When I can't let go of that empty tube of toothpaste

This post is an oldie but a goodie--especially with Psalm 23 still on my heart:

Sometimes I think I’m a product of the 1930s, as if I lived through the wrong generation and instead I'm more like my grandparents, who survived the Great Depression. 

Either that or I’m cheap—and I prefer to think it’s the former and not the latter. 

Right now I have two un-opened packages of mascara in my cabinet, and my current tube is seriously empty, but I am still—and have been for weeks—scraping the edges for some black goodness that makes my eyelashes look longer and thicker than they really are. 

And it’s not just makeup. I refuse to depart with a near-empty tube of toothpaste. Even though I have a new one under the sink, I will squeeze that tube for days, even weeks, putting teeny-tiny dollops on my tongue (yes, that’s where I put it, and that’s why Howell refuses to share a toothpaste tube with me). 

In the shower, I’ll fill my conditioner with water when it gets to the very end and shake it for the stuck sides of conditioner to “rain out” on my head. I’ll do this for at least two or three showers—until it’s really just water I’m pouring on my head—before I finally give in, throw it away, and grab the new bottle under the sink, the one I bought months ago in preparation for this day. 

Why do I do this? I have no idea… Howell just laughs at me and says, “Babe, just get a new one.” 

I mean, I have a black dress from 8^th grade in my closet. I wore it faithfully through my senior year of college when I was consistently half my current size. Today, it does. not. fit. It never will fit. 

Why do I still have it? 

Obviously, I have a very hard time throwing things away, and I’m not only talking about cute sentimental things like cards (although, yes, I also keep every stinking card because I am crazy, and I guess I believe I will someday read through those boxes and boxes of paper). 

But seriously, y’all, I can’t even depart with a tube of toothpaste. 

With Howell and others who know me well, we joke about this, but I’ve been seriously thinking about it this week, especially as I (for real) am scraping my mascara bottle’s edges each morning. 

I believe the root of my sometimes comical behavior is fear of lack. 

I don’t think I consciously feel that way—and it’s not like we can’t afford an $8 tube of mascara. (I mean, I have two new ones in the cabinet!)

But somewhere in my heart is the root—

I must hold on or else…

I can’t let go or there won’t be enough….

I’ve blogged about fear of lack before—mostly related to seeing myself as if I'm not enough, as if I can’t contribute, as if I have nothing to offer.

For months, we had this thing on our kitchen counter: “Through Jesus, I am whole, complete, lacking nothing.” 

This is not only true for me as a person, but it’s also true for the Lord’s provision. He is enough, and He will always provide enough. 

I have never not been taken care of. (How’s that for a double negative and passive voice?!) Honestly, though, I cannot recall a time where the Lord hasn’t provided, and there were plenty of dire months where we needed it. 

But even in those paycheck-to-paycheck days, He provided. And He provides now. 

Yes, it’s funny, and we can laugh when I’m still holding on to that tube of toothpaste, but in all sincerity, it’s about my heart. 

And in my heart, I need to believe that I do not lack. 

He provides not only my vanity products like mascara—but my everything: physically, emotionally, spiritually, and financially. 

“The Lord is my Shepard; I shall not lack.”

What are you holding onto today that might be connected to a fear of lack? Dear friends, I encourage you to remind yourself--as I need to often!--that He is our source and provider.

Click to Tweet: When we're holding on too tight, when we can't throw anything away, do we have a fear of lack?

                                                                                                                                     

Seeing as HE Sees

Luke 15:11-32

This is one of my favorite parables, and as I continue with the #LentChallenge, I'm still thinking about Luke 15 because, in various seasons, I have been the lost daughter and the jealous daughter. This is, in most Bibles, the parable of the lost son, but like the two parables in Luke 15 that precede it (the lost sheep and the lost coin), I feel this parable says far more about the Father's heart than that which was lost.

1) Sometimes our Father initiates the search for us, and sometimes, He is waiting for our return, but always, He meets us; always, He is filled with compassion. 

This view of our Father--especially depending on how you view your earthly mother and father--is not normal, if normal is defined by earthly standards. A child who rebels, who is wasteful, who squanders, who avoids, who willfully and intentionally goes his own way: that, by any parenting standard, is cause for discipline and reproach.

The response we might expect is anger, silence, crossed arms, a tapping foot, and the words we fear most, "Son, I'm disappointed."

But not our Heavenly Father: "While he was still a great ways off, the father saw him and had compassion and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him."

Even when we are in the midst of bad choices, even when we are ashamed and self-loathing, even before we open our mouths to repent, our father sees, and has compassion, and runs to us, and falls on us, and kisses us.

I'm not downplaying sin, rebellion, or repentance, but too often, our worldly view gets crossed with our spiritual view, and we forget that it's the Lord's kindness, His mercy, His love, that leads us to repentance. 

It's not our shame. It's not our unworthiness. It's not about how low must I get to be forgiven.

It's about Him, and His heart, and His compassion.

He meets us. He pursues us.

2) Even in our sin, He still desires to reaffirm us as sons and daughters, to confirm in us how HE sees us. 

The jealous one--ever been her? When you're just serving and obeying and doing all that your Dad asks you to do, but yet someone else gets acknowledged, gets rewarded, gets that blessing you really feel you deserve?

What does the Father do? He pursues: "But he was angry and would not go in. Therefore, his father came out and pleaded with him."

Therefore. HIS father. His father CAME. His father came and PLEADED.

So much could be said about that one sentence. He didn't scold. He didn't tell him to grow up, to be self-less, to be mature, or to get over it.

He says, "Son, you are always with me, and all that I have is yours."

What an affirmation! What a declaration! What a promise!

Son. Daughter.

He calls us by name; He calls us HIS, even in the midst of our jealous fit.

He offers the promise of His presence. We are with Him. He is with us.

He offers the promise of sufficiency. "All I have is yours." You have enough because I am enough.

Grace, that unmerited, unearned favor. Grace, that supernatural power and ability. Grace, His total and utter sufficiency accomplished in me by faith because of the finished work of the cross. 

Because He is enough, I am enough in Him. 

Because He is sufficient, I am lacking nothing in Him. 

Our Father wants to know us, and more than that, He wants to be known by us: that we would really see His heart, not the reaction we expect to find, not expecting the punishment we deserve, but with opened eyes to see all that He's done, out of His great love and grace and mercy. 

Jesus died. And God's wrath was satisfied. And the punishment for our sin was satisfied. It is finished. 

And when we believe--when we put our faith in what the cross accomplished, the finished work of Jesus Christ--then we are not only transformed from death to life, from lost to found, but with unveiled eyes, we get to behold Him--to really see Him, our Heavenly Father. 

He is all good. He is all grace. 

He runs to us. He meets us. He pleads with us. And above all, He wants us to see ourselves how He sees us. 

Daughter, I am with you. Daughter, you are mine. Daughter, you have enough. Daughter, you lack nothing.

Choosing Joy!

As of Saturday, we have lived in Plainview for one month. It is a little crazy to think about how quickly the time has passed, especially considering how many months and months (10 to be exact) we spent praying and waiting for God to move on our behalf. God's hand has so clearly been in everything that has happened--from the smooth closings, the available funds, the moving process, and even unpacking.

I will be honest, though... Our first month in Plainview has been a little hard. We have had a few bumps in the road, some unexpected problems, namely our plumbing, which quit working the day after we moved in, and even now, one month later, is somewhat fixed, but we still don't have 100% functioning.

What I wasn't prepared for was the emotional battle my heart would face. Here God has blessed us with this beautiful house we hoped and prayed for and a five minute drive to my work, and He has provided all that we asked and needed to get us here.

And yet, within a week of living in Plainview, I suddenly felt very lonely and vulnerable. I missed my friends and family in Lubbock, especially on the nights Hal traveled, and I was acutely aware that I had no social life. At the same time, I felt so overwhelmed to live in this kid-ready house with a playroom and a swing set and access to a community pool. Everything reminded me that I'm not pregnant, we don't have kids, and I'm still just an outsider looking in.

For weeks I have had this battle in my heart--and for weeks, I felt like I've been losing.

But this weekend the Lord reminded me that He is for me, not against me. I know He called us to Plainview. I know He gave us this exact house for an important reason. I know He has a plan.

Friday night, we got to hear Dr. Ben Carson speak. Among his many other accomplishments, his life story and all that he has had to overcome just blew me away. He repeatedly talked about personal choice, saying, "The person who is most responsible for what happens to you in life is you."

I get to choose. I choose what my attitude will be. I choose whether or not I'll have joy or sorrow. And when I don't choose His promises or all that He has for me, I am letting the enemy rob me of my joy. When I don't choose thankfulness for all that He has provided, I am letting the enemy steal my testimony.

So, we don't have kids... So, I don't have a lot of friends (yet). I have a lot of other blessings in my life, including an incredible husband, who is my best friend. And the friendships I do have are far richer in quality than they would ever be in quantity. (I mean, how many friends will spend 14 hours in one day helping you paint--and get back into the house you've accidentally locked yourself out of!!)

My God has abundantly and richly blessed me, and if I will remember that He is my provider, my sufficiency, my security, and my hope, then I can change the attitude of my heart and in exchange, receive His spirit of joy and grace and thankfulness. I may not have the full picture. I may  not see His full purpose for us in Plainview, but He does. And if I really believe in His goodness, if I really believe in His faithfulness, then I can trust Him, beyond my circumstances, beyond my emotions, that He is still working on my behalf, that He is still with me and for me.

The certainty and security of what we know and don't know

In 2002, Donald Rumsfield made a controversial comment about what we know: "There are known knowns; there are things we know that we know. There are known unknowns; that is to say, there are things that we now know we don't know. But there are also unknown unkonwns--there are things we do not know we don't know."

Among other things, Rumsfield was criticized for his convoluted use of language--and this post has nothing to do with the politics of his statement. But I think he raises a good point in terms of what we know about what we know or don't know. And I wonder if the categories of knowledge may look more like this:

1. We know that we know.
2. We know, but we don't know that we know.
3. We don't know, but we know that we don't know.
4. We don't know, but we don't know that we don't know. 

Or, maybe there's only three categories that matter:

1. What we know for certain
2. What we think we know (but may or may not actually know)
3. What we don't know (whether we know or don't know that we don't know it)

Before I lose all my readers, I promise I'm making a connection soon... :) Some of you know, we have been on a "house journey" for about 6 - 8 months. We feel God is calling us to live in Plainview, and we've been trying to sell our house since October. In this process, God has taught us so much about trusting and walking in faith. And I was thinking this weekend about these levels of knowledge, and I was thinking that what I know for certain, and what I think I know, and what I don't know have all been so tested in this season to the point that some days, all I can do is declare: 

"Lord, I don't know what you're doing in all this. I don't know what your plan is, but here's what I do know..." 

In this journey, I've learned so much about the false security of the immediate--what we think we know and can take control of, which can, in fact, be easily changed. Our circumstances change, both good and bad, but His character, His attributes--these are things we get to know that we know for certain. 

Here is what I know: He is good and faithful. He is for me and with me. He will not fail me; He will not forsake me. He never changes. He is my rock, my refuge, my safe place. He is sufficient. He is my hope, my security--I have all I need in Him. And He is Daddy; He will provide for all our needs. 

When all that's in front of me is doubt and confusion, I just have to go to what I know. If I focus on what I think I know, I am fooled, and if I focus on what I don't know, I am frustrated. But if I focus on Him, I am fulfilled. 

After a long journey (I'll spare you the full story, but the climax includes re-plumbing our entire house), we have a contract on our house, we have survived the option period, and, Lord willing, we will sell our house on May 29. But there's a reason James writes, 

"Come now, you who say 'Today or tomorrow, we will go to such and such a city, spend a year there, buy and sell, and make a profit'; whereas, you do not know what will happen tomorrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time, and then vanishes away. Instead, you ought to say, 'If the Lord wills, we shall live or do this or that'" (James 4:13-15). 

And because of that--because the certainty of our move is really only in "Lord willing," the Lord even still reminds me to hide my heart in Him, to put my plans and the "what we think we know" in the sovereignty of His hands. 

And so I do, but still I am left with other "unknowns," chief of which is where we will live in Plainview. And I don't know whether the answer to this question lies in knowledge 2 or knowledge 3:

• Do we know the house God has for us in Plainview, but we don't know that we know?
• Or do we not know, and so we just know that we don't know?

I'm not sure. Our "house in Plainview" story is about as long as our "Selling our house in Lubbock" story, but here's the short version: Back in October, we found a house we loved; then we had to re-plumb our house in Lubbock, which knocked that house out of the realm of possibility  Then we found another house we liked, but the inspection report blew that one quickly out of the realm of possibility -and at about the same time, the price on house number one was reduced, putting it back in the realm of possibility. 

So now we ask: Was the first one removed because it wasn't what God wants? Was the second one removed because the first is actually what God wants? Or were both removed because neither are what God wants? 

All along God has told me that He will open the doors so clearly and fully. And He has also told me not to plan--not to think I know, not to try to figure it out. And as hard as it's been, I feel like He wants to keep me in two places of knowledge: 

• What I know I know for certain: His character and attributes
• What I don't know, but don't know I don't know: which keeps me trusting in Him

When we got the second contract on our house in Lubbock, we laughed; we were in complete shock. I told the Lord, it would be like you to surprise us and also to orchestrate it at a time when we have no plan for a house in Plainview. 

So, even today--approximately one month from our closing date--I just declare that I still don't have it figured out. I don't know, and I don't presume to know what God is doing or how He will work it all out. But what I do know, I get to know for certain: I am His and He is sufficient for me. 

God is Sufficiency

I have been thinking about the truth that God is in need of nothing, that he is sufficiency. As a dependent creature, this is both humbling and difficult to grasp intellectually. Even if I weren't a Believer, and thus, weren't thinking in terms of my dependent need for a Savior, I still have other dependent needs that make me human: the physical need for water, food, and air; the emotional need for affection, community, and acceptance. And, as one who recognizes my spiritual needs as well, add to those lists the need for forgiveness (mercy), grace, and unconditioned love. I need those things for my own spirit, and then I need His Holy Spirit to live and to walk out each day. So, my spiritual needs are two-fold: for salvation and for sanctification.

And yet, God is in need of nothing. In fact, no comparison can be made. As Arthur Pink puts it, "He is solitary in His majesty, unique in His excellency, peerless in His perfection. He sustains all, but is himself independent of all. He gives to all, but is enriched by none" (The Attributes of God, p. 12). When I say He is sufficiency, that literally means He is the quality of being sufficient.

On the one hand, there is a certain confidence gained, a certain assurance found in the knowledge that He is sufficient. It means He is stable. It means He is immutable. And it means I can trust Him completely. He is secure because He is sufficient.

On the other hand, this is quite humbling. It means God is not now nor was He ever in need of anything from me. The verse that inspired me to add this to my list was Acts 17:25: "Nor is He worshiped by men's hands, as if He needed anything." If ever I thought this relationship was equal or reciprocal, I am wrong. He is all sufficient; I am all need.

It's humbling because it forces me to not think more highly of myself than I ought, but it's also humbling to wrap my brain around the gravity, the magnitude of this truth. Our salvation was not for ourselves, nor was it because He needed to save us. It was, as Ephesian 2:7 puts it, "to show the exceeding riches of His grace in His kindness toward us in Christ Jesus." Or, as stated in Ephesians 1:5, it was "according to the good pleasure of His will." In short - it was His own demonstration of His own character (graciousness, kindness, goodness), for His own glorification.

In my pride, not only do I fool myself, acting as if I were the sufficient one, but I also irreverently approach God as if He were like me, as if He were in need of an exchange from me: the games and manipulations - "If I do this, then You do that." How foolish! Anything God ever does for me is because of His own goodness to demonstrate His own glory - not because He needs to and certainly not because I ever deserve or earn it.

What I have realized in seeking after this attribute of God is both a renewed humility and a reverence toward our God who is unlike any other being, toward a God "above all praise" (Nehemiah 9:5 - literally meaning He is sufficient even without our praise), and toward a God who chose, out of His own goodness, to call me His, to bless me greatly, and to be near me always. I pray that I would always be humbled with an accurate perception of reality: the reality of my condition and dependent need, and the reality of His perfection, his sufficiency - the total and complete picture of lacking nothing.