Notes of Faith January 14, 2022

I wish you could meet Harlie. She knows what’s up. I met her over a decade ago at the bakery next door to my church in downtown Atlanta. I’d go there five days a week and order coffee. You want to get better at turning strangers into friends?

Here’s a pro tip: Remember names. Someone’s first name is the sweetest word in any language. Sounds simple, right? But I’ve found that if you ask someone’s name and then make sure you call them by their name, about the third time they start feeling insecure about not knowing yours. And so the questions begin.

Before you know it, meaningless interactions — like me ordering the same cup of coffee every day — transform into meaningful relationships. And that’s what happened with Harlie.

Come Together

You feeling disconnected? Maybe you find yourself seeing the same people over and over but never actually getting to know them. Let me help you out.

• Write down a couple of the places you frequent. Maybe, like me, it’s a place where you get coffee.

• Leave a space for the names of the folks you interact with but otherwise don’t know.

• Here’s my challenge — see if you can fill that space with a name. Maybe you’ll find that by the third time you mention their name, you’ve got a lot more to write about the relationship you’ve started to build.

 Harlie and I got to talking. Her story read like an after-school special. She gave her life to drugs too young. And as anyone knows who’s experienced that firsthand, or is close to someone who has, the drugs are never enough. But thank God Harlie’s rock bottom was an awakening, not an early grave. God gave her the gift of desperation. She left the drugs behind and started running instead. And I mean, twenty-six point two miles in the Atlanta sun running! She loved it — the thrill, the accomplishment. The steady drumbeat of hands clapping as she neared the finish line was her favorite song. Or it was, until she realized that running had become just another drug, another kind of addiction. It wasn’t immoral. But it proved every bit as destructive. Just like before, her whole life was consumed by the pursuit.

I was shocked. I had thought the problem was what Harlie was chasing. Running is a whole lot healthier than cocaine, right? John, she said, I found that when I made running the center of my life, there wasn’t enough of that either. It wasn’t the drugs or the running; it was the addictive pursuit of something that could never satisfy. What she did wasn’t nearly as important as why she did it. That’s left a lasting impression on me.

Realizing she had more than she needed and still wasn’t satisfied awakened her.

Years after that interaction with Harlie, I read Judith Grisel’s book Never Enough. Judith’s pursuit started at thirteen years old with a bottle of wine. It put a straitjacket on her out-of-control nerves and anxieties. So, this is how people get through life, she thought. She then went on to try every kind of drug until the age of twenty-three, when she got clean. Unlike Harlie, though, she didn’t bottom out. More like the Teacher, she found herself on the mountaintop, with more drugs than she could ever want. But that turned out to be her awakening. I have more than I could possibly need, and it’s still not enough. Amazingly, she went back to school and got a PhD in neuroscience. She wanted to understand the relationship between the human brain and addictive behaviors. And here’s what she found:

We don’t become addicts because our brains are broken, but because they are working properly. We are designed to always want more.

Think about that. Your brain will get used to the most intense pleasures only to crave more. See what I’m saying?

The fundamental issue isn’t whether pleasure is good or bad; it’s that there is something deep inside of you that pleasure can never fill. From lines of cocaine to the finish lines of marathons, it can all end up being the same pursuit. The destination is always out of reach.

Breathe

What pleasure do you lean on when you’re stressed and anxious? What pursuit is at the center of your day? Is there something that makes you think, If only I had just a little more of that, I’d feel alright?

Y’all, I don’t want you to feel guilty or ashamed. It’s just me and you talking; you don’t have to tell anyone else. But like Harlie and Judith, maybe it’s time for a revelation.

Does your need for pleasure hide a deeper longing?

Let’s pray.

Father,
Thank You for Your love for me. May Your Spirit awaken me. I want to stop chasing the things that won’t ever satisfy. I want to run to You. Thanks for reminding me Your arms are open wide.

Amen.

Excerpted from We Go On by John Onwuchekwa, copyright John Onwuchekwa.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. — James 1:17

The purpose of pleasure is to be a pathway to God, the Giver of that pleasure. Otherwise it ultimately brings us to the same place as Harlie and Judith, or worse. Whether there isn’t enough or too much, we’ll still be wanting more. Let’s run to Him today!

Pastor Dale

Grief is uncomfortable. Not just for the griever, but for those next to or in the general vicinity of the griever.

Of course, I knew nothing about this until what had begun as a season of gratitude quickly and unexpectedly transitioned to one of deep grief.

On a cold January night, I arrived at the hospital trying to breathe through the pain of the labor contractions ripping through my abdomen. My husband pushed the call button from outside the locked doors of the labor and delivery unit to notify the nurses of our arrival. I was about to have a baby, but I knew this wasn’t going to be the dreamy birth experience I had hoped for upon realizing I was pregnant. This was going to be more like a nightmare.

Within an hour of our arrival, our baby slipped into this world silently. Being that I was just over 20 weeks pregnant, we hadn’t expected a good outcome. We knew what we were walking into when the nurses buzzed us through the doors that night. We were headed straight into loss. Heartache. And what I instinctively knew would become the greatest grief of this life.

Eighteen hours later, I was released, returning home with a few mementos of the birth and death I’d just experienced.

Pamphlets outlining resources for women who have lost a baby.

A small gift bag containing a miniature teddy bear and doll-sized knitted blanket. A few snapshots of my baby.

I was no longer carrying my baby, only his absence.

It took some time for me to even begin to engage with the world outside of my home again.

But when I started taking small steps toward regular life, it became clear that my grief made life uncomfortable not only for me, but for others as well. Just as I averted my gaze from babies and pregnant women, I noticed how people averted their gaze from me, the formerly pregnant woman without a baby.

Like the woman from church who brushed shoulders with me at the grocery store and turned her head away when we made awkward eye contact. Or the pregnant mother of my daughter’s classmate who suddenly seemed to avoid me, maybe because she assumed that her pregnant belly was a painful reminder of what I didn’t have, or maybe because I was a painful reminder that pregnancy doesn’t always end with a baby to bring home.

And then there was the dermatologist who immediately changed the subject, his cheeks suddenly bright red, when I tearfully told him I’d lost my baby after he inquired about my recent pregnancy.

For several months after my loss, my church attendance was sporadic. Because pregnant women were hard to miss and gurgling babies filled the pews, church felt like a landmine of triggers. Even if I sat in the back row and kept my head down, the moment I opened my mouth to sing or pray, my throat constricted and my eyes filled with tears. I was the sad soul in what felt like a mass of rejoicing. And what felt like a blessing and curse all at once was that no one seemed to notice.

Not only were my, what I like to call public displays of affliction, uncomfortable for me, but I could tell that other people also felt uncomfortable. Not only with the topic of my loss but with the never-predictable tears that resulted from it.

I won’t pretend that my relationship with God was bright and cheery during this period of my life, but I did cling to the belief that He was there, with me in the darkness of grief. He wasn’t uncomfortable with it.

He didn’t avert His gaze when my tears ran wild in public. He didn’t avoid me. He wasn’t afraid of my emotions, my hurt. He was there. He met me in the heartache. Listening. Offering compassion. For not only did He love me — He loved the baby that I loved, too.

For He has not despised or scorned the suffering of the afflicted one; He has not hidden His face from Him but has listened to His cry for help. — Psalm 22:24

He saw and heard me. He drew near when others seemed to distance themselves.

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. — Psalm 34:18

And this is true for your grief, too. Maybe, like me, you’ve experienced the loss of a child. Or maybe you’re navigating the loss of a spouse, parent, friend, or any number of other connections.

Loss and the grief that follows can be a difficult subject for us to be honest about. Even when those around us don’t avert their eyes from our pain, but instead ask us how we’re doing, we often respond with a “Fine,” or an “I’m okay,” because we know that the truth will likely make them uncomfortable. Feelings of anger, loneliness, envy, even hopelessness can be uncomfortable admissions for us and make for uncomfortable responses from others.

But no matter what your grief looks like, or how uncomfortable it makes you or anyone else, God is not uncomfortable with it. Not at all. Where it’s easier for people to take the route of avoidance, God gladly invites you to draw near in all your grief-filled honesty.

Therefore, let us approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in time of need. — Hebrews 4:16

Written for Devotionals Daily by Jenny Alberts, author of Courageously Expecting.

Take your grief to God. He is here for you and for every bit of your honest gut-wrenching pain. Don’t hold back! Tell Him everything! Not everyone can handle the truth, but God can. And, He wants the whole truth. Bring it to Him.

Pastor Dale 

Notes of Faith January 12, 2022

We tend to think that kindness is easy. Soft. Nice. It’s something you learn in kindergarten — how to say “please” and “thank you” and share your Goldfish crackers. Kindness has gotten a rep of being like Glinda the Good Witch, all gentleness and smiles. Someone with a “No, please, after you, I insist” type attitude. It’s easy to think, That’s just not me. I’m not a pushover, I’m not constantly in a good mood, and I’m not always patient and nice. But real kindness is built with grace and grit, and I don’t think one works without the other; they are wisely intertwined.

Because life-changing kindness is hard. Sometimes so hard it hurts.  

It’s sweat and effort. It actually requires something of you.

That’s kindness that inspires, kindness that makes a difference.  

In the story of the widow’s mite in the Bible,1 Jesus watched at the temple in silence as rich men made donations — some of them quite large — into the treasury. But then a poor widow placed two small copper coins in the box, barely a fraction of a penny. That was when Jesus spoke up, saying that this woman had given more than any of the others, even the richest of them, because she had made a true sacrifice.  

How many times have you stopped short of giving because it would require something slightly inconvenient to you, maybe something as small as creating an account and a password to donate to a worthy cause?  

Ninety-nine percent of kindness, of generosity, of fairness, of justice is follow-through. It requires sacrifice. It is uncomfortable. You hold the door for an older person on their way out of the grocery store — that’s kind — but when you help load their groceries into their car, even though you’re already running late, that’s uncomfortably kind. A teacher who gives a struggling student an extra-credit opportunity — that’s kind.

Coming in early every day to go over her lessons is uncomfortably kind. If we are going to belong to one another again, we need to get comfortable with being uncomfortably kind.  

If we are going to belong to one another again, we need to get comfortable with being uncomfortably kind. #makessense  

During the recent protests surrounding the Black Lives Matter movement, a local woman tweeted at me. In a totally nonconfrontational way she asked if Magnolia would consider making a percentage of our vendors at our upcoming vendor fair Black-owned businesses.  

It took about two seconds for me to say yes. That part was a cinch. That was easy kind. The hard part, the uncomfortable part, was following through by doing our due diligence to find and invite vendors in an honorable way, and making sure their businesses wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the bump in volume that could come. It made more work for our staff, but it was worth it a thousandfold. Society would have us believe that we have to be cutthroat to excel in business and in life, but I’ve learned to place my bets on a different theory:  

kindness never returns void.  

When we push the borders of the bubble far enough, it eventually bursts. That’s when we can see what has been true all along — there is no difference in worthiness between those inside the bubble and those outside. We all belong to one another, and there’s no good reason why kindness shouldn’t blanket and protect us all. It’s like the old Irish proverb that says, “It is in the shelter of each other that the people live.”  

I read a great story that illustrates what can happen when you break through your bubble. In early 2020, Qasim Rashid was running for Congress in Virginia. As he was campaigning he received a lot of support, but he was also on the butt end of a lot of upsetting anti-Muslim comments. One day, a guy named Oscar Dillon blasted out a tweet, the gist of which was that Rashid was not welcome in America.  

Anyone who has ever been on the internet knows how these exchanges usually go down — someone says something incendiary, then someone who disagrees either makes an impassioned argument or they hit back with bombs lobbed at the opposition, which usually just results in more name-calling and spite. Rashid took a different tack.

He did a little research and saw that Dillon was having medical issues and had set up a GoFundMe to pay for his mounting bills. Dillon had absolutely gutted his retirement savings and was now having to dip into his wife’s savings to cover the costs.

When Rashid saw that, instead of firing back at Dillon, he took a risk. He set aside his own hurt, gave up his own affronted dignity, and decided to get uncomfortably kind. He donated to the GoFundMe — and then encouraged his supporters to do the same. Within weeks, the campaign was up to $20,000.  

Dillon watched donations racking up, just staring at his screen in shock. He couldn’t believe that Rashid had reached out to take his hand given the way he’d treated him. He asked Rashid to meet, and when they did, they spoke openly to each other, and Dillon apologized for his tweet. Not only that, he invited Rashid to put campaign signs in his yard!2 

When Rashid made the choice to see Dillon as a person, to look at his life as a whole, to understand where he might be coming from, it made all the difference. I genuinely believe that the more we operate in this kind of mindset, believing the best about people, the more likely it is that those people will believe the same in others. That’s another thing about kindness: it’s contagious.  

I still believe that our collective kindness can become louder than any individual acts of hate. But that’s only if we don’t let ourselves go numb. Only if we expand our bubbles until they disappear. If we ask the hard questions. What pain does the world have that causes me to ache? What small thing can I do about it today?  

Maybe in that process you help someone who was so lost they were headed down a path that would have been destructive to themselves or to a whole bunch of people.

We must build up instead of tearing down. So much of what we know is broken. The way we treat our neighbors. How we speak to one another. And we have to start moving back to a place of love and civility. A place of concern and respect. Jo and I want to operate with the kind of love and kindness that lends itself to rolling up our sleeves and working hard. If we’re doing it right, we’re all in the restoration business.  

Kindness asks us to look each other in the eye and see one another as valuable human beings. This begins at home, in our own networks and communities, with a steadfast belief that we are made better when we believe the best about each other.  

Acts of kindness often occur in the absence of witnesses. We also can’t always see the immediate effect. But rest assured, if the conditions are right, kindness moves and shifts like wildfire, and its beauty lies in its potential to spread. To catalyze a series of reactions that can transform how we care for one another.  

The spark has to begin somewhere. Let it begin with you.  

Bottom Line 

Real impact happens when we give something of ourselves. 

1. Mark 12:41–44; Luke 21:1–4.  

2. Ewan Palmer, “Muslim Political Candidate Helps Pay Off Medical Debt of Man Who Sent Him Islamophobic Tweet,” Newsweek, March 12, 2020, https://www.newsweek.com/ muslim-candidate-qasim-rashid-gofundme-debt-virginia-1491929.  

Excerpted from No Pain, No Gains by Chip Gaines, copyright Chip Gaines. 

Let the spark of kindness begin with us! No one has to know what we do – just begin. Kindness costs, but it’s so worth it! Who can you pay back with kindness today?

Pastor Dale

Notes of Faith January 11, 2022

John Piper

What exactly is an idol?

Christians use the term all the time, especially in sermons. So, I go to my Bible. There I find that idols were statues or figurines, worshipers bending down to ‘gods of gold and silver, bronze, iron, wood, and stone’ (Daniel 5:4). Sometimes it seems idols were talisman-like items to ward off bad things — trinkets in the form of golden tumors or golden mice. I’m thinking here of 1 Samuel 5:6–7:2. But today’s idols are very different. They seem to be desires of the heart for money, sex, power, and things like that. How did this come to be? Idols used to be carved things; now they are heart obsessions. I don’t understand the link between statues and heart-idols. In fact, when I look at Old Testament idols of tumors and mice, I don’t really understand those either. Can you explain both forms of idolatry and how they’re connected?”

Well, I’ll try. Let’s start with a definition. I think to cover all the cases, we should probably define an idol (and I think this is a biblical definition) as anything that we come to rely on for some blessing, or help, or guidance in the place of a wholehearted reliance on the true and living God. That’s my working definition of idol. So you can see that would cover, for example, a rabbit’s foot in your pocket, or a picture of a saint hanging on your wall, or a relic from some sacred shrine sitting on your mantle, or the more forthright images taken from Hindu or Buddhist temples, or the golden calf that Aaron made while Moses was on the mountain.

What makes all of those idols is that we are looking away from a wholehearted reliance upon the true and living God through Jesus Christ, and we are looking at the rabbit’s foot, or the relic, or the picture for some special protection, or blessing, or guidance, or help that we don’t think we could get by just looking to God.

Anatomy of an Idol

Now, our friend who sent this question in is right, I think, that in the Bible the word idol is uniformly used for an actual object from nature or, more often, made by human hands. You don’t find the word idolatry used to describe excessive love for your wife, or your lands, or your money, or your pocketbook. So I think he’s right that in the Bible there’s this distinct focus on a manmade object or something from nature, rather than just this strong craving and desire for stuff.

Now behind that is, correctly, the second commandment:

You shall not make for yourself a carved image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or serve them, for I the Lord your God am a jealous God. (Exodus 20:4–5)

In other words, God is so jealous for our direct, personal dependence on him, and reverence for him, and adoration of him, that he disapproves not only of competing so-called gods represented with idols, but even the creation of idols presuming to represent him — not just false gods being turned into statues, but himself being represented with some manmade object that we look to. I think if we ask why — that is, why is he so jealous for that kind of direct, personal dependence of reverence and adoration? — then part of the answer is found in Psalm 96:5: “For all the gods of the peoples are worthless idols, but the Lord made the heavens.”

In other words, one of the problems with idols is that they contradict the transcendent nature of God as Creator. Any representation of God made with human hands leads to the misunderstanding of God’s transcendence. It gives the impression, if not the direct assertion, that God is somehow in our power — we can carve him, or paint him, or put him in our pocket or on our shelf, or carry him on a cart. And so the psalmist says, “No! The Lord made the heavens.” In other words, he’s absolutely transcendent, and you can’t carve him or control him in any way.

Another reason why God is so averse to images, either of so-called gods or of his very self, is found in, I think, Psalm 115:4–8:

Their idols are silver and gold,

     the work of human hands.

They have mouths, but do not speak;

     eyes, but do not see,

They have ears, but do not hear;

     noses, but do not smell.

They have hands, but do not feel;

     feet, but do not walk;

     and they do not make a sound in their throat.

Those who make them become like them;

     so do all who trust in them. (Psalm 115:4–8)

“Not only do images misrepresent the nature of God, they destroy the nature of man.”

In other words, not only do images misrepresent the nature of God, but they destroy the nature of man. They turn human beings into mindless, powerless clumps of unspiritual flesh. We become like those statues. The nothingness of idols turns human beings into nothingness.

Exchanging God’s Glory for Images

So now we come to our friend’s question. Okay, if that’s what the Bible treated as idols, then “today’s idols,” he says, “are very different. They seem to be desires of the heart or for money, sex, power, things like that. How did this come to be? Idols used to be statues, not just heart obsessions.”

And I say, “Very good question.” How did that come to be? Here’s the first thing I would say — namely, that this change of focus in defining idolatry is owing to the fact that we live, in the West, in cultures where outright use of images for religious worship is less common than in some other cultures. So the question then arises, Well, do these biblical teachings about idolatry have any relevance for those of us who live in cultures where the use of statues before which people actually bow down and worship is less common? Is there any relevance to it at all?

The answer is yes. I don’t think the use of the term idolatry to refer to God-demeaning love of money, sex, power is a misuse of the term idolatry when one presses into the essence of what is really going on with an idol in the Bible. Here are a couple of New Testament pointers in that direction to show why I think it’s okay to use idolatry the way he says modern people tend to use it.

First, Romans 1:21–23 refers to people who don’t have direct knowledge of the gospel, but they do have general revelation in nature, so they can know God that way and be held responsible to glorify him and thank him. Here’s what it says:

For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling mortal man and birds and animals and creeping things.

Now, I think this text points to the essence of the problem beneath the outward display of idolatry; namely, we exchange the glory of God for images. The first kind of image that Paul mentions is images resembling man, and I don’t think it would be a stretch to say that the foremost image of man that threatens to replace God is the image we see in the mirror. We are lovers of self-exaltation, which threatens continually our love of God-exaltation. I think it’s right to call this exchange a form of idolatry.

Keep Yourselves from Idols

So, back to my broad definition. It went like this: anything that we come to rely on for some blessing, or help, or guidance, in the place of wholehearted reliance on the true and living God. If we come to crave, love, depend upon, and trust for a blessing people’s praise to enhance our self-exaltation, or money, or power, or sex, or family, or productivity, or anything else besides God himself for the greatest blessing, help, guidance, and satisfaction, then in essence we are doing what idolatry has always done.

“Anything in the world that successfully competes with our love for God is an idol.”

Let me give you one more passage from 1 John 5:21. It’s the very last verse of John’s letter, and it says this: “Little children, keep yourselves from idols.” Why does John in his letter end that way? He had never even referred to idols in the whole book. He never referred to idols in his whole Gospel. Out of the blue comes this closing sentence with the very word idol that ordinarily means a statue of something that we use to replace God with. “Don’t give in to idols; keep yourselves from idols.”

So why did he end that way? Here’s my closing suggestion. He had said in 1 John 2:15–16, “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world — the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life — is not from the Father but is from the world.”

Now, John the apostle may have had literal material images in mind when he said, “Keep yourselves from idols.” But I think he is also thinking of the more general deadly problem that anything in the world that successfully competes with our love for God is an idol. So keep yourselves from idols — that is, love God and all that he is for us in Christ more than you love anything.

Pastor Dale

Notes of Faith January 10, 2022

Waiting. No one likes it. We don’t want to wait in a long line at Costco or wait for God to send the spouse we’re praying for. It’s hard to wait to hear from the school we want to attend or the company we want to work for. It’s tough to wait for lab results — and for labor pains to start after a long thirty-eight weeks. We don’t like to wait: we want what we want, and we want it right now.

The fact is, either we are unaware or we are ignoring the fact that waiting is God’s training ground for strengthening our faith. As we wait, we learn to trust God more. We may not understand the circumstances of our life or why we have to wait, but we can remind ourselves that God, our heavenly Father, is in control and that His plans for us are plans for good (Jeremiah 29:11).

Also, during a season of waiting, we can practice listening for the Lord and resting in His presence. Precious blessings can come even as we wait.

The Revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave Him to show His servants — things which must shortly take place. And He sent and signified it by His angel to His servant John, who bore witness to the word of God, and to the testimony of Jesus Christ, to all things that he saw. Blessed is he who reads and those who hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are written in it; for the time is near.
— Revelation 1:1-3

Praying Scripture

God speaks to us through the Bible. That’s why slowing down both to meditate on what we read and to pray to God the words He Himself has given us will help us know Him better and more easily recognize His voice.

Also, did you notice that David reminded God of His promised “goodness to Your servant”? David understood that by praying according to God’s promises, he aligned himself with God’s will. We can do the same today:

we can pray God’s promises back to God.

Fervently and fruitfully, David also pursued the godly endeavor of meditating on God’s Word. He wrote many of the psalms we cherish today after quietly waiting on the Lord and listening for His voice until he heard it.

In our overscheduled lives, we find it difficult to slow down, read a Bible passage, and listen for what God may be saying to us. With so many responsibilities, commitments, and people clamoring for attention, who can make time for prayer and meditation? You and I can —  and I hope we will.

The Lord is great and greatly to be praised; He is to be feared above all gods. For all the gods of the peoples are idols, But the Lord made the heavens. Honor and majesty are before Him; Strength and beauty are in His sanctuary. — Psalm 96:4-6

Excerpted from God’s Blessings Just for You by Jack Countryman, copyright Jack Countryman.

In your waiting, God is in control. He is good and He has good plans for you! In the meantime, let’s listen to what He is saying, and learn God’s Word and pray it back to Him.

Pastor Dale

Notes of Faith January 9, 2022

See if you fit into any of these prayers, maybe more than one . . . and then pray!

Dear God, 

I know you do a lot. They say you hold the atmosphere together with your hands and command the sun to rise each morning. You know what I’d trade for all of that? Knowing without a doubt that you care. Drop the atmosphere and hold me. 

Me  

* 

 Dear God, 

Why did you make spiders? Were you mad? Did you think they were cute with all those legs? I respect you, but I don’t think spiders were your best work. Unless you wanted us to live in fear, in which case, I say, “Mission accomplished.”  

Love,  

Me 

Dear God, 

This broken, bloody world, my broken, bloody life. Is this your masterpiece? Are our tears and bones your mediums? How can I pretend you care about me in a world where innocents suffer? How can I pretend to matter? You don’t know how badly I crave your attention, or maybe you do. I hate it here. 

Love, 

Me 

Dear God, 

Why can’t butter be healthy? Are mushrooms really even food? Why didn’t you make seedless pomegranates? You know we’d love that. It’s like a puzzle. Isn’t life hard enough? Why is the mango seed so big? Like, really big? It easily takes up half the mango. Is there a lesson in that? 

Like, for every mango in life, is there a big seed? Sorry, I’m hungry. 

Love, 

Me 

Dear God, 

I decided not to believe in you. I was upset. Devastated, actually. Tired of feeling like I’m speaking into empty air. But that’s not true. I can feel you almost all the time. I was tired of being in pain. You could have rescued me if you wanted to, but you didn’t. That made me so sad. And angry. So I renounced you in my soul and turned my back. For three solid hours. 

Did you miss me? I’m still kind of mad. 

Me 

Dear God, 

Thank you for 

good hugs 

cups of tea 

bonfires 

the sound of rain 

the kind of laughter that only gets more intense when you 

try to stop

brick walls

good graffiti 

strangers with kind eyes 

strangers who don’t look at you when you’re crying in public quiet, deep people 

loud, animated people 

responsible people 

messy people (Hi) 

my bed 

untouched snow 

hoodies 

buttered popcorn 

crisp apples 

iced coffee 

fresh doughnuts 

socks of all kinds 

olive oil 

distressed wood

blankets 

Me 

Dear God, 

Assuming I get to heaven, I don’t want neighbors. 

Me 

Dear God, 

Forgiving someone who isn’t sorry feels like washing a car that isn’t mine. Why should I do it? Because you forgive me over and over? You’re literally God though. I’m a trash human. Please help me forgive. If only because the anger is slowly but surely choking me. 

Me 

Dear God, 

Why do you hide? Is it because you want me to seek? I’m tired. And lost. And tired. Come out. 

Love, 

Me 

Dear God, 

Caterpillars are gross. Butterflies are beautiful. I see what you did there. 

Love, 

Me 

Dear God, 

You saved me. You’ve saved me more than once, and I don’t know why. I go back and forth between gratitude and sadness. The pain could’ve been over, but it would have just begun — like the worst baton pass of all time — for the ones I love the most. So I’m here. Why me? There have been so many others you didn’t save, whose souls you didn’t give another chance, so why me? 

A blanket of thankfulness and nothingness is draped over me. Nothing feels right. You brought me back, but where are you? I’m alone. 

Me 

Dear God,

Thanks for coffee.

That is all.

Love,

Me

Dear God, 

I can feel your compassion surrounding me. In these moments when I feel your gentle eye on me, I know you’re my father, and I’m not afraid. Stay. 

Me 

Excerpted from Dear God by Bunmi Laditan, copyright Bunmi Laditan. 

These prayers are so honest and simple. Sometimes, we make prayer too complicated. We don’t say what we mean, we try to keep secrets from God as if that’s possible. He already knows, so just tell Him about it. Let’s commit today to start speaking to Him about everything we’re thinking about and ask Him for a new nearness, a new sweetness. We need Him!

Pastor Dale

Notes of Faith January 8, 2022

Throughout Scripture, God's people are instructed to mark the passage of time with regular memorials of His providence and provision. Seven times a year, the Jewish people observed ceremonial feasts ordained by God.

Christians also commemorate key events. We honor Jesus' first advent, His crucifixion and resurrection, and the "last supper," marking a new covenant in His body and blood. We gather each "Lord's Day," as the early disciples did — celebrating each week His validation of the good news of the Gospel.

Thankfully, God has given us seasons of life so we can appreciate the progression of our lives and the tender mercies He showers down upon us. "The LORD is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works" (Psalm 145:9).

The transition from one year to another presents yet another kindness of Almighty God. We are compelled to consider that we've lingered yet another year on the earth and realize that a brand new year — filled with unknown challenges and opportunities — lies ahead. And most of us are more than ready to turn the page.

Looking back on the past year or two, we might be tempted to give in to pessimism about the state of our nation. Indeed, the signs of decline and discouragement are all around us. Conversely, others are determined to see the world through rose-colored glasses, intent to remain oblivious to the moral and spiritual carnage growing year by year. But neither extreme is appropriate for a child of God.

Followers of Jesus Christ are neither pessimists nor optimists. We know that God will work all things together for our good and His glory, so we can't be pessimistic. Yet, we also understand that the world will grow darker and darker as the end draws near, so we can't be optimistic about the trajectory of the world around us.

Instead, we are people of hope. Our hope is not some ephemeral thing based on the whim of man or the compulsions of fate. As Edward Mote wrote in 1834, Our hope is built "on nothing less, than Jesus' blood and righteousness" — His, not ours. The world will indeed grow darker, but our eyes are fixed on our Blessed Hope — Jesus Christ.

In the fullness of time, He has promised to make all things new. Soon — very soon — He will burst from the heavens, and we will be caught up to join Him in new glorified bodies. When that happens, the old will be swept aside, and we will be new — forevermore.

I can hardly wait!

Pastor Dale

Notes of Faith January 7, 2022

Trophies are funny things. We’re supposed to feel a personal sense of achievement because of some fake gold plastic thingamajig purchased from an online catalog? Note that my distinct lack of trophies has probably given me this perspective.

So if you’ve got a million trophies, and you see this differently, grace and peace to you.

I was around nine years old when I joined the Capital Textiles T-ball team. I remember the first practice and parents’ meeting. I remember the way the coach looked exactly like a Little League coach you’d see on TV. I remember being the only girl, and I remember not necessarily loving the idea of playing T-ball. I can’t remember if I explicitly complained about having to go or just sucked it up, but I know my mom was just trying to love me well by enrolling me to play, so I think I probably surmised that and just went with the flow.

I was really, really bad at T-ball. And the boys on my team actually seemed to care about winning, which I couldn’t quite grasp, so I was pretty obnoxious to them. But there was a bright side. By about halfway through the season, they had a nickname for me, and I loved it: Lightning. Because I was so fast, of course. I tried to live into that nickname — I promise you, there were times when I must have been a blur running around those bases because I was going so fast. I even asked my teammates, “Could you guys even see me? I was going so fast!”

They put the name “Lightning” on my trophy, and I admit I took it a little too far. I got lightning bolt stickers for my notebook at school, got lightning bolt dangly earrings to wear, and I even entertained getting a little lightning bolt shaved into my early-90s undercut boy haircut, but somebody smart stopped me.

At some point, I was informed that they had nicknamed me Lightning because I was so slow.

I threw the trophy away.

I’m bitter about trophies, OK? They’re not my favorite thing.

Trophies aren’t necessarily the best thing for those of us who are Kingdom-minded and living with an eternal focus. It seems like trophies keep us believing that the best thing we can do is rack up approval on earth, even though it’s the approval of our Father that means the most.

It seems as though trophies are images that give us glory, rather than putting it where it belongs — at the feet of Jesus.

I’m not saying we should burn all our trophies, but maybe it’s worthwhile to consider why we seek them, why we keep them, and maybe even ask ourselves, Are we holding these symbols in too much esteem? Are we putting too much stock in them?

First, let’s not believe for even a second that our obsession with awards and accolades ended after Little League. We all long to receive our own version of recognition. Here are a few desires for recognition that seem to prevail among those of us who have passed elementary school:

We want to get on the dean’s list.
We want to get scholarships.
We want to get recognized at the meeting.
We long to be thanked publicly.
We wish we could win the Yard of the Month award. We’d love to see our picture in the newsletter.
It would be cool if the pastor would mention us from the pulpit.
We want to be thanked at the back of the book.
We want someone to call us their best friend. We wish they would tag us in that post.
I want the book to get the award.
We want to get verified on Instagram.
We measure our credit financially.

And we treat our bodies like the ultimate trophy.

Telling a friend she’s lost weight has somehow become the ultimate compliment. When we grow past the cultural absurdity of commenting on people’s literal weight, we find other ways to notice and notarize one another for how we look. This practice isn’t found only outside of Christian culture; instead, this is just one measurement of the world we’ve completely co-opted.

We’ve even added spiritual weight to support it, whether intentionally or unintentionally.

We celebrate when a friend “bounces back” quickly after a baby, we glorify the “glow up” (a season when a tween or teen goes from looking awkward to awesome by the world’s standards), we praise one another when we eat less and call it “self control.” In short, we tend to turn something God never ordained into something spiritual.

We treat our bodies like trophies, statues representing what we idolize: the approval and attention of others. This is problematic first and foremost because that glory belongs to God.

What if the final straw, the thing that will tip the scales toward revival, is the counter-cultural decision that any distinction or honor we’re given gets laid at the feet of Jesus? What if we decide that any trophy or award we receive will be relinquished so we become less concerned with how many accolades we can garner, and instead, use our energy to worship Jesus? What if revival comes in our communities because we break the matrix and scream at the enemy, “Making our bodies better was never necessary! They were made good!”

What if revival comes because we decide our bodies are not trophies to begin with?

Why the Trophies Have to Burn

The women in my family, gals of the New South that we are, have a few phrases that are so Southern and saccharine they’ll make your teeth hurt. But they’re hard to quit.

“More jewels in your crown!” we shout when we see each other doing something holy, something virtuous, something often unseen. When you’re kind to the fussy lady at church who always tries to be secretly spiteful to you, it’s “More jewels in your crown!” When you watch your sister’s kids even though you’re having a really full and hard work week, it’s “More jewels in your crown!” When you’re caught cleaning up the mess someone else made, it’s “More jewels in your crown!”

I say it to my sisters because I know they get the gospel, the truth that Jesus is enough when they aren’t. I say it to them because I know they don’t believe they can earn their way into Heaven, and because the idea of a heavenly crown is rooted in Scripture.

James 1 and Revelation 2 speak to the “crown of life” that will be given to those who suffer and persevere under trials. The “incorruptible crown” is also referenced in 1 Corinthians 9 and will be bestowed on those who demonstrate self-denial and perseverance. 2 Timothy 4 speaks of a “crown of righteousness” for those who anticipate the second coming of Jesus, and there’s a “crown of glory” for those who minister and preach the gospel in 1 Peter 5. My favorite, the “crown of rejoicing,” shows up in 1 Thessalonians 2, for those who engage in evangelism outside the Christian church. If you’ve ever known an evangelist, someone who is passionate about seeing other people walk with Jesus, I bet you can picture them rejoicing a ton in heaven.

Then, there’s the passage in Revelation that describes what will happen as the elders lay their crowns at the feet of Jesus:

Whenever the living creatures give glory, honor and thanks to Him who sits on the throne and who lives for ever and ever, the twenty-four elders fall down before Him who sits on the throne and worship Him who lives for ever and ever. They lay their crowns before the throne and say:

“You are worthy, our Lord and God;
to receive glory and honor and power,
for you created all things,
and by Your will they were created and have their being.” — Revelation 4:9-11

Scripture speaks of a heavenly reward for eternal work, but even then, it makes it clear that we’ll be compelled to send these trophies and rewards right back to the throne. Whatever jewels are in your crown, I know you’ll count them as nothing when you encounter the grace and glory of God.

Whatever trophies come our way, we’ll gladly reroute them to Him, because He deserves them.

But make no mistake! These trophies, these crowns, these jewels, these gifts of glittering glory are about eternal work and are of eternal worth. They are not our bodies. Our bodies are not trophies. Our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, the home of our heaven-bound souls. It is a trick, a tool, a tactic of the enemy of our souls to make us believe that our bodies’ worth is in any way determined by human opinion or perception.

Your body is not the crown you’re going to lay at the feet of Jesus.

Your beauty is not the jewel you’re going to give back to Him.

Your body is good because He made it, but it’s not the most important thing about you. Your body can’t be the best thing about you, namely because you are so much more than your body. And we will all see healing, restoration, and revival when we decide to stop agreeing with any idea that promotes such thinking.

Excerpted from Breaking Free from Body Shame by Jess Connolly, copyright Jessica Ashleigh Connolly. 

Your body is a good thing. It’s not a trophy, it’s a tool, something we utilize here on this earth, something filled with the glorious Holy Spirit, something good. 

My body has not been a trophy even in my own mind for too many years to count, but I am still trying to be healthy and that means a constant battle with weight, in my case eating more than I need.  Once again, I have begun the process of getting off of pills, sleeping better, feeling better, and praying that this is the Lord’s will for this time in my life.  Discipline is hard, but even these short earthly rewards are greatly beneficial.  I suggest you take care of your body the best you can…

remember that it is the temple of the Holy Spirit!

Pastor Dale

Notes of Faith January 6, 2022

Article by Scott Hubbard
Editor, desiringGod.org

As many begin a new year of Bible reading, we would do well to remember one of the chief dangers: searching the Scriptures, and missing the Savior. Recall Jesus’s words to the Jewish leaders of John 5, those most devoted of Bible readers:

You search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that bear witness about me, yet you refuse to come to me that you may have life. (John 5:39–40)

Amazingly, it is possible to know your Bible and not know your God. It is possible to study the word and neglect the Word. It is possible to search the Scriptures and miss the Savior.

How can we guard ourselves from such a deadly yet subtle danger? Ultimately, we need the Holy Spirit to breathe Christ into the dry bones of our devotions. We need him to come, morning by morning, and turn our living room or desk into a Mount of Transfiguration. And so, we pray.

But alongside prayer, we can also resolve to keep one goal of Bible reading high above the rest: Catch as much of Jesus as you can. Know and enjoy him. See and savor him. Study and love him.

And to that end, let me offer a modest proposal for your consideration: as you read the Bible this year, plant your soul especially in the Gospels.

Keep a Foot in the Four

I am not proposing that you read only the Gospels this year, but that you consider finding some special way to plant (and keep) your soul in them. You could, for example, use the one-year Discipleship Journal Bible Reading Plan, which includes a Gospel reading for every day. Or you could memorize an extended portion of the Gospels, like the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5–7) or the Upper Room Discourse (John 13–17). Or you could read and reread one of the Gospels, perhaps with journal and commentary in hand.

This proposal will not fit every reader. Some, perhaps, have spent most of their Christian life in the Gospels, and this may be the year to wander with Moses in the wilderness, or hear what Ezekiel has to say, or trace the logic of Romans.

But I suspect many, like myself, would benefit from the counsel of J.I. Packer and J.C. Ryle. First, hear Packer:

We could . . . correct woolliness of view as to what Christian commitment involves, by stressing the need for constant meditation on the four Gospels, over and above the rest of our Bible reading; for Gospel study enables us both to keep our Lord in clear view and to hold before our minds the relational frame of discipleship to him.

“We should never let ourselves forget,” Packer continues, “that the four Gospels are, as has often and rightly been said, the most wonderful books on earth” (Keep in Step with the Spirit, 61).

Now listen to Ryle:

It would be well if professing Christians in modern days studied the four Gospels more than they do. No doubt all Scripture is profitable. It is not wise to exalt one part of the Bible at the expense of another. But I think it should be good for some who are very familiar with the Epistles, if they knew a little more about Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. (Holiness, 247)

Neither Packer nor Ryle sought to create red-letter Christians, who treat the words of Jesus as more inspired than the rest of Scripture. All the Bible is God-breathed, and the Son of God speaks as fully in the black syllables as he does in the red.

Why then would whole-Bible lovers like these two men counsel Christians to give themselves to the Gospels? Consider four reasons.

The Gospels give glory a texture.

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John could have given us a summary of Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection in their own words. Instead, the Gospels take us among the twelve, where we see and hear Jesus for ourselves. Why?

John tells us: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). For John and the other disciples, the glory of Christ was not a vague or summarized or paraphrased glory; it was a particular glory, a textured glory, a glory they had “seen and heard” (1 John 1:3) in the specific words, deeds, joys, heartaches, and sufferings of the Word made flesh. And by Gospel’s end, they want us to join them in saying, “We have seen his glory” (John 20:30–31).

“Sinners and strugglers like us need more than general notions of Jesus in our most desperate moments.”

Sinners and strugglers like us need more than general notions of Jesus in our most desperate moments; we need his particular glories. The fearful soul needs more than to remember that Jesus gives peace — it needs to hear him say in the upper room, “Let not your hearts be troubled” (John 14:1). The oppressed mind needs more than a vague idea of Jesus’s power over darkness — it needs to watch him send demons fleeing (Mark 1:25–26). The guilty heart needs more than to say, “Jesus forgives” — it needs to feel Calvary shake under the force of “It is finished” (John 19:30).

Sin is not vague. Sorrow is not vague. Satan is not vague. Therefore, we cannot allow Christ to be.

The Gospels shatter false Christs.

Ever since the real Jesus ascended, we have been in danger of embracing “another Jesus” (2 Corinthians 11:4) — or at least a distorted Jesus. Some do so deliberately, in search of a more convenient Messiah. Many, however, just struggle to faithfully uphold what Jonathan Edwards calls the “diverse excellencies” of Jesus Christ, the lamblike Lion and lionlike Lamb (Seeing and Savoring Jesus Christ, 29). We understand lions, and we understand lambs, but what do we make of a Lion-Lamb?

Imagine yourself in Peter’s shoes. Just when you think you’ve discovered Jesus’s tenderness, he goes and calls someone a dog (Matthew 15:25–26). Just when you imagine you’ve grasped his toughness, he takes the children in his arms (Mark 10:16). Just when you pride yourself for seeing him clearly, he turns and says, “Get behind me, Satan!” (Mark 8:33). And just when you’re sure you’ve failed beyond forgiveness, he meets you with threefold mercy (John 21:15–19).

“We need our vision of Jesus regularly shattered — or at least refined — by the real, unexpected Jesus of the Gospels.”

“My idea of God is not a divine idea,” C.S. Lewis writes. “It has to be shattered time after time” (A Grief Observed, 66). So too with every one of us. We tend to remake the full, surprising, perfect humanity of Jesus in the image of our partial, predictable, distorted humanity. So, like Peter, we need our vision of Jesus regularly shattered — or at least refined — by the real, unexpected Jesus of the Gospels.

The Gospels make Bible reading Personal.

When we talk of “personal Bible study,” we may say more than we mean. The best Bible study is indeed Personal — centered on the Person of Jesus Christ. His presence rustles through every page of Scripture, Old Testament or New. All the prophets foretell him; all the apostles preach him. And the Gospel writers in particular display him.

Yet how easily Bible reading becomes an abstract, impersonal affair — even, at times, when we are reading about Christ. To know Christ doctrinally and theologically is not necessarily to know him personally. To follow old-covenant shadows to their substance is not necessarily to follow him. To grasp the logic of redemption is not necessarily to grasp his love. To be sure, we cannot commune with Christ without knowing something about him. But we can certainly know much about Christ without communing with him.

“It is well to be acquainted with the doctrines and principles of Christianity. It is better to be acquainted with Christ himself,” Ryle writes (Holiness, 247). And nowhere does the Bible acquaint us with Christ the Person better than in the Gospels. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John especially are written for those who, like the visitors in John 12, come to Scripture saying, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus” (John 12:21).

The Gospels are bigger than they look.

The four Gospels are relatively small compared to most of the books on our shelves. If we wanted, we could read through each in a single sitting. But like the Narnian stable in The Last Battle, the inside of the Gospels is bigger than the outside. Between their covers lies an infinite glory — a Jesus whose riches are not metaphorically but literally “unsearchable” (Ephesians 3:8).

We will never catch all there is to know and love about Jesus, but we can catch something more next year. So come again and walk with him on the waters. Come and watch a few loaves feed five thousand. Come and sing with Zechariah, rise with Lazarus, and walk with the women to the empty tomb. Come and remember why the Gospels are indeed “the most wonderful books on earth” — because they give us God with us!

Pastor Dale

Notes of Faith January 5, 2022

A huge piece of bakery deliciousness sat in front of me. It was a combination of three desserts in one. One layer was cheesecake, one layer was ice cream cake, and in between those was a layer of brownie-like chocolate cake… all drizzled with some kind of fudge icing that was calling my name.

This was served to me while on a family vacation. At the time, I was at the beginning of my no-sugar adventure. I’d been doing great at home, but I’d been dropped into a place that was teeming with bakery things my mind could not even conceive of, while everyone around me could eat a pound of sugar a day and still look fit and trim.

I didn’t want my family to miss out, so I told them to please enjoy. “I’m fine,” I said with a carefree smile. But inside a totally different dialogue was playing in my mind:

It’s not fair!

I think this is one of the biggest tricks Satan plays on us girls to get us to give in to temptation.

Saying “it’s not fair” has caused many a girl to toss aside what she knows is right for the temporary thrill of whatever it is that does seem fair. But the next day the sun will rise. As each band of light becomes brighter and brighter, the realization of the choice she made the night before becomes clearer and clearer.

Guilt floods her body.
Questions fill her mind.
Self-doubt wrecks her confidence.

And then comes the anger. Anger at herself. Anger at the object of her desire. Anger even at a mighty God who surely could have prevented this.

It’s not fair that others can have this, do this, act this way.

It’s not fair that God won’t let us eat of the fruit of the tree in the middle of the garden… one little bite wouldn’t be so bad, right?

It’s not fair I can’t buy that new thing I want. Just a little debt wouldn’t be so bad, right?

It’s not fair I have this body that requires I watch everything I eat when that girl eats junk and stays a size 4. One piece of cheesecake wouldn’t be so bad, right?

It’s not fair that we can’t have sex before we’re married when we’re so in love. Experimenting one time wouldn’t be so bad, right?

Our flesh buys right into Satan’s lie that it’s not fair for things to be withheld from us. So we bite into the forbidden fruit and allow Satan to write shame across our heart.

And whether we are talking about having premarital sex or cheating on our diet, once we taste the forbidden fruit, we will crave it more than we craved it before — thereby giving temptation more and more power. And given enough power, temptation will consume our thoughts, redirect our actions, and demand our worship.

Temptation doesn’t take kindly to being starved.

I don’t know what tempts you today. But I do know this vicious cycle, and I’m here to give you hope that it’s possible to conquer it.

Just typing that sentence gives me chills. A few years ago, I wondered if it might ever be possible for me.

As I’ve mentioned, the eating plan I chose was a no-sugar, healthy-carbs-and-protein plan. Which doesn’t sound so bad until you realize sugar is in just about everything we enjoy eating. Breads, pasta, potatoes, rice, not to mention all things bakery-licious.

So, sitting at that special dinner during my special vacation, I started to have a little pity party, and those words It’s not fair crept into my brain.

In that instant I squirmed in my chair and thought, I’ll take just one little bite… maybe two… I’ve been so good… I even exercised this morning… this is vacation… everyone else is indulging… oh my stars, what are you doing, Lysa?!

The sugar was like a siren of mythical tales, luring the ships over to rocky coves that would inevitably dash and destroy them.

The seduction was smooth and seemingly innocent. But in that moment of temptation, I realized having a pity party was a clue I was relying on my own strength.

I had to grab hold of God’s strength, and the only way to do that was to invite His power into this situation. In this case, I gave God control of the situation by mentally reciting, I am made for more. I am made for more.

I recalled pieces of scriptures I’ve tied to this go-to script and banked up in my heart.

I’m more than a conqueror.

With God all things are possible.

Let the peace of God reign in your heart.

Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from the evil one…

The problem is, Satan hit me with a twist that left me momentarily shaky: But this is a special time, Lysa. And special times deserve an exception to your normal parameters. It’s not fair that you have to sacrifice. Look around you. No one else is sacrificing right now.

It’s at this exact point when the dieter on vacation indulges. The virgin sleeps with her prom date. The girl on a debt reduction plan pulls her credit card back out for a big sale. The alcoholic skips AA and heads off to the bar for her friend’s fortieth birthday.

I needed a go-to script for this situation. So I lowered my head and prayed, “God, I am at the end of my strength here. The Bible says Your power is made perfect in weakness. This would be a really good time for that truth to be my reality. Help me see something else besides this temptation looming so large in front of me.”

Suddenly a memory flashed across the screen of my mind. I was sitting on my back deck with my teenage son and his girlfriend at the time, having a deeply honest and gut-wrenching conversation. They had gotten into a bad situation and allowed things to go too far physically. While not every boundary line was crossed, they had crossed enough to scare them both. My advice to them was to think beyond the moment. Say out loud, “This feels good now, but how will I feel about this in the morning?”

That was it.

I was challenged by the words and expectations I had placed on my son while not realizing how this same advice could be so powerful if applied to my area of struggle. I had my next go-to script, and as I recited it,

God’s power filled in the gap of my weakness.

Soon it was time to get up from the dinner table. I pushed back my chair, left the dessert untouched, and walked back to the room. And I’ve never felt so empowered in my life. Later, I looked up that verse about God’s strength being a perfect match for my weakness:

But [Jesus] said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. — 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

Weakness doesn’t have to mean defeat. It is my opportunity to experience God’s power firsthand. Had I said yes to that one bite that first night of our vacation, there would have been more compromises.

Compromise built upon compromise equals failure.

Instead, resisting temptation allowed promise upon promise to be built up in my heart, and that creates empowerment. This is God’s power working through my weakness. I knew one day I would be empowered enough to take a couple of bites and walk away, but that day had not yet come.

I don’t know what you might be struggling with today, but I can assure you that God is fair and just. There is a good reason we must face our temptations. The struggle to say no may be painful in the moment, but it is working out something magnificent within us.

For so long I’ve considered my struggles with weight a curse. I know I’m not alone in this. But, what if this battle with food is actually the very thing that, if brought under control, can lead us to a better understanding of God? What if we could actually get to the place where we thanked God for letting us face this battle because of the rich treasures we discovered on the battlefield?

My friend E. Titus summed up what I am discovering:

When I get all caught up in how unfair it is that my friend is skinny and doesn’t have to work at it, how she can eat what she wants when she wants, and how much it stinks that I can’t be like her, I remind myself that God didn’t make me to be her. You see, He knew even before I was born that I could easily allow food to be an idol in my life, that I would go to food, instead of to Him, to fulfill my needs. And in His great wisdom, He created my body so that it would experience the consequences of such a choice, so that I would continually be drawn back into His arms.

He wants me to come to Him for fulfillment, emotional healing, comfort — and if I could go to food for that and never gain an ounce, well then, what would I need God for?

There is such wisdom in my friend’s perspective. Instead of parking her brain in a place where she constantly feels a struggle with food and weight issues, she’s chosen a much healthier perspective.

The reality is, we all have things in our lives we have to learn to surrender, give up, sacrifice, turn away from. Think of that skinny girl in your life who you’ve watched eating whatever she wants. She may not struggle with her weight, but trust me, she has struggles. An anonymous comment on my blog gave vulnerable witness to this reality:

I am one of the skinny girls, but don’t mistake skinny for healthy. I battle depression and starvation, fight self-esteem issues from years of verbal abuse, the list seems endless. Little is just an image. But being little doesn’t make a person any more happy or faithful or joyful. The struggles are the same (or at least similar), just in a different-size package.

Life as a Christ follower will always be a learning process of depending less on our own strength and more on God’s power.

The Bible teaches that this

testing of [our] faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that [we] may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. — James 1:3-4

This truth should be the cry of our souls instead of Satan’s lie that “it’s not fair.” Our taste buds make such empty claims to satisfy us, but only persevering with God will make us truly full, complete, not lacking anything.

Excerpted from I’ll Start Again Monday by Lysa TerKeurst, copyright Lysa TerKeurst.

Temptation of any kind doesn’t like to be starved. It will fight us and the enemy will whisper in our ears how unfair it is to deny ourselves anything we desire. What are you repeating to yourself to fight the urge to indulge in something you know isn’t God’s best for you?

Pastor Dale