Who Would Imagine a King

Happy Advent! As the Advent season is about drawing near to our sweet Savior, savoring the moments of anticipation as we wait on this unexpected, unimaginable gift, I have decided to intentionally give time each day to drawing near. This season I want to draw near through my two favorite mediums, music and writing. So each day I'm planning to pick the lyrics from one of my favorite, some common, some lesser-known, Christmas songs and write about Jesus through that lens. If you want to peek into my humble journey through the Greatest Story, I'd love your company. I hope you discover a few songs you never knew you needed to love, and also, perhaps, God and Holy Spirit willing, see new glimpses of our Savior. That's my prayer for myself--I want to experience Jesus and this precious time of year through fresh eyes. I know God will honor that desire; He's all about drawing near!

When I first thought of this project, I thought I would start with "O Come All Ye Faithful" or "Come Thou Long Expected Jesus", but today I found myself in search of a song that captured the shock, the awe, the unimaginable way that Jesus arrived. Izzy and I started the day with Ann Voskamp's Advent book, Unwrapping the Greatest Gift. Lingering in Voskamp's beautiful language (thank goodness God gave me a daughter who loves words!) I found this beautiful image:

Their family tree was a fallen tree.
When their family tree crashed to the ground, it crushed all of their hearts.
The stump--and all of their days--felt utterly hopeless. Like their hearts had been cut right out of them.
But it happened: the wondrous impossible. It came right out of that chopped down stump--the miracle no one ever dreamed of. Except for God. God never stopped dreaming of the miracle, the one He'd dreamed right from the very beginning, because love never stops dreaming of a way to draw close again.

I just love that idea--love constantly dreaming up a way to draw close again. Isn't that the truth? Think about how often our broken hearts have longed for mending, how we imagine reuniting with long lost loved ones. In fact, every romantic comedy I can think of consists of a conflict that draws lovers apart and leaves viewers longing, in fact dreaming, of how to get those two love birds together again. These pieces of our heart are merely glimpses of God's heart; we were made in His image and as image bearers, albeit broken, we are looking for ways to draw close again.

We are indeed broken, and God knew we would be, and He had already orchestrated a grand plan to win us back, long before we ever fell away! He "dreamed right from the very beginning" a way to reconnect the relationship we had torn asunder.

He talked of this plan in Genesis 3, right at the very beginning, immediately after the Fall. He then spent the whole of the Old Testament, making covenant after covenant, sending prophet after prophet, using story after story, to hint at His great rescue.

The wisest, most faithful men, read these stories, interpreted these prophecies, held tightly to these covenants, and yet they had no idea what God had in store for them. They imagined a triumphant military leader, a stately King, a powerful Messiah. But no one, not a one, saw a baby born in a stable.

And perhaps this is why I have always loved this song. The Preacher's Wife is one of my favorite Christmas movies, and this song pierced me to the heart when I first saw the movie. I'm certain my 6th grade self didn't truly understand the power of this question: "Who would imagine a King?" I didn't know the history, I didn't know that the Pharisees were imagining a King of quite a different sort. What I did think of often was Mary, her innocent, school-girl dreams of what her family might be like. As she played house with her siblings and cousins, I imagined her assigning her children names, giving them qualities, envisioning who they would be when they grew up. Surely a fisherman or a carpenter or a teacher, these everyday professions that would be taken from the world she knew. Perhaps, if she were like Izzy, she might dream of a daughter who became a princess, like Esther. But would she ever imagine assigning her fictional child the role of King?

Yet here was the angel, and he was announcing just that--an infant King. Mary's ponderings in this song are so beautiful, so innocent:

Mommies and daddies always believe
That their little angels are special indeed
And you could grow up to be anything
But who would imagine a king?
A shepherd or teacher is what you could be
Or maybe a fisherman out on the sea
Or maybe a carpenter building things
But who would imagine a king?
It was so clear when the wise men arrived
And the angels were singing Your name
That the world would be different 'cause You were alive
That's why heaven stood still to proclaim
One day an angel said quietly
That soon he would bring something special to me
And of all of the wonderful gifts he could bring
Who would imagine?
Who could imagine?
Who would imagine a king?

Mary treasured up all of these things in her heart; all the what ifs, all the playing pretends, and also the angels proclaiming the birth of her Son, the Glory to Gods, the Shepherds kneeling at a trough, and the Magi bearing priceless gifts. "Who could imagine that I would give birth to a King?"

The answer, Mary, is the God you hold in your arms. He dreamed this up with the Father from the very beginning. This was His plan. This was His grand gesture of love. You and I could not have imagined it. It seemed impossible that love would come in the form of a baby. It seemed incredible that this baby would grow to be a man who loved fiercely, spoke truthfully, and moved in great power. It seemed unthinkable that He would then willingly walk the hill to be crucified on a cross. And it seemed unimaginable that He would rise again the King over death.

He worked beyond all we could imagine so that He could draw close to us in love. Praise be to God for doing exceedingly and abundantly more than all we ask or imagine!

The Unplanned Moments of Parenting

It's been a rough parenting week...again. Maybe I should start thinking of this as the status quo? I've found myself reflecting on how much I focus on the hard. I'm so quick to list the faults of my offspring, to talk about the ways in which they have pushed my buttons or gone one step too far. I, ashamedly, have twice in the last weeks downloaded on a complete stranger about my frustrations with my child. My heart hurts knowing that I've done this; I've repented, I've sought to be more gentle with the way I speak. I'm such a truthful speaker at times that there's no hiding my heart. And therein lies the problem, my heart.

My heart toward my difficult children is one of hardened selfishness. I'm frustrated and angry at their choices because they make life hard for ME. There is a self-serving agenda here in which I want easy children who make good choices so that my life can be more comfortable. If my daughter would just pull her emotions together and stop melting down in the car, I could listen in peace to that podcast I wanted to check out. If my son would calmly ask for help when the physics of trains not fitting into a small tunnel frustrate him, I could quickly rebuild the track and get back to surfing Facebook (or even cleaning toilets!) If my kids could just accept the transition of leaving one place to go to another more easily, I would be spared the embarrassment of offering consequences that have no effect, bargaining that accomplishes nothing, and ultimately the carrying of a screaming child to a car with a look of frustrated apology to the parents around me. Do you see the focus of my frustrations?

ME. The problem is ME. Parenting is inconvenient. Parenting happens while the water is boiling on the stove and the sauteed garlic and onions are burning so that you can stop and get on eye level with an upset child. Parenting happens when you just want to be in the bathroom by yourself for 5 minutes and you waddle out to the living room with your pants still down to break up the fight that has escalated to screaming. Parenting is putting down the toilet brush, holding your dirty hands together so you don't get bacteria everywhere, and reminding your kid to take another deep breath before speaking unkindly to you. Parenting is dying to self, over and over and over again.

How refining the work of parenting is! We must daily, hourly, momentarily, let go of what we want and do what is best for our children. We must recognize that we don't want them to be perfect, well-behaved children on the outside because then we miss the opportunities to talk about the broken, messed up thoughts brewing on the inside. We must choose their character and their hearts over convenience. We must be twenty minutes late somewhere because we need to make sure everyone was calm enough to continue on to our destination. Parenting is not what we want, at all; it's what they need.

It's what we need too. Jesus instructed that, "If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross daily and follow Me." (Luke 9:23) In John 3, Jesus reminds us that, "He must increase, and I must decrease." We need these little people of ours to show us just how selfish our hearts are. We might think we are dying to ourselves, we might think we are doing a pretty good job of being selfless (I mean, being a parent at all and just taking care of the immediate needs of children requires us to die to ourselves--hello, sleepless nights for crying babies, puking toddlers, and nightmares of elementary school!) We are selfless, as far as we are willing to let ourselves be selfless. We've made up our minds just how selfless we are going to be and then we draw a line. "I'll give up reading this book to make lunches, I won't watch TV so I can sew this Halloween costume, I won't talk on the phone in the car so I can hear about her day, but I WILL shower by myself! That's where I draw the line!" I do this all the time! I list in my head the millions of ways I've been selfless today and I use those to justify just a few more minutes on Facebook before I go in and read with my child.

When I think about my own heart, I realize just how selfish I am. Because if I've made up my mind about when and how I will be selfless, is that even selfless at all? If I've scheduled it in and made room for it, then how much has it really cost me? I think the truth is that the really selfless acts come in the unplanned moments, the moments where I have to stop what I'm doing, change my agenda, and place my eyes on the child in front of me. Some days this feels like the most impossible task I will ever face, especially when I'm changing my agenda for what seems like the 100th time that day!

This is where I found myself praising God this morning in the car! "God I'm so awful at this! God I'm so selfish, but You are not. You give freely, always, whenever I ask. Whenever I demand Your attention because I've faltered again and need more correction and instruction, You stop, You listen and You give. You give freely, selflessly. That is what the cross is all about. That is the God I serve. Thank You for being the perfect parent even when I'm not. Give me a fuller measure of You this day as I parent in the unplanned moments. Help me to see what is most important. Help me to see my child's heart, and give me the willingness to turn towards it, and the words to speak into it. I cannot parent without You. Thank You that I don't have to! Amen."

What freedom we have to know that the perfect parent is parenting us all! I was delighting in creation this morning, delighting in the blue skies and the puffy white clouds, and it hit me--Izzy and Josh are God's creation too! They were created for me to delight, just as much as the clouds and the sky were created for me to enjoy! God created them for me to search them, discover all of the nuggets of beauty hidden within them, and to delight! Praise be to God that I have a lifetime, however long that is, to learn about and delight in my children! Jesus, please don't let me miss the opportunities to stop and delight in the unplanned moments either!

God let the unplanned moments of parenting be a source of joy to me. Teach me to relish them. Teach me to praise You for them. Help me parent my beautiful children as You would. Amen.

Grace for the Weary Mom

It's been a rough parenting day. You know the kind; some crazy, awful behavior falls out of your child and sends you into a craze of pure anger and trying to find an appropriate consequence amidst the blurred eyes of fury you are experiencing. You take a deep breath, try to regroup, try to ask for God's guidance, and yet still find yourself knee deep in the ripples of the wrong words you've spoken, the wrong tactic you've taken, the ill-timing of your words in your child's tender and sensitive heart. You ask her to stay in her room, while she calms down and you climb into the shower to try and make sense of all that's happening. You're sobbing now, and you can't figure out where you've gone wrong.

Was it when she was a baby and you didn't know whether she was tired or hungry or just fussy and you were doing whatever it took to survive?

Was it when she was a toddler and you let her explore to her heart's delight in every nook and cranny of your house without realizing that you probably should set boundaries as to where and when it was appropriate to do those things?

Was it when your second child was born and he was so fussy that you never invited her into teaming with you to help you with her new sibling?

Was it when you moved to a new city and your own heart's attitude was so full of anger and bitterness that it spilled out of you onto her?

Was it when...? Was it when...? Was it when...?

Five minutes into your giant list of failures, you hear God speak to your heart, "She will never understand your grace or My grace, until she has a mother who has been changed by it."

And now I am really crying. You see, I just can't seem to understand grace. I get it intellectually. I understand that I am broken, that I'm a sinner, I'm imperfect. As you can see, I had no trouble listing my failings as a parent. But I also have spent so very much of my life trying to be perfect, believing that if I just do more, if I just follow all the rules, if I am externally perfect, then I will win the Lord's approval, and the approval of everyone else. And even though I remind myself so many times a day that it is not about perfection, that no amount of perfection will be enough in the presence of a righteous and holy God, I still rely far more on what I do for God, rather than on His grace. It is a daily battle to recognize that Jesus is my righteousness, that I am indeed imperfect. I am so arrogant and have such a hard time seeing my need for a Savior. I am good enough, I'm certainly better than that person next to me, isn't that enough?

I hate this about myself. It is such arrogance, such judgment in my heart, both of which are complete evidence of my need for a Savior. And so I am humbled, and so I am reminded of how much I need grace, and there I stand in the shadow of the cross for a good 10 minutes before my brain starts justifying how good my behavior is and how I'm superior to the next person. I don't allow the grace of Jesus to leave my heart changed.

And so here I am in the shower, back to humility, back to realizing how much I need grace to penetrate my hardened heart. Izzy will not know and feel the depths of grace until she sees me know and feel the depths of grace. If I keep going back to trying to be perfect, to being unwilling to see my sin, to thinking that "what I'm doing is enough so if you think it's not enough then get off my back", then that's the heart I'm going to reflect to my sweet daughter. I must know grace, I must let it transform me into a humble, repentant woman, if I'm ever going to show Izzy how to live that way.

The hard part is how do I teach my heart humility? How do I teach my own heart its need for grace? I don't think it is anything I can do. I think it has to be the work of the Holy Spirit. And so I get on my knees and ask God to humble me, to show me my need for grace, and to let my daughter see that process in me. May I be transformed by grace so that my children might also be transformed by it. May that be my testimony and my legacy, a broken woman, a failed mother, who allows the grace of God to redeem the fractured moments and restore them to something better than I could have done myself.

Father, please help me to teach my children that they don't have to try and be perfect, that they do not even need to pretend to be perfect. Help me to show them that You already see and know our imperfections, there's no need to hide them from You. And not only that, Your grace, Your mercy, cover them all. You look at them and see the perfection of Jesus, and they can rest in knowing You have done the work. And finally, teach them the obedience that pours out of a love so rich in grace and mercy. May they obey because they feel truly and deeply loved for who they are, Your precious, chosen children. And first and foremost will you teach those things to my heart, so that they may see those truths lived out daily within me. Amen.

My Stay At Home Mom Calling

It’s always been a struggle for me to embrace this stay at home mom gig as a calling.  Other women would tell me that in this season, these children are my ministry. It is my job, my calling, my mission field to love and serve my kids day in and day out.  These words of encouragement would pour out of the mouths of all sorts of people, and in my mind I would think, “that’s just something people say to encourage the mom who cannot get it together enough to serve in the real mission field.”

I would search out scriptures to support their proverbs.  I would scour Christian mommy books and blogs in search of passages that would support this “home as the mission field” mantra.  Even Proverbs 31, THE ultimate woman’s passage in scripture, reveals a mother and wife working hard out in the real world, reaching the poor, starting a business, a pillar of the community. Gosh, where did she find the time? Her kids must have actually slept at naps and nighttime, unlike some children I know.

And so I have languished in this in between place, the place of longing to be something more, to do something more, to really impact the world for Jesus. I hadn’t completely checked out of my mission field of two, but I also felt a listlessness as I folded socks again, cleaned up pee from the floor again, and broke up the one millionth fight of the day.

But this summer I began to pray a new and different prayer. I’m not sure exactly what inspired it, a book, a podcast perhaps, or just the whisperings of the Holy Spirit. I would wake up each day and pray, “God let my heart attitude be that I don’t have to play with my kids today, I get to play with them. Amen.” That was it. Simple and sweet. Change my perspective, change my heart. Help me to see my children not as a burden, but as a blessing. Teach me to delight and not dwell. Move me from the place of selfishness to one of selflessness. Help me Jesus, I want this!

As no surprise to anyone, as I prayed this prayer, the circumstances with my kids got harder. More fights. More tantrums. Bigger, harder words falling from Izzy’s mouth. Tougher spiritual conversations. More moments of me desperate on my knees asking Jesus what on earth to say next, or begging Him to bridle my tongue so that I wouldn’t say all of the awful, hurtful things I was thinking. And yet, each morning I would rise and pray once again, “God let my heart attitude be that I don’t have to play with my kids today, I get to play with them. Amen.”

What did happen as I prayed this prayer was that I began to cherish the moments a bit more. I set down my phone and could find myself laughing, smiling, enjoying without the need to capture it on my camera and send it to 10 of my closest friends. I caught myself whispering to God, “did you hear what Josh just said? I love when he quotes things from his favorites shows!” I stopped myself from grumbling about the spilled cup of paint water, and remembered that it wasn’t that long ago that she couldn’t paint these vibrant pictures at all. I had more glimmers of joy, more moments of gratitude.

God was softening my heart, He was laying the groundwork for His crescendo, His climax, the revelation He’s been so patiently waiting to teach me. Monday I opened 1 Peter 5 and read these words:

“Therefore, I exhort the elders among you, as your fellow elder and witness of the sufferings of Christ, and a partaker also of the glory that is to be revealed, shepherd the flock of God among you, exercising oversight not under compulsion, but voluntarily, according to the will of God; and not for sordid gain, but with eagerness; nor yet as lording it over those allotted to your charge, but proving to be examples to the flock.”

And God opened my eyes. I am not an elder in the church, but I am an elder in my home. I may not have a congregation, but I have a flock. God has entrusted me with two sweet tender lambs, and He has given me charge over them.

I love the language of this passage, the language of the calling: not under compulsion, but voluntarily. Not for sordid gain, but with eagerness. Not lording it over your charge, but proving to be examples. Is this how I love my children? Do I love them, serve them, minister to them out of compulsion because I have to? Because that’s my job? Or do I honor them willingly? Do I cherish them, pursue their good, encourage them for my own personal gain, cursing them when they ruin my image as the perfect mother? Or is there an eagerness in my heart for their good, for their finished, pure hearts who long after Jesus? Do I lord my authority over them as one who knows what’s good for them if only they’d listen? Or do I remember my own brokenness and need of a Savior and show them time and again what repentance and forgiveness looks like?

These are high callings, and Peter knows they are. As Peter writes I can just imagine his mind wandering back to when these words were first uttered, one of his last encounters with the Savior. They are having breakfast and Jesus puts Peter on the spot:

“So when they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, ‘Simon, son of John, do you love Me more than these?’ He said to Him, ‘Yes, Lord; You know that I love You.’ He said to him, ‘Tend My lambs.’ He said to him again a second time, ‘Simon, son of John, do you love Me?’ He said to Him, ‘Yes, Lord; You know that I love You.’ He said to him, ‘Shepherd My sheep.’ He said to him the third time, ‘Simon, son of John, do you love Me?’ Peter was grieved because He said to him the third time, ‘Do you love Me?’ And he said to Him, ‘Lord, You know all things; You know that I love You.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Tend My sheep.’”

If we love Jesus, we will tend His sheep. As I poured over this passage after reading 1 Peter 5, I sat with the weight of Jesus’ calling. I get Peter here. I know what it feels like to say to Jesus, “Lord, you know I love you,” and to have Him ask me again. Peter turned his back on Jesus three times the night He was crucified. I don’t then think it’s a coincidence that Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves Him. How many times have I said with my mouth that I love the Lord, and then turned the other way and betrayed Him? Far more than three, that’s to be certain. And yet, I just love Peter’s response after being asked that wounding third time; “You know all things; You know that I love You.”

Jesus knows, He knows that I love Him in my meager, tiny offering ways. He knows that I do long to serve and honor Him with my life. He knows that in my grumbling that my ministry of two was too small, my real heart was to change the entire world for His glory. But His response to Peter, and to my, desire to love Him well, is this alone—tend my sheep. That’s what He wants from me. That’s the calling.

So I now find myself repeating new words every day.

“Katie, daughter of Keith, do you love me?”

“You know I do Lord.”

“Then tend my sheep.”

That is my calling.  That is where He needs me to be. Perhaps He has me tending to two hearts to prepare me to tend to 2,000. Maybe He needs me to tend to two hearts, so He can do a mighty overhaul on my one. But one thing is for certain, Izzy and Josh are His lambs. He created them, He loves them, He knows them, and they need an earthly shepherd to point them toward the Heavenly one.

And so may I shepherd my children not under compulsion but voluntarily and with willingness, not for any selfish gain. I've been trying to embody these words--willing and eager. May I serve my kids, love them and pour truth into their little hearts with eagerness and willingness knowing that this is what Jesus instructed Peter to do, and this is what He has for me.

You see it isn’t so much about “this season”, it is about tending the sheep in front of me. It is about believing that Jesus will lead sheep to my pasture when they need tending, and that my job is to respond with willingness and eagerness to each and every one. May I rejoice in every lost sheep found, and may I delight in the tender calling of the Shepherd to tend His sheep.

"I'm ready to rock in the rocking chair"

Last night Josh woke with some sort of fear, maybe a nightmare, and as I walked into his room he said, "I'm ready to rock in the rocking chair." As I was rocking him, praying for him, comforting him, the verse I had been studying earlier that day came to mind. "Casting all your anxiety upon Him, for He cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7 And I started to cry. This calling out, "I'm ready to sit in the rocking chair" was Josh casting his anxiety upon me, so easily, so willingly. Not once did he hesitate and wonder if I would come, if I would care. His history with a loving mother drives him to trust that I will come to him, I will take his anxiety and worry, and I will be with him. This rocking in the chair, this patting and soothing and snuggling, this is because I care for him, so deeply, so intimately. This middle of the night rocking is 1 Peter 5:7 in motion, living and breathing. I'm so grateful for the parent/child relationship God gives us to better understand our own relationship with Him. What a gift to see His love for us tangibly lived out in smaller ways in our own hearts! What a joy to rock away Josh's anxiety and lay him peacefully back down in his crib because I care for him. What a motivation to cast my anxiety upon the One who cares for me. History has shown, He will come 💜

Coffee

You're intrigued right?!? A blog post about one of your favorite subjects. The liqueur of the gods.  The substance by which you pull yourself into coherence every morning. The beautiful gift of warmth and goodness in the chaos of your day. The boost of joy that comes from driving thru your very favorite coffee joint and sipping on that drink made just for you.  One of my favorite quotes from You've Got Mail sums it up quite well:

"The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So people who don't know what the hell they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self: Tall. Decaf. Cappuccino." -Joe Fox

Here's the thing: I gave up coffee for Lent. (GASP) Either you are shocked that I would do such a thing, or you're shocked that I shared what I gave up for Lent (after all isn't that supposed to be between me and God?), but there's shock nonetheless.  I don't share this with you to brag about my holiness, but rather this post is about the realization of my complete and utter failures to walk with Jesus in this Lenten season.

My choice to go off of coffee wasn't an idea that had been brewing for a while (hehe I'm full of coffee jokes, watch out!), but rather it came after the flu hit our family.  Being off of coffee for 3 days was quite the shock to my system. Outrageous headaches that left me unable to open my eyes helped me figuratively open my eyes to see just how dependent my body was on this substance.  Me, being the strong-willed person that I am (don't remind me of this when I'm lamenting the strong will of my children...), decided that I would not be beholden to anything!  I would give up coffee for Lent and show coffee who is boss! (Because that's what Lent is all about right?!? That's the spirit of humility Katie!)

So I stayed off of coffee. And it was hard. I mean really hard.  I was completely and totally exhausted every day. The first Sunday after I gave up the good stuff I could barely keep my eyes open in church.  But I had committed to this. I was going to muscle through. And so I pushed on. Day after day getting up, trudging through the day, surviving until nap time, trudging some more and going to bed at 8 o'clock every night. "This is ridiculous," I thought. There is no way I was this addicted to coffee.  But oh, I was. I mean, I would day dream about going to Starbucks. I would lay in bed in the morning and imagine how much better my life would be if I could just get up and go fill my mug with delicious coffee. I'm a little horrified at how my soul longed for this, and how much I wanted to give up.

With Lenten sacrifices I haven't ever really felt tempted to give up.  I've missed the things I had given up, but I had never really considered giving in. I talked with my most trusted friends, and they could see the merits in giving up. I was a mom of young kids, this is a hard season, coffee is a tool God supplies us with to survive this season.  These things are all valid and true. Another piece for me was the argument against legalism. Was I just trying to follow through on my fast to prove something to myself? To prove something to God? Or was this truly drawing me to God? Reminding me of the greatest sacrifice He made for me?  I would recite a verse from Psalm 63, "The steadfast love of the Lord is better than life..." over and over again, but it wouldn't help. Then I would beat myself up that I didn't love God enough to be willing to give up this small, insignificant thing for Him. Legalism at its finest.

And then I got diagnosed with pneumonia. I have never known sickness or exhaustion like that. I truly could not get out of bed to make a cup of tea without becoming fatigued. It took everything in me to get out of bed to get Izzy dressed and brush her hair before climbing back onto the couch to nap. I began to wonder if I needed to be off of caffeine so I could truly know how sick I was. Maybe if I had been drinking coffee I would not have been able to discern the signs and symptoms of my illness as well. Or maybe I was just plain fool for not relying on coffee to pull me through. I mean, God gave us this gift, why not use it?  But I was determined. I could do this.

I'm finally resurfacing from the pneumonia haze, and yesterday Izzy was sick and up half the night.  That was it! It really felt like my breaking point. I pulled out my phone at 6 am yesterday to ask my mom to bring me a nice grande coffee from Starbucks, but I stopped myself. And I prayed, "God give me the strength I need to get through this day. You are able to strengthen me, even without coffee. You are the Giver of strength." There it was, there was the missing link through this Lenten season. I was SO determined that I could do this on my own. My will was strong enough. My self-discipline great enough. But I am not. I am not strong enough to face my day without God.  Coffee is a crutch, an illusion of strength and power for me. If I can keep myself up and going for long enough, I can do enough things, and be enough, and love enough and serve enough, and then I will be enough for everyone.  But I am not enough. I'm not. And saying that makes me feel free!  I was convinced that I was weak for being unable to handle life without coffee, but the truth is that I am weak. I need to know I am weak. I'm not superhuman, and while I could drink a legal addictive stimulant and try to convince myself that I am, when it is ripped away, I will be weak as I always have been.

We don't like to admit weakness in our culture. It's a sign of failure, of not applying ourselves enough. But our faith in God is predicated on our weakness.  Without knowing how limited and weak we are, we are unable to understand our need for a Savior. Without seeing our inability to handle life, to raise good kids, to be hard-working employees, to be loving spouses, to live outside of our own selfish desires, we can't understand how Jesus' sacrifice really is everything to us. The words to Jesus Loves Me flood to mind, "they are weak but He is strong. Yes Jesus loves me." He loves us so much that He gives us His strength. He gifts it to us over and over again. When we can see our weakness, we can fall on our knees and ask for His strength.  And that is what Lent is all about--reminding us of our need for a Savior.

I needed to remove coffee from my life so I could see just how dependent I was on it. It's scary to think about my thoughts and responses to not having coffee in my life, thoughts I really think are akin to how those who remove other addictive substances from their life like alcohol and drugs. I had made coffee an idol, coming to it day after day, asking it to be enough to sustain me.  But just like every idol, it wasn't enough. Only Christ alone can sustain, only He can satisfy. I think I will be returning to a life of coffee ten days from now, but I hope it will be with a different mindset, and with a clear perspective on where I need to go for comfort and strength day after day.

I'm so thankful that I serve a God who loves me enough to knock me off my feet, onto my knees, so that I can look up into His face and once again know I am His beloved. And I'm thankful that I can face my day to day with the strength He provides (1 Peter 4:11). I can do all things through Him. Amen.

The Gospel According to Thomas the Tank Engine

I was talking with my pastor a few months ago about Josh's obsession with Thomas the Tank Engine. He remarked that the gospel according to Thomas was so screwed up. "Sir Topham only values the engines based on how really useful they are."

Herb and I have been joking about this ever since because Pastor Scott was so spot on. Thomas will say things like, "I may be really stinky, but at least I'm really useful." Or "I'm sorry Sir, I was so busy having fun splashing that I forgot I needed to be really useful." Sir Topham Hatt's highest compliment is that the train had been really useful.

The thing is that as I've been laying on the couch down with pneumonia I realize that this isn't just the gospel according to Thomas, it really is also the gospel according to Katie. I have been useless these last weeks, truly. Unable to transport kids, cook dinner, play, make decent conversation, do laundry, clean my house. I have not been really useful. And the truth of the matter is, this makes me feel really worthless. For if I cannot DO anything, what am I worth? If I cannot contribute to this world, then I am nothing.

But this is NOT the gospel according to Jesus. Jesus came to do the work of salvation on my behalf. God has always been the initiator of relationship with His people, the teacher of the truth to our hearts. It is not our own work, our seemingly really useful contributions to the kingdom, but the work Christ did on the cross that brings us into adoption as sons and daughters. Paul says in Galatians, "Therefore the Law has become our tutor to lead us to Christ, so that we may be justified by faith. But now that faith has come, we are no longer under a tutor. For you are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus. For all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free man, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus. And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham's descendants, heirs according to promise.” (Galatians 3:24-29 NASB) It is not the Law, not our actions that make us heirs to the promise. It is our faith in the One who promised. And it is through God's promise to Abraham to redeem and save His people that we are able to rest knowing that God is the one who wills and works according to what He has set out to do from the beginning of time. It is He who gives mercy freely and it is He who reconciles us to Himself. “For this is the word of promise: 'AT THIS TIME I WILL COME, AND SARAH SHALL HAVE A SON.' And not only this, but there was Rebekah also, when she had conceived twins by one man, our father Isaac; for though the twins were not yet born and had not done anything good or bad, so that God's purpose according to His choice would stand, not because of works but because of Him who calls, it was said to her, 'THE OLDER WILL SERVE THE YOUNGER'...So then it does not depend on the man who wills or the man who runs, but on God who has mercy.” (Romans 9:9-12, 16 NASB)

Isn't that a remarkable truth?!? Even before Jacob and Esau were born, even before they had done good or bad, God set forth His promise! Before any work could be done, God had called them to Himself; He had designed them for relationship and intimacy with Him!
It is such a relief to know that we can be completely useless, we can be doing nothing, and God calls us out of darkness, sets mercy upon us and moves us toward Him. It is not about works and if we adequately serve the kingdom. Instead it is about our faith and if we are willing to cling to His promise and draw near to Him as He calls us.

I'm quite thankful the Island of Sodor is not the kingdom of God. I'm thankful that God isn't watching and weighing each task I do and assigning value to me accordingly. I'm so grateful that Jesus already did all the really useful work, that all I have to do is trust in Him to be given words of approval and affirmation. I'm thankful that under God's mercy I can say, "I might not be really useful, but I'm really forgiven and really loved." Ah to be an engine in the Kingdom of God!