Because You, O Lord, have helped me and comforted me. -Psalm 86:17 I was born on a crisp Wednesday morning— at 10:10AM to be precise, in the month of Noctober—I mean, October. I know this, because for the past 40 years, my grandmother has called on my birthday and regaled me with the majestic details of my birth. My grandmother was only in her forties and established in her career as a teacher in the late 1970’s when I was born. A black woman teaching in an inner-city school, she was a beacon of light to many of her students—but a ray of sunshine to those who knew her best. And that was me. “Deedle, did I tell you about the day you were born?” “Yes Nana. Wednesday, Noctober 12th, at 10:10 in the morning….” And the years marched on. I was five and 16 and 22 and 39-- My hair went from short to long; from brunette to blonde to red to grey—and quickly back again. I graduated and moved and married and moved and had babies and moved even further. And Nana’s birthday calls never stopped. Actually, they increased because she added my husband and children—her great grandchildren to the list of birthday remembrances. To this very day, she faithfully and joyfully sends birthday cards packed with beautiful sentiments and little something to spend at the store— to everyone in our home. And that’s the reason for this post, for the great joy that has comforted me. Because today, I’m a foster mom with a sweet child my Nana has never met—and probably never will. But true to form, on her birthday there’s a card with beautiful sentiments and a little something to spend at the store, which to this child is no less than a fortune. Because that’s who my Nana is. She made life colorful to me—when parts were grey and drab. Allowing me to choose sugary-cereals for overnight sleepovers or drink a whole can of soda. She bought me back-to-school outfits and took me to my first symphony in a fancy dress. She told me stories—taught me poetry, inspired a love for writing too. She traveled from a little town in Southern Ontario, Canada to Chicago to care for my two older children while I delivered my third—not knowing that during that same week, another mother, in another part of the country—in very different circumstances was delivering a baby too---who would for a season be mine. Ours. In a beautiful display of God’s sovereignty both my foster daughter and my youngest biological daughter are the same age with birthdays just days apart. This means—among other things, she'll receive a birthday card from Nana too. Nan—Thank you for sharing your fortune: time, talent and treasure with three generations of family, who call you Blessed. Finish Well, Dionne
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I’m nearly 40 and have been living as a grown-up for what feels like a long time. Rushing to work with a mind full of the day’s obligations and deadlines—and feeling the weight of it all, I received reprieve in a wonderful encounter with my eleven-year-old self. Really, it was the prodding of the Holy Spirit—reminding me of my 6th grade faith and a musical artist who spoke deeply into my life at that time. For the briefest of moments I longed to listen to his music again and didn’t know how—the cassettes and ghetto-blasters of 1989 as much a part of history as my CD collection. But then I remembered Spotify; And I time-traveled. I found it hard to believe Someone like you cared for me You put this love in my heart I tried but could not refuse You gave me no time to choose You put this love in my heart *1 In my listening history, before Bobby Brown demanded his rights in My Prerogative or Bobby McFerrin shrugged his shoulders in resignation with Don’t Worry Be Happy, there was Keith Green worshiping God telling me to give myself fully to Christ—and to others. Open up open up And give yourself away… You see the need; you hear the cries So how can you delay? *2 The messages (really doctrine) I received through music at the time in my life were not only conflicting—but oppositional—and while I jammed to New Edition and its spin-off acts and marveled at McFerrin’s talent, it is the lyrics and life of Keith Green who resonate. Give Yourself Away Despite his incredible musical talent and enthralling performances—after his conversion to Christianity, he was intentional about deflecting the glory that came his way to Christ. He wrote songs of praise and contemporary hymns but my favorites are the songs to the church. So often they are searing indictments of Christian believers who refuse to live a life worthy of their calling. I’m thinking of Asleep in the Light—and the plea to Christians to care about the lost. The admonition given to believers who say “God bless you! Be in peace!” to those who are suffering, but hypocritically have no intention of being a blessing or providing a means for peace. Keith Green literally asks his (mostly Churchy) audience through song How can you sin such sin? And then he answers for them, “The world is sleeping in the dark that the church just can’t fight because it’s asleep in the light. (Then, mournfully) How can you be so dead, when you’ve been so well fed…?” The precursor to that song—at least on my cassette, was the theatrical and theological masterpiece set to a jubilant piano melody that transitions to a dark and ominous minor key, inspiring both joy and terror. The Sheep & The Goats is profound in its simplicity but wonderfully complex in its delivery and concept. Green is narrating a passage of scripture, mostly verbatim, from Matthew 25:31-46. The sheep represent those who live lives marked with the scars of loving others—feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and imprisoned. At the end, they learn the care and love shown to others was actually done to Christ and for that, they receive an eternal reward. The goats represent those who lived the life that Bobby Brown was extolling in the aforementioned hit. Sadly, the extent to which they did not serve others was the same as not serving Christ and for that they receive eternal punishment. The only difference between the two groups, Green dramatically points out, is what they did and didn’t do. The subtext is that “believing in Jesus” (a phrase we Christians like to bandy about) is not so much about acknowledging his existence (both the sheep and goats know Jesus is real) but obedience to his instructions. Can you sense the conviction produced by the truth of his lyrics?! When All Is Said & Done He’s been likened to John the Baptist in older media clips and it’s easy to see why. His curly 1980’s hair, massive beard and passion for preaching that the Kingdom of Heaven was at hand—encouraging all to repent, believe and live was reminiscent of the prophet who emerged from the wilderness—both beloved and despised. But there’s another characteristic both men share—and it grieves me to this day. John was beheaded at the request of an impressionable little girl, and a man who played such a pivotal role in ushering in God’s promised Messiah was gone to the disillusionment of many. On July 28, 1982 Keith Green, his four-year-old son Josiah, two-year-old daughter Bethany, visiting church planters John and Dede Smalley, their six children and the pilot of a small two-engine Cessna 414, planned to enjoy an aerial tour of their Texas ranch. The heavily-loaded plane barely got off the ground and when it made impact, the fireball could be seen for miles. No one survived. Fans around the world mourned and wondered at the loss of such a blazing talent—but none more than his wife and musical collaborator Melody Green, who remained home that day with their one-year-old daughter Rebekah and was four weeks pregnant with a child who would learn of her dad’s incredible impact—in part the way I did—through his vast musical collection and video recordings. You see, by the time my dad introduced me to the music of Keith Green and my young heart was being transformed by his lyrics— he’d been dead for seven years. Separate me from this world Lord. Sanctify my life for you. Daily change me to your image, Help me bear good fruit. Every day you're drawing closer. Trials come to test my faith. But when all is said and done Lord, You know, it was worth the wait. *3 He was 28 years old when he died—but he left behind a legacy of ministry gold pointing to the One he had come to love. And that’s why the music of Keith Green still speaks—even 35 years after his death. His music wasn’t about temporal trivialities like fame, wealth or sex--but focused on the ever-present reality of the person of Jesus Christ. The chasm between the two is too vast to quantify. Rediscovering my affinity for Keith Green’s music that busy workday blessed others too. Later that afternoon, ubering my children around town I had a chance to engage their minds and hearts with the Sheep and the Goats and later the Prodigal Son Suite and our newest bedtime song, You Are The One. Oh that God would raise up artists, writers, speakers, poets, preachers, teachers—who boldly and with great love communicate the story of the Redeemer who came to save! “The only music minister to whom the Lord will say, “Well done, thy good and faithful servant,” is the one whose life proves what their lyrics are saying and to whom music is the least important part of their life. Glorying the only worthy One has to be a minister’s most important goal.” –Keith Green Finish Well, Dionne Learn more www.KeithGreen.com Read Keith Green’s biography by Melody Green, “No Compromise: The Life Story of Keith Green” https://www.amazon.com/No-Compromise-Story-Keith-Green/dp/1595551646 *1 You Put This Love In My Heart *2 The Sheep And The Goats * 3 Rushing Wind How will you feel about saying goodbye to your foster child when it’s time for him or her to return home? That question and all its variants are probably what foster parents are asked most by those outside this tender and delicate world. I’m pretty sure I thought it was the toughest part of the gig before we got involved. Now I think it’s just one of several tough things. And yet I wait for it with expectation. I haven’t yet had to walk the walk—but I pray I get to. Dear God…please bring it to pass. Whatever it may cost my heart to pray this—I do it because I believe restoration is possible. God made sure of it. Confused, wounded and barely surviving her sophomore year, a teenager with easy laughter and big brown eyes was on a collision course with disaster. She should have been playing kickball with friends until the streetlights came on or complaining about algebra to her classmates but instead, found herself pregnant. She was 16; He was 19. Their relationship was as volatile as it was fragile. Those closest to her would eventually accept the heartbreaking reality—and they would celebrate—but with tears in their eyes and stiff upper lips. Who could blame them? Who--but a fool—would find hope in this situation? Even as I write—knowing the beauty that would slowly take form from these ashes I tremble at the thought of what this must have been like for my mother, my grandmother and my aunties. I was born in the autumn of 1977 and the shadow of death was upon us. One train wrecked life giving birth to another. Teenage pregnancy brings with it a host of other challenges. A stunted education (my mom left high school in the 10th grade), poverty (my mom and I shared an apartment where it quite literally snowed in my bedroom) a fractured family (after infancy, didn’t see my birth father again until I was a teenager) and a laundry list of other ills that are too painful to recount. While there was certainly cause to weep—liberation was on the horizon. God was working out a salvation story in the midst of the angst—and the petals of the flower he painstaking attended would unfurl over time. Teenage pregnancy is never a good thing—except when God miraculously transforms its deficits into abundance, its desperation into heavenly reliance and its heartbreak into healing. I believe the same about foster care. Though my mom had lost her way — she hadn’t slipped away unseen— or alone. God pursued her. He waited for her and at the appointed time he used her baby to call her back from the dead. What she wouldn’t do for herself she would do for this tiny one who needed her for everything and saw her as Jesus did: beautiful. The Call that Produces Life Holy calls are plentiful in the Bible but one in particular stands out. Lazarus, a beloved friend of Jesus was four days in the grave leaving a community wracked with grief and a sister lamenting her savior’s delay, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Martha spoke rightly—for Jesus had indeed delayed himself, “two days longer.” Just long enough to ensure his friend was unquestionably deceased. Why would the Lord allow sorrow he could have prevented befall his friends? Why does he still allow sorrow to grip the hearts of those who love him? Christ was committed to giving his friends what they needed most of all— a revelation of the glory of God. “This sickness is not to end in death, but for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified by it.” John 11:4 And then, the call that brought a dead man to life, “Lazarus come forth.” It’s a powerful connection, that between mother and child. God has allowed the blessing and burden of motherhood to call many women to accomplish feats they wouldn’t have otherwise. So prevailing is this call that when some mothers lose their way—and aren’t willing or are unable to return to their children, other mothers hear the call and respond. That’s the call ringing in the ears of every good foster mom. My mother endowed me with the heart and wisdom to become a good mom, but her faithfulness, endurance and heartbreak prepared me to become a good foster mom. For all, I'm grateful. So I pray for the birth mothers of children in foster care—that the State’s intrusion will be cool water on a life engulfed in flames. I pray they’ll hear their child’s call—and the voice of God cloaked within. And I pray for their salvation—restoration of body and soul so they can say with Jesus, “This sickness was not to end in death—but for the glory of God.” There are two kinds of a sorrow, according to the Bible: the kind that leads to restoration and the kind that doesn’t. The family and friends of Lazarus quite literally had their mourning transformed to joy as their friend hopped out of the tomb—bound hand and foot in grave clothes! The grim circumstances that once threatened my mother lead not to her undoing--but her making. Being a foster parent creates an occasion to love the child or children temporarily in our care and the family from which they came in the best way we can—to the degree they are willing to receive it. And it means praying. Praying that light will triumph over darkness and everyone involved—foster family, birth family and children everywhere will receive what we all need most of all--ears to hear the call of life and eyes to behold the glory of God. For the sorrow that is according to the will of God produces repentance without regret, leading to salvation, but the sorrow of the world produces death. 2 Corinthians 7:10 'Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:4-7 Twinkling lights on a luxuriant Douglas fir bedecked with oh so many school-made ornaments—and baubles that sparkle too. Stockings hung on the mantle—an additional one this year, each representing the personality of its keeper. The fragrance of peppermint and gingerbread and cinnamon swirling inside while icy gusts or the promise of snow transforms the neighborhood into a Winter Wonderland (or Washington’s verdant version). And the gatherings! Parties with work friends and church friends and family… it’s a season I’ve treasured for as long as I can remember. There’s another reason I enjoy the holidays. For my extended family, it becomes a season of prayer. My parents, brothers, sister and their spouses and children, wherever we're gathered (because for most of the year we’re scattered) amidst the festivities, collect in a room, bundle in blankets on overstuffed couches, usually in my parents' front room, and pray. Sometimes someone is Skyped in because geography kept them away. One time friends joined us and we sang Christmas songs together. We’ll spend time talking and laughing about the craziness of life. We’ll share personal things too—about loss or unmet expectations or looming uncertainty. Then my dad, or one of my brothers, or me or my mom or anyone else who wants, will open the Bible to read scripture, maybe say a bit about it, and we’ll bow our heads and talk to God. Most of us were together during Thanksgiving. We prayed as a family united— as Christians who seek to know God more, seek to do His will more often and desire to love others in deeper, meaningful ways. We prayed for restoration too because, probably like your family, there are some menacing issues ahead of us. We certainly want life to go well for each other and we’re clear about asking God to send relief. He alone gets to determine what that looks like, but all of us get the gift of peace that steadies our racing hearts and calms troubled minds. It made me wonder how many other believers share this habit. Many of us say grace before meals and prayers before bedtime. We anticipate quiet time with the Lord in the morning, over a cup of coffee before the day begins. But how many of us gather with other believers—maybe our extended family (if we’re so blessed) or friends (also, if we’re blessed) and pray together in groups small enough for everyone to speak…and care for each other? I believe Christmas is about restoration; God restoring us to Himself through the work of his son by the power of the Holy Spirit. I heard a pastor say once, “God doesn’t make new things—but makes all things new.” Perhaps the newness is a changed situation in the form of returning health, financial provision or renewed relationships...I hope so for all those who we love. Mainly though, our newness is something greater than this fragile world can provide—it’s a deeper understanding of the God who loves us so, a profound opportunity to know the one who came to save—the one who even now guards our hearts and minds. And in knowing Him, we discover who we were created to be. To be honest, our extended family has done this for many years—all seasons of the year—not just Christmastime. But as time quickens its pace, I appreciate it more than ever. The Lord is near to you, Paul's words ring from Philippians. That is reason enough to rejoice! That He wants to hear from us is too good to be true. Ask for what you need, Paul writes, and do so with gratitude and humility. Then rest, in the protection and security His peace affords you. Maybe that relentless obstacle you're being crushed by will be banished from your life by prayer--or maybe God will allow it to linger long enough to become your servant. How? By causing you to cry out to the Lord for its removal, acknowledging your dependency and His Lordship, as you submit to the One who loves more. And the power of the peace that surpasses comprehension will allow you to climb atop that burden with arms outstretched to Heaven. Closer than ever you were before. It's now considered vintage, the Creative Circle Embroidery Kit #1004. The finished work shows a solitary robin standing a branch of budding flowers in the top left corner. A small nest with three turquoise eggs rests in a tangle of flowers and greenery bottom right. And in the middle, in tawny letters, big and bold, it reads "Life is fragile: handle with prayer." My mom was all about Creative Circle in the 1980's and her 18"x24" embroidered masterwork, hung in our home for several years. But just like shoulder pads, teased hair and the video rental superstores that were common in that era—its popularity diminished. What didn't change though is the truth it references: The call for believers everywhere to pray: individually, collectively and frequently. Life is fragile. We are fragile. But the God who made us--is not. Everything by prayer. Finish Well, Dionne Recently, I was walking an elderly friend of mine to her car. We often talk about God and family and I’m frequently blessed by her wisdom—and humor. This day, she asked me how foster care was going. Smiling broadly, I assured her it was one of the best things our family has ever done. She met my eyes, and let me know how incredible I am—how saint-like and selfless I must be—how blessed our little one is to have us.
My smile fell. I picked it back up—thanked her…and started thinking. I remember feeling like that about other foster parents. Like they must be cut from a different cloth—because how else could a family do this kind of work? Then I remember going through training and wanting to quit and run away and was convinced of it. Then there was that evening I told God, I can go no further, and decided to squash this little desire that had been burning in my heart for so many years. It happened months before our first placement, while we were still in training, learning some particularly difficult truths about trauma and the dreaded “system.” I hadn’t even told my husband or children yet, I just decided that we were done. Too much effort. Too much pain. Too much vulnerability. God wants me to be a victor—not reduced to some puddle in the corner made ineffective due to grief (when we finally say farewell to our beloved foster child) or handicapped due to restrictions from the state (regarding travel, or babysitting or where we keep our vitamins) or expose our home and lives to a litany of social workers and case managers (I mean, I like you an all…but not in my house). I can't do this, Lord. I want out. So much for selfless and incredible. His response was so…Godlike…and it was something like this: “I’m not demanding this of you, Dionne. I’m offering it. This is not meant to be a curse—but my gift to you.” Keep in mind, my dear friend who heaped flowery adjectives in my direction when you hear my response. Keep in mind I said this after just learning about the atrocities of abandonment, neglect and abuse happening to children in my neck of the woods. “Thanks. But no thanks.” Not me Lord, send another. I would have walked away, right then and there--so close to the finish line. Too close. If you’re a Christian who believes the Bible is God-breathed (that’s the definition of ‘inspired’ by the way); If you believe the Father sent his begotten son to restore this world to Himself—that he "emptied himself, taking the form of a servant" to expend divine effort, endure incomprehensible pain (separation from the Father) and massive vulnerability (dying at the hands of those he came to save)--you will see how unfounded my rejection was. Thanks, but no thanks? For my life story, foster care had ‘JESUS’ written all over it. Yes Christ came to make me a victor—over my own selfishness, fear and rejection of Him as the Lord of my life. He came to enable me to love--not just in word, but in deed. He came to enable me to give--not merely of my excess--but all I have. That's why I wanted out. It was starting to get costly. But there’s more… God spoke to me again (oh the grace!) “You can deny me and walk away—if you want--” He seemed to say. (I’m off the hook? Yea for mercy!) “But what I won’t do, is remove the desire you have for these children.” And that, dear friends, is when the selfish, timid, uncertain part of me collapsed at the foot of my Lord. Because it was true. For so long I had the desire to grow our family with children who were not biologically my own. At times I tried to extinguish that longing but through a series of wonderful occurrences the faintly burning spark had grown to crackling fire. It was both beautiful and terrifying. I’m still tempted to think other foster families are cut from a different cloth than the rest of us, especially those who care for medically-fragile children, or sibling groups…or teenagers! But I suspect they have their own story too. Maybe we’re not incredible, or selfless or saint-like so much as we are obedient to the call God has on our lives. It is after all, one of the hallmarks of faith in Christ. “If you love me, you will keep my commandments,” Jesus said. (John 14:15) I do. And I will…Help me! You don't have to be selfless or incredible. You need only submit to the One who is and trust He will keep you. A bruised reed he will not break and a faintly burning wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice. Isaiah 42:3 What is God calling you to do? Find out and hop to it. Finish Well, Dionne In 2015 amidst the flurry of a chaotic life, likely shackled by addiction, a young couple with three children devised a plan for peace and quiet. It didn’t involve story time and soft music or snacks and a movie—but injecting heroin into the bodies of their children. It was “feel good medicine” the eldest child, a boy who’s now 6 told investigators from Child Protective Services that his father, Leroy "Mac" McIver gave him. His sisters, now 2 and 4 years old, also received injections—indeed that’s how authorities were alerted to the abuse. A report was made—by someone whose name hasn’t been released, that mom Ashlee Hutt, now 24, injected the drug into all three of her children, calling it “sleeping juice.” A dirty house littered with needles, rat droppings and heroin with both parents embracing abuse as a parenting style was the norm for these children. But it doesn’t have to be. ***** Christian Clark a twenty-one year old mother of two from Texas was angry at her boyfriend, Andre Price. She was convinced he was being unfaithful—and that hurt. Anguish morphed to violent rage and in a successful effort to wound him—she destroyed herself in the process, documenting her 17-month-old son’s murder and two-year-old daughter’s abuse in a series of vicious texts to their father. “Ya kids ain’t safe here I don’t want them here” “Answer me or im going to jail for child endangerment” And finally, at 10:01 PM, “I’m killing them” By 10:14 PM, little Andre Price the 3rd was dead, his limp body shown lying face down on a mattress. Angel, his older sister, was terrified and hurt, but still alive. Their mother recorded this on her cell phone—sending the video to their father. Andre Price at times ignored the threatening texts and other times said he would return home—but by all accounts it was too late. But is it? While some of us are thinking about stepping into foster care—wondering which of our children is going to have to share a room or how we’ll squeeze another child into a schedule that’s already bursting at the seams. Or acknowledging the reality that taking care of a child from a broken place is going to bring difficulty—and returning the child—after we’ve grown to love him may be even harder… While those of us who get to make these kind of choices enjoy the luxury of time—some child, somewhere needs you to prepare for their arrival. Now. Our family was licensed in our state for nearly three months before we received our first placement. While this was unusual, it wasn’t due to a shortage of kids needing care (sadly), but due to the reality that it took three months to find a child that was best suited to the parameters of our home. Age, gender, medical fragility, degree of trauma and geographical considerations are some of the criteria you’ll choose, should you become a foster parent. You are the perfect home for specific children—not all children. An empty-nester might like to mentor teenagers; a mom who’s a nurse might consider a medically fragile child or a family with all girls might like to experience a son…and so on. The siblings who used to receive heroin injections at bedtime are now in foster care and according to law enforcement, are doing well. The trajectory of their lives has changed and while only God knows the final outcome, the family or families who are serving these kids get to experience the joy of a home filled with purpose while the children--maybe for the first time, get to live in an environment of stability, security and compassion. I don’t know little Angel’s current situation but it’s certainly bleak. She’s likely suffered abuse at the hands of her mother for most of her life (I’m assuming this wasn’t the first time Christian Clark became violent) and will probably grow up with her mother behind bars—for the murder of her baby brother. That’s almost too much to bear and yet that reality is stamped on the body, mind and soul of a child too young to even write her name. Maybe she’ll be able to live with her dad and he’ll work to meet her needs and build a life for them together—but if he’s unwilling or unable this child deserves someone who is. This is the privilege of foster parenting. The goal of this post isn't guilt or legalism—but awareness because for some child, somewhere, time is running out. Since our family began this journey, I’ve had the pleasure of learning from all sorts of folks who navigate this world. Other foster parents, case managers, social workers and helpful organizations like the Foster Parents Association of Washington, www.fpaws.org, and Fostering Together, www.fosteringtogether.org have proved incredibly helpful. I’ve also been able to share a bit of what we’ve learned so far during various public and private conversations about fostering. I’m gripped by how many women I know, express a long-held desire to adopt or serve this community but don’t where to begin…or if they should. My encouragement is to go for it! Take the training class. Start out with respite care (overnight care of other foster children) or agree to just one placement. Open your heart and your home to all the joy and blessing this kind of lifestyle brings. I’ll close with this story: When our nine-year-old daughter returned to school from summer vacation and was asked by her teacher to journal about the highlights of her holiday, she didn’t write about all the fun she had with her friends or boast of vacations and purchases, but told how she got a new foster sister and how fun it was to get to know her. That initiated a conversation with her teacher about the beauty of foster care and later that day when my daughter and I were talking, she told me that when she grew up she wanted to dye her hair pink (like mine, I know…) have “born babies” and become a foster mom too. My heart grieves for mothers’ like Ashlee Hutt and Christian Clark who have denied themselves this kind of legacy and the ability to receive this kind of love but I’m hopeful for their children. I believe it is God alone who builds families and while he often employs biology, he certainly doesn't have to. “For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being…” Ephesians 3:14-16 Somewhere, some child needs you. My prayer is that you’ll realize you need them too. Finish Well, Dionne You are what you speak. Lists help me understand big concepts. Maybe James had folks like me in mind when he composed the first chapter of the book that bears his name. He offers readers a checklist of righteous behaviors. One of which is learning to tame the tongue. “If anyone thinks himself to be religious and yet does not bridle his tongue but deceives his own heart, this man’s religion is worthless.” James 1:26 James is like a coach and here's his counsel to us athletes:
There's a whole devotional there but let's talk about the tongue because if we don't learn to manage our words--our religion is futile. According to Google, the tongue is a muscular organ in the mouth of a mammal used for tasting, licking, swallowing and (in humans) articulating speech. The Bible puts it this way: though small it’s massively boastful. It’s a world of iniquity and it defiles the whole body. It is restless evil, deadly poison and it sets fire to your life—a fire started and stoked by Hell. (James 3:5-8) Bible commentator Matthew Henry, writing two and a half centuries ago said it like this, “The whole body is often drawn into sin and guilt by the tongue. The affairs of mankind and of societies are often thrown into confusion…by the tongues of men. Hell has more to do in promoting the fire of the tongue then men are generally aware of.” James Chapter 3 was written for me and anyone else who would cast their hope exclusively on Christ. It offers the dumb, the illiterate and the scoffer the opportunity to repent and turn from a native language of death—to one of life. Just as a horse in a bridle is mastered by its rider or ship’s rudder is directed by its captain, we as Christians are commanded to control our tongue. The problem is—it’s impossible. “For every species of beast and birds, of reptiles and creatures of the sea, is tamed and has been tamed by the human race. But no one can tame the tongue; it is restless evil and full of deadly poison.” (James 3:7-8) Fierce animals may have human masters—but the tongue is different, apt to break its bearer’s bonds in moments of passion, rage, laziness, levity—exhaustion. In other words, it would be easy to watch what we say—if life stopped getting in the way. Enter: Jesus. The power Christ offers His believers to overcome habitual sin, particularly in matters of speech, is so wonderful that it must inspire love and devotion in our hearts. Jesus Christ’s life, death and resurrection supply us with supernatural strength to overcome our natural, demonic and disordered tendencies. So specific and sharp an instrument is the Bible—the inspired Word of God, that it will literally change the way we speak—which means it’s changing the way we think, which means it’s changing what we fundamentally believe. This is the excruciatingly beautiful process of sanctification—becoming more like Jesus, less like that reflection in the mirror. And it’s real evidence of justification—proof that we believed in the first place. But it’s not God who needs evidence of our salvation—it’s us. Satan believes in Jesus. “You believe God is one. You do well; the demons also believe and shudder.” (James 2:19) Note James’ sarcasm—and his bite. The demons believe and shudder. They shudder because they believe! Shuddering means to tremble in fear yet despite their belief, they are not justified, cannot be sanctified and will never be glorified. Jesus Christ did not come to redeem fallen angels. “For assuredly He does not give help to the angels, but He gives help to the descendants of Abraham.” (Hebrews 2:16) Practicing good works in the name of Christ—like submitting to the Word of God in manners of speech by learning the fine art of tongue-taming (for example), takes our witness of Christ’s resurrection and its soul-transforming power beyond impotent acknowledgement to a life wholly devoted to its savior. A polite head nod in the direction of the Creator does not merit eternal life in heaven with Him. James says it point-blank, “For just as a body without a spirit is dead, so also faith without works is dead.” (James 2:26) James said it like this: ---->But someone may well say, “You have faith and I have works; show me your faith without the works, and I will show you my faith by my works.” You believe that God is one. You do well; the demons also believe, and shudder. But are you willing to recognize, you foolish fellow, that faith without works is useless? Was not Abraham our father justified by works when he offered up Isaac his son on the altar? You see that faith was working with his works, and as a result of the works, faith was perfected; and the Scripture was fulfilled which says, “And Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness," and he was called the friend of God. You see that a man is justified by works and not by faith alone. In the same way, was not Rahab the harlot also justified by works when she received the messengers and sent them out by another way? For just as the body without the spirit is dead, so also faith without works is dead. (James 2:18-26) Wait...are we saved by faith in Christ alone or good works, like bridling our tongue? Good works don’t save souls--though our pride begs to differ. There isn't enough time in the day, enough selfless motivation in our hearts or a drop of infallible wisdom we possess that definitively discerns all good from all bad. We're just humans after all. Plus, didn't we receive everything we've got from God anyway? Can't we do everything we can do because He sustains us? This righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by His grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus. (Romans 3:22-24) So how would the biblical writers James and Paul (the writer of Romans) reconcile their seemingly contradictory teachings? Easily. You can't have one without the other. Justification comes through faith in Christ alone but faith that is alive will show itself in good works—by bearing good fruit. One banana in the basket—so to speak, is a bridled tongue evidenced by “good behavior in the gentleness of wisdom” (James 3:13). Truly, as a believer who by the grace of God, longs to be a fountain of fresh water sowing righteousness in peace—habitually repenting and frightfully aware of shortcomings too numerous to name yet rejoicing in the all-sufficiency of Christ, my religion (and yours too) isn’t worthless but infinitely valuable! Finish Well, Dionne If there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself, it’s that I’m fearful of the unknown. Probably most of us are. One way to assuage cowardice is to push back at the scary thing—see how big it really is, how much effort it’ll take to overcome it—and determine if it’s worth overcoming. Sometimes it’s wise to listen to fear. Sometimes it needs to be crushed.
Foster care abounds with uncertainty. Could I love a child that wasn’t mine? Was it worth loving a child I’d have to give back? Could our hearts survive the experience of welcoming a daughter, a sister into our lives for an undetermined amount of time—only to say goodbye? Could God really sustain us throughout this journey? Would He want to? Yes. {The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23} The struggle is real, but so is hope. Unwavering, resolute love that persists. Inexhaustible mercy divinely renewed with the sunrise. God’s prodigious commitment to me…to us…to her. Yes. The solution to the fear I was grappling with was love. So I prayed for love. And I waited for it. On weekday afternoons, I picked up my children from school. In those early days on the road to becoming a licensed foster family, I remember looking into the faces of random children as the final bell rang, thinking, Could I love you? My new little one would be as foreign to me as any one of these strangers. My heart didn’t speak. Oh Lord, if you don’t ignite my heart—I don’t think I can do it. I’ll resent the interruption to my life. I’ll grow dimmer and not brighter. I won’t become an advocate for foster care but an opponent. Help me. {I prayed to the Lord, and he answered me; He freed me from all my fears. The oppressed look to him and are glad; they will never be disappointed. The helpless call to him, and he answers; he saves them from all their troubles. His angel guards those who honor the Lord and rescues them from danger. Psalm 34:4-7} Every foster family has their story. For some, it’s faithfulness despite a silent heart. (See “Our Broken and Beautiful Adoption” by Natalie Patterson Published in the Huffington Post June 27, 2016.) Others are thrust into caring for the children of loved ones who’ve gone astray and have to quickly adapt. But that’s not my story—not this time. Almost twelve years ago I became pregnant with our first child, a son. It was a time of wonderment and anticipation. Nine months later, we met and snuggling him in my arms, I believed in love at first sight. He was so little, so new to the world—so in need of the comfort of a mom. He was perfect. Flash forward more than a decade to another exhilarating and startling time. This time it’s a worker from Child Protective Services who confirmed life, “We’ll be there in 20 minutes” she said. And with 2O minutes to spare…God finally ignited my heart. It roared to life with a love big enough for a little girl and her whole story. My heart hadn’t acknowledged the children at the school because they weren’t mine. But she was and I knew it. There wasn't an OBGYN this time--but a CPS worker. And I wasn't in a delivery room receiving my newborn son, but on my driveway welcoming my foster daughter. She was so little, so new to our world and in need of the comfort of a mom. I got to be the mom, actually, “Aunty-Mom” this time. And yes, she was perfect. It’s true that uncertainties abound in foster care. The system has its limitations. But who hopes in the system? The psalmist cries out for those of us who long for justice, “Our soul waits for the LORD; he is our help and our shield.” Psalm 33:20 So that’s our master plan. And when friends who know how our family came to be—trying to reconcile their uncertainty and graciously trying to understand ours, ask THE question, Will you adopt her? The answer is simple--the decision made with 20 minutes to spare. We already have. Finish well, Dionne It’s a strange thing to be in the dark, even in your own home. Simple tasks like cooking oatmeal on the stove or doing laundry would be frustrating and difficult—if not dangerous, in complete darkness. And we’re talking about oatmeal and T-shirts. Imagine the darkness of the soul.
Cloaked in the shadows of night, an anxious Nicodemus comes to Jesus in John Chapter 3. He’s troubled—convicted and conflicted. He believes Jesus is otherworldly—to say the least. The stories of His unprecedented miracles reaching the upper echelons of Jewish society, the strange authority He inherently possesses: simultaneously a straightforward and perplexing rabbi yet equally a fearsome renegade who with a handmade whip of cords sent gangsters and con-artists fleeing from the Jewish equivalent of Times Square. He is neither boastful nor arrogant but will later say He alone is the bread of life who comes from Heaven—making Moses’ forty years of manna look like the spread at a child’s birthday party in comparison to His everlasting banquet. Nicodemus a Pharisee, a ruler of the Jews, professor of the law, esteemed and revered sits at the feet of this carpenter’s son from Nazareth and can’t even mouth the question that’s setting his soul on fire. Maybe he wants to fall before Him--worship and weep—embracing this God-man who he has spent his life studying. Is that really you? But how can it be? What does that mean for us—for me? But decorum or doubt or nagging disbelief choke those thoughts and silence the questions. For now, Nicodemus will acknowledge Christ is a teacher sent from God, “No one can do these signs that you do unless God is with him.” (John 3:2, Italics added) But God is not merely with Him. The words from the prophet Isaiah should have been burning in Nicodemus’ mind, if not his heart. “Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign: Behold a virgin will be with child and bear a son, and she will call is name Immanuel.” (Isaiah 7:14) Immanuel is God with us. And so Immanuel cuts to the chase and tells the fragmented leader how to see the Kingdom of God. Because, after all, that's what Nicodemus really wants to know. Regnum Dei, the Kingdom of God, sometimes referred to as the Kingdom of Heaven is frequently referred to by Christ in the gospels, though it’s less frequently defined—a phrase so common to its original hearers that it defied definition. The relationship between God and humanity involves the kingship of God—His lordship and our worship. In the context of Christ’s conversation with Nicodemus it is an awareness that only presents after a new birth. In the sermon “The Kingdom of God is Righteousness and Peace and Joy in the Holy Spirit” by John Piper (November 13, 2005), Dr. Piper simply defines the Kingdom of God as “righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit.” “For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking but of righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit. Whoever thus serves Christ is acceptable to God and approved by men. So then let us pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding.” (Romans 14:17-19) Paul the writer of Romans (and much of the new testament) does not use the term frequently but here he offers a glimpse of the kingdom as a lifestyle—a heavenly lifestyle that goes far deeper than the rules of morality or surface composure to cultivating a heart of peace and pursuing or running toward, that which builds up one’s neighbor. It speaks of a motivation of the heart that is empowered and validated by the Spirit of God and secondly by others. So we pray, “Jesus, help me to see the Kingdom of God” as entry into this realm requires a new birth—bearing the fruit of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit and a cleansing or renewal of the mind by the Word of God. In the same sermon, Piper categorizes the Kingdom of God as follows: 1) It’s a reign or a rule—not a place 2) It speaks to the saving or redeeming reign of God as opposed to God’s providential reign. The Kingdom of God desires the will of God to be done “as it is in heaven” righteously, peacefully and joyfully. This is contrasted to the way God’s providential will is accomplished on earth—often through heartache or catastrophe—causing us to look to Christ only after we've exhausted every other vessel of hope and found emptiness. The Kingdom of God teaches us to freely walk in step with our master instead of choosing Him last. 3) It is present (in some measure) but mostly future (new age of Christ). We can enjoy God by enjoying a portion of his Kingdom in our fractured world now—waiting confidently and expectantly for the consummation. 4) The Kingdom of God is one and the same as the Kingdom of Christ. According to Piper whose mastery of the scripture turns sermons into Easter eggs--you'd be satisfied with the beautiful candy coating yet no sooner than the first bite discover hidden chocolate worth savoring long after the surface goodness melts away--the Kingdom of God is evidenced in our life when the Holy Spirit is “holding sway, conquering sin and producing righteousness, joy and peace.” Nicodemus struggled to the voice the question--“How can I see the Kingdom of God?” Our modern, first-world sensibilities are too dulled by worldliness and too lulled by distractions, to even care to ask. And yet Jesus answers the longing of both our hearts—ancient and modern, the same. “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:16) It originates with God the Father’s unyielding love for His own creation, the sacrificial and covenantal work of the cross willingly accomplished by Jesus Christ, necessary because of humanity's sin and God's holiness, the irresistible grace of the Holy Spirit calling the dead unto life and the recipients of this grace--those who call themselves believers, living a faith-filled life that bears the marks--or perhaps the scars, of this spiritual transaction. This revelation—this light, is life for the soul that was previously trapped in darkness. And that is very good news for those of us who were trying to make oatmeal in the dark. Last year our church did a pajama and underwear drive for a local agency that works with Foster children. We were told that many children come into care with just the clothes they are wearing and would appreciate the small gifts of nice pajamas and new undies. The ages and genders of various children were written on a pretty paper ornament and hung on a Christmas tree for us to choose from. My family selected “12 Year Old Girl” and sometime during the hustle and bustle of Christmas shopping we tossed our gift into a shopping cart. We left it under the tree at church—and thought nothing more about it. Until now. Until a year later, when we took a little girl into our home, agreeing to be her foster family knowing little more than her age and gender. Not her race, her preferences or even her name. She knew even less about us. But you know what’s beautiful? There were people who, without knowing the story of a child who needed comfort and a family who needed supplies had already been thinking about both of us. Just like the pajama/undie drive that we participated in, other churches, services organizations and kind people brought their gifts to the agency too with hearts to bless a little person when they needed it most. What were these profound gifts? School Supplies: When classes are days away and Target is almost empty—at least of the good stuff, we didn’t fret because a local church had donated backpacks, pencils, notebooks, glue and every other gizmo required for the first day of school. Our little one had what she needed to learn. Thank you. A Teddy Bear: A big, giant, fluffy guy with a bow around his neck; the kind your daddy would bring home to you after returning from a long trip. Our little one had a Teddy to snuggle in her strange, new home. Thank you. A Handmade Pillowcase: A colorful, kid-approved pattern that’s special and new. What a thoughtful way to adorn a new bed! Our little one slept deeply on pillowcase made just for her. Thank you. A Small Quilt: Perhaps the most special gift of all. A local quilter’s guild made small quilts for Foster children—Linus and Snoopy approved! Who among us hasn’t watched a child snuggle a blankie for comfort? And when would you need comfort, more? Our little one received a beautifully-made quilt that continues to calm her heart. Thank you. A transition like this is never easy—but thoughtful gifts and necessary supplies make it a bit easier. The Harry Potter series is a favorite in our house. We love J.K. Rowling’s incredible imagination and the magical world of Hogwarts that she’s created, but I can tell you of something greater than fictional magic. It’s love—especially the kind that asks for nothing in return; the kind that is content only with the recipient’s joy. The strangers who lovingly donated pencils, stuffed animals, pillowcases and quilts to children they’d likely never meet, gave love to children who needed it most of all. So to all of you who’ve taken the time, spent the money and added the thoughtful touches, our family says THANK YOU! Your gifts really matter. Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’ Matthew 25:34-40 Finish Well, Dionne |
Dionne"Lay aside every weight and the sin that so easily entangles and run with endurance the race set before you. " Archives
June 2023
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