5 Hot Tips I've been Given in Church

picture source

1. You’re noticing the problem because you are part of the solution

It’s easy to become dejected, discouraged or critical when we see problems in our church, our workplace or our social environment. Bitterness and complaining can set in quickly, as too, can apathy. It is far too easy to walk into a room, take its pulse and say, ‘I’m outta here.’ But, perhaps you’re noticing the problem because you are part of the solution. We have each been given unique gifts, talents and insights to bless those around us. Rather than feel discouraged when you notice a missing ‘piece’ in the puzzle, pray, ‘God, use me to fill that gap.’

2. No rear-view Christianity

The enemy loves to use past failures to keep us from moving forward. It is one of the favourite tools in his arsenal. He will remind you of the mistakes you made yesterday, last year, last decade. He may even point out the mistakes of your nearest and dearest to remind you, ‘Hey, if they couldn’t do it, what makes you think you can?’ We are always in motion; we decide which way we will point our noses. If our gaze is on the past and it’s mistakes, chances are we will repeat them. While there is a time and a place to prayerfully deal with the past, ruminating on our failures will only hold us back. 

3. Quit asking why it didn’t work for someone else

Jesus established an important principle when he told Peter not to look at his friend, John, but to follow Him instead. Using each other as a plumb line never works. Why? Because we are human. We have our moments of brilliance and our moments of not-so brilliance. Times when we are living in obedience to truth and times when we are slip-sliding around in the flesh. Looking at each other and worse still, using each other’s experience as a litmus for God’s truth is a fast track to doubt and discouragement. Why did that person die of cancer and that other one was healed? Well, I don’t know and no matter how much time you spend wondering on it, neither will you. What I do know is what God tells me in His Word. That is the plumb line.

4. Things will never be the same again

While many of us do not like change, knowing that things will never be the same again can be one of the most liberating aspects of the Christian life. God tells us that He is working in us and that we are going from strength to strength and glory to glory. This means that we are always forging new territory and gaining new victory. We might take our time to learn the lessons God would have us learn, but praise God, our future looks different to our past.

5. Stop trying to be what you already are

Many Christians live in perpetual cycles of sin, guilt, confession, sin guilt confession. We have been told that our sin separates us from God. Guess what? They got it wrong. Once we accepted Christ, we were immediately, irrevocably and legally cleared of all debts against us; past, present and future. Sin ceased to be the problem between us and God. What that means is that we can step off the silly cycle. We can wholeheartedly take for granted the fact that when God looks at us, He sees only the work of Christ. Does that mean He is happy when we sin? No. God is continually working in His children to will and to do His will. However, sin no longer separates us from His presence. How could it? We need His presence to help us when we are at our messiest. We don't need to try to please the God who looks at us and says, ‘I see no stain upon you.’

Your Timeline in God

You are plonk bang in the middle of God's timeline.
It's easy to feel stuck in our life, between the failures of yesterday and the fears for tomorrow. We can lose our present to worry and fear. And yet, we are living in God's time.

• Before the worlds were formed, He knew you. Your days were planned before you had them. (Ephesians 2:10, Psalm 139:16)

• Two thousand years ago, He tucked you firmly into the work of Christ. You were buried and resurrected with Him and given newness of life before you even took your first breath. (Romans 6:3-5)

• Decades ago, it was Him who formed you in the matrix of your mother's womb. He set his seal on you and said, 'Child, you are mine.' (Psalm 139:15, Isaiah 43:1)

• When you took Christ into your heart, He filled you with his Spirit and adopted you into His family. You belong to Him, whether you feel it or not. Filled with Him and bestowed with all the privileges of the children of a God. (Ephesians 1:5, Romans 8:15, Galatians 4:6)

• Today, He is your I Am. Sufficient for the worries of this moment. A present help in trouble. Outside of time and always accessible; He is your now. (2 Corinthians 9:8, 2 Corinthians 12:9, Psalms 46:1)

• Tomorrow, He goes before you. And for every tomorrow after that. His strength will be there until your last breath. (Deuteronomy 31:8, Deuteronomy 31:6, Isaiah 41:10)

God has sealed you behind and in front, your timeline is held securely in His hands, in His will. There is not a day where you will be without Him. Not a breath even. There is not a place where you can flee from His presence, from His plan for your life.

Read Psalm 139 to understand exactly how precious you are to God, how intimately He knows you and how thoroughly He holds you.

You, my dear, are unequivocally and completely safe, nestled in the timeline of God.

'But I trusted in, relied on, and was confident in You, O Lord; I said, You are my God. My times are in Your hands.'

Psalm 31:14,15a

The Invisible Work of Mothering

'Lord, this is the hardest season of my life.'

These are the words uttered in earnest as I sit on the edge of my freshly made bed, sipping lukewarm coffee. The faint sound of worship music floats in from the lounge room, punctuated by the electronic quack of a game my son is playing on the iPad.
It is quiet time.
That blessed hour of the day where children are encouraged to play quiet activities and mum pretty much breaks her neck getting to the refuge of her bedroom for a few sweet moments of solitude.

I am reminded of the story of Susannah Wesley, mother of Jonathan and Charles Wesley, who, as the mother of nineteen children at the turn of the century, would seek solace under her apron! She would pull the fabric over her head at various points during the day. This was her prayer time. Her rest and refill time and the children knew not to interrupt her during these moments! No doubt, it was these times of refreshment that got her through the day.

In Matthew 11:28, 29 Jesus offers this invitation to those who feel hard pressed.
'Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy-laden and overburdened, and I will cause you to rest. [I will ease and relieve and refresh your souls.]
Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me, for I am gentle (meek) and humble (lowly) in heart, and you will find rest, relief and ease and refreshment and recreation and blessed quiet) for your souls.' (Amplified version)

Look at these blissful words for one moment, would you?
Rest
Relief
Refreshment
Ease
Recreation
Blessed quiet

I can think of few other candidates in desperate need of this kind of rest as mothers! Whether you are single or married, raising one or nineteen, mothering is a hard task! It requires superhuman energy, saintly patience and creativity to boot. Some days it feels like you're not even going to make it through to bedtime.

Jesus' offer of ease, relief and refreshment stands like an oasis in a desert.
Lately, I am learning just how much I need to rely on Him for the strength I need to get through the day. I am also becoming increasingly aware of the fact that we are made to thrive, not just survive.

My children are not babies any more.
They are growing more independent. Still, I am in a rough season. Moving away from excessive worry and reasoning into the peace of trust. Jesus words are just the relief I crave. It requires work on my part.
I need to go to Him.
Regularly.
Like Susannah with her apron over her head, I find it necessary to take regular, five minute breaks to readjust my perspective, to wait on God for the strength I need for the next task.
I pray, 'Father, let me see my children as you see them. Let me love them as you love them.'
I ask for strength and I submit myself to Him. And you know what happens?
I find His creativity and His strength infuses me.
He shows me new way through and over obstacles. He recharges my batteries and fills my heart with new love and mercy toward my kids.

Without regular provision from God, these difficult seasons become mountainous.
With His help, we find that we develop the muscles we need to navigate the terrain.

As I confided in God today, 'Father, this is my hardest season.' An answer came back to me.
I realised that this is my hardest season because I am sowing a precious crop. There is a time coming when the harvest will spread far and wide. Now, it is a season of toil. Digging up the dirt, plucking out the weeds, pressing the seeds deep and low in the bowels of the earth.

So much of mothering is invisible work. Behind closed doors and late nights. We aren't even sure we are sowing into our kids life. Are we doing it right? Will they turn out ok?
Father God encourages us as only He can.

Keep sowing. Keep working. Keep trusting in His process. As we commit our lives and children to Him, He does that magic, underground work. The seeds crack open and the delicate tendrils of new life push their way to the surface of the earth. He brings the sun, the rain and strengthens the life. He will bring a plentiful harvest.

Be encouraged, tired mums. Sow and rest. Hope and wait. Times of great blessing are ahead.

'And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.' Galatians 6:9

Good Pain

When I was pregnant with my babies, the midwives tried to prepare me for the labour. In prenatal class, they told us fledgling, soon-to-be mums that there was such a thing as good pain. Pain that was healthy and meaningful. Pain that produced results: the whole body working together to bring your child from your womb and into your arms. My twenty-something year old brain rejected the concept. Good pain? I thought incredulously. Who are you kidding? Pain is pain and I don't want a bar of it.

I epi-duraled my way through two labours. Ah, the bliss of liquid numbness, seeping through my spine and filling my body with blessed relief from contractions that rolled like merciless waves over my tired body. Why would anyone do it any other way? I thought.

Fast forward a few years.
I have come to realise exactly what the midwives were talking about.
We might be able to skip the pain of labour, thanks to some pretty magical medications, but sooner or later, life is going to present us with a situation that there is no easy way out of.
While my epidural took away my labour pain, I did miss an opportunity to develop confidence in my own endurance. Now, that being said, there is absolutely no shame in choosing medication for labour and I do not take any moral stance against it. What I am saying, is that for me, the choice echoed similar choices I had made over the years; which was, when things got hard, I lost my nerve. I simply believed I could not do anything that hurt or challenged me.

A lifetime of avoiding scary things, difficult things, painful things, resulted in me struggling in my confidence as an adult and feeling powerless in my world.

A few years ago, I was about twenty kilos overweight. I lamented my pre-motherhood figure. I envied mothers who 'bounced right back' after labour, squeezing into their tiny jeans with their flat tummies. Finally, after five years, I realised, I wasn't going to get my figure back by complaining about it. I was gonna have to work for it.

Enter the concept of good pain, once more.
Ah, the good pain of a tummy that craved chocolate and fast food. The soreness of muscles that were learning to jog. The feeling of frustration when the weight didn't peel off. Was all this effort actually achieving something?
My give-up nature poked and cajoled me at every turn.

There is a point in our challenge where our work does not seem to be accomplishing anything. In weight loss, it is the point where you are exercising and moderating your food choices but you're still in the same dress size. In labour, it is the point where you've been huffing and puffing through contractions only to be told that you are barely dilated.

This is the painful ground; the point where hard work and it's sweet rewards have not yet married, and Lord, it's tempting to give up. But you mustn't! You must tenaciously engage your will, knowing that what you are doing will bring a harvest. The midwives had it right. Not all pain is bad. Some pain is proof of your effort, proof of your accomplishment. As in weight training, where the muscles are literally torn and healed to bring strength, so in life, we must experience a little discomfort to bring about great strength and endurance. You can do it, you are doing it, and you will reap a reward.

'And let us not lose heart and grow weary and faint in acting nobly and doing right, for in due time and at the appointed season we shall reap, if we do not loosen and relax our courage and faint.'
Galatians 6:9. (Amplified Bible)

Bad days

They happen to everyone.
Most people shake them off.
For us perfectionistic, analytical types they can become proof of our worst fears about ourselves. They become evidence of our failure, our inability to rise above the circumstances. We can get into a loop of backward thinking. We think that these lapses are actually the accurate measure of our life. We might say things like, 'I always cave under pressure' or 'I can never get my act together when such-and-such happens.' When in reality, that may not be true at all. We simply may not be counting the days we succeed.

You see we each have what Psychologists call a negativity-bias. What this means is that we tend to attribute more weight or value to those negative events/words/thoughts than the positive ones. It's understandable. They hurt. There is a designated part of our brain that diligently records these painful experiences, burning them into our brain matter. Its called our hypothalamus. When things go wrong we have a store of 'evidence' to back up the fact that we are always failing/disappointing others/getting hurt/making mistakes. In reality, it is just our trusty hypothalamus drawing links and presenting its supporting evidence.

From a statistical viewpoint, this 'evidence' is actually not so trustworthy at all. It is drawn from all the most negative experiences in our lives. That means that half (or more) of the information is missing! Would you trust any election if only the negative votes were counted? And yet often this is what we do to ourselves! We only count the evidence of our failure, our hurt, or bad experiences.

This is why God repetitively tells us in His word to meditate on the good. To cast down thoughts that rise against what we know to be true. Note the word 'know' not 'feel' Sometimes things simply do not feel true. To say 'I am more than a conqueror in Christ' does not feel true when I've spent the day yelling at the kids, battling a panic attack or failing to get on top of my to do list. But guess what? It is no less true than on that day when I was mum of the year, snapped my anxiety and did my errands before morning break! The great thing about God's word is that it does not change according to our circumstances or our feelings or our successes or our failures. It stands apart and separate from us and is the definitive measure of truth; the plumb line by which we can measure our worth and all of our happenings.

The hypothalamus has its place. It is protective by nature, serving as a warning to avoid certain situations/people/cycles. Out of place, it can distort our perspective and present faulty evidence that feels truer than the breath within us.

Good thing we have the unwavering measure of who we are, recorded on the pages of our Bibles and whispered into our hearts by the Holy Spirit.

Bad days are not proof of our failure or evidence that we will never get on top.
Bad days are simply those days when we have to fight harder to believe the truth.

The Holiest Ground

I am standing in my dining room. Around me are the signs and struggles of typical family life: toys and art supplies strewn around (where they should not be) a rug that needs vacuuming, half- folded washing in piles on my kitchen table....
It is a silent house.
My husband is on an errand and has taken my two little ones, lending me an opportunity I don't often have (as mothers will exquisitely understand!)
I am alone.

Just before leaving, my eight year old daughter addressed me with an urgent plea... 'Mum! don't forget the colouring competition!'
Her creativity has spilled over into a project that has filled her with excitement and a sense of urgency: she had created four identical images of bunnies collecting eggs. One for her brother, one for me and her dad and one for grandma.
On Friday she put forward her petition: 'Can you and dad please colour in the pictures before we go away on Monday?' (They are staying overnight with Grandma as it is school holidays and I have a full day at University and my husband is away on business)
She wants the competition ready for her to judge on Monday night.
My husband and I promised we would get around to it, but alas, it is Sunday evening and plans for the week ahead crush in urgently on us, cramming themselves uncomfortably into the final rays of daylight. Neither my husband or I have gotten around to the task so precious to her.

Her parting plea, instead of compelling me to action, drives me to anger.
'Don't you realise how busy mummy is? I have study and housework and I have to pack you and your brother's bags before uni tomorrow!' I send her away and I'm feeling exasperated and pressed. The disappointment in her face is the last thing I see as she leaves.

I have two hours in this silent house before they will be back.
Two hours in which I could try and do the three hours of reading required for class tomorrow.
I could begin to prepare dinner.
Hang and fold the mountain of washing.
Enjoy an indulgent and much wanted rest....

I begin my uni readings. It's sensible. It's urgent.
But.
I feel the familiar tug.
God.
He's drawing me away.
Frustrated, I retreat to my bedroom where a hasty, panicked prayer is offered up. 'But God, I have so much to do!'
And then He leads me, as He does lately, one step at a time. One foot in front of the other because it's all my hurried, jumbled brain can handle these days.

'Put your headphones on, go in the sun and colour.'

Frustrated and edgy, I gather the supplies and do as He has said.
I sit for half an hour listening to worship music as I use my son's waxy, richly hued pencils to colour in the picture my beautiful daughter has drawn.
I colour with abandon and I feel tension dissolve on the page as I stroke wild lashes of viridian green grass and ring the sun with cadmium yellow.
This simple, tactile art brings me back to a simpler time and drops an even simpler, pure message into my spirit.
This is what it's all about.
How often I forget.
How often He reminds me.

I suddenly can't wait for my daughter to arrive home.
What else can I do to make this the pleasurable experience she so desperately wants it to be?
I raid the Easter egg collection I have accumulated for next week. I choose a large bunny and tie a string around it's neck. To the string, I attach a label that says, 'The prize.'
Now the competition is really worth striving for :)
I know she will be thrilled.

I leave my entry, along with her brother's and the two blank ones, waiting to be coloured on her little table. (I will whisper in her father's ear tonight).
The prize bunny is there.
So are the crumbs from breakfast.

My perspective has returned.

God tells me quietly, 'This is the Holiest Ground.'

Where self and surrender intercept.
I take my shoes off.
The floorboards are slightly tacky beneath my feet.
My toenail polish is half worn off.
I am Moses.
This is my house, my battle ground.

And slowly, I am learning.

The Consolation of God

'Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.' Jesus, The Bible.

There is a special place in the will and heart of God for those who have suffered.
In a world that is full of injustice and atrocities of the worst imaginable kind, it is easy to doubt in the goodness of a God who claims to be all powerful, all loving and completely just. Sometimes we just can't get past the Why question and it has been responsible for a huge number of people rejecting the God of the Bible. And it is completely warranted.

Why has God chosen not to interfere on a grand scale with the happenings of a world that are unjust at best, sadistic and brutal at worst? Why the holocaust, the starving children, the abused and the molested? Where is God when the world most needs Him? Like a veil or a curtain, He seems to have pulled the clouds over Himself and taken into hiding in the heavens above and beyond the accusations of His confused, hurting and angry creation.

Or has He?

Many wise and brilliant men, intellectuals and theologians alike have posed answers to The Big Question of Suffering and I am not seeking to add any great insight that they have not already revealed at a higher, more eloquent and thoroughly researched level than I am capable. I do however have my own thoughts on the issue. Thoughts birthed out of my own experiences of injustice and suffering. And this is what I have found: Nothing that I have turned over to Him has ever come back to me empty.While He didn't stop certain pains and injustices in my own life, He has removed the sting of many traumatic experiences by offering one of the things that our God seems to do best:
Consolation.

There is a strange thing that takes place when we use the pain to turn to God rather than from Him. We find a bittersweet place of abiding in the comfort of God amidst the hurt of the circumstance, the event or the memory. I thoroughly believe that this is why Jesus actually went as far as to say 'blessed' are those who mourn. Not just 'ok' or 'comforted' are those who mourn, but blessed. Those who have drunk deeply of the tender consolation of God can only agree. There is a battle in this life, but I am beginning to believe that is not about justice versus injustice but is a war for the mind. A fight to trust in a God whose ways, at times, confuse us. As autonomous humans, we tend to say to God, 'show me your proof and then I will trust you.' Both wise and frustrating is Father God's response; 'trust me and then I will show you.'