EMO for Jesus

So I’ve recently discovered I’m a bit of an emotional handful. How’d I come to that conclusion you ask? Hmmmm. Well let’s see. There was a lot of crying, some whimpering and I vaguely remember being curled up in a fetal position and my kids asking Dad if Mommy was going to be okay. 

I’m not talking about the kind of emotional that everyone experiences, you know, the tearing up at a Folgers’s commercial from time to time. I’m talking about a gut wrenching, incapacitating, messy kind of emotion where there is some borderline irrational craziness happening. 

I know there is a whole group of you reading this now that know me and would like to talk me out of this assessment of myself. And then there are the few, the proud and the brave who have seen me at the brink and they are saying “Geesh! You are JUST NOW realizing this? What took you so long?”  

My relationship with my feelings has been a touchy one and here is why. 

They have lied to me. On more than one occasion. 

And once you’ve been deceived, trust is just hard to come by. And also, the weight of emotions—the sadness, the grief and sorrow—seems wrong because they can be so heavy. So controlling. So bossy. That something must be wrong with me because I feel so fragile, easily broken by the sorrowful things in my world. 

So I’ve tried toughening up. I’ve man handled my feelings to attempt to create the feelings I want instead of the feelings I’m having-- all in the name of holy living. A practice I now acknowledge as holy stuffing. Somewhere along the line I’ve believed that airing your feelings isn’t right or good or holy. So I just swallow it. There are pros and cons to this habit of mine, but topping the cons list is the eventual end of my holy stuffing results in something resembling a volcanic eruption spewing hot, deathly lava on anyone who happens to be in my path when I finally encounter that last straw. And can I just say right here that blowing your top is not very holy? Not holy at all. 

My wrestling with all of this, of course, desperately drives me to the One who promises me wisdom if I just ask. So I take Him up on it.  In my estimation, I come to Him with a pretty funny question.

Why am I so emotional? Is it part of the curse of sin? I know emotions are good, but why do they feel so bad sometimes? Most of the time? I mean was Eve crazy emotional? 

I laugh a little as I write that last part, but honestly, this is where my nutty EMO self has landed me and I needed some answers and some “how to”--and fast.  I open up my Bible and I read this descriptor of Jesus,

  “He is despised and rejected by men, A Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” Isaiah 53:3 

And right at that moment, I sense the whisper of God saying 

I’m emotional too. Your emotions are of me. Their control of you is not of me. And there’s your trouble.

I go on to read Isaiah 53 foretelling how Jesus would feel grief and sadness and sorrow. How He would suffer and die for the sins of the world, so we could be reconciled to God all the while feeling every emotion possible and yet not sinning. Not only did He not sin, He carried the sin of the world. My sin. Talk about weight.  

I think of how many times I’ve allowed my emotions to rule my thoughts, justify my wrong behavior, excuse myself from doing the right thing, side track and side line me from life because I just couldn’t possibly handle it. 

And herein lies my example for being rightly related to my emotions: Jesus felt it all, but it did not govern Him. God the Father alone governed his heart and life. His emotions did not rule Him, but rather they fueled Him to seek the face and strength of His Father to accomplish His purpose on the earth.

And so the question I’m left with is “Who governs this heart? Who is in charge here?” 

Hands down, I know the answer to this question in the big picture of my life.  What I’m realizing though is it’s my answer in the dark of the night, when chaos abounds and temptation is knocking and my emotions are all running amuck that matters. 

My questions then turn to prayers, to pleadings for God to be the gatekeeper of my heart.  I ask Him to teach me to bring my emotions to Him, to help me to sift, sort, think and evaluate based on what is true and right. To counsel this stubborn and fickle heart about building my house on the rock rather than the shifting sand of my ever changing emotions. To learn to stay in the posture of waiting on God until my emotions are saturated with grace and truth. I’m learning to abide in His presence until my emotions no longer rule, but rather fuel my steps to go to deeper places with Jesus. My emotions are becoming indicators, warning lights to check into what’s really going on under the hood, not impulses to be obeyed. A “Service heart soon” light that blinks continuously reminding me I need God’s presence to sort this out before I go any further down the road. 

After my Holy Spirit counseling session and we’ve debrief all my willy nilly emotions, issues and faulty thinking and God has purified, sanctified and righted all my off base conclusions, then I can receive my marching orders.  Actions that are steeped in God’s wisdom not my emotions. A life that is effective, purposeful and powerful where my emotions are utilized for God’s grand purposes not my futile excuses. 

All of this has led to a fresh new season both in my relationship with God and my emotions as I’m exchanging emotional rule for fuel. I’m trading in my label of “Emotional handful” for “EMO for Jesus".  

And let me tell you something: It feels good.

Tone Down Your Awesomeness

So I’m realizing I’ve made a lot of moves in my lifetime. Like since my husband and I married we have moved eleven times. I’m sure those military wives out there have me beat by a long shot. But for little old me, when I’m sitting around being all nostalgic, it’s a large number. Gobs of places and faces and friendships. And a lot of possible friendships that just never got off the ground. Sometimes you can identify why, but most the time you can’t put your finger on it and you move on. 

I think friendship comes in many shapes and sizes and you can’t always figure out why it’s magically delicious with one person and feels like you are getting a continual root canal with another. In my mucho relocation and innumerable attempts to forge new friendships in new towns, I have seen a common principle at work. 

We women are always sizing one another up.

Judging. Comparing.  And then drawing conclusions about ourselves as a result. 

You go to someone’s home that resembles a Pottery Barn catalog and have just the most amazing time hearing all about her wonderful home schooling, her latest adventures in cooking gourmet PALEO meals and how she manages her wildly successful Etsy business crafting furniture out of reclaimed barn wood in her spare time. And by the way, she is training for the Iron Man while raising money to fund her very own after school program in the inner city. It’s not 30 seconds out the door and my head is swimming in crazy thoughts usually preceded with “Well she is just awesome!” and then followed up with a quick “and she is never coming to my house.”

I hate that these are my first thoughts. And I hate that I’m always comparing. My very wise sister in law once told me “Compare Despair.”  I’m not comparing 10 seconds before my heart is on the fast track to despair. About my house, my disorganization, my dysfunction and my full onself.  I can’t stand the fact that I’ve already closed my heart to the possibility of true friendship with this woman because I’ve drawn the conclusion that I’m not good enough for her. That I could never let her in. I’m comparing the entirety of all the crazy I know about my life and self to the wondrous sliver she chosen to reveal to me about hers.

Now, here’s the deal. I know I have been the woman on the other side plenty a time. I’m sure that I have portrayed myself at one time or other to be a fabulous specimen of a woman with all the answers, the best recipes and the keys to the kingdom. Blah, blah, blah. I’ve cleaned my house—ALL DAY—when we have guests coming because I want them to think my house is always this clean. 

It’s natural to want to admired and esteemed. Bottom line, I want people to think I’m awesome. 

And this, I’m learning, has gotten in the way of what I really need.  

I think I want people to think I’m perfect, but what I really need is to be loved when I am anything but perfect.

God has a special knack of refining what it is you want. Yes I want people to think I’m amazing. Kind of like a 2 year old wants the room to all focus on him. But God loves me too much to leave me here, tottling around demanding, “Look at me! Ain’t I something?” 

He reminds me it’s time to grow up. Mature. Change. He whispers to me that though I want esteem and approval from others, I want other things more.  More important things. Things like real, honest, vulnerable friendships. Things like the focus being on Him instead of me. His glory instead of mine. He is showing me I want His power residing over my relationships, not my perfection. True sharing, not comparing. Definitely not despairing.

It pains me now to think of someone walking away from time with me drawing wrong conclusions about themselves, just like I’ve done a million times leaving that perfect house that, of course, has their secret issues that I will never know about. And so my question for God is how do I prevent that? How do I stop the vicious cycle in my heart and the hearts of the women I encounter? 

The answer whispered to my heart is from 2 Corinthians 12 about Paul boasting in his weaknesses. He talks about in verse 9 how Jesus said to him, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” And then Paul goes on to say, “I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore, I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Corinthians 12: 9-10)

In this chapter I see a man wrestling with allowing others to draw their own conclusions based on what they see of his life, but then needing to say in a sense, “hey, you need to know the truth. I will only boast about my weaknesses, downsides, faults and shortcomings.  Let me tell you all about these things and how God is working in spite of and through them. That way, when good comes out of my life, it’s all because of Jesus.”

I think of Paul. Pastor. Speaker. Author of most of the New Testament. And I think of him making the choice to boast only in his shortcomings. His weaknesses. It makes me think how selective I am about whom I am honest with about my weaknesses. The things I’m trying to hide, compensate for and hope people never uncover. But here He is boasting ONLY in these things. Talk about bringing the honesty. And the intimacy. He is so confident that Christ is going to use these things to speak to people. That these things are going to unlock Christ’s power to work in and through him. That his life is going to speak for itself.

In light of these things, I’m learning to open the door and say “hello and welcome. Sorry the house is a mess but I figure we are going to be great friends and you might as well know the truth now.”

I’m also learning to bring the vulnerability and honesty with me everywhere I go. Sometimes it doesn’t show up until it is my mouth opening it into the room and then—BAM! The conversation can go to new places of honesty all because I spoke first about my weakness, struggles or shortcomings. Comparing and despairing is replaced with sharing, surrender and the power of Christ unlocked to do His work.

And one last thing, I’m learning to tone down my awesomeness—or at least my drive for you to think I’m awesome. I ain’t gonna lie, if I know you are coming over I will be cleaning the toilets and removing the laundry from the couch. However, I’m going to stop believing the lie that perfection is what you are looking for and what I am hoping you will find. I’m going to be me, which has some awesomeness in there somewhere, but I’m going to be quick to share about my struggles, insecurities, and weaknesses in the hopes that Christ’s power in my life will be evident and maybe that will encourage you to tone down your awesomeness too and our new found friendship will be on the fast track to real, honest and amazing.

Now that’s just awesome.

Blaze of Glory

There is something to be said about getting kicked in the teeth.  

I mean, nobody wants that to happen but oh the lessons you learn. Nothing stings like not seeing it coming. Trusting with your whole heart only to be punched in the gut with betrayal, disappointment or maybe just flat out rejection. 

With all the good lessons learned—the ones you reason with your head—also comes the natural conclusions you draw and believe in your heart. The agreements you make with yourself deep down in the dark corners of your soul that take root and become beliefs about yourself, others and about the way love works. 

The heart develops something like a natural flinch that whispers “I’ve been down this road and guess what? I’m not going through that again."

What the mouth speaks about it’s all good and what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, the soul harbors another story and I’m finding it’s very often the one that governs our future actions. 

Loving people and opening up can hurt and so the wounded part pleads to play it safe. Closed. Unattached. Protected. 

These days I find myself with a rather toothless grin constantly weighing these two paths—the risky path of loving vs. the safe way of isolation. 

I hate these are on continuous scales of my heart, weighing the risk of engaging. But if I’m honest with myself, my biggest temptation is to retreat. Withdrawal. Protect myself from rejection. But I have to be equally honest and say truly it is one of my deepest needs—to be fully open and vulnerable with another person and loved completely for it, perhaps in spite of it. 

When I bring all this into the throne room of grace and ask God to shed some light on this dark and difficult place, I hear the truth. 

It hurts either way. 

My perceived way of safety, isolation and control may prevent others from hurting me, but in a sense I’m really hurting myself. Sure, I’m saving myself from the hurt other people might inflict, but I’m also separating myself from something I was created to do—love others. And let others love me. That’s why lonely hurts so bad. 

If it’s true that both paths involve hurting, then really I can choose my poison. There is some serious freedom that comes with that. 

But there is something else. Something more at stake that is bigger than my feelings, my heart or even my choices. I hear Him whisper, 

My glory is at stake here. 

In every decision I make to open up instead of shutdown, to be vulnerable instead of prideful, to love instead of protect my self, I’m displaying God’s image. In my choice to keep loving despite the risks, I’m reflecting His character. God says we look most like Him when we love like Him. (1 John 4:7-12) 

Who could understand my dilemma better?  When faced with it, He did not choose the road that leads to safe, pretty packaged life all tied up with ribbons and bows. He didn’t choose self-protection or self-preservation because life is hard and doesn’t play fair. He chose the hard, suffering, painful path that landed Him on a cross. He bled and died and has the battle scars to prove it. He chose love and He keeps on choosing it. 

How thankful I am that He didn’t retreat because loving people is hurtful. It makes me see my battle wounds in a different light. Jesus was shot down in a blaze of glory. Painful yes, but effective and powerful and life altering for the whole world. 

This is my theme song now as I weigh the paths—thank you Bon Jovi! Sure, I could play it safe, retreat and live in my protective bubble. Alone. Sidelined. Ineffective. 

Or I could—queue the music—go down in a blaze of glory, yes taking on some serious wounds. But along with those scars, I’ve got some glorious stories of transformation—my own and others—and some incredible experiences of living out my God given opportunity to reflect His glory in this world. To be used by Him even if it ends painfully, knowing that my feeble attempts to love are met with God’s power to accomplish His plan.  

If I’m going down either way and I have a choice in the matter, I want to go down in a blaze of love. A blaze of glory. 

In each seemly insignificant relational quandary, there lurks the opportunity to be on fire for God in this world. His heart. His purposes. His glory.  I think my question is do I want to be in the battle or nursing my wounds on the sidelines? The choice is always mine. 

Hurt is along both paths. His glory is only along one. 

I’m thankful He overlooks my superficial desire for easy and safe and invites me to join Him in the risky, messy business of loving people. 

It’s worth the risk. 

Puzzle Pieces

I have a love-hate relationship with puzzles.

I enjoy them. Kind of. I love finishing them. Hate the process. It’s frustrating. It always sounds like a good idea but then once I get into it, I’m second-guessing my choice. 

I know the pieces go together, but I don't know how. I'm suppose to enjoy putting them together.  I force pieces to go together because I desperately want them to fit, but ultimately I know they don’t go there. I’m only fooling myself. 

There is a thought that crosses my mind every time I sit down to do a puzzle: There is a piece missing. I’ve got that one puzzle box that was shorted a piece and I’m not going to be able to finish this thing.

I start to put the pieces together and I really start to get somewhere. I’m on a roll. Things are good. And then all of the sudden, I hit a lull. A place where every piece I try—and I’m positive I have tried them all—doesn’t work. I can’t figure it out.

This sounds likes familiar territory—a place I’ve been many times in life. Overwhelmed. Confused. Not sure what is missing. I know all the pieces are there, but there is this nagging doubt at the back of my mind. 

There is a piece missing.  

But I’m learning that, just like with the puzzle, all the pieces are there. They are on the table. 

However, life has a way of blinding you. 

Sometimes the only pieces you can see are the one’s that don’t fit.  It’s easy to overlook the piece you need when you are dead set on trying to force the one you think fits. 

In this place of mismatched pieces and frustration over trying to figure it all out, God has whispered to this weary heart, "...When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the Rock that is higher than I” (Psalm 61:2b). 

The Rock that is higher than me. Higher. 

Higher sounds good when you are low. It sounds like a place I want to go. A place I can see from and get a better view of my surroundings.

I think of Him offering His hand to pull me up to this place of safety, up out of my doubts and questions about missing pieces. 

His answer for me His Presence. He wants me there with Him. 

But I’m learning that not only does He desire me to be with Him, similar to the way I want to be with my child when they are hurting, but also He has another purpose in me coming to the Rock. 

It is the combo of His presence plus His perspective. He wants to show me a few things while I’m up there. He has invited me up to be with Him, but also to help me to see what He sees. His perspective of all my life’s pieces—they ones that went together easy, the ones I’m forcing that just aren’t lining up, and the ones that I’m sure our missing.  It’s up here with Him that I can really see the pieces are all there (2 Peter 1:3).

It’s my limited sight that is the problem. I can’t see. I can’t understand. 

I see individual pieces. He sees a finished puzzle.  

I can’t visualize how they go together, but He KNOWS how they all fit. 

And the great thing is He has given me the invitation to come up there with Him so I can know. He wants to show me.

I think of His vantage point up there on His high Rock and it motives me to seek His presence, His perspective. I want to know His secret of how it all fits together. 

I love that He invites me up there with Him. Not only does He offer me safety, security, and protection in His presence on the Rock, He offers His perspective, which I’m learning, is the piece I think is missing. Understanding and wisdom of how all my life’s pieces fit together. Asking and seeking His purpose for each piece. 

As a result of time on the Rock, I can learn to not fret over those pieces that are giving me such grief. I can trust, in time, those pieces are going to come together. Not only come together but be an amazing part of an incredible picture. 

When my heart defaults to an overwhelmed state due to trying to put it all together, I’m heading to the Rock for His presence and His perspective. 

I’m thinking you can’t always choose your pieces, but you can choose your perspective. 

I’m choosing to go with the Designer’s view. I’m looking forward to seeing the finished product!

Adventures in Buying in Bulk

It’s that day again.  

The day I have to muster up all I got to get myself to Costco and purchase enough food to feed a small army, or in my case a small family of four for 2 weeks. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love me some Costco, but every once in a while this day coincides with me in a rather foul mood and well, let’s face it--it’s the perfect storm.  I pity the person who meets me at Costco on this day. 

I manage to drag myself in there, grab my jumbo size cart and prepare for my upper body workout of a lifetime, which gets more intense the more I pile into that cart. 

As I near the end of my very precise and rigid turn by turn course through the store, I’m wielding my cart with everything I’ve got.  Of course I start running out of space to put stuff—IN MY JUMBO SIZE CART—when I start to see the staring.

You know the looks. From the old people that are just there to buy vitamins and books. They don’t have a cart. 

Queue the sneers, smiles and then someone actually has the guts to comment, “You sure you can handle that thing?” followed by a chuckle, chuckle.

I keep pushing, encouraged that I can see the check out now and just get out of here.  I stand in the jumbo line with my jumbo cart with a jumbo irritated look on my face, when the check out guy-- of all people-- has to say “wow, how many kids do you HAVE?”  

Now, most the time I go to Costco if get these types of comments, I can deal. 

Today it’s all I can take to not scream at the top of my lungs “We are at Costco, right?! I mean, aren’t we all here for the same reasons? We are all here to buy in BULK? Don’t judge me!” 

But I don’t scream it. I mutter “just 2 kids” and then throw out some reasons  to justify why I’m in their store buying so much food, but really I just stand there feeling like I’m a freak and there is something wrong with me. 

I wheel out to unload my giant food stash into my tiny Prius. As I am attempting this very tedious and calculated task, I have an older couple wheel up next to me and say “we are just curious how you are going to get all this into that little car” -no joke, people, I couldn’t make this up. They then proceed to WATCH ME load it all into my car. 

It was all I could take to not peel out of the parking lot yelling “Up yours, Costco!”

I can’t help but reflect on this and see the spiritual parallels. How quick we are to make assumptions, quick judgements and thoughtless remarks about the lives of others. About their feeble attempts. Their straining efforts. Perhaps they have just mustered up everything they’ve got to just drag themselves through the doors only to be greeted with strange or disapproving looks.  

Aren’t we all in the same circumstance in life? Oh, sure the story looks differently in every unique life, but boil it all down and it’s the same. We all want to love and be loved.  Acceptance. Belonging. Forgiveness. We want to know God and what He wants us to do with our lives. We want to know if  any of this matters. Do my heart felt tries even matter? 

We are trying, sometimes straining with all we’ve got to just keep going, and the play-by-play commentary by the people standing on the sidelines of our lives is just not helpful. Often times, it is hurtful. 

Some of my deepest wounds have been inflicted by people who falsely judged me or made wrong assumptions about my heart and motives. People who disapprovingly watched me push my cart.   

What do you do with that? 

While the answer to this question feels weighty and complicated and hard, I hear Him whisper the simple answer to my heart, “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you.”(Ephesians 4:32) 

The truth of the matter is I’m not accountable for how others treat me. I am accountable for how I treat them. And God’s measuring rod is kindness. Love. Mercy. Forgiveness. 

I’m learning that it is much easier to forgive others when you realize you also have been the person gawking, sneering and making rude comments at the person who is just trying to get through the day with their jumbo size burden. That I've been the one inflicting wounds with careless words or a raised eyebrow.

We have a simple, yet profound power. The power to encourage or discourage. To give or to take. To lighten anothers burden or to make it more difficult for them to bear. 

The power of just a friendly smile, a kind word. An acknowledgement of my feeble attempts to try to be a good mom. How differently that shopping trip would have turned out if the checker guy would have said “Wow, look at all this great food! Your family is going to enjoy some good meals!” 

It makes me realize the power of one interaction to encourage and strengthen another, to help bear their burden in some small kindness, and how love covers a multitude of wrongs. 

It makes me realize how badly I want to help push other people’s carts. To help them load it all up in their tiny cars, all the while yelling “You can DO this!!! We are in this TOGETHER!” 

Yep. And then peel out in my little Prius yelling “Thanks for the lessons, Costco!”