Breaking the rules

Rules were made to be broken.  God made the law knowing we couldn’t keep it.  To be human is to sin, which means breaking the rules.  God expected this when he handed them down. The rules, or more to the point, our propensity to break them was designed to point us back to the fact that we can’t be good enough.  We can’t get to heaven on our own.  We need God, not just to give us grace when we sin but also to give us strength to obey.

            “Barriers alone can not suppress the heart,” said our pastor this Sunday.  Our heart is our best and worst asset.  We want to obey God; our hearts long to please Him.  But it is also our heart that betrays us when the desire to be distracted or entertained by the world is stronger than our desire to be right with God.  God already set limits, or barriers to sin, for us.  We set them for ourselves too.  “After this one time, I won’t do that anymore.”  “Just this once, it isn’t like I watch/listen/read this stuff all the time.”  We tell ourselves we are going on a diet (sometimes food and sometimes from media, electronics, etc) and right away temptation finds us.  Barriers alone can not suppress our hearts.

            I shouldn’t be surprised then that rules and limits are not enough to assure obedience from my daughters.  I have to continue to work on their hearts.  Character issues are frequently called heart issues, I like that.  It gets to the root of the problem.  What are ways you reach your daughters’ hearts? 

Shepherding a Child's Heart

Hearts and Minds: Raising Your Child with a Christian View of the World

Risking the Impossible

I love readingOne Thousand Gifts just to get a taste of the voice and tone that Ann uses.  Here is my own take on themes found in her writing.

            What do I risk?  What do I lay out, palms open and stretched forward?  Risk means love and that I care about the consequences of loss, hurt, and pain.  Risking means giving it up and being vulnerable.  Open and undefended.

            I risk very little.  I tuck a hope in my deepest pocket.  I stash a yearning in the farthest recesses of dusty closet corners.  I hold tight, arms crossed and bound around what I love.  It’s mine.  So I hoard it, never allowing anyone else to touch it.  I’m a petulant child who won’t share her toys. 

            God calls me to give.  He wants me palms out and up, arms thrown wide, face up lit.  He wants joy in my grateful smile of vulnerability.  He wants wild abandoned trust like a child from me.  I only tentatively allow Him a glimpse into my cupped hands before snapping them closed tight to my chest.

            I risk little.  I’ll do it.  “What do I do, Lord?  What do you want me to do, God?”  His simple answer, “Let it go.  Risk losing,” is ignored while I continue to plea for something I can do to make it better.  Make it all go away.

            I refuse the cool evening breeze for fear of mosquitoes buzzing and feeding.  Though his blood was shed for me.

            I look away from young sweet faces framed after my own and focus instead on a lifeless world of intangible.  Yet he gave up being God to become on of these for me.

            What do I risk compared to God?

            Release.  Let it go.  Surrender it.  Risk it all.  He can handle the responsibility so much better than I can.  Perhaps, like Satan I am jealous of God’s ability to do all things perfectly.  Well, perfectly for Him.   But I want it to revolve around me.  Perfect becomes relative, fluid, and flowing.  I know what’s best for me.  I know my own mind, don’t I?

            But I only know the present.  The past becomes cloudy and the future is a thick fog.  I only know my place, right here where I am standing with my hand on my hips and my hips cocked to one side.  I only see what’s in front of me, through my glass frames in the spectrum of visible light.  And it goes on. My hearing, touch, smell: all of it fragmented and weak in comparison.

            My idea of best is easy and sunny and warm and joyful, and, and.  My idea of best is limited.  I am confined by “possible.”  Limited by human fault and discord.  If only I could remember that I risk so much more by holding on to my life.  Who am I and what am I capable of that I would risk not giving it all to Him who loves me more than I love myself?

            Why do I drown out His loving offers with a steady, “mine, mine, mine”?  I can claim my fragile human faults or I can embrace them.  One makes excuses then keeps on doing what I was doing before.  The other, embracing…oh, that means dropping everything I have clung to and harbored.  I have to let it all fall in order to open my arms wide and instead hold tightly to my Savior.

Spiritual Conditions

The ladies in my wonderful bible study/book club have come up with some very funny ways of looking at our human behaviors.  We all admit to having Spiritual Alzheimer’s, but the rest are my own creation (not to be confused with an admittance of guilt by any other parties).  What spiritual conditions do you have?  Leave me your ideas in the comments section.

I have spiritual Alzheimer’s.  I read my Bible or a great and uplifting book about my walk with God.  Then I put the book down and switch the laundry over, stop the kids from fighting, cook dinner, make the kids share, maybe get some writing done, and…completely forget the wonderful and energizing lesson I had just learned and was so excited about.  In fact, I probably won’t remember anything more about it until I pick up the book the next time, and by then I will feel so bad about forgetting that I might even avoid reading the book again for a while.

I am spiritually deaf.  I pray and pray for God to just tell me what to do about any given situation.  I’m sure He is right there beside me, calmly repeating Himself yet again.  Yet I feel unheard and unanswered.

I am spiritually menopausal.  I go from lukewarm in my faith to red hot in an instant, just to cool off once the mood changes.  Don’t even get me started on my irregular commitment to reading my Bible or praying.

I am spiritual anemic.  I get too busy to read my Bible or even pray.  I am tired and worn out from my lack of connection to God.  Something in me is missing, something that only God can provide.

I am spiritually lice infested.  From a distance, all appears normal.  I look and sound just fine.  But if you get out the magnifying glass you can see the worries and doubts just crawling around in my mind.  Watch me long enough and you will see me twitch and repeated scratch the itch of those doubts.

I am spiritually malnourished.  Ok, so that music wasn’t very “Christian.”  And perhaps, the book I just read was kind of romanticizing some very non-Christ-like behaviors.  These things were filling at the time, but my spirit is withering in cultural-junk-food.

I have spiritual heartburn.  I read that passage about not frustrating my children.  The more I digest it the more my heart aches with conviction.  Honor my husband?  No idols?  I need a Tums!