Lori Stanley Roeleveld's Blog, page 50

A Brush with Death

A brush with death creates fear.

A brush with celebrity create exhilaration.

A brush with greatness leads to inspiration.

What is the result of a brush with you?

 

Have you ever brushed up against a wall of wet paint?

A glittery store display?

A furry white dog?

A tinseled tree?

When you walk away, the brush leaves remains.

What remains when people brush up against you?

 

A woman meets God at her local watering hole.

Her brush with deity leaves her convinced He’s the Messiah.

She can’t keep it to herself and many Samaritans come to salvation.

When you meet someone at the local watering hole, what do they walk away saying?

Does the encounter make them reconsider Jesus?

 

A woman touches God in a busy crowd

On His way to carry out a life-or-death task.

She walks away healed from her brush with the Healer

Even more, she is no longer invisible, no longer unseen, no longer lost in the crowd.

How are people affected when they encounter a busy you in a crowd?

 

Two brothers encounter God at their workplace.

Their brush with Him leads them to take their work to a new level.

A cheat encounters God in the midst of His scam.

His brush with holiness leads Him to repay those he cheated.

A shamed woman encounters God in the town square surrounded by accusers.

Her brush with mercy leaves her forever transformed.

What do others take away from an encounter with you?

 

This is what I heard God ask me today as I listened with new ears to the story of the Samaritan woman.

What struck me about this exchange today was how common it was. Two people chatting at a local watering hole. It struck me how brief it was. It struck me how simple it was for Jesus to make an impact in a moment.

It sometimes feels like we make no difference in other people lives. I’ve felt that way. But that just means I’m missing something. I affect people all the time and they affect me.

I recall a cruel word muttered about me by a silly boy on a school bus over forty years ago.

I recall a shrill reprimand from an uncaring teacher from my childhood.

I recall a friend cancelling her plans in order to make me tea when I was sick thirty-five years ago.

I remember a bandleader at an older relatives’ wedding complimenting my voice and my rhythm when I was not even ten.

 

Every day, as I work with hurting families, I hear stories of daily encounters and their effects.

Simple exchanges, brushes with teachers, neighbors, clergy, police, doctors, friends, church people, store clerks.

Exchanges that impact hurting people for better or for worse.

 

We are more powerful than we want to imagine.

We impact the world in more ways than we acknowledge or let ourselves know.

When people had a brush with God they walked away affected – it is the same when people have a brush with you or me – but what is the affect?

The God the woman met at the well lives within us. We are able to do greater works even because He has risen from the dead.

We meet people at wells every day. After those meetings, what remains?

 

Before I could panic, God reminded me this isn’t a striving thing.

Jesus didn’t work Himself into a panic trying to make this impact in every encounter.

He simply abided with His Father so that a brush with Him was soul-affecting.

And He calls us to abide in Him.

 

The greatest works of art are comprised of individual strokes of a single brush.

We worry too much about the big picture of our lives and not enough about the single strokes.

 

A brush with death creates fear.

A brush with celebrity create exhilaration.

A brush with Jesus leads to God because a brush with Him is a brush with eternal life. You hold within you that same life and light.

What is the result of a brush with you?

A Brush with Death https://t.co/NL3d59To4Z what remains after a brush with you? #amwriting #brushwithdeath #Jesusislife

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) December 10, 2015

DON’T Make Your Children’s Dreams Come True for Christmas

If you believe all the commercials and holiday specials, Christmas is about making dreams come true. Funny, no one told Jesus. He didn’t come to work for Walt Disney; He came to fulfill His Father’s will. God doesn’t offer us a Jiminy Cricket faith. It isn’t dreamy to know Him, it’s transformative.

Ask Mary. It wasn’t her dream to start her married life under a cloud of suspicion. Ask Joseph. It wasn’t his dream to have his friends wonder if he was a fornicator or a chump. It wasn’t this young couple’s dream to spend years running and hiding from a powerful and angry king. Nor was it the dream of families in Judea to watch Herod’s soldiers kill their infant sons.

Jesus didn’t come to make dreams come true. He came to teach us to dream better dreams.

He arrived a poor child so we knew He understood the pain of going without. He endured rejection, suffering, and trials so we knew He understood our distress, too.

He was misunderstood, betrayed, arrested, beaten, mocked, and humiliated. Those He loved, abandoned Him. He faced an unjust conviction and died at the hands of arrogant and manipulative blind guides – while His mother watched. Christmas isn’t about dreams – not the dreams we normally dream.

It’s a celebration of God’s love for us made flesh in the person of Jesus Christ. God came and lived with us. That wasn’t a dream; it was real. It wasn’t about making our dreams come true. It was about delivering us from the lesser dreams of this world so we are free to dream eternal dreams.

He is the originator of dreams, the great Dream Weaver, but we have come under the curse of one who convinced us to trade our glory, our eternal reality, for lesser dreams. That is why we spend the holidays at Stuff-Mart instead of caring for those in need, instead of seeking Christ.

If you love your children this Christmas, don’t work to make their dreams come true. Instead, teach them to dream the best dream – that of a life with Jesus Christ – one that never ends.

Many readers know we celebrated my daughter’s marriage to her long-time friend and the love of her life, Andrew, this past weekend. Here’s a glimpse of the joyous, blessed occasion. Mercy and grace, Lori

 

DON’T Make Your Children’s Dreams Come True at Christmas. https://t.co/MoBmn0gUC7 #amwriting #Christmas #Jesus

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) December 8, 2015

Monumental Moments – Marking Time

Monumental.

This is a monumental weekend for our family. My baby, our only daughter, will marry the man God’s brought into her life to love her. They both love Jesus. Our families know and enjoy one another. It’s all good.

All of her things are in their new home and on Saturday, she’ll follow her heart there, too. Hannah and Andrew. Husband and wife. A son-in-law. A new address. New name. New family dynamics. New adventures.

Absolutely monumental.

God designed us to experience these intensely emotional times. Consider that. He could have hard-wired us to go numb during transitions or periods of growth. Instead, he coded us to feel powerful waves of nostalgia, bitter-sweetness, anticipation, and almost unbearable joy. Tears were His idea. An outlet, a sign to others, a mark of our humanity. He must believe there is value in these passageways.

Throughout biblical history, God called His people to pause at important moments and take them in. He directed them to remember how far they’d traveled. To mark the place before moving forward. Memory is also His design and dreams. Transitions and new chapters. All His handiwork. He is such an artist.

After work tonight, my husband and I took that time to pause. Shop a bit. Share a meal. I bought a bracelet to mark the place. I’m not much for jewelry or things but I like to mark important places and times. I have a hymnal from my childhood remembering my commitment to Jesus. I have a hand-pin with a heart inside for when I decided to be a writer. A cobalt blue bracelet from a special anniversary with my husband. A bronze swan for two babies we lost between Zack and Hannah. A Celtic ring I found camping when my kids were young. You get the picture.

This weekend. Monumental.

Funny, I can recall the moment in the winter of 1989 when the doctor’s office called. I was eight months pregnant with Zack, my firstborn, and the nurse phoned to tell me to get a ride to the hospital. I phoned my husband at work and then took a long look around our apartment. I took it in. My last moment in our home before becoming a mom. I can remember details of that room from that day. Now, tonight, we paused together to mark the place our youngest spreads her wings and flies off to feather her own nest. Bookends of this stage of parenting.

I bought a bracelet. A pair of wings. They aren’t hers; they ’re mine.

My heart overflows in this moment with gratitude. I’ve faced many trials in life but I am dearly, dearly blessed. To have known Jesus from childhood. To find a loving husband and work I enjoy. To raise two children to adulthood and know they love the Lord. To enjoy close relationships with my parents who will be with me to enjoy this day. To have friends who share our joy. And now, to see our family expand to include a son-in-law I truly like from a family we love. I am blessed a thousand ways.

For years, I made a home. In recent years, I’ve learned anew what it means to make Christ my home. Who knows what lies ahead? Only God. But He does know, so I have only to know Him to rest secure today. He owns it all –the road behind, the path ahead, and the space on which I now stand.

Where are the places and when are the times you have paused?

Sometimes we pause for joyful passages and other times for sorrows. I have those, too, but this weekend is for joy. More troubles will come. Now, I’ll take joy. Milk it for all the worth God’s given it, then return it to Him as a thanks offering. Stand beside God in this place and say, “See how far we’ve come together. See how beautiful is this moment. How full of love. You do fine work, Lord. Fine work, indeed. Let me stand here in the shelter of your wings and catch my breath.”

“And Joshua said to them, “Pass on before the ark of the Lord your God into the midst of the Jordan, and take up each of you a stone upon his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the people of Israel, that this may be a sign among you. When your children ask in time to come, ‘What do those stones mean to you?’ then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it passed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the people of Israel a memorial forever.” Joshua 4:5-7

Take time for small monuments. Mark the time, the places, the moments. Even though this world will pass away, God designed us for this life – the joys, the sorrows, the passages of time. Stand beside Him and exhale.

Monumental Moments – Marking Time https://t.co/x8bugIOU9D What do we do with the intense passages of life? #amwriting #wedding #daughters

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) December 4, 2015

Losing My False Religion

Do you ever lose track of who you are?

This time of year, it can be easy to do. Pressure at work to keep up despite the added holiday activities. Financial strain from extra meals out, gifts, entertaining. Added time in crowded rooms with people we love in smaller doses, but close quarters elicit less civil feelings.

It took me a long time to understand the difference between laying down my life and letting others take it from me. I thought being like Jesus meant saying yes to every request for help or ministry, putting on patience and long-suffering like spiritual hospital scrubs, and meeting people’s expectations of what a Christian should be. I thought losing myself in Christ meant disappearing into other people’s needs. I forgot that Jesus was a disappointment to some but that didn’t make Him change course.

Jesus helped (is helping) me see I was making sacrifices He didn’t ask me to make. He never called me to be everything to everyone. Trying to be what I’m not took energy away from being what He did design me to be. Part of the secret is knowing who I am in Him but the other part is knowing who I’m NOT.

In John 1, the apostle makes a point of telling us that John the Baptist was NOT the light but he came to bear witness to the light.

Even in biblical times, it must have been easy to get lost in other people’s expectations. The crowds demanded that John identify himself. Imagine if the people following your ministry ask you if you are possibly the long-awaited Messiah, Elijah, or the Prophet as they did John? That can be either a temptation for your ego or a goad to try to live up to their heady expectations. John, though, is clear with himself and with them as to who he is not. He is not the Christ. He is not Elijah. He is not the Prophet.

John’s calling was to be “a voice of one crying in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord’ as Isaiah the prophet said.” John 1:23 ESV

John understood a simple truth. If a person is designed to be one thing, he or she is not designed to be another. As we embrace what we are not, we become freer to be who we are.

In the Body of Christ, a hand is designed to serve multiple functions, a heart to serve only one but where would the hand be without the beating heart? And if the hand tried to be a heart, how could the heart perform the functions of the hand? Each part needs to embrace its design.

Heading into this season of preparation, ask God to help you know, not only who you are but also who you are not. It can be an enormous relief to remember we aren’t all called to do everything all the time for everyone.

There is a holy security in knowing who you’re not. Listen to that voice crying in the wilderness and prepare your heart for the coming King.

Spread the word! My first novella, Red Pen Redemption, is out just in time for Christmas. Be warned: Helen Bancroft is not a sweet woman and this is not a sweet story but I promise you, Helen’s Christmas Eve adventure is one that change her life and it just may change yours.

Losing my false religion https://t.co/aKndeg0dmy You know who you are but do you know who you are NOT? #Advent #AdventWord #amwriting

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) December 2, 2015

The Shocking Development for Which I Am Grateful

Do you know how it feels to think you’re alone?

Have you ever been the odd person out, the one who doesn’t fit in? When you were a kid, did you watch the Rudolf the Reindeer special and wish there really was an island for misfit toys where you could find your place?

That was me.

I was studious, chubby, and I loved Jesus. Not too many other ways a kid could be weird in the sixties. Seriously, in the decades of the sixties and seventies when everyone was letting it all hang out if you couldn’t find a crowd with which to hang you were truly out there. It baffled me for years but now I know – it’s the writer in me.

When we writer types are children, we honestly have no clue why we are the way we are. Socially awkward. Unfortunately observant and aware (so we KNOW how awkward we are). Unabashedly blunt with the truth with no sense of timing and seeking for what, we don’t even know. If you’re paying attention to us, we reject it and if you don’t pay attention to us, we work to make you look. Frankly, we frustrate ourselves.

Then, there’s this even stranger subset of us who are Christian writers. There isn’t even a word for our flavor of strange. We hear stuff from God when we read the Bible and when we attend church, which would be struggle enough, but then we also hear stuff when we’re at family events, doing our day job, or watching network TV.

And we’re not content just to hear from Him. Oh no. We have to tell someone else what we hear. To be fair, most of us TRY to be content just hearing from God and keeping it to ourselves but that’s not how we’re designed. For us, it’s like something hasn’t truly happened until we’ve told it to someone else. If we try to keep quiet, we make the people around us so crazy they shove keyboards beneath our fingers and say – Write, already!

So imagine our shock when we, the ones who don’t fit in, the ones accustomed to waddling like great albatrosses across the deck of society’s ship, imagine the overwhelming shock when we find readers willing to read what we have to say. Honestly, the shock nearly kills some of us. I know it did me.

When I started to blog in 2008, I was so certain no one would read it that I decided to write in my own weird little voice. I wrote about how I saw God at work through water bugs, hobbits, and Star Trek. I wrote my take on Jesus and how to live for Him in this decade now. I dared to say things with my own attitude and whacky metaphors. I felt entirely free to click “Publish” on all I’ve written because I was so certain that I was alone.

Imagine my shock when you arrived! It was the blessed surprise of learning I am not, in fact, alone. It must be what the albatross feels when he realizes his over-sized wings simply weren’t meant for flopping around on a long walk – they were designed for flight. You cannot imagine the gratitude I feel for you, loved ones. I’m thankful for you each and every day.

A writer needs readers. Oh, without readers, we would still write, that’s true, but with readers, we are no longer alone. I am so thankful for you. You write me thoughtful encouragements and kind praise. You private message me when you notice a typo (you’re so sensitive) and some of you write me privately to share how God has used my words to touch your heart. You support me in so many ways but the most important way is just by showing up so I’m not here alone. For this, I thank you. A thousand times, thank you. Thank you even if you never comment or send me note. I can truly say your presence here, reading these words, is enough.

Isn’t that a beautiful thing? I am a writer seeking a reader and there you are and that’s enough for us both. God is gracious and good all the time. He’s good when I feel alone and my words are still locked in my keyboard and He’s good when He lets me know that others are there who love Him, who long to hear from Him, and who long for adventure, too.

That’s all this post is about, loved ones, my gratitude for you. I just wanted to pause to say thank you for reading. You’ve no idea how that ministers to me. Or maybe you do. Welcome to the season. I’m glad I’ll be sharing it with you!

The Shocking Development for which I’m Grateful https://t.co/wOyEg3CSBF whatever could it be? Find out. #amwriting #ThanksgivingSunday

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) November 29, 2015

If You Give a Woman a Cookie . . .

If you give a woman a cookie . . . apparently, that may cause her such fear she’ll run in the opposite direction of her personal dreams. This was the lesson the writers of the television show “Scandal” decided was worth sending out into the world last week.

Have you noticed that in our effort to improve things, sometimes we make simple things complicated and then just lose our way?

Take being a wife and mother. At one point, we vilified women who desired to work outside the home. Their ambitions and contributions weren’t valued and this needed correction. I applauded the correction because I was alive and female while the cultural Titanic turned.

Unfortunately, now we’ve crashed headlong into an iceberg we could have seen coming. The vilification of all things home making came clear to me as I watched the fall finale of “Scandal.” The main character had a life-changing epiphany because a Senator’s wife dared to ask her, not her thoughts on policy, not her opinion on foreign affairs, not her assessment of the economy, but for the name of a cookie served by the White House. The horror. The shame of being asked about a cookie seemingly drove this intelligent young woman to make the only currently reasonable decision she could make: to break free of the entanglement of a committed relationship with the man she loves and impending motherhood lest she be trapped or lost inside the role.

Nevermind that as a staffer for the president, she’d performed similar duties and seen it as an honor. She’d told him which tie to where, handled trivial matters without question, and happily worked behind the scenes without recognition in order to support the same man. No, now those same actions became menacing threats because she performed them as his life-partner.

Olivia Pope, unafraid of terrorists, the media, thugs with guns, or men with power, was frightened off from pursuing her personal goals by a snickerdoodle.

When did we get here and why would we remain in this place?

Why do we write Sunday feature articles about a woman who opens a bed-and-breakfast because she has a knack for interior design, hospitality, and delicious muffins but show contempt to a woman choosing to do the same for her own family?

Why do we honor women who commit to cleaning up the planet or volunteer to wash oil from seabirds but dishonor women who choose to clean their homes and care tenderly for family pets?

What merit is there in lauding women who respond to the call to care for other people’s children by running daycare centers and preschools or providing foster care for babies but chide women who choose to care full-time for their own children as lacking ambition?

Why do we imagine a woman who sacrifices for others by serving as a first responder or a soldier is more heroic than a woman who sacrifices so the man she loves or her children can pursue a dream? Why is she somehow less valued than political staffers who subjugate their own ambitions to help their candidate achieve his or hers?

What is the disconnect when a society sees the greatness of a coach, a trainer, or a manager standing in the wings while their protégé takes center stage but we denigrate a woman who has found her calling doing the same thing for her family?

If a young woman pursues work as a private tutor on an island for a wealthy family we say she’s clever to have landed such a job but a woman who homeschools her children is a throwback? If a woman loves to cook and becomes a governor’s personal chef, we want to see her interviewed on TV but if she chooses to prepare gourmet meals for her own family and friends instead, we wonder why she’s hiding her skills at home.

Women called to be caregivers as careers are appreciated with endless gratitude by the families they serve but women called to be caregivers for their children, parents, or in-laws out of love and honor are dismissed?

I have been both a woman who works outside the home and a stay-at-home homeschooling mom (17 years). I had the same mind, same dreams, same ambitions through each season – both as a wife/mother and as an author of three books. I believe every woman (and man) must follow the calling they’ve been given by God and the rest of us should respect and honor their choices.

There are women now, however, called to love and serve their families by being stay-at-home parents or spouses who see their choice consistently portrayed in the media as a punchline or a lesser calling – something to be disdained, something intelligent women escape. This is to all our shame if we let it continue without speaking up.

Recently, a little girl proudly showed me her “new math.” On her paper she wrote 6 X 3 = ? or 3 X 6 = ? She then penned a simple word problem to illustrate the equation. Next, she fashioned a diagram. Then she drew an array. All of this was executed beautifully and I told her so. At last, I asked her, what was the answer to the equation? She examined her work and proudly wrote the number 20 beside the question marks.

When I told her that wasn’t the correct answer she informed me that it was because she’d explained her work, written the problem several ways, and done her array. When I insisted it was not the correct answer she responded, “Oh, my teacher told me a lot of adults wouldn’t understand the new math.”

I’m one of those adults. I don’t understand the new math where every choice women make is respected unless they choose to pursue their dream of enjoying a traditional role. That, loved ones, doesn’t add up, and we’ll all suffer if we don’t get that equation right.

Me? I choose to be unafraid of snickerdoodles. I am as capable of discussing a cookie recipe as I am of expounding on politics or theology. My mind is that strong and so are the minds of millions of other women.

Value every women you know but this weekend, take a look around. If there’s a women in your world who has chosen to work in her home as a wife or mother, take her a snickerdoodle. Tell her this is your way of saying, “I see what you do and I value it. I respect your choice and love what you contribute to the world.”

Let’s commit to raising a generation of women who fear nothing – not even baking a cookie.

If you give a woman a cookie . . .https://t.co/g5s2KwaSbX Why are modern women afraid of baked goods? #Scandal #OliviaPopeTaughtMe #cookies

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) November 24, 2015

The Most Biblical Show on Television

America is abuzz over an episode of the ABC Thursday night show, Scandal.

Most of you are likely not viewers of Scandal and this post isn’t a recommendation for the show. It’s not something most of you would enjoy watching. Scandal revolves around the life of Olivia Pope, a modern writers’ depiction of a fairy tale princess. She’s strong, skilled, independent, wealthy, fashionable, smart, politically savvy, and in love with the President of the United States, the ultimate prince charming. He, of course, is married, but that doesn’t stop their adulterous relationship from being the centerpiece romance of the series.

When I was downed by illness last fall, I binge-watched Scandal and was fascinated that it clearly portrays the ugliness of sin and yet has drawn a wide audience. (**This post is not an encouragement to watch this show.) I’m sure the writers had no intention of writing a biblical drama but that is exactly what they’ve done. There is more biblical truth in this show than is usually allowed on network television. It portrays the relentless allure of evil. The seduction of power. The addicting nature of violence. The hypocrisy of all humans, not just the religious ones. And the soul-less lives resulting from greed and the worship of self.

Olivia and Fitz aren’t ever rewarded for their adultery by anything more than a moment’s fleeting pleasure. Their selfish choice to pursue it despite his marriage and her relationship with another man results in chaos, deception, destruction, and even the murder of Fitz’s son (and now their unborn child). This season, Fitz finally divorced his wife and moved Olivia into the White House. It only took a few brief episodes for them both to decide, “Oh, I guess I didn’t really want all of you. What really worked for me was just the affair.”

Olivia chooses, alone, to end the life of their child, depicted to the strains of “Silent Night” and her evil father’s voice talking about his view of family. “Family is a burden, a pressure point, soft tissue, an illness, an antidote to greatness. You think you’re better off with people who rely on you, depend on you but you’re wrong because you will inevitably end up needing them, which makes you weak, pliable. Family doesn’t complete you, it destroys you.”

In the Darwinian world we’re creating, in these days of Noah, we’re at least becoming clear about our choices. Only the strong survive and to be strong, the writers of this show say, we must not only be willing to be alone, we must value aloneness, self, above all else. If we worship at the altar of “what I want right now,” we’re guaranteed to be the toughest souls in the room.

Jesus spoke of this in Revelation 3:17 “For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked.” The characters on this show play anti-biblical choices out to their inevitable conclusion and then embrace their delusion, calling it freedom and strength when really it’s death.

In the world of Scandal, Christians are shrill, hypocritical, weak-minded, a sham. They don’t resemble the Christians I know but they’re not supposed to do that. They’re “boogie man” believers portrayed this way to frighten people off from the truth.

The truth is that Olivia Pope is a fairy tale princess for the times of Noah. It’s fitting that her job is “a fixer.” She spins stories when high-powered, wealthy people are in trouble in order to help them escape the consequences of their bad choices. Sometimes she tells the truth but only when it serves her purposes. She is artful at her craft, beautiful and alluring, but ultimately she gives birth to death. Olivia Pope embodies the wide road that leads to destruction.

The truth is that Olivia isn’t strong enough to choose true love. She doesn’t have it within her to embrace vulnerability and full-relationship. Every cookie-baking housewife on earth is stronger than Olivia Pope because they have chosen the true test of strength – loving another enough to be willing to open one’s heart to them. To sacrifice and be sacrificed for. To remain faithful through the boring hard times as well as the hot romantic ones. To be vulnerable. To face illness, loss, and failure with the same commitment as prosperity, attraction, and triumph. To be willing to look boring to the deceived world in order to know the adventure of truly loving one other, and one’s children, for a lifetime.

Paul says in 2 Corinthians 12:10 “For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” This is no fairy tale faith. This is truth lived out in full measure in a fallen world until He comes.

Scandal is unintentionally a biblical show because it truly portrays the sad destruction of a life devoted to self. I don’t recommend it for viewing but I also don’t recommend being afraid of it. God’s truth is so powerful that even when people reject it, they find themselves testifying to it.

This show isn’t actually scandalous. The true scandal of our times is God’s willingness to extend grace through His Only Son.

The Most Biblical Show on TV https://t.co/9PEO7bQEVP #Scandal #ScandalAbortion #amwriting #Christian

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) November 21, 2015

If You Can Keep Your Head When All About You . . .

Fear talk rules the day.

I’m not afraid right now but that’s because I feel safe. I know where all my loved ones are and my little town isn’t likely to appear on a prime target list. So, it’s easy for me to write brave words. This is true.

What’s also true is that I don’t know what to do about the Syrian refugees. When one side speaks, I think they’re right until I hear arguments for the other side, then they seem right, too.

Clearly, I believe that borders and precautions are not unbiblical. My marriage is a type of border that my husband and I don’t let anyone else cross. I know where my property ends and my neighbors’ begins, and I want that line respected. I would press charges against someone who entered my home illegally. I don’t easily open my front door to strangers, even ones who look like they may be in trouble, because I know sometimes that’s a trick. I don’t take in every hurting soul I encounter or I’d be running a group home. I am likely to take more risks if I’m home alone than I would if I still had small children or was responsible for the safety of others within my walls. This is my small-scale understanding of healthy boundaries.

If we were at war, though, I’d adapt my rules. I’d have a different understanding of hospitality. I’d factor in an enemy and those fleeing from that enemy.

We are at war, loved ones, with ISIS and with the true enemy.

It’s been said our current enemies are dangerous because of their ideology and because they aren’t afraid to die. It’s true that what we communicate publicly affects the choices disaffected individuals make as they sit in front of glowing computer screens wondering if there is a place, a group, or a people to which they can belong. So, let us consider our words prayerfully, loved ones.

When we speak, we represent Jesus. Let us speak like a family – not publicly berating our brothers and sisters who see a different way to apply the same biblical truths. We’ll be called to account for EVERY word because our words are tools for building the kingdom, weapons against the darkness, and a reflection of our hearts, so let our hearts be submitted to Jesus before we write or speak.

I do have one thought.

I’ve been thinking that the only way to disarm the power of an enemy unafraid to die is to willingly lay our lives down. This is what Jesus did for us and we are His followers. We can only consider this if we, as Jesus lovers, believe there is something worse than death.

For Christians, death is an open door into the arms of Jesus and the rest of our lives. We have nothing to fear from that. Jesus told us this, “And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” Matthew 10:28 ESV From our place of safety, we must practice being unafraid of earthly powers.

We represent Jesus so our words must not be informed by fear but by faith. We must not represent our own interests, but His. We must speak truth, love, and light into a world full of lies, hatred, and darkness. This will not win us any friends. This will surely make us targets – us and our loved ones. But, they can only take our lives and while that is no small thing, it is a greater grief if they take our witness while we remain on this earth.

Suffering is terrible, death is not to be desired, but worse than death is to betray the truth by living in cowardice, hatred, and fear when we are people called to faith, love, and light.

I do feel terrible fear when I imagine the atrocities happening in Syria happening to my daughter, my mother, my son, or to me. But, if it were happening to me, how terrible would it be if I heard those in safety say we must wait to take action until it’s happening to us?

Let’s not become unwitting pawns in the propaganda war waged by the enemy. There is time before we click, share, publish, or tweet to pray, to submit our hearts, our minds, our souls, our strengths, our fears, and our loved ones to Jesus.

He has already determined the number of our days. He has designed us to live in these times and not another. He has promised to be with us and never forsake us. He gave us the command to love knowing it would have to stand firm even in these times. God isn’t afraid of ISIS. He isn’t surprised by terrorism. He is for us, not against us, and He has mercy on us as we wrestle with these concerns. So, let us have mercy on one another.

Let us not only fall on our knees at the sound of gunfire and bombs, but let us remain there long enough to receive His orders for our next moves, our next thoughts, our next words. He is our refuge and strength. If He is with us, even if we suffer and die, we are victors. If we allow fear to rule our hearts and rob us of love and mercy, we are already captive to the enemy. If we are free in Jesus, we should live as people free to act as He would. God’s Word is to be lived even under fire. It’s easy to stitch it on pillows and wear it on T-shirts, it’s not easy to live when it costs us our lives.

I am a small person living a small life in a small place but I will live that life for Jesus and lay it down for Him. I won’t be terrorized by an enemy that has already been defeated and is destined for eternal death. Not because I’m so strong but because Jesus will make me strong. He is love and love is stronger than death.

I trust the one charged with my protection to keep me safe until my time comes. That one doesn’t reside in the oval office but sits enthroned in Heaven. Until then, I will exercise the full measure of my freedom to love generously, to pray fervently, and to fear only One.

What did one domino say to the other? Wait. We don’t have to fall.

If You Can Keep Your Head When All About You https://t.co/hX4xu5zXdD #ISIS #SyrianRefugees #ParisAttacks

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) November 18, 2015

Who Cuts Up a Three-Year-Old’s Blankie?

I’m afraid I won’t say things right in this post.

In it, I speak to children I’ve known – abused, confused, neglected, rejected, alone. But, I’m writing, too, to the broken children inside us all. I’m afraid I won’t say this clearly, but here goes.

It is no favor we do to love another. Even one we’ve stretched to love – an enemy, an offending neighbor, or a wayward child. God is love and so, to participate in love – to give or to receive – is a win. Either way.

Love is worthwhile even if it’s not reciprocated. Even if it’s entirely rejected. Even if it’s slips through the other’s soul like spaghetti water through a strainer. Even love down the drain is a win because we’ve engaged in an act of godliness. To love is to be like God. To love is to reclaim the image in which we were created. To love is no favor we do for another because to love is to participate in the beating of God’s heart. To believe love is a kindness or a favor to another is a lie of the soul.

And yet, some mouth this lie to their own children.

You’re six-years-old and can’t sit still. Sometimes you kick and scream. The grown-ups in your house say you’re a problem. Of course, they never factor you in when planning their day. They forget you need to eat regularly and sleep on time. You’ve already had more addresses than I’ve had in five decades. When you receive a gift of new clothes you inhale the smell of new and rub the material against your cheek, relishing the experience like a trip to Disney. It makes sense to me, your screaming.

And you, you’re fourteen, tall, and overweight. You’ve dyed your hair purple so people think you don’t care what they think. You cannot see your own beauty. You’re scary smart but your life has interfered with your grades so you feel like a fool. Your mom says you’ve never experienced anything traumatic so you don’t bother to contradict her because all you’ve known is trauma except she calls it “stuff everyone goes through.” They don’t, but saying that won’t change your story.

And then, there’s you. You’re three-years-old and you call me “safety lady,” because every time I visit I point out dangers the grown-ups in your home refuse to see. You crawl up beside me with your blankie and offer me a corner to hold while you rub the sweet spot on the other side. One day, you whisper into my ear that you’re sad. Your mom says she cut your blankie into pieces to teach you not to cry just because she kicked your daddy out. She admits to worse things but that sheared blankie haunts me still.

You’re lucky, she lies, lucky that she’s taking care of you. She didn’t have to even have you, so she’s doing you a favor to love you at all. Or so she tells you.

And the fourteen-year-old hears that she’s lucky her mother’s boyfriend has done her the favor of loving her. He doesn’t have to, don’t you know? You’re not even his kid but he still gave you a ride to the doctor when you were sick.

And the six-year-old hears that her parents are doing her a great favor to love her, too. Their parents gave them up to the state so she’s lucky they love her even when they forget to feed her or keep her warm at night.

This is the worst kind of lie, the notion of love as a favor. What they offer as love isn’t even close. Like disguising chalk as chocolate or exchanging mud for water. Offering chalk to a hungry heart or mud to a thirsty soul is no favor.

When you offer love to another, you enter into the act of love, and that is a favor you do for yourself.

Love is a gain for everyone involved. Loving someone is like singing a song and finding someone to listen or writing a story and finding someone to read it.

Children, love is a circuit and your existence completes it. You’re not an accident, a mistake, or someone else’s child. You’re a treasure, a precious gift, a jewel, and a desirable soul. Be a colander to the lies but let any love you receive catch hold in your soul. Don’t let any earthly tremor shake it loose.

God is love. God knew perfect love before the creation of the world. Love is such a treasure; He created humanity to experience it. Even knowing the sorrow we’d bring Him. Knowing we’d fall. Knowing we’d fail. He risked it all for love. Even His only Son.

Loving another is never a favor we do for them. To withhold love, to be devoid of love, to disengage from love (which is to be separate from God,) this is an atrocity, a sorrow of the deepest order, an eternal failing, a plunge into weakness, not a strength or a win. Perfect love casts out fear. Love is stronger than death.

In Christ, we are able to love the way He loved us. In Christ, we receive a Holy invitation to engage in the act of love, to enter God’s heart and emerge transformed. Blessed are all you are free to love.

Child, to love you is no favor. To love you is to be like God. Blessed is the godly woman or man who loves you.

I’m trying so hard to say this, I’ve probably been unclear. The bottom line? Love is no favor we do for another. The greatest achievement in life is not to find love – it’s to find one’s self capable of loving another.

Who cuts up a three-year-old’s blankie? https://t.co/96mWdK2PSp #love #childabuse #amwriting

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) November 17, 2015

When Your Faith is a Punchline – Nevermind

I don’t like being laughed at, do you?

It’s one of our greatest fears and dislikes, to be the object of ridicule and mockery. It puts us back on the playground, feeling shame, fearing exclusion, desperately wanting to be like everyone else, safely standing with the crowd and not exposed, surrounded by mockers.

“Everybody’s laughing at me,” is a sorrowful cry from a child running home to Mama, a failed CEO huddled beneath her covers, or a disgraced politician avoiding the late-night monologues now built around his latest gaffe.

Laughter, like all things good, is a gift from God. He invented humor and aren’t we glad? Satan, with no creative powers of his own, enjoys twisting for his own purposes those things God made. God imbued laughter with the power to heal, to relieve stress, to build community, and to express and spread joy. Satan annexed it to shame, to frighten, to crush, to control, and to destroy. It can be an effective weapon against God’s people but, like all weapons formed against us, it won’t stand.

Growing up a Christian, there were times when my peers ridiculed my beliefs but it’s not something I heard adults mocking. That isn’t true any longer. I see and hear those truths I hold dear mocked over the airwaves, in memes on social media, by talk show hosts, in casual conversation in the lunchroom at work, and by the political elite. While modern media execs fall all over themselves working to include every other individual in society, they have no hesitation making my faith a punchline.

It feels like a new phenomenon but it isn’t.

God’s people have been the subject of ridicule since the days of Noah. People laughed at Jesus and in His last days, He was mocked, scorned, and hung up to die. If He was subjected to laughter, so will any who follow Him.

How we respond to the laughter will testify to the character of Jesus Christ.

In times of war, the enemy employs every tactic to play on their opponent’s vulnerabilities. They may flood the airwaves with ridicule, laughter, and mockery to make soldiers feel small, to erode their confidence and their sense of mission and purpose. They will declare victories where none exist, so as to discourage with propaganda. Even a veteran fighter has to work to defend against a steady assault of mind games. Sometimes it’s easier to face a gun than a crowd refusing to take you seriously.

One response that is certainly a mistake is to take the bait. There’s no worse way to respond to a crowd of bullies than to stamp one’s foot, cry, and yell back “Hey guys, stop being mean. I mean it. Stop it. That’s not funny. Stop laughing at me, or I’ll tell.” All that energy is better channeled into work assigned by God and God doesn’t spend a lot of energy worrying about who likes Him.

For me, I take my answer from a single word uttered by the renowned SNL social commentator, Emily Litella, one of my generations’ supreme funny ladies. “Nevermind.”

That’s right. When people laugh at our faith, when they mock and ridicule, when talk show hosts belittle our dearest truths, well, nevermind.

God has warned us this would happen. If we know Him and His Word, we aren’t caught off guard by this assault.

“If a wise man has an argument with a fool, the fool only rages and laughs, and there is no quiet. Bloodthirsty men hate one who is blameless and seek the life of the upright.” Proverbs 29:9-10

“If you were of the world, the world would love you as its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you.” John 15:19

So, nevermind. Be about your own business, which is loving even those who laugh at you. Be about the business of becoming more like Jesus every day. Be about the work of being salt and light. When they laugh at you, imagine they’ve inhaled the enemy’s noxious laughing gas and so are operating under the influence of a great delusion. Thank them, even, for the opportunity to learn to love under duress. Tell them you are of the Order of the Holy Nevermind.

Because you are not deceived. You walk in truth. You are free. Refuse to come under the oppression of the same delusion. The enemy declares victory where there is none simply to discourage you. The enemy fills your ears with laughter to make you feel small and insignificant. You aren’t. He wouldn’t employ his weapons against you if you posed no threat. So, when you hear them mock us, nevermind.

God promises that He will one day have the last laugh. “The wicked plots against the righteous and gnashes his teeth at him, but the Lord laughs at the wicked, for he sees that his day is coming.” Psalm 37:12-13 Those who mock and jeer, those people are God’s business so set yourself to the work He’s given you and as for their laughter, nevermind.

When we would complain to my great-grandmother that others were picking on us, she waved our complaints away like bothersome gnats saying, “Don’t you pay them no nevermind.”

Yes, the world laughs at the greatest truths of eternity. Yes, the world mocks the One we love, the Son of God, Jesus Christ. Yes, the world ridicules our beliefs and refuses to take us seriously. Yes, we are the only ones it’s okay to laugh and scorn on television and movies these days. But consider this: at some point, Noah had to tune out those who didn’t understand and simply focus on the work. He knew, by faith, the floods would come. We know, by faith, Jesus will return.

So, love ones, you pay them no nevermind. The laughter is an attempt at distraction but we see through it. Our eyes are on Jesus and our ears are tuned, not to their laughter, but to His voice. A voice we’ll hear forever, long after the mocking laughter has died.

When Your Faith is a Punchline – Nevermind https://t.co/0ppVanMcmh #amwriting #StarbucksRedCup #Christian

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) November 14, 2015