The Only Safe Want

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The Only Safe Want

It was a series of “nos” and “not yets” that felt unbearable to his four-year-old sensibilities. Even though I wanted to change the answer (I love to say yes!), I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. He collapsed into my arms yet again, legitimately devastated over something I knew was small in my reality, but big in his.

“Buddy, you want that really bad, don’t you?” He nodded though tears, and I put my hand on his heaving chest. “It’s grabbing your heart really tight.” He knew the sensation I meant, that feeling when you want a thing so bad it’s like it’s wrapped your insides into a strong grip, and he sobbed for a bit.

So I told him what I know, the only thing I know sometimes:

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Make Peace

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Make Peace

It’s the part of The Biggest Story when the narrator says, “The biggest surprise to everyone was that the Chosen One of God was chosen by God to die.” Without fail, my six year old says it in a voice thick with emotion: “That’s not very nice.” Her young mind is trying to reconcile two seemingly opposing ideas—God is good, but he sent someone to die, and that’s not nice. I’m always struck that she uses the word “nice,” because of course it’s not “nice,” but how do you respond to these kinds of things? This is the stuff that rolls around in parents’ heads, along with “How many snacks do these kids need?” and “How long has this chicken nugget lived in this car?”

Good things aren’t always “nice,” but I’m not sure how to help my six year old understand. Honestly, I’m not even sure how to help myself understand. I know God has been doing a work in my heart for years, exposing all the ways I’ve kept peace instead of made peace, and in doing so ironically inviting further division, corruption, and conflict. It’s an ever-present lesson and battle, a bright flashlight I keep on my tool belt that never fails to reveal lots and lots of darkness. “See that horror, Caroline? Make peace there.”

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Lord, to Whom Shall We Go?

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Lord, to Whom Shall We Go?

It was a hard thing he said, and they could barely digest it. It upended things they thought they knew, and moreover—it just didn’t make sense. “Who can listen to it?” they grumbled, and he heard. It was ironic. He made the ears that wouldn’t hear him; he perfectly discerned their offended mumbles.

Many of those who’d previously followed closely stopped following that day. Maybe it was too much. Too intense, too confusing, too overwhelming, too rattling to their sense of comfort and stability. Why look to this guy for truth when there were options that clashed less with their sensibilities, that asked them to uproot less of their thinking, that asked them to give less of themselves?

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Life is Long. Read Your Bible.

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Life is Long. Read Your Bible.

Look—life is too long to not read and love the Bible. I said something to this effect to my hair stylist a few months ago, and she laughed and said, “Most people say life is too short.” And of course life is short and we are but a vapor, but I’m right, too—life is long. So very loooooooong. Scripture wouldn’t be overflowing with admonitions to be long-suffering and to persevere and to be steadfast if it weren’t.

So, this is my counsel to you, particularly when life feels very long: Read your Bible.

But here’s the problem—reading it makes you want to read it, so you often have to read before you want to read it. So if you are in the camp of people who want to want to, but don’t quite want to yet (do you get what I’m saying?), I have a few solutions to ease you in:

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There Are Monsters in my House: Dealing with the Sins, Needs, and Desires that Plague Us

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There Are Monsters in my House: Dealing with the Sins, Needs, and Desires that Plague Us

For me, things like this (*motions around at the world*) expose all my monsters: sins, needs, desires. They obviously aren’t all bad monsters—some of them just need me to brush their hair—but they’re all quarantined with me in my house and will run amuck if I keep ignoring them.

It reminds me a bit of my first two years of teaching, when I was armed with theories for classroom management that I couldn’t figure out how to implement in real life, when my classroom was a place where monsters thrived and humans had tension headaches.

My point is that lately, I’ve become convinced my heart needs as much classroom management as an actual classroom. But I also know I’m in a better position than I was as a first-time teacher—because my Teacher insists on going beyond the textbook. God has revealed himself and the mechanics of my heart in his Word, I am hidden in Christ and redeemed by his blood, and the Holy Spirit lives in me and leads me. Truly, the monsters that plague my heart cannot compare to the gifts of God and the wisdom he generously offers to those who ask and believe. These immovable truths inform my posture for management—a posture of strength, given by God alone.

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