I've been pussy-footing around this post for awhile now, too afraid to write it but too afraid not to write it. Sex is a sensitive subject, and there's a lot of shame wrapped up in it. So as I am writing this post, I want to claim for you and me that while we were still enemies of God, He fought to save us (Romans 5:10). And that "where sin increased, grace abounded all the more." (Rom. 5:20) So here we go...
In talking with single friends, sex (or lack there of) is often the first, and most pressing, issue that comes up.
"I mean, I have needs, ok?!"
Yeah, me too. Our bodies want sex. It's just the way it is, I guess. What's more: sexual pleasure is lauded in our culture as the ultimate pleasure. Without it, I've often believed the lie that I'm not totally living.
In our hook-up culture, the idea of purity or virginity becomes a little bit muddied, too. Lines get crossed, exceptions are made, and boundaries become less about honoring God with our bodies and more about how far we can push them without feeling guilty later.
In some ways, it's been a mercy that the opportunity to have sex hasn't presented itself to me in awhile. If I'm honest, I don't know if I could resist a sexual relationship with someone I loved right now. Particularly because I've been doubting God's goodness in my singleness, it would be so easy to just give in and go my own way. I wish I could say that delighting God gives me the greatest delight, but unfortunately, where this is concerned, it's just not true. But I can certainly pray to that end.
I recently saw a book in the Christian section of McKay's entitled Sexless in the City: A Memoir of Reluctant Chastity. What a breath of fresh air to see someone being real about how choosing not to have sex can kind of just suck sometimes.
But I have to admit, I'm not really making "waiting" an easier on myself. Without going into the nitty gritty details, I'm not exactly shielding my eyes or mind from things that I know cause me to... ahem... burn? Rick Warren says that a little sin is like being a little pregnant: it shows itself eventually. And that's proven true for me in my thought-life, unfortunately. It seems that the Bible is right again: Actions lead where our thoughts have first paved the way.
And while Scripture doesn't draw a hardline about what kind of foreplay is okay, Jesus is pretty clear that our minds and hearts are to be kept pure. His words in Matthew 5 are crystal clear and always convicting...
If this is a struggle for you the way it is for me, I encourage you to check out this article that a friend sent me a few years back. Churchill is honest and direct in ways that I'm a little too sheepish to be, examining deeper motivation behind sexual fantasy, and looking at practical steps to help.
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
Friday, March 4, 2016
Lent: Joey Feek
Time has been tight these days -- trying to finish up graduate school strong, preparing my recital (March 21st at 6:00 PM!), and working on putting up an opera in mid-April. Stillness and rest are hard to come by, and so words haven't been coming freely.
But I just found out about the death of singer Joey Feek. My brain won't quiet down about her story or her remarkable bravery to live even as she was dying. So I thought it might be time to write again.
No matter how you slice it, life is disappointing.
I feel a little guilty writing that. I'll quote Larry Crabb all day, but owning that truth myself feels a bit wrong, like I should qualify it with, "But there's so much to be thankful for!" or "But it could always be worse!" Yes, those qualifications are true and there's certainly a time and place for them. Wisdom seems to involve a playful balance of perspective, humor, and gratitude. Always gratitude.
But I think we all know, way deep in our gut, that we aren't made for death. And not just death in the physical sense, but also the death of relationships or dreams. And yet, here we are -- caught in the tension of God's "already-not-yet Kingdom," expected to live abundantly in the face of death and disappointment.
Scripture and nature suggest God loves to work in patterns of resurrection. Over and over again, life emerges from death. God's pursuit of us is Redemptive: We were once dead, and now we are alive.
Whether we see it or not, we are alive now. He has redeemed us and continues to redeem us now. Maybe all we are aware of in this life are glimpses of His redemptive work: His fingerprints here, a melody there. Perhaps He asks that these glimpses be enough for us, and that we trust Him even when life doesn't quite make sense.
"So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light and momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal." 1 Corinthians 4:16-18
But I just found out about the death of singer Joey Feek. My brain won't quiet down about her story or her remarkable bravery to live even as she was dying. So I thought it might be time to write again.
No matter how you slice it, life is disappointing.
I feel a little guilty writing that. I'll quote Larry Crabb all day, but owning that truth myself feels a bit wrong, like I should qualify it with, "But there's so much to be thankful for!" or "But it could always be worse!" Yes, those qualifications are true and there's certainly a time and place for them. Wisdom seems to involve a playful balance of perspective, humor, and gratitude. Always gratitude.
But I think we all know, way deep in our gut, that we aren't made for death. And not just death in the physical sense, but also the death of relationships or dreams. And yet, here we are -- caught in the tension of God's "already-not-yet Kingdom," expected to live abundantly in the face of death and disappointment.
Scripture and nature suggest God loves to work in patterns of resurrection. Over and over again, life emerges from death. God's pursuit of us is Redemptive: We were once dead, and now we are alive.
Whether we see it or not, we are alive now. He has redeemed us and continues to redeem us now. Maybe all we are aware of in this life are glimpses of His redemptive work: His fingerprints here, a melody there. Perhaps He asks that these glimpses be enough for us, and that we trust Him even when life doesn't quite make sense.
"So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light and momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal." 1 Corinthians 4:16-18
Monday, February 29, 2016
Lent: Repentance, Jesus, and the Ring
As I've mentioned in previous posts, I'm reading Larry Crabb's Inside Out. I wanted to share with you some really rich passages about what it means to repent, and how repentance changes the way we relate to God and others. Crabb looks at Hosea 14:1-3 for instruction:
"The key to all change is returning to God. Christ defined eternal life as knowing God (John 17:3), and by His atoning death made it possible for sinful people to be restored to relationship with God. Growth in the Christian life means coming to know God better. Every effort to change must involve at its core a shift in direction away from dependence on one's own resource for life to dependence on God..." p. 211
"So many of our efforts to change have a hidden but definite agenda. The motivation to work on our life is usually sustained by the hope that difficult circumstances will improve and painful feelings will go away... True repentance, on the other hand, is energized by the hope of knowing and worshipping God more richly." p. 212
Repentance is hard. Even when I understand it correctly, I don't particularly like it. It feels like work, or performance, or striving. But it seems to me that, if we are to take Crabb's reading of Scripture seriously, repentance isn't really about trying harder. It's about leaning into God more closely, asking Him to be more to us and in us. If our lives are to be lived in dependence on God, can we rely on Him for a repentant spirit, too?
Mark Upton from Hope Community Church says, "Repentance is not running away from sin, but running into Jesus." I love that image. He also talks about repentance looking like this scene from Lord of the Rings.
"The key to all change is returning to God. Christ defined eternal life as knowing God (John 17:3), and by His atoning death made it possible for sinful people to be restored to relationship with God. Growth in the Christian life means coming to know God better. Every effort to change must involve at its core a shift in direction away from dependence on one's own resource for life to dependence on God..." p. 211
"So many of our efforts to change have a hidden but definite agenda. The motivation to work on our life is usually sustained by the hope that difficult circumstances will improve and painful feelings will go away... True repentance, on the other hand, is energized by the hope of knowing and worshipping God more richly." p. 212
Repentance is hard. Even when I understand it correctly, I don't particularly like it. It feels like work, or performance, or striving. But it seems to me that, if we are to take Crabb's reading of Scripture seriously, repentance isn't really about trying harder. It's about leaning into God more closely, asking Him to be more to us and in us. If our lives are to be lived in dependence on God, can we rely on Him for a repentant spirit, too?
Mark Upton from Hope Community Church says, "Repentance is not running away from sin, but running into Jesus." I love that image. He also talks about repentance looking like this scene from Lord of the Rings.
Sunday, February 28, 2016
Lent: Harry and Sally and the Gang
Tonight, my pastor spoke to us about the value of spiritual friendships. The sermon was so good to hear -- his words both healed and challenged me regarding my understanding of friendships. I feel uncomfortable going into detail about what he said, because sometimes things can get warped and distorted. If you want to hear more, you can listen to the sermon here when it gets posted (probably tomorrow).
But I do want to share something that he brought up that has been on my mind recently. He challenged us as a church community to learn how to have non-sexualized friendships between men and women. If in Christ we have a new family of brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers, how can we relate to people of the opposite sex intimately while still maintaining healthy boundaries?
I've always been one of those people who thought like Harry in When Harry Met Sally: men and women can't ever be truly friends. It's too messy. One person will always look to the other to satisfy an emotional need that goes beyond friendship. One will always want more than the other, even if it isn't communicated explicitly. Then, as soon as one person begins a romantic relationship, the friendship disintegrates.
But I've been giving this some more thought lately, especially since dating has been off the table during Lent. Are my convictions about platonic male/female relationships really convictions? Or are they fears? Am I reticent to get too close to men because I'm trying to love God and love others? Or because I'm trying to protect myself (or others) from potential rejection or romantic implications?
If it's true that, "There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus," (Galatians 3:28) then how is God asking me to lay down my selfish agenda or fears in favor of unity in the Body of Christ? How can I approach Christian men as brothers rather than potential husbands?
I've been labelling the guys I know and meet as either Dateable or Not Dateable. In a sense, I've been objectifying men for what they can offer me romantically the same way that some men objectify women for what they can offer them sexually.
Pretty messed up, huh?
More later. Happy Sunday, friends.
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Lent: Soon
I've been thinking and praying about what to write about today. I'm learning a lot during this Lenten season, but I'm having a hard time putting purposeful words down.
So I'd like to share with you a beautiful moment from this morning. I heard from a pastor that I haven't spoken to in years. I owe so much to this former mentor -- his wisdom, intuition, and honesty. He shaped and encouraged me in more ways than I can count, and in more ways than he knows. His email was brief and kind -- but signed with, "Heaven soon."
Heaven soon.
Even seeing it now -- hours later, out of context, and typed out by my own hands -- I feel a wave of emotion and gratitude. Soon, the wholeness and the intimacy we were designed for. Soon, new eyes to see and new ears to hear. Soon, hearts made new and right. Soon, every fleeting whisper of eternity we have been chasing in this world will burst forth into glorious song. Soon, heaven.
These words were like a sweet balm for me this morning -- filling me with hope and courage to move forward into the world with love.
"If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were precisely those who thought most of the next. It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this." - C.S. Lewis
So I'd like to share with you a beautiful moment from this morning. I heard from a pastor that I haven't spoken to in years. I owe so much to this former mentor -- his wisdom, intuition, and honesty. He shaped and encouraged me in more ways than I can count, and in more ways than he knows. His email was brief and kind -- but signed with, "Heaven soon."
Heaven soon.
Even seeing it now -- hours later, out of context, and typed out by my own hands -- I feel a wave of emotion and gratitude. Soon, the wholeness and the intimacy we were designed for. Soon, new eyes to see and new ears to hear. Soon, hearts made new and right. Soon, every fleeting whisper of eternity we have been chasing in this world will burst forth into glorious song. Soon, heaven.
These words were like a sweet balm for me this morning -- filling me with hope and courage to move forward into the world with love.
"If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were precisely those who thought most of the next. It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this." - C.S. Lewis
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Lent: Daydreaming (cont.)
I heard from Frank again today. If you don't know who Frank is, check out this post about him.
In an email, he reminded me of something so perfect -- that our lives are meant for God's renown and not our own. Worshipping God with our lives creates tension and frustration, because as self-centered humans, we "love the shit out of [ourselves]."
His off-color delivery of profound wisdom cracks me up. But, as always, he's so incisive and direct. If we're brutally honest with ourselves, most of the choices we make (no matter how seemingly pure and selfless) are tangled up and tainted by us loving the shit out of ourselves.
So I got to thinking about yesterday's post and my tendency to pine. My heart seems bent toward it -- a pattern I've maintained for years of romanticizing and dwelling on a relationship with someone who isn't part of my life anymore. And so the question occurred to me: what's in it for me?
What does my self-serving, self-preserving flesh glean from pining over these "former lovers"?
I think, strangely enough, living in those memories makes me feel loved and noticed. I remember the way he looked at me, the way it felt to be pursued and cared for. The way it felt to belong to someone.
This is problematic in a couple of ways. First, why has my life become about me feeling loved? If being Christ-like means being others-centered, shouldn't my life (and thought-life) be focused on loving others well rather than garnering love and attention for myself?
But, beneath that, there seems to be a bigger problem: I'm looking to these memories to fill a void.
Deep within us, there's this desperate, nagging need to be fully known and fully loved. Historically, we have gone to great lengths to satisfy this need on our own, believing we can assuage these longings with food, or money, or sex, or youth, or love.
But God has met those needs already. He already knows and loves us completely -- deeper than anyone else ever has or ever could.
So, in my daydreams, I'm looking over Jesus' shoulder. Rather than depending on Jesus' wild and relentless love to satisfy my desperate thirst, I'm trusting other lovers that will never, ever satisfy.
This reminds me of lyrics from Derek Webb's "Wedding Dress":
Cause I am so easily satisfied
By the call of lovers so less wild
That I would take a little cash
Over your very flesh and blood.
In an email, he reminded me of something so perfect -- that our lives are meant for God's renown and not our own. Worshipping God with our lives creates tension and frustration, because as self-centered humans, we "love the shit out of [ourselves]."
His off-color delivery of profound wisdom cracks me up. But, as always, he's so incisive and direct. If we're brutally honest with ourselves, most of the choices we make (no matter how seemingly pure and selfless) are tangled up and tainted by us loving the shit out of ourselves.
So I got to thinking about yesterday's post and my tendency to pine. My heart seems bent toward it -- a pattern I've maintained for years of romanticizing and dwelling on a relationship with someone who isn't part of my life anymore. And so the question occurred to me: what's in it for me?
What does my self-serving, self-preserving flesh glean from pining over these "former lovers"?
I think, strangely enough, living in those memories makes me feel loved and noticed. I remember the way he looked at me, the way it felt to be pursued and cared for. The way it felt to belong to someone.
This is problematic in a couple of ways. First, why has my life become about me feeling loved? If being Christ-like means being others-centered, shouldn't my life (and thought-life) be focused on loving others well rather than garnering love and attention for myself?
But, beneath that, there seems to be a bigger problem: I'm looking to these memories to fill a void.
Deep within us, there's this desperate, nagging need to be fully known and fully loved. Historically, we have gone to great lengths to satisfy this need on our own, believing we can assuage these longings with food, or money, or sex, or youth, or love.
But God has met those needs already. He already knows and loves us completely -- deeper than anyone else ever has or ever could.
So, in my daydreams, I'm looking over Jesus' shoulder. Rather than depending on Jesus' wild and relentless love to satisfy my desperate thirst, I'm trusting other lovers that will never, ever satisfy.
This reminds me of lyrics from Derek Webb's "Wedding Dress":
Cause I am so easily satisfied
By the call of lovers so less wild
That I would take a little cash
Over your very flesh and blood.
Monday, February 22, 2016
Lent: Daydreaming
When I was a little girl, I always looked forward to long car trips with my dad. We would choose a CD from his eclectic collection, pop it in, and listen in silence. My dad and I both have this affinity for daydreaming. In a family of chatty-kathies, we are the quirky ones -- content to be alone with our thoughts for hours on end. During these long car rides, he would let me drift off into my daydreams, and I would let him do the same.
Giving up dating has been pretty easy thus far - and a bit of a relief. It's one less thing for me to worry about, and I have more time and energy to enjoy other relationships. But have I really given up dating? If integrity is who we are when no one is looking, then what does it mean to have integrity in my thought-life?
As I said in the beginning, I don't want this blog to be about unloading my dirty secrets; but confession and transparency bring people together. One person owns up to something, and suddenly another says, "Wait, really? You too? I thought I was the only one." So I want to confess to you that, if you were privy to the romance going on inside my head, you would have no idea that I had given up dating for Lent. I might not be dating out in the world, but in my heart and my mind, I'm still very much tied up and taken.
Tim Keller says, "The things you daydream about in your spare time are ultimately the things you serve."
Ouch.
So, as my friend Jessie says, I think God has His finger on something with me. Maybe more than just a finger, though. He's pulling on me with both hands, trying to loosen my grip on a relationship I've been clinging to. But mostly, I think He's trying to free me -- and I'm stubbornly fighting Him tooth and nail.
Like the Ghost on the train in C.S. Lewis' Great Divorce, I'm trying to keep my "Red Lizard of Lust." I've been treasuring up memories and would-be's, tucking them away, separate from God. I'm too afraid to offer them up because of how much I have to lose. After all, friends, following Jesus is costly; and this relationship is one that I've prized for awhile. Mark Upton at Hope Community Church says, "The feel of faith is death, but the fruit of faith is joy." I think I'm in the death phase right now and it totally blows.
But, as I'm writing this, I hear God inviting me into a new place with Him. If God is big enough to handle us at our worst, to see our brokenness but still chase after us, then He must see this part of me and say, "Open up the windows! Let me breathe fresh air into the dark places of your heart. Invite me into this space: show me the memories and daydreams. Lay them at my feet, and let me grieve them with you."
I'm reminded of a verse from the hymn, "Come, Ye Sinners, Poor and Needy:"
Come, ye weary, heavy-laden,
Lost and ruined by the Fall;
If you tarry till you're better,
You will never come at all.
Giving up dating has been pretty easy thus far - and a bit of a relief. It's one less thing for me to worry about, and I have more time and energy to enjoy other relationships. But have I really given up dating? If integrity is who we are when no one is looking, then what does it mean to have integrity in my thought-life?
As I said in the beginning, I don't want this blog to be about unloading my dirty secrets; but confession and transparency bring people together. One person owns up to something, and suddenly another says, "Wait, really? You too? I thought I was the only one." So I want to confess to you that, if you were privy to the romance going on inside my head, you would have no idea that I had given up dating for Lent. I might not be dating out in the world, but in my heart and my mind, I'm still very much tied up and taken.
Tim Keller says, "The things you daydream about in your spare time are ultimately the things you serve."
Ouch.
So, as my friend Jessie says, I think God has His finger on something with me. Maybe more than just a finger, though. He's pulling on me with both hands, trying to loosen my grip on a relationship I've been clinging to. But mostly, I think He's trying to free me -- and I'm stubbornly fighting Him tooth and nail.
Like the Ghost on the train in C.S. Lewis' Great Divorce, I'm trying to keep my "Red Lizard of Lust." I've been treasuring up memories and would-be's, tucking them away, separate from God. I'm too afraid to offer them up because of how much I have to lose. After all, friends, following Jesus is costly; and this relationship is one that I've prized for awhile. Mark Upton at Hope Community Church says, "The feel of faith is death, but the fruit of faith is joy." I think I'm in the death phase right now and it totally blows.
But, as I'm writing this, I hear God inviting me into a new place with Him. If God is big enough to handle us at our worst, to see our brokenness but still chase after us, then He must see this part of me and say, "Open up the windows! Let me breathe fresh air into the dark places of your heart. Invite me into this space: show me the memories and daydreams. Lay them at my feet, and let me grieve them with you."
I'm reminded of a verse from the hymn, "Come, Ye Sinners, Poor and Needy:"
Come, ye weary, heavy-laden,
Lost and ruined by the Fall;
If you tarry till you're better,
You will never come at all.
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