The Constant Plank

The Constant Plank

by | Apr 4, 2024 | Thoughtful Thursdays

“How can you say to your brother, `Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.” ~ Matthew 7:4-5

 

A couple weeks ago, my husband David shared a quote from one of his favorite podcasts, the Art of Accomplishment. I’m probably going to mutilate the original (sorry, Joe), but it went something like this:

Keeping an open mind doesn’t just mean listening to someone else and not trying to find what’s wrong with their argument. Keeping an open mind means searching for what’s wrong in your own.

 I believe my response was something along the lines of “Wow. Huh. That’s…that’s really good.”

It’s also really hard.

And you know what else it is? Really Scriptural. Really what Jesus tells us to do.

Here’s the thing about that thing He says to the Pharisees in Matthew 7…it sounds really obvious, like they should know they have a PLANK in their eye–I mean, if you get a big ol’ chip of wood in your eye, you notice, right?!

Generally, yes. But our “planks” aren’t always made of wood. Sometimes they’re more like cataracts, or like vision that has changed over time. Sometimes they’re something so ever-present that we get used to them. Sometimes we just don’t know that we’re not seeing clearly.

Do you wear glasses? Do you remember that time you went to the eye doctor, and it had been too long or your eyes had changed a lot? Do you remember when he or she put the right lenses in front of you through those little goggle things? Can you hear yourself in your memory? I bet you said something like this: “Whoa! That’s what it’s supposed to look like? I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten!”

To the doctor who just heard us bumble through those letter or shape charts, our problem is no secret. It’s very clear to them that we can’t tell an E from an F from a chicken. But us? We think we’re just fine. We think they started us off on “the hard one.” We think that all’s well in the world and we’re seeing clearly, just like we always were.

But we’re not. And we don’t know if we’re not unless we’re keeping up with those health-checks or paying attention to our senses. We don’t know unless we try to know, many times. We don’t know until we either see what it’s supposed to be, or someone we recognize as having authority and wisdom tells us so.

Jesus wasn’t just talking to the Pharisees that day, though. He was talking to all of us. Because we are all so quick to see the flaws in someone else’s argument, even if they’re small; we are so quick to look for reasons to disagree with people we don’t like or who are opposed to our views. We are so quick to judge. And even when we check that, when we say, “I won’t point out their speck of dust or try to remove it,” that’s not enough, is it?

Jesus didn’t just say, “Don’t try to remove their speck when you have a plank in your eye.” He said, “First remove the plank from your own eye.”

First, identify your own faults. Your own flaws. Your own skewed vision. Notice it’s there, and then dig it out. Look for where you’re wrong.

In the book I’ll soon be turning in to my editor, The Library of Burned Books, one of the big themes is censorship–the worst possible kind, the kind that is self-selected. Because the German book burning and bannings were not government-led, they were demanded by the people. A people who had decided they didn’t want to engage with certain ideas anymore. Who deliberately purged those ideas from their culture. A tyranny of the people, of the social consciousness, is a powerful, deadly thing. And something we’re seeing today.

But the answer isn’t as simple as “don’t.” The answer is “do the opposite.” My hero puts it this way (we’ll see if it remains as quoted here, LOL, but as of right now…):

“Read things you hate and things you love and things you never thought you’d understand, and never, never accept the excuse that it’s not for you. That you’re not smart enough or deep enough or strong enough to handle it if you read something that offends you. You are. You’re strong enough to admit where you’re wrong and then to grow. You’re strong enough to be offended and then try to understand why. You’re strong enough to grant that someone can be different and still be worthy of dignity. And if you aren’t?” He slammed one more book onto the stack. “Then read more, until you are.”

The only way to remove the plank is to identify it. And the only way to identify it is to look. And the only way to look is to engage with other ideas, compare them to your own, to approach your every belief with care and speculation and introspection. To assume nothing. No, wait–to assume you don’t have it all right. Because I promise, you don’t. I believe 100% that God’s Word is Truth…but I also know that I fail in my understanding of it. I know Christ was enough–but I know I do a lousy job of accepting it. I know the Spirit will provide the answers–but I know I don’t always listen.

What would happen if we took that form of humility though? What would happen if we approached each debate, each conversation, each argument with that perspective? What would happen if we didn’t shy away from being wrong but REJOICED when we found where we were blind, so that we could remove it?l

We wouldn’t all just have open minds. We’d have open hearts. Full hearts. Hearts overflowing with love.

Lord, show me today the plank I have left in my eye.

The Lamb in the House

The Lamb in the House

by | Mar 28, 2024 | Thoughtful Thursdays

“Tell the whole community of Israel: On the tenth of this month every family must procure for itself a lamb, one apiece for each household. 4 If a household is too small for a lamb, it along with its nearest neighbor will procure one, and apportion the lamb’s cost in proportion to the number of persons, according to what each household consumes. 5 Your lamb must be a year-old male and without blemish. You may take it from either the sheep or the goats. 6 You will keep it until the fourteenth day of this month, and then, with the whole community of Israel assembled, it will be slaughtered during the evening twilight.” ~ Exodus 12:3-6

David and I are participating in a study of the book Jesus and the Jewish Roots of the Eucharist for Lent. It’s a fascinating look at what the original Passover and Exodus was, what it had evolved to be for the Jews by the time Jesus walked the earth, and how He purposefully modeled His ministry to be the NEW Exodus, with the NEW Passover (or perhaps purposefully set up the “original” to foreshadow, since we know He’s the author of all).

There are so many fascinating historical details in this book, so many “Ohhhhh!” moments I’ve already had in the three weeks and three chapters. But today I want to focus on one little detail of the original Passover narrative.

One little detail that I’ve noticed before but had never really paused to fully think through.

“You will keep it until the fourteenth day of this month…”

So on the 10th of the month they select a lamb and they “keep it” until the 14th.

How do you suppose each family kept the lamb, when they were living in a city? For that matter, how would each one “keep it” when they were in the wildness, after they’d selected it? What did this “keeping” entail?

It meant that they took the lamb into their house (or tent or dwelling, whatever the case may be). It meant they lived with that lamb for four days. It meant that they fed it and gave it water, and that the children probably petted it and played with it (because we all know what happens when kids and small animals meet, right?). It means that this people who identified as shepherds–who took care of their lambs, who would go off in search of the one that had strayed, who would fight lions and other wild beasts to keep these lambs safe…they gave very preferential treatment to this beautiful, perfect, spotless lamb.

They made it, for four days, a part of their family.

And then they sacrificed it.

Just pause for a moment. Let that sink in. And ask yourself WHY God, through Moses, commanded this.

Why did He tell them to choose the best of their herd? Why did He tell them to keep it for four days? Why couldn’t that part happen on the day of Passover?

Because this lamb wasn’t just giving its life for their food. Not even just as what would become normal offerings throughout the year. This lamb was literally saving the life of their firstborn. A direct trade–its life for his. The blood of this lamb told the Angel of Death “Don’t stop here.” It marked that house as belonging to God.

It was supposed to hurt.

It was supposed to be hard to kill that lamb.

It was supposed to cost them something.

It was supposed to make them pause and consider how important this was. How much it meant. What belonging to God demanded and gave. It was supposed to matter.

And let’s note that God gave the instructions not just for that FIRST Passover, but as what should be done every year. That same process for the lamb, yes–but also the instructions for what to say. Every year, even thousands of years later in the time of Christ, the father of every household said these words, when the child asked why they observed the feast: “It is because of what the Lord did FOR ME when I came forth out of Egypt.” (Emphasis mine, Exodus 13:8.)

Even from the beginning God was setting in motion a ritual that would make certain each new generation experienced this miracle anew. That each one understood how serious it was.

Christ set up the same instruction for us, with the Last Supper. He told us, too, to eat His flesh just as the Israelites had to eat that lamb they had sacrificed. Why? Because only His blood will save us from ultimate Death. Only His blood marks us as belonging to God.

So…what about those days, then? What about taking the lamb into the house? What’s the parallel for us today, as Christians, who don’t bring in a literal sheep or goat?

How are you taking Jesus into your house in the days leading up to the Paschal celebration? How are you dwelling with Him? How are you drawing closer and closer, so that when you relive the events of those three miraculous, earth-shattering, history-changing days, it hits you anew, as if you were there in Jerusalem for the Last Supper? As if you were there on the hill of Golgotha?

This is why the season of Lent has been part of the church for so long. Not just four days, but forty. Forty days to grow closer to your Savior. Forty days to invite Him anew into your house. Forty days to make Him a part of your meals, part of your conversations, part of your prayers, part of your daily life in a new, deeper way. Forty days to remind yourself of how He is your friend, your brother, your King, your rabbi, your everything.

Because then, when you look anew on the cross, it will be real to you. Then, when you take the bread and the cup, you’ll remember what it cost. Then, when you explain to your children or grandchildren or your own stubborn heart why we observe this same thing year after year, you’ll know the answer.

“It is because of what the Lord did for me when He went to Calvary, when I came forth out of sin and into true life.”

Bring the Lamb into your house this year, friends. And lavish love upon Him. Because we need to remember what our salvation cost.

The Praise and Faith of Despair

The Praise and Faith of Despair

by | Mar 7, 2024 | Thoughtful Thursdays

A couple weeks ago I received two beautiful books as a gift. Sheltering Mercy and Endless Grace by Ryan Whitaker Smith and Dan Wilt. These are poetic responses to the Psalms, from a Christ-centric point of view. The work itself is beautiful–highly recommened. But it was actually the introduction of Sheltering Mercy that got me thinking.

In the introduction, the authors make a statement. They say that ALL the Psalms are praise.

Now, if you’re like me, you’ve tended to put the Psalms into different categories–some are praise, some are lament, some are a cry for help. When we think of praise, we think of joyful singing (even when it’s a sacrifice). And we all know that some of the psalms are full of complaints. Full of at-my-wit’s-end. Full of despair.

Is that praise?

The authors call this “the praise of the forgotten. The destitute. the fearful. The guilty.” They go on to say that we serve the God of the distraught, not just the God of the joyful.

And that settled deep in my spirit and stayed with me, especially as I was reading a novel in which the young heroine kept crying out, “Are you there, God?” I’ll admit that her constant refrain was driving me crazy in the story because she had just heard His voice. But as my reading friends reminded me (we’re reading this one together in a sub-group of my Patrons & Peers), don’t we all do that? We turn so quickly from assurance to doubt. So quickly from joy to despair.

You know what? He’s still our God.

When we’re in those positions–as we all are at some point in our lives–our praise is simply acknowledging that God is the only one who can help. We are praising Him with our despair. With our desperation. With our lack…by offering it to Him.

Even the very question of that fictional heroine who was frustrating me–are you there, God?–is, in fact, an act of faith. If we didn’t believe it on some level, we wouldn’t ask.

You’re never going to hear me crying out, “Are you there, Easter Bunny? Can you help?”

No. Even when we’re upset, when we can’t see the goodness, when we don’t understand why things have happened, when we’re angry at God, when we can’t forgive Him for the things that have happened, when we just don’t have energy for faith, when we’re so overburdened by loss or grief or pain or numbness, depression or anxiety or exhaustion or sickness…we know to whom to cry. Even if it’s in anger. Even if it’s in despondence. Even if it’s in despair.

I’d never before paused to consider that lesson that Psalms give us–that it’s not only okay to cry to God with all of that…THAT IS FAITH. Pouring out all our complaints…THAT IS FAITH. Questioning God like we’d question our own family–“Are you even listening to me??”–THAT IS FAITH.

Because that is saying, “I don’t even know who you are right now–but I know THAT you are, and I know you’re supposed to be the one to help me.” It’s saying, “I can’t take any more, so I’m trusting you to take it for me.” It’s saying, “I feel like you’re ignoring me, Lord–but I’m still calling you Lord.”

That’s what David did. What the other psalmists did. And those examples have been preserved for us because we NEED TO KNOW that praise isn’t all joy. Praise isn’t all happiness. Praise isn’t all worshiping on the mountaintop.

Praise is crying out from the pits of despair. Praise is shouting in rage. Praise is curling up in a ball and begging Him to make it go away. Praise is acknowledging that we just don’t understand.

Now, this isn’t the part of faith or praise we want to be in. It’s not the part we strive for. But we’ll pass through it–all of us, at some point or another. And it’s important that we remember these parts of our journey toward the Father, through the Son, with the Spirit are good. They will deliver us to the other side. They teach us that faith, in those times, is crying out, not going silent. As long as we’re still communicating, then we’re still clinging.

I hope and pray that you’re in a mountaintop season. That your praise is joyful. But maybe you’re not–and it’s not. Maybe you’re struggling right now, in one way or another. Maybe you feel the comfort of the Lord through it all, or maybe you’re angry with Him, can’t sense Him, or feel like He’s abandoned you. Maybe you feel like God has gone silent or is far away–even though you know the words that say otherwise.

Knowing isn’t feeling.

David knew. David knew God was not far off. But he still cried out and asked, “How long are you going to make me wait, God?”

Cry out. Shout. Sing. Scream. Cry out to God with those doubts, with that anger, with that despair. Offer it to Him.

And that will be your praise. That will be your worship. And it will be enough.

Why Do I Love You?

Why Do I Love You?

by | Feb 14, 2024 | Thoughtful Thursdays

There’s a famous poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning called “How Do I Love Thee?” You’ve probably read it. But if it’s been a while, here’s a quick refresher of this beautiful, short poem (which is in the public domain):

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

You know what I love about this poem? That it doesn’t try to explain why she loves Robert. It doesn’t enumerate his good qualities or how she feels in his presence. It doesn’t talk about the way her heart goes pitter-patter when he smiles at her. It’s not about the why. It’s about the how.

And there’s something so very true about that approach to love, isn’t there? Because we rarely know why we love someone. We just know that we do. We know how it changes us, inspires us. We know how it creates life within our existence.

I am so incredibly blessed to have a husband who tells me many times a day that he loves me. Many times a day, he’ll just look over at me say, “You’re so pretty. How are you so pretty?” Or “I love just looking at you.” I mean, I’m no supermodel. And he usually says it when my hair’s still wet from the shower or a mess from bed. But when I get ready for the day and walk out–which I do most days even when I’m staying home to work, he’ll comment on that too. He’ll tell me how nice I look, how beautiful I am, how lucky he is.

And when I return the sentiments, this man I love so much will sometimes say, “I don’t know why. I mean, everyone should love you. I don’t know why you love me.” It’s become part of the dialogue, part of the script, part of the game. And over the years, my answer has changed. Sometimes it’s teasing, sometimes it’s ooey-gooey. But lately…lately I’ve settled on what I deem the truth. “I love you because you’re you. I love you because you’re my hunny.”

That’s what love is. We don’t just love the things someone does, the words they say, the way they look. We love them. And when we love the core of a person–the place from which all those other things flow–that’s when love roots deep. When it gets at the kind of love God has for us. Our Lord doesn’t love us because we pray or sing or come to church. He loves us. First. Because we are His. Because we are us. And then all those other things…those rise up and overflow from that love. Because He loves us, we learn how to love Him. And when we love Him–not for the things He does or the Words He says, or the way He appears, but for who He is…then our faith becomes unshakable too. Because our faith is just our love for Him.

I certainly didn’t love my babies because they’d done anything right or were great people the moment they were born. I loved them before they were ever even put in my arms because they were them. I didn’t know who that was yet. But I knew they were. And they were mine. Just like David. Just like the family I was born into. Just like my Lord.

On Valentine’s Day, we might give a gift to our special someone (or even many special someones, if you have kids!). We might plan a nice dinner or put on nice clothes. We might try to look our best for them. But if that doesn’t happen this year, you know what? It’s important to remember that those things aren’t part of the why. We don’t love people because they take us out to dinner. We don’t love them because they remember to buy cards. We love them because they’re them. We love them because we can trust them to love us for being us. All those outward things…yes, they can be an indicator of that soul-deep love. But they’re not always. They don’t have to be. People can take all the right actions and not have the right heart. People can have the right heart and not know the actions you want them to take.

Today, this month, this year, let’s not focus on the why. Not in our own lives, and not in other people’s. Let’s not ask why they love the people they do. Let’s praise God for the beauty of love that exists without reason. Love that exists because we do. Love that provides the strength, provides the goodness, provides the words and actions.

Let’s smile, because we know that the answer that may sound like a cop-out is actually the truest answer of all. Why do I love you? Because you are you.

Not Inspired

Not Inspired

by | Feb 8, 2024 | Thoughtful Thursdays

I’ll be honest. Though 100% of my income comes from creative endeavors…I don’t always feel inspired.

I don’t always want to write.

I don’t always want to design book covers.

I don’t always want to typeset a book.

I don’t even always want to work on sprayed edges or create beautiful pages or pretty up my website.

There are days and weeks when I don’t want to do any of the things that I do. Days and weeks when I’m tired and burned out and just don’t feel creative. There are days and weeks when I do all the normal things to jump start that creativity–I read and watch favorite movies or shows or try something new or just get extra sleep–and still. Nope. Don’t wanna. Don’t care. Don’t feel it.

And I can indulge that for a little while. I can give myself those times of refreshment and renewal for a few days or even a week, because I know they’re actually an important, crucial part of the creative process.

But here’s the thing…if you let a fallow time go on indefinitely, you know what you’re likely to stay? Fallow. Unproductive. Dormant.

At some point, you have to fire up the tractor and start plowing up those fields of creativity again. You have to start planting seeds. You have to get to work. And then…then the growth will follow. The flowers will bloom. The fruits will ripen. The harvest will come, eventually. But not until we get up and start moving.

So often, I have to get to work whether I want to or not–just like everyone else. And you know that saying about “Find a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life?” Yeah, that’s nonsense. Even when you love it, it still requires WORK. It requires EFFORT. It requires MAKING yourself do things even when you’re not in the mood.

It’s supposed to. Because nothing in life always comes easily, with no problems to solve or inertia to push through or attitudes to overcome. Even the things we love take work.

No, wait. Let me rephrase that: Especially the things we love take work.

Think about it. The best, healthiest relationships don’t just exist from sheer luck. They’re solid, healthy relationships because you’re always tending them. And while most of the time that might be easy and fun, it isn’t always. You know that. Every married couple has to have hard discussions. Every best friend needs to be there through the times they’d rather skip. Every parent has cried tears over their child at some point.

It’s the fact that we put in the effort, that we deem it worth working for and at and on, that makes those relationships strong and healthy.

The same is true for our creative pursuits. Inspiration is, in a lot of ways, like a person. It comes for a visit on its own now and then, yes. When the mood strikes. But quite often, you have to be the one to invite it. You have to open the door to it. You have to feed it and get it talking. And then…then it opens up.

But not always–or even often–on its own.

I don’t always feel like being creative at the start of a day. The creativity comes because I sit down and start creating. I don’t always feel inspired. But when I start creating, the inspiration comes.

Ironic case in point: this very article. It was time to write my blog. I didn’t know what I wanted to write about. Quite frankly, I rarely know what I’m going to write about when I sit down. I just sit down. And I silently whisper a prayer. And I get started. I open up a new post, I stare at the screen for a while, and I start casting about for ideas. What have I been thinking about this week? What’s coming up in the next little while? What have David and I been talking about? And then I write a title. And then I come up with the words to match it.

When I write a book, I don’t always feel a strong drive do unfold this story right now, when it’s time to write. But it’s time to write. So I sit down, and I open my document, and I silently whisper a prayer, and I dive in. And then the characters take hold of me, the story lures me onward, and the inspirations comes.

Professional creatives don’t wait to be inspired. Professional creatives chase the inspiration. We sometimes have to wrestle it into the seat beside us. We work for that creativity. We work at it. We work on it. And you know what? When you’ve invested that much time and effort into building a strong relationship with inspiration…inspiration shows up for you. Just like your best friend.

Don’t wait for the mood to strike, my friend. Sit down and get started anyway. Create something. The inspiration will follow. It doesn’t like to feel left out. 😉

Reach Farther

Reach Farther

by | Feb 1, 2024 | Thoughtful Thursdays

This week, a new planner arrived in our house, for my husband. It’s called the Monk Manual, and it’s part planner, part spiritual journal, part training. (Also, just very cool!) One of the reasons we got it for him to try is because it doesn’t just have regular planner stuff…it also encourages you to think through your weekly theme, to reflect at the end of each day on your victories and your challenges…and to have a day set aside to test your own limits. To push hard and see how you do.

This is something I’ve been thinking a lot about, especially this early in the year, when topics of productivity and efficiency and quarterly or yearly goals are talked about everywhere. And I’ll admit it. Often when I see things on how to be “more productive and efficient,” my hackles rise. Because I like to think I’m very productive. I like to think I’m constantly finding ways to be more efficient. And when I share what I’ve accomplished each week with my accountability partner, my P&P group, and my Write Here, Write Now Facebook group, the responses are always the same, and they always go something like this: “Wow, you amaze me. How do you get so much done?”

But there’s always room for improvement, and I know that. I know that because I’ve always thought I was good at managing my time well, and yet when I look back at where I was a decade ago, I see how far I’ve come.

What’s more, I hear so many creatives talking about the challenges of making time and space for their creativity, and I hear familiar refrains over and over. Refrains I myself have chanted time and again. There’s just not enough time…

Sometimes, it’s simply true. Sometimes, we manage everything perfectly well, but there’s just no more space. I know that feeling. I have days and weeks and even months where I know I’m using my minutes and hours wisely, but there still aren’t enough of them to do all the things on the list.

And yet…just as often, or even more often, we are simply content to stay within our limits. But what happens if we reach father? If we stretch? If we push?

I mean, the short answer is that the limits change places, of course. Much like physical exercise, we can push ourselves a little harder and a little harder, and we get stronger, faster, more flexible. The same is true in our work, our creativity, and our general goals.

Last Friday, my husband had an “establish your limits” day in his planner, and at the end of the day, he said, “You know, I really think I did it. I really think I pushed to my limits.” It was a challenge he set for himself, and one that left him feeling accomplished, even though he didn’t actually check off all the boxes of things he wanted to get done. He still knew he’d done a great job at what he did work on, and he hadn’t wasted time or energy. He established his natural limit for where he is at this point in his life.

Now that he knows that benchmark, he’ll strive to hit it regularly. Maybe not every day (because let’s face it, we all have off days!), but most days. It will become the norm. His routine. His standard.

And then he’ll add one more thing. Stretch a little farther. Work a little faster, perhaps. Tackle something that had seemed too big.

There are a lot of ways to stretch our limits. If stamina is our issue, we work a little longer, just by a few minutes. If we work the “right” number of hours but aren’t accomplishing what we want to in them, then maybe we focus on speed instead and try to find ways to make that hour-long task only take 50 minutes. Then 45. Then, maybe 30. If it’s the quality that needs work, then it may be wise to set aside time for learning and practicing.

The important thing, I truly believe, is that we reach. Higher, farther, wider, longer. Strain your muscles–your physical ones, your emotional ones, your spiritual ones, your mental ones. Don’t be content to stagnate where you are, even if you’re in a happy place. Try something new. Learn something more. Chase that dream you’ve always thought was beyond you.

What limits do you need to test and stretch this year?

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