Month: May 2013

Our sheepdog Sam just got shaved down for the summer and he looks totally different. When I brought him home, we told our friend Curtis, who is living in our basement right now, that we got a new dog named Sam #2. I called Sam for what seemed like several minutes before he actually came out of his bathroom-hiding spot to show off his new hairdo. Sam acts embarrassed when he gets shaved down. It’s like he loses his glory and walks around ashamed for a while.

Glory and shame, naked and fig leaves, Sam fluffy and Sam shaved – all pictures of what God intended and what brokenness brings. Each and every day I battle with shame and so do you. It’s not a popular word but it’s everywhere we look in this world. Shame says: you are not enough, do more, try harder, be better, get your act together. Shame shows up on the scale and in the mirror, the kitchen, the bedroom and the office. Shame tells me I am not a good parent, not worthy of love, not valuable.

Glory on the other hand is what God sees when he looks at you through Christ. Glory says: you are my beloved, you have been bought at a price because I treasure you; my grace is sufficient for you; rest, breathe, and cease striving. Glory tells me in parenting that my child is really God’s child and just on loan to me for a season. Glory says that heaven loves Russell far more than I ever could. Glory reminds me of my identity in Christ and of my destiny in heaven.

It is glorious to see God’s glory. May you have grace to trust His glory alive in you, and may others see his glory through you today.

I’m an extrovert, so I’m rarely short on words. But this week God is asking me to hold my tongue, and I have to say it’s the hardest thing for me to do. Not just a little hard – like it’s hard to drink my full eight glasses of water each day – but hard like everything within me is roaring inside to speak. I want to explain myself, make myself be understood, justify my position, and give my two cents about my side of the story. Instead, I know I just have to walk away and be silent. This means living with being misunderstood and mistaken. It means trusting God instead of my ability to explain and fix.

Let me fill you in: This week I decided to take a risk in a friendship in my life. I chose to have one of those, “Can I share my experience of you recently?” conversations with a dear friend. I stayed up late the night before, praying and journaling about exactly what it was I wanted to say. Having the conversation was a risk, and I wasn’t looking forward to it, but there have been a few times when others have taken this risk with me, so I know how important it can be. A few times in my life this kind of conversation has been the most loving gift I could have been offered. Direct feedback from someone who knows you and loves you (very key – not talking about angry critics here) is an exceptionally rare and precious gift.

But, my conversation with my friend did not go so well. For whatever reason, my friend could not receive my feedback (and I’ve been there before too.) She deflected, minimized, sabotaged, and turned dramatic, involving another person to “her side of the story” almost immediately.

So here lies my fork in the road. I could try again, explain my perspective, and attempt to make myself understood, or I could turn on her, go toxic, and get caustic. Either way, it would mean more talking. And for the first time in a long time, silence seems like the only good and right option. So much of what I do day-to-day depends on words, articulation and communication. Yet sometimes wisdom and character lie not in what we say but in what we don’t say. Sometimes the best thing to do is to just get quiet and walk away. Sometimes we need to be like David in the Bible who chose not to retaliate when he was being unjustly attacked. When Saul threw arrows at David, he did not break out his bow, or rally his troupes, or fight back. Instead he just fled, alone and silent.

I know I have to be quiet now. I just know that being silent is the hardest thing to do. It’s requiring me to trust God with the outcome of it all, and I’d so much rather try to control it on my own.

I’m not really an RV person, but Tim has been daydreaming about our family owning an RV for a couple of years now. My daydreams usually involve a direct flight, a nice hotel, and drinks on the beach.

When Russell was just five-weeks-old – yes, you read that correctly – five-WEEKS-old, we took an RV vacation with our friends to Cran Fest in Wisconsin. Imagine this: me, Tim, our newborn, and our 85-lb sheepdog, plus Bill, Kate, and their two-year-old daughter Mica traveling through the night to view some cranberries growing in bogs. Dream vacation? Hardly. Memorable? Definitely.

For Tim, the RV represents family and togetherness and memories. He gets all nostalgic and dreamy-eyed imagining us road tripping together some day. I’ve been on three RV trips in my life, and two out of three times we’ve broken down on the side of the road. Our perspectives are definitely different!

But I love Tim, and Tim’s enthusiasm is contagious. So, this week we actually pulled the trigger on a little used 21′ RV for our family.

Sometimes love defers. Sometimes love means moving to the other side or at least trying out the other perspective. Sometimes love says, “You know, that is not really my thing, but I’m happy to see you so happy – let’s give it a try.”