Waiting and shaping

"All things come to him who waits - provided he knows what he is waiting for." Woodrow Wilson

I wrote a poem about five months ago and I just stumbled across it. It's dark and dreary. Depressing, but with a thin sliver of hope shining at its conclusion.
It's where I was half a year ago. Desperately clinging to God but not knowing when I would feel conviction in my faith again.
It was a dark and dreary time for me. Depressing, but with a thin sliver of hope.
I was happy. I loved my family and life, but spiritually I was plodding through, just trying to make it.
I accepted Christ into my heart at the tender, innocent age of four. I believed, wholeheartedly. I never doubted. Not once, not for years. When those doubts surfaced in my twenties they came at me like hungry beasts, wanting nothing more than to destroy my faith, destroy me.
I'm pretty tenacious, though. When I make my mind up to do something, I do. I made up my mind to cling to what was left of my tattered faith and determined to see that spiritually dry, dusty place to its end. I knew it would end. I hoped it would be soon.
I also knew when God saw me to the end of it my faith would be stronger. My passion for Christ more centered and mature.
These last few months have been a fabulous time of growth and clarity. I understand most of the why's and I accept God had a plan for all I went through. I'm glad for it. I'm glad for that desert. I learned more about myself and Him during that time (of course, everything I learned I can now only see in hindsight. I certainly wasn't experiencing it during the time) than the preceding twenty years of  immature Christianity I had previously known.
Before I entered that place I had asked God to increase my faith. It took me a while to ask Him that because I had always heard stories of people asking for an increase in faith and finding themselves facing various trials and tribulations. I didn't want trials and tribulations. I didn't want pain so I never asked Him to increase my faith. I thought I was safe but trial and tribulation came my way, regardless. I figured, about eight years ago, that I could face trials and tribulations without an increase of faith or with. I decided to go with an increase and braced myself for what I assumed was an inevitable coming of hardship.
Instead, He covered his face and I felt as though my faith was lost.
Now, though, I see.
I see where I had been and where He wanted me to be.
I see that the faith I thought was strong and built on a foundation of stone was only the wandering roots of a child's declaration.
I see a faith that had not really been tested, tried or shaped.
It was a child's faith and I wasn't a child any longer.
Jeremiah 29:11 says, "For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
God alone knows the plans He has for each one of us. We can make our own plans, even prayerfully, but the truth is that none of us can read the future. Only He is there. Only He is weaving our beautiful picture of life and He knows what we need, when we need it, so that we can see that picture finished.
He knows the plans He has for my life and, because I love Him and am faithful, He knows what needs to happen in my life so that I can finish that race marked out for me. (Hebrews 12:1-2)
Again I turn to Jeremiah.
In chapter 18 God tells Jeremiah to go to the potter's house and there God will give Him a message. Jeremiah goes and, although scripturally these verses were directed at Israel, I believe they are appropriate for all Christians.
Jeremiah obeys God and goes to the potter's house where he sees the potter shaping the pots and vessels. The potter was working on one particular piece but Jeremiah saw that it was marred. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't suiting the needs of the potter. Maybe it had a hole in it and would leak or maybe the surface wasn't smooth enough and was ugly. Maybe the handle was twisted or weak or maybe it just wasn't turning out right. Whatever the reason, the potter decides to start over and use the clay to form it into another pot "shaping it as seemed best to him." (Jer. 18:4)
That's us. Sometimes God looks at us and thinks, "Not yet. She isn't ready."
He takes our life in His hands, and because we have given ourselves over to Him, He is able to mold us. Twisting, pulling, patting, pressing...we feel it. Every bit of it but in the end we become a vessel exactly formed into what He wants. Because we were shaped we are functional, beautiful and useful. Because we were fired we are strong under pressure and we don't crack. Because we were glazed we reflect Him.
My shaping may not look like yours. Every person, their personality, calling and situation, is unique. God crafts each of us into a different vessel to be used for different purposes but, if you want an increase in faith, you will be shaped.
If you aren't your faith will remain limp, insipid and immature.
I normally don't share my poetry. It's too personal and raw, but I'm posting this poem I wrote five months ago because it so aptly demonstrates where I was.

Crows, out of nowhere.

Dirty, greasy, bug bitten

Where from?

To peck, with pointed beaks

Ever hungry for that which I

can hardly afford to sacrifice

A piece, a peck, a small scrap

Screeching banshee

here to steal my life

that which sustains my soul…

my breath.

What hinders these dark creatures?

The figure standing still?

Not stuffed is he.

Not a straw man, dumb and mute.

But living sacrifice, love manifest

To scare away the crows that steal…

Destroy.

He is here. To chase the nightmares away.

I'm not there anymore. 

Thankfully that figure has always been with me. Even when I couldn't see Him, He was there covering me with His grace and shielding me from darkness. 

"Do you not know?
   Have you not heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God,
   the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
   and his understanding no one can fathom.
²⁹ He gives strength to the weary
   and increases the power of the weak.
³⁰ Even youths grow tired and weary,
   and young men stumble and fall;
³¹ but those who hope in the LORD
   will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
   they will run and not grow weary,
   they will walk and not be faint."

                                 Isaiah 40:28-31

Salt and light

I know what I’m about to say will ruffle feathers.

Just hear me out, though. Ready? Okay, here it is…

As Christians we are not supposed to look like the world.
Phew. I did it. I stated a fundamental fact that so many Christians seem to overlook.

Romans 12:2 says, “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.”

I can’t tell you how many times I have been surprised by people stating Christian faith when their choices are very worldly. I had no idea they were set apart because they blended in so well.

Before you write me off as just another “judgmental Christian” let me remind you that as a believer I am bound by the precepts set forth in the Bible. I am allowed to judge what behavior is sinful because God first did. I’m not arbitrarily making up rules. The rules have already been spoken.

In 1 Corinthians Paul addresses a situation where a man was sleeping with his father’s wife (I’m assuming his step-mother, not his birth mother). Paul says to set this man outside the body of believers. He goes on to say not even to eat with those that claim to be a sister or brother in the Lord and yet continues to pursue sexual immorality, drunkenness, greed, idolatry, slander, or swindling. (1 Corinthian 5:9-11). Keep in mind, though, that in the next two verses he goes on to say that this judgment is only for those that claim to be Christian. He says God will judge the wicked outside the church.

“¹² What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside? ¹³ God will judge those outside. “Expel the wicked person from among you.”

When I asked my pastor about this scripture passage he said he believes Paul is talking about those that claim Christ yet point blank refuses to address the sin in his life.  He is in complete rebellion to God.

The difference between sinning, which we are all guilty of doing on a near daily basis, and living in sin is one of repentance and acceptance.  I have a terrible time with my tongue. I’ve recognized this since I was a teenager. I’ve been praying and repenting for YEARS. Each day is a new opportunity for me to walk in righteousness- most days I fail yet I still repent. I know I have this problem. I know it is a sin issue. I know Satan knows my weakness and every opportunity he gets he offers me a chance to indulge in this particular weakness. Here is the thing though, I HATE it! I absolutely hate this sin. Every time I sarcastically respond to someone, disparage my husband because of frustration or put someone down in an attempt to deflect attention I am convicted. The Holy Spirit within me recoils when I sin and I feel it. Deep down in my spirit, I feel the spirit of God rejecting the thing I struggle with. Since I’ve recognized this sin in my life I have been working to divulge myself of it. I try and pray and ask the Lord for grace and mercy.

This is why I do not understand Christians that openly live in sin and seem to feel no remorse, conviction or desire to set things straight. I hate sin. It is disgusting to me because the Holy Spirit dwells within me. God cannot abide sin. If we are truly His child and have accepted his living presence into our lives how can we?

In Elizabeth Elliot’s book, Discipline The glad surrender, she says, “To be a Christian in New Testament terms is to be a disciple. There are no two ways about it. We have a Saviour who has forgiven and saved us from the penalty of sin. Most of us would happily settle for that. But he died to save us also from our sins, many of which we love and hate to part with.”

He died to save us FROM our sins. We don’t have to walk in sin. Many people in the world think Christians are foolish. 

1 Corinthians 1:8, “For the word of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.”  

They think our values are antiquated, lofty and stupid. They wonder why we try to appease an angry, judgmental God but what they don’t realize is that my desire to conform my life more and more into the image of Christ is His stamp on me. I don’t want to sin. I don’t want to look like the world because the world doesn’t look like my Jesus.

There is another problem with people claiming to be Christian and molding themselves to the standards of this world. How in the world is anyone going to know they are a Christian? We are surrounded by hurting people that want something else. They want something different from what they have so far been offered. If you look just like them what is going to attract them to Christ in you?

Your acceptance of their sin? I don’t think so. Watering down the gospel so it is palatable to the strongholds in people’s lives isn’t exactly what Christ died for. He shed His blood on the cross so that we can have POWER over the darkness- not embrace it.

They need to know they can be free! Despite the fact that each and every one of us is stained from birth, despite the fact that we will never be enough we can, by accepting the message of the gospel, find freedom from eternal death and sin.

We need to be different because they need us to be different.

Again I want you to read Romans 12:2, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

What is good, acceptable and perfect? Getting drunk with some friends at a bar? Gossiping about the youth leader? Dressing immodestly and trying to draw attention to body parts only a spouse should see? Using foul language as a matter of course?

I’ve seen this new-age type feel good message being regurgitated throughout the body. The power of the gospel is being castrated and we are being offered a weak, insipid Jesus. Everyone is afraid of offending someone and so they say nothing that can possibly offend. The problem, though, is that in the process of trying not to hurt someone’s feelings you also cut out the life-changing aspect of the message.

Don’t forget- our lives need to be changed. When we were sinners, wallowing in the muck of the world, hopeless and dying we saw the truth of the gospel and realized we needed a change. We needed Jesus, the one that can change us.

I’m not saying we should picket the funerals of military men and blame terrorist attacks on lifestyles the USA seems to endorse.  That does little good and only serves to ignite the anger of those living in the world.
What we can do and should be doing is living a life set apart.

Matthew 5:15 “Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house.”

Matthew 5:13 “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men.”

Let’s be salt and light. Set apart. Different. Living in this world but not a part of it. We know what eternity has in store and if we want to snatch people from the clutches of darkness we need to give them the opportunity to notice we have the answer.

Who will they turn to if they think you are just like them?

Fields, farms and faith

When I was six I sat in our little Nazarene church and, with rapt attention, listened wide eyed to the missionary from Africa. I delighted in the picture slides of thatched roof huts, packed dirt trails clogged with donkeys, chickens and people in brightly colored scarves. I wondered at the little children with big smiles (and for some- big swollen bellies.) I fell in love that morning and I knew, absolutely KNEW, that God wanted me to be a missionary.
Every decision I’ve made since then has been with that promise in mind.
I was able to work in Ukraine for a few weeks as a teenager and that just further whetted my desire to “go into all the world” and share the love of Christ.
When I was eighteen I moved to India and was able to minister to children for six months.
Those six months were a time of great joy and satisfaction for me, despite the fact that I became painfully aware of the hurt, discouragement and danger available to missionaries.
When I returned from India, a bit more experienced and towing a fiancé behind me, I thought it would be months, maybe a few years, and I would return.
It’s been twelve.
Twelve years spent living and wondering in Southern, Ohio.
If you have lived in Southern Ohio you may know that it is nothing like India. It’s really not even much like New York (where I am originally from).
For a few years I faithfully believed our call was just around the corner. We put on hold things that would hinder our ability to drop everything and heed the voice of God.
“You can’t go to college right now because what if God calls us and we are stuck with all those loans?”
“We shouldn’t get a pet because what if we have to leave and return to the field? I don’t think it’s easy to bring a Pekinese into Punjab.”
“We should rent so we aren’t saddled with trying to sell a house if we are called back.”
But, after a few more years my bold declarations of faith became questions birthed by disappointment.
“Why hasn’t God seen fit to return us? Are we not really called?”
“Am I not good enough? Not loving enough? Not pure enough?”
“Does he really want me to wither away in this Midwest wasteland?” (I’ve learned to love my adopted state but it did take a while!)
I spent quite a few years teetering on the edge of bitterness over my deferred dream but a few years ago I relegated myself to spending my remaining years never realizing my desire to become a missionary (though I did convince my husband to consider a job out of state when he finished school. Yes, we finally decided loans were worth a degree. )
I came to the realization that I could be quite content living a comfortable life in America, raising my family, buying a bigger house, taking vacations to Disney World. My desire for mission work waned and I plodded through the next few years trying to ignore the leaden rock in my spirit.
My dream, my promise from God, had plunged over the edge and seemed lost to me. I wasn’t fighting the loss anymore I had embraced it and nearly convinced myself it was good enough.
But it wasn’t good enough. There is nothing wrong with not being a career missionary. It is the calling of every Christian to minister to the lost. Some do it here. That’s okay. It just wasn’t okay for us. It wasn’t our dream nor was it our calling.
I’ve grown up in the church. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard messages preached on “the death of a dream” or “the unfulfilled promise”. I knew but I hadn’t internalized.
I never put two and two together and realized God was taking me through that process. I didn’t even realize my dream had died until I caught myself talking about buying a small piece of acreage with a farm house and enough room for some chickens and a big garden. What was I thinking? I never intended on raising my family on a farm. I had always dreamed of raising them on the field.
Not too long ago there was a rebirth in my heart. I lay in bed one morning, snuggled deep under my down comforter. I could hear the voices of my two little girls from downstairs. My husband had just left for work and I was relishing that quite moment before my day began. Suddenly I was struck by a thought.
I could content myself living the American dream. I would have a very happy life. I would fall more deeply in love with my husband, enjoy watching my children grow up and minister when opportunity became available. It would be a good life. But when I came to the end of it I would have a million “what ifs” and a thousand regrets. It would be a nice, satisfying life but it wouldn’t be the life I was called to live.
I don’t want regrets. I don’t merely want to be satisfied. I want to live my life in the fullness He intended for me and, for the Duffy family, that is not growing swiss chard and milking cows. Our calling isn’t on a farm. My vision has always been out. Out there. I see the multitudes. The needs. The pain. The disillusionment. I understand and appreciate that there are lost here in this nation and they need workers but for whatever reason, God saw fit to place in my heart and my husband’s a burning desire to go out.
For a moment it seemed my vision had blurred. Death laid seize to my dream and I lost sight of the multitudes. But like the invisible force that pulls the tide, so my calling has pulled me back.
Birthed anew. I feel like that little girl again…seated on a pew in a church on Long Island. Staring into the faces of a million lost children and knowing, just KNOWING, that God has called me to the nations.
Throughout the Bible children of God have suffered the seeming death of a dream or promise. Their visions for the future shrunk. They doubted, wondered and railed. Abraham, David, Noah, the apostles. All these people had dreams and promises given to them by God and it seemed, for a time, those dreams and promises were delayed, forgotten or dead.
But they weren’t delayed, forgotten or dead.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28

Winter comes before spring. The brown, snarled oak tree in front of our house looks dead right now. Not one leaf struggles to maintain its hold. There is no green on it. It’s ugly, stark and stripped of its beauty, but come spring it will, seemingly overnight, burst forth with life. Little buds will appear and unfurl and it will once again be gloriously clothed.
My dreams went through winter but, Oh!, how beautiful it is now that they are waking up. The field I am called to contains a waiting harvest. It’s spring now and I’m ready to sow and reap.
I told the Lord twenty five years ago, “Here I am, Lord. Send me.”
After a long winter I’m able to say it again, “Here I am, Lord. Send me.” The difference is that now I am ready to be sent.

“The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field."
Luke 10:2

Transparency in my testimony

The last few years I’ve felt as though I’ve been clinging to my faith for dear life. I thought I was alone in this struggle. You see, I was under the impression that Christians either had a rock-solid faith and didn’t question the existence of God and His love for us or they turned their backs on him and chose to follow a different path.
My husband tried reassuring me that people do struggle with their faith, but I wondered why I had never known any that admitted it.
I wonder why there isn’t more transparency in the church. It’s like people think if they admit to failings than the world is going to reject Christ.
News flash…they already ARE rejecting Christ and it has nothing to do with any false sense of control nor a smooth, varnished image of absolute confidence in the message of the gospel.
They are rejecting Him because Satan is alive and prowling the earth like a roaring lion (1 Peter 5:8). People have hardened their hearts to Christ and the message of the gospel. They have become caught up in our humanistic, self-indulgent culture and the word sacrifice may as well be struck from their vocabulary. They don’t understand it and they certainly don’t demonstrate it.
We take too much responsibility on. It’s not our job to sanitize the gospel and put forth a clean, shiny mask every day. We can’t always pretend life is peachy keen and if we just smile and have faith all will be well.
Sometimes people- yes, even Christians!- struggle. We struggle with sin. We struggle with life. We struggle with our faith.
There is a whole contingent walking around that have been wounded by those in the church and have left. There are pockets of people, raised in Christ, that have turned their backs on Him and been seduced by other religions or philosophies.
I think there is also a number of people that have simply struggled with their faith and, finding nobody willing to talk about it, take it seriously or relate to, have simply slipped from the fellowship and battle their dark questions in isolation until they finally decide to throw their hands up in frustration and consign the matter to some musty, unused corner of their soul.
I’ve not done that. I’ve never really cared if everyone around me believes one thing and I find myself disagreeing. I’ve never cared much if my questions come across as rebellious, faithless or fickle. I don’t care because I only care that I find truth and I please the Lord. He isn’t intimidated by my doubts. He isn’t impressed by my personality.
I know many godly men and women that love God and have never doubted Him. They never doubted His goodness, His message or His existence. I’m not one of those people. Wish I were, but I’m not built that way.
So many people live their lives believing one thing because they are afraid to question. They are afraid to test their faith. They are content to just let it be. I’m not one of those people either. If my faith can’t take some questions it isn’t much of a faith, is it? I’ve never been able to let anything be and I’m afraid my “why’s?” didn’t stop when I left childhood.
So, for nearly a decade my doubts have grown, my questions gone unanswered and my faith has taken a beating but…
He IS faithful. I believe I have finally made my way through this season. I believe He has honored my tenacious clinging. Every day when I awoke I had to make a concerted effort to retain even a modicum of faith in the Jesus of my childhood. Faith became a conscious decision for me. A choice. Not an absolute or a given, but something I worked at very, VERY hard.
Now, though, I feel like I’m waking up. You know that fuzzy, dreamy sleep you are in right before the alarm goes off and you kick the blankets off the bed? That’s how my life has felt for so long. Everything seemed just out of focus.
But there has been a paradigm shift in my life. It started gradually but then, almost overnight, everything cleared. I was asleep, I was waking up then I was awake.
I have some ideas about why I went through what I went through and I will be sharing them but for now I want you to know that I will always be transparent about my faith regardless of how messy, ugly and non-conforming it may look. I think the world is jaded by one too many Christians refusing to admit humanity. We aren’t perfect, not by a long shot, but we do have access to one who is and I hope by sharing my very real and very human testimony that I can lead people to His feet.

The problems begin with grace.

I would have made a fabulous pharisee.
I like parameters. Rules. Regulations. Law.
It makes me feel comfortable and safe. Do this, go to heaven. Do this, go to Hell. These things are good. These things are bad.
Simplicity.
I don't like messing up and it's harder to make mistakes when you know exactly what is expected of you.
That's why I found it easy to sink into an eating disorder. I LOVED limiting my food choices. It gave me a sense of control. Vegetarianism was a cake walk and when I discovered raw food veganism I was in nirvana. Not only could I eliminate whole food groups, but entire methods of preparing food as well!
So, you see, all those lists in the Bible...the "do's" and the "do not's", are manna to me.
Not that I don't sin. But, even forgiveness is kind of a law to me.
Mess up, ask for forgiveness, move on. It's what I was supposed to do. It was outlined, after all, and I love nothing more than a good outline.
Grace throws a wrench in things.
I almost prefer the law.
I don't understand grace. I don't feel comfortable with it. It leaves too much up to the individual. There is too much wiggle room. No outline. No dictates for behavior.
I know being a Christian is tied up in grace. The whole foundation of my faith is about not getting what I deserve.
Maybe that's why it's so hard for me to be a Christian. I can't wrap my brain around its most basic tenant.
I'm not really sure what I'm going to do about it.
I've struggled with this forever. Maybe it's my thorn.
Another problem I have with this whole concept? My heart is really black. I mean, my actions proclaim to the world that I'm Christian. If you base my salvation on what I do, or rather, what I don't do, I pass with flying colors. Don't get drunk. Check. Don't do drugs. Check. Don't have sex before marriage. Check. Don't watch horror movies. Check. Don't wear string bikini's. Check. (That one is super easy. I'm not sure I want the world to see evidence of two children.)
You hear all the time, it's not what's on the outside that counts. It's what is in the heart. I know that is supposed to comfort those that sport full sleeves of tattoos and the unfortunate effects of a wild youth, but it strikes fear within me. My heart is much less pristine than my outside.
I live in fear of the day I am exposed. I wonder when people will realize how terrible I am.
I know God already knows and I hate to think on it.
Life would be so much easier to bear if I could sacrifice a pigeon and move on.
I know, as a Christian, I can repent and find forgiveness. But, I've already explained my issue with that and I wonder, maybe I don't really believe I'm being forgiven. I go through the motions but it seems almost too easy. I feel like I should suffer for my sins. Like one of those ancient Catholic saints that whipped themselves with leather straps and slept on rocks.
It's disconcerting to realize after thirty years, you really don't understand your faith.

Occasionally a people-person

I'm not a very nice person.

Seriously. 

I'm not a "people person."  In fact, most people annoy me.

I wish I could say I enjoy interacting with large groups, that I am the life of the party, but I just can't.

My husband can.

He LOVES people. He always assumes the best of them.  He's not quick to judge.  He gives others the benefit of the doubt.

There are some people I like to be around. Usually they are like me. Questioning. Slightly pessimistic. Sarcastic.  Although, my friend Katie is nothing like me and I like her very much.

Maybe it's because she reminds me of my husband, whom I usually adore. Those rare moments I don't adore him are influenced by his ADD tendencies so I reason they really aren't who he is. They are externally controlled.  It's not really his fault it takes him eight months to change a doorknob or can't remember which brand of organic, sugar-free/chemical free sprouted spelt tortillas to buy.

I spent the better part of my youth and young adulthood trying to be not me.

I desperately wanted to be Brittany Murphy. Well, I desperately wanted to be what my perception of her was.

Laid-back, fun, outgoing, adventurous and bubbly (the fact that she was thin and cute didn't hurt things either.)

But I just wasn't and no matter how hard I tried I wasn't able to be.

Our culture glamorizes spontaneity. It's all about the laissez faire (not to be confused with the economic theory, which I'm a big fan of.)

I'm laissez faire-less.

Always have been. 

The church recommends being nice to everyone all the time and never giving your opinion, especially at a pot-luck, if it may cause someone to be offended.

I never got that right.

I seem to always be offending people. I don't intentionally set out to do so, of course, but it happens. 

I have strong opinions. I'm passionate about my opinions. I assume everyone else in Southern Ohio likes to debate as much as I do, so I give my opinions. 

I expect a response, but usually get a blank look and quiet pause.

In case you haven't noticed in my previous postings, I'm a bit of a perfectionist. I'm never really satisfied with who I am or what I've done. I don't think it's a good quality, but I can't seem to shake it.

Please don't throw Christian psychobabble at me. Maybe I haven't discovered who I am in Christ. Maybe I don't appreciate the concept of grace. Maybe I never got enough attention from my earthly father and I've transfered those feelings of inadequacy onto my heavenly father (just an example, Dad. I don't really think that.)

I've heard all the theories armchair Christian psychologists like to use.

The truth is this is who I am. Nobody makes decisions and choices in a bubble. Your personality, childhood, history, hormones, diet and experiences all work together to shape who you become. 

Here's the thing though. Just because I don't like to be in big groups, I'm not always smiling like Julia Roberts, I don't view the world through rose-colored glasses and I think Pollyanna was delusional doesn't mean I'm less of a Christian.

I mean, sometimes the cup really isn't half-full. Sometimes it's not even half-empty. Sometimes it's actually totally empty and the person holding it doesn't want some some random, taken-out-of-context scripture thrown at them and pat little answer that, "God will work things out."

Sometimes what people want and need are a little dose of realism and practicality. They want a a prayer that doesn't assume God is a genie, ready to abide by our will.

They want a hug (just don't hug me if I don't know you...please, I much prefer the NY way of air kisses), a presence, an ear.

When I'm nice to people and that niceness isn't the societal niceness I'm forced into most of the time, but a niceness that bubbles within me and demonstrates itself in an other-worldly compassion, it really is other-worldly. 

I know when God's spirit is moving on me to reach out to someone because it is so contrary to my nature.

If I look at a person and instead of automatically thinking, "Wow, what were they thinking wearing that jacket out in public with those jeans?" or "Dental care must really be a low-priority in England" but instead think "They seem so broken, my heart feels ready to weep" or "I bet they dress so immodestly because they've sustained so much hurt. In fact, I feel their hurt" I know, really know, that Holy spirit is whispering to my heart. 

I'm able to lay aside my human frailty and reach out in true compassion that is God-inspired.

At that point I'm a people person, but only because He was one first and thought it may be quite nice to watch someone be touched by a person that normally doesn't like to touch people. 

The authentic Christian

When I was a a teenager my favorite book was the dictionary. I loved everything about words. I was passionate about etymology. Every few days I would flip the book open and find a word. Any word. Any length. Any meaning. I didn't care. That word was my "new" word. I used it every moment I could until it became a part of my vocabulary.
That habit did nothing for my popularity (most teenagers don't even know what etymology means, let alone how to pronounce it. Had I been born in my husband's neighborhood I would have sported more than one black eye...) But it instilled in me a deep love for language that manifests itself to this day.
I'm going to share with you my current favorite word.
I've been using this word a lot recently and I think it's an important one for Christians to embrace.
It's a word that seems to have fallen out of favor among the churched.
Authenticity.
I love the sound of it. Say it aloud. Aww (if you're from NY). Then. Tis. Ity.
Lovely.
Authenticity is the quality of being genuine.
Maybe I'm in the minority, but I can't stand to watch TBN. Most of those people drive me crazy. I would try to explain my reasons to Shane, but I was never really able to articulate them.
Saying so-and-so was annoying didn't really cut it.
I finally realized one day that the reason I'd rather watch Barney sing show tunes than watch a Christian network was because most of the hosts didn't seem genuine.
I'm sure their faith was genuine. I'm sure their compassion was genuine. I'm even sure they genuinely believed if you sent them your grocery money God was going to heal you of tuberculosis and help you win a new microwave oven.
But the image they portrayed didn't seem genuine...authentic.
My life is very messy. I accepted Christ when I was four.  I've never turned from him, I've never delved deep into the sin culture of Marilyn Manson, pierced my naval or stubbed my toe and cursed without repenting. I've prayed, read my Bible and loved Him. Yet still, sometimes I feel like my world is coming apart at the seams and Christ seems to always be one step out of reach.
I've doubted. I've yearned. I've resisted. I've ignored. I've loved. I've given. I've taken. I've known. I've sought.
I'm tired of Christian ministers who never experience the downs in the ups and downs of life. At least I'm tired of ministers who pretend they don't.
Where are the people like me? Does God just wash His hands of us and consign us to the useless believer's pew? (Or folding chair, depending on your denomination.)
I don't think so.
I think God knew exactly what He was doing when he formed me.
He gave me my mind knowing I was going to question everything and wonder.
He gave me my mouth knowing I was going to open it sometimes without thinking and give my opinion when it wasn't wanted.
He gave me my hands knowing they would very rarely be still.
He gave me my soul knowing the hurts I would endure, the independence I would cultivate and the passion I would display.
He knew me. Even then He loved me.  He may not need me, but He wants me and I believe He wants to use me.
Why?
Maybe because I understand the value of being authentic.
Let me share a few things about myself
Sometimes I let Ellie wear the same teal-tipped lace socks three days in a row.
Sometimes I feel the urge to pray and I roll over and go to sleep instead.
Sometimes I pass judgement on mothers who give their babies mountain dew.
Sometimes I stand at my window and allow anxiety to consume me.
I get bored while reading the Bible and will put it aside for a Ted Dekker novel instead.
I've yelled at my kids a few times to the point that my throat hurts and I'm forced to drink lemon-spiked honey water to soothe it.
It's easy for me to trust in the value of high-vitamin cod liver oil as a healing super-food, but hard for me to believe God will heal my thyroid.
When I hear people talk about how "anointed" a minister is I think it's a really nice way of saying they got goosebumps during the sermon.
I'm quick-tempered, opinionated and definitely not a glass half-full sort of girl.
I distrust people until they prove they're trustworthy and I think most everyone has an agenda.
When I was in India I visited an orphanage run by Mother Teresa and held a severely handicapped little boy in my lap. I prayed for him and spent the rest of the visit hoping one of the lice I saw crawling on his head hadn't hopped to mine.I never went back.
Sarcasm is my default response.
I can be a very ugly person. My faith is sometimes shockingly weak.
I'm just Kim. Unworthy, fallible and fully aware of my faults.
Maybe right now you're sitting in your chair, your laptop overheating on your lap and thinking I won't ever make it into full time ministry. Maybe you're right.
But I don't need a golden throne and $300 haircut to prove I'm special.
I don't need to prove I'm special at all because I already know I'm not.
There's freedom in knowing you're not perfect, you can't impress anyone and yet He still thinks you're pretty darn worth it.
Since I can't prove my significance, turn off my humanness and be a perfect Christian I've decided I'm just going to be an authentic one.
Here I am.

Needing...

I'm a mom.

I'm a perfectionist.

I'm entirely too hard on myself and suffer bouts of extreme self-loathing.

Mix all these things together and you have a woman who is driven to be needed.

I want my kids to need me.
I want my husband to need me...actually, my husband does need me, but not as much as I want him to need me.

I want my family to need me.

I want my friends to need me, which isn't very fulfilling because I only have about six and they are all adequately self-reliant.
I want my church to need me, though I don't really want them to capitalize on that need because I'm too busy.

I even want God to need me.

I'm a little embarrassed to admit this but I kind of always thought God did need me.

I'm not sure why I thought this, but there you have it.

Maybe this insatiable desire to be needed is a result of being the eldest child. Maybe it stems from this odd feeling of responsibility I feel over every person and every circumstance. Maybe it's just part of who I am.

All I know is that I was absolutely STARTLED last Sunday driving home from church, because it struck me...God doesn't really need me! Can you imagine? I almost had to pull the car over. I glanced in the rear view mirror and assured myself the girls were sitting in the backseat. The few moments I couldn't catch my breath after discovering God didn't need me (the audacity!) I wanted to reassure myself my children still existed and were still young enough to need me. They were there, both with their heads thrown back and mouth open in the unaffected sleep of children. So they were there, but at the moment they definitely didn't need me.

I turned my attention back to the Lord.

"Are you sure you don't need me? For anything?" I asked.

I don't like to boast (well, I try not to like boasting at least) but I'm quite talented. You should see what I can do with nothing but a cast iron skillet and a chicken breast. Or give me a word and I can craft an entire world from it, entertaining toddlers for hours (maybe only minutes, but it feels like hours). I'm convinced I can do anything I set my mind to unless it requires an instrument in which case I'm happy to turn it over to my husband, Shane.

You can understand why I was surprised God didn't need me.

But then it struck me, like the proverbial lightening rod sent from heaven, there are millions of people in the world that are talented. Much more than I. Millions of people that are strong, dedicated, smart, powerful, charming and passionate. I'm just a tiny like guppy. Not much of anything, really. Sure, I can cook. I can write, make jewelery and organize. I'm a good mom. A fair wife (working on that) and I think I'm a fabulous friend (I only have six, though, so maybe I'm not that great of a friend...)

But those things don't really matter because there is always going to be someone else that is more than I can ever be. Also, at the risk of sounding obvious, He is God. He can fold the earth in on itself with a snap of His finger. He can blow the stars out with just a breath. Why would He need one insignificant SAHM from southern Ohio? Why would he need anyone?

I sat in my car, ready to pout and sink into a full-blown pity party, when God rescued me from myself.

So still and quiet I just barely heard it above the hum of my engine and the snore of my three year old, came that little whisper I've grown to love.

"I may not need you, but I want you."

What a privilege! The God of the universe, the one that created the sea and the sky and the planets and LIFE wants me!

Me!

Being wanted is so much better than being needed.

Who am I?

I guess that's the fundamental question every person asks themselves eventually.

Usually in their early twenties.

Sometimes the question is birthed by an emotional breakdown brought on by a breakup, a traumatic event or an unfortunate experience with one too many martinis.

Sometimes the question is ignored. With a sideways glance and a shudder, it's plunged deep within the minds recesses, hopefully never to surface again.

There are those of us that obsess over this question. Hoping the answer is never given, we polish the idea up like a piece of silver and prominently display it on the shelf of our psyche. Idolized, we give ourselves over to the self-indulgent fantasy that who we are is of paramount importance and we must never answer the question for fear of losing our focus...namely, ourselves.

Some may constantly change the answer. Forever working on themselves they evolve into a super-person. Interested in everything. Good at most things. Trying anything.

I've always been able to answer that question definitively.
I'm a Christian.
But lately, I've begun to wonder exactly what that means.

I'd like to say it happened the day I turned thirty. It would be nice to have such a clean-cut reference point. I'm all about bullet-points and organization. I like the concrete.

Unfortunately, I began to question everything about a decade earlier and the story is decidedly messy.

I'm nothing if not deeply aware of myself.
You might say I'm an expert in all things related to me.

I can, in all honesty, tell you my questions began to surface after suffering a devastating miscarriage when I was a twenty year old newlywed.

All of a sudden, life didn't seem so clear-cut. Something really bad had happened to me and I didn't understand why.

As I watched my husband fish a tiny body from the toilet, my faith took a beating.

In all the moments since, I've become painfully aware that life can't be explained by pat sayings and scripture taken out of context.

John 3:16 doesn't answer every question, soothe every hurt and erase every doubt.

So. Who am I?

I can give you the facts. I'm a thirty year old woman. I'm a wife. A mother. A slightly obsessive personality that dislikes clutter and allopathic medicine.

I'm a writer. A procrastinator (especially when it comes to my writing.) A lover of food and old movies.

I can say I'm a Christian, in that I believe Christ died for my sins, I go to church every Sunday and, like good Christians everywhere, tune my radio to K-Love when I'm driving to the supermarket.
I'm not sure that's enough for me anymore, though.

I want more from my faith than a lists of do's and don'ts. I want some answers. I want understanding and I want to know the truth.

Ten years ago I lay sobbing on my bed wondering why I lost my baby and God was quiet.

I did what any self-respecting mother would do...I ran after Him. Really, no one else could give me the answers I needed.

I've been chasing Christ ever since.

Maybe some of you think that's disrespectful. Maybe you think I'm rebellious or faithless.
Maybe I am.

But I'm authentic....and at least I'm not chasing after martini's.