One More Truth

Reflections on faith, truth, and being human

Search Results for: the start of one

The start of One More Truth and how life is a race

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This is the start of One More Truth and to properly set the tone, I’ll open with truth: thinking about the first post took less effort than actually writing it. It seemed easier to leave the cursor blinking on an empty page.

Writing had been a ‘someday’ goal; easier to set and much harder to work toward. But I was conflicted. Writing the first post wasn’t the starting line; I was already running. I had been planning One More Truth for several months – choosing the theme, purchasing a domain name, and consulting a designer. With the site design complete, the big moment had arrived. It was thrilling and terrifying, but to never begin writing was essentially dropping from the race. At this point, was quitting really easier?

The Bible refers to the faith life as a race. Following Jesus isn’t a temporary journey, wandering until we sort things out, find home, and settle comfortably into ‘normal life.’ Jesus-following is active and intentional with eyes and energy concentrated on moving forward. Always. Finishing well is important, but the focus is on running well. The goal in the faith race is obedience – one intentional step of obedience after the other – because obedience is faith. It’s a fluid motion, meant to flow into and throughout everyday living. Obeying isn’t a mindless routine, but an intentional discipline. It’s fueled by love. Jesus prompts us and we move.

God has a purpose and design for you. Are you in it? You can run, walk, or even crawl, just don’t become static. What’s the next step for you today? For me, I’ll finally click a button…

Moving in the tension, seeing God in the middle

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Most Sunday mornings my husband and I bike out to a local coffee shop. There are several reasons for this Sabbath routine: we like the exercise, we like coffee, we like mornings, and we like each other. It’s a win-win-win-win. And being morning people, we’re terrible about going on traditional dates because a conversation such as, ‘Hey, it’s Friday night, and after a long work week I’m exhausted, but let’s get all fancy, go to a restaurant where we can’t hear over the terrible choice in music, and pretend we’re enjoying an over-priced dinner, even though right this moment, we’re literally feet away from a fridge stocked with delicious food, which we could eat most contentedly without excusing frequent yawning’ isn’t a conversation we have very often. Boring, I know, but practical has its own elegance. You can quote me on that.

We recently biked on both Saturday and Sunday, which had us feeling fit, well-caffeinated, and fantastic. Until Sunday’s ride home. The miles already pedaled had trashed our quads, making the ride a little tougher, but the fatigue got real when we were assaulted by gale-force winds that never, ever let up…for six and a half miles. It was grueling. And that’s the benefit of biking far distances – there’s only one way to get where I want to be, and if that means pedaling tornado winds ‘til I get there, then pedal I must.

I need those forced opportunities where want joins will; where I’m reminded I’m capable of doing hard things. Muscles don’t grow stronger without resistance. Holistic growth is the same. Mental and emotional growth won’t happen without pause and healthy introspection. Letting go of good things lost or destructive things held is a process of discipline. Naming triggers and taming trigger responses takes consistent practice. Strength of spirit develops in change and adjustment. Fulfilling relationships require real intention. And let’s not forget, fetuses grow for 9 extremely long months – proof the growing of a person takes effort and time.

Often it’s the time-taking things that feel like the hardest things, because the middle…the middle is so dang long! But when I appreciate the journey for what it is, I find joy in the experience. I notice the beauty around me and learn to be grateful for the breath in my lungs and the strength to move forward.

It’s in the middle I discover the truth about growing and being alive.

That it’s ok to be uncomfortable. It’s ok to hurt. It’s ok to be misunderstood. It’s ok if I don’t quite understand or if things don’t make sense. It’s ok to be in between the start of change and the finish line. It’s ok to be who I am right now while striving to become. It’s ok if the distance ahead isn’t a feel-good number. It’s ok to be in the middle, it’s ok to feel the tension and resistance, because the only way through it is through it, so just

keep

moving

forward.

Counter-cultural truths, I know. Resisting the mindset of convenient, comfortable, and quickly achieved is a challenge, but I’m opening up to the in-between places – they’re the only spaces with room enough for the flourishing life I want most. Humility and gentleness, patience and wisdom, love for others and for myself – I want those things! You know when I’ve seen them take root? In the struggle. In the resolving of conflict. In the pushing through sticking points. In the forgiving and moving on. In the middle of resistance and the winds of change. The best things in life don’t come easy, but they’re worth the diligence. Diligence grows the good stuff.

I’m sort of in the middle right now, pedaling through gusts, pushing with diligence. Maybe you are, too. Take courage – middle places are where we see God. And He is faithful. When we do the trusting work of diligently moving toward Him, He graciously meets us in the middle, completing our efforts in His time, in His plan, in the journey.

 

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The journey of faith, the surrender of prayer

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At the age of 64, my dad took a huge leap of faith and did something most wouldn’t consider at his age: he resigned from the church he pastored, and he and my mom moved across the country. My dad, the planner, mapped a six week road trip, a tour that wound them through the towns of their childhoods, national landmarks, museums, bucket list sights, points of interest, and thanks to my dad’s clever planning, they even trekked through the few states they’d never seen. By the time they reached my house – the last stop before their new state of residence – several things were certain: my parents could proudly say they’d been to all 50 states; they were eager to eat home cooked meals; and they were tired of living out of a suitcase. With so many miles and weeks and history between them and their old home, they were ready to venture the final 12 hours to their new home.

But tired as they were and ready as they were, there was something unsettling about arriving ‘home’ – there would be no more map. Long as it may have been, the journey across America had been a predictable journey. They awoke knowing where they were headed, they could reasonably estimate how long it would take, and the destination at the end of the day was the destination they had intended to reach. Every place had its unique delights and surprises, but the road trip itself had been a month and a half of anticipated outcomes.

New home, however, was a blank canvas. There was a house to find and new employment to secure, and neither of these things would be a one day road trip. Months after settling into their house, my dad was still sending out resumes, interviewing, and making follow up calls. He kept in forward motion, volunteering and meeting new people. Some days offered new possibilities, other days closed the door on hopeful prospects, but every day was a waiting day. He could choose to do many things, but the outcome was out of his hands.

Empty feelings find us when we’re waiting in the blank canvas spaces, when we can’t see the big picture and we’re unable to paint our desired outcome. Weaknesses are exposed and fear and insecurities surface. My dad wrestled the fear that his age was an obstacle, a seeming disadvantage he could do nothing about. He concluded he had two choices: He could trust God, or not. There was no in between. He could feel powerless against disadvantages or trust God’s power. He could consider waiting as wasted time, or trust it was training. He could hold on to fear, or hold on to the God of hope. Following the example of his namesake, David, my dad took everything to God in prayer – his age, his efforts, the waiting, the disappointment, and the questions. He trusted God could take all the ungood and make something good.

Wide open spaces of uncertainty are the journey places we’d avoid if given the choice, but these tough places are trust places – places where the complexity and simplicity of faith stretch for miles and we must choose our form of surrender: give up or let go. We assume weakness or resume in His strength. Doubt consumes us or we let worry go. We claim empty and quit or we gather the full confidence of hope and continue trusting the God of our faith’s beginning; continue trusting that He sees what we can’t see. Surrender prayers are the privilege of faith, not because they assure certain outcomes, but because in prayer we are reassured that God – though unseen – is certainly with us, now and forever.

My dad is now the prayer pastor of a Christian radio station, where his job is literally praying for every request a listener sends in and personally responding to each one. I imagine those responses are read with a sigh of relief, not because my dad understands all the mysteries of God, but because He understands the heaviness of desperate prayers, and the importance of grit kind of scriptures that strengthen weary hands in waiting. His age is no longer a disadvantage, but a gift of wisdom and tenderness. God is using the trials of faith for good. And my dad, the prayer pastor, is encouraging others, by faith, to keep going and keep holding hope in the God who can be trusted.

 

My friends, One More Truth is 3 years old! Want to see where the journey began? Right here.

Perfection, focus, and the secret of satisfaction

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It was a last minute invite to a housewarming party, a night to enjoy the warm breeze and mingle with people we’d never met. We said we’d come and I whipped up a batch of peanut butter fudge. As expected, we knew no one, which didn’t bother us in the least. We made chit chat and toured the brand new house – beautiful and fresh as a newborn baby. The layout, the countertops, and every light fixture were the latest and greatest. The baseboards had never known dust, other than the dust of contractors. Walls and floors were smudge-free. The white tile backsplash was completely clean, not because it had been vigorously scrubbed, but because it had never before seen grease or spaghetti sauce. For every woman in attendance, seeing an immaculate house in real life felt much like spotting a unicorn. We were bewildered, overwhelmed, and impressed.

I’m a bit like a unicorn myself, I suppose. I’m a female who can’t relate with the typical lady tribe who scroll pinterest, speak the home improvement language of HGTV, and tour model homes on weekends just for fun. It’s not that these things couldn’t possibly be fun, it’s just that they’re not fun for me, mostly because there’s nothing thrilling about looking at perfectly situated things and imagining a perfect life. I already have a life, an imperfect one, but it’s mine and I own it, 100%. My house gets lived in, it accumulates dust and windows get streaked, but you know what? Spotless houses don’t have a lifespan longer than 24 hours, unless no one lives there. I know this because I aim for spotless every Saturday, and by Monday, that ship has sailed. My home is full of people I love, we have everything we need and then some, and I’m satisfied. And I like it that way.

The things you put in front of your eyeballs on the daily are the things you’ll eventually envy. That’s my spin on a line from a movie I can’t condone watching, but the statement was so profoundly true and Biblically accurate, I’ve remembered it all these years. Satisfaction isn’t a natural mindset, it has to be nurtured. I want to want my life, and in order to continue wanting an imperfect life with things that break, get old, sag, and look less than pinteresty, I have to keep some things out of my face. If I want to stay satisfied with my stuff, my relationships, my physical composition, or my life in general, I can’t be perpetually staring at what else is out there. I need a better focus.

When Paul wrote his God-inspired thoughts on joy in a letter to his friends, he wasn’t writing it from a sunlit room in his comfortable home, tucked in the safety of the desert suburbs. (Ouch.) Paul wrote his sincere ode to joy from prison. Paul had justifiable reason to seethe in disgust – he had lived in affluence until he started preaching Jesus. But he suffered the loss, and instead spoke encouragement without one word of cleverly disguised bitterness or deep-seated jealousy, even though his friends were comfortably enjoying freedom. How is it that Paul could remain content with prison walls right in front of his eyeballs on the daily? How did he exude genuine joy without one shred of envy for a better life?

Paul knew what was true: nothing in this world is built to last. All of it can and will be lost – status, stuff, situations – making all of it worthless. Garbage. It’s all going to burn. So Paul looked beyond his prison, beyond this life, and this world. He focused every thought on the truth, on things worth considering, things that matter, beautiful things, Jesus things. His faith wasn’t shaken. Knowing Jesus was infinitely more valuable than anything else. He knew his source of genuine joy and it continued to bubble from a place that circumstance couldn’t touch. He was free. The chains that held him didn’t hold his mind and didn’t hold him down – he was good.

Faith isn’t about having a perfect life, and joy isn’t about thanking God for the imperfect, but joyful faith is about keeping a perfectly confident focus. Because no matter what we see in front of us, Jesus is there, we belong to Him, He loves us, and no one can take Him from us. We can be certain of that, and that’s something to be glad about. The faith we’re building is going to last. That’s pure joy.

Our part in building unshakable faith is finding the joy in everything. God’s part in perfecting our unshakable faith is guarding our minds with His peace. Equal parts joy and peace. That’s the secret to satisfaction, my friends.