July 2008

Longing

Megan Breedlove July 28, 2008 0Comment

I sat in the shallows of the lake, the sun-warmed water ebbing and flowing around me, the gentle sun itself smiling down on me. There weren’t very many people at the lake yet that morning besides my husband, my three children, and me. Ellie, my oldest at four years old, played on a green, ring-shaped float while Daddy supervised. Kenny and Lindsey, two-and-a-half and one, alternately sat in my lap and played in the crystal-clear water, scooping up the small pebbles on the bottom or trying to catch the fish they could easily see.

I had tried to take Lindsey out further into the water, holding her securely in my arms, so that I could enjoy the deeper water myself. She didn’t like it and started fussing. Kenny didn’t want to go deeper, either. So the three of us stayed in the shallows, enjoying the beautiful lake—something there aren’t many of near where we live.

I was content…mostly. As I gazed across the lake to the opposite shore, where the hills rose a hundred feet above the shoreline, I felt at peace. It was quiet. It was peaceful, with few other people around. It was beautiful. I had my dearest loved ones with me, including the baby in my womb. Yet I wished that I could strike out into deeper water on my own. I wanted to float in the water that couldn’t have been a more perfect temperature, maybe swim a little, or just walk a little, feeling the water move past me as I displaced it. I wanted to be out there by myself, no one around me, no demands upon me, and utterly at peace. I was blessedly happy where I was, in those perfect moments that don’t happen every day…yet I longed for something more.

I believe that this is how God wants us to long for heaven. He’s given us a beautiful world to enjoy. He’s given us relationships. He’s given us moments that are so perfect they almost hurt, because we know they’re fleeting, and no matter how hard we try to hold on, they will suddenly slip through our grasp and be gone. He’s given us so many blessings and so many foretastes of perfection and of the divine that we can—and should—be content here. But He knows He has something more in store for us, and He wants us to long for it, knowing that its wonder and beauty will surpass even the most perfect moment on earth.

In heaven, we will worship God face to face. Stop and think about that for a minute. Can you even imagine it? What will it be like to see the face of the One Who made everything that exists, including you? What will it be like to be fully in his presence, undeterred by sin?

In heaven, there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain. Wow. How many times today did one of these things intersect your life? How many times did a child cry? How many times was someone sad? How many times was someone hurt, physically or emotionally? Perhaps someone you love even died today. But in heaven, no more. In heaven, none of these things ever takes place.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow, that this life is not all there is. Yes, we should enjoy it. Yes, we should be grateful for the gifts God has given us in part to make our time here more bearable. But no matter how wonderful your life is, I guarantee that heaven surpasses it by a wider margin than you can possibly imagine.

We who are Christians have this hope (expectation) of heaven to help us through our time here on earth. When things are difficult here, we can remember that this is not all there is. When we struggle to pray or connect with God, spirit to spirit, we can remember that one day, we will see him face to face and know him fully, even as we are fully known. But in order to enjoy the anticipation of heaven, we must make sure we aren’t too focused on the temporary pleasures of earth.

If you’re like me, it’s easy to get caught up in the myriad details of earth that demand your attention. And it’s true that we have to pay attention to many of these things in order to fulfill the earthly responsibilities God has given us. But it’s vital to make time for spiritual things, too.

I believe that we should make it a point to regularly consider heaven. Wouldn’t it make a difference in the midst of trials if you stopped and remembered that these trials are not all there is and that heaven awaits you? Wouldn’t it give you perspective in life? And most of all, wouldn’t it result in your giving praise and glory to God for His amazing, overflowing generosity in allowing us to join Him in heaven at all and for preparing such a wonderful place for us?

You see, that longing we all have for things to be better—spiritually, physically, emotionally—will be completely fulfilled one day. So the next time you find yourself wishing things were different, remind yourself that one day, they will be—and they’ll be better than you can possibly imagine.

Revelation 21:3-4—God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eye. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.

Happy to Be Last

Megan Breedlove July 21, 2008 0Comment

Sometimes, it really matters who’s first.

Sure, you say, like in the Olympics, or the Miss America pageant, or maybe, to include the educational realm, at the National Spelling Bee.

But no, none of those is what I’m talking about.

I’m talking about far more important events, like the race across the parking lot to our van as we’re leaving the YMCA.

I have four children, three of whom are old enough to run, at ages five, three-and-a-half, and two. Watching them, I have learned that apparently, it really, really matters who gets to the van first. I’m not sure why; I just know that it does. I know that for some reason, it’s fairly close to the end of the world to be last—unless you’re my two-year-old daughter.

Let me explain.

The other night, after playing a game of racquetball at the Y, I picked up my children from childcare. In one hand, I had the baby carrier. The other three kids were walking—until the race began, which happened almost as soon as we hit the sidewalk outside the building.

My oldest two, Ellie and Kenny, started running toward the van, while Lindsey, the two-year-old, ran along behind in her adorable version of running that’s equal parts bounce, trot, and run. “Don’t run in the parking lot!” I shouted, or some variation of that, not wanting them to get hit by a car.

They didn’t listen, so I tried to hurry, lugging the baby carrier, and staying close enough between Ellie and Kenny in front and Lindsey behind me so that if danger threatened any of them, I could do something about it.

Unsurprisingly, Ellie and Kenny wound up at the van first. I reached them and prepared to deliver my “I-don’t-want-you-to-run-in-the-parking-lot-because-you’ll-get-smooshed-by-a-car” speech for the hundredth time, but Ellie spoke first.

“She’s last,” she said, looking back toward Lindsey.

I looked, too, and saw one of the most precious sights I will ever see—my adorable daughter, loping along, a huge grin on her face, watching her feet as she bounced/ran/trotted through the parking lot so that she wouldn’t trip. The sunlight was shining on her hair, turning it golden. Her grin was melting my heart.

Lindsey had no idea that anyone had reached the van before her because she wasn’t paying attention. Or if she did know, she didn’t care, because her attention was on her own journey.

Maybe that’s a lesson we need to learn.

Dear friend, have you ever felt discouraged because you were last?

Maybe you were the first one eliminated in the spelling bee. Maybe you would never think of entering a pageant. Maybe the closest you will get to the Olympics is watching them on TV.

Maybe these aren’t the kind of arenas in which you compare yourself. Maybe being beautiful or athletic really isn’t that important to you. Maybe your “race” is to be known as the most spiritual, or know your Bible the best, or be the most sought-after person for leading things at church.

Most of these goals aren’t necessarily bad. It’s admirable to want to train for the Olympics and win first place. It’s great to want to know your Bible well. The problem comes when you turn everything in life into a race where who’s first matters, and when you can’t even enjoy the journey unless you’re first.

Out of the three kids who ran to the van, who had the most fun? Lindsey.

She’s last.

Oh, yes, but she had the most fun.

She didn’t feel bad about herself at all.

Friends, how do you think God wants us to look at life? As if it’s a race where being first matters? Does he want us to race so fast that we forget to enjoy the blessings he has given us along the way?

In the race at the Y, Ellie was first, and Kenny came in a close second.

Lindsey was the one who enjoyed the race most. Lindsey was the one who enjoyed God’s blessings along the way—the fun way her body moved, the sun on her head, the freedom to run through a parking lot (under Mom’s watchful eye). She was also the one who enjoyed these things longest, because for her, the race wasn’t about getting to the end, but simply about being in the race at all.

Now don’t get me wrong—I’m not suggesting that you shouldn’t strive for excellence in life. When you’re in a race where the outcome matters, you should run to win the prize. What I am saying is that maybe sometimes, the results aren’t the most important part of the race. Maybe sometimes, you need to turn a race into a simple journey. Definitely, you shouldn’t hinge your feelings about yourself, or about the race, on whether or not you come in first.

Think about it. Are there areas of your life that you can’t enjoy because you’re not first, not perfect, not the best or the most?

Why don’t you try running the race like Lindsey?

Lope through the parking lot grinning and doing the best you can, and be happy with that.

2 Timothy 4:7—I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. (italics mine)

Dirty Apples

Megan Breedlove July 14, 2008 0Comment

My daughter Lindsey loves apples. She loves playing with them, eating them, hoarding them, stealing them, making a mess with them…you name it. (Of course, this is pretty much how she treats everything, but that’s another story.) One time, when she was 18 months old, she asked for an apple for a snack. I got out my handy-dandy apple slicer, where you press the thing down on top of the apple and it cores it and chops it into slices, all at the same time, and sliced the apple for her.

She was not content, however, to take one measly slice, or even to wait for me to put the slices into a bowl. Instead, she had to grab all the apple slices and walk away—probably to leave them on the floor somewhere, or maybe to actually eat them.

But fresh-cut apple slices are slippery, and when you’re only 18 months old and you’re trying to hold eight slices in your two little hands, well, it’s tough to do. So as she headed across the kitchen, most of the slices slipped out of her hands and landed on the floor.

I headed toward her to pick up the slices, intending to throw them away and slice her another apple. But Lindsey saw me coming, bent down, scooped up the slices in both hands, and started toddling away as fast as she could go.

I caught up with her, and when she felt my hand touch her, she sat down on the floor and began to cry, clutching those apples in her two little fists like they were the Hope Diamond and I was trying to steal it. “No! No!” she screamed tearfully as I pried them from her grip. Then, when she finally gave in to the realization that she had lost, she stopped saying “No!” and just wailed.

“I’ll get you some more apples,” I had tried to say as I took the apples away from her. “These are dirty. I’ll get you some more.”

But she didn’t want more apples. She wanted the ones she already had. The ones that fell on the floor and were dirty now. The ones fit only for the trash can. Those were her precious apples, and I was taking them from her.

Friends, have you ever tried to hang onto dirty apples?

Oh, I don’t mean actual food that has fallen on the floor. I mean things that God is trying to take away from you, telling you that they’re no good. When he wants to remove something from you, do you let him, or do you scream and cry and clutch your dirty apples with all of your might? When he finally, mercifully, removes them from you by force, do you wail, heartbroken?

I think we have all been there. But oh, dear friends, we don’t have to be there ever again.

Lindsey was too young to understand that I was taking the apples away for her own good, intending to replace them with something far better. Or if she did understand, the pain of losing the apples she already had was too great for her, and she clung to what she already had hold of, even though they were dirty. Even though they were trash.

There is a Rich Mullins song with a line that goes, “I’d rather fight you for something I don’t really want than to take what you give that I need.”

That’s exactly what I’m talking about.

God never asks us to give things up, or removes things from us, just to cause us grief with no other good purpose in mind. We know for certain, because we know his character and because he has revealed this in the Bible, that everything he does to and for us is for our good and his ultimate glory (which are one and the same).

So why, when he asks us to turn loose of something, do we fight him? Maybe it’s because we forget his character. Lindsey thought I was being mean to her. Sometimes, we question God’s goodness. Other times, our emotions are so intensely involved that we simply can’t bear to part with the thing in question, and any attempt to make us part with it sets off such intense grief that we just can’t consider anything else.

There’s another way we could respond when we’re asked or required to give up something we hold dear. It’s easy to say “Okay, God” when we understand and agree with the reason for giving it up. Right now, I’m talking about when we don’t understand, or we understand but don’t agree. During those times, we can make a decision of our will to voluntarily give up to God that which he is requiring of us. This doesn’t mean saying we desire to give it up. Quite the contrary, sometimes. What it does mean is that we can tell God, “God, I know that you wouldn’t ask me to give this up if there weren’t a sufficient reason. Although everything within me wants to fight you on this, I choose to follow not my flesh, not my limited understanding, but that which I know beyond a shadow of a doubt is true—that you are good, all the time, and that if you require something from me, that is good enough reason, even if I don’t understand why. So I choose to give this up to you so that you don’t have to pry it from my hand. I do this even though it grieves me…even though it tears my heart in two…even though if you gave me the choice, I would scream, ‘No! Don’t take it!’”

Hard? Oh, yes. Friend, I’ve been there. I know it can be agonizingly hard. But I also know it’s worth it to surrender willingly.

You see, God will take what he needs to take, whatever our response may be. So will we fight him? Or will we let go?

Will we hold onto the dirty apples? Or will we trade them in for something better, that even if we can’t see and don’t understand right now, we know it’s coming? Because you can be assured that God will bring good out of even the greatest tragedy. That’s the kind of wonderful God we have.

Isaiah 55:9—For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.

Romans 8:28—And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

Desiring Milk

Megan Breedlove July 7, 2008 0Comment

I have a precious five-month-old daughter named Jessica. She’s perfect, from the silken top of her little head to the smooth bottoms of her little feet. She has a grin that makes me grin, too, no matter what else is going on in my day. I love to watch her wave her arms and kick her legs when she’s excited, or even when she’s just interested in something. It’s wonderful to cuddle her warm body against my chest and feel her own little chest rising and falling with the soft rhythms of her breathing.

Already, she has learned to smile and laugh. She’s beginning to learn to sit up. She’s working on grasping things and bringing them to her mouth, and she sure knows how to gnaw on my finger once she’s caught it.

There is one thing, however, that she never had to learn because she already knew it, from the moment she was born: what to do when she’s hungry.

When babies begin to be hungry, they start rooting and moving their head around, trying to find a source of nourishment. If they don’t find one soon enough—or if the need, once felt, is too acute—they cry. Sometimes, they scream.

These are not happy little screams of delight that make us smile. These are desperate screams. They are “I’m hungry, and I need food right now!” screams.

When a baby is hungry, everything in her little body cries out for food. The baby is desperate. Young babies don’t understand the concept of “wait”. All they know is that they’re hungry, and they need food right away in order to satisfy the gnawing hunger within.

Friends, are you equally desperate for God’s Word?

The other day, I was feeding my daughter and thinking about how her sole, consuming desire when she’s hungry is for food. Then, I thought about the verse which tells us that we are to desire the milk of God’s Word “as newborn babes”.

I had always understood that verse as meaning that just as newborns need simple milk (or formula), so we need the simple things from God’s word when we are new believers. But that day, I saw the verse in a new light.

It all hinges on the word “as”.

If, in this verse, “as newborn babes” means merely “since you are newborns”, that would indicate that just as human newborns need simple milk, so spiritual newborns need simple truth.

But if “as newborn babes” modifies the word “desire”, it means “in the same way that newborn babies desire their milk”.

Let’s look at how that verse could read. “In the same way that newborn babies desire their milk, you should desire God’s Word so that you can grow.”

So what is the way that newborn babies desire their milk?

Desperately. Immediately. With singular focus.

What would it mean for our spiritual lives if we desired God’s Word desperately, immediately, and with singular focus, just like my daughter desires to be fed when she is hungry?

I confess that I don’t entirely know what this would look like. My desire for the things of God often falls short of where I would like it to be.

I do know this, however: I want to desire God’s Word in that way. I want my soul to hunger for it every bit as much as my daughter’s stomach hungers for milk.

When my daughter’s stomach is full on a regular basis with the right kind of milk, what happens? She grows. When our spirits are full of God’s Word on a regular basis, what happens? We grow, as the rest of the verse says. Could Jessica grow without milk? No.

Can we grow spiritually without God’s Word? No.

What would happen if I neglected to fill my daughter’s stomach? Her physical body would waste away. What happens when we fail to fill our spirits with God’s Word? Our spirits waste away.

We desperately need to make God’s Word a priority in our spiritual lives, for just as the consumption of milk ultimately affects every aspect of a baby’s life, so our ingestion of God’s Word ultimately affects every aspect of our spiritual lives, and many aspects of our earthly lives, too.

What can you or I do if we don’t really desire God’s Word all that much? The place to start is by confessing your lack of desire and asking God to give you a hunger for His Word. Then—and it sounds simple because it is—get into the Word. Start reading. After all, we’re commanded to study God’s Word, and that should be reason enough to do it.

You will find that your desire increases as you do.

1 Peter 2:2—As newborn babes, desire the sincere milk of the word, that ye may grow thereby.

July 2008

Longing

Happy to Be Last

Dirty Apples

Desiring Milk

You Missed

Priorities

I Wouldn’t Do That

Little Things

8 Seconds