“I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full,” (John 10:10b).
I usually take down my tree the day after Christmas. I figure the faster it’s stripped, the sooner life will return to normal around here.
We call it holiday hangover. Everyone is recovering from two days of hyperactivity, wacky schedules and sugar overload. If your kids are a little bit “off” today, then it hit your house, too.
Before hubby and I even caught a whiff of coffee percolating this morning, my pajama-clad sweet things bickered over yesterday’s loot, both demanding first rights to pry open the new Play-Doh canisters. Our toddler begged to “eat candies” for breakfast, and big sister announced she wants Daddy to stay home from work forever. Meanwhile, I’m worried about early-onset arthritis from untwisting enough toy packaging wires to stretch from our playroom to the moon and back.
It makes a mom wonder—was the yuletide flurry worth the fallout?
Yes. There are some aspects of the Christmas season that I wish would linger a while longer. The intangible gifts we unwrap in our spirits—those are the real holiday takeaways.
. . . Hope swelling our hearts when “Silent Night” resounds through a candlelit church
. . . Unquestioning generosity toward people in need or hurting
. . . Camaraderie of neighbors uniting to share recipes, stories, memories
. . . Grandpa’s smile that welcomes us into his kitchen, grateful for one more Christmas together
. . . Laughing to tears with my sisters
. . . Pure delight shining on my favorite little faces when a thrashing of wrapping paper reveals the long-awaited doll, game, storybook—followed by thank-you hugs that don’t let go.
I think I’ll keep the tree up a few extra days, just as a reminder. Christmas doesn’t have to end when the calendar flips. Jesus was born to give us lasting peace and hope. Throughout the year, we can harbor all that is beautiful and true about the season. The cookies and boxes can go. Joy, adoration, kindness, benevolence, love—they are welcome to abide.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
The Big Do-Over
Do you ever want a do-over? I sure do.
If I could press stop, rewind the tape, and record over that part where I hollered at my kids this morning, my guilt-o-meter might quit redlining. Or for the striped orange sweater I bought off the clearance rack with a no-returns policy—what was I thinking? Do-over, please! Oh, and let’s talk about that disaster of a nacho casserole I fed my husband last night. Yikes, I’d like a do-over for that one.
I pine for bigger do-overs, too. My first boyfriend, my seventh grade hairstyle, the entire summer of 1996.
We could make a lot of points here, like how our past mistakes build our present character, or “if only” regrets paralyze our well-being. But I’m going to park on this thought: we are given a do-over in Jesus.
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” (2 Corinthians 5:17)
This week we will bake fudge, pile shiny packages under a tree, and buckle our kids into car seats for a trip to Grandma’s—all to celebrate the do-over of a lifetime, the birth of our Savior.
Baby Jesus is more than a tradition. He’s more than a timeless tale of angels, shepherds, and no room at the inn. This baby is a rescue mission from heaven.
Have you flagged it down yet? I’m not talking about religion. Maybe you go to church and follow all the rules. Or maybe Christmas is the only time of year you dip toes in a sanctuary, if at all. Doesn’t matter, not for today, not for the real meaning of Christmas.
The truth is, we’re all faulty. God, however, is perfect. To stand in his presence, we have to be perfect, too.
“For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at just one point is guilty of breaking all of it,” (James 2:10).
Ouch. You’re not perfect? Bummer, me either.
But Jesus is. He will take our place. He was born to live the perfect life for us—for me, for you—from his first breath in Bethlehem to his final cry on the cross. Christmas is God’s way of tossing us a rope.
Our job is to take it.
How?
“Since we've compiled this long and sorry record as sinners. . . and proved that we are utterly incapable of living the glorious lives God wills for us, God did it for us. Out of sheer generosity he put us in right standing with himself. A pure gift. He got us out of the mess we're in and restored us to where he always wanted us to be. And he did it by means of Jesus Christ,” (Romans 3:23–24 MSG).
Choose Jesus. Not our good behavior, not our religion, not a vague notion of how decent people all somehow get to heaven. Those ropes fray when we need them most.
Simply choose Jesus. Confess to him that you have issues. This news will not shock him. Ask him to take over your life. He’s so much better at running it than we are. Then trust that something new has begun in you—your big do-over.
From that moment on, when God looks at you, he’ll see Jesus inside. Perfect, holy, glorious Jesus. And your place in heaven is secure.
“He who has the Son has life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have life. I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God so that you may know that you have eternal life,” (1 John 5:12–13).
Think this is fanatic theology? I thought so, too. The day I turned my life over to Christ, I spoke to him in wishy-washy terms, doubts still clinging to my intellect.
“Well, Lord, they say this is supposed to work,” I said, “so, take it over.” I left off the words, “I dare you.” But that’s practically what I did. I challenged the Lord to prove his saving grace. And he did. He did.
For those who have already grasped this do-over—the family of believers—we are living proof that choosing Jesus works. Yes, we still have problems, we still mess up. Yet Jesus keeps reaching out his hand every day, showering us with enough fresh grace to cover a thousand hollering mommies and heartburn nacho casseroles.
We have real hope. That’s the purpose of Christmas.
On the other hand, if this devotion seems weird or preachy, I understand. Why not give God a try? He’ll accept your dare, and your doubts. You just might find they both wash away when you’re standing in his grace for the first time.
It’s Christmas, after all. The most wonderful time of the year—for starting over.
If I could press stop, rewind the tape, and record over that part where I hollered at my kids this morning, my guilt-o-meter might quit redlining. Or for the striped orange sweater I bought off the clearance rack with a no-returns policy—what was I thinking? Do-over, please! Oh, and let’s talk about that disaster of a nacho casserole I fed my husband last night. Yikes, I’d like a do-over for that one.
I pine for bigger do-overs, too. My first boyfriend, my seventh grade hairstyle, the entire summer of 1996.
We could make a lot of points here, like how our past mistakes build our present character, or “if only” regrets paralyze our well-being. But I’m going to park on this thought: we are given a do-over in Jesus.
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” (2 Corinthians 5:17)
This week we will bake fudge, pile shiny packages under a tree, and buckle our kids into car seats for a trip to Grandma’s—all to celebrate the do-over of a lifetime, the birth of our Savior.
Baby Jesus is more than a tradition. He’s more than a timeless tale of angels, shepherds, and no room at the inn. This baby is a rescue mission from heaven.
Have you flagged it down yet? I’m not talking about religion. Maybe you go to church and follow all the rules. Or maybe Christmas is the only time of year you dip toes in a sanctuary, if at all. Doesn’t matter, not for today, not for the real meaning of Christmas.
The truth is, we’re all faulty. God, however, is perfect. To stand in his presence, we have to be perfect, too.
“For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at just one point is guilty of breaking all of it,” (James 2:10).
Ouch. You’re not perfect? Bummer, me either.
But Jesus is. He will take our place. He was born to live the perfect life for us—for me, for you—from his first breath in Bethlehem to his final cry on the cross. Christmas is God’s way of tossing us a rope.
Our job is to take it.
How?
“Since we've compiled this long and sorry record as sinners. . . and proved that we are utterly incapable of living the glorious lives God wills for us, God did it for us. Out of sheer generosity he put us in right standing with himself. A pure gift. He got us out of the mess we're in and restored us to where he always wanted us to be. And he did it by means of Jesus Christ,” (Romans 3:23–24 MSG).
Choose Jesus. Not our good behavior, not our religion, not a vague notion of how decent people all somehow get to heaven. Those ropes fray when we need them most.
Simply choose Jesus. Confess to him that you have issues. This news will not shock him. Ask him to take over your life. He’s so much better at running it than we are. Then trust that something new has begun in you—your big do-over.
From that moment on, when God looks at you, he’ll see Jesus inside. Perfect, holy, glorious Jesus. And your place in heaven is secure.
“He who has the Son has life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have life. I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God so that you may know that you have eternal life,” (1 John 5:12–13).
Think this is fanatic theology? I thought so, too. The day I turned my life over to Christ, I spoke to him in wishy-washy terms, doubts still clinging to my intellect.
“Well, Lord, they say this is supposed to work,” I said, “so, take it over.” I left off the words, “I dare you.” But that’s practically what I did. I challenged the Lord to prove his saving grace. And he did. He did.
For those who have already grasped this do-over—the family of believers—we are living proof that choosing Jesus works. Yes, we still have problems, we still mess up. Yet Jesus keeps reaching out his hand every day, showering us with enough fresh grace to cover a thousand hollering mommies and heartburn nacho casseroles.
We have real hope. That’s the purpose of Christmas.
On the other hand, if this devotion seems weird or preachy, I understand. Why not give God a try? He’ll accept your dare, and your doubts. You just might find they both wash away when you’re standing in his grace for the first time.
It’s Christmas, after all. The most wonderful time of the year—for starting over.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Honey, Sweetheart, Sugar Pie
Lovey. Sweetie. Little Bean. Bubs. I have so many nicknames for my kids, it’s a wonder they answer to their Christian names.
Some parents get their children’s official monikers mixed up. I remember my mother tripping over her three choices when she was angry or in a rush. Robin—Becky—Sarah—whatever your name is! Get in here!
Me? I even get my girls’ pet names confused.
“How’s your breakfast, Sunshine?”
“Mooooom!” my eldest scolded. “My sister is your Sunshine. I’m your Joy!”
Which begs the question, is it time to ix-nay the nicknames?
“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace,” (Isaiah 9:6).
Ohhh. God had nicknames. Not just nicknames, but actual capital-letter designations. The different aspects of his character were so powerful, they commanded their own titles.
Wonderful Counselor. Everlasting Father. Prince of Peace. And so many more throughout the Bible—Yahweh, Redeemer, King of Glory, the Lamb, Bread of Life, Alpha and Omega, the Mighty One, I AM.
My favorite is Emmanuel. It means “God with us.” A precious child, born in a homely stable, was our all-powerful, ever-loving God in delicate flesh.
And he had a mom. I wonder—did she ever call him sweetheart?
Which flies us full circle to my kids. Pondering this connection between the Lord’s many names and the goofy handles I give my girls, well, I kind of felt like God and I just had a little moment.
“Would you like some grapes, Peanut?”
“Mom, you can’t call me Peanut,” my preschooler replied.
“Why not?”
“Because Nana’s cat is named Peanut. Call me Lovey.”
I guess nicknames do have their limits. But for now, I’m sticking with them.
Happily linking to Tuesdays Unwrapped this week. Visit Chatting at the Sky to meet more bloggers like me!
Some parents get their children’s official monikers mixed up. I remember my mother tripping over her three choices when she was angry or in a rush. Robin—Becky—Sarah—whatever your name is! Get in here!
Me? I even get my girls’ pet names confused.
“How’s your breakfast, Sunshine?”
“Mooooom!” my eldest scolded. “My sister is your Sunshine. I’m your Joy!”
Which begs the question, is it time to ix-nay the nicknames?
“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace,” (Isaiah 9:6).
Ohhh. God had nicknames. Not just nicknames, but actual capital-letter designations. The different aspects of his character were so powerful, they commanded their own titles.
Wonderful Counselor. Everlasting Father. Prince of Peace. And so many more throughout the Bible—Yahweh, Redeemer, King of Glory, the Lamb, Bread of Life, Alpha and Omega, the Mighty One, I AM.
My favorite is Emmanuel. It means “God with us.” A precious child, born in a homely stable, was our all-powerful, ever-loving God in delicate flesh.
And he had a mom. I wonder—did she ever call him sweetheart?
Which flies us full circle to my kids. Pondering this connection between the Lord’s many names and the goofy handles I give my girls, well, I kind of felt like God and I just had a little moment.
“Would you like some grapes, Peanut?”
“Mom, you can’t call me Peanut,” my preschooler replied.
“Why not?”
“Because Nana’s cat is named Peanut. Call me Lovey.”
I guess nicknames do have their limits. But for now, I’m sticking with them.
Happily linking to Tuesdays Unwrapped this week. Visit Chatting at the Sky to meet more bloggers like me!
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Shifting My Default - Tuesday Special
Welcome to Tuesdays Unwrapped on Time Out! If you're one of my regular folks, you'll recognize this recent devotion, which I'm re-posting today in order to share it with the blog community at Chatting at the Sky, Emily Freeman's blog. If you've never visited her place or read her excellent book, Grace for the Good Girl, I highly recommend both. Click here to explore more encouraging messages from writers, moms, wives, Jesus girls like you and me.
Today, I’d like to tell you about Cory.
High school kids looked up to him as their talented teacher, football coach, wrestling coach, and mentor. He was a loyal friend, persistent jokester, and quite possibly the greatest fan the Cubs have ever seen. Above all, he was a devoted husband and an outstanding dad. He treasured his family, and they adored him.
Cory died unexpectedly last month. He was 37 years old.
Why am I telling you this? Not for drama’s sake, please believe me. I personally avoid reading about other people’s tragedies because, quite honestly, they feed my fears. That’s not what I intend to do here.
I want you to know Cory because, if you read my recent devotion on facing trials, then you’ve met his wife—my college roommate, Alisa. Yes, she’s the Super Mom cancer survivor and infamous breakfast forgetter. I love her dearly. And I can hardly believe this is the next chapter in her story.
My heart is heavy. I’ve been wrestling with God. This loss makes no sense. What do we do when God makes no sense?
I’ll tell you what I won’t do, at least not here in this blog space. I won’t ask why God gives so much pain to one person at one time, as if cancer wasn’t enough. I’m not going to talk about how God is good when life is not, or even about heaven and how to get there. Instead, for now, I want to settle on this:
Gratitude.
What?!? That’s crazy, Becky. How can you be grateful at a time like this?
Well, for starters, because God tells me I should. And I’m still choosing to believe him. “Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus,” (1 Thessalonians 5:16–18).
Give thanks in all circumstances.
What does that look like? It's not a Pollyanna, smile-when-it-hurts outlook. Sometimes life is gut-wrenching, and I don’t think God expects us to deny that.
Instead, I’m talking about a shift in default, from complaining to appreciating. From dwelling on the negative to catching a glimpse of the positive. From taking loved ones for granted, to acknowledging they could be gone tomorrow—and living today like it matters.
Thank you, Lord, for my husband’s snoring. It means he’s sleeping beside me tonight.
Thank you for my girls bickering over bath toys. Their voices are my favorite sound, and today it’s filling my ears.
Thank you for peals of laughter cutting through the tears in a crowded country church, where hilarious eulogy stories paid tribute to Cory's nutty humor. This tells me that my friend knew the joy of a happy marriage.
Thank you, Lord, that you know things I do not. When answers run dry, I can cling to you.
It’s been nearly 20 years since the folks in charge of university residence life matched two homesick small town girls on the third floor of Walker Hall. A lifetime friendship was born in that freshman dorm room. And I am so thankful for it.
Alisa, you were stuck with me then, and I’m sticking with you now. My love and prayers are with you across the miles.
Go Panthers.
***
Today, I’d like to tell you about Cory.
High school kids looked up to him as their talented teacher, football coach, wrestling coach, and mentor. He was a loyal friend, persistent jokester, and quite possibly the greatest fan the Cubs have ever seen. Above all, he was a devoted husband and an outstanding dad. He treasured his family, and they adored him.
Cory died unexpectedly last month. He was 37 years old.
Why am I telling you this? Not for drama’s sake, please believe me. I personally avoid reading about other people’s tragedies because, quite honestly, they feed my fears. That’s not what I intend to do here.
I want you to know Cory because, if you read my recent devotion on facing trials, then you’ve met his wife—my college roommate, Alisa. Yes, she’s the Super Mom cancer survivor and infamous breakfast forgetter. I love her dearly. And I can hardly believe this is the next chapter in her story.
My heart is heavy. I’ve been wrestling with God. This loss makes no sense. What do we do when God makes no sense?
I’ll tell you what I won’t do, at least not here in this blog space. I won’t ask why God gives so much pain to one person at one time, as if cancer wasn’t enough. I’m not going to talk about how God is good when life is not, or even about heaven and how to get there. Instead, for now, I want to settle on this:
Gratitude.
What?!? That’s crazy, Becky. How can you be grateful at a time like this?
Well, for starters, because God tells me I should. And I’m still choosing to believe him. “Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus,” (1 Thessalonians 5:16–18).
Give thanks in all circumstances.
What does that look like? It's not a Pollyanna, smile-when-it-hurts outlook. Sometimes life is gut-wrenching, and I don’t think God expects us to deny that.
Instead, I’m talking about a shift in default, from complaining to appreciating. From dwelling on the negative to catching a glimpse of the positive. From taking loved ones for granted, to acknowledging they could be gone tomorrow—and living today like it matters.
Thank you, Lord, for my husband’s snoring. It means he’s sleeping beside me tonight.
Thank you for my girls bickering over bath toys. Their voices are my favorite sound, and today it’s filling my ears.
Thank you for peals of laughter cutting through the tears in a crowded country church, where hilarious eulogy stories paid tribute to Cory's nutty humor. This tells me that my friend knew the joy of a happy marriage.
Thank you, Lord, that you know things I do not. When answers run dry, I can cling to you.
It’s been nearly 20 years since the folks in charge of university residence life matched two homesick small town girls on the third floor of Walker Hall. A lifetime friendship was born in that freshman dorm room. And I am so thankful for it.
Alisa, you were stuck with me then, and I’m sticking with you now. My love and prayers are with you across the miles.
Go Panthers.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Time for a Change
Have you ever wrestled an octopus? I have. It’s called a diaper change. Every time I attempt to swap my toddler’s bulging Pampers for a dry one, she throws such a fit that I’m tempted to let her run naked, trailing behind with a bottle of Resolve and a dish rag.
She cries. She screams. She twists, kicks, rolls, dodges my grasp, and bolts across the room to resume playing with her dolls, books, balls—anything but the torture of lying still.
I’ve tried diverting her attention. Silly tricks that would’ve humiliated me five years ago, well, they’re a regular part of my repertoire now.
“What sound does an elephant make?” Mommy exclaims in her happiest this-is-so-much-fun! voice, followed by a siren-like animal call, complete with elbow-to-nose gestures illustrating the elephant’s trunk. And then we move on to monkeys, horses, sheep, cows, the entire animal kingdom if that’s what it takes to keep my one-year-old occupied long enough to wipe her bottom cheeks and fasten the tabs.
I don’t get it. A fresh diaper is more comfortable, it smells better, and it doesn’t invite a nasty rash. Why wouldn’t she welcome it? I’m just trying to clean up the stinky stuff and send her on her merry way.
Oh, but I have stinky stuff, too. Yep—grumpy moods, grudges, selfishness, anxiety, sin issues of all kinds—I’m soaked with loads of stinky. God just wants to clean me up. He just wants to give me a fresh change, if I would only be still and allow it.
But what do I do? I resist, just like my little sea creature. I’m too busy with the equivalent of my dolls and books, focusing more on my activities than on the state of my heart hygiene.
Thanks, Lord, I know you want to change me, but I can’t stop for that right now! Gotta dash! Must check off my to-do list, forge ahead with my agenda. It’s December, after all. I’m super busy getting ready to celebrate your birthday. Can’t you see? No time for rest today!
This doesn’t fly with the Almighty.
“If God doesn’t build the house, the builders only build shacks. . . . It’s useless to rise early and go to bed late, and work your worried fingers to the bone. Don’t you know he enjoys giving rest to those he loves?” (Psalm 127:1a–2, MSG).
Do I really let my baby girl spend all day in messy pants? Of course not. I chase her down, pin her to the floor, blare my best elephant horn and give her what she needs.
Praise God he does the same for me. I just have to accept his invitation to rest—in prayer, in reading my Bible, in looking up to the sky every once in a while instead of at my calendar. That’s when the clean-up begins. And I have to admit, it sure feels a lot better.
She cries. She screams. She twists, kicks, rolls, dodges my grasp, and bolts across the room to resume playing with her dolls, books, balls—anything but the torture of lying still.
I’ve tried diverting her attention. Silly tricks that would’ve humiliated me five years ago, well, they’re a regular part of my repertoire now.
“What sound does an elephant make?” Mommy exclaims in her happiest this-is-so-much-fun! voice, followed by a siren-like animal call, complete with elbow-to-nose gestures illustrating the elephant’s trunk. And then we move on to monkeys, horses, sheep, cows, the entire animal kingdom if that’s what it takes to keep my one-year-old occupied long enough to wipe her bottom cheeks and fasten the tabs.
I don’t get it. A fresh diaper is more comfortable, it smells better, and it doesn’t invite a nasty rash. Why wouldn’t she welcome it? I’m just trying to clean up the stinky stuff and send her on her merry way.
Oh, but I have stinky stuff, too. Yep—grumpy moods, grudges, selfishness, anxiety, sin issues of all kinds—I’m soaked with loads of stinky. God just wants to clean me up. He just wants to give me a fresh change, if I would only be still and allow it.
But what do I do? I resist, just like my little sea creature. I’m too busy with the equivalent of my dolls and books, focusing more on my activities than on the state of my heart hygiene.
Thanks, Lord, I know you want to change me, but I can’t stop for that right now! Gotta dash! Must check off my to-do list, forge ahead with my agenda. It’s December, after all. I’m super busy getting ready to celebrate your birthday. Can’t you see? No time for rest today!
This doesn’t fly with the Almighty.
“If God doesn’t build the house, the builders only build shacks. . . . It’s useless to rise early and go to bed late, and work your worried fingers to the bone. Don’t you know he enjoys giving rest to those he loves?” (Psalm 127:1a–2, MSG).
Do I really let my baby girl spend all day in messy pants? Of course not. I chase her down, pin her to the floor, blare my best elephant horn and give her what she needs.
Praise God he does the same for me. I just have to accept his invitation to rest—in prayer, in reading my Bible, in looking up to the sky every once in a while instead of at my calendar. That’s when the clean-up begins. And I have to admit, it sure feels a lot better.
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