glaring fault.
Above all powers, above all kings
Above all nature and all created things
Above all wisdom and all the ways of man
You were here before the world began
Above all kingdoms, above all thrones
Above all wonders the world has ever known
Above all wealth and treasures of the earth
There’s no way to measure what You’re worth”
It’s beautiful–singing about the supremecy of Christ over all things, of His matchless worth.
And the chorus only increases the wonder, telling of the pinnacle of God’s glory displayed through the cross.
“Crucified laid behind the stone
You lived to die rejected and alone
Like a Rose trampled on the ground
You took the fall..”
I exult in the supremecy of Christ, I celebrate the incarnation, I rejoice in the crucifixion–the Power of God displayed for all to see.
And the next words send me back to earth with a thump.
“You took the fall
And thought of me
Above all.”
What?
Are you serious?
So I just sung about how God is above all–but now you’re telling me God worships ME?
Uh-uh. Not happening.
God, the supreme God who is above all, thinks of me (Hallelujah)–but He does not think of me ABOVE ALL. God thinks of me and loves me–but He is God-focused above all. He does not live to make me happy or even to save me–He lives to be Himself and to be seen as Himself. And, boy, is that a good thing! If God were me-focused, it would decrease His God-hood, it would make Him an idolator. God doesn’t think of me above all.
So, needless to say, that song frustrates me a bit.
So good. So bad. So difficult to separate the good from the bad.
Tell me, do you have a song you love and hate? Do you think about the theology in the songs you’re singing? What songs bother you–and what do you do about it? Do you still sing along? Do you stand in silence? Do you write a letter to the editor? Tell me what you think about theology and music.
“I would have lost heart, unless I had believed
That I would see the goodness of the LORD
In the land of the living.
Wait on the LORD;
Be of good courage,
And He shall strengthen your heart;
Wait, I say, on the LORD!”
~Psalm 27:13-14
It’s been a long year.
It’s been a tough year.
I’ve been tempted to give up a hundred times (a day).
I’ve been tempted to lose hope.
And I would have–
except for one thing.
I believe that I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
Years ago, a girl in our church wrote a song based loosely on Psalm 27. I sing my best memory of it now and am reminded that I have hope, even in the moments when I find myself melancholy and almost ready to despair.
Here’s my best memory (which is, I’m sure, quite imperfect):
I am needing, You are giving
I am weary, You offer rest
Though all of me is not much to offer
You give me Your best
You’re the one my heart is needing
Lord, my hunger You satisfy
Hear my cry of desperate pleading
In You I long to abide
And I will see the goodness of the Lord
I will see the goodness of the Lord my God
In the land of the living
It’s a comfortable sin, one I barely recognize until I’m called on it, until something bumps it and causes it to bristle.
Pride.
The root that says I deserve, I have a right, you ought to treat me well.
I tell my Bible study how I don’t want a Mephibosheth. I had one once–a student who was completely dependent on me. I had great motives when I started discipling her–I saw her need and I wanted to share the love of Christ with her. But she and her family abused my care. They were careless with my time, with my money, with what I was giving. I don’t want another Mephibosheth. I don’t want to be used like that again.
My Bible study leaders ask me what I learned through that experience. I struggle to come up with an answer. All I can think of is the injustice done to me–and when I was trying to be altruistic.
“It’s Pride.” Kathy says.
I realize she’s right. It’s pride that insists on its own rights, insists on being treated well.
Cathy shares her story of discovering her own pride in thinking that a woman she’s sharing with couldn’t teach her anything.
I bristled at the thought of a husband trying to disciple me. Who would he be to teach me anything? Encourage me, sure. Rebuke me, yes. But teach me? I don’t need to be taught.
“That’s pride,” the voice of the Lord said.
And once again, I was forced to grapple with my heart’s dark core.
Pride.
Pride that makes me think I can teach others but need not be taught myself. Pride that makes me think that I have something to offer others but that no one else has anything to offer me.
Pride that makes me think I deserve to be made much of. I deserve to be appreciated. I deserve to be treated fairly, nicely, with mercy.
I find myself arrogantly agreeing with Mr. Darcy that “pride, where there is a real superiority of mind–Pride is always in good measure.”
But it isn’t.
First, because compared to Christ, I have no superiority of which to boast. Second, because even Christ, who was superior in every way, humbled Himself and became obedient.
My heart needs a makeover–but not of the outside. My heart needs a coring, a removal of its center. My pride must be excised before its cancer corrupts my whole being. My pride must be rid, or I will have made myself an enemy I can’t afford to have.
‘God resists the proud,
But gives grace to the humble.’
Therefore submit to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you. Draw near to God and He will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners; and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Lament and mourn and weep! Let your laughter be turned to mourning and your joy to gloom. Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He will lift you up.
“It is finished.” Jesus cried as He breathed His last breath.
And with that cry, it was finished.
The atoning work was done; the price for sin paid; the load of sin borne.
It was finished.
The enemy had been defeated; the victory won.
It was finished.
But that wasn’t the end.
Christ would rise; He would reveal Himself to His followers; He would promise them the Holy Spirit; He would ascend.
His disciples would be left with a charge: “Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:19-20)
The end had not yet come.
The price had been paid, but those purchased had not yet been redeemed.
The enemy had been defeated, but he had not yet been vanquished.
In the intervening time, the disciples were given a promise.
“I am with you always, even to the end.”
Redemption was accomplished. The devil’s defeat complete.
But in the meantime, disciples live in a world where redeemed and unredeemed constantly rub shoulder. For now, we live in a world where a defeated enemy still prowls.
Our future is sure. Our present is perilous.
Except for that promise:
“I am with you always, even to the end.”
“In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.”
Last week, a woman from my church shared with me how something I’d written on my blog had impacted her life.
Something I’d written had encouraged her to step back and let her husband lead.
Something I’d written had been used by God to make her a better woman, a better wife.
After reading what I’d written, she released control of an issue. She supported her husband’s decision. She experienced immediate breakthrough in the situation she’d been hanging on to.
Wow.
I’m amazed. I’m humbled. I’m blessed.
That God could use me–a single woman who feels so very messed up–to minister truth to another woman.
That God could use me to bless a marriage, a family.
It’s an awesome privilege.
Thank you, dear Lord, for using me. And thank you, dear readers, for letting God speak to you through a cracked mirror like myself.
It’s easy to envy the wicked, to covet the peace and prosperity the godless seem to enjoy. I look at their houses, their husbands, their children, their jobs. Why cannot I have such things as they?
Because I have one thing far better.
I have God.
He’ll never leave.
Their houses and goods, friendships and family could all vanish–my God will always remain.
Their possessions are always subject to loss.
Mine, if Christ is my all, is eternally secure.
He will never leave me.
He will never forsake me.
What are a thousand earthly possessions compared to that?
“Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”
~Hebrews 13:5
