Shrugging off anchors.

In church, we've been going through the story of Joseph, and today we talked about guilt and forgiveness and grace. I like reading about Joseph because there's reconciliation and weeping. It's one of the only times in the Bible when it's actually written that a man cries. Most of the time we're left guessing what the characters are feeling, the state of their emotions. But not with Joseph.
Joseph sobs.
When he first meets Benjamin, he sobs so hard that he has to leave the room to keep up his charade. I love that. I feel like I know him because of that.

This morning Pastor Mark talked about the guilt that the brothers felt. How they lived for twenty-two years harboring a secret, unsure whether Joseph was alive or dead, but certain that they could not confess what they had done. He spoke of their fear. There is a part in chapter forty-two of Genesis, when the brothers are explaining who they are, and they say that they are twelve brothers. Ten of them are present, Benjamin is at home, and one—Joseph, one is no more.
One is no more.
They still count him. They still consider him a brother, alive or dead. They still think of him daily.

They have carried Joseph with them, and the grief and shame and despair and bitterness over what they have done, for the past twenty-two years since the day they exchanged him for twenty pieces of silver.

Their brother never left them. He was a weight on their back since the moment he was dragged away by the slave-traders.

I think we all carry weights like that. I know that I have. But that is so wrong. That is so wrong of us to do. Pastor Mark said today, That is an affront to God. And it is. It is a slap in His face to bear useless burdens of guilt and bitterness and anger and resentment and animosity. To say to Him, This one? This one is just too big for You. Not even You could understand. I've got to keep it on, I have to wear it, it makes me who I am. It took me a long time to see that. That that is a sin. Years, actually. But one day I sat on the edge of my bed, weeping, and realizing that this was on me. All of my condemnation and guilt and perpetual suffering, that was my doing. And I had to get over myself. I remember clenching my fists and pressing them onto my thighs while I heard the words my Pastor had said that morning in church, over and over again in my head.

Don't you dare be condemned. 

And then and there, I had to own up to my shortcomings.
I had to let it all go.
I had to forgive.

I am pleading with you now, if you haven't, do the same. Just get over yourself. Don't walk around blaming yourself or others. Don't harbor those sour feelings. Don't wallow in bitterness and unforgiveness. Don't let that weight hang on your back. Don't walk around with an anchor around your neck.
Shrug it off.
Because we can never truly be alive in Christ unless we take off our own guilt and put on his yoke and burden. It is not our job to judge the heaviness of our shame and sufferings as too much for the Carpenter to carry. And I think it's important that we tell each other that. That we say, It's okay. It's okay to feel sorry about something. It's okay to be in pain about something. It's okay to let experiences and choices you or someone else has made shape you in some way. What is not okay, is if you dwell in that. If you live there, and you refuse to let it all go and forgive. It is not okay to let that rule your life. I think we're scared to say those things. I think we're afraid of being thought of as un-compassionate or unfeeling or harsh. But it is too detrimental to stay silent about this. And I will not be quiet anymore. I will not let you drown for my fear of being severe and inconsiderate.

Do not let unforgiveness and guilt sink you.

Don't live with something you don't have to. Confess it. Cry about it. Grow from it. Let it go. We all make mistakes. We all sin. We all mess up. We don't all have to choose to go down with our guilt and suffering. We don't all have to wear anchors. In truth, no one does. So be bigger than you make yourself out to be. Be more forgiving, more understanding, more intentional. Do not be one of Joseph's brothers, waiting twenty-two years to be redeemed and forgiven. Be a Joseph. Name your past Manasseh and forget about it, and then call your present and future Ephraim, and expect plenteousness.

Animosity and guilt are not only worth nothing, but they are devices that will suffocate you and engulf your existence. They will pull you further from the One who loves you most. They will make you a stranger to Him. And they will cause you to sin, and create a rift between you and He who can save you.
Don't go down in a ship with the national guard standing by, arms outstretched and ready to catch you.
It would be a tragedy, because it would be your choice.
There is so much more of a wondrous life for you if you get over yourself. Christ has so many more valuable things for you to do than to spend your time feeling sorry for yourself. There is devotion and adoration and beauty, if you only take a breath and surrender. I promise that it is worth it. I know it doesn't seem like it would be, I have been in that position. I once locked myself up in bitterness and then caged myself with guilt. And it feels like there is no way out. But I want you to know, you need to know, there is. You don't have to continue in the way that you are. You don't have to be the same. You don't have to wear that heavy weight. You can shrug it off. You can be redeemed and relieved and renewed. And it is so much more beautiful than you can imagine. Friends, it is so much more glorious to worship and follow Him if we are not trapped by the things we have or have not done.

Hurt and guilt are all-consuming, but only if you let them be. Grace is ever-present, but only when you accept it.

Small I am

It is hard for me to spill my thoughts lately. They seem so heavy and dark and brooding and wet that I feel a small part guilty for shoving them at people and saying, Here. Take these, would you? I can't hold them anymore. 
But they're not all like that.
Last month I wrote in my journal, I can't see the silver lining in this. And I don't think there is one. I was angry at God, and not without reason. But He was patient with me. Even still, when there are the mornings when I wake up wanting to scream in anger and frustration, even then, He blesses me.
This month is better. It's not easier, but it is better. The struggles have shifted and the tragedy lives elsewhere in my heart, not in that tender place near my spirit that makes me want to shake my fist at the Carpenter. It's in a different place. Still present, but with a different presence. And now I can seek comfort in the one who can offer it most readily and beautifully. That is good. That is better than how it was last month.

And those good thoughts, the lighter ones? They've grown in number.

I was driving away from home group the other night, feeling the best I have felt in a long time. We had talked about Christ and how His forgiveness is unfathomable, how it doesn't end. One of the men there was sitting next to me, and he got really excited and he said with a choked up voice, You know what's really incredible? God has the ability to forgive everyone. No matter what they've done, what they've been through, who they are, He can forgive them. And He will forgive them if they ask. He will do that.
There are some moments in my life when I feel very small.
And as I was driving away, I put the radio on and Joel Houston of Hillsong United was sharing his testimony. And he said something that piled on top of that wonderfulness I was already bringing home with me. He said, God does not fail at things. He does not make mistakes. He does not mess up. And we don't have to worry about His plans, because they're wonderful, they're beautiful, they are not going to fail. Because God does not fail. We may fail, but God does not fail.
I felt even smaller.

There is this verse in the Psalms, where it talks about how God keeps our tears in a bottle. I know for a fact that He has all of mine bottled up from that night as I drove home sobbing and my car was full of the sound of an Australian man's voice saying things I needed to hear.
I love that I know I will never get tired of hearing the same things about Jesus that I do every week. I love that you can devote years to Him, and still cry when you think about what He gave for you. I love how Christianity renews itself daily.

Spring is coming friends. I'm welcoming her with open arms. This winter has been trying. But I'm tired of this bitterness. I'm tired of being an Eeyore when I could be a Christopher Robin. I'm tired of my soggy thoughts dripping everywhere I go. And while I know and understand that it is okay to grieve and feel bad sometimes, I want to count those blessings again, like I was doing only weeks ago. I want that back.

I just want to wake up and have my first thought be light again.

How to be a boring Christian

Jesus found me when I was something like five years old. No fireworks, no flash, no bang. Just me as a child and a few tears pressed out of the corners of my eyes because of a very real fear in a dark theater. I surrendered what little life I had then, and all the rest of my years as well.

If anyone has a boring testimony, it's me.  

I need to tell you, I think the worst thing I've ever done is lie.

I don't say that to brag in self-righteousness about my goodness. Please don't read it like that, although you probably already did. All sin is the same in God's eyes. I am just as ugly and filthy as the next person. I'm saying it though, to put this into context for you. I've never done anything incredibly terrible. I'm not very adventurous. I don't have much real life experience. I can count the R rated movies I've seen on my fingers. And turns out, I'm just a small town girl who's never kissed a boy. In all honesty, most people call it innocence, but the reality of it is, I'm probably a little bit naive. 

I've always felt guilty about that.

When your life is as lulling as mine has been, you begin to doubt the credibility of your salvation. You also begin to feel guilty. 

I worry constantly now that people will assume I expect perfection of them because of the life I've lived. And while I do expect wondrous things of people, I don't expect perfection. That's a ridiculous standard I am trying to rid myself of. I never knew what grace was, and now I feel it's continuously necessary for me to apologize to everyone for my high expectations because I'm still learning to forgive myself. 

And so, I worry. 

I worry that people will think I have a holier-than-thou attitude if I tell them my story. 

I worry that I make people feel guilty about their past actions just by walking into a room and knowing me.

I worry that people will see through my facade of I have tragic circumstances as well and realize that all my tragedies ended in joyfulness and aren't really considered tragic in the first place.

I worry that they will be less willing to befriend me because I live in what seems like a fairytale.

I worry that people will judge me for my simplicity. 

I worry that people will dismiss me as a 'good girl.'

I worry that people will never tell me anything about their heart because they believe I'll not understand. 

I worry that people disregard my words because I'm outspoken about things when I have no valid experiences to relate to those areas and shouldn't say what I think anyway.

I worry that people will think I am always judging them.

I worry that people will notice my doubts and shaking hands.

I worry that people will realize while I pretend to be a Paul, I'm really just a Peter.

I worry that I'll never get married because my ideals all relate to the life I've lived and no one will be willing to try hard enough the be that sort of man. 

I worry that people won't listen to me because there's nothing radical about my testimony, let alone my life. 

I worry that my life is a terrible representation of the Carpenter and His ministry and His heart because it doesn't burst with redemption and change. 

I worry that people will think me little and unwise. 

I worry that I rob the cross of its impact. 

But that's all wrong. I'm going to say that again. That is all wrong.

I was listening to an old sermon of Pastor Tim Chaddick's this morning. He was talking about Hosea and stories and testimonies. And near the end, he shares who he was and how God drastically changed his life for the better. It is all fireworks and flash and bang. Tim Chaddick's testimony is a celebration. It's a redemption story like none other. 

But it's paired with another testimony. 

His wife's.

Her's is subtle, slow, and in all honesty, boring. It's a gentle work that Christ did through her, nothing huge and obvious. Just an incessant, ever-present walk throughout her life. And it was when he shared how he loved her for it, for the mellowness of her story, it was then I realized that this is why we have boring testimonies too. 

There is nothing wrong with having a boring, un-radical testimony. In fact, it's a necessary thing. Because when you have that simple, constant surrender of your life to Christ, you also have an amazing gift to give. You get to be a grace-giver. You get to be an actual illustration of mercy and love. You get to forgive people in a real manner that speaks to their heart. You get to demonstrate Jesus on a different level. It's not better and it's not less than. It's different. 

You, yes you. With your boring, plain testimony that took place probably sometime in your childhood and you feel like nothing drastic ever happened to you and you have no validity to preach the gospel with your story packaged neatly in your hands. 

You are necessary. 

More so than you think.

Because there are people out there who have the radical stories. The life-changing moments when everything turned around and Christ was so evident and obvious you could grab for Him. Those people, they feel guilty. The feel like grace is far-fetched. They walk around unsure that anyone so 'right' in comparison to themselves could ever accept them, let alone love them. They still feel the weight of all their sin. Their past, they carry it in their pockets, hiding it with a fervency and constantly worried that it will fall out or someone will get a peek. They live a life of forgiveness from Christ coupled with un-forgiveness from themselves. And while it's not necessary for all of these radical story people to be found and loved by a simple story person, it is important for some. 

Even after Jesus and His grace, it is important for some people to be found by a small worker and their grace. 

Your ministry as a considerably almost 'perfect' lover of the Lord who has never done anything relatively bad seems tiny in comparison to the hugely authentic and compelling lives of those who have done almost everything bad and completed a turn-around like none other seen before. You can't really preach in that persuasive manner, and oftentimes we regret that. 

Maybe you're like me. Maybe when you were younger you lied and fashioned for yourself problems that you never really had, struggles that never really took place. Maybe you made the things that actually did happen bigger than they were. Maybe you cried at something that didn't really crush your heart, but your tears gave it more legitimacy. Maybe you spent time on your knees, always worried that your friends would realize you have no idea what you're talking about when you tell them you can understand, when you pretend to relate to them in their difficult circumstances. 

Maybe you were a liar because you feared God has no use for those that seem to be smaller saints with less shiny stories than all the rest. 

Ministering to those who have 'messed up' on a deeper level by the world's standards of sin is not a grievous and less-than position though. 

It's beautiful. 

And you're one of the only people who can do it.  The fact that Jesus has lived in your heart and your life is one rhythmic pattern of constant devotion is not cause for grief. It should be a call for joy. 

Not everyone has lived a life which renders them capable of displaying Jesus in a beautiful way to those who haven't. 

Don't get me wrong, your forgiveness is no more valid than forgiveness from others, but it is gorgeous in a different manner nonetheless. 

Can you imagine making every mistake in the book, living a life rampant with sin and destruction, and then one day waking up and turning to someone who has tried daily to be better than they ever have been and righter still, and they look at you and say, it's okay. All that stuff you did, I don't hold it against you. I think you're beautiful anyway. And because Jesus forgave me, I can forgive you. I forgive you.
I forgive you.
Those are probably some of the most powerful words you could ever say to another soul.

We each preach the Carpenter differently through our lives. Whether it's a radical, beautiful change that slams onto the chest of everyone who hears it in a breathless way that catches in your throat, choking you with tears, or it is a devoted, simple life that was lived with a loyalty that followed all the rules all the days, they are both important. 

We are all creatures of the cross once we're sinners saved by grace. 

Don't belittle God's ability to use each of his beings in a beautiful way by counting yourself and your story useless. His plan is always better than we imagine. Have faith in that. 

You never know if you're going to meet a Tim Chaddick who thinks the most beautiful thing he's ever seen is the most boring thing you've ever been. 

Jeremiah 29:11 says, "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for peace and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." So often we need to know everything about everything. I think sometimes though, it should be enough that God knows everything about everything. It should be enough that even in our boringness we are promised a future and a hope.

Your purpose isn't something you know all the time. Usually, it's something you do. 

If you are interested in listening to Pastor Tim Chaddick's sermon, it can be found here. If you are interested in reading a small part of what else I think about boring testimonies, you can find that here. And if you have any thoughts or questions or ever want to meet for coffee, you can always email me . I think we need to share our thoughts more with one another, so please, let's make more of an effort to get to know one another and share the beautiful things we know of and are learning. 

On why I watch Downton Abbey.

Recently I was asked how, as a Christian woman, I could justify watching Downton Abbey when there is a very obvious, very present homosexual theme in the show. I realize that each piece of entertainment or art must needs be weighed for merit and worth on its own, so though these words and statements could be applied to other things, they are almost solely written to be applicable to this British show and perhaps only this show. 

I remember watching the first episode of Downton when it came out in the states. I thought it was boring and the characters were ugly and it was too long and it was nothing interesting. I was also extremely shocked and disgusted by many elements the writers had included. Honestly, I hated it. I hated O'Brien and her sly mouth. I hated Mary and her thin, wispy body. I hated Matthew and his obvious reluctance. I hated Edith and her whining. I hated Bates and his boringness. And I especially hated Thomas and his sin. I hated Thomas the most out of all of them.
But then there was Anna.
Anna, the little blonde housemaid with the lilting accent. Anna, the compassionate one. Anna, the incorruptible one. Anna, the kindest of them all. Anna, from downstairs. Anna, the faithful. Anna, the human.
And I loved her. I blush to admit it now, but the only reason I continued to watch Downton after that first episode was Anna. I felt guilty at first, because of all the sins and ugliness that the show emphasized. There were and have been countless instances of failings.
She slept with him. He was a homosexual. She was a liar. He was a thief. This happened, and no one told anyone. They fought. He was drunk. He should not have pursued her. She doesn't care when she should. She is cold and unfeeling. He is greedy. They were fornicating.
Truthfully, honestly, Downton Abbey is a cesspool for sin and mistakes.
And at first it caused me a lot of grief, and I almost stopped watching.
But for Anna.
But for Anna, who was always there at the right moment. She was always saying the right thing. She was always honest and true. And slowly, very slowly, but with a melody nonetheless, I began to see other glimmers of hope, maybe even the way she did. Other pretty things. Other lovely themes. Until suddenly, three seasons in, I realized that although Downton Abbey was full of the depravity of the human heart and mind, it had bloomed and flourished and blossomed into a gorgeousness that I can't really describe. After watching Anna for so long, I began to see the good things that they all did, not just their flaws. I saw the small, heartfelt moments, and the big, life-changing ones. And it all made sense.
Downton Abbey is beautiful because it is authentic and real.
The characters mess up. They are sinners and hateful and spiteful and mean-spirited. They are fleshly and earthly. But they are also hard-working and good and not easily persuaded. They are simply put, people. Human beings. Like you and me. And that is really what is so attractive about the show. They overcome things or they fail at things, just like we do.
And that is something so very lovely.

I understand that as a lover of the carpenter I have a responsibility to protect my heart and mind from the ways of the world. And it might seem contradictory since I watch and love an English broadcasting that is absolutely full of tragedies and evils, but it's not. It is okay. I won't justify the characters or their sins and mistakes. But I will tell you this, we live in the world. We're not to be of it, but in it. And I respect that we shelter our children from the storm. When I have my own darlings, I plan on doing exactly that for them. But we also need to recognize that we cannot necessitate ignorance and push for perfection. We're still humans. We still mess up. And in no way do I want my future children or other people I know to feel that grace is nonexistent and mistakes should be hidden. I have lived almost my entire life under that impression, with the weight of that on my shoulders. I hate that, that feeling and all its heaviness. I am ashamed that I still feel guilty and condemned at the slightest nod of a head.
Because you guys, you need to know, condemnation is not conviction.
There's one judge. He made you with a conscience. Listen to that.

Downton Abbey is one of the most accurate descriptions of human life out there. Honestly. You may think that statement is a bit dramatic, but I stand by it with a whole heart and utter confidence. Yes, the characters are flawed and they fail time and time again. But yes, there are beautiful moments too. There is marriage and family. There is dedication and loyalty. Relentless pursuit. Joy, there is much joy. There is forgiveness, for things that seem irreconcilable. There are struggles overcome. Passions and dreams fought for. Service to a country. Faith. Growth. There is so much beauty in the themes of Downton as well as the ugly. And I feel it would be hypocritical of me to dismiss it because it portrays content that I know is sinful. I live here, on earth, with a bunch of other sinners. I don't plan on locking myself in my house everyday for fear of seeing something that goes against my beliefs. How can we ever expect to love people, let alone preach the gospel, if we can't even recognize their sin as a real thing? I won't pretend that I am not disturbed by homosexuality. I can't pretend that, because it actually makes me very uncomfortable. But I definitely won't pretend that it doesn't exist and does not play a part in our society on a daily basis. To address a situation, you must first acknowledge it. I'm sorry, but that is the way it is. That is why Jesus sat with publicans and sinners while He was on earth. That is why Downton Abbey is more than okay.
It illustrates everything we could be, everything we are, and everything we should be.

Matthew and Mary got married in season three.
After months and years of quarreling and loving other people and even a war, they finally admitted to each other that they loved one another and wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. After episodes of fans rooting for them and crying over them and wishing them together and possibly sometimes shrieking at them, they finally admitted it and we watched.
And while him proposing in the snow and asking her not to go to America was lovely, and her in the white dress while he stared was breathtaking, it was the one moment when she confessed her greatest fault to him that stood out above all.
When she told him he would despise her, and he didn't.
He forgave her instead.
That was the one most powerful redeeming moment in Downton. The one that I'll always have tucked into the back of my mind. Because it's relevant. It's applicable. It's hard to do. And it's real.
Forgiveness is so real, and it is so powerful.

One of the best things in life is to find someone who will be a Matthew to your Mary.

You can find dark elements in anything. You can also find light elements in anything. It is up to us which we will embrace while we live by grace and climb our mountains. We live in a distressing place, ridden with grief, shame, and sin. I refuse to not be salt or a city on a hill because of this fact.
Being salt and a city on a hill usually means you have to be in a place without salt or a dark, hilly place. And that is quite scary and quite lovely too.
Keep faith.
I promise, sometimes you think you're the only one. But one night while you're shining, you'll see a glimmer, an Anna, and you'll know you're not alone.

So I watch Downton Abbey. I watch Downton Abbey because even in the midst of evil, goodness still shines. I watch Downton because Mary and Matthew did what everyone wanted but no one expected. I watch Downton because I have faith that someone someday will come alongside Thomas and befriend him, truly befriend him, and then he will have hope. I watch Downton because Mr. Bates, who had his face shoved in the dirt so many times, still gets up. I watch Downton because Cora and Robert always, always manage to make up in the end. I watch Downton because Mrs. Hughes is always there. I watch Downton because Sybil was daring and Branson is perfect. I watch Downton because of the white tea cups and Daisy in the kitchen and Edith may never get a happy ending and the relationship between Carson and Lady Mary is all too wonderful.
I watch Downton Abbey because it gives me faith. Faith that even in a terrible mess like this world we live in, we can still make a difference and pursue the lovely for a carpenter.
I watch Downton Abbey because I live by grace and it's unnecessary for me to justify it.
I watch Downton Abbey because I'm a human.
I watch Downton Abbey because of Anna.

This is why I watch Downton Abbey.

Why do you?