grace repeller

I have written before about how I used to be terribly afraid of hell. My fear of of fire, darkness, and utter loneliness kept me awake at night. I became superstitious and systematic in my spirituality. I read certain verses before going to sleep because I felt more secure after reading them. I said certain prayers to God and prayed against the powers of hell.

It was compulsive. Legalistic. I was afraid of removing something from my routine, it might just send me to.....

I wanted so desperately to go to heaven and be with Jesus. But I was afraid that He wouldn't let me in. I must have committed a secret sin against Him... one that would keep me away from my loved ones and my God for eternity.

I kind of thought nobody else struggled with this, but I have come to learn otherwise- other people also struggle with eternity uncertainty... especially in Christian circles with those of us who came to Christ at a young age.

Frankly, we possess a goodness that repels.

Or, at least a faulty understanding of who we are. We have lived a grace-filled and grace-covered life for so long, we think somehow we get to heaven by pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps. The blessings we received, we must have somehow merited. And then we sin. Our errors stare us down. Our goodness is no longer sufficient in our own eyes.

I thought God couldn't love a once-redeemed sinner like me. You gave me grace once Lord, now it is my turn to earn it. My goodness made me think that somehow God chosen me, Abby the Pharisaical Christian. My prayers, my Bible, my pleading with God must make me more desirable.... He must have mercy.

He has had mercy. His name is Jesus. He has forgiven every sin.

Even yesterday's? Even yesterdays, and the ones to come. Can I trust Him that He will never let me go?

For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39

For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast. Ephesians 2:8-9

If you are anything like me, you skipped reading those verses because you have heard them before. You know the promises, but they haven't sunk into your soul.

Ask God for knowledge of His grace. I have been on a sort of quest for the past few months to understand what it means for me, Abby, to live in God's grace. Daily I understand it a little more. I think it will take a lifetime. But I don't mind, eternity with the Giver of grace will follow.

after His heart

For one of my classes I had to answer this question:

Commemoration: If you were to write your epitaph, what would it be?

This is a weird exercise. Part of me feels like if I live to be eighty-five, I know exactly what will be on there. My family will say something nice about me like beloved wife, mother, and grandmother. It will look much like all the other gravestones in the cemetery... all those stones, representing not even one day of the years that were lived by the body resting underneath it.

Forgotten stories. How would I sum up my story in a few words or sentences? I don't know what my "short story" would be right now, but I know what I would wish it to be in the future.

"Abigail was a woman after God's own heart. She loved Him until the end, and she will rest in His love for eternity."

I stole the "woman after God's own heart" from King David. His epitaph was that he was a man after God's own heart. I always liked this because David had some major errors during his lifetime (he happened to murder a man and take his wife). I realized that I could still pursue God with the intensity of King David, even though I have made and continue to make some severe blunders.

God's grace will enable me to pursue Him passionately, knowing that His grace and mercy cover me, and His love will hold me close until I am called home to be with Him.

So many things threaten my quest to pursue God's heart. Worries about the future and things I can't control often cause me the most distress, and keep me from focusing on the true source of peace and security.

What does the Lord require of me? To act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with Him. Love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, and mind.

A gravestone means very little. It marks the place where my shell will lie. Many people hope they die well. I want to live well.

I will love Him until the end.

stereotypes, stories of sin, and brother mike

Generalizations.  It is always frustrating when someone assumes that they know you, because you fit a type, a file in their classification scheme.

I lived in California, and I was homeschooled.  Let's file me.

You lived in California- Check one of the following=

• Movie star
• Valley girl
• Surfer
• From the O.C.

You were homeschooled- Check all that apply=

• Nerd
• Denim skirts
• Complete homework in pajamas while eating cookies.
• Nerd

Somehow the above don't mix, I don't fit any of the descriptions (maybe nerd), and I become unclassifiable.  Or, the exception.

"Other Californians I've met were stuck up, but not you."

"You're cool, tell your parents they did a good job, you're not like other homeschoolers."

Other.

Whose the other, the generalization?  The generalized individual.  The more I meet people from groups I have generalized, the less I can classify them.

Brother Mike was my other.  He begged at the corner of our intersection in California.  He asked my dad for a dollar once to get a hotdog.

I was afraid of him.  He was homeless, he wanted my money, he had a mental impairment...he was dangerous.

One day we were trying to cross the street quickly because Brother Mike was coming toward us.  We had a whole envelope full of money.  We were selling lollipops to fundraise for my brother's wrestling team.

We almost got hit by a car in our attempt to get away from Brother Mike.  He shouted to us from across the street.  "You kids be careful okay?  You almost got yourselves killed!"  And kept walking.

It blew my mind, and destroyed my stereotype.

I have been reading the book Race by Studs Terkel.  In one of his interviews he talks to a woman who has become bigoted in her opinions of African Americans because of her experiences in law enforcement.  At one point, Terkel asked her about her friends that were black, she replies:

"They're exceptions.  Absolutely.  And all the people from my church.  It's ninety-five-percent black."

His follow-up question concerns her colleagues, she replies:

"--Are exceptions.  Oh absolutely."

Were these people exceptions?  Or were they just the people who got to tell her their story?

Everyone has a story, a story of fallenness... no matter what race or gender.

Everyone sees the world through a lens based on their story, and each of our lenses is cracked and irreparably scratched by sin.

It is difficult to generalize when we begin to hear the stories of the other.

Jesus took the time to love people, because He already knew their stories.  He reached out to the generalized, the downtrodden... the ones without a voice because, "We all know what those people are like, we know their kind Jesus."

Zacchaeus.  Tax collector.  "We know him Jesus. He rips us off on every tax return."

Jesus replies, "Zacchaeus, make haste and come down, for today I must stay at your house."

Adultress.  About to be stoned by the religious leaders. "We know her Jesus.  She has sinned against the community, and against You."

Jesus replies, "He who is without sin among you, let him throw a stone at her first."

To the woman, Jesus says, "Go and sin no more."

Every criminal has a story of sin.  As well as every churchman, every atheist, every child.

C.S. Lewis' classic devil Screwtape says, "It does not matter how small the sins are, provided that their cumulative effect is to edge the man away from the Light and out into the Nothing. Murder is no better than cards if cards can do the trick. Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one—the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts."

We all are on a slope to hell, whether gentle or steep, until Jesus steps in.

I wish I took more time to hear people's stories, rather than assume I knew who they are based on the color of their skin, their clothing, their neighborhood, their education, their political associations, their church denomination, etc.

I am hopeful that my generalizations, my stereotypes, can be destroyed.  But only if I get to know the other. 

If we all get to know the others in our lives, maybe we would hurt each other less, and love each other more.  

If someone says, "I love God," and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen, how can he love God whom he has not seen?  And this is the commandment we have from Him: that he who loves God must love his brother also.  1 John 5:20-21

acute competitor's syndrome

I have tried so hard.  I want to be a woman of peace- gentle, forgiving, and quiet.  But Scrabble brings out the ugliest parts of my character.

Well, Wordigo to be exact... a sort of speed scrabble game, if you will.

I have always been, well, a little too competitive.  Several posts back, you might recall my infant card stacking during a game of Candyland....

I beat mom and Grandma handily at Monopoly Jr. a couple years after the Candyland incident, and earned the name "Miss Moneybags" for my ruthless acquisition of properties and hotels.

This last summer I routinely creamed the kids I nannied at Boggle, and became slightly peeved when Jordan finally beat me at a card game.

What monster stares at me from the Pretty Pretty Princess mirror?

Don't blame me, I have ACS.

You might not want to run with me, both my dog Jemima and I have a similar tic.  We have to be in front.  We go down the prairie path together jockeying for the best position.  Luckily age is starting to slow me and Jemima down.

I wish I didn't have to win.  I become flustered when I lose, it's like my self-worth... wait a second.

Embarrassingly enough, when I take a look at my competitive nature, I realize that I thought winning would make people love and respect me.

If I just got perfect grades, people would think I was the smartest.  If I won the 400m and lowered my time by a second, I would be the fastest.  If I was the best, people would love me, and those who already loved me would love me more.

I could be great, a superkid.

I never thought the above in the most clear of terms, but I have always relished the triumph of momentary excellence.  But excellence isn't everything, neither is triumph.

Don't you know child that the only great one is God?  And your successes are but dust?

All flesh is grass, and all its loveliness is like the flower of the field.  The grass withers, the flower fades, because the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass.  The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever. --- Isaiah 40:6-8

If I throw away my trophies and awards a few months after I receive them, I doubt God cares much for them either.

I should remember that Jesus died for me, the fleshy sinner, stripped of all my masks and honors.  His love is that strong and unfathomable.

If I spent less time during board games caring about the score, maybe my loved ones would know how much I loved them.

Scrabble scores fade, love endures forever.

the provider

I am always slightly embarrassed when asked to name an attribute of God, mostly because I'm afraid of it sounding too basic, or because naming connotes understanding... and often I don't understand.

God is holy.  God is love.  God is just. 

Sometimes these ideas are too abstract, it is easier to understand an attribute of God when we have some story to go with it.  An example of His faithfulness, justice, or loving-kindness in our lives makes it easier to understand what type of God made us... powerful, but good and merciful.

I talk about God in the abstract all the time, but lately, I have been understanding an abstract God in a very concrete way.

My God is faithful, and He provides.  He is the Provider.

Sometimes we shy away from this aspect of God, fearing that we will turn into money-grubbing wolves that rub our buddha bellies hoping for health, wealth, and happiness.  That would be a mistake.

On the other extreme, we forget that God does not leave us alone to fend for ourselves in the world's unstable economy.  He cares for the sparrows, and He cares for us.

I have been reading Genesis lately, and I was asking for a new revelation.  I have read it so many times, I feel like I could recite the stories verbatim (okay, not quite).  It felt dry, like a story told a few too many times.

Then I started thinking about Joseph.  Through the most terrible of circumstances, God provides for him.  He is betrayed and sold into slavery by his brothers, bought as a servant, rises to high position, is accused of raping the master's wife, and then thrown into jail.  

Eventually Joseph gets out of jail because God helps him interpret dreams, and he becomes second only to the Pharaoh in Egypt.  

God brings his brothers to him because of a famine, and he is ultimately reconciled and reunited with his family.

When Joseph forgives his brothers he knows that God is the one who take care of them, 

"But now, do not therefore be grieved or angry with yourselves because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life." --Genesis 45:5

A story betrayal, prison, and famine doesn't exactly sound like a story of provision.  But it was, and it stands out as one of the most incredible stories of God's providential care in the Old Testament.  If you haven't read it, I encourage you to check it out.

Despite the assurances of Scripture, lately I have worried.  I am finishing school. How am I going to start paying off loans, paying for insurance, etc?  I become focused on the necessity of a job, and forget to ask for one.

Maybe God will make me wait, maybe not... can I trust the Provider?

I don't know if I understand all of this yet.  I know many starve, and many feast.  The rain falls on the just and on the unjust.

But I do know that God has taken care of me up until this point in my life, spiritually and physically.

Can I trust that He will continue to do so into the unknown?

Someday I may be hungry.  I may be driven from my home.  I may be betrayed.  But what I do know is that God can decide  to provide for me, like He provided for Joseph and his family in spite the worst of circumstances.

"Or what man is there among you who, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone?  Or if he asks for a fish, will he give him a serpent?  If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!" --- Matthew 7:9-11

I will trust Him.  My Father is good.

thin pants

Pavarotti sings in the background, while a homeless man walks slowly over to the nearest open chair to peruse a magazine for a few hours, until the staff escorts him out the door. 

It’s routine; everyday he comes and picks up this month’s Sports Illustrated or whatever else catches his eye and reads it through as many times as he can before closing.  Mundane… yes.  Boring… maybe. But, it’s better than spending the whole night outside.

He spent the last couple dollars he begged a couple days ago, not sure what he dropped the cash on, the days start to blend together.  He has a stash of teabags he picked up from the soup kitchen; he gets free hot water from the coffee corner by the magazine shelves. 

His body aches, the chill goes right through his pants and freezes his bone marrow…they are thinner than they were last winter. 

He feels the stares, stupid high school students….maybe they’re in college, he is too old to know anymore.

He was in high school once, so long ago.  He won valedictorian before being expelled, or best smile in the yearbook.  One of those.  Whatever it was, it was a good thing.  Those kids would respect him if they knew.

The store clerk with tight pants tells him he can’t bring his bags into the café.  They don’t realize.  He went through a puddle yesterday and the wheels of his cart are frozen. 

A smiling man told him there was soup kitchen nearby and handed him a tract.  The soup kitchen’s already closed.  The tract says something about winning, at least, it had some athlete on the front.  “Sheesh,” says the man to himself, “I haven’t won a thing since valedictorian.”

People try to help him sometimes.  Most of the time they avoid eye contact.  They know he’ll ask, and they only have a twenty.

A voice crackles over the store speaker, “Please make your final selections and make your way to the register.”

Tight pants grabs the man’s arm.  “It’s time to go.”

Outside the store there is a nativity scene.  “See that shepherd over there?” says the man.

“Sure,” says Tight pants.

“That’s me.  Living off the land, living outside.  They just took all my sheep.”

“Right,” says Tight pants, dropping the man’s arm.

The man wanders with his bags towards the nativity, pauses, and then walks off toward the road.

Tight pants never saw him again. 

The man passed away during the night, it was too cold… his pants were too thin.