Lindsey Staton Life Coaching

Don’t stop

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It’s important to know your limits.

I would say that most people are overconfident and think they are capable of doing a lot more than they actually can. They take unnecessary risks and end up getting hurt, messing something up, losing money, whatever.

I, on the other hand, tend to have the opposite problem. In many cases, I underestimate my capacities and play it way too safe.

In an effort to get a little stronger and healthier, I downloaded the Couch to 5k app a little over a month ago and decided to take up running. You alternate running and walking for 9 weeks, the running stretches getting gradually longer, and by the end of the program, you can jog a 5k.

I did pretty well keeping up with the workouts. A couple weeks were harder than others and I was not always able to complete the running part that the program laid out for that day. I was in week 8 and each work out was a five-minute warm-up walk, then 28 minutes of jogging. I had successfully run for 25 minutes the week before. But for some reason those last three minutes were a tough hump to get over.

I had three chances to get to 28 minutes before the program moved onto the next week of increased time. The first attempt, I only made it to 19 minutes. (I think it was super hot that day.) The second time I tried, I made it back to 25 minutes.

I was preparing for my third and final attempt and was explaining the situation to Sydney while I was getting my running shoes on.

Just for a little context, this kid has probably never willingly acknowledged a limit in her entire life. Like her dad, she is ferociously determined and absolutely WILL accomplish whatever she sets her sights on. (The few times I’ve seen things NOT work out, her entire world is rocked, because she just never prepared herself for any other possibility than complete success.) Once she has set a goal, just get out of her way.

I learned this about Sydney the very first time I met her. Brad and I had been dating for a while and it was finally time to meet the kids. Beau was 9, Sydney was 7. There was no suspicion, no guards up, no warming-up period. I walked in the door, and I was in. The rest was just details.

Sydney was showing me this karaoke thing she had hooked up to the TV and she desperately wanted me to sing with her. Of course I wanted to give this child anything she asked of me that night. But sing? Really? Oh yes. Really.

I explained to her that I didn’t know the song so I would just watch her do it. She looked confused. (Not sure if it’s because I gave up so quickly or because I just actually told her ‘no.’)

“Lindsey, if you don’t know how to do something, you just try until you get it.”

I had no answer. I looked at Brad for help. He just smiled and shrugged as if to say, “Good luck with that.”

She was right, of course. I mean, that’s what I would tell HER if the roles had been reversed. There was no room for self-consciousness, no time for fear of messing up (both powerful lessons I would learn and relearn a million times in my coming life as a stepmother). Just dive in and do it, mistakes be damned.

So I sang the stupid song with her.

So this is the person I went to for some motivation. I knew I had come to the right place.

“Syd, this is important. This is my last chance to do 28 minutes before I have to do MORE next time. I’ve GOT to nail this today.” I was bouncing as I talked, trying to get myself pumped up.

Sydney could sense the gravity of the situation and decided to try to lend me some of her tenacity. She sat forward on the couch and I readied myself for a pep talk.

“Okay, here’s what you have to do,” she began, with the seriousness of an NFL coach at the Superbowl. I leaned down, put my hands on my knees and hung on every word. “Start running. And when you feel like you want to stop, just…don’t.”

I dropped my head and began to laugh. “Just DON’T?”

“Wait, wait! I’m serious! ” she tried to regain my attention. “When I’m running the mile at school and I start to get tired, I tell myself that I’m gonna keep going, I’m gonna finish. I don’t have to stop. And I don’t.”

I smirked. “And you just…keep going?”

She nodded emphatically. “Yes.”

I shook my head and marveled at her. To her, it really was that simple. If you want to run for 28 minutes, just don’t stop running until you get to 28 minutes.

“So just…don’t stop, right?”

“Right.”

I smiled again and headed toward the door. “Okay. Got it.”

I once read a quote that said, “The easiest way to stay married is to not get divorced.” Simple statement, simple plan. But I, of all people, know that there’s nothing simple about actually living out that strategy.

Jesus said, “Follow Me.” Seriously. He made it sound so easy. Like “I’m going this way. You come this way too.” But the road Jesus walked was anything but easy. It wasn’t complicated or tricky. He just obeyed His Father, no matter the cost. But the cost was high. The cost was His very life.

There are so many things I’ve wanted to do in my life that I’ve talked myself out of, for one reason or another. Actually, they’re all the same reason: I can’t do it. It’s too hard.

Memorize scripture. Do a split. Write a book. (I had typed ‘Quit Diet Coke,’ then I deleted it because I don’t actually WANT to quit Diet Coke. I want to WANT to quit Diet Coke.) Those are just a few examples of goals I gave up on before ever really trying.

What IS that?

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Hebrews 12:1

Everything that hinders:

Insecurity.
Satan’s lies.
Fear of failure.
Life’s distractions.
Intimidation of the unknown.
Other people’s opinions.
Lack of qualifications.
Weak faith.

God has marked out our individual races for us and He knows what they will require of us. And the power and simplicity of His commands cut through all of life’s seemingly complicated circumstances.

Go into all the world and make disciples. Okay, I get what You’re saying. But I’ve got a pretty good reputation around here and I don’t want people to think I’m a weirdo because I start talking about You all the time. Go into all the world and make disciples.

Love your enemies. But Lord, You can’t mean HER. I know You see everything and You’ve seen how she’s treated me. I’m trying to protect myself here. Boundaries, You know. Love your enemies.

Do not commit adultery. Lord, my marriage sucks right now and home is not an easy place to be. And this other guy, well, he just gets me and he makes me feel alive. Do not commit adultery.

Follow Me. But here’s the thing, Lord. I’ve got this great ten-year plan laid out for my life and I want to involve You in it. I’m just afraid to sell out TOO much because I might not be able to retire early and cross everything off my bucket list. Follow Me.

There are conflicting stories regarding the author of the following writing. But it was found in the study of an African missionary after he was martyred for his faith. He may have written it himself. But even if he didn’t, he lived it to the last breath.

I am part of the fellowship of the unashamed. I have Holy Spirit power. The die has been cast. I have stepped over the line. The decision has been made. I am a disciple of Jesus Christ.

I won’t look back, let up, slow down, back away, or be still. My past is redeemed. My present makes sense. My future is secure. I am finished with low living, sight walking, small planning, smooth knees, colorless dreams, lame visions, mundane talking, cheap living, and dwarfed goals.

I no longer need preeminence, prosperity, position, promotions, plaudits, or popularity. I don’t have to be right, first, tops, recognized, praised, regarded, or rewarded. I now live by faith, lean on His presence, walk by patience, lift by prayer, and labor by power.

My face is set. My gait is fast. My goal is heaven. My road is narrow. My way, rough. My companions, few. My Guide, reliable. My mission, clear.

I cannot be bought, compromised, detoured, lured away, turned back, deluded, or delayed. I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice, hesitate in the face of adversary, negotiate at the table of an enemy, ponder at the pool of popularity, or meander in the maze of mediocrity.

I won’t give up, shut up, let up, until I have stayed up, stored up, prayed up, paid up, and preached up for the cause of Christ. I am a disciple of Jesus.

I must go until He comes, give until I drop, preach until all know, and work until He stops me. And when He comes for His own, He will have no problem recognizing me: My banner will be clear.

So let’s throw off everything that hinders and run our races. Life may get complicated, but His commands are still simple. While He sympathizes with our struggles and offers forgiveness and grace for all our missteps, He never changes the rules.

And when things get hard, when everything starts to hurt, when you get tired and want to quit, just…don’t.

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Not fair

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It’s not fair.

I don’t know who first coined this phrase, but it certainly caught on. I hear it all the time, from adults and kids alike. I still find myself saying or thinking it on occasion, even though I know better. Do I ever.

Brad and I hadn’t been married very long when Sydney and Caroline approached me about Caroline getting her ears pierced. Caroline said, “Am I going to get my ears pierced when I’m seven?”

“I doubt it,” I told her.

Sydney jumped in with, “But I got my ears pierced when I was seven.”

I could see where this was going. “Yeah, well, Caroline will probably be a little older when she gets her ears pierced.”

They both looked at each other bewildered and Caroline started down the it’s-not-fair road. I held my hand up and decided to address this once and for all.

“Hey. You guys look at my face and listen to me. It will NEVER be fair, okay? Ever. Not for the rest of your lives. Nothing will be fair, I can promise you. Things will never be the same for you two because you have different mommies. Caroline, Sydney’s mom does not decide when you get YOUR ears pierced. Does that make sense?”

I saw the wheels turning in their little heads as it sank in. They considered themselves sisters from the very beginning and I loved that. But the reality is that they’ll always be playing by different rules because of their different situations.

Such is life. When I think about it that way, I have no idea why any of us ever thought life would be ‘fair,’ that the same rules, expectations and consequences would apply to everyone across the board.

I was at Sydney’s sixth-grade open house last year and was completely overwhelmed by her schedule. (To be sure, my own schedule is nothing to be scoffed at. But man, I’m glad I’m not a sixth grader anymore.) I was thankful to settle into the last classroom of the evening, which was her science class. The teacher explained what they would be doing throughout the year and mentioned a few experiments.

“We’ll do each experiment several times so the students will learn that even if you use the same amounts of the same substances to do the same experiment, you’ll get different results each time, based on the variables.”

The variables. Exactly.

We all have an infinite number of variables in our lives, which make comparing ourselves to each other absolutely ludicrous. Different personalities, different gifts, different bodies, different childhoods, different home lives, different jobs. Two people in the same ‘experiment’ will always yield different results because of the variables.

God has never been concerned with our perception of ‘fair.’ In Matthew 20, Jesus tells the parable of the landowner who went out early in the morning and hired some men to work in his vineyard for the day for an agreed-upon amount.

Several more times throughout the day, he went and hired more men to also go work in his vineyard. At the end of the day, he paid them all what he had agreed to pay the guys who started working first thing that morning. And it wasn’t fair. Those who worked the longest expressed their frustration.

“‘These who were hired last worked only one hour,’ they said, ‘and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work and the heat of the day.’ But he answered one of them, ‘I am not being unfair to you, friend. Didn’t you agree to work for a denarius? Take your pay and go. I want to give the one who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?’” (vv. 12-15).

The landowner didn’t cheat his workers. He gave them exactly what he told them he would.  But their reasoning was that if he was going to give that same amount to someone who did less work, he should give the early-morning guys more. It’s only fair.

The prophet Jeremiah wrestled with this as well. “You are always righteous, Lord, when I bring a case before You. Yet I would speak with You about Your justice: Why does the way of the wicked prosper? Why do all the faithless live at ease?” (12:1).

Shouldn’t people who are at least TRYING to honor God with their lives have it easier, be more successful. Good people should get good things and bad people should get bad things, right? It’s only fair.

And don’t even get me started on poor Job. The guy was one of the most righteous men who ever lived. So much so that God was bragging about him to Satan. Satan said Job only loved God because God had blessed him. Then God allowed Satan to take away all his earthly blessings to prove Job’s faithfulness. So Job became the subject of a divine wager, suffering unspeakable losses (his wealth, his health, his CHILDREN, for heaven’s sake), all so God could prove a point.

I personally would have liked God to have said to Satan, “No, you got it backward. He doesn’t love me because he’s been blessed. I have blessed him because he loves Me. That’s what I do with my kids. Reward the ones who deserve it.” (See why God didn’t allow me to be one of the contributing authors to the Bible?)

Here’s our problem. As kids we were taught that if you do good things, you get rewarded. If you do bad things, you get punished. Very clear cut, black and white, makes perfect sense. Then as we move into adulthood, we experience variables, nuance, shades of gray, success of the wicked and the confusing nature of grace. Yet in our hearts, we just want things to be ‘fair.’ (Or we THINK we do.)

Even among Christians, we can find ourselves competing with each other, judging each other and whining about the differences in our lives, ministries, callings, blessings or lack thereof. Years ago I found this writing from G.D. Watson called ‘Others May’ that addresses this issue pretty well. (It’s kinda long, but it’s powerful. Hang with me):

If God has called you to be like Christ, He may draw you into a life of crucifixion and humility, and put on you such demands of obedience that He will not allow you to follow other Christians, and in many ways He will seem to let other good people do things which He will not let you do.

Other Christians, who seem very religious and useful may push themselves, pull wires, and work schemes to carry out their plans, but you cannot do it; and if you attempt it you will meet with such failure and rebuke from the Lord as to make you sorely penitent.

Others may boast of themselves, of their work, of their success, of their writing, but the Holy Spirit will not allow you to do any such things, and if you begin it He will lead you into some deep mortification, that will make you despise yourself and all your good works.

Others will be allowed to succeed in making money…but it is likely God will keep you poor, because He wants you to have something far better than gold, and that is a helpless dependence on Him, that He may have the privilege of supplying your needs day by day out of an unseen treasury.

The Lord will let others be honored and put forward, and keep you hid away in obscurity because He wants to produce some choice fragrant fruit for His coming glory.

He will let others be great, but keep you small. He will let others do a work for Him, and get the credit for it, but He will make you work and toil without knowing how much you are doing.

The Holy Spirit will but a strict watch over you…rebuking you for little words and feelings, or for wasting time.

God is an Infinite Sovereign; He has the right to do as He pleases with His own.

Settle it forever, then, that you are to deal directly with the Lord Jesus – that He is to have the privilege of tying your tongue, chaining your hand or closing your eyes in ways that He does not deal with others.

Then, you will have found the vestibule of heaven.

Others may. You cannot.

Well. There you have it. So note to self: God’s going to do what He wants. I won’t think it’s fair. Get over it and get on with it.

While we’re wrestling with the idea of fairness, let’s just remember the other side of this coin. God has been incredibly ‘unfair’ to our great benefit. Pause, take a deep breath, clear your head of all the other examples of unfairness swirling around in your thoughts and let this sink in.

Jesus, God in the flesh, left His throne in heaven to walk this broken earth. He left unceasing worship to be abused, misunderstood and suffer the difficulty of our sin-fraught world. NOT FAIR.

He lived a perfect life, never did anything outside of the will of His Father, never sinned in any way, shape or form, but He was tortured and executed for blasphemy though He was completely innocent. NOT FAIR.

We, on the other hand, sin a gazillion times a day. Our words, our actions, even our thoughts are fallen, twisted and stained. Yet God still loves us and calls us His own. NOT FAIR.

Because God knew how it was all going to go down, He designed a plan before the creation of the world that would bring his wayward children back to Himself.

This hit me hard last year during the Christmas Eve service at church. As I sang old familiar Christmas hymns pondering Christ coming into the world, I pictured God the Father, Jesus and the Holy Spirit sitting around a table, mapping out the plan of redemption. They talk through the whole thing and settle on the only way: The blood sacrifice of God Himself to pay the death penalty for all our sins once and for all. The Father and the Spirit look at Jesus. He stares at the plan on the table, takes a deep breath and nods. He looks up at His Father, eyes clear and resolute. “I’m in.”

The tears ran down my cheeks and landed on the hymnal in my hands with soft patting sounds. Caroline, who was sharing the hymnal with me, saw the first tear land on the words ‘God and sinners reconciled,’ and looked up at me with wide eyes. I gave her a tiny smile through my tears and whispered. “It’s okay, babe. I’m okay.” She looked back down at the book, began to sing again and nestled a little closer to me.

Does my King understand the concept of ‘not fair’? Oh, yes, He does. He designed the ultimate unfairness to save those He loved, and He lived it to His last breath.

It’s not fair. And I’m so thankful.

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Rules

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I like rules.

I know that’s a weird thing to say. I actually don’t like all rules. I just like MY rules. Some are personality quirks. Some are just preferences. But some are hard and fast guidelines on who I am and how I live that may as well be carved in stone.

Before you call me a Pharisee, please understand that most of these rules have nothing to do with trying to be a better person. It’s really just a backward attempt to simplify my life. If I ‘always’ do this and ‘never’ do that, well, those are two less things I have to think about, two less decisions I have to make.

Here are some examples:

I don’t wear pink.
I don’t run.
I don’t go to ‘parties’ at friends’ houses where people sell stuff.
I don’t order anything new at restaurants, always get the same thing.
I don’t do floors. (Brad and I negotiated this before we got married.)
I don’t raise my hands in worship.
I don’t eat citrus (except tangerines).
I don’t get pedicures (ticklish feet).
I don’t eat at vegetarian/healthy restaurants.
I don’t watch scary movies. (Seriously, I don’t need it.)

Those are just a few. I have many more. Some I’m not even aware of. They were tendencies that became habits that became rules and I didn’t even know it.

And then there are the ‘I’ll nevers.’ We’ve all got those. I think they’re God’s favorites. Not because He likes to spite us. But just because “in their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps” (Proverbs 16:9). His will always trumps my won’t.

I used to have a lot more ‘I’ll nevers,’ but most of them are moot points by now, so I don’t really try to make them anymore. But getting divorced, living in Orlando, marrying a pastor and getting a tattoo were all on that list, if that tells you anything.

But for some reason, lately I’ve begun breaking my own rules. And I have to be honest with you, it’s really fun.

I bought a pink shirt at Target the other day. And I wear it. And I like it.

About a month ago, I decided to take up running. (I think it was a combination of conviction over the weakness of this ‘temple’ that houses the Almighty God and just plain embarrassment that a flight of stairs could leave me winded.) All my friends do it and they love it. They all speak of this hump you have to get over when you start and then suddenly, you want to do it all the time. Well, it’s safe to say I’m over said hump and I now run several times a week, every chance I get. What the crap?

I went to Chick-fil-A for breakfast last week and ordered a fruit bowl instead of a chicken biscuit. (I know. I’m just scaring myself to death here.)

I’ve been occasionally raising my hands in worship. The truth is my family already thinks I’m weird, so I may as well worship how I want to.

I’ve watched a couple creepy movies with Brad because they were in his ‘top ten movies of all time’ list, and we both survived. (Not something I’m going to do on a regular basis, but I can make exceptions.)

I willingly met a friend at one of those healthy restaurants off Park Avenue earlier this week and actually enjoyed it.

I know all this sounds really trivial and silly. But this is how I’ve been living. In my own self-constructed box, putting all these self-imposed restraints on my identity. I have no idea why. Well, maybe I do.

Control.

Oh, don’t we all want it? Don’t we all NEED it? Terrible anxiety and dread typically accompany lack of control. Show me the most controlling person you know and I’ll show you someone who is secretly wracked with fear.

And in case you haven’t noticed, there are a whole heckuva lot of things we can’t control, no matter how hard we try. So the things we can, we do.

But here’s the kicker: The few things I can and do control, I don’t even do that well. I can look at my life, or just the last five years (even the last five MINUTES), and see that that I should, in fact, NOT be the one calling the shots.

God and I have had many conversations about this:

Okay, let Me get this straight. I know everything, you don’t. I’m perfect, you’re not. I see the big picture, you can’t. I’m all powerful, you wish. I know what’s best, you try. But you still want to be ‘in control’? 

Um….yes?

And just to be clear, you know you’re not really in control, right? So we’re both just pretending here.

Yes, please. 

I remember having a dream several years ago. I was on one of those Christopher-Columbus-type schooners in the middle of the ocean. You know, those big ole boats with the huge standing steering wheel. I was on one side of it, pulling hard in the direction I wanted to go. Jesus was standing on the other side, pulling in the other direction. He humored me in a faux tug-of-war for a minute then said very matter-of-factly, “Why do you want to steer? You have no idea where we’re going.”

And of course He’s right. I mean, I know where I want to go. But chances are I haven’t run that by the true Captain of this ship. So with my limited knowledge, perspective and power, I try to make the best decision I can and hope that it doesn’t end in disaster.

Not that any of those petty rules listed above are that big of a deal. I think they only bother God because He knows that after a certain point, I’ll get all claustrophobic and grumpy with all these made-up constraints and He’ll likely be blamed for my restlessness and discontentment.

But I do think the ‘I’ll nevers’ are kind of offensive to Him. Who am I to tell my King what I will and won’t do? As Paul reminds me in 1 Corinthians 6, “You are not your own; you were bought at a price.”

And not a small price either. The King of the universe traded His perfect, holy life for mine. Yet He’s still gracious enough to temporarily tolerate my short-sighted plans and small dreams, just waiting for full surrender so I can live the life I was meant for.

James scolds us in chapter 4 for holding tightly onto our lives, making plans without seeking God first. “Now listen, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.’ Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, ‘If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.’ As it is, you boast in your arrogant schemes. All such boasting is evil.”

Yeesh. I don’t mean to be arrogant or evil, for heaven’s sake. Part of me reads that verse and feels indignant.

Of COURSE, I mean ‘Lord willing.’ That’s just a given. It’s implicit.

Then I feel a gentle prod. Is it? Are you sure that’s what you always mean?

Truth: It’s not. Sometimes I want it to be. Sometimes I don’t. But either way, it’s not what I always mean.

In my Bible study we’ve been talking about shortening the amount of time between God prompting us to do something and us actually DOING it. We agree that the more time that passes, the longer we have to talk ourselves out of it. We decided to do an experiment: Take a week, assume every whim is the Holy Spirit and do it immediately, whatever it is.

It’s been fun to swap stories. The thrill, the terror, the exhilaration of obeying God immediately. The life-changing results. And I just can’t help but wonder if maybe this is how we’re supposed to live all the time. Unleashed. Free. Surrendered.

So God and I get to work on the mess that’s been cluttering the workspace of my heart. As we gradually begin eliminating all the unnecessary constraints I’ve been living by, I make a startling discovery. One huge, ugly rule has been hiding under all the little seemingly harmless ones. We stare at it for a moment together; me shocked and horrified, God knowingly grim.

I don’t trust God with my life.

(Ugh. Looks even worse in print.) I look down and realize I’m bound to that rule by a chain of fear. I ashamedly explain to God how that rule means control and that’s the only safe way for me to live.

That same gentle prod. Is it? Does that chain of fear attached to the illusion of control really keep you safe? Or does it keep you trapped?

I think about my life thus far, the 90% of it in which I’ve been running the show. Was I protected from heartbreak? Broken dreams? Moral failures? Bad decisions? Absolutely not. My way has done nothing to prevent those things.

And so we keep working, the chain on my wrist clinking with every move. The sound grates on my nerves. As we chip away at the little stuff, the larger truth looms below. God isn’t the least bit intimidated by it but I shudder at the thought of what it will take to crack through that boulder.

Thankfully, I believe in a God who delights in moving His children’s mountains and setting captives free.

All I have to do is let Him.

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Turn, turn, turn

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I’m trying to grasp the concept of seasons.

You can imagine the challenge this is for a Florida girl. I grew up reading children’s books that showed leaves changing color in the fall and snow flurries in the winter. Lies, all lies, I thought. Then I visited my grandparents in Kentucky, went skiing in Colorado and went to college in Alabama. Seasons can be beautiful things.

Everything in this life goes through seasons. Relationships, churches, jobs, hobbies, interests. Some seasons are good, some are bad. Some you relish and try to hold on to (when your kids are in a cute phase, when you’re enjoying your job, when your marriage is easy). Some you grind through and try to get out of them as quickly as possible (when your baby isn’t sleeping through the night, a struggling friendship, algebra).

Sometimes the end of a season can signal the end of that part of your life. And in good seasons, this does not sit well with me.

As I’ve said before, I don’t let go easily, even when I should. I used to see it as loyalty, strength, courage. And on my better days that certainly can be the case.

But more often than not, my codependency flares up and I just keep holding on, letting whatever is now ‘out of season’ for me beat my heart into a pulp until God mercifully steps in and destroys the thing.

At that point I’m free (albeit barely breathing), but I’ve missed my chance at a healthy break and walking away with my heart intact. And then I end up wasting a lot of time healing from wounds that should never have happened.

I am determined to master this before I die. Or before it kills me.

Then there’s the other extreme. Younger generations are getting a bad reputation for being shockingly non-committal. All plans are tentative. All relationships are expendable. All jobs are temporary. Options are left open in case of a better offer.

While there are great benefits to rolling with the punches, there is a rising lack of integrity in the inability or unwillingness to commit. There’s flexible, and then there’s flakey.

When change happens to me, I usually try to hang out in denial (which I can make a complete season of) or fight and whine and double down on the dying season, trying to revive it at all costs.

Margaret Feinberg passed on a powerful mantra to me in her book Fight Back with Joy (read it). As she discusses her battle with cancer she simplifies the prescription for contentment: accept, adapt, depend.

Accept that things will never be the way they were.
Adapt your life to the new normal.
Depend on God for everything in the process.

For me, that first step is the hardest hump to get over. Life changed. Again. Accept the change. Accept it, then adapt to it and keep living.

I was trying to figure out why the concept of seasons is so hard for me. For some reason, every commitment I make carries an implicit forever with it.

A little dramatic? Maybe. Or maybe that’s exactly what we were created for. Maybe we all desire to unreservedly give our lives to something forever.

Here’s my theory: Even before sin found it’s way into our genetics with that one bite of forbidden fruit, another code was branded into our DNA by God Himself. Forever. We were made for forever.

In the middle of the Garden where God placed Adam and Eve, there were two trees: The tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. God instructs Adam to eat from any tree in the Garden EXCEPT the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, meaning the tree of life was fair game.

The tree of life gave life without death to whoever ate of its fruit. Adam and Eve didn’t need the moral discernment from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. They had God for that. Eating THAT fruit was an act of defiant independence and lack of trust in God.

We all know what happens. Satan convinces Eve to not trust God. She eats the fruit and she gives some to Adam (who was WITH her, 3:6). They realize they’re naked and freak out (a fairly common response, I would say). Then God shows up and lays out the consequences and curses.

Genesis 3:22: “And the Lord God said, ‘The man has now become like us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever.’” So everybody gets evicted from the Garden and a big scary angel is assigned to guard the way to the tree of life.

You know what that says to me? We were hardwired, before everything got messed up, for forever.

People say a lot of stupid things when someone dies.

“He’s in a better place.”
“Everything happens for a reason.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“God won’t give you anything you can’t handle.”
“Death is a natural part of life.”

The first three may be true, but they’re NOT what a grieving loved one wants to hear. The fourth is a total lie, completely unbiblical and makes me want to pull my hair out. But the last one bothers me on a deep level.

We were never meant to taste death. Even after all these generations since Adam and Eve, there is an innate pull against death in every fiber of our beings. That’s why we fight it so hard. Death is the most unnatural part of life.

To be sure, that’s the way things are now. And we should accept, adapt and depend on God as we struggle with these mortal limitations. And for Christians, death is not something to be feared because we know what happens on the other side. (Oh, take me Home, Lord.)

All that to say, I think that’s why we so desperately long for forever. And the truth is, I just won’t get it in this life. We’ve got to die before we get to forever.

So while we’re here, God gave us seasons.

Thanks to songwriter Pete Seeger and The Byrds, Ecclesiastes 3 is one of the most well-known chunks of scripture. The NIV says it this way:

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

According to this passage, uprooting, tearing down, not embracing, giving up and throwing away are all legitimate seasons of this life. A time for holding on and a time for letting go.

And only a few verses later, Solomon addresses our forever tendencies: “…He has also set eternity in the hearts of men…”

So while I attempt to accept, adapt and depend on God through the seasons of this life, I am justified in longing for the permanence of the next.

That longing is in all of us, but we will never have it satisfied here. Give yourself permission to live in seasons. Forever no longer has a place in this world. But while we’re here, we can use these seasons to our advantage.

God has set them up according to His purpose. If we keep our hands open to what He gives and takes away, we can travel light through our journey, accept the ever-changing landscape, adapt, and always, always depend on God.

So stop and take note of the season you’re in. Maybe you’re in a good place, feeling fairly content. Maybe you’re in a bad place, scratching and clawing for the next season. I’ve got good news and bad news: Whatever season this is for you, it won’t last.

Stay present in this phase of life. Soak up every lesson God has for you in it before it changes.

When Caroline was two, we were in a season of drastic change. We were driving around one day and the good ole Caedmon’s Call song Shifting Sand came on. I absent-mindedly began to sing along with it. My faith is like shifting sand, changed by every wave. My faith is like shifting sand, so I stand on grace.

Somewhere after the second chorus, my itty-bitty kid interrupts me with this (I’m not even kidding):

“Hey, Mommy? ‘Standing on grace’ means that God doesn’t change even when everything else does.”

My jaw dropped. What the…? I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. She stared back at me, quite serious, waiting for my response.

I blinked back tears and tried to collect myself. “That’s right, kiddo. That’s absolutely right.”

And that’s the rest of the good news: God doesn’t change even when everything else does. And that’s the one object of permanence He lets us keep when all the other forevers fail: Himself.

So let our unchanging God minister to the part of you that hungers for forever. Hold on tight to Him and try to release everything else to come and go in this life.

And remember that someday we’ll be able to fully embrace forever and never have to let go.

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My orders

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I am probably one of the least competitive people on the face of the earth.

I’m a classic Type B personality. I’ve never been the best at anything, so there was never much need to fight for position. I grew up taking dance and piano, not playing sports. My big sister was always smarter and more athletic, so on the rare occasion we did compete, I got used to losing to her without caring too much.

And even now as a spectator at my kids’ events, I just want them to have a good time, feel good about how they did and not get hurt. And honestly, if there were a way both teams could win, I would prefer that.

That’s me on sports or board games. But when it comes to real life, I hate to fail. Hate it.

Failing is an altogether different story. It’s personal. It’s embarrassing. It’s painful. And inevitably becomes ingrained in my psyche that I failed because I must be a failure.

I know if I were more mature, I could take failures in stride and remind myself that I learn more from failures than successes, blah, blah, blah. But we’re just not there yet. And I’m not alone.

Younger generations are getting a reputation for not being willing to try something unless they know they can succeed. While our parents and grandparents understood the concept of paying their dues, working their way up and delayed gratification, we grew up with microwaves, McDonald’s and the internet.

These days, if you don’t know how to do something, there’s no try and try again until you get it. You Google it, watch a youtube video on it, master it in the privacy of your own home before you ever have to do it in front of others.

And no matter how little I care about winning a competition, I have rarely signed up for a situation where I knew I couldn’t succeed. Although there was one recent instance when I definitely had my doubts.

As many of you know, I did a 5k with my teenage stepson back in March. And this wasn’t just any ole 5k on a street or sidewalk. Oh no. This was the freakin’ Battle Frog Series 5k, chock full of obstacles designed by Navy Seals.

I agreed to this lunacy on one condition: that Beau wouldn’t leave me. Even if it meant him dragging my lifeless body across the finish line, he had to stay with me. And bless his heart, he totally did. He was fourteen years old, on the track team, tall and lean, zero body fat. The kid could have finished in half our time if he wasn’t waiting for yours truly.

But we did it. And I have to say, it was awesome.

There was this ridiculous obstacle at the end that was all upper body strength, so I knew I was in trouble. Beau scrambled up the rope like a squirrel on speed. I stared at that wall for a while and decided to give it three 100% tries before climbing up the loser ladder on the side.

Try #1 wasn’t horrible. I ran halfway up a sloped wall, grabbed the rope and tried to hoist myself up to the top. I held on for a few beats and slid back down. No problem, no problem. Two more tries, I told myself. Real tries. Here we go.

Try #2 I didn’t get any farther, but this time I lost my grip and fell far and hard on my right side.

It. Really. Hurt.

I wanted to just lie there for a while and collect myself, but everybody was watching. So I struggled to my feet quickly, albeit shakily, and slunk back to the rest of the group working up the nerve to attempt the wall.

I hunched over, rested my hands on my knees, tried to catch my breath and inwardly assess the damage. I was standing(ish) and was pretty sure nothing was broken. There was a strange pain on the inside and suddenly I remembered all the episodes of Grey’s Anatomy when people died from internal bleeding. Beau was waiting for me at the top and I decided not to press my luck. Screw Try #3. Point me to the loser ladder.

I mustered up an apologetic smile for Brad, Sydney and Caroline who had come out to support us and limped over to the side, climbed to the top, slid down the other side into a pool of freezing water, crawled through thick sand under wires, stood up, and crossed the finish line with Beau.

I was pretty sore for the next few days, which didn’t really bother me, considering I was expecting to be in a hospital somewhere. I had a couple skinned knees, but the most impressive-looking injuries were my right elbow and the side of my right thigh, where I landed in my fall from glory.

The bruise on my leg was hideous, but I was honestly disappointed that it wasn’t in a more visible place. Even though it was clear evidence of a bad fall, a failure, I was strangely proud of it.

The fact is, going into that experience, I wasn’t completely sure I could finish. I hadn’t exercised in a while. My endurance was at a new low. There was at least a 50-50 shot that I might have to say ‘uncle’ part way through.

A couple of my favorite movies have these pivotal scenes where the hero has knowingly walked into a battle he knew would cost him his life. Those scenes are always terribly moving and inspiring to me. That’s real courage. Fighting a battle you know you can’t win, but you fight nonetheless. For honor. For principle.

Here’s the deal. If God moves your heart to do something (regardless of how much sense it makes or its chances of success), you just do it. It’s not on us to force the result. Our job is to obey. The rest is up to Him.

You don’t do the right thing because it’s going to work. You don’t do the right thing because you’ll benefit from it. You don’t do the right thing because you’ll get credit for it. You do the right thing because it’s the right thing. Period.

For example, you feel the Holy Spirit move in your heart to give money to a homeless person on the street, but you hesitate because you don’t know that they’ll spend it wisely. What they do with it after you give it to them is none of your business. We don’t give on the condition that it will ‘work,’ whatever that looks like. We just give and leave the rest to God.

You’re in a conversation with a friend and you get an opportunity to talk about Jesus, but you know your friend doesn’t believe that stuff. But we don’t talk about Jesus only when we’re sure that the person will come to share our belief. We talk about Jesus because we’re supposed to. God will handle their hearts.

Your marriage is struggling. Years of pain have hardened your heart and left you hopeless. God leans on you to try a new strategy: Show your spouse love and respect anyway. You balk because he/she doesn’t deserve it and it probably wouldn’t change anything anyway. That’s irrelevant. Maybe His goal isn’t to change your spouse. Maybe it’s to change YOU.

Going the extra mile that you’ll never get credit for. Having integrity at work when nobody’s looking. You don’t do these things for the win. You just do your part to push back the darkness in your own world.

Whether it makes a visible difference or not doesn’t matter. Someday you’ll have to stand before God and answer for the times you obeyed and didn’t obey. And on that day, “I didn’t think it would work,” really won’t hold up.

(Thankfully, the cross will. Always.)

Following Christ and following His call on my life will always involve some moments of (how the world defines) failure. And I shouldn’t do everything I can to avoid the hard falls. Nor should I whine about my bruises and scars.

When I finish my race here on earth, I want to go out with scars from battles won and lost. Not because of stupid decisions, ego trips or any kind of self-serving whims. I want the spiritual scars that come from being poured out like a drink offering, good to the last drop (2 Timothy 4:6-7).

Spiritual injuries come from taking hits from the enemy while pushing into his territory. Taking on causes like abortion, sex trafficking, poverty, hunger, terrorism. Signing up for friendships with people who don’t share your faith, your culture, your comfort zones. It’s not about winning. It’s about fighting the good fight (1 Timothy 6:12).

I’ve taken some risks and taken some falls for my King. At His calling, I’ve stepped into leadership roles I didn’t feel ready for, tasks I couldn’t accomplish without Him. One particularly difficult ministry was a struggle from day one and many told me it was a lost cause.

But I gave it all I had, even held on a little too long, and watched it crash and burn. I fought a battle I couldn’t win because God told me to. The memory of it still stings. But I obeyed. And God did what He wanted with it.

The disciples celebrated when they were beat up for the sake of Christ, thrilled that they were counted worthy to suffer for Him. Even dying for their faith, which is typically considered the ultimate failure, was an honor to them.

I have never been in a place where my physical wellbeing was threatened because of my faith. But hopefully one of these days, the chains of my comfort zone addiction will snap against the pull of the Holy Spirit and I’ll take on the battle, come ruin or rapture. And I’ll hold up my losses and failures as trophies to the cause of Christ.

Years ago, I stumbled upon this little gem of a poem by Ethelwyn Wetherald. And the more I step into the ring for my King, the more it means to me:

My orders are to fight;
Then if I bleed, or fail,
Or strongly win, what matters it?
God only doth prevail.

The servant craveth not
Except to serve with might.
I was not told to win or lose,
My orders are to fight.

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