Redemption
Tangled
Muffled whimpers escaped the closed bathroom door. It was past the time when she was due downstairs for the morning, so I’d gone upstairs to check on Boo. This darling daughter o’ mine is a basketful of surprises: I had no idea what I’d find when I opened the door. Perhaps frustration over getting earrings into her recently-pierced ears? Sadness over one escaping down the sink drain?
I found her dripping wet from her shower, trying to extricate a comb wound so tightly with hair that I feared removal would require surgical intervention. She was pulling and twisting, ratcheting the hair tighter with every failed attempt to free it, like a Chinese finger trap.
“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” She was afraid I’d laugh. Laughter was a generous assumption of my response, given the dictates of the over-filled morning that lay ahead. I tabulated the number of minutes remaining until we needed to leave for the bus stop, knowing breakfast hadn’t been consumed nor backpacks loaded. I silently asked God to help me put those concerns aside to meet her needs, physically and emotionally. She didn’t want my help, but she needed it. If she didn’t trust me to do right by her, we weren’t going anywhere – literally or figuratively.
I cajoled her into getting dressed and coming downstairs. (Or did I threaten?) She finally appeared in the kitchen in a school-appropriate outfit and a terry cloth wimple she’d constructed from her towel to conceal her ‘issue.’
The best strategy I could devise to salvage as much hair as possible was to pour oil on her head, hoping it would lube the locks. I massaged it into the gnarled comb-hair mass. I tugged. It hurt. She cried. I fetched wire cutters from the garage and snipped teeth off the comb, in hopes of freeing still more hair. It was tedious work with dismaying results, sometimes loosing merely a few strands at a time. It pushed the limits of my patience. And hers. Still, she needed my help. Eventually, it was clear that scissors were warranted. I snipped carefully and finally liberated my daughter from her encumbrance.
As I washed the oil from her hair in the sink, I gently inquired what caused her predicament. She couldn’t offer much explanation for motive, except that she wanted to see what would happen, and really thought she’d be able to get it out. She lay outstretched on the counter, her head cupped in my hands over the sink, and she looked up at me, her Disney Princess eyes finally free of tears and embarrassment. The vulnerability of her gaze and position were striking to me. There was closeness, intimacy, in being trusted to help, and proving faithful to it.
How often I’ve found myself in a tangled situation, facing an outcome I hadn’t predicted. I retreat into my misery, whimpering as I tug on the strands of error, lack of forethought, and sin. I hide my face from the Lord, covering myself with other competencies and busyness to conceal the glaring problem-that-can’t-be-hidden. Ultimately, though, there are messes in my life that I cannot unravel; I need Another’s help. Though I may not want to feel so exposed, I need His help. Sometimes His tools are fragrant oils that wash easily away, other times wire cutters and scissors are necessary, with more painful and enduring effects. In either case, I must lay myself out on the counter – the altar, place myself into His cupped hands, and in trust look up. In that vulnerability there is Holy intimacy. And He is faithful to help, never forsaking me.
And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.
— Philippians 1:6 NLT
Recommended reading (or listening!): Psalm 40
Story told with permission from the hair ‘stylist,’ who felt blessed to know that her story taught me something, and was then willing to have it shared with you.
Empty Handed
Help. Why (why!) is help so hard to ask for?
My husband occasionally travels for work, just two or three times a year. As a very involved husband and father, he’s always willing to pitch in for any need I have. So much so that when he’s gone, his helpful presence is definitively missed. During one of his rare travel weeks, I became aware that I had commitments to two children in three different locations on one night. There wasn’t time enough between the appointments to collect and drop off the right child at the right venue. I couldn’t pull it all off by myself, so I bit the bullet and tapped a few friends for some assistance. It was difficult to ask; I don’t like putting my responsibilities on another’s shoulders. I consoled myself with the notion that I’d gladly reciprocate in the future. They were gracious, and cheerfully arranged their afternoon and evening plans to support me.
This week, in a completely different situation, I had to ask for help again, but from different people and for different reasons. The need was much more significant, not merely a matter of being late to art class. It involved an enormous commitment of precious resources… resources that I don’t have and will never have.
I am unable to tranquilize the pain of my need with future reciprocity: I simply won’t be able to.
Though asking for help chauffeuring my kids was challenging, making this request was almost crippling. For me, the ability to reciprocate when asking for help seems to mitigate the condition of need. It makes me feel less needy, perhaps because my need appears limited in duration or nature. Where I feel able to repay, I am more willing to be indebted, if only temporarily. Where I am destitute of skill, time or money, I resist asking for help, because I am unable to give back. The pride of self-reliance, in other words, keeps me from seeking that which I genuinely need.
To receive Christ, we must, in humility, acknowledge our utter bankruptcy before God: I am sinful and in desperate need of a Savior. I have nothing to offer in exchange for my redemption from the judgment I justly deserve. I come to the Throne empty handed. And this is precisely how the Father intends it: that we are fully aware of our inability to earn the Grace, pay for the Gift. But God doesn’t stop at salvation and justification. Those events set in motion another work of the Holy Spirit: sanctification, the purifying process of becoming holy.
I struggled deeply to ask for help this week. I struggled even more profoundly to receive it. In and out of tears from the discomfort of my need, I slowly – too slowly – became aware this was something I needed to wrestle out and be purified of. God was pressing me to again be willing to acknowledge my poverty. Not for my salvation, but my sanctification. My discomfort in receiving the help I needed, but couldn’t repay, revealed a prideful independence, a lack of reliance on my Father. In humbly confessing my temporal needs to man, I would also confess my need to the Lord. The act of asking for help became a sanctifying work of the Spirit.
I want to more readily ask for help in the future, without promise of compensation, as fruit of this experience. I hope to see my needs as God’s tool to strip away another layer of my pride, purifying me and making me holy, set apart for His purposes.
In the emptiness of my upturned hands may I find the fullness of God’s sanctifying work.
Braving the barn (a surprising lesson in friendship)
I love the statements in Proverbs: simple, true and packed with a punch, This one gave me some not-as-sweet food for thought:
Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean, but abundant crops come by the strength of the ox. –Proverbs 14:4 ESV
Hear my confession (and contain your gasps, please): The coat closet, the cargo area of my car, and the utensil drawer in my kitchen are each a mess. They may be contained behind closet, car or cabinet doors, but they are messes nonetheless (and not the only ones). Read More
Trust
In making the rounds to garner back-to-school attire and supplies for my kids, stores issued many incentives to come back later and spend more money. I noticed, in particular, a $10 coupon from Old Navy which imitated our American currency, saying “In happiness we trust.” The underlying supposition, of course, is that buying clothes at Old Navy will make one happy.
My mind immediately flashed to the statement on our legal tender: In God we trust. I felt defensive not for the “almighty dollar” but for the Almighty Himself. For it is in Him we place our trust.
Or do we?
The word ‘trust’ in the Bible is used some 134 times, with slight variation and nuance to the meaning. Generally, it’s defined as hope, confidence or security. The unflattering truth is likely that we put a great deal of confidence and security in circumstantial happiness, evidenced by
– the desire to change jobs when we feel under-appreciated or under-paid
– switching schools at the first sign of hardship, socially or academically
– replacement of perfectly functional household goods, clothing and even body parts.
There are excellent reasons to do each of those things, but often those choices are driven by discontent, or unhappiness, assuming our pleasure alone is reason enough to precipitate change.
The price of trusting in circumstances or happiness is exorbitant and fickle, requiring ever-increasing payments. Much like the so-called coupon, to redeem it, we have to spend more.
Not so with the Lord. To trust Him is to have the enduring surety of a steadfast God, who can work all things out for our good (Romans 8:28). It is to know that He has great plans for our lives, even if our circumstances appear to say otherwise (Jeremiah 29:11). Most pointedly, it means giving assent to trials – counting them as privilege – because He wishes to refine our faith (James 1:2). Surely these reasons merit the placement of my hope, confidence, security – my trust – in Him.
I finished my errands, my wallet engorged with receipts and ‘invitations’ to spend more money, masquerading as opportunities to save. There are sound fiscal reasons to use cash instead of checks, debit cards or credit cards. Now I’ve found another, more compelling, reason: a tangible reminder, urging me to search whether it’s true of myself, “IN GOD WE TRUST.”
Command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain, but to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment.
–1 Timothy 6:17 (TNIV)
Jealousy, Scars, and Forgiveness
Everybody was happy. At least they should have been. Surrounded by food and friends, there was no cause for complaint. Except that there were siblings involved. My child became frustrated by the intrusion on time she preferred to share exclusively with her chum. Tears flowed; accusations were hurled. As a result, our time was cut short.
Once home, we talked. Accounts were reconciled. But the shame lingered in the heart of the offender. Together, we sat entwined in a chair as she cried. My heartache over the offenses were eased by her open admission and confession of the root of the problem: she had been jealous.
I’ve been reminded through my recent study of the Bible that God doesn’t anticipate we will live perfectly. Rather, He presses us to acknowledge our failures, to accept His grace and forgiveness, and to strive to honor Him.
We prayed together, asking for that forgiveness, and I was nearly crippled by the way she buried her face in my body – a reflection of that shame. I couldn’t help but think of Adam and Eve as they hid in the Garden, knowing I do the same.
Afterwards, as I sat with her, face to face, as she was finally able to raise hers after receiving God’s gift of grace. I wiped tears from her cheeks. She searched my eyes and found my grace, too. Still looking at me, she suddenly noted a scar on my face, near my nose. She asked what it came from, to which I honestly and ironically replied, “Jealousy.” I recounted the story of when I’d taken my sister’s coveted toy. I had attempted a get-away, became ensnared by the toy’s pull-string, tripped and fell, cutting open my face.
How good of God to use my physical scar for His purposes. How lovely that though I bear the mark of my sin, my Savior bore the consequences. I don’t have to hide my scarred face, instead He lovingly lifts my chin with His scarred hands and says, “I forgive you.”
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. –Hebrews 12:1,2a
Genesis
“In the beginning God…”
So the documented work of God commences in Genesis 1:1. But He was at work long before that. Before time, really.
This isn’t the beginning of my story. He was at work in my life, my story, long before I could – or would – see it. Now, I want to see it. I need to see it. I pray for eyes to see it. I don’t always, though. In fact, I often wonder how very little I do. How it feeds me and bolsters me when I catch sight of His handiwork. It merits documenting.
And so it begins. Come. Walk with me. Together, may we find God’s refining and redemptive work in that story.