Bowing Down at the Altar of Formulas

How I ever survived a year of AP Calculus in high school and then a semester of College Calculus is beyond me.  I could no sooner tell you how to solve the Pythagorean theorem today than I could flap my arms hard enough to fly to the moon.  Sine, cosine, tangents, functions, derivatives, limits, vectors, and pretty much any other math term are now a foreign language to me.  I'm lucky I can even spell them, let alone tell you what they mean.  Math always caused a lot of angst for me - it felt vague and abstract. I couldn't touch it, manipulate it or hold it in my hands.  I would stare at math problems, my head swimming as I tried to make sense of it all, and immediately feel like the dumbest kid in the room.  More often than not, it was just a bunch of symbols on paper, like the hieroglyphics of an ancient culture scribbled on the walls of a cave, only with no translator in sight.

But, boy, do I love formulas as an adult now, the figurative kind at least. I want to know exactly how to get to a certain outcome.  I want to know how to rearrange the variables of the equation of my life in order to get both sides to equal one another.  I want to know the right combination of prayer and repentance and belief that will get me to the easy lane, or at the very least get me out of whatever difficult circumstances I may be facing.  I want to know the exact words to pray or the specific verse to say back to God that will just make all my suffering go away.  And I want to use that same formula over and over again, to have that one formula be my silver bullet, the magical shot that cures all ailments and alleviates all heartache.

Never have I worshiped formulas more than I have in this season of life.  I bow down at the altar of spiritual, physical, mental and emotional equations, hoping I can find just the right mix of metaphorical letters and numbers to make all my pain go away.

About a month ago, I noticed problems with my vision.  It was almost as if I had troubles focusing on any one thing at a time.  And then I would have troubles walking a straight line, or felt like I was perpetually leaning to my right.  I got slammed with a bout of vertigo that scared the living daylights out of me and sent me running to the ER. It woke me from a dead sleep and left me feeling like my eyes had just had a seizure of some sort.  Waves of nausea would hit and dizziness seemed to be my constant companion. My anxiety was through the roof and daily functions were proving to be a challenge.  None of it was making any sense, and the not knowing what was happening to my body was compounding the already-present anxiety.  I was coming off the rails all over again, and it was sending me into a spiritual, emotional and mental free fall.

Early on in the month, I chalked it up to stress at work.  I had some difficult conversations with my boss over some things I was angry about, thinking, "We'll clear the air and then it will all get better."  Only the symptoms persisted.  Then I thought it was because I was harboring all sorts of bitterness and resentment and needed to repent.  I confessed to God all these things that I legitimately had been holding on to, thinking there would then be this immediate sense of freedom.  Only the symptoms persisted.  Then I thought my doctor could fix it all, so I made an appointment to see him and review everything.  I thought I would leave his office and everything would be better.  Only the symptoms persisted.  Why could I not find the right formula to just make all this bad stuff stop?  Was it because I hadn't repented enough? Was it because I hadn't prayed enough?  Was it because I hadn't believed God enough?  Was it because I hadn't confessed enough? Was it because I wasn't faithful enough?  I mean, God, what more do you want me to do here for you to heal me?  I'm doing all these things you tell me to do in your Word, and yet here we are - I'm still in this super sucky season of life and I don't know how to make it all go away.

I know I'm not the only one who does this.  Scripture is scattered with people looking for formulas.  The rich young ruler in Mark 10:17 asks, "What must I do to inherit eternal life?"  What's the formula  for getting to where I want to go, he effectively asks.  An expert in the law asks the same thing in Luke 10:25, "Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?"  Peter asks in Matthew 18:21, "Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins again me?  Up to seven times?"  What's the trick here, Lord, for forgiving others? How do I get all of this to add up so I don't have to try so hard or think too much?  Give me the formula so I can make my life easy. In 2 Kings 5, Naaman asks to be healed of leprosy by Elisha, and Elisha sends out a messenger telling him to go wash in the Jordan seven times.  But Naaman leaves angry, saying, "I thought he would surely come out to me and stand and call on the name of the LORD his God, wave his hand over the spot and cure me of my leprosy."

A hand wave here, a prayer there, and voilà! all better.

A formula if there ever was one.    

Jesus fed the 4,000 with 7 loaves, but he fed the 5,000 with 5 loaves.  He healed some with his hands, but others with his words.  Sometimes he reached out to touch people, but other times people reached out to touch him.  Sometimes he healed in a two-step process (Mark 8:22-25) but other times he healed immediately (Matthew 8:3).  Sometimes he raised the dead at a moment's notice (Matthew 8:13), but other times he waited around (John 11:6).

As finite, feeble, weak humans, we so desperately want a formula for everything.  Because we can understand formulas (minus calculus, of course) and we can make sense of them.  They are nice and tidy and generally predictable.  They remain constant and we can lean hard on the fact that 1+1 will always equal 2.  We don't ever have to wonder about that, and we don't have to exercise any sort of faith to believe that is true.  It just is.

But our God cannot be reduced to a formula, and in my pride and flesh, that is maddening to me.  I want to be able to solve God like I miraculously solved those calculus equations back in high school, to make sense of him.  But he's not predictable and his equations rarely balance out, at least from our perspective.  God-math is rarely logical.  What kind of math is 7 loaves for 4,000 people but then 5 loaves for 5,000?  What kind of math is it that leaves Jesus in a tomb for three days so that I can live for all eternity?  What kind of math is it that leaves the Israelites in slavery for 400 years and wandering in the wilderness for 40 years, but leaves them with God's love for a thousand generations?  My flesh is weak and my faith is small because I desperately want a formula - self-made, man-made or otherwise.  I am Naaman.  I want God to wave his hand and miraculously heal me of all that is broken and wrong within me, and I want him to do it now.

While we go looking for a formula, God goes looking for faith.  If all I do is reduce life to a series of formulas, then I have absolutely no need of God - none whatsoever.  Why would I need to lean on God at all if I always know how to get to a predictable outcome?  Why would I need to trust him or his character if I believe there is a silver bullet that effectively negates the very need for him?  Our pursuit of formulas invalidates our faith.  If all you chase are formulas, the right mixture of variables that get you to a desired outcome, then you will totally miss the wonder of a Father who in his infinite grace, wisdom and mercy compels us to abandon our pursuit of formulas.  If all you do is worship at the altar of formulas and predictable outcomes, then you will find your heart and mind have no capacity for mystery and wonder.  You will spend your life bending your knee to certainty and safety rather than bending your knee to the God who gave the only formula you'll ever need to know:

I am the way, the truth and the life.

He is the answer to every formula that you seek.

Smash the idol of formulas and abolish the altar.

They cannot save you - not now, not ever.

With whom will you compare me or count me equal?

To whom will you liken me that we may be compared?

Some pour out gold from their bags

and weigh out silver on the scales;

they hire a goldsmith to make it into a god,

and they bow down and worship it.

They lift it to their shoulders and carry it;

they set it up in its place, and there it stands.

From that spot it cannot move.

Even though someone cries out to it, it cannot answer;

it cannot save them from their troubles.

“Remember this, keep it in mind,

take it to heart, you rebels.

Remember the former things, those of long ago;

I am God, and there is no other;

I am God, and there is none like me.

I make known the end from the beginning,

from ancient times, what is still to come.

I say, "My purpose will stand,

and I will do all that I please."

Isaiah 46:5-10

A Host of Milestones

A little-known personal milestone just passed me by this past Monday, one of several major milestones that have come and gone this year.

This past Monday, July 16, marked the 10-year anniversary of this little blog. I cringe when I read the early years.  #Painfullyawkward

June 28 marked the 20th anniversary of when I embraced Jesus as my Savior.  #Bestdecisionofmylife

June marked 15 years since I graduated from high school. #Haventbeentoareunionyet.

July marked 15 years since I bought my first laptop, which I was still using until about a month ago when I finally bought a new one.  #RIPCompaq

January marked 5 years since I started my current job. #Adulting.

In honor of all those milestones and in honor of 10 years of my blog, here's the top 10 most-read entries:

10) "I Don't Pretend to Understand," an entry I wrote after my friend Jonathan passed away 6 years ago.

9) "Grief," also another entry I wrote immediately after Jonathan died.

8) "He Met Me in a Stable," a more recent entry, written this past fall in the wake of panic attacks and general mental mayhem.

7) "To My Niece", a letter I wrote to my niece several years ago just before she was baptized.

6) "Always Winter, Never Christmas," inspired by an early snow this past October.

5) "Don't Ever Go To Bed Without Knowing Where This Is," words spoken by a Kenyan woman that still pierce my soul all these years later.

4) "Cancer and a Cup of Water," reflections on the weight of the broken world in which we live.

3) "Don't Wait to Celebrate," a realization that I needed to celebrate the life I have instead of lamenting the one I didn't have.

2) "He Noticed the Thief," written during a season of life when I was experiencing a tremendous amount of physical pain.

And the most-read entry was from 4 years ago, shortly after my 4th grade teacher passed away:

1) "Back In the Day When I Learned How to Play the Accordion"

Thanks to my faithful readers.  I can't say for certain but I do believe the award of "Most Dedicated Reader" goes to my brother Josh.  I'll take bets that he comments on this one within 24 hours.  I wrote an entry awhile back, and within an hour he texted me about it, commenting. I texted him back a little amazed at the speed with which he was aware that I had written something and said, "Dude, what do you do - sit around and refresh my blog on an hourly basis, looking to see when I write a new entry??" He said, "Nah, but a daily check wouldn't be an understatement."

Who knows where we'll go in the next 10 years, but I don't doubt there will be plenty of more stories to document.

Courtney's Bible Commentary

Studying the Bible has never come naturally to me.  I wish that were not so.  Instead it requires a great deal of discipline, and while it has improved over the years, there is still much to be desired in that area of spiritual practices.

It dawned on me, however, in recent months that I needed to change my approach to Bible study.  I often found myself wandering aimlessly through various books and chapters, with no real intent or aim.  This approach usually got me nowhere, and left me feeling even less motivated to read my Bible because I never felt like I was accomplishing anything.  Unless I wanted to be the definition of insanity and keep doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, I was going to have to change up my Bible study game.

This is where I had a revelation.  I love lists - I love to-do lists, and grocery lists, and "books to read" lists, and favorite quotes lists, and "places to visit" some day, and bucket lists.  All kind of lists.  They are orderly, methodical, efficient and logical. The perfect pair for my Type A personality that I want to be in denial about.

So, knowing that about myself, I realized I needed to incorporate that into my Bible study methods.  If I love lists, well, then start making some lists while you're reading, ya big dummy. I found myself a notebook over at Target which had three columns - on the far left column, I marked the header with the book and the chapter.  The center column is for comments and thoughts, and the far right column is for the date on which I read that particular chapter.

Let the list-making begin!

Because I had never read through the entirety of the New Testament, I decided to launch into Matthew 1, reading one chapter per day, making a list of comments and observations as I went.  Given that I started this habit back in January, I'm now all the way into 1 Corinthians (skipping Romans since I just studied that in BSF), and have got quite the collection of notes gathered.  I was reviewing them all recently and I noticed some interesting trends:

1) I'm fascinated by the obscure people in the Bible. I want to know about the child mentioned in Matthew 18 - boy or girl, and what was his/her name?  And Mark 1:30 mentions Peter's mother-in-law, but I really want to know about his wife.  What was she like?  What about the women who traveled with Jesus and the discipled as they went from town to town, mentioned in Luke 8:2-3?  "These women were helping to support [Jesus and the disciples] out of their own means." How did these women get their money?  I want to know about the disciples' wives and children (Acts 21:5), and Paul's sister and nephew (Acts 23:16).  We know a lot about the major players like Peter and Paul, but what about all of these other people never mentioned by name?  They are the ones I want to know more about.

2) I am generally confused by Jesus.  For Mark 7:24-30, I simply wrote, "This exchange makes no sense to me."  Same for Luke 4:23-29: "I am confused by this story and Jesus' statements."  I just simply wrote, "I'm confused," for Luke 5:20-24. Welcome to life.

3) I have a fair amount of idle curiosity. As I read over my notes, I realized I wondered about a lot of seemingly inane facts: What did the shepherds do with all their sheep when they went off to find baby Jesus (Luke 2:16)? Who gave the naked man some clothes (Luke 8:32)? Is this dude really sleeping with his own mother (1 Corinthians 5:1)? What happened to the slave girl once her super powers were gone (Acts 16:18)? Noticing the small details is half the fun when reading the Bible.

4) I think the disciples are kind of dense and a bunch of extremists at times. In Luke 9:51-54, they meet some opposition from the Samaritans when attempting to visit their village: "As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem.  And he sent messengers on ahead, who went into a Samaritan village to get things ready for him; but the people there did not welcome him, because he was heading for Jerusalem.  When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, “Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?” I simply wrote, "This response seems a bit extreme, 'They didn't welcome you, so let's set them on fire." There were several other instances when I wrote about the disciples saying and doing dumb things.  Although, I probably am in no shape to point fingers.

5) I am very concerned about ancient people's ability to pack snacks. This stands out to me as I myself am never far from a snack of some sort.  Anybody who has known me for any length of time knows this is true.  I get a little panicked when I realize I have no snacks in my car, in my purse or my desk drawer because that almost never ever happens.   So when I read the Bible this naturally stands out to me as a problem.  Take Matthew 16:5, for example, "When they went across the lake, the disciples forgot to take bread. "  Uh, Houston.

Perhaps my favorite comment, though, one that truly reflects the depths of my heart, is one I wrote for Mark 8, when Jesus feeds the four thousand, "During those days another large crowd gathered. Since they had nothing to eat, Jesus called his disciples to him and said, 'I have compassion for these people; they have already been with me three days and have nothing to eat. If I send them home hungry, they will collapse on the way, because some of them have come a long distance.'"

As you can see here, my comment simply said, "Why is it that no one ever seems to carry snacks?!"

So while my biblical commentary is nowhere near on par with Matthew Henry, Warren Wiersbe, J. Vernon McGee, Charles Spurgeon, Charles Swindoll, or a host of any other scholarly commentators, I can assure you that none of them have taken the care and concern to note the snack shortage in the Bible.  #YoureWelcome.

As I journey onward with my list-making adventure, I will be sure to alert you to any other noteworthy snack shortages.  At least we know when I hit the Old Testament lists, we won't have to worry about that.  Because, obviously:

Manna and quail.

I don't have to worry about God and his snack game.  It's just everybody else in the Bible I'm concerned about.

Something Greater Than My Fears

It was nearly a year ago when I sat by my friend Myrt's bedside, watching her slowly die day by day.  Those were hard, tear-filled days.  Death and grief can seem like cruel victors at times, and in those quiet moments when I watched her struggling to breathe, I wondered if death really did get the final say.

Shortly before her death on July 3, I stopped by after work to visit her.  When I walked in, the place was quiet and we had the opportunity to visit for awhile, just me and her.  Another couple eventually came in, an elderly husband in his wheelchair with his wife wheeling him in.  The husband wheeled up next to Myrt's bedside and the wife pulled up a chair, and they spent the time chatting and catching up.  Eventually the wife pulls out a portable CD player and plugs it into the wall (Don't you love people who are well-prepared?).  "Myrt, we just know you love the song 'It Is Well With My Soul,' so we brought along our CD player to play it for you."

So, here were the three of us gathered around Myrt's bed as she lay there, and the deep, rumbling voice of Wintley Phipps began pouring out of the speakers, filling the room.  

When peace like a river attendeth my way 
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot thou hast taught me to say 
It is well with my soul.

Line after line, verse after verse, this slow crescendo building.  I sat there watching this trio of friends, each with their snow-white hair, creases and wrinkles lining their faces, time claiming what once were youthful appearances.  I felt this sense of awe, almost as if I was eavesdropping on a very personal and private meeting of those who had figured out the secret to life, like some sort of interloper showing up at the Council of Elrond.  During the song, they each had closed their eyes and started singing along with Wintley, the words memorized by heart.  Words that had been tested and tried, found to be true in their own lives through personal experience.

The husband eventually lifts one of hand up to the sky, still singing from this place of deep conviction, "Whatever my lot thou hast taught me to say it is well, it is well, with my soul."  Here was this man confined to a wheelchair, and my friend Myrt bedridden with cancer ravaging her body, and yet still they could say with every fiber of their being, "It is well with my soul."

They had found something greater than their fears - and that something was the conviction and belief that God was real and that Jesus was and is exactly who he said he was.  Conviction that the God they believed in was greater than the death they were facing, greater than the diagnoses they had been handed, greater than the fear that could have so easily taken hold. Conviction that the God they believed to be the God of light was with them even in the shadows of death. Conviction that believed it was well with their souls even when it was not well with their circumstances.    

Steffany Gretzinger said, "There’s only one thing in my entire life that is greater than my fear - and that is my conviction.  The only thing in my entire life that is greater than my fear is my conviction that I knew God was who he said he was, even if I hadn’t experienced him in a certain way yet.  Even if my experience and my understanding were small, I knew he was not. Sometimes we sing something because we believe it, because we are sure - and sometimes we sing it until we’re sure, until we know."

Myrt and her friends sang that day because they believed, because they were sure.  There was no need to sing until they were sure.  They had passed that point of surety long ago in their lives.  They sang because they had encountered a God who was big enough, wide enough, strong enough and wild enough for all their fears.

After the shock of this past fall and more than enough panic attacks to last me the rest of my life, I felt that same kind of conviction sink roots deep into my own soul. It will be 20 years this week since I embraced Jesus as my Savior, and never have I ever been more convinced in my life that God is who he says he is.  I feel it deep, deep in my bones, this conviction that is finally greater than all my fears and all my anxiety - my God is real.  There were a couple of fairly severe panic attacks last September and I remember white-knuckling a few prayers to Jesus, "I have absolutely no idea why these are happening, and I have absolutely no idea how you're going to get me to the other side of this season of life, but I will not let go of you because I am convinced you will not abandon me, and I am convinced that this is not your will for your children."  I was convinced God was deliverer, so I was going to trust him to deliver me.  I was convinced God was good, so I was a going to trust he was going to work all things together for my good.  I was convinced God was a God of peace, so I was going to trust his peace would prevail.  It had no longer become an option for fear to win.  Fear may have been what got me into that mess of a season in the first place, but it sure as hell wasn't going to be what got me out.  

Our convictions have got to become greater than our fears - otherwise we will die in a pit of slavery to those very fears.  Somewhere along the way in our lives, we've got to decide that a sheer sense of grit and fortitude are going to be what trump whatever else it is we are feeling.  People who can confidently sing the words "it is well with my soul" can sing those words not because their circumstances are absent pain or heartache, but because their convictions supersede their pain. I can say that it is well with my soul - not because it is always well with my circumstances - but because God is who he says he is.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come
Let this blest assurance control
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate
And hath shed His own blood for my soul
My sin—oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!—
My sin, not in part but the whole
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul
But, Lord, ’tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul!

And Lord, haste the day when the faith shall be sight
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend
Even so, it is well with my soul.

- Horatio Spafford

Before and After Believers

Twenty years ago this June - June 28, 1998, to be exact - marks the moment in which I realized the depth of my own sin and the length to which Jesus was willing to go to save me.  That day, that instant, changed the trajectory of my life.

But fast forward a short time later to when I found myself rejecting the very God I had embraced a few years prior.  I thought following Jesus consisted of an easy life, free of heartache and pain, where everything came naturally, where life would be a perpetual "high."  The chasm was wide between my expectations and reality, and that gap sent me spiraling.  Bitterness, disillusionment and resentment settled deep, deep into my bones, followed by unforgiveness and hatred in a variety of forms.  God wasn't performing like I thought he would.  He wasn't behaving like I thought he would, and the impact was crushing.  The miracles weren't happening - and I suspended my belief in him in the absence.

Fast forward another handful of years.  Different setting, but the same chasm between expectations and reality gaped wide before me.  I was in college, a little older, a little wiser, a little less disillusioned, and while God had done a radical work of softening my heart and restoring what was once broken since those years in high school, my faith was still faulty in that it hinged on what he did, not who he was. This was never more evident than the summer I lived in San Diego.  I recall speaking at a women's event, explaining how I had been waiting all summer for God to do that one thing that would convince me he was real - and it never came.  I was seeing him do all these amazing things in the lives of other people, but I felt like he was holding out on me when I reflected on my own life.  The miracles weren't happening - and I suspended my belief in him yet again in their absence. It would not be until after that summer passed that I would look back with grief over what my unbelief had cost me.

Must we always be so slow to believe?  Is our faith so small that we always have to wait for the miracle to come before we believe he is who he says he is?  Why do we treat the almighty God as if he is some sort of wind-up circus monkey, where we twist the knob, set him loose, and oooh and ahhh over his clanging cymbals and frantic spinning in circles?

It seems Jesus's contemporaries had the same problem I do.  "After [Jesus] was raised from the dead, his disciples recalled what he had said.  Then they believed the Scripture and the words that Jesus had spoken" (John 2:22).

After the miracle, then the belief.

"Unless you people see miraculous signs and wonders," Jesus told him, "you will never believe" (John 4:48).

After the miracle, then the belief.

"After the people saw the miraculous sign that Jesus did, they began to say, "Surely this is the Prophet who is to come into the world" (John 6:14).

After the miracle, then the belief.

"At first his disciples did not understand all this.  Only after Jesus was glorified did they realize that these things had been written about him and that they had done these things to him" (John 12:16).

After the miracle, then the belief.

The pages of Scripture are littered with people just like me who demanded God first perform and deliver before they believe.  Thomas: "Show me the scars!" (John 20:25).  The crowds: "Show us the miraculous signs!" (John 6:30). The Pharisees: "Show us proof!" (Matthew 12:38).

Perform for us, and then we'll believe you, they said.

Jesus had repeatedly told them who he was.  He had spoken over and over again, I am the Son of God, I am I AM, I am the Deliverer, I am the Promised One, I am the salvation of Israel. And still they remained in their unbelief. His word was never sufficient, never enough, not in their eyes, at least.

Dear God, forgive us for waiting for the miracle until we believe you. Let us believe you now - on this side the miracle. Let us believe you now - long before we ever see any evidences that confirms your Word. If our faith is dependent or contingent on the miracle, then it is no faith at all. Blessed are those who believe God on this side of the miracle. Blessed are those whose faith is not dependent on what he does. Blessed are those who are not waiting for the miracle to come before they choose to believe his Word.

Because what if the miracle never comes? What if there's never a husband in response to your singleness? What if there's never a cure for the cancer diagnosis ravaging your friend's body? What if your child never gets out of that wheelchair ever again? What if that long-held dream never comes to fruition? Then what? Will you believe him only on the other side of the miracle? Will you believe him only when there is a ring on your finger, a cure in hand, and a dream brought to life?

Heed Jesus's words to Thomas after Thomas says he won't believe until he sees the nail-pierced hands: 'Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed'" (John 20:29).

Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.

Let us be the kind of people who are "before" believers, the kind of people who believe Jesus long before the miracle ever appears - if it ever does.  Let us take him at his Word and trust that he is who he says he is.  Let us be the kind of people who believe him, even if we never "see" him.

Let us not be "after" kind of believers

A.W. Tozer said it best, "What God declares the believing heart confesses without need of further proof." 

If God declares it, I want to believe it - whether there is ever a sign, a miracle, or a bolt of lightning from the sky to confirm it. 

I don't want to wait for further proof. 

If he declares it, may my believing heart confess it.

Miracle or no miracle.

You're Relieved of Duty

Growing up as a kid, I had a half-Rottweiler named Bubbles. I know, “Bubbles” is not really an appropriate name for a Rottweiler, but when you’re 9-years old, you’re not really thinking all that hard about such things. You’re just glad to have a puppy. She would prove to be one of my dearest friends as a child. Once she got over her maniac-puppy stage, she mellowed out and became a big lumbering ball of serenity. She was my calm in the storm, a safe haven when life seemed to go sideways. I’d go out to the barn and she’d be there waiting for me. I’d stoop down to sit on the back steps, and she’d come up behind me, burying her nose between my side and my elbow, unrelenting until I had looped an arm around her neck. And then she’d just sit, leaning all her body weight against me, quietly breathing. Sometimes she would slide down, like slime running down the wall, and melt onto the floor, waiting for me to scratch her belly. I couldn’t have asked for a better companion during those years. She died the summer after I graduated from college, and I find myself on the rare occasion still expecting to see her poke her head out from behind the bushes when I pull in the driveway of my parents’ house.

But for as great of a pet as she was - loving, patient, and calm – and despite looking very much like an intimidating Rottweiler, she made for a lousy watchdog. She would run around like an idiot during a rainstorm, barking at thunder, this imaginary invader, but if someone pulled in the driveway or came around, she was lucky if she lifted her head up from her resting spot. She was never aggressive or territorial unless you took her bone or got near the puppies she eventually birthed. “Bubbles” and “stellar watchdog” never really ended up in the same sentence together when we described her to people.

I suppose, though, that we humans don’t make for very good guardians either. I have been slow-walking my way through the Gospels here lately, reading one chapter per day, starting in Matthew. When I came to Matthew 27, I was struck by this seemingly innocuous detail found in verse 35, “When they had crucified him, they divided up his clothes by casting lots. And sitting down, they kept watch over him there. Above his head they placed the written charge against him: THIS IS JESUS, THE KING OF THE JEWS.”

They kept watch over him there. “They” meaning Roman soldiers, “him” meaning Jesus.

Soldiers of Rome keeping watch over the King of the Jews.

If they only knew how absurd the idea was.

Why would Rome bother to have their soldiers, these men equipped and trained to mete out unimaginable brutality, stand guard over a man pierced to a tree, shoulders wrenched out of joint, every breath a struggle? Why stand guard over a man physically destined for death?

Because there was always that small possibility he may just be exactly who he said he was.

It’s a kind of guardianship borne ultimately of distrust. These men of Rome stood guard while he hung on a cross, and they stood guard when he was sealed in a tomb. The chief priests and Pharisees remembered Jesus had said he would rise on the third day, and because, again, there was that small possibility that Jesus may just be exactly who he said he was, they stationed a soldier by the tomb and sealed it.

Somewhere along the way they had appointed themselves the guardians of not just Golgotha but the grave, too.

What fools we become when we think we can stand guard over Jesus.

They told themselves, we have to keep watch because clearly this man can’t be trusted. We’re going to stand here at the foot of this cross and see to it that he doesn’t come down from that tree. They even mocked him with the thought,

And those who passed by derided him, wagging their heads and saying, "You who would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself! If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross." So also the chief priests, with the scribes and elders, mocked him, saying, "He saved others; he cannot save himself. He is the King of Israel; let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God; let God deliver him now, if he desires him. For he said, 'I am the Son of God.'" (Matthew 27:39-43)

We point our fingers at the soldiers of Rome and the chief priests and elders, shaking our heads at them, saying, “You do know how ridiculous you are, right? Ha. As if you could stand guard over Jesus.”

And yet – and yet, we are just like them.

We maybe never say it out loud, but we tell ourselves in a thousand different ways, in a thousand different circumstances, “Jesus, I don’t trust you, so I’m going to have to stand guard over you and make sure you don’t try any funny business.”

We tell ourselves we’re not convinced God won’t let any harm befall our child, so we’re going to stand guard over their every move, every breath. We’re going to so sterilize their world, and eliminate to the best of our ability any chance of harm coming their way. We’re going to do it because we’re not convinced God will.

We’re not convinced God won’t let someone we love take his own life, so we’re going to call him every day, and check on him, make sure he’s still got a pulse and make sure God’s doing his job.

We’re not convinced God will provide for us financially, so we’re going to clench our fists so tight around our money and our budget and we decide we’re never going to trust him with a dime of it.

We’re not convinced God can keep our bodies from failing or from getting cancer, so we’re going to control and manage every calorie, every pound, every ounce, every bite, every sore muscle, and get our hands on every anti-aging crème we can find.

We’re not convinced God can manage people the way we do, so we’re going to micromanage and overanalyze every move of every person around us, and be relentless in our expectations of them.

We’re not convinced you are who you say you are, God, so that leaves us no option but to stand watch over you. We’re not convinced you will do what we think you ought to do, so we’re not going to trust you, believe you or have faith in you.

Because - after all – just like the soldiers of Rome, the chief priests and the Pharisees, we are the self-appointed guardians of the galaxy, are we not?

The soldiers of Rome kept watch over Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, but what they – and we – failed to realize was that the God of the galaxy, King of the universe, kept watch over them.

Their watching was in vain, and our watching is no less in vain.

You were neither appointed God nor guardian of God.

We make for lousy watchmen.

In Mark 14: 33-34 and 37, just before Jesus’ arrest, Jesus and his disciples head to Gethsemane to pray. Jesus leaves them while he goes off alone to pray. Scripture says, “He took Peter, James, and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and troubled. ‘My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,’ he said to them. ‘Stay here and keep watch.’” Jesus goes off to pray, and then “he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. ‘Simon,’ he said to Peter, ‘are you asleep? Could you not keep watch for one hour?’”

All Jesus needed was one hour, and they couldn’t even manage that.

All Rome needed was for a tomb to remain occupied for three days, and they couldn’t even manage that.

Their watching was in vain.

Our watching is in vain.

This is JESUS, the sin-slaying, death-defying, grave-robbing, lie-silencing, God of the universe – and yet we dare to believe we can keep watch over him, as if it not only our duty, but our obligation, to do so. 

I’ve got some news for you:

You’ve been relieved of your job as guardian of the galaxy, watchmen over your children, your brother’s keeper, police officer of the world, neighborhood watchdog. Your performance review shows you’re no good at it. Never have been, never will be. There will be no pay raise, no matter how hard you try, and this is not the kind of job where you move up the ranks. You’ll never get promoted, and you’ll never make it to the C-suite. If anything, you’ve been demoted. You’ll never get a corner office with a view. You’ll never see your name etched on the door. You’ll never have business cards with your title listed as “Chief Operating Watchman.” (Besides, that would make you a COW.) There is no golden parachute. Consider this your pink slip. Don’t even bother with a two-week notice. There is no severance package, and there are no retirement benefits. You’re fired.

Do we have a responsibility to steward what has been entrusted to us, such as our finances, our children, our jobs, our resources, our gifts, and our talents? Yes. Do we have a responsibility to engage the world around us, to put forth some effort, and leverage the gifts and resources God has given us? Yes. I’m not saying we abdicate all responsibility and just become apathetic and lazy. But neither do we have the responsibility to hold so tightly to them that we never trust God with what was his to begin with.

God doesn’t need your watchdog skills.

Psalm 121:3-8 says, “He will not let your foot slip – he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord watches over you – the Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all harm – he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.”

God is not like his disciples who fell asleep on their watch while Jesus prayed in the garden. He neither slumbers nor sleeps. God is not like the soldiers of Rome, or the guardian of the tomb who failed at their jobs.

God never fails as a watchman. Both now and forevermore, he stands guard over your life, keeping watching, in total loving and sovereign control.

This Easter – as we look to the crucifixion and resurrection – I want you think of the soldiers who stood at the foot of the cross, these men who are so often a footnote to history. They would have looked up and seen a man bloodied and bruised beyond recognition, a sword pierced through his side, a banner hanging high over his head: Jesus, King of the Jews. I want you to remember that banner that hung over Jesus on that cross, and remember that, Jesus, King of the universe, doesn’t need you as his guardian.

You’ve been relieved of duty.  Time to pack your bags. 

1,000 (– 338 = 662) Gifts

“It was a dare, like a love dare of sorts…Could I write a list of a thousand things I love? To name one thousand blessings – one thousand gifts…? Learn how to be thankful – whether empty or full. Could the list teach me even that hard language? Over time? Gratitude in the midst of death and divorce and debt – that’s the language I’ve got to learn to speak – because that’s the kind of life I’m living, the kind I have to solve.” - Ann Voskamp

A little over one year ago – February 20, 2017, to be exact – I put pen to paper and began. One thousand blank lines waiting to be filled. I originally intended to fill all one thousand lines in one year, but it didn’t quite work out that way, which is fine. It’s not worth being a legalist when it comes to counting blessings. The list was inspired by Ann Voskamp’s book, One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Where You Are. It spent sixty weeks on The New York Times best-sellers list and sold over one million copies. It’s ultimately a book on gratitude, and addresses the question how do we learn to give thanks no matter what?

I had read the book years ago, but even after initially reading it, I didn’t take up Ann’s call to document one thousand blessings. For whatever reason, though, I finally decided to follow suit and start my own list early last year. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I bend more to the side of pessimism, skepticism, criticism and negativity than I do toward optimism, gratitude and positivity. I’m more likely to find fault than I am to believe the best about a person or a situation. It’s not an admirable quality, I know. And the Holy Spirit has convicted me about it on more than one occasion. So, I decided to do the hard work to start changing that perspective, to actively and intentionally fight against my own nature and tendencies.

Thus began the quest to chronicle one thousand gifts in one year.

The list in a lot of ways became a daily journal, small notes about each day for which I was thankful, a catalog of blessings. When I looked back over the list this past week, marking the one-year anniversary, that alone counted as a gift, the reminiscing and remembering. As I skimmed each line, reviewing them one by one, I began to see trends. Some people’s names showed up repeatedly. Some sentiments showed up on loop. Since it was my list, I made up my own rules and allowed myself to repeat items. No one said it had to be one thousand unique gifts. While I can’t say with scientific certainty, as I did not analyze the data with any sort of eye for precision, I did spot what seemed to be a very clear winner for “most frequently-listed gift”:

Naps.

I have often joked with those around me that I have no idea how I’m going to survive raising children of my own because I love sleeping way too much. This list proves my deep affection.

In fact, guess what was number one on the list?

1. Afternoon naps

Not long after that, I followed with various other types of naps and sleep-related items:

22. Sunday afternoon naps
43. Sunday naps!
44. Lunchtime naps!

(Apparently I felt the exclamation marks were of great value and necessary for emphasis because pretty much nothing else on the list warranted its own punctuation quite like naps did.)

77. Two-nap Saturdays
91. Sleeping in until 7:45 a.m. (I know that seems early to most of the world, but that qualifies as late for me.)
114. 7:20 p.m. bed times
206. The bliss of two naps in one day
412. Sleeping in on a Saturday morning
568. Sleeping in until 11 a.m. (this was only after a 3-hour time change from the West Coast and a  late flight. Last time I slept that late was probably when I was five.)
588. Saturday afternoon naps

I clearly love naps of any and all kinds. I sound like Bubba Gump in Forrest Gump when he explains all the ways you can eat shrimp, “You can barbecue it, boil it, broil it, bake it, sauté it. There’s shrimp-kabobs, shrimp creole, shrimp gumbo. Pan-fried, deep-fried, stir-fried. There’s pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup, shrimp stew, shrimp salad, shrimp and potatoes, shrimp burger, shrimp sandwich.”

By my definition, naps are no different. There are lunchtime naps, mid-morning naps, pre-dinner naps, post-work naps. There are one-nap days and two-nap days. There are Sunday naps! Monday naps! Tuesday naps! Wednesday naps! Thursday naps! Friday naps! Saturday naps! Sunday naps are by far the best. Just ask anyone in my family. Sunday afternoons are sacred napping time. Even as children, we knew that Sunday afternoons were meant for naps and it was an unspoken rule in our house that you simply didn’t plan to do anything else on Sunday except take a deliciously long nap at some point. I still hold to that sacred tradition even as an adult.

I didn’t make it to one thousand gifts in one year, but I did manage to document a total of 662 items total. Contrary to how it seems, I did chronicle blessings other than naps. There were no shortage of light-hearted and simple things:

12. Text messages from Josh that make me laugh out loud
40. New leather purse for $9
66. Ghirardelli chocolate caramel bars
75. Leftover pie
168. Travis laughing at my stories
355. Ice
391. The start of college football season
491. Laughing until my cheeks hurt
502. The feel of a horse’s warm breath on my face
551. The dawn of a new year
589. “This Is Us”
605. Pictures of Emily’s triplets
634. Valentine’s card from my mom

But there were the hard things, too, things where gratitude did not come naturally or instinctively, things where I had to fight to find the gratitude:

177. Sitting with Myrt in the hospital
185. Phone call from Myrt’s son to see how I was taking the news of her cancer
193. To be the one who cleans up Myrt’s puke while she moans in pain
249. Unanswered prayers
260. Being by Myrt’s side in her final days
279. God turning the bitter into sweet
281. Listening to David’s voicemail saying Myrt had passed
282. Knowing that someone I love very much who struggles with suicide is still alive
286. Having the courage to have hard conversations
319. The gentleness of God’s dealing with my sin
431. God’s breath in my lungs (after having a panic attack)
438. The realization that my heart, mind and body are utterly broken without Jesus (on the day that ushered in what I call my “Week from Hell”)
453. Sleeping in my parents’ bed (with my mom by my side because I couldn’t handle being alone at night)
464. Knowing I am not alone
470. Working a full day of work with no anxiety
514. Surviving a car accident
528. Being the one on the other end of the phone when my friend tells me he’s at the lowest point of his life

One year later, and a record of 662 gifts for which I am thankful - both the good and the bad, the bitter and the sweet, the highs and the lows. I can honestly say that I am grateful for things like anxiety. Maybe I should say more accurately that I’m grateful for what it has produced in me. I’m not grateful for my car accident in and of itself, but I am grateful for God’s protection, for angels that stood guard over my life. I’m not glad Myrt died, but I can be grateful she’s with Jesus and I’ll see her again some day. Ann Voskamp said in her book, “Life-changing gratitude does not fasten to a life unless nailed through with one very specific nail at a time.”

These 662 gifts have been 662 nails I nailed down, one at a time, choosing gratitude over bitterness and discontentment. Last year was a doozy of a year for me in a lot of ways, and it would have been easy to give into the sadness or to have adopted a woe-is-me attitude.

But it’s the truth that Paul points to in Philippians 4:11-12 that should shape our lives, “I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need” (ESV).

I have not mastered by any means, but I am learning the secret, the secret of being content in whatever situation.

The secret is found in the 500th item I listed:

500. Jesus

"The secret is Christ in me, not me in a different set of circumstances.” said Elisabeth Eliot. God doesn’t need to place me in a different set of circumstances that don’t involve anxiety and car accidents and deep, deep pain in the lives of people I love. Different circumstances won’t solve anything. The secret was - and is - Jesus in me.

“And I see it now for what this really is, this dare to write down one thousand things I love. It really is a dare to name all the ways that God loves me," Ann noted in her book.

Jesus loves me, this I know.

I have a list of 662 gifts (and a few dozen naps) that tell me so.

I'm Not the One

As much as I hate to admit it, I love control. I love knowing what to expect, when to expect it, and how to expect it. I love details. I love predictability and routines, schedules and lists. I love feeling like things are within my reach and under my dominion. It creates a sense of security and confidence, albeit most likely a false sense of security. But I crave that control nonetheless.

I stood at the kitchen sink this morning, staring out the window, reflecting on a conversation I had with a group of ladies in my Bible study yesterday morning. Each of us voiced the heaviness of feeling like we somehow are the only ones responsible for holding the world together, or at least our corners of the world. Parents who are aging - how will I care for them and hold onto them? Nephews who have abandoned Jesus - how will I get them to turn back? Daughters who have gone rogue - how do I get the prodigal to return? Family members tangled up in addictions and mental health troubles so dark and so deep they are on the brink of death - how do I stop the cycle of madness?

I've spent many a moment wrestling here lately with this idea of control. It has weighed heavy on me in this season of life, more so than any other time I can recall. I've become acutely aware of how little control I actually have, particularly over other people in my life. I have felt this crushing weight of feeling like I need to save those closest to me - to save them from suicide, to save them from their own destruction, to save them from drugs, to save them from poor choices, to save them from darkness, to save them from the edge of whatever cliff they are standing on. I act as if it all rests on me - as if it will be up to me to pray them into heaven, up to me to pull them out of the pit they're in, up to me to save them from walking past the hinges of hell. I think some of these thoughts precipitated the crazy panic attacks I had in the fall, causing me to buckle under the weight of feeling like I'm the only one who is keeping this big blue marble from spinning off its axis.

It's exhausting.

And completely rooted in unbelief and a failure to remember who is really in control.

As I stood at the sink this morning, replaying yesterday's conversation in my head and mulling over my own thoughts on the matter, God spoke this truth so clearly to me:

I am not the one.

I'm not the who held the hand of a dead little girl and brought her back to life.
I'm not the one who flung the stars in the skies and called them each by name.
I'm not the one who spoke a word and drove out the demons.
I'm not the one who laid the foundations of the earth and told the waters where to go.
I'm not the one who immediately healed the leper and made him clean.
I'm not the one who multiplied the bread and fed the thousands.
I'm not the one who breathed a breath and brought man to life.
I'm not the one who walked on the water as if it were pavement.
I'm not the one who calmed the wind and the waves but with a word.
I'm not the one who parted the Red Sea and made a way on dry ground.
I'm not the one who still forgave the man who would betray me with a kiss.
I'm not the one who was beaten, whipped, scourged, and bore a crown of thorns.
I'm not the one who hung on the cross with nails thrust into my hands and feet.
I'm not the one who took the keys from death and hell.
I'm not the one who rolled back the rock.
I'm not the one who rose again.

I'm not the one.

My God, I'm not the one who did any.of.those.things.

But I so desperately want to be - or I at least live and think as if I want to be. I live as though the very existence of certain people rests on me. The "what if" question robs me time and again - what if I don't pray enough for them? What if I don't speak words of encouragement enough to them? What if I don't love them enough? What if I don't call them often enough? What if, what if, what if. 'Round and around we go. Somewhere along the way I've made an idol out of myself, appointing myself savior of the world instead of Jesus.

But because Jesus is the one who took the hand of a dead little girl and brought her back to life.
But because Jesus is the one who flung the stars in the skies and called them each by name.
But because Jesus spoke, laid, healed, breathed, walked, parted, accepted, hung, took, rolled, rose and sits - I'm set free from feeling like I'm the one.

I can let go of control and rest knowing I'm not the one.

And I never will be. I'm not capable of saving anyone else. I can't save the people closest to me, the ones whom I fear for their lives. I can't do it. No matter how much I may want to control them or will them into a certain state of being - I simply cannot do it. I was never designed to have that kind of power. We will destroy ourselves in the process by giving ourselves that much credit, to think we can hold up underneath the weight of being someone else's savior.

I'm not the one who is capable.

And neither are you.

You're not the one who can save your child from addiction.
You're not the one who can break your spouse's bonds of pornography.
You're not the one who can rid your father's body of the ravages of cancer.
You're not the one who can beckon the prodigal to return.

Whatever your circumstances - you're not the one.

Whatever trial or tribulation you're facing, whatever situation where you feel like, "If I just had control..." - remember:

You're not the one who is the keeper of the stars, the keeper of your heart, and the Savior of the world.

That title goes to one person and one person only:

Jesus Christ, the One and Only.

"The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. No one has ever seen God, but God the One and Only, who is at the Father's side, has made him known" (John 1:14, 18).

I can rest knowing He is the One.

And I am not.

And neither are you.

Let the One and Only do what only the One and Only can do:

Save.

The Power of Place

I don't know how other people have marked seasons of their lives, but I have largely marked mine by different map dots and zip codes.  Do you ever stop to consider the power of geography, how the topography of a map really becomes the topography of your life?

Author Hannah Anderson said in a recent post,

"The paradox of place is that while God may exist everywhere, human beings don’t. Made from the dust of the earth, we’re forever linked to it and can no more escape its boundaries than we can escape ourselves. In fact, we each owe our existence, at least in some small way, to geography. We can’t trace our heritage without simultaneously tracing the map, the places where our forebears lived and loved forever bound up in the strands of our DNA. So important is geography to human identity that when God the Son became human, when he willfully assumed the limits of time and space, he became Jesus of Nazareth, the son of the carpenter Joseph who went up to Bethlehem because he was of the house and lineage of David."   

I owe my existence, in some small way, to geography.  The wide open spaces of Missouri's farmlands were where I learned to flourish and thrive as a Christian, the place where I sunk deep spiritual roots.  The jaw-dropping mountains of Jackson Hole were where I found rest and a piece of my heart.  The endless savannas of Kenya and its horrifically bumpy roads were where I learned satisfaction, the deep-in-your-gut kind of satisfaction.  The winding roads and dusty horse show arenas of Kentucky were where I learned the value of discipline and perseverance.  The island waters of New Caledonia were where I learned to let go of fear and preach the gospel (and that I am never ever going snorkeling again).  The deep red bricks of Red Square and the shadows of the Kremlin of Russia were where I learned the weight and gravity of my own depravity.  The lush jungles of Guatemala were where I learned the lengths some people will go to in order to get their hands on the gospel.

All these places, and so many others in between.

They are how I've marked my life.  Season by season, I've traced my life through pages of road atlases, Google Maps and airline miles.  I've flown over those "flyover states" more times than I count.  I've crossed the Atlantic, and I've crossed the Pacific.  I've seen the Rocky Mountains, the Caucuses Mountains, the Smoky Mountains, the St. Elias Mountains, and a few others in between.  

But there's always that one place.  That one place that has marked us more significantly than all the others combined.

San Diego has been that place for me.

The summer after my sophomore year of college, I lived in Mission Beach, an area not far from downtown San Diego.  That summer changed everything for me.  Jesus changed everything for me.  He completely altered the trajectory of my life, in ways I couldn't have fathomed as a college kid or fully comprehended at the time.

Sunset over the Pacific, off the shores of Mission Beach

I had been wanting to go back to San Diego for years.  Other trips kept taking priority and I kept putting it off.  Five years rolled by, ten years rolled by, twelve years rolled by.  The more time that lapsed, the more I felt the need to go back.  I finally decided last summer to quit talking about it and just go.  I booked flights, made arrangements with an AirBnB, convinced my mom to go and off we went a few weeks ago.

I set foot on that beach a few weeks ago, and I was taken back in time, remembering that college girl I used to be.  I recognized so many of the shops and streets and buildings, all of them reminders of a different season of life, a season so full of wrestling, doubt and uncertainty, a season that disrupted my life and set me on a path of fierce determination to chase after Jesus for all my days.  San Diego is where I anchored my faith out in deep waters, the place where I shouted at God in the pages of my journals, desperate for him to reveal himself to me.  It's the place where I demanded signs of him and all I got in return was silence and that still small voice.  It's the place where he asked of me, "Are you all in whether you ever sense my presence again or not, whether you ever see me move again in your life?" No cloud, no whirlwind, no bolt of lightning.  Just that still small voice.

And I hear that still small voice again in this season of life.  This season of anxiety and panic attacks, a season of feeling like the rug got ripped out from underneath me, leaving me floundering, my body feeling the shock waves for months now.  A season when he's asking yet again, "Are you still all in?"

I stood on the beaches of San Diego a few weeks ago and told Jesus -

"My answer is 'yes.'  I'm still all in."      

I was marking another season of life by geography.

In 1 Samuel 7, Samuel took a stone, set it up between Mizpah and Shen and named it Ebenezer.  "Thus far the Lord has helped us."

He was effectively declaring, "It is here, now, in this place, where we will proclaim what God has done for us, how he has carried us thus far."

It was there, then, in that place, on that beach, where I declared, "Thus far the Lord has helped me."

My life has been forever marked by the sand and shores of San Diego.  It was between Coronado Island and Pacific Beach, in a neighborhood called Mission Beach, where I took a figurative stone, named it Ebenezer, and declared:

Thus far has the Lord helped me.

You always have to take a jumping photo for good measure.

__________________________________

If you want to read more about the power of place and location, check out Hannah Anderson's compelling read over on the The Gospel Coalition's site, "Finding Our Place: Our Family's Long Quest for Calling and Home."

2017: Year in Review

Whew, boy, 2017. I thought you were nearly going to do me in, especially there at the end. I spent these last several months thinking I should just go ahead and make myself comfortable on the floor because, quite frankly, I was getting tired of getting back up only to get knocked down again. I figured it might as well just be easier to go ahead and lie on the floor, and tell Jesus to come find me again when the coast is clear. And I know I’m not the only one. Many of my family members and people I love dearly in my circle of influence have faced profound hurts and challenges this year. I've got friends who have been deeply, deeply wounded by things like the weight of a broken engagement, the death of friends or the announcement of cancer at forty-something-years old. This past year just seemed to be the year that was on a mission to outright destroy some people I love. Heck, I thought it was on a mission to destroy me. Our nation and globe have been turned upside down, for better or for worse, on more than one occasion, between mass shootings, new political leaders, and social movements like #MeToo. I can’t say that I’m all that sad to wave farewell to 2017. Not that it was all bad – there were certainly highlights – but it just seemed to be a season of difficulty and grief for a number of people close to me.

But for the first time in a long time, the prospect of a new year personally feels just like that – a new year. I’ve always been rather indifferent toward New Year’s festivities. It just seemed like another day, another year (and I can rarely stay awake until midnight anyway). But this year feels different, like I really am being given a blank slate and a fresh start.

Every year for the last several years, I've taken stock of the year by going back through my journals, re-reading entries, clicking through old blog posts, reflecting on all that has happened. Anais Nin said, “We write to taste life twice.” It’s worth tasting life twice. It’s worth looking back and seeing God’s faithfulness. We don’t write down stories and document the annals of history so we can forget; we do it so we can remember. What good is a nation, a kingdom, a people if they don’t remember anything? What good are God’s people if they don’t recall and bring to mind the evidences of his kindness and provisions? What good are his people if they don’t build an altar to God, raise their Ebenezers and declare, “Thus far the Lord has helped me” (1 Samuel 7:12)?

So, in keeping up with the habit, I present to you my 2017 year-in-review:

January - You ever have those prayers you want to take back? I seem to have a knack for doing that here these last several years. I started off January 2017 by jotting down in my journal, “Rid me of these fears that consume and control me, that hold me hostage and captivate me. I want your thoughts to be precious to me, for your will to become my will, your thoughts to become my thoughts. Help me to live in alignment with your Word.” Yeah, you know what, Jesus? On second thought, let me rephrase that prayer. Or better yet, let’s just forget I made that request at all. By September of this year, I was ready to cry “uncle” on this prayer.

February - Y’all. Jill Briscoe at IF: Gathering. Good Lord Almighty. Just promise me you’ll watch her segment, okay? It’s worth every single minute. I sat leaning on the edge of my chair through her entire message. I also attended Beth Moore’s Lit conference, which was aimed specifically at women in their 20s and 30s who feel called to teach, speak or write. I have poured over the notes from that event several times since then. Profound. I didn't want to leave the hotel ballroom on the final night, I just wanted to linger in those closing moments of worship for hours. The song “Spirit of the Living God” by Vertical Church Band became my prayer, “Because when Jesus comes into the room, everything changes. He changes what we see and what we seek. I want him to change what I see and what I seek.”

March - I wrote in my journal, “I’m so grateful for how you watch out for me in ways I’m not even aware.” I have thought that at least a dozen times over this year, in awe of how God orchestrates and cares for my life, long before I even know there’s a need.

April - I helped coordinate a surprise birthday party for my mom. That event was followed by the words, “I have no intention of ever planning a surprise party again in my life.” It went great, but good heavens, was there a lot of angst leading up to it. I also took a week-long road trip out to Missouri to visit my alma mater and visit some friends I had not seen in nearly a decade. I celebrated 10 years since I finished undergrad by loading up on chocolate peanut butter Big Trains, Beks spinach artichoke dip, and good conversations with good company. I also got a text message from my brother saying his wife was pregnant, after they had been told by 3 different medical specialists that they would likely never have children again. Specialists smecialists. What do you know.

May - Days after I got back from Missouri, my dear friend Myrt was rushed to the hospital, which would be the start of a sudden and rapid decline. We celebrated her 84th birthday in the nursing home by buying her a crown and a scepter, as my friends, Jill and Alex, and I had dubbed her the Queen. She had dubbed us her "Princesses."  They were bittersweet days spent with a very dear person to me.

June - I started a journal entry this month simply with the words, “God works miracles.” I had one particular co-worker that, for a season, I was at perpetual odds with. We might as well have been mortal enemies. We each inflicted wounds on the other in ways I wasn't ever sure we would ever recover from. But my God – my God is a God of mercy and grace, redemption and healing. I got an unexpected phone call from this co-worker late one night, just wanting to chat with me because she was unraveling in a lot of ways and knew she could trust me. We had come a long way in our relationship since the days of hurt, and that phone call truly was a miracle. On a totally separate note, I also got my first article published with Gospel-Centered Discipleship. 

July - Myrt had been rushed to the hospital on May 5, and she wouldn't live to see July 5. Those were hard days, watching her die, watching her in agony and pain. I so often prayed death would come swiftly for her, but then “I began praying that Jesus would come swiftly, not death. And maybe those are two sides of the same coin, but I want Jesus to come. I know he has conquered death, so death doesn't get the final say. Maybe in these fleeting earthly moments it seems death wins, but he loses for all eternity.”

August - I bought a new car. After which, I penned the words, “I should never be allowed to make another major life decision.” I seem to get a little scattered when I make significant purchases. I’m in serious trouble if I ever buy a house.

September - I mentally came off the rails. What I affectionately refer to as “The Week From Hell” occurred this month. I experienced a round of panic attacks for the first time in my life, and they sent me spiraling. I suddenly became incapable of functioning like I used to, and my life came to a crashing halt for a period of a couple weeks. The anxiety truly was debilitating and life-altering.  I selfishly pray I never go through another episode like that again.

October - I typed out nine pages of a single-spaced journal entry, words that just came tumbling out in light of the anxiety and all that was happening in its wake. I was temporarily staying with my parents in the weeks immediate after my panic attacks, but early October would prove to be the last time I would spent the night in my own apartment. I spent one night there after everything started, and it nearly did me in, being there alone. My birthday was that month and it ended up being less than stellar and consisted of a lot of tears and a meltdown for good measure. Hi, welcome to 33, Courtney. Oh, and an essay I wrote got published in a new book.  So maybe that made up some for the crappy birthday meltdown.

November - I keep getting sucker-punched by life. Just when I feel like I was gaining some semblance of normalcy, I find myself standing on the side of the road, giving a statement to a police officer after a woman hit me head-on and did a number on my brand new car. I spent a chunk of time in the ER, missed a week of work, and wondered what on earth the good Lord was trying to tell me in this season of life. I also gave notice to my landlord that I would be terminating my lease 8 months early.

December - I packed up my life into boxes and moved back home, which in some ways felt like admitting defeat, but in a lot of ways felt like relief. I get reluctant to divulge I’m living with my parents again, but most of the time, I’m just grateful I even have that option. I am beyond blessed to have a family that has supported me without question these last several months. I knew at the end of the day that I needed time to heal and recover from this season of life, and that wasn't going to happen if I stayed at my apartment. It was time to say goodbye to my little space and move on. And miracle baby nephew was born.  

So, there it is, a walk down the memory lane of 2017. A year filled with some unexpected twists and turns, but what year isn't filled with those sorts of things? What day isn't filled with those sorts of things? But we always have a choice as to how we weather the storm. 

I choose faith. I choose hope. I choose grit. I choose determination.

My friend Jill bought me a t-shirt for Christmas. It said, “Clear eyes, full hearts, Dave Barnes.” Now, you have to be both a Dave Barnes fan and at least have some familiarity with Friday Night Lights to fully get that reference. The original line from the TV show is “clear eyes, full heart, can’t lose.” As I slipped into that shirt here not too long ago, I began to think, “This is what I want 2018 to look like – clear eyes and a full heart.” I want to walk through 2018 with eyes wide open and a heart that is overflowing with joy and delight, a heart that is full to the brim simply because I know with Jesus I can’t lose. And not losing doesn't mean I think I’m going to sail through 2018 without a care in the world and not an ounce of struggle. I have no doubt those elements will be present. But even in the struggle, my heart can be full, and I can still radiate joy.

So here’s to you, 2018. 

Clear eyes. Full heart. Can’t lose.