Category: confession

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A Forgotten Humanity

I’ve been wondering lately if Jesus would have voted if He were an American citizen.

I’ve been wondering if or how He would partake in the rhetoric that has become so normalized. Humanity at its finest. Blame. Accusation. Defense. Disbelief. Mockery. Meanness. Entitlement. Superiority.

Perhaps it’s a classic case of just needing to look at my 1990s W.W.J.D. bracelet… but, I really have wondered what role He would assume in our current culture. Because that has some bearing on how, when, or if I do (or don’t) get involved. It’s as though politics, pandemics, movements, and impossible-to-please-everyone decisions have stripped people of their humanity. And we have forgotten that on the other side of a policy, or a protest, or a political party, or a television screen, or a social media post, or a decision we don’t like… that there are real people with real souls.

It feels somewhat ironic, given the causes (or people) we are often fighting for.

Oh, I thought the Bible said…

But somehow, our […hatred, harsh words, thoughts, opinions…] are justified. As if we are living as though Scripture says, “Value others above yourselves…except if you disagree with them, if they offend you, or if they seem ignorant. Then it’s okay to disregard them, speak poorly of them, and assume you are better than them.”

Or, “Love only the people who are just like you, the ones who you agree with, get along with… you know, the ones who look like you, believe like you, vote like you, and act like you. It doesn’t matter if you love anyone else. Those other people, they aren’t worth saving or caring about.”

Because we are the ones who are “right” and that begins to matter abundantly more than the people. Whether it’s our stance, our prejudices, our experiences, our knowledge, our understanding of the issue at hand, the way we are personally impacted… somehow this provides us with a “truth” that excuses us from kindness, grace, and love. It becomes perfectly acceptable to think or make generalized (and sometimes atrocious) statements about groups of people and/or individuals.

How do I be a Christian right now?

It’s been a baffling season to live in as a Christian. Maybe for you, too.

I wonder if I’m not doing enough, or saying enough, or being enough – or maybe I’m doing too much. I am often in disbelief that I can claim the same identity as another (a child of God) and yet when we are both looking at a square, I see a circle and they see a triangle. How can this be? What am I missing?

I’ve struggled with the lack of unity that grows more apparent each day. Is there any room in this world to disagree on politics, or the economy, or how to stand up against injustice, or decisions that are made… but still hold one another in high regard, to show honor, to heap blessings upon the other? Is there any thought of (or desire for) harmonious living?

I have been overwhelmingly challenged lately to check my heart, ever-aware of the judgment and disbelief that so readily surfaces. “I can’t believe she would say that… or believe that… or do that…”, “He is such a…”, “Don’t these idiots know that…?”

I am ruined

And when I look deeply within, I am ashamed at what I encounter. A spirit of pride. A feeling that I am “right”, and that I know “better”. Criticism, doubt, anger. An inability to see people as image-bearers of the Most High God. Woe to me…I am ruined!

For me to forget that I am just as human, just as fallible, just as broken… just as in need of saving grace as the person posting to my right or to my left. How dare I? How dare I forage for the ounce of disagreeableness within you while I carry a hefty load of filth within me (a load that I conveniently choose to ignore, or dismiss as ‘not as big a deal’). How mortifying that I might condemn you, but be so unwilling to admit that I could be wrong…

Have I forgotten what I have been saved from? Have I lost sight of the depth, the weight, the gravity of my sin… ? Do I remember that blood was shed to set me…us…free? Have I forgotten the Gospel?!

What a disgrace to think that I might know you well enough to know what you have been through and how that shapes your worldview. What ignorance for me to assume that my way, my understanding, my perspective is right or truth. What pride, when I refuse to really hear you or care for you, even if we don’t see the world in the same way. What shame, that I am willing to judge your actions when I cannot possibly know what decisions you have been forced to make.

I am sorry.

Will you forgive me? Will you forgive the harsh or insensitive words that I have spoken or written? Can you somehow put my grossly judgmental thoughts in the past and trudge through our differences to find a place where we can see each other as humans once again (or, maybe, for the first time)?

Can we find the time and space to care about each other? To know each other? To move past the assumptions and exist in a world where we both strive to find common ground?

And, Jesus, will You forgive me, too?

As I consider You, the Triune God who is sovereign in all things, I fall on my face… undeserving of your grace. I bring pride, selfishness, self-righteousness, and, often, an unwillingness to love my brothers and sisters – the ones You call sons and daughters. But Lord, if I know anything about Your call on my life, it’s that I cannot claim to love you and not love others. You even ask me to love my enemies… the people who laugh at my failures, the ones who smile at my pain. The ones who have caused me deep pain. The very people I want to hate.

So Father, teach me how to love. Show me how. Help me do it when I cannot on my own. May You find me willing, ready, and actively seeking to show Your love in this world, during a time when humanity feels so divided…. so…. forgotten.

Yeah, but he’s still a…

And Lord, help me to actively confess my pride, my judgments, my condemnation of others and their opinions/actions/words when it surfaces. Help me to do so, even when I feel under attack. Even if I have to do it over and over and over again.

There is no world in which I believe You condone those thoughts, those accusations, those words toward or about others – regardless of what they say, write, believe, or do. Show me how rid myself of any excuse or justification of sin or ill-will toward others. To live with the type of humility that Christ did. To be a person who, in addition to love, brings joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control to those around me. Give me wisdom on how to act, think, and speak in today’s world.

God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

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To all the Women in the Midst of the Infertility Battle

“We’re pregnant!”

Kel and I looked at each other in amazement. “Were you all trying?”

“Yes, sorta!”

It’s still incredible to us that people can decide to have a child, or another child, and… voilà! This isn’t a luxury that we have. And, in reality, probably no one really has it – it can just seem like it.

We have been so honored and beyond blessed to care for Baby K the last (almost) year, but there’s the constant nagging that reminds me that she is not “ours” – she’s a ward of the state of New Mexico. We are stewards of her little soul. We have no control if she stays or goes. I know that no one really has control of that with their children… we all just like to think (or hope) we do.

When we first got K, lots of people commented that we’d probably get pregnant now that we had a newborn living with us. Because, that’s what always happens. The irony of life – the infertile couple gets a baby placed with them and then, magically, find themselves pregnant. A part of my heart longed for that to be true. Not because K wasn’t enough, but because I loved the idea of her having a little sidekick to grow up with, if we were fortunate enough to keep her.

I haven’t spoken or written much about infertility in a while. Partially because it feels a little cruel to the women who are still dealing with it in very real ways while I bounce a perfect-to-me baby on my lap. I have instantly been ushered into a world of mom-hood – the world where I can easily engage in conversation with the lady holding a baby in line at the DMV because I know we have something in common. I can now relate to the utter exhaustion, day-time nap challenges, and blow-outs.

But every month, I still face the same disappointment that I did before K came along. It doesn’t last as long, and there’s no time for it to be all-consuming, but I’d be lying if I said it had vanished completely. As K approaches her first birthday (in ten days!) and hopes of adoption continue to grow, I can’t help but think a second kid might be nice… I can’t help but want her to have a constant sibling companion during childhood.

Maybe that makes me selfish or ungrateful. Or maybe it just makes me human.

But, for us, a second kid means a bit more than a perfectly-timed sexual encounter. Maybe it means thousands and thousands of dollars. Or the potential heartache and ups and downs of the adoption process. Or the possibility of adoption through foster care – if/when reunification with biological parents doesn’t work out (which is usually the initial goal). Or medications, procedures, and lots and lots and lots of waiting, wondering, and hoping.

I think it’s easy to forget those who struggle with getting pregnant. Easy to think, “Oh- she has a foster baby now, I’m so happy for them – the struggle is finally over!” Or, perhaps, if we stop talking about it, all of that stuff will just go away.

I imagine the pain of infertility might have lifelong affects. A mourning of never carrying a biological child in your own womb. A letting go of something your body was created to do. A relinquishing of expectation and desire.

But, I also believe there can be extraordinary and beautiful experiences along the way. Ones that could have never existed otherwise. Ones that cause me to be grateful for the years of infertility, ones that leave me astonished by God’s sovereign plans – far better than anything I could have dreamed of myself. For us, one of those things has been K – placed in our arms at 6 days old. I would wait for her all over again. Every tear was worth it, for before me each day I have the privilege of watching the most charming of personalities, discovering both the world and herself with awe and wonder. She is strong, smart, and silly.

[K, I have marveled lately about the Lord’s perfect timing of your appearance in our life… if I hadn’t been home from California for a short visit, if my boss hadn’t been moving, if your cousin’s leukemia treatment hadn’t been deescalated, if your dad and I hadn’t been living in New Mexico at that exact moment in time, if we hadn’t somewhat randomly decided to jump into the foster care journey. You have been the most surprising and wonderful gift – more than anything we could have asked for or imagined. You, I am certain, were meant for us and we were meant for you. You are undoubtedly our daughter, whether or not genetics declare it so. We are made better by you in our lives. You were worth the wait. You have been deeply wanted from the moment we knew about you, and fiercely loved from the moment we saw you.]

It’s incredible to me that the Lord can give us a child, or another child… and voilà! God always shows up. He proves Himself faithful in the craziest, most surprising ways. And He will remain faithful, even if Baby K doesn’t get to stay.

To all the women in the midst of the infertility battle – I haven’t forgotten you. The pain is real. Don’t be ashamed to feel it, spill it, or just be in it. But don’t lose hope in the midst of the pain. Brighter days will come – even if they look different than what you thought you wanted. Even in the midst of the negative pregnancy tests, the unwanted monthly visitor, the inconclusive tests, the miscarriages, the ups and downs… His plan for your family (however small or large) will be perfect. There can be hope and joy, even in the mourning.

Press on. Into the unexpected and, maybe, even the undesirable. Who knows what awaits us there. May we continue to be surprised by a God who is good and knows what we need and want far better than we do.

“One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.”

André Gide

“By clinging to what you know, you may miss out on what you have yet to discover.”

Duffy & Maggie Robbins
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SinnED… or SinnING?

True confession is hard. 

It’s much easier for us to talk about things in the past tense than it is for us to admit when we’re currently struggling with things. It’s safer… we feel less judged…we feel stronger. Only… a lot of times we’re just liars. 
Think about it…
How often do you talk to people when you’re in the midst of sin vs. either waiting until time has passed in order to present it as a past struggle, or actually just lying about the time frame of things?
I’ve had people avoid me for long bouts of time because they didn’t want me to ask them about the stuff going on their lives. It was much easier for them to wait… and wait…and finally come out of something before they were able to tell me what had been going on. Ever done that? 
I have. 
Just the other day I was talking to a girl about the importance of confession and accountability and how it only works if you want it to. I was talking to her about being specific with her confession and being willing to admit that her struggles were a present thing and not a thing of the past. As soon as we were done talking, I felt conviction as my hypocritical self had been hiding a few current struggles from my closest friends. Immediately I went and confessed. 
I hate this. 
I hate that we talk a lot about freedom in Christ, and we talk a lot about how grace covers us, and we talk a lot about how we love people no matter what… but we don’t always believe these things. 
We don’t always believe that freedom actually exists… we don’t always believe that His grace is sufficient… we don’t always think people mean it when they say they love us, especially if they find out our deepest sources of shame. We choose to believe the lie.  
I think another thing might even be that we don’t want to confess sin in the midst of sin because we don’t actually want to change. We like our sin (and we simultaneously hate it), so as long as we can present our sin as past sin, we don’t have people always checking in, always asking us about it. We’re free to continue living in it until we feel conviction heavily and need to confess again.
I really do believe that freedom can come in confession. I believe it comes when we are truly honest about our sin, when we are truly honest about how much we’re struggling with something… when we’re willing to even be specific about our sin. It’s one thing to tell a friend that you struggle with lust… but it’s another thing to tell them that you’re fantasizing about a specific someone and longing to be with them constantly. If I know the latter, I know more of how to specifically pray for you and I know the questions to ask you. 
We have to want it, though. 
As I’ve thought a lot lately about what it really changes people, I’ve come to the conclusion that people have to want to change themselves. At that point they’re then willing to do whatever it takes to make the changes– whether that means full surrender, begging the Lord, asking others for help, seeking counseling, putting boundaries/restrictions on their life… whatever it takes. 
But, I can’t make you want to change. 
Do you want to? 
Are you ready to? 
Does it matter enough to you? 
If so, I urge you to start with confession. With the Lord and with close friends (of the same gender) that you can trust. Be willing to tell them the things that you are struggling with, not just the things that you’ve struggled with. Be willing to get specific. 
Walk in the freedom it brings and do whatever it takes to keep walking in that. 
Walk in the fullness of the things you say you believe. 
And be willing to love others and walk with them through their current struggles, too. 
Go confess whatever it is you know you need to. 
No more delaying. 
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