I was a wizard once— a poet, I mean

I was a wizard once—

a poet, I mean.

By mortar and pestle 

I could concoct vigor and ache.

I could make you 

want a raspberry,

though you’d not even 

thought of raspberries

for a week.

I could twizzle my wand

and touch the ball of your nose—

turn you into a child

so you might run through the rain

free, naked, and laughing.

I always thought 

when this day came, 

I would heal you by casting 

fireworks across the blue dark

or tickle your hot forehead with my nails,

cooing over you 

while the bombs fell round.

I was confident I would 

distract you, love—

sing to you, 

make myself a shelter over you,

breathe life from these wet lungs

through your cool lips.

But it’s not how I imagined.

Pots and potions sit round me still.

I am quiet and confused.

Not brave. Not heroic.

Only human.

I am with you here.

Small with you.

Yet, without my fire, 

ten million stars 

prick against the night.

Without my voice,

spring peepers 

make a choir.

I cannot reach you.

Yet, without my touch,

the winds of God move

upon your brow.

The Railway Children, Chapter 1, Part 1

In case you need a story today, I recorded Chapter 1, Prt 1 of E. Nesbit’s “The Railway Children.” Will continue as I am able.

Courage, Dear Hearts.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=share&v=-ICheE-34eY

A Word for Frightened Americans (Day of Prayer and Fasting)

You and I are walking through a season that will define our entire generation.

All our lives, we have read about crises that have come to our grandparents, and their grandparents, and theirs. Those old challenges have been relayed with respect for men and women who made difficult choices, who kept their lights and prayers burning, who invented and sacrificed so that our nation could survive. Now, here we are, facing something new and strange, with the blood of those conquerors running through our veins.

I do not mean that our ancestors created and sustained America perfectly. We carry the consequences of old sins as well as old victories. This is not a time to be elite nationalists.

Yet, patriotism is different from nationalism. Nationalism flaunts, boasts, denies, and demands. It is haughty, dishonest, greedy, and hard. Patriotism is humble, grateful, and selfless. It asks us to give ourselves to the common good. Patriotism is brotherly—a national application of “do unto others.” It is altruistic—a national application of “to the least of these.”

If you are scared, it’s okay to be frightened. If you feel lost, it’s okay to be disoriented. The Americans who have lived through every past crisis felt those same feelings you feel now. You’re not alone. If they could talk to us today, I think they would tell us long stories of how they trembled, and weren’t sure what to do, and made some mistakes. There is grace for all of this.

It’s human to feel the knee jerks of anger, despair, sorrow. These feelings are natural to our situation. Still, what comes after emotional honesty matters.

I am frightened YET...

I am furious YET...

I am depressed YET...

I am grieving YET...

The choice we make after that pause is critical. If we felt no fear, there would be no need for courage. If we knew the way, we would have no need for faith.

Friends, courage isn’t the absense of fear. It’s staring fear in the eyes and doing the next right thing. For those of us who love Jesus, this “next thing” is a step taken in faith, using power He gives us for this time.

So let our honest admission of fear be a starting point only—a confession that drives us to admit our need for a God who is able to sustain, guide, provide.

Jesus loves you, this I know

For the Bible tells me so.

Little ones, you belong to him.

Fear reminds us that we are weak on our own, but He—living through us—is strong. Even here. Even now.

Photo credit: Rosamore on Morguefile

The Very Best Beans and Rice in the Entire World

Subtitle: Caribbean Coconut Beans and Rice

So this is not my usual post—but since a lot of us may be stuck eating beans and rice for a while, I decided to share the world’s best beans and rice recipe with you.  

I don’t make that claim lightly. This recipe has come from years of experimenting in my kitchen (muahahahaha…my laBORaTORy), combining recipes from several different countries and websites. It’s fragrant. It’s yummy. It’s creamy. Your kitchen smells AMAZING when these are done. 

This recipe makes a huge quantity, but my kids devour these. Really, really good. So, it’s hard for me to estimate how many meals you can get out of a batch.

The process is not instant, but it’s not complicated. And it’s definitely worth it. 

PROCESS:

First, you make the beans. Then you make the rice. After you’re done with both, you combine them. So, I’m going to give you those two recipes differently.

Also, I use an Instant Pot, but you could use these same ingredients with other cooking methods and times.

(Prepare yourselves emotionally, people. Your lives will never be the same.)

THE BEANS:

2 heaping teaspoons of fresh garlic (minced)

1/2 cup chopped yellow onion

1-2 tsp allspice

1 tsp thyme

1 tsp ginger

1-2 tsp paprika

1/2 tsp cumin

Beef broth (or bullion+ water) equaling 8 cups

1 sweet potato (peeled and cut in thin slices)

a big bunch of celery leaves/tops washed and diced

1/2 diced green bell pepper (optional)

2 cups of pinto beans rinsed and picked over

Cayenne pepper

THE RICE:

1 small yellow onion (diced)

3 tsp Emeril’s Original Essence (another seasoning/creole flavor mix would work if you can’t get this right now)

4 cups uncooked long grain white rice

1 tsp thyme

1 can (13.5 oz) coconut milk (lite is fine.)

2-3 bay leaves

2 1/2 cups broth (chicken or beef, bullion is fine)

2 cups water

2 tsp paprika

BEANS INSTRUCTIONS:

Mix all those ingredients in an Instant Pot. Stir. Cook on Manual/High for 35-40 minutes. Quick steam release. If you like your beans softer or tougher, adjust accordingly. These will look very brothy when you are done. SAVE ALL THAT GOODNESS.

(Also, if you don’t know how to use an Instant Pot without blowing yourself up, please cite the company manual.)

THE RICE:

Combine all those ingredients in an Instant Pot. Cook on Manual/High for 13-14 minutes. Quick steam release.

Mix the beans and the rice together. Or, sometimes on the first day, I layer the rice on bottom and ladle the beans on top.

Ways I’ve Goofed Up My Response to Covid 19

I’ve learned so much about myself in the past week or two. Some of that isn’t pretty, but I’m going to describe those mistakes to you, just so you don’t feel alone if you’re struggling, too. 

1. The Day I Was Way Too Angry 

I can’t even remember which day this was, now. (They’re all starting to blur together.) But the night before it happened, I’d dreamed about grabbing two people by the hair—one national politician and one leader of a religious university—and knocking their foreheads together as hard as I could. Smoosh.

I’m not a violent person in real life. I can’t ever remember having a dream like this. (Last night I dreamt I was in a pub in Britain, straining to focus while Anthony Powell tried to explain a bunch of irritating details about elite British culture to me. Then (poof), I was suddenly with Wendell Berry on a farm, helping him plant a garden and talking to him about canning jars. Subconscious Me loves my country, and no—that’s not American exceptionalism. This is just my home, dang it.

But back to my angry day—

On the morning after the head-smoosh dream, I woke up with my heart pounding, full of a rare fury. I felt hate for politicians and news stations who had called this virus a hoax. I was mad at cocky supporters and followers of those politicians and news stations.  I was furious about stubborn religious leaders who continue to put their congregants—and exponential members of their local community—in danger. 

I was also angry at weird things in my house. One of my kids wanted to go for a bike ride, and I was miffed at having to think about local people losing jobs and being desperate—considering what that might mean about baseline safety for a young person on a bike. 

Then the frustration got weirder. I was mad at the frequency of an LED lightbulb. I was mad that two Dove chocolates in a row gave me the same invasive advice. (“You DON’T KNOW ME, CHOCOLATE! YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE! JUST SHUT UP AND BE CHOCOLATE, OKAY?”) I was mad at the dumb ridge on my right thumbnail. I was mad at everything, and a lot of it just didn’t make sense.
 
Then, the anger turned inward. I was angry at myself for not preventing this national disaster. Why? Because I’m firstborn and carry the weight of the world all the time, no matter what. Everything I had thought would happen a month ago was now happening in real life in slow motion. I was furious with myself that I hadn’t thought of the right words to move people to the right action—that’s what writers DO, after all. They save the world. And I hadn’t.

I was mad at myself for intentionally sabotaging my own writing platform a thousand times because I didn’t want lots of people to know me, and now I actually needed the cultural leverage and didn’t have it. I was mad at myself for not being smart enough, strong enough, adept enough, selfless enough to shield a nation I love from harm.

I think underneath all that rage, I was scared for people I love. I was afraid that horrible leadership was going to lead to their death—and it may. I’m still angry about that. Yet this first wave of deep fear hit me like a massive tsunami, and I had so much trouble managing it well.  In it, I utterly failed in any sort of faith response for about 24 hours.

2. The Day I Was Frozen

So, this has actually been two different days. It’s so weird when it happens because I’m normally pretty high energy. However, during this crisis, that power comes in spurts. I’ll work relentlessly for an entire day (researching backyard chickens, and if vitamin D3 leads to kidney stones, and if local charities need help, and oh—the basement storage needs organizing. I do this for 12 straight hours, then the next day, I crash into a strange sort of paralysis where I stare out the window eating cheddar and sour cream chips and hating myself for doing it.

The chorus to Andrew Peterson’s song “Be Kind to Yourself,” has been playing in my head for several hours now. I feel like if anyone else were telling me about this failure, I’d say, “Oh, honey. These are scary times. It’s hard to be a mom right now. It’s hard to be a sensitive person right now. Give yourself some time to process it all.” But the tape playing more often when I hit these lulls is, “You slug. Get off your butt and save the world.” (See point 1. Haha.)

I felt a little better after reading Dr. Aisha Ahmad’s Twitter thread about playing the long game during a crisis. She said that she’s been through a lot of disasters and that those who attempt to “work as normal right now are going to burn out fast.” She gives some practical steps for preparation (many of which I was encouraged to find I’d already done) and simplification, but my favorite part was her admission that “the first few days in a disaster zone are always a write-off.” She says your body and mind need time to adjust to the new normal—and that is what I’ve been feeling.

I’ve seen several posts about not whining about staying home. And, as an introvert, I don’t mind that part so much. It’s not the isolation that’s getting me. I’m not bored. It’s the heightened, constant sense of responsibility—it’s shifting through the constant cyber feed of danger and not wanting to goof this up—it’s where my mind goes through all of this that is eating at me. That’s what freezes me. My brother showed me a video of a fainting goat. Yeah, it’s kind of like that. Feet in the air. Spaz. I can’t.

So I’m starting to see more value in the way Jesus gave himself time to be alone. Sure, he was praying. But the fact that he felt freedom (in a very difficult ministry) to let all of his spiritual and emotional processes work out is encouraging.

3. The Day I Decided to Fix It All

Don’t laugh. There was a day I decided to fix it all. I mean your world, too. I realize I probably don’t know you, but still, I was going to save you from harm.

I know men are supposedly fixers, but when I get in this mode, I really don’t care if you empathize with my feelings. I’m laser focused on solutions. Get out of the way and hand me the wrench.

Examples? On Fix-It-Day:

A. I wrote the FCC to try to get them to fine a network that had been harmful.

B. I found a medical journal article about alternate filtration systems and tried to organize a sewing group to make masks out of vacuum filters.

C. I drilled some Boomers on their Covid-19 survival skills—everything from how they did their banking to how they washed their produce.

D. I researched the economics of bulk powdered eggs vs. the average laying power of a Buff Orpington. 

E. I researched alternate jobs for myself, in case I can’t get back into the recording studio for a long time.

F. I compared professional sling shots and put one into my Amazon cart along with sling shot ammo and replacement bands. I decided I was pretty sure I could take out a rabbit if I had to. (??!!!) I could also skin a rabbit. Just like taking footie pajamas off a kid. I WILL HELP EVERYONE SURVIVE WITH MY SLINGSHOT.

G. Okay, that’s enough. I’m not telling you any more. But it got worse than this slingshot.

Now, some of these fix-its aren’t bad things to do. (Though several are pretty darned weird and a few are obnoxious.) However, I did even the best ones in a frenzy of determination, not necessarily in faith. I was rushing in to make things better with my own strength.  Which, of course, is not how the whole Christianity thing works? (How many times do I need to reread the vine-and-the-branches story and Galatians 3:3 to get this through my thick head? HELLO God, it’s Uzzah again. Sorry.)

4. The Night I Couldn’t Sleep

This happened last night, and it was weird. My heart started racing, just like I had been running. 

News had just broken that the virus impacts 20-somethings afterall, and for the first time in all this, my momma’s heart began to worry about my two young adult children.

I had also just read about the abuse Asians are receiving right now— and since my third child was adopted from China, and since we live in the state with the highest number of white supremacists in the country, I felt like a momma bear. Snarling, ready to fight, but also afraid for what I could not prevent.

I prayed, of course. I tried to lean into God’s sovereignty. I took slow breaths. I willed myself to think of other things. But this was more of a physiological response than a desire to fret. Fear was taking over me.

It finally quit, but ugh. However silly the disciples looked yelling at a sleeping Jesus to wake up during that storm on the boat, I’m sure I looked like even more of a coward. 
 - - -

A few days ago, I gave you a list of what we need to be doing as Christians during this crisis. I still love that list. It’s absolutely true. But I also wanted you to know how I’ve messed up. 

There are minutes, hours, even days where I’m mostly walking in the power of the Spirit, letting Jesus be my hands and feet, serving. But this season is new for us all, and some of these days, I’m struggling too.  

I guess Covid-19 is showing me just how much I need God’s strength and grace to get me through every single day. And honestly, realizing that I’m weak has been just as helpful as doing the right things.

Now I feel more empathy for the desperation others feel in times of much greater crisis. I don’t think I’ll ever watch refugees trying to get to safety without realizing they’re actually stronger than I’ve been. It took something so tiny to rattle me. Sigh.

Recently, I finished Graham Greene’s _The Power and the Glory_. It’s about a failed, alcoholic priest who clings badly to the faith as he flees persecution like a selfish coward. I started this book without much empathy for the guy. I finished it realizing that the mercy of God is a wonder in light of human weakness. He loves us. Isn’t it crazy? He loves the ghastly mess we are.

So, if you are struggling, too, you’re not alone. We’re all having to grow up through this, and growing is hard sometimes. However, I think God will finish the work he has begun in us, even if it’s messy—and that’s a beautiful thing to consider. 

As I think about the Passover—about how the angel passed over the doors of the children of Israel because of the mark of the lamb’s blood, I wonder what sort of people were inside those walls. Were they necessarily calm? Were they necessarily selfless, kind, or steady? I think the rest of that story shows us just how flawed they were.

Still, God loved them. He honored the little bit of faith it took to paint that blood on their houses. Some days, that blood is all I have, too—and this crisis has made me awfully grateful for it. It’s the center. The core. It’s the power from which the rest of any good we do flows.

Photo Credit Niebla (Morguefile)

The Beautiful Faith of Simple Food, Slow Drinks, and a Good Long Nap

It’s one of my favorite passages in the Bible. Weary Elijah collapses, and God tends him with sleep, food, and drink. (I Kings 19.)

During this season of international uncertainty, many of us are either exhausted or quickly becoming so. While other generations have survived much worse, this present level of danger is new for many Americans. We’re peddling through this crisis on training wheels, trying to figure out how what we believe applies to where we are this week.

Of course, we need to remain in the posture of giving, finding ways to look outward and serve the needy. But when we aren’t doing that, we need to remember the rest of Elijah.

In our “love yourself” culture, I can sometimes feel guilty about taking care of my body. However, this crisis may last several months, so tending myself is going to help me run a marathon instead of a sprint.

So, what does tending me look like? Certainly not flagrant extravagance. Excess would be insensitive in such a time—even if we are able to manage it. If you or I somehow end up with the money to spoil ourselves, we should instead use it to invest in those whose livelihood has been demolished by the virus.

But we do still have to eat, drink, and sleep—so without waste or luxury, it’s possible to slow down and make room to tend ourselves thoughtfully and gratefully. Such activities will help nourish our minds, souls, and bodies so that we can continue to be contributors.

How might this look? Here are some ideas:

1. Sleep as much as possible. Sleep is soooo good for us, and it’s a natural healing agent. So, develop some habits around sleep that help you maximize that practice.

Maybe change the sheets more often than usual—you know how good clean sheets feel.  Take a bath before bed. Download an app with a virtual fireplace or rain sound effects. Take a few minutes to make sure your bedroom is organized, clutter free, prepared for the faith-activity of sleeping. If you can, if it’s helpful, take a nap every single day. If you live with others, maybe give somebody in your home a really good back massage so he or she can sleep deeply one night, and you two can swap that favor another night.

In the Creation narrative in Genesis, God formed each night before He formed each day, most likely as a symbol that we are to rest in His sustaining, creative activity before each of our mornings begin. With every dawn, we wake up to a world full of resources He has already prepared for us. Sleep can be an act of falling into that trust, and this season of history is a particularly good time to think of it like that.

2. Make simple and meaningful food. I don’t mean overindulgence. I’m talking about careful preparation and consumption that is full of gratitude and praise.

Robert Capon spends an entire chapter in his book The Supper of the Lamb describing the slicing of an onion. When I was a child, our Japanese neighbor used to spend hours some mornings, listening to music and cutting up vegetables. They found praise, trust, gratitude in such simple work!

Tonight, I’m going to make homemade biscuits with my son. Cheap, simple ingredients will make the house smell comforting and good. Did you ever realize that Jesus told us to be thankful for “our daily bread” in an era when most families made their own? They didn’t just run down to Kroger and buy sliced loaves, mindlessly throwing together sandwiches to wolf down in front of the TV. This gratitude involved the slow, sweet work of construction. Thank you, God, for flour. Thank you, God, for heat. Thank you, God, for the magic of a baking.

Or, if you’re a tea drinker, brew the perfect cup and drink it slowly. Turn the phone off and sip it gratefully. Just slow down and realize that this little cup nourishment is a gift of the Father who loves you.

We are a culture that has woofed vast quantities of food down while getting the next thing done. Food is so detached from its source, its construction, its preparation. But after his resurrection, Jesus used his own hands to cook breakfast for his disciples. He knew how weary, discouraged, and confused his friends had been, so he cooked for them. Do this for yourself. Do this for those you love.

3. This next bit isn’t in I Kings, but I think the rest of the Bible shows us the value of nourishment via music. The Scriptures are full of the soul-healing work of songs during difficult times.

Several of my friends are hearing impaired, but I see using this same concept in other ways—with lyrics, with visual art. They are so creative. So, however your sense work, don’t be ashamed to fill them up with life and hope. God made you responsive. Tending that part of you—in times when you can—recognizes the artistry of your Maker and is a very good thing.

SIDE NOTE ON THIS:

One clarification, though—be aware of what you pour in because music is powerful. There’s a place in our lives for songs full of tension, anger, doubt, disillusionment. Those songs help us process our own emotions. But a common lie circulating in contemporary Christianity is that angst-filled music is somehow more honest than chosen order and beauty. This is untrue. We should use music to wail—but we should also use it to heal, guide, and restore us. (Tim Keller’s sermons “Praying your Fears” and “Praying your Tears” are the best resources I know for guiding us in this balance.)

In The Screwtape Letters, Lewis says the first time a person sees the gross casualty of war, he will be temptated to believe the worst horrors of the world are most true. He also says this conclusion is wrong. The most true stories are stories of redemption. We should not trust naïveté—but we should trust resolution. There’s a big difference.

So rest, readers. Take a bath. Make something simple but yummy. Drink a slow cup of tea. Listen to beauty. Breathe. Pray. Sleep. Do all these things in faith.

Tend yourself so that you will be strong enough to rise and run again when the Lord calls you to run. There’s a sweet, slow faith to food, drink, and a nap. Now’s the perfect time to learn this particular sort of worship.

“The Bed” by Lautrec

Enneagram Love Notes for a Time of Crisis

TYPE ONE:

You don’t have to do this perfectly. There’s grace for your imperfections. He’s given you righteousness that you could never attain by effort. Know that you are marked with His blood and made clean, through no striving of your own. Like blood on a house during Passover, all accusations against you will be deflected—for you reside inside the protection of the Lamb.

TYPE TWO:

You don’t have to save the entire world. God has prepared certain tasks for you to do, and those tasks are all you need to complete. Abide in Him every minute. Don’t try to help a single person without His empowering. He will provide direction, strength, and resources for you to do what must be done. Remember how much He loves those you love. He loves them even more than you do. And He loves you, too—don’t forget that He loves you so, so much.

TYPE THREE:

You are accepted by Jesus as you are. No need to perform you way through this. You don’t have to prove anything. This is not a race, a contest, a gauntlet. You matter... not just your performance. Really hear this... you matter *because* you are loved by God. He’s made you a child of a King. He’s already secured your value.

TYPE FOUR:

Your unique heart is known, seen, and loved by God. He created every single part of you, and you are His treasured piece of artwork. He knows every brushstroke of your thoughts. He listens to every single word when you cry out to him. He knows you by name and is aware of every flutter that passes through your heart. Your name is written on his hand. Even when you forget about Him, He never once forgets about you.

TYPE FIVE:

God is going to give you what you need today. Even if there’s something you don’t understand yet, He knows every detail of technical information about your situation. Take a minute to ask Him to lead you to what you need to know. Ask Him to guide your search in a posture of trust, through all the chaos and distraction. Offer to be an instrument in his hands, and believe that He will do this. He’s the one who made your mind strong, and He has a plan to use your intellect. Find his current and walk in the flow of the thinker He’s called you to be.

TYPE SIX:

You’re not alone in this. Jesus promised to be with us to the end of the earth, and He is here. He’s close, and He’s engaged, and even when He seems silent, He’s praying to the Father on your behalf—advocating for you. He loved you before you even knew him. His resources are yours by faith, and throngs of unseen angels stand round, ready to implement His will. He will never abandon you. He is faithful to your heart.

TYPE SEVEN:

In the stillness of hard reality, God will sustain you. You fear pain, truth, quiet, solitude—but unique joys are hidden, even in troubling times. Some delights are bigger than the ease of immediate pleasures. If things are difficult for a time, your loving Father has allowed them to be so because good rewards await that cannot be obtained any other way. He loves you. If pain comes in the night, that’s only because a far deeper joy comes in the morning.

TYPE EIGHT:

You fear the compression of this time—forces larger than you are making decisions for you. The suffocation and bondage make you want to bolt. Yet even in prison, you will find yourself singing hymns. If you are held back for a time in the body, it is only because the Father has a greater soul liberty for you to learn. He wants you to know freedom beyond this earth’s freedom. If you are restrained, it is only so that you will learn to soar.

TYPE NINE:

It all feels so fragile. You crave peace and safety, a simple, steady life. The threats are too big for you, and you can’t bear to see all you care about blown apart. You want it to stop. You want to hide. But remember this— everything that looks like severing here is still held in the hands of the one who resurrects. Nothing will be divided that He will not unite into something beautiful. Nothing will be dropped that He won’t pick up. He will wipe away every tear. He will make all things new. God is not surprised by what surprises us. Engage because He is secure. Have the courage to play your notes because He is conducting the symphony.

Lighthouse in Westkapelle

Piet Mondrian 1909

Covid-19 Checklist for Followers of Jesus:

1. ____ I’ve checked on one local elderly friend to let him/her know I’m willing to make a grocery run now to keep him/her out of crowds and offer assistance if needed as the virus passes through my town.

2. ____ I’ve donated to a local organization that stands ready to help the helpless in my community if a crisis escalates locally.

3. ____ I’ve donated to an international organization that cares for orphans in a country in which Covid-19 has run rampant.

4. ____ I’ve contacted at least one out-of-town friend to ask if he/she needs me to mail any sort of supplies that are available in my area.

5. ____ I’ve reached out to at least one family with an immune-compromised member to let them know I’m praying and see if I can run out to buy groceries for them as the virus passes.

6. ____ I’ve evaluated my own motives, preparation, and behavior to make sure I’m not likely to add complexity to my community resources.

7. ____ I’ve continued to invest in my local and national economy.

8. ____ I’ve found ways to resist fear-based racism in my daily conversation about the virus.

9. ____ I’ve expressed gratitude and respect for at least one public official who is walking into the face of the virus (police, 911 operators, firefighters, doctors, nurses) for the good of others.

10. ____ I’m praying daily for God to use my hands, feet, words, and life to serve others.

Prayer Beads

Several months ago, some members of the Rabbit Room had a discussion about prayer beads. I volunteered to put some strands together, and below you will find a description of the end result of this endeavor. Though I’m done assembling these beads, I thought some of you might want to use this format to make strands of your own.

- - -

Hello, friends. I’m hoping this post will provide you with a cut-paste format that can be tweaked according to your own personal needs. Whereas some denominations use prayer beads with standard prayers for all users, these strands allow for some personalization—depending on your situation. So, you may want to take a weekend to pray/think through this list and decide how you want to organize yours.

This probably goes without saying, but these beads are a tool—not an object that holds inherent holiness. While transposing The Faerie Queene, I’ve found different characters who use prayer beads in different ways—some with wicked and dishonest motives, some with shallow superstition, and some with sincerity. I think these three options are possible for every religious practice. 

As a teacher, I was continually reminded that different students learn in different ways, and tactile learners often benefit by having something to hold. In a similar way, I hope these prayer beads will be meaningful to those tactile learners who use them—without becoming over-important. So many times through Christian history, a peripheral practice has become centralized and elevated, causing distraction first, then harm. In the more modern world, every five or ten years, a new systemized “thing” seems to emerge, promising the power to change lives.

In light of that, I hope these beads will not be flaunted as any sort of ideal methodology—Christ is the center of our faith, and routines are only able to enhance our spiritual lives when they are extensions of the living Vine worked in faith through the branches. (By the way, that’s part of the reason I left room to personalize here. It’s harder to be superstitious about something that isn’t standardized.)

Also, if you didn’t get in on this order, feel free to make your own using what I’ve provided here. Kelli Rowley has also mentioned the possibility of taking this over, which would be great. Everything the Rowleys make is gorgeous. 

Alright, here we go.

SECTION ONE: Some Names of God

I’ve chosen the following names of God to remember as I’m praying through the beads. While I’ve tried to research these names responsibly, I’m not a Hebrew scholar. So, you may want to double check me with a source you trust.

On some of the names (like El Shaddai and Abba), scholars hold some pretty strong differences of interpretation. I’ve tried to combine reasonable suggestions to cover all possible bases, but it’s a serious thing to try to understand a holy God, so I hope you will consider this list a starting place and not an attempt on my part to comprehend the Almighty. Feel free to copy/paste/rewrite if you see any corrections that need to be made on your list.

1. (Crystal white) Adonai. You are sovereign over the earth. You are my master and my Lord. You have dominion over all that exists, and your love endures forever.

2. (Black) Ancient of Days. You exist beyond time, giving You a unique perspective on everything that happens inside of Creation. You see how all the pieces fit together, and You are orchestrating past, present, and future so that they harmonize eternally.

3. (Red) El Elyon. You are God Most High, more mighty than every other source of strength or power of safety. Of all that promises me security and provision today, nothing will be able to provide for me or protect me better than you.

4. (Blue) El Olam. You are my lodestar, my one constant point of reference in a chaotic world. You are a fixed anchor, an everlasting guide.

5. (Clear) El Roi. You are the God who sees me. In seasons of injustice, isolation, and loneliness—when my heart is too distraught and confused to know my own soul—You look inside all my tumult and know me better than anyone.

6. (Light brown) El Shaddai. You are enough. You are the one who draws me close to nourish me like a mother nursing her child. You are a mountain of strength and power, strong, able to accomplish all your purposes.

7. (Dark brown) Abba. You are the perfect father, kind and wise. You stand ready to embrace me, and you are always waiting for me to return home to You, no matter how far I’ve run.

8. (Gold) Jehovah Jireh. You will provide what I need. Your storehouses are full and your power is infinite. You love me and are able to take care of the needs of my body and soul.

9. (Purple) Jehovah Nissi. You are my banner. You give me hope, direction, significance, and strength to accomplish the tasks you give me. The power by which I overcome the challenges you grant me is not mine but yours.

10. (Green) Jehovah Raah. You are my shepherd. You train me and guide me through every dark valley. You protect me. You lead me to rest and nourishment. You are my closest and most faithful friend.

11. (Teal) Jehovah Rapha. You are the healer. You make the blind see. You make the lame walk. You raise the dead. You are able to restore me where I am broken, the Great Physician whose touch renews.

12. (Silver) Jehovah Sabaoth. You are the commander of heavenly armies. Unseen angels stand ready every moment to obey Your command. As I abide in You, You will fight for me, though I have no strength of my own. You are King of Kings. You are Lord of Lords. You are my King and my Lord.

13. (Soft blue) Jehovah Shalom. You are the God of peace. So hush my hot, anxious and conflicted soul. Show me the security of my identity, and help me rest upon the Lord who loves me.

14. (Stone) Jehovah Shammah. You are the God who is there. You have come to live inside me and other members of the true church, and even now, you are preparing a realm in which we will dwell with You eternally. No matter where I go, you will always be present with me.

15. (Crystal) Jehovah Tsidkenu. You are singularly upright. You are the origin and standard of all that is true. You alone judge all things perfectly. You have also shared yourself with us, marking us with your righteousness.

16. (White) Jehovah Mekoddishkem. You are the God who sanctifies me. In your great tenderness, love, and mercy, you have set me apart and made me holy.

17. (Black) YHWH. You are the mysterious, holy God. You are what you are. You have been, and you are, and you will be. You have brought into existence all that is. You are a wonder too great to comprehend.

SECTION TWO: The Promises of God

Again, you may want to replace some of these promises with other verses that mean a lot to you. This is just a starting place. Also, as different seasons of your life emerge, you may want to shift some of the promises to integrate new ones.

1. (Light Blue) To be with us constantly. I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20)

2. (White/Clear) To make all things new. “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” (Revelation 21:4)

3. (Purple) To make our lives matter. “And we know that God works all things together for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28)

4. (Green) To make us fruitful as we abide. “Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing.” (John 15:5)

5. (Gold) To welcome and restore us when we are broken. “Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.” (Hebrews 4:16)

6. (Blue) To never abandon us. “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.”

7. (Stone) To finish the work He has begun in us. “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 1:6b)

8. (Red) To give us wisdom when we ask. “If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.” (James 1:5)

9.  (Light blue) (Add some of your own in the next four.)

10. (Black)

11. (Light brown)

12. (Blue)

SECTION THREE: Praying for Others/Trusting God for This

Do you have a regular prayer list? People and situations that you regularly bring before the Father can be added to this section. Again, these beads can shift over time, as needs/concerns rise and fall.

1. (Clear)

2. (Purple)

3. (Red)

4. (Stone)

5. (Green)

6. (Light blue)

7. (Black)

8. (Light brown)

9. (Dark Brown)

SECTION FOUR: Creeds/ Formal Prayers/Identity Verses

We have so many options here. I’m including some possibilities below, but other than the Doxology on the final bead, I’m going to let you personalize.

First, you will see Ron Block’s list of Identity Verses. These have been important to many of us for years. Maybe you could pick a couple that mean a lot to you and affiliate them with beads in this section, memorizing the concept and the verses as you repeat them daily.

Secondly, I’ve listed the Apostle’s Creed. This is one of many creeds you could incorporate into your daily prayers.

Thirdly, perhaps at a certain bead, you would want to integrate a daily reading from Every Moment Holy, The Book of Common Prayer, or John Baillie’s A Diary of Private Prayer? So many possibilities here.

Fourthly, I’m listing a few hymns that I’m going to rotate in and out of my prayers. These are just some examples, and so many other old songs of the faith would also work here. Perhaps you could sing through one new hymn per month during your prayer time?

If you want, we could have some discussions about what you are choosing for your seven beads here and how it’s been meaningful.

1. I am a child of God, John 1:12

2. I am a part of the true vine, a channel (branch) of His life, John 15:1, 5

3. I am Christ's friend, John 15:15

4. I am chosen and appointed by Christ to bear His fruit, John 15:16

5. I am a personal witness of Christ for Christ, Acts 1:8

6. I have been justified and redeemed, Rom 3:24

7. I have been justified (completely forgiven, made righteous) and am at peace with God, Rom 5:1

8. I died with Christ and died to the power of sin's rule in my life, Rom 6:1-6

9. I have been freed from sin's power over me, Rom 6:7

10. I am a slave of righteousness, Rom 6:18

11. I am enslaved to God, Rom 6:22

12. I am dead to the law, that is, I am dead to trying to be righteous by my own human will and effort. Rom 7:4

13. I do not have my own righteousness that comes from exerting my own human will and self-fueled effort (the Law). My righteousness comes from God and is by faith, trust, reliance, abiding in Christ. Php 3:9

14. I am righteous by faith; Christ’s righteousness flows through me by faith. I will not be a Pharisee, setting about to establish my own righteousness by exerting my human will and self-fueled effort to be righteous.  Rom 10:3

15. I am forever free from condemnation, Rom 8:1

16. I am a son of God, God is literally my "Papa," Rom 8:14, 15, Gal 3:26, 4:6

17. I am an heir of God and fellow heir with Christ, Rom 8:17

18. I am holy, Rom 11:16

19. I have been sanctified, 1Co 1:2

20. I have been placed in Christ by God's doing, Christ is now my wisdom from God, my righteousness, my sanctification, and my redemption, 1Co 1:30

21. I have received the Spirit of God into me that I might know the things freely given, 1Co 2:12

22. I have been given the mind of Christ, 1Co 2:16

23. I am a temple (home) of God; His Spirit (His life) dwells in me, 1Co 3:16, 6:19

24. I am joined to the Lord and am one spirit with Him, 1Co 6:17

25. I have been bought with a price; I am not my own; I belong to God, 1Co 6:19, 20

26. I am a member of Christ's body, 1Co 12:27, Eph 5:30

27. I have been established in Christ and anointed by God, 2Co 1:21

28. He always leads me in His triumph in Christ, 2Co 2:14

29. Since I have died, I no longer live for myself, but for Christ, 2Co 5:14, 15

30. I am a new creation, 2Co5:17

31. I am reconciled to God and am a minister of reconciliation, 2Co 5:18, 19

32. I am the righteousness of God in Christ, 2Co 5:21

33. I have liberty in Christ Jesus, Gal 2:4

34. I have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; the life I am now living is Christ's life, Gal 2:20

35. I am a child of God and one in Christ, Gal 3:26, 28

36. I am a child of God and an heir through God, Gal 4:6, 7

37. I am a saint, Eph 1:1, 1Co 1:2, Php 1:1, Col 1:2

38. I am blessed with every spiritual blessing, Eph 1:3

39. I was chosen in Christ before the foundation of the world to be holy and without blame before Him, Eph 1:4

40. I have been redeemed, forgiven, and am a recipient of His lavish grace, Eph 1:7, 8

41. I have been made alive together with Christ, Eph 2:5

42. I have been raised up and seated with Christ in heaven, Eph 2:6

43. I am God's workmanship, created in Christ to do his work that He planned beforehand that I should do, Eph 2:10

44. I have been brought near to God, Eph 2:13

45. I have direct access to God through the Spirit, Eph 2:18

46. I am a fellow citizen with the saints and a member of God's household, Eph 2:19

47. I am a fellow heir, a fellow member of the body, and a fellow partaker of the promise in Christ Jesus, Eph 3:6

48. I may approach God with boldness and confidence, Eph 3:12

49. I am righteous and holy, Eph 4:24

50. I am a citizen of heaven, Php 3:20

51. His peace guards my heart and my mind as I commit my care to Him, Php 4:7

52. I have been delivered from the domain of darkness and transferred to the kingdom of Christ, Col 1:13

53. I have been redeemed and forgiven of all my sins; the debt against me has been canceled, Col 1:14, 2:13, 14

54. Christ Himself is in me, Col 1:27

55. I have been firmly rooted in Christ and am now being built up and established in him, Col 2:7

56. I have been spiritually circumcised; my old, unregenerate nature has been removed, Col 2:11

57. I have been buried, raised, and made alive with Christ, and totally forgiven, Col 2:12, 13

58. I have been raised up with Christ, Col 3:1

59. I have died, and my life is now hidden with Christ in God, Col 3:3

60. Christ is now my life, Col 3:4

61. I am chosen of God, holy and dearly loved, Col 3:12, 1Th 1:4

62. I am a child of light and not of darkness, 1Th 5:5

63. I have been given a spirit of power, love, discipline (a sound mind), 2Ti 1:7

64. I have been saved and called (set apart) according to God's purpose and grace, 2Ti 1:9, Titus 3:5

65. Because I am sanctified and am one with Christ, He is not ashamed to call me His, Heb 2:11

66. I am a holy partaker of an heavenly calling, Heb 3:1

67. I am a partaker of Christ, Heb 3:14

68. I may come boldly before the throne of God to receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need, Heb 4:16

69. I am one of God's living stones and am being built up as a spiritual house, 1Pe 2:5

70. I am part of a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people of God's own possession, 1Pe 2:9, 10

71. I am an alien and stranger to this world I temporarily live in, 1Pe 2:11

72. I am an enemy of the devil; he is my adversary, 1Pe 5:8

73. I have been given God's precious and magnificent promises by which I am a partaker of the divine nature, 2Pe 1:4 (Partaker of the divine nature – wow!)

74. God has bestowed a great love on me and called me his child, 1Jo 3:1

75. God will supply all my needs, Php 4:19

76. Christ has accepted me, Rom 15:7

THE APOSTLE’s CREED

I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth. I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit and born of the virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; he descended to hell. The third day he rose again from the dead. He ascended to heaven and is seated at the right hand of God the Father almighty. From there he will come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, The communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.

HYMNS:

(A Mighty Fortress is Our God)

A mighty fortress is our God,

A bulwark never failing:

Our helper He, amid the flood

Of mortal ills prevailing.

For still our ancient foe 

Doth seek to work his woe;

His craft and power are great,

And armed with cruel hate,

On earth is not his equal.

Did we in our own strength confide,

Our striving would be losing;

Were not the right Man on our side,

The Man of God's own choosing.

Dost ask who that may be?

Christ Jesus, it is he;

Lord Sabaoth is his name,

From age to age the same.

And He must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled,

Should threaten to undo us,

We will not fear, for God hath willed

His truth to triumph through us.

The Prince of Darkness grim,—

We tremble not for him;

His rage we can endure,

For lo! His doom is sure,—

One little word shall fell him.

That word above all earthly powers—

No thanks to them—abideth;

The Spirit and the gifts are ours

Through him who with us sideth.

Let goods and kindred go,

This mortal life also:

The body they may kill:

God's truth abideth still,

His kingdom is for ever.

(Take My Life and Let it Be)

Take my life, and let it be

Consecrated, Lord, to Thee;

Take my moments and my days,

Let them flow in ceaseless praise,

Let them flow in ceaseless praise.

Take my hands, and let them move

At the impulse of Thy love;

Take my feet and let them be

Swift and beautiful for Thee,

Swift and beautiful for Thee.

Take my voice, and let me sing

Always, only, for my King;

Take my lips, and let them be

Filled with messages from Thee,

Filled with messages from Thee.

Take my silver and my gold;

Not a mite would I withhold;

Take my intellect, and use

Every power as Thou shalt choose,

Every power as Thou shalt choose.

Take my will, and make it Thine;

It shall be no longer mine.

Take my heart; it is Thine own;

It shall be Thy royal throne,

It shall be Thy royal throne.

Take my love; my Lord, I pour

At Thy feet its treasure-store.

Take myself, and I will be

Ever, only, all for Thee,

Ever, only, all for Thee.

 (O, For a Thousand Tongues to Sing)

O for a thousand tongues to sing

my great Redeemer's praise,

the glories of my God and King,

the triumphs of his grace!

My gracious Master and my God,

assist me to proclaim,

to spread thro' all the earth abroad

the honors of your name.

Jesus! the name that charms our fears,

that bids our sorrows cease,

'tis music in the sinner's ears,

'tis life and health and peace.

He breaks the power of cancelled sin,

he sets the prisoner free;

his blood can make the foulest clean;

his blood availed for me.

To God all glory, praise, and love

be now and ever given

by saints below and saints above,

the Church in earth and heaven.

1. (Crystal)

2. (Blue)

3. (Green)

4. (Purple)

5. (Gold)

6. (Red)

7. (Blue) Doxology

   Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;

   Praise Him, all creatures here below;

   Praise Him above, ye heav’nly host;

   Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Belief is in My Belly

My daughter is taking anatomy and physiology, and the other day I got a long string of texts from her, ecstatic to learn about some of the brain’s functions. 

(Skip the next paragraph if scientific terms freak you out.)

I’m hoping I got all this right, but from what I remember, the (1) parietal-temporal-occipital association cortex processes and integrates our sensory input, (2) the prefrontal association cortex plans voluntary activity, decision making, and personality, and (3) the limbic association cortex controls motivation, emotion, and memory. She connected all this with some really cool theories about how functional parts of the mind connect to the transcendent world and the tripartite (3-part) nature of humans. Seriously, she is such a cool person.

Anyway—when I say “belief is in the belly,”—I’m referring to a type of sensation, not an anatomical location. In fact, perhaps all this happens in the limbic association cortex. Regardless, certain aspects of my consciousness feel like they are rooted in my belly instead of in the logical processes of my mind. This is a significant confession for me because over the past twenty or thirty years, I’ve been taught that belief in God happens via cognition. While living in the “culture wars” mindset, I was given historical arguments, scientific arguments, logical arguments, syllogisms, proofs—as if an ultimate decision of faith could be produced by the same evaluation/elimination process I would use when deciding on a political party or financial investment.

There’s been some value to this information. And you know, maybe different personalities work differently. Maybe different cultures, different stages of life, different aspects of growth involve different types of welcome for approach of God.

But lately, I’ve been spending time in the particular sort of welcome for God that lives in a more in an instinctive, intuitive part of me.

I have studied just enough philosophy to mishandle it, but at present, culture seems to trust in empirical/material verification. During the Space Race, America needed to beat the Russians to the moon to maintain national power, and so our schools shifted hard and fast to elevate the material disciplines. Generations of our top young people grew up inside of a self-confirming bias—that human powers of observation via five senses are the ultimate mode for evaluating reality. Sure, I trust my senses. I also generally trust the scientific process. But epistemologically, of course, problems with verifying this method of thought go back to David Hume. There’s no way to scientifically evaluate the scientific process. It’s all circular. We are stuck inside materialism and cannot get outside of it to test it scientifically.

That may seem like a problem for navel gazers. If you throw a hot cup of coffee in my face, I’m not going to spend time thinking through whether or not I trust what I perceive to be happening. I’m going to duck. We all operate based on what we perceive. 

Still, the deep imperfection of this necessary system at least leaves room for humility that I rarely see acknowledged in the secular world. I wish our school systems had taught the Truth along with the truth—explaining why what we think we know holds necessary limitations. 

Because even empirical science shows us that there’s a deep value to instinct. The presence of an urge often points (like a vestigial organ) to a long-forgotten reason for that urge. Sometimes it takes us a while to understand how urge and origin connect. Sometimes the appendix seems utterly pointless for decades until the grand “ah-ha” hits...

...which leads me to this question: why is it that humans all over the globe, for millennia, have had an inclination to worship? The standard secular answer is easy. We worship because the world is scary and primitive people were freaked out by thunder and lava. Primal man needed the idea of a higher power to manage fear.

Reasonable argument.

The problem is, the vestigial organ of my own worship isn’t just screaming for fear management. In fact, there’s an equivalent ache for connection to transcendent delight, artistry, and wonder. And you know, as I get older and the inevitability of death grows clearer—the more futile fear management feels. Mortality rate for the human race is 100% (Thanks Ron Block.) 

I don’t just want to avoid death or pain. There’s an ache in my belly to connect with a being who is bigger than a tiny universe perceptible by only a few human sensations. As much as I adore the animal kingdom (and believe strongly that animals have emotions), there’s something beyond-animal to my longings.

I long for the divine, a being who is creative, and transcendent, and relational. 

I want there to be a God. 

I want to be part of whatever He is doing. I want to know him. 

I know that he’s holy, and I am simultaneously aware (pretty much every second) that my independent fiery, reactive, impulsive nature is not—so I ache to shed all the begillion parts of me that don’t line up with what I imagine union with him to be like. 

I don’t want to lose the good parts of my personality or gifting—I want to sink into His “otherness” and be remade by it so that I can be the strongest, best version of myself.

That open confession of desire may seem like evidence of confirmation bias. A critic could easily say, “She wants there to be a God so therefore, she believes in one.”

This is possible. But there’s another way to consider this. Perhaps I want there to be a God because a God exists.

Perhaps instinct matters. Perhaps all the little migratory creatures who don’t fully understand the itch to cross an ocean to reach the motherland, who don’t know why they stretch their wings to find a home they’ve never seen, are examples of the created longing for the Creator.

If I am animal, my animal instincts call me to worship a God bigger than the material world. Perhaps I long for a life beyond this one and a God beyond myself because my longing points the way home.

By Aleksey Savrasov 1871 “Sketch of the Painting ‘The Migratory Birds Have Come’”

“a love song for the scientists”

They say, “cold, hard facts,” 

as if it were an insult. 

I say, the universe pings

like a crystal glass

when you strike it.

An abstract is the toe of a point shoe,

balancing a toned body of discipline, 

reason, vulnerability, vision, risk.

Limitations are a time signature,

a humble confession of

boundaries drawn in honest places.

A hypothesis is Shostakovich 

staring into chaos of the motherland,

and pulling a brazen thread

of hope through a black canvas.

Your long laboratory hours 

make a pilgrimage.

I believe I worship

the Maker of the made.

I revere what these five senses give,

also allowing impressions

less easily quantified.

Still, I sit in this darkened theater of time,

holding my breath before your art.

Your characters are precise.

They move  from act to act, 

from scene to scene

with nuance and intentionality,

and I am moved

by what your hands have made. 

Onward, then. Onward.

Dig, confess, try,

fail, revive, discover.

Fight, give, heal, spelunk,

pioneer, reach your soft hands to feel

the cold, hard, dark side

of the unknown made.

And come those long, late, neck-sore nights,

bent over a desk in some quiet, lonely lab,

I hope you feel the kiss of a poet whispering,

“Lead on. Lead on.”

Wrestling with overwhelming fears about salvation

In another forum, a friend asked a question about how to be sure of our salvation. It struck me that others may be wrestling with this same concept, so I’m adapting my thoughts a bit and posting them here.

- - -

Seasons in which we doubt our salvation are some of the most difficult of the Christian life. They not only involve the pain of the doubt itself but also shame, loneliness, and fear that we cannot admit the struggle without being rebuked in ways that cause more harm than good.

However, almost every mature Christian I know has been through this. So if you are in such a season, please don’t feel Ike something is wrong with you or that you are alone.

When those doubts have come to me, it’s often been helpful to zoom out a little and think about what sort of strategies our enemy would use if he wanted to incapacitate me. I don’t like being darkness-centered, but I do think considering the unseen war in which we are engaged, and thinking through what sort of attacks are made in battle, can be terribly enlightening.

In a moment, I will talk about how I *think* salvation works. But before I do that, let’s think about what our enemy could do to harm someone who has received a new life in Christ.

If he cannot take away our salvation, he can at least try to convince us that it doesn’t exist—because if he can do this, we are immediately unable to access the hope and resources that God has waiting for everyone who is his child. It’s sort of like convincing a wealthy heir that he is just an impoverished street urchin. Or it’s like convincing a foot soldier that his weaponry is jammed in the midst of a battle in which he has the clear advantage.

Our enemy is a lot like emotional abusers who gaslight and manipulate. He knows we cannot access what we do not believe we have—which takes an opponent out of the Great War. Thinking about battle strategy from the enemy’s perspective, asking why such attempts would be made on our minds, can help us have a bigger context for the tapes that continually play by the ravenous, evil lion that hunts us—shaming us and discouraging us from digging deep into God.

As for how salvation works, I cannot assure you of what happened in the past, nor do I think it’s critical to dissect all of those events. Sometimes the “Did this actually happen?” question can become a bit of a black hole. What I can say is this. Do you remember the Passover scene in the Old Testament? The angel passed by any home that had the blood of the lamb marked on its outside. This metaphor showed us how a similar miracle would emerge hundreds of years later.

If you and I are marked by the blood of the Lamb who took away the sins of the world, God passes over what we have done and counts his righteousness as our own. When I am caught in a cycle like this, sometimes I cling to that image desperately. My brain starts to eat itself, and the enemy plagues me with fears. But I think, “I have asked (and am asking) God to mark me with the blood of the Lamb. Because of that blood—not because of what I have or haven’t done—I am secure.”

Growth as a believer emerges out of this security. Our actions don’t do the work of securing us. That difference is so important to remember. The mark of the blood precedes the change.

So maybe we need to stop trying to figure out what happened or didn’t in the past. Today think about whether or not you want to be marked with blood that is sufficient for all your failures. Then ask God for that mark and trust that what Jesus did on the cross is sufficient for you. Invite Him to paint his salvation on you and to indwell you, leading your life. Then move forward.

When doubts come as the enemy attempts to reclaim and paralyze you, visualize that blood marking you, protecting you from all harm and death. Because it is sufficient for you. No matter what. Here is where it all begins, and it is enough.

Marc Chagall ‘The Passover”

Fears about salvation

In another forum, a friend asked a question about how to be sure of our salvation. It struck me that others may be wrestling with this same concept, so I’m adapting my thoughts a bit and posting them here.

- - -

Seasons in which we doubt our salvation are some of the most difficult of the Christian life. They not only involve the pain of the doubt itself but also shame, loneliness, and fear that we cannot admit the struggle without being rebuked in ways that cause more harm than good. However, almost every mature Christian I know has been through this. So if you are in such a season, please don’t feel Ike something is wrong with you or that you are alone.

When those doubts have come to me, it’s often been helpful to zoom out a little and think about what sort of strategies our enemy would use if he wanted to incapacitate me. I don’t like being darkness-centered, but I do think considering the unseen war in which we are engaged, and thinking through what sort of attacks are made in battle, can be terribly enlightening.

In a moment, I will talk about how I *think* salvation works. But before I do that, let’s think about what our enemy could do to harm someone who has received a new life in Christ.

If he cannot take away our salvation, he can at least try to convince us that it doesn’t exist—because if he can do this, we are immediately unable to access the hope and resources that God has waiting for everyone who is his child. It’s sort of like convincing a wealthy heir that he is just an impoverished street urchin. Or it’s like convincing a foot soldier that his weaponry is jammed in the midst of a battle in which he has the clear advantage.

Our enemy is a lot like emotional abusers who gaslight and manipulate. He knows we cannot access what we do not believe we have—which takes an opponent out of the Great War. Thinking about battle strategy from the enemy’s perspective, asking why such attempts would be made on our minds, can help us have a bigger context for the tapes that continually play by the ravenous, evil lion that hunts us—shaming us and discouraging us from digging deep into God.

As for how salvation works, I cannot assure you of what happened in the past, nor do I think it’s critical to dissect all of those events. Sometimes the “Did this actually happen?” question can become a bit of a black hole. What I can say is this. Do you remember the Passover scene in the Old Testament? The angel passed by any home that had the blood of the lamb marked on its outside. This metaphor showed us how a similar miracle would emerge hundreds of years later.

If you and I are marked by the blood of the Lamb who took away the sins of the world, God passes over what we have done and counts his righteousness as our own. When I am caught in a cycle like this, sometimes I cling to that image desperately. My brain starts to eat itself and the enemy plagues me with fears. But I think, “I have asked (and am asking) God to mark me with the blood of the Lamb. Because of that blood—not because of what I have or haven’t done—I am secure.”

Growth as a believer emerges out of this security. Our actions don’t do the work of securing us. That difference is so important to remember. The mark of the blood precedes the change.

So maybe we need to stop trying to figure out what happened or didn’t in the past. Today think about whether or not you want to be marked with blood that is sufficient for all your failures. Then ask God for that mark and trust that what Jesus did on the cross is sufficient for you. Invite Him to paint his salvation on you and to indwell you, leading your life. Then move forward.

When doubts come as the enemy attempts to reclaim and paralyze you, visualize that blood marking you, protecting you from all harm and death. Because it is sufficient for you. No matter what. Here is where it all begins, and it is enough.

Marc Chagall “The Passover”

When the Christmas tree hurts

For the past few years, I’ve not enjoyed our Christmas tree. As soon as the holiday is over, I’ve been eager to take it down.

I’m not a Christmas grinch. I love the season dearly, and Christmas trees have always been magical to me. But over the past 25 years, we have amassed a mishmash of ornaments—stuff my kids have made, stuff from organizations I have loved, stuff other people have given us—until nearly every object hanging on a branch is pregnant with relational memories.

Like so many of you who are waiting for God to work out solutions, I’m in a weird, liminal space this year. A lot of those old, sentimental objects hurt to see. They jolt me back to memories of years when things were simpler and felt more naturally hopeful. They evoke the suffocating weight of my own mistakes. They remind me of a time when certain heroes hadn’t betrayed certain causes. As I unwrap decorations, I feel the “Ahhhh-ohhh” shift from warmth to grief as my instinctive tenderness toward institutions I cared about turns to sorrow that they’ve now fallen to leaders I mistrust.

Certain bobs of plastic and wood burn in my hand now. Seeing them amid the emotional intensity of Christmas requires intense soul labor—sifting through knee-jerk appeals for God to work miracles and disappointment—as I cling to truths that I believe by faith.

Maybe this is why blog posts poo-pooing materialism never hit the heart of my Christmas problem. I don’t buy too much stuff. I know hardly anyone who does. In fact, most of the spending I see done around Christmas is actually an act of courage and faith—purchases made by people who have been hurt until hope is difficult. They stare straight into all the trouble telling them God is dead or indifferent, reject the animal routines of “necessities only,” and invest in a crazy, lavish metaphor promising that some morning we will wake up giddy and clear, surrounded by abundance.

At times, spending is grace toward those who have wounded you. At times it is an expression of commitment to a soul that has forgotten its own name. It is often a declaration of love and hope made beneath all those painful ornaments. If this is waste, it is holy waste, pouring perfume on the feet of Christ. Maybe it is something different for you, but this is what it is to me.

And now that the presents are done, now that the tree hangs heavy with so many surgical reminders that “all is not well,” the molten heart of the metaphor is left—the true narrative takes its turn to fight the darkness. Because the first object to hang on a tree, full failures and disappointments, was a Savior.

Two thousand years ago, God’s family was devastated by bad choices and betrayals. The innocence of childhood had been traded for darkness. In His great hands, God held every monument heavy with regret and sorrow—and so he gave a lavish gift, a baby who would grow to a man, open his arms wide, and make an offer to every broken heart: “Hang that pain on me. I will take it for you.”

Two thousand years ago, angels blasted wide the dark, hopeless sky...

Two thousand years ago, Mary buried her nose into the intoxicating softness of Christ’s baby hair and inhaled the newborn smell of the hope of all humanity...

Two thousand years ago, weary old Anna and Simeon, those simpletons who believed against the odds, felt their ancient hearts pound to finally see what had only been fool’s hope...

Two thousand years ago, scholars stumbled through a low door and found the kicking, cooing, barfing, pooping answer to a sign in the sky—these images mean everything to me now.

I get so frustrated with jokes about liturgical adherence this time of year. Few things wear me out like classist reminders that there are proper ways and times for Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany. Peanut butter then jelly. Jelly then peanut butter. Do it however you like; I don’t want to see those silly arguments because I don’t think stories work this way inside real people very often.

When we are lonely, we rejoice in the fraternal appearance of Samwise; when we are tired, we rejoice in the deep rest of Rivendell; when we are overwhelmed, we rejoice in the shining blast of Gandalf riding over the hill. Our souls call out for those moments, and the stories revive our hope. Likewise, the heart of the Annunciation may come to me on the last day of Epiphany as I’m taking down the most difficult ornament on the tree. So be it. The wounded aren’t particular. The hungry aren’t picky.

I want you to feel this freedom, too. It’s not too late to allow any single part of the Christmas story to work in you. In this stillness and silence, as you to bear the weight of your tree, as all the hubbub is subsiding, recline into the narrative whispers of your Storyteller.

And know you aren’t alone. Don’t worry over the posts of religious critics reminding you to listen to this hymn here, or to feel this-or-that because it is this-or-that day. Those folks may be in a less intense stages of life, with margin to manage and control that you don’t have right now. For the hurting—the whole narrative of Christmas surrounds you in this moment. At the center of that narrative is a Christ who held the sorrows that threaten you in himself, willingly enduring your pain as he hung there. He’s got this.

Your grief will come in bits as you touch those memories, but the narratives of Christmas will come to you as well. Little bits and pieces of the Christmas story—disjointed and out of order—not a train schedule but a worn, weighted quilt surrounding you. Hold those ornaments that burn with me. Believe with me. Pray with me. You’re not the only one.

Sing “Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel” with this one. Sing, “Joy to the World! The Lord is Come!” with that one. Let it be messy. Let it be honest. God sees us and our process. And he loved you enough to divide heaven and heart to come walk with you, even as you take down ornaments that hold the weight of your whole world inside them.

Conviction

In books, The Right Thing to Do

burns like a pillar of fire,

but in real life, conviction

is often a single white line of flame,

a flicker you can only see 

through peripheral vision.

In movies, the crisis of decision

comes with a John Williams soundtrack.

(What a hint!)

In real life, you spend so much time

doubting yourself, wondering

why the Spirit of God would speak

like a little old man at a small town cafe,

whispering so that you have to

hold your breath and lean in 

to make out the words.

You can buy a ready-made 

handy dandy god 

at the same flea market 

where you’re sold every morning

as a slave to the campaigns 

of bombastic men.

Commerce is easy enough.

It always has been.

But faith cannot be mechanized.

Its mystery makes a fool

of all who want to 

win win win win win.

If the universe is only material,

all humans are not equal.

There is no ultimate worth beyond

desirability, capability, and contribution.

If you are only cells,

you are either goods to trade

or waste to manage.

Strategy, strategy, all is strategy.

But it cannot be so,

for in that thin flame,

something like the soft instinct 

that calls the birds to fly with the seasons

connects the created to its Creator.

I wonder if they learn 

to hear the call more clearly 

as the weather cools year by year,

or if they simply learn to trust

the tiniest of tugs.

He Loves Us. He Lets Us Suffer.

“He Loves Us. He Lets Us Suffer.”

Somewhere along the way, we began to believe that suffering for our faith is legalistic.

We fell in love with the idea of a wealthy, generous Heavenly Papa who would never want us to experience an earthly life involving pain, longing, or loneliness.

We decided that wealthy dads don’t ever want their children to hurt. They want their kids to be happy all the time. 

Any divine expectation for an obedience that pinches—any sacrifice that feels like a death—must be equal to a need to perform to qualify for his love.

And we know  the gospel isn’t legalistic, so God can’t want us to hurt. Right? That wouldn’t be true, paternal love.

But several false equivalencies are present here. And to work through those, Biblical principles can help bring clarity.

1. We know that following Jesus will involve suffering on earth. Not only do we see this play out by example in the lives of the same apostles who taught us about the enormity of the gospel, but we are also taught very clearly that our new life in Christ will involve learning hope and focus during times of deep personal sacrifice and pain. We are told that our new lives will involve giving up sensual, physical pleasures that feel normal to non-believers. We are told that we may be abandoned by those close to us, mocked, and even put to death. 

Though the yoke of Christ is light, it’s light because He has promised to sustain and resource us through our passing, refining years of faith on this planet—not because Christianity is a free pass to do whatever feels good while we are here.

2. The magnitude of God’s love doesn’t mean we get to be our own gods. While the Bible uses paternal language for our relationship with God, it also uses terms like “bondslave” and “obedience.” The love of God is absolutely enormous, but it’s an honest, refining love that draws us into deeper alignment with his holiness. It’s not a spineless, shapeless warmth that affirms whatever we want holiness to be. 

This is difficult for me, by the way. I’m a strong, thinking person and have really struggled with trusting God’s supremacy in certain realms. But if he is the holy, ultimate creative force behind all that exists—loving him will involve granting him the authority to lead me in ways that ask me to respect his will above mine. And because of what he says about the condition of a fallen world and my lingering flesh tendencies, that’s going to hurt sometimes. In all of this, he will still love me profoundly. My pain will never negate his affection. Suffering is just part of the faith dynamic until all is made new.

3. Misunderstanding about what God’s willingness to let his loved ones suffer has corrupted political power in America. Conservatives often complain that the left has redefined grace to the point of removing God’s authority, but we have also made a similar error. We have assumed that God doesn’t want believers in America to suffer for stances they take in their jobs or in the public sphere. 

We have been willing to sacrifice our moral principles, desperate to keep wicked leaders in power who promise to protect our rights. In essence, Christian conservatives have committed the same large-scale error Christian progressives have. We have been so determined to avoid pain that we have demanded God’s love excuse our deceitful thirst for political power that will prevent us from suffering in any way.

As hard as it is to hear, the Bible teaches us that there is a benefit to pain. Suffering forces us to look our idols straight in the eyes, struggle over letting them go, and learn to embrace God more wholeheartedly. Entitled protections—personal or legal—can never teach us intimacy like suffering in faith can. 

Earth years are a classroom. Some of us will be betrayed here and learn the security of our identity as our hearts break in human relationships. Some of us will spend decades wrestling with impulses, learning our identity in Christ through these wars.

Some of us will lose jobs. Some will be misunderstood and mocked, accused unfairly.

Some of us will have to learn to sing in prisions of various sorts.

This is going to be as painful, and messy, and confusing for us as it was for believers of the first century. We will despair like Paul and want to die. 

We will fail and learn the enormity of grace—after try to find ways around obedience with excuses and false allegiances that seem “almost holy.”

We will have to walk away from certain connections that feel like life.

As we suffer, we will not be earning God’s love.  His love is secure. Our tremblings and our stumblings cannot destroy his commitment to us. But his love will lead us onward and upward through pain, so that our souls mature.We will begin to identify our false gods and begin to let them go. We will begin to walk with eternal vision inside temporal lives.As the war rages, we will find that suffering in faith has the ability to cut away all sorts of harmful baggage from which we have long desired to be free. We will learn that there is a higher sort of paternal love that isn’t just soft and indulgent—but is careful, and focused— willing to allow pain in the rapidly fleeing earthly lives of beloved children for the sake of helping them discover unshakable joys.

- -

“Since therefore Christ suffered in the flesh, arm yourselves with the same way of thinking, for whoever has suffered in the flesh has ceased from sin, so as to live for the rest of the time in the flesh no longer for human passions but for the will of God. 

For the time that is past suffices for doing what the Gentiles want to do, living in sensuality, passions, drunkenness, orgies, drinking parties, and lawless idolatry. With respect to this they are surprised when you do not join them in the same flood of debauchery, and they malign you; but they will give account to him who is ready to judge the living and the dead.”

Questions.

Does your version of Christianity find a way around suffering in the flesh?

Does it give you permission to do what God forbids?

Does it encourage you to rally behind worldly forces that violate God’s commands but promise physical safety?

What benefits are you missing as a result of trying to avoid suffering?

——

http://www.thistleandtoad.com/wwwthistleandtoadcom/writings/2019/11/19/pukvqdyl3dala0fo1u7a6ts5o4ypy8

“The Ninth Wave” by Ivan Aivazovsky

Blessed are those

Blessed are the faithful bored, for they shall rise from thick mud and fly.

Blessed are those who walk vivisected, for their crucifixions will resign to deaths that lead to life.

Blessed are those who cry out in horror while waking up in the belly of religious hypocrisy, for they shall grow to love truth with all of their being. 

Blessed are those who discover the double-heart of quasi-conventions, for they shall doubt and grieve until they find true faith.

Blessed are those who are forced to stare straight into paradox, for they shall learn to hold joy in two hands like children.

Blessed are those who refuse to steal what keeps them alive, for their resignation sows the lineage of Isaac.

Blessed are those who tremble and weep as they ask God for a unified heart, for He hovers gently over chaos and void to sing gardens into being.

The biggest fight I ever lost was with a linguist…

The biggest fight I ever lost was with a linguist. 

I can’t remember his name right now, but somewhere in the early 2000’s, I met a friend of a friend who tried to convince me that grammar, usage, and mechanics were silly, passing conventions, for there was no universal “right” or “wrong” to language.

He was one of those undergrad-straight-to-grad school folks who would know it all for another ten years or so. If he had argued the sky is blue, I would have been tempted to prove it isn’t. That said, the heart of his position also irritated me. With clinical, medical remove—without even the slightest sign of grief—he deconstructed the rules of the language I adore.

He was the witch king, and I was Eowyn. He was Derrida, and I was C.S. Lewis. He was a purple-prosey-God-is-snuggly mom blogger, and I was The Pulpit and Pen.

So, I let him have it.

I can’t remember the arguments I made at the time, but whatever I said was emotional and stupid. I was my daughter at 5 years old, arms crossed over her chest, declaring she hated Thomas McWherty because he had a face that always looked like it needed someone to punch it.  

All these years later, however, I have to admit—that jerk was at least a little bit right. Transposing Spenser has pushed me into the Oxford English Dictionary daily, and I’ve learned so much hacking through those weeds.  Of course, I’d used the OED for decades, and I’ve always loved it.  But being forced to trace word after word through time, day after day, has made me so much more aware of how fluid the words we use actually are.

A lot of “word people” had a pedantic English teacher somewhere along the way—a withering social misfit who lived and breathed commas in all the right places. Her salty confidence made her radiant against the black, beastly chaos of middle school. We left her classes thinking, “My nose might be bad; I might have no muscle tone in my legs; I might not know the latest bands; I might wear the wrong tennis shoes—but by George, I can learn the difference between a gerund and a participle.” 

Grammar is something dweebs can master. Here is an  offer of identity—proof that “they” are perpetually wrong. Here is proof that the betas are superior to the alphas in some undeniable way.

And here’s a gross confession. There’s still a black little serpentine part of my heart which delights in pulling out that dagger. I’m not a grammar ninja, but I can fight scrappy and break an arm here or there. When a political or ideological opponent shows up with a face that needs punching, I can usually find a comma splice to put him in his place. (Please read that last sentence in a Napoleon Dynamite voice.) Most of the time, however, that’s a dirty way to fight, and I know it. It’s an attempt to humiliate, not to confront a principle forthrightly.

After working on Spenser, I am so much more aware that technical flaws that used to irk me (like verbing nouns, local or youthful slang, and quirky colloquialisms of pronunciation) are normal parts of the ebb and flow of language. If word-making has a physics to it, its rules are liquid. They are not solid.

Of course, language is not gas. It sticks together with a little coherence while it rolls around in a glass. And there are certain deep principles that seem to bind most of the languages I’ve studied through time to a core.

But many of the micro-nuances of linguistic form—the ones we beat our chests about—are always shifting, always conforming, always redirecting like floodwaters through a city street. Gripe all we want about convention, if the flow of humanity flows hard enough long enough toward a change, the standing structures will fall, and a new “correct” will grow up.

Why study the rules then?

Oddly, I’m coming to the same nucleus in language that has begun to center me in theology, in politics, in relationships. Heuristics. What works? What produces the best results?

Clarity in language is ultimately a form of kindness. To use the rules of a culture demonstrates benevolence. Conversely, to demand to be understood without making the necessary effort to learn and speak the common tongue is both lazy and selfish. 

That rules change doesn’t negate the need or the value of rules. Grammar is love. Usage is humility. Mechanics is washing the feet of another. But I’m starting to wonder if compassionate, ethical appeals are the only worthy arguments for such protocol.

Once I read an etiquette book claiming that a visitor of Queen Elizabeth II picked up the wrong fork at a state dinner—an error which all the other guests noticed immediately. Without missing a beat, the Queen picked up the wrong fork as well, recognizing that the heart of manners is congenial welcome, not proving one’s own training in rules.

I’ve seen this sort of humble kindness manifested in my favorite grammar gurus. While they don’t adopt bad grammar to make others feel better, they do extend tremendous tenderness to those who make mistakes. 

Jonathan Rogers may pretend to be a heartless rascal, but dozens of times, I’ve watched him overlook an obvious error to listen to the intent of a communicator. And when he teaches others to write, he does so from generosity, not legalism. (Sign up for his classes, by the way. Link at the bottom.) While studying Spenser, I’m starting to see how many layers of true wisdom reside in such a posture.

Among the hundreds of other good things I’ve learned while deep in The Faerie Queene, I’ve begun to see how a writer should feel about the rules of language. These are tools for service, not proof of worth. We can do good with them, or we can do harm. With great power comes great responsibility? That’s sort of Spider Man and sort of Jesus. And I think somewhere in there might be a commission from the Lion who used words to sing the universe into being.

http://www.thistleandtoad.com/wwwthistleandtoadcom/writings/2019/10/3/9kbv2mc56km4nyi8jvukr6jsgfh00u

Jonathan’s classes: 

https://jonathanrogers.pathwright.com/library/

The Care and Keeping of your Words of Affirmation Person

A few years ago, I was trying to make conversation with an older woman who knew I had written lyrics for a Grammy-winning musician in Nashville. She and I had been discussing many other things when she suddenly redirected and asked me to describe the songwriting process.

Because this musician was a good friend of mine, and because he was so humble about his accomplishments, our creative process had always felt more like childhood fun than elite success. So, I didn’t think much about my answer. I offered a few simple sentences, then I paused to see if she had any more questions.

Instead, she hit me with a biting remark. “People who talk about writing lyrics are proud. If you’re going to write songs, just write them. Don’t talk about it.”

I sat there stunned. She had asked me a direct question. I had answered it factually, without feeling any sense of superiority. Two and two simply didn’t add up.  I couldn’t figure out what I had done wrong.

As time passed and I got to know this woman better, I saw other instances in which she used words to gain power. She intentionally held back affirmation, information, and assurance when it suited her personal, strategic goals. Words were tools used to keep others in check and diminish anyone who felt like a threat. 

Of course, insecurity was at the core of this behavior. While trying to survive her own deep sense of lack, possibly decades ago, the woman had discovered it was possible to maintain leverage over others by offering words that cut—or by withholding those that gave life. And you know what’s crazy? Her plan worked. 

Immediately after her searing blast, I felt the urge to prove myself to her. I laughed awkwardly and agreed with her. Yes. I was proud. I must be proud. (No, I wasn’t. Why did I do that?) Then, I began looking for a way to validate my motives and earn her respect. I worked to impress the very same woman who had so unfairly attacked me.

It wasn’t until later, when I had a chance to think it all over and realize how profoundly unhealthy this woman actually was, that I was able to draw hard boundaries on our relationship. I don’t let her hurt me any more. But I do still think about her when I encounter others who weaponize words. 

If you are a words of affirmation person, you probably already know most of what I’m going to write in this post. Heck, you’re a wordy. You could write your own post and probably a better one. But sometimes it’s helpful for a new article to hit the internet so people in relationship can have an excuse to engage in growth dialogue. So here it goes.

First, I’m going to to throw out three types of non-words people. Then, I’m going to describe what it’s like to be a words person. Tell me if I’ve forgotten something.

Three Types of Non-Words People.

1. THE MANIPULATOR

Certain people in your circle withhold powerful, true words about you that would give you so much life. They also deliver powerful, false words intending to control or hurt you. Some of these people recognize your strength and know their lives would be darker and bleaker if you weren’t in them.  But they love control and power too much to risk vulnerability. They’re afraid if they fill you up, you will hurt them somehow.

No matter their story, however, manipulation is wrong. It’s okay to be scared. It’s not okay to be mean. Intentional withholding makes living in a difficult world even more difficult. In certain relationships, it can starve you until you want to run away to those who use words lavishly and generously. 

Frankly, I don’t know what’s best to do about people like that. Usually, I shut the door to my trust and move on. Pray for me if you think that’s not okay. Ha!

2. THE COWARD

These are people who know what they feel but are too afraid to say it. Maybe they do this out of fear. Perhaps they loved someone intensely as a child and were hurt when trying to express their feelings. Now they are afraid of revealing  what happens inside them. So many possibilities exist here because so many experiences make people scared.

I think the scared folks are worth some extra effort, even if you have to draw a few boundaries here and there. It’s not okay to let them use you as a crutch. It’s not okay to have a relationship in which they continually mooch off of your affection, letting your own vulnerability provide the only sense of closeness in the relationship. 

But if you are relatively secure and healthy, I think it’s okay to create a safe place for people who are frightened to learn to talk about their feelings, and also to expect them (sometimes stubbornly) to walk toward you once in a while on their own two verbal legs. Why? Because getting unlocked is a good thing, and they probably need to learn to do this as much as you need it from them.

3. THE “I-DON’T-WORDS”

Okay, certain people in your inner circle don’t use words like “words people” do. Sentences are functional for them—a means of getting stuff done in life. Aside from yelling “Hot!” when they stick their hand on a burner, their inner emotional impulses don’t land in verbal expression. 

I know this concept is nuts, if you are a words person. Language bounces around in my head until I think it’s going to fly out my ears some days. Sometimes I have two or three strains of language banging around in there simultaneously. Even in my sleep, I’m effusive about pickles, and clouds, and the scent of new laundry sheets. I assign emotions to crayons. Feelings are words are feelings are words. There’s zero gap.

But there are human beings sharing the world with people like me who feel without knowing the language of what they feel.  They experience an internal emotion. Sometimes a strong one. But they don’t immediately know all 10,000 words to describe that precise feeling.

I don’t know how that works. I can’t even imagine it. I do know that these people appreciate other people without entire phrases coming to mind. They feel affection, gratitude, and closeness to others—but those emotions don’t produce instant paragraphs inside them.

And I know that these sorts of people do love us. Sometimes a lot. They just don’t know how to talk about it. They feel a bubble of golden love-surge rise up in their bellies, so they bring you a snack. They sit beside you. They hold your hand. They make sure your car has gas in it. They balance your checking account.

When this third sort of person pops up in my life—and when I’m getting tons of clues that affection actually exists—I tend to make more effort to simply receive what’s being offered in the relationship. Some novels are worth translating. Love is one of them.

I also explain that I will never, ever, ever instinctively clean out their entire vehicle because I love them. In fact, I might forget to bring them toilet paper after they’ve asked me desperately from the bathroom three times. And I might forget to make dinner after I’ve forgotten that dinner is a thing at all.

Culture gap. But not a love gap. This one is hard, but it’s not impossible.

ONE LAST THING: THE CARE AND KEEPING OF WORDS OF AFFIRMATION PEOPLE

One last thing, though. If you are one of those people who doesn’t use words out of fear or out of naturally different wiring, I want to at least try to explain why words people need them. 

Words people need words because we live in a war zone of lethal language. Every day, your “wordy” soaks up frenetic newscasts, hostile social media posts, unstable public addresses, and cold, hard, reckless sentences contracted in a thousand ways. 

By the time we get to you, we have absorbed these poisons. We are torn to bits because we feel *everything* we hear and read so deeply. We aren’t trying to feel too much. Words just do this to us.

What you are able to see and process at arm’s length, we instantly internalize. Language is parasitic for us, even if it wasn’t directed at us. 

Words “out there” mix up with our bad memories, our deepest  insecurities, and our fears—and they morph into a sort of silent audio tape that plays over and over inside us.  

So we desperately need someone to speak louder than the drone of that terrible tape. We need you counteract the toxic, silent language we battle to help orient us in the world. 

Your words have the power to remind us who we are. They have the power to temind us that we matter to someone. They have the power to help us believe that we aren’t all bad. 

It’s kind of like a video game. The more specific you can be with your words, the more of that big, ugly boss will fall off and be destroyed. That’s the work you are doing when you speak to us.

“I believe in you because I see this quality in you.” (KERPOW)

“I missed you today when I heard ______.” (KERPOW)

“You smell good.” (Believe it or not, KERPOW.)

“You handled that so well. I am so proud of you!” (KERPOW)

“You are so much fun!” (KERPOW)

This sort of simple stuff reaches down in words people and resets their hearts and minds. It’s a magic wand. It’s a healing potion. It’s sometimes the grace of God.

The Bible tells old women to help the young women along the road. This older woman doesn’t know everything yet, so maybe you’ll find some stuff in here to correct and adapt for your particular situation. I can only speak from one spot on a super big planet. But here’s a start, at least. 

Good luck. Let me know how it goes.

A Heuristic Approach to Christianity

The heuristic argument for Christianity is flawed, but I think it may provide a stronger angle for the faith than any classical approach.

Heuristic solutions are used in problem solving when traditional, methodical approaches are limited by time or resource. A heuristic solution trades comprehensive logical process, epistemological perfection, and precision for speed. In essence, a heuristic approach is a practical, functional shortcut.

A heuristic solution may not be exact, but it does approximate exact solutions. It’s generally more instinctive, experiential, and applicational. Sometimes bias can influence a heuristic conclusion because these do not exist in a sanitary mind lab, but up close to life—with quite a bit of the dirt of reality mixed in.

So, why use a heuristic approach?

Well, sometimes in problem solving, a classical methodology proves too slow to be useful. Other times, a classical approach fails to find an exact solution due to missing elements in a mental equation.

Though some objective, historical, and rational arguments for the Christian faith exist, they are not watertight. For centuries, scholars have been digging around in the ontological argument, the cosmological argument, the teleological argument—and some have made good points. But ultimately, if there were no room for doubt, there would be no role for faith—which is (according to its own claim) an essential element of the Christian religion.

As I’ve been mulling over this for the past few months, I’ve grown more and more enthralled by this perspective. It seems to fit the way confirmation works in real life for most people, and it connects with other epistemological concepts I’ve loved in the past, a few of which I will scatter randomly below.

1. The pragmatic approach to truth has always seemed more humble and realistic to me than the correspondence theory, the coherence theory, and other formal theories.

2. The deep biases of Platonic/Socratic secularism/humanism are reduced whenever the mind and the body are forced to operate in real time as one.

3. The claims of Jesus regularly seem experimental instead of simply cognitive, incorporating motion, active trust, posture, and even truth as a living being “The I am.”

4. Fighting empiricism with empiricism deifies an inherently flawed epistemology. And I don’t like bowing to idols.

A heuristic approach isn’t perfect, but it never claims to be. It simply offers to be helpful. It leans into real life and asks, “Does this work?” Is this uncomfortable. It shouldn’t be. So many proofs of the New Testament seem to appeal to this very question. Does the church reflect the love of Christ? What fruit is growing on your tree? Is your life abundant? Has something changed?

The Bible is big on this sort of boots-on-the-ground evidence. Sure, it spends a little time constructing arguments, but it spends much more space saying, “Walk in this. Follow this. Trust this. See how it works.”

I understand why this is terrifying for a lot of evangelicals. It’s much easier to sit in a quiet room trying to derive proofs, making lists of all the reasons we are right and they are wrong and making battle plans accordingly, than it is to live out faith in real time. But a heuristic approach recognizes that life is short and that information is limited. It holds the classical information we have been given with respect and gratitude. Then it moves forward in faith, discovering.

I like that a lot. It’s scary but exciting. In fact, it reminds me of this quote by C.S. Lewis:

“I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.”

http://www.thistleandtoad.com/wwwthistleandtoadcom/writings/2019/9/4/a-heuristic-approach-to-christianity

 “The Banjo Lesson” by Henry Ossawa Tanner