Confessions of a Reluctant Juror {handling the truth}

Truth exists. Truth isn’t relative. Sometimes, however, truth gets buried beneath the details—layer upon layer of story that muddy up the process of discovery. Why conceal it? To quote Jack Nicholson’s famous line from the movie A Few Good Men . . .

“You can’t handle the truth.”

The truth is, once the layers of a story begin to accumulate, once personal involvement becomes so thick and entangled in the details, and once a step or two is taken across the line that exists between honesty and deception, well, handling the truth means handling the history related to that truth. For some people, it’s impossible to go there, to live there . . . with truth.

Handling truth. Handling lies. This has been my portion over this past week, sorting out the intricate details of a civil case. With the invaluable aid of the other eleven jurors sitting next to me, we did our best to dig through the layers of one particular story. In doing so, we reached a conclusion based on the minimal amount of evidence presented to us.

Yesterday afternoon, we walked away from one another and back into our own lives—our personal stories that now include a chapter called Room 327. The truth? Well, I think some of it remains back in that courthouse, buried in the hearts of the plaintiff and defendant involved in the case. Between the two of them, truth exists. I’m fairly confident in my conclusion, though, that neither one of them willingly wants to handle it. The story is so deep and its layers so thick that truth no longer has a commanding voice in the matter, perhaps only a faint whisper every now and again.

Handling truth. Putting our hands on the Bible and promising to tell it, so help us God.

So . . .

Help us, God. Help me, God. To handle the truth. To reverently, passionately, confidently, and with full assurance hold truth. Speak truth. Mean what I say and say what I mean. Put my hand on the Bible and have it signify something . . . signify everything, knowing that as I live my life before men, I first and most importantly live my life before God.

God is Truth (see John 14:6). He knows truth. And when I have failed to get to the truth of the matter as it pertains to my own life and to the lives of others, God alone holds the key to perfect understanding. He has sorted out the details, sifted through the layers, and that which remains hidden to us (sometimes by us) has already been found by him. Truth cannot be concealed from God’s eyes; truth is revealed . . . always, ever-present and crystal clear. Sometimes, however, our vision is blurred by the fig leaves we use to hide our many sins, our shame, and the overwhelming pride that led us to believe we could live independently from truth.

To live truthfully, is to bow soul-naked before God. Those unwilling to do so are those who have no fear of God. Instead, they fear man, a tangible fear to be certain. But it’s not an eternal fear. If we could really take hold of the everlasting, take hold of the truth that what is happening down here on planet earth is but a dress rehearsal for what is to come for our eternal tomorrows, then we’d no longer have to place our hands on the Bible and swear our allegiances to truth. We’d just live truth. Our word would be our oath and our souls would breathe easier. Our crosses would be fewer and our burdens lightly carried.

Handling truth. How goes it in your own life? Where does your allegiance lie? Who do you fear most . . . man or God? When was the last time you bowed soul-naked before your Creator and allowed him to sort through the layers of your story to get to the truth? You may not be able to handle the truth, but God can. God does. God is. And with the help of his Holy Spirit, he will release you from the fig leaves that are preventing you from your freedom walk in this earth-garden.

I pray that kind of freedom for each one of you today. I’m praying it for myself, to live so honestly before God and before you that we don’t have to waste a moment in the courtroom of life to get to the truth.

The truth is . . . my soul has been profoundly affected by my experience this last week. My heart is open to all the ways that God may want to use it to teach me more about him, more about his people, and how better to live that more in this earth-garden until he calls me home to his heavenly one.

Soul naked before the Father. Even so I come, Lord Jesus. Teach me to handle your truth. As always, friends . . .

Peace for the journey,

on burying the blue sweater . . .

 “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” –Isaiah 43:18-19

It’s time to throw-away the blue sweater (modeled here by mini-me, a.k.a. Miss Amelia).

How do I know the time has come? I just know. Sometimes a heart just knows.

It might be obvious to you and others that I probably should have let this one go a long time ago, but it’s been my friend for over twenty years . . . a lot of memories and a lot of back story to this particular sweater. It’s tough letting go of a friend like this.

Perhaps you understand. Maybe you have such a friend—a “holding on to” that is holding on as well, tenaciously gripping your hand and heart and unwilling to release you on your way. Could it be that years of comfortableness (of living with the old and with what’s easy) have robbed you of something new, something better?

Maybe, like me, you’re blinded to your need. To others, your need is obvious; your sweater is old, torn and tattered by years of overuse but rather than releasing it to the junk pile, you’d rather squeeze a few more wears out of it. You won’t force the issue, because forcing the issue means facing it as well.

If this is you, might I offer you a checklist of sorts, a few diagnostic prods when assessing your need for a new sweater? And lest you think I’m solely talking about the clothing that hangs in your closet, let me assure you that, greater still, I’m talking about the clothing that hangs in your heart, your mind and soul as well.

How do you know when it is time to throw out a sweater?

  • When it has outlived its usefulness.
  • When it reveals more than it conceals.
  • When the color fades.
  • When it prevents space in the closet from being available for something new.
  • When it adds to your load rather than easing it.
  • When it no longer warms your frame.
  • And most importantly (at least for me in this season), it’s time to throw out a sweater when it becomes a stumbling block to others, especially to those who sit beneath my influence. If I can’t let go of an old sweater from time to time—if I cannot release that which is no longer beneficial to my well-being—then how can I expect them to release theirs? What is modeled is often what is lived. I must be willing to rid my closet of the non-essentials so that my children might experience the freedom of doing the same.

Indeed, sometimes a heart just knows when it’s time to let go. Today I bury this sweater. Tomorrow, possibly something greater. It’s all in keeping with God’s “new” for my life.

I challenge you to do the same. Take a look in your closet today; examine the frayed edges of your heart, soul, mind, and spirit. Do so with this checklist in mind. Maybe there’s a sweater or two that needs to join mine in burial. It’s not always easy saying good-bye to a well-loved, well-worn friend, but sometimes, it’s required if we want to make room for God’s new dispensation of grace.

May our Father grant you his discernment, his strength, and his peace in the “letting go.” I’ll meet you graveside, friends, and we will glory together in the release and in the freedom that is ours in Christ Jesus! As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

On the Backside of 180 {lessons from the lunchroom}

The sound of Nerf guns blare from the living room – background noise to accompany my thoughts this afternoon.

Make it stop! That’s what I’m thinking. Goodness, mercy me! How in the world have we survived this experiment, this year-long foray into the world of homeschooling? Month upon month, day-in-day-out of intentional bonding with my kids. Three days more and we’ll cross the finish line . . . and we still like one another, this lunchroom lady and her pupils. Some days it’s been too much; some days a good fit with family routine.

All days . . . yes, each one of them grounded and founded in prayer. It’s the only reasonable explanation for our being able to reach this milestone with any measure of grace and tangible accomplishment. Early on, God impressed into my spirit a daily requirement: Feed your soul, Elaine, before feeding others. And so I have. So we have. A collective, morning requirement.

We start the day with prayer, followed by individual Bible lessons. Jadon in the kitchen. Amelia in the living room. Me in the bedroom. Each one of us opening up the Word of the God and allowing him a moment or two or thirty at the lectern of our hearts. For my children, perhaps, it’s a practice that’s felt a bit perfunctory at times. I suppose the same could be said for me. But I know something they have yet to fully grasp: Faithful obligation yields a firm foundation. A daily dose of truth roots us deeper within the everlasting soil that is touched and tended by the loving Gardener of our souls. He is where we must start – each day, each thought, each hope – anchored within the eternal.

To God belongs the success. He’s been the key to our learning – a schooling that has far exceeded any information contained on the pages of textbooks. Yes, God has required more of us this year than what can be calculated and quantified by end-of-grade testing. He’s required heart growth, a garden of Spirit-led expansion that includes fruit like patience, kindness, gentleness, self-control, and a love without limits.

Oh the lessons we’ve learned! Some through tears. Some through wounding. Some through joy. Some through laughter. I imagine we’ll spend this next season discovering the fullness of what this means for us as a family. But today, as I stand on the backside of something I was sure I wouldn’t be able to accomplish of the front side of its unfolding, there is one thing I know for certain.

I’ve given my all for my students. I’ve not always given them my best, but I have willingly surrendered my heart to the process so that their hearts might grow in a right and good direction. In years to come, I don’t know how my kids will remember this time. If they take nothing else away from these last 180 days spent together, my hope is that they will remember our morning prayers and their daily digs into truth.

Faithful obligation yields a firm foundation. From here, God can grow a kingdom . . .

In Jadon. In Amelia. And in the one they call the “lunchroom lady.”

It’s been my joy and privilege to serve you, sweet ones.

Peace for your journeys of grace and beyond. I love being your mom.

Running my race . . .

 

Safe . . . protected under the shelter of God’s wings.

Those were the phrases that surfaced in my mind and the feelings that settled deeply within my soul when I awoke at my parents’ home yesterday morning – a Sabbath morning. Certainly the fact that I was with them and under their watchful care had something to do with the peace that I felt. Even more so, knowing that I was under God’s watchful care and firmly attached to his will and his strength, well this was a great grace for me—to know that I know that I know that all is well with my soul and that I could firmly and forcefully approach the day with certain confidence.

And so we went, Jesus and me together, sowing kingdom seed during the three morning services at Garner UMC. This is a big week for the folks in Garner. Their annual Relay for Life event will take place on Friday night at Lake Benson Park. The community will come out in force, none more so than the community that gathers each Sunday at Garner UMC. Their hearts are passionate about Relay, about this race for life. In a small way, my preaching was to be a rallying cry of sorts—a central meeting point for the saints to begin their intentional steps of pilgrimage toward Friday night’s festivities.

By the time the noon hour rolled around, I had a strong feeling that we had done what we came to do . . . God and me. His call to me to go and preach grace and my obedience therein—a corporate venture toward kingdom multiplication. A call not to solely reflect on my cancer survivorship but, more importantly, to address the issue of my soul survivorship. In doing so, in talking about what it means to survive this life with Jesus as my compass, everyone who made it out to Garner UMC yesterday morning was able to find their place and mark their paces in the survivor’s lap of the most important relay they will ever run—a relay for everlasting life with their everlasting King.

Safe . . . protected under the shelter of God’s wings. There we stood yesterday morning, linking arms for the kingdom cause, and I am undone with the memory of it all, unable to fully reflect in a few words what it meant to me. What it meant to my family—daughter, sons, husband, and father on the front pew, mother in the choir loft. What it meant to the congregants. I just know that it meant something special for all of us, and on this Monday morning, I am exceedingly grateful for yet another undeserved blessing from my Father’s heart and for the privilege of joining him on the front lines of grace.

I leave you with a few words my father wrote to me last evening; forgive me if they seem self-indulgent. Perhaps I’m not writing them for you. Perhaps more so, for my children and for their children for a season yet to come so that they, too, can hold this memory as part of their spiritual heritage and remember a day when Faith Elaine took to the pulpit and rallied the troops in the name of soul-survivorship and exclusively for the name and renown of Jesus Christ her Lord.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It isn’t very often that a preacher gets to sit at the feet of another preacher; especially when that preacher is your daughter. I sat on the front pew this morning—watching, listening, and feeling some very deep and heart-warming ‘moments’, as I heard Elaine preach. Tonight, to reflect or write on what I experienced would be fruitless—some things are too deep, too precious, and too sacred. Silence is often the best response to the ‘deepest of things’. One of these days I might be able to, but not tonight. So, let me offer a prayer instead—a prayer that I keep nearby and use it often. While the author is unknown, it comes out of the 17th Century, entitled, A Nun’s Prayer.

“Lord, thou knowest better than I know myself that I am growing old and will someday be old. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Release me from craving to straighten out everybody’s affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody; helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all, but thou knowest Lord that I want a few friends at the end.

“Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing, and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others’ pains, but help me to endure them with patience.

“I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and lessening cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.

“Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a Saint—some of them are so hard to live with—but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the devil. Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places, and talents in unexpected people. And, give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them so. Amen.”

Goodnight, Elaine, sleep well, and when the morning greets you with the rising sun, you will hear music, the kind of music we all heard this morning. Keep singing that Song! 

Dad 

 

messy and mad . . .

 

Messy and mad.

Life is. I am.

Messy life. Mad me. There’s no prettying up this one, not enough shine and polish to make it less obvious to others. Anyway, what’s the point of a cover-up other than to possibly fool someone into thinking I have it altogether?

I don’t. On my best days, I’m always one step away from behaving badly. My flesh doesn’t consistently keep pace with my faith. Today has been one of those days for me.

The messiness that surrounds me creates a terrible ache inside of me for calmer days, although at the moment I’m having a difficult time remembering what they look like, feel like . . . live like. Accordingly, a less than gracious display of emotion bursting forth onto the pavement in front of me and into the lives of those who sit most closely to my influence.

My influence. I type those two words with a penitent heart and with a few questions to the Father about why he has allowed me so much of it, especially on days of amplified tension. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Or so I think. But my supposition doesn’t change the facts.

Life is hard, messy too. And every now and then, living within these constraints gets the best of me. Perhaps you understand. Perhaps you know something about the “hard and messy” of life.

We don’t get too far in our walks of faith and not experience the push for transformation. God will bring our “hard and messy” to the surface so that we might accurately assess the condition of our hearts. His assessment is always clear; we, however, are sometimes a bit slower in recognizing the inward ticking of a sometimes veiled reality. And while I’m not a fan of painful disclosure, I am a fan of fleshing out the hidden contents of my heart in the safe and loving presence of Father God.

Honestly, I just wish we’d already taken care of this years ago.

Messy and mad.

Life is. I am.

Gracious and loving.

God is. God does.

And therein I find my compass.

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