Defending God

I think I get why Pat Robertson felt the need to expound on the suffering in Haiti. But I can only speak for myself, so I’ll give it a shot.

God is scary. He’s awesome and huger than life, sure. But he’s also unpredictable. That’s scary.

When something really horrible happens in the world, I want to explain it. There must be an explanation, and it has to be something I can grasp. I need to find some solution that takes an unpredictable event and forces it to make sense.

On top of that, I love Jesus and have put my faith in him. That act alone is fodder for ridicule from those who don’t believe or understand. Many already think I’m ignorant, gullible or crazy, simply because I love him. So when something horrible and unexplainable happens, and the world asks, “How could God ________ [fill in the blank]?” What do I say? What if “they” find out I can’t explain God? They’ll question both my intelligence and my sanity!

Crap! I better whip up an explanation–one that both comforts me about my decision to follow Christ, and defends Christ at the same time.

It’s just like Job’s friends when he lost everything in one day. “Dude,” they said. “You must’ve done something!” For them, the accusation was like a rabbit’s foot or a security blanket: something to rub on their cheeks when they were afraid. A powerless talisman against calamity. Job must have done something. Because if he didn’t, and God allows horrible things to happen to nice people, then something could happen to me too.

Yeah, I’ve done that a zillion times. But I think I’m better at recognizing it for what it is: Pride (aka fear).

God is unpredictable! And he doesn’t need me to defend him. Which is a relief, because I can’t.

He Picked Me | January 12, 2010

Today is my husband’s birthday.

This morning as we held each other, I thought of him when I first met him: A gangly 16-year-old with a gumby haircut! We were in 12th grade chemistry together. He had a crush on my friend; I had a baby-daddy, so I didn’t think twice about him. When and how did that change? I never dreamed he would be my husband the first time I saw him. (That skinny kid was destined to be my husband … so strange!) Yet he began calling me his wife two months after we met, at least four years before we started dating.

I don’t know why he chose to love me. I mean, isn’t that weird? To choose someone and love them? Why me? What a devoted man–mine for more than half his life, mine before I was even his.

This morning when I thought of him, I thought of our life together. So many valleys, so many fights and struggles and tears. How far we’ve come! How far God has brought us! So much has changed, and so much is the same. That gangly 16-year-old is 37 today, not so gangly anymore. He’s still funny and goofy. No man has ever made me laugh the way he does–that has never changed. And he’s so good-looking! I love it when women look at him with admiration. Go ‘head, look! It feels so good to be secure in his love. I couldn’t always say that.

He’s a grown man, my husband, the father of my children–all of them, even those who do not physically share his DNA. So strange to see him grown up now, fathering. He constantly tells me how much he loves me, how beautiful I am, how talented I am. He makes me feel special, and I’m not sure I deserve that.

He’s mine. He picked me. Wow.

Happy birthday my love.

January 10, 2010: Re-Write

So I slacked my way through 2009 on my blog. What a slacker!

I started this thing so I’d write more. And I do love writing, too much to let it go. (At least that’s my claim–you wouldn’t know it by the dwindling  number of monthly entries.) So this year I’m embarking on my original lofty goal, the terrifying one that stirred me to become a blogger. You know, for practice.

I’m going to write a work of fiction! [Insert giggles, foot shuffles and a shy smile.]

The plan is to start a new blog dedicated solely to the story. Meantime I’ll continue to put up stuff on here from my everyday life … should you care to know. But really, I hope that by sharing this news here, I’ll make myself accountable to the general public.

That’s it. I am officially re-dedicated to write-ing!

December 9, 2009: A Pivotal Moment

I met with a friend today about a life group we’re leading together. We had some great conversation and a delicious dinner (she’s such an awesome host), and we worked out lots of details. After that, we just started talking about life.

As I shared with her some of my “pivotal moments” since being saved, I realized 2009 has been the Year of Facing My Crap. I’ve been seeing a counselor for about a year now, and it’s unearthed a lot of bones. Among other things, I’ve had to be honest with myself about my beliefs and attitudes toward men in general and my husband in particular, and about my own role in forming those beliefs. I didn’t like what got dredged up. I’ve shared a lot of these things in my blog this year.

I also recognized a small shift in myself. For one thing, I was able to see very easily that my husband is quite wonderful. When I remember who and what he was before Jesus Christ came into his life, I realize I have so very much for which to be grateful! I didn’t have to dig deep to find that gratitude; it was right there, waiting to be discovered like a jackpot under the thin layer of silver on a scratch ticket.

As I was riding home, I listened to the final message in Andy Stanley’s series about the life of Joseph called, “The Legend of Joe Jacobson.” When Joseph was presented with the perfect opportunity for revenge, he instead acknowledged that God had sent him ahead of his brothers–through separation, slavery, accusation and prison–to finally preserve their lives and millions of others’. Joseph was absolutely confident that God was with him and had been all along.

There have been many dark moments in my life, many good reasons to wield pain as a weapon. But as Andy Stanley put it, I can either look back, and relive the  circumstances and emotions that fuel vengeance, or I can look up and follow God’s lead. I can say to those who have hurt me, “Not only do I forgive you, but I’m going to give you what you don’t deserve–because that’s what people do who have received from God the very thing they didn’t deserve: forgiveness of sin and the promise of eternal life in his care.”

If I’m absolutely confident God is with me, how should I then behave? Because he is with me, and always has been. Even in the darkest moments when I was so overwhelmed by God’s silence that I overlooked his presence, and his promise to never leave. What a lovely and simple faith Joseph had. Could that kind of beautiful, persistent faith conclude my own story?

Come on 2010!

Hero Complex

I love stories, and I love heroes. So when I head to the movies to look in on someone’s story, I often leave the theater dreaming not just about Superman, or Spider-Man, or Jacob (because everyone knows it should be Jacob), but of what it must be like to be that girl–Lois Lane, or MJ, or Bella.

It’s not about being her. It’s about being the object of his affection.

To the rest of the world he’s strong, capable, smart, handsome, powerful. He protects everyone–but he loves her more than anyone. With her alone he’s also attentive, meek, vulnerable, protective, careful. This powerful being is infatuated with an ordinary woman! Something about her has drawn his faithful attention; she’s worth rescuing again and again; she’s worth his life.

Could I ever be her? Lois Lane! Mary Jane Watson! Bella Swan! Tracie Frank?! [Giggle!]

My soul is hungry for this, absolutely desperate for it. I want to be wildly, passionately rescued! I want to be weak, yet be totally okay with it because I know he can handle it! When I’m afraid, I want his arms to protect me. When there’s absolutely no way out of a situation, I want him to show up, bust some heads, and fly away with me. I may seem ordinary to you, but I’m extraordinary to him. He’d give his life for me; whatever you think of me doesn’ t matter.

No one really talks about Jesus this way. But I know this is true: Jesus is all these things, and I’m his Lois, his MJ, his Bella. I’m his Tracie. I know it’s true! And I want to live this.

I love this quote by C.S. Lewis:

“If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”

It bears remembering and repeating on days like this, when I’m longing for something I’ve not yet experienced here on earth.

Jail

A cage with life for bars
And misery for company
And pain for meals.

A cell with anger for freetime
And frustration for chores
And loneliness for friendship.

And sadness for teeth
And bitterness for bread
And an endless wall of nothing
For the future.

Wonderful Asking

In the early days of my salvation, I prayed for God to show me things from His perspective. I knew my attitude toward many things–including my marriage–was poor, and I wanted that to change.

That night I was feeling “put-upon” by my husband. As we lay in bed, he reached out and began to rub my back. I knew what that meant!

I silently prayed, “See Father? He only touches me when he wants something!” To which I heard the response, “What a wonderful way to ask for something, by giving it first!”

Blew my mind. And I find that simple sentence to be true in so many ways, beginning with Jesus asking me for my life by giving His first.

I Am Not My Hair … Am I?

It’s a strange fact: I often make choices that seem perfectly benign to me, and later find out that others tie specific thoughts, feelings, values and politics to the very same type of decision.

For example. (Well, I hadn’t intended to use hair to make a point about hair, but it works.)

Last year I was contemplating cutting off all my hair. I was working out regularly, and the sweat was wreaking havoc on my relaxer. The upkeep was time-consuming and expensive. I’d worn my hair very short  in the 90s, so I knew I could pull it off. I just needed to make a decision.

Then one day at the gym I glanced up at the television and saw Robin Roberts.

She looked amazing! Tell me she didn’t look amazing! I was intrigued by her courage–to be on mainstream network television and choose such a non-mainstream hairstyle! Seeing her was all I needed; I made an appointment and within two weeks, I was a new woman.

Now, I don’t watch the news or keep up with celebrities and television personalities. Even the ones I like. So even though I was familiar with Robin Roberts, I had no idea she was recovering from cancer; that she’d lost her hair during chemotherapy and had been wearing a wig throughout the ordeal; that her decision to take off the wig and let her hair grow back in front of the viewing world was difficult and scary. I didn’t learn these things until I went on the internet in search of a picture of her for my stylist. Robin had been courageous, but not the way I’d thought.

See? That happens all the time! Things seem straight-forward and simple, and it turns out they’re deep and complicated!

When I cut off my own hair, the decision was the perfect marriage between necessity and style. I’d save time and money, and I’d look nice. When I first got it cut, I also got it texturized. I later discovered I didn’t need to texturize, so I chose to stop. I went natural, but only because it was convenient to do so. I’d save even more time and money!

For black women, hair has always been a conversation starter. I didn’t know things were so serious until I visited a natural hair page on Facebook. Turns out there are all kinds of deep, value-based, political implications surrounding the decisions I’ve made about my hair! It’s this big octopus with tentacles tightly gripped around things like … my feelings about my race and other races; my acceptance (or lack thereof) of myself and my “roots” (no pun intended); my willingness to assuage or disregard the pressures of society to “fit in.” Oddly, outlandishly, the subject of child abuse was even raised!

Geez. It’s just hair!

Yesterday when I was getting ready for work, I spent more time than usual reflecting on my hair–which is now a few inches long and rather wilder than it was just a couple years ago. I wondered what my friends, peers, co-workers really think. I wondered if white people are frightened of me. I also wondered what’s on the minds of other black people–both men and women–when they see me. I wondered if I should purchase a pick with a fist. I actually felt a little self-conscious as I walked out the house and as I walked out my day.

I’ve always liked India Arie’s song, and I needed to hear it again today just to remind me! Why should I be intimidated by anyone’s opinions or politics on something so very personal and unique to me? (I knew I hated politics for a reason!)

Seriously, it’s just hair.

It’s called good news for a reason.

No, I don’t think you understand… There really is good news! And everybody needs to know it. Everybody needs to evaluate it at face value.

In the spring of 1992 I woke up from a dream about the son I’d aborted. When I sat up, still half asleep, I saw my bed surrounded by leaping, orange flames. (They weren’t really there.) I finally recognized myself honestly: I was a murderer. I also recognized the flames: I was going straight to hell. Right away I was swallowed up by utter hopelessness. That year is like a mental abyss. I don’t remember most of it, and that’s especially sad since it was the first year of my oldest daughter’s life. Eventually I managed to stuff everything. But if something triggered the memory, horror was waiting to dive on me.

I didn’t know there was good news for another seven years.

So, subtract all the hype, the judgmental-ism, the “servants” with gold toilet seats, the ugliness perpetuated by those who believed they were doing God’s work. Just evaluate the good news for what it is.

Everybody knows they’re guilty. Everybody knows there’s a cost for their sins … their lies, their shortcomings, their greed and spite and general ugliness. (Don’t sleep … you know.) Our sin keeps us from being able to get close to God. Worse, we’re slaves to sin. Sin has a ring in our noses and leads us around like cattle. Since it’s the only life we’ve known, we don’t recognize its power over us. We work really hard to stay enslaved. Slavery is comfortable and fashionable, and everybody’s doing it! It’s the new black! And even if we realize the truth about our slavery, we’re still powerless to end it.

So we don’t know who we really are, or who we’re meant to be.

The end result of sin is death. God doesn’t want this. He wants us, and he is willing to chase us and show us how much he loves us. So he chose to both wipe our records clean and pay for our release. The currency for these things was his own blood–completely sin-free. Through His sinless son Jesus, our sins were paid for and our guilt was erased. When he died, he took our sins with him into the grave. And when he came back to life, he left our sins behind to rot in the tomb. 

Now, if you don’t know about this, you might go on living like a slave. Or even if you know it, you might prefer slavery. But if you want to be free, you can be. You exchange your guilt and your former life for the life God wants for you through Jesus. You choose to stop following sin around like a walking slab of beef with a ring through its nose, and follow Jesus. His way leads to the life you were created to live, the you that you were meant to be.

Oh, and it’s not a little of this and a little of that. You can only have one or the other. Complete slavery to sin (which is the default setting when you’re born), or complete submission to Jesus. (I’m not gonna pretty it up and say dumb crap like Jesus will take away all your troubles, and your life will be like a rosy stroll in the park either.) Without God, you’re on your own (and maybe that’s fine with you). With God … well, you’ll have God! Who or what else could you possibly need!

July 12, 2009

Jesus said if you deny him before men, he’ll deny you before his Father.

I was thinking today about what it means to deny Jesus before men. My first response was, “I’ve never done that. I’ll never do that.”

But then I thought about every time I’ve had the opportunity to speak on Jesus’ behalf–to introduce him into the conversation. Not a conversation about faith or about religion or about politics, but just an ordinary conversation.

So let’s say there’s a way to succinctly and relevantly bring up the gospel in an ordinary conversation. And I’m not talking about one of those awkward cheesy segueways. “Speaking of minivans, did you know Jesus loves you?”

No, I mean there’s a real-deal opportunity. I’m fully aware of it. And I don’t take it. Did I just deny him?