Category Archives: Calling

The New Self-Righteousness

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“By this we know love, that He laid down His life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. But if anyone has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God’s love abide in him? Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.”

I John 3:16-18

I’m as guilty as the next person, and to some extent I think it’s a natural coping mechanism to feeling understandably overwhelmed. In our 25/7, mobile, digital, matrix of information society, we are inundated constantly with tragedy, injustice, inequality, oppression, victimization, poverty, hunger, the list goes on and on…….and on………and on. You can no longer avoid it by turning off the 6:00 news. It’s on our phones, our ads, our social medial outlets. It’s everywhere–this overwhelming brokenness that cries out for healing. And we find ourselves somehow trying to process these truly massive world problems in the midst of an increasingly hurried, demanding, exhausting life pace which can often feel like you are dog paddling at full capacity just to stay afloat and on top of things like bills, housework, and sleep. So, while I’m trying to just make all my ends meet, I’m confronted with things like gun violence and genocide and war and hunger and homelessness in 30-60 second intervals. It’s daunting.

Personally, I tend toward two knee-jerk reactions in response to these humanitarian and social justice issues. Frequently, I sympathize with Prince Henry in “Ever After” when he says, “I used to think that if I cared about anything, I would have to care about everything, and I’d go stark raving mad.” So, I avoid the news for a few days, log in to social media to post an update but don’t scroll through the numerous articles and blogs shared by my friends on difficult subjects. I take lots of long walks in quiet nature and read Jane Austen and sip cocoa. And I try not to think about the rest of the world for a while. I try not to know, because if I know, then I will have to care. And I don’t know what do when I care. How can I possibly make a difference in the face of such bottomless needs.

This first response, of course, is not defensible for very long, even to myself. It’s completely self-obsessed and literally places my own sense of comfort and ease above the very real needs of my fellow-man. Pretty obviously a direct violation of the “love your neighbor as yourself” command. So, if my pride and ego are at all active and desiring to justify my existence, I cannot remain in the first camp for too long.

Which brings us to the second response and the topic of this entry. My second knee-jerk reaction to a world in need is to become a vocal activist–an awareness rouser, a moral commentator, a “voice.” I feel that I should have enough compassion for my fellow-man to look at their struggles and do something. So, I repost and share articles and blogs. I pontificate about the plight of those in distress and the call to compassion for them. I blast the selfishness or cold-heartedness of those who are either failing to recognize the humanity of illegal immigrants or the dependency of the poor, or the helplessness of the refugees in Europe or the unborn child, or the…you name it. And by logging in, sharing a post (such as this one), calling out our hypocrisy, etc., I feel good about myself. I feel like I have done something; I have overcome my indifference and my fear and I have taken a stand! I have given a voice to a need! I have contributed! Aah, my conscience gives a sigh of relief, and I can go back to my cup of cocoa and my Jane Austen novel with a clear conscience, knowing I have fulfilled my God-given duty.

But have I? Lately, I have been increasingly convicted that it is easy to say you believe something and it is an awful lot harder to actually believe something–to the point that it changes you, to the point that it requires something of you, to the point that you have to actually follow your words with your life. I wonder if the new “activism” of taking a digital voice and speaking on behalf of issues is actually just a new way of avoiding true compassion? I see it everywhere from Facebook to politics. It’s a lot easier to take a stance on an issue than it is to seek a solution to an issue. Stances are easy, and often require very little from me whatsoever as they come already pre-packaged and wrapped in neat little bows, complete with a cheering section to pat me on the back and tell me I’m a good person. Service? Solutions? That’s hard. That’s time-consuming. That’s up close and personal and risks my getting entangled with real people with real needs that are bigger than me. Rhetoric is easy, especially if you’re a writer by nature. I can log on and write some moving paragraph about humanity and compassion and the gospel in five minutes or less and hit “send”, “post,” “reply.” Response? Taking responsibility for a need, for an issue, for a person? That’s hard. And scary. Criticism is easy. Here’s my stance and my cheering section, and we’re here to point out all your hypocrisy and failures and selfishness and self-righteousness, Mr. Opponent. How dare you? You are not worthy; you are not a humanitarian. You do not really care about these people in need! We are so glad we are not hypocritical and self-righteous like you. Compassion? Recognizing that Mr. Opponent is a flawed human being like myself, who may not be evil incarnate and may actually be trying to make a positive difference, even if he’s misguided? That’s hard. Actually doing something for the people in need that Mr. Opponent isn’t truly helping? That’s hard.

So this is the challenge that the Holy Spirit has been putting to me lately: for every issue I post on or share a post on or comment on a post regarding, when is the last time I encountered a human being connected to that issue? I say I care about the sanctity of life. When was the last time I prayed with a teenage mother? Or volunteered at a crisis pregnancy center? Or gave financially? I say I care about the poor. When was the last time I actually encountered a homeless person? And talked with him or her? I say I care about poverty. But, who do I know who I would actually consider poor? Jesus was pretty forceful in condemning the Pharisees for speaking on behalf of God and being poster children for righteousness while actually neglecting the least of these that are so close to God’s heart. Jesus is not calling me out into the airwaves (or satellite waves, or idk whatever scientific magic is involved in sending things to the interwebs). Jesus is calling me out into humanity–to respond to actual people, not issues. Once again, I find myself in the shoes of the Pharisees, stumblingly trying to trade them in for a pair of dusty sandals that go places that scare me. I can’t, of course, fix everything. Nor can I cure every ailment or fill every need. But, God doesn’t ask me to be God. He is already there–in each neighborhood, issue, struggle. He has unlimited resources and compassion. All He is asking me to do is show up and be included in what He’s doing. As I step out in faith, God will meet me and stretch me in ways I couldn’t have imagined, and He will teach me new depths of my dependence on Him and of His sufficiency for every dark corner. So, here are my new focus words:

stance    SERVICE

rhetoric   RESPONSE

criticism/condemnation   COMPASSION

Wish me well. It’s going to be a bumpy ride full of lots of opportunities for humble pie, awkwardness, and fear. But, while God’s adventures in my experience don’t usually involve smooth rides, the views are breathtaking.

A Lesson in Futility

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Five years ago, I began a journey towards becoming a counselor, which is still a work in progress. On that journey, God has provided many opportunities both professionally and personally to enter into relationships with people who are focused on their immediate desires or pleasure and convinced that their futures will be fine. It never ceases to amaze me how people surrounded by concrete examples of the end result of similar choices to their own can be thoroughly convinced that they themselves are the exception to the rule. Every narrow miss serves not as a dose of reality and a chance to change course but instead as another slipshod evidence that they are invincible–no amount of reason, or logic, or moral appeal can convince them otherwise. It is infuriating.

These are exactly the kind of people that I spent most of my life avoiding, trying not to get close enough to need to know them, or love them. Why? Because I thought it would hurt…a lot. As it turns out, it does. Ironically, these are exactly the sort of people one winds up spending a lot of time getting involved with as a counselor. Well, I suppose that is not ironic in itself. What is ironic is that I somehow did not realize this when I began to pursue counseling. When I first felt the Holy Spirit tugging on my heart toward certain acquaintances, I resisted. Fervently. “Pursue that person,” He would whisper to my heart. “I’ll smile, and be nice, and make friendly small talk. That’s good enough,” my heart would say. “Love that person,” He would say. “I’m listening to their problems and not making any judgmental comments. I’m giving them little trinkets and cheering up their day. Isn’t that good enough?” my heart would answer. “Is that how I love you?” He finally asked. Hmm.

And so began the struggle. God keeps putting broken people in my life to love, and I keep trying to love them. At first, I tried confronting their self-destructive choices. Then, I tried ignoring their choices and just listening to their struggles. Then, I tried sharing my own struggles and choices as some sort of inspirational role model. At some point, I gave up on strategy and just started having honest conversations with people, letting the Holy Spirit lead–sometimes taking the lead myself, and then having to enlist His help to fix the resulting mess. What are the results? Well, I have had more conversations about the gospel in the past several years than probably the rest of my life combined–especially with unbelievers. I have become truly amazed about how God loved me as an unrepentant sinner, and how He continues to love me as His child who still chooses to sin. I had little appreciation for how hard that is, or how much it costs before I started trying to do it myself–and, obviously, it costs me not even a fraction of what it cost Him. My heart’s capacity for love and forgiveness and humility has grown, and shrunk up when wounded, and then expanded again. But you know what? So far, not one, single person from this journey has changed his or her path. Honestly. I mean, I have put in tears, and prayers, and hugs, and hours upon hours of listening, and money and time, and…all sorts of stuff, and they still haven’t changed! What’s more, most of them haven’t even kept in touch. They say all these things about what a great friend or counselor I am, etc., etc., and then they just wander out of my life.

“Seriously, God?!” I have demanded on more than one occasion. “What the heck was the point of all that? I have been carrying this person on my heart and mind, bench pressing them on a daily basis, for months. And–nothing? Seriously?! I thought I was supposed to model Your love to them. I thought I was supposed to be a living testimony of the gospel. I thought You put them on my heart because You wanted to save them. I thought You wanted to use me to save them.” Okay, at some point in the process with each relationship, I get a little mixed up and think that I am the one whose love has the power to change their hearts and heal their brokenness, which I admit is a little delusional. But, when the Holy Spirit points that out to me–again, I confess it. I just kind of hoped that by now I would have seen God work through me with some sort of visible result.

Counseling–whether in the office or in friendships–can often feel like a monumental and exhausting effort of futility. It feels like I spend a lot of time reaching out to catch people and watching them slip through my fingers. Over, and over, and over. It is frustrating because I feel powerless to prevent their downfall. This is particularly heartbreaking when the person slipping through my fingers is a mere youth, making choices with consequences well beyond his or her years. I don’t pull any punches. I tell them that I love them unconditionally, whatever choices they make, but I don’t sugar coat the choices they are making or the consequences they will eventually incur. I shoot straight from the hip, but I also express hope for them, and a belief that there is another path for them to choose. Most of the time, I think they just see me as this friendly ally who still believes in right and wrong (Isn’t that cute?). “Gee, I must be pretty special because she takes so much time on me.” And   s   l   i   p, there they go: right through my fingers. Sigh. I don’t fee like I’m doing them any actual good.

“Why don’t you feel like you’re doing them any good?” God asks me. “Because, they’re still falling. I can’t catch them. And I can’t convince them to be caught instead of continuing to fall. I’m just grasping at them on the way down, and missing every time,” I answer.

“And you don’t think that’s helping?” God pursues.                           “How is that helping?” I finally ask. “They’re still choosing to plummet.”

“True, but they can feel your fingers on the way down,” God answers. I can tell this is going to be one of those object lessons that He gives me by providing an analogy that I didn’t come up with myself, but I’m still doubtful. “Okay…so they can feel my touch on the way down. How is that helping in any significant way?”

For the sake of length, I’ll skip the dialogue and summarize. Here’s what God taught me tonight: I cannot control whether someone chooses to fall or not. I cannot catch them if they don’t want to be caught. That is not my role. However, that does not mean that God is not using me. How is reaching out and having someone slip through my fingers still helpful to them?

1. Sometimes, when you are in free fall, you forget that you are falling. Brushing against my hand on the way down may serve to remind them that they are falling, and that is an important realization. 2. A human touch is sometimes needed to remind us that we are human and that we are connected to the people around us. Maybe being grasped at and slipping through my fingers will remind someone that they are human or that their fate matters to someone besides themselves. 3. Maybe the offered hand that they reject will remind them that there is another choice available to them besides the path they are currently on, and will help them to realize that they are making a choice to keep falling–and that could be the first step toward making a different choice. 4. If I continue to take the opportunities God provides me to reach out to them, not excusing or ignoring their bad choices and telling them that I love them in spite of their choices, they may have an easier time understanding that God does not ignore or excuse our sin, but loves us in spite of our sin–so much so that He offers to take the penalty of our sin upon Himself and give us a new life.

I can’t stop my friends or my clients from falling. I can’t make the choice for them. I can’t give them a new heart or the gift of repentance. That is not my role. I cannot follow them on their way down, or after they walk away. I probably will not be there when they hit rock bottom. That is not my job, and I have to accept that. God, on the other hand, will be there when they hit rock bottom. He will be there all the way down, as far as they go. He can give them the gift of repentance, and a new heart. That is His role. I need to let God perform His role and be content to perform mine. I believe that there is a reason He places me in the path of those I come in contact with, and I trust that His purpose will be fulfilled even if I am not there to see it. I hope that as I lean on God and do my best to fumblingly exhibit His love, He will plant seeds that will bear fruit later on. Reaching out to someone who slips through my fingers is not futile. It just isn’t my fingers that will finally lift them up.

When Knocking on a Door becomes Banging Your Head Against a Wall

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Adventures in Dogsitting 026

Remember those unexpected destinations and u-turns I mentioned in my inaugural entry? Well, I’m in the midst of another one: a u-turn this time. Or at least, that’s what it feels like. A new position in my dream job failing to materialize, I now find myself returning to my previous dream job (the one I have spent 5 years working hard to stay out of). I actually interviewed for a full-time position in this former dream job that I loved but which did not allow me to love anything else because it consumed my life. I did not get the full-time position. I got a temporary, fill-in position, with no salary or benefits for the same amount of work. *sigh* So, I get to lose all of my free time and head space and for about 1/4 of what I would get paid full-time. I feel like an American colonist ready to start a revolution: “No consumption without compensation!”

Why on earth did I take this job? That’s a very good question. I have been asking myself that question since I heard the words “I’ll take it” come out of my mouth.

You know that cute, comforting, little cliche’ phrase that people always bandy about when the ground has just suddenly given way before you, and you find yourself standing on the edge of an immense precipice with the wind threatening to pull you off into the void? “When God closes one door, He always opens another.” It always seems to be accompanied by a cheerful smile, or a gentle arm squeeze. Or, when it’s an especially hard situation or people can tell you’re on the brink of a breakdown, the creative ones will switch out a door for a window. I know they are trying to be helpful and encouraging. I genuinely feel bad for how awkward they must feel at my deer-in-headlights response of just staring and blinking. I do. But, in those moments, the thought that is usually going through my head is something like this: “Door? What door? I’m standing on the edge of an immense cliff, peering into an abyss. I’m not even looking for doors right now. I would give anything for the security of a hallway with nothing more threatening than a closed-door behind me. I’m just feeling dizzy and hoping to God I don’t fall to my doom.” (Confession: my inner dialogue is a lot more dramatic than my exterior presentation.)

Adding to the dizziness is the continual barrage of two schools of advice: 1. Wait patiently and peacefully for God to present you with another door  (or a window). 2. Keep knocking on that door until it opens; believe in your vision; fight for what you believe to be your calling; find the window next to the door and claw your way in. There is wisdom to both of these approaches. There are times when each of these responses is appropriate. But, here’s the catch: how do you know which time you’re in? Is it a time for humble submission and trust? Is it a time for bold faith and determination? How do you know when God is testing you or strengthening your resolve, and when He is blocking the path you had planned because He has another purpose for you (especially when no other purpose readily presents itself)? These are deep questions that require a lot more than a motto or a catchphrase to answer. There are examples of each season in Scripture. Joshua and Caleb persisted in believing God’s promise to deliver Canaan to them in spite of the other 10 spies who were terrified and the skepticism of the people. Joshua also led the Israelites around Jericho for seven days straight before the walls fell. Moses persisted with pressuring Pharaoh to release the Israelites for ten, successive plagues. Paul persisted in preaching the gospel to Gentiles through beatings, stoning, imprisonment, shipwreck, and any number of other circumstances that would probably cause most of us to wonder whether we were really in the center of God’s will. Abraham and Sarah had to wait patiently for about 25 years (if my calculations are correct) from the time God first promised offspring to them in Genesis 12:7 to the time Isaac was finally born. I have a feeling their knuckles were getting pretty raw from knocking on that door when they decided to take things into their own hands and try to make a window–the results of which were pretty devastating. Of course, all of those people also had a direct, audible direction/promise from God, which is not something of which I have been the beneficiary. On the other hand, there are also plenty of examples in Scripture where God changed the course His people were on, or asked them to just sit and wait for extended lengths of time.

In my own experience, God does not usually open one door after closing another. I know plenty of friends whose lives seem to work that way. Some of them actually seem to live in a game show, with multiple open doors to choose from which all promise to conceal wonderful prizes. “Okay, Johnny, show her what’s behind door number 2!” Cue the confetti. I am thinking back over the major, unexpected transitions of my life, and I can’t really remember a single time I would describe like that. My journey usually resembles something more like a shrinking hallway with many locked doors that closes in on me until I am huddled in a corner on the floor and discover a mouse-hole which I then have to squeeze through. That’s how I wound up moving in with family a few years ago. That’s how I ended up pursuing my masters. And that’s how I found myself accepting this job a few days ago. This is not to imply that those transitions have not eventually been filled with blessing and good and joy, as mentioned in previous posts. But, they are never an obvious, welcome transition that I would have chosen voluntarily barring the shrinking hallway.

So, how do you know when you are knocking on a door in faith, and when that door has turned into a wall which you are banging your head against? How do you maintain sanity when it feels like you have wasted exorbitant amounts of time, money, and energy on a door that just will not open. It is easy to be overwhelmed with fears that you have misunderstood God’s calling on your life, that you have missed out on God’s calling while you were knocking on the wrong door, that there is no door for you and you are a waste of space in the kingdom. The list goes on. Maybe you were supposed to just be peacefully resting in a zen-like “be still” moment, and you killed it with all your knocking. Maybe you should have spent less time peacefully resting in God’s presence when He really wanted you to be knocking harder, and the door is gone now. It would be much easier if God appeared in a blinding light and struck you blind while giving a clear, direct command; or appeared in a burning bush; or spoke to you directly and audibly from heaven. But, in my experience, that doesn’t happen very often; instead I find myself in a moment of loss and confusion.

I am in one of those moments now, as I consider whether or not the door I have been pounding for several years is really a wall, and I find myself walking back through a door I had no intention of ever entering again and plan to exit through as soon as possible. At times like these, I am incredibly thankful for the following truths God has impressed on me in the last few years:

1. Ultimately, I have one (ONE) calling: to receive the love of my heavenly Father, Creator, and Savior, and to share it with others. Period. God may have different purposes for different seasons of my life, but my true calling is immutable and able to be fulfilled in any circumstance. The catechism answer I learned as a child puts it this way, “Man’s chief end is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.” Also, it’s success does not depend on me, but on God who initiated the covenant with me. (Mark 12:28-31)

2. God doesn’t do backwards. He does not waste time or experiences. He is sovereign over closed doors, walls, mouse-holes, u-turns, and dead ends. And, from His perspective, they are all moving me directly forward toward His will for my life. He is with me on every step of the journey, even the pit stops, and He is never thwarted from accomplishing His purpose to fill me with His love and conform me to His likeness. He will use everything to bring me into deeper communion with Him. (Romans 8:28-30)

3. I know where the journey ends, and it is not here. I may not know how it will end, or when. It may involve falling off a precipice, or rotting away in a hallway, or finding an unexpected door. But, no matter how many u-turns, mouse-holes, and dead ends I have to face, I know that my calling will be fulfilled: I will see my Savior face to face, and know Him even as I am known by Him, and will be like Him–I will resemble my beautiful, perfect, glorious God and reflect Him perfectly when that day comes. (I John 3:2-3)

If you are facing a dead-end, a brick wall, an insurmountable parapet, an unwelcome door, or a highly uncomfortable mouse-hole, rest assured: it is not a setback. It is a step forward in your relationship with your heavenly Father, an opportunity to draw tighter to His side, and an important milestone in being shaped into the person He created you to be. Whether you decide to continue banging on that stubborn door or to find a peaceful corner to sit and wait, you can be sure you are not wasting time if you are making that decision with God and sharing the experience with Him. Oh, and it’s okay to collapse in the corner and have a good cry; just let Him hold you while you do.