Spiritual Musings

I see my writing very much related to my faith, because I see my faith related to every area of my life.  According to my Christian beliefs, God gave us all of our talents; he also instilled in us all of our passions.  So whatever talent I have as a writer is from Him.  The desire I have to write is also a direct effect stemming from how I've been wired by my Creator--at least, that's what I believe.

I try to use my gifts for the glory of God--if you didn't know, I blog for my church, and you can check that out here.  I also think that in much of my writing, you don't have to look very hard to find the theme of hope that is a hallmark of Christianity.

Having said this, though, I generally refrain from directly writing about spiritual matters--except as they pertain to events I include in my short stories or essays (and they do show up there--sometimes explicitly, sometimes more subtly).  The reason for my avoidance, in general, is I don't feel equipped.  I read devotions from Rick Warren, Beth Moore, Max Ludado, Joseph Prince, and others.  And I'm not sure that God has called me to speak with authority in the same way that they do through their writing.  I'm not a Biblical scholar.  I'm sure there are many occasions when I'd flounder in even the most basic of debates with skeptics and non-believers.

But though my area of study is not in theology, I do hold an advanced degree (a couple of them, actually).  Once upon a time, in my undergraduate days, I was trained to be a literary critic.  This was only reinforced as I continued my graduate work.  So why, I wonder, when I spent so many years in academia learning to interpret texts and defend my interpretations, do I hesitate to voice an opinion on a Biblical passage?

I think maybe it's because though I've achieved success in many worldly ways, I sometimes continue to let my failures define me.  I see myself as unqualified to insert myself in Christian conversations, because of all the times I've had a choice to make, and I chose wrong.  All the times God called me to do one thing, and I did something else.  All the times I've let doubt take over, and decided I wasn't the woman for the job.

Or maybe, I'm just really not called to write in the style of a Rick Warren or a Beth Moore.  I honestly don't know.

But as I was reading my devotion the other day, I came across this, and realized I had something to say about it.  I'd like to share it here, and I trust that you'll take what I'm saying for what it is--the humble opinion of one flawed Christian woman.

Here's the passage that got me thinking:


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This is from Beth Moore's Believing God Day by Day:  Growing your Faith all Year Long, a wonderful book that I think I bought for myself as a pick-me-up some years ago.  I didn't start at January in the daily devotions; I just jumped right in, whatever day it was.  I think I kept it at my desk when I taught in public education, and I think I read it every weekday, and probably left it there over summer break (oops).

So I decided this year, when planning out my God time, that I would begin every day with this little book--and I have, starting January 1, 2019.  Before I get out of bed or do anything else, I read the verse and Moore's commentary.  I re-read the pages that seem to speak to me especially, and I re-read all of the verses at least a couple times.  I also read a devotion more than once if I feel it's difficult for me to relate the verse to her commentary, or if I'm struggling to follow what she's saying, or relate it to my life.

The above passage really spoke to me, for a number of reasons.  First of all, it's so counter-cultural.  For a skeptic, putting God above family is probably a really different thing to understand.  Honestly, it's a really difficult principle for me to follow, and I wonder if most Christians were being truthful, if they would confess the same--or if maybe, they are a lot more spiritual than I am.  It's just the tangible love that we feel when we hold our spouse's hand or kiss our babies is so strong and undeniable.  And the expectation is, we must put a far less tangible relationship, one that requires faith to enter, and faith to maintain, above all the others in our lives.

It is difficult for me to live this out.

Yet, while I sometimes place people above God, I do believe the truth in Moore's words here:  "My relationship with God preceded my present family and proceeded long after my mother died.  In other words, my longest and most effectual history with anyone has been with God Himself."

As I read the rest of that devotional, which invited me to think back about the memories I'd made with God, I was amazed that they did come easily:

 My early introduction to Him, when I used to attend a tiny Baptist church just a little more often than Christmas and Easter.  I felt this inexplicable sense of joy when the people in that church, most of them strangers to me, sang "Welcome/To the Family/Of the people who love the Lord."  There was something in their voices that was so honest, so warm.  It didn't matter that some of the voices were warbling and others were off-key.  There was something beautiful there.

The weeks I sat in church service in college--at the altar call, every Sunday, I felt this tugging, this pulling--this pleading, just about--every time the pastor invited any who had not received Him to come and do so now.  I can remember with vivid clarity the absolute sense of relief, the happiness in my surety, when I finally walked down the aisle to the cross one Sunday.

My baptism, not long after that.  I was nineteen.  Ironically, as I read the devotional that inspired this post, I looked up and saw the photo that I still have from that day--I'm holding my nose with my hands, I'm soaking wet, the pastor is grinning next to me--and every time I look at that picture, I remember exactly how free I felt.  That sense of joy, that I think is unique to believers.  Lest you think I stare at this picture daily--it was behind my daughter's scrapbook, which I'd happened to move, and when I looked at it after reading that devotional, that was the first time I'd seen that photo in probably a year.  Like it was God literally showing me--We've got plenty of memories.  Here's one.  See?

I remember when I was bleeding out on the operating table, just minutes after meeting my firstborn daughter.  When I realized that I was hemorrhaging--that was probably one of the most pivotal moments of my life.  You have no idea how helpless you are until you realize that you have zero control over whether or not you will live to see your next moment.  I remember praying--laying there on that table, body trembling, blood gushing.  It was odd the sense of peace I had, given the circumstances.  But there was this moment between me and God.  I started by apologizing--telling Him I was sorry for every sin I'd ever committed, all the ways I'd failed him, both big and small.  I hadn't been walking the Christian life back then--I had a lot to apologize for.  And I still had this absolute sense that He heard me.  That He forgave me.  I told Him that if it was my time, I was thankful for the years I had been given, and that I trusted Him.  But I asked him, could He please spare me?

So I could hold my daughter?

So Rashieme wouldn't have to do this alone?

And he did.  I lost three pints of blood and required a blood transfusion.  But I lived.

And what's more than that, I'm alive in Him.

My faith is the reason I believe I'll see my stillborn daughter again.  It's why I think I'll get to hug my dad in heaven.

Most importantly, I'll get to be with Jesus.

Have you ever thought about it--if He was who He said he was, and He did what He said He did--what greater love is there?  What greater love could there be?

I'm forever thankful.  For the reasons I've described here, and so many others.

 So, yes.  I am one of those of little faith.  I need to be constantly reminded that I do serve a great God, that He does care about me.  That He is real.  That He will never leave me or forsake me.  I constantly struggle to keep him first, in spite of all the ways He's showed up for me.

I know He knows I'm trying.

My family is an incredible gift.  I hope yours is, too.

But I do believe all gifts come from God, and the greatest of these is Jesus Christ.

And since I Blogged about Christmas, Might as Well Blog about the New Year...

I can remember being in elementary school, watching the teacher at the front of the room remove the “1989,” carefully printed in large block letters in black marker on green construction paper.  That piece of paper fluttered into the wastebasket as my teacher replaced it with “1990.”  She’d also exchanged the name of the month, swapping out “December” for “January.”  She didn’t toss away the name of the month, though.

“The months come again,” she explained, I guess filing “December” away for next year.  “But the years never do.”

I was seven at the time, and as I stared at the trashcan where 1989 had been deposited, I can still remember the sense of sadness I felt as I realized that the year was over, and unlike the passing month, it would never return.  It was gone and finished, never to be displayed in our classroom again.

It was a profound realization.  We don’t get the years back.

I’m not sure what kind of a weird kid I was, that I let that image of the final year of the eighties in the trashcan stay with me all of this time.  On that day, I actually mourned the passing of a year in a way that could be considered similar to that with which adults and older children might grapple with death (a circumstance that fortunately had not yet touched my young life).

But it seems to me now that my fixation on what was lost and over back then has stayed with me all these years later, reminding me that time only moves forward, that it stops for none of us, that you can look back, but never go back.

And while I still think there is a certain sadness in that, I choose to spend more of my time these days being grateful for the months that I know will come round again, rather than dwelling on the years in the past.

True, I won’t be here for all of them—the future summers that I love to spend lying on the beach, the impending winters that bring the excitement of possible snow fall, the springs that promise beauty in blooms and new beginnings.

But the times will keep coming, even after I’m gone.  There is a season for everything.  Ecclesiastes 3:1 reads, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.”  3:4-7 continue, “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak.”

May the coming year bring you more laughter than weeping, more dancing than mourning, more searching, mending, and embracing than their alternatives.  But if the new year contains more of the less desirable aspects of life for you and yours, may God grant you wisdom and understanding as you go through whatever seasons 2019 holds for you.

Charles Dickens began one of his great works with, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”  While this is one of the most renowned beginnings in all of literature, my response has always been:  Well, yeah.  But when wasn’t it?

While there are very real highs and lows likely waiting around the corner for you and me, many of them beyond our control, we also hold a great responsibility in our own lives to choose how we respond to the good and the bad, the thrilling and the devastating, the little moments, both precious and mundane.

Nearly three thousand years ago, the author of Ecclesiastes, most likely King Solomon, came to a similar realization.  In Chapter Five, the book reads, “it is good and proper for a man to eat and drink, and to find satisfaction in his toilsome labor under the sun during the few days of life God has given him—for this is his lot.  Moreover, when God gives any man wealth and possessions, and enables him to enjoy them, to accept his lot and be happy in his work—this is a gift of God” (18-19).

So while your labor may be toilsome or some of your days tedious, whatever your struggles, I pray that you find satisfaction in all that you have been given in the coming year.   Our days may seem like many, but the older we get, the faster they come.  Too often, in the end, it seems we were given too few.  So I pray that you make the ones you were given count, that you find satisfaction in the small stuff, that you choose to be thankful even when your natural inclination might lead you to feel otherwise.  I hope you find joy in all your blessings, big and small in 2019, and I hope you find more reasons to smile than to cry.

Love from my family to yours.

If God allows, we'll celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary this summer.  We've been privileged to experience some of life's greatest joys during these last few years, and we've also made our way through some really low valleys.  I don't know what 2019 has in store for us, but when I close my eyes and remember this moment, I am reminded that God has been so, so good to us, and that the same God who gave us each other was there through the dark times, too.