Be careful little eyes what you see

While I was spewing instructions to the boys today, I heard myself say, "I don't care about how many toys are on the floor, I care about your attitude and whether you are working with cheerful hearts." My own words hit me like a fat piece of humble pie, right on the face. "I am not looking at the toys on the floor, darling, I am looking at you."

The boys were discouraged that despite their effort, toys and messes kept appearing on the floor (how this happens we will never know). I knew how they felt. I was discouraged about the six loads of laundry that have yet to be folded, my preparation for the upcoming conference continued to be delayed, the schedule was not kept, baths were not given, diapers were not changed, the car needed to be fixed, dinner still needed to be made.

But the Lord was not looking at the mess, he was looking at me.

There is sometimes a great temptation to make our prayer and worship to be about us.

Lord, look at all that I am doing for you! Look at all that I am sacrificing! Wasn't that a good prayer? Look at all the good things I am offering!

But the Lord is not looking at my sacrifices, he is looking at me.

Obedience is better than sacrifice. Obedience requires faith. Faith that seeks understanding, faith that may not yet fully understand.

Hans and I hardly got a wink of sleep last night. The boys took turns crying throughout the night for different reasons, and before I knew it, the sun was up. At breakfast, I was ready to give up. I felt perfectly justified to be perfectly unpleasant and unkind. My less favorable option was that I could carry on and fulfill my duties—cheerfully. But I didn't want to be cheerful. From where I stood, I couldn't see where joy and energy and motivation would come from.

The Lord wanted me to trust him, not because I know how everything would turn out, but because he is faithful and he is mighty—to work in my heart, to work in the children's hearts, to work in and through the circumstances of our lives for his glory.

The Lord is not looking at the mess, he is looking at me.

Is my heart seeking after him and his purposes? Am I carrying out my tasks with a cheerful, non-freaking-out attitude? Am I working for his glory, or for my own glory? Am I working to serve others or to serve myself?

Instead of looking at the mess, I need to look to the Lord.
I need to look to the Lord, because they are watching me.
I need to look to the Lord, so they would look to him with me.

The most joyful of all pains

Some of the most spectacular things in life are also some of the least expected.

Like a mother's pleasure in her children.

The first step taken, the first word spoken, first book read from cover to cover. And perhaps (I can only imagine), graduation, marriage, and the likes. But these things are nothing in comparison to the surge of pride and pleasure I feel when I see my child struggling to overcome his fears, when I see him sacrificing on behalf of others.

There is nothing like it.

It makes me laugh and weep and pray and praise all at once. This joyful pain is a strange thing, unlike anything I've ever felt.



3 Queens from Matt Bieler on Vimeo.

I watched this video today. I loved the intimate glimpses of these mothers in their natural habitat. It made me wonder how my boys see me. How will they remember their childhood, how will they remember my voice.

It made me wonder how the Father sees me, from above. This was when I got all hot and cold. I know I have not pleased him with the words I spoke, the tone I used, the thoughts I thought. I am often selfish, often annoyed, often impatient and unkind. I am often controlled by my fears, and I often refuse to sacrifice for others. In short, I would not want my children to be running around with three video cameras.

Before I had too long to feel too horrible about my failures — grace hit me.

When the Father looks at me, he sees Jesus. I mean, that's crazy talk. Not only did he give his Son to die in my place, took the punishment of my sin, he even made me his. I am hidden in Christ. I am no longer exposed and naked and alone. Christ's righteousness covers me. His mercy covers my weaknesses, my flaws. Not only did he cancel my debt, God made me his daughter. The Father sees the Son when he looks at me.

His love frees me to overcome my fears.
His love frees me to sacrifice for others. 

So, my dear friend, wherever you are today, whether you are happy or sad or tired. Know this: When you put your faith in Christ, God is pleased with you. Not because of anything you have done, but because of everything Christ has done. I pray that you would know his pleasure and know his love for you, because this love — it's pretty spectacular. You are forever his.

Christ crucified.

The Gospel makes me laugh and weep and pray and praise all at once.
The crucifixion is the most joyful of all pains.
There is no one like him.

Wild chases

I turned 32 about a month ago. I am now Jesus' age when he was walking around, healing the sick, changing the story of the world. I still can't decide how I feel about being 32 (not that I can change my age). I'm still breaking it in, so to speak, like a new pair of shoes.

Some days, I miss my 20s. Ah, the possibilities! The dreams! The thrilling chases! New jobs, new opportunities, new cities.

I miss my 20s, that is, until I remember the hungry days as a grad student juggling a few jobs. All I was chasing then was a warm and quiet place to study. It was so cold in my apartment that I could actually see my breath. And the apartment was mold-infested. And sewage flowed into my bathtub.

Yeah. That would cure anyone of any romantic delusions of my 20s.

These days, I am mostly chasing souls, boy-shaped souls that are running (and crawling) around on fast little feet. It's a very different kind of chase. For one, the stakes are much higher. As opposed to my previous dreams (that are now obsolete), these boys are eternal. They will live on forever. At the beginning of every morning and the end of every night, the question that I am to answer is this: What am I teaching my children to love?

Many ask us why we choose to homeschool our children. There are many different ways we would approach this question, but this sums it up nicely: Homeschooling is the method Hans and I have chosen to pursue our children, to win their hearts to love the right things. Like all methods, we want to hold this one loosely. We know that ultimately, we cannot move their hearts — only the Spirit can. Our job is to faithfully sing the tune, in hopes that the boys would sing along.

(In case you want to know how it is going, I am huffing and puffing from the steep climb up the learning curve. Thankfully, the boys are kind to forgive their mommy every time she apologizes for her unruly behavior.)

The boys and I are memorizing first Corinthians 13 this week.

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient and kind.

These are good words to cling to as I break into 32. A familiar passage, but this week I read the apostle's words with an ache, a longing to understand, to be. It was then I realized that I, too, am being pursued. My Father chases me still.

I write this with thoughts and prayers for those of you who are in your teens and twenties, in hot pursuit of your dream school, dream career, or perhaps you are, like I was, just planning to survive the exams and stay warm this winter. The thing is, I didn't have to wait until I am married and birthing kids to be chasing souls. Love should be our pursuit no matter how old we are.

Do not be deceived as I was and make your life about "finding yourself" and "finding your voice." Lies. You will find your life's purpose by giving yourself to others. Jesus said, "Whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever who loses his life for my sake will find it." Finders losers; losers keepers.

So, pour yourselves out as an offering to the Lord, into vessels that lasts forever — people, people, people.

We are teaching Emeth to pursue love. We are teaching Hanan to pursue love. And Khesed, well, he is still a baby, but his name means love. Speaking of love and wild chases, Emeth was fetching all sorts of things the baby was throwing from the high chair at dinner today. The big brother then explained to me: "We are playing Khesed's favorite game. He is human and I am his dog."

Their love for one another is God's kind mercy to me. Like a warm cup to cold hands. Like water to thirst. Their love for one another is the stuff my dreams are made of.

Take me instead

We know that God forgives sin. We talk about it often enough, how God is faithful to forgive us — all we have to do is ask.

We like to bring up David a lot, the poster child for forgiven sinners. David wanted something that did not belong to him. So, he took, he grabbed, he stole. David took Uriah's wife. He took Uriah's life. He took the lives of the men who were with Uriah to cover his own tracks. If God forgave David for murders and adultery, surely God can forgive me. We think we understand God's compassion and mercy. But do we really?

How exactly did God respond to David's rebellion?

When the prophet Nathan confronted him of his sin, Yahweh said to David: Remember all that I have given you. I gave you beyond what you could ever asked for or even begin to imagine. If this was too little for you, I would have given you much more. All David had to do was ask.

Yahweh could have said: David, why can't you be content with all the wives you already have? But he didn't. Instead, God reminded David of the One from whom all blessings flowed.

Just when we think we know where the story is going, the Lord blows us away. The Great River of God's compassion and mercy does not run straight. Its current twists and turns. Sometimes, the water breaks into a cascade, crashing onto jagged rocks.

Eve wanted something that did not belong to her. God gave her Eden. He gave her life. But this wasn't enough. She wanted more. So, she took the fruit, and she ate it. She then gave it to Adam. He took it, and he ate it.

How did God respond to their rebellion?

How does God respond to my rebellion?

Just when we think we know where the story is going, the Lord blows us away. He sends his Son, Yeshua, who took the penalty of our sin. He died in our place. With his nail-pierced hands and outstretched arms, his voice calls out to hungry souls:

Take me instead. 

Ask me.

Seek me. 

And I will be found by you. 

Daughters of the King: GRACE 2013

Hans and I are thrilled to be attending Grace Conference again this year. Hans will be teaching a series on worship, and I a series on womanhood (not during the same time-slot). I thought I would give you a summary here, in case this helps you decide which workshop to attend (as there are a few to choose from).

We will be searching through the Scripture, dwelling in a few stories together to understand womanhood, as God intended in the beginning. As for the gentlemen, you are most welcome to attend. Though this series may not apply to you directly, I hope that it may perhaps help you better serve and pray for the ladies in your lives.

I. Of Lady Eve

Eve had forgotten who she was. If she had asked God, "Lord, I desire beauty and wisdom. Please make me be like you." God would have reminded her, "You are like me; you were created in my image."

In the first workshop, we will examine what it means that Eve was created in the image of God and that she was created to be Adam's helper (Genesis 1-2). What are the implications of these truths for women today?

II. Of Lady Wisdom

I recognize Eve's hunger for beauty, knowledge, and independence all too well in my own soul. Instead of turning to my Father, who created me and gave me these desires, I gorge myself with deadly things.

In the second workshop, we will turn to the Lady who embodies Beauty and Wisdom, the first daughter of Yahweh (Proverbs 8:22-36). In following her instructions, she can help us transform into the women (and men) God has created us to be.

III. Of the King's daughters

What is your greatest, most dreadful fear? This is not a hypothetical question about bees or height. I am asking you about your day to day living. What are the fears that drive the story of your lives, the decisions that you make? Our greatest fears often correspond to our greatest desires.

In our third workshop, we will learn what it means to fear the Lord. This is the beginning of wisdom, and the mark of the King's daughters.

Notes from the inside of a rainbow

While I was driving the other day, Emeth chirped in the backseat about how the leaves of autumn made him feel like we were "living inside a rainbow." At the stop-light, I quickly scribbled these words on the back of my hand. How apt they were in describing our lives at the moment.

If you want to get me ranting for a while, try saying something like "this is not a black and white issue, there is a gray area." I would rebel against the rigidity of these options and talk your ears off about how God did not create the world in black and white or shades of gray. He splashed onto the mountains and threw into the oceans a spectrum of colors, billions of shades, patterns, textures, nuances, and contrasts. Not merely black and white or gray. Just because we can't see them or understand them does not make them "gray area."

Yes, indeed. That would get me ranting for a while.

Khesed now lays asleep across my lap. His slightly parted lips, each strand of his eyelashes, and his warm, soft breaths fill me with wonder. The house is quiet while they are asleep, and I can blessedly hear my own thoughts. These moments melt away like chocolate ice cream, dark and bitter. I savor each spoonful knowing the hustle and bustle of dinner time will soon descend upon us like tart lemon sherbet. And when I am rocking a crying baby in the twilight, I know that the sun will come, and there shall be coffee. My days are like a high towers of ice cream. I prefer some layers more that others.

Emeth's fish died. It is hard to believe Emeth named him Jolay Dalay two years ago. Early last week, he hid under a rock and went to sleep forever. The day he died, Emeth refused to run. Instead, he sat under the trees and thought about his fish. He drew a portrait to say goodbye and went to bed that night with a lump in his throat.

We had a funeral the next day. We placed Jolay Dalay in a tiny red coffin. Before we covered him with dirt, Emeth read the story of creation and we gave thanks for the gift of life. The stuff animals gave their condolences, along with a smiley baby. It was a glorious service, blessedly short because of the cold, and everyone cheered up and cuddled afterwards.

Life has been quite intense. It is never just one thing or one person at a time, but it is everything and everybody all at once. Nevermore alone, nevermore apart. Here, in the quiet stillness, I want to record a snapshot of this craziness, these layers of swirling colors, these autumn days, tart and bitter and sweet.

Brother ass

The sight of the loaded dishwasher has never been so pleasant.

I've been down with mastitis these past two days. I was really, really sick. Two things that I accomplished yesterday: nursed Khesed, laid across the living room floor. My head throbbed. My body shivered. I mumbled short instructions to the boys. They lent me their blankets and pillows, and covered me over and over again, which was really sweet. They had pasta, cereal, and bread -- for two days straight. They were quite happy.

When I was laying there, delirious, I thought of women in famine, women in refugee camps. What do they feed their children when they are down with mastitis and their pantry is not stocked up with ready-to-eat dried goods? I kept thinking of my mother, coming into the room and asking me to eat some porridge. I remember that though I did not have an appetite, sticky rice and soy sauce was comforting. I miss my mom. I wonder whether the boys will think of me when they are all grown up, and sick. (There I go again, being all morbid.)

I turned the corner this evening, elated when I was able to stand for more than a minute or two. Praise be to God. Tonight, I am a free woman.

In some of his correspondences, C.S. Lewis signed off as "Brother Ass." This was what he called his body.

Ass is exquisitely right because no one in his senses can either revere or hate a donkey. It is a useful, sturdy, lazy, obstinate, patient, lovable and infuriating beast; deserving now the stick and now a carrot; both pathetically and absurdly beautiful. So the body.

I often take my Brother Ass for granted. Pain reminds me that it is there, and how I am to be grateful for it. My body is a working donkey. I'd like to imagine it is happiest when I use it for the sake of others. My body is a tool, not some art display in a museum. So, by the time I die, if this body is a little dinged and dented, I will consider them my marks of honor.

Bleeding faces {guest post by my sister Jean}

I'm so proud and so happy to introduce my sister Jean to you today. One of the dearest people in my life, she is currently studying Biblical Counseling in Central Baptist Theological Seminary in Plymouth, MN. This following piece is her reflection on her acne. Her struggle with her extremely sensitive skin has been fierce and painful for well over a decade. Because of the way Jean pursues life, she is relentlessly theological, even in the way she observes her pimples. She is a woman of great courage.

~~~~~~~

This picture was taken right before my most recent breakout.

A few days ago, I saw some devastating pictures of Pakistani Christians suffering from a suicide bomb attack (some images are gruesome, here is the link if you want to see them). Hospital beds were crowded with injured patients waiting to be treated. The cement floor was dirty and the walls were covered with black stains. In another picture, there was a man whose shirt was soaked in blood, a little girl in a blood-stained dress, and a woman with a bleeding face.

Suddenly, the one valuable thing I had at that moment was something that had weighed me down recently: my acne-ridden face.

I have a carpeted apartment, a nice bed all to myself, mold-free walls, a stocked up kitchen, no missing limbs, but as to a bleeding face…I do have that. I don’t have one that’s bruised and injured but my skin throbs and bleeds more frequently as of late. My aching face was the one thing I could hold onto to enter into their pain, even if to a much smaller degree. I am suddenly grateful for what I had been despising.

It makes me think about suffering in a new light, another redemptive value about suffering I had never thought of. Perhaps another reason God has for allowing Christians in comfortable nations to suffer—due to the fallenness of this world—is to remind us of our brothers and sisters in other nations who are suffering death and persecution for their faith, not to mention poverty and much harsher living conditions. In other words, God knew I needed His help to consider the pain and suffering of others and that is one reason why he has allowed me to have this very, very light affliction — my acne-prone genes. He knew I would be a much different person, for the worse, without it.

Suffering of any kind also reminds us of yet another bleeding face, that of the “man of sorrows, acquainted with grief,” who had “no form or majesty...and no beauty that we should desire him,” and who “was despised...as one from whom men hide their faces” (Isa. 53). If God did not spare his own Son of suffering, and this for our behalf, then we must not believe the lie that our suffering means God does not love us. As Robertson McQuilkin beautifully pondered, "...what always caught and held me was the vision of God's best loved, pinioned in criminal execution in my place. How could someone who loved me that much let anything hurt me without cause?...[T]he heavy heart lifts on the wings of praise."

So, bad acne as cure for the soul? Who would’ve thought? God would, and of course he would, because he is a God who redeems and refuses to waste anything.




“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison...”  -2 Cor. 4:16-17