Training for our minds!

In a sermon once, I heard about a study where they put mice in a tank with water. For the first group, most of the mice showed signs of giving up after treading water for seven hours. But for the second group, the scientists took the mice out and gave them a break around 5 or 6 hours. That group—those mice—swam three times longer.

Why? Because they found hope. A glimmer of light. A breath of fresh air. A brief moment of freedom. And it was enough to push them forward.

Our mind is a powerful thing. I was thinking about this yesterday when I kinda felt like dying during my first experience with a core and strengthening yoga-ish class. If I listened to the music or thought about something else, the 60 seconds of [insert painful move here] didn't seem so bad. But if, at the 30 second mark, I heard the instructor say, "halfway done!", and I started counting 30 seconds in my head—each second seemed more difficult than the one before. 

I wasn't treading water in the core and strengthening class, and it wasn't for 6 or 7 hours, but it felt a little like that. As sharp pains are pulsating through my thighs, and my abs feel like they are about to explode out of my stomach, and I'm aching in places I didn't know I could ache. And if I could just. not. think about it, I could survive. But when I really thought about it... well, I felt like giving up. Sometimes that's what waiting fells like. Mind over matter: it's not just a thing people say; it's so very true.  

In that process, though, the Lord really spoke to my heart. When we fixate on the pain in our lives, it only feels more painful. Dwelling on negative feelings—especially in our mind—is a dangerous indulgence. This is why we’re told to renew our minds daily (Romans 12:2) and to fix our eyes on Jesus (Hebrews 12:2).

Why? Because Jesus is our hope—and hope is more powerful than anything.

Paul tells us in 2 Corinthian 10:3-6 that this battle we war is not in the flesh. So where is the battle? It’s in our mind.

He has already previously told us in 1 Corinthians 2 that we have the mind of Christ, through His spirit, which is given to us. For that reason, Paul can later say we have the weapons we need to put down strongholds, cast down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God—bringing every. thought. captive.

This is no easy thing. It requires practice. And discipline.My mind is highly, highly analytical and logical. Although I know that comes in handy for solving problems or being a scholar, sometimes I wish it weren’t so. I wish I could be carefree and laid back and just ignore the uncertainty or not allow myself to think about the unknown; that, instead, it would just literally “not cross my mind.”

But, for me, that isn’t the case. It’s a matter of my mind, my will, my emotions—each has to be surrendered daily, hourly, every second if I’m going to fixate on Jesus instead.

On my mirror, I have God’s 10 promises to me. And I read them daily, even when my mind, my will, and my emotions say otherwise.

That’s our battle. Maybe it’s cliché, and certainly I agree and know from experience that it’s easier said than done. James 3 talks about the power of the tongue—but I think the mind is doubly so, for it controls both what we speak and what we think: the thoughts we dwell on, our anxiety and worry, our fear and insecurity. It all starts in the mind.

Practice today fixing your eyes on Jesus—our savior, our healer, our defender—our hope. Your circumstance may not change. Your pain may still be there. But when we change our perspective to His, it changes everything. 

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.

Desiring Mercy and Not Sacrifice

“Go and learn what this means, for I desire mercy and not sacrifice.” Matthew 9:13

“But if only you had known what this means, I desire mercy and not sacrifice.” Matthew 12:9

The Pharisees couldn’t get what Jesus was saying—first to “go and learn” and later “if only you had known.” With all their knowledge of scripture, with all their rules, with all their duty and obedience, and with—in their mind—their righteousness, they could not understand this truth. Jesus’ words did not compute with their tradition.

Sometimes, if we’re not careful, we can have the same tendency to desire sacrifice more than mercy. What does this mean? As I’ve said elsewhere, we are bent on works because it’s more natural. It’s more natural to do than to be.

As long as I’ve been saved, I’ve loved the Word of God. I’m highly analytical and can spend hours reading scripture and commentary and translations and the original Greek or Hebrew meanings. But, as Paul tells us in 1 Corinthians 8:1, “knowledge puffs up, but love edifies.”

Knowledge without mercy is a dangerous state.

To know scripture is important, but before we can receive fully, before we can fall in love with God’s word, we have to first fall in love with its author. When we are so filled by the love of God, His love and grace becomes a lens through which we can read and receive His word.

Here Jesus is quoting Hosea 6:6. The full verse is this: “For I desire mercy and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings.”

The knowledge of God is not mutually exclusive to mercy. And while He desires mercy not sacrifice, He desires knowledge more than burnt offerings. Under the Old Testament covenant, God is not negating or replacing what must be done for atonement. We know from Romans 3 that in His forbearance, He passed over their sins, yes, but their account was not settled.

So why does Jesus not quote—in both places here—the full verse from Hosea? Is it because knowledge of God is no longer important? Of course not. The problem is the Pharisees had all the knowledge in the world.

But under the new covenant, we get to know God in a different way. Because of the finished work of the cross, we have a mediator, who is Jesus, and we have the Holy Spirit. And that revelation—when we believe in what the cross accomplished—that changes how we know God. We, with unveiled faces, get to behold Him. And it transforms us.

I’m doing the 40 day reading challenge, reading through the New Testament for 40 days of Lent, but my heart must be bent on loving God and discovering Him in His Word. When it becomes doing or duty or an item to be checked off, then I’ve lost sight of what it means to desire mercy and not sacrifice.

Lent: Not Giving Up but Giving More

Lent is about giving up, about sacrifice—and as one who tends to love duty, as one who craves to do lists and tasks to obey, I secretly love self-discipline and the rewarded feeling at the end of 40 days when I've accomplished my "task," whatever it is I've chosen to give up: “Yep, I still got it.”

This year, as many of my friends begin thinking of what to fast, what to give up, I feel God gently whispering: don’t give up, give more—more of your time, more of your energy, more of yourself to me and to others.

Don’t give up TV or soft drinks, give up your life for me.

If Lent is about preparing our hearts for Easter, about reflecting on the great exchange: my guilt, my sins, my shame—my ashes for His beauty, then may the next 40 days, for me, be about reflecting on Him: on who He is and what He did and who I get to be when I’m hidden in Christ, when I’m made righteous, when the work of the cross is finished—really finished—and I get to be made whole, complete, perfect, lacking nothing.

Not because I’m those things, but because He loves me so; He loves me so much; He loves me so much that He gave.

And if I’m to give anything these 40 days, let me give of myself fully.

I’ve read some blogs today promoting Margret Feinberg’s 40 day reading challenge, and although (if I’m honest), I get excited when I see little check boxes (That feels like a “to do” list for me to accomplish! Yes!), I have decided to focus these 40 days on the New Testament, as Feinberg encourages—not as something to do, but something to reflect: the story of the cross, of redemption, of the great exchange.

If you’re interested in joining me, you can read more here or print the reading plan here.

May the challenge for me—and perhaps for you, too—not be about legalism or about what I can accomplish with the right motivation and all the wrong motives; may these 40 days be about pouring out all of me and pouring in more of Him. 

The closing of a chapter and the beginning of something new

Our journey with fertility, at least for the foreseeable future, has come to an end. And as we close a very long chapter in our lives, my heart is filled with mixed emotions. On the one hand, I feel relieved to be free from the stress and demand and expense and hormones of fertility treatments. No more mixing shots to give to myself. No more pills to manipulate my hormones. No more painful procedures. No more rollercoasters. In many ways, I have been defined, confined, and consumed by fertility—or rather infertility. And I get to lay that down. I’m free.

On the other hand, I’m laying down very real hopes and expectations that we’ll ever get pregnant. It’s possible that God could surprise us down the road. I pray consistently—and have for years—that He would heal my body. I fully believe He can. And maybe in His time, He will.

But it’s also possible that He won’t. Not because He can’t, but because He has a different plan. People like to say things like, “I bet you’ll adopt, and then you’ll get pregnant.” Or “I’m sure it’ll happen when you least expect it.” Well, maybe. Certainly I’m up for any surprises God wants to give us. But maybe not. I have two aunts who never had babies from their womb, but who cherished and loved and parented their children. People like to tell the stories of so-and-so who waited X years or who after adopting Z times, had a baby. But my aunts’ stories are real, too, and no less valuable.

This struck me most this week, when a friend of ours—who after 7 years of trying to get pregnant has adopted a baby—said to me, “I wish I hadn’t spent those 7 years agonizing and worrying over whether or not we were pregnant. Because now, holding my baby, he is mine, and I realize God never intended for us to get pregnant. That was never His plan. THIS is His plan, and it’s perfect.”

Wow.

So, as I finish this chapter, I want to reflect on a few things I’ve learned. For anyone reading this who is struggling on this journey, I hope you’ll be encouraged:

1. God really is a good Daddy, and He withholds no good thing from His children. If you’re not able to get pregnant (now or ever), God is not punishing you. Fight that lie with the truth that He loves you, and out of His love for us, He gives good gifts.

2. Everyone’s journey is unique. Our deepest desire is to be known and understood, and even on the journey of infertility, there’s no pattern or script. Some women may have a child or multiple children and now find themselves infertile. Some women may get pregnant, but miscarry multiple times. And some women, like me, may never know what that “plus sign” feels like. And whether you’ve been trying for 6 months or 6 years, whether you have one child or none, whether you’re 35 or 25, your journey is no less difficult or painful—and neither is someone else’s. Our hope is in the truth that He deeply understands us and our own unique experience. He is El Roi—the God who sees, and He knows our story personally.

3. People mean well, even when their answers seem pat or trite. Women like to encourage. We do this on all levels. When we’re married, we tell our single friends to just wait and God’s best is coming—like we know what their journey will be. We tell them they have to be completely content to be single, then God will bring their spouse. And we like to give these success stories of ourselves and others who waited X years but found the perfect someone. And so, in that same vein, women—especially mothers—like to tell trying-but-not-pregnant women to just relax, to just wait on God’s timing, and to just be patient.These pat answers used to make me angry—because, again, I felt misunderstood. But here’s what I’ve learned: people really do have good intentions. And even though just saying, “I’m sorry” or “That’s hard” could go a long way, people—normally mothers—don’t know what to say to us, the trying-but-not-pregnant. But the motive is almost always to encourage and uplift. So receive it as truth, or let it go, but don’t be offended. It’s not worth it.

4. Be grateful. This is a command to myself and a charge to anyone on this journey. Be grateful for your spouse; be grateful for your life. Be grateful for any good thing you have. On this journey, it’s easy to be consumed by the negative—the prayers unanswered, the hope deferred, so be intentional to find the good gifts in your life for which you can be grateful.

5. And finally, it’s not my fault. And it’s not yours either. This has been the hardest lesson for me personally, and I am finally free from the guilt and self-blame I have carried all these years. For some couples, it’s both the man and the woman who have fertility issues—and again, everyone’s situation is unique. I used to secretly wish that was our case because Howell was perfectly healthy, and I had all the diagnoses and “issues.” As a result, I carried all the blame. And although Howell never once blamed me—and has, in fact, tried repeatedly to reassure me of the opposite, I always felt responsible, like it’s on me to create this miracle of life! 

But I have learned to battle those lies with His truth—that grace is really in spite of me and not because of me, that His love is great and gives and is unconditional; it’s not based on me or my performance at all, and that my job is only to believe and trust—not do. Because of the finished work of the cross, because I put my faith in what Jesus accomplished in that, I am whole, complete, perfect, lacking nothing. He bore my guilt, my shame, my punishment—and I get life instead.

If that’s a struggle for you—to blame yourself—I encourage you to really release that guilt and let God fill your ears with His truth of your identity in Him.

For three years, this has been my journey and my identity. Infertility has defined me. But it doesn’t, and it won’t, as we go forward. I want to walk in the fullness of all that He has for me, and I want to see myself as He sees me. Not being a mother—especially when it seems most of the people in my life are mothers or soon-to-be mothers—has made me feel inadequate or like I am not enough; I have nothing to contribute. But that’s a lie; that’s not walking in my true identity as whole, complete, lacking nothing. May this new chapter be about letting God—not infertility—define me as I step into the fullness of all that He is calling us to do.

So my heart is expectant as we begin a new chapter. We have cried and grieved, but we are excited to live the life God has for us today. I don’t want to spend 4 more years agonizing over the plan God has for us. I want to walk in the fullness of His plan today. We don’t have children yet—that’s simply a fact. So what does God want us to do now, how does He want to use us in this season of life—before we have kids? That’s the journey I want to embrace!