glenna marshall

Future Discipleship Part 2: God’s Part in Our Perseverance

When my husband and I first settled into rural church ministry twelve years ago, I was a little unprepared for the pace of life offered by the farming community where we had made our new home. We had left a much larger college town buzzing with traffic and commutes, a life where I’d had a job and goals and lots of church commitments. My first few months as a pastor’s wife in a small town surrounded by farmland was an education in listening and learning the rhythms of life in a small church in a small town.

Those days taste of summer in my memory. We moved into the church parsonage during the sweltering heat of July; a few neighbors and church members introduced themselves with offerings of local produce, sweet corn being the preeminent housewarming gift of choice.

My young pastor-husband chose to take our congregation through the prayers of the apostle Paul during mid-week prayer services that first summer in Southeast Missouri—a gesture of hope from a twenty-seven-year-old seminary graduate to his new flock. What has stayed with me from those warm summer evenings at church are the sincere prayers of the church members whose names we were just learning. Most significant at the time were plaintive petitions for rain, of all things. In the humility that comes from knowing one can do nothing about the weather was a significant sincerity in those requests for rain for the crops. These weren’t merely general blanket prayers for a reprieve from summer’s heat. These were genuine prayers stemming from love and concern for one another: there were farmers in the congregation. While I listened to the prayers of these people I barely knew, I began to understand what they believed about God. Our prayers offer an overview of our theology, and the habit of praying together is a disarming way to get to know someone.

 

He will do the work of perseverance while we do the work of persevering

 

I’ve been studying Ephesians 1 over the last couple of weeks, and surprisingly I got stuck in Paul’s prayer for the Ephesian church family in verses 15-19 (that’s not normally where people get stuck in chapter 1, by the way). I felt a pull to stay here for a few days:

This is why, since I heard about your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love for all the saints, I never stop giving thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers. I pray the that God our our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, would give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of Him. I pray that the perception of your mind may be enlightened so you may know what is the hope of His calling, what are the glorious riches of His inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of His power to us who believe, according to the working of His vast strength.

Ephesians 1:15-19 (HCSB)

Paul prayed that God would enlighten the eyes of the believers in Ephesus so they would understand the richness of God and grasp the following:

1) the hope of God’s calling

2) the glorious riches of His inheritance

3) the immeasurable greatness of His power

Paul’s prayer teaches us a lot about God.

What kept me in this short pastoral prayer was the integral involvement of God in each layer of Paul’s petition. These gifts Paul prays for: hope of the calling, riches of inheritance, greatness of power all seem to be mentioned and prayed for in order to encourage the Ephesian believers to continue in the faith by remembering Who is behind it. They could function as Christians because of the hope they have in God’s calling on their lives unto salvation, they could set their eyes on things above when they remembered that they belong to God, and they would be able to persevere because of the immeasurable greatness of God’s power.

God’s calling, God’s inheritance, God’s power. But all bestowed upon His people by Him because He is faithful to persevere His children to completion. The hope of God’s calling them to faith in Christ (discussed earlier in chapter 1), the glorious riches of belonging to God as His inheritance with the guarantee of a future with Him forever (1:13), and God’s immeasurably great power on which the believer can lean according to the working of His vast strength. In his commentary on Ephesians, Peter T. O’Brien says that “the Christian growth of [Paul’s] readers, as well as the furtherance of [Paul’s] own ministry of the gospel, is wholly dependent upon the living God, who gives generously to His children when they call upon Him in prayer.”*

Paul’s prayer also tells us about God’s part in our perseverance.

In my last post I made the point that our daily Bible intake functions as a sort of deposit for our future discipleship. What our hearts are absorbing now from the Scriptures will equip us for the future. I believe that with all of my heart, and I’ve known it to be true in my own life. Equally true is the possibility that we will be ill prepared for suffering when we’ve ignored the call to spend time with the Lord, when we’ve avoided meeting Him in His Word. I believe that to be true because I’ve lived it, unfortunately.

That said, we shouldn’t approach personal Bible study as a formula with which to conquer all the hard knocks life may offer us. Delving into our sacred text is not done for the sake of acquiring knowledge to win an argument or for turning passages into some kind of scriptural talisman with which to shield ourselves from suffering. Our goal in opening our Bibles is always to know God and to make Him known. Perseverance is born from that. Hope is born from that. Security, assurance, help, healing, love, wisdom—these things come in time spent knowing our God, but they come under the umbrella of knowing Him first and foremost. They are fringe benefits, so to speak. Considerable, weighty, lavishly given fringe benefits that are necessary for our growth as believers, but ultimately they stem from first staring intently at the character of God.

He is the one who pulls our hearts to faith, who promises His presence continually (and keeps good on that promise continually). He is the one who holds up our chins and reminds us that He will do this thing. He’s already done it, really. He will do the work of perseverance while we do the work of persevering. It’s Him working in us, according to His vast, vast strength. It’s a kindness that He involves us at all. After all, what is man that He is mindful of him, the son of man that He looks after him? (Ps. 8:4)

He will do the work of perseverance while we do the work of persevering. Share on X

The Author and Sustainer of life has made sure to bend low with reliable regularity to persevere us through suffering, through trials, through temptations. He has guaranteed His work on the cross. Why wouldn’t we endeavor to know Him daily? Why wouldn’t we get up each morning to pile up reminders of His involvement in our sanctification for the days that dawn bleak with doubt? Why wouldn’t we dwell on His faithfulness now when we will always need to be reminded of it?

The pastoral prayers in the New Testament always remind me of those early days in ministry when we listened to Paul’s requests for the first century churches as a primer for praying together as a 21st century church. I thought we had a lot to teach our church, a lot of wisdom to share. I couldn’t imagine all I would have to learn. When I listen to my brothers and sisters pray now, some twelve years later, I’ve learned to listen for what I can learn about God. The pleas from my siblings for grace, for healing, for salvation of friends or family, for provision—these prayers teach me a lot about the character of God. He is as involved in our sanctification as much now as He was in the church at Ephesus in AD 61. Listening to the prayers of other believers encourages me to press on in faith. What they’ve soaked in from their own time with the Lord in Scripture comes pouring out in petitions and pleas that speak of the necessary involvement of God in every corner of our sanctification.

What a relief it is to know that perseverance is a community project.

 

*O’Brien, Peter T. The Letter to the Ephesians. William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company. Grand Rapids, Michigan. 1999.

Photo Cred: Alexandre Godreau with Unsplash

Catch and Release: Taking Personal Criticism to the Word

I could feel the blood draining from my face. The plastic fork in my hand nearly snapped in two under the pressure of my clenched fist. Trying not to reply too hastily, I bit my lip so hard it bled.

I thought it was a dinner invitation, but it felt like an ambush.

As my long list of failures was categorized into neat stacks of inadequacies on the table between us, I found myself speechless with humiliation. This is what people think of me? People who barely know me? I didn’t say much more than “thank you for dinner” before gathering my things to leave. I nodded and smiled, making my host feel, I’m sure, validated in the serving of reproach for dessert. I’m a ministry wife, after all, and it was their job to keep me in line. I am supposed to welcome this kind of critique, right?

I cried all the way home.

At the root of all correction should be a desire to prevent you from wandering from the faith.

All night I tossed in my bed while the words from dinner echoed over and over–a mantra of my inadequacies, a list of character flaws I needed to correct, an outline of how I had failed everyone. As the night grew longer, so did the list. In my mind, it was poorly translated into a litany of the ways I would never, ever be enough. I could never do or be all the things expected of me. I was angry to be so squarely criticized by someone who didn’t know me well, but I was crushed by the weighty sense of my apparent failure to measure up. My insecurities blended oddly with my pride, and before I knew it, I was the defendant, prosecution, judge, and jury in this whole scenario.

The next day I had a long-planned lunch date with a friend. I sat in that Panera Bread and watered my salad with tears after Aimee simply asked how things were going. Without naming names or compromising anyone, I carefully relayed the events of the previous night. As I listed the recommended ways to improve myself, my friend started shaking her head.

“Glenna, nobody could hold up to that list. Here’s what you need to do: take the criticism to the Word. Compare what was said with what God expects of you. Look for any truth in the criticism. If it’s there, own it. And then release all the rest of it. You don’t have to be anyone other than who God made you to be. You don’t have to keep a list of requirements that He hasn’t given to you.”

So I did. I went home and spent a few weeks looking at every passage that addressed me as a pastor’s wife (that was a short list…there’s nothing there) and every “one another” passage that covered expectations for every believer. I compared the criticism I’d received with God’s commands for me, and I found some areas where I came up short. Well, a lot of them, actually. I focused on a couple of really specific areas of neglect and prayed for the Lord to help me walk in humility. I sought out ways to change in those areas, and in time Lord drew me in to a season of ministry that was profoundly sweet and encouraging.

Now to be perfectly honest, about 95% of the list of failures given to me at that dinner weren’t exactly biblical. They were mostly preferential things. But there was a seed of truth buried in it all that I would have missed if my friend hadn’t directed me to go straight to Scripture.

That awkward dinner took place many years ago, but I’ve never forgotten the wisdom my friend spoke to me over lunch the next day. I’ve had many occasions to apply her advice in my relationships within the Church, because though it is our job to encourage one another toward godliness, sometimes we do it poorly though well-intentioned. When we are given candid (and sometimes hurtful) criticism from another believer, there are few things we need to do on these occasions. (And when I say we, I really do mean we. This is an area where I always, always, always need improvement. Please learn from my mistakes.)

 

1. Look for intent.

Most followers of Jesus don’t really intend to hurt one another. I know it feels like we jump at the opportunity to criticize sometimes, but mostly we want our brothers and sisters in Christ to grow in holiness and to bear fruit in their relationship with Christ. When someone comes to you with criticism or correction, don’t lay in bed boiling in your own blood like I did that night so long ago. Look for the intent. If the words were tough to swallow, work hard at seeing the vein in which they were offered. Most likely, the admonition was meant in love. And if it wasn’t, then extend grace and forgiveness like Jesus told us to do. Of all the things said to me during that dinner, I can’t seem to forget the hesitant look on the face of the host. I know without a doubt that the correction offered was meant well. I don’t think the list was completely rooted in biblical truth, but it certainly wasn’t meant in ill-will. When the feelings of anger begin to simmer, I have to go back to what I need to assume was the intent to encourage.

 

2. Look for truth.

I’m so glad my friend didn’t just tell me to ignore everything that was said. “Look for the truth in it,” she said. This required me to carefully examine what was said by lining it up with Scripture. The only way I could rightly divide the proffered criticism was to lay it down next to the Word. The Bible is my authority, and how I live as a believer and a ministry wife needs to be handed down from the Word. Looking for truth in criticism keeps us humble. We are not sinless or faultless; I can’t even number the many areas of regular failure and selfishness in my life. Doing the work of examination kept my pride in check by showing me what the Lord actually does expect of me as His follower. By following this wise advice, the Lord brought to light some very specific areas that needed dramatic change. He graciously paved the way for my obedience, and I was given the sweet gift of growth in my relationships within my church family. If I hadn’t been steered toward the pursuit of truth, I would have missed the fruit of obedience that grows from receiving correction.

 

3. Release what isn’t true.

Doing the work of examination also freed me up to release the things that were extra-biblical. I didn’t have to add to the Word nor feel pressured to live up to someone else’s expectations that were beyond the scope of Scripture. I can let go of that stuff and focus on what the Lord expects of me. The only way I can ever keep any of the commandments of Scripture is through the grace of Christ, anyway. There is no need to add the pressure of traditional expectations when my sanctification is already going to take from here to eternity. In my release, though, I had to return to intent numerous times to avoid growing bitter. I’ll admit it–that was difficult. If I felt like the intent might have been something less than love, I had to remember that I do not know the heart of another person. As Jen Wilkin said in her book None Like Him, “No, I am not an expert on my neighbor. Only God is.” I cannot presume another person’s motive because unlike God, I am not all knowing. If I’m going to make a presumption as a believer in community with other believers, I should err on the side of grace and believe the best about my sibling’s intent.

 

4. Be humble.

We are charged several times in the Bible to keep one another in check. The Christian culture loves to exclaim, “Judge not!” but in context that’s a hasty and misapplied proclamation when it comes to brotherly love. When we commit to a local church body, we are recognizing the Church as a gift by covenanting together to strive toward holiness and to hold one another accountable. So, when someone from your church comes to you with personal criticism or correction, you can fight your pride by declaring their approach as an expression of Christian love. At the root of all correction should be a desire to prevent you from wandering from the faith. If we fight to see it that way, we may be more humble in our receptiveness to being corrected. When it comes down to what’s at stake, I have to admit there was a sizable grain of truth in what my dinner host said that night. It might have been coated with a dozen layers of needless commentary about my personality, but there was certainly something that benefited from being unearthed. The core of their correction is still an area of my life that needs watching.

At the root of all Christian correction should be a desire to prevent us from wandering from the faith. Share on X

5. Reconnect.

This may be the most difficult step in the process of receiving criticism from another believer, but I feel that it’s necessary to prevent bitterness from ruining the relationship. A few months after that surprising dinner, I reached out to my host. We met, and I offered up my experience in seeking the Lord’s direction with the criticism I’d received. I could tell there was some surprise that I was rejecting part of the offered advice, but my hope is that it was overshadowed by the ways God had showed me in the Word that I needed to lean more toward active obedience. On the one hand, I wanted our meeting to show that I had taken their words to the Scripture and found some of the things unbiblical. I didn’t want them to put those expectations on others unnecessarily. But on the other hand, I wanted it to be clear that I had taken their words seriously and had seen some good come from it. It seemed important to make sure the relationship we had, though new and until that time untried, continued with kindness and trust.

 

I certainly didn’t do everything right in this situation, and if I’m candid, my knee-jerk reaction to correction is nearly always a wrong one. This is why being rooted in humility is a regular issue of prayer in my life. When that unwelcome bit of correction comes your way, remember to look for the loving intention, take the words to the Word, examine your heart, hold on to what Scripture shows is true and release what it doesn’t. If I could relive this scenario all over again, I would beg the Lord to keep me in a posture of humility that sees correction as an attempt at love and concern for my spiritual well-being.

Church, we are gifts to one another. Let’s remember that.




 

Be Faithful with Small

My husband and I have lived in a rural part of Missouri for just about twelve years now. Since that sweltering summer day in 2005 when we unloaded the moving truck, we’ve been ministering at the same church in the same small town for all this time. We’ve both left our 20’s and nearly our 30’s here. We’ve dealt with financial crises, ministry burn out, church dysfunction, open-ended infertility, chronic health conditions, fractured relationships, and innumerable sleepless nights with the weight of a thousand tears pressing down on us. We’ve wrestled with our failures and wondered if we can ever rise above them.

We’ve felt broken down for a long time here in this little farming community.

But—

We’ve also doubled our family by adopting two boys, replacing sorrow upon sorrow with joy upon joy. We’ve celebrated birthdays and anniversaries, and rejoiced over big and small accomplishments. We’ve learned to lean into marriage when the going gets rough, and we’ve grown up into married adults who spend our rare evenings out talking about all the things we still want to do and be when we grow up. We’ve watched broken hearts heal and we’ve seen lost souls found, and we’ve wept on our knees with troubled parents for wandering children. We’ve learned that what we thought we knew we didn’t really know that well and that what works in one context may not work in another. We’ve learned that passion is a gift to be treasured and not a tool with which to bludgeon. We’ve sighed in gratitude when an anonymous check has graced our mailbox on more than one desperate occasion. We’ve sat in silence while trying to take in the ways the Lord has gone above and beyond in His expression of goodness to us. We’ve remembered with relief that the gospel is the truest thing we know

In the middle of the brokenhearted weight of ministry and its overwhelming portrait of grace is a tension where I often find myself with one resonant question that pounds in my ears: is it enough?

I’ve spent the last year feeling out a new vein of ministry, and with the joy that comes in finding your voice also comes the pressure to be the loudest one. It’s not that different from the last twelve years of local church ministry, really. There is pressure to be the best, most successful church (nope), to have the most rapidly growing congregation (not even close), to have the most sterling reputation in the community (that ship has sailed). Be the most influential, have the loudest voice and the most welcoming arms, never have internal problems, always put your best foot forward, never offend. The demands of church ministry by church ministry can feel a lot like a race you never signed up for but are always perpetually losing.

Who put those demands there? Why do we feel it necessary to compare our ministry with others? Why are we even competitors? Why must we seek to be the biggest, loudest, most loved? Is that what Christ asks of us?

How are we to live as we minister?

I’ve read through the Scriptures many times in the context of life as Christ-followers, and you know what? In all the lists of expectations and exhortations, I’ve never seen a command to be amazing. I’ve never read a verse about having a famous ministry or seen a connection between gospel living and large platforms. It seems to me like what we’re mostly called to is faithfulness and perseverance.

“..all of you should be like-minded and sympathetic, should love believers, and be compassionate and humble, not paying back evil for evil or insult for insult but, on the contrary, giving a blessing, since you were called for this, so that you can inherit a blessing….honor the Messiah as Lord in your hearts. Always be ready to give a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you. However, do this with gentleness and respect, keeping your conscience clear, so that when you are accused, those who denounce your Christian life will be put to shame.” (1 Peter 3:8-9, 15-16)

“But whoever keeps His word truly in him the love of God is perfected. This is how we know we are in Him: the one who says he remains in Him should walk just as He walked.” (1 John 2:5-6)

“Now this is His command: that we believe in the name of His Son Jesus Christ, and love one another as He commanded us. The one who keeps His commands remains in Him, and He in him. And the way we know that He remains in us is from the Spirit He has given us.” (1 John 3:23-24)

“Let us hold on to the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful. And let us be concerned about one another in order to promote love and good works, not staying away from our worship meetings, as some habitually do, but encouraging each other, and all the more as you see the day drawing near.” (Hebrews 10: 23-25)

 

Yes, our calling is nestled in the command to make disciples. I’m not ignoring the fact that growth in the kingdom of God does, by definition, mean growth.

What I’m talking about is seeking the kind of growth that comes from being the best and loudest and most influential. We want to grow our platforms so we can have the largest following; we want our churches to have more members than any other church in town because we measure our success by the number of bodies in the pews. We want to have a large reach because large means success by our culture’s plumb line. We’ve skewed the meaning of success, but it should be largely different than the world’s definition. Gospel living is so upside-down that we try to nudge it into cultural dressings that are easier to measure. If we run our ministries like businesses, then large equals success and faithfulness is a consolation prize. I’ve not seen a shred of Scriptural support for ministering like that. If numbers grew rapidly in the early Church, it was because of the Holy Spirit.

Some people may be catapulted to the space of large and influential reach without really meaning to. Some people pursue it relentlessly, sometimes sacrificing truth to get there. Some never get there though they secretly long for it. But the question shouldn’t be, “How can I make my ministry bigger and more successful?”  The question should be, “Can I be faithful right here, right now with my own particular sphere of influence?”

“Can I be faithful with small?”

And I don’t mean “Can I be faithful with small so that one day God will give me the chance to be faithful with something bigger?”  That may happen, but it’s not a guarantee and certainly not a recommended motive. It’s also not the point. There are so many pastors, missionaries, and people in ministry whose names we’ll never know. They won’t write books or have a large Instagram following, and no one will know to invite them to speak at a conference. They happily serve in anonymity because they were called to be faithful with what the Lord gave them. They are being faithful with small, and in the economy of God a small reach is not nothing. Jesus only invested deeply in 12 guys.

If small is the label on your ministry, be faithful with it.  Perseverance is a beautiful thing to behold. Plodding in anonymity is not unseen by our compassionate and all-seeing God. Your work is absolutely seen by Him. You can be faithful with small because He sees you.

When it comes to ministry, whether it’s local church ministry or another avenue like writing or music or speaking or serving, the pressure to be well known and well respected is present and exhausting. But the manner of faithful ministry laid out for us in Scripture looks a whole lot like perseverance and quiet living. It looks like being loud when it comes to the gospel and quiet when it comes to notoriety. It’s finding security in the fact that God is as strong now as He’s always been, not in whether or not we’re the most riveting preacher, the most eloquent speaker, the most prolific writer with all the bylines, or the servant with all the accolades.

What it means to be a faithful servant in any kind of ministry, that burning question of “is it enough?” could be answered with “can I be faithful with small?”

Maybe it’s motherhood, or a nursing home ministry to folks who don’t recognize you from week to week, or teaching the same Sunday School class for years on end, or making sure the homeless in your town are fed with good food and gospel-saturated love.  Maybe you’re having the same conversations about Jesus with that skeptical co-worker day after day after day and wondering if you’ll ever see anything come of it. Maybe you’re standing in a pulpit every week trying to help your people behold their God or to keeping holding on to their last tattered shred of faith. Maybe you’re scrubbing toilets in complete anonymity

Is it enough?

Well, can you be faithful with small? Can you be faithful with this thing you’re doing right now?

If the answer is yes, then it is enough.

Because God is never wrong in what He’s planned for your life in ministry. Big sphere of influence or small circle of reach, the people He has put in your path of ministry are the ones you are to be faithful with. Someone told me recently, “at the end of it all, the Lord won’t say, ‘well done, My good and famous servant.’ It’s good and faithful servant.”

It’s good when ministries grow and thrive. Seasons like that bring great joy and encouragement, and they should cultivate gratitude.

But if ministry always feels like a fight, that’s good, too. Because the kingdom of God is infinitely worth fighting for, and no matter how different your reach and mine may be, the call is to make Christ known.

If small is the label on your ministry, be faithful with it. 

Perseverance is a beautiful thing to behold. Plodding in anonymity is not unseen by our compassionate and all-seeing God. Your work is absolutely seen by Him. You can be faithful with small because He sees you.

“See we count as blessed those who have endured…the Lord is compassionate and merciful.” (James 5:11)

 

 

 

Mere Mortals

As you are reading this post, I’m sleeping deeply under general anesthesia.

For the third time in eight years, I’m having surgery in an attempt to undo the mess that my body has made in attacking itself over and over. The first time, I was twenty-seven and a new mom. Still bonding and getting to know the baby we had adopted, I was afraid of missing time with him while I recovered. The second time, I was afraid because one small complication would render me sterile—a step beyond my already fragile infertile status. The third time is only a charm because I know what to expect, and by that I mean expect nothing and everything.

Like anyone with a chronic illness, I’ve learned to use my good days for work and my bad days for rest. I’ve even planned out my post-op recovery time. There are some back issues of a favorite magazine to catch up on, a stack of library books that I need to read before my late fees reach embarrassing amounts, and I’ve got some articles to edit before submitting them. I’ll nap in between broadening my intellectual horizons.

What will actually happen is I’ll sleep an inordinate amount of time while my mother and husband take care of my kids. When I’m awake I’ll alternately watch Netflix and stare at the water stain on the ceiling, ruminating on whatever the outcome of the surgery turned out to be, all the while knowing that surgery number four is already looming in the distance when my kids are a bit older and I’m a bit more tired.

The trouble with being human is that we’re human.

How I respond is everything when it comes to moving from mere mortal captive to her body to follower of Jesus who will live forever. So, as I’m recovering and dealing with the fallout of disease, here are the things I’m reminding myself to keep my eyes fixed on what is eternal.

Mere mortals, we cannot tell our bodies to stop when the immune system fires on itself. We don’t have control when cancer cells break down a previously healthy body, when brain tumors make their dramatic presence known, when Alzheimer’s ravages the mind, when living long really just means barreling closer toward death with every aching joint. The trouble is that we have no control, and from the moment we’re born we’re inching closer to the end with each passing day.

I find it incredibly frustrating and humbling to have to bend to the host of autoimmune diseases that can wreck my day in an instant. But I have no choice when it comes to stopping the breaking of the human body, only in how I respond to the wreckage. How I respond is everything when it comes to moving from mere mortal captive to her body to follower of Jesus who will live forever.

So, as I’m recovering and dealing with the fallout of disease, here are the things I’m reminding myself to keep my eyes fixed on what is eternal.

 

Every pain-filled day is a groaning for Christ’s return.

In Romans 8, Paul says that the earth groans in anticipation of the coming day of Christ. We also groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. (8:22-23) It is not a bad thing to groan. Most of us are much consumed with present life and business. I am more earthly-minded than I should be, but pain is a reminder that Jesus will return and redeem and make all things new. There is blessing in being reminded that we are chaff.

Every opportunity to complain can become an opportunity to learn how to persevere.

“Consider it joy, my brothers, when you experience various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. But endurance must do its complete work, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing.” (James 1:2-4)

What I love about James’ passage is the given nature of trials. When, not if. And though the Christians he wrote to were enduring persecution for following Christ, how blessed we are that he grouped trials of “various kinds” in with the necessary process of perseverance. Holding fast to joy in Christ means holding fast to the belief that we will be set free from all suffering when we see Jesus face to face. Until then, it is a worthy battle to fight against unbelief by reminding ourselves that we are secure in the love of God, even when we walk through valleys of shadow and death. He is with us.

 

Waiting to be well can be an education in longing for Christ.

At the bottom of the yearning to be whole is the longing for completeness in Christ. Though I have experienced seasons of healing and have hope for future times of relief, I know that my body will always be the rope in a game of tug-of-war between pain and relief. What I want is to be well, but a life without any suffering may not be the best way for the Lord to sanctify me. I think of when my disease was at its worst, and I know that Jesus was as near as my own breath. I do not want to live in that kind of daily pain again, but I wouldn’t trade the lesson of clinging to him minute by minute for anything. In thumbing through those years in my memory, I can see the integral stretching of my faith in the nights I paced the floor in stooped over pain, body on fire, breathlessly crying out to God. I learned to long for Christ on those dark, fiery nights. He never failed to be present in my pain.

 

Every manifestation of disease can remind me that my worth is bound up in Jesus. I am not my disease, nor am I a victim of it.

I belong to Christ. While the vise of pain feels strong some days, my heart is mastered only by the authority of Christ. Though there are times when I cannot be or do what I desire, I will not become a victim of my circumstances. Instead, I will fight bitterness by seeking the ways God can use my struggles for his glory and my good. (Rom. 8:28) He is able to make something from nothing (Gen. 1). Imagine what he can draw from the well of our physical suffering!

 

Suffering teaches me empathy for the suffering of others.

God “comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any kind of affliction through the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” (2 Cor. 1:4) This is the beauty of finding purpose in pain. There is ministry that comes from suffering, and by it we operate in the way we were meant to as the Body.

The conversations I’ve had with people in various trials have been precious and weighty when I can draw from my own memory of pain and encourage them from that place. When we seek to “weep with those who weep,” (Rom. 12:15) we must fight the temptation to “one-up” a brother or sister’s suffering by expounding upon our own. What we should do, however, is promise them that God is near. We can hold their hands and pledge to help them hold on tight to the steadfast love of God, though tears drip down both our faces. Comfort is not the absence of sorrow. It is presence in sorrow. Comfort is not the absence of sorrow. It is presence in sorrow. Share on X

Every longing to be healed reminds me that this is not my home.

There will be no endometriosis in heaven. My spine won’t be worn down with Ankylosing Spondylitis. I won’t fear the onset of uveitis when I get a headache behind my eyes because there will be no fear, headaches, or uveitis. There will be no tears over barren wombs that do nothing more than collapse with disease. No more brain fog or chronic fatigue.

There will be no more cancer in children, no mothers with brain tumors, no aneurysms, no Alzheimer’s, no lifelong diabetes, no heart disease, no breast cancer, no rheumatoid arthritis, no unexplained illness. No suffering in heaven. None.

These days now may feel long when they are punctuated with pain, but in comparison to the glory that awaits us in heaven, they are nothing more than a breath. Until the day we are resurrected and given new bodies, we’ll remain captive to these old, broken down versions. But we hold on to the hope that one day we’ll trade in these mere mortal shells for new bodies that radiate the glory of God forever. One day we’ll trade in these mere mortal shells for new bodies that radiate the glory of God forever. Share on X

 

Until then, we’ll remember that Jesus is our portion, and He is enough.

 

 

How to Thaw a Cold Heart

We call it the “February Funks” in our house.

How toThaw a Cold Heart: If you’re finding yourself apathetic when it comes to faith, growth, and affection for the Lord, try working through these suggestions.

Lagging between holidays, this short month feels long and cold. Spring is tantalizingly close, but we’re constricted by the temperatures that still keep us inside. The lack of activity and sunlight, the draggy feelings that often come after major holiday seasons—these can make us feel despondent internally. The heart feels cold and reluctant to engage in anything other than miserable wool-gathering.

Usually we bring this despondency with us to church and to our time in the Word, if we can even overcome the ennui that prevents us from getting out of bed in the morning. Emotions are fickle. Though they have their place, I put entirely too much of my decision making at the disposal of my feelings, which usually results in some poor uses of time and the kind of internal reflection that doesn’t do anybody one bit of good. I shouldn’t let my floundering emotions prescribe how my faith breathes and expands.

As a February Funk veteran, I’ve been thinking about how best to get through these doldrums that bleed into the spiritual life and make everything seem drab and dismal. Sometimes you just need a list, you know? Something to jot down and cross off so you can see some semblance of movement in the right direction, and sometimes just a direction. I’m going to make this real easy for you and give you some steps to help you work out some of those loathsome, internal blues you might be feeling this winter. If you’re finding yourself apathetic when it comes to faith, growth, and affection for the Lord, try working through these suggestions. The list isn’t an equation for renewed spiritual fervor, but the process might be helpful in shifting your perspective.

1) Wake up early and read the Bible, whether you want to or not.

Feelings aren’t trustworthy. Ignore the ones telling you it’s pointless to read the Bible in your current mood. You won’t regret setting the pace for your thoughts by making them line up with Scripture as soon as you wake up. Placing your attention on Christ will help you renew your mind, conforming those rascally, petulant thoughts into something that honors Jesus rather than something that feeds your restlessness. Time spent immersing your mind in Scripture is not wasted time.

“But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it and how from childhood you have been acquainted with the sacred writings, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Jesus Christ. All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work.”  (2 Timothy 3:14-17)

2) Pray with a list.

You’re tackling your wandering, apathetic thoughts and feelings, so straighten them out by not allowing your mind to wander to unsafe, unhelpful places. Write down the things you need to pray for on a daily and weekly basis, being sure to include personal confession, the names of those you desire to see believe in Christ, those who are ill, and those who are suffering for the gospel. Praying through your list will help you verbalize your inner turmoil to the Father while also urging you to move on to others who need your intercession. In purposefully praying through your list, you’re taking your eyes off your own situation and putting the plight of others in view. Regard your intercession as needful work because it absolutely is.

In purposefully praying through your list, you’re taking your eyes off your own situation and putting the plight of others in view. View your intercession as needful work because it absolutely is.

3) Practice gratitude.

You don’t have to start a flowery gratitude journal unless you just want to, but make a point to thank the Lord for each expression of grace you see. His provision comes at just the right time? Stop and thank Him. A friend texted some needed encouragement? Be thankful and express your thanks. Look for the ways God is continually good to you. If you can’t think of anything, sit down and write down the details surrounding your salvation when you first believed the gospel. God has continued to bless you since then, but even if He never did again—that would be enough. Still struggling? Start with Psalm 1 and write down every statement about God’s good character until your heart begins to thaw.

“Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” (1 Thessalonians 5:18)

4) Have conversations with humans. Specifically, other Christians.

Look, I don’t know about you, but my first line of defense when I’m feeling raw around the edges or dull to all things spiritual is to hunker down at home and turn off my phone. It’s not a healthy response to edge people out of your life when you’re prone to discouragement. The Body needs all its parts, and we need to pull each other out of the quagmire of doubts, despairs, and loss of focus. I know it’s hard to be authentic when you want to crawl in bed with a bag of Cheetohs and an endless stream of oblivion brought to you by Netflix, but insulation can be dangerous to your future faith. It becomes too easy to make a habit of hiding. Take a deep breath and ask someone to help you bear your burden. We weren’t meant to live our Christians lives in isolation. Sharing our struggle should be our default when we’re in the midst of spiritual doldrums. Accountability is built into the structure of the Church, and this is for our edification and our safety. In her article at Desiring God, Trillia Newbell writes:

“Ultimately accountability can be a means in which God draws us, through the friendship and fellowship of others, to himself. Self-sufficiency says we don’t need anyone, but humility shouts for help from those God has placed in our lives. This habit of sharing and praying with others will inevitably teach us how to cast our cares on the only One who can fully bear their weight and who loves us with an unfailing love.”

Stop pretending to be self-sufficient. Only God can boast of that quality.

Stop pretending to be self-sufficient. Only God can boast of that quality. Share on X

Start with Psalm 1 and write down every statement about God’s good character until your heart begins to thaw.

5) Serve someone else.

Like prayer, looking for ways to serve others removes self from the focal point, and if I’ve learned anything from cold-hearted seasons, too much self-focus is almost always the problem. I’m an analyzer, a journaler, a melancholy, wordy processor who falls squarely within INFJ descriptives (Intuitive, iNtuitive, Feeling, Judging…see? My hobbies are self-analysis and moping), so I’m nearly always guilty of spiritually unhealthy introspection. When I’m frustrated by my circumstances or when I’m struggling to feel at all, I need to knock my problems off their self-aggrandizing pedestal and look to the interests of others (Philippians 2:4). Pride cripples and enslaves, but the sacrificial love of Christ can free us from self-worship.

When all is said and done, there is still one more step to encouraging warmth in a cold heart. Well, maybe two.

6) Cry out to the Lord. Often.

He understands human emotion. He created us to have them, and He lived 33 years without being enslaved to them. He is relatable and near. Cry out to Him to soften your heart, recognizing that even if you do everything on your end, you’re still at His kind mercy for the ice to melt. Remind yourself that He is known for His faithful love, and that He is teaching you perseverance while you seek Him when your heart feels cold.

And lastly:

7) Repeat steps 1-6.

Study, pray, talk, be thankful, serve, and cry out until the Lord brings springtime to your soul. He is faithful.

Study, pray, talk, be thankful, serve, and cry out until the Lord brings springtime to your soul.

 

 

A Woman Without a Country

I keep scrolling.

News. Facebook. Twitter.

I keep scrolling.

Everything I read makes my stomach twist with discomfort. Hatred spewed from both “sides” of the political coin. Left? Right? Which side do I fall on? The lines have been  drawn with so many overgeneralizing angles, I can’t quite find their beginnings.  According to the vitriol emanating from my screen, if I’m pro-life, then I must be anti-refugee. If I’m not marching for something, I’m standing for nothing. If I’m not using my online presence as a platform to malign the authorities in power, then I’m supporting misogyny and fascism. If I’m not shaking with anger toward one specific group of people, then I don’t love Jesus in the convoluted, progressive manner that people are demanding.

The truth is, none of it fits.

There doesn’t seem to be a voice that’s being heard today that represents how I’m thinking and feeling about the divided nature of our country. I didn’t vote for either major party because my conscience wouldn’t let me. I knew my candidate wouldn’t win, but I only carried my vote in my hands—not yours, so please don’t see that as an indictment toward your right to exercise your personal choice in the voting booth. The beauty of democracy is that you carry your vote into the booth, and I carry mine. I didn’t want to be sitting here trying to sheepishly defend my choice any more than I wanted to be standing in the street screaming because I didn’t get my choice. Laying my head on my pillow at night meant disengaging from the two-party system. I understand if it didn’t look like that for you. It isn’t really about that, anyway.  It’s about what happened afterward, and how the division is as great inside the walls of the Church as it is outside.

no matter what kind of public policy people try to pull from the mouth of Jesus, the truth is that one day America will be a tiny blip on history’s time line, and the call for Christians will always be to follow Jesus with Scripture as our absolute authority--because in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. Holding to that will mean knowing that sometimes people will hate you because they don’t understand what you believe, and sometimes because they most definitely do.

As I knew would happen last fall, I’m now living in the middle of a great divide. I’m watching people I care about systematically take the other one apart with unbridled anger and ridiculous generalizations. And I know that people from both sides will lump me in with the other because I’ve been silent.

I’ve been silent because I’ve been watching. And what I have seen grieves me. Because, Christians, I’m seeing too many of us take up arms of hatred in the name of love. When I see the accusations toward certain types of professing Christians, I am ashamed that the name-callers are also professing Christians. This tactic seems to work well from either side.

But no matter what kind of public policy people try to pull from the mouth of Jesus, the truth is that one day America will be a tiny blip on history’s time line, and the call for Christians will always be to follow Jesus with Scripture as our absolute authority—because in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. Holding to that will mean knowing that sometimes people will hate you because they don’t understand what you believe, and sometimes because they most definitely do.

So I keep scrolling, hoping for something that will give me hope.

It won’t be found in any news outlet. There isn’t one that isn’t absurdly skewed or politically slanted.

It won’t be found in any online argument. Could there be a worse place for discussions than Facebook?

It won’t be found in celebrating or condemning a person on the internet. Your allegiance, Christian, is to one Man only.

Here’s where hope is found for Christians who feel like we’re living in a foreign land: if you feel like you don’t belong here, it’s because you don’t belong here.

“…but our citizenship is in heaven, from which we eagerly wait for a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.” (Philippians 3:20)

Here’s advice for those of us who are living in a foreign land:

“I urge you as strangers and temporary residents to abstain from fleshly desires that war against you. Conduct yourselves honorably among the [nations] so that in a case where they speak against you as those who do what is evil, they will, by observing your good works, glorify God on the day of visitation.” (1 Peter 2:11-12)

That’s a call to both active living and patient waiting.

No, I am not represented in today’s political platform.

That’s not a terrible thing for a Christian. I am free to believe things that bother both sides, and I do. I can fight for life inside the womb and out. I can choose to be respectful of our country’s leadership while disagreeing with their decisions. I can live in the tension of rendering to Caesar what is Caesar’s while giving to God what is His. I must live in that tension.

I can look for ways to welcome the sojourner because I am one—living in a place where I do not really belong, where assimilation feels impossible, where I feel at odds with every headline, where I speak the language but do not understand it. I can believe that women should have equal rights as long as they don’t infringe upon the rights of the unborn. I can feel angry about racial injustice while raising kids of color and teaching them that all humans are image-bearers. I can speak up in a way that calls for responsibility without murdering in my heart. It seems difficult to do these things, but Christians—we must, we MUST seek a better way to live here on this planet where we’re temporary residents.

On Sunday my husband preached about the line of people highlighted in Hebrews 11 for their steadfast faith in God. Steadfast faith isn’t the absence of doubt. It is pressing forward when doubts settle around your shoulders like a heavy, itchy blanket in the middle of summer’s heat. It is believing in God’s faithfulness when uncertainty looms ahead, a formidable opponent that scares you with its restless anger. It is actively pursuing a life that looks like Jesus’ when all you’ve got to hold on to is the belief that God will continue to be faithful and that His Church will prevail in the ugliest of times.

I long to be steadfast.

To live my life acknowledging that I am a stranger and exile on this earth, to make it clear that I am seeking a homeland, a better country, a heavenly one whose designer and builder is God. (Hebrews 11) In the meantime, I watch, I pray, I look for ways to use my privilege as a tool to help those without such tools and privileges. I stop scrolling so much. I seek to detract from the noise by opening my Bible more often, praying more deeply, and having the noteworthy conversations face-to-face.

I feel very much like a woman without a country these days. I don’t belong in any camp, can’t align myself with any “side.”  But the more I dig into Scripture, the more I am okay with my sojourning. When I absorb the words of Jesus, the apostles, and the saints who were the earliest Jesus-followers, I see a pattern of misrepresentation and not-belonging. This was never meant to be home.

Come, Lord Jesus.

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