Category: 2018

Comparison is a nasty, often subtle, cruel game that we play. Men and women alike are duped into various editions of the game of “Me vs. Them”.

This detrimental game we play is rarely confined to childhood and adolescent years. Many of us carry comparisons well into adulthood — perhaps even throughout our entire lives. It can become a constant toxic mindset of seeing someone else’s grass through green, lush glasses, and failing to recognize that your own grass is just as green. Perhaps your lawn just needs some fertilizer. (Take that metaphor however you wish.)

Let me tell you from experience, it takes work to stop playing the game. Why? Because nearly everyone and everything around you invites you to play it. Media portrays ideals for body image, clothing, jobs, houses, vehicles, relationships, happiness, and so forth; and our self-gratification-saturated society will try to convince you that if you do not have what you see on a screen or billboard or magazine page, then you are missing an essential ingredient to happiness and fulfillment. Even if you manage to stay away from popular culture-generated ideals, you do not have to look far to see a friend or colleague or acquaintance who has something in their life that you seem to lack.

I could give you paragraphs of how this comparison game has played out in my head. Oh yes, I have experienced some emotional, spiritual, and mental casualties resulting from trying to be something that I am not.

The problem with — and, I submit, the solution to — this comparison game is that I can only ever be me. There are many things I will never be because those things are intrinsic to the make-up of another person. But there are many equally wonderful, beautiful, important things that I will ever be because they are God-given intrinsic threads in the fabric of me.

I may never be like ____________.
But I will ever be myself.
And as God’s grace has begun to wash the scales of comparison from my eyes, it is increasingly my desire
to ever be
who God made me
to be
to the best of my ability.

Never try to be him or her. You cannot.
But ever be the person that God made you to be.

 

Anxiety will never ask you for permission.

“Hey, can I come wreak havoc on your mind for awhile?”

No, it doesn’t work like that. If it did, none of us would struggle with it. Although many of us find familiar bondage more comfortable than unfamiliar freedom, I don’t think any of us would choose to keep on being anxious. Ridiculous…

Or would we?

I cross-examine myself internally on this notion of  f r e e d o m . Because as I sit here typing, I am fighting against that age-old enemy called the spirit of anxiety. It nags and pulls and yells and throws a fit inside my head, and my spirit tells it to back off. And my theology says, “Take every thought captive”, and “do not be anxious about anything”.

Come to Me…

Yes, anxiety will often just present itself, and suddenly I find it is bombarding my mental highways and threatening my peace.
But at the same time, the Prince of Peace challenges it — and me — head on.

Amy, I’ve conquered this. It doesn’t have to rule you. 

And at this moment I find myself asking Him for the grace to not be anxious.
Do not be anxious, the Spirit says.
And my spirit replies, “Yes, Lord.”
And my feelings keep yelling.
But the truth is, He holds all that I am anxious about in His hands.
He won’t cast me out because of my anxiety. No matter how irrational it is, He won’t laugh at me for it.
But He will invite me to rest.
My feelings will go hysterical,
But He will challenge me with Truth.

My feelings say “Worry!”
But the Truth says Trust.

My feelings say “Be anxious!”
But the Truth says Do not.

My feelings…
But Truth.

My–
TRUTH.

* T R U T H *

 

Be still.

 

 

Autumn has a way of stealthily creeping up on me. Its silent footsteps can only be perceived in the turning leaves. Its presence is subtly detected as its chilled breath mingles with the mild zephyrs of summer; not quite wintery, still possessing a hint of green warmth. I recognize its entrance gradually, until it comes upon the world around me in full, vibrant force. And I know that it will suddenly, quite complacently, succumb to the frosted grasp of winter’s hand, bending to the white and grey until no trace of golden autumn remains.

This romantic, sensuous, somewhat foreboding picture hails the opening of a new chapter, the turning over of a new leaf (pun intended). Summer was a short, flushed whirlwind of work, rest, fellowship, healing, pondering, wandering, wondering. Without much warning, it has quickly given way to the focused, refreshing blast of fall, both in the natural changes outside and circumstantial changes of a new academic year.

As fall comes and goes, without asking anyone’s permission, I find it is always accompanied by a downpour of “the new”. Not just a new school year, a new season, a new stack of textbooks. New life, new heartache, new challenges, new responsibilities, new relationships, new trepidations, new expectations. Just, well, new about many things. It is exciting, overwhelming, scary, unsettling, delightful, sobering.

And here, at the threshold of this fifth chapter of my university career, I find myself reeling at the tidal wave of changes and newishness before me. It has not knocked the breath out of me just yet, but I know it very well could. I am not immune to the over-busyness that characterizes so many students’ lives.
But as a wise person once told me: when life gets busy, God always gives an extra measure of grace.

Although it will feel — and perhaps already feels — like I am drinking from a fire hose, I simultaneously stand under a waterfall of grace to cover, carry, bear up, overshadow, and shelter me through this next year.

The season changes. And the grace just keeps coming.

I remember that morning like it was yesterday. Lazarus was very sick, nearing death. As I cared for him, I remembered all that I had seen and heard of Jesus – His miracles, and now especially, I remembered the healings He had done. But He was across the Jordan River – nearly twenty miles away. It didn’t take long for Mary and I to decide that Jesus needed to know about Lazarus. He loved our brother. He would want to know that His friend was sick. If Jesus came, He would heal Lazarus.

I called for a messenger.
“Make haste,” I told him, “Take this message to Jesus of Nazareth. Say to Him: ‘Lord, the one You love is sick.’”
I was hopeful. If Jesus could get here in time, Lazarus would be healed.
But shortly after we had sent the messenger on his way, our fear was realized.

Lazarus died. Our brother, our provider – dead.

We began the traditional burial preparations immediately. I went through the motions numbly. Mary and I lead the burial procession outside of the village to the tombs. I couldn’t help thinking, If He had been here, my brother would not have died. As people came from Jerusalem to mourn with us, I thought,
If He had been here, our brother would be alive.

The next day the messenger returned. But Jesus was not with him. Our Master did not come. And anyway, now it was too late. I would not see my brother again until the last day, the day when all the people of God are resurrected from the dead. The scriptures about resurrection and eternal life were our only comfort.

But if He had been here, my brother would not have died… 

It was the fourth day since Lazarus’ burial. The week-long rituals continued. We were surrounded by mourners.
I was sitting in the house with my sister, trying to console her. Somebody approached me with an urgent expression.

Jesus is coming.

I didn’t lose a moment. I left Mary without a word, and ran to meet Him. I kept thinking about the scriptures’ promise of the resurrection. And I thought how, if Jesus had come, if we had sent for Him a little sooner, Lazarus might still be here…

When I came to Him outside the village, my thoughts came tumbling from my lips.
“Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.” He looked at me.
“But I know that even now God will give You whatever You ask.”

“Your brother will rise again,” He said to me.

“I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day,” I replied, thinking of the scriptures I had been reading.

“I am the resurrection and the life,” He said. “The one who believes in Me will live even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in Me will never die.” He looked steadily at me. “Do you believe this?”

“Yes, Lord,” I responded, a little exasperated. Why did He question my belief? “I believe that You are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.”

With that, He wanted to see Mary and asked me to go and get her; so, I ran back to the house. His words resounded in my mind: I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in Me will live even though they die…

I found Mary just as I had left her.
“Mary,” I said, “The Teacher is here, and is asking for you.”
Without saying anything, she got up and ran out the door. I followed her to where Jesus was waiting. She ran to Him. I saw my sister fall to the ground at His feet, sobbing.

“Lord!” she cried, “if You had been here, my brother would not have died.”
Jesus looked troubled. “Where have you laid him?” came the gentle voice.
“Come and see, Lord,” we said to Him.

And then I heard His sobs.
Jesus wept.
The Messiah cried for the loss of His friend. He cried for our loss.

Mary and I lead Him to the tomb.
“See how He loved him!”, I heard someone whisper.
“Could not He who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” said another. Their questions echoed what I had been thinking those recent days.

 Jesus came with us to the tomb. The stone was rolled over the entrance.
“Take away the stone.”
I looked at Him, shocked to hear His command.
“But, Lord,” I protested, “by this time there is a bad odour, for he has been there four days.” I studied my Lord’s face. His cheek was stained with tears.

He looked at me. “Did I not tell you,” He said, “that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

The only way I could seem to respond was to motion for some men to move the stone. We stood well away from the tomb, expecting a horrible stench.

Jesus looked up to the sky. “Father,” He prayed, “I thank You that You have heard Me. I know that You always hear Me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that You sent Me.”

I looked at Him steadily. I watched as He looked down and toward the open cave.

“Lazarus!” He called, “Come out!” I pulled my eyes from His face to the tomb.

I couldn’t believe what I saw!
A man emerged from the dark entrance of the tomb. A man – my brother! – wrapped in grave clothes from his head to his feet. The mourners gasped. Mary and I stood speechless.

My Lord’s voice interrupted my astonishment.
“Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”

If You had been there, my brother would not have died.

I will never forget how He replied to me.

“I am the resurrection and the life.” I still do not understand what exactly He meant. All I know is that my brother was dead, and now he lives. All I know is that Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah that was promised in the scriptures, and even death has to obey His command.

 

Photo by Lynette Anne Photography