Category: Life

Hunger For Humility

We shall find that the deepest humility is the secret of the truest happiness, of a joy that nothing can destroy. ~Andrew Murray

On the shelves of my world, humility is often in short supply. Like the endangered Twinkie, a humble view of self gets put out of business, pushed off the market by more popular fare.

Why be humble, when instead I can be right? Why withhold judgment when I can be outraged? Why be self-aware when I can be self-satisfied?

It’s like a catchy tune we can’t stop humming.

Our side is correct, their kind are ruining things. Our way is better, they need to measure up. We own the truth, they are idiots.

No wonder we feel battered and afraid. Our hearts were designed to beat to the serene rhythm of humility, not the frenetic pace of pride.

I know about this first-hand. I’ve researched humility enough to wince at the ways it eludes me. One day an understanding friend handed me Andrew Murray’s slim volume, Humility: The Journey Toward Holiness. One of the 15 Books Than Found Me, it’s my favorite of them all.

Murray writes,

Humility is not so much a virtue along with others, but is the root of all, because it alone takes the right attitude before God and allows Him, as God, to do all.

Think about it:

Learn to be humble, patience will grow
Learn to be humble, kindness will bud
Learn to be humble, courage will bloom
Learn to be humble, faith will mature
Learn to be humble, hope will arise
Learn to be humble, love will flourish

But focus on self, end up with self. How much of my angst and anger stem from trying to grow my own goodness?

So, maybe empty shelves are a good place to start. With no plan to stock them, just the willingness to let God fill me with his virtues, where I have none of my own.

Hunger For Humility

Put humility on your wish list, the quality and the book. Nurture it, savor it, treasure all that’s humble and give your frantic heart a rest.

Have you experienced the serenity of humility?

Image of Store Shelves Credit

Email this page

Tags humility

Culture Faith Life

Stay Thirsty, My Friends

Deep in unfathomable mines of never-ending skill, he treasures us his bright designs, and works his sovereign will. ~William Cowper

People hang on his every word. He can speak French, in Russian. He enjoys inside jokes with complete strangers. Even his enemies list him as their emergency contact. Sharks have a week dedicated to HIM. He once had an awkward moment just to see how it feels.

He is the most interesting man in the world.

In case you’re wondering, I’m quoting beer commercials.

In TV and radio ads, actor Jonathan Goldsmith plays the daring, debonair mystery man described above.

Each segment closes with Goldsmith, surrounded by beautiful admirers, saluting us with the words,

Stay thirsty, my friends.

Here’s a sample if you haven’t seen these commercials, cleverly designed to leave us thirsty. Thirsty for adventure, thirsty for life. Thirsty to meet someone so brilliant, so at ease with himself that everyone else fades from view.

On a related note,

What do you picture when you think of Jesus? A flannel-board figure, a naive, disillusioned wonder-worker, or a white-robed vision smiling (or scowling) at you from the clouds? Or, worse, does he float in your mind as a composite of every well-coiffed, white-toothed celebrity speaker you’ve heard invoke his name?

Who could entrust the weighty matters of life to a caricature?

I open the New Testament and meet a Jesus impossible to ignore. Everywhere he goes, crowds gather. Outcasts and scholars alike are amazed and dumbfounded at his intelligence, wisdom and power. Or they are angry they can’t outfox him. No one is bored.

It was in Dallas Willard’s The Divine Conspiracy, one of the 15 Books That Found Me, I realized it. While wading with Willard through the entire New Testament to discern, “Who is Jesus and what does it mean to be his disciple,” the question occurred to me, “How can Jesus be Lord of my life if he is limited?”

He can’t. And he’s not.

Some Christians fear the educated “elite,” distrusting scientists and experts in every field. I wonder if it’s because they don’t believe Jesus is as comfortable in a physics lab or law library as he is at a hymn-sing.

Stay thirsty, my friends.

Stay thirsty enough to keep following after the one person in whom “all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge” (Col. 2:3) are found. Don’t settle for the limp imitation you may have embraced.

Have you considered the brilliance of Jesus?

Image Credit

Email this page

Tags thirst

Faith Life

Sabbath Quiet: The Heart of Thanksgiving

Post author By Janet Hanson
Post date November 18, 2012
8 Comments on Sabbath Quiet: The Heart of Thanksgiving

Let there be for every pulse a thanksgiving, and for every breath, a song. ~ Konrad Von Gesner

A Thanksgiving Prayer

For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food,
For love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends.
[We thank thee, heavenly Father].

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

A Thanksgiving Hymn, In All Circumstances

Thanks to God for my Redeemer,
Thanks for all that you provide,
Thanks for times now but a memory,
Thanks for Jesus by my side.

Thanks for pleasant, balmy springtime,
Thanks for dark and dreary fall,
Thanks for tears by now forgotten,
Thanks for peace within my soul.

Thanks for prayers that you have answered,
Thanks for those you have denied,
Thanks for storms that I have weathered,
Thanks for all you have supplied.

Thanks for pain, and thanks for pleasure,
Thanks for comfort in despair,
Thanks for grace that none can measure,
Thanks for love beyond compare.

Thanks for roses by the wayside,
Thanks for thorns their stems contain,
Thanks for home and thanks for fireside,
Thanks for hope, that sweet refrain.

Thanks for joy and thanks for sorrow,
Thanks for heavenly peace with Thee,
Thanks for hope in the tomorrow,
Thanks through all eternity!

Tack O Gud, by August Ludvig Storm, trans. by Carl. E. Backstrom

A Thanksgiving Verse

In everything give thinks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.
1 Thessalonians 5:18

How will you live out this verse this Thanksgiving season?

Photograph, Kennebunkport, Maine by MC Hunt

Email this page

Tags thanksgiving

Book Review Faith Life

A Year With G.K. Chesterton by Kevin Belmonte, ed.

Post author By Janet Hanson
Post date November 16, 2012
4 Comments on A Year With G.K. Chesterton by Kevin Belmonte, ed.

This world of ours has some purpose; and if there is a purpose, there is a Person. I had always felt life first as a story: and if there is a story, there is a Storyteller. ~G.K. Chesterton

[I love books, and so do you, so just for fun, a book review!]

You find yourself in a cozy tavern, a warm refuge from the rain pelting the roof above. The fire is generous, the drinks are hot and the conversation merry.

But you mostly listen, enthralled by the literary giant seated before you. Armed with a satirical wit, towering intellect, deep curiosity and a grateful attentiveness to all of God’s created world, he blasts away at your shallow assumptions.

You leave the conversation nourished, challenged, overwhelmed, and not surprised C.S. Lewis regarded this man as a catalyst to his own faith journey.

So I felt after wading through the works of C.K. Chesterton.

His books aren’t easily digested–I imagine the author was accustomed to more robust readers than are found today. Fortunately, in A Year With G.K. Chesterton, Kevin Belmonte provides a way to experience Chesterton one chewable tidbit at a time.

Belmonte has compiled a wide range of materials into a 365 daily format. Each day includes a scripture verse followed by excerpts from Chesterton’s writings. Politics, literature, philosophy, theology–no topic is left unexplored by his lively mind. In addition, interesting glimpses of Chesterton life events are scattered throughout.

This is a great book to give as a stocking stuffer, or to keep on your night stand for a daily dose of his wisdom.

A couple of thoughts:

This is not a “daily devotional” of the 5-minute-check-in-with-God genre. Nor does it claim to be. Some days you will be inspired, others, not so much; some passages you will understand, others may puzzle you. Keep a highlighter handy–Chesterton is a very quotable writer.
If you are not familiar with the political, literary and philosophical climate of the early 20th century, some topics may confuse you. But that’s what Wikipedia is for! Become educated as well as encouraged (smile).

If you prefer a book of just quotations, Belmonte has also published The Quotable Chesterton: The Wit and Wisdom of G.K. Chesterton.

I’ve added it to my wish list!

Have you read G.K. Chesterton? What did you think?

Will write for free books! [BookSneeze provided me with a complementary copy of this book and I am not obligated to give a positive review].

Thomas Nelson product page: click here.

Amazon.com preview: click here.

Email this page

Faith Life

A Tale of Two Stories

Tell me, what is it you plan to do, with your one wild and precious life? ~Mary Oliver

Like an unwelcome squatter a story has taken over my brain.

As squatters will, it has rearranged the furniture, fluffed up the pillows, put up its feet and sits there, smirking, “What can you do?”

It started with a photograph I couldn’t put down, morphed into a poem that ended strangely, and before I knew it, chaotic voices demanded a hearing, a prominent place on the page.

As I shared the story’s theme over coffee and scones with a friend, the plot sounded familiar, as if written long ago.

And so it was. Because only two stories have ever been told.

Stories We Have Devised

go something like this:

A disillusioned King Solomon: I saw all the deeds that are done under the sun; and see, all is vanity and a chasing after wind (Ecclesiastes 1:14).

A despairing Macbeth: Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

A cheesy Brad Pitt, his recent commercial for Chanel No 5: It’s not a journey. Every journey ends but we go on. The world turns and we turn with it. Plans disappear, dreams take over. But wherever I go, there you are. My luck, my fate, my fortune.

It’s a story told every time we shrug our shoulders and walk away.

The day we stop searching in the ashes for a glimmer of light; when we give in to the uncaring winds of fate; when we believe we are nothing and our lives have no meaning, we’ve embraced the story’s false claims.

Stories That Turn Out To Be True

go something like this:

Life is not a circle. The world as we know it had a beginning and it will have an end. A day of accounting will come, when justice will triumph, when all that’s been broken will be restored.
You are unique, there is no other. You matter and no effort will be in vain.
Where there is no way, a way will open–help is as close as one desperate prayer.
Dare to hope, hold fast to your dreams, put your trust in the One who planted them in you.

It’s the second of these stories I choose to write.

Which story are you writing with your life?

 Image Credit

Email this page

Tags story

Faith Life

Rushing Ahead of The Promise

Post author By Janet Hanson
Post date November 9, 2012
10 Comments on Rushing Ahead of The Promise

It is in the course of our feeble and very imperfect waiting that God himself, by his hidden power, strengthens us and works out in us the patience of the great saints, the patience of Christ himself. ~Andrew Murray

We are still waiting for the promise and we don’t know why.

We gaze into the future, afraid to blink, willing for the time of longing to end. We throw our hearts like stones into the distance, but we bring the distance no closer, and only make our own hearts hurt.

Once in a while we are given a glimmer of hope. But then hopes are dashed again, the promise fades away, as if shy. Why do dreams so often linger just out of reach?

Stories of Promise

The first chill of Autumn draws them close, hands stretched to the fire, children nestled beneath the folds of maternal robes. A silence falls as the storyteller chooses his spot, the broad sweep of stars his only spotlight.

The characters are familiar, the plots, like smooth stones. Should he leave out a word, or a syllable’s inflection, startled eyes will remind him. They know these stories like they know every freckle on their hard-worked hands.

His voice deepens, this will be a tale he wants imprinted on their hearts. Something important about God. Something they must hold tight to in their memories when the waiting is long, and the promise seems lost. When their tight-throated days end in restless slumber, when all the evidence shouts, “God has forgotten!”

Ah, tonight it will be Sarai and Hagar’s story we will hear.

Sarai’s bitter words resonate with their own, “You see, God has prevented the very promise he made. Barren, empty, dried-of-all-hope is my new name. If there is to be a child of the promise, it won’t be from this body. I refuse to wait any longer for my own blessing. There is another way and I will take it.”

Around the fire, they sigh. They know how things will turn out, when God’s people take matters into their own hands. God will once again clean up the mess, though lives will be left limping. One more time he will remind them,

Waiting is not wasting. Don’t rush ahead of the promise. Trust me–watch what I will do.

Our Stories

Thousands of years later, we sigh too. Some of us live in the autumn of early spring’s promise, and God is taking his time.

He is taking his time, re-shaping our wills, saving us one promise at a time.

Are you ever tempted to take matters into your own hands?

(Sarai and Hagar, Genesis 16)

Email this page

Tags promise

Culture Faith Life

An Election Day Prayer: May We Be What We Wish For

Post author By Janet Hanson
Post date November 6, 2012
12 Comments on An Election Day Prayer: May We Be What We Wish For

But we are always praying that our eyes may behold greatness, instead of praying that our hearts may be filled with it. ~G.K. Chesterton

It wasn’t a pretty sight. Me, playing intramural college basketball. A mild-mannered music major with no athletic talent, just spunk and dirt and fingernails.

The games would end, the competitive fog clear and I would shake my head, embarrassed. It wasn’t the finer points of basketball I learned that season. Instead I was faced with the unwelcome truth about me.

I hate to lose. I want to be proven right. And in the heat of the moment, I am quick to forget my opponent is not my enemy; the one who out-scores me could be a true friend.

Will We Win?

Today is Election Day. All over this country we place our mark and wait to see who wins.

We’ve learned a lot this year, not so much about candidates, but about us, and who we become when the stakes seem high. And it’s not a pretty sight.

We’ve been bruised and angered, judged and cajoled. We’ve guzzled paranoia and devoured the lies. We’ve excused our side (“They started it!”) and demonized the other. The “Self-Righteousness Detector” has registered an all-time high.

This is the unwelcome truth:

Our certainty exceeds our wisdom.
We trust in all the wrong things.
We would rather destroy community than admit we may be wrong.

I’m hoping for an Election Day miracle–a collective, courageous look in the mirror.

A look from God’s point of view.

It’s all on the table. God’s heard every word, every thought we entertained. He sees where we’re wounded, where we’ve wounded in turn. He’s well-acquainted with our platforms and protests, our doubts and disgust.

But His exit-poll query is not, Whom did you choose? The question He asks us is, Whose will you be?

Whom will you look like? Whose heart will you reflect? Of what stuff were you created–curses or blessing, darkness or light, loathing or loving, apathy or life?

The mirror never lies. The problem is not them, it is us. The problem is not us, it is me.

Election Day Prayer

Jesus, from this day forward,

May my words be wholesome and helpful,

May my eyes always notice the pain,

May my hands be used for your purpose alone,

My feet, to bring hope in your name.

May my posture lean toward the humble,

Away from the arrogant spin,

May my arms open wide to the lost and alone,

May love matter more than a win.

Amen.

photo credit

Email this page

Tags prayer

Faith Life

Sabbath Quiet: God Wins

Every moment of each day I have the chance to choose between cynicism and joy. ~ Henri J.M. Nouwen

God Wins

One

There’s joy at the end of our sorrow. By sorrow we’re flown to His arms.

His arms never fail to hold us. Held, we will sail through the storm.

The storm leaves behind it a rainbow. A rainbow turns raindrops to light.

Light is greater than darkness. Darkness will tutor our trust.

Two

Trust will guide us to mercy. By mercy alone we are judged.

Judged, our hearts are well-broken. Well-broken, we weary of sin.

Sin is sent away by forgiveness. Forgiveness bandages shame.

Shame will not torment the humble. The humble find rest at the Cross.

Three

The Cross destroys the great Curse. Death is swallowed by Life.

Life awakens our longing. Longing will lead to despair.

But despair will look for a window. A window reminds us to hope.

Hope finds a home in Jesus Christ. Jesus makes everything right.

God Wins

And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from his love. Death can’t, and life can’t. The angels can’t, and the demons can’t.

Our fears for today, our worries about tomorrow, and even the powers of hell can’t keep God’s love away.

Whether we are high above the sky or in the deepest ocean, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.

(Romans 8:38-39 NLT)

God Wins, by Janet Hanson (In every brief sentence, in the poem as a whole, God wins).

 Photo Credit: Ted Martinson

Email this page

Tags hope, joy

Life

Love of the Father For the Prodigal In You

Post author By Janet Hanson
Post date November 2, 2012
3 Comments on Love of the Father For the Prodigal In You

Here lies hidden the great call to conversion: to look not with the eyes of my own low self-esteem, but with the eyes of God’s love. ~Henri J.M. Nouwen

I squint red-rimmed eyes toward the distant hills, blue and inviting beyond dry stubble fields.

My stomach churns–the last hard crust was eaten yesterday, and the slop I carry is not for me.

Thoughts of home intrude, unwelcome. My sisters, giggling as the nourishing aromas of lentil stew and warm bread draw the others from the fields. My father will have his arm around his favored son, sharing a joke, glancing with pride at his brawny offspring, so like him–confident, competent, brave. I cringe at the memory of trophy-lined shelves with no mention of me.

They’re relieved I’ve gone, the black sheep, the bumbler, the fool–though my father would not be happy to know where I’ve washed ashore.

My face wets with dirty tears. Self-pity, shame.

My father’s intent, puzzled gaze dances in the blistering air. He never understood my dreams, my restlessness with life safe, contained, predictable.

I’m not the smart one, but I am sly, and straight lines confound me. I panted for freedom, to find myself, to shape my own future. A thirst for wild, unfettered glory burned.

His love, like soft chains keeping me from life.

I saw the pain when I told him, demanded of him my inheritance while he lived. I knew why he stumbled–I meant my words to punch hard. It seemed to be the only way.

Far From The Father

Now life punches me back, the glittery dreams turned to tawdry dust. The good life was a purchased one, and my purse is spent. Too late, I recognize the lie. It is not life I find when I leave the father’s embrace.

I look up, another farm hand sees my tears. His pursed lips and narrowed eyes mirror my self-verdict, “You almost killed him with unkindness. You are dead to your father. And dead you will stay.”

Come Home

An unexpected breeze caresses my parched skin. A scent lingers–sweet, wholesome, inviting. A soft whisper I barely hear: He waits for you. He longs for you. He will not rest until you are found. The child of his heart you will always be. Why wander the world for what can’t satisfy? Take one step toward the distant blue hills, and you will find yourself in his arms. Come home to the father, come home.

(Luke 15:11-32)

Do you hear the voice of the Father inviting you to come home?

     Photo Credit

Email this page

Faith Life

Elder Brother Syndrome: Common Symptoms

Post author By Janet Hanson
Post date October 30, 2012
6 Comments on Elder Brother Syndrome: Common Symptoms

It is clear that the hardest conversion to go through is the conversion of the one who stayed home. ~Henri J.M. Nouwen

The younger brother. His memoir is the more satisfying read–the prodigal son who takes his father’s money and runs toward fortune and fame.

We vicariously thrill to the good life and nod, content, at the eating-worse-than-the-pigs moment of truth. Bad choices lead to bad things, there is justice here.

Our eyes get misty at the awkward journey home, the Father’s breathless run of forgiving grace. It’s a story of hope. The Father, a window into God’s heart for all his wandering ones, holds out a never-expiring second chance. And joyful celebration when we come home.

The plot line is pleasing–but some of us turn the last page with a sense of dismay. We’re not in the story. The party was not for us, the ones who stayed home.

We understand the elder brother’s point of view–why does our wayward brother get the party? We, too, have known misery–without first having any fun. Can you relate?

Elder Brother Syndrome Symptoms

You compare yourself with others.
You are resentful when others are blest.
You are offended by little slights.
You are quick to see another’s flaws.
You wonder if God loves others more than you.
You are angry when someone gets away with bad behavior.
You long for a blessing that always seems withheld.
You think God owes you for your efforts.
You often feel you are competing for a prize you never win.

The Elder Brother in Me

Recently, I typed a letter to God, pounding the keyboard with lament and self-pity: “Why not? Why them? Why not me?” Around word 702 it hit me–this is elder-brother stuff. God seized my moment of sanity, and I heard him whisper,

You are always with me and everything I have is yours.

I turned to Luke 15:31 and there it was.

You are always with me: I choose you, want to be with you, and my heart aches for you to notice I am here. I offer you myself, not a trophy for your shelf.
Everything I have is yours: Life, purpose, provision, beauty, people. Most of all, my unqualified, unquenchable love.

I’m as lost as the prodigal. I, too have broken my Father’s heart. I too need to come home. I look up and with tear-blurred eyes see my Father running towards me, his arms opened wide. Every single time.

And so do you.

Do you trust this is true?

(Luke 15:11-32)

Image Credit-flickr-Nickdawg

Email this page