Day Two: A Prayer for My Church

"If we allow people to be human and God to be God, the church has a fighting chance.  If you show up brave and true, and leaders show up brave and true, if you own your place and I own  mine, the kingdom will break through in every possible way. God is big and good enough to lead us all, and together we just might see the kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven."  -- Jen Hatmaker, in For the Love

This Sunday marks a change in the life of my church. We're changing our name.  It's a big deal for some-- and not such a big deal for others (me).  A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, after all.  This has been my church family since moving to Florida in 1998, so I know it intimately.  It's a biggish church, Southern Baptist in denomination, and, like any other church of any size or denomination, we're often times a hot mess.  But this hot mess is my family, and even if I sometimes feel aggravated to the point of distraction, I love them.

For me, there is much fuel for aggravation, but I think the irritation has a fair amount to do with the fact that I'm a Montana girl, and this is the South.  Being so close to Miami, this band of believers is an eclectic blend of Deep Dixie South mixed with a fiery dose of Spicy Latin Zing    Both come with their fair share of attitude and issues, bless them.  (We from the Northwest, of course, we have zero issues or attitudes.  Not.)  Suffice it to say that I am jeans and T-shirt in a land where the choices are panty-hose and sensible dresses or flamboyant frills and spike heels. I'm the proverbial square peg, and the holes in Florida are either round or triangular.  Consequently, it's not always what you would call comfortable for me here.  As you can see, these are not really doctrinal aggravations. Just personal challenges.

My church is also proudly a Southern Baptist church, and I am a product of a "non-denominational" faith influence, so I don't necessarily find the term Baptist something to be proud of (or ashamed of, for that matter).  We're all Christians, so Jesus should be the only thing we're proud of.  Anyhow, because of the difference in my background, my church has dearly held traditions and practices that I have to confess drive me just the teeniest bit nuts.  In these seventeen years, there have been many times when I have disagreed deeply with the way things were run or attitudes that were held. (In fairness, when we first joined the church, we knew exactly what we were getting.  Not to mention the fact that I joined them; they didn't join me.)  Still, there have been several occasions when the differences led me to consider finding another church family...one where I fit better.

Except, here's the thing:

As itchy as it can sometimes feel to be a black sheep, this is my family, and you don't just quit your family because they occasionally make you crazy.  Ultimately, it's not about my preferences or my opinions.  Nearly every thing that makes me nuts is a non-essential in terms of eternity.  Even though I might do things differently if I ran the church (which is NEVER gonna happen, by the way, so you can breathe easy as far as that goes), there has never been a doubt in my mind that our leaders love Jesus and love people.  I may have disagreed with some actions or decisions, but any time that I have looked beyond the action to the heart of the person, what I see there is love.

Sure, we have a tendency to bicker and wound and judge and sometimes behave selfishly, but this family also loves big and cares for the hurting and offers grace in abundance.  And here's a newsflash:  EVERY closely knit gathering of flawed humans--religious or otherwise--is going inflict some wounds.

That's why community is risky.  People are just messy.

While the official church priorities may not always be the same ones I have, this church body--through the lives of individual members--is reaching into the world and our neighborhoods without fanfare or grand production.  As individual members of a bigger body, we are making a difference in many ways, some that I am aware of (foster care, community service camps, pregnancy centers, teaching ESL, restoration homes for victims of trafficking, care and service for sick or invalid friends) as well as  others I probably can't even begin to imagine. Knowing that, it's really not necessary for the church policy to cover every type of ministry I find vital--because the people of the church are living their lives in such a way that loving the world doesn't require church staff or an official program.  I kind of appreciate that the church leadership doesn't have to be in charge of every single act of ministry.  I like the fact that as a church community we can come to church to increase our learning, worship together, share our passions and ideas, support one another and then GO OUT and love the world.

So here's my cry: They are not perfect, but this is my family.

May we grow in humility, wisdom, transparency, intimacy and courage because we strive to love like Jesus.

Jesus, give us humble hearts to hear and respond to truth.  May each person engage in a way that is brave and true, and may each leader humbly show up and lead in a way that is brave and true.  Let us each own our place and give others the freedom and grace to own theirs.  May we as a body be intricately and openly part of Your Church in the world and not a separate entity with our own agenda.  May we allow one another to be flawed and may our love for one another come from Your Spirit in such a way that we can see the kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.

Happy Launch Day, Crosslife Church.  I really do love you.

Project 365: Day One

I’ve spent the last ten years giving assignments to other people; this assignment is for me.  I’m calling it "Project 365"--the goal is to get one year's worth of posts (365).  Even if it takes me five years. 

This is a completely arbitrary day to begin this project.  It’s not the first of the year. It’s not the first of the month. It’s not even a Monday.  Perhaps it’s a heart thing. Despite my classes starting on Tuesday, today was my last day of "mama" summer.  

Today the last of my two “Gators” moved back up to the university, marking the official, this-is-really-it-folks, end of summer.  The first to go back to school left on Wednesday. I am not actually this one’s mama, but I was for the summer, so the separation is just as hard.

For the most part, I am glowing with a rush of gratitude for the summer we had. It was a summer filled with lots of hard work, but also two blissful, relaxing and long-over due family vacations.  It was a blessed and slow-paced time of making things right, restoring broken places, and reveling with deep appreciation in the weirdness that is us.  

Now it’s over, and this year that feels particularly significant.

I am delighted with where each of my young people is at the start of this new year.  My oldest, Katie,  and our sweet Grace began the summer fragile, exhausted by adulthood, and anxious about life, but both returned to school with greater peace, direction, and confidence in themselves and their plans. I felt grateful and thrilled to see the work that this summer had done in them, and I am excited for their year ahead.   

Those who remained on the farm are moving forward just as much as the two who will have their own apartments. My free-spirit Hallie is working three jobs, going to college, and absolutely blowing my mind, because this is the girl who was content to stay at home, create beautiful things, and daydream. 

My baby, my almost man, is about to take college classes as a high school senior (pray for us) while beginning a new job and filling in as the stand-in man and lifter of heavy things when his Daddy’s away.  

 It’s a sweet place for a mama to be, standing on the sidelines cheering as her young-uns charge into the game with determination.  So, yeah, I am beyond grateful with where we are ending this summer. 

Still, I gotta say, the transition back to school feels especially momentous. This year I realize that--as of today--what Jen Hatmaker dubbed “The Family Years” are essentially over.  All my offspring are finding their own ways into the world brilliantly, but I'm acutely aware that those ways always lead eventually out of the nest--for good, if we've done our jobs right.   

We’ll always be family and always love and enjoy each other, and it will be good.  But we will never live all together in the same way again.  I realize this is a good thing; it was actually the end-goal of this whole clumsy child-rearing thing all along. 

For now, though, I’m sitting here blubbering (thank you, Christy Nockels for providing the accompaniment), and I feel the need to mourn—just for a minute. 

Because we Odells do FAMILY really well. 

I know the passing of this stage will lead us into a new one that is beautiful and rewarding in unimaginable ways, but—just for this evening—I’m going to lean into my happy-sad tears and take the time to say a proper goodbye.

The Reason Why

Nearly every week I ask the girls in my Sunday School class: "What is the worst thing that could happen to you?"

The first time I asked it, I got a huge range of answers:

"I could get my phone taken away"
"not getting into college"
 "my dad could lose his job"
 "a parent could die."

All devastating things, to be sure (except maybe the phone), but not what I was hoping for.

So, I re-phrased the question: "As a believer, what is the worst thing that could happen to you?"

They had to think a little harder that time.

"Sinning"
"Persecution"
"Dying for my faith"
"Displeasing God"

Again, all bad things, but still, I have come to believe, not the worst thing.

As a follower of Christ, the worst thing that could happen to me is to lose my love for Jesus.

I've told my girls this almost every week and I am just praying they are starting to believe it.  I hammer this truth so hard because in ten years of working with youth my heart has been broken by how often they sincerely strive to avoid the wrong "worst thing" and don't even notice that the REAL worst thing is happening to them.  Eventually many of them move from being a leader in the youth group and Sunday Regular to being apathetic at best and more often drifting completely away from their relationship with Christ--

because, frankly,  they don't really love Him that much.

I desperately want them to GET the fact that not loving Him is the worst thing ever.

How does this happen?

Last week I think we stumbled upon something.  One girl mentioned that her friends at school find her lifestyle odd.  I pressed for examples and she said, "Well, for example they ask me why I want to be a virgin."

"And what do you tell them?" I asked, curious.

She was hesitant, as if she wasn't really confident about her answer.  "I told them I want to be a virgin because the Bible says that sex before marriage is a sin and I don't want to sin."

Well, now, that is true.  And a good reason for abstinence.

But the uncertain look on this sweet girl's face revealed something to me.  It was as if she knew her answer was a fact, and she believed it, but something inside her was questioning:  Is this all there is to my faith?  Not doing things because they are sinful?

I thought of her curious friends and remembered what it was like to be the one wondering about Christians--and how NOT compelling "it's a sin" was for a response.  (From what I have witnessed over the past several years, it's not even compelling to the kids who believe it.) Watching the more vocal Christians at my school work so hard to avoid sin because, well, it's SIN, did absolutely NOTHING to draw me to Christ.

Who wants that--living life in constant fear of disappointing the Rule Maker?  Thanks, but no thanks.

As I looked at the faces of my Sunday girls that morning, I realized: We're missing it.

We're teaching them right from wrong.  We're teaching them that sin is bad and should be avoided, but we're missing the point of WHY.

What if, instead of focusing so much on what the rules are, we revealed to them the heart of the God behind the rules?  Because, as I mistakenly assumed as a Junior High agnostic, God didn't make rules so that no one had fun on earth.

Nor, as I mistakenly believed as a young Christian, did He make rules so that we could work really hard to prove our commitment to Him.   (See how good I am, God?  I'm a virgin!  I don't smoke!  I don't drink! APPROVE. OF. ME!)

Ugh.

What if we could show our children and the young people we mentor--through Scripture and our lives--that God is loving and good and can be trusted?  That the "rules" are not for Him (as if GOD  needs to prove anything), but rather for us--to protect us and preserve us for His BEST? What if we took the time to show them that every single rule in the Bible is motivated by God's absurd, unreasonable, gracious love for them?

What if they really understood the concept of UNMERITED favor--that God's love cannot be earned through performance or obedience, but rather is freely given to us IN SPITE of our sinful bent?  What if they would obey Him because they trust Him, not to win His approval (which they already have in Christ)?

What if our young people, when questioned about their choices, could answer with confidence, "Because I know God loves me and wants what is best for me.  He says that's not best, and I trust Him because I know He's good."

It's a simple idea, but revolutionary.

God's reason for creating me (and you and everyone) was so we could enjoy a relationship with Him, and bring Him glory and draw people to Him through our delight in Him.  He demands to be first in our hearts, not because He's selfish, but because giving Him first place is BEST for us.

His love is the reason for the hope that I have.  His love is what I want my kids to know before anything else.

His love is the best thing that could ever happen to me.

Just imagine how compelling a church full of imperfect people living loved would be to a hurting world.

The Sum of my Wisdom

This year I turned 50, a milestone that ideally comes with some hard-earned wisdom to share.  

Instead, I've spent the past six months wondering how this could have happened to someone as young as I am. I swear, I JUST turned 40 a week ago!  

It's been six months since my birthday, and I never did formulate any summary of the lessons I've learned over half a century.  Perhaps time got away from me because I now spend an alarming part of my day running to keep my arteries supple and then doing yoga to stretch and strengthen so that my joints won't seize up.  

And napping--because, what with all that running and yoga, you know....

...what was I talking about?  Oh, wisdom.  

Celebrating the big 5-0

This past week, I moved my oldest child to her new apartment (TWO HOURS AWAY).  Let me tell you, launching your young will motivate you to come up with some wise words like 50 never could.  The weeks prior to her move, I was overwhelmed with the sense that time was running out...

It didn't help that every blog post that crossed my path contained something in the title having to do with "what kids need to know BEFORE they leave home."  (Ulp.)

Did she learn everything I wanted her to learn?  In the short time remaining, I struggled with coming up with a "Top 10" list of truths I wanted to be SURE she knew before she left my home. 

(Struggled is a bit of an understatement.)  

In the end, I cranked out a last-minute compilation resulting from my scattered pondering over the preceding weeks--just before we headed out the door.  It would have to do, because time was officially UP.  The following list was written specifically to MY girl, but I'm thinking it pretty much hits the highlights of my wisdom from 50 years of living.  (It's a good start anyway!)

Celebrating (...well, mostly) my first to leave the nest.

1. Jesus first—even when you are not feeling it. Home is where He is.
2. You are a work in progress; you are enough, and you are worth fighting for.  So is everyone else.  Don't settle for less, and don't give less.
3. You are loved—even when you are not feeling it. LIVE LOVED.
4. The worst person you can lie to is yourself.  
5. Failure is nearly always part of the road to success. Give yourself permission to fail.
6. Surround yourself with positive, whole-hearted people, and endeavor to be one.
7. BE WITH WHOM YOU ARE WITH. (Also known as "put the dang phone down!")  I know she rolled her eyes as she read this one...
8. Don’t worry about your parents’ approval.  You had it the moment you took your first breath.
9. Give grace to everyone--even meanies--remembering that grace is by definition unmerited, and we're all dying for it.
10. You’re stronger than you know, but it’s okay to be weak sometimes—find the friends you can lean on and support.

So, there you have it.  Anyone have anything else to add?

Bringing God into the World

This past Sunday I asked the teenage girls in my small group to imagine getting the news that Mary received when she was visited by the angel. For them, stepping into Mary's shoes would be a small step. Most of them are in circumstances similar to Mary's in many ways:

They are young, innocent, from deeply religious families--on the brink of adult life, but not quite ready.

What would their response be if they were told that they would become pregnant--supernaturally, but out of wedlock? (I know unmarried pregnancy is not so scandalous these days, but these are Southern Baptists...)  How would they feel to receive today the news that Mary got?  God Himself was going to be placed within her, grow, expand her, pain her as she brought Him into the world...and ultimately save us all.

How would they react if they received this news:

"God is going to use you to save the world, but it is going to hurt on every level.  But--GOD is going to use YOU to save. the. world."

My point in stirring their imaginations was to show them the beauty of Mary's response.  Faced with such daunting, life-altering news, she sang the Magnificat--a beautiful hymn of praise, trust and celebration.

"Blessed am I...."

Today as I sit in the quiet and think on the nativity again, I am floored by this thought:

I'm no teenager, but I am more like Mary than I realize.

Having repented and followed Christ, I am like Mary in that I received God within me through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.

God Himself is within me, and if I allow it--if I nourish and attend to the Spirit, He will grow and stretch me.  As a result, I'll experience great excitement, purpose, anticipation and joy--but the stretching will also bring discomfort.

When I share the Spirit in me with the world, it will very likely cause me pain.  This world is certainly a place that often shouts, "No room!" to His presence. The current culture has no problem with the Universe looking out for me, but squirms if I claim the God of the universe does. Therefore, for me--an educated woman from an intellectual and scientific community-- to follow the God of the Bible will no doubt bring me disdain in the eyes of many whom I value.  Disdain hurts.

So, I realize today I must ask myself the same question I asked the teenagers:

What will my response be to the news that God has chosen me to carry His Son to the world?

Will I fear the discomfort, attempt to escape the pain, and lament the heavy load I carry within?

Or will I--in spite of it all--be awed by the reality that God would use me to save the world.

Me.

Oh, Jesus, let the words and heart of that young Mary also be the response of this old Mary:

"Oh, how my soul praises the Lord.  How my spirit rejoices in God my Savior! For he took notice of his lowly servant girl...."

When Do I Rest?

Every January I spend some time thinking about what should be my "word" for the year.  That may sound cheesy, but intentionality is not my strong suit, so I've found the practice a good one.  One word, well-chosen,  reminds me of an important focus for the year and guides my decision-making and prioritizing.  This year that task was tough.  Nearly into February, I was still without a word, still without a focus.  Then one morning, as often happens, something in the Word jumped out at me:

"On the seventh day God had finished his work of creation, so he rested from all his work." --Genesis 2:2

First God finished.  Then He rested.  Honestly, the word that first grabbed me was FINISHED.  Maybe that was my word: FINISH.  I reasoned that God had earned the right to rest, because He had finished His work. Perhaps I needed to focus on finishing things.  Great idea, great word, but the thought of it left me feeling weighed down and on the verge of tears. 

  Because, really, does a wife. a mom, a teacher EVER finish?  Truth be told, I was not resting because I never felt finished. The problem is that I tend to view my roles as a continual and unending work that will not be finished until the kids are grown, until I retire, and until death do us part.  And frankly, I wasn't so sure I could make it to "finished" if I didn't get some rest!

Here's the thing:  The Bible doesn't end at Genesis 2.  A whole lot of Book comes after Genesis, and it's ALL the work of God.  Not only that, I'm living proof that He is STILL working in this world.  What God finished before he rested was the work of creation. 

One work. 

Granted, that work was pretty impressive, but it was not His entire work for all of eternity.  He finished that work, then He rested.  He didn't quit.

In viewing the "big picture" things of life as what had to be finished before I could rest, I was actually hurting my work and God's work in me.  

The cost of never resting is an overwhelming desire to just quit. 

What a relief to read more closely, to let God show me the Heart behind His words.  Yes, I need to finish what I start, and a rest feels much more blissful when it comes after a hard effort that is completed.  The rest, however, is just as much a part of the ultimate work as the finishing.    

Therefore, what I need to give myself permission to do is rest after finishing "the work of _____________."   

Then, with the satisfaction of one job complete and a well-earned rest, I am refreshed to continue in the Great Work to which God has called me.  

Grace and Truth

"Because He was full of grace and truth, from Him we all received one gift after another."  John 1:16

This was my memory verse this week.  Not to simply repeat, but to meditate upon.

Because Jesus was full of grace, He made it possible for me--and you--to receive what we don't deserve, the favor and presence of God Almighty.

This is a BIG HONKING DEAL.

However, I'm not sure we can fully fathom the magnitude of His grace unless we also remember the truth part.  My pastor's son, also a pastor, preached it in a way that resonated this Sunday.

"The key to doing all the things you should do...is that you can't do it."

How's that for a feel-good truth?   

It is, really, because once I realize that I can't do what is required, I can marvel at the wonder that Christ has done it for me.  Unless I grasp the truth that I am capable of nothing that is holy, unless I see the truth of who I am without Christ, I can't fully absorb the magnitude of the grace that He has showered upon me.

Without the ugly truth about me, I can't appreciate the utterly magnificent grace of Christ.

I experienced this truth in a very vivid way last week.

I was innocently folding laundry when some very unpleasant memories just popped into my brain.  UGLY memories of something awful I did as a young teenager. And then that memory set off another, and another, and, unfortunately, my misguided youth provided ample fodder for a complete avalanche of memories of my depravity.

Imagine a version of the FB movie--with only the bad things.  Yeah, it was that--only longer.

The realization of who I was without Christ rammed right into my solar plexus and knocked me down.  It sucked the air right out of me to realize just how rotten I was capable of being.  This should not have been a great revelation to me, but it was.

You see, normally I have this talent for completely forgetting anything that is unpleasant, and frankly, there are many things in my past that I prefer to forget. (Don't get me wrong, I had a safe, happy childhood and was well loved by two wonderful people--it's ME that was horrible.)

I truly was rotten, but I was a bit stunned to realize just how rotten, because I've always been so nice.   Parents didn't really fret if their kids hung out with me.  (They probably should have.) Anyway, it's a bit of a shocker for a pathologically nice person to be faced with the fact that her pleasant temperament was just a sweet coating around a selfish, dishonest, nature.

That day as I folded and the memories flooded back, I was undone.

Honestly, I don't know why on that day I had those memories. My first instinct was that my enemy was accusing--pointing the finger to show me how unworthy I am to even attempt to serve Jesus. Maybe it was, but he should have known better.  Because as soon as that thought crossed my mind, the realization hit me that my unworthiness is sort of the point of the Gospel.  

Jesus shouldn't use me.  But He does.

And those sickening memories--as unpleasant as they were, turned out to be a gift.

Here's why:

In remembering who I was apart from Christ, I was amazed at where He has brought me.  I hated looking at the picture of the past, but it helped me see that that person, is no longer who I am.  I'm still in progress, but I really am a new creation.

He loved me as I was, but He didn't leave me that way.

It was a gift to feel the full weight of my sin, because it helped me to grasp the full weight of the Gospel.

Can I just tell you---it is an unspeakably awesome thing to stand before a holy God, undone, and say, "I am not worthy," and to feel His gentle whisper, "I know. But you're mine."