In my father’s house. A good place to edit a life.

I went home to my father’s (and my mother’s) house this past week to do just that … some editing work. Their lives are less crowded than mine, less noisy and not constrained by an overly pressing agenda. Their house helps me to breathe, and every now and again I need to take a breath. A long, deep, in-and-out, out-and-in, soul-filled pause.

So, I packed my bags, my manuscript and my heart, and made the seventy mile trek northward to land safely at their front door. Once inside, I got down to the business of breathing. On the agenda? Nothing, just everything I needed it to be. And in between a stop at the jewelry store, dinner around a table, and a morning coffee at their favorite gathering place, I had some time to sit beneath a chandelier that’s illuminated their kitchen table in four different houses. My parents carry it with them every time they move; it keeps them connected to their history. It keeps me connected as well. With the light comes a family’s history—a long record of growing up around a kitchen table in my father’s house. Oh the memories it has accumulated over the years! Stories filled with laughter, tears, earnest discussions, and prayers.

That light serves as a witness to my history. I cannot sit beneath it without feeling a sense of obligation to it. There’s an honesty required of me, an authenticity expected of me if I’m going to use it as an avenue to do some editing work. I cannot not be me in my father’s house and beneath my father’s light. It’s just the place where I do some of my best work.

As it is with my father’s house, so it is with my Father’s house. A good place to edit a life.

God’s house, God’s heart is not crowded with an agenda. His home is a place where I can breathe. The Light is good there, so brilliant and so discerning that I cannot hide my true self from him. The Light moves with God wherever he goes. It keeps him connected to his history; keeps me connected as well. The memories he has collected over the years—the laughter, tears, earnest discussions, and prayers? Well, heaven holds the witness of them all. One day soon, I’ll see them in living color, but until then, I’ll keep to the business of personal editing—body, heart, and soul edits. The kind of authentic critiquing and tweaking of a life that writes a better story.

Life edits are difficult. Sometimes the revisions are brutal, sometimes less obtrusive. The Light that hangs over our editing tables cannot tell a lie. The Light reveals the raw truth about the work that’s been done so far and where some changes need to be made. The Light isn’t here to frighten us, shame us, or kill us; the Light is here to enliven us and to remind us that fear, shame, and death have already been conquered by the cross. The Light is here to fit us for heaven—to prepare us for the place that is being prepared for us by our Father.

I want an edited life, friends. A Light-shaped and critiqued life that writes a good story and that leaves a good witness. I won’t get that on my own; neither will you. Edited lives belong to those who are willing to make the pilgrimage to the Father’s house, sit beneath a Father’s light, and expose the manuscript to the Father’s pen. How grateful I am for the table of grace, the chair of intention, and the Light of inspection that allow me the great privilege of soul edits! Long, deep, in-and-out, out-and-in, breaths with Jesus that fill my lungs with the eternal witness of heaven.

In my Father’s house. Indeed, a good and gracious place to edit a life. He is where you’ll find me this week. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: There are many great avenues for drawing closer to Jesus in this Lenten season. I’d like to highlight Nancy Douglas’s study “Draw Me Near”, now available with podcasts at her blog. Check it out! You won’t be disappointed. She’s an awesome Bible teacher and friend for the journey.