I used to think if I stayed pretty enough, slim enough, “made an effort”, it would make up for my hot temper. It didn’t.
I used to think if I managed my house with the superwoman ability of June Cleaver, he wouldn’t notice the lash of tongue. But he did.
He once told me there was nothing that pushed him away more than an angry woman. Yet here he is, married to someone with all that potential, and he loves her anyway. He loves me anyway. It doesn’t make sense.
I used to think an atmosphere of worship required flickering candles, Bethel music, and hour-long prayer sessions. When I was single, that used to be my reality. I’d read my Bible, turn on worship music, and spend more than thirty minutes enjoying the presence of God. It felt like worship. It looked like worship.
Then I quit my job, moved to a new state, and had a baby – all in the span of one week. My life was upended for good, and in that transition I learned that worship is not a sequence of activities or a certain kind of music. It’s an attitude.
Excellent.
It’s who I wanted to be. Excellence – my goal in work, home, marriage, motherhood, friendship – in every circle of life I would be at the top. I would not just do good; I would be good. I would be good at everything.
I sought new tasks and worked willingly: typing, scrubbing, cooking, writing.
I found the best deals and the cheapest groceries and cooked the healthiest meals.
I got up at 5 AM, planned my day, made the list, did the things.
I became a business. I worked out regularly. I dressed myself with as much style and class as I knew how.
Because I had to be excellent.
Christians talk a lot about sexual purity. We talk a lot about being pro-life. Yet we’ve ignored the chasm of understanding between these two issues – issues that are integrally connected not just in reality, but in our spiritual lives. We brandish our “pro-life” monikers as if it’s a given – we’re Christians, after all! – yet fail to understand what sanctity of life looks like day-to-day.
The truth is this: “Pro-life” is not just a political viewpoint. It is a lifestyle.
I invited Jesus to my lingerie shower.
He attended, no questions asked.
In the jokes and the gifts and the lace, His presence was real. He didn’t look like Himself, of course – His face was the face of my friends, the women who love Him and love me. But Jesus was there, right in the middle of our raucous laughter and our innuendoes about marital sex. He saw the joy, the anticipation, and the love of the women around me – women celebrating the sexuality He designed.
A pang strikes my heart every time I write about the church. It’s the same discomfort I get when confronting a friend about a sin issue; a necessary pain. I wouldn’t want to take joy in correcting a flawed ideology, but neither should I ignore anything that hinders the gospel’s advance.
But in writing about the church – from women’s ministry to the millennial message – I have a weighty responsibility. The church is not a building, after all. The church is people. The church is me.
The world needs us, you and I.
It needed me when I left, and it needs you for staying. You wouldn’t know it from what the magazines say… the Instagram posts about wanderlust and adventure, about moving out and moving on. The world makes it seem like I’m bigger, bolder, for leaving.
And you – the girl who never left home? You’re the one who “settled”.
A change of emphasis has taken place. The words, the affirmations, the identities and monikers – many of them are biblical and true. The problem lies – once again – not in whether or not the message is true but whether our overt focus on it has handicapped our spiritual maturity.
I believe it has. It is the millennial gospel – good feelings, good music, real people, and “rawness”. The not-so-good news? It’s incomplete.
There was a time when legalists were easy to identify.
They were the ones more interested in “Sunday best” than repentant hearts; more concerned about music and movies than an inner transformation. They judged by outward appearance and were, in turn, judged lacking in both truth and grace.
Gen-Xers and millennials know them well. We grew up hearing about them, and watched the church shift and buckle under the weight of change. It was a good change, for the most part. It exposed things. It revealed how church had become more about doing and being “good” than about God being good in us.
That morning in my quiet time, I prayed for humility. I asked God to saturate my life and ministry with it; to protect me from the dangers of pride. Six hours later more steam was coming out my ears than off the onions, and I was convinced it was all Josh’s fault.
We all know we need humility. Christ Himself exemplified it and provided a model for us to follow. So we pray for it periodically, asking God to “make us humble” without really grasping what it is we ask.