Show Me

“So you see, Fourpaws,” I said, busily swiping at the spot on the kitchen floor with the wipe in my hand, “my son is coming to this house and I’m going to have it ready for him.”  Fourpaws batted his head against me and dropped a slobbery toy by my foot.  I trailed off, acutely aware that some might think my sudden urge to explain my rationale for floor-polishing to a marginally curious but otherwise unconcerned husky a bit strange.  My mind, however, continued to wend its way through a similar train of thought.

Perhaps because of this week’s close proximity to my ever-beckoning due-date, I find myself increasingly aware that the person waiting at the end of my pregnancy process is a son.  I am the mother of a son; not just a baby.  He will be my firstborn son.  God has created him as a male with a man’s calling and a man’s destiny already spoken over his little life.  And for the next eighteen or so years, I will be THE woman in his life.

What an awesome, terrifying thought.

I have already begun praying for my little love’s wife, that–should our beloved Bridegroom delay His coming and it be His will for my son to marry–the Lord would bless her with the gift of prophecy and she would love Him with heart, mind, soul and strength.  However, with that prayer comes the realization that I will be the model my son uses to find his spouse, whether it be to find characteristics like me or to deliberately choose traits different from me.  He will learn how to honor women by the way I interact with his father.  It is our responsibility to teach him the value of guarding his purity through my choices in clothing, makeup, and media allowed into my home.  Under my guidance, he will learn the basics of keeping up a house–either because one day he will have to use these tools to take care of himself or he will learn to appreciate any woman who honors him enough to do them for him.  His father will teach him what it means to be a man.  I will teach him what it means to respect women.  He will know “her” by what he sees in me.

All of this, and he hasn’t even drawn his first breath.

I find myself remembering Phillip’s request to Jesus in John 14:8–”Lord, show us the Father.”  Up until tonight, I have always thought that was a legitimate request; but now I understand a little better Jesus’ disbelief at what He heard.  I can only model character traits I hope my son will learn to value in women.  Jesus was so much more than a model–He is one with the Father, Himself.  To see Jesus is to see the Father.  To fall in love with Jesus is to fall in love with the Father.  Our Father, who so longs to capture our hearts with all-consuming love, is everything that was personified to us through the life of Christ.  Every promise that Jesus made came straight from the Father.

I often fall into confusion on the subject of the Trinity, and I believe that is somewhat a God-orchestrated gift; after all, part of the greatness of God is that He is so much higher than our ability to understand Him.  To me, Jesus is so much more approachable than the mystery of the Father.  It is hard to reconcile the Old-Testament God with the love-saturated Jesus; and yet, the purpose of Christ’s life was to point us to the Father.  This must mean that every beautiful facet of Jesus’ life is in the Father.  Christ’s humility, His kindness, His compassion, His mercy, His zeal, His love….they are all bound up in our Father, modeled to us through the life of Jesus.

As I meditate on God, I find myself so thankful for the tangible representation of Jesus.  He is my anchor when I grapple with the difficult decisions of the Old Testament God; and I want to say what Phillip could not say–that I have seen the Father because I know His Son.

Grace over you.

Pondering Mary

And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. ~Luke 2:7

Let me begin by saying that I’m a mixed-bag when it comes to Christmas.  I love old movies, cold nights, fireplaces, and carols.  I enjoy decorating my house with lights and a tree.  I also believe that Jesus was born in September and that our corporate consumerism in the December season in which we choose to celebrate His birth is an insult to His life and the message He preached.  JD and I have agreed that our family will not exchange gifts at Christmas, opting instead to use what we would buy for presents for each other and help someone else in the community in need.  We want our children to learn the joy in giving away and not learn to be ungrateful in a gimme-driven society.  (Case-in-point, a recent Best Buy commercial I saw pitted a mom against Santa to see who could give the most presents to her family.  “Game on, Santa”?  Really?  But, I digress.)

Despite the mixed emotions on the Christmas season, I can’t help but find my mind wandering to the Nativity story at this time of year.  This year in particular, I feel a sudden kinship with the little girl who brought forth her firstborn, a son, and wrapped him in strips of cloth.  As I examine the tiny crib awaiting my own firstborn son, I wonder if it pained her to lay Jesus’ tiny body in box where animals drooled and ate.  She had no baby showers, no internet to explain to her the significance of a sciatic nerve or how many times He should kick in a two-hour period.  She didn’t have a doctor monitoring her weight and hormone levels once a month as she carried Him.  She didn’t even have her mother there to hold her hand and wipe sweat off of her brow when her time came.  Instead, she spent time during the final weeks of her pregnancy traveling rutted roads far from home with a husband she was having to learn to trust.

She followed this husband to Egypt after Jesus was born, nursing Him on the journey without the benefit of a pacifier, numbing cream, or disposable diapers.  She had no carseat or Boppy pillow to give relief to her arms and no blinking or singing toys to distract His attention; and she had the promise that a sword would pierce her heart.  What a bittersweet time this was for her.

As we approach the season in which we celebrate Christ’s birth, I’m grateful that the little one I often feel having hiccups inside of me doesn’t have the responsibility of saving his people from their sins.  I’m grateful for stacks of warm blankets on his changing table and the comforting warmth of his grandmother’s rocking chair beside his crib.  I’m grateful no government agency is seeking his precious, little life.  I’m grateful I can spend Thanksgiving week this year at home with my best friend and not have to walk or ride an animal to the city where he was born.  God has been good to me.

As retailers gear up for their busiest season of the year and “Black Friday” looms over our heads, I don’t ask you to stop and “remember the reason for the season.”  Plenty of others will do that for me (and, again, I believe His “season” was in September anyway).  However, I would encourage you to stop and evaluate what is truly valuable in life.  Thanksgiving should not be a day; it should be a lifestyle.

Invitation to Lovesickness

Today I found the following “draft” of a blog in my blog queue…

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It’s been one of those days–filled to the brim with the richness and the beauty of life.  JD and I are entering our third month of marriage; never have I found an earthly companionship as sweet or as fulfilling.  I am beginning to see physical changes manifest in my waistline as God continues to knit and fashion our coming blessing in secret.  Our friendships are warm and vibrant; our families are filled with love.  And yet, today I am miserable.

If you’re thinking perhaps this is some plunge of pregnancy hormones, let me quickly explain that it’s not “that kind” of misery.  I am not in conflict with anyone in my life.  I did not wake up in a bad mood.  No–this is a heavy ache that has become familiar over my life; a sudden, piercing pain, like unexpectedly remembering the death of an old friend.  It is mourning for the Bridegroom.

Jesus said that His followers would mourn and fast when He left them (Matthew 9:15); this is an ideology diametrically opposed to the comfort-Christianity we have  espoused in the West.  We don’t want to mourn, arguing instead that God created us to enjoy life.  This is a lie.  We were created for His glory and His pleasure, not for our own (Col. 1:16, Rom. 11:6, 1 Cor. 8:6, Rev. 4:11).  God gives to us because He is a kind Father who loves us; unfortunately, we have taken that to the extreme and reduced faith to little more than a means to an end. 

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God is kind to allow us to preach to ourselves from time to time.  There continues to be a deep dissatisfaction in my heart with life-as-usual.  Despite the continued sweetness of life, preparing for the little one who will join our family in a few months and relishing in the chummy companionship of one who understands me so well, there remains a wild, lonely ache in my heart.  Today, I found myself praying, “Jesus….You said I’d never thirst again…that I would become the well of deep, living water.  Change my perspective.”

Truly, we were made for more than a life of comfortable routine, though we often silence the ache for more with a new television series, a new video game, a new project on our homes, a new craft, a new hobby, a new sport….  For my part, football season and Facebook were an almost-lethal attack to relevance in my life a few years ago; and I remained miserable, plunging into yet another of the seasons of melancholy have been with me most of my life.  Although I accepted accusations of being moody and strove to find some particular circumstance to blame for the sudden disquiet, I could never seem to find a justifiable cause.

Life has changed in just about as many ways as possible since then.  The apartment has given place to a house; single life gave way to marital bliss; the frantic, must-be-somewhere-every-night schedule is no more.  Even football and Facebook have taken a pass, thanks to no cable and a several week Facebook fast.  

No, circumstances are not to blame.  This is the deep, wild call of God, stirring our hearts to cry out to Him.  This is the ache of Holy Spirit inspired intercession when we don’t know why we are praying.  It is not depression or ingratitude; it is the bittersweet bride-to-be who accepts that her Bridegroom has not yet returned.  She lives in resigned participation with life going along around her, but her heart is not engaged unless He’s involved.  With every prayer, she is writing yet another letter imploring the speeding days to pass faster.  With every quiet moment in the Word, she is gazing through the window and up the road, hoping to see Him rounding the corner.  This is pure, unadulterated longing.  She aches for Him.  WE ache for Him.

Each day, He gives us a choice; we can satiate our heart-ache with good things, or we can do the one thing that is needed and sit with Him in silence.  May He gives us renewed grace to say, “yes.”

Seasons in Trust

My son,

We’ve made it into another week, you and I.  In just a few more months we will hold you in our arms.  Life has changed so much in 21 weeks.  You have a name and a room of your own (though I still have so much to do to make it ready for you), and if you only realized how many people have already brought you presents you’d know how wanted you are. 

You’re so tiny, sweet son–so fragile.  I have only recently begun to feel your little feet and arms swaying inside of me.  Daddy can feel you moving, too, if I am still enough, and there’s nothing more beautiful to me than the smile that stretches across his face when you kick against his hand. 

We are praying for your dreams, little one, that you would encounter the Lord even as you sleep.  Daddy has prayed Psalm 91 over you so many times that he now quotes it from memory every night; and I think you love the sound of his voice because you start moving more when he walks into the room.

Your life is such a lesson in trust to me.  Our heavenly Father is forming you in hiddenness–in secret–and there’s nothing I can do to control what He’s making.  Of course, I am doing the “obvious” things to stay healthy, but I can’t keep your tiny heart beating any more than I can force one neuron to fire in your brain.  At this point, your feet are smaller than one section of my index finger, and you’re about the length of a standard ball-point pen.  How can God, who holds the entire universe in the palm of His hand, craft something so tiny with such precision?  And yet, every visit to my doctor confirms that you are perfect–my growing, healthy little miracle.

I am praying for you today, my son, with the admonition that David charged to Solomon before David’s death:

“Be strong, therefore, and prove yourself a man. And keep the charge of the LORD your God: to walk in His ways, to keep His statutes, His commandments, His judgments, and His testimonies, as it is written in the Law of Moses, that you may prosper in all that you do and wherever you turn.”  ~1 Kings 2:2-3  

I am claiming that you will know the hope of His calling; that you will be shielded from the evil one even as Jesus prayed right before His death.  I am praying that you will make a covenant with your eyes as Job did and fiercely guard purity all of your days.  May you be quick to praise, swift to give thanks, and dedicated to the Lord’s service in whatever way He calls you; and may love for Him and compassion for His people abound in your heart in all things.

30 Days – Day 22: Isaiah 42

“ I, the LORD, have called You in righteousness, 
 And will hold Your hand; 
 I will keep You and give You as a covenant to the people, 
 As a light to the Gentiles, 
 To open blind eyes, 
 To bring out prisoners from the prison, 
 Those who sit in darkness from the prison house. 
 I am the LORD, that is My name; 
 And My glory I will not give to another, 
 Nor My praise to carved images. 
 Behold, the former things have come to pass, 
 And new things I declare; 
 Before they spring forth I tell you of them.”  ~Is. 42:6-9

What colossal power is in these words from the Lord.  Isaiah has the privilege of eavesdropping on a conversation between the Father and His Son, where God outlined both His identity and His purpose.  Who was it who called Jesus in righteousness (here, tsedeq, also meaning “justice”)?  Who strengthened His hand and encouraged Him as He walked the earth?  Who guarded Him and hid Him in secret until His time had come?  Who but the Lord, Jehovah, “the existing one” could have done all of this?

God was giving more than just His name in this passage.  He gave His glory as well.  “Jehovah” is the name He gave when He cut covenant with Moses and called him to lead His people from slavery to Pharaoh.  Moses used this name throughout the Pentateuch in describing the mighty, creative power of the Lord.  He is the existing one–I AM–who transcends time; and He stakes His reputation on that name.

“For the LORD will not forsake His people, for His great name’s sake…” ~2 Sam. 12:22

“He leads me in the paths of righteousness For His name’s sake.” ~Ps. 23:3

“Nevertheless He saved them for His name’s sake,That He might make His mighty power known.” ~Ps. 106:8

“For My own sake, for My own sake, I will do it;For how should My name be profaned? And I will not give My glory to another.” ~Is. 48:11

Perhaps  it would be wise of us to begin realizing that God’s mercy and protection toward us are as much to do with His own reputation as I AM as our own worth in His sight.  Perhaps we would begin to see more of our prayers answered in miraculous healings if we understood what Jesus knew:  that God acts for the glory of His own Name, and the glory of His Son, Jesus.  Jesus prayed, “Father, glorify Your name.” Then a voice came from heaven, saying, “I have both glorified it and will glorify it again.” (Jn. 12:28)  He also said, “And whatever you ask in My name, that I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.” (Jn. 14:13)

One day the Church will put down her programs and politics and live to glorify I AM.  One day we will not have a place for men who use their pulpits to make a name for themselves, because there will only be one Name worth knowing and worth glorifying.  One day we will finally see Him for who He is, and live for the glory of His name over our own.