MY BLOG POSTS

I hate saying I’m wrong.

I rather take a semester of Calculus than say I’m wrong. I’d rather eat a bucket full of broccoli than say I’m wrong. I’d rather have a mouse run across my foot than say I’m wrong.

I wish this were one of those posts where I follow that up with something wonderful and mature, a life lesson that turned me around and made me joyful when given the opportunity to admit my mistakes.

Sorry. Not gonna happen. Not yet, anyway. This is one of those posts where I admit I am still growing and falling and struggling. Do I think I am never wrong? No. I know I make mistakes. But saying it out loud? Ouch. That is so difficult. I’d rather act like the wrong never happened. Or, even better, justify why my wrong wasn’t nearly as bad as other people’s. I’m really good at that. I make excuses for my wrongs, I sugar coat them, I do anything – anything – rather than admitting them.

But – and here’s the lesson that God keeps trying to teach me and I keep remaining too hard-headed to totally learn – I am miserable when I refuse to admit I’m wrong. Making excuses and justifications, ignoring or blaming, those do not bring satisfaction. Being right all the time is exhausting! And it distances me from the One who knows the truth.

On those rare occasions that I actually do admit I’m wrong, it feels good. After I say it. Before I say it, my stomach is in knots, my tongue is tied. I have beautiful, long debates with myself about whether or not it’s really necessary – and, to be perfectly honest, the “you don’t need to say it” argument wins most of those.

Maybe other people don’t struggle with this. Maybe you’re reading this thinking I am crazy. You can say “Sorry” all day and not be bothered at all. Well, good for you. I bet you like broccoli, too, don’t you?

But this is where I am. Not finished, still in process. Still struggling with things that a two-year-old struggles with.

I am thankful for a God who doesn’t give up on people as pig-headed as me. I am thankful for a God who doesn’t just say, “Do whatever you want. It’s fine.” Because it isn’t fine! But a God who says, “You ARE wrong, but I love you enough to help make you right.”

The summer after I graduated high school, I worked for an insurance company. I got daily use of a company car, a Polaroid camera, and $7.50 an hour (pretty cushy stuff for 1993!). My job was, basically, to drive around, look at houses, and note problem areas: tree branches hanging over roofs (a storm could knock branches into the house), bushes in front of windows (able to hide would-be burglers), that kind of thing. The company wanted to make sure the houses they were insuring weren’t in imminent danger.  They knew that little things like trimming trees and bushes could save big money down the road. And since that summer was just a few months after one of the worst hurricanes to ever hit our state (Hurricane Andrew), all the insurance companies in the country were looking for ways to save money.

I’ve had several friends in the last decade or so make some Hurricane Andrew-like choices. Choices that devastated everyone around them. Nasty, ugly, painful decisions that left nasty, ugly, painful scars. Some have healed. Many have not. But unlike Hurricane Andrew – a storm whose destruction no amount of tree-trimming could have prevented – my friends’ decisions could have been avoided.

How could they have been avoided?

By trimming the trees!!

Just like I can protect my house by making sure no big heavy branch hangs above it (OK, that’s not actually my house. But if you’d buy some more of my books, maybe…!), I can protect myself by making sure no big heavy temptation is hanging above me. One of the choices Dave and I made even before we got married was that neither of us would ever be alone with a person of the opposite sex. Not even for a minute. No exceptions. No one plans to have an extramarital – or premarital – affair. “It just happens.” And it’s a huge mistake. But that huge mistake is almost aways preceded by lots of smaller ones. Protection from the small mistakes keep you far away from the big ones.

There’s so much more I want to write on this subject – other precautions, a reminder that it’s the heart, not the external actions, that really matter. That kind of thing. But I need to save that for later. This is a blog, not a novel. And bloggers are told to “keep it short” and “stick to one point.”

So here you go: Avoid disasters long before they have the power to come near you.  Put barriers in place to protect yourself and others. Whether it’s with the opposite sex, with movies or music, the internet, whatever…Trim those trees!

I am, and always have been, “artsy.” Growing up, I was pitiful at athletics and academics, but I excelled at drama and music. Songs speak to me. Standing on stage is fun. Standing on stage with people watching is really, really fun.

There are great benefits to being artsy: I’ve never been nervous going into a job interview. I love being asked to speak to a group of people, and I am fairly adept at speaking extemporaneously. I am confident (most of the time), and it takes a whole lot to embarrass me.

But there are also negatives: I spent a lot of years allowing other people’s opinions of me to determine my opinion of myself. So there were times I thought I was the greatest person on the planet and other times when I thought I was worthless.  I also spent a lot of years comparing myself to others, and feeling incredibly antagonistic toward people who were better than I was.

In my late teens/early twenties, as I began to get really serious about my relationship with God, I began to be convicted of that sin of pride in my life. But rather than blaming my own sinful thoughts, I blamed the arts. So I stopped doing much of what I loved. Stopped acting, stopped singing anywhere but in church. And, when I did sing in church, I often chose songs out of my range, so I wouldn’t sound very good, thinking that “proved” my humility.

As I grew to know God better, I began to see myself more clearly. God revealed that my pride in my abilities wasn’t gone. It just transferred to pride in my refusal to use those abilities. The sin was still there, waiting to be dealt with.

When I finally dealt with that, God began to show me that those gifts I had were from him. He gave them to me to use. God is a creator. THE creator. Rather than being opposed to the creative arts, He is the author of them. When I learned to recognize that, to give Him the glory for the gifts he has given me, I found incredible freedom. Freedom to use my gifts to the best of my abilities, and freedom to recognize the abilities He has given others. Rather than feeling competitive, I can feel grateful for those whose abilities exceed mine. Talk about freeing!

If you’re artsy, own it! Know your gifts are from God. KNOW your gifts are from God. Know your gifts are from GOD. Allow yourself to experience His pleasure in you when you use them. Make your art an act of worship. Encourage other artsy people – be a community, not competitors.

“Sing to him a new song;
play skillfully, and shout for joy.”

Psalm 33:3

Seven years ago this month, our family moved from Spain back to the states. Of all the moves we’ve made — and we’ve made several — that was the most difficult. Because it wasn’t just belongings packed in those suitcases. My dreams were in there.

The short version of this very long story is that our family spent three years preparing for a lifetime of ministry in Spain that ended up lasting only ten months. And when we left, I felt like a complete and utter failure. I had our story all planned out. It began with us moving to Madrid and ended with us being buried there, sixty years later, after leaving the legacy of a lifetime of fruitful ministry and deep friendships.

Right after we arrived back in the USA, our family attended a “debriefing” at a missionary training center in Colorado. The people there loved on us and helped us through the process of adjusting to our shattered dream. I am so grateful for their ministry. One of the facilitators shared what has become an unforgettable analogy:

She compared our life to a vase. When a candle is placed inside a vase, the light comes out of the top. But imagine that vase is broken. It breaks into dozens of pieces. And imagine that someone comes in and glues it all back together, piece by piece. What happens when you put the candle in now?

The light shines through all the broken places.

And that’s exactly what has happened. God has used our brokenness to help us shine even brighter for Him. I have compassion where I never used to have compassion. I have been humbled. I have been reminded that this world is not our home. I know that God is in control of everything and His ways don’t always make sense, but they are always good.

And lots of good has come from that move. I could fill pages and pages with the incredible ways God has lavished His grace on us in the past seven years. But nothing compares to knowing Him. And it is through those very difficult times that we grow to know Him the best, when we depend on Him the most. And when He brings us through those times, we are better equipped to serve others and to help them through their difficult times.

So to those of you reading this who may be in the “broken” stage right now: Hang on. Let God take those peices and put them back together. Let Him shine through you in ways you never imagined. Let Him comfort you, help you, and heal you.

“If your heart is broken, you’ll find God right there;    if you’re kicked in the gut, he’ll help you catch your breath.” Ps. 34:18 MSG