Christianity Is Not THAT . . .

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

There is another side of Christianity that differs from what many associate with the word “Christian”.

Like the coin that is worn down so thin on one side, that no insignia can be observed, so does the present term “Christian” no longer resemble its original design. (Sorry for the shock.)

Flip the coin over, and we can just discern the head of the Queen and the date. There are hints of the real thing, of true Christianity, if we look a hairsbreadth away, within a slice of each believer sometimes, but we have to look closely.

What do I mean? Well, ask the modern-day person what their definition of a Christian is, and they would probably say something like, “A Christian is someone who dresses up a bit on Sunday mornings and goes to church. They sing and listen to a speaker for a bit, then come home, and eat lunch . . .

. . . but the rest of the week, they are exactly like us.”

The divorce rate among Christians and non-Christians is equivalent, premarital and extramarital sex is equivalent, and depression and suicide are equivalent.

But sometimes, if we break into a sweat polishing the coin, we can JUST discern the profile of the Queen.

The divorce rate of students who attend a PARTICULAR Christian college, tracked after 15 years, is 3%.

Huh?

The elderly couple who attend the church mentioned above, who dress up on Sunday – they smell nice. And not a smell that one can sense with the nose.

They are the kind of people that you find yourself wanting to be around.

The people that end up hearing stuff that emits from your gut involuntarily. You can trust them. There is a hint of the divine in them, if you look hard enough, past their Sunday best jacket, and look, with the eyes of Jesus, into the heart.

There are bits of char in their hearts too, however, which is the confusing part. We were looking for a Saviour, someone we could look up to, and the more we know even these saints, we are left disappointed, continuing our search.

We only found some friends.

And I guess this is the way that it is meant to be.

The people we meet on our journeys, who help us up when we fall, who hold encouraging signs saying, “Keep going! That way!”, and hold us up in their prayers, are only dirty fellow pilgrims, on their own journeys.

They can’t lead the way.

They can only shout encouragement from the sidelines.

And I guess that is the way that He likes it best. We are the ones responsible for our own journeys.

There is a certain terror in this realization once reality kicks in. WE are responsible for choosing right or left at the next fork in the road, and at the next and the next crossroads at a dizzying speed.

Can’t we just follow someone for a change?

At this exact point of desperation, when I was finally fed up and stuck, terrified that I was going the wrong way, trying to drown out the competing voices that shouted for my allegiance, I finally called out to God, pleading, “Who can I follow?”

He arrived, with an arm outstretched, offering to help me up out of the dust, brush off the tears, and to give me a hug, and a pat before gently steering me in a particular direction, onto a lonely path that few have travelled, arm in arm with Him.

There are so many rocks and roots that I was sure I would fall. He knows this. But He was there at any point to help me up again, dust me off again, point me in the right direction again. He will for you too, should you ask Him.

Should. You. Ask. Him.

That is the key question.

Will you ask God for help? He is waiting on the sidelines, one of the voices shouting encouragement.

Will you take the time today, to listen? He is waiting for you, longing for you to finally show up for coffee with Him, and to pour out your heart. He has the best advice and He will show you the way out of the briars, and onto the open road.

Don’t assume you have found the path simply because someone is cheering you on. There are cheerleaders on every path, and some are evil, disguised, of course, as good.

Come on traveller, let’s go.

Jesus is just up ahead.

Let me introduce you to Him so that He can hold your hand as you walk together. Good luck on your journey!

I turn, looking for the next traveller to cheer on.

May you do the same for the travellers you meet along the way.

Now you’ve got my feet on the life path . . .Ever since you took my hand, I’m on the right way. The Message

How To Avoid Spiritual Head Banging

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

It started its day by banging its head against the window. “Aw – poor little bird,” I thought. I wondered if it accidentally flew into the window. But then I heard it – thump . . . thump… thump… This bird had been caught in a Mobius loop, a cycle without exit.

“Must. Bang. Head. Against. Window!” it thought, its determined little mind hurling itself again and again at its reflection

I felt compassion for the little thing. These glass window panes are a menace to little birds with walnut-sized brains. Seeing its reflection in the window, it tried desperately to fight itself off.

It will get tired in a few minutes and fly away, I thought optimistically. When minutes turned to hours, I was starting to admire the little guy, in a “you’re crazy” sort of a way.

I scared it away, using my most terrifying howl. I won’t see that bird again today, I thought, pleased with myself. Not even a full minute passed before the little animal returned. BAM. Flutter, flutter. BAM. This thing is brave.

I placed pillows, and miscellaneous items against the window to hide its reflection. The bird merely defecated repeatedly on the pillows before flying slightly higher and slamming itself against the window pane. BAM. Fly fly flutter flutter. BAM.

I taped black paper on most of the window. Like the cat in “The cat came back” National Film Board feature, this bird flew to another window of our house, and then another and another. I followed it from window to window, covering pangs so it couldn’t see its reflection.

Soon I felt like I was living in Britain in WW2, with black paper from my daughters art supplies covering almost every window. Wham… wham… wham…

The black paper helped for awhile but with determined insanity, the bird found my loopholes. A week later, I found it delightedly smashing it’s little head against a forgotten garage window. BAM! It didn’t even back away when it saw me this time. It was busy.

Guess how long this has been going on? A few hours? Nope. A few days? Nope. So far we are at more than three WEEKS plus one day of thumping. The little guy is determined, for sure.

We left for a holiday, and when we returned, I was amazed to find the little bird still thumping, not wanting to miss even one day of it’s morning routine. Clearly now this bird was just in a habit. A VERY bad habit.

I saw another dark-eyed junco this morning, as I peered through the small hole of black paper taped to the window to peer cautiously outside. This little bird was pecking at the ground, fluttering about, doing regular bird stuff. It seemed to be having a better go at things, a more joyous life.

Why was the other little dark-eyed junco stuck?

And us? I see the same thing in other parts of life. In my church. Instead of standing back, offering our activities to God, seeing what God is offering new this season we “Must. Do. The. Same. Things. Over. And. Over” too. Even if it’s dangerous to our well-being. We are determined.

Forget about what’s happened; don’t keep going over old history. Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand-new. The Message

Why don’t we ask God where we are banging our heads against the window, because, we too, like that stuck little Junco MUST. DO. THE. SAME. THING. OVER. AND. OVER.

Stuck spiritually?

Dislike reading the sacred text, the most influential book of all time?

Hate to pray?

Maybe it’s time to try a new approach.

Let’s pray together. I am excited to announce an online prayer time, and you are very welcome to join!

Details coming soon!

Jesus, teach us to listen, and to obey your voice into the bright and exciting future you have for each one of us, that we may, by Your power, share Your love with the world.

Let’s awaken, listen, respond.

Holy Spirit, what is the new thing that You are calling our hearts to soar into?

Not Wanting to Hear = Rotten Brain

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

If I hide in a rock cleft of a remote mountain, forage roots for my meals, and don’t speak to another human, will I then . . . yet . . . be an independent thinker?

No. I would become a lunatic, a crazy person, seeking human society with every breath of my lungs.

And so, we accept who we are.

Humans are social beasts, like horses.

If you exclude a horse from horse “society”, the mother keeping him for a few moments from joining the herd, there is exquisite pain for the foal. The foal adjusts his ways and becomes more amenable in groups.

So with people. We are made to share food, inventions, ideas. Caught off guard enjoying some roasted beetle grubs by the community fire, the cave person encounters a new idea. Does she grab hold of the idea, assess it, and look at all angles before inserting it into her brain, that this idea is TRUE?

Certainly, there are some ideas, perhaps too unusual to be ignored, or too infrequent to have a well-worn route along neurons to be inserted into the brain, that she will take hold of before it enters her consciousness. She will evaluate, re-examine. Some ideas she will toss.

But many, many ideas slip by her unnoticed, as she is distracted with the latest joke and a swig of fermented taro root. Sure. That idea sounds fine. And now she believes it too. We believe each other. We are social animals.

And this is how culture is born.

A beautiful thing is culture, which is defined as a set of shared attitudes, values, goals, and practices. It is amazing to see the variety of costumes, foods, and yes, ideas that a community of people who live in proximity share

Except when we are wrong.

Time WILL expose the ideological rot within our culture, that is currently hidden, like a large piece of lettuce covering rotten meat.

Germans shouting allegiance to Hitler was cultural rotten meat in the brain.

And every culture has widespread beliefs that are, well, wrong. Including MY culture, including YOURS. Including MY brain, including YOURS.

Knowing that some of the stuff that YOU believe is a rotten, filthy mess is a good place to start in the goal of healthy ideology.

Time to dig out the old ears, polish ’em up, reattach them, and give them a listen. How may you be wrong?

And the wider question, which is just as important but crucial to reevaluate and assess ideas before we absorb them unthinkingly is, “How may the majority of people that you currently listen to and trust, your culture, be wrong?”

Truly independent thinking perhaps begins here in the nuanced tightrope of understanding what my trusted group believes and what the OTHER group believes. Do you have time to truly listen, to re-evaluate, to toss some of your OWN cultural rot?

Freedom begins here.

. . . some of the people of Jerusalem said . . . “And yet we know where this man came from. The Messiah* is going to come out of nowhere. Nobody is going to know where he comes from.” The Message

Lord, help us not to be like the people in the quote above, who demonstrate ancient rot in the brain. They do not ask questions, or clarify. In fact, they were wrong. They are confident and wrong. The Messiah was to come from Bethlehem and was not simply to “come out of nowhere”, their own scriptures attest.

Help us, Jesus, to ask a question instead of asserting confidently, pulling out bits of our rotten brains for all to see. Help us Lord, to ask you and our neighbor questions, and to begin to learn to listen. Holy Spirit, would you gently nudge and remind us to consider your presence increasingly more often before we speak, today? And help us to keep our ears screwed on tight, we pray.

Blogpost Footnotes

*The Messiah is the foretold savior or liberator

Deny Yourself An Oreo And Find God

/ Lori Lawe / 3 Comments

Her t-shirt said, “Do what feels good.” She was morbidly obese proudly flaunting her worldview, emblazoned across her chest. Sure, maybe eating whatever we want whenever we want would feel good. But how would our knees feel if that was our consistent mantra so that eventually even walking became painful?

No, this worldview didn’t quite line up with reality. We all know that short-term joy can lead to long-term pain and vice versa. There must be a wiser worldview than this one.

Jesus said, “WHEN (emphasis mine) you fast . . .” When. Ouch. I had been a Christian for 30 years, and the time hadn’t seem to have yet come when I needed to fast.

I mean, I didn’t want to be legalistic about this whole thing. Kingdom living is not about ticking off a bunch of boxes.

The early monks got a bunch of theology wrong, we later learned, looking down our academic noses at them hundreds of years later, from the CORRECT vantage point of CURRENT theology.

The early monks and nuns would flagellate themselves. They would deliberately wear horse hair shirts that were itchy, take vows of poverty, and . . . . the theme of today . . . they would FAST.

Sounds like archaic Christianity, I mumble, crumbs from a half-eaten box of Oreos spewing from my mouth as I speak. I play another round of Candy Crush on my iPad. I know what spirituality REALLY is because I’m a modern.

Huh? What? I spew more Oreo crumbs accidentally in an effort to talk. Do you think the monks may have gotten some things right, that we don’t do today? I scoff and wait.

“Yes. They fasted,” you continue.

Every time I read my bible and get to the part about Jesus saying that we will fast, of course, I feel a pang of guilt. Why didn’t I fast, anyway?

So I started fasting.

I thought that I would start with fasting to sort out some of the global mishaps. I would pray about Ukraine and Russia. Stuff like that. World-changing stuff.

So I put away my Cheerios and milk for an hour one morning and had a go at fasting and prayer.

And Jesus was pleased.

Me? I wasn’t so pleased with myself.

I fell flat on my face. I was distracted, hungry, and then gave up after a half hour or so. What’s the point?

Get up, Jesus seemed to be saying, holding out His hand to me. Try again. He gave me a smile and a hug. How could He be pleased with me?

The next week, another fall, a big, lamentable flail. And the next and the next.

Jesus helped me up each time and His pleasure grew with my impending sense of failure.

The two are not unrelated.

Finally, I asked a friend to pray with me, to fast breakfast together, and to encourage one another. He prayed for me, that I would have the strength to complete this most pathetic of tasks.

And I did it.

Not with a conspicuous finish, like that of a victor, sweeping across the finish line, grabbing the trophy before heading to the winner’s platform.

But more like a worm, slithering in the rain, a couple of my worm friends showing me the way.

I didn’t end up praying about world peace, or really anything outside of myself really.

I prayed, “God, help me to be able to fast breakfast this morning!”

And He was very pleased.

Because I realized my need for Him.

Well done, He said, the Father embracing the teen longing for affirmation.

I grew stronger in my understanding of who I am, of my feeble state.

No, I’m not a bold warrior, able to have God bless me so that my superpowers can help solve world crises.

I am pathetic, and barely able to delay my breakfast without His constant help.

And He is pleased with me.

And who will I become, as I rely on God to help me to have the strength to learn to pray?

Demons quiver at the thought.

Is Anyone Else Suffocating, Unnoticed?

/ Lori Lawe / 3 Comments

I am in the struggle of my life. The enemy’s hands are closed around my neck. I gasp for breath, lashing out with my hands, struggling to break free. I accidentally strike the enemy as I violently thrash about.

At church, people stand near me, sipping tea and laughing together. Quips about the weather. To all outward appearances, I am sipping tea with them, laughing too. But the reality that is more real than the reality that can be seen is that I am at war. I can’t breathe.

The enemy has taken me to my knees now, where the life-or-death fight resumes. I feel death about to engulf me.

And then, like a person on a lifeboat, come to the rescue, to reach out a hand to a drowning man, she arrives. She hauls me into her boat. I am exhausted, soaking wet, and cold. “Thank you,” I gasp. My enemy is nowhere to be found.

“Who are you?” I ask. She is a random stranger. She shows me her clothes under her rain cloak. She is a fellow pilgrim, like me. Her clothes are dirty from months on the road. “God sent me to breathe life into you,” she explains.

She administers CPR and I feel stronger for a while. She offers me tea, biscuits, and a listening ear. She offers a blanket that calms my racing heart.

And that is how I met Aja, a random internet connection who opened my eyes a little wider regarding God’s path for me to follow.

I was afraid to journey further on, so God sent me a companion, for a while. And the journey has been easier with her around. She shoots the enemy with arrows from afar.

And she has been helping me to gather strength and to regain balance, to be ready to take the next baby step, leaning on her.

Because we are at war. For our future destinies with God.

What is He whispering about the next thing for you? Is it too big for you to succeed in?

That’s one of the ways you know your assignment is from God.

Are you strong enough to stand today, dear one, and to take the next step? Lean on my arm. Let’s listen to what God may be saying to you and let’s take the next step, together.

Peace to you. Just as the Father sent me, I send you. The Message

Lord, help us to have the humility to receive the ones that You send to us. I am reminded of the man stuck in flooded water, who refused help from the boat, the helicopter, and the swimmer with the extra life vest. “God will save me,” he explained.

God didn’t save him.

Once in heaven, he exclaimed, “God why didn’t You save me?” God replied that he wouldn’t receive the help that He had sent via the boat, the helicopter, the swimmer.

May we not be that stubborn Lord! Help us to ask questions, to humbly listen, to apply what we are learning from the guides that you send. And may we also, next week, help someone else get unstuck from the mud, even as our boots have just recently been cleaned from the same experience. Help us, Lord, to help each other, we pray.

Consider asking God, “Who should I be opening the depths of my heart to, sharing the thoughts that keep me awake at night? Who has wisdom to hear? Is there anyone that I can help to take one step out of their muck?”

How To Make Homeschooled Kids Clean Up (Avoid Insanity, Parents!)

/ Lori Lawe / 3 Comments

This post could make you feel like a Superhero Mama in Clark Kent clothes (OK – Clark Kent clothes with a bit of spit-up on them. Who’s looking THAT closely?) because this post is filled to the brim with advice about how to make your homeschooled kids clean up.

(Or at least there is one piece of advice somewhere in this post. I hope you can find it. While you’re looking, have you seen any pencils? We lost all of ours so it’s becoming harder to do our math.)

We moms sit on the floor, despair weighing us down as the kids fly paper airplanes around us, laughing, and the dog follows. We had a great day, yes. The homeschooling party is over for the day, yes. Mom is exhausted and she can’t even find a few inches of kitchen space to drag out the carrots to chop for dinner tonight.

HOW do you make the little rascals clean up???

This was the subject of many years of my careful research. I scoured homeschooling stores and dumped piles of regular dollars in exchange for a few cheaply printed “Mom Dollars” linked to “rewards that all children love,” believing the promise that THIS TIME, they will clean up.

It all failed.

In fact, sensing an inner weakness with their sixth sense (the one only accessible to children), one child purposely hid random items all over the house because “It was easier than putting it away,” she confessed, eyes downcast.

They are purposely trying to wear you down.

Don’t let them.

I printed this small quip that my brain construed one random Wednesday evening. And the sign stuck. And it worked. Voila!

For the price of – well, nothing, really – you can make your Grade 4 student practice their cursive and you’re got a sign too! But here it is – the magic formula…. Drum roll, please…

A touch of brilliance if I may say so, however immodestly. No eating until there is enough tidying that at least one clean bowl surfaces. AND since they EAT, and since the sign is staring you in the face AS you serve the food, you remember to enforce this new “homeschooling rule,” so Voila! Magic!

Notice the algebraic ORDER of things. FIRST clean up. THEN face stuffing.

The homeschool magic key unlocking every child’s inner Mr. Clean has arrived! You don’t eat until you’ve dumped a dozen or so shovelfuls of horse manure outside.

That would be if you were a farmer.

In our case, it is partially used math supplies and dirty cups with unfinished, carefully measured daily water allocation goals for each child. But you get the point.

And yes, I am aware that the phrasing implies that we are knee-deep in moldy, forgotten science experiments and half-finished math pages strewn about when it says “Clean up the place.” Duh – we are.

Also, I am aware that the words “stuff your face” don’t exactly imply dinner manners appropriate for Ms. Lovelybottom’s approval (I’ll explain her someday too since I have already told you other embarrassing stuff and you still like me).

The point is, the cleanup gets done. I can sit at the table with my feet up, sip a lemonade, watch them work, and realize that actually, I am doing a good job. Everyone is happy. Even, and especially, me.

For a few minutes at least.

But who’s counting?

And if it takes a ridiculous sign to make it through another week, another year? Well, print away, dear homeschooling parent.

So let’s not allow ourselves to get fatigued doing good. At the right time we will harvest a good crop . . . The Message

We take a little homeschool bliss where we can get it.

At least we’ve got our priorities in the right order.

A clean house is overrated, anyway.

How To Interact Normally With Teens

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

I really needed a relaxing afternoon with a chick flick movie and popcorn.

I asked my 17-year-old daughter to join me that afternoon after church. Fun!

At church, I felt the call of God to invite the 21-year-old woman to join us.

She had phoned me earlier in the week to ask for some advice about a boyfriend. I hadn’t had a chance to get back to her yet.

We picked up the 15-year-old after church and they all came for lunch.

After the movie, the four of us sat on the floor and whispered about boys and love and life and wisdom for two hours.

I thought only a few minutes had passed but was surprised that we had forgotten about supper.

But this is normal for us, in kind of an abnormal way.

We attend the women’s prayer meeting together – youth and teens and young women. We go to the women’s retreat together – all ages.

Why not?

This is what we do in the church.

My mind recollects 25 years back when I was taking a course for my Master’s degree. The Professor said that the church is the last place where we can collect sociological data that reflects all ages.

That surprised me like a 2×4 aimed at my head.

The church is the LAST place in our culture where people of diverse ages interact.

Wow.

Just because something happens frequently doesn’t mean it’s normal.

Maybe tossing our teens in the basement with a jumbo pack of Cheezies and a few other youths, knowing they will be staring into their phones and doing “who knows what?” is not “normal”.

Maybe hoping for the best for them as we try to forget them for a while, while we watch our own movie upstairs is not “normal”.

This is common in our culture of highly segregated ages. It is common for youth to share their hearts almost exclusively with people in the same age demographic, give or take 6 months, but is this normal?

No. Look to the church for normal.

There are some alternatives we can take to insert some “normalcy” into the “common un-normalcy” of our cultural expectations around how we interact with teens. Here are a few:

1. Push them out of the way at the buffet when you are trying to get at the cheese. Hey, you never know! It worked for me!

2. Wear weird pants and wait for teens to come to you. Hey, you never know! It worked for me!

3. Buy a Christmas present for yourself and pretend to give it to some youth. This may guilt them into interacting with you. Hey, you never know! It worked for me!

4. Bring your kids and youth to church. Try this while you are still bigger than them if they are physically resisting you.

The 70-year-old lady told me a story this week of the 7-year-old from our church who came over to sit next to her on the public bus. This child was genuinely curious about what the older lady was doing that day. They love each other because they have had some time in each other’s company.

That’s kind of cool.

The 90-year-old wise lady in my life, when I was a teen, turned me down a narrower, healthier path many times.

And I loved her too.

Anyway, let’s keep being the uncommon normal.

Society may depend on it.

Apollos was accurate in everything he taught about Jesus up to a point, but he only went as far as the baptism of John. He preached with power in the meeting place. When Priscilla and Aquila heard him, they took him aside and told him the rest of the story. The Message

After a moment of thankfulness, and of laying the well-being of a teen we love humbly at the feet of God, does a particular person come to mind as someone who can potentially connect with them? For example, an aunt, uncle, business associate, elderly person, neighbor, or friend?

Jesus, we pray you would show us the wise adult in our beloved teen’s life who may have a key to open their heart.

When can we cook our youth their favorite meal and invite this person to join us? Let’s keep praying for the uncommon normal.

I Can’t Find My Hope! Have You Seen It?

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

I wiped the sweat from my brow, and sat on a rock nearby, breathing hard from the exertion of the climb. I grabbed a swig of water from my dusty canteen and looked around.

No view.

How long until I reach the summit, I wondered? I had no idea. I sat back on the rock, leaned my head against the dusty slope, and closed my eyes. I was tired.

I could just see – what that the sunrise? – cresting over the mountain? Renewed, and excited, I hurriedly put the lid back on my canteen bottle, tightened my loosened boots, slung my small dirty pack over my shoulder, and clamored with fresh vigor.

Hope enlivened my steps.

The weariness seemed to fall from my limbs when hope arrived, like light dissipating darkness. Darkness has no power where there is light. So the burdens of our lives fall off of us where hope lies within our reach. Or perhaps it is our muscles that grow stronger, our strength that returns, where there is anticipation.

There is no view in the valley bottom. Only the sweat, dust, and hard slogging of the climb reward us with hope. How had I been satisfied in the valley bottom for so long? I wonder at my past self, a being alien to me now. How could I have been happy with the odd pine-comb I found there, the odd mushroom, most of them rotten or poisonous?

How had I lived a distracted life for so VERY long?

I am stronger now, both physically and mentally from this spiritual climb.

You see, I am following someone I heard about.

Have you seen him?

He is the one who encouraged me to climb, to begin this journey.

There are no fellow travelers, as each one of us has our own path to follow. However, I have met many whose hearts have been knitted with mine for a time, a season, as we stopped at a cabin along the path to rest.

Is He calling you, too? Do you hear him? Come on, then, let’s walk together for a while.

The mystery in a nutshell is just this: Christ is in you, so therefore you can look forward [hope] to sharing in God’s glory. It’s that simple. The Message

In your moments of rest ask God, “Where have I lost my hope? Can You help me find it?”

God Is Handing Out Destinies – Do You Want Yours? (Part 2)

/ Lori Lawe / 4 Comments

I was frantically searching through a box of clothes, trying to find myself. Would I wear this outfit more often, the career woman’s attire? This outfit with spit up still on the shoulder, to volunteer more frequently in the children’s ministry? My lounge pants to relax and enjoy an afternoon martini a bit more regularly (OK NO – I don’t drink martinis. But don’t you want to be the kind of person who does, sometimes?)

All of the outfits were too tight or were ripped and unusable. I even bought martini supplies and then returned them to the thrift store a couple of years later (True story! My inner James Bond didn’t emerge, disappointingly). The point? Ah yes, the point. Who am I becoming, and what is new, in this next season? A mentor suggested that I ask God this very question.

“God, how do You see me,” I asked. He showed me a picture of me in my daughter’s red gown, dancing again, free. Huh? I didn’t get it. The following week, my daughter wore that red gown when she was chosen as the Princess of the city, a City Ambassador.

This was the exact same title that I was given 30 years earlier. She was asked an impromptu question and the question was about… me! She had the same sponsor as.. me! There were several other coincidences. I brushed off the co-incidences though many people remarked about them.

God often speaks through co-incidences. “Could He be speaking here?” I asked a mentor. When she spoke, tears ran down my cheeks. She spoke of freedom, a belief in the possibilities over my future that I once had as a youth, that had been lost. She spoke of the freedom that I felt when I wore the red gown for a few minutes, remembering that anything is possible with a God who has dreams for all of us, even us – ahem – older ones – for all of us, even, yes for me.

I am older, yes, but if my heart is beating, then God has a vision for me that is stretched out so far into the horizon that I can’t see its effects. That is His way. Will I reach forward in faith, a blind person with arms stretched out in front to block obstacles? Will I let Him guide my arm because I can’t see what lies ahead?

Will I trust Him, to teach me to dance, with Him? Will I throw away the old rags of fear and complacency that I was wearing? Will I humbly bow before a God who asks me to stand, hold the scepter, and declare “Your Kingdom Come”? Will I step into the Princess robe? Will you?

Wake up, wake up! Pull on your boots . . .! Dress up in your Sunday best . . .! . . . Brush off the dust and get to your feet . . .! Throw off your chains, captive daughter . . . The Message

Lord, please take off the eye patches covering our eyes that make us unable to see the bright future You have planned for every one of us. Help us to believe, that just as you used stumbling clods throughout all of history, You can use us, too. Let us take our eyes off the filthy rags we have made for our own clothing, and have the courage to touch the silk gowns of promise that You hold before us, as we align our lives with Your purposes.

After a few minutes of thanksgiving, ask God “How do You see me?”

God is Handing Out Destinies – Do You Want Yours? (Part 1)

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

When no one was looking – and shhh! Don’t tell anyone! – I closed the door to my bedroom and put on the dress. No, not my dress. My daughter’s dress. And yes, the red ball gown. I couldn’t leave it on the hanger. It was calling, calling to me. Wear me! Put me on! Dance in me! And so I obeyed it. The gown and I were friends already.

I swayed to and fro watching the material billow on either side. Then I twirled and “snap!” My husband took a picture of me. I laughed and continued dancing. I was a young girl again. Possibilities were endless. Who would I become?

A few minutes later, it was time to return the dress to the hanger. To give it back to its rightful owner: the one with a future stretched out so far in front of her, the horizon is still a blur. Don’t they give scholarships and opportunities to the youth?

Aren’t “they” searching for youth to raise up, to hold their hand on the giant escalator roaring into the sky? “There are opportunities for you”, the dress reminds. “Who you are is much more beautiful than what you recognize in yourself on an ordinary day”, the dress said to her.

So I went back to the dishes. To the laundry. To scrub the floor. (Wait – I never scrub my floor but don’t ruin the effect).

I surrendered my identity, the identity that God was whispering to me to remember when I took off the dress. “Gracefully surrendering the things of youth,” I thought stoically. I am mature now. Time to pass on the torch to stronger runners, to those without back pain.

Maybe it’s time for me to get out the TV and to stare numbly for the next few decades (Wait – I don’t have a TV either, but again… keep the mood!).

The point is, who am I? Am I the young girl, dancing in freedom, wondering what new doors of opportunity will open for me tomorrow? Am I catching hopes and dreams wherever I wander, storing them in a basket that I carry with me, overfilling with possibilities?

Or am I me? The has been, has gone. I had my opportunities. Am I the flower, wilted, with a bit of brown at the edges? Am I a cactus? Come too close to me with a balloon of freedom and I will pop it? Am I living in a box when God wants me to be free? Are you?

“Who knows? Maybe you were made queen for just such a time as this.” The Message

Lord, help us to stop groveling on the ground like common beggars. Help us to stand, while leaning on Your strength. Wash us in your love. Help us to have the courage to take hold of the royal robes that You hold out to us. Let us never live in the lie, that just because we are beggars, we aren’t also daughters and sons of the King. Thank You for adopting us into Your love. May we run free into our destinies, we pray.

After a few minutes of thanksgiving, ask God “What blinders am I wearing, so I am unable to see the next thing You are showing me?”