Love puts up
{Yesterday my man and I celebrated 12 years of marriage. Hooray! We enjoyed a simple day with some of our favorite people and reflected on God’s faithfulness to us over the past dozen years. I was reminded of this …}
“Love … puts up.”
-1 Corinthians 13
I flipped open the laptop–there on the keyboard lay the photo.
I shook my head and smiled, a little surprised at the emotion welling up in my eyes. It’s been 12 years of passing that thing back and forth, sneaking it into unexpected places for the other to find. Both book lovers, we had perused the small used book store at the beach as newlyweds, sorting through dusty titles, searching for some hidden literary gem. I don’t remember what we bought, but when we got it home, tucked within the pages was this polaroid picture.
Now it’s been tucked into places more times than I can count. It’s spoken a thousand words. We’ve tucked it in at times to say, “I’m sorry.” At times it means, “Just thinking of you.” And at times it means so much more. But whenever I see this photo it’s like another stitch, like pulling that thread taut and tugging so slightly, so all the stitches tighten. This picture reminds me of all the stitches over the years and pulls them tighter together.
And now, you’re away. This afternoon you drove off, and Heidi waved her little arm until we couldn’t see you anymore, and I felt silly for feeling so sad. It’s only a week, after all. But suddenly I remembered yesterday, how I had sighed (the classic victim-SAHM sigh) as I sorted through your middle pile. How I eyed you accusingly when you shelled pistachios right after I’d cleaned the counters. How I only half-listened this morning when you shared your idea with me. (How could I forget how much courage it takes to speak dreams out loud?) I remembered how you let me eat your french fries today and how you met us for a picnic when I’m sure you had more pressing things to do. And I remembered how you worked all afternoon fixing the lawn mower, and surprised me with Peet’s coffee for my trip this weekend. Then I remembered how I gave you the stink eye when you ate the last of the caramel corn.
How I left today without even doing your laundry. And how you said no big deal and cheerfully dug through the dirty clothes to find enough socks to wash and take on your trip.
Why do I love so pathetically?
I stared off, sad for all the ways I haven’t loved you more. But then, this picture somehow centered me. It always does.
Because you put it there and it tells me, all over again, that love covers a multitude of sins.
It is us, in so many ways. The faux wood panelling is hideous, of course, and I love it. The artwork is off-centered, and not in an artistic way. The purple and red pillows are delightfully strange, but the faces are the best.
He is Just. So. Happy.
His hand is on her thigh, his tie is huge, and he’s just grinning from ear to ear.
She, well, she’s half-smiling, but really thinking of what to make for dinner.
I am this woman, except I have better hair.
She’s putting up with the picture-taking (and him?) even though she’d rather be checking some ridiculous item off her list.
He’s just happy with his hand on her leg. The End.
He puts up with her half-smile just as she puts up with his beam.
And that’s the beauty of it: Love puts up.
Because not all romance is wild passion all the time. Because I put up with your stuff and you put up with mine. And because even though this couple isn’t running barefoot down a beach, their love is compelling to me. Because that’s just it: Love puts up. Because at different times last week each of us wanted to pack up and quit this ministry life. And both times the other one of us simply put up. Listened. Waited. Stayed quiet. Prayed. And both times we came around.
Because real love is so different than it is on TV. So much better. Because even the “putting up” part is good. It’s the time walking together in the valleys.
It’s the spaces in between the milestones, where you just keep holding hands and holding on.
Kind of like this:
Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end. (1 Corinthians 13:3-7 MSG)
Thanks for putting up with me, my love. I really am sorry about the laundry.
{Thanks, all, for reading.}
*Originally shared April 2013.
Blowing Horns or Shining Lights …
{Last week a friend and I were chatting about social media, and how sadly it can be used to “toot our own horns” so to speak. We were contemplating the difference between tooting horns and shining lights, and it reminded me of this. I hope this can be encouraging to you today as you seek to let your light so shine before men that they glorify God in heaven!}
~
From the other room I can hear Dutch singing as he plays,
Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna let it shine …
Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.
Children, blessedly self-forgetful, sing that song so happily and easily, don’t they? But it gets complicated as adults because we get complicated. As adults, boldly holding our “light” up in the air seems proud, obnoxious. And besides, isn’t “letting our light shine” contrary to scripture where it says not to toot your own horn and to let your giving be in secret? It doesn’t seem very modest to let your light shine. What, please, does this mean?
That’s what I was wondering as I read through the Sermon on the Mount the other morning.
Jesus says:
“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 5:14-16).
“Beware of practicing your righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them, for them you will have no reard from your Father who is in heaven. Thus, when you give to the needy, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by others. Truly I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you” (Matt 6:1-4).
Do these contradict each other? At first it seems they do. Some thoughts:
:: Letting light shine is positional and natural. Blowing horns is loud and forced.
To actually hide light takes effort. It doesn’t take much effort just to let it shine. It should be natural. Jesus isn’t saying we need to force anything, He’s just saying, Don’t hide the good work God is doing in and through you. If God is changing your habits, your desires, your family, don’t hide it. If people ask or you have a natural opportunity, openly share. To hide what God has done in and through you is to rob Him of glory.
On the other hand, blowing horns is for those who don’t have any natural light to share. Their lives don’t shine so they must draw attention in loud and forced ways. In the words of DL Moody,
A holy life will produce the deepest impression. Lighthouses blow no horns; they only shine.
The real work of God will shine. Holiness, humility, the fruit of the Spirit, these things shine without a need for horns.
:: The two key questions are these: Who is this for? And Who gets the glory?
Who is this for? They key clause in Matthew 6 was “in order to be seen by others.” The motive is the key, not necessarily being seen or unseen. Living for God or man? We can hide our light because we fear man, and we can blow our horn because we fear man. Oftentimes the difference in outward action is indiscernible, the only real difference is the motive. All our works are for God, but if others look on and see, hallelujah. Which brings us to...
Who gets the glory? Notice the light shines so that “others may see and give God glory” and yet the hypocrites blow their horns to receive “praise from men.” It’s all about glory. God is all about His glory, and we all are prone to be glory hounds, seeking to steal what is rightfully God’s. Shining light gives glory to God, blowing horns draws attention to ourselves.
So perhaps two helpful questions to take with us are these:
Is this forced? and Who gets the glory?
The real work of God in our lives will be characterized by humility and gratitude, and we will naturally shine. Insecurity will make us blow horns, but godly confidence will enable us to lean back, rest, abide, and shine for the glory of God.
{Hide it under a bushel? No! I pray you let it shine today.
Thanks for reading…}
*Originally shared Dec. 2011.
Jesus took our sp*nks
I came around the corner, and she was punching him. Repeatedly. I actually smiled to myself, seeing Dutch cower in the corner of the inflatable raft while his little sister pummeled him. *sigh* I set down my water-bottle and book and said calmly, “Ok kids, hop out of the pool.” They reluctantly waded over to the edge and stood beside me, sullen.
“Follow me.”
We found a spot on the porch, and I asked for the story. Heidi tearfully relayed the atrocious injustice of the situation: Dutch not wanting to use the rafts oars. At Dutch’s turn he conveyed the deep pain he’d experienced when Heidi has indadvertedly hit his ankle with the oar. Clearly, the situation was grave. (Smile.) I took a deep breath, told them I loved them and explained that since neither of them had chosen to love each other, and both had chosen selfishness, they would both have discipline.
Dutch nodded bravely, silent, while Heidi quietly cried. We went inside the kitchen, surprisingly dark after being in the mid-day sun. I walked to the counter and slid out the wooden spoon, but then Dutch spoke up:
“Wait. Mommy, can I have both sp*nks so that Heidi can have none?”
I turned around. He was earnest. Heidi stopped crying and stared at him.
The beauty of the gospel shining bright out of darkness.
I smiled.
“Come here.”
We sat down on the kitchen floor, them on either side of me.
“Heidi, do you understand that Dutch is willing to take both sp*nks so that you don’t have to have any?”
She nodded, solemn.
“Are you willing to receive that free gift he is offering you, and be grateful for him taking the punishment you deserve?”
She nodded, looking up at him with tearful eyes. “Thank you, Dutch.”
“You guys know that’s exactly what Jesus has done for us, right? Jesus took our sp*nks. He took the sp*nks Heidi deserves, the sp*nks Dutch deserves, and even all the sp*nks Mommy deserves, and that’s A LOT.”
“So you know what, kids? Right now, this time, no one’s getting sp*nks. We’re going to get on our knees and thank Jesus for taking all the sp*nks we deserve, and we’re going to thank Him and ask Him to help us love each other the way He has loved us.”
“Jesus, thank you for taking our sp*nks. Help us to love each other the way you loved us.”
The nameless, tweetless, awesomest conference
It took two years attending before I could finally put my finger on it.
We’d gone there last June, flown halfway across the country and driven up into the mountains with people we’d never met. We’d just come out of a long, hard, busy season in ministry and life, and I felt agitated and tired.
Upon arriving I had the distinct, somewhat-awkward feeling of walking into your new fiancee’s family reunion. You know what I mean, right? They all know each other, and though you technically belong, you’re not quite sure how this will go. You shake hands and try to remember names, but there’s a lot of history shared between everyone but you.
But then, imagine: to your everlasting amazement, every member of the family seems keenly interested … in you. Genuinely.
Shift now and imagine this family reunion is a conference. These family members ask you questions and sit listening, really listening. No one seems too busy or preoccupied. They read your body language and notice when you seem tired or sad. They care. They ask thoughtful questions. They’re happy, really awesomely happy, when they hear your victories and strengths.They want to know your story, all of it. And they open up their lives and share their own stories. Long, hard, joyful and painful stories, vulnerable stories. They share the lows and highs and you find yourself profoundly encouraged even though there was no pep-talk or fog machine.
You find yourself profoundly encouraged because other family members, other followers of Jesus, gave you the gift of themselves all there.
Imagine at this conference there was no live-tweeting. Imagine no one could care less about the name of the conference, or the church, or the denomination, or the movement. Imagine that you couldn’t really tell who the “main guy” was because there so many different people up front that no one person really stood out. Imagine no hashtags or FB selfies with location tags so that all those out “there” would wish they were here.
No. No interest in broadcasting the awesomeness to anyone not there. No interest in capturing cool moments or making sure “EPIC” was the descriptor of the day. No jumbotron listing live-tweets.
No jumbotron. No camera. No recorded sessions. Not even a stage.
I’m talking crazy-talk now, I know. Crazy-talk. But I’ll tell you, I don’t know if in my entire life I have met a group of people who more fully exemplified the humility of godly community.
It affected me. Deeply. As we contemplated whether we would pursue the process of joining this church-planting network, various leaders asked questions, crazy questions like,
“How can we serve you? What kind of support could we offer you? How can we pray for you?”
Say what?! We haven’t even joined the network yet! You mean, you already care for us even before we’re “in”?!
In a strange sense, I got a chance to feel what it’s like to be an unbeliever. To enter a foreign place, where everyone seems to know each other. To see the beauty of people who seek you, love you, and listen to you, even before you’re “in.” And this, this gospel-community was so profoundly different from anything I have experienced in the world, this made me realize why authentic Christian community is the most effective catalyst for kingdom growth.
Only one time during the 3 day conference, did I see someone checking their phone. I am not joking. It was as if the air spoke: “You’re here, so I’m all here.” And as joys and sorrows were shared, Scriptures taught, worship sang, prayers prayed, there was a humble recognition that serving Christ was the highest honor. We finished by joining hands, not surprisingly, but then … facing outward.
Hand-in-hand, outward facing, we departed to take the hope of Christ to the world and say with our lives, “You’re here, so I’m all here.”
This nameless, tweetless, awesomest conference renewed my vision, refreshed my spirit, and restored my hope.
{This week, may you give others the gift of you all there. Thanks for reading.}