Monday, February 20, 2012

Redemption at its Best

A week or two ago I passed the 17 year mark. 17 years of redemption. 17 years of following Christ. I thought a lot about those moments leading me up to salvation. I remember sitting on the 2nd pew of the middle section at church. I even remember what I was wearing-- a really fantastic pink and black sweater with teddy bears on it and some even more fantastic black Chic jeans (please tell me you remember these too?!) It was a Sunday night, our pastor wasn’t there that night and one of the men in our congregation was leading service in his place. I know it had been building for several weeks because I remember the previous weeks, the tug at my heart while I sat in the sanctuary. The nervousness I felt at the benediction because I didn’t want to go forward. I even remember my own reasoning against it, trying to harden my heart even as an 8 year old. Outstanding how even at that young of an age I didn’t want to admit that I was a sinner. But that night, I felt that familiar tug. That night Christ called me, and because He loved me first, I responded. I sat in the pew crying during the prayer, acknowledging my need for Christ, and immediately made myself stop crying when we stood up to sing. I didn’t want to anyone to see me crying. It’s the first time I can remember feeling shame about my spiritual condition- shame because I knew what I was. I knew what Christ had done. And I was embarrassed, embarrassed for other people to know I was a sinner (as if they didn’t know that already ha!) So when service was over, I ran to the water fountain and acted like I’d gotten water in my eye just in case anyone asked why my eyes were watering, in case they noticed I’d been crying.(Obviously, my skills at deception have never been particularly fabulous.) I remember thinking in my mind that I’d tell them I was thinking about my grandfather who’d died years before in case they pressed me on it. Funny how we go to such extremes to hide who we are when we are confronted with it, even as a child. I remember talking with my parents that night in my bedroom. I was even nervous to tell them because they’d know that I had been lost (which is even funnier to me now. Seriously, they KNEW I was lost. As if there was any doubt after my first tantrum as an infant.)

These years of faith have brought me through life’s journey with clearer perspective and with countless lessons. I guess I thought there’d be fewer things for me to learn as I aged. It’s been just the opposite. One of the biggest struggles for me throughout my faith has been for me to understand grace- it’s been easy for me to apply it to my own life but not to others’. I’ve written about that before. But God has been diligent in ushering me to the things of Him in spite of my arrogance and ignorance. I’m not sure if I struggled with this because of my age when I gave my life to Him, that outwardly I hadn’t committed all these “stereotypical sins” that would leave me hollow, or if it’s just because I particularly have an inclination towards pride. I tend to side with the latter. It’s taken me a long time to understand the cost of redemption, and I’m still not there, so to speak. It’s taken me a long time to realize that the sins of the heart and of the mind had left me just as hollow as any outward misgivings.

It usually takes me several days to write a blog in its entirety. One, because I have a one year old who keeps me busy. Two, because I write then rewrite and take forever to compose my thoughts. I’ve come back and forth to this particular post for 2 weeks. Occasionally, I start from the end of a blog and work backwards. At least that’s how this one has panned out. Timing is funny sometimes, because last Sunday, our pastor preached on part of this next section-- the section that I’d written weeks ago. It affirmed in my heart that the Lord has indeed been working on me in this area. That said, here’s the struggle I find within our culture and within myself--

We forget about God’s wrath towards sin and want to dwell only on the love and the forgiveness. I see it all the time in our culture, even renowned pastors preach that “feel good” theology. Christians who claim grace on their lives, claim to love Jesus, but refuse to call sin “sin.” But if we skip God’s wrath, we skip the grace. We miss what a great gift it is, the sacrifice that was involved, and the heart of the Father. Ever offered grace to someone who has repeatedly sinned against, offended you, and will continue to do so even after they apologize and say they love you? Ever given up your priceless child for those who would water down the message in His arrival? This is the picture of God’s mercy and grace towards us. His wrath is righteous, and we deserve it. Romans 5:10 says we were His enemies-- Not sweet, lovable creatures that He just couldn’t live without. It’s really easy to have this lofty view of ourselves, that we’re a lovable people. But that is simply falsehood in the sight of a holy God.  We earned His wrath, yet He offered something else. He offered mercy. And He didn’t just stop there-- He adopted us, He rescued us, He made us His own and brought us into His family, pouring out the riches reserved for His perfect Son onto us.  If we skip that or gloss over how justified God was in offering us nothing but destitution, then we can’t fully understand the magnificence of His grace and the extravagance of His love.

And if we understand the picture of His sacrifice, of the wrath and then the grace, then we are a changed people.  Our lives cannot be the same, and they won’t look like the world’s. It will alter the decisions we make, the way we think, and the company we keep. I can speak whatever I want, but unless my words are backed up with actions and life-change, it looks like foolishness to the world, hypocrisy at its best. A real encounter with Grace demands change, not just words. Simply dwelling on God’s mercy, letting it make us feel good, just isn’t enough.  

I think this is where it’s an easy spot to get hung up. It’s easy to look upon the baby in the manger. It is warm and tender, innocent and full of life. Jesus the baby is proof of God’s love, the evidence of the pursuit of His Creation. But Jesus, the man, on the cross-- that is something else to behold. It is proof of our sin and proof of God’s justice. It acts like a mirror when you look upon it, and what it reflects is truth-- the reality of who we are and what we are apart from Christ. It is offensive, and I suppose it should be-- the gospel offends. I think that’s why the world struggles to accept this image, of Jesus’ ministry and sacrifice. It demands a second look at ourselves, introspection that reveals our depravity. We are exposed as less than adequate at the foot of the cross, and this goes against our inward love of self. It is why people are angered when you mention the name of Christ. It is why Christians don’t like calling sin by its name, instead we call that ‘judgment of others’ to make it feel and look a bit easier because otherwise, we might end up identifying the sin in our own lives. The cross of Christ is where horror and love collide, where grace intertwines with righteousness, where the realities of sin meet the riches of mercy. And it is hard to embrace because it pictures death-- an agonizing, selfless death. But right alongside that picture, there is life. And if we don’t look at the cross, if we turn our eyes away because it’s too much to look upon, then we also miss the life-- life that erupts as a result of the death of the Perfect One. The blood that runs down the cross isn’t just evidence of the death of Christ, it is evidence of our life in Him. It is punishment intermingled with freedom. I read once that when Jesus cried out from the cross, that the Greek term suggests that it wasn’t a quiet whisper or a whimper of emotion-- it was a scream. A guttural death cry, echoed for all to hear. How could it be anything else? Jesus’ sacrifice was extreme, and His life far from mediocrity. Why should the final cry to His Father be any different? Why should my life reflect anything different?

I’ve never seen anyone justify their own mediocrity, their own wrong actions like a believer, myself included. We have a way of picking out what we like in scripture and saying that we fully accept this idea, but we don’t really embrace another idea. That’s not what scripture “really means.” The reality is-- who am I to choose? I don’t get to choose what is valid and what isn’t in the living words of a holy God. I have a call to obedience-- I am the creation not the Creator. Either we believe in the sufficiency of the gospel or we don’t. We either believe it’s inerrant or we don’t. It isn’t a gray area to be washed down with our own pretty theology or science or morals. Oh we cling to salvation, to the blessings promised, but when that same Scripture requires a sacrifice on our part and demands that we live differently than we want or what is acceptable or comfortable, we push the opt-out button.  I know because I am far too familiar with that button.

See, I am so many of these things mentioned above. I’ve dwelt in so many of them- - easily slipping into complacency, easily glossing over the realities for a more acceptable picture of forgiveness, easily speaking of His grace in my life but struggling when it’s time to apply it to my actions. It has taken me 17 years to get a true glimpse of what grace actually means, of the price that it cost; and somehow, I know I still don’t get it all. I know the coming years will bring it to light and life more fully. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not encouraging judgment of others, but that is different from calling sin what it is. I don’t have an image of an angry God lacking in love, handing out punishments with pleasure.  Quite the contrary, in fact. But I believe in the holiness of God, and I believe it’s more than I can comprehend. In fact, this holiness that makes it “right” or “ fair” (for lack of better words) for Him to pour out His wrath, it is what makes His love so significant to me. How easy is it to love the lovable?! The kind hearted. The thoughtful. The compassionate and sympathetic. People who place you first always and themselves last. It is SO easy to love them. It takes almost no effort whatsoever. But to love your enemy, to bring them into your own family, to ransom them when they will continue to do wrong by you but shout your praises while they offend-- to love THAT person…. That is real love. It is sacrificial and has depths that are unreachable. That is the love that Christ has for me, for us. It is Redemption at its best. So I’m not going to water down His righteousness and His perfect justice and His call for obedience, because I would simply be watering down His love along with it.  

I still struggle with obedience, with letting go. There’s a line in one of my new favorite songs (courtesy of my sister) that says “Father, use my ransomed life in any way you choose.” I often stop at that line and don’t sing it out loud because truthfully, I’m afraid of it. I don’t want to simply say the words and sing it without meaning- that’s empty worship. But meaning it in my heart means embracing anything--things that might be hard, sorrowful; and they might bring great change. And I tremble at the thought sometimes. This is where the heart of the Father is precious to me-- He is patient in growing me, in stretching me. And even though I should I have no trouble releasing my life to the One who gave it to me, there is grace as I strive towards knowing Him more, in losing parts of myself as I press on into Him. 

Sovereign Grace said it better than I did, and more fluidly:
  
“But as I ran my hell-bound race 
Indifferent to the cost 
You looked upon my helpless state 
And led me to the cross 
And I beheld God’s love displayed 
You suffered in my place 
You bore the wrath reserved for me 
Now all I know is grace."

Thank you, Jesus.

Friday, February 3, 2012

The Big O-N-E!

It has been one crazy last week! I believe birthday mania is finally subsiding and my house is beginning to recouperate from the birthday explosion. I thought I might be sad all day on her birthday, but I wasn’t. I cried mostly all day Thursday (I know I need to get a grip), but come Friday, I was so excited to celebrate her birth! She had all sorts of fun with new gifts and new foods on Friday. She got to try her first processed food, first refined sugar, and first grains-- all wrapped up in the form of a Pillsbury cinnamon roll. Yum. I only gave her a little bit, just tossed it in with her blueberries and pineapples. I walked over to the fridge to fill up her sippy cup with water, and when I turned around all of the cinnamon roll was gone. I’d say she liked it ;)

We had a birthday party on Saturday with our immediate families and several close friends who’ve invested themselves in Abi Kate this past year. She always gets excited to see her little friends, so even though she was running on only one nap, she still had a blast. And even though we requested no gifts, she still made off with new bibs, books, toys, clothes, money, and even personalized pacifiers (who knew they could put names on pacis?! So cute!). We opted for a sock monkey theme, for no specific reason except I liked it! For some reason that I cannot explain to you now, I decided it would be a fantastic idea to make the decorations for her party. I am not crafty, people. It’s not that I’m not creative. I can be creative, but then I quickly find someone that I can pay to bring any creativity to life. I seemed to be laboring under some delusion that this would be better, cheaper, and more meaningful. While I’m happy to say that I covered the more meaningful part, I’m not sure I can tag it with “better” and definitely not with “cheaper.” Things that take other people a few minutes to make take me more like a few ages. Multiple hot glue burns, endless ribbon, and more than 2 dozen helium balloons later, I have accepted my title as Uncrafty Momma. (Seriously, there is a scar on my index finger that no longer has feeling from one burn in particular!) As a result, every future Garrett child will be having a sock monkey first birthday party. And should we have a boy, I hope he likes pink! But I do have all the memories of working on them for her and thinking about her as I worked. It was worth it. 
 Delicious cupcakes! (At least I was smart enough not to attempt to make these!)
 Sock Monkey Cake Pops (I'm ashamed to admit how many of these I ate...)





 The sign- in table
 We had everyone sign this book for Abi Kate as a memory book. Who doesn't love Dr. Seuss?!
 You cannot see it well in this picture, but on the front of the candy table there is a flag banner made from sock monkey fabric. THIS is the culprit that left burns ALL over my fingers (Seriously, I didn't even get a picture of it?!)... Never again...
 Her month-by-month pictures above the candy table... She has changed so much!








 The playdough table for the big kids
She played with her friends in the ball pit and ate an entire cupcake and we were able to see what a sugar high looks like in our 1 year old. Oh my. Wild Woman.  And then we got to watch the crash afterwards. We both said in the car, “And this is why we opt not to feed her refined sugar.”
 Our sweet 1 year old!

 This is what the end of a sugar high looks like.
After she woke up she decided it was play time again while we loaded the car. And I am seriously in love with these sock monkey woolies. This is one part of cloth diapering I am not allowing myself to get addicted to! (Or at least I'm trying)

We followed up her birthday weekend with her 12-month checkup, which involved a terrible finger prick, not exactly a great birthday gift. She now weighs 20 lbs 10 oz and is 28 in tall, which puts her right between the 40-45 percentiles in both. If you knew her when she was a baby you’d know how hilarious this is. For the first 8 months of her life, she rocked the 90-95 percentiles for weight and height. Her pediatrician told me she’d probably gain very quickly in the beginning and then plateau off after a few months. He was dead on. I guess it’s hard to hang on to the 95% in weight when you don’t sit still for more than 15 seconds at a time. ;) In her full year, Abi Kate has never been to the doctor for anything other than well-checks, and I am unbelievably thankful! She’s had a cold once and the sniffles once. She’s never had a fever or ear infection or stomach virus, and I’m just so grateful. Everytime  we go, her doctor always says she is the picture of health. I’m just thankful that Christ has been faithful to answer our prayers about her every day health. I'm such a hypochondriac, so I’m sure the first time she gets really sick I’ll be melting down. I'm glad we squeaked through the first year without this experience!
                                               
She isn’t walking yet, and I still think she has another good month or so until she takes those first steps. But she has started standing unassisted. She doesn’t do it all the time, but when she’s really distracted she’ll stand for a decent amount of time. The other times, it’s just funny to watch her face when she has realized she’s let go and is standing alone. Her fourth tooth broke through the day before her birthday, guess he didn’t want to be late to the party. She looks a little older with all those big girl teeth.

Her new favorite things are:
  • Pretending like she’s talking on the phone. She’ll use just her hand or steal my cell phone and put it up to her ear and say “Heeeyy”
  • Asking for more food-- She says “Mo! Mo!” when she sees food she wants, is hungry, or actually wants more food. She hung out with some friends who have used baby sign language before and she came home signing “more” along with the word, which is cute to watch, too. 
  • Looking at books by herself- We have a huge basket of books in every room that Abi Kate plays in (courtesy of teaching). Sometimes, I’ll just watch her crawl across the floor and grab a book and sit down and “read it” to herself. I have no clue what she’s saying, but she turns the pages and points at the pictures in the book and just babbles. I think we might’ve read “No More Monkeys” a few too many times as she looked at the book the other day and shook her fingers at the monkeys and said, “No, no!”  Whoops….
  • Pulling everything out of drawers within her reach-- At any given time, there’s likely to be pans on my kitchen floor, burp clothes and onesies on her floor, and panties all over mine. She also likes wearing my underwear like a necklace… I held her for five minutes the other day before realizing there was a pair around her neck. Is it bad that it fits her like that?!
  • Cleaning up-- I’ve started modeling for her how to pick up her toys. She’s a little copy cat, so she thinks it’s great to put blocks away and other toys into a container. We always clap afterwards, and sometimes she gives me a high five. 
  • Clapping her hands- This is still a favorite. She claps when we start “Pat-a-cake” or if we sing “If You’re Happy and You Know It”. I also listen to mostly live worship music when I’m driving, so at the end when people are clapping, I always hear her in the back seat clapping too and saying “Yaaaaa.” 

 These are big, important things, people- Clapping your hands?! Come on.. that’s HUGE! ;)
And at the risk of completely humiliating myself... See, underwear around the neck. Fantastic.

The morning after her birthday, we brought her into our room and played with her on our bed when she woke up. Tommy and I both looked at each other and said she seemed older. She was playing more purposefully-- handed Tommy his phone, she picked up mine and put it up to her ear and said, “Hey.” She stood herself up, wiggling and jiggling the whole way, and let go. When he brought her in, she didn’t see me in the bed, so when I rolled over she laughed out loud and said, “Mama!” She just seemed like an older baby, and I guess she is. I thought it would make me sad, but instead it made me excited. Excited to watch where this year takes her, to see her do things she couldn’t before, and to see her grow. Our first year with her has been as close to perfection as we could imagine. We’re looking forward to another year full of memories with our lovely little lady.