Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Not Going Back...

I have only got a moment for this- the kids will be up in a few- but I'll write with what I've got.

I'm home with the kids today because public schools are closed in a lot of North Carolina counties. The reason is that many teachers are up in Raleigh, rallying for respect.

I'm not there. Not marching, not even posting something on Instagram in solidarity. Because I am just too tired to do it. I am exactly the reason why those teachers are marching- a burnt out, heart-broken educator who isn't going back next year. They're rallying for pay that catches up to the national average, for better per-pupil spending, but mostly-- for respect.

I teach in a classroom with a hole in the ceiling. Leaky pipes caused the ceiling tiles to soak through and after one of the tiles caved in and fell during first period, they took all of the tiles down and now there's just a gaping hole. (by the grace of God, the student sitting under it wasn't at his seat at the time) When it rains, I come into a class with a little flood that extends from wall to wall. I call the front desk to try to get the custodial staff to come and clean it up. Sometimes they come. Sometimes they don't.

There's no air conditioner in my classroom. On Monday, the outside temperature was above 90. My poor administration is trying to work everyone into an air conditioned classroom when they are teaching, forcing teachers with AC to let other classes roam into them during their planning hours. On Tuesday, Grey had a high fever, and I really wanted to stay home with him- the only time I've thought of taking off to be with my sick child during this whole semester- but the logistical nightmare of trying to explain these classroom switches to a sub wasn't worth it. I gave up on my sub lesson plan after twenty-five minutes of trying to type things up. I called my mom. She came here. I went to work.

A few weeks ago, there was a fight in a classroom across from me. The teacher, a lovely woman from Barcelona and a fantastic, incredibly hard-working teacher, was having a hard time keeping her students in the classroom. They were all pouring out into the hallway to see the kids slam one another into the lockers. I bolted from my room at the sound of the commotion and tried to herd her students back into their room with my most commanding voice. They wouldn't listen, so I gently laid an open palm on their arms to move them back into the room- out of harm's way- trying to curb the chaos. One girl looked at me- she knew I was a teacher- she looked me in the eye and said- "Get your f-ing hands off me." I had to go back to my class and teach cell division. It was the fifth or sixth fight that had happened near me or involved one of my students, just in one semester.

I teach to rooms filled with 30 students who are more interested in their cell phone than anything I could ever say. Most cannot listen or pay attention beyond 10-15 minutes of instruction- if that. If I try to design a lesson that is fun, engaging- whether it's a lab that I have paid for out of my own pocket or something using technology- most are too lazy to read the instructions and actually engage in the activity. And those are my honors classes. My standard class has about six sleeping students everytime I try to talk for more than five minutes. Some of them can barely read, but I'm required to cram an over-stuffed biology curriculum down their throats at break-neck speed in time for state-testing in June.

I wake up at 5AM every day to design lessons and grade papers. And I come home so tired. Tired in my bones. Tired in my soul.

So, I'm not going back. I'm not bitter. But I am sad. I said to my mom today, "it feels like a death." I love teaching. I love science. I love kids. But I can't be crushed in spirit day after day and have the heart and soul reserves necessary for my own family.

So, I'm not going back. I'm going to stay home with my kids next year.

In saying this, I want to make it abundantly clear that I am in no way blaming the school I teach at. I have been INCREDIBLY blessed to work at Cape Fear High School. The administration has been nothing but fair, kind and considerate towards me. They are doing the best they can. And I work with a host of excellent educators. We are all tired. That's why we are marching. We're more than just tired- and we aren't just paranoid or greedy. There are SERIOUS problems going on in public education. I cannot even begin to address the probable solutions in one blog post. All I can say today is that I am proud of those teachers in Raleigh today. My heart is there too. THANK YOU for going on behalf of those who have lost their voice, lost their strength and their will to fight. God be with you.

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Snapshot #6- I am getting hungry.

The next stop on my identity journey is John 6. I'm probably going to camp out here for a while, but I want to share something that happened today when I started digging in.

I read through the chapter and started outlining.

In John 6: 1-14 Jesus feeds 5,000
In John 6:16-24 Jesus walks on water as he and the disciples get over to the other side of the lake.
In John 6: 25-59 Jesus talks to the people who have come looking for him after the feeding miracle and tells them that he is the bread of life.

I stopped reading and looked across my screened in porch to the empty settee. I imagined Jesus sitting there, relaxing, as I am, for this hour of time while the three little things that make so much noise rest peacefully inside. I talk to him like he's a friend who has stopped by for a chat while the kids nap. I say, "So, I don't mean this disrespectfully, but I don't know how to connect this conversation you're having to my current circumstances. You were talking to these Jewish people who were steeped in their traditions, but didn't recognize you as the Son of God. My problems are with believers- people who have said that they recognize you as the Son, and have eaten your Bread."

He doesn't say anything, so I continue.

"I'm not saying that this is irrelevant. I think it's really relevant. But I just don't know how yet."

Then, something inside me says, "Go get a piece of bread."

Not wanting to miss out on something that might be important to this project, I get up and go to the kitchen and open up a ziploc of leftover rolls from Easter dinner. I pull off half a roll and bring it outside. I'm thinking- maybe I'll experience some sort of profound sensation as I eat it that will point me in the right direction.

Back on the porch, I put the roll in my mouth. It starts to dissolve, and it tastes a little bit like the plastic bag it's been in. Nothing profound happens- just the enzymes doing their thing, turning it into a mush that I swallow down.

"Were you hungry for that bread?" He asks.


"Why not?"

"Because I had already had so much to eat."

"Exactly," he says.

I'm not sure what I'm going to find here in John 6, but I know that my nap-time conversation with Jesus is revealing this- to really want the Bread of Life, I've got to get hungry for it. Hungry for Him.

What got me into this identity- quest to begin with? Wanting to be believed? Liked? Loved? Understood? Valued? How have I gone about trying to meet that need? I've tried just about everything- organizing, cleaning, yoga, therapy, friendships, adventures, reading, TV shows set in Britain, mysteries set in Quebec, Pinot Noir, Southern Living, talking (poor Andy... so much talking), writing, Bible study, posting pictures on social media, working, gardening-  I've tried lots of good things. They fill my plate. They aren't bad. I'm not going to pretend like they are. They're good. I can keep them. I can keep all of them. But, He's right. Those things can suppress my hunger. When I am the cleaner, the organizer, or the yogi, I'm not hungry. When I'm the reader or the talker or the writer, I'm not hungry either. When I'm the teacher or the mom at play group or the wine-drinker at girls night out- I'm not working up an appetite for Jesus. If I want to eat Bread, I've got to get hungry.

For me, I think that means that anytime my internal struggle nags at me, I shouldn't load up on those favorite things to try to feel better. They curb my appetite. It's scary to think about not leaning into those pleasant distractions, because how I feel on the inside can be really unpleasant. My pain and insecurity are scary. I like to try to get away from them. I feel weak and guilty and stupid for feeling this way. My feelings frighten me. But they make me hungry.

Bread that comes down from heaven shouldn't be something that I'm too full to eat. Because it's the one type of Bread that I really need. I have a problem- a broken heart and a messed up identity, and there's a Fixer for that problem. He was on my porch with me this afternoon, letting me know that I need to get hungry.

Saturday, March 24, 2018

Snapshot #5- I am a Worshiper

Before I leave the scene at the well, there's one more snapshot I want to look at. The woman told Jesus that the well was deep and He had nothing to draw with. Jesus told the woman that He had living water. Then, Jesus proves His omniscience by telling the woman that she has been married five times and is currently living together with someone she isn't married to. Drop the mic, Jesus.

But, of course, he doesn't. He isn't there to just prove how holy He is. He's there to invite her to Himself. So they continue chatting. She is convinced now that He is a prophet, but seems to be mixed up about how she should respond to that realization. She says- "Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem." I think her expectation was for Jesus to tell her that she needed to choose one spot or the other. I wonder if she really felt welcome to worship at either?

But Jesus's answer isn't what she expected. He says, "a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in the Spirit and in truth." 

When I started this journey into identity-seeking, my identity was messed up. I had left my job, so I wasn't  the hard-working teacher and coach with busy, long, purposeful days. I had gotten married, so I wasn't in control of my environment or even my emotions in the way that I had been when I was single. I had moved to Austin, so I wasn't surrounded by friends who accepted and loved me. And I was beginning to feel the first rush of rejection, and I couldn't get over how bad it felt. I was trying to write a book- this book- a book about identity. And I couldn't. I couldn't get the words right. My heart and mind were too black with pain and confusion.

I'm learning that people seem to worship in a way that's unique to them. For me, that's writing. When I was in that painful place, I was still writing- trying to work it out, trying to write a story about a God who is worthy. Each noun, verb and adverb inching me into His victory. I tried to know Him through my words. It helped. It hurt. It didn't come together to be the book that I wanted. But, I let the words that I did have come out- because, for me, to silence the words is to cease to worship.

My mom has told me that she worships best when she's out in her yard. She loves to see what God has created. Her heart glorifies Him when she's among her bulbs and pots and Round-Up can.

Andy worships in song. He loves to hum and sing along to music- whether that's "worship" music or hymns or Simon and Garfunkel.

I know people who worship when their feet pound pavement, when their eyes gaze upon mountains, when their ears hear the lap of water against the sides of a boat. I know people who paint portraits of God with camera lenses and oil-based colors. I know people who worship God when they're on their knees, and people who worship God when they're standing up for justice. I know people whose worship is most beautiful when surrounded by others, and people who worship best in solitude. Worship is as diverse and creative as the One who seeks the worshipers.

Another thing I'm learning about worship is that our chosen acts of worship bless God and one another. When my mom worships in her garden, her heart song is within my ear shot. I walk along the streets of my neighborhood naming the spring flowers and budding trees for my children, an echo of her cry to the Creator. When I dig in my garden, I mix soil and metaphors, designing and creating- my hands in soil, my mind in prose. When Andy overcame his fear of singing in public and boldly put on a choir robe for the Christmas Eve service, his voice joined others and together their song lit up the night and the season.

Jesus says that His Father is seeking worshipers. Truthful, Spirit-filled worshipers. To answer that call to worship could be the most important snapshot thus far. Because saying yes to worship means that I am saying yes to the truth. I'm saying yes to believing that He seeks me. I'm saying yes to a God who wants the me that He meant to make, not the me that other people wish that I had been.

Worshiping God in Spirit means being directed by the Maker to worship Him in ways that please Him, His own Spirit designed and filled ways. But I'm learning that such worship is far from constrained. Worshiping in the Spirit can happen in traditional services where the same anthems and creeds are read week by week. It can happen in giant auditoriums where people throw their hands into the air and let the tears stream down their cheeks. It can happen when fingers and feet make the pipes of an organ groan. The Spirit can pick a banjo or strum an acoustic guitar. The Spirit can fill baptismal waters and offering plates. Or it can strip a building bare and fill it with just people. There are almost no rules when it comes to worship. The methods are beautiful, diverse and full of freedom. The heart and the Object are the only things that cannot change.

Worshiping God in truth can be a little trickier. It means intentionally turning away from the lies of this world. For me, that means rejecting my rejection. It means accepting my acceptance. It means that in this moment, while dirty clothes litter my floors and baby dishes clutter my counters, I stop and I write this. It means letting God know- and maybe others know too- that I am not okay sometimes. That I am seeking. That I am hurting. That I am healing. It means letting the real shine through. All the while placing my mind, and my heart and my hope completely and utterly in the hands of the One, True Savior.

That's what the woman at the well figured out, in the end. She says to Jesus, "I know that Messiah is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us."

Jesus replies, "I, the one speaking to you- I am he." 

He is explaining who He is. And, as He explains who He is, it explains who I am. I am a worshiper.

Thank you for reading my worship.

Friday, March 16, 2018

Snapshot #4- At The Well

When I got really sick a month ago, I decided to say yes to whatever would lead to my healing. One of those yeses was talking to Andy's counselor.

After we got married, our situation got really confusing. Things came out that Andy and I could never have expected. People responded in ways that were dumbfounding. It was a great big mess. Andy and I tried to find some professional help to work things out. We offered that help, but it was shot down.

So we took a step back and life moved on. We worked and loved on students and played soccer and made friends. We studied and led at BSF. We joined our church. We had highs. We had lows.

Then, Story was born. And we tried again to make things real. To make things better. But it was hard. Some of Andy's old wounds were making it even harder for him. Andy isn't like me. He doesn't talk about his hurts until they are threadbare. He's more likely to pack them into a small, tight space and pour some Bourbon on top.

I love Andy. He is one of my safest people. He holds all of my crazy so gently and rightly in his giant, soft heart. He is endlessly patient and encouraging. The very least that I could do for someone who takes care of me like that was point him to someone qualified to help debride the wounds. So I said, I don't care what it costs, I want you to get the help you need. That's exactly what he did. He got several months of sound, Biblical counsel from a trusted Christian therapist. That help transformed the way that Andy thinks and communicates. His voice got louder (a good thing!) and mine got softer (a very good thing!). We learned to listen and speak and wait. It was really beautiful. I went to therapy once with Andy, just to be "in" on some of the things that he was learning there, to be a part of the story, but those months were mostly his journey. I was cheering him on from the sidelines and reaping the benefits of his healing.

After Grey was born, we tried again. Because mercy compels us, and justice drives us. Because Jesus is a Lover, a Forgiver, a Healer. But it went worse than ever. And the stress made me sick. So, I knew it was my turn to get the help. One of the things that I was instructed to do by our counselor was to research some behaviors that he has witnessed in this situation over the course of time. Even with all of my over-thinking, I had never researched the pathology behind some of the things I've experienced. So I've made a study of what he told me to look into over the past couple of weeks. It's been an eye-opening and, at times, frightening and discouraging experience.

In John, I'm still at the well with Jesus and the Samaritan woman. This has been a fitting place as I've looked into these patterns of behavior. The more I've learned, the more I've come to understand about what we've been through these past years. The shoe fits. But it's a shoe nobody wants to have to put on. Looking into this situation has been a lot like looking into a deep well. I don't even know exactly what's down there. Trauma. Abuse. Behavior patterns to shroud shame. Manifestations of those behaviors that abide by no rules, heed no boundaries, that cause harm to my beloved... and to me. It's subtle. But it's real. It's what I've seen. It's what others, more qualified than I, see. The well is deep.

The Samaritan woman tells Jesus that Jacob's well is deep, and He doesn't even have anything to draw with. Jesus' response brings her from that tactile reality to a spiritual one. Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. 

As I've studied this week, I learned about some of my own unhealthy behavior. I discovered that, though I have learned how to set boundaries externally- I am uncomfortable with that. No, we cannot make it to that event. Please don't use that word again. Please don't send me those kinds of emails. We are not okay in our relationship- please take responsibility for your part so that we can be okay- on the inside, I have almost none. I might be able to say these things to other people. But, once said, I am filled with doubt. I worry about the boundary that I tried to set, especially when people get mad at me for setting them or just pretend like I didn't say anything at all. Then, I try ceaselessly to "fix" these problems in my mind. It never works. This is the well that I keep trying to drink from. It makes me thirstier and thirstier every time.

Jesus says to the Samaritan woman- Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life. I am at the well with Jesus. The well is deep, much deeper and darker than I could have imagined. But Jesus is here. Jesus is calling.

Jesus has taught me two things here at the well. First, that I must stop drinking here. I must understand that the well really is too deep for me. These waters have done enough damage to my heart and soul. It's time to trust Him, take his hand, and walk away. Second, that it is not too deep for Him. He has gone into greater depths. Because of His great love, He goes deeper still.

Jesus, precious, beautiful, powerful Jesus- go. Go into that well. Heal and purify those waters. 

And Jesus, steadfast, faithful Jesus- stay. Stay with me here. Walk by my side as I turn away from this well. Give me the living water that will sustain me for the rest of my journey. 

Sunday, March 11, 2018

Snapshot #3: I am Not "The Other"

The kids and I usually stay for dinner at my mom's on Monday nights while Andy goes to Bible study in Raleigh. Monday before last was an especially fun evening because my brother was there. We love when "Uncle" is in town. Story loves it because (even though he says he has a lot of work to do), he will always play with her a little while. And I love it  because, if his mood is even half-way decent, he will usually have some interesting things to say. My brother is a passionate and intelligent guy, and I love to hear him talk about things he cares deeply about. Usually that is politics. I don't always agree with what he says, but I learn new things when I listen to his perspective. Sometimes my brother will say something profound, and it will start to change the way that I see things. And last Monday, he said something that has stirred up new life in me as I've continued to study my identity in Christ.

We were talking about some hot-button issue right now- I think it was gun control. But the conversation grew larger than that issue and we began to talk about the way that people identify themselves as a part of one group or another. My brother said that what happens to people as they self-identify with one position, group or cause, is that they begin to see the opposing side as "the other." It doesn't matter what "the other" is, or if the person is actually ever even truly threatened by "the other." When fueled by arrogance, fear of the "other" can begin to grow into injustice, which births hatred, which fosters violence.

I cannot dispute how true this is. I see it everywhere. "The other" can be any group or position that is not my group or position. Democrat vs. Republican. Pro-life vs. Pro-choice. Gay rights vs. family values. Social justice vs. entitlement. Dark skin vs. light skin. Black lives vs. police lives. Public vs. private. My culture vs. your culture. Evangelical vs. traditional. Protestant vs. Catholic. Gun rights vs. gun control. Duke vs. Carolina.

People have different views, different backgrounds, different values- that's what makes humanity interesting, challenging- beautiful. But our fears and insecurities and desire for a steadfast identity (the very struggle that is challenging me to write these blogs!) can drive us toward this "other" mindset. At first, it feels comforting to identify "the other." Feels good to blame them for what is wrong- whether that's in the world or our country or our family. Because if it's caused by "the other", then it's not caused by me. "The other" strokes my ego, makes me look and feel good.

Yesterday morning, I wanted to have some quiet time to continue to read in John. I got seven verses into John 4, and then Grey was up and Chuy was up and the day was rocking and rolling. In the afternoon, things settled back down, and I sat still for a while, and it was then that I realized that only getting through seven verses wasn't a loss. There was something in the seven verses that I needed to hear Him say before I move on.

John 4: 1-7 is where Jesus meets the Samaritan woman at Jacob's well. And it's here, at Jacob's well, that I see a hot and tired and incredibly beautiful Jesus. About noon, a woman arrives at the well to get some water. She's alone, and Jesus asks her for a drink of water.

It's a pretty simple interaction, but the meaning is anything but simple. What Jesus is doing here is shattering "the other." First, this was a woman. In Jewish culture, women are significantly "other" from men. Second, she was a Samaritan, and the text even says, "Jews did not associate with Samaritans."And third, she was a social pariah. She was alone at this well at noon, and I've been taught that women would likely have gone to the well together in the mornings and evenings. Most likely, she was alone because her background as an adulterous woman made her the object of judgment and ridicule.

When people build up an "other" mindset, we might start from a decent enough place. We value "X" and they value "Y." We have good reasons for "X" being valuable to us. That, in itself, isn't so bad. But what inevitably happens is that "X" becomes better than "Y" and the people who value "Y" become less valuable to us. Therefore, I (and those like me) am better and more valuable than you (and those like you). Sometimes we start out by pitying "the other," which doesn't sound so bad, but pity is fed by pride, not love. We shake our heads and pray for "the other" and hope that God fixes them into something we can approve of as soon as He possibly can get around to it. But, often, pity grows into disdain, resentment, even hatred. Our pity prayers get drowned out by statements like, "I cannot stand those people." We unfriend everyone who values "Y" from our Facebook or we troll the internet and write nasty comments we'd probably never speak out loud and face to face. But "the other" gets bigger and nastier than even that. "The other" can become so oppressive that we begin to cause one another emotional and physical harm. Wars are started over "the other." Families fall apart because of "the other." People kill one another or themselves because of "the other."

But, what I am seeing in John 4, is that Jesus has no "other." He is a ridiculously non-judgmental man who extends an offer of life to anyone. Literally- anyone.  

As a Christian, I believe that God has the authority to judge. One Day, He will judge. The Bible is clear about that. But, the crazy thing is- that Day is not today. And it wasn't that Day at Jacob's well. For the Samaritan woman, and for me, it is the Day of Grace. A humble, yet perfect man looked at a woman with a need and asked her for something. But, in doing so, He was actually offering something to her. He was offering her living water. He was offering her acceptance, life, love, a way out of the pain from her past. He chose to extend love to her, to extend Himself to her, instead of pitying her, ignoring her or making sure she (and everyone else, for that matter) knew how wrong she was.

In my journey, I have been made to feel like "the other." I wasn't the same. I thought differently, voted differently, was from a different place. I valued Y when everyone wanted me to value X. It feels bad when you are"the other."

What I'm learning is that Jesus is not going to look at me and see "the other." That, for Him, there really are only two kinds of people - those who believe and call on His name, and those who don't. Sometimes we create"the other" with stuff we invent just to make us feel superior to one another- things that have no value to God. And the things that are real, that God really does care about and wants us to care about too, are only going to reflect His image and accomplish His will if we drop the judgment and the arrogance and the hatred and pick up the cup of living water and start to drink deeply from it.

I'm sorry for the ways that I have treated people like "the other." I need help. I think the cup of living water is the cure for my own insecurities and fears. Jesus's offer to the Samaritan woman gives me hope. I don't have to see myself as "the other" anymore because Jesus doesn't see me that way. I don't have to hate myself or regret that I wasn't somebody else. I know this- that woman at the well probably felt a deep ache, a chronic sadness, because she was "the other" in so many ways. But her encounter with Jesus changed her life. She exchanged her old feelings for new joy, and she became bold and told everyone about Jesus.  Her choice to believe that she had value to Jesus made it possible for others to believe. Let it be the same for me.

Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Snapshot #2- I am Known

As John 1 continues, Jesus starts to gather some disciples. I like the part about Jesus calling Nathanael. Jesus called Philip, and then Philip told Nathanael that he had found the Promised One, but...that the Promised One just happened to be from Nazareth.

Nathanael's response is so utterly human- "Nazareth! Can anything good come from there!?"

Philip says, "Come and see." So when Nathanael does come and see Jesus, Jesus looks at him and says, "Here truly is an Israelite in whom there is no deceit."

Nathanael replies, "How do you know me?" And Jesus says, "I saw you while you were still under the fig tree when Philip called you."

I like how, in this dialogue, Jesus lets Nathanael know that He knows him in two ways- his circumstances in his life (sitting under the fig tree) and who he is on the inside (in whom there is no deceit).

As a person who craves understanding, I find deep comfort in the truth that Jesus knows my circumstances. When we brush up against one another in life, I think we place expectations on one another without full understanding of what's really going on. There's usually back story that explains, to some degree, why we do what we do. Sometimes our execution on some matter is disappointing to ourselves or others. But sometimes we don't have the freedom to share the context with one another. We withhold for various reasons, some of them necessary. But with Jesus, He already knows. I can tell him about my circumstances if I need to. He will listen. But He already fully understands exactly what I am going through.

I find even deeper comfort that Jesus knows who I am on the inside. It's nice that Jesus is able to say to Nathanael that there's no deceit in him. What a compliment. I know that there was a time in my life when Jesus would not have been able to say that statement to me. But, because He knows me, and He loves me, and He is for my good, we did something about that. I know there are other places in Scripture where Jesus calls people out for their thoughts. That seems pretty intimidating. But, for where I'm at right now, that's actually something I crave too. I want to know if there is wickedness in me. I want to know if I'm wrong, or just being crazy. If Jesus knows about something, and I don't, I want Him to show me. I want us to fix it.

In the journey that has taken me to this place of sitting, reflecting, and listening to my Father, one of my deepest needs is to be known. Feeling unknown is excruciatingly painful. I confess that sometimes I feel like God must be more interested in bigger things and more important people than He is in knowing me. But this interaction with Nathanael, and the knowledge that God is love give me hope. As I approach Jesus, broken-hearted and weary, my hope is that I am known by Him, and that, in knowing me, He is demonstrating His love for me. Love seeks to know.

As I struggle to put together the puzzle pieces of my life, I take comfort in knowing that God already knows the big picture- past, present and future. When a new vision of what my life really looks like or who I really am takes me by surprise, I can take comfort because Jesus has already seen it. When someone mistreats me, whether it is overt or subtle, He knows. When I struggle to respond and feel at a loss for what to do next, He knows. When evil seems overwhelming and sadness fills my heart, He knows. When I am just a person, faltering, unholy, imperfect and messy, He knows. And when I reflect His glory through kindness, gentleness and patience, He knows.

Will His knowledge be enough for me?

Lord, Jesus, I pray that it will. Let your knowledge of who I am  supersede my desire to be known by anybody else. Let me rest deeply in the truth that I am known by You. 

Monday, March 5, 2018

Snapshot #1: I am the Daughter of a King

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[As I start to write about my identity in Christ, my plan is to listen to God as I read the book of John. In John, Jesus makes seven "I am" statements. It's my belief that my life is hidden in Christ. When Jesus says, "I am," He's not only giving me insight into Himself, He's telling me who I am too. Rather than jump straight to the "I am" statements, though, I'm beginning in chapter 1. I don't have any plans for how much time this will take or how long it will get. I'll write until it's time to stop, until the message is finished, or God moves me on to something new. ]

Grey woke up a little while ago. He's currently sitting in his swing smiling at me and making noises, swiping at his toys or drooling. My boy's company is welcome.

Grey is my child. From the moment he was conceived, he was a part of my family and nothing he does or does not do will ever change that. He is my child. He is welcome. He is mine.

In John 1:3-4, God says that through the Word (Jesus), all things were made... in him was life.
God continues to make life. I think God rejoices in every life He makes. When I think about the feeling I had when I held Story or Grey for the first time- the weight of their little bodies, their sounds and movements. I could see, for the first time, they were their own little people, separate but dependent. It was joy.

God feels that way about me. The moment I was born, He gazed upon upon my smallness and knew that He had made someone separate but dependent. My life brought Him joy.

I am not just a created thing. I have always been created by God, I have always been loved by Him. But I did not always recognize Him or receive Him. But after His grace took me into one of the darkest corners of my life, my eyes opened and I could see. Since then, I have been a child by faith. And to those children, John 1: 12 says, have been given rights.

I have the rights of a child of the Creator of the Universe. I'll have to explore more about those rights in another post. But for now, I know this. I am God's child. Child of creation. Child of grace through faith in Jesus Christ.

And like Grey, I am welcome. Not only welcome, I am expected. When Grey woke up hungry, it wasn't a surprise. I expected him. I knew he would need me. Nothing feels more natural than bringing him to myself.

I am the daughter of a King. And nothing feels more natural to that King than bringing me to Himself. I am welcome. I am expected. Because I am His.