Is He Big Enough??

Is he big enough? You probably think I'm talking about Barnabas, but this time I'm not. I'm talking about God. I keep repeating that question to myself over and over it seems, and somehow, it seems to give me a quiet and undefined confidence.

He is big enough. Big enough for my questions. Big enough for my doubts. Big enough to wrestle through struggles with me without snapping me in two. Big enough to hold the world in His hands yet still cradle me in His arms. One of the reasons I am not afraid of who I am is because God is not afraid of who I am. He knows me. And He's big enough to handle me.

There are so many people that doubt. Or they're angry or paralyzed by some gripping fear, but they don't want God to know about it. They would feel "unspiritual" by telling Him. That might, in their minds, seem blasphemous. But I have found freedom in that raw honesty. If God really is who He says He is, then He's big enough to handle anything that I could throw at Him. Not that I'm out to be the devil's advocate and wreak havoc of my faith, that's not what I'm talking about. What I'm talking about is raw and uncensored relationship with Jesus. Being able to deal with who I am where I am, without fear of rejection or stoning. The Pharisees did a superb job of derailing many a layman's faith in the Bible, and unfortunately, I've met one too many Pharisees in my day. I'm over religion .... that's not what I'm here for.

You may be surprised to hear my saying this. I mean, I'm a pastor's wife for crying out loud. Aren't I supposed to wear jumpers and lace blouses and play the piano? (Don't hold your breath on that one!) I'm not supposed to wear my frailty on my sleeves and openly admit that I struggle. Sorry. You're not going to get that from me. You're not going to get anything but the raw deal, and I know that that will make some people uncomfortable. But I hope that more people find it refreshing and comforting than those that it ruffles their feathers. I don't know how to be any other way .... I'm not in this journey to please other people or make my family look like the Cleavers. I'm just here to figure out who my God is and fall in love with Him. The outpouring of my in-love heart will be evidence of that relationship.

So, how am I putting hands and feet on this idea? For one, God has probably heard more than enough about how I feel and what I think. I'm sure I sound like a broken record, but unfortunately, I am sort of hung up like one. Second, I'm going to start studying His attributes. I figure the best way for me to re-rail my faith is to go back to the Source, and study who God is.... based on His Word alone ... straight from the horse's mouth. Then I can maybe begin tossing out the wrong ideas or concepts that I have lazily acquired over the years. I'll be sure to let you know what I'm learning along the way. Right now I'm just getting my cool binder organized and ready for take off. Thanks for reading!

When Relationships Get Messy

What a week! I think that I probably experienced the entire emotional range possible on just about any given day last week. I’m not afraid to admit that I’m glad it’s over! It all started Tuesday morning when I decided to get up early and go to the gym before my husband’s outpatient surgery. My rational was that I would spend the majority of the day sitting, so I’d get ahead of the curve with an early workout and then enjoy my time resting in the waiting room. Unfortunately … that didn’t go as planned. As soon as I walked out my bedroom door I could smell the foul fumes of Great Dane explosion rising up the stairs. It was 6:45am. It was appalling. When I opened my laundry room door it looked like a mud slinging contest had erupted during the night, and there were no winners, only casualties. I was shell-shocked. And then I did what any chicken of a person would do. I quickly let all three dogs out into the backyard, posted a sticky note on the laundry room door saying “Do Not Enter,” and quietly slipped out the door. It was just too early to deal with that shit … literally.

Admittedly, I knew that it was a bad decision at the time. My in-laws would be coming into town to see my post-surgery hubby, and our sweet live-in college graduate would be taking care of our three kids all day in the midst of the nastiness. I fully intended to clean it up as soon as we got home from the hospital, but other people would have to deal with my procrastination and laziness in the meantime. Where am I going with this? Relationships are messy. Real messy.

Not only did Barnabas download his unhappy stomach one night, not two nights, but three nights in a row. His jail cell sized crate is too big to fit through the laundry room door so it can’t just be carried out and hosed off. You have to take the liner pan out and tilt it to the side to get it through the door, all the while trying to keep any output from slipping off the pan and splattering on the floor. Then you have to take his monster size body pillow out to “breathe” in the sunshine before you can even attempt to remove it and shove it in the washer. Then come the scrubbing and disinfecting of the entire laundry room floor and walls. All while a less than two year old hangs onto your left leg and keeps repeating “I clean Mama too.” It was a lot of mess and a lot of work.

But do I still love Barnabas? Yes. Did I spend all that time cleaning up his mess and bathing him in my Jacuzzi tub because I love him? Yes. Our relationship got messy for the first real time, and probably will have at least 100 more minor disasters, but that’s a part of loving something … or someone. We are going to disgust each other, hurt each other, and let each other down. And then it’s our choice to get over it and move on, or stew in it and grow bitter. Inventory of my life may show that I've spent far too much time stewing.

My husband likes to find funny things on the internet and share them with me. Once of his favorite findings was a site of demotivational posters. One of my favorites is this ...

Unfortunately, it is funny and sad, but true. I am the weak link in all my relationships. Granted, my friends and family may be weaker and more dysfunctional than I am, but that still doesn't negate the fact that I'm dysfunctional too. Dysfunctional from birth because of the fall. Dysfunctional still because I'm waiting on the Second Coming. No matter how hard we all try, we are tainted by sin, and not just sin at our appendages, but sin at our core. It is deeply woven into the fabric of our being. Yes, Jesus promises to give those of us who call on Him a new heart (and Praise Jesus for that!) but we're still going to be broken and hurting people who break and hurt people on this side of eternity.

At least if we understand our contribution to the problems in our relationships, then we're half way to correcting what is within our power. We can't fix other people, but we can try to fix the junk that is honestly ours. That doesn't sound like much fun, but it's the only productive way of changing something ... starting with yourself. I think I'm about to begin a very long journey on that ... wish me well : )

Anything else is just religion.

Sooooo .... either PMS has decided to camp out at my house for an extra long summer vacation or my crazy pills aren't working very well. Either way, I laid down on my bed this afternoon for a few brief moments. I wanted to calm my heart. I wanted to rest my mind. The ceiling fan was turned on its highest setting, which is pretty much like mach 7, and the house was unbelievably absolutely quiet. I covered up with the teacup quilt my mom had made me for Christmas. Not that I was actually cold, but needed the comfort of something homegrown and momma made. And I listened to some small but lively bird singing outside the window. It is moments like these that I really try to soak in the blessing of God's love that is momentarily obvious ... and mine.


I found myself thinking of the verse in Zephaniah about God "rejoicing over me with singing," and I thought to myself, "There is absolutely NO WAY that God ... THE God of the universe ... wants to spend His Saturday afternoon rejoicing over me with singing!" That just sounds absurd! But I still wanted it. I still somehow wildly and insanely craved in my deepest crevices to feel that singing and feel that love of God. So I asked for it. I just prayed ... "God ... I want to FEEL you rejoicing over me with singing." And I lay there. And I rested. And my heart grew still and my head slowed down. Singing? No. No angelic choirs broke through in my robin's egg blue bedroom. No golden harps floated by on ethereal clouds. But I think He was there. I think that somewhere deep down my spirit believed for the first time that it could be true ... that He could love me that much. Maybe he sang me to sleep? Cause the next thing I know my alarm clock is going off and I wake up with this blissful feeling of perfect peace. It didn't really last all that long mind you, but it was mine for that moment.


You know, I've always struggled with believing that God loves me. And I'm not talking about the "Jesus Loves Me" Sunday school song. I mean deeply saturated and rooted in the rock solid affirmation that I am desired, loved, and chosen by my God. That's what I want to know. That's what I'm after. I don't want to live out my Christian life following rules and commandments because the Bible says to. I want to trust and obey God actively in my choices and life because I am mesmerized by Him, by His promised and unconditional love for me. Anything else is just religion.


But unfortunately my feeble and weak faith knees were knocked clean out from under me a few years ago, and I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm still trying to get back on my feet. People that I trusted. People that I had long time respected as spiritual leaders and fathers, failed to be loving and forgiving. They failed to live out and extend the grace that they professed to have received themselves. A private sin that became extremely public. A broken heart and repentant spirit that was ridiculed and disregarded. A community of believers that was removed from me and my family because they were unable to deal with life honestly and biblically. It nearly destroyed me.


So I've found myself at the crossroads of having to untangle the fall inflicted confusion between church and God. The Head and the body. You would think that they are one and the same, but they can unfortunately be miles apart. And listening to the voice of one can so easily infect your thoughts towards the other. So I'm having to decipher what's truth and what's rubble. And rediscover God’s love for me for the first time. So I’m spending my days looking for God-holes … little windows into my world that beam His love onto me. I want to figure out what that love looks like and respond to it. Cause really … anything else is just religion.