Rash Decisions

     I've often found that it takes a fall before learning how to stand. But that fall doesn't always have to be our own for us to learn which road not to take. Hence, this blog entry. I'm going to let you in on my own foolish fall, hoping that you won't go down the same road and take the path of wisdom, instead. The first time.


     As Jhon and I walk up the narrow stairwell on the way to his drum-lesson, I notice the multiple facebook chats he keeps flipping between. All girls. Surprise, surprise.
     "Jhon..." I interrupt his 'flow.'
     "Mmhmm," he responds (just to appease me--his attention is still fixed on his cell phone screen).
     "When a man goes out fishing, are there different sorts of lures depending on what he is trying to catch?"
     "Yeah..." he glances towards me--I've started to get his attention.  Jhon's people, the Garifuna, often live on the Honduran beaches and earn their livelihood as fishermen. Tapping into his roots, Jhon tells me about a few kinds of fish and what is used to trap them.
     "Okay, so what does that mean for girls?" I ask. "What kind of girl do you want to catch?"
     He looks at me dumbfounded. I'm pretty sure any catch would do just fine for him. Any girl, every girl--whichever one will take the bait. That's not the kind of girl I want for him.
     "Jhon, the kind of girl who is using her body as bait is not the kind of girl I want for you," I say. "I want a girl who will honor you and encourage you to be the man God has called you to be. And that kind of girl will not use her body to bait you. Got it?"

     I want to be this type of girl, too. The kind of girl who honors men, who encourages them to be who God has made them to be. The kind of girl who keeps her eyes on Jesus and waits on him with patience. I don't want to be the girl who uses worldly means to trap what she wants--only to lead others to their downfall. So you'd think I would have taken my own advice, but I didn't. I fell... just a little. But because the Lord disciplines those he loves, he didn't let me get away with even "just a little." He had to go and remind me what truly matters: the heart.
   
     Enter: Boy. Exit: Wisdom.

     As I am on a prayer walk of all things, suddenly my thoughts started to drift, and with those thoughts, a glance. A simple glance. Towards a tree. Now, this particular tree--a lime tree--I have passed by before and even unintentionally picked off one of its leaves. Insodoing, I noticed: wow, this leaf sure smells nice! And so, I rubbed just a bit on my wrist to enjoy its citrusy scent. Not a lasting scent, by any means, just a slightly lingering reminder of God's beautiful creation. Simple, innocent. Not today, though. Today, I have a motive. A selfish one. Boy... I want that leaf. I want to cover up the lingering sweat I keep accumulating from all my soccer play with these kiddos. I want to smell good. Somewhere, deep in my subconscious, I'm looking to make a catch. And I'm greedy for bait. And so, I grab not one but a handful of those yummy leaves. Ripping into them, I let their oil seep out and smother them all over my wrists and neck. Ridiculous, I know, but remember: Wisdom has left the upstairs control room.

     Enter: a visual rose garden. Exit: the pretty scent--none of it has remained.

Yup, sure enough up my arm I have begun to form a giant, painful, blistery, rose-colored rash. Well this is lovely. Not only has my bait fallen off the hook, but I'm pretty sure I've just added some strong repellant. Oops...
     Fortunately, the Lord disciplines those he loves, and his object lesson on this recently humbled daughter heart has not been wasted: "Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last, but a woman who fears the LORD will be greatly praised" (Prov 31:30). I'm convicted: I've started to rely on physical beauty for bait...
     Now, there's nothing wrong with smelling nice and taking care of physical appearance, but what is my motivation? Am I trying to win someone over with a hook that won't hold? Or am I truly seeking to honor the Lord from a pure heart--a beautiful heart that flourishes under his faithful, gentle, steady love? That's the kind of girl I want to be. That's the kind of heart that I want to have--and if the Lord ever wants to open someone's eyes enough to see that heart, well, may the fragrance of Christ be what draws him to me. Not a lime leaf.
     Continually fighting to keep up looks, charm, wit, and smells is a tiring battle--and a losing one at that. Time and gravity are pretty strong enemies if the physical stuff is where we find our strength--just check the wrinkles... and eventually the coffin. But if our identity is in Christ, and his character is what marks us? That lasts, because He lasts. He's the I AM--the Beautiful One, the ever present, life-sustainer!  So ladies, join me in taking Peter's advice: "Your beauty should not come from outward adornment such as braided hair or gold jewelry or fine clothes, but from the inner disposition of your heart, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is precious in God’s sight" (1 Peter 3:3-4). Come on girls, let's pursue righteousness! Letting kindness, compassion, humility, and love be our clothing. Let's wait on the Lord. Let's allow his Spirit to mold our character, and if and when the Lord ever wants to let a man in on that beauty--then may it be His doing and His drawing power. But even if he doesn't, Jesus is enough, so let's look to please Him--who looks not at outward appearance, but at the heart.
     Thankfully, when our hearts get sick--he sees us through the eyes of healing grace. He sees who we are becoming, even through the pimply stages that are part of the pathway to maturity. Take me, for instance--I fell. We can all laugh at that funny fall together, but let's learn from it, too. Keep your eyes on Jesus and grab his outstretched hand whenever you start to slip. His hand will hold. He loves you.

Dirty

Giovanni...

A skinny street teen who I've had a tight bond with for the past few years--ever since I gave him my pair of bright orange Hope College sweatpants that caught his eye. He told me the story of how his mom died that day. Giovanni has never forgotten that pair sweatpants... or the time he told me his story.

Today when I see him, he reminds me of those very pants and asks for another pair. A new pair that will fit his skin-on-bone body.

I take down his size on a small slip of paper and with a carefree grin begin asking other random life questions to note down, too. Then this question blurts out: "Have you ever received Christ in your heart?"

He looks at me, both serious and sad: "No." His drug-glazed eyes take in the sorry sight of himself, "I... can't yet. I have to change all of this first."

I raise an eyebrow (if I could only raise one, that is). "Ahhhh, so it looks to me like you don't understand the Gospel yet!" I pat the stone concrete I'm currently perched on. "Take a seat and lemme tell ya!"

He reluctantly agrees, but listens nonetheless.

"Giovanni, Jesus did not tell us that we have to fix ourselves up before we ask him into our lives. We can't! And that's GOOD news!"

Giovanni stares at me, unsure what I mean by 'good news'.

I continue, "We can't ever be presentable enough--none of us--that's the good news! Jesus said 'blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.' You're in the perfect spot to let him into your heart and turn to Him!"

Giovanni drinks in my words, then wanders off to a corner by himself. To think.


You know, we can tell these kids the Good News every time we see them. Jesus came, died, and rose to open the way to Him--something we could never achieve on our own. And yet, even though this is the greatest news in the world, it's the hardest for them to believe.

But is that really so surprising?

Giovanni, whom I love, sees the glue bottle he clutches, the dirty street corner he inhabits, the empty pockets he wears and thinks "Jesus can't come here." 

But that's the GOOD NEWS: He can! How do I know? He already came to the dirtiest, most shameful place that we could ever dream up--a naked, bloody, spit-on body hanging on a cursed tree. The cross. The cross where he carried all our sin that we are such addicts of, where he endured the insults we hurled at him, where he overcame the shame we've been wearing ever since we left the Garden... all on that dirty slab of wood... outside the camp. That's right, Jesus--the outsider, so that we could become insiders. With him.

And we certainly can't become insiders on our own--not by making ourselves 'presentable'. That game won't work with Giovanni and it won't work with us either. Because even though we may not have a drug in our hands (unless you count a cell phone...) or sleep on a cardboard box doesn't mean we're clean enough to be King-of-Kings worthy. We're dirty, too. And we know it! Sure, let's go ahead and try adding on some fancy clothes, a few extra degrees, a heaping of charitable deeds, 3 cute kids (one adopted)--are we presentable enough now? Well, if we compare ourselves to a holy God--of course not! So what do we do!?!

Oh wait... He already did it... For us. On the cross. We've got to trust that his holiness trumps our unholiness. That his goodness redeems our evil. That his love overflows our emptiness. Because it does. Every time.

And so... Let him in! And when you do, you'll come to find that--in the light of his glorious grace--He finally starts to turn you into the holy man or woman you always knew you needed to be to enter into His presence in the first place. Yeah, that's Good News.