Book Recommendation: Justin and Lindsey Holcomb’s “God Made All of Me”

laurenlarkin's avatarLaurenRELarkin.com

I might be completely addicted to these two people.

And I’m not afraid to admit it.

Justin and Lindsey Holcomb have written some of my favorite books: Rid of My Disgrace and Is It My Fault?  I’ve reviewed both of those books on http://www.mbird.com and posted those reviews on amazon. I can’t speak highly enough about these books and their authors. I believe that both of these books should be on every book shelf.

Oh, and this book, too, for children:

“God Made All of Me”

It’s new. Like, just-released-today new. This book offers an accessible discussion for children about how special our bodies are because God has made every part, and that because they are special no one has the right to touch any part of you without your consent.  This book is geared to empower children with the language to say, “No!”, and to call, “Help!” This…

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Run to the Dawn

So, I run. It’s dark but I run. I can’t see, but I still run.  The alarm goes off, I get up, get my things, lace up my shoes, and run.  I can’t not run. I run because I’m drawn to run. I run because the running calls me; it calls to my legs, it calls to my body, it calls to my mind, it calls to my heart. The street is calling, beckoning, exhorting…run.

So I run; in the dark, I run. There’s nothing more than a few lamp posts casting their scant illumination on the dark pavement just ahead of my steps.  I feel that I’m chasing these brief moments of light. I catch one, it moves behind me; on to the next patch of light.

I run through the dark. I run through the dark on streets that have no moments of illumination. I run these streets that I know from the day. I know these streets like the back of my hand.  But they’re so different in the dark. In the dark, I’ve forgotten many of the nooks and crannies seeming to hide in wait for my foot. I run trying to recall this manhole, this speed bump, that broken curb. More than I like, I dodge, last minute, the things I see almost too late. In the day, I would’ve seen it from feet away; but in the dark…Lauren be nibble, Lauren be quick…

But I run through the dark. The brisk cool air and the hope for the dawn energizing my steps. Every breath a small sign of life; every breath a small prayer. I run through the dark, left foot, right; left foot, right…my legs carry me forward on to streets that, in the daytime, are familiar, but, now are strange, winding mazes of pavement, concrete, and asphalt.

And I keep running. I pass houses and cars still slumbering. My eyes wander left and right catching fleeting glimpses of these sleeping giants; I’m momentarily jealous. But my legs keep carrying me forward, and I am forced to refocus my gaze ahead; my environment demands my focus, the streets remind me…stay focused, Lauren, stay focused…

And then it happens. As if out of nowhere: dawn breaks. The burgeoning sun to the east lights the road completely with ease. The initial low light grows and grows and soon everything is illuminated: the knotty tree branches, the varying colors of cars, the rectangular shapes of houses, the delicate blades of grass. The light touches me, toes first and creeps up to my upward tilted head. Dawn’s light warms my face. I can see my finish line; it is within a stride’s mere distance.

And I stop. I’m embraced by light and warmth. I’ve run to the dawn.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. — Hebrews 12:1-2

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“Jesus Died to Save Sinners”

I should be working. But I’d rather tell you a story…

The day was like any other day, especially any day I go to Walmart. In and out. As fast as possible. Determination in my step, focus in my eye; deftly weaving and wending the cart through the other customers merely browsing. Watch out; I’ve a mission!  My toddler called out the names of all the things she saw, like a baby Adam on a naming urgency. Ball! Doggy! Kitty! Boon! Baby!

I swept in to gather the few things I needed for the weekend and to capitalize on the rollbacks on school supplies for last year; something I recently learned to do from a new friend.

With everything I needed and everything I could find in my cart, I zoomed up–yes, I know it’s Walmart, but it’s also 8:30 in the morning, so I zoomed–to the do-it-yourself checkout. Waited a minute and then was ushered to an open checkout and pulled up. Typically, my modus operandi is as follows: go as fast as possible and keep your eyes trained on your task at hand, God forbid anyone talk to you… But on this particular day, I was beaming with conquest, prideful with reduced price; I was a lioness returning to the pride dragging a buffalo…Yes, gaze and gawk…I’m just this awesome…

The older lady who ushered me to open checkout flirted with my daughter, who was flirting back. And then I made eye-contact with the lady.

“Looks like you’ve got some school supplies there…” She said.

“Yes,” I replied and smiled confidently. It is a beautiful buffalo isn’t it… I continued, “A friend of mine explained to me that you can school shop for next year just after the current school year starts because the school items are reduced…”

“Oh,” she began. “Just like just after Christmas is the best time to do Christmas shopping…” We bonded over that. Then she added, “I was hoping to retire this Christmas, but it looks like I won’t be able to…”

That’s one of those statements that can’t go ignored, even though I contemplated ignoring it and getting out of there. But, I still had some items on the belt; so, “Oh, why won’t you be able to retire?” I asked her. She explained to me her financial situation, which was tight because it’s just her. She told me of her hopes for eventually getting her social security along with her husbands and that would be very helpful. I nodded to all of this. And then, prompted by something she had said about her youngest child, a girl, I asked, “How many children do you have?”

“I had four kids and I was step-mom to four more and then including the grandson I’ve raised, that makes 9 kids!”

“Wow! Well I’m sure they were 9 well loved kids!” was my response.

She told me more about the other ones who chose her ex-husband over her and a lot more about the youngest daughter who had earned a number of degrees. And then there was a pause; I was now loading my bags into my cart. Then she told me about her step-daughter.

“One of my step-daughters died in a hot-tub…” I all but dropped my bags to the ground. Maintaining my composure, I put the last bags in the cart and turned to her.

“I’m sorry,” was all I could think of saying.

“Oh, it’s all right…she was really messed up and cheating on her husband…She was drunk and still drinking when she drowned in the hot tub” she tried to dismiss it and blow it off, like she didn’t care, like somehow her step-daughter asked for this to happen.

I looked at her. She did care. “You know, it doesn’t matter what the events or actions are surrounding a death like that, it’s still a loss…” is what I said to her.

Her eyes softened. “Well I blame the people who owned the tub, they just left her alone still drinking. They found her when they came down the next morning to close up the tub.”  I nodded; I understood what she was feeling and what she was doing. There was a pause and then another softening of her posture, “You know…she was in such a bad spot, hurting, I’m sure she’s in a better place now, free of pain. She was just so messed up there at the end.” She mentioned something about a troubled marriage. “But I know she’s in a better place now with our father.” She smiled, but it wasn’t any smile it was the smile of hope. She had hope.

“I’m really sorry for your loss,” I said and I readied to leave. She smiled at me again and told us to have a great day; we wished her the same, or, rather, I did…Liza was busy naming things…

As I rolled out to the car my hope fled. The weight of the life of a young woman that was cut short too early–no matter the circumstances surrounding the death–weighed my heart down. The realization that our world is just that broken–something I’m not typically faced with everyday–fell into my lap. I couldn’t help it; I cried. I cried as I loaded my car with my bags and my toddler. I cried as I got into the driver seat. I cried as I drove home. My heart aching; my conscience troubled; my soul grieving.

I came to a stop light and waited for it to turn green. It’s one of those long lights. But on this day, it was a tad longer than normal–or so it seemed. As I sat there behind a big, green, beat-up truck, I stared mindlessly ahead, my mind preoccupied with hopelessness and brokenness. And then, for some reason, my eyes narrowed in on a long, thin, rather bland bumper sticker on this big, green beat-up truck. I avoid looking at bumper stickers in the area I live in because they’re usually just offensive or over-the-top. But this one caught my eye, maybe because it was bland (black block letters on a white background) or because it was long and thin (a non-classic bumper sticker style). And as my eyes focused in on the words, I cried again…

“Jesus Died to Save Sinners”

And hope returned. Because deep down, that is our only hope, that is our only comfort in this very broken world. In this world where lives are cut off too short and at all, we need to know that something has occurred to remedy the broken situation. We need something we can look to, focus on, be reminded of that is beyond or bigger than this broken world and our broken selves. And there is nothing more concrete than:

The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners (1 Tim 1:15).

This is the foremost foundation of our hope in the face of brokenness, of loss, of grief, pain, and all types of suffering. Because Jesus’ coming is the manifestation of God’s love for us and the fulfillment of his promise to us that it-won’t-always-be-so–as are His death, resurrection, and ascension, too.

But the words “it was counted to him” were not written for his sake alone, but for ours also. It will be counted to us who believe in him who raised from the dead Jesus our Lord, who was delivered up for our trespasses and raised for our justification. (Romans 8:23-25)

Our faith in Christ (in the totality of who and what He was and is and all that He did from his birth to his ascension) is the foundation of our hope. And not just hope that we will get out of this life and be brought into another one (though, this is part of our hope), but that in the face of suffering and sorrow, loss and grief, pain and turmoil, we can stand with those who are hurting, we can comfort and not abandon, and we can look forward to (and point to) the day when our hope is realized because His words do not fall flat. The Great Promiser who promises will do it.

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:1-4)

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I Lie Here

I lie in the mud
And am struggling.
My breathing labored through thick mud,
My eyesight weakened by darkness present.
I am stuck; lifeless.

I lie in the mud
And cannot move.
My hands, weighted, cannot push myself up,
My feet, useless, slipping from efforts to try to stand.
I am stuck; useless.

I lie in the mud
And my heart beats barely.
My mind cannot bear this stark reality,
My spirit releases its sigh; there is no help on the horizon.
I am stuck; hopeless.

I lie here, giving up.
I am covered head to toe.
My guilt having filled my lungs,
My pride having blinded my eyes,
My fear having seized my hands,
My lies having tripped my feet
My shame having controlled my mind
My brokenness having oppressed my spirit,
I am covered head to toe.
I lie here; I have given up.

I lie here,
Covered head to toe.
And a light breaks the horizon.
The rider secure and the horse swift,
The hoof beats draw near and nearer.

They stop short of my near lifeless body,
And the rider dismounts;
His feet penetrating and splattering the mud,
His light piercing and forcing back the darkness.
He stoops low, becoming covered with the same mud that covers me.

He reaches out and I feel his arms cradle me.
He holds me to him and stands; he covers me.
“My beloved,” he whispers.
Covered head to toe,
I lie there.

I lie in His arms
And am Free.
My breathing clear and unlabored,
My eyesight strengthened by His light present.
I am free; life-full.

I lie in His arms,
And can feel my limbs move.
My hands free to clasp his,
My feet free to walk with him.
I am free; useful.

I lie in His arms
And my heart beats fully.
My mind freed by a new reality,
My spirit alive, hope has broken the horizon and sought me.
And I am free; hopeful.

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On this day…: An Open Letter to My Son

(the following is an altered version of the letter to my son last year; i’m reposting it because today is his birthday and, once again, it’s one of the ways I can say “I do love you so much” and I really want to shout it to the world!)

To My Dearest Son,

On this day, 8 years ago, you were born. You were not the first child and, as time would demonstrate, you were not the last one either. You hold the middle, sandwiched between an older brother who is always doing everything first and a younger sister who is doing everything last. Without a doubt, I’m sure you’ve felt ignored or bypassed or skipped, assuming that our attention is too split between first and last to be observant of you, the steadfast middle.

But we see you. I see you.

And, today, I celebrate you.  Because you need to know you are celebrated. And we’re going big! Like mountain peak big…Like Get Air big!

You are my strong vibrant young man that burst into our lives on an hot August evening.  Though, you tried your best to come earlier that day, my body failed to bring you forth naturally. I remember walking to the OR, so that we could finally have you in our arms. I remember that the feeling of my body’s failure was eclipsed by the love I had for you. My failure faded to the background, and my love for you–my then pterodactyl sounding ball of flesh– came surging forward, sending failure and weakness, and fear for the hills. You, my dear son, showed me that love trumps failure, strengthens the weak, and silences fear.

You still teach me those things every day these past eight wonderful years.

I see the way you get up again: whether it’s physically falling off of your bike or pogo-stick or failing to do something right for school; love trumps failure. I see the way you boldly go beyond your comfort level being confident when you’d rather slink away: telling the truth when you’d rather lie; love strengthens the weak. I see the way you face head on things that you are terrified of: speaking in front of your class when you’d rather just sit in the back, entering a new class room with new students when you’d rather just have your old friends back; love silences fear.

You are my compassionate little guy who has shed tears over not only his own sorrow and loss, but over others’. You are that brave little guy who boldly marched over to our neighbor’s house and gave her one of the heart Valentines’ day magnets you had made in preschool; the heart read: love your neighbor, and on that day, Jackson, you did. I love the way your eyes light up when I suggest bringing cookies to neighbors or meals to people who need one; and I love how your brow furrows when we talk about injustice in the world; and how your eyes tear up when we talk about Christ’s resurrection as surety of our resurrection, that death isn’t the final word. I love the way you care for younger kids and stand by some amazing there-since-the-day-you-were-born principle that you won’t stand for someone being picked on or bullied. I love the way nearly everything around you has untapped possibility.

Everyday you’ve occupied my life, you’ve encourage me to be more compassionate and loving.

You amaze me by your thoughts and statements. You are my wandering and wondering sage. Bouncing on the couch a couple of years ago, you had a thought; you stopped bouncing, sat down, and looked at me with all seriousness, “Mama, everything about war is just wrong.” You burst with questions and brim with ideas and hypotheses even if it means you get out of bed way past your bedtime to ask, “What was before God was?” You love the abstract and the absurd. You, at the young age of 8, are not afraid of being in metaphorical darkness. You are in touch with the brokenness and sadness of humanity’s plight, you are unafraid to be with those who are sad.  You question the rules and grab the law by it’s horns; you are my budding rebel and radical but not as an end for yourself but for others. You are skeptical of the “flow” Why are we all going in the same direction here? You challenge existing structures and the status quo; you have no room for “the box.” What box?

Everyday since you were born you’ve shown me that life is breathtaking, brilliant, and beyond anything that we can comprehend. You remind me that the status quo is often unacceptable and you rekindle my own rebel affinities when I’ve become too complacent with the way things are.

You, my dearest child, are adored, are loved, and are celebrated today this day of your birth. You are seen and not just on this day, but every day…every day that has gone before and everyday that will come.

Happy Birthday, Jackson.

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Book Recommendation: Justin and Lindsey Holcomb’s “God Made All of Me”

I might be completely addicted to these two people.

And I’m not afraid to admit it.

Justin and Lindsey Holcomb have written some of my favorite books: Rid of My Disgrace and Is It My Fault?  I’ve reviewed both of those books on http://www.mbird.com and posted those reviews on amazon. I can’t speak highly enough about these books and their authors. I believe that both of these books should be on every book shelf.

Oh, and this book, too, for children:

“God Made All of Me”

It’s new. Like, just-released-today new. This book offers an accessible discussion for children about how special our bodies are because God has made every part, and that because they are special no one has the right to touch any part of you without your consent.  This book is geared to empower children with the language to say, “No!”, and to call, “Help!” This book is also geared to  empower parents and adults with the language to initiate this rather heavy conversation with the children we love.

I’ve had the pleasure (and honor) to read this and I can tell you–with all certainty–that this book is a must have for children…if you have children, work with children, know children, have ever seen a child, or heard of the idea of children, you should have this book, and maybe 5 back-up copies to hand out.

You can check out the book here on Amazon.

Go.

What are you waiting for?

There’s no time to lose.

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The Gospel is Still the Gospel

No matter how big someone is or how small, their sin (both revealed and cloaked) cannot invalidate the Gospel message. The Gospel is still the Gospel even in situations when something shocking and even mind boggling is publicly revealed in someone’s life. The Gospel is no less true now in the midst of ruthless exposure, in the waterfall of horizontal consequences, in the darkness of shame and guilt than it was the 2.2 seconds right before everything was found out.

I’m not just talking about big names here; I’m talking about you and me, too. While our trash isn’t strewn about newspaper and social media headlines (and most of us are pretty glad about that), our sin is still sin and even in the midst of it being exposed (someone clearly witnessed you verbally rip apart your kid, you were caught gossiping about a friend, your lack of work ethic finally noticed by your boss) the gospel isn’t (ever) invalidated. Our sin cannot remove one iota of truthfulness about God’s never-ending, never-ceasing, one-way love for us the sinners.

 The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost. 1 Timothy 1:15

The Gospel is STILL the Gospel.  Jesus still came to save sinners–those who know they are sinners(exposed) and those who don’t (waiting to be exposed).  God still loves the world to a great degree–He loves you, and He loves him and her, He loves me–that John 3:16 is as much a present day truth as it was way back when. He doesn’t love us because we’re now keeping the law, He doesn’t even love you more when you do or because you are; He’s always just loved you fully and completely. In fact, it’s that one-way complete love that’s got any momentum to change (radically) your stone heart, my stone heart, his and her stone hearts. The law cannot do this. Ever.

Now we know that the law is good, if one uses it lawfully, understanding this, that the law is not laid down for the just but for the lawless and disobedient, for the ungodly and sinners, for the unholy and profane, for those who strike their fathers and mothers, for murderers, the sexually immoral, men who practice homosexuality, enslavers, liars, perjurers, and whatever else is contrary to sound doctrine, in accordance with the gospel of the glory of the blessed God with which I have been entrusted. 1 Timothy 1:8-11

Right before St. Paul pens the words quoted above in 1 Timothy 1:15, he writes the previous portion of scripture about the law. The law, according to Paul is for our disobedient flesh (the “unjust”). The “just” part of you, the part of you that is determined by faith in Christ, and thus justified and thus made the righteousness of God has no dealing with the law.  In our united to Christ state (by faith in Him which is a gift from God Himself and no work of your own) we do not now look to the law as a good word for our soul, as a  word of remedy, or as a word of help. The law will always be a word for the flesh, of death-dealing exposure.

The law cannot prevent us from partaking in bad plans–we are quite capable of ignoring and down right overruling the law when we want to and desire to.  The law cannot prevent us from coveting for it’s jurisdiction is not the heart. The law cannot cause us to be good, righteous, and holy–even though it so desperately desires to make us such; it’s impotent to do so.  The law’s word which exposes sin cannot prevent it but sentence it and the doer…to death.

So, to now, in light of the exposure of our sin (however dire it may be in the public realm), turn and say: had so and so (you, me, him and her) had more law in their life they wouldn’t have done “x” is a misnomer and exposes a grave misunderstanding of the law.  If the law can prevent sin (deep, deep down) then I’m lead to ask, why would I ever need the Gospel?

The law can only expose the covetous and selfishness, the sickness and rottenness, the prideful of me and disdainful of you parts of my flesh. And, get this, the law works for, serves the Gospel, so that exposure is exposure into the light and that light is the light that the darkness could not, cannot, will not ever over come. That light is the light of the word that is the Gospel that is Jesus himself (John 1).  Into your exposure enters this God, into your dirt and crap and unjustness and fleshiness walks this good, good, God. And He’s unafraid to touch you, to grab you in his strong arms and carry you into real life. And repeatedly. It’s not a one time thing. We are repeatedly exposed and repeatedly loved–minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day, week to week, month to month, and year to year.  His mercies are new every morning…every morning dawn that follows the dusk of our sin.

The law will always expose where we are errant and bring it and us, the doers, to death; the Gospel will always resuscitate us, the hearers, from death and replace what was dead with what is alive, what was stone with what is flesh, what was concealed with what is unconcealed, what was rejection with what is acceptance, what was condemnation with what is conviction, what was no with what is yes.

Does the proclamation of the Gospel (the word of Christ, the distinction of the law from the Gospel) fail in light of our exposures (big and small, public and private)? Does our exposure render the Gospel any less true or effective as a word that creates new life upon being heard? Does our exposure make it now necessary to add law to the Gospel, to preach more law and cut back on the message of freedom and love? No.

As far as I can tell–and I’ve looked and looked–the answer will always be no. The Gospel is still the Gospel even when broken human beings royally screw up.

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Confessions of a Social Media Junky

Or a budding “Social Media Junky.” I’m sure, in the grand scheme of things, there are people more addicted than I am or was. But, nonetheless, this is my story full of everything average and nothing over-the-top. Mostly, this is the story of the power of conviction–wrought by the presence of the Holy Spirit–in my life. These words that comprise this confession, if you will, are words that are the fruit of the gentle, loving, nudging, calling God that gave himself for us; these are not words of condemnation…not for me and especially not for you. I’m sharing my experience, my conviction, not telling you what to do. This type of post is never easy to write because it can strike a chord (or many) in people internally wrestling with their own budding junkiness. So, I’ll be up front about it: none of these words, none of this confession is meant or intended to be the law to you; read it if you are intrigued, skip it if you are too sensitive to any law–trust me, I’ve been there, you’re free to react in any way you want. Despite the words here and their possible lack of life for you, you are dearly and clearly loved by God apart from you’re relationship with social media (bad or good).

So, here goes…

There are things that are ok with us and other things that are just poisons. I had a friend once who couldn’t read Stephen King novels because they caused her too much fear; they’ve never bothered me. I’ve known some people who can’t listen to secular music; I do, I’m fine with it…in fact, I enjoy it, listening to the under current of human desire gone unmet or the base obsession with self/human-promotion present in so many songs. But then there’s social media, my technological Achilles heal. Ooph. Any pride I had for not being addicted to anything else was quickly eclipsed in light of my addiction to social media.

And, the sad part? I wouldn’t have called it an addiction because I could put my phone down (well, mostly), and I could ignore the notifications (well, sometimes), and I could walk away from it when others needed me (oh, well, yeah…sort of…I mean only after I got that last tweet out or put the finishing touches on a comment…).  I never would have classified social media as something that disturbed the general flow of my life and real-time and real-place relationships because nothing bad had happened (yet). It was just a thing…that I did…almost all the time.

I never would have noticed how entangled I was in Social Media had it not been for the accidental leaving my phone at home one morning as I walked to our mailbox with my (then 18 month old) daughter. It was a slow 45 minute lap around our small neighborhood, but it was a sweet 45 minutes and it changed my life.

I remember the brief panic I felt when I realized I didn’t have my phone on me as we headed down our road. Following the voice of my panicky conscience (What if you miss something? What if they don’t miss you?  How will anyone know you are being an awesome mom right now?)  came that still, small, gentle voice of conviction from the Holy Spirit (Do you see her? That’s your daughter. She is more important than any number of followers or friends you could ever have or interact with. Twitter and Facebook will be there when you get back; she’ll only be this old now.) My heart broke. But it was a good break. The break of breaking into life out of death.

That’s the difference between conviction and condemnation. The fruit of conviction is always life, and the result of condemnation is death.  The feeling of and initial reaction to both can be the same but the difference is always in the aftermath of hearing the word. I didn’t run and hide (condemnation). I didn’t try to rationalize away anything (condemnation). I embraced that I’d been going about this whole thing all wrong (conviction) and I grabbed her chubby hand and walked at her pace, I stopped at and stomped in puddles, and stooped low every time she squatted down to examine something (conviction).

What did I embrace during that small moment of life-changing conviction? I embraced my justification. Knowing full well that I’m justified by faith in Christ apart from works (good and bad), I heard not condemnation from the Spirit but conviction. I was free to be wrong and to confess that my priorities were out of  whack.  I was free to confess that I’d been putting her, my sons, my husband, and (essentially) my life second to my relationship with social media. I was free to confess that I was substituting the virtual for what was real. I was free to confess that I was putting a greater value on my twitter followers and Facebook friends than on my own real-life flesh and blood. I was free to confess that as far as serving my neighbor was going, I was failing because I was pretty much neglecting my closest neighbors: my husband and my children. I was free to confess that, at the end of the day, my mood was governed by the interactions on social media.

When we got back from our walk, I felt different. I felt like the word of conviction was still working it’s resuscitating touch in the dead portions of my conscience.  I saw my phone and my computer on the counter, but I wasn’t ready to enter back in to Twitter or Facebook.  The moment I was in was still too powerful.  I grabbed my daughter’s hand, “Hey, Chicken, wanna go play with chalk?” I swooped her up and quickly carried her out back.  By the time we had exhausted both chalk and bubbles, it was lunch time and then nap time.

I closed the door to her room and took a deep, satisfying breath. You know what I’m talking about, the type of breath that reaches to the bottom of your lungs, the type of breath that demands you stand up straight in order for it to get to the bottom of your lungs, the type of breath that is intentional and reminds you that you are very much alive and that’s a pretty amazing thing.  But this breath I took had something else attached to it: freedom. The brief morning break (all in all being about 3 hours) from social media had left me with a lack of stress, frustration, preoccupation, and anxiety, and my mood had been barely altered. my mind was wonderfully present in the here and now and not in the past and future. And in that moment i became a different type of addict (let’s admit it, as far as humans go, we’re all addicted to something); in that moment I became addicted to that lack…it was the first time that lacking something brought me so much life and I wasn’t going back, it was just too damn good.

Does any of this mean that my life is now perfect because I’ve broken with constant interaction via Twitter or Facebook? No. Hell no. I’m just less burdened with self-caused anxiety and stress–my kids still do crappy things and I still respond crappily to those things. Does any of this mean I dislike social media? No. Hell no. This post just went out via twitter and I still love tweeting stuff that I’m reading or things I’ve read. I still enjoy my Facebook friends. I still love posting my pictures via Instagram. Does any of this mean that I’ve some how become more righteous. No. Just: Hell no.

What does this mean? It means that I do have more time for those who are very important to me (that includes myself). It also means (and this is the bigger point) that social media, for me, is a poison and I just can’t engage it with health. Some people can. But I can’t. A good friend said to me, when I shared this with him, “For me, social media is a poison; I just can’t do it.” I couldn’t have agreed more with how he put it. Some people can’t drink, I can’t do social media socially. Even when I’m on it now for a brief second, I can feel that beast of burden reclaiming it’s seat on my back and driving it’s tentacles deep into my conscience; I just can’t participate in it.

So, that’s my story, my confession. Nothing earth shattering. Nothing very deep. Just some words that I’ve wanted to share for a long time.  Just some words that come from a heart under conviction, steeped in gratitude toward a God who loves me so much that not one part of me goes unnoticed, and wonderfully burdened by the human condition.

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A Window into the Past: Women, Greco-Roman Society, and the Pastorals (part VI : Ephesians 5:15-33)

Ephesus in Brief

“‘Ephesian and Roman were no longer mutually exclusive categories,’ is significant for this study.  There was no substantial distinction between a major city of Asia Minor, Roman Corinth and Rome itself; such was the ready embracing of Romanization” (Ando qtd in Winter 97).  Ephesus was the “…urban hub and provincial capital of Asia”, which is now the western part of modern Turkey (Belleville 735).  Ephesus was the home to the “…temple of Artemis, the Anatolian goddess of fertility, acclaimed as one of the seven wonders of the ancient world.  In fact, the city was named the temple warden of Artemis (Acts 19:35)” (Belleville 735).  The temple cult was an important aspect to the religious and economic properties of Ephesus, so much so that there was a two-hour-long chant praising Artemis of the Ephesians (Acts 19:28-36), and the belief that “…the city possessed Artemis’s image, supposedly fallen from Jupiter (acts 19:35)” (Belleville 735).  Towner writes, “Ephesus was famed for its cult and temple dedicated to the worship of Artemis, around which a good deal of the city’s commercial interests revolved.  It also had a large Jewish colony.  Ephesus presented the gospel with a formidable challenge in that it was a center of pagan worship” (Towner 21).

Belleville comments on the appeal of the Artemis cult on women,

Artemis, it was believed, was the child of Zeus and Leto, and the sister of Apollo.  Because of the severity of her mother’s labor, Artemis never married.  Instead she turned to a male consort for company.  This made Artemis and all her female adherents superior to men.  Artemis was also seen as the mother goddess, the author  of life, the nourishers of all creatures and the power of fertility in nature.  Maidens turned to her as the protector of their virginity, barren women sought her aid, and the women in labor turned to her for help (735).

In regards to the church in Ephesus, there was a multitude of false-teaching affecting the growing church.  Belleveille explains, “…[there were at] least five components to the false teaching.  Esoteric knowledge….Asceticism….Dualis[ism]….Jewish [influence by the Circumcision group]….[and] positing of mediators through which contact between a material creation and a spiritual God was accomplished.  Christ was held up as one of them…” (Belleville 735).

Eph. 5:15-33

vv.22-25. The women of Ephesus would not have been shocked to hear the command from Paul to submit to their husbands.  How could it have been shocking? It was commonly understood that women would submit to me. However,  as Liefeld points out, the shocking news “…was that such submission now (1) was to be done for the sake of the lord (v.22) and (2) was balanced by the love of the husband even to the point of self-sacrifice (v.25)” (142).  In other words, taking our queue from Ephesians 5:21 (“submitting to one another out of reverence for Christ”) submission is now mutual. The mutuality of submission would have been the shocking news, and not that wives should submit to their husbands. Paul’s language subverts the role of Patria Potesta in a subtle yet revolutionary way.

Leifeld comments,

It is striking that there is no command here for the husband to rule his wife.  His only instruction is to love and care for her.  The husband should not claim authority over his wife the way a Roman man used to.  In that system, which underwent changes during the period of the early empire, a woman used to be under the manus (‘hand’) of the father and at marriage came under the control of her husband (Liefeld 142).

Taking into account what has been written thus far about the Greco-Roman society and the role of the father, Paul’s language in this periscope provides three extremely counter-cultural statements.  The first statement is the concept of mutual submission (just referenced briefly above).  Following the flow of thought from the Greek text, the passive verb translated here as “submit” is from v.21; therefore the context is mutual submission and not only the submission of wives to husbands.

The second statement is enveloped in the phrase, “…as to the Lord.”  Paul is supplying the proper realm of submission for the wives; wives are not simply and blindly submitting to the authority of the Patria Potestas  they are submitting to the Lord, the one who has authority over the earth (Eph. 2)—the true King and Emperor of the world, the true Divine Son.   Paul’s use of the societal house-code, which required submission of wives to husbands, women to men, is not advocating the societal standards, but is placing this infant church in a realm that is to be submitted to the true authority that is in Christ Jesus.

The third statement is the command for husbands to love their wives (v.25).  As my friend Brian McVey commented, in a lecture on the use of Eros and Agape within Greek literature, and the understanding of these two terms, the command that Paul gives to the husbands would be to love their wives in way that was pouring out from them rather than loving something because of a need or lack within themselves (eros).  Marcus Barth contends that the use of agape in v.25 is the wedding together of Eros and Agape (which, as McVey pointed out, could be the understanding of hesed); that husbands were to love their wives in such a way would have been counter-cultural in the Greco-Roman society (621).  “For the first time in Ephesians the term ‘love’ (agapaō) includes the erotic relationship and sexual union by which a man and a woman become ‘one flesh” (M. Barth 621).

Also, it’s worth pointing out again (because I’ve said it before in this post here) the following about our passage:

Considering that in Ephesians 5. In v. 21 the verb translated as “submitting” is the verb that is pulled into the subsequent verse (v.22) when Paul turns his attention to wives: submit to your husbands. Then, after only three short thoughts, he turns to the husbands and addresses them in a rather lengthy discourse starting with an exhortation to lay down their lives for their wives. This is less of a change of subject and more of a addressing a different audience. Paul uses different language to say something similar to the husbands as he did to the wives.

But, the question remains, why change the language?

My thought about the “why” is this: Paul speaks to the women in terminology they would’ve existentially understood–the language they would’ve been familiar with but also because of the woman’s ability (and in the case of Paul’s age) one of her primary functions in bringing forth life into the world: a woman, having gone through the experience of pregnancy, labor, delivery, and caring for a helpless child, would have been well acquainted with the event of submission as a laying down of their life, of loving something/someone form the inside out that can give nothing back in return (agape). I’m not saying that Paul had this later aspect on the forefront of his mind, but it’s intriguing to me that he speaks nearly in shorthand to the wives. Thus, what he says to the women, is not radical: it’s nearly status quo; they would’ve nodded ” oh yes, we understand.” But what’s radical is what follows with his discussion to the men. The feeling in the transition from talking to the wives to the husbands is as if he paused and said to the husbands: all y’all best sit down for this; i’m about to blow your minds. And thus enters into a longer explanation of how the husbands are to love (agape) their wives and live out the “submitting one to another” aspect of 5.21. Both the act and the concept would have been so radical to the husbands, that Paul essentially has to spell it out for them and even then Paul loses his own mind and gets caught up–nearly raptured–in the mysteries he can’t even explain well enough. So, in short, my thoughts have been that Paul had to explain in detail (agape worked out in submission to another (the wife)) to the husbands because it was radical and foreign, and he could speak plainly and briefly to the women, because they would’ve understood (per the reasons mentioned above).

In regards to the use of “head” in this periscope, Liefeld writes,

The meaning of head in this context is…crucial….The Greek language did not assign as strong a leadership/authority meaning to kephalē as the Hebrew apparently did to ros and the Latin to caput.  Because of the strong connotation of caput, it was easy for the Latin Church fathers to interpret head in this passage strongly. The most common word for ‘head’ in Hebrew was rō’š.  When pre-Christian Jewish scholars translated the Old Testament into Greek (the Septuagint or LXX), they sometimes avoided the normal Greek word kephalē when the Hebrew rō’š meant rule or authority (as in the word leader) and used instead a stronger synonym such as archon.  If kephalē had the unambiguous, univocal meaning of rule or authority, this would not have been necessary” (Liefeld 144).

Therefore, it is best to not understand the use of kephalē in this periscope as “rule or authority”; but, referring back to 1 Cor. 11:3-16 (posted here), as “preeminent, foremost, and synecdoche for a representative whole” (Thisleton 821).

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A View of the Image of God from Motherhood (musings) Part II

This past Sunday was Mother’s day. I love Mother’s day. I love it even though I know how much of a “Hallmark” holiday it is. I just love it. I love the way my children bounce into our bed, bearing their school-made gifts. I (expletive + ing) LOVE gifts, especially from my boys. I love seeing what they have to say, and at 8 and 6, they say crazy awesome stuff. This year I got a Pokemon card from my 8 year old, and from my 6 year old, a laminated picture and written paragraph about the things he loves about me.

My 6 year old writes some pretty amazing and fairly deep statements; no surprise really, since he’s always been that deep thinker. By 2, we dubbed him the “Wandering Sage” because he would randomly spout off wise advice or deep thoughts. One day he woke up and while rubbing his eyes, said, “No one should run with scissors.” One day he was doing his gymnastic stunts off a big, over-stuffed chair, stopped mid tumble, sat upright, and said, “Mama, everything about war is wrong.” One day he explained to me how the seed and the egg formed the baby I was carrying in my womb; he was eerily close and only 4.  Last year he wrote me this: I love you because you love me! It’s like he was reading 1 John 4 the night before.

This year, written at the tail end of the list of things that he loves about me, he wrote, “Your smile makes me loved and feel happy.”

My eyes have reread those words everyday since I taped that laminated picture and paragraph up in my “office” (aka: The Kitchen).  In my skeptical adult wounded state, I would’ve said, “Your smile makes me feel loved…” Leaving room for the doubt that you don’t really love me, because I know smiles can sometimes be fake. So, there’s a difference between feeling loved and belovedness. To this child, though, my smile declares to him: beloved.

The power of a mother’s smile.

My smile…the smile that comes across my face when they come in from being at school all day; the smile that cuts through the tension filled bedroom because someone was being a total grumpy pants; the smile that can’t contain itself when they do ridiculous things during a tantrum; the smile that–often–ushers them off to dreamland and awaits for the dawn to greet them again; the smile that assures them that even right in the midst of their crap, they are loved, they are the beloved.

And this leads me to discuss what conclusion I’m drawing about the image of God from the view of motherhood.  It’s the power of the mother’s smile–from the moment that baby is born to the moment that mother stops walking upon the earth–that declares belovedness to the child. And I believe that the power is there, in the mother’s smile, because it’s she who has been most intimate with the child (she knows him), the one who has provided comfort from day one (she is the voice and the smell that brings her comfort). It’s her smile that conveys not just “I am happy with you” or “I have learned you and find you amusing” but sustains the original love, the state of belovedness.  The very one who bore you, who handed herself over for you, who stared death in the face to get you here smiles upon you  and you are loved.

Am I still the beloved? Yes, dear child, you are.

The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace. (Numbers 6:24-26).

God has smiled upon us; and it’s a smile that will never stop. Through His son, our saviour Jesus Christ, he has declared to the entire world that He loves us so much and that He desires us so much to know that we are the beloved. His face, through His son, is shining upon us and is gracious to us; His countenance is upon us and gives us peace because of Jesus. And while my smile stops many times a day, His never stops. Because His smile upon you and upon me is based on His perfect love for us apart from our deeds (both good and bad) because of the totality of the work of Christ. God’s smile is forever upon you, right here, right now, right where you are–clean or dirty, put together or falling apart, sober or drunk, pure or defiled.  The very One who created you, the very One who handed himself over for you, the very One who reckoned with death and won to silence death once and for all and to bring you to Himself, smiles upon you and you are loved.

Am I still the beloved?  Yes, dear child you are and always will be.

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