When Trick-or-Treaters Make You Think of Jesus

I counted about 27 princesses and nearly as many ninja warriors. Not to mention a walking vending machine, and a few pixelated Minecraft characters. There were little girls who felt perfectly secure as princesses and insecure teenagers who were “too old” to dress up, but still young enough to be lured by candy.

There were also the scary and gross costumes. Downright disgusting stuff that made me want to rush and cover the eyes of every tiny trick-or-treater on the street.

Hordes of people trickling down sidewalks and streets stumbling over cumbersome costumes, running door to door, and some limping and growling.

I stepped back for the wide view.

Eeeeks! Such a strange scene!

It occurred to me at that moment that Jesus’s earthly ministry was probably a little more like Halloween than I like to imagine.

I thought of Jesus and his disciples who were mooring their boat when they were startled by a mad man running and screaming at them. Broken chains dangled from his limbs, and his naked body bore a web of scars and scabs from a hundred self-inflicted wounds (Mark 5:1-8).

Gross.

Another time, after a horrific night at sea when his disciples mistook him for a ghost, Jesus stepped ashore at a place called Gennesaret. When the people there recognized him as the one who had fed a multitude on the other side of the lake, they brought all their sick friends, family, and neighbors to him.

People with hacking coughs, oozing sores, deformed limbs and faces. People crying, moaning, hollering to be first. Mothers carrying lethargic babies and fathers cradling skeleton-like children. People on the verge of physical and spiritual death. (Mark 6:45-56)

Yuck.

They came in hordes from all over the surrounding country begging him. (Matthew 4:23-25)

And what did Jesus do when the helpless and harassed came running down the streets and shores to him?

He wasn’t disgusted.

He had compassion on them.

To him they were like sheep without a shepherd, and as The Good Shepherd, he welcomed them.

But he wasn’t content to simply welcome and feed them. He also taught them, spoke about the kingdom of God, healed their sick and changed them. (Mt. 9:35-36)

I don’t know if Jesus would have had a bowl of candy at his house or not. He never claimed a permanent earthly address. But I know that if he had, the line at his place would have been long because Jesus drew a crowd everywhere he went.

The line wouldn’t have been moving fast either. It was his life’s work to address physical and spiritual needs, and that takes time.

I suppose His disciples would try to hurry the line or disperse the children. Perhaps parents would urge their children to “skip that house.” But I just bet Jesus would tell them all, "Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me." (Mark 9:37) “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” (Matthew 19:14). 

Artwork by Julie Chen of Life Verse Design.Prints available here.

Jesus was never one to miss a teachable moment.

Whether we admit it or not, without Christ we are the spiritually helpless and harassed. It’s just that in the 21st century we’ve figured out how dress it up and rename it so we don’t have to be thought beggars--people unable to earn what we desperately need. 

But the kingdom of heaven belongs to people like that.

Our best hope is to come to Jesus with empty hands, offering him nothing as payment for what we need and cannot buy.

Grace.

And to everyone who receives him, to those who believe on his name, he GIVES the right to become Children of God (John 1:12). No matter how you’re dressed. No matter how sick you’ve been, or how pretty you feel. He gives to everyone willing to receive what he is handing out.

Come empty. Leave full. Be changed.

For the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.

When You Work for the Gift You've Already Got

Remember the fort/blind the boys built this summer for all their fall hunting adventures? Well, apparently a blind isn’t complete without certain hunting accessories. And this year for his birthday, Zach asked for all manner of them.

Every time we went to the store he’d point them out. When they were on sale, he’d let me know. He’d tell me which store had them cheaper and when the shipping was free.

But I kept saying, "No."

He got tired of asking and waiting, but he was unwilling to spend his own money.

So he decided to make his own.

He ransacked our garage and collected cardboard, paint, Styrofoam, dowels, and tubes. He stripped two motors from remote control cars that supposedly no one played with anymore. Then he went to work making a Mojo Decoy on the work bench.

Three days later, he emerged from the garage with his finished product.

I could not believe my eyes.

While I was floored by his commitment to economy and the project, I also felt a little sorry for him because the thing didn’t work as well as the one at the store. 

I also felt a little sorry for him because hiding upstairs in a gift bag was the “real thing.”


I almost felt like the surprise was ruined now that he’d already made his own. And because I am an EXPERT second-guesser when it comes to parenting, I wondered if I should have saved him the time and effort and told him not to bother.

Thankfully I didn’t.

I thought of all he had learned through the process about trial and error, about painting and mixing colors, batteries and electricity, effort and economy.

His work was valuable, even if he received the end product as a gift.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the “work” we do as we walk with Christ. The apostle John wrote that if we claim to know Christ we must walk as He walked. (1 John 2:6)

But that is hard work. 

In fact, much of what Jesus did was hard. 

He loved the self-righteous leaders who tried to sabotage his God-given work. He accepted invitations from them and extended invitations to them.

He loved a backstabbing traitor in such a way that his disciples were befuddled trying to figure who in the world Jesus was talking about when he said, “One of you will betray me.”

He even loved his pretentious disciples who were jockeying for His own position in the Kingdom they couldn’t even comprehend.

Have you ever tried loving those kind of enemies? The ones who play on your team, work in your office, attend your church, ride in your car, eat at your table, or sleep in your bed?

It is hard to walk like Jesus walked when I bump into people I don’t like and stumble over my own sin. When I compare my life to His, I can’t help but notice the “product” doesn’t function like His.

I need Someone to gift me the thing I’ve been working on.

And this is the very reason the gospel is good news.

With an apologetic heart I can bring Him my jumbled pile of sporadic obedience, selective love that tires easily, and hard work that didn’t work out.

And do you know what he gives in return? His own perfect walk--His long obedience in the same direction.

He never stumbled, or got off track, and always went towards His Father. His life is like the gift from the manufacturer that works perfectly. A life of perfection that’s been lived for us, and is ours to receive.

I might be tempted to think the magnitude of that gift renders my work worthless. Perhaps I shouldn’t have bothered working to walk like Jesus walked.

But on my limping walk of half-hearted love, foot-dragging obedience, and begrudging duty I learn to honestly talk with Him. I begin to lean on His strong arm when I tire of loving like He did. I become increasingly aware of my inability, and appreciate His great ability.

As I talk with Him and increase my dependence on Him, I discover I don’t merely need Christ.

I’ve actually grown to love Him.

And all that hard work is valuable, not because I earn something by it, but because through it I discover the gift that was there all along.

Christ’s work in exchange for mine. (2 Corinthians 5:21)

It's the gift that can't be manufactured or earned. 

It must simply be received.

When Freedom Means Giving Up

It seems like I’ve mentioned my love for music recently. 

As a word-lover I especially love meaningful lyrics. So when enjoyable music and thought provoking lyrics bump into each other, I swoon. 

This week as I was buzzing around my kitchen with my Ellie Holcomb Pandora station playing, I heard All Sons and Daughters singing Dawn to Dusk and I was smitten with one particular lyric:                              

                                                        Tomorrow’s freedom is today’s surrender.

 Lovely. Profound. And counter intuitive. After all, doesn’t surrender mean captivity?

In war, yes. 

In sin, yes. 

In Christ, no.

Ironically, I keep applying this profound truth to what seems like mundane and annoying facets of life. 

My steady two-year weight gain for example. Yikes. Did I just say that? That was embarrassing. 

But now that it’s out, it’s a reminder that tomorrow’s health, is dependent (in part) on surrendering thoughtless, excessive eating today. Whoah! That was awkward. NEXT…

My kids keep hearing me sing those five words but what they don’t know is that I’m reminded to apply it in parenting as well. Certain behaviors are easy to ignore when I consider the time and effort I’ll have to surrender in order to deal with them. But tomorrow’s freedom, for me and for my kids, is dependent (in part) on my surrendering the time and effort it takes to address it today. Big sigh. 

And then there is that pesky issue of my cherished sin. The little sins I love to indulge, just a bit. An appetite for gossip. Creative insults. Lashing out. Hating rude people. “Acceptable” sins.

But cherished sin is dangerous, because the more I feed the little creature, the more it grows. And next thing I know, I’m not holding its leash anymore. It is holding me. Demanding to be fed more and more, and I become enslaved to a master of my own making.

Surrendering excess, time, and “acceptable” sin seems constraining and hard. But we don't surrender because we are gluttons for punishment. We surrender because on the other side of surrender is freedom. 

How do we get there? We endure a little discipline. Sometimes even self-discipline.

“No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.” (Hebrews 12:11)

It’s painful. Or at the very least, tiring.

Perhaps the first step is recognizing the creature that’s secretly been holding us captive. Then, for those who train--repeatedly exerting the emotional muscle that resists the weight of excess, or apathy, or “acceptable sins,”--later on, it produces peace, righteousness, and ultimately freedom.                           

And it is for freedom that Christ has set us free. (Gal 5:1)

                                           

When You Pray About Your First-World-Problems

My pre-workout brain teaser.

There is so much to be legitimately upset about, but last week, the thing that brought me down, was a first-world-problem.

It wasn’t that Burger King no longer offers honey-mustard dressing, or that I had to spend the first three minutes of my workout untangling my earbuds.

I was moping around because I lost my wedding ring.

On Kurt’s birthday.

That night, I gave myself a vigorous scolding, the kind I usually save for the boys: “Well, if you can’t keep track of that, you don’t deserve another one! And on Kurt’s birthday!! Nice. So how about that conversation you had with the boys about being responsible for their water bottles? Oh wait… what’s that? You lost a DIAMOND!?"

You’d think such penance might punch me right back to sound reason: “Thank you, Mean-Self, for that emotional spanking. I realize my folly and I will stop feeling sad. Thanks for pointing out that I am selfish and petty and under-concerned about All the Real Problems In The World. I feel so much better.”

But that’s not what happened, and I went to bed sad.

The next morning I decided to pray about it.

Yep. Prayed about my first-world-problem. I thought the only thing stupider would be to pray about untangling my ear buds. But I know the apostle Paul said to “pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests.” (Ephesians 6:18)

All occasions. All kinds of prayers.

So I sat in my arm chair and prayed something like this, “Hi God. This is your irresponsible daughter here. And I’m sorry for being a baby, but since you are God, and through Christ you've made a way for me to talk with you, would you help me find my ring?”

While I was praying, the boys were getting ready for school and started asking the regular morning questions.

"What’s for lunch?"

"Do we have any milk?"

"Where is my backpack?"

I knew it was time to get out of my chair and ended my prayer.

I pushed the ottoman away from my chair, and then I saw a little round circle buried in our high-pile carpet.

Like the woman in Jesus's parable who found her lost coin I wanted to call my friends and neighbors together and say, "Rejoice with me; I found my lost ring!" So I hollered to the boys.“I found my ring!”  I grabbed my phone to text Kurt and then I saw the date: September 11. Not exactly a day for a group celebration over a first-world-problem solved.

Then I cried.

Why did you do that, God? There are bigger problems!!

"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows." (Matthew 10:29-31).

It wasn’t an answer as much as it was a sign post: If He sees when a sparrow falls from the sky, when a hair falls from a head, He most certainly sees and knows our most difficult circumstances. Turn on the TV. Scroll through your newsfeed. Look around your dinner table. People are struggling with hard things.

But even as I read those verses, it occurred to me that Jesus didn’t promise to keep the sparrow from falling, nor to keep my hair in my head, nor to “fix” any of my major or minor problems.

In fact, when Jesus spoke those words, He was in the middle of teaching His disciples not to be afraid when they face serious and scary circumstances. Why not? Because as Jesus said, “You are worth far more than many sparrows.”

I have to admit, that doesn’t feel like an anchor of an answer.

But it reminds me that He is attentive. He sees. He knows. He cares.

So when I don’t see him doing anything about the long list of serious, urgent, ongoing prayer requests--which break His heart and mine--His little interventions on smaller matters remind me He is always working (John. 5:17).

His plan is not haphazard. His work is not random. His sight is not blurred.

"Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and unfathomable His ways!" (Romans 11:33)

We may not see His greater plan in our suffocating struggle, but He does. And we can be certain He does, because He sees when a hair falls from a head, when a sparrow falls to the ground, and a when a wedding ring falls into the carpet.

Gifts of Music and Memory

I love music.

Photo Credit: TiiaBear

In the car, in the kitchen, while I walk, when I worship. 

And nearly every kind. I can appreciate a banjo as well as an intelligent rap and just about anything in between.

I’m amazed that God would use elements as formulaic and functional as math and physics for a composition so artistic and enjoyable as music.

His brilliant combination makes music a powerful tool.

Think of the lyrics you know by heart. You have words from entire songs--perhaps entire albums-- tucked away in your brain. With a few starting notes you can recite the words without much effort. 

It is no coincidence that in biblical times children—yes children—could memorize the entire book of Psalms because it was their song book. The soundtrack of their heritage. Add melody to words, repeat regularly, and over time 150 chapters of scripture and history get locked into memory. 

One-hundred-fifty chapters! 

I have trouble remembering phone numbers…except for Jenny's, “8 6 7 - 5 3 0 ny-eee-I-een.” See what I mean?

I’ve tried to harness this gift for my kids. We’ve set verses to such ridiculous melodies, none of us can forget even if we tried. We’ve also listened to artists such as Ellie Holcomb who has set scripture to music.

But it “cuts both ways” as Gloria Estefan sang.

We’ve had the radio going in the car a lot because… well, I love music. However, while I admire Megan Trainor’s message in “All About that Bass,” I cringe when I hear my boys singing about “booty.” Call me a prude but hearing them sing Bruno Mars’s jam, “Up-town you-know-what,” is also troublesome for me.

So I took a cue from a friend and decided this year on the drive to school we will hear a monthly theme song. An entertaining song with lyrics that don’t embarrass me, or them, if they start mindlessly singing them at family gatherings.

With school starting in August, I chose an oldie by Scott Krippayne called I’m Not Cool. Even if it is cheesy, I still get a little choked up when I listen. It speaks to adolescent insecurities which apparently die hard.

The tune is catchy, and I hope the message sticks. The artist laments his complexion, clothes, and car and then declares, "I’m not cool, but that’s okay, My God loves me anyway!”

There was a little eye-rolling from the boys, but we stuck with it through August.

For September the boys chose Impossible by Building 429 which champions the truth “That nothing is unreachable, when we trust the God of miracles.” I like it, but a month is going to be a challenge. I may have to adjust the schedule for a new song every week.

So I’m on the hunt for songs with solid lyrics that my boys would like.

If you have a recommendation, I’d sure be grateful if you’d share it. I’ll head straight to iTunes and add it to our playlist!



(Unless it’s something like THIS SONG. I think that song, catchy as it is, will ruin the theme song project forever! Thanks to Andee for digging up that gem.)

Multiple Choice Parenting

We were having a summer, and all of the sudden it was the first day of school. 

At least it seemed that way because I didn’t really create any preparatory ramp-up to get ready for school.

None of us are into school-shopping, so I rummaged through drawers and made sure they had at least five t-shirts without rips or armpit stains. We bought school shoes in July so it didn’t feel like “school shopping.”

The boys are pretty much over shopping for school supplies too. So I had them sort through last year’s supplies, and then went alone to buy the remaining items on the supply list.

We didn’t even start going to bed early as we have in the past. Instead we squeezed in as much summer as possible.

And then, WHAM! The first day of school.

Two out of three students are
are unenthused about a 7:30 photo shoot.

They couldn’t believe it was actually time—already!-- for reading, writing and ‘rithmetic.  
 

So I added to my growing list of Parenting Decisions to Second Guess: Perhaps I should have given them a bit more notice to prepare them for the start of school.

 

And all my second guessing brings me back to my own school days.  

 

Remember the ACT test? I had a severe case of test-taking anxiety in high school. I second guessed every answer I chose, which made it hard to finish within the allotted time. But there was a little nugget of a rumor which was my multiple-choice-test-taking salvation.

 

Choose “C.” 

 

If you don’t know the answer, choose C. 

 

If you get the five minute warning and still have questions to finish, choose C…all the way down your bubble sheet. C. C. C. C. C.

 

The theory was it wouldn’t really affect your score. And apparently it didn’t since I received the exact same score three times.

 

Sometimes I still default to this theory, and I feel like I’m parenting by multiple choice. I look at the multiple choices and I wonder:

 

Should I… 

1.    Indulge their desire for brand name clothing and equipment for the sake of helping them feel comfortable in the awkwardness of middle school? OR prove to them that neither the clothing nor the equipment make a good person or a good athlete. Uhhh…I don’t know. I choose C.

 

2.    Allow practice schedules to fill our evenings and risk communicating “SPORTS ARE LIFE” OR cultivate life lessons about practice, team work, and time management. I don’t know….C.

 

3.    Sign up for one sport per season or two? ...C.

 

4.    Squeeze in a music lesson too? Piano or guitar? …C.

 

5.    Algebra or pre-algebra. Ummm… C.

 

6.    Read a morning devotional in the car, or right before bed? Or both?  C.

 

 

I don’t know the right answers. Minutes tick by, and there's no time for second guessing.

 

I pay attention to the questions, I evaluate each answer, but I’m always a little bewildered.

 

Sometimes C is the right answer, but probably only 25% of the time.

 

But just like when I took the ACT, I’m banking on the fact I’ve already answered some questions correctly.

 

We’ve fed, clothed, sheltered, and loved them. Maybe it wasn’t organic, name brand, new or perfect, but we’ve done that much, and that is the right answer.

 

We’ve told them the truth. Sometimes it's hard, and there are truths they aren’t ready to hear yet, but telling the truth is the right answer.

 

Whether we’ve “crammed it down their throats” or done “too little too late” will remain to be seen, but I know for sure we have pointed them toward Christ. And that is always the right answer.

 

So as I’m scribbling in all the C bubbles on the peripheral parenting questions, I’m thanking the Lord for the grace He’s given to answer a few questions correctly and counting on His lavish forgiveness for the ones I may get wrong.

 

The Essence of a Childhood Summer

I don’t want to mention the s-c-h-word just yet, but there are sure signs that summer vacation is winding down. 

For instance, our final baseball tournament is in the books. Like ballpark franks on a grill, we sizzled on the bleachers and watched a lot of baseball.

Those little boys in grass stained baseball pants—the ones who made sand castles in the dirt at first base--they grew up. They’re pitching fast, hitting hard and the grass stains are gone because the knees have been ripped right out of the pants due to a nasty slide.

After the tournament, I fell asleep counting pitches. And it didn’t take long…one, two three strikes and I was out.
The next day we slept in. For the first time in several weeks we had nothing on the calendar. Ahhhh. A day to relax.

Only apparently we forgot how because no one knew what to do with themselves at home all day.

Finally, around 5:00 when I was about ready to start supper, the boys remembered that cooperation is less exhausting than bickering and, by some miracle, they started to assemble a fort in our trees.

Well, “fort” is what they used to call it. Back when they were building sandcastles at first base. Now that they’re able to name and aim their pitches, they call it a “blind.” And it’s outfitted for all their fall hunting adventures.

When they finally ran outside to put the finishing touches on it by weaving the snipped cedar branches to create an authentic camouflage, I was glowing with pride.

Ahh, yes! I thought as they ran outside. This is what summer is for. Creativity! Mental exercise! Physical work. Repurposing junk lumber and pallets. Hands-on learning!! This is the essence of childhood!  
They’d been working for over an hour when I went out to admire the modifications. I took my camera to prove my maternal interest. I wanted to subtly affirm this brotherly cooperation, creativity, and construction.

But when I arrived the work was at a stand-still, and they were slinging words in a verbal BRAWL.
I tried to snuff out the argument, but I was too late. No one was receptive to diplomacy or reason by that time. Two boys quit and went inside to the reprieve of the Wii while one boy stayed and finished construction.

And I spent the next half an hour trying to recover from emotional whiplash.

I thought they’d been learning. Discovering. You know…the whole essence of childhood delusion?

Then I realized, just because they’re arguing doesn’t mean they’re not learning. And I supposed it could be argued that such family feuding is also part of the essence of childhood.

Because in reality they’re still learning. Learning how to argue, compromise, and negotiate. No one said it was effective, but sometimes you have to know what doesn’t work in order to find something that does. For instance, one brother had decided to copycat every phrase his brother said in the argument.

Stop it!

Stop it!

Stop copying me!

Stop copying me!...

Needless to say, it accomplished nothing.

But I suppose it was just another learning experience of sorts. Another hypothesis to test when vehement yelling hasn’t worked.

Whatever it was I’m starting to think the bickering and fighting is just as much a learning experience as the fort. And eventually experience will prove what the writer of Proverbs meant when he wrote, “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”

Incidentally, a copycat also stirs up anger.

And it’s a great reminder to me that I can teach and talk until I’m fresh out of words, but some lessons have to be learned in the field. Or in the trees building a fort…I mean a blind.