One More Truth

Reflections on faith, truth, and being human

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.

Prayer and the lasting legacy of faith, hope, and love

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Last week my dear Grandpa, a man who had always been so full of life, let out his final breath with peace and dignity. It was probably the quietest day he had ever lived. My Grandpa was an enthusiast, and being such, he sang loudly, made audible sounds of approval during meals and throughout his morning coffee, laughed with body-shaking exuberance, and talked as often and to as many people as possible. He even slept loudly, snoring from the bedroom he and Grandma shared downstairs, a clamor that floated easily on the summer air, up the stairs, and onto the ears of my sisters and me. His big personality was easy to spot in a crowd and his presence was always known without his trying. I don’t doubt that when his presence left the hospital room last week, his absence was immediately felt by my extended family waiting beside him, lovingly encouraging him to go home.

My Grandpa had always been on the other side of encouragement. He had 7 granddaughters and never let on that a grandson would have made the family complete – an encouragement in itself. Grandpa could give a pep talk like no other. It was always a long pep talk because Grandpa could talk the leg off a horse, but you’d walk on air afterward, not so much convinced you were the world’s most special snowflake, but confident you could acquire the strength and knowledge necessary to one day become what you hoped. As far as Grandpa was concerned, his granddaughters were going to change the world for the better. He believed we could, and he encouraged us to be individually awesome.

Grandpa had built his family’s house and instinctively knew how to fix anything. I’d bring him my broken, damaged somethings and he’d say, “Grandpa fix.” And he would. His basement workshop had every tool imaginable, all of them organized and stored with care, oiled, cords carefully wrapped, and ready for the next project. I was not allowed in the workshop – it was not a place for a child – and I only remember looking inside from the doorway, eyes carefully surveying the secret room of mystery and metal. I knew my wooden sandbox and tiny dollhouse furniture had been crafted in that workshop.

Toys, playing, and the easy enjoyment of youth was important to Grandma and Grandpa, and their house had plenty to do. Depending on the season, the backyard had a plastic kiddie pool to splash in, a stomach-dropping hill for sledding, or plenty of room for chasing lightning bugs. If the Ohio weather wasn’t conducive to outdoor play, which it often wasn’t, there was a piano in the living room (but no pounding the keys), a collection of old records, and a drawer of antique games. There were dusty stacks of National Geographics – saved with the intention of sparking wanderlust in each granddaughter – and shelves of classics, biographies, Golden Books, and comic books. Grandpa and Grandma’s house was unrushed and easy like a library or a museum: Content today; inspired for tomorrow.

I wonder if Grandpa’s satisfaction with today steadied him all those years when Grandma’s hands, crumpled with arthritis and rendered quite useless, required Grandpa to be Grandma’s hands. Little Grandma, a quiet, mild-mannered sweetheart and retired elementary school teacher, a loving wife who had taken care of Grandpa for many decades, needed his help for the simplest of things. He never complained. Even without Grandma, Grandpa remained upbeat and life was good. For real good. “Well, I can’t complain,” he would often say, followed by, “But what I want to know is, how are you?” That was Grandpa. He wanted to hear all about you, about something you’d learned or something you read, about a skill you’d honed, or a place you’d been, or the exquisite dinner you had last night. And of course, he wanted to hear about his great-grandkids. He wanted to know anything and everything, if at all possible. Grandpa loved learning almost as much as he loved people.

But the image I’ve recalled most over the years is the memory of Grandpa and Grandma at the kitchen table after breakfast, Bibles open, united in prayer. Those prayers were loooonnng. My sister and I would respectfully stay hushed and out of the kitchen for that sacred hour, wondering if Grandpa and Grandma were going to pray the entire day away. We couldn’t understand how prayer could take so long. As children, we didn’t understand the immeasurable value of those prayers, that those specific prayers for each of us were love in action. We understood love in physical action – our grandparents had that down – but what we would come to understand as we grew older was that those wonderfully selfless prayers, with eyes closed and nothing moving but mouths, were a beautiful picture of the heart in action. Every morning the words of Scripture were being written deep on the hearts of my grandparents, so that encouragement and patience, satisfaction and gratitude, joy and love were genuine and pumping through every vein. Daily prayers for their children and grandchildren were a discipline not for the sake of discipline, but for the sake of love. They were building a legacy; something that would last. For each of us.

My grandparents loved us in the right now moments, they hoped for our futures, and they prayed passionately for our faith – a distinct family trait of faith for generations, a faith so strong it would join us all in forever. My grandparents understood what we all know, but don’t dare think much about: Grandparents aren’t with us long enough.

The legacy and lives of every one of my grandparents continue to encourage me and remind me that for all our efforts here, all that will remain is faith, hope, and love. Life is a treasure, people are a treasure, and our best investment is prayer. Let’s continue the legacy together.

 

 

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.

 

Picture Perfect – The blogger’s ‘About Me’ headshot

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Let’s have some fun at the blogger’s expense, and what’s more fun than a self-deprecating blog post, am I right?! I can handle fingers being pointed at me – they just have to be MY fingers.

I’ll let you in on a little secret – social media isn’t my savvy. I’ve never had an account on Facebook, Twitter, or Pinterest. I’m a blogger who doesn’t read blogs. Not sure if that’s typical of most bloggers, but that’s my story, anyway. Prior to One More Truth, my laptop’s primary functions were managing the budget, checking emails, and googling recipes.

As a matter of fact, it was the googling of recipes that introduced me to blogs. A cornucopia of food blogs, to be specific. Talk about a diverse world of ‘about me’ photos. The gluten-free blogger’s ‘about me’ features her smiling children noshing gluten-free, dairy-free cupcakes at a tea party. The paleo blogger’s ‘about me’ is a full body shot of the author flexing while devouring a coconut oil infused turkey leg hot off the grill. The baker is wearing an apron, the penny-pincher is wielding coupons and a whisk, and the chef is chopping organic peppers from the local farmer’s market. Oh my. Needless to say, the blogging genre didn’t seem to be my scene. But God used a few pivotal conversations to change my mind and before I knew it, I had a blog that needed an ‘About Me’ picture.

I enlisted my eight year old as my photographer and we banged that photo shoot out in under 10 minutes, thanks to my daughter’s 2nd grade attention span. And thanks to my 2nd grade attention span, my headshot was cropped, filtered, and ready to go in under 5 minutes. We used really fancy equipment: my ‘eligible for upgrade’ smartphone (cracked screen and all) and its less than stellar photo editing tools. Pretty professional stuff. No props, no airbrush, no makeup touch-ups – just me, plain and simple.

Because I like simple. Maybe not always plain, but I do like clear. And practical. The more I read God’s Word, the more I discover how very clear and simple it truly is. Jesus absolutely astounded people with His simple answers to their philosophical questions. He often used trees and plants to illustrate faith and spiritual growth and other ‘Living like Jesus’ lessons because they were common and relatable pictures. He used mud to repair blind eyes, probably because it was practical and available. God used only words to create the universe. When Moses asked for a persuasive visual for Pharaoh, God told him to look no further than the staff already in his hand. I’m amazed how often God the Father and God the Son used simple commands, such as ‘Go’, ‘Come’, ‘Follow’, ‘Turn’, ‘Do not fear’, and ‘Love’. They didn’t waste words. The simplicity theme weaves its way throughout the entire Bible. I love that.

When it comes to words, I like the Jesus approach – less is more. James (author of the New Testament book of ‘James’) was the earthly brother of Jesus. For everything James saw and heard throughout his childhood, I imagine he could have easily written several 500 chapter books. Instead, he wrote only a 5 chapter book, known especially for its warnings against saying too much. James kept it short and sweet. I appreciate that. I’m busy, you’re busy, we’re bombarded by information all day long, and sometimes I swear that if I have to read one more email, one more statement, or one more opinion, I’ll just explode. Talking like this makes me feel like a blogger. But for the sake of honesty, I’m a blogger who has a hard time turning on her inner editor which means OMT only appears in your Inbox when it’s something worth reading – and determining that often puts me in a very self-doubt, fearful kind of place.

I’m teaching a class at Hope called ‘Living Bravely’. It couldn’t have come at a better time, because I’m learning more than I’m teaching. I’m in a season of change – internal change, mostly – and change often causes fear to surface. You can’t live bravely if you’re paralyzed by fear. In fact, Jesus repeatedly said, ‘Do not fear’ because He knew fear comes naturally for us. Fear consumes us, actually. But why not fear when you have much to lose? Why not doubt yourself when you’re in danger of looking stupid? Why not hide in terror when conditions are dangerous? Because Jesus said, ‘Take courage’. Courage is accepting danger, difficulty, and risk by acting anyway. Courage is action in spite of fear. Courage is getting over yourself so you can trust God’s plan. Courage is telling yourself to shut up and jump already. Courage is reminding yourself that you’re good enough, smart enough, and gosh darn it, Jesus picked you to be on His team. Courage is remembering that no matter what Jesus calls us to do, He promised He would be there with us.

I never would have chosen myself to be on a team as awesome as Jesus’. I’m imperfect, inadequate, and quite frankly, I suck at a bunch of stuff. Maybe you feel the same way. God used people like us all the time – look at Moses, Gideon, Esther, Peter, Paul, and the list goes on. He took weak, timid people, He gave them courage, and helped them become brave.

I began writing to encourage others in living the real Jesus life, and maybe it does, but in the process, writing is encouraging me. It’s helping me live bravely. It’s putting some fears to rest, which is pretty wonderful because there is no fear in love. When Jesus was asked to simplify His instructions for us, He sifted them down to love: Love Him and love others. Love with all we’ve got. It’s difficult to be consumed by love when you’re consumed by fear. It’s impossible.

So I’ll leave you with this: Live bravely. Whatever you’re supposed to be doing in His name (and I’m guessing you already know what that whatever is), whether it be a big deal or a small something, do it. Do it with love. And take courage.