One More Truth

Reflections on faith, truth, and being human

Wisdom: the subtle fall trend

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My children wanted haircuts over the weekend, so being the mom I am, I took them to the salon that had just mailed out coupons. I brought nothing with me – no books, no half-fleshed writing, no unopened mail – so I could enjoy a little one-on-one time with each child while the other one was being shorn, and wouldn’t you know, they both got seated in a styling chair at the same time. So I glanced through the fall trends of a magazine instead. A few paragraphs into the cover article, and I was immediately reminded why I let my past subscriptions lapse: I’m embarrassed by my own gender.

Of course a magazine isn’t to blame for the embarrassment – it only reflects the times. And oh, these times. So many women celebrating the discovery that they have a voice, but they haven’t figured out what they’re trying to say. Millennials acknowledging that yes, they have a body, and they’re proud of it, and – oh, look! – they’re posting pictures because it’s empowering, but empowering them to do what? Wear a bikini? Cool. Anything useful, though? Do they have the power to end toxic behaviors or break disordered habits? Moms my age deadlifting like a boss, celebrating muscle because it shows their strength, but they’re not strong enough to show up in the gym or anywhere else without false eyelashes, full makeup, and cosmetic surgery. Middle-aged women are pleased with expressing themselves as a contribution to society, but their contribution rarely has much benefit other than garnering applause, and I wonder, if they received no attention for their contribution, how quickly would they express their displeasure?

There are many conversations being had, with people ‘joining the conversation’ and whatever, and everyone seems to have a strong opinion with dislikes that trigger them and likes that suit them, and these preferences seem to make saying the same 8 buzzwords about the same 3 topics very exciting, but no matter the word choice, the message is clearly, “Me. More.” The communicators are attractive and privileged, revered as authorities on authenticity (behind the guise of contouring and spanx, or manscaped beards and expensive suits) and they speak of ideals without understanding the ideas behind them, without any clue which weak ideals we’d need to strengthen right now in order to build a perfectly impartial world. Everyone’s talking, but nothing being said has any utility. It’s a just tangle of prophets with unprofitable declarations, valued quotes without value, and many (so many) words without wisdom.

But no need to despair. Wisdom is still alive and well, because here’s the truth about wisdom: it has a subtlety to it. It clearly communicates without speaking a word. Wisdom understands that being fair, staying disciplined, and doing what’s right is more useful than talking about it.

When the wisest man in the world wrote Proverbs, it wasn’t to highlight his opinions or exercise his privilege. He shared his wealth of wisdom so that anyone could enjoy dignity and honor, and he did it radically…by personifying wisdom as a woman. It seems equity is alive and well, too.

And I can’t help but smile because I’ve known and I know women who personify wisdom. They are single moms proudly putting food on the table, regardless the size of their paycheck. They’re former victims who’ve learned to cope, heal, and grow, and they’re ending the cycle of abuse by looking out for vulnerable girls in their neighborhoods. They’re women whose bodies have been weakened by cancer or disability and they aren’t strong enough to lift their own legs most days, but they’ve lifted their chins with resolve and they are leading and loving with tenacity. They are grandmas raising grandkids and hardworking women who are respected because they deserve it, not because they demand it. They are women encouraging their friends, wives supporting husbands who want to go back to school, and marathon runners who don’t run from difficult discussions with their children. These women are comfortable in their own skin, comfortable with making tough choices, and comfortable with being sincere. They understand that patience builds peace, self-respect nurtures love, and outrage is most often a mask for unchecked self-centeredness. They’re not grabbing for privilege, they’re gripping dignity and they’re keeping composure instead of folding like a lawn chair every time they don’t get their way. It’s an honor to know these women, and I’m equally thankful for the good men who adore and applaud them – because I know full well there are many.

Men and women of wisdom, much love to you. You aren’t busy defining yourselves – you’re letting the distinct features of wisdom classify you instead. You know how to stand together and you know how to confidently stand alone. If I could put you on a magazine cover, I would, but just know that I see you, my children see you, and we are learning wisdom from you, so carry on in your subtle teaching.

Please and thank you.

 

 

Choosing the ordinary with courage

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A few summers back I took on a shoebox full of snapshots and a decade’s worth of digital pictures and filled photo albums with thousands of memories until the task was finished. Almost. I made it a little more than halfway, the last album leaving the Stiffler family frozen somewhere in 2010. But I’d made 7 years’ worth of progress and every new book filled the hearts of my children with warm fuzzies as they flipped through images of their younger versions with laughter, surprise, disbelief, and frequent, “I remember this!” The nostalgia stirred by the little faces, lovely places, and younger spaces that made my life – that made me – inspired several posts in which various photo styles became word pictures of truth. But I got stuck on ‘the first day of school’ post and ended the series without it. And life moved on.

In fact, life meandered at such an oddly brisk pace, the first day of school snuck up on me this year, resulting in an out of sync morning that felt so ordinary I nearly forgot to take the first day of school pictures. But I captured some good memories for the next picture project: a snarky, ‘get this over with’ half smirk/half glare from my sophomore, a dramatically posed and poised expression from my 7th grader who couldn’t wait for junior high, and a genuine smile from my 5th grader who’s still young enough to enjoy the school routine and the rituals of a proud mom with a camera. And off they went into a new year with new supplies in their old backpacks and new hopes in their older young souls.

Before long, the new year lost its sparkle. New shoes weren’t as comfortable as they had been in the store, dreaded oral reports were assigned, backpacks were heavy and bikes were too slow, the PE teacher was too fond of burpees, and running for class representative did not end in victory. The new had become ordinary – it was the same old grind. The frequent morning sendoff became, “Have an awesome day! Remember, it’s a choice.” One month down with many more to go.

One morning in particular – a morning of many maladies, the type of morning when gentle moms react most ungracefully to complaints of first world problems, the kind of morning when the trivialities are very old and you could easily, unintentionally choose to hate the life you love for want of something (anything) new – I paused. I took a cleansing breath and looked around at the discouraged kids in my kitchen. The images of their younger faces were resting quietly in photo albums filled with ordinary moments, and I’d lost interest in that project and I’d chosen to do something new, but had I also lost interest in ordinary moments? Was disinterest the coward’s way of unchoosing? Because I had courageously chosen this life once, this ordinary motherhood with all its happenings and same old grind, and I would choose it one million times over for the love of these extraordinary children growing up right in front of me. Did they know that? It was a good question.

The words of my own advice caught me: “This is an awesome day, Michelle, so choose.” I could passively choose to let the morning ailments discourage me and perpetuate the already heavy gloom or I could take courage and choose to encourage. I helped re-lace the too tight shoes. I calmly suggested typical hiding places for missing belts and books. I prayed with the taller-than-me child who was petrified of the afternoon’s oral report. I packed Doritos in lunches, not for nutritional benefit, but for the benefit of delight, because jumping lunges and burpees deserve a little reward. I filled bike tires and wore a heavy backpack on the ride to school that morning. I waved goodbye and my children smiled, and it was just an ordinary morning. But it felt extraordinary.

Encouragement is the gift of courage, and whether accepted or not, it’s a gift never wasted. Because encouraging others also sparks a courage deep within us to hold hope and keep going. That little spark of courage pushed me to take a closer look at my ordinary moments for the new and extraordinary I’ve often overlooked by unintended choice. It’s helped me begin the practice of re-choosing my life. It’s been quite a process of asking hard questions, and sorting the answers is much like sorting hundreds of pictures, but it’s reminded me who I am, what I’ve been given, how I can love better, and in Whom I hope.

Maybe you’re stuck. Maybe you need to re-choose your life. Be encouraged. There’s more to come…

 

 

God is my president

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So here we are, in a very political country, sweating through an extremely political climate, entering a week with a politically suffocating focus. This year’s election is different, everyone says. And I’d have to agree, because this year, one of my children is old enough to vote. Different indeed.

My husband and I are not the political type – individually or as a couple. Politics is a whole lot of noise, and noise is disorienting and confusing and it tends to attract a lot more noise. That’s my personal narrative about politics. (Don’t worry, it’s safe to keep reading!)

But our daughter – the new voter – has questions, and because of love and responsibility, my husband and I have discussed politics with her. We don’t have answers, necessarily, but we’ve talked through options. Sure, we want to be informed and use wisdom on Election Day, but knowledge doesn’t always provide discernment. For all the media coverage, debates, opinions, discovered secrets, speculations, hypotheticals, and discussions that have fallen on our ears or out of our mouths, we’re still as clueless as we were from the beginning.

Noise. And in the confusion of noise, fear grows. I see it in the quiet way my younger children listen when the adults at the table discuss matters they don’t understand. I hear it in the text from my niece, slightly shaken by the uncertain future in which she will raise and teach her infant daughter.

Because of all the fear, I write today in a different tone.

I was recently reading the book of Daniel when a few verses caught my attention. I reread them, underlined them, and read them again. The words forced fresh air through my lungs like an early morning run in November; it burned, and it made me feel alive. God’s Word does that. I wrote the verse on a piece of paper and taped it where it was sure to be visible to everyone – the pantry doors in the kitchen.

On Monday, my oldest daughter was typing the verse into her phone. On Wednesday, I happened to spot my daughter’s boyfriend reading the verse. On Friday, I repeated the verse in several conversations, and yesterday, my 10 year old asked me to send the verse to her Kindle. In the midst of all this, I wondered what to post, asking the Lord, “What do people need to hear?” It was so obvious. I had already posted what people needed to hear. People need God’s Word, specifically the words posted in my kitchen:

Praise God because wisdom and power belong to Him.

He changes the seasons and controls the course of world events;

He removes kings and sets up other kings.

He gives wisdom to the wise and provides discernment.

He knows what lies hidden in darkness.

A prayer of Daniel, compiled from 5 translations of chapter 2, verses 20-22

Thousands of years ago, during the uncertain times of his day, Daniel took his concerns, fears, and confusion to the same God of today. God’s wisdom and power were all Daniel could be sure of, so rather than pretend he could control his future, Daniel found comfort in trusting God’s control.

It’s a wonderful thing to have a voice and a vote, but they can’t promise certainty in uncertain times, and tomorrow is certainly uncertain. This week is uncertain, this year is uncertain, and we don’t know what the future holds. We never have and never will. But God knows. He knows all, sees all, and is powerful enough to handle it all. Take comfort in that!

And then do more – share the comfort you have in the God who knows.

Share Daniel’s prayer. Let it be heard above the noise.

 

Brothers and Saints

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I have 4 brothers. None of them are actual blood brothers, they’re brothers-in-law, but it’s their in-lawness that makes each of them so individually wonderful and lovable. One brother saves me tasty produce from his garden, another is my workout buddy and idea bouncing buddy, one hungers for knowledge and loves to talk books, and one accepted Christ while a teenager at church camp and now he’s a compassionate father for lost children. Because I am the oldest in my family and my husband is the youngest, my brothers span a twenty year age spectrum, but as different as these guys are, they all have one important thing in common – they all love Jesus (and yes, they all have me for a sister in law, but that’s not as important). Because of marital ties and spiritual ties, we are family, and I’m proud to claim these men as brothers.

In pursuit of learning, and because of his soft spot for his Catholic roots, my fellow book nerd brother recently began texting me a daily reading from the yellowed pages of his book of saints. We live in separate time zones, so he texts me during his morning reading time, then I wake up a little later, grab my phone, and read my lesson for the day. We’re a few weeks strong into Saint School and we’ve already added a new student, so it seems that S.S. is gaining accreditation.

My brother and I share a bond with our recent enrollment in Saint School, plus we share a love for my sister (his wife, and also, the new student), but we also share a name – the feminine and masculine forms of the same name – and Thursday happened to be the feast day of our names’ saint: Michael, the archangel. Had I known sooner, I may have planned a more feast-like dinner, but lackluster leftovers were taking over the fridge, so I figured I’d skip a night of cooking and begin writing an unexpected post about saints and brothers.

Before Saint School, I was very unfamiliar with the saints and their stories – my protestant background focused on persons of the Bible, testimonies of church members, and happenings of missionaries – but reading about these men and women has strengthened my commitment to living my faith well. I’ve been challenged to give more generously, inspired to pray more effectively, and encouraged to love more dangerously. Some of these Christ followers endured horrible persecution and death for their faith, reminding me that my freedom to worship is a privilege I often view casually.

The faithful mentioned in Hebrews 11 and all throughout the Bible, the saints remembered in my brother’s book, and the loved ones who followed Christ before us are examples of great faith because of their devotion in living, not only in dying. As noble as it may be to die for your faith, it isn’t as inspiring as living wholeheartedly for the God of your faith, but the only way to live in full dedication to Christ is to die in another sense: die to selfishness.

Dying to selfishness means living with less so you can give more. It means forgiving, listening, noticing, sharing, and yes, it means loving the unlovable. These are simple reflections of the God we live for, but these are the examples of Christian faith that people are desperate to see. It takes commitment to put others before yourself. It requires daily focus on the One you’re living for, so that you’ll be strong enough to live His way instead of your own way – which is exactly how Saint School came to be. My brother begins each day with a commitment to read his book, which reminds him to live for Jesus. Then he remembers He’s not alone as a follower of Jesus, so he reminds me (and my sister) to live for Jesus, and together, we are strengthened in our commitment to live our faith as best and as simply as we can.

So strengthen your family ties with your Spiritual brothers and sisters. Read the stories of those who have lived in faith, but more than that, surround yourself with loved ones who will live in faith with you today.