Just as if I were starring in my own classic sitcom, I managed to back into my co-worker’s car in the parking lot last week. My gas tank cover hooked her fender, leaving her car with scratches and a nickel-sized hole and my gas tank cover twisted up like a soda can tab.
The only thing worse than the initial impact of the fender bender was the awkward moment of returning to the building to inform my co-worker, “I have some very bad news about your vehicle.”
And the consequences just kept rolling in. I had to tell my husband, face my co-workers and re-live the incident every time I saw our vehicles.
Although I’ve always been a pretty conservative, prudent driver (read: grandma in a Camaro), I’m even more aware now that I’ve blown my one “get out of jail free” card--a first-time forgiveness insurance policy protecting me from a premium increase--and cannot afford another wreck. So every time I start my car I tell myself, “Whatever you do, don’t mess up.” That’s a lot of pressure!
Every unfortunate decision or sin has consequences. Not only should we confess to our Father, but we may also have to confess to the person we’ve wronged or to a third party who can hold us accountable in the future. Confession is humbling, but it’s the only way to start reparations.
My stomach knots up whenever I see my mutilated car and know that I alone am to blame. Likewise, just when we’re beginning to find peace in the process of confession and forgiveness, remorse can sucker punch us with shame. When overwhelming regret condemns us again and again, we should remind ourselves that what’s past is past and that we’ve learned where our weakness lies, where our strength lies (in Him), and how to avoid that kind of mess in the future.
Sometimes long after the event passes, we harbor fear that we’ll trip up again. We certainly don’t want to re-live the pain--or worse--wear out God’s forgiveness policy. But God does not want us to live in constant fear of anything, including sin.
Insurance companies may not forgive us “70 x 7” because they’re not all that into holiness, grace, mercy, etc.--but God is.
It is often said that “God is the God of the second chance.” Isn’t it wonderful to know that He also has a second, third, 43rd and 1000th-time forgiveness policy?
I’m so glad that “Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22-23).
Knowing how relentlessly forgiving our Father is should make us want to live obediently inside the circle of His best will for us every minute of every day. But it’s comforting to know that when we do mangle our lives, He doesn’t demand that we pay a perpetual debt. Jesus paid that price once for all, and the same mercies that are brand new every morning also endure forever.
We bring our ugly mistakes to God, and He turns our wreckage into something beautiful. It’s a crazy policy when you think about it, but that’s our Father: the extravagant giver of unmerited favor, the God of infinite chances to those who know and love Him.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Feeling Lost? Here's a Message In A Bottle
You usually get a 2nd Cup of silly here, but I do enjoy writing with a little more depth once in a while. Regarding my columns, I try to speak to people who aren't yet committed to following Christ and then with the next column, to those who are committed. However, all of my columns appear on the religion page, and to be honest, I don't think many people go there on purpose. Unless they're my parents. And sometimes not even them! ["Mom, did you know my column is in today's paper? No? Well, it is."] Also, I did not title this piece; the editors did.
Feeling Lost? Here's a Message in a Bottle
For the first time since the General Hospital Luke and Laura phenomenon of my senior year in high school, I'm hooked on a television series.
Lost is ostensibly about the survivors of an airplane crash on an uncharted Pacific island, but the reason the show is wildly popular is that every week, the double meaning of the title becomes more and more enthralling.
Each Lost character has his own backstory that brought him aboard Oceanic flight 815, allowing writers to address themes such as the existence of God, fate vs. destiny, good vs. evil, dualism within characters, relationship dysfunction -- particularly between fathers and sons, faith vs. science and redemption.
Plus it's just so ingeniously written that it's completely captivating.
So, I've been thinking about being lost a lot lately, specifically, that while a person can be physically disoriented, he can also be confused in his spirit, his heart or identity.
Maybe you can relate to these "lost" moments from my life:
When I was a child, I skipped up to my father in a department store and took his hand, only to look up and see that I had grabbed a stranger's hand instead. I was so panicked I couldn't speak and ran away. I wasn't running toward anything because I wasn't thinking at all; I could only run away.
I'll never forget the first time I was driving when suddenly I whispered, "Where am I?"
Once I lost my toddler daughter only to find her curled up behind a toilet in our half bath, smiling mischievously at me.
I remember when my husband took my little dog for a short car trip without my knowledge. When I couldn't find her, I was heart-sick, believing her to be lost.
I also remember how lost I felt when my college sweetheart broke up with me as I looked down the road at the rest of my life without him.
And then there was the moment as a young adult that I realized that I was living in a state of lostness, desiring a meaningful life and unconditional love but feeling depressed instead. Again, I reached out for my Father's hand. This time, I recognized the sure grip of a faithful God. No more confusion or running -- His hand was the right thing to reach for.
Eugene Peterson, who wrote The Message, said that we're all stuck on a personal "I-land," where we are so lost that we don't know who we are, who God is or why we're here. In this sense, we are born lost. We're merely existing, just surviving. The message in a bottle: "I have made a way to rescue you from your I-land!" floats by everyone on his I-land, but only a few realize the need to be rescued or believe that it's possible.
If you're confused, afraid, lonely, hopeless, or empty, open the message in the bottle with your name on it and know that help is on the way. Your rescuer is closer than your next heartbeat if you'll just reach out. For the rest of your life, you'll feel your Father's presence, and nothing will be able tear you away from His firm grip -- you'll never be lost again.
Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.
Feeling Lost? Here's a Message in a Bottle
For the first time since the General Hospital Luke and Laura phenomenon of my senior year in high school, I'm hooked on a television series.
Lost is ostensibly about the survivors of an airplane crash on an uncharted Pacific island, but the reason the show is wildly popular is that every week, the double meaning of the title becomes more and more enthralling.
Each Lost character has his own backstory that brought him aboard Oceanic flight 815, allowing writers to address themes such as the existence of God, fate vs. destiny, good vs. evil, dualism within characters, relationship dysfunction -- particularly between fathers and sons, faith vs. science and redemption.
Plus it's just so ingeniously written that it's completely captivating.
So, I've been thinking about being lost a lot lately, specifically, that while a person can be physically disoriented, he can also be confused in his spirit, his heart or identity.
Maybe you can relate to these "lost" moments from my life:
When I was a child, I skipped up to my father in a department store and took his hand, only to look up and see that I had grabbed a stranger's hand instead. I was so panicked I couldn't speak and ran away. I wasn't running toward anything because I wasn't thinking at all; I could only run away.
I'll never forget the first time I was driving when suddenly I whispered, "Where am I?"
Once I lost my toddler daughter only to find her curled up behind a toilet in our half bath, smiling mischievously at me.
I remember when my husband took my little dog for a short car trip without my knowledge. When I couldn't find her, I was heart-sick, believing her to be lost.
I also remember how lost I felt when my college sweetheart broke up with me as I looked down the road at the rest of my life without him.
And then there was the moment as a young adult that I realized that I was living in a state of lostness, desiring a meaningful life and unconditional love but feeling depressed instead. Again, I reached out for my Father's hand. This time, I recognized the sure grip of a faithful God. No more confusion or running -- His hand was the right thing to reach for.
Eugene Peterson, who wrote The Message, said that we're all stuck on a personal "I-land," where we are so lost that we don't know who we are, who God is or why we're here. In this sense, we are born lost. We're merely existing, just surviving. The message in a bottle: "I have made a way to rescue you from your I-land!" floats by everyone on his I-land, but only a few realize the need to be rescued or believe that it's possible.
If you're confused, afraid, lonely, hopeless, or empty, open the message in the bottle with your name on it and know that help is on the way. Your rescuer is closer than your next heartbeat if you'll just reach out. For the rest of your life, you'll feel your Father's presence, and nothing will be able tear you away from His firm grip -- you'll never be lost again.
Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
What Not to Wear--Spiritual Edition
What Not to Wear, Spiritual Edition
On TLC’s fashion makeover show What Not to Wear, a makeover subject is introduced to outfits put together according to new rules designed especially for her by the show’s hosts. If the subject stays within the guidelines and avoids old habits and haunts when she shops in New York City, she’ll do well at her “big reveal,” where the hosts will lavish praise on her for staying true to their directives even though she may have struggled.
When we’re sensitive to the Spirit of God, we too have moments of revelation, seeing ourselves in the 360* mirror of truth, and it’s not pretty.
The Spirit then shows us a new way of living, one that best fits why our creator made us in the first place. If we focus on him and avoid old habits and haunts, we’ll do well in the “big city,” and in the end, God will lavish on us the words we long to hear: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
In Ephesians 6:14-18, we find familiar “rules” for dressing for spiritual success.
Let the truth be like a belt around your waist, and let God's justice protect you like armor. Your desire to tell the good news about peace should be like shoes on your feet. Let your faith be like a shield, and you will be able to stop all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Let God's saving power be like a helmet, and for a sword use God's message that comes from the Spirit.
But we’ve read these guidelines so many times it’s easy to blow across them. So just for fun, let’s flip the passage and look at What Not to Wear, Spiritual Edition.
*Don’t get bound up in hypocrisy and deceitfulness, which are ugly and hurtful. Be straightforward and virtuous from the smallest button to the largest overcoat.
*Don’t slip your feet into grungy shoes that bring nothing but trouble to others— be the one who walks into a room with good news, comfort, peace, compassion and hope. Wear shoes suitable for moving swiftly into spiritual battle for yourself or on behalf of others. Who says sensible shoes can’t be beautiful?
*Don’t wear a flimsy smock of faith. Go for quality and durability. You’ll be glad when you face harsh weather and adversaries.
*Your hat is a banner over you, creating first impressions. Who is your designer? Know your Savior and King above all!
*Your most important accessory? Not your denomination. Not your worship music. Not your financial giving statement. It’s the Word of God. Outside your body, strictly speaking, it’s an accessory, but meditate on it until it’s deep in your heart and first in your thoughts.
*Don’t be lazy about your spiritual attire, returning to old habits and haunts. Stay au current. Notice what God is up to in the world and join him. Be in constant communication with your Life Coach.
It’s OK to look forward to the final “Big Reveal,” but until then, get your spiritual fashion rules down, express your creativity and uniqueness, work with passion, and have loads of fun in the big city!
On TLC’s fashion makeover show What Not to Wear, a makeover subject is introduced to outfits put together according to new rules designed especially for her by the show’s hosts. If the subject stays within the guidelines and avoids old habits and haunts when she shops in New York City, she’ll do well at her “big reveal,” where the hosts will lavish praise on her for staying true to their directives even though she may have struggled.
When we’re sensitive to the Spirit of God, we too have moments of revelation, seeing ourselves in the 360* mirror of truth, and it’s not pretty.
The Spirit then shows us a new way of living, one that best fits why our creator made us in the first place. If we focus on him and avoid old habits and haunts, we’ll do well in the “big city,” and in the end, God will lavish on us the words we long to hear: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
In Ephesians 6:14-18, we find familiar “rules” for dressing for spiritual success.
Let the truth be like a belt around your waist, and let God's justice protect you like armor. Your desire to tell the good news about peace should be like shoes on your feet. Let your faith be like a shield, and you will be able to stop all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Let God's saving power be like a helmet, and for a sword use God's message that comes from the Spirit.
But we’ve read these guidelines so many times it’s easy to blow across them. So just for fun, let’s flip the passage and look at What Not to Wear, Spiritual Edition.
*Don’t get bound up in hypocrisy and deceitfulness, which are ugly and hurtful. Be straightforward and virtuous from the smallest button to the largest overcoat.
*Don’t slip your feet into grungy shoes that bring nothing but trouble to others— be the one who walks into a room with good news, comfort, peace, compassion and hope. Wear shoes suitable for moving swiftly into spiritual battle for yourself or on behalf of others. Who says sensible shoes can’t be beautiful?
*Don’t wear a flimsy smock of faith. Go for quality and durability. You’ll be glad when you face harsh weather and adversaries.
*Your hat is a banner over you, creating first impressions. Who is your designer? Know your Savior and King above all!
*Your most important accessory? Not your denomination. Not your worship music. Not your financial giving statement. It’s the Word of God. Outside your body, strictly speaking, it’s an accessory, but meditate on it until it’s deep in your heart and first in your thoughts.
*Don’t be lazy about your spiritual attire, returning to old habits and haunts. Stay au current. Notice what God is up to in the world and join him. Be in constant communication with your Life Coach.
It’s OK to look forward to the final “Big Reveal,” but until then, get your spiritual fashion rules down, express your creativity and uniqueness, work with passion, and have loads of fun in the big city!
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
At the Family Table
12/07 Muncie Star Press
Because I was born late into my family, my earliest memories have always included my three sisters-in-law. So by the time my parents, my brothers and their wives occupied our holiday table, I was necessarily placed at the dreaded “kid table.”
I never liked this arrangement. At eight years old, I definitely had a lot of sparkling conversation to bring to the table. Alas, no adult ever gave up his seat so that the eight-year-old brat could sit at the grown-up table.
No matter how old we all grew, I remained youngest until my nephews came along, and then at least I had company at the kid table, even if they all spoke Elmer Fudd language.
The day finally came when as a newlywed, I returned home for the holidays. I can’t remember if I finally made the cut for the big table or not. But the following year, I had a two-month-old, and guess what—it was back to the kid table for me. And there I remained with all three of my children as they grew up, year after year.
Remembering the kid table recently inspired me: when my kids and grandkids come home for the holidays, just once, I’m going to turn the world on its ear and reserve places for the smallest people at the elusive grown-up table.
On a larger scale, society also has its rules about who belongs and ranks and who doesn’t. But just because humans have established pecking orders (caste systems, hierarchies of power, designations of respect) doesn’t mean they reflect the Lord’s standards at all. In fact, we position those with money and power at the head of the table, while others are relegated to back entries, wobbly stools and leftovers.
But Jesus, as surely as he tipped over the money-changers tables in the temple, flipped the status quo concerning who is first and who is last in his order. He washed dirty feet to show us how to be great in his kingdom. He forewarned us about pride and exclusivity.
In Luke 22:26-27 Jesus said to his disciples: "Kings like to throw their weight around and people in authority like to give themselves fancy titles. It's not going to be that way with you. Let the senior among you become like the junior; let the leader act the part of the servant. Who would you rather be: the one who eats the dinner or the one who serves the dinner? You'd rather eat and be served, right? But I've taken my place among you as the one who serves” (MSG).
And so we know how to live as his disciples--offering what we have to those who have less, dying to selfishness instead of demanding our desires, serving others.
Christmas is the season when we celebrate the birth of a King who refused to occupy a temporary earthly throne to experience a stable and a cross. Because of his extraordinary love, he now sits eternally at the right hand of the Father.
Someday there will be a banquet table at which we’ll all gather to share in the Lord’s great supper. Jesus lived, died and rose again for the joy of inviting every single person: “Come to my table; there is a place saved especially for you.”
Because I was born late into my family, my earliest memories have always included my three sisters-in-law. So by the time my parents, my brothers and their wives occupied our holiday table, I was necessarily placed at the dreaded “kid table.”
I never liked this arrangement. At eight years old, I definitely had a lot of sparkling conversation to bring to the table. Alas, no adult ever gave up his seat so that the eight-year-old brat could sit at the grown-up table.
No matter how old we all grew, I remained youngest until my nephews came along, and then at least I had company at the kid table, even if they all spoke Elmer Fudd language.
The day finally came when as a newlywed, I returned home for the holidays. I can’t remember if I finally made the cut for the big table or not. But the following year, I had a two-month-old, and guess what—it was back to the kid table for me. And there I remained with all three of my children as they grew up, year after year.
Remembering the kid table recently inspired me: when my kids and grandkids come home for the holidays, just once, I’m going to turn the world on its ear and reserve places for the smallest people at the elusive grown-up table.
On a larger scale, society also has its rules about who belongs and ranks and who doesn’t. But just because humans have established pecking orders (caste systems, hierarchies of power, designations of respect) doesn’t mean they reflect the Lord’s standards at all. In fact, we position those with money and power at the head of the table, while others are relegated to back entries, wobbly stools and leftovers.
But Jesus, as surely as he tipped over the money-changers tables in the temple, flipped the status quo concerning who is first and who is last in his order. He washed dirty feet to show us how to be great in his kingdom. He forewarned us about pride and exclusivity.
In Luke 22:26-27 Jesus said to his disciples: "Kings like to throw their weight around and people in authority like to give themselves fancy titles. It's not going to be that way with you. Let the senior among you become like the junior; let the leader act the part of the servant. Who would you rather be: the one who eats the dinner or the one who serves the dinner? You'd rather eat and be served, right? But I've taken my place among you as the one who serves” (MSG).
And so we know how to live as his disciples--offering what we have to those who have less, dying to selfishness instead of demanding our desires, serving others.
Christmas is the season when we celebrate the birth of a King who refused to occupy a temporary earthly throne to experience a stable and a cross. Because of his extraordinary love, he now sits eternally at the right hand of the Father.
Someday there will be a banquet table at which we’ll all gather to share in the Lord’s great supper. Jesus lived, died and rose again for the joy of inviting every single person: “Come to my table; there is a place saved especially for you.”
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Exchanging Real Life for Decay
I re-worked the wisdom tooth extraction experience for my column today. I'm copying it here because you can only link to the articles on line free for 7 days, so instead I'll to link to this post for the archive. The last thing I want to do is pay to get to my own words!
Twenty-two years ago, I had two wisdom teeth pulled. Because the whole ordeal wasn't a picnic, I decided to wait a while to have the others removed.
"A while" became 22 years.
In spite of meticulous brushing, flossing and even whitening, the remaining "wizzies" had to go. My dentist said there was nothing I could've done to avoid the surgery; the very nature of these nonessential, problematic teeth demanded that they go.
Driving home, I remembered his words, "It's the nature of the tooth, its anatomy, its physiology. It's just naturally bad."
Something being naturally bad made me think of sin.
I remembered a time when I hid sin similar to these teeth, keeping my secrets tucked so far back into the recesses of who I was that there was no danger of people seeing my misery. I practiced all of the spiritual disciplines -- reading scripture, attending church and serving others, but still, I hid my pain, thinking, "I'll take care of this at some point-just not yet."
Eventually, I realized as long as I harbored one unrepented sin, all the "whitening" in the world was either just for show or a half-hearted, prideful attempt to patch a serious problem. Living in denial about the state of my heart became a way of life. It hurt to expose flaws and release long-held anger, but it was necessary. And in the end, it was the best thing for me.
Although I knew I would feel some discomfort after this extraction, I trusted this surgeon -- unlike my father-in-law, who continually offers to perform all kinds of medical procedures fast and cheap for his family, and no, he's not a doctor! This surgeon didn't appear to have a sadistic bone in his body. He listened to all my fears and reassured me. I was in good hands.
Likewise, I know that when I release my grip on an ancient grudge or heartache, at first, it won't feel good. I might feel like I've "lost" somehow. But that's not so. The truth is, being set free from decaying forces in my life is the best thing for me.
And I trust my God. He wants to excise whatever harms me and drives a wedge between us. When I'm scared to turn over my hang-ups to him, he listens to my fears and reassures me. When life hurts, I could resort to all sorts of crazy methods to treat myself, but the truth is, he is the only one who can truly set me free. I cannot help myself. I will always need a savior.
Right now, my front teeth look great, but don't come too close! The inside of my mouth looks and smells like walking death. I'm reminded of Matthew 23:27, where Jesus warned, "You Pharisees and teachers are in for trouble! You're nothing but show-offs. You're like tombs that have been whitewashed. On the outside they are beautiful, but inside they are full of bones and filth." Yet I am comforted by Isaiah 1:18: "I, the Lord, invite you to come and talk it over. Your sins are scarlet red, but they will be whiter than snow."
To be human is to be naturally inclined to disobey, even though we know we are digging our own graves. When God says, "It's time for this rot to go," I have to remember to trust in his mercy and unfailing kindness toward me. Even though there's much value in doing good, no regiment of noble behaviors or charitable endeavors can purify my inner self. Therefore, to kick off this month of thanksgiving, I'm declaring my thanks to God for exchanging real life for my decay, for trading his joy for my sorrow. Great is your faithfulness, O God!
Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Originally published November 3, 2007
Twenty-two years ago, I had two wisdom teeth pulled. Because the whole ordeal wasn't a picnic, I decided to wait a while to have the others removed.
"A while" became 22 years.
In spite of meticulous brushing, flossing and even whitening, the remaining "wizzies" had to go. My dentist said there was nothing I could've done to avoid the surgery; the very nature of these nonessential, problematic teeth demanded that they go.
Driving home, I remembered his words, "It's the nature of the tooth, its anatomy, its physiology. It's just naturally bad."
Something being naturally bad made me think of sin.
I remembered a time when I hid sin similar to these teeth, keeping my secrets tucked so far back into the recesses of who I was that there was no danger of people seeing my misery. I practiced all of the spiritual disciplines -- reading scripture, attending church and serving others, but still, I hid my pain, thinking, "I'll take care of this at some point-just not yet."
Eventually, I realized as long as I harbored one unrepented sin, all the "whitening" in the world was either just for show or a half-hearted, prideful attempt to patch a serious problem. Living in denial about the state of my heart became a way of life. It hurt to expose flaws and release long-held anger, but it was necessary. And in the end, it was the best thing for me.
Although I knew I would feel some discomfort after this extraction, I trusted this surgeon -- unlike my father-in-law, who continually offers to perform all kinds of medical procedures fast and cheap for his family, and no, he's not a doctor! This surgeon didn't appear to have a sadistic bone in his body. He listened to all my fears and reassured me. I was in good hands.
Likewise, I know that when I release my grip on an ancient grudge or heartache, at first, it won't feel good. I might feel like I've "lost" somehow. But that's not so. The truth is, being set free from decaying forces in my life is the best thing for me.
And I trust my God. He wants to excise whatever harms me and drives a wedge between us. When I'm scared to turn over my hang-ups to him, he listens to my fears and reassures me. When life hurts, I could resort to all sorts of crazy methods to treat myself, but the truth is, he is the only one who can truly set me free. I cannot help myself. I will always need a savior.
Right now, my front teeth look great, but don't come too close! The inside of my mouth looks and smells like walking death. I'm reminded of Matthew 23:27, where Jesus warned, "You Pharisees and teachers are in for trouble! You're nothing but show-offs. You're like tombs that have been whitewashed. On the outside they are beautiful, but inside they are full of bones and filth." Yet I am comforted by Isaiah 1:18: "I, the Lord, invite you to come and talk it over. Your sins are scarlet red, but they will be whiter than snow."
To be human is to be naturally inclined to disobey, even though we know we are digging our own graves. When God says, "It's time for this rot to go," I have to remember to trust in his mercy and unfailing kindness toward me. Even though there's much value in doing good, no regiment of noble behaviors or charitable endeavors can purify my inner self. Therefore, to kick off this month of thanksgiving, I'm declaring my thanks to God for exchanging real life for my decay, for trading his joy for my sorrow. Great is your faithfulness, O God!
Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Originally published November 3, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Chocolate's a Sin? Salvation is Sweet
September 2007
I “heart” chocolate. Virtually all day long, I battle a nagging inner voice whispering, “Get some chocolate. Now.”
Behold my unsuccessful strategies for taming my habit: Cold turkey. One ounce per day. Fake chocolate. Caffeine. Fruity water. Vitamins and minerals. Candy. Chocolate-scented candles. I can’t believe I’m revealing this, but I have even opened up a packet of Splenda—the sugar junkie’s methadone, and poured it directly on my tongue. Oh yeah, this habit is bad.
Yesterday I was jonesin’ for some no-bake chocolate oatmeal peanut butter cookies, my personal tipping point when it comes to chocolate binging. I can make these cookies in my sleep. And eat them in my sleep.
I worked my magic. Guess how many my husband and daughter ate? Zero. Guess how many I ate? Whatever you guessed, you’re wrong, because I ate more than you guessed.
The morning after a night like that isn’t pretty.
I promised myself that when I came home from work today, I would not eat the remaining three. Can I just say in my defense that if cookies could wink with a flirty come-on, these did. So I wolfed them down.
Obviously, I cannot have cocoa, peanut butter and oatmeal in my house simultaneously. So I pitched the cocoa into the trash and grieved over it like it was a grave.
In Romans 7, Paul expresses how remorseful I felt in that moment. In fact, he communicates the whole human condition precisely: “I know that my selfish desires won't let me do anything that is good. Even when I want to do right, I cannot. Instead of doing what I know is right, I do wrong. What a miserable person I am!”
Although eating chocolate isn’t exactly a sin, my habit wields enough power over me to disrupt my life. God is concerned about our struggles because left unchecked, sin kills us, spirit and body. No loving father wants to see his children wither away or hit the wall at full speed.
Some people erroneously believe they must first clean up and straighten out their lives before God will be interested in them. But God is not stunned by our habits, weaknesses, and hang-ups. It’s all old news to him. First, he wants a relationship with us. Then, if destructive forces are compromising our lives, he will reveal them and help us say “no” to one thing in order to say “yes” to the ultimate good thing.
After his confession of moral impotence, Paul offers this hope, “Thank God! Jesus Christ will rescue me! If you belong to Christ Jesus, you won't be condemned. The Holy Spirit will give you life that comes from Christ Jesus and will set you free from sin and death.”
As long as I’m in this body, I will never be completely sinless. Sometimes I’m more successful than other times in battling my weaknesses. But when I find myself in yet another self-dug pit, knowing that a forgiving, compassionate Father wants to lift me up and dust me off gives me courage and hope for the next leg of my journey.
I “heart” chocolate. Virtually all day long, I battle a nagging inner voice whispering, “Get some chocolate. Now.”
Behold my unsuccessful strategies for taming my habit: Cold turkey. One ounce per day. Fake chocolate. Caffeine. Fruity water. Vitamins and minerals. Candy. Chocolate-scented candles. I can’t believe I’m revealing this, but I have even opened up a packet of Splenda—the sugar junkie’s methadone, and poured it directly on my tongue. Oh yeah, this habit is bad.
Yesterday I was jonesin’ for some no-bake chocolate oatmeal peanut butter cookies, my personal tipping point when it comes to chocolate binging. I can make these cookies in my sleep. And eat them in my sleep.
I worked my magic. Guess how many my husband and daughter ate? Zero. Guess how many I ate? Whatever you guessed, you’re wrong, because I ate more than you guessed.
The morning after a night like that isn’t pretty.
I promised myself that when I came home from work today, I would not eat the remaining three. Can I just say in my defense that if cookies could wink with a flirty come-on, these did. So I wolfed them down.
Obviously, I cannot have cocoa, peanut butter and oatmeal in my house simultaneously. So I pitched the cocoa into the trash and grieved over it like it was a grave.
In Romans 7, Paul expresses how remorseful I felt in that moment. In fact, he communicates the whole human condition precisely: “I know that my selfish desires won't let me do anything that is good. Even when I want to do right, I cannot. Instead of doing what I know is right, I do wrong. What a miserable person I am!”
Although eating chocolate isn’t exactly a sin, my habit wields enough power over me to disrupt my life. God is concerned about our struggles because left unchecked, sin kills us, spirit and body. No loving father wants to see his children wither away or hit the wall at full speed.
Some people erroneously believe they must first clean up and straighten out their lives before God will be interested in them. But God is not stunned by our habits, weaknesses, and hang-ups. It’s all old news to him. First, he wants a relationship with us. Then, if destructive forces are compromising our lives, he will reveal them and help us say “no” to one thing in order to say “yes” to the ultimate good thing.
After his confession of moral impotence, Paul offers this hope, “Thank God! Jesus Christ will rescue me! If you belong to Christ Jesus, you won't be condemned. The Holy Spirit will give you life that comes from Christ Jesus and will set you free from sin and death.”
As long as I’m in this body, I will never be completely sinless. Sometimes I’m more successful than other times in battling my weaknesses. But when I find myself in yet another self-dug pit, knowing that a forgiving, compassionate Father wants to lift me up and dust me off gives me courage and hope for the next leg of my journey.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Her Anchor Will Make House Less Empty (My Son Goes to College)
In three weeks, our household is going to change drastically.
Instead of maintaining four vehicles, we will dwindle to two, allowing me to pull into the garage without weaving through our private summer obstacle course called "the driveway."
Our grocery bill will plummet like the first drop of a roller coaster. The telephone will ring less. Toilet paper will no longer be on the endangered species list. Best of all, my little dog, a walking aggregation of nerves, will no longer be launched into outer space when our kids' friends ring the doorbell. (Her rockets fire before "ding" becomes "dong.")
The reason for these changes? Two of our three kids are leaving for college -- my son, Jordan, for the first time.
Cue the violins, because no matter how much I'll appreciate the pleasant changes, when I see their empty chairs at dinner and empty beds each night, I will struggle with just that -- emptiness.
I know that life is transitional and that the ultimate goal of rearing kids is to guide them to complete independence. Still, I long for permanence I can count on no matter how many years pass, no matter how my circumstances -- my job, my interests or my role as mom changes. I need an anchor.
Happily, just such a mainstay of peace has been mine over the years, even when my footing was unsure, or my heart raced with fear, or ached with sadness -- as when we left our daughter at college that first time. My anchor has been the constant friendship of Jesus.
In all of my ups and downs, relationship struggles, personal failures and insecurities, I have not been alone. When my head hit my pillow at night, I knew I was under his watchful eye. When I awoke to face another problematic day, (is there any other kind?) I trusted that he knew the paths I would take and would even order my steps if I submitted to him.
When I walked through fiery trials, he didn't extinguish the flames, but he held my hand through them. As a result, the purifying heat helped refine me, but more importantly, helped me know him more intimately.
As I prepared for Jordan's graduation a few weeks ago, I found a stick figure crayon drawing he made for us when he was six. On the page I had written, "Jordan wants us to keep this, even when he goes to college." And now that time is here. I did indeed keep it, treasuring the thought that as much as kids want to grow up and away, they also need an enduring love they can depend on; they need an anchor.
My greatest hope is that as my children grow more independent, they will grow more dependent on the one who loves them unconditionally and unflinchingly, through all of their personal trials. Despite the best of intentions and efforts, no parent, spouse or child of their own will ever be able to completely or perfectly fulfill their needs.
As a result of his faithfulness, I am able to release my grip on my son and daughter, and the only clinging I'll do will be to Jesus, my steadfast anchor and friend.
Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.
Instead of maintaining four vehicles, we will dwindle to two, allowing me to pull into the garage without weaving through our private summer obstacle course called "the driveway."
Our grocery bill will plummet like the first drop of a roller coaster. The telephone will ring less. Toilet paper will no longer be on the endangered species list. Best of all, my little dog, a walking aggregation of nerves, will no longer be launched into outer space when our kids' friends ring the doorbell. (Her rockets fire before "ding" becomes "dong.")
The reason for these changes? Two of our three kids are leaving for college -- my son, Jordan, for the first time.
Cue the violins, because no matter how much I'll appreciate the pleasant changes, when I see their empty chairs at dinner and empty beds each night, I will struggle with just that -- emptiness.
I know that life is transitional and that the ultimate goal of rearing kids is to guide them to complete independence. Still, I long for permanence I can count on no matter how many years pass, no matter how my circumstances -- my job, my interests or my role as mom changes. I need an anchor.
Happily, just such a mainstay of peace has been mine over the years, even when my footing was unsure, or my heart raced with fear, or ached with sadness -- as when we left our daughter at college that first time. My anchor has been the constant friendship of Jesus.
In all of my ups and downs, relationship struggles, personal failures and insecurities, I have not been alone. When my head hit my pillow at night, I knew I was under his watchful eye. When I awoke to face another problematic day, (is there any other kind?) I trusted that he knew the paths I would take and would even order my steps if I submitted to him.
When I walked through fiery trials, he didn't extinguish the flames, but he held my hand through them. As a result, the purifying heat helped refine me, but more importantly, helped me know him more intimately.
As I prepared for Jordan's graduation a few weeks ago, I found a stick figure crayon drawing he made for us when he was six. On the page I had written, "Jordan wants us to keep this, even when he goes to college." And now that time is here. I did indeed keep it, treasuring the thought that as much as kids want to grow up and away, they also need an enduring love they can depend on; they need an anchor.
My greatest hope is that as my children grow more independent, they will grow more dependent on the one who loves them unconditionally and unflinchingly, through all of their personal trials. Despite the best of intentions and efforts, no parent, spouse or child of their own will ever be able to completely or perfectly fulfill their needs.
As a result of his faithfulness, I am able to release my grip on my son and daughter, and the only clinging I'll do will be to Jesus, my steadfast anchor and friend.
Linda Crow, of Muncie, is the mother of three teenagers and works in youth ministry. Visit her blog at www.2nd-cup-of-coffee.blogspot.com.
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