Gratitude ~ What the Family Needs

I’ve been giving thanks this month because it’s good for my heart and it impacts the relationships I’m a part of. Last week I talked about gratitude for my church family and the week before that I talked about the value of gratitude in general.

This week feels a bit intimidating! I’m an authentic person, and would never want to give the impression I have something figured out, that I very much don’t! I know gratitude is important for our families, but it’s an area I’ve struggled with.

My mom used to say children are barometers of their environment. I believe that’s true. They don’t create the weather, they respond to it. Kids are going to be immature and selfish. It’s their nature. They haven’t had time to understand and practice better behavior over the long haul.

If we want the people in our families to be thankful people, then we need to make sure we’re setting the example.

Crabbing because we have to make dinner, fuming about the in-laws coming, or fussing about our spouse will begin to bear fruit in our relationships. And not the good kind. Words set the tone of our homes, actions reinforce attitudes.

If we want our families to be havens of gratitude, it starts with us. That’s daunting. At least it is to me! Some people have naturally sweet dispositions. For the rest of us exchanging an attitude of complaining for one of thanksgiving takes an intentional effort.

Here a few ways we can begin to shift the climate of our homes.

Criticize in private, praise in public. Sometimes it’s important to offer correction or evaluate a difficult situation. My husband and I are careful to talk about all of our relationships discreetly. Even if there is conflict and it’s obvious there are problems, we try to speak with grace, have a posture of humility, and stand ready for reconciliation. We try to correct our kids, address an issue with a friend, and even argue between ourselves, in private. But we express gratitude and praise publicly.

Play worship music and read scripture. I’ll be honest family devotions have never really been a thing for us. I do try to set a tone in our home were worship is the norm. We also talk about problems from a biblical perspective and bring scripture into the conversation. I have a chalk board where I put a verse of scripture up for us to think about during the week. I’ve noticed when God’s word is at the forefront of our conversations the environment of our home is more positive and supportive.

Look at each situation as an opportunity to give thanks. I’m trying to teach my kids this principle by example as well as in our conversations. It’s easy to complain. It’s challenging to see everything as a doorway to thanks. When mountains of laundry overwhelm me I match socks and thank God for a family to wear the clothes. I thank him for a washing machine to wash the laundry, there have been times I didn’t have a working washer. And I thank him for the opportunity to serve my family. I’m trying to teach my kids to practice thankfulness in the same manner – for each person and circumstance, even the ones that challenge them.

Practice gratitude as a family. Last year I put a small pumpkin and a sharpie marker in the middle of my dinning room table and invited my family to fill it up over the month of November with things they were thankful for. It was interesting to see what each person listed, and it was a fun way to turn our focus to gratitude. This exercise will work anytime of the year when your family needs to turn away from complaining to giving thanks. The act of naming things we’re grateful for has a way of changing our patterns of speech and interaction. My husband and I have even embraced this practice in our marriage by ending the day naming what we’re thankful for. It’s definitely brought us closer together.

It’s easy to get into a pattern of complaining and criticizing. I’ve done it! But our kids and spouse are listening to our words. Nothing transforms relationships like expressing thanks. A simple note or word of appreciation can bring new life to your relationships.

Why not give it a try? How can you change your attitude or who can you say thank you to in your family this week? Eyes are watching!

Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus. 1 Thessalonians 5:18

I am America

I’ve been doing a little research. Digging into the past, discovering where I come from, whose I am.

The long limb’s of my family’s tree branch out in different directions. Mostly across the sea to Britannia. Some stretching far, far back. One old father appears to have sung in the choir of St. George’s chapel on the grounds of Windsor castle. A Robert Tinker, alive five hundred years ago. Eulalia Marche, has a remarkable story. At 15 she was thought dead after a bad fever, was laid out in her coffin for her wake, and shocked the room of mourners by sitting up in her coffin, revived! She was the daughter of persecuted and displaced French Huguenot, William Marche. After marrying Henry Burt they left for the New World. Eulalia went on to live until 90, one of the Massachusetts Bay Colony’s earliest settlers.

Othniel Taylor lived on the frontier, the very edge of the colonies. A native of Massachusetts, an officer of the Revolution , a patriot. But is his story so simple? Is any of ours? Seventy years before, his great-grandfather was killed by native Americans. None of them can speak for themselves. History is forced to speak for them. Can history be an unbiased witness? If it will tell the glory of a revolution, will it also tell the story of a forced occupation of native land? Even harder to discover than displaced natives are documents listing my South Carolina’s ancestor’s property. Among the land and livestock are human beings.

Add into the mix of British and Scottish land grants, puritan colonists, and wealthy merchants some Russian Jews escaping persecution, and Spaniards fleeing religious persecution by way of Puerto Rico, and you have an American soup. Into all of that add the tinge of African blood that tells its own painful story.

My skin and blood are a mosaic of the world. You can read the story in my face. My story; America’s story. Persecutor and persecuted alive in my veins. Slave and revolutionary blend in my arteries. Only if I listen to both sides of the story, refusing to silence or hide a single relative, can I make peace. Can America make peace. I am the story of America.

Unless we would dig the same deep furrows of shame all over again, we do well to humbly bow in respect to the suffering, and embrace with gratitude the survival of, all America’s descendants.

Our stories are intertwined, we can’t escape each other. Everyday we add to the chapters. What are you writing? For my part I honor them all, because without true understanding I will become each of them all over again. If we can learn their lessons we can rise above the past and make something more beautiful, more just.

Attitude

The #MeToo movement keeps on rolling and the evangelical church, specifically the Southern Baptist denomination, is currently in its path. I can’t celebrate that fact. The need for a collective voice retelling pain, abuse, and fear is not something to celebrate. The freedom that potentially comes with the telling is worth celebrating though. Like the cool, fresh air washed clean by a needed storm, I hope the climate of the church will take the opportunity to refresh as well.

No one, I should hope, would argue that sexual or verbal abuse by leaders in any organization is okay. What gets fuzzy are attitudes, paradigms, and innuendos. I would argue it’s attitude that leads to action. It’s why Jesus said if you lust it’s as good as adultery or if you’re angry it’s as good as murder. Our attitudes shape our actions. The attitudes of church leadership have shaped the attitudes of the church, have shaped actions.

As a woman I’ve had a rocky relationship with the church for years. You may be able to relate. Or maybe not. But I invite you to imagine.

I’ve been a part of the church since before memory. First a pastor’s daughter, then a pastor’s wife. As a pre-teen reading through the book of Romans I sensed God tugging my heart to follow him, to serve him full-time. It didn’t take long to realize I wouldn’t be allowed to do that as a pastor or leader. I was confused.

As a young person one of my favorite things to do was talk about theology, ethics, church history, or biblical exegesis with my dad. I loved that he would shed light on certain passages with his understanding of Greek words or Jewish culture. I also loved literature, art, and history. I asked the question why. Why do humans do what they do? Who is God? Why do I believe the bible? I wanted to engage in a community that could handle my questions, that encouraged me to find my place based on my gifting and passions, not my gender.

At the same time the southern Evangelical culture I was a part of didn’t pull out a chair for me at the table for that kind of interaction outside of the home. I knew in my conservative Christian culture of the late 80s and 90s full-time ministry was highly limited for a woman. I could never be a pastor, theologian, professor, or even perhaps an artist. I decided to be a missionary. For some reason women were allowed a certain autonomy and privilege if they were going to the mission field. Concessions were made. I thought there might be a place for me there. By the time I was 14 I had already spent seven weeks in Eastern Europe on mission. I loved it.

I don’t know that my parents explicitly told me what my options were as I crossed into adulthood. I went to college with the goal of becoming a missionary nurse. No other conversation was needed I guess. But then I changed direction. I loved international missions but I sensed I had told God what I was going to do for him instead of asking him where he wanted to lead me. I spent some time listening and he impressed upon my heart through his word and conversations that I was to serve the local church at home. Once again God and I had the conversation where I reminded him that I was a woman and wasn’t gifted to teach children. I asked him why he hadn’t made me a man. He didn’t answer.

I changed my major to communications and trusted. Meeting Chris soon after brought clarity. Looking back over the last twenty years I have no doubt God gifted us with each other to serve the church. I didn’t want to be a pastor’s wife at the time because I knew from experience exactly what it entailed. And I have been proved right, and then some. But God has equipped me to be what I’ve needed to be. My role in each church has been as different as my husband’s has been. Sometimes very hands on other times more supportive. And in each church I’ve had influence with zero authority. 

But marriage to Chris was God’s answer to why I wasn’t born a man. It has been a long journey, filled with sorrow, doubt, joy. I’ve learned to like me. I’ve learned to tenaciously trust Jesus. I’ve come to value his beauty above anything else. Even though I will probably never be asked to join the big boy table and discuss theological matters, provide elder/pastoral care, or strategize mission, Chris has given me the freedom to partner with him personally in ministry.  

For years I sold myself short. I had internalized all kinds of messages from secular and Christian culture. I was so afraid of getting it wrong. The ideals of biblical womanhood the church portrayed in my youth were restrictive. A lot of time went into containing and shaming women. The idea that women were more sinful than men, that we’re weaker, that God places more restrictions on us, that we can’t be trusted to be rational or lead, that we must be submissive for our own good, that our only true place is in the home, that the highest achievement of all womanhood is childbirth, that seeing ourselves as sexual beings was weird, that the education of a woman had less value than the education of a man all embedded in my heart like shards of glass and rubbed it raw for years. I’ve started sentences with “I know I’m just a woman…” But rebellion isn’t the answer. Hope is.

I have a dream. Actually two. One is to write a really good book, maybe even lots of them. The other is to return to Eastern Europe, Serbia specifically, as a minister of the gospel with the Christian and Missionary Alliance. I have a vision of reaching out to the marginalized of society, the disabled, the Roma, the poor to help them understand their place in the kingdom of God. And by extension help the local church understand that the body of Christ is only complete when those brothers and sisters who can serve do and that we are all better when we see the intrinsic worth of people across all ethnic, class, and educational lines.

I could not have articulated those dreams even two years ago. I didn’t have confidence in my own worth. My husband, and all men, were, in my mind, the first class citizens. I followed them, none of them should be expected to follow me. I don’t believe that now. I’m growing stronger and my voice is good.

I am not a complementarian or egalitarian. I follow Jesus. To the woman at the well he said I will give you living water. Her response, to a man who should not have been talking to her, a man far above her station (much farther than she knew), was to go and tell her whole village. She knew her encounter with Jesus was life changing and she risked shame to share that news. Her village was transformed. And then there was the woman who came into the house where Jesus was sitting with a bunch of men. She touched him, he let her. She cried and washed his feet with her hair. She anointed him. I can only imagine the thoughts embedded in his companion’s hearts – weird, doesn’t he know who she is, that’s just gross, I would never let her touch me like that, why doesn’t he send her away. He doesn’t say those things. That’s not what’s in his heart. He’s moved. He doesn’t tell her she’s too emotional or send her away. He holds her up as a standard of appropriate worship, for all people. Not only will he not send her away he ensures her story will be told wherever the gospel is told. Because the gospel is radically different from the law. It levels the ground. There is a place for men and women. There is a place where a woman can be held up as an example of right worship, over the priesthood, over the educated. The gospel turns everything on its ear and we constantly, including myself, try to remake it into another version of the law. 

I’m not saying there shouldn’t be order. I’m not saying men and women aren’t different. I’m not saying it’s simple. But a system built on a foundation that promotes distrust and control of an entire group of people is not grace. It is easy to abuse people you distrust. People who are less than.

There will always be a need for our minds to be transformed by the gospel, individually and corporately. And there is no denying at this moment in time the church’s attitude toward women is one area that is undergoing rebirth. It’s time.

It will be a successful transformation if it is born of love, humility, grace, and mutual submission. Women do not need to take over the church and punish men. Men just need to courteously pull out a seat at the table for their co-laborers. There are lots of ways to structure leadership in healthy ways. There is room for tradition, and sensitivity to preference. I think my denomination, The Christian and Missionary Alliance, has a beautiful heritage of honoring and utilizing women.   

The conversation of equality, of men and women, of Me Too, of abuse and dominance can derail us if we let it. But we don’t have to be afraid of this conversation. Jesus started it a couple thousand years ago, with a woman, at a well. The conversation should always be about the gospel. Who has access to the gospel is found in Jesus posture with all of us. He was accessible. His presence breeds freedom. For all of us. All conversations should flow from that starting place.

What could derail our conversation about body life, women in leadership, abuse of power, how we relate to one another as men and women? Deaf ears, raised fists, rebellion, hopelessness, unrepentant hearts, unforgiving hearts, demanding rights, withholding rights, thinking we have rights, marginalizing, shaming, ignoring, power grabs – all these things from any angle will spoil the conversation and slow momentum.

What will bring life and vitality to the church in this context? Open ears and hearts, gentle words, grace for harsh words, servant leadership, humility, the words “I’m sorry”, worship, prayer, more humility, courage, imagination, understanding. Not everyone was born to lead, and not every leader is a man. But the best leaders recognize their authority is held in trust for the good of others. The best leaders share their authority and empower others to be their best. The best leaders release others to live in their gifts to build the kingdom. The best leaders aren’t color blind or gender blind or blind to anything else that makes us unique, they just recognize that all colors and genders make a better team, a more rich tapestry, a more complete picture of the kingdom. The best leaders look like Jesus. They are obsessed with grace, not control.

If our attitudes shape our actions let’s take the attitude of Christ. Authority isn’t worth grasping, servant-hood is. (Philippians 2, John 13)

Does Marriage Matter?

“Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her  to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. After all, no one ever hated their own body, but they feed and care for their body, just as Christ does the church— for we are members of his body. “For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.” This is a profound mystery—but I am talking about Christ and the church. However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.” Ephesians 5:25-33 

What is the purpose of marriage, does it matter? In this day and time have we moved past the usefulness of marriage? In these passages God is communicating a “profound mystery” to us about unity in marriage. One I believe is still relevant today. Let me begin by telling a story:

Once upon a time a good man; a man of character and fortune, a man of excellent reputation and wisdom, a man of authority, of royalty, asked a common, shamed, foreign woman to marry him. Her response was an affectionate but flighty, “Yes. But only on my own terms, I want to keep my old habits, my own hours and friends, dirty up the mansion, remain unrefined and by the way keep a few boy friends on the side.” She was the worst kind of fool. He set his terms; an exclusive relationship. She refused. But he was patient; he overcame her fears and payed off her debts. Eventually she came to love him and realize the worth he was offering to her. She woke up from her stupor, realized her pitiful state, and embraced the love of her generous suitor, too thankful to be ashamed.

 

Will we embrace the proposal of such a groom as Jesus or in return for his gracious payment of our sin debt will we flaunt our sin and other lovers in his face? God offers his church transformation, to be made into a radiant bride. A commoner turned princess couldn’t undergo a more complete makeover and yet so often we as people and churches insist on remaining a filthy tramp as long as we can get our hands on some of the good stuff like grace, mercy, forgiveness, and oh yeah, love. The problem is the bride is operating under a lie; mercy doesn’t come without repentance, or grace without humility.

And the most shocking thing of all? The bride has missed out on the greatest of the wedding gifts, union. The Prince has offered to make her in every reality one with himself, sharing his title, his status, his power, authority and wealth in every way. He’s willing to hand over the signet ring for her to use in his name. Love, mercy, and grace aren’t an end in themselves they are a means to an end, they are the nature and method in which complete union takes place. But these are the terms; the tramp must transform into a princess. He’s willing to pay for the transformation, but she has to agree to it.

God has, from the moment of creation, gifted us with the picture of unity through marriage. The image of a bride and her Husband has been painted from Genesis to Revelation. Understanding the significance of being united with God illuminates the high value of marriage, likewise the union of marriage points back to the gracious gift of Jesus’ union with the church. God structured a man and woman’s relationship with each other to best reflect his character to us.

 

Thankfully purity is not a prerequisite of our union with Jesus, but it is a hallmark of it. Jesus knows exactly who he is offering himself to be united to; sinners. He’s not shocked and his love is not overwhelmed. He offers himself to make his chosen one pure. His blood, his own righteousness, is the purifying agent. Jesus draws his bride to himself and away from other lovers, making her holy, which essentially means set apart for his own purpose. But then, once she is clean and has accepted the terms of his marriage proposal, he expects purity. And he should, it’s only fitting.

Why is the picture of marriage so sacred? Because nothing on earth depicts the union of Jesus to his beloved bride, the church, like a husband and wife do. Unity is the crux of the gospel and I wonder if we regularly miss the significance of that. I know I have. At the heart of God, at the heart of humanity, at the heart of relationship, at the heart of the gospel, at the heart of the bible, at the heart of the New Heaven and the New Earth (our eternal home, Rev. 21) is unity. Oneness. At the fall unity with God and each other was broken, at the cross it was restored, in heaven it’s consummated. “He made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times reach their fulfillment —to bring unity to all things in heaven and on earth under Christ.” Ephesians 1:9-10

One day Jesus will sit down to feast with his bride at his wedding banquet. To have the Creator of the universe, the holy eternal God, willingly offer to make us one with him is a scandalous grace! But he never said we could come on our terms, he expects full and total surrender. His love is a willingness to transform and redeem at a high cost to himself. His gift is generous beyond comprehension and available if we are willing to die to our own glory and live for his alone. What a joyful people we should be, united to our Beloved, loved beyond what we can even comprehend!

Let’s consider how we can honor our marriages as the holy picture of divine unity that they are. Our hungry, fainting world needs the hope such truth can provide!

Dreamer

When she pushes open the library doors I’m sure I hear music. The faint tinkle of wind chimes. Maybe fairies laughing. I meet her at the door and walk her through choosing a book and checking out. If I don’t she gets lost in the process. Lost.

She’s on the autism spectrum. Executive function isn’t something her brain gives much thought too. It certainly isn’t shiny or interesting or beautiful. There are too many wonders to behold, function is so drab.

She is the most brilliant and artistic child I’ve met this year. She can pull any book off the shelf and read it. But not just read it. She turns it into a work of art. She read a book on orcas to me yesterday. Her voice rose and fell with expression. She whispered then giggled with delight, “ooh, orcas are my favorite, I’m going to read this and tell my mommy all about them.” I’ve heard children much older than her force out robotic sounding words from the page. She was painting emotion when she read. Brilliant.

I hope as she gets older teachers, friends, employers, society will see beyond the

diagnosis to the wonderful. I hope she figures out how to make it through life without getting lost. She’s a hexagon peg, not meant to fit into the square hole of our society’s systems and organizations. But she’ll be forced to anyway. That’s what we do after all. We insist on holding up the standard, insist on conformity. But I’m rooting for different. I’m hoping she’ll survive and hold on to the wonder.

Hopeful

She’s in second grade, but she’s the size of a kindergartner. Her hopeful eyes have stolen my heart. Her wounds have broken it.

The first time she sidled up to me the library was quiet. She’d never spoken more than a word or two before. This day she must have seen her opportunity to have me all to herself. Maybe she was just needing somewhere to unload the burden she’d been carrying.

Out tumbled a story of foster care and fear, a mama who’s struggling to kick addiction. Parents that she loves and is scared of losing. Anxiety that they won’t be there when she gets home. Her heart a vacuum and me so ill equipped to fill it. I cried when she left.

I met her mama recently. Little bit waltzed into the library, threw out her hand in the direction of a very young woman, and announced, “this is my mama!” I smiled, instead of wincing, and enthusiastically greeted “mama.” She looked afraid and too thin, and not at all ready to be a mama.Every time that wisp of a child comes into the library I greet her by name, find something to praise her for, and touch her. I always touch her – her hand, her head, squeeze her shoulder, pat her back, something. She told me her mama doesn’t like being touched much.Her life will always be a struggle. But as long as I’m able she will have all the sunshine I can give her. I pray she makes it. It’s a big world for someone so small.

On Loan

A midwife is a co-laborer – coaching, encouraging a new life into existence. An integral part of birth. A celebrant. But that new life doesn’t belong to her. She leaves the birthing room empty handed. Satisfied, perhaps, by a job well done. But she herself hasn’t become a mother. 

Two years ago, the image of a midwife came to mind. Through the night I sat by my mother’s bed counting each breath. Willing peace into that room. Straining with her, listening, anticipating, leaning in, whispering encouragement. She wasn’t giving birth, she was being reborn. She began to withdraw and took on an intense, inward focus. I remembered a similar feeling during my own childbirth. I shut the world out around me and every fiber of my being focused on birthing. Death and birth are strangely similar. Generally speaking, though, one is a happy event and one is sad. 

It’s such a strange thing watching a body become incapable of sustaining life. The one thing it was meant to do it can do no longer. I still loved that body. The hands and cheek, the arms and ears. That body had been my home, my first home, for months. Only three people in the whole world knew what her heart sounded like from the inside. But by morning no one had a use for her body anymore. Not even her. 

I will never forget her own mother’s passing. She was frantic to hold on to her, desperate to reach her before the last breath. She didn’t make it. I remember thinking very carefully that I wouldn’t do that to her. The last thing I said to her was, “It’s okay, you can let go. You’re doing good. Just let go. It’s going to be okay.” It sounded, to my ears, a lot like what my nurses whispered to me as I pushed my little babies into this world. I hoped my words gave her what she needed to pass into her new life. She always wanted approval, cared what people thought, wanted to get it right. I was determined in her last moments she would get that from me. 

It’s stunning how 730 days can pass, crammed full of life, but in a moment I’m in that room again, listening to her breath. I can feel every moment. It’s the same with the birth of my babies. Every moment is etched in my mind. I can’t remember what I ate for dinner last Saturday, but whole hours are seared in my mind from the day I became a mother and the day I lost mine. 

Billions of people have been born and died since the beginning of the world. Each one of them have mattered, to someone. What has surprised me is how much her death has mattered to me. I like to think I’m practical, diligent, resilient, hopeful, rational, in control, and in a lot of ways I am, but I’m also an introspective, a yoyo, an extremist, sensitive, an idealist, and a critic. Sometimes I’m just numb. If I allow myself to feel the full weight of what her death means to me, and really what death means to the whole human race, I might not be able to function. Certainly that first year there were moments that I was just coping. 

Her death pulled back the thin veil of humanity and reminded me that life is on loan. When the midwife walks out of the labor room that just born life doesn’t belong to her. But neither does it belong to the mother, not really. She may be the most intimate relationship in that child’s life for a time, but no one owns life. We’re stewarding even our own.

Life belongs to the Creator.

For a season he may tie hearts together. We can be the midwives, coaches, partners, friends, mentors, champions, counselors and countless other things in the lives of those we love. But in the end only God is master. Only he says “come” and has the right to be obeyed. I like to think on the other side of death’s door mom’s perfect Father held her in his arms, welcomed her into her new life, kissed her face with joy, and blessed her with a new name – just like she had for me on the day of my birth. 

Building a new confederacy

My heart is a patchwork of people whose actions and attitudes have stitched together my own perception of the world. What I’ve become is a bridge. The American story is written in my DNA. I’m a child of the south, the deep south. Seven generations back into the hills and farmlands of South and North Carolina. My mama’s family tree decorated by confederate and revolutionary war soldiers. Proud, stubborn Scot’s blood made for quick tempers and deep grudges. Racism was reality. I grew up with its language.

But I’m also a child of the melting pot. The daughter of a military brat born in California to a Puerto Rican mother and father with a Jewish heritage. Those two worlds created the fabric of my life, and it wasn’t without conflict. The blend wasn’t easy, or natural. My mother felt pulled between her family and its past, and who she was becoming with my father.

As a child I sensed the tension between my South Carolina grandparents and my dad. It’s taken me a long time to understand it. For generations my grandparent’s family had married people like them and stayed put. The coves and hills of the Carolina’s were unchanging. Then my grandfather fought in a war that encompassed the whole world. When he came back they left their tiny town, but they didn’t go far. Later my mama went to Atlanta and married a young man outside the boundaries of the traditional south.

The Civil Rights movement was spoken of with great scorn in my grandparent’s household, and even occasionally by my mother. Mama fought to be reborn, with a new understanding of the world and people, but it was a struggle. She insisted her parents refrain from using racial slurs around us children. Old habits die hard and I could read between the lines. Neither of her parents ever stopped referring to northerners as damn Yankees. It was as if reconstruction was fresh in their minds. The feud was real. I remember as a teen asking my mom if her dad had been part of the Klan. She didn’t know.

I’m not sure if my grandparents ever made peace with the reality that my mother married someone so different from them. My sister and I have acknowledged that our grandfather would have had a problem with her own marriage to her husband of Filipino heritage. So probably nothing really changed.

My grandparents, my mom, and her brother are all gone now. An adult with a family of my own, I live in north Georgia, not far from my roots. I see the south of my childhood through a different lens. I understand now what I only suspected then. To make sense of the present we must be students of the past. The world’s past, America’s past, and our past.

What grabs me most about white supremacy is what a normal face it wears. My Pawpaw was a deacon in his Baptist church, a WWII veteran with a purple heart. The other thing that surprises me about racism is our own surprise by it. Why in the world are we surprised by intolerance? Do we think we have come so far?

In the bible’s account of the first family we meet Adam, Eve, and their two boys, Cain and Able. In a fit of jealous rage the first son kills the second. Murder in the second generation of humans. Those boys were a generation removed from perfection – perfect parents, perfect garden, perfect relationship with God. At the heart of the issue between the brothers is offended pride, a fight for first place, and selfishness. No generation since has been free of the fight for first place, or selfish tendencies that can turn murderous. Not a one.

My family has been a small microcosm of that reality. Who will we love? Who will we preserve? Our own selves, our own family clan, our interests? Or will we consider the needs of our neighbors and future generations as more important?

I could write about the complexities of how we got to this place. I could write about Southern history and its complicated issues. I could write about the way Jesus is used as a pawn by people spouting all kinds of ideologies. I could chastise, rebuke, and scold.

But I won’t.

Instead I will confess. Confess how racism shaped me from birth, and selfishness still chafes my soul like a pebble in a shoe. Confess that I have a lot to learn. Confess that Jesus’ teachings on loving our neighbor, much less our enemy, makes me uncomfortable. Especially uncomfortable given that he lived out those beliefs to the point of death. I confess that I have been part of the problem.

God is not so small as to be America’s God or the Republican’s God or the Democrat’s God or any other group who claims him. The bible tells us that God’s kingdom is one of unity. Where all of creation and mankind are unified under the authority of his son Jesus. God is exceptionally inclusive. That’s not to say all paths lead to God. But all people are welcome to come to him through his Son.(Ephesians 1)

The face of privilege stares back at me in the mirror every day, and I take it for granted. But one thing I’ve learned at the feet of Jesus is that strength is for service. If you find yourself in a position where you have the upper hand, God’s call is clear, reach down and pull others up to stand with you, and when necessary go and sit at the bottom with them until they can get on their feet.  There is no other option if we claim to be Jesus followers because that’s where he’s leading – to the margins, to service, to humility.

I don’t fear white supremacists. Most people aren’t so radical. What I fear is a more subtle racism. The kind that creeps into our churches and relationships so quietly it’s hard to notice. I fear the darkness in my own heart. That’s where this battle must be fought. In our hearts. Where we examine motives, and shed old ideas, and look through God’s eyes. That’s how we fight the darkness. We start with ourselves – in here, not out there.

We have to make peace with our past, but we don’t have to repeat it. I choose a new confederation, a confederation of hearts stepping into the light and being sewn together in love, not hate.

Eight Tips for Building a Marriage that Lasts

Nineteen years. In September that’s how long Chris and I will have been married. That’s a long time! Nineteen years of marriage didn’t happen by accident, not at all. Each year was hard earned, some of them more than others. At year ten I almost walked away. I have yet to see a marriage where one person is completely innocent of any wrong doing. Both contribute to the pain and the success. That has certainly been true for us.

I can honestly say I love Chris more today than I ever have. He is a source of comfort and joy. I would rather laugh with him or cry with him than anyone else. Our arguments have lessened in frequency and intensity. But funnily enough the things we fuss about haven’t really changed at all!

Investing in our marriage has been a conscious effort, a commitment. So what have we done to build a healthy marriage? Here are 8 tips for a relationship that endures.

1. Recognize the humanity of your partner. In the first year of marriage, during one of our intense newlywed conversations, I remember posing a question along the lines of what we would do if one of us was unfaithful. Chris responded that, hard as it would be, he would work to forgive and restore our relationship. I was aghast, no way, you’re dead meat if you do that to me! I’ve grown up a lot. The pedestal I liked putting people on has long ago been put away. I don’t expect unfaithfulness from my husband, and thankfully he is the most loyal person I know, but I also have come to realize that people are people. We all disappoint each other. You can’t expect perfection, or for your spouse to meet all of your expectations. There must be room for growth in a marriage. Don’t be surprised by your spouse’s human nature.
2. Don’t expect your spouse to satisfy your every desire. God created both of you, it stands to reason only the Creator of your soul can fulfill it’s deepest longing. We were each made to be worshipers, but a spouse makes a poor god. No one can bear up under the pressure to deeply satisfy the human heart, that job belongs to Jesus. We both have the responsibility to nurture our own relationship with God. A heart at peace with our Creator prepares us to love and serve our spouse in the way we were created to. As our hearts begin to beat in time with Jesus’ our hearts will beat in time with each other.
3. Watch your wandering eyes. The biggest surprise for me in marriage was the ability to notice another person. So naive, I know! I guess I thought once I had found my true love I would only have eyes for him. But that’s silly, because it didn’t take long for him to annoy me. I had to make a conscious decision to guard my eyes and my thoughts. Every action is born in the heart. When we allow ourselves to imagine ourselves with people other than our spouse we have started down a very tricky path and adultery is being incubated in our heart, ready to be born in the right moment. I don’t allow myself to watch movies or shows that feed dissatisfaction with my husband or ignite my imagination about another person. It’s not worth the risk. I need to focus my affection and attention on my husband fully. Our hearts can be divided too easily if we’re not careful.
4. Be humbly ready to own your own mistakes and weaknesses first. Is your spouse perfect? Nope. Are there things they need to change? Yes. Is nagging them and pointing out their faults going to accomplish that change? No way. The biggest shift in our marriage began when I willingly owned my own mistakes and weaknesses, and stopped pointing out his faults. The only person you can change in a marriage is you. Work on you, pray for your spouse, and see what happens.
5. Expect good out of your spouse. There’s a reason you married your spouse, you saw something good there. Sometimes you just need to remember and recite those good things. I can honestly say my husband is a man of goodwill. He would never intentionally hurt me or put his family in danger. But I don’t always agree with every decision he makes, and sometimes he hurts my feelings or has an off day. When those things happen I remember he is a man of goodwill and character. Which puts the off days in perspective and reminds me not to overreact. I know he needs me to see the best in him, and sometimes he needs me to remind him of the best. So often you get out what you put in. If you sow words of faith, hope and love, that’s what you get out. I’m still working on that, but it’s a truth I’ve seen born out.
6. Speak the good in public and the bad in private. I make it a point to only speak good things about my husband in public. It’s especially important for him since he is in such a visible position as a pastor. That doesn’t mean he’s perfect or on occasion there aren’t hard things to say about our marriage. It just means I say those in private and in the right context. It also doesn’t mean I’m not real about our marriage. I don’t mind saying that we’re opposites and that’s created more than a few sparks over the years. Or that we have very different social needs. But I’m just as quick to point out my own quirks and contributions to our idiosyncrasy. A nagging critical wife is hard to live with, and believe me at times I have been that. It gets old after a while to be a complainer though, and watching the toll on his heart helped me change some of those habits over time. A good rule of thumb is to praise him in public, and deal with the junk in private. Of course that’s a good rule for any relationship!
7. Prioritize the two of you. We have three children from 9-13 years old. Life gets busy. Even so our relationship is a priority. We didn’t take a family vacation this summer. Instead the kids headed to church camp for a week and we headed to Charleston, just the two of us. We loved each other first and we love each other best. Of course we love our children too, they just don’t come before our marriage. My husband has told our kids on more than one occasion, “I love you by loving your mother well.” I appreciate that. And so do they. It gives them a sense of security and comfort knowing their parents love and actually like each other. We spend plenty of time working, playing, learning, and loving together as a family, but we’re careful to set time aside for just the two of us to connect. We were together before the kids joined us and will be together long after they leave home.
8. The nature of God is the best standard. The book of Galatians tells us that the nature of God alive in us produces fruit that is loving, joyful, peaceful, patient, kind, good, faithful, gentle, and self-controlled. If we allow God to transform us into that kind of person our marriages will endure even in challenging times. Attentiveness makes them incredibly precious to us. We will be slow to dishonor them after having already bathed them in kindness, gentleness, patience, and love. Treat your spouse like the precious gift they are, and that’s how they will feel and how you will see them. It can change the tone even in a tense relationship. Because honestly, has nagging or worrying or freaking out really ever gotten you anywhere good? Yeah, me neither.

Marriage is a holy battle ground where we fight against our own selfishness so that love can win. In the hand of God a faithful marriage can accomplish a great deal of eternal good. When I was young I dreamed foolish fairy tales, where I was the star of the story. Romance was about me and how adored and happy I could be. That kind of silliness is for children and should be left in childhood. The truth of marriage is far more powerful than a Cinderella fantasy.

Marriage, at it’s heart, is about mirroring Jesus’ love for his people. (Ephesians 5:21-33) When God joins two people in marriage he is extending an invitation of partnership. We are invited to join with him in the most intimate way possible to produce holiness in another person’s life. What a privilege to see old broken ways of thinking fall away and a rebirth take place in front of us. What a privilege to extend the balm of forgiveness over another person’s heart and see healing begin. What a privilege to hope and pray, to see the best become reality. Truly a journey like that makes two become one, it’s eternal, mysterious, and a privilege.

Which of these tips do you need to apply the most to your marriage right now? No matter how challenging things are, or how good they may be, there is always work to be done. And hope, there’s always lots of hope.

To Teachers

It’s time. The days of freedom are over, back to structure and lesson plans. I feel like I’m still processing last year, but here we are again!

I wonder if your heart shrinks a little at the thought of going back to school. No doubt the days will be long. Will you walk into your classroom and meet your match, that child capable of wearing you down even on your best days?

Maybe the summer has filled you with a buoyant sense of hopeful expectation. You can’t wait to see the sun-kissed faces about to greet you. I hope so!

Either way, if you’ve taught for anytime at all you know the day will come this year when you just can’t take another minute. The little darlings will head out to music and you’ll put your head in your hands and pray to make it to 3:30. You may even cry and cram chocolate in your mouth, it’s totally understandable!

Put these words in your pocket for that day: THANK YOU!

Seriously, thank you. You don’t have to be teacher of the year to be worthy of profound thanks. Those of us who are paying attention, and there are plenty of us who are, know that you work hard at an incredibly challenging job.

So ahead of time I say thanks for noticing the little fella in the back row who acts out and smells stinky. Thanks for recognizing that he’s not bad, he’s just hurting and needs to find confidence in himself.

Thanks for taking time to celebrate a student who has truly worked hard to master a skill that has challenged them. Thanks for pressing in and showing them the importance of persistence.

Thank you for recognizing that even though you have standards to cover and tests to administer and your own set of expectations to live up to, education isn’t actually one size fits all, and often the most important lessons kids learn aren’t in a text book or even on the test.

Thanks for taking the time to honor each child’s value and individuality, while also teaching the importance of co-operation and community.

Thanks for late nights and getting excited about crafts and using your own resources and worrying about our kids like they’re your kids.

You may make mistakes this year. You may lose your cool once or twice (or 50 times, I’m not counting). You may think about quitting. That’s normal. You’re human, although I have questioned it since some of you have super human skills, like astronomical patience, and not taking a bathroom break for hours, and having eyes in the back of your head.  But when you do make a mistake, cut yourself some slack! Loving dozens of children, many of them with deep hurts, some of them with disabilities, all of them needy – is a hard job.

The impact of your kind words and gentle eyes are profound, as you well know. I pray this year that children who feel unworthy will sense their preciousness in your presence. And I pray the children who have already learned prejudice will, in humility, un-learn it at your knee. I pray the harsh words that spring up on your tongue will die there as you look into defiant, broken eyes and you press in to model mercy. I pray you will be surprised at the endurance, joy, and enthusiasm you find bubbling up in your heart, even on the hardest days, when you desperately need a break.

May hope fill hallways and love fill your classrooms. May old cycles of fear and weariness be defeated by truth and grace this year. May healthy relationships and value for each person be modeled to the younger generation. May discipline and sacrifice replace apathy. And may summer come quickly on the wings of a successful school year!

Teachers, that is my hope for you!

{If you know a teacher share this post and a heartfelt message of appreciation with them! Check in with them throughout the year, offer words of encouragement, and ask how you can pray for and support them!}