Faith

Why Do You Think I Love Him So Much?

January 9, 2020 by Gindi 2 Comments

They sang a song at church Sunday: My Living Hope.

It overwhelmed me.

It was the first time I’d stood in a church service since attending Kristin’s son’s funeral.

We were all five there, near the back. I was hosting a family from church for lunch afterwards, so I’d prepped chicken enchiladas the night before but had a few last minute things to do before getting ready for church. I was rushing. The kids were fighting. I was yelling. Things were tense and everyone was grumpy when we piled into the truck to drive the few short minutes to our church.

We made it through the community greetings, all smiles, and a couple of songs when the band started playing, Living Hope. The song, in part, says:

Then came the morning that sealed the promise
Your buried body began to breathe
Out of the silence, the Roaring Lion
Declared the grave has no claim on me
Jesus, Yours is the victory

Hallelujah, praise the One who set me free
Hallelujah, death has lost its grip on me
You have broken every chain
There’s salvation in Your name
Jesus Christ, my living hope

I was completely undone. Trying not to cry, I lifted my hand in praise and let the words sink in. It was all I could do to stay standing because those words rocked me. My Living Hope.

After we sat, my critical mind started attacking: What a hypocrite! You are chief among the hypocrites. You come to church and act holy closing your eyes and singing these songs but you’re a mess. You were just screaming at your kids a half hour ago and fighting with your husband and spending unwisely and…

You get the idea.

But then the other voice weighed in: That’s WHY the words are so powerful. Given my failures and my utter messiness, He still died for me and forgave me. Why do you think I love Him so much? I’m a wreck. And He still loves me.

I remember sitting in an auditorium with Beth Moore teaching a bible study. She told a story about her grandson singing along with a Christian song on the radio. And she got big tears in her eyes when she heard him and thought, You have no idea how much you are going to love Him! You have no idea yet how much He will see you through.

I feel like that now, especially after these last weeks. Lots of travel. Funerals and diagnoses. Busyness and exhaustion.

In the middle of it all, His faithfulness. (Webster defines as loyal, constant, steadfast. What a gift.)

As I flew home Tuesday night from Washington, D.C., a quick work trip, we took off in the middle of a storm. Initially, it wasn’t as bumpy as I feared it would be. (There’s a post just in that.) But then we got into a cloud stormbank as we rose and the plane dipped and bumped and rocked. I’ve become ever more fearful as I fly, post kids, and I gripped the seat arms.

Then, just as quickly as it began, the airplane pulled through the clouds and calmed. Above the storm, blue skies. Before, you couldn’t see beyond the window. Now, you could see the entire sky stretched forth beyond the plane.

I read a blog post yesterday, entitled The Fog Always Rises, about a woman’s struggle with anxiety and depression, and she says: Sometimes, it’s through what becomes the fog’s reprieve that we can appreciate the blaze of the sun.

Why do you think I love Him so much?

Despite my failures and inadequacies, I know someone who loves me through it all, at all times, and forgives me no matter how many times I’ve messed up before.

No matter the stormbank or the fog, there’s light on the other side. It looks different than it did before you hit the stormbank or the fog, but the blaze of the sun, the clearing, does pierce the clouds and fog.

I don’t ever forget where I’ve failed. And I have to ask others for forgiveness too, not just my Savior. I never forget the storm. I never forget the fog. My heart still bears scars from the battering it took.

Yet, He brought me into a spacious place, He rescued me because He delighted in me. Psalm 18:19

Which is Easier

November 14, 2019 by Gindi Leave a Comment

In fourth grade, my kids have the opportunity to learn how to debate. They’re in the debate segment of the curriculum right now. This makes me happy.

As you might guess, our kids are already pretty familiar with the concept of debate. First of all, Bray and I support different political parties and any election season elicits a fair amount of debate in our house. Second of all, I’m a lawyer and therefore fairly prone to debating on any manner of topics. And finally, the kids are triplets and are regularly debating their position in order to get what they want or get out of trouble.

I love that they’re learning how to support their position with supporting concepts during these classroom debates.

The topics have varied from class to class. The boys class debated the merits of dog ownership versus cat ownership. Little bit’s class debated the value of getting paid for chores versus not getting paid.

But on Wednesday, little bit’s teacher, Mrs. B, threw out an interesting debate topic: Is it easier to follow Jesus or not to follow Jesus.

We attend a small private Christian school, so I can imagine the topic idea caught the kids a little off guard. Since they get to choose their side for the debate, no one raised their hand to advocate that it’s easier not to follow Jesus.

Except little bit.

I’d gone to chapel that morning and afterwards Mrs. B approached me. She said how proud she was of our girl for taking a position different from the rest of the class and how her ideas were really strong and her point of view unique. Little bit approached me when she heard, nervously, and said, are you mad? Of course not, I responded, it’s absolutely easier to do your own thing and not have to worry about following what Jesus says.

She came home last night excited to write out her debate ideas on her 3X5 cards. She told Mrs. B this morning she would be happy to debate the entire class herself if no one wanted to advocate with her. Today, one other boy decided to debate on little bit’s “team.”

As she talked through her points tonight in advance of tomorrow’s debate, she tried to find additional support for her position. She had to go two rounds. One with supporting ideas for why it’s hard to follow Jesus. One with support for the same idea but focused on it being hard to follow Jesus’ plan.

When it came to why it’s hard to follow Jesus, she had lots of solid reasons: I mean you have to forgive everyone, how hard is that; and you have to love, everyone! Then she started laying out why it’s so hard to follow His plan. For one thing, she said, it’s really hard to wait on Jesus plan instead of following your own plan immediately. And what if you don’t know what His plan is?

Truth. The forgiving. Waiting. Not knowing. HARD.

But then she said, His plan is always better.

Just because it’s harder, didn’t mean she didn’t want to try. It’s just she knew it would be harder.

Luke 9:23 – If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily

John 16:33 – In the world you will have tribulation

James 1:2 – Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds

Romans 5:3 – We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance

She wasn’t quoting scripture, she may not even know them, but she was laying out a pretty deep theological argument: Don’t follow Jesus because you think it’s easier. You won’t get very far. It’s better. It’s not easier.

I don’t know what made me prouder.

Her having a sense that the price of Christianity doesn’t come cheap at the ripe old age of 10, or her bravery. She boldly took a position for which no one else wanted to advocate. Then she offered to debate the entire class alone. My little introvert for whom school can be a challenge chose the brave option. And she was excited about it too. She came home bubbling and working on Wednesday and Thursday nights.

She teaches me so much about life and myself. And this week, she reminded me, better may be harder. Do better.

One Meal

October 29, 2019 by Gindi Leave a Comment

Last night, I took the trio out to dinner. A rare treat. Not only do we eat out infrequently, we never dine out on a Monday evening! But I was overdue to celebrate their straight As on their first report card of fourth grade. I won’t digress into how hard fourth grade has been and how these As seem miraculous to me, that’s for another post, but sufficed to say we had cause to celebrate.

I put the location to a vote and unanimously we landed at our favorite Mexican food restaurant. It’s the first place we ate out with triplets and we’ve been loyal customers for a decade.

Bray was out of town for the night so we sat at a booth for four and dissected their day. We talked about issues that cropped up on the playground, fun had a P.E., questions about other people’s reactions, and so forth and so on. We had a wonderful time. Then we strolled down the sidewalk to explore the dollar store, one of their favorite excursions, and spent $8.66 on a few silly items for the holidays ahead. (If you read my Facebook posts, you know how annoyed I am that Halloween has been utterly surpassed in the stores by their October Christmas displays!)

I learned a lot, sitting there, listening to their stories all tumbling on top of the other’s. We make family dinners a priority. I always make them report on the “best part of the day” before they can launch into a trouble or complaint. It grows gratitude.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the importance of each individual meal as I’ve led a class at church for the past few weeks on hospitality. Maybe I had just lost sight of the fact that much of the Gospel stories revolve around Jesus eating or drinking. Or Jesus telling parables about eating or drinking.

Modern America has distorted hospitality. It’s become more about us and what our entertaining shows to others than about making space available for friends and strangers alike to tell their stories around a table. We need to acquire the right stemware and serving platters and candles and table displays (and by we, I mean me).

Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with setting a pretty table. My grandmother, and favorite human who ever walked the earth, would set beautiful holiday tables (and take pictures of them – just like I do now). She, and I, derive great joy from creating a lovely atmosphere to host others.

The trouble starts when (a) decorating becomes about pride and how people perceive us, rather than about them, or (b) impeccable decor or food is a prerequisite to us opening our homes.

In preparation for my class, where the theme is SIMPLE hospitality, I started reading about meals where Jesus was a guest. In Luke 5, he gladly accepted an invitation to a feast at the home of a tax collector (Levi) which was considered utterly unacceptable by religious leaders. In Luke 7, he welcomed a woman who is believed to have been a prostitute to a dinner party at a religious leader’s home and freely gave forgiveness and acceptance. Can you imagine if someone like that crashed one of our dinner parties? I don’t know that our reaction would be much different than the disdainful leaders of that time.

It goes on and on. In Luke 9, after learning of his dear cousin’s death, Jesus tried to get away. But the crowds followed him and He threw one of the biggest dinner parties of all time with meager beginnings – five loaves and two fish became dinner for well over 5,000. He joined his friends for dinner in Luke 10. Parables about the wedding feast and great banquet appear in Luke 14. He attends an impromptu dinner at Zacchaeus’ house in Luke 19. And maybe one of the most memorable meals of all time, Jesus’ last meal told in Luke 22 (and elsewhere), where He uses a simple meal of bread and wine at a stranger’s house to remind us even now of His sacrifice.

One meal.

It can be utterly transformative.

In Biblical times and now.

Are we having important conversations around our dinner table? Are we welcoming in friends and strangers alike?

With one meal, comes opportunity. What if we looked at each dinner with fresh eyes, ready to open our home and our kitchen to friends and family and those in need? What would we learn? Whose lives could we change?

Look Up Child

September 16, 2019 by Gindi Leave a Comment

I’ve always had a fascination with sunrises and sunsets. Ever since I owned my first camera in high school, you know the little ones with film inside, I would snap pictures. Try to capture the expansive beauty as the sky changed colors. Never able to fully capture the glory.

I think I’d lost the obsession for a while. After moving to Houston and being surrounded by concrete and noise and life getting ever busier. But still. On vacations, I’d snap away. This time without the film. And now, at the farm, my phone camera at the ready. My favorite spot for an hour or more in the evening is the front or back porch. Sun lighting up the hay and the barn and the bayou.

I read an article from Ruth Chou Simons last week which demanded my attention. The advent of mobile devices brought a fundamental shift in the way we engage with the world… We’ve been given so much to look at, but we are missing the art of beholding. We are so captivated by our technology and all that it puts before our eyes that we overlook the ways that God displays His glory through creation, relationship, and our ordinary circumstances in the day to day.

We’ve lost sight of Him.

Look up child.

We miss the bridge across the water.

The sunset passes us by.

A bird sings its evening song but we don’t hear it over the YouTube video.

And missing His displays, at every corner, colors how we see others, and the world.

I have a child who is having a brutally hard start to fourth grade. Really, this is the hardest we’ve ever had it during the school year, and we’ve had our trials. Classes are deeply challenging, relationships are adversarial, all of which is leading to heartbreaking meltdowns nearly every evening. It’s also leading to a general sense of malaise, a request to stop participating in everything – sports, special 4^th grade activities, etc.

This weekend, Bray took this one to the farm, one on one. Before sunrise, they’d wake to catch fish. And catch fish they did. He would send me pictures in the morning light with a face-splitting smile from this sweet face next to a big shimmering redfish.

God in the light and the bayou and the fish and the quiet.

Whenever they turn to face God as Moses did, God removes the veil and there they are – face-to-face! They suddenly recognize that God is a living, personal presence… And so we are transfigured much like the Messiah, our lives gradually becoming brighter and more beautiful as God enters our life and we become like Him. 2 Corin. 3:16-18 (The Msg)

As William Blake says: We become what we behold.

Look up child.

It does not calm the storm. It does not quench the fire. It changes your perspective on your circumstances. You can see His beauty – you recognize His face there in the midst of it.

Lauren Daigle sings a song, Look Up Child,

You’re not threatened by the war
You’re not shaken by the storm
I know, You’re in control
Oh, I hear you say
“Look Up Child”
I hear You, I hear You calling my name,
“Look Up Child”

Set down the distractions. Step away from the monstrous cement towers and small mesmerizing screens and screeching soundtrack.

Look up to see Him. In the trees and the roly pollies and the wind and the sunset and swimming pool cannonballs and the laughter and the dogs out for a walk and the neighbor planting flowers and the little one picking up the elderly’s dropped groceries and the stillness.

But look up. Remember, we are transforming. It’s our choice as to what we transform.

We all are being transformed… 2 Corin. 3:18 (NIV)

The God of the In Between

August 19, 2019 by Gindi Leave a Comment

Storms speckled the radar map between Knoxville, where we sat in the airport, and Houston, where we hoped to safely arrive later that evening.

I watched the radar like a hawk. The control freak in me willing the storms to adjust themselves out of the way of our little plane. I kept watching even as they loaded us onto the plane in plenty of time to make our arrival time.

The flight attendant got on and said, the flight time will be an hour and 52 minutes once we take off. We will shut the doors in 5 minutes.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Surely the storms weren’t that bad. All was well. Until it wasn’t. Only moments later, a new announcement, same voice. As you may have seen, there are a number of storms. Flight control is determining a new route for the plane. And Houston is limiting the number of flights landing right now. We’ll let you know when we can push back. We expect the new route will be longer.

I called Bray. Told him not to bother picking us up – I had no idea when we’d land. I stayed upbeat and fun for little bit since we were on the way home from our mommy and me trip. But inside, my stomach churned and I worried. We’d already had a bumpy landing into Knoxville and we weren’t facing the storms ahead.

Have you ever had a bumpy landing? On a flight? In life? Has your new route ever been longer?

She and I looked at the radar and selected the route we would have drawn out if we were flying the plane. We only have to go up and around them, she announced with a smile. Look!, and her finger traced the route north of Knoxville, into Arkansas, and down to Texas.

We took off one hour later.

The ride was surprisingly smooth. They never did announce what route they selected. Or how long the flight would be. And then, just like that, we started to descend.

We looked out the window and saw this brilliant yellow light. Thin clouds above and storm clouds below. The piercing yellow and white beams lighting up the in between.

My breath caught. It’s like I could hear Him saying, I’m here in the in between. I’m God enough to light up this space between the storms.

And we landed. Wheels touching down 40 minutes after our scheduled arrival. I don’t have any idea how that happened.

But what stayed with me was the image. The reminder. That I serve a God of the in between.

I’ve been in a different kind of storm lately. And to be honest, I haven’t much wanted to find out how God wanted me to handle it or move through it. In fact, my Godly best friend gave me sage advice last week, and I gave her an honest reply. I hear you, and I know that’s probably what God would want me to do, but I’m just not at all interested in doing that right now.

This weekend, I was up a lot in the middle of the night. The baby spiked a huge fever and I was up with cold cloths and Tylenol and his inhaler. Now, right before school is going to start, I questioned in my sleep deprived thoughts.

But my mind went back to this image. The in between.

We sat in the urgent care yesterday. His feverish body curled up and dozing in my arms. Tests turned up nothing. Probably a virus, the doctor advised, and you just have to wait it out. The in between.

Driving to work in the still dark hours this morning, I stewed in my thoughts. On a lark, I changed the radio from NPR to KSBJ, our local Christian music station. Normally, if I’m not voxing friends on my commute, I catch up on the news or podcasts. But it wasn’t what I needed this morning.

A song came on:
I’m gonna sing, in the middle of the storm
Louder and louder, you’re going to hear my praises roar,
Up from the ashes, hope will arise
Death is defeated, the King is alive!
I raise a hallelujah, in the presence of my enemies
I raise a hallelujah, louder than the unbelief…
I raise a hallelujah, heaven comes to fight for me (Bethel Music)

The God of the in between.

Tears pricked my eyes as I turned the music up louder and sang as a fight song.

Those in between seasons are tricky. Sifting and uncertain. Maybe there will be bumps or maybe there won’t. Maybe there will be delays or maybe there won’t (although there probably will). Storms waging and breaking. Darkness seeping in and light pushing it back.

Those of us who struggle daily between faith and control wrestle with how to behave in those times. God knows what is going to happen but we still sit, with our little human radar, willing the storms to move a certain direction or trying to telepathically instruct the pilot on the best route to take through them.

The in between. The place between where you left and where you’re going. The place between the storm and the clearing. It’s in that place you can really find God, or you can leave Him.

I decided this morning I was going to find Him. And I would do this week differently than I did last week. And in the between, in the mystery and uncertainty, I’d let God pilot through this storm.

I raise a hallelujah, with everything inside of me
I raise a hallelujah, I will watch the darkness flee
I raise a hallelujah, in the middle of the mystery
I raise a hallelujah, fear you lost your hold on me!