Breathless

I get breathless when I think about the promises of God.

Great and precious promises. Exceedingly great and precious promises. Drink deep, and find them.

I’m originally from New Mexico, and when the horizon isn’t blocked up by a bunch of trees and hills like it is here in the piedmont of South Carolina, and when you live up by the atmosphere at 1 mile, you can see for miles in every direction. You can literally see the curvature of the earth.

And there’s more sky. Deep, blue, endless sky. Which terrifies my husband who feels like he's about to fly off into outer space with nothing to catch him.  (He grew up here in the piedmont, in a nice forest.)

And when that deep blue sky fills up with piles of deep, high, puffy white clouds, you know something is about to happen.

Because the sunsets are incredible. Those clouds turn into fire, gold and red and rose and pink and a thousand shades of vibrant that have never been named.

I flew into Albuquerque during one such sunset. And I’ve never forgotten it. The plane flew across dry mesas and dusty land, and then over the rolling hills that pile up and begin the western rocky mountain chain.  And suddenly the mountains dropped off under the plane in a sharp cliff, and we flew in to a golden, fiery, sunset. The clouds were low and covering the entire city. Rain was pouring down. And it was like flying into the heart of heaven.

Exceedingly great. Vibrantly precious. Mind-blowingly spectacular.

Words can never describe them. Those promises of God.

But we can experience them.

My husband taught on Ephesians chapter 1 the other week, and one thing he said took hold of my heart: “The most enduring promises of God are spiritual.”

Spiritual. Not physical. Because, as Peter reminds us, those exceedingly great and precious promises are given to us for one reason: “That through them you may be partakers of divine nature, having escaped the corruption that is in the world through lust.” (2 Peter 1:4)

I grew up hearing a lot about every thing wrong that I did. Someone was always available to find fault. And now, so many years later, I do it myself.

Many of those old-school theological folks had some incredible things to say. And when we stumble across them again, it’s so freeing.

A friend had posted an incredible article by Timothy Keller titled “When Sin is Grievous and Grace is Stunning.”

I took a breath in. Grace is stunning.

And I read. He had dug up some John Newton from the 18th century and modernized it like this:

“Newton gives us some deeply convicting ways to examine our hearts. Christians, he says, put too little time and effort into examining themselves and seeking to grow in holiness, in the fruit of the Spirit. But does such close examination mean that we are doomed to always feel inadequate, ashamed, and guilty? No, because Newton sees  deeper knowledge of sin leading to richer rejoicing in grace.”

Oh. Rejoicing in Grace. I've always missed that part.

There’s more:

“People often try to fill their hearts with the danger of what they are doing. You can tell yourself, If I keep doing this it will cause problems for me. That may be true and could be good "smelling salts" to get you to recognize your problem. But if that's all you say to your heart, it effectively bends the metal of your heart but doesn't really soften and permanently reshape it. The motivation is ultimately selfish and only brings short-term change.”

I started to understand. So, when I remind myself that procrastinating now will make more work for me later, that doesn't change my heart. And when I mutter in my heart that my never picks up his socks, and then remind myself that if I let that out, I'm just a dripping faucet...I keep the words in, but the bitterness too.  

And when I teach my children that they shouldn't hit or yell or say mean words because it will make them unkind adults, I'm missing the heart of the issue.

And here's what blew my mind in this article:

“We need to go deeper to the only lasting way to change our hearts—take them to the radical, costly grace of God in Christ on the cross. You show your heart the infinite depths to which he went so that you would be free from sin and its condemnation. This fills you with a sense not just of the danger or sin, but also of its grievousness. Think about how ungrateful it is, think of how your sin is not just against God's law but also against his heart. Melt your heart with the knowledge of what he's done for you. Tremble before the knowledge of what he is worth—worthy of all glory.”

A heart that melts before a God of great worth. Isn't that beautiful?

That changes things. I work now, because I have been blessed with life by the One who gave his life. 

I pick up socks after my husband, because my God is picking up after me. And forgiving me. And never muttering about my issues.

And I teach my children gentle ways and right actions because our great God first extended his love, his grace, himself, to us.

And I get breathless. Because these things are deep. 

These are exceedingly great and precious promises. 

P.s. You can listen to Jason's teaching here: http://calvaryspartanburg.com/teachings.html. Load up "Unknown Blessings" Eph. 1.

You can read the Timothy Keller article here: http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/tgc/2013/06/24/when-sin-is-grievous-and-grace-is-stunning/  (I am only linking to thegospelcoalition.com in order to cite this article; they don't know me and I don't know them)

Pinky Swear

Jason and I pinky-swore (can I say that? sweared?) Anyhow, we pinky-promised. And now I can't procrastinate.

I am really good at delaying the inevitable until it's not only happening, it's not fun anymore.  I've cultivated this habit from a young age. And I could call myself an expert now.

I remember in high-school, I would do my homework in class, while waiting for the bell to ring. I turned in reports with the ink still wet. 

And in college I honed my procrastination to a fine art.  Because as my husband says, you can study, sleep or socialize, but you can't do all 3.  

I majored in Journalism, for the simple reason that I am very good at meeting deadlines.  

Meeting, but not beating.

But now I'm many years past college.

I have kids. And I'm homeschooling them. And I cook all of our food from scratch because my son has food allergies. And I do some freelance work on the side to help pay the bills. 

And I still find time to procrastinate.

But I'm running out of time.

And it's sucking my joy out of life. 

And it's taking a toll on my family.  

Because my kids don't want to wear their winter clothes now that it's hot and mommy hasn't done laundry because she had to finish some things.

And we're all getting a little tired of the very dry, nasty rice bread that is the only kind I can buy because I haven't had time to make some because I had to wrap something up.

And I miss hanging out with my family on my husband's days off because I was on facebook and youtube when I should have been working, and now I have to get a bunch of stuff done.

One pastor who was a mentor in my life and my husband's life always said that if you're not having fun, you're doing something wrong. 

This time of life, when bills are high and salaries are low; when ambition competes with our desire for sleep; when children are small and we are their life; this time of life is good but hard. 

And it should be full of fun. Full of joy. Because these are building years. We can accomplish much, and God surely has much to accomplish through and in us. If only I'll work when I should work.

And I pinky-promised I would.