Radical Christianity and Boundaries

While at church on Sunday my heart was so heavy I could hardly stand. So I didn't. I knelt and prayed, without words. Just breaths and thoughts. I keep taking time off from facebook because I cannot seem to steward my emotions when I read about all the pain in this fallen world. I keep my laptop closed, my phone off, and focus on truth and God for 24 hours. Then I'm ready to again step foot into what seems to me a storm with no eye, or you know, just turning my phone on. I had read Greta Van Susteren's latest report on her trip to Cambodia and how many young girls are kidnapped and sold into the sex industry because Asian business men believe taking a girl's virginity is "good luck." Cringe.

Sometimes, I feel like a pinprick of a person. Just a tiny, microscopic person. How on Earth can I stop this injustice?

God eased me back into my life as I held onto a dear friend and she asked me what I needed prayer for. Just pray for me. That's all I could say. Most days I just hope I can end the day able to A) See the living room floor, B) know God and my husband still love me since I didn't accomplish A. On Sunday, I added a "C." That was, move to Cambodia and build a home for girls. I actually don't even know where Cambodia is, but I was sure I could get there if I worked myself into enough PITY-FUL hysteria.  I happened to mention to my husband that I was really convicted that we don't do enough hard things in life when he reminded me that by the world's standards, we are actually quite insane. He said to me in the car- as I sobbed- "You are living on the edge now. How can we move to Cambodia?" I think the insanity is a symptom of not entertaining logic. FINE- we can't move to Cambodia.

The truth is, I am absolutely on the edge. Like, if I didn't believe in God, I would be on medication. Today I feel pretty good, but other days I am so dog-tired. My family in North Carolina is getting  wrecked by the enemy, it makes me sick to think about. I am obviously a fixer, so on top of wanting to move to Cambodia, I also want to go home and pull everyone beneath my mother hen wings and tell them life and love will all be OK if we just stick together. But we're not together because I'm in Texas. Physically, I feel like I birthed a baby 3 weeks ago, not 3 months ago. I would love to see a doctor, that's why I just spent THREE hours trying to apply for Texas medicaid this morning. I am THREE seconds away from losing it, with THREE awake children since 2 year old is merrily bee-bopping through the day resisting a nap.

Earlier, I was thinking about the edge of life that is obviously keeping me from going to North Carolina, and Cambodia, when I crawled up onto my bed and rested my cheek against my favorite quilt. Trinity was already on her back in the middle of the bed, so I made sure to lay especially close to her so I could look into her eyes and dot her nose with the tip of my finger. She smiled, her constant state of being. I love her so much. I asked her if any mother in history had ever loved a fourth child so much- and I'm sure they have, but in my heart our adoration for one another feels exceptional. I heard God in that moment, "meet your edge."

I realized in that moment that the edge is so beautiful. When God calls us beyond ourselves, the pain is often eclipsed by His sustaining grace, and of course, the beauty of brokenness made whole by mercy. Then, there is the fruit. I realized that sometimes the really big things are far off because we're still tending really small things....which in the kingdom, matter. To say "yes" to anything is to say "no" to another.

One moment, an edge. The next, a boundary.

I lifted Trinity off the bed and cradled her in my arms. I hold her way more than I ever did my other babies, always. To me she is the fruit of sacrifice, more than I've ever given of myself before. I don't have much more to give of myself right now, but I hardly notice when she's in my lap.

While I don't have an easy 1-2-3 answer to knowing the difference in practicing radical Christianity while maintaining boundaries, I do think it comes from a place of both knowing yourself and knowing God. But don't underestimate God. If you don't think you can't do it, it's probably God. If you think it's going to kill you, it's probably still God.

But are you excited??

OR PANICKED?

That's how I gauge if it's God or me. Sometimes you need to linger awhile to really know.

If I'm just going on a normal-for-Summer compassionate comatose meltdown, I have to ask myself what I am really capable of. For changing the country of Cambodia, I came up with, A) Set up a monthly budget for foreign missionaries (check) B) Intercede with all that is in me (check). C) Teach my kids about justice and how to war for it in the spirit realm (In process). Maybe one day, we'll actually go to these dark places in the world, knowing our prayers shaped them in ways we'll never really know the full extent. THREE THINGS I CAN DO. (Before it was, C) Move to Cambodia, D) Pray unceasingly that Jesus comes back before I get there.)

Then, deep breath, back to my reality. Back to my personal edge. Endure it. Embrace it. Overcome it. Then, look for my next edge. Maybe even Cambodia.

"7Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as his children. For what children are not disciplined by their father? 8If you are not disciplined—and everyone undergoes discipline—then you are not legitimate, not true sons and daughters at all. 9Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of spirits and live! 10They disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness. 11No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.

12Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. 13“Make level paths for your feet,”^b so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed." Hebrews 12:7-13

Learning to Love

I love my little baby the most right now. I know it's wrong to say that but I'm here now with the sweetest, chubbiest, happiest 3 month old in all of history and she has me convinced that in this moment only her and I and mushy love exist. MY HEART EXPLODES.

Moving on from subject-less preface.

I was looking for a book to read the other day and saw Heidi Baker's Learning to Love on my shelf. I have read most of it before, but this time thought to myself, "I'm already a lover." I don't mean that in a prideful way at all. I'm just a natural empathizer. I bleed compassion. I don't ask homeless people questions, and quite frankly I don't care where they spend the $5 I gave them. If I lost everything I would probably smoke too. My own kids push me to personal limits, but I idealize holding orphans in my arms and getting lice. My husband has already sworn to me that we will not have less than 10 kids...and I'm not birthing 10 children. Once again, compassionate bleeding heart here that lead my eyes to skim over title Learning to Love because I've got this love thing down [apparently].

You see where this is going, right? I received soul shattering news about a fellow believer only minutes later. Someone with the light of Jesus Christ is in darkness. By choice. Out of the light, into the dark. These kinds of things make no sense to me because I actually try to be a good Christian
- err, even though I shouldn't... because I am a new creation. Seriously though, I am on a holy pursuit and it feels so right to be right. Right? Rant: WHY WOULD SOMEONE CHOOSE SIN? In the shower later that day, I cried. I am going to have to look this person in the eye, I thought. I know what they did. CRINGE. Sin makes me extra squirmy. What am I going to do? I heard God speak so clearly, "I guess you are going to learn to love."

I actually pray for my enemies. It doesn't bother me to bless them. Jesus, bless my enemies!!  YES, I have enemies. I am actually at a point in my life that not-saved SINNERS don't offend me at all. My husband taught me that. He says, "You can't hold a non-Christian to a Christian standard." I have finally grasped that and live it. Right now I am faced RIGHT UP CLOSE AND CENTER with a Christian choosing to sin. As far as I know, the prodigal son was already a son. He was a wandering son. I have heard numerous teachings on the "Prodigal Son" but here is another take from a non-theologian: what if some of us are the older brother and some of us are the prodigal? Or maybe we are all a little of both, one day faithful while another battling lingering discontent. But Father never changes and I don't want the Father's love in me to change.

For Christ's sake, my husband wants to work in the church! I am definitely going to have to come to terms with imperfect people and unending love. Both of those things are just major squirming for me.

Because I have to, allow me to clarify that I am not saying God is glad or OK with sinful lifestyles. Sin separates us from God and it's heartbreaking. I believe also that God, in His great mercy, provided a way out of sin.  He gave up His son to get us out of this mess. I don't believe God squirms around as much as I do. When I go into His presence panicked, I usually come away feeling petty. Self-inflicted petty, of course.

It's so easy to love broken people who look broken who were seemingly destined to brokenness by culture or tragedy. But normal people, from normal families, with normal clothes, and normal faces, and normal jobs are broken too. And some of those normal broken people actually believe in an incredible, life-changing, grace-charged GOD who could change everything in a second. One of the most precious lovers of God I have ever known once told me "Deliverance is easy. If someone can just grasp in a moment the all-consuming love of God, the devil wouldn't be able to stay." The problem is, most of us haven't grasped even a small measure of how loved we are. I want that for people so much. I want that for myself.

So, I guess I'm going to learn to love.

**As I am writing, I am listening to We Will Not Be Shaken, the new Bethel album. Amanda Cook belts out the most beautiful prophetic song, "You see Everything. I am seen and I am known by the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. There's no place I can go that Your love won't find me. No place I can hide that You can't see. No place I could fall that Your love wouldn't catch me. You see it all, You see it all through the eyes of love. You're in everything, all around me. You still pursue me. When I'm misunderstood Your love understands. You see it all through the eyes of love."

Living and Dying

Nearly every night I collapse in a heap of exhaustion onto the couch. Paul and I are into the show Kitchen Nightmares, and we typically watch two entire episodes before Trinity decides I can sleep. I love the show. I learn a lot and am endlessly inspired by Chef Ramsay. He is demanding, loud, and has a horribly foul mouth, but he does have a gift. I imagine him with a supernatural flashlight, shining it into people's souls and pinpointing what sorts of traits should stay and go. Chef Ramsay tells the truth, and it changes people. He inspires me to tell the truth.

At 10:45, while barely functioning, I meander into the kitchen and decide that I don't have the energy to clean the dishes or prepare anything in advance for breakfast the next day. At this point I have tried to put Trinity down three times, but she will not sleep before 11:00. Yawn. I pick up my Bible. I know it's the right thing to do but I just don't have the energy to do the right thing. So I make a plan to read after breakfast the next day.

I fall into bed thanking God He gave me these children that challenge me each day. My heart aches. I love them. I pray for each of them individually, and ask for grace to do a better job parenting tomorrow. I try not to get extra introspective with myself, but when the days start blending together and I'm wondering for the bazillionth time what my purpose is in life, I slink next to Paul and say nothing. When I have nothing to say, I always have something to say, I'm just not saying it. In a way that only a good husband can do, he coaxes me to tell all, and my thoughts race around like horses in the Kentucky Derby.

I watched way too much TV tonight.
I am in bondage to Amazon Prime. 
I snapped at Jake over childhood foolishness. Geeze. I should know better than that.
I only spent 2 minutes with Sonora this morning. Cori monopolized my time. Dang 2 year old.
I was so inconsistent with Cori. I will pay for that tomorrow, and then every day after she turns 13.

The truth is, I have been consumed with this notion since Paul's parents passed away that I really don't live like I could be dying [which apparently is the most well-lived life]. I purposely read blogs and news stories of dying women because I believe they have some sort of ancient wisdom to offer me, something to teach me about my own life and what it lacks. I tell Paul, "If I died tomorrow, I really wouldn't like how I lived my life today." For all the above reasons above, and about ten more, like:

I spent too much time on facebook.
I spent too much time on the phone
I spent too much time in the shower.
I spent too much time reading a novel. 

Then, I proceed with all the things I didn't do enough of. Time is an irredeemable currency.

I don't know when it hit me, but probably on the verge of checking myself into the hospital because a hospital bed and 3 days away from life sounds better than a beach to me, I thought to myself, "I don't want to live like I am dying anymore."

I mean, if I lived like I was dying, I wouldn't do my laundry. I wouldn't do dishes. If I knew my life was ending, I would spend AS MUCH time with my kids as possible. I would soak up their little stories and stroke their velvet rosy cheeks until they couldn't take it anymore. I wouldn't write, except maybe some goodbyes. I wouldn't cook. I wouldn't homeschool. I wouldn't clean my room, or their rooms. I wouldn't live, I would just exist until I didn't anymore. I made a deal with myself that I'm going to stop comparing my life to a life that will be short-lived and instead embrace the fullness of all that I have. Instead of "living like I am dying" I am going to "live like I am living."

In which case, I will continue yelling at my kids when they mess up. I will continue to screw up because that's how you grow up. I will read a book, watch TV, idolize Gordon Ramsey, and sit on facebook when I am especially lonely....because I am alive.

Now, I am perfectly aware that one day I will die. There is something about the brevity of life that absolutely propels us towards living more intentionally. Death threatens our irredeemable time currency, but redemption scales time. As long as I'm living, I want to embrace it all. Not only my kids, who are absolutely the treasures of my earthly life, but myself. I want to embrace ME. I want to put my kids in front of a coloring book from time to time and connect with this crunchy keyboard, pouring my life out to others. I want to hold a mirror up to my marriage as much as I can, and even dig up dirt on some days. Is it any wonder that digging through dirt is how treasure is found?

And if I were dying and I knew it, I wouldn't be in the dirt. Life is messy, and I am alive.

I am tired of having my head hit the pillow, and the first thought to cross my mind is regret that my life wasn't well-lived that day because I didn't live it as if it was my last. I lived it as if it was a day in my life, with my kids, and my husband, and my Jesus, in the middle of my big-fat-messy process that I embrace, in a house that would insult Better Homes and Garden, in a town that I am new to, and I am still alive. From now on, that is a good day. And that is a good life.