Lori Altebaumer's Blog, page 5

Hard Topics

I’m a person who avoids conflict with the same passionate commitment as I have for not licking the door handles at the convenience store. I’m predictably afraid of all the usual things: heights, snakes, long dark alleys, and undercooked chicken. So…

Why do I write my books to include hard topics?

The only reasonable explanation is God. I would love for Him to give me a story filled with characters not covered in the sinfulness of a broken world. Characters who aren’t trying to move past trauma they didn’t ask for or find forgiveness for things they did ask for.

One day that world will be a reality for us as believers, but until then we are living in a world of consequences, and sometimes we need a reminder we aren’t alone.

We need a glimpse of eternity.

I’ve never started out to write a story about hard things. I like happy, go-lucky tales of goodness and adventure and love as much as anyone else.  But that’s not the direction God points my pen when I place my hand in His.

My stories start when a random scene pops into my head and the Holy Spirit nudges (or shoves on my more obstinate days) until I start exploring what’s really going on in that scene. Who are these people and what has led them to this exact moment? Maybe there’s a conversation going on or maybe the person is alone with their thoughts. The scenes are different, but the one thing that is always the same is that there is a story. And that story is so much more than what we see on the surface.

That’s true of real life as well. The people we encounter everyday have stories. They have a past that has brought them to where they are, and for most of them, that past is filled with mistakes, wounds, and things they won’t tell you about.

Maybe this is where I come in. Perhaps my role in God’s larger story is to share the stories no one is talking about.

I’ve often written about things I have no personal experience with. My life has been fairly tame and untouched by tragedy or trauma. I have learned to see this as a part of God’s purpose for me life, not because He loved me more and sheltered me, but so that when I tell the stories of others, they aren’t told in the shadow of my own experience. I must rely completely on God to help me see and understand whatever hard topic it is I’m writing about.

But then comes the joy.

God never leaves us stuck in the miry pit of shame, despair, and brokenness. He is with us in our suffering, and He awaits the moment when we will let Him heal us. This is His promise to us, that one day He will right every wrong and dry every tear. That His forgiveness stretches as far as the east is from the west, and that His mercy and grace will never run out.

Amid our pain and our broken hearts, we forget.

I’m called, as we all are, to shine a light into the darkness. And the greater the darkness, the more powerful the light. Even one small candle can change the world.

My pen is that candle for as long as God will use me, because when a reader says to me “You just told my story”, or “Thank you for bringing a voice to the ugliness” … I don’t mind writing the hard stuff.

If you’d like to learn more about my books or my writing life, please visit my website www.lorialtebaumer.com

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The Harbor We Long For

They rejoiced when the waves grew quiet.
Then he guided them to the harbor they longed for. (Psalm 107:30 CSB)

Watching our two-year-old grandson trying to stand and walk after one quick turn on a Sit-n-Spin was comical, but it also made me think this is how many of us felt as we stepped out of 2020 and into 2021.  The waves of uncertainty concerning the pandemic had been followed by a turbulent election season, and the ripples of hate and unrest floated over it all like sea foam. According to Surfer Today, long lasting sea foam is a sign that the water isn’t pure.

Now here we are halfway through 2022 and the sea foam lingers, ready to send us into another tailspin at the least provocation.

If we’ve learned to step away from social media and stop allowing every piece of sensationalized news to infiltrate our thinking, some of us may have regained a measure of our equilibrium. We may have found our balance and can walk again, feeling restored and functional as we move forward once.

Of course, there are some who haven’t yet taken their eyes of the tempestuous waters. They remain at risk of toppling over with the next wave of “wars and rumors of wars.” (Matthew 24:6)

Perhaps the saddest thing I hear people say these days is that they can’t wait for things to return to normal–normal meaning the way things used to be.

What would it take to convince them this is not the harbor they long for?

To return to the way things used to be is not possible. Going back there would put us in the same vulnerable place we occupied then, only this time we know too much. We’ve had a look behind the curtain and it wasn’t pretty. We’ve experienced the havoc overreaching governments can create when given a virus to use as a tool. We know how much hatred still exists and have seen the evil of men’s hearts who delight in promoting it. We know how vicious our neighbors can turn over things like vaccines and voting. Maybe we’ve even seen that side of ourselves as we allowed fear to govern our speech and actions instead of love.

The truth is we can never go back. We know too much.

That’s okay because back isn’t the direction God wants to take us.

An honest consideration of what our heart wants most reveals what lies behind us isn’t the harbor we long for. What we long for is a sense of peace in the present and a hope in the future. What we long for is the innocence of life in the Garden of Eden, before evil entered the world. It was a time when we could walk in the cool of the evening amid the breathtaking foliage enjoying the intimacy of our conversation with God while he walked beside us.

Why is it that lately my memories of childhood moments don’t illicit joy, but instead make me sad? Memories of good times from the past spring up at random times, but it isn’t happiness they stir in me. It’s a sort of melancholy wistfulness. I believe it’s because I know I can never go back—not to the time and place, but especially not to the innocence. I know too much. The innocence that allowed for unbridled happiness and optimism has been replaced by the brutal truth of a broken world.

We can’t go back to the world we knew before the pandemic and social upheaval that flourished in its wake. We simply know too much.

That doesn’t mean we are left to the mercy of the storms all around us, desperately trying to ride out the vicious and deadly waves coming at us from all directions. We don’t have to perish at sea. And it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t continue to long for something better… that harbor of our desires.

Back up a few verses in Psalm 107, and we read what was going on before God guided these sailors to the harbor they longed for. There was a storm—a big storm. Their courage had melted, they staggered around as though drunk, and their skills were useless. They were powerless to save themselves and so they cried out to God. This is so like us today. We exhaust ourselves trying to handle it on our own, trying to paddle ourselves to happiness or at least to a life that feels safe, until finally we realize the only power we have is in the name of Jesus.

But when they cried out, “he brought them out of their distress.” (v.28)

“Then he guided them to the harbor they longed for.” (v. 30)

What a beautiful picture this stirs in my mind, the calm of the peaceful, blue waters as the boat I’m on draws near to the pristine beaches bordered with every beautiful kind of sight, sound, and smell I can imagine. The hard travel is over. I’ve survived the storms.

And my God has brought me to the harbor I longed for.

That day at the park with my grandson wobbling around on unsteady legs, he knew to look for something trustworthy to hold onto. He reached up for my husband, his Pops. And do you know what he found? He found his Pops already reaching down for him, ready to pull him into the safety of his strong arms and loving embrace.

This is the harbor we all long for.

Not the one that lies behind us, but the one that lies before.

Your heavenly Father is reaching out to catch you. Will you let him guide you into the harbor?

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Who Is Your Story About?

Stories inspire me, encourage me, and teach me. In fact, I’d say my life is fueled by stories. Books and movies take me places I could or would never go to do things I could or would never do. They walk me through valleys I’ve never been through and lead me up mountains I may never see. They teach me things about others and more importantly, about myself. There is simply something in my DNA that resonates with story.

And over the past few years I’ve come to understand why.

We, Dear Sisters, are in the midst of an epic story. It’s a tale of love and war, of good and evil, life and death. Too often we don’t realize it, or if we do, we hide ourselves away in hopes of staying safe or we determine to make the story about us. It’s human nature.

But when we become followers of Jesus Christ, we are given a new nature. It is in this new nature that our eyes are opened to the story God is telling in the world around us. Through the guidance of the Holy Spirit, we’ll be able to discern right from wrong. We’ll learn to recognize the enemy’s attacks almost before they start. We’ll have a supernatural strength that gets us through trials we never thought we could survive.

When we have our eyes opened to the story God is telling, we’ll no longer question our purpose, or whether we even have one.

When we give our lives to God and accept His sovereignty over everything, we’ll see His hand of providence has been with us, preparing us for this time and this place.

As I wrote my latest novel, A Far Way to Run, I was hit over and over again with the words for such a time as this. A favorite verse of mine, these words come from the book of Esther. If you’re not familiar with her story, I encourage you to read it now.

Esther has been forced to live a life she didn’t want and wouldn’t have picked if she’d been given the choice. Orphaned among an exiled people, she was forced to marry a pagan king. She may have lived in a castle with all the royal benefits, but she lived a life of bondage. She couldn’t even approach her husband without fear of being put to death.

And then there came a moment when she had a choice. When we read this story, we often think her choice was whether to risk her life or to play it safe.

But a deeper consideration reveals that the choice was really about story.

Was her life to be about her story—the orphan turned queen—the end? Or was she willing to live her life as a part of God’s eternal story?

What about the story of our lives–your’s and mine–this very day? Is your story the divorced wife turned exhausted, single mom working two jobs? Is it the drug addict cut off from her friends and family in an effort to keep it a secret? Maybe it’s the frazzled soul weary from holding up the crumbling facade of “everything’s just fine.”

Or maybe it’s even worse than any one else could imagine.

Whatever fire you’re going through, the flames can be your prison, or they can be the purifying of your purpose.

Esther chose well, and today we are stilling studying her life as an example for ours.

We, too, have a choice.

We can live our lives as though the story is about us. Or we can step into the irreplaceable role God has created for us.

Few of us live an unblemished life. We have regrets over poor choices and past mistakes. We wrap ourselves in shame over things we’ve done or have had done to us. We lose our way in the larger story… if we ever knew it in the first place.

And we did.

Our little girl selves knew there was a great and heroic adventure before us, and we were ready to play our part.  But the world has told us we are unlovable, unworthy, and unnecessary until we find ourselves stuck in the chapter we’re in. Afraid or unable to turn the page, we soon we forget we’re in a story at all.

There was a time when this was my life as well. I felt the weight of depression as I faced a black curtain that hid the future. Though I wanted to believe there was something on the other side of it, I couldn’t see past the curtain. I slipped down a dark hole where it felt as though there was no meaning to my existence. It was a terrible experience, and one I’ve thankfully left in the past.

Writing stories helps me remember I am in a larger story, whether I choose to embrace that fact or not. When I live as though my story—my life—is about me, I live a life with limits, where failures are failures and mistakes can’t be redeemed. But when I live my life as a part of God’s larger story, I live a life where the failures and mistakes can not only be redeemed but used for God’s glory. I may not understand the pain and suffering I’ve experienced, but I can trust that God has used it to prepare me for my such a time as this moment.

We’re all living in a story. The question for each of us is who will our story be about? This is the question my protagonist, Shayne, must wrestle with in A Far Way to Run.

Today may we all consider that question. There is freedom in living out we our roles in God’s greater story.

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Daughter, Take His Hand

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

I’ll never forget the ship captain’s words the first time I went on a cruise. In an effort assuage the concerns of us land loving first timers, he told us not to worry.

“The ship will never be more than five miles from land,” he said. Sounded nice until we realized he meant straight down.

Kind of like Jesus’ statement above. Jesus says he’s overcome the world. Yay!

Oh… but you’re going to have some–a lot–of trouble anyway.

This verse is all fine and dandy—perfect for the t-shirt or the coffee mug—until the trouble is mine. On an average day, sure, I can take heart knowing Jesus has overcome the grit of the day-to-day grind in a broken world. I can quote this verse with a humble smile—as long as the real trouble belongs to someone else. I can carry my cross—as long as it’s the size of a gold or silver pendant dangling from a chain around my neck.

But when I’m the one knee deep in the mire, feeling the heat of the flames, or dodging the arrows trying to take my life… well, I’m a little less prompt to be taking heart.

What does taking heart even look like when real trouble overtakes me?

Speaking from personal experience, I believe taking heart looks like full surrender.

I don’t know why this is happening Lord, but I give up my need to understand, I and trust you as sovereign over everything.

I can’t fix this Lord, so I’m releasing my efforts to control the situation into your hands.

I’m not strong enough to get through this, so I’m going to cease trying to get through it in my own strength and rely on yours to sustain me.

In the middle of a long night, tear-soaked sheets beneath me, I surrendered to God’s will, to His plan even though I didn’t understand, and I certainly didn’t like it.

At least, that’s what I thought I was surrendering to.

Turns out I was surrendering to his love. A love I don’t always understand. A love I don’t always recognize until I look back on the trial I have come through.

Jesus didn’t want to go through every trial he faced. On the eve of his crucifixion, he cried out “O My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me…” (Matthew 26:39NKJV)

But wait… wasn’t this the same man who had told his followers to “…take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33NIV).

First, let’s all just take a moment to be thankful for this verse. Jesus had already declared he’d overcome the world. He knew what awaited him on the other side of the trial and suffering. And he knew the true purpose behind the ordeal he would face. He had every answer and every reason to charge head on into the trouble before him. And yet, he could still pray for it to be otherwise. He could still ask his Father if there was, perhaps, a Plan B.

Just because the door to the fiery furnace opens before us doesn’t mean God expects us to fling ourselves in with joyful abandon. Don’t beat yourself up for the questions you ask, the reluctance, or even anger you feel. In Jesus, “we do not have a High Priest who cannot sympathize with our weakness…” (Hebrew 4:15NJKV).

This should ease the guilt and shame we sometimes feel when we, with our limited understanding, ask God for a Plan B of our own.

It is heresy to deny that we have questions. It is human to want to know why this suffering has happened. Why us? Why now? And how am I supposed to take heart when mine is shattered in a thousand pieces, broken beyond repair, or pulverized until I’m no longer sure I even have a heart?

We need to also understand it wasn’t the torture and physical pain Jesus asked for a way out of. It was his separation from God he dreaded. In order to pay our debt, Jesus took on the full weight of our sin and received the wrath of God that was due us. In those desperate hours of his crucifixion, he felt the despair of being separated from God by sin—our sin.

Unlike Jesus, we never have to feel that separation from Father. No matter what we’ve done or what trial we’re going through, he’s right there with us. When we’ve accepted Jesus as our Savior, our sin cannot remove us from the presence of God. Neither can our doubts, our questions, or our foolish mistakes (see Romans 8:35).

A love we can trust in and a love we can’t lose—that is how we take heart. 

Perhaps this verse in John 16 could have been rendered, “Take my hand. I’m right here with you always. We’ll get through this together because there is victory on the other side.”

When I place my hand in the hand of my Father I know what it means to take heart.

As an author of faith-based fiction, I often wonder why I choose to write suspense? Why am I drawn to create stories where sin is central to the plot?

The answer is simple. I want to share this simple yet powerful, life-changing truth. No matter what your trial or how much trouble you’re facing, Jesus has overcome.

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

Daughter, take his hand.

My latest novel, A Far Way to Run (due out May 26th), is a compelling story about overcoming the past to discover your purpose. This novel chronicles what happens when a woman traumatized by a violent sexual assault must make a life-defining choice to continue hiding or stand up in the face of evil to save a stranger. Will my heroine find a way to “take heart” in knowing that Jesus has overcome?

Click here to pre-order a copy.

Want a chance to win over 30 Christian fiction books for free?

Click on the link below to find out how.

https://AuthorsXP.com/giveaway

This multi-author giveaway contest ends Monday, May 23rd, so don’t miss out!

 

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Asleep at the Kneel: A Wake Up Call for Christians

Then He said to them, “Why do you sleep? Rise and pray, lest you enter into temptation.”  Luke 22:46

There are a lot of things I want to hear Jesus say to me, but “why are you sleeping” isn’t one of them.

That being said, I can imagine the challenge the disciples faced. They were physically exhausted from three years of traveling ministry and mentally exhausted trying to discern what Jesus meant when He talked about His death and resurrection. They were full of the Passover meal, beneath a starry sky, on a pleasant spring evening. All was calm and quiet, and they succumbed to the desire of the flesh for a little sleep.

Jesus asked them to stay awake with Him, but they didn’t feel the urgency and need. Afterall, they’d just spent three years watching Jesus calm the storms and raise the dead.  What could possibly go wrong?

Yet Jesus asked this one thing, and they failed.

Has Jesus asked something of us? Is the request to stay awake a word for us today?

Therefore He says: “Awake, you who sleep,” Ephesians 5:14 NKJV

In Matthew 24:42, Jesus says, “Watch therefore, for you do not know what hour your Lord is coming.”

Some translations render the word watch as be alert or stay alert. Either way, it’s hard to watch when I am asleep.

The word used for sleep in Luke 22:46 may mean physical sleep here, but it can also used to mean spiritual carelessness or indifference.

Jesus is warning us against this spiritual carelessness that may soon lead to apathy. And apathy when it’s fully known, leads to enslavement.

Staying awake is the only way we’ll fulfill His command in Matthew 28:19, “Go, therefore, and make disciples…”

A disciple isn’t just a student, but a follower.

Go and make followers of Jesus.

Jesus didn’t camp out in the synagogues, spending all His time in nothing but prayer (although prayer was an important part of His ministry). What does it look like to follow Jesus?

It doesn’t look like the trap many of our churches today have fallen into. Or maybe I could say, the nap they’ve fallen into. Our modern churches have turned the Great Commission into “Go, and make people who will fill the church on Sunday morning.” And once in the church, they’ll sit in the cushioned seats with their hot coffee from the coffee bar in the lobby, listening to worship music rendered with headliner concert quality thanks to the state-of-the-art technology, and they’ll receive an inoffensive sermon so they’ll feel good about themselves and come back next Sunday. After all, those cushions,  coffee bars, and sound equipment aren’t going to pay for themselves.

And above all else, we mustn’t take a stand against the immorality and wickedness of the popular culture today. Someone might be offended and leave, taking their pocketbooks with them.

It is there in our comfortable church with all the amenities and a clear conscious thanks to a pastor who will soft peddle the truth, that we doze off into a peaceful slumber. We have come to kneel before our Savior, found it to be a comfortable and seemingly safe position, and been lulled into a state of contented semi-consciousness.

Sure, we may pray for the lost, the abused, the starving, and the unborn. We’ll even take up an offering specifically for them once a year or so. But that doesn’t mean we’re awake. We are alert and oriented times zero, no longer able to say as believers who we are, where we are, or what time we are living in.

And while we’re sleeping Satan comes to kill, steal, and destroy (see John 10:10).

One of the most precious and damaging things he’s stolen from of us is the understanding that we, as Christians, have a role and a responsibility in government.

After all, if he can get us to abdicate our presence in the halls of government, he can have sole influence over the decisions and actions of that government. And he can laugh at the fact he’s convinced us we’re doing the biblical thing by not getting involved.

But let’s be clear, stealing our government isn’t the enemy’s goal. It’s the first step. Next, he’ll destroy our families through policies that support and protect his wicked agenda. And this will make way for his ultimate objective, to kill the church and all of God’s people.

Jesus made it a point to engage with the political rulers of His day—the pharisees. He didn’t shy away from calling their darkness what it was. So do I truly want to be a follower of Jesus? If I’m to call myself a disciple then the answer is obvious.

We are called to tend the garden (see Genesis 2:15), but we put tight fences around what we see as ours to tend–our families, our businesses, our churches. But somehow, our government is off limits. It makes no sense to me, that we accept our God given authority over everything 9see Genesis 1:26) but politics, as if God created governments (see Exodus 18: 13-26) but didn’t plan for us to participate.

Some of us haven’t done the math to realize, if we don’t tend our governments, we soon won’t be allowed to tend our businesses, churches, or families.

Think this is an exaggeration? Consider these examples of how far we’ve already come in giving it all away:

Christian businesses are forced to support and honor beliefs and practices that are counter to the Word of God.

Churches are forced to close and cease doing the very things they exist to do by government agencies and their popular opinion driven policies.

Christ following families are denied the right to raise their children according to biblical values thanks to policies that require schools to hide information about a student’s gender identity or interest in altering it from the parents.

And this is the very tip of the iceberg regarding what is going on in the world around us.

But how much of this has made it into our Sunday morning sermons? Perhaps it’s briefly mentioned. Maybe a prayer will be offered.

Do you attend a church where the pastor would make a phone call to the elected officials for his district to take a stand against unbiblical or anti-Christian policies? This one did.

Do you attend a church that refused to remain closed to the lost in desperate need of a shepherd during the unprecedented chaos of the past few years? This one did.

Do you attend a church that boldly engages in the ecclesia (the public forum) on behalf of the truth as stated by Scripture? This one does.

One of the things I heard often during the height of the pandemic and coinciding political turmoil was how much we need a revival. I won’t argue against that. There has never been a point in history where a good old fashioned come-to-Jesus revival wasn’t needed.

But do we need a revival as much as we needed the sleeping Christians to wake up?

The unfortunate news is that many are still there. Most churches have been allowed to reopen. For most Americans, life has resumed a semblance of normalcy. Other than the constraints of sky-rocketing prices, we’ve once again been granted freedom to carry on with our lives.

That’s right… the government is allowing us to gather again in fellowship and worship, because we first gave them the authority to take that right from us.

That’s not freedom. That’s permission… like a dog let off his leash in a dog park. We can run around frolicking in what we perceive as freedom… as long as we stay in the boundaries they’ve set and come back to the leash as soon as they call. And make no mistake, they will call.

Just because the evil may not have arrived on our doorstep and wickedness taken over our neighborhood, doesn’t give any of us a pass to continue with the holy head nod of contented slumber.

We will all stand accountable on the day of judgment. And what will we be judged for?

Here’s a painful example. California House Bill 2223, also known as the Infanticide bill. Not only would this bill make full term abortion possible, but it will also give the mother the right to terminate the life of her baby for up to twenty-eight days after its birth. This is the very epitome of wickedness, and you would think that’s about as bad as it could get.

But you’d be wrong.

Wording in this bill also makes it possible for the mother to sue law enforcement officers for their investigation of the death of the baby, and to fine anyone (i.e. person with a conscience) that interferes with the mother’s rights by reporting a possible crime.

But I’m sure you’re all already aware of this because your pastor has been shouting from the pulpit, It’s time do something. Wake up Christians and take action! Make truth known!

Or have you only continued to hear, politics are dirty, stay away?

It’s time to use more than our knees in tending the garden. The battle against evil starts on our knees, but if we were meant to stay there, the armor of God would have only included knee pads. (see Ephesians 6:10)

If we choose to keep slumbering, we’ll one day wake up to the angry mob with their pitchforks and shovels coming to take Jesus from our schools, our businesses, our churches, and our homes. They’ve already succeeded in taking Him out of our government.

So, where is the field where you’ll take a stand, Christian? If not for the life of the unborn, then will you do it for the newborn? How far are you willing to let them go with indoctrinating our children into another kind of death—that of their identity as a son or daughter of God? Or the death of the truth, which is the foundation of goodness and moral integrity upon which civil society must stand?

Or would you rather to continue enjoying the coffee, music, and padded chairs, bowing your head to bury it in the sand so you can’t see the destruction going on all around us.

It’s time to wake the lions and let the sleeping babies be.

The post Asleep at the Kneel: A Wake Up Call for Christians appeared first on Lori Altebaumer.

The Vision of Blind Bartimaeus: What a Christian’s Spiritual Sight Should See

Jesus said to him, “Go, your faith has saved you.” Immediately he could see and began to follow Jesus on the road.” Mark 10:52

Thanks to my husband’s work, we’ve been fortunate to visit interesting places. Some of these trips have had us staying in extravagant hotels. These places ranked beyond the level of opulence we see in our everyday lives. They are a bit—or a bunch—on the lavish side. I remember one resort with a motion sensor on the toilet. Every time I walked into the bathroom area, it not only turned on a light and raised the toilet lid, but it also heated the seat. In case any of you are confused about the life of the average writer—this is not normal. Most of us don’t live like this, nor would we want to.

But my eyes were always the first to feast on the elaborate and unusual décor when we first entered our room. I didn’t know what I expected to see or what I was looking for, but I knew I would be amazed by what I saw. I didn’t just enter the room. I explored every detail like a child at an amusement park, I marveled at the amenities. These were not my everyday surroundings. They were too extravagant for my taste (I’m still a simple Texas girl), but it was fascinating and a bit exciting to be in such an unfamiliar and lavish environment.

The fun always wore off, though, and I was more than ready to come back to my tiny house in the trees where I am responsible for lifting my own toilet lid.

But that first sight of the elaborate room we’d be staying in always left me in a state of momentary awe.

Contrast that with Bartimaeus, the blind man, from this story in Mark. The man was not only blind, but a beggar on the side of a dusty road. No doubt, he lived in a state of poverty.

But Bartimaeus wanted to see. In fact, he was so anxious to have his sight that he ignored those who told him to be quiet, and instead, cried out even more.

What did blind Bartimaeus want to see?

If he were like me then the list might have read something like: the faces of his friends and family, the sunrise, the food he ate, the potholes in the road so he didn’t fall. I suspect these were what he looked forward to when he asked Jesus to restore his sight.

That is, until he got what he asked for.

“…he could see and began to follow Jesus on the road.”

Of all the things he could have beheld with his new eyesight, he chose to see the backside of Jesus as he followed him down the road.

I’ve never experienced physical blindness, but I do know what it means to be spiritually blind. Thankfully, Jesus changed that.

But what do I want to see? Where am I looking with my spiritual “sight”? Is my focus on the world around me, or is my attention centered on the One who gave me my sight in the first place?

Oh, to be like Bartimaeus! To see and then follow. Did he, like Paul wrote in his letter to the Philippians, “…consider everything to be a loss in view of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord”?

The same is true when we ask Jesus to heal us from a bondage or addiction. We rejoice in our newfound freedom, but what do with that freedom?

I don’t know what Bartimaeus planned to do with his sight when he asked for it, but I doubt he was thinking he’d just start walking along behind this man he called “Rabboni.”

Thankfully, he recognized a better deal when he saw it.

Do I? Am I determined to follow Jesus, even if He isn’t headed in the way I had hoped to go? What if He leads me to places I never wanted to be?

May I always have the vision of the once blind Bartimaeus, with my eyes on Jesus no matter where He leads me.

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Diligent Searching: Having the Faith to Find God’s Answers

I call to remembrance my song in the night; I meditate within my heart, and my spirit makes diligent search (Psalm 77:6 NKJV).

 

Who among us never spent an afternoon fastidiously sorting through a patch of thick, green, sweet-scented clover in search of the elusive four-leaf clover? To be honest, some of us have been known to invest lengthy amounts of time on this quest, even as adults.

But the search only lasts for so long. We either find a four-leafed clover, or more likely, give up and move on to something more productive—like imagining shapes in the clouds.

My daughter-in-law recently made a focused and intensive search through the grass, not for a four-leaf clover but for something even more important—her wedding ring. This pursuit was different from scavenging through the ground cover for an elusive plant with a rare leaf formation. This was a search she wouldn’t quit she knew she would find what she searched for. She might not have seen which blade of grass it landed behind, but she had faith it was there to be found.

When we apply the word diligent to our actions, it implies a steady, painstaking effort—a commitment to persevere until we achieve our objective. 

My daughter-in-law was diligent in her search, and the ring was recovered.

Not knowing the answers, not having a complete understanding (by my standards of course), often leaves me frustrated, uncertain, and fearful or discouraged.

But this verse in Psalm 77, like so many other Scriptures, comforts me.

The answers are there to be found and understood in God’s perfect time. My faith makes me diligent.

I can’t make sense of the world right now. Lying awake at night, my heart is drawn to meditate on the sorrow and suffering running rampant all around. Searching for answers is like hunting for that four-leafed clover—more often than not, a futile effort.

But when I set my spirit to diligently searching God’s Word, there I find peace in the midst of chaos. When my heart mediates on His love, truth, and goodness, instead of the brokenness of this world, there I find comfort.

Psalm 77 continues in verses 10-11, “But I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High.” I will remember the works of the Lord; surely I will remember your wonders of old.

Let us grow weary or discouraged, but let us be diligent in our search for God’s wonders of old. There we will find peace and comfort.

Where has your diligent searching  of God’s Word brought you peace? 

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Jesus Sees

As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”

“Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him. As long as it is day, we must do the works of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”

After saying this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man’s eyes. “Go,” he told him, “wash in the Pool of Siloam” (this word means “Sent”). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing (John 9:1-7).

 

Born blind, he spent his days sitting beside the road, hoping for charity from those who passed by.

He knew those who passed by, even the charitable ones, saw him as a sinner deserving of his affliction. Those who called themselves righteous in his day believed a person’s physical ailments were a result of the sins they or their parents committed. They didn’t question what his sin might have been. His blindness was the proof that God was punishing him.

It must have been hard for him to beg for his existence from those who unfairly judged him.

Day after day, he sat in the dust kicked up by the feet of the passing travelers and their livestock, dressed in worn and shabby clothes, gaunt from hunger, alone with his thoughts.

Have you been there? Maybe not left to beg on the side of a road, but condemned just the same? Abandoned to sit in the dust and filth, starved for a word of truth or hope, dressed in the rags of your shame while the righteous pass by and pass judgment?

And asking yourself what you did to deserve this?

Sometimes we know the choices we’ve made that led us to this place. The guilt hangs around us like a noose, slowly choking us.

But maybe the sin was started with something that was done to us when we had no way to stop it. It distorted our view of ourselves and made us learn to survive any way possible. We’ve been given a label and expectations have been set. It feels like there’s no escaping the injustice.

In many ways, we’re like the blind man. Whether by sin we chose or by sin cast upon us through circumstances beyond our control, we’ve been blinded to the presence of the only One who can restore and redeem us–Jesus.

Until one day we find ourselves choking on the dust of defeat, wearing our rags of unworthiness, and starving for something that will save us while those who should be bringing us hope offer nothing but condemnation.

Although we may suffer painful and permanent consequences for our sin, these things are not a punishment from God. Jesus’ words and actions in the passage above dispel that notion and give us cause for hope.

The blind man sat in the dirt, begging for charity from people he couldn’t see—and who didn’t want to see him.

He certainly didn’t see Jesus coming.

But Jesus saw him.

And Jesus sees you. He sees you in your despair, frustration, doubt and disbelief. He sees you in your darkest moments. He sees you even when you don’t see Him.

Jesus had compassion on the blind man. He placed mud on the man’s eyes then told him to go and wash in the Pool of Siloam. Jesus could have completed the act of healing right there with nothing more required. Was Jesus testing the man to see if he had faith? Or was He revealing a bigger truth through His request?

Something made the man allow this stranger to put mud in his eyes. He was desperate for a healing.

Did the man close his eyes before Jesus applied the mud? Either way, it would have been painful. How far was is it to the Pool of Siloam? It was certainly more than a few steps away. A long journey for a blind man with mud in his eyes.

John 9 tell us Siloam means “sent.”

In Luke 4:18 Jesus states, “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free…”

In effect, Jesus told this man to go and wash in the One who was sent to proclaim freedom for the prisoners, recovering sight for the blind, and to set the oppressed free.

Is that you, friend?

Perhaps it’s hard to believe God created you for His glory because you, like this blind man, have heard the whispered, sometimes shouted, accusations of others. The disciples even went so far as to ask Jesus who sinned, this man or his parents, within hearing distance of the man.

While the disciples tried to decide who to blame, Jesus focused on healing.

“…but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”

Jesus removed the label of shame and turned it into a canvas for God’s glory.

He wasn’t looking at the past. He was focused on what the future could be–a place where the works of God might be displayed. 

No matter how far we’ve fallen or how dark our world, Jesus is always there, asking if we’re willing to let go of our past and wash in the One who was sent to proclaim freedom for the prisoners, recovering sight for the blind, and to set the oppressed free.

 

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Too Little Icing: The Value of Focused Service

A naked wedding cake? Whose idea was that? The first time I heard about this, I was utterly confused. Now I understand. This is usually a cake with a very thin layer of icing—so thin one barely detects its presence. It makes perfect sense for those who don’t love icing but still want their cake. When done well, the simplicity can be quite beautiful. But only to those who don’t like the icing.

As a Christian, I often feel that life is a giant cake over which I’m trying to spread too little icing.

The needs of this world far exceed my ability to meet them. And yet, to say no to anything where help is needed feels like a failure to heed God’s call to “love one another” (see 1 John 4:11). So I spread and spread and spread, hoping to stretch the portion I’ve been given into enough to cover the entire cake. But unlike a naked wedding cake, there is never anything beautiful or sweet about my efforts when I spread myself too thin.

I say yes to too many Bible studies, committees, and fundraising campaigns. I let myself be inundated by an infinite list of requests for help. All good and worthy things, but are they the part of the cake I’m meant to cover?

Is it possible to spread myself so thin that there’s no proof I was even there? Has my time, energy, or offering been so faint, it makes no difference at all?

In Ecclesiastes, Solomon tells us, “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might…” (Ecclesiastes 9:10).

Our hearts are broken over the murder of the unborn, the trafficking of humans in modern day slavery, and growing numbers of mental illnesses ravaging our families and communities. We hurt for the abused, the hungry, the addicted, the sick, the grieving, and the lost.

In terms of a cake, it’s a mighty big pastry for one person to ice.

But Solomon tells us whatever our hand finds to do. He doesn’t say heart. Our hearts can be, and usually are, burdened for many things all at once, but our hands can perform only one task at a time.

The Book of Nehemiah is a good example of not trying to ice the whole cake. His is the story of rebuilding of the walls of Jerusalem. Nehemiah 3 is a detailed list of who did what. Each family or group focused on a particular section of the wall or gates. Each had a specific task to perform in a designated place. They didn’t run about taking a swing at a nail here and stacking a stone there just because the entire city was in ruins. They worked with the single-minded purpose of rebuilding what was right before them, and the result was a noticeable impact. In fact, Nehemiah tells us they completed the work in fifty-two days (Nehemiah 6:15). For a work crew of mostly unskilled laborers, that’s no small accomplishment.

Like these Israelites, we are surrounded by much destruction and devastation. And like the Israelites, now is not the time to spread our icing too thin.

Nor is it the time to give up.

Now is the time and you are the one to make a difference in whatever your hand finds to do.

May I suggest that mountain of cake we are trying to ice has been not just allowed, but encouraged by Satan? He heaps on the guilt every time we say no. He understands how easily we are weakened by stretching ourselves over everything that is in our hearts to do. The guilt that keeps us from saying no is another layer of cake for our finite supply of icing.

Soon we’ll experience weariness—the kind that breeds hopelessness and often depression. The result is an apathy that renders us unable or unwilling to keep trying.

Yes, our world is spinning into increasingly distressing times. The needs pile higher every day.

Now is not the time to dabble in a bit of everything—to spread ourselves too thin. Now is the time to sharpen our arrow, perfect our aim, and send it sailing straight into Satan’s wicked plans.

David had five stones in his pouch when he faced the giant Goliath. But he focused on only one (see 1 Samuel 17:40). Imagine how different that battle might have looked if he’d attempted to take down his giant by throwing all five at once. Both his aim and his strength would have been weakened.

What is in front of you now? What needs can you meet from right where you are? Put your hands to work there, and then work as unto the Lord, and not for men.

The things we may accomplish by our single-minded focus on the one task at hand will exceed the thin difference we may make when we work on a multitude.

Be faithful to serve the Lord with all your heart by working with all your might at whatever work your hands find to do.

 

Now I’d love to hear from you. Why do you think this is hard for us to do?

 

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The Double Edged Sword of Self-Doubt, Part 2

I don’t h ave what it tak es. I’m not smart enough, educat ed enough, important enough, experienced enough, brave enough, compassionate enough, or understanding enough.

 

If you tuned in to part one of this blog (if not, click on the link to read it now), then hopefully, you’ve spent the last two weeks rounding up those little foxes of self-doubt. If you’re like me, you probably have a corral full of them. Feeding them is getting expense. After all, it’s costing us valuable time when we could be living out our purpose instead.

So what are we to do with all this self-doubt? If we can’t get rid of it, then we must put it to good use.

Start again by being honest about who it is we are really doubting. We think we doubt ourselves when actually it’s God we’re doubting. We don’t trust His sovereignty, His wisdom, His goodness, His ability to forgive, or His love for us. Whatever it is, we’re afraid He’s not going to come through when we need Him.

And so like King Saul, we fall on our sword of self-doubt. We give up, turn away, refuse to engage. Better to end it all than risk failure, right?

When we surrender, we don’t just surrender a dream or longing. We aren’t just surrendering from something, we are surrendering to something—or rather, to someone. When we let our doubts take us out of the fight, we lay down our arms and submit to the enemy.

What if we flipped this double edged sword over and considered the other side?

What if we saw our self-doubts as merely an accurate assessment of our abilities? 

Deep inside, we all know that even our best and most diligent efforts will fall short. On some subterranean level of our soul, we  understand that we are grossly inadequate. We are imperfect beings working in an imperfect world.

Recognizing our inadequacies doesn’t have to equate to self defeating doubt. A fair assessment of our capabilities is a wise place to start in any endeavor.

Do any of these sound familiar?

I’m not educated enough to home school my children. I’m not eloquent enough to speak up for the unborn. I’m not smart enough to run for school board, city council, or State Representative. I’m not brave enough to take the gospel to the lost. I’m not knowledgeable enough to defend the truth, end human trafficking, stop the rampant number of suicides, or eliminate the drug problem that is destroying our communities. I can’t end poverty or cure hate. I can’t even bring about peace at the dinner table, much less in the world.

Don’t be offended when I say this, but you’re right. You’re not and can’t, and neither can I.

It is precisely when we recognize our lack that we can turn to God and receive His plenty.

What’s so helpful about the other side to our sword of self-doubt? It’s a side that can only be wielded by the hand of God. When we see our doubts as merely evidence of how much we need God, then we will see that it is He who lifts the sword on our behalf. It was never ours to swing alone. HIs mighty hand covers our weak one, we move and fight in His strength.

God isn’t glorified by the things we accomplish on our own. He’s glorified by the things He accomplishes through us …. those things that are far beyond our abilities.

Will we stumble? Will we fail?

To these questions I say, so what if we do?

What is the worst thing that can happen if we are walking in the will of God by the power and strength of God?

Let’s ask Peter. In Matthew 14, we read the account of Peter’s attempt to walk on water.  It started when Peter told the Lord he was willing, and Jesus said, “Come.” Peter responded eagerly, and certainly with no small measure of faith. But once out of the boat, the doubts set in. Instead of taking them captive and placing them at the water soaked feet of Jesus, he let the strength of the wind and the churning of the waves direct his attention. Finally, in a moment of desperation as he began to sink, he cried out “Lord, save me!”

And here’s where our comfort is found. Matthew 14:31 says, “Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught hold of him.”

What’s the worst that can happen if we start to sink after we get out of the boat? We can find ourselves in the hands of Jesus.

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but one of power, love, and sound judgment.” 2 Timothy 1:7

We must stop rowing the boat of fear with the oars of self-doubt. Because if we aren’t willing to get our feet wet in the oceans of faith, we just might miss out on the grand something God wants to accomplish with and through us.

God can change that pen full of little foxes we’ve been collecting into roaring lions of wisdom, strength, and power to be unleashed on our behalf as we pursue our God-given purpose.

Care to share? What are the names of some of your most persistent little foxes? What names will you give to the lions God uses to replace the foxes?

Thanks to everyone who joined in the conversation last time. And congratulations to Deb DeArmond! Deb won the autographed copy of Shattered Dreams to Treasured Truths: Transforming Life’s Disappointments by Donna Nabors.

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