Really God

This morning I was checking out my women’s ministry’s private Facebook group and one prayer request stuck out.  After a long time of waiting, a friend’s family hit a snafu.  Just when it seemed like God had finally responded, that the trial was finally over, there came to a bump in the road.  Normally, it would be a minor-to-somewhat major inconvenience, but after what this family has endured, it seems like one more detour, one more thing to offer up to God’s throne with shaking hands.

And, yes, it will be OK.  God will work all this out in His timing.  Everyone knows this and finds great comfort in the all-embracing loving arms of God.

Yet there’s this part of me that just says, “But really, God?!  Are you kidding me with this?”  Because I’ve been there, done that, and know the frustration these “minor” things can bring.

Just when it seems like you’re leaving Egypt after generations of slavery, there’s a snag—oh, it’s the Red Sea!  I guess we Israelites, God’s chosen people, are going to be slaughtered right here by the Egyptian army, even though Pharoah pinky swore with Moses to let us go.

But really, God?!

Or you FINALLY get that son that God promised you, even though you’re 100 and your wife is 80!  It’s about time You made good on that promise God, because Sarah and I aren’t getting any younger.  Now You want me to sacrifice my only son?!  The one you blessed me with in my old age? 

Are you kidding me, God?

Maybe you’ve been bleeding for a dozen years, which is, well, embarrassing to say the least.  Thank goodness for those BOGO 50% off female product sales at CVS because you’ve spent all your money seeing one specialist after another.  Your family is tired of hearing about it, and frankly, you smell.  So you take a chance, just one chance, to touch the hem of Jesus’ garment because you’re desperate.  To be found “unclean” among this crowd of religious folks could mean death, but you need healing…and you get it.  You hear a voice rise above the others, “Who touched me?  I know someone touched me.  Who was it?”

Umm, it was me? (All the while giving yourself a mental beating; you’ve been found out and you will probably die.)

Jesus seemed like a safe choice, until now.  But then He looks at you with those eyes of compassion and He listens to your story, which you tell through sobs.  Jesus takes His own hand and wipes the tears from your eyes.  Then He does something you didn’t expect; He forgives your sins, too. 

Really God. 

You’re a little more quiet this time.  Your voice takes on a sense of awe.  Because the Red Sea has parted, so you cross on dry ground (you didn’t even have to muddy up your sandals).  There’s a ram in the bushes to offer as a sacrifice to the Lord, instead of your precious baby boy, for He always provides.  You feel silly, foolish, and relieved that this wasn’t the one thing that broke your faith.  He’s been good, very good, but sometimes you forget because it’s hard to remember what He’s done when you’re in the midst of chaos, or even at the tail end of a long trial.

This is a lesson for me today, for my heart, which is weary and trampled upon from a week of “Really, God’s?!”  I know in this, as in all things, I’ll have that jaw-dropping moment of realization when I see how He uses these bad circumstances for the greater good.   He’s really God and He is in control of all things, including the “little” moments that splinter my resolve.

He is fully, divinely, amazingly, always and forever really God.

What’s your “But really, God?!” moment?  How did you come to see God as really God?  How can I pray for you in the midst of these momentary troubles? (I am not making light of your plight, just trying to look at things with the view of eternity in mind.)

Prone to Wander

When I first learned that I broke my foot, I comforted myself with the thought of lying about my apartment—in bed, on the couch—reading, watching documentaries on NetFlix, catching up on my mental to-do list, and writing my little heart out.  I haven’t finished one book, watched one documentary, written a to-do list, yet I have been writing…in my journal.  While these conversations with God are precious and private, I feel that my silence has added to my struggle with identity.  Oh, I know my identity is in God alone!  I know He created me and He defines me and He tells me who I am!  I know this!

But…sometimes it’s difficult to explain that to others when they ask me what I do.  It’s a long story.  A really long story.  Fortunately, my faithful family (which includes dear friends) knows my story as do you, my loving readers, because you’ve been on this journey with me for years.  Even though I’ve spent so much of the past year in silence, even though some of you have wandered to other blogs, know I appreciate you, pray for you, and cherish you.

Writing for you to make my joy complete (see post) has fallen by the wayside.  And part of that is my fault, for chasing after things that don’t add life.  Things which, in fact, break my heart.  God says, “No.”  Quietly, patiently, lovingly He says, “No, this is not my best.  You can have this thing you so desire, but I have something even better in mind.  Just you wait and see what I will do!”  I imagine a glimmer in His eye; I hear a hint of it in His voice.  And even though I don’t like surprises, I know whatever He’s planning, working, creating is good because God is good.

So I will wait.

Still, I really hate waiting.  My anxiety fights for control.  I understand matriarch Sarah’s confusion as she waited for her promised son, Isaac.  I imagine her wringing her hands, noticing the wrinkles, new age spots.  She stood up and her knees cracked and ached with each step she took. The laugh lines around her eyes—ha, what did she have to laugh about?!  Yes, God, You have promised something good…but is there something I’m supposed to be doing?  I mean, should I be vigilant about the process?  Maybe help You out a little?  What if I miss it?  As if Sarah could miss pregnancy!  As if I could miss my blessing from God!  (Side note: This blessing, though a mystery to me, will probably not result in immaculate conception and/or marriage.  I just know it’s something, and it may not even seem like a gift from God to anyone else…but I will know it’s from Him.)

As I wait for this good thing, I know I’ve missed the blessing of writing and the joy it brings—the complete joy.  Because I’ve been so busy “making it happen,” I didn’t factor in the time it cost me—time that could have been more effectively used to do things like read, watch documentaries, or even write for others!  Not that my free time has been a complete waste either.  I just know that I might have been blessed and been a blessing.  Oh, distraction will get us every time when we take our eyes off the prize! (God used Sara Groves’ song “Eyes on the Prize” from Invisible Empires to help me realize this.)

I’m sorry for not being there for you, for chasing after that which does not satisfy, for that which leaves me longing for more.  I told you I would write to make my joy complete, that I would let the Holy Spirit fill me with all joy…and I meant it then and I mean it now.  Sometimes I get distracted by the scenery on the side of the road; it comes when you write from the backseat, I guess.

“Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it…” I’ll try to keep the wandering to a minimum…as long as I’m wandering towards God, towards His joy, and towards the better, make that best, choices.

Let’s chat.  Like me, are you prone to wander?  What do you do when you realize you’re still on God’s path, but you’ve stopped to smell the roses for a bit too long?  Will you pray for me?  How can I pray for you?

An Open Letter to Satan

Because why wouldn’t Satan and [hot] Jesus arm wrestle?  Seems perfectly weird natural to me.

I was starting to feel glum about recent events taking place in my life.  Instead of lashing out at God, which is my former way of doing things, I decided to write an open letter to Satan instead so that I could remind myself and others of God’s promises to His people.  Am I still sad?  Yes.  But I also know that this is temporary in light of eternity…and eternity is an awfully long time. (Feel free to leave comments, if you’d like. Oh, and don’t steal this without permission because that would be mean and very Satan-like.)

Satan,

I am writing you this letter to inform you that your rebellion against God and His people isn’t going so well.  Granted, it looks like you’re winning, and I admit there are casualties in our camp.  However, God is guaranteed the final victory, and until then, I suppose you’re going to keep on causing misery and pain in your kingdom here on earth.

Therefore, if you must continue on with this rampage against God’s image bearers, I’d like to give you a few insights on how this all works.

First, you can maim, torture, denounce, martyr, and rip apart our earthly bodies, but you can never touch our souls, though they may experience the darkest of nights.  Even when God seems so far away that we ache and we doubt, our allegiance will never be swayed, for our King will come through in the end.  When we are at our weakest, God is at His very strongest.  If you want to test us, go ahead, because we will only be made stronger.

Second, though I am forced to live in your kingdom temporarily, I won’t be here forever.  My loyalty is to a King with a heavenly kingdom that will not pass away.  The more I learn about my kingdom of eternal residence, the less satisfied I am with earth.  Oh, there are beautiful sunsets, soaring hawks, and wonders that take my breath away, but these things only prove that there is a Creator.  My soul was made for eternity, and I can’t wait to see creation in its glorified, original state.  See, spring is coming here on earth, and you can’t stop it or the fact that it reminds us of the eternal Spring that will one day come and make everything new.

Third, the Bible says that you masquerade as an angel of light, that you were once the most beautiful in all of creation.  Of course, you rebelled against God, took one-third of the angels with you, and now you’re here on earth.  Then Eve (formerly known as “woman”) came, the signature of divine, and you deceived her.  Tragically, the earth and all that is in it because cursed.  I don’t need to tell you the story.  After all, you were there. 

I suppose that some are still deceived by your “beauty,” but I only see you as ugly, twisted, and disgusting.  While some horrible events are the result of living in a fallen world (aka your temporary kingdom), others are the result of the work of you and your counterparts—wars, broken families, corruption, violence, murder, divorce, abuse, and so on.  When lives are devastated, some question God and doubt His existence, but real Christians turn to God with our heartache.  (For reference, see above paragraph on “when we are weak, God is strong.”)

While you do hurt us, injure us, ruin our days, and even destroy lives, you cannot fool us into thinking that you are beautiful, lovely, or “light.”  You gave that all up when you wanted to be God, when you fell from beauty.  I almost pity you.  Almost.   But you made your choice, took humanity down with you, and caused so much suffering, death, and destruction, I cannot pity you.  Once you were breathtakingly gorgeous, and now you’re this—an ugly, imitation of what you were created to be.  We are not fooled.

Fourth, I am personally affronted by all the pain and heartache you’ve caused in my life…and the pain and heartache I’ve caused others.  To the end of my days, I will never stop giving God the glory, which I know also means doing battle with you and your demons.  While I am not thrilled about the prospect of dealing with you and your kind, the Bible assures me that I am fully equipped for this war.  I know I’m not as intelligent as you, so no doubt you will trip me up.  I may even be a P.O.W. in your camp from time to time.  Know this, Satan, my God will always come for me.  He will never leave me or forsake me. 

In summation, you may be winning a few battles here and there.  You may even claim victory from time to time.  Know this, you will lose the war.  God’s people will always rise up, be made strong in our weakness, and be defended by a Warrior, who rejoices over us with singing.  We will sing, dance, and praise God in our suffering; we will take this heartache and turn it into thankfulness, and these ashes will be traded for crowns of beauty.  In the end, it’s not about what we will do, but what God has already done.

Sincerely,

An unsatisfied temporary resident of earth

They Don’t Know Why We Celebrate

A Christmas photo in which the dogs started play fighting. Sigh.

Every year, my best friend and I buy our two dogs Christmas presents.  As we unwrap candy cane-shaped bones and Pupperoni packages, my dogs’ excitement builds.  Relatives visit and sneak little tidbits of food to the dogs.  They have no idea why they’re getting all these extra treats or visitors, but for them, it’s the most wonderful time of the year…I guess.

Unfortunately, my dogs have no idea why or what we’re celebrating.

My dogs greet the holiday with the same enthusiasm as they do a daily walk, a game of fetch, or a visit to my mom’s apartment.  Dogs simply do not have the intellectual capacity to understand Christmas, but they sure do get excited about it.

Don’t we all get excited about Christmas?  The songs surrounding the holiday season, lights and tacky decorations adoring houses, and that ol’ feeling of Christmas in the air.  While Santa Claus, Rudolph, and Frosty are fun; they aren’t the real stars of the holidays.  Moralistic values teach us that Christmas is a spirit and goodness that seems to saturate our society, yet hearts still get broken, people murdered, and loved ones die, even on Christmas day.

Somewhere between presents piled high beneath the Christmas tree, watching Elf for the 1000^th time, and drinking egg nog, we miss the real meaning of Christmas.  I know I’m not saying anything new.  What concerns me though is that we, as Christians, have no idea why we celebrate.  Wrapping presents, baking cookies, hopping from holiday party to holiday party, we become busy, miserable, and just wish we could forget the whole thing.

We have no idea why we celebrate either.

The tiny infant and his virgin mother are sometimes lost behind Santa’s sleigh and our shopping list.  We still find him nestled in a plastic manger in light-up (sometime blow-up) nativities.  He adorns our Christmas cards and is celebrated in our songs.  But our hearts are far from Him.

He was born to die.

For us.

To undo the curse as far as it is found.

And, oh, that mean old curse ravages our lives—tears our families apart with drug addiction and divorce, scars us with dark pasts, and obscures our view of the future.  Watching a loved one die a slow and painful death one year made me realize how far this curse is truly found and why we needed Jesus to come to save us.  We are helpless and without hope.  Yet over 2000 years ago, Hope for the human race came to earth, and what’s why we celebrate.

Though my dogs can’t possibly understand the depth of the Gospel—the beginning of the story—you can!  So instead of being caught up in squeaking toys and Snausages like my dogs, remember God’s true gift, which is too big and too wonderful to fit under any tree.  And it is too marvelous to keep to your self.  This Christmas be sure to tell a world looking for a true Savior why you celebrate.

I Still Believe in Love

Before you write me off as a 30 year-old spinster with slight feminist sympathies, I want you to know that I still believe in love.  I believe in romance and my little girl heart longs for it—just not with a man.  I mean, it does, but at the same time I’m still shattered from my mom’s two divorces (read post).  I know that godly men exist, love their wives, teach their children about God, and desperately seek to live a life worthy of the Gospel of Christ.  I am fortunate to be acquainted with such men.  However, I am not intimately involved with any as either a daughter or a lover.

Oh, but how I enjoy a good romantic novel (I recently discovered romance novels with Christian characters have come a looooooong way since) or a chick flick!  I feel happy (and slightly jealous) when a husband professes his love for his wife or vice versa.  I do want to know that kind of love, even if my hard heart is fighting tooth and nail against it.

And, love, oh love—what shall I do with you?  I mean, I love my parents, my friends, my pets, and of course, God.  But those are different kinds of love than loving a man, than giving my self wholly to a man in the holy mystery of sex.  (Yes, I’m saving my stuff for the altar, if I ever reach it!)  For those of you who have been fortunate to find love, hold it close, even when the feelings fade and the commitment is what counts.  Be committed to being committed. Singer/songwriter Andrew Peterson compares marriage to “dancing in a minefield” in his latest album, Counting Stars.  Sounds scary to me.

There’s another reason I believe in love…and that’s because God is love.  God cannot separate Himself from love because that is what He is.  Love is His nature, His character, and His totality.  In fact, when I consider it, how can I know love at all?  God is so vast, deep, wide, and unfathomable—so love must be the same. We mere mortals try to tie it up with ribbons, flowers, cards, and boxes of candy.  But have you ever stopped to consider that simple expression we’ve seen a million times above the Salvation Army or slapped on the bumper of a car?  God is love.  If we take time to really let that sink in, it should change our entire view of God…and love.

And Love came down in the form of a helpless babe and Love lived a perfect life, died on the cross, and rose again.  Love truly conquers all—it just depends on your definition of Love.  My definition of love is high because it is God.  I even believe in the clumsy kind that we humans mirror because we are made in the image of God.  I have to believe in Love, because I believe in God.

The Women of the Resurrection

In this pic, Jesus looks like He’s playing hide-and-seek with the women.

I wanted to prepare this blog post sooner, but time is not on my side lately.  My family could definitely use your prayer.  Gosh, I could use your prayers.  However, better late than never, here’s the follow up to “The Women of the Cross“.

But I thought both my male and female readers might like a peek at the lesson, which I’m adapting into a post. If you would like a copy of the short study for personal or group use, just hit me up at amy@backseatwriter.com

The Women of the Resurrection

The resurrection of Jesus Christ is a crucial cornerstone of the Christian faith, and also what separates Christianity from other major religions that follow His teachings.  Jesus’ resurrection proves that He was not only the Son of God, but the victor over death.  And who were the first to encounter the Risen Lord?  The women who followed Jesus!

The accounts of Jesus’ resurrection can be found in Matthew 28: 1-10; Mark 16: 1-11; Luke 24: 1-12; and John 20: 1-18.

Who are the women of the resurrection?

Interestingly, many of the women present at Jesus’ crucifixion were also the women who awoke early Sunday morning after Sabbath had passed to care for Jesus’ body.  According to Old Testament law, if someone touched a dead body, then he or she was considered unclean, so care of bodies was considered a woman’s work (of course).

However, these women did not care about clean or unclean.  They simply wanted to show their love for this man, who had treated them with respect and kindness, who had allowed them to sit at His feet—they had never met a man like Jesus.

Each Gospel has a different account of what women were present, what happened, and what was said.  It is important to note that ancient scribes were not obsessed with details like we are today.  They were more concerned with telling the story, so we definitely have to approach Scripture with our eyes on the culture.   Here’s a rundown of each Gospel.

Matthew: Mary Magdalene and “the other Mary” find empty tomb and angel, also Jesus appears to these women.

Mark: Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, Salome encounter an angel and Mary Magdalene first sees Jesus.

Luke: Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James and others see angels and report to disciples.

John: Mary Magdalene (and possibly other women because she says “we”).  But in this gospel, Mary Magdalene is the first to encounter the risen Jesus.

If you read The Women of the Cross, then you’ve already “met” most of these women.  But just in case you haven’t had the chance to read that incredibly compelling post, let me introduce you to the women of the resurrection.  Meet Mary Magdalene, one of Jesus’ most devoted followers after He drove seven demons from her body.  And, no, they were not married or sexually involved.  That’s just gross.

Curiously, Mary mother of Jesus isn’t mention in any of these accounts…or is she?  Out of respect, Mary was probably referred to as “Mary mother of James” (Note:  It was this James, Jesus’ half-brother, who went on to write the book of James in the New Testament).  It was a cultural practice not to indicate Mary as Jesus’ mother due to His crucifixion.  Remember that at the cross, she is called “Mary Mother of James and Joses” and only directly addressed in John.  Also, since the synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) mention Mary mother of James or “the other Mary,” it is assumed that both refer to Mary mother of Jesus.  She was His earthly mother—how could she stay away?

Mark mentions Salome, who was the mother of disciples James and John while Luke also adds Joanna, a woman who worked to financially support and care for Jesus and the gang while they traveled.  Since it was early the day after Sabbath and Jews were not permitted to work or travel on Sabbath, we can assume that Joanna was in town for the crucifixion, and I’m fairly certain she was one of the “other women” who witnessed Jesus’ crucifixion.   If so, then all the women of the resurrection were also all women who witnessed Jesus’ crucifixion.  They were a devoted lot.

Mary Magdalene Sees Him First

Each Gospel says that Mary Magdalene was the first to see the risen Savior.  Why, out of all the people who followed Jesus, did she see Him first?  Really, we can only guess.  Perhaps she was the one who needed Him most.  When she learned Jesus’ body was missing, she was ready to go to the ends of the earth to retrieve it.  She was distraught and crying when she encounters Jesus, who she mistakes for the gardener.

“They have taken my Lord, and I don’t know where they have put Him,” she weeps.  But when that “gardener” says her name, she immediately knows it is Jesus (John 20:16).

“Rabboni!” Mary exclaims, which is a very personal greeting meaning “my teacher.”  Most people would have nothing to do with a former demoniac, much less teach one.  But Jesus changed Mary’s life, and now He had changed her eternity.

Why did Jesus appear to women first?

The simple and obvious explanation is this—because they were there. But didn’t Peter and John also run out to the empty tomb?  Why didn’t Jesus appear to them?  Hmm…interesting.

My theory (and this is my theory) is that Jesus is making good on God’s promise all the way back in Genesis 3:15.  After Adam and Eve do the Big No-No, God pronounces judgment on them.  Yet in His judgment, there’s a promise of salvation.  In Genesis 3:15 God says to the serpent, “And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; he will crush your head, and you will strike his heel.”  On Calvary, the ancient serpent that is Satan struck Christ’s heel, but in the resurrection (and the yet-to-come Battle of Armageddon), Jesus will crush that serpent’s head.

So, with that information, it would seem that Jesus is “redeeming Eve.”  It’s as if He is saying, “Remember that promise in Genesis?  Well, here I am!  You are redeemed, daughter of Eve, you are redeemed because of Me.”  Since Eve was the first to partake of the apple, perhaps in a subtle way, her daughters are first to know of the redemption.

Then again, there’s the small problem that the disciples who say the empty tomb didn’t believe…but the women did.  Before you go off and tell me it’s because they saw Jesus, let me point you to Mark 24:7-8.  The women remembered His words and believe!  However, the disciples don’t believe their stories (Mark 16:11, Luke 24:11).

Still, in the end, everyone believes and the Gospel message goes forward.  And those women, well, as first witnesses their testimony wouldn’t really matter in a court of law.  Unless there were three women, which is interesting, because the Mark and Luke mention at least three women in their Gospels, making the women viable first witnesses to the resurrection.

These women never met a man like Jesus, who tore the veil, so their shame would be lifted.  Finally, Eve’s sin no longer held them captive, though they still faced the consequences of her choice.  But now they could find wholeness and redemption through God’s promise of Jesus Christ.

I love comments, so here are some questions you can answer–why do you think Jesus first appeared to women?  Why didn’t the men believe but the women did?

WHAT?! Hitler’s Meim Kampf for Inspiration & Jimi Hendrix a Child’s Role Model?!

This is ridiculous!  First, business student in India are buying  Adolf Hitler’s autobiography for inspiration and now educators in San Francisco are hailing Jimi Hendrix as a great role model.  Is it me or has the world gone completely mad?

To the students in India, Meim Kampf is not a book on business organization strategies, but rather a hate-filled memoir of insanity.  In Meim Kampf, Hitler lays out his anti-semitism and his plans to eradicate the Jews and others who he feels are “inferior.”  This is not good business.  In fact, it didn’t even work because bigger “businesses” ended his nefarious practices.

To the educators in San Francisco, I know you do things a little differently in San Francisco.  But just because Jimi Hendrix was arguably one of the best guitar players that ever lived doesn’t make him a good role model…for the education system.  Hendrix never graduated from high school, was known for his drug use, and died choking on his own vomit after a drug binge.  This isn’t “hip,” it’s crazy.  Not only that, but it’s a waste of the taxpayers money.

Travel with me to a place called it’s-never-gonna-happen and imagine that students in India bought the Bible and studied the book of Proverbs for insight on business and the educators hailed a Jewish teacher named Jesus as a role model for students.  Of course, that would be completely ridiculous, right?  Especially the Jesus part, since he is a religious figure and all.  I would have to argue that the Son of God has been a pretty good role model for me and that the Bible has helped me through all sorts of decisions, including ones that break the heart and wound the spirit.

It’s sad to live in a world that hails Hitler’s manifesto as good literature and Jimi Hendrix as a childhood hero.  Yet it’s a world longing for inspiration and heroism—something we Christians have to offer through the gospel, in our lives and dealings with others, and our study of Scripture.  Never has it been clearer to me than now.

Offer the world the hope you have and give them a reason to ask you about that faith you have.  Be visible.  Be active.  And do it now.  The world is dying to know Truth.

True Confessions Friday on Thursday:: My thoughts on Peter’s confession and denial of Christ

Growing up in the church, I’ve heard the story of the Jesus’ last days a bazillion times.  My first church even did a passion play, starring my father as one of the 12 disciples.  I was always grateful he didn’t play Judas the betrayer or Peter the denier, even though Peter had the most lines next to Jesus.

I remember thinking that Peter was just as bad as Judas for his famous denial of Jesus, not once, not twice, but three times!   Little did I know that all the other apostles had scattered, save John.  Peter, who had such little faith he couldn’t even walk on water, who always put his foot in his mouth, who was called “Satan” by Jesus Himself.  That Peter!

I realize that Peter’s gotten a bum rap.  Originally called Simon, his name was changed to “Petra” by Jesus (Petros, Petras, Peter, depends on your translation), which means “rock.”  I can just imagine Jesus kissing Peter on the forehead as He declared, “And on this Petra, I will build my church!”  Peter was the first to confess Jesus of Nazareth as the Christ and the only one of the disciples who dared to even jump out of the boat to meet his master as He walked upon the waves of the sea.  He was the fisherman who was called from the water to become a disciple of this strange teacher called Jesus.

Part of the inner circle, Peter was privy to special moments of retreat and was even chosen to keep watch with Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane.  Even though he fell asleep, Peter was quick to defend Jesus; he sliced the ear off the high priest’s servant when the Jewish religious leaders came to arrest Jesus.  (Although you’d figure the religious leaders would give Jesus a break after He miraculously healed the servant’s ear, wouldn’t you?)  Scripture says it was Peter who followed the crowd that ushered the newly arrested Jesus to Caiphas, the high priest.  And that’s when things get mucky for Peter.

As he watched Jesus being questioned before Caiphas, I imagine that Peter’s heart was breaking and his mind was racing.  Hours earlier at the Last Supper, he swore that he would never, never, never forsake Christ, even if he had to die with Jesus.  When Jesus knelt to wash his feet, Peter wanted his whole body washed so that he could be super-purified.  What happened to his zeal, his proud confession of Christ, and his faith?    Was he afraid he would be dragged before the high priest?  Was he offended that he wasn’t allowed to defend his rabboni in the garden?  Did he fear for his life, as many have suggested, or was something deeper happening inside Peter?

I don’t know why Peter told two servant girls and a group of peasants that he didn’t know Jesus.  But I do know what happened when the rooster crowed and Peter realized his folly. Read this chilling line from Luke 22:61, “The Lord turned and looked at Peter.  Then Peter remembered…”  Nothing like getting an “I-told-you-so” from Jesus, especially in such a tumultuous setting.  Peter “went outside” and he wept bitterly.  I imagine it was an anguishing, gasping, groaning cry in which Peter’s entire face was contorted as his body trembled with remorse. His shame overtook him and he disappears from the narrative altogether during the remainder of Jesus’ final hours.

I can just imagine Peter’s thought process before his negation. Jumbled and bewildered, he considered question after question.  It might have been something like this—“I know all that Jesus was capable of—I saw Him speak to Moses and Elijah for crying out loud!  He fed thousands and healed the sick and taught the people.  How could He allow Himself to be arrested?  Why wouldn’t He let me defend Him?  Doesn’t He realize this isn’t part of the plan?  Doesn’t He remember how  He was honored as Messiah only four days ago?  I don’t understand this at all!  This doesn’t make any sense.  Messiah came to deliver us, not this!  Who will deliver Him?  Look at Him up there; He won’t say a word.  Why doesn’t He answer Caiphas?  Tell him who You are, Jesus, tell him who You are!  Why won’t You defend Yourself?  What is wrong with You?  Why should I defend You if You won’t defend Yourself?  What if…I was wrong?”  Then one, two, three; cockadoodle-doo; it’s over.

Despite Peter’s denial times three, the risen Savior doesn’t hold a grudge.  When Jesus appears to the two Mary’s on the morning of His resurrection, He instructs the women to tell the disciples and Peter to meet Him in Galilee.  The disciples and Peter.  He called Peter by name, and not just any name—the one given to him by Jesus.  The Gospel of Luke records that after the women told the disciples Jesus had risen, Peter ran to the tomb only to find it empty while John records a race of sorts between himself and Peter to the tomb.  Poor, confused Peter is desperate to know that Jesus really is who He says He is—that He is Messiah.

A couple of days later Peter goes fishing with some of the other disciples.  Despite spending all night trying, they catch nothing.  Sound familiar?  That’s when a man on the beach tells them to throw their nets over the side of their boat and try again—in the daylight.  Every fisherman knows the fish come closer to the surface at night.  Yet the nets are flooded with fish.  With sudden recognition, John yells, “It is the Lord!”  Immediately, Peter throws off his outer garments (his clothes) and swims ashore to Jesus (yes, Peter’s in his boxers before the Son of God).  He puts on a good show bringing in the nets full of fish and eating breakfast with the gang.

At this point, he has seen Jesus two others times, but it is this third time that is most intimate.  Jesus reinstates Peter turning this fisherman-turned-disciple-turned-fisherman into an apostle—a Rock who led the early church with fiery sermons, a writer who penned parts of the New Testament that we read today, and a man who was crucified for his faith.  Tradition has it that Peter was asked to be hung upside down because he wasn’t worthy to be crucified in the same position as the Lord.

Wow.  That Peter.

And here’s a confession::  While I’ve never denied Christ with my mouth, I’ve done it in my actions.  Yet my heart can’t let go of Jesus.  Every time I try to turn away, God lures me back with sweet words.  I confess that I’ve tried to deny knowing Christ, just like Peter, and yet when He looks straight at my heart, I remember.

So Close, Yet So Far Away

Actually, it looks like there's an extra "friend" in this picture! See, even the "Friends" have friends over!

When I was younger, I dreamed of the day I would move out of my parents’ home and into my own apartment.  Or more specifically I dreamed of what my apartment would look like.  Suffice to say, I do have an apartment that is full of personality thanks to my decorating tastes (fortunately, roommate Sarah doesn’t enjoy decorating so she left that important decision up to me).  I thought my zany, but lovable neighbors would popping in all the time and our pad would be the hub of the social scene.  Heck, maybe it would be so cool they’d make a reality T.V. series about the ins-and-outs of my living space.  Personally, I believe I was ruined by shows like “Friends,” “Frasier”, and “Will & Grace” who always had something happening at their residences.

Apartments are funny little things.  They’re little box dwellings crammed together with other little box dwellings that form a giant building.  Each dwelling houses a “family unit,” no matter how unique. with its own way of doing things.  For the most part, the family units keep to themselves offering cheery hello’s in passing or pithy conversations during dog walks.  But other than that, we keep to ourselves sharing a parking lot, a couple of washers/dryers, and a building.  We are together, yet separate.

Sometimes I wonder if we’re living is entirely too close to one another.  Right now, I’m listening to the ear shattering booms of the workmen doing who knows what to the apartment above mine.  The former tenants, who were terrible neighbors (remember the bleach incident?), moved out after only occupying the residence for a year.  I mean, how much work can an apartment need after only a year (especially when it was updated only a year ago)?  Then last night at 12:30 AM, I marched downstairs to ask our first floor neighbor to turn down his music since our floor was vibrating making it hard to sleep.  He kindly complied.  I knew I’d be up in a few hours when the workmen came clomping in to start another workday.

Despite living so close to so many (annoying) people, I barely know my neighbors.  Sure, I know the names of the people across the hall and the names of a few dog owners in the other parts of the complex.  Most specifically, I know their dog’s name; I’ve no clue who they are.  We dog people are like that–we know the dog, not the person.

I’ve met a few others, too–there’s Jenny an oncology nurse who smokes cigarettes on her porch, Donna who lets her gray cat wander about the back steps and her son Eric (or Derek I forget) who we affectionately call “ADHD Boy”, the screech monkey boys ranging in ages from 9-12 (I have a certain fondness for them), and the lady with the Westie who has a Vitamin D deficiency (the lady, not the dog). An older lady named Gladys has two dogs and likes to chat.  Oh, and there’s Maurice (or Morris)…at least I think that’s his name.  He sits out in front of his first floor apartment when it’s warm.  He doesn’t like to eat chicken.  I always imagine Maurice and Gladys hooking up.

We’re all neighbors, and we have neighborly discussions about neighborly topics such as “Well, the people on the third floor are finally moving out” and “Soon the complex pool will be open” and “I almost ran over the screech monkey boys because they were skateboarding in the middle of the road again!”  Of course, those are the neighbors that talk.  Many just go in and out of their apartments to work, to socialize, to do who-knows-what, and come back again.  They offer a small smile and a heartfelt “hi” but largely remain disconnected from the rest of their neighbors.

This sort of establishment is hard for a people-person like me.  I want to know everyone, be able to pop in on my neighbors every so often, and make little Easter baskets for the folks in my building.  I want to connect with others and I want to connect deeply.  Not only are we both human with experiences, ideas, opinions, and talents, but we live in close proximity!  What a great basis for a relationship!  I met two of my dearest friends at my old apartment complex, and we still see each other at least once a week.  Sadly, this is the exception, not the rule.

I am reminded of Jesus’ call to love my neighbors, and not just love them, but to love on them.  So I will continue to smile, engage in small talk, and seek out relationships with my neighbors as we live in our city of furnished boxes.  Even when they’re too loud and even when they hog the washing machine.  It’s sad to think we’re all so close, and yet we remain so far away from one another.

Our Journey to Rehab

Today was one of those days where I didn’t expect anything too great or anything too bad to happen.  Since Christmas is only a week away, I’ve been working heartily on preparations for the big day.  That was until I called my friend, and I could there was a quiver in her voice.  I asked what was wrong and she told me about the happenings in her house.  The end result–I had to put my very ordinary plans on hold to take her sister (another good friend of mine) to a drug rehab center.  One week before Christmas.  And it’s an hour and a half away.

Being my best friend and co-conspirator in all things merry and not-so-merry, Sarah agreed to come along on the adventure as well.  We tearfully helped my friend’s belongings into her sister’s SUV and watched as she kissed her mom goodbye.  When they would see each other again was not known.  My friend needed help, and we were taking her to get it.  We waved goodbye and went on our way.  From the backseat of the car, I hastily sent a message to Twitter explaining that we needed prayers because we were taking a friend to get clean.

God answered your prayers!

The ride down was smooth and pleasant, except when one of the sisters would dissolve into tears or apologize for her behavior (sister #1 for taking her to rehab and sister #2 for having to go to rehab).  I tried to comfort the sisters, and the words I spoke and the calm in my heart soothed their gaping wounds, at least for the moment.  When we got there, sister #2 hesitated for a moment, but I grabbed her bags and urged her forward as sister #1 gathered the necessary paperwork.  I shot sister #2 a confident smile and led the way. 

Once we entered the facility, the kind staff were eager to help both of my friends–sister #2 as she did her intake for admission and sister #1 as she navigated through the insurance/co-pay nightmare.  Both sisters would come into the waiting room at various times, so Sarah and I entertained them with interesting facts from the Good Housekeeping and Family Circle magazines that were laying about.   It came time to say our goodbyes, and I couldn’t help but cry as I held my dear friend so close and told her that I was proud of her for making this choice to save her life.  I watched as the sisters locked together in a heartbreaking embrace as each one said, “I’m sorry” in breaking voices.  And then she was gone–for a week?  Two weeks?  A month?  Three months?  We’ve no idea, but we love her so much.

Sarah and I walked sister #2 to the car as she sobbed silently and puffed on a cigarette.  It had been a long, trying, and frustrating day for her.  Sarah took the wheel as we drove home–sometimes lost in our own thoughts, sometimes exchanging banter, and other times assuring our friend that she did the right thing for her sister.  No matter where we were in the conversation it went back to that:: “Did I do the right thing?” 

You did, my dear friend.  The strength and courage that you showed today amasz me.  Your maturity and ability to handle this situation with such grace and such love is an outpouring of God’s work in your life.  I don’t know if you recognize that, my friend, but you were being prayed for so passionately by people who don’t even know your name.  Not only is this a testament to you, a testimony to them, but also an example of how God has never, never abandoned you.

It’s sad to see my friend away from home on Christmas–in a place with others who are longing to be with their families, too.  But at the same time, it’s for this very reason that Jesus had to come; this is why we celebrate.  To set people like my friend free from her dependence on substances that will never satisfy, to allow the Holy Spirit to permanently dwell in God’s people that we may use our words as salve on the injured, and to walk with our friends into the entrance of a rehab hopsital after they admitted to stealing prescription medications from us.  Jesus came so that we could not only walk with people, but so that He could walk with us forever.  And so in our walking, God could be found.

Shame and sin.  A baby who saves.  Ordinary people touched by His Spirit to experience God’s grace.  Lost and given to hope.  It has all the elements of the Christmas story, and it is a Christmas story, but it’s not a typical one.  This story is about a woman whose sister loved her so much that she risked her relationship so that her sister could be well again.  It’s about a woman alone in rehab on Christmas Day and the empty space at the table back home.  It doesn’t have jolly elves or happily-ever-afters.  Yet it’s a real Christmas tale, nonethe less.  And it’s the reason He came.