My friend Pam Hatt posted a meme on Facebook this morning:

My soul resounded with a deep Yes. 

I have been working through a variety of lies lately, and in conversations with a few trusted friends I have marveled at the deep hold that these lies can have, even when we  know the truth  For example, I know that I stand before Christ clothed in his perfect righteousness–yet part of me believes that I must be perfect, and then despairs that I am never good enough. In order for the truth of God’s Word to set me free, I need to know that I am living as a hostage of the lie that I must strive for perfection–or that perfection is even attainable. 

Without awareness of the lie, the truth is not as compelling to my soul. It is in danger of becoming a platitude rather than a life-giving antidote for one on the brink of death.

So we stop, and we recognize the lie. 

Sometimes the lie is apparent as we wrestle with God. Other times it requires another person’s insight. We ask the trusted friend or counselor, “What do you see that I don’t see? Where am I enslaved? What am I believing that simply isn’t true?”

Seeing the lie is the first step.

And then?

Repentance.

You may remember my last blog post on Isaiah 30, a life-altering passage for me. “In repentance and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be your strength.”  The rest is born of repentance. 

Once the Holy Spirit reveals the lie under which I am living, I have two options: cling to the lie in all of its habitual familiarity, or flee from it and toward God. Fleeing involves repenting–in this case, repenting of driving perfectionism and stepping instead into the righteous garments of Christ. Repentance involves admitting that I could never earn this righteousness on my own if given a thousand lifetimes and all the best circumstances. Repentance sees the lie for what it is, and turns to grace instead.

The meme jolts us with a deep truth; looking at the passage in which is is rooted reveals even more:

So Jesus said to the Jews who had believed him, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” They answered him, “We are offspring of Abraham and have never been enslaved to anyone. How is it that you say, ‘You will become free’?”

Jesus answered them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, everyone who practices sin is a slave to sin. The slave does not remain in the house forever; the son remains forever. So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed. ” John 8:31-36

It is the Son who sets us free, and this through abiding in the Word, truth itself. When we abide in communion with Truth, revealed perfectly in the person of Chist, lies are exposed.  Even more, we are empowered to break free of our bonds of slavery to sin. The One who reveals the truth also provides the power. 

So, fleeing is possible.

As Augustine put it, posse non peccare.

We are able not to sin. We are not enslaved by sin. We have freedom.

But do you ever get tired in this fight against sin, repenting out of exhaustion, not with firm conviction?

I do.

So, I think that is why the next thought isn’t striving. It is rest. Jesus invites us, the burdened and heavy-laden, to turn toward him. He offers the rest born of his own perfect life, his own redeeming death. He sees us there in our weariness, and he invites us to come to him. 

He takes our guilt. 

He goes a step further: he takes our shame. As Heather Nelson said in her life-giving book Unashamed, “Jesus took the shame of our shame-filled (and shame-fueled) performances and misplaced blame, and bore it in his body and shed blood for us on the cross. He covered not only the guilt of our sin, but also the shame of trying to cover up our sin.” Heather Davis Nelson. “Unashamed.” (p 307 in electronic format)

No more guilt. No more shame.

That is the rest into which we are invited by our Savior.

It makes the work of facing the lies worth it, because we trade our lies for the rest of the redeemed.

As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full. – John 15:9-11

Abide.

To live, to dwell.

Old English ābīdan ‘wait,’ from ā- ‘onward’ + bīdan (see bide).

It has a sense of waiting, and in its literal sense, means to wait onward. Moving forward in a waiting state.

As Jesus prepares his disciples for the next step, the new, the unknown, he reminds them: abide. He has already assured them that though they will not see him, he is not leaving them “as orphans”–he will come to them in the person of the Holy Spirit–a new experience of Emmanuel, God With Us. He assures them of his love, as real as the love with which the Father has loved him. And he tells them to wait in that love, to live there, to make their home in the love he has for them.

And then he gives them some very practical instruction: to abide is to obey.

Hmm.

For a lot of us, the thought of abiding involves something less tangible. Golden, sun-dappled walks in the woods. Uninterrupted journaling. Maybe some great music.Slow meditation in solitude.

But obedience?

Abiding is obeying.

Not a kicking-my-heels, stubborn saying-I’m-sorry-when-I’m-not-really-sorry obedience. Not drudgery.

It is soaring, run-in-the-path-of-your-commands-for-you-have-set-my-heart-free obedience. The kind of obedience that makes crooked paths straight, that creates a road in the desert.

But it is also abiding in the context of messy reality, of a community of broken people.

The first commandment, to love Him. The second, to love all of the broken mass of humanity made in his image. And in the context of the second command of Christ, others fall into place: telling the truth to myself and others. Not coveting what others have or are or do. Not setting my highest affections on anything or anyone but the one who designed those affections.

So, how is obedience abiding?

When I obey, it is sometimes with joy and gratitude, and I abide. And sometimes it is with great reluctance, and it drives me to seek Emmanuel, God With me, indwelling me, that deep well of peace that is offered to me to refresh my own parched soul. “Live out of this abudance,” he whispers. “Why fend for yourself like an orphan? I did not leave you as an orphan. I have come to you, and I have overflowing resources for you. Abide in my love. Why are you trying to obey in your own strength? Draw on my abundant power-the power that raised Christ from the dead,now living in you. It is enough.”

It is enough to inspire obedience.

And the end is not obedience in itself.

These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.  John 15:11

The end is joy. Full joy. Abundant, overflowing, enough-for-everyone joy!

We obey. We abide. We are filled with joy!

The joy comes through the hard things, coming to the end of ourselves, discovering that we do indeed belong, are indeed adopted, are beloved children and not castaways. We abide in an obedience that springs from gratitude in some moments and in others reveals the depth of our own disobedience. Sometimes we are dispobedient and experience the conviction that is itself a sign of Emmanuel, God With Us. But in any case, the path of obedience is one of abiding. 

And abiding leads to joy.

 
Over the past couple of weeks, I have been mulling over the idea of having multiple callings. I heard a great podcast a while back in which the speaker (Chalene Johnson, recommend for a great assortment of business and life principles) suggested that a lot of us have one purpose, but many passions. We have one overarching purpose in life, but it finds expression through many different passions over the course of our lives.

I resonated with that idea. One purpose, multiple passions.
The bottom line is that I do have one calling. Joel preached on Ephesians for a couple of weeks ago, where I read, “I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.” (4:1-3)

Walk in a manner worthy of the calling. One calling to which I have been called. And then, the details: walking with humility, gentleness, patience. Being not just tolerant, but loving toward those who might try my patience. Eager to maintain unity through the Holy Spirit. Eager to maintain a bond of peace with others.

Overall, this is my calling. I am called to walk as an imitator of Christ, living out of an abundance of grace, letting the Holy Spirit dictate not only my words and actions, but my very thoughts.

The other callings, or “vocations,” serve the one calling. I am a wife. A mother. A portrait photographer. A website designer. A small business owner. A music director. An advisor, a counselor, a friend. There are many things in which I am interested, and many things that I enjoy doing. But all of them serve the greater calling, which is to imitate Christ.

Okay.  Let’s shift gears ever so slightly.

Have you ever thought about the word “universe”?

(What, that didn’t feel like a slight shift? It is. Trust me on this.)

I love that word. If I were going to break it down, the word literally means “one turned,” and carries with it the idea of combining all into one. It’ root was first used by Cicero and other other philosophers to talk about all that there was, and reflected the idea of the turning of the planets overhead. It referred to everything that could be observed–and therefore, every thigh that was.

Within the word “universe” is the idea of the rich, vast complexity of all there is, folded into one. Rich, nuanced, and one.

And I can’t help but think of another use of that root word…”verso”, meaning song. Universe: One verse. Now, let me be clear: that’s not the original meaning of this word. But this secondary interpretation is delightful; it is a word that points to the fact that all of creation is limiting its multiplicity of voices, singing one song to its Creator.

We are made in the image of the One who created the universe. It should come as no surprise that through the different seasons of our lives, we discover new and multifaceted interests within our own hearts, and new talents and gifts ready to be used for the glory of the creator. Part of our challenge is picking them up, examining them, and learning to use them. We can encourage one another in this endeavor, holding each other’s dreams with respect, and marveling at the unique gifts given each one of us.

Tell me about your gifts. What passions has the Lord laid on your heart for his glory? How can I encourage you in your multiple callings, even as you pursue your one calling?

May the Lord be delighted as his children enjoy the gifts he has given.

It is so quiet in my house right now.

My senior photo session was rained out this afternoon. But the reality is that my gracious Abba cleared my afternoon–I can almost hear a gentle voice saying, “You need to rest. So I will give you a cozy afternoon and some unexpected time, and you need to use it to rest.”

Mostly, I did.

I had a nap.  A long, hard nap, the kind that makes you realize that you’ve been pushing too hard.

Then my sweet kids and my sweet husband headed out to our Sunday night youth program. And I had quiet.

I am praying through Ephesians, so I broke in a new journal. Bliss. I sang and worshiped with a new favorite song.  I had time–real time–with Jesus.

Oh, how I needed this.

Joel preached this morning from Ephesians 4, and one of the points that spoke clearly was my deep need to have my loves reordered by”learning Christ.” It is such an interesting construction. It is a word that means to learn from experience, and has a connotation of “coming to realize.” Joel used the illustration of our marriage–over the past twelve years, we have learned each other more and more. I know my Joel in ways I could not have known before; there are facets of learning from experience–things he likes, things he doesn’t like, things that matter more to him than I might guess–and there are realizations that come in key moments. As I learn him, our intimacy deepens.

Jesus wants me to learn him.

I think back over the hours and days and years I have spent studying Jesus. And then the sweet times of worship, where I have learned him in other ways. The retreats with sisters who have helped me learn him, and the books I have read that revealed new parts of his character. Being married and having children has opened different ways of learning Christ, seeing him, realizing him.

But too often, I am too distracted to learn.

And that’s where the reordering of my loves comes in.

Often, my distractions come in the form of very, very good things. Gifts the Lord has given. People I love. Podcasts to listen to, clients to engage, art to make, songs to sing, beauty to enjoy, books to read, websites to design, walks to take, exercise to attempt, photos to edit, non-profits to start, people to encourage, small business owners to coach, worship to plan, books to write, articles to read.

So many good things.

And my Mary heart is often overcome by my Martha life. And I stop gaining real traction in anything.

I was praying with a friend the other day, and I suddenly had one of those flashes of clarity: distraction is dis-traction. It is the negating of traction in my life. It causes me to slip, to get off track.

So I have renounced two things: Multi-tasking is one. Can’t do it. Not a real thing. Read Kevin DeYoung’s Crazy Busy and think about the fact that you and I are incapable of multitasking. Sure, we can time-slice our little hearts out, but none of us can actually focus on more than one thing at a time. So I will work. And then I will put my work down and be with my husband, or talk to my kids, or listen to my podcast and focus.

And second, I am renouncing busyness. I have a lot of hats, but the Lord is the one sovereignty controlling them, and  if I am too busy, I am not listening. I may have a full schedule, but each day does not need to feel busy.  Building margin back into my life is critical if I am going to live a life of traction.

I’m not renouncing productivity. The Lord has given me a calling–a Why–and has given me several corresponding ways to live out that why. But I can’t do what he is calling me to do if I live in a distracted manner.

Now, I’m going to tell you right now: I will struggle with this. The Holy Spirit is the only one who can gather the threads together, braid them together, and make something strong and whole.

But He can, and He is faithful. So, I will trust him to help me to rest in him, finding my identity in the completed work of Christ and not in all of these good works he prepared for me to do.

Jesus, I would life a life free from dis-traction, instead walking with step with your Holy Spirit and seeing the purpose and usefulness that comes from walking in your ways. Give me eyes to see, ears to hear. Make me a good steward of these people and opportunities that you have placed in my care. Let your weighty grace be evident in my life.

I have a plant on the edge of my bathtub.

It has a long strand of leaves that trails down, clinging desperately to life.

Do you see the irony?

I mean, it’s a little houseplant.  It barely needs any attention. Or water.  And there it is, on the edge of the most abundant water source ever, and, well…

it is wilted.

It has one yellow leaf, which I am telling myself is from over-watering, but let’s be honest. It went so long without water there in my bathroom surrounded by faucets that it is probably not coming back.

I did water it.

So, there is hope.

But I am leaving it there for now because it is serving as a powerful reminder: So often, I am that houseplant on the edge of the bathtub, inches from so much fresh water that I could drown in it, but not taking in any at all.

Wilting.

Have I immersed myself in the fresh fountain of God’s love for me in Christ? Have I bathed in the word, cleaning the dust of daily life from my soul? Have I drunk deep of the cup of living water, basking in the glory of the one who drank the cup of wrath in my place?

Jesus, let me be refreshed in you. And even in coming to you, I know that you are the one who leads me to the water, who refreshes me, who makes me new. You are the one who whispers to me, You are thirsty, daughter. Your Holy Spirit will complete this work you have begun, so I come to you asking for a renewed desire to seek you, and with the gratitude that comes from knowing you are abundantly faithful, good, and able to complete what you started.

Thank you for my friends who also seek you.  Thank you that you draw us near.

There are invisible people at the mall.  You can hear them, but as I watched them from my perch at Starbucks, it seemed to me that few people saw them.  I observed them as they tried to make themselves visible to those passing by.

You can see the invisible people, if you want to.  Most people would rather not, because making eye contact might lead to the awkwardness of turning down the free sample of lotion at the end of the outstretched hand.  It might turn into an inescapable Spiel.

I watched the young, beautiful, dark-haired woman with the outstretched lotion as she tried to engage those who walked by.  “Excuse me!  Would you like to try a free sample?  Excuse me, sir?  Excuse me, ma’am?”  No one stopped.  Most pretended not to see her.  Many did not see her at all. 

As I approached her, it felt like breaking the fourth wall.  Who catches her eye on purpose and smiles at her and asks her what she is selling?  What would it be like not to avoid the Spiel, but to welcome it, to engage it, to ask her about her product?  What if I actually bought what she was selling, tucking it away for a future gift?  What if I became her first, and perhaps only sale of the day?

She buffed my fingernails and rubbed the salts on my hands.  She spritzed water and smoothed lotion.  She talked about the Dead Sea–so salty!–and it reminded me of the book on Israel that my grandmother gave me when I was a child.  I still remember the people floating effortlessly on the Dead Sea.  I wonder if this young woman has been to the Dead Sea.

I should have asked her.

Instead I let her finish all of her points and bought some of her products at at “deep discount” which may or may not have been a good deal but was justifiable.  My hands were smooth.  It would be a nice gift.

I could tell that she appreciated the sale, but in a very subtle way our roles reversed as she handed me the receipt.

She did not need my attention.

And now I am the invisible one.