Don't Just Pretend

My small group from Seacoast Church read part of Romans 12 last Sunday. I had studied the entire book last semester, but chapter 12 always stands out. So I decided to focus on Romans 12 throughout all of last week. I read it over and over. I purposely chose not to single out any particular verse until the end of the week when I had become familiar with the text again, or else the entire chapter would be marked and highlighted. Instead, I wound up simply circling the enlarged number "12" at the start of the chapter, and only underlining the one verse that would not give my conscience a break all week long. Romans chapter 12 verse 9 still stands out on the page:

"Don't just pretend to love others. Really love them."

I read the line countless times last week. This chapter had already warned me to "Be honest in your evaluation of yourselves," (v. 3) and to "Let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think" (v. 2), so I prepared myself for a breakthrough and a change.

I love my friends and family. They make me laugh. Thoughts of them make me smile. Sweet memories bring tears to my eyes. I love them. I am not pretend-loving anyone. I have done that before and by no means recommend it. My care is genuine.

Still, the second half of the verse stirs my curiosity -- "Really love them." Maybe I am not falsely loving anyone, but am I really loving them? The word "really" is an intensifier. Is my love for others intense? It's real love, but is it to the full extent?

And how far does that type of love stretch? Does my love stop with my close friends and family? The word "others" encapsulates anyone outside of myself. Do I love strangers, really? Do I love acquaintances, really? If the love I possess is not pretend, what am I doing to prove its reality? Learning to really love is vital to the lives of believers, for Christ Himself declared, "Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples" (John 13:35).
What is love to the fullest extent? How can I stretch it? By "genuine affection," (v. 10) by "taking delight in honoring each other" (v. 10), by "always being eager to practice hospitality" (v. 13), by "never being lazy"(v. 11) and by "serving the Lord enthusiastically" (v. 11) .
So I went back to honest evaluation. How enthusiastic am I about the Lord's work? How genuine is my affection for the hurting and lost? How hospitable am I allowing myself to be? How madly in love am I with everyone else in the world?

"Don't just pretend to love others. Really love them." -Romans 12:9

Tinted Windows

I like to sit on the passenger's side
And stare out my window
Into the windows of the cars passing by.
A silent couple with a baby carrier in back.
Two tattoo-ridden college men screaming in black.
An old couple, we flew by, I nearly missed.
A man alone dressed for business.
Our windows are tinted to prevent it,
But if they could see through,
What would they think of me and of you?

The Touch of Christ

I realize that today is Good Friday, the day when we reflect on Christ's world-redeeming crucifixion. I did that today. I even visited a cathedral in downtown Charleston for their Good Friday service.

But I was not focused so much on Christ's death today as I suppose I was supposed to be. I was thinking about his life.

I wonder, if I were to die today, and my closest family and friends began digging through all my possessions and reading all my writings -- things that no one really sees but me -- would their views of me change? What would they think of my thoughts? What would be their favorite things to remember about me?

If I had been family, friends, or even acquaintances of Christ while he was on earth, what would be my favorite memory of His life after His death?

For the soldier whose ear Peter chopped off, what did it sound like when Jesus healed it?
For the man who had been blind his whole life, what was it like for Jesus' hands to be the first thing he ever saw?

He touched so many lives then. Now, He uses his followers to make Christ-like memories for others. What are we doing?

Rose Garden

I really dislike roses. I've never understood why my parents and grandparents would "comfort" me after a long, frustrating day saying "Well, you know, Honey, God never did promise us a rose garden...." Sarcastically, I would often think, "Well, I never really wanted one." Roses just have no aesthetic appeal to me. Yet, that idiom came to my mind several times today.

Today was one of those long days where life is consistently inconsistent. It was hot and cold, black and white, bitter and sweet. I had a beautiful moment then a depressing one, then a breathtaking one followed by a disappointing one. With the intensity of ups and downs, it was difficult to keep myself and my attitude steady and stable. There was a feeling that I was on a carnival ride that had spun out of control. Nevertheless, in the thrills mixed with uneasiness, I smiled at God. It was all planned.

I refuse to use the rose paradigm . . . so I made my own. "God makes rainy days and sunny ones. Sometimes, He even lets the rain come down and the sun come out in the same day." God never promised me every day would be as gorgeous as today's weather was. Still, the gray clouds are just as important as the white ones.

Colossians 3:12-15 may not be a perfect fit for my sunshine analogy, but it's highlighted in my mind as I think about the carnival ride of Christian life, and it comforts me more than common cliches.

"Since God chose you to be the holy people he loves, you must clothe yourselves with tender-hearted mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Make allowance for each other's faults, and forgive anyone who offends you. Remember, the Lord forgave you, so you must forgive others. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds us all together in perfect harmony. And let the peace that comes from Christ rule in your hearts. For as members of one body, you are called to live in peace. And always be thankful."

I was chosen to be shining no matter the weather.

The Zoo I Made

In high school, I was positive that I had perfectly planned the rest of my life. I felt God moving, and I assumed that movement indicated His approval of my plans. Now I know that the movement certainly was God, but it was His protection from my narrow plans and guidance into His limitless ones. He protected me from staying with someone who wasn't His will for my life and from taking a college/career path that He did not want for me. But I was addicted to me. I thought that being devoted to someone else made me less selfish, but I was blinded by infatuation. Devoting to that person was fulfilling only to myself.

God was jealous. He wanted me back. I responded with the attitude that He could have me, but only if I could have my version of His will. God wanted only me -- without my plans, without the person I was enamored with, and without the impositions of others who thought they knew me. Without those things, I didn't know who I was. The “me” that God wanted seemed far under par. I hated me. I saw the “me” that God had asked for and said “But don't You want more? She isn't good enough for anyone, especially You.” Making straight A's wasn't good enough. Being busy with church and school wasn't good enough. Having my own decent plans wasn't good enough. The guy whom I thought that I loved had even labeled me “not good enough.” Why would God want that for Himself? I hated the “me” that God wanted, and seeing His desire for the “me” I couldn't love was astounding. I didn't want God to love “me” until I could understand why. All the plans and efforts were my attempt to be deserving.

I failed. I failed consistently for over two years. The person whom I thought loved me back became the deciding factor for every move I made. He molded my world view. He implied that he was greater than me only because of his gender. He assumed control of my emotions. He changed who I was. And not a single moment of that was his fault. I had chosen to be in that position. I had failed. I was successful on the outside to my friends and family, but I felt failure in my life that no one else saw or believed.

Sometimes I wonder why no one chose to tell me how much control I was allowing this teenage boy to have over my life, my beliefs, and my personality. In hindsight, they hadn't confronted me because I had held up a mask for so long that I eventually chose the artificial to be my reality. I thought I was happy. They thought I was happy. Only God knew the core of me. With each flashing ember of hope, I wanted to reach into the smoking ashes and retrieve my plans. But this refining process was closer to God's will than those human plans. He was striping away my artificial coverings, and getting down to who He had made me to be. Months later, reality hit. The outside me was gone. To my surprise, I wasn't devastated. I was liberated. I stood in shock staring into the blackened fire pit of my dreams, shock not so much that they had disappeared as that I was relieved of them. Throughout that time, I had prayed prayers like wishes for what I thought was best, and I watched as everything I had prayed for slowly burned. Still, God was there showing me a better way, loving the real me all the while.

Can you imagine every prayer you've ever prayed being answered exactly how you wanted. As a kid, it may mean you got every golden retriever, iguana, or parakeet you ever asked for. As we grow older, we assume that we are mature enough to know what is best for us, but the truth remains: even an adult life would resemble a zoo if all prayers came true like magical wishes. I am so blessed to have a God who knows what is best for His child, and who listens to my soul instead of my impulses.

The miracle that Jesus Christ saved me from sin and Hell is unfathomable. Yet, I will be forever grateful simply that He saved me from myself.

Spring Fever

All day long, I had shown numerous symptoms of a horrible fever.

Because of this illness, I slowly eased out of bed and treated myself to a steamy, cheesy, loaded omlet. I don't think the vitamins in a gallon of OJ could have cured me, but I tried anyway.

My friends must have heard that I was a victim of the disease, so they called with sympathetic conversation that took up most of my morning. Breakfast and friends were enjoyable, but nothing took the fever away.

I thought a shower would rinse away the side effects, so I took an extra long one and played with my hair using every product and gadget I own. All the fuss made me lose my appetite for lunch, but something burned within me, craving. Something deep tried to surface to fulfill a hunger pang. The desire pushed me outdoors.

Light. The glorious light. THIS was the cure! But I needed more of it. The light couldn't touch me through jeans and long sleeves. Panic, then urgency threw me into action. There was plenty of light. It just couldn't reach me! I needed more skin. So I bolted back inside and found last summer's bikini.

To suppress my overwhelming insecurities, I reminded myself that no one else was home, in my house or the neighbors'. The cure for my fever was within reach. On my second trip outdoors, I picked up The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and retreated to my backyard patio and onto Huck's raft, loaded with sails, oars, and boyish tidbits... I added a towel and a timer as I lay back on board. Huck and I had floated, two carefree and lonesome runaways, almost halfway down the Mississipi as the sun's rays performed magic tricks on our winter white skin. I felt better already.

In the silence after turning a page, I heard movement beside me and the thump of a landing. I sat straight up and scrambled for a towel. Thoughts of decent explanations for my partially-clothed presence on an early March day swirled in my head as I turned to face the disturbance.

My intruder was feline. Her name is Izzy.

"Annie Issabella! What in the world...!" I teasingly reprimanded her, realizing how quickly my heart was beating. I collapsed back onto the towel and covered my face with the open book in personal embarrassment until I felt her stretch out beside me in her own delight of the sun.

I wasn't the only one with Spring Fever, and we'd both found the cure.

The Need For Mud

The day was loosely planned, marked on the calendar as "Messy Day," and predicted by weathermen to be a threat for any outdoor activities.

Well, almost any.

The clouds came early, even before the sun. Dressed for a mess, we mounted the four-wheeler and aimed for every dirt and gravel road within a mile of our starting point. The mist began, perfectly in sync with the first rev of the engine. The further we drove, the harder the rain came.

I drive like a girl, so I chose to be the passenger. Still, I startled like a girl at every turn and tilt.

As a child, I was discouraged to be within arms-reach of this southern red clay mud, but, on this day, mud seemed a necessity. If mud was not nearby, the day had lost its purpose. Muddiness had already been planned, marked on the calendar, and predicted. A mess was required of us.

I thought mudslinging was a political term until I found its reality standing in a field between a creek and a swamp beneath tablespoon-sized raindrops. We dismounted here.

Leaves that had been dried out then dampened again by rain were meshed with tiny sticks and insects in our sloshing tracks. My vision was watery, but I clearly watched as a handful of the mix soared through the air and hit me square. For the first time in a lifetime, I reached down into the mire and brought forth retaliation. Childish reasoning emerged -- he started it. Cold brown mud squished through my fingers, and I realized my carefree childhood had been dormant for far too long. I needed this dirt.

Moments later, remnants of the battle covered each of us wholly. Smeared, splattered... and smiling.

My God, Like the Sky

True beauty is held in awe for all eternity and remains beautiful despite the angle from which it is viewed.

I have seen the sky from my hometown in the Carolina's, from a tour bus in Springfield, from the Riverwalk in San Antonio, from the freedom of Philidelphia, from the blue wind in Barcelona, from a holiday in Rome.... and from each point of view, the sky is beautiful.

I have seen God from a human's eyes, a child's eyes, a woman's eyes, a daughter's eyes, a student's eyes, a leader's eyes, a teacher's eyes, a friend's eyes... and from each point of view, God is beautiful.

Like the sky, He is always moving, ever seeming to change state and direction, yet somehow, when I see Him, I know He is forever the same. I cannot get bored with God -- nor His sky. I cannot fathom how immense both must be.

God speaks to me through the sky. Soft and silent or flashing and loud, He speaks. Powerful. Gentle. Omniscient. Unpredictable. Steady. I am so small. I succumb to a will other than my own. Who I am is put into perspective. Who He is pervades my life, my world, my thoughts, pervades who I am, just as the sky over-arches all life here.

Yes, the One whom I serve must resemble the sky that He made. ... But nothing could ever really compare to my God. Even something that pours water, bubbles with color, and wakes me up each morning, and calms me every night. That experience doesn't even come close to standing in the expanse of God's greatness.