When Conflicts Creep in Between Christians...

I love that he accounted for conflict.

Photo: Ed Yourdon, Creative Commons, cc license

My french press Mahogany beans coffee was chilling in the fridge, and the sweetened condensed milk can's metal edges were already cool. I was heading out the door in thirty minutes for a women and kids weekly Park Play-date. I needed to scrounge up an easy lunch for us, but my mind was still on some verses from earlier.

I love that God anticipated the normal ins and outs of relationships. He knew that misunderstandings, grey areas, and disagreements would spring up between people and he wrote that into his book for us.

I've been working my way through the Bible book of Romans, and in Romans chapter 15 this week, I found three tools God gave to help in conflict situations. Now everyone's context is different. For that group of Jesus-following friends, there were some disagreements about foods and days of the week. Who should eat what? What was allowed? What should be outlawed? And we can so easily slap labels on ourselves and others, huh?

Misunderstandings, hurt feelings, and conflict can slide into any friendship or relationship. Sitting on a rock in my flower garden as I read this chapter, two repeated words caught my attention. "Endurance" and "Encouragement" are mentioned in verse four and again in verse five.

After citing the conflicting issues the Italian Roman church friends were having then, God gave Paul three pieces of advice to help resolve their disagreements. First, he pointed to the example of Jesus's death on the cross. Jesus put the needs of others above his own, even dying for his created ones. So, one aspect of working through disagreements and conflict is to carefully weigh the other person's feelings, thoughts, and desires, being willing to put their needs above my own.

Next, God pointed to the Bible-- not only as our source for truth, answers, and wisdom-- but also in the context of solving relational issues. "For everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through endurance and the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope" (vs.4). Last, the next sentence highlights another resource for defusing conflicts: "May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you a spirit of unity among yourselves as you follow Christ Jesus..."(vs. 5).

Do you have a place in your life where you need endurance?  Do you have relationships where you need encouragement? God specializes in that. For any complicated friendships, church relationships, family dynamics, or co-worker situation, isn't it exciting that we have a God who gives endurance and encouragement? I had never thought of God that way before. This God who gives endurance and encouragement.

In addition to being that source for us, God adds that our aim is glorifying God by our unity among Jesus-following people. Verse Five ends with:  "...So that, with one heart and mouth you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ."

When we let divisions, discouragements, and disunity crumble and cluster high between us, we get stuck in pain and isolation. And the world sees disjointed Christians. Stepping in, God can bring beauty and hope. He loves to give endurance, encouragement, and his tools to unify us in our relationships.

It was time to race out to the park. Pouring chilled coffee and sweetened condensed milk into a mug and grabbing an odd assortment of food, my son and I headed for the park. No specific conflicts loomed large overhead that day, but I found it changing how I prayed for people, for my family and friends, and for my own heart. To the God who gives endurance and encouragement, and practical advice for conflict situations.

I'd love to pray with you this week, if you have something going on in your life. Let me know in the comments below or by email.

The Thing To Know on a Day (or Month) of Firsts

 Ahh, this feels good, sitting down to tap fingers on keys. There have been a variety of firsts these last few days.

First night to sleep in the new home on Thursday.

First shower in the new place -- nope, sorry, it wasn't Friday morning. I left grungy and ready for a morning of cleaning the old house and returning the Uhaul truck.

(Don't even ask about the toothbrush. You won't want to know. Apparently, toothbrushes and deodorant will be the items left behind at the old house when moving, in case you wanted to know.  ...Um, Friday evening, if you were wondering.)

First time I brewed coffee in this new house, after ransacking cupboards and boxes to find the beans, the grinder, and the glass French Press.

First sunrises, first sunsets. First time to fully watch where the sun traces shadows and light across the backyard, and calculating where we'll put the raised garden bed frames, still caked with black dirt from our last house's yard.

"Are you excited?" one of my youth group girls asked me, as I drove her to the other house to retrieve her green backpack.

"Well, we like this new house and are thankful to God for it, but we love the old house too. When we moved into the old house we thought we would be there for years, so we settled in, creating memories, dreaming of the future, making plans.

It's like stopping a book, halfway through," I grinned at Michael, glancing over at her as I shifted up in gears on the quiet road. A fellow book lover and artist, she gets this.

"Now I'm in a new book, and it's a great book, but it feels odd to have stopped reading the other book, only halfway through." Our two years in the other house felt like introductory chapters, with the plot just starting to pull together.

"This will be a great book too, I know," I said, smiling at Michael as we pulled into the driveway, "but we're feeling mixed emotions and some sadness too at saying goodbye."

Wednesday morning and afternoon, my parents and close friend Shari and I dug up raspberry, strawberry, and rhubarb plants from the old house. We hoisted out withered-looking ferns, white shasta daisies, and yellow-budded flowers. Fingering through moist soil, we combed and fretted out innocuous gnarled bulbs of tulips, crocuses, and tall purple alliums. Hauling buckets of dirt and plants into our vehicles, we drove them to the new house. Before any tables or couches saw the inside of the new house, we spent the day slicing into soil and grass, burying roots and fragile wisps of life, anticipating their future beauty.

Along the side of a grey metal shed now stand eight crinkly-leaved raspberry plants. Three rhubarb shrubs lean awkwardly nearby. Each day we soak their roots in water, knowing this stage is tremulous.

In our mind, though, we know what they look like full-grown. We have seen them in good health, resplendently red and green, giant leaves like elephant ears, crowded and abundant. We have seen these plants in their glory, rooted deep in the earth, watered and soaking in the Light, and we know what's coming.

The days pass, our excitement mounts as we settle into this new home, and the sun has just risen, arcing a few hours ago over the maple and fir trees to my left. Those raspberries and shasta daisies? Their leaves are unfurling in the Light, roots sinking lower.

While You Were Waiting

Photo: Moon Lee, Creative Commons, cc license

Collapsed and cubed cardboard boxes climb the downstairs couch, and scatter the floor. My gardens and landscape beds lie neglected, choked with broadleaf plantain weeds, skinny grasses, and surprise sunflowers from last year's blossoms. I don't how long we'll be here, so I decided not to plant anything this year.

I feel a little bit like Noah from the Bible, who started building the ark before he saw the rain. This week we start packing up for a move that hasn't happened yet. Labeling boxes for a new kitchen, living room, and bedrooms, we guess where they'll be and can't picture our new home yet. Paperwork that completes our house's impending sale is up in the air still, and we are hesitant to put an offer on a new house before they fully clear. So, we wait and trust, and wait and wonder.

It's an odd thing, this waiting game we all find ourselves in some days. We probably have different things we wait for and wonder about. Whether you are waiting for your kids' school to resume, or for a doctor's prognosis, a friend's call, a relationship to heal, or a job change, we all have moments to wait. What does this waiting season look like? What can it look like? It looks differently depending on the day for me.

I pull my Bible, gratitude notebook, and journal close this morning, with my french press coffee on the side. Starting with the gratitude gifts notebook, I scrawl simple things I see: #3750 summer, #3751 breeze with sweet scents, #3752 lazy white cotton seeds floating by, ...herbs growing in a bucket, hot fresh coffee, sleeping in this morning, worship floating through the house, last piece of strawberry rhubarb pie for breakfast. 

It's not until eleven counted gifts in that they start getting deeper: deep talks with a son, scary lessons learned, seeing my negative influence affect my daughter's choices too. Humility always follows thankfulness, doesn't it? Counting God's gracious gifts that stack and topple high never fails to help me suddenly see my own shadowy sins in the corner. Brought to the surface, they are carried to Him, confessed, and forgotten, though. God's kindness overflows.

My pen scratches beauty seen and captured: cotton puffs erroneously landing to try to live on my coffee cup and the quirky laughter that gives me; a friend buying a house that is nearby; and romantic thoughtfulness seen in my man. I stop and tap out a quick text to him, smiling quietly to myself at the table.

I write and count more: red-capped birds scavenging in my weedy garden; succulent jade plant thriving, a neglected garden meaning a summer of change, and suddenly the gratitude list turns personal, and I find myself actually talking to Him. Praying, trusting you, choosing to trust. Lessons of choosing to trust you, God, to believe you. Knowing you! 

The joy mounts, and I feel the peace settle in, relaxing my shoulders. I write more, realizing that it finally feels like talking to him face to face, no longer just an anonymous list. Knowing your heart, your hand, God. Waiting for your timing; heading off here now to encounter you in your word, I smile and get ready to zip open my ratty red Bible cover. That your word is active and alive; I keep seeing the gifts now for which to thank him: that YOU are active and alive! Lord, I want to meet with you, learn from you. 

And the waiting mood has changed again. Reminding myself of who he is, and of how he cares for his creation resets my mood. Thoughts shape feelings. Truth determines attitude. 

Grabbing the verse that has become a mantra lately, I'm going to heat my cold coffee and start packing books. Join me? "I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope" (Psalm 130:5).

To the Peach Pie God

Photo credit to Curtis Palmer, Creative Commons, cc

The news from the big box company who wants to move in across the road from us and the pertinent land owner strikes fear in us. We look at cold hard facts and know that we can no longer stay in this home, but the realization leaves me heartsick and tight-chested. We worked for years to get this property, and have sunk in deep roots in the year and a half we've been here. I stare out the windows at my raspberry, strawberry, and rhubarb beds frozen under snowdrifts, and wonder if I'll have time to safely export them with me. Tulip and daffodil bulbs lie within reach of future bulldozing easements, locked from me in frozen earth.

A deadline decision looms just a week away, so we crunch numbers, scrunch foreheads, and seek wise counsel. And in between the inevitable, the fear, and the worrying grief, we hug long, and whisper truth to ourselves, to each other, and to our children.

"God is good, he can be trusted. He has always taken care of us, even lavishly, generously caring for us. He is the Peach Pie God, sending us a peach pie through teens when we were discouraged about youth ministry years ago. He is the Ball Road bliss home God, the marriage-redeeming God, the garden-creating God, the children-giving God, the Scene-striding God who knows the words to sustain the weary." 

At church yesterday, we admitted each apprehension our hearts threw out, and assured ourselves with truths of who God says he is. And yet, grief is allowed, and we God-followers are allowed to ache and say, "This is hard." In rawness, I stood to sing, and God sent lyrics for me. Tears fell as I sang,

"...Even when I'm caught in the middle of the storms of this life,
 I won't turn back I know you are near, 
And I will fear no evil, for my God is with me, 
And if my God is with me, whom then shall I fear, whom then shall I fear?
Oh no, you never let go, through the calm and through the storm,
Oh no, you never let go, in every high and every low
oh no you never let go, Lord you never let go of me

And I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
and there will be an end to these troubles but until that day comes, 
still I praise you, still I will praise you..." (Matt Redman, "You Never Let Go")

The next song's lyrics said,

"...Troubles surround me, chaos abounding, 
my soul will rest in you, 
I will not fear the war, I will not fear the storm, 
my help is on the way, my help is on the way

Oh my God, he will not delay, my refuge and strength always, 
I will not fear, his promise is true,
my God will come through always.

...I lift my eyes up, my help comes from the Lord ..."(Kristian Stanfill's "Always")

I clenched my jaw against crying, wiped silent tears, and continued my conversation with God in song,

"Nothing formed against me shall stand, 
you hold the whole world in your hand
I'm standing firm in your promises,
you are faithful, you are faithful, you are faithful.

...I know who goes before me, I know who stands behind,
the God of angel armies is always by my side..." (Chris Tomlin, "Whom Shall I Fear?")

Sound and tech crews in the back flashed a pre-determined verse on the screen, and God whispered back,
      "Look to the Lord and his strength;
       seek his face always" (I Chronicles 16:11).

I don't know what your weekend has been like, or what you are going through, but our God loves you and is faithful. He has words he wants to tell you. Would you ask him, friend? Speak your worries, your wonders, your fears and excitements. Then sit back and wait. He wants to answer you, and will: through a song on the radio, through his words in the Bible, through a friend, a sermon, or an online note. You are loved.

I'd love to hear what you are thinking today, friends.

(And linking to count gifts with Ann. For his trust-worthy heart and for his whispers through song.)

For After the Turkey and Stuffing...What's Seeking to Fill You Right Up?

 I admit it. The fear crept in.

In between the moist brined turkey slathered with cranberry jelly, the gravy-drizzled stuffing and the mashed potato mounds, the fear slipped in.

Earlier, on our way out the door to relatives and Thanksgiving feasts, two letters had arrived. The letters mapped out the region around our home, drafting new roads, and moving forward the construction of a giant twenty-four-hour shopping center down the street from us. The twelve acres of woodlands and wetlands would be razed, sections of our yard would be converted into roads and turn lanes, and semi-trucks would soon rumble deliveries all night long on the road outside our bedroom.

On the road to our relatives' house, we passed wind turbines, calculated wingspans, and grieved the probable loss of our home and yard. The fear slid in then, and I voiced aloud my concerns.

• "It took us a year for our last house sell and to find this one." 
• "We bought this one when it was foreclosed and at a lower price than they are now available."
• "It's only a block from your work, and from our teens. What are the odds of finding another one like this again? And it's a perfect volleyball yard for youth group!" 
• "We landscaped, built raised garden beds, planted strawberries, rhubarb, raspberries, mint, tulips, daffodils, purple aliums, and more. Those bulbs and plants don't come up again until next year, and I don't want to lose them. We brought in garden dirt, started a compost, and planted trees." 

My husband voiced reason and hope, "God has always taken care of us, Jen. He will again." We talked for awhile of possible moves, of real estate issues, and I let myself grieve too.

"This is my dream home and yard," I whispered later at the table. Mark squeezed my hand, and the moment passed as five small children crashed underfoot, cousins rolling and playing around us, and my father-in-law ground beans in his wooden mill for the next batch of coffee. New family arrived and we tumbled into afternoons of coffee, pecan pie, moist fruit cake tarts, and hours of games and conversations.

Photo Credit to Becky Pratts

Late at night in a silent house, the fear and grief crept in again. Tucking my pillow under long damp hair, I reminded myself of the cure. This cure, I've found, is to remind myself of my God. Remembering again God's heart and his history fills me with hope and trust for the future.

Yes, it took eleven months for our last house to sell and to find this one -- but it's perfect. Look at his heart and extravagant gifts in that? He can do it again, Jennifer. You have savored this home and yard this last year and a half. 

That night, and this week, God brings to my mind memory after memory of where he has shown us his heart: anonymous checks of money in our early years of marriage written precisely in the amount we needed for rare unexpected bills; or tiny five year old Morgan with her cancer scare and His peace that came as a relief after our tight chest moments, even before a final diagnosis; donated vehicles weeks before its predecessor died; God's chasing heart in our own foolish wayward moments; and through it all, His tender re-threading of beauty from our raveled bits.

I pick up my pen each day now, and write line after line in my Gratitude (Gifts) Journal. My pen scratches both the easy-to-list good gifts (hot coffee, tumbling snowflakes, a family who knows You, safe travels, family laughter around the table) and the hard gifts -- the ones that cause anxiety to reach tall, grappling with my heart: (possibly losing our home = a chance to trust you, God; the need to sell and buy a new house = a chance to watch you, God). Thank you for this home, for these eighteen months here, and for each day.

At work today, I watch snowflakes fall and tuck my legs under me, picking up my Bible and this Gifts journal. I remember promises about Who this God is, and Who he says he is. Snippets from my Bible time catch my attention, and I write them quickly across the page. "I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope." "The Lord directs our path, our steps." "The fear of the Lord is a fountain of life..." "...A patient man has great understanding." "A heart at peace gives life to the body... "...The prayer of the upright pleases him." "All the days of the oppressed are wretched, but the cheerful heart has a continual feast." 

And my fear? It dissipates. Not in a Pollyanna-denial way, but by stepping back and reminding myself of who this God is, of what his heart is like, and by looking back at his history. 

The house issues are still there, and we prepare for two City Hall Meetings. But the fear? It dissipates.

What about you? What fears, stresses, or anxieties stalk you? Financial worries? Children's issues? Marriage struggles? Grab a pen and God's word with me, friends, and start writing out his gifts, will you? "Don't be afraid, you are worth more than sparrows..." "...The very hairs on your head are counted..." and "The Lord works everything out for his own ends." Even the tiny sparrows that are sold for pennies, he is aware of -- "not one of them is forgotten by God," he promises. And you? "You are worth more than sparrows."

What verses or truths do you grab when fear or anxieties creep in? (Those reading this in email can click here to join the conversation.)

Sign Language Theology

Creamy banana mash glistens from his dimpled cheeks and soft forehead, as he catches my eye.

Zealously signing "More, more," he pumps plump two-year-old hands together, while clenching a half-eaten banana.

In delight, I kiss the top of my new nephew's blond head and happily hand him bits of red pear. My scuffed cherry table-top shines with sticky fruit residue, and I am charmed by big eyes and dimpled fists signing, "More more."

In a red highchair with fruit, my nephew's actions are innocent and cute, but I'm struck today by how much that looks like me.

In a landscape strewn with sweet gifts of life, family, marriage and friends, I am struck by how often I sign "More, more" to my Abba Daddy. Clutching what he's given me in one hand, I sometimes forget and think I need more.

"Don't be deceived, my brothers. Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of Heavenly Lights who does not change like shifting shadows."

I'm slow to learn some days, clutching gifts in one hand and signing "more." I'm so thankful for a patient Father of Heavenly Lights, who loves me, delights in me, and trains me.

What is he teaching you this week?

I love hearing from you, friends, and doing life with you. Those receiving these posts by email can click here to join the discussion, if they'd like.

Linking with Ann at A Holy Experience. 

An Army Descends

They came in droves. 

Cars pulled up on the grass at the side of the road, or turned into an abandoned gas station across the street. Moms with kids, dads with sons, single college students, and teens on bikes. In ninety-degree weather with sweat beading across faces and arms, they marched up and down the Uhaul ramp, carrying cardboard boxes and bed-frames. I stood in the center of the garage, scanning the boxes for black permanent marker codes, and directing traffic. “Master bedroom? Upstairs, on the kitchen and dining floor, please.” “School books? Garage for now, thanks.” 

In the kitchen a crew plungered our plugged up sink, scoured counters, and scraped old grease off cabinets with razors. In the bathrooms, they shined our faucets and scrubbed shower walls. Teens vacuumed the stained carpets in preparation for a carpet contractor from church, and other students wiped windows with rag socks, or perched on dressers to reach ceiling fans. 

“I’ll take Daniel to the park,” said another friend, whisking my preschooler away to swim and slide with minis. 

Earlier than scheduled the Uhaul was unloaded, and more friends dropped by with sloppy joes to feed an army. The army ate. Sprawled in the grass in the shade from the deck, we caught the breeze and refueled. Sweat glistened, and water bottle carcasses lined up in ecological nightmares. 

 “Do you have supper plans for tomorrow?” another friend asked. “I’ll bring tacos.” 

“We have dressers and desks for you, if you are interested,” said a father and sons. Other friends held onto and stored a loft bed set for one of our kids for ten months, and offered us a t.v. 

That night, we fell asleep on drying carpet, in our new home, overwhelmed at God’s extravagant care for us, and the humbling, amazing love of his system – the church body. Without the constraints of a church building’s walls, Jesus-followers from all corners of our lives came together and showered love on us. 

We are still humbled, stunned, and thankful to our God for his care. 

I am amazed at the way God's people can come together in love.

What about you? When have you felt tangible community? When have you not?

Linking with Emily and friends at Imperfect Prose.

Car photo credit