God is Not a Cosmic Chastity Belt

Tiny ice balls pelt the windshield and bounce off the car. Sidewalks and roads glisten slick. Three-to-four inches of heavy snow loom in grey clouds overhead, and evening traffic snakes red along the highways and frontage roads. Sirens and ricocheting blue lights careen down dark streets.

Photo Credit: Flickr user Paola Kizette Cimenti, Creative Commons cc license

In this last post in our series, Let's Talk about Sex, I turn words inward towards my former twenty-year old self and to all my single friends, no matter their ages. All this talk of snow reminds me of the confused messages I've heard -- and sometimes accidentally implied in youth lessons. God is not a cosmic chastity belt. He is not a frowning father shaking his head, trying to keep his kids'  bodies snow-pure, as if sex or sexuality shocked him. God is not scandalized and disgusted by sex. Rather he is the inventor of nerves and neurons, of sensations and senses. He holds the patent on pleasure and neural pathways, on endorphins and oxytocin baths.

God's guidelines on sex are not archaic restrictions to stop our fun. Rather his desire is for our good, and his boundaries are for our safety. Throughout history, God has been the hero stepping in to say, "Enough!" at each new horrific warping of sexuality that the evil one and a cruel world wrought: Child-sex trafficking -- not okay. Incest or abuse, not okay. Destitute men or women forced into a lifestyle of prostitution -- not their fault and God advocates for their rescues. Single moms or dads raising kids on their own -- God cares for them and knows how hard they work. His perfect plan is a shared load, raising children in community. Spouses divorced cruelly, unfairly, for no reason, left as paupers with no financial or social support in society -- God calls foul and sets up parameters for their protection and care.

In my twenties, I wrestled with forgiving myself for physical forays and failures, and I see that in many of my teens' or former teens' eyes now. Girls across restaurant tables who have said, "I'm afraid they'll look at me differently now they know I've had sex." 

"No!," I urge. "God's love is unconditional, and he is so forgiving. Everyone wrestles with sin at times. No one is perfect. If you've had a chance to ask God to forgive you, it's gone. God says, 'he is faithful to forgive and to cleanse us from any unrighteousness.' You can start fresh right now, a new day, a new start, saying, 'God, from now on, I wanna try to do things your way.' God's love is so big."

With the teens and twenty-somethings in my life, we talk about how hard the physical can be. We talk about how God's ways of saying, 'Not yet. Just wait until marriage' are for our good. We pull out the statistics on co-habiting and how it drastically increases one's odds of divorce. Looking around at the prevalence of divorce and eroded marriages around us, I reason, if we really love this guy/girl, let's give this relationship the best odds and chances we can, right? We talk as well about how much this choosing to delay sexual play until marriage is about growing habits of self-control for later in life too, not just now. There will be weekend business trips for you or your spouse someday. As you practice being able to walk away from temptation now, you are building that habit for later in life. With the large number of affairs happening around us, don't we owe this to ourselves, to practice this habit and build it in each other?

My worry with the snow analogies, with junior high abstinence pledge cards, and with the hyper-focus on technical virginity, is the danger that we'll miss the bigger picture. Yes, I want to honor God with my sexual choices before and after marriage. Yes, God talks about saving sex for marriage. Indeed he talks bluntly and cheerfully about a wide range of sex topics impacting single and married people. He does this not because he is uptight and shocked, but because he created, invented, and made sex. As the inventor of it and us, he knows how it best works, and what brings the most joy and benefit.

God is not your cosmic chastity belt. Instead, he holds the instruction manual and keys to a fabulous invention he patented. In our desire to protect young people from the pains and fall-out associated with sex outside of marriage, and after generations of muddled, awkward, inadequate "birds and bees" conversations, we have left them thinking sex was dirty or something to be ashamed of. And dozens of newly-weds have since wrestled with the fallout of changing their attitudes of "Sex-No!" to "Sex Now."

It's complicated, yeah? I agree, but the good news is that we can start over. Look deep and see all that God has to say about sex and marriage. The Bible drips with it. In marriage, sex is a delightful gift. So to my single friends trying to live out their Jesus-life convictions, it's not "Sex -- No!" It's "Sex, Not Yet..." and I'm cheering you on from the side and available to talk anytime.

(If you missed the first, second, and third article in this series, Let's Talk about Sex, feel free to click on the links and join us.)

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A Mission that Will Self-Destruct in Ten, Nine, Eight...

My daughter and her friend spread watercolor pigments, paint brushes, drawing pencils, and textured feathery paper across our dining room table.

Photo Credit: Flickr user Mike Wallis, Creative Commons cc license

"Mom, can you click on the Nutcracker Pandora station?" she asks, just a few bars into a Vivaldi song. Tchaikovsky must feel more inspirational to her tonight. The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies wafts through the room, and conversation caves into reflective brushstrokes.

I open my computer screen and turn to words, my preferred mode of art. And these words have been running through my head all week since seeing them buried in an ancient Old Testament Bible book.

In that history, God has pulled a prophet (these men and women who have been chosen to speak God's messages) into a heart-wrenching assignment. The mission, if he chooses to accept it, is to experience God's heart on a gut-level intimacy. 

Hosea took the mission and stepped knowingly into the pain, but I cannot imagine that lessened the agony. His mission? Marry an unfaithful woman, knowing that she'll keep running away from you. Woo her again and again. Don't give up on her, even when she chooses other men, and falls into a life of prostitution.

Throughout the years, Hosea pursues her, speaking tenderly to her, and welcoming her home. "Stop this other life. Leave these men." 

Eventually, his wife, Gomer, has become enslaved. Bringing money, Hosea pays the price to free her from the debt and lovingly brings her home.

Stringing words together in fluent poetry, God delivers the punchline: This is how humans treat me. This is how my creation responds to me. But, more importantly, this is how I feel about them.  "Therefore I will now allure her. I will lead her into the wilderness and speak tenderly to her," a deep-voiced God says about his people, his world. 

Turning to Hosea, God explains. My people should return to me. My love for them is unending. His cue, and the phrase that has been running through my mind all week, is this:

               "Take words and return,"

I find that powerful.

Have any rifted relationships? With people? With God? Take words with you and return. Say sorry. God promises: I will heal you and love you freely.

Besides... his love has been chasing you already. Through the streets, through your stories, and through your storms, he has been following, saying, I will lead her and speak tenderly. I will allure her with a never-stopping, never-giving-up love. 

Take words and return.

My daughter and her friend have picked up the brushes, turned off the music, and left the room. God's art, however, swirls and eddies on in vibrant color.

When Words Cut and Slash

Photo Credit: Andrew Blight, Creative Commons, cc license

Black, white, blue and cream hangers twist jumbled on the couch. Metal and plastic angles dig and coil, arching uselessly; sharp ends jabbing, blunt sides hiding, nestling under layers; and the hangers are ensnared.

He runs and hides, giggling maniacally, shoving dryer-hot clothes into wrinkled piles, and slipping under shirts. The fun is lost on me and I scowl and call him out. He squeals and burrows further, unaware that he is past his bedtime, past his mom's patience, past the silly zone.

And my words, they jab and coil, digging angular into soft edges, tumbling twisted to the ground. Scooping under warm laundry, I swoop up my five year old, and carry him squirming to the bathroom for last minute bedtime details. I'm ensnared in fiery emotions, spiraling hot and impatient, and my mom-skills are jumbled, useless, bundled on the side.

He tantrums and cries, while my insides sigh weary, and suddenly I calm.

"Daniel, I'm sorry. I messed up." I talk gently and touch his toes, helping him arrange his pyjama pants. "Even though you need to obey when I talk to you, I still got too angry. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"

He softens, and I'm regretful and sad. We wash hands, head to his room, and turn off lights. He climbs his bunk bed, while I turn on the fan, and clear a path through the toys. Leaning on tiptoes, I swipe hair back from his face, kiss him some more, and apologize again. Playing with his caramel-colored hair, we close eyes, talk to Jesus, and say sorry to him too. We murmur gently in the dark room, talk of tomorrow, and I kiss his tiny cheeks.

Walking back into a quiet living room, I'm still saddened by my sharp words that dug and coiled. They lay twisted around me in my mind, but I bring them to God and talk to him.

Minutes pass in silence, and I tidy up the house, unconsciously.

"Mom?" he calls faintly from the bedroom.

"What, bud?"

"I'm happy now!" he declares, and my shoulders soften too, a smile stealing across my face.

How Do I Thank God for THAT?

 I pour myself another cup of coffee and hear a semi truck's rumbling exhales on the road outside. A friend's question has been tumbling through my head this last week and a half.

"I know I can thank God for even the hard things in my life -- and with hindsight now, I can see where he's brought beauty in those things -- but in my child's life?" she types. " To thank him for abuse in her life? How do I do that? Am I supposed to?"

The question hangs in cyberspace as I read it, ponder it, and then walk away to give it the thought it deserves. In the busy two weeks that follow, it tickles my brain.

At two women's retreats, I join other lovely speakers to talk on the theme of "Chased by Grace." In my sessions on Nehemiah, we walk through hope-infused stories of a refugeed people standing up from the rubble in their lives, strapping on swords, and rousing to "Fight for your brothers, your sons and daughters, your husbands and wives, and your homes."   "...And our God is fighting for us!" Nehemiah yells. Again and again in that historical account from the 400s BC, we see God's huge hand bringing beauty from rubble. An expert Architect, he rebuilds the ruins of a city and the ruins of peoples' lives. And he did it in such a way that the enemies and surrounding nations realized that "this work had been done with the help of our God." 

Back home from the retreats, a blonde-haired friend and I text about an upcoming informational breakfast against human trafficking. In addition to going, we decide to sponsor a table, rallying more people to fight against human trafficking and to rescue women and teens. (Want to join us? Nov. 2 in Minneapolis. It's free! Let me know.) We talk details and I slip my red phone back into the wooden bowl on the counter. Thinking of young girls and guys trapped in sexual slavery sinks sadness into me. Even that, God? What does it look like to give thanks in everything?

Curled up on the couch with my Bible and study materials, I come across the familiar verse in 1 Thessalonians 5:18 ("...in everything, give thanks...") and suddenly a grammar preposition changes everything. It didn't say "FOR everything, give thanks" but "IN everything" -- like through everything, in all circumstances, not for all circumstances.

This freedom, then, to not have to say thank you for abuse on children, for cancer in healthy cells, for poverty around the world-- for whatever hard things wait for you back home.

This injunction, this invitation, to-- in all circumstances-- still thank God: 
-that he is big enough to handle even this
-that he can be trusted to rebuild this ruin and bring beauty from even this
-that he has a track record of restoring and redeeming the broken fallout of other humans' bad choices. 

This tremulous release of opening hands to say, Okay, even in this, even in this, somehow...

-That even in our dark moments, in our hurt and pain, we can cry out like David in the Psalms, "Lord, slay the wicked!" and you get even that, God.

-That you are the Perfect Judge before whom we must all stand one day and give an account for every word and deed.

And that you are in the business of restoring lives, rescuing the widows and the orphans, and you call us to "Stand up and fight (alongside you)." Fight for your brothers, your sisters, your sons and daughters, your husbands/wives, your nieces and nephews, your grand-kids, and neighbors. "Our God will fight for us!" 

And, in this, I can give thanks and unclench my hands.

I love hearing from you. What hard things can you list in the "even this..." pile? (Those getting this via email can click here to join the conversation.)

(Linking with Emily.)

Photo credit. 

 Note: Perpetrators still need to be reported, processed, punished; survivors still need to be believed, rescued, counseled. For a helpful poignant book on surviving abuse, I appreciated Mary DeMuth's book "Thin Places."

To All Of Us With Rings

Photo credit to K. Overson

There's something about watching wedding vows from shiny wooden benches in the sunlight. Grey storm clouds that hung ominously overhead all afternoon, suddenly slipped away, and family and friends straightened in the unexpected heat. The bride, with a cut-out lacy back repeated her "I do" vows in giddy joy, and I watched her fair skin pinken in the hot September sun. The groom in swirled dark hair stared steady at his bride, proud wonder and amazement seeping from him.

A violinist, guitarist and pianist joined several vocalists in the golden grass to our left, and music floated under blue skies. Bride and groom spoke promises to each other, and I leaned into my husband's side, tracing his gold ring on his tanned finger. He turned and glanced at me, smiling softly, brown hair streaked with slight silver now. We kissed gently, and turned back to watch the vows.

There's something about watching wedding vows from shiny wooden benches in the sunlight that raises in me joy, nostalgia, and gratitude, and yet an awareness this weekend of my own brokenness and flaws. The pastor spoke of sacrificial love that was willing to die for a spouse, and yet often our hardest sacrificial choices are the day-to-day smaller ones. I sat in sunlight, a light flashed onto my own discrepancies.

We huddled close that afternoon as twilight fell, the sunlight disappeared, and grey clouds rushed in. Over wedding toasts, bride and groom games, and guest laughter and conversations, the cold crept in. We dug out fleeces and blankets, sharing between friends, and draping ourselves in overly-large jackets to stay warm. Sipping caramel coffee creations and Indian spiced chai's, my man and I sat close, laughing with others, and exchanging glances through the night.

On the car ride home that night, we talked quietly, affirming love for each other, apologizing for our brokenness some days, and leaning in close. "God is bigger than all this, Jen," Mark said, picturing my struggles, his struggles, and everyone's struggles. "He is patient and good."

This morning, he melts chocolate chips into our home-made hot chocolates, and we hug and pray together before I head out the door. We text a few times, intentional and kind, building each other up, and speaking truth into our relationship.

God is bigger than any of our sins or bad habits or attitudes. He is patient with us, forgiving, and good. He is fighting for us, friend. And marriages are worth it.

Linking with Ann at A Holy Experience. 

Hosea, a Hooker, and God's Love for You

Talk about a potential for ministry burn-out!  

In the ancient Middle East between 792-753 BC, the Creator called Hosea into ministry with an unusual assignment. Marry an unfaithful woman. Know that she will repeatedly cheat on you, and lapse into prostitution. But love her and invest in her anyway.

 

As the ultimate Teacher, God enjoys using object lessons to grab his learners’ attention with wild, unconventional methods. Throughout time, he has asked his prophets to dig holes through solid city walls, to break jars, to bury twigs, to tie themselves up for a period of time, and to even run around with no pants on. He’s a wild God, isn’t he?

Each of those assignments had a vivid point to make, showing God’s power, love, and plans for his people, despite hard times. Hosea’s assignment was no different. 

“My people’s hearts keep wandering away from me,” the Creator confided to Hosea. “There is no faithfulness, no love, no acknowledgment of God in the land… She has not acknowledged that I was the one who gave her the grain, the new wine and oil, who lavished on her the silver and gold.” 

“She went after her lovers, but me she forgot.” 

“Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her,” mused the heartsick Creator. “I will make the valley… a door of hope. There she will sing as in the days of her youth.” 

You are being wooed. You are being allured. The Creator longs for relationship with you.

Whatever your past, whatever your history with him, he longs for relationship with you. He chases after you. He is heartsick for you, and he is a God of reconciliation. 

Need a door of new hope? Want to sing like in the early days? He is calling you into the desert and speaking tenderly to you…

Photo credits

An Espresso Machine Between the Eyes

Recently, my sister and I met in a Scandinavian bakery on a snowy night. Huge snowflakes covered our cars within minutes, and I laughed as I tried to catch snowflakes on my tongue while walking in. Partway through the night, fearful shrieks and a hissing noise cut through the calm cafe. The espresso machine was malfunctioning dangerously and two female baristas scrambled to turn off the machine and get out of the way. Mixed coffee drinks were off the menu until a repairman could arrive.

That image returned to my mind this week as I was studying Isaiah. (You, my reader friends, know that we have been talking about Isaiah often, including here, here, and here as it leaks onto the blog from my time in God's word these last few months.) Anyway, Isaiah 43:7 delineates, "Everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made," and verses 21-24 continue that thought with "...the people I formed for myself that they may proclaim my praise."

"YET, you have not called upon me, O Jacob,
           you have not wearied yourself for me, O Israel.
           You have not brought me sheep for burnt offerings,
                           nor honored me with your sacrifices.

I have not burdened you with grain offerings,
          nor wearied you with demands for incense.

You have not bought any fragrant calamus for me,
                or lavished on me the fat of your sacrifices.

BUT you have burdened me with your sins,
          and wearied me with your offenses."

Wow... I circled and reviewed the verses, scrawling quickly across my journal. The mirror poetry and words were powerful to me.

Along with the Jewish nation, God formed us so we could proclaim his praise. 
But, very often, I/ we?
        we don't fulfil our purpose.
        We don't call on him.
        We don't weary ourselves for him.
        We don't bring him sacrifices of our time, energy, or money as praise for him.
        We haven't honored him with our tithes, when we do give.

He says HE hasn't placed burdensome or wearisome demands on us -- his creations.

He says we/I haven't made an effort to spend time connecting with him in prayer (calamus is linked with incense and prayer), or lavished on him the best part of my time, energy, resources, as extravagant praise to him.

Rather, we -- I --burdened him with my sins, and
                          wearied him with my offenses.

Wow! Where do you go when a gentle God lays it on the line like this? What's next when he so boldly, plainly lays it bare?

We malfunctioned. We did not deliver. We are a broken product.

Silence. Sadness. A still quiet. He's right. My pen stopped writing and I sat in silence. He's right.

What words are next? His mouth opens and the very next verse spills out like water in the desert.

"I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more" (vs. 25).

Forgiveness, grace, and a restoration that humbles me.

The repairman has come and gone, and I am working properly now. I will proclaim his praises. Thank you, God.

This journal and Bible time may have just been for me this week. But it hit me, and I pray that God uses it mightily in your life too. Humbly, sitting quietly and happily proclaiming his praise, I'm your Jennifer. I'd love to hear what is on your brain this week, or how I can pray with you.

My Sixteen Year Old Son Writes a Letter Back through Time

In cramped angular letters on blue lined notebook paper, my son wrote a letter to a young single mom.

This woman received nothing but judgment and scorn from the people in her town. Alone for three years in a new frontiers town with no word from her husband, she feared he was dead. Finding friendship in a gentle man, they fell into temptation and into an affair. Found out to be with child, the town erupted against her.

Are you familiar with this story? Set in New England in the 1700s, Nathaniel Hawthorn, author of The Scarlet Letter, paints a sad stern picture of Puritan values. Different from the humbly beautiful Puritan works that I have seen, Hawthorn must have seen only strict legalism and a fear of revealing personal shortcomings. His Puritan leaders hide their own sin, shame others, and seem to know nothing of redemption and forgiveness.

Hester Prynne, the single mother, and her daughter lived on the outskirts of town. Hester was forever forced to wear a large embroidered A for adultery, and her daughter grew up chased and shunned by neighbor children, morphing into a fearfully broken and bitter child.

This American Literature book that my son and I are reading aloud together for school is so sad. We break from reading and burst out into discussions of what should be happening instead of what is happening in the story.

"John," I finally said this week. "Write Hester Prynne a letter. That's your assignment for today. Tell her all the things God would be telling her... about how people are treating her here, about how God sees us, and about the hope she can have."

Grumbling a little bit about his homschooling mom's odd assignments, he nevertheless grabbed a notebook and headed downstairs to the quiet of his room. Later he emerged with this letter (and gave me permission to use it).

Hi Hester, 

I'm sorry for how people treat you. I feel bad when I read about when people make fun of you and ridicule you for what you did. It makes me annoyed when they keep talking about your sin and act themselves as if they are holy. It's so stupid. Everyone has sin and falls short of the glory of God. 

When that happens in life and when people ridicule you, always remember that they're not perfect either. When you see other people, don't think on what they have done to you or can do to you, but think on how much God loves them, just like he loves you. Think of them as other sinners that God loves and that they're not any better than you. 

Also remember that God can bring glory and goodness out of sin. What you did was sin! But God can overcome that sin and make it into a rainbow with every color showing off God's awesomeness and forgiveness. And also remember that God is the perfect father for your daughter and yourself. 

Sincerely, 

John

Wow! What fun to see my son understanding glimpses into God's huge redemptive character. He's right too that we all wrestle with sin.

Sometimes we Christians still fall into a trap of thinking that we need to look as if our acts are all together and that we have no sin. The truth is we all have sin and junk in our lives that God is working on in us. Our scarlet letters may vary per day. Today my letters were C for critical spirit, U for ungrateful, I for impatient, and Q for quarrelsome.

Thankfully when I bring these letters to God and ask my Abba Daddy for forgiveness, he gives it lavishly. Then, he strips off my letters and throws them away.

Extravagant love. Lavish grace. Wild second and third and fourth chances... Dear Hester Prynne...

What about you? I'm so glad you are here right now. What are you thinking about today? What letters did God strip off you today?

Car Conversations and Teen Talks

She climbed into the back seat of my car two weeks ago. "How was your day?" I asked. Short brown hair falling into her eyes, she buckled her seat belt as we drove away.

After a few minutes of conversation, my teen daughter burst out, the story tumbling from her lips. Someone had made barbed comments several times that day, couched in the term, "It was just a joke."

I listened to my daughter's accounts and tears, reaching back to squeeze her hand as I drove one-handed. We tried to reason out the situation, striving to understand and read pure intentions into the person's actions. Recognizing our own human insecurities, she and I talked of forgiveness, and grace, and love-filled assertive words.

Arriving home, we sat in our driveway for a few minutes to hug, wipe away last tears, and pray for a chance to show unconditional love to this person, while practicing helpful assertive phrases. Then we gathered our belongings and started through the door to prepare lunch.

Once upstairs, God suddenly nudged me. In all of our good psychological responding, I hadn't yet filled Morgan's void up with God's truth of who she was. Rushing downstairs, I grabbed her, pulling her close to me. Whispering in her ears for privacy, I started speaking God's words to her.

"You are loved, precious, highly valued, his child, bought with a price, a daughter of the king, a new creation, the apple of his eye. The king is enthralled with your beauty. He died for you, will rejoice over you with singing, takes great delight in you, carves your name into his hand, gathers up your tears, saves you, calls you his own, created by him, as his masterpiece, created to do great things which he has created in advance for you."

Her tears fell on my shoulder as she melted into me. A sigh shuddered her, and I felt truth course through her. "Thank you, Mom," she whispered, hugging me fiercely. "Thank you, God," I mouthed quietly to my Abba Dad.

What about you? What truths resonate deeply in you about who God says you are? What experiences have you had with teen children and friendships? 

(Update: My daughter is thankful for all the people in her life, and that situation is going much better now.)