Saturday, November 23, 2013

On FOMO

FOMO.  Fear of Missing Out.  A concept that is all too familiar to people today, especially college students.  It can seem harmless, like a normal part of everyday life, nothing to worry about too much.  But FOMO can be debilitating.  It can be murderous to the Christian walk and a rather sneaky stealer of joy when left unaddressed.

I mean just look at it.  It has the word "fear" in it.  Fear is not from God.

Boom.

I'm preaching to myself here, too.  But even as a wretch I get to write and that's some good grace, my friends.

So, I'll say that I do believe there are many underlying issues to FOMO that when left as seeds in the soil of the soul, can be watered into twisting, turning vines--choking and suffocating the heart.

Lack of confidence.  That's where I'll begin.  FOMO is lack of confidence that where the Lord has you is exactly where He wants you to be.  We are not made to be everywhere; that's why God is the only Being who is omnipresent.  That's why we trust in Him and not ourselves to "be with us always to the end of the age" (Matthew 28:20).  That's why there are promises that say if we are to believe in Him to guide us, "He will make our paths straight" (Proverbs 3:6).  This is basic gospel. This is necessary truth.

A lot of times these verses are seen to apply to large decisions we have to make.  Which is totally true.  I do not know how in the world I would be able to make weighty decisions without the guidance of the Spirit.  However, these verses hold true to our everyday lives as well.  Those mundane decisions that seem so simple can sometimes be just as important.  Keeping in step with the Spirit (Galatians 5:25).

How we choose to spend our time is often times a reflection of the heart.

Christian community.  What a beautiful, beautiful thing.  Solitude.  What a beautiful, beautiful thing.  As an introvert, I love both.  Absolutely love them.  In different ways.  At different times.  For different purposes.  Obviously you don't have to be an introvert to appreciate them both.  But for me, I cannot have one without the other.  I cannot.  It is a hard balance to achieve.  But it is a balance that can changes everything and makes life real and full and rich.

Henri J. Nouwen said, "Solitude was where Jesus listened to God. It is where we listen to God. Solitude is where community begins."  How true.  As faithful followers, we have to know when to retreat from the craziness of the world.  We have to know when we have outdone ourselves socially in order to refuel ourselves spiritually.  We have to step back, listen to the Lord, spend time with the Lord, cherish the Lord.  But we cannot stay there.  Then we can go out into community, refreshed, renewed, filled with the Spirit, overjoyed, ready to love, good news on our lips, beyond ourselves, bliss.

We must have confidence in the One who can do everything to know that we cannot do everything.  We can't be everywhere.  We can't be with everyone.  Beware of that Instagram envy.  Beware of promoting that.  The little things.  Again, preaching to myself.

But really, friends!  Trust in the Lord.  Rest your soul.  Hide away in Jesus (Colossians 3:3).

The help.  That's what's next.  Like a wise friend always tells me, "Awareness is 95% of the battle" (if you follow me on Twitter, you may laugh at this).  But really, once you are aware that you need to step back, what do you do and how do you do it?

The Holy Spirit.  Yes.  This verse, as popular as it is, holds such a sweet, sweet truth for us in a nice little hyphenated word that may get thrown under the radar a bit:

"For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline." 2 Timothy 1:7

Self-discipline.  The Spirit gives us self-discipline.  Praise the Lord.

Some verses say "self-control," "a sound mind," or simply "discipline."  All are applicable here.

When we are filled with the Spirit, impossible things happen.  Hearts are changed and eyes are opened.  We are empowered to make decisions we could never dream of.  Our weary selves are awakened, and the Word of Life becomes a raging fire inside of us.  Revelation.  Clarification.  Resolution.  We experience the glory of God.  We feel it in our bones.  We cannot be apathetic to self-discipline when the Spirit is in us, because He will compel us to rearrange everything in our lives that we can in order to bless the Name of the One who gives us life.

The Spirit helps us fight FOMO because the Spirit helps give us self-discipline.

I would venture to say that many Christians still aren't quite sure what the Holy Spirit actually does.  A lot of times it is drilled into us that He gives us words to speak when we are sharing the gospel or that He helps us overcome temptation. And these things are totally, totally true.  And I praise the Lord for this truth.

But beware that it's not always so linear.  It's not so formulaic.  It's not always trust in the Spirit--> things work out.   There are so many different things that can get thrown into the equation.  Heart issues.  External pressures.  Fear.  It is a battle to truly relent to the Spirit.  It is messy.  It is difficult.  It is grief-filled.  It is dangerous.  It is reputation-crushing.  But it is worth it.

The Holy Spirit is quite frankly the most creative force I have ever experienced.  It blows my mind.  Really weird decisions start popping into your head.  Things get "different" when we say no to that movie with friends because we know our time should be spent somewhere else not quite as glamorous, like with an old, depressed friend who's fallen away from the faith.  Glory sneaks into those situations, unexpectedly beautiful, a simple sweetness.  Or when we know that going to that worship concert will just reaffirm our need to be where everyone else is--it's okay to step back.  Or to take some time to clear up that jealousy you've been pushing back in your heart for so long.  Or to simply spend a Friday night at the feet of Jesus, weeping over the joy of the mercy you've found in Him.  To worship.  That's okay.  No Instagram pictures, tweets, or Facebook statuses will tell you that.  But it is.

There is wisdom in managing time well; it's not always overrated.  It can truly glorify God.  Please see that this is not a legalistic, uptight plea.  I love to do things with people...so I do them.  Don't go lock yourself in your room or feel guilty about spending time with friends.  Do it.  But be aware that there are limits, and know that you can trust the Spirit to guide you through those limits.

There is freedom in this, folks.  Freedom in the confidence of the Lord to guide every single step we take, to lead us exactly where we're supposed to be.  And sometimes that means we are doing what everyone else is doing--we aren't missing out!  And there is joy there, too.  But FOMO, when we let it get too far, can be crippling.  It can ruin you; it can rule you.

"In him and through faith in him we may approach God with freedom and confidence." Ephesians 3:12

May the Lord reign over our hearts.
Living and preaching the gospel in all situations, wherever we are.
And being empowered to do so.

Praise Him.

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Reach in. There is more.

It's nice to be here.  Home.  But not for home itself though that is quite delightful.  I realize you all faithful readers have not heard from me in a while.  But I love actually living what I write.  I don't always do it, but once God narrowed the distance from my head to my heart, and even further from my heart to my life, it has been rich.  Rich indeed.

You can read more about that here.  Sure, I wrote that in November.  It's been a long process and will be a process until I die.  But that's okay because I'm not in a hurry.  A lot of times the sweetest change comes from the longest process.  I'd rather have sweet than quick any day.

And that's kind of what I've been realizing.  That's what I think I want to write about.  Being home for this short period of time has allowed me to think.  To reflect.  To meditate.  And God speaks so clearly in the silence of this southern town.  I love God more after looking back over another year as a disciple of Christ in a place I would have never thought to live among people I never knew I would meet.  I think about all the struggles and hard things and internal wars that have waged in my heart, the kind where I think there is no way to overcome the sin that eats away at me, that there is no way a perfect Messiah could ever love an imperfect little girl like me.  I think about how He always overcomes and He always loves and I don't think I can ever get over that.  And I would be scared of the day that I do.

I'm a reflector.  Obviously.  I wouldn't be a writer if I wasn't a reflector.  But more importantly I wouldn't be half the Christian I am if I wasn't a reflector.  And it's in those times where I sit on the floor of my bedroom and ask God, "What does this mean," whether if it's about the Word, a thought I've had, a simple phrase I'm fixated on, a vision He has put before my eyes, whatever it is, it's in those times where I hear Him speak. I feel the clarity and sometimes I feel the mystery.  And when I feel the mystery I love the mystery, and I love the Maker all the more.  I don't need answers, I need God.

I get made fun of a lot by the brothers (all in good nature) for spending that time in my room.  I need people.  I will never ever live my life hidden away from the presence of others, though sometimes I would like to.  This is a lesson I have learned so recently, and it goes against my introverted nature, but if it wasn't counter-intuitive it would probably not be a lesson.  A life of ministry, which I pray mine would be, is messy. It is packed with living life together with people, laughing with them, crying with them, doing hard things with them, all bleeding a little along the way.  And in all this glorifying the Father and using friendship and fellowship the way God intended, allowing for healing and restoration, sharing in struggles, being vulnerable until our rib cages show, praying until our throats are dry, our knees are sore, and our hands are reaching the awkwardly sweaty phase from holding each others' for so long, desperate, together, before our Common Creator, fully believing that where we two or more gather, so He is there.  I love that life and I want it.

But then I have to restore myself.  I have to reflect.  I have to pour the Word into my soul until I feel myself being filled.  Full.  Doing what Jesus did not only ministering to others but crying out to the Father.  Praying for the people I see day in and day out.  Interceding and letting Jesus intercede for me.  Letting Jesus pray for me, heal me, refresh me with His Spirit.  Letting the Word teach me who Jesus is, who this Man is that is on His knees for me in that very moment.  Contemplating His love so I can live it.  So I can model it.  So I can become engulfed by it.  I'm not going to live a life that means running around to people, ministering to people, telling things to people, urging people, serving people, doing whatever it is "for people" if it means I lose God.  I'm not going to do it.  I don't care if it looks right, if it's admirable how many people I disciple or teach or love or preach the gospel to.  I'm not going to live a life for God without living a life with God.

I want to do all those things.  All those things I listed I want to do.  And I will.  With God, not apart from Him.  He is not a far off object, He is with me.  Immanuel, yes He is with me.  And thanks be to God, for I have no power even if I have all the right steps.

So, reflect.

A few months ago I went to a conference, and at one point the current speaker was commenting on another speaker who tends to get very deep in His theology and teaching, and some would even say he is over the receivers' heads at times.  But the speaker said something along the lines of this, and I can't stop thinking about it:

"Why are we putting the glory of God on the bottom shelf anyway?  We should be reaching up to find the glory of God.  That is what this speaker causes us to do."

Why are we reaching for this surfacey God?  We aren't we reaching for the best thing, allowing ourselves to be contented with the good thing, not the best thing--the good Christianity, the good devotion, the good prayer life, the good evangelistic style, the good, easy, understandable way of living that we have always lived as a Christian?  Why?  Why aren't we allowing the riches of the Father to drench us, to build us, to cause us to wonder, to stir awe in us, even more to compel us?  If we approach a God we know everything about, a God that is safe, that is visible and that we have all figured out, why approach Him at all?

It's like that treasure chest.  One of my favorite parables is the smallest one, just one verse, Matthew 13:44:  The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.

What a joy that our God is like a treasure.  After thinking about this, I turned to Ephesians, a book I knew was full of the word "riches."  I reflected on it.  I prayed about it.  God taught me this.

What good is the treasure chest itself if we are not reaching into it?  Even more, what good is that field if we leave the treasure chest there?  Nothing.  A lot of us are "spiritual" people and not Spirit-filled people.  A lot of us are placing that chest on our altars and worshipping.  But few of us are even opening it.  Few of us are reaching into the chest.  It's too risky.  What if I break something?  What if I don't know what to do with all those riches?  What if it's too hard to open, what if I can't figure out how to get it open?  What if it changes something?  Well, if we go from poor to rich it better change something.


We have this treasure chest that we've had our whole lives and we're lugging it around talking about it, sharing it, showing it to people.  It turns into this elephant in the room that we try in good intention to talk to people about instead of it being something that's a part of us.  Someone that's a part of us.  Well, "what's in it?" they ask.  You swallow really hard and shrug your shoulders.  Because you don't know.  You know what's on the surface, but you don't know what makes it so good, so worth sharing, so worth carrying with you everywhere, living with, basing your life around.  What if there's more?  What if there's a part to this beloved chest, one that you have sold everything to achieve, that you have never even touched?

Reach into the treasure chest.

This revelation is revolutionary.  I see this heart of mine ripped open, exposed.  I see myself reaching into that chest frantically, grabbing all of the riches I can hold in my hand, and pressing them up to my heart, letting each individual piece fill and form my heart, crystallizing until the bright, shining diamonds are a part of me.  And throughout life and throughout the interactions with the people, the world, the good and the evil, this heart will be tugged, it will be shaken.  But this treasure chest has no bottom, and the riches of His love will never end.  So I'm going to keep reaching.  And He's going to keep filling.

I like french press coffee.  If you don't drink coffee, don't tune me out.  A french press is different than a regular drip coffee maker.  Look it up.  It doesn't use a paper filter, but rather a metal one, so that the oils of the coffee that would normally be soaked into the paper filter are let through the french press filter, making the coffee much fuller and richer.  You can see where this is going.  Well the process of a french press takes much longer and is much more tedious than just throwing a K-cup in the Keurig and pressing a button.  But it is so much more flavorful, deeper, richer.  Now that I've tasted this kind of coffee, I prefer it.  I'd much rather have this coffee than the quicker, more convenient coffee.  It's still coffee, sure.  It will do the job.  But it's nothing like the other.

Once you taste His richness, everything else will be but a bland attempt to satisfy a craving in you that can only be satiated by the very best thing.

Stop trying to stuff that wooden chest into your fleshly chest.  Reach in.  There is more.

Saturday, March 30, 2013

The day before the resurrection

What was the world like the day before the resurrection?

Yesterday, Jesus died.  Tomorrow He is set to rise.  But what about today?

It's just a day but a day can be packed with feelings.  Explosive, untamable feelings.  On days of intense heartache or overwhelming anticipation, which could be either one in this case, a day can feel like a thousand days.

One day could feel like a living hell, one where waking up is questionable and each second passing is another dagger pierces through your weathered heart.  You don't make it off the floor.  Your clothes are stained with tears and your throat is sore from the moans.  How will tomorrow come?  When will tomorrow come?

You can't wait.  You are so excited you can barely stand it and so far you have tried to occupy yourself with so many useless things and when you look at the clock it has only been two minutes.  You have done all the strategies you know of for speeding up time--you have watched at least three documentaries, taken five naps, and went on four different runs to help expel some of the energy.  Your heart is exploding.  You are ready.  The day seems never ending.  How will tomorrow come?  When will tomorrow come?

How did the Father feel on this day?  Was He still mourning, slowly beginning to turn His face around?  Or was He in hopeful preparation of the day that all the prophecies inspired by His own power alluded to?

Which one will you choose?
Grief.  Or hope.

How about the men who killed you?  Did they feel satisfied?  How about the man who pierced your side?  Did He feel good about Himself?  Maybe.  Maybe they felt a rush of power and authority.  But maybe a few of these men felt a little worried yet wouldn't admit it to others:  "What if it does come true and He really is God and He really does rise?"  They think but dare wouldn't say.  Maybe it was fleeting.  Maybe the thoughts lasted but for the moment as the put His body in the ground supposedly for good.  Maybe they just shook it off and justified it and just kept on with their business, assuring themselves that there was no possible way.

Did these men have hearts of stone or were they simply confused?  Did these men really have threads of bitterness weaving together their beings, and icy cold blood rushing through their veins?  Were the deepest parts of them vying for an innocent man to be killed?  Did peer pressure play a part?  Were they sitting now alone, wondering in their minds if it was really worth it?  Wondering why they really did it?  Could you see the demons in their eyes? Could you see the smirks of a job well done?

Why did they do it?  How did they feel now that it was done?

How was Mary?  Was she full of hope or was she lying in bed, grieving over the most cruel and public loss of her only son, given her by God Himself?  "It's not fair!" did she scream? Joseph maybe tried to act strong for her but when he got alone his heart broke for her.  His heart broke for Jesus.  His heart broke for the world.

What about His disciples?  What were they doing?  How many of them truly believed that He would rise?  How did they pass the time?  Did they sleep?  What about Simon Peter?  How did he go on knowing he betrayed his teacher, his Rabbi, his dear friend?

What was the mood?
Somber or expectant?
Both?

What about the people He healed?  What about the blind He made see and the lame He made walk? What about the lepers He made clean?  Of what account could they have to dispute?  They had to believe, right?  They had to believe He would rise.  They had no other choice.  Right?

What about the bystanders, the ones who kicked and stoned and mocked and spit at Jesus?  What were they feeling?  Were they feeling like their useless little actions made them feel a part of something grand?  Did they pride their "importance?"  Did they lift up their chins at their revolutionary behavior, their uprising, their unwavering quest for justice and truth in the world?  Did they wave their flags and clap their hands now that they had won?

Or did they feel ashamed?  When the earth shook did they know?  Did they know then that maybe it was all true?  When the veil was torn did they believe?  Did they believe that maybe He was the King, just like He said?

When they saw a man in sheer and utter agony, dying right in front of their faces, covered with lashes and bruises with their names on them, were they moved at all?  When he hung His head, were theirs still raised?  Was that picture ingrained in their memory?  Did it haunt them?  Was every face they saw His?  Was every dream they had of Him? Was every scream they heard like His?  Did it begin to wear down on them, change them?  Could they never get it out of their heads?

Did they believe?  Did they finally believe?

What's it going to take?

What's it going to take to move this world, this nation, this city, this person right beside you?  Where do they fall on this spectrum?  How do they feel about Jesus?  Are they close to believing, do they hate Him, are they scared to go to him, ashamed?  Are they grieving, still?  Does sin still hold them down as all they can see when they look at the cross is that vivid picture of an innocent body, hanging there, pinned there by their very own sin, with no sign of the resurrection to be seen?  He's still there to them.  They look into His pierced side and they see themselves.  Their sin, it killed Him.  Their sin, it kills them.

Are they waiting?  Are they expectant?  Are they hopeful?  Do they believe He will rise?  Did all the promises He made before He died even matter?

Are they proud?  Are they set on equality and revolutionary morality, an ethical deity?  They believe that they live a life deserving something from their own selves and their own standing. Don't they know that which we deserve by that standard is fire?  Don't they know instead they have righteousness?  Don't they know that that's exactly why Jesus came?  Oh, don't they know that's exactly why Jesus died? But are they proud to hang Him there?  Do they march with the gods of love and not the God that is love?  They feel proud to throw that one stone, hit that one nail as hard as they can and then walk away with tears in their eyes as if the nail found its own way into His hand.  Their sin does not affect them.  Life is easier with Jesus under their control.  His truth is diluted to their liking and some may rear their fists back to hit Him while feeling a little unsettled about it.  An inner conflict, an inner war: "Can I take all?  How much?  How much of this man is true?  Why do I feel like this man is changing me?  I don't know Him.  I only want a little.  He won't affect my whole life!  Just one stone and I'll be done.  Then I will turn from my ways and follow Him.  Just one more nail and I will be finished.  It will be finished."

It is finished.

"He can have my all...but no, that's offensive.  Okay, yes I believe Him and believe that He is Lord and I know it's taken me a while to get here but now I feel good.  I feel good. He makes me feel warm and fuzzy.  It's all pretty.  I mean I saw Him die.  I believe it.  I know He will rise.  I believe it.  But when it gets messy, I'm out.  Some of that stuff He stands for seems contradictory to me.  Why would a loving man not let me feel the way I want to feel?  Why would a loving man not let me do what I want to do, be who I want to be?  Why would a loving man not care about my preferences, what works best for me?

Why would this man who died in my place because of my sin not let this life be about me?

Oh.

Do you get it now?

Jesus did more than just stand for righteousness.

He died for it.

And He's not standing anymore.
He's seated at the right hand of God.

So now, no matter how you feel, no matter where you fall, no matter what you believe about the resurrection of Jesus the Christ, you have a different story.  We all have a different story.

We know how it ends.