Of Lawyers, Judges, and What's On Your Back

"I wish I'd never done it," she said, describing a post-college year of late-night dance clubs, too much alcohol, and men with unfamiliar names the next morning. Regret brimmed up and over her eyelashes now, and she twisted her blonde hair absentmindedly.

Photo: David, Creative Commons, cc license

We hugged in the crowded auditorium. I knew this woman, knew her heart, and knew that her history no longer defined her. It never really had, actually.

But we are the ones who pick up and slap labels on ourselves the fastest, the hardest. I do this. You do too. God lavishes us with forgiveness, compassionate understanding, and love, while we trail behind, dragging our feet and not quite believing he means what he says.

I've been reading the biblical book of Romans, where Paul marshals his arguments like a young John Grisham. In lean hard prose, Paul strips away any credentials religious people were scrambling for to prove their morality, and he shreds any excuses the irreligious grabbed as reasons for not getting to know the God of the universe.

On equal footing before the God of the world, loved deeply by the Creator who knows their names, humankind's verdict is clear, concise.

"This righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace..." (Romans 3:22-24).

Whether you are ragged with regrets or worn out from scrambling to feel like a good person, we stand on equal footing before the God who loves us. In the week after Easter, we stand before a judge who says, "I've paid that price, paid the fine, paid the fee. Do you accept this gift?"

Labels are gone. Histories don't define us. They never have. The God of the world stands waiting...
 

How to Never Have to Prove Yourself Again

Photo: Leigh Righton, Creative Commons, cc license

I'm sipping French pressed coffee and munching on red licorice, a breakfast of champions. In my ear a computer customer service agent talks me through steps to establish my identity for an annual renewal program. It's convoluted and frightening, the blue screens circling endlessly, dead-ending on the same screen each time.

And what is it about proving our identities that lands us in this same cycle? I see it in marriages, in sibling-parent relationships, and in boyfriend-girlfriend cycles. Too often we fall into loops of behavior or relating to each other that dead ends, bringing us back to the same blue ending. 

And I see it often, how we use words and facial expressions to send messages, but how frequently they are decoded wrongly and misunderstood. It can cause laughter, or raised eyebrows, raised voices, hurt, and frustration. Do you see it too?

I see it in my home sometimes also, sadly, and we're working on that. My man and I are carving our way through this new season. Choosing daily to try gentle tones, respectful voices, and affirming yet assertive communication, it is harder than it would seem, and we crash miserably in some conversations.

Sunday, while splashing dishes in the sink and planning our day, words sliced and cut in ignorance. We stood, recoiling, wondering how to retrace, recapture, restore. Water slid from the faucet and all was quiet. Fiery minds struggled for words, God's spirit whispered balm to both of us, and we raced through memory rooms for any psychological tools we could find.

A timed departure halted further forays, and we retreated, replaying sentences in our minds, striving to say them better, flushed faces still hot.

The temptation in that moment was to turn inward, replaying the hurt, and rekindling the fire. My battle (perhaps yours too, friend?) is to stop, remember who I really am, and to respond. Because my identity doesn't need to be fought for, proven, or carved out. It has been established, created, and sculpted by a Master Artist. I simply need to remember it, and live clothed in it.

Several hour later, my man and I sidled close in the kitchen, toes touching across the linoleum. Strapping on psychology tools and the Creator's guidance, we spoke again, expressing ourselves, re-stating some things, extending apologies and gentle grace.

And the cycle stopped, the blue screen disappeared, and life was well again, at least in real life.

(My computer problems still exist. Aiye! Pray?) 

He Came in from the Woods and He Said It Straight Up

He came in from the woods and he said it straight up.

It was evident he knew who he was. 

It wasn't his family name, or his dad's career. It wasn't a past accomplishment he'd been hanging onto with fingers tight.

He just came in from the woods and the wild, and he said it straight up.

To the ones still wondering. To the ones still scrambling and scraping and building their names. To the ones still sweating and posturing.

He knew who he was.

His papa must have whispered it in his ears as a boy. The story of how his dad's name had been called, assigned to a task by the tumbling of dice and stones. It was his turn, a one-time chance. His dad had beamed, soberly dressing with care, straightening shirt lines, pressing away wrinkles on his way to work. 

Had he seen to everything? Was all in place? wondered his dad, lips set, heart beating quickly.

And then there was the door. Jewish priests entered here only twice a year. Stepping inside, he busied himself with the incense at the altar. Prayers of his people, the fire burned, raising the fragrance high. 

Suddenly an angel stood at the altar, calling him by name, "Zechariah." Telling of a coming child, the angel spoke of this man who would turn people's hearts to God. "His name will be John." 

Decades later, he came in from the woods and he said it straight up, to the ones who were wondering and scrambling, still building their names.

"I am the voice of one calling in the wilderness, 'Make straight the way for the Lord.'"

And his certainty strikes me. Whether from his parents' accounts of his origins, or from continued conversations with his Creator, John knew who he was. Striding back into civilization after years in the wilderness, he knew who he was when people asked him, and he knew what God's word said about his role.

Who are you? Who am I? What does God say about us? 

(Photo credit here.)

What to Wear Every Day

Good morning! Grab a cup of coffee and join me. Moist pear tart mingles with dark roast coffee, and I admit that this is my second pastry this morning, leftovers from a Bridal Shower this last Saturday.

Nine women, old and young, circled in an off-white parlor. Delicate dried lavender sprigs crested our rolled napkins, and our plates struggled valiantly to hold up the scrumptious brunch. 

The Bride’s neck and shoulders became increasingly hidden under vivid scarves during an object lesson of the devotional. Attendees stood, draped a new colorful scarf around her, and read aloud the words on their slips of paper. Forgiven, Redeemed, Bought with a price, Not my own, Lavished with love, Daughter of the king, Work of art, God’s masterpiece, Created, Chosen, Good things planned for in advance, Co-heirs with Jesus, Partners in the Gospel, Reconciler, Ambassador, Jesus’ Bride. By the end, we were all a bit quiet as the words sunk deep into us.

Linking with Ann and Duane, I’m counting God's gifts today:

• A sunny youth group bike trip and camp-out this last Friday
• Midnight talks in canvas tents
• Seeing the stars through a screened tent ceiling
• Time with old friends on Saturday, walks in the dark, and car conversations
• Moist tarts, caramel pear halves, and amazingly artistic friends
• Laughter, hugs and conversations with my kids
• Hammock hideaways in tall leafy trees

 “I delight greatly in the Lord;

My soul rejoices in my God.

For he has clothed me with garments of salvation

And arrayed me in a robe of righteousness

As a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest,

And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.”(Isaiah 61:10)

Hi, I love talking with you. What has your weekend been like? Want to count gifts here with me today?