Talking to Strangers

The sun is coming back to us-it’s been in some other land for hours now and is finally peeking over the edge of the end of earth. As I step out of my car into the crisp, misty, air, I decide that Sunday mornings were made for this. The door creaks as it always does when I open it (I wonder if they think that WD40 is bad for the environment), alerting everyone in Spring Garden Bakery that another passerby has stopped in for some warmth. I pass tables of chatterers and readers and writers and breathe thankfulness for all of the hours spent in this little Bethel spot… hours of reflecting, studying, writing, and conversing with other women about the God that saves.

One of my favorite parts of this bakery is that the front wall is basically one big window looking out into Spring Garden Street… I used to love watching college students walk to class and couples laughing over tea on the patio set and pretend for a moment that I was in some foreign place with nothing to do but observe and write. Stories. They are everywhere.

Baker is in his apron as usual, as powdered with flour as the dough he is kneading. His knowing hands move over it all so naturally, shaping it into exactly what it was created for. Hands. Creating. I suddenly feel small.

I take it all in:  the fragrance of chai tea and fresh bread, the antique side table that has probably been re-painted at least 7 times, the tin basins full of cream and soymilk that create exquisite art when its contents are slowly set free into a mug of dark coffee. Old friend with bushy beard remembers my order, despite the fact that I haven’t been back here since I graduated 5 months ago: iced coffee with a shot of caramel and one blueberry muffin. I hand him a few faded dollars and he hands me a welcoming smile, as if to say “It’s good to have you back.” 

My spot is a little wooden table a mite bit higher than the rest of them in the room, angled between a yellow and purple wall. Magical things happen here.

Light brown delicious finds its way to my lips and I let it go down slowly so that every taste bud has the opportunity to say hello before it passes by. Fork falls with slight resistance into blueberry muffin and crumbles decorate the dark wooden table. Journal falls open to fresh page and Ezekiel speaks to me of God’s power, His sovereignty, and the fear of Him. 

The corner of my eye holds a hunched-over figure standing at the doorway of the restroom across from me, but something tells me that he’s been there for a little too long. My head dares to rise as my eyes meet his, and there is no shame in his staring. The creeps inside of me can’t decide if they are legitimate or not… life experience tells me that it never ends well when men are bold enough to stare unabashedly, but this seems a little different. This man has joy in the creases of his eyes and is too old to be my grandpa.

As if waiting for an invitation, he hesitates, and then decides to walk over. 

“What are you reading?”

Oh! I think, maybe this is a divine appointment! Maybe I’ll get to share my Jesus with him!

“Well, this morning, I’m reading the book of Ezekiel.”

“Ahhh.” He chews on it for a moment. “Are you a Bible student?”

My smile gives me another moment to choose my words. “No, not necessarily. I’m a Christian and I want to learn more about my God, to know Him more.”

This character straight from the movie Up with his black, square glasses that make his eyes look bigger than they really are and the tweed flat cap that covers what I perceive to be a head full of white hair, focuses in on me, meeting my eyes on purpose. “I like your answer, young lady. The people that get the most of life are the ones that ask the big question,” he takes his half-shriveled, wrinkly hand and forms an invisible question mark in the air, “and you, my dear, are searching for the answer, aren’t you?

I don’t know quite how to answer, but I know that there is something in this man that I am meant to know more of. “Yes. I have found the answer, but there is so much more to seek. It’s a never-ending search.”

Eyes smile so big that cheektops and eyebrows nearly touch and I wonder if he can see at all. “I won’t keep you. You keep reading.” He waves me off and finds the nook on the other side of the wall from me.

The writer in me can’t let this go. There is definitely a story in this man. There is an unspoken joy in the fabric of who he is, and a wonder that only children know. I glance at my watch. 8:55. Church will begin in 20 minutes and it’s a 10 minute drive. I should probably go ahead and leave. But my heart strings tell me that I will be breaking the law of my spirit if I ignore this man, so I pack up my things and walk around the corner to his table. 

Knowing eyes look up. As if expecting me, he pulls the chair out beside of him for me to sit in.

On the table in front of him lays a notepad guarded by a leather folder. On the header of the page, in true journaling form, is the day’s date, although I can barely make out the writing because of the shaky hand of its writer. 

“So, you’re a writer?”

I could have told him that he had just won the lottery. Actually, even that can’t light a person up this way. Only the things that God has sewn into the threads of who we are make us come alive like this. Purpose. 

This man is a deep, deep well and this morning, God gave me the pail to dip into its water. And once I drop the pail in the water, the flood comes pouring. Sweet stranger opens his box of memories, wisdom, fears, and hopes and hands them to me, freely. And I realize that for this divine appointment, my role is not giver. It is receiver. So I listen.

Mr. Q shares my writer’s soul. We were given sibling eyes to see life in the same way. He spoke of a deep loneliness that sometimes comes from our souls of deep, deep reflection.

“My dear, writing is an affliction, you know.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you don’t ask for it. It’s just given to some of us. You can’t not write. It’s like there is this dimness, and the dimness turns dark until you can’t take it anymore. And so you write. And when you do, there is light. Yes, it’s an affliction because you can’t get away from it, you can’t live without it. But I’ll tell you this, my dear, I have never-not once-regretted this affliction.”

I feel warm come up from my chest and I think it might spill out of my eyes, but I fight it off. I already feel like a little girl here and I don’t want to completely fall apart in front of this stranger, but he is speaking from my soul. How does he know? Kindred spirit.

Mr. Q continues sharing his soul with me in words that only an experienced wordsmith can. This character, straight from the book of God’s writing, tells me about his love of 62 years and that every single day when he wakes up beside her, he wonders how he could ever be so blessed.

“You know, there must be some tragedy out there, but with her beside me every day of my life, I’ve never quite touched it. I know it will come, though, because that is part of life.” Even through his smile, a tear falls down his rough cheek, irrigation watering dry land. “I just don’t want to live without her. But I can’t go first. No, I have to take care of my bride. I don’t ever want her to have to live without me to take care of her. But I know I can’t go long without her, either. All I can figure’s we hold hands and we…” he takes his hands together and flings them, as if he is releasing a couple of doves into the air, “…we just walk off together!” He throws his little head back and chuckles, as if knowing that what he just said is crazy, but still cherishing the thought. “Maybe, just maybe, God will take us both together.”

I look down at my engagement ring. My soon-to-be-groom and I are still learning each other. I think about the coming months, all the arguments still to be had in the becoming one, the unknown… and I see this man, lover of his wife for more than two of my lifetimes. Life. This is what it’s made of. Feeling. Seeing loss. Cherishing what you know is not really yours to keep.

“I need to tell you something very important, my dear.” He leans in closely, holding my eyes with his, so I lean a little closer to grasp at this cherished wisdom. “If you’re going to be a writer, to seek, to reach out and really feel, to attempt to put it all into words, you’re going to hurt. You have to.” He throws his hands up and shrugs his shoulders as if to make it final. “But life’s not worth anything if you don’t.”

Raspy voice with still a bit of kick in it offers to me, “Goodbye, my dear. We’ll keep going and nothing can stop us until it does!” Sweet little man in failing body and black leather jacket throws his head back and laughs at his own words. Here, this man is probably much closer to death than the majority of people in this college city, and yet, he is fuller of life than almost anyone I’ve known.

I thank him with words that don’t seem to suffice. With journal in hand, the temptation is to run out the door as quickly as possible and write down all I can remember from this conversation with the angel. But I linger. He asks my name and tells me his. Reminds me that I owe it to my name to really live. Holds out withered hand and I take it. Tells me that we’re connected now, and that there are others like us out there. Aged writer and inspirer who knows much of life hands the baton to me, tells me that I am to pass it along. And I feel the weight of what I’ve been given. There is a story in every person and I’ve been given the role of seeker. 

 “Sometimes I write because I have something to say, and other times I write because I want to remember how to see." -Emily Freeman

A Lesson from Seagulls

Last week was one of those weeks that every college student daydreams about during that mid-semester funk when the closest thing you get to sunny rays is the radiation from your computer screen. Summer had set in for me and my teacher-Mom while my year-long-hardworking Dad was just beginning to allow the knots in his neck to loosen.

Oak Island, a quaint little beach away from tourist attractions and shopping malls, was our safe haven (it's no surprise that the recent blockbuster "Safe Haven" was actually filmed at South Port, a town just a few miles up the road). We feasted on the delicious gourmet... well, southern gourmet... food of my mother, enjoyed easy conversation with natives and friendly visitors, made a cozy little home in the coffee shop (go figure), caught up on books that had been sitting lonely on the shelf all year, and rested soul, mind, and body.

The familiarity of Eden hovered over each day of our mini paradise- and you know that it would not have been so without a lesson or two from the Creator.

One of my very favorite vacation traditions is to take scraps of bread to the beach to feed the seagulls. I'm not quite sure why attracting a clan of poop-filled bombers to float over my head thrills me so, but it does. So this week, after two days of feeding them, I had high hopes of becoming at least an acquaintance to these little fluttery fellows (and yes, I know that their brains are the size of a pea... don't forget the mustard seed).

Anyway, on day three, I flung just enough scraps out to reel them in and then waited. Whether or not they recognized the bread bag in my hand, they lingered, growing more impatient by the minute. A few of the birds even began to shove each other, as if I would reward them for being closest to me (there is plenty to go around, you crazies!). At the peak of my entertainment, I lifted a small pinch of bread up to the sky and taunted them to come get it. About half began to hover closer, gliding toward my hand and then flinging themselves back out, as if knowing the evil in the human heart. Finally, one brave little bird cascaded down and ate right out of my hand. It was amazing!

I giggled with excitement and continued with the amusement until one beak got a hold of my thumb, at which point I squealed and threw the rest of the bread down into no man's land.

Lesson: Giving and receiving are both beautiful pleasures that God has set into the hearts of men as a revelation of His nature. However, when we begin to view the gifts we receive as "rights" or "entitlements," He may show His love to us by withholding those gifts for a season, simply to draw us in, where we can once again see His face and be reminded of the heart of the Giver, and in doing so, be transformed another degree into the image of His glory. After all, who can love without seeing, feeling, and experiencing Love? The thought that this perfect God draws us in, not out of curiosity or amusement at our simplicity, but out of true, passionate, Fatherly love and a pure desire to enjoy authentic communion with us is beyond our understanding. But what a joy it must be for our Father when we come to Him, asking of the only One who has the power and authority to give every good gift!

"You make known to me the paths of life;

in your presence there is fullness of joy;

at your right hand are pleasures forevermore."

-Psalm 16:11

A Parent's Inheritance

 A few weeks ago, in the midst of a week full of exams, grad school hunting, and job interviews, I was blessed with a pleasant little escape to visit friends out of town. The evening was full of rich fellowship and there was a free-flow of wisdom offered from one life stage to another. At dinner, the conversation moved toward culture and how God's intended role of the family has been twisted over time. 

Although we read in God's Word that parents are supposed to be the ones discipling their children, having the embarrassing and hard conversations with them, and equipping them to fight sin, kids and teens now spend the majority of time with their friends and very little quality time with their families.

So what does this mean for us? -that our peers, although they have only been through the same life stages that we have been through, are the ones educating us about and guiding us through life... and that there are very important relationships missing that we were intended to enjoy, leaving us with huge, gaping voids.

In deep reflection at this thought, I realized that this actually wasn't true for me growing up. I admitted that I was that "weird kid" that actually wanted to spend Friday nights with my parents in high school.

While I always knew that this was looked down upon or at least viewed as a little strange in the eyes of most of my peers, this conversation led me to realize that I had been given a HUGE blessing growing up... a blessing that perhaps most of those peers now envy: parents who cared for and invested in me.

When my heart was broken, I didn't pick up the phone and three-way my girlfriends for advice because my mom spent enough time with me to see my pain before I ever spoke of it. I was blessed with her comfort and wise insight that was refined through years of walking with her Shepherd.

Just yesterday, I was delighted to spend the whole day with my dad running, working, and just...talking. I praise God that even though we are both stubborn and don't see eye to eye on everything, we have had enough conversations that make us comfortable enough to discuss the truths of our God and rejoice in them. 


^"My son, hear the instruction of thy father, and forsake not the law of thy mother: For they shall be an ornament of grace unto thy head, and chains about thy neck."
-Proverbs 1:8-9 


Growing up, our family's idea of the perfect Honeycutt date began with Wendy's kid's meals and ended all piled up on a big pallet in the living room watching TGIF, with lots of conversation and giggles mixed in. We couldn't afford trips across the world- or heck, even across the country, but we loved our $1.50 pet hermit crabs at Myrtle Beach and wouldn't trade late night swims in the little pool near our condo for the world. To us, naps were not spent on elegant, spacious sofas, but they were seldom taken without the snuggling comfort of another. My mom couldn't afford to buy everything organic at the grocery store when we were children, but food that you have to labor for all summer in family gardens are pleasing to the taste.

I'm not trying to imply that we had to do without or that we were in any way deprived; in fact, I'm trying to imply the opposite. Instead of being given extravagant things growing up, my brother, sister, and I were given extravagant love, attention, and time. My mom chose to spend a chunk of our childhood without work so that her arms would be the ones holding us up when we fell and her words would be the ones filling our ears when we wanted to know things about ourselves, the world, and God.

Be careful, brothers and sister, for this snare of the devil: the lie that your children need your money more than they need your time.

I know that I'm still "green behind the ears" and haven't really been through the rough of adult life yet, but hear me out... because after all, God does call it a "childlike" faith, right?

Let's say that you and your spouse sacrifice for your family and work 40-50 hours per week at jobs that turn your lives into one big cycle of robotic living so that you can retire when your children are grown with kids of their own and you can bestow upon them a million dollar inheritance. Where will that money be three generations from now, and is it really worth it? Let's say that somehow, in the best possible case scenario, that it miraculously lasts through every single generation of your family until the return of Christ. What then? -It becomes worthless.

A mailman and a teacher probably aren't going to leave me enough wealth to have plush pillow cushions or Egyptian silk curtains, but they have been used by God to lead me to the mysterious treasure chest that I will always draw from. Instead of teaching me to trust in their provision, they have taught me of the eternal riches that are guaranteed to be mine because I am a child of God. Sure, I won't be able to cash in for my full inheritance while I'm here, but when Christ does come back, I will have the fullness of everything that I could ever want... and the riches that I enjoy along the way can be enjoyed and carried into every single generation from here on out. 

On my way home that night, I smiled with a breath of relief... suddenly, those interviews and exams weren't nearly as important as I had made them out to be. What will I do with my life? Walk with God.

Now, I realize that times are hard and culture changes everything. Some families really do need both parents working in order to provide for the family. Everyone is not entitled to their dream job with dream hours, and the Bible does speak of the fruit that comes from a working man's hands. My argument is to simply be aware of this stealthy enemy and his never-ending war on families.

What can you do to prepare for battle? 

Take a look at your life. What are the things that have come to serve as a barrier between you and your family?

Would you be willing to give up your computer, TV, or cell phone for an entire day in order to intentionally spend undivided time with your kids? What about all of your little after-work activities... could you cancel them for a week and replace them with trips to the park and things that your children would rather do with you?

-If those questions made you cringe, then you might have just found your answer.

Like I said, maybe I don't have the authority to speak these things into your life, and I know that I will most certainly fail as a parent if I am ever blessed to take on that role. But my hope is not in anyone's improved performance as a parent after reading this blog. My hope is in the only One who can transform us all into the people that He has created for us to be, to answer to our callings with fullness of joy and purpose. After all, aren't we all children in need of our Father?

"Buy the truth, and sell it not; also wisdom, and instruction, and understanding." -Proverbs 23:23

 

Great Expectations

I’ve been climbing this mountain for most of my life and finally see the break of dawn just over the peak as I’m nearing it. My calves have cramped up and my feet are blistered. Even though I know that I only have a little longer to press on, it feels as if each step is heavier and heavier. With one last pull, I reach my arm up to the cleft above me and hang suspended for a moment. Heat rushes up my cheeks and this sour twist wrings in my stomach: “What if the view isn’t worth the climb? What if I’ve spent my entire life laboring for what is less than extravagant?”

Graduation is near. Eighteen years of work, enlightenment, and preparation for this one event. 

So why am I experiencing this sick feeling of dread when most of the graduates alongside me would love nothing more than to eat, drink, and be merry?

I can sum it up into one word: expectations.

What if I’ve worked all of this time and never find “the” job I’m looking for? What if I majored in the wrong thing? What if I take a job just so I can pay off my college debt and end up stuck and miserable? What ever happened to all of those dreams and great opportunities that my professors always talked about that come at the end of college? –in this economy, I’m most likely just going to be thankful for a job.

Friends, these thoughts did not come from the Prince of Peace. They came from the father of lies (John 8:44).

I have been a fool to give this voice my ear. You see, Truth would tell me that as long as I wrap the strings of my heart around riches or earthly gain, I will always, always be disappointed. No job or amount of success will fill my empty void. By the grace of God, I am a child of the light, a pilgrim who is merely visiting this place. My great Reward will come to fill me, and it will be everlasting, not like riches that perish. (Proverbs 8:18-21)

Can you imagine the disappointment that the Israelites felt when they neared the Red Sea? For so long, they had labored in slavery, fearing for their lives. After enduring the ensalvement of Pharaoh and watching the wrath of God play out in plagues, they followed Moses to the coast. 

When salvation didn’t seem possible immediately and in the ways that they had expected, they bitterly said to Moses: “…for it had been better for us to serve the Egyptians, than that we should die in the wilderness” (Exodus 14:12 ). In this response, we can imagine that their hope was in what they could see: the water, and not in the Maker of it.

After generations of faithfulness to the people of Israel, God could easily have responded bitterly in return, allowing them to be swallowed up by their enemies, but instead, gave Moses instruction to speak comfort to the people and in courage, to press on. Mighty God parted the waters of the Red Sea so that in Him, they could escape to freedom. Talk about wrong expectations!

Conviction. Why do I so easily tend to forget all that my Savior King has done and revert to trusting only in what I can see, which leaves me feeling anxious and hopeless? I am worse than an Israelite!

I find it very interesting that God chose to save His people from their slavery in Exodus by parting the waters and in the New Testament chose to symbolize this salvation through submersing them in it. (Mark 1)

He is the God of matchless love for what is righteous and great wrath for what is evil. Just like in the Exodus, He saves His people from Himself (an ocean that He created and used to exercise His wrath on the Egyptians) AND like in the New Testament, saves us to Himself (baptism, representing the renewal and cleansing of a child of God who is united with Him through Jesus Christ).

There is nothing at all outside of His control and His ways will not mirror the ways of the world. He created water and can save or cleanse or destroy by it. Why would we think that He does not also have full control over those in whom He made in His image?

If your struggles of expectations are similar to mine, you are in need, as I am, of vision adjustment. God crafted our eyes and only He can give vision. Through His Word, He will help us zoom out of the maximized view of earthly gain that only deepens our emptiness and zoom in on all that deserves and satisfies our souls: Himself.  He will take our loose and wandering heart strings and tie them to Himself, giving us a new purpose, mission, and fulfillment that will continue on into eternity.

The sweet grace of it all is that God doesn’t ask us to lower our expectations at all. In fact, He commands us to raise them to nothing less than what He has promised:

"Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also." -John 14:1-3



Let's wait upon the Lord together, with great expectations.

Money In the Ocean: A Testimony of Provision

We’ve all heard the saying “Money doesn’t grow on trees,” …but would you believe me if I told you that sometimes, it washes up on shores?

Maybe you’ve seen the splendor of the Provider enough to have the faith to believe me, or maybe you just really want to scratch the itch of curiosity, wondering how crazy I think you are to continue on with this story… Either way, it must be told.

Three years ago, I undertook the first great adventure and leap of faith in my life, namely, the Campus Outreach Summer Beach Project. The many details of this Summer were a blur to me: 8 weeks in Myrtle Beach; meet 150 other college students; learn how to share your faith; grow in your walk with the Lord… oh, and one other thing… raising $1650.

Gulp.

Small town girl learning to survive the expenses of college through the gracious provision of parents and babysitting money set out to learn how to walk by faith and not by sight.

Call it child-like faith or foolishness, but I knew that I knew that I KNEW that God would provide. And for the very first time in my life, it felt so good to step out into the water and walk to Jesus.

What I didn’t realize was that the water I was walking on (metaphorically speaking, of course) was quite tumultuous. I barely raised half of the support before actually arriving to SBP, where I worked at NASCAR speedpark to not only share my faith with co-workers, but also to pay off the rest of my SBP debt.

Now, all of the amazing friends that I had made at UNCG who had persuaded me to take this leap of faith had left out the messy bits… the “joys” of Myrtle Beach traffic and bustle, the long work days and training evenings, the heat- oh, the heat!, the discomfort of stepping out of your comfort zone, the brokenness that comes from a wicked heart being chiseled away, and the necessity of faith to believe in the impossible… all the time.

Looking back, the messy bits are my favorite part. They are the dirt and spit that Jesus wiped onto the eyes of the blind man to make him see and the tears and hair of the whore made whole. The messy bits are what transformed my heart to shape it like my Father’s. And they always warm up the deadened soul to awake and feel so that when worship flows forth, its nutrients absorb right into the very fibers of my being. Life with God happens at SBP.

So let me take you to my last day there that Summer. My roommates and I spent hours and hours cleaning out our tiny hotel room that had become a make-shift home to our little family of four girls who had been complete strangers two months earlier.

When I say I hate goodbyes, I don’t mean it in that I-cry-when-someone-I-love-leaves kind of way, but in that can-I-just-leave-and-pretend-I’ll-see-you-tomorrow? kind of way. I hated knowing that we only had one more day together. So, preferring my “flight” above “fight” option, I grabbed my iPod and crossed the street toward the beach.

Wandering feet sank into Myrtle Beach sand and were renewed by its salty slush of ocean water. I breathed deeply, embraced farmer’s tan that would be sure to develop as the beating sun hit burnt arms, and flowed to the tunes of worship in my ears.

As I walked, the words of “Nothing But the Blood” pierced my heart of conviction. You see, although I had determined to trust God with “my” finances this Summer, I had to admit that I was a little disappointed that His provision looked like a few faithful supporters and a whole Summer’s hard work at a Speed park. Instead of being amazed that He did, in fact, provide for me, I had been nurturing anxiety about how I would enter the next semester of school with a nearly empty bank account, already doubting the character that He had just revealed to me.

 “What can wash away my sin? …Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

What can make me whole again? …Nothing but the blood of Jesus!”

Conviction. I still had a lesson or two to learn in this day; God provides in the ways that He sees fit. For me, that was a new heart, which was more eternally valuable than any bank account.

So I kept walking, kept feeling the washing of the tide on my feet, faithful like my King. Surrender, once again.

And that’s when I felt it… something-not-water on top of water. I jumped with a little squeal, terrified that some sea creature had attached itself to my ankle. Looking down, I stared in a daze at the ten-dollar-bill glued to my leg and the sheets of bills washing in with the next wave- $1's, $5’s, $10’s, and $20’s.

Yeah, I know. I thought it was crazy, too. I looked around and amazingly, there was no one for about a quarter of a mile either way, which is very unusual for Myrtle Beach in July. So what did I do? –I laughed, amused that I had been set up and was looking around for the hidden camera. It only took about five seconds of this for me to realize that the money was washing away into the ocean… and no one was running after it or popping out of the sand dunes yelling “Gotcha!”

            Confused, but willing, I stepped into the water and scooped up all that I could before the rest was washed away to become seagull bait. For a moment, all I could do was stare. I looked all around… scanned the ocean for some man to come running in, claiming that the money had fallen out of his wallet while swimming… something! But there was nothing. No explanation. No one to claim it.

            Unsure of what to do, I counted it: $120.

            I laughed and I cried and I treasured the money, not for what it could buy me, but for what it represented: the loving provision of the Father who delights in teaching His children, drawing them near, and preparing the Way for them.

“…Go, do all that is in thine heart; for the LORD is with thee.”
 -2 Samuel 7:3

A Love to Display

It's February 13th and class is wrapping up. Above the rustling of papers and book bag zippers, our sweet, bubbly professor sends our release in the form of wishing us a Happy Valentine's Day. Much to her surprise, the room was immediately flooded with moans and groans, sounding like some deep ache from the belly of a whale that was about to swallow us whole. You could just feel the damp, dark cloud of disappointment, dread, and bitterness weigh down on our shoulders.

This week, I have had numerous conversations with sisters who dread the "Day of Love" like a child addicted to Jolly Ranchers dreads a dentist visit. While every woman (and man) has had her unique experiences that shape her thoughts of this day, most of our negativity is formed around disappointments, loneliness, and the sting of coveting those few who have no idea what these things feel like today...

Dear sisters, I do want to be sensitive about this topic, but the purpose of this post is not merely to remind you that you are loved by the only perfect Lover, which you are, or to remind you that Christ gave His own life for you, which is infinitely greater than any card or flower or box of chocolates. The purpose of this post is to remind you of the greater calling that you have been called to by the grace of God.

Paul was a man who spent the end of his life fulfilled with the passion of his calling. In Acts 9:15, we see God clearly speak to Ananias about Paul in saying, "...he is a chosen instrument of mine to carry my name..." He goes on to explain that Paul will suffer great things for the sake of the gospel, but no where in any of Paul's letters does he ever complain to God about these sufferings. In fact, in 2 Corinthians 12:9-10, he actually rejoices in them. Why? -Because these things bring glory to God, which is his whole life purpose.

After laboring for years with the Galatians, false teachers step in and try to sway them to believe lies- that they must meet certain requirements and perform certain deeds in order to truly be Christians. Paul boldly speaks truth to the people- truth that will cost him persecution and will clothe him with a big red target in the eyes of their leaders. He reminds them of their freedom- that it is finished. Complete. There is nothing left to do but to be transformed by the love of God and to enjoy Him forever. In Galatians 2:5, he describes his experience with some of the people who were pushing these false requirements and stated, "...to them we did not yield in submission even for a moment, so that the truth of the gospel might be preserved for you." Purpose-fulfilled.

Paul recognizes something profound here: we- God's children, His body, His ambassadors- are the vessels created to preserve the very truth of His Gospel. What do Paul's actions tell us about the truth of the Gospel? -It tells me that it is worth living and dying for, that laboring is never in vain, that the only glory we should seek is God's, that sufferings can be the best things for us...

So what truths of the gospel will you display today? Sisters, the way that we handle Valentine's Day will surely reflect the truths of the Gospel that we believe. For example, dreary dread from a godly woman today translates to a non-believer or even young Christian that even though this woman is in Christ, she is lacking something. On the same note, giddy excitement about a man translates into fulfillment obtained by the love of a man. It relays the message that there is still something to be obtained in order to have a countenance full of light, a bounce in her step, and a heart that radiates love. Is this true? Is there really anything outside of Christ worth grasping and groping for, which, if not obtained, leads to disappointment and frustration?

Don't get me wrong- I'm not suggesting that if you are experiencing some deep pain or grief, that you mask yourself or "grin and bear it." This gets dangerous, makes your heart numb. I am no counselor, but I would encourage you to go deep with your heavenly Lover about these pains. Don't put a band-aid over wounds that need stitches. Take them to the Great Physician who will wrap you up in His love while He heals. You may just find that in carrying your heart to Him, it's actually been in His hands the whole time.

Sisters, we have been called by God's grace to carry His Name, to preserve His truth, to live as women who are alive, to share this love with those who have never tasted of it. This Love that you are called to display is already yours.