every morning I lay out the pieces of my life on your altar and watch for fire to descend Psalm 5:3
Friday, May 13, 2011
Time flies
This week's quote of the week comes from Ben Worley, age 8.
Ben and I were the only two people at home one day. I was downstairs at my computer writing, and Ben had been upstairs working away on something - probably taking something apart and building something entirely new out of spare parts. I like to call these things "Ben-ventions." Over the years he has created some stunning Benventions. The best was probably a riding thing made from an old shopping cart, a bicycle and the handlebars from an Ab Blaster. Oh, how I wish I had a picture of it. It was crashed into the ditch by our driveway many times by Ben, his brothers and neighbor kids. Surprisingly, no one had to go to the emergency room.
On this day, 8-year old Ben had been up in his room absorbed in his work, as I was in mine, and the afternoon had passed and the house was growing dark. Ben came downstairs.
"Mommy, it's dark already," he said.
"I know, Ben. The day is almost over," I replied.
Ben sighed happily and shrugged.
"Time flies when you're loving life!"
So it does, and Ben Worley has taught that his philosophy is a true one. No one loves life quite so much as Ben Worley, and it is a joy to watch him.
This Sunday is Senior Recognition day at church, and Ben Worley, who is 18 now and graduating from high school, will be among those honored. He was the baby on the cul de sac, the youngest of all the gang of kids who grew up in these yards and houses together over the past 20 years. All of those neighbors still live here. Only one family has moved away, and new neighbors have moved in this year. This weekend, Nate and Brittany will bring home their new baby girl, Sadie. They don't realize it, but before they can blink, there will be a Senior sign in their front yard with Sadie's name on it.
Time flies when you're loving life!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
What do you want me to do for you?
Great question. Stunning when it comes from Jesus.
In Mark 10:35-52, we find two encounters in which Jesus asks this question. Somebody stops him on his way, and he turns to them. I imagine he asks it very quietly and kindly.
What do you want me to do for you?
James and John reply, "We want to sit at your right hand."
Bartimaeus, the blind man, replies, "I want to see."
I spent the greater part of my life wanting, like James and John, to be a trophy on Jesus' shelf, the Teacher's pet, a merit badge on God's chest. I wanted Him to point to me and say, "See her? I like her best."
I thought I could get there by being very, very good and very, very busy. But all I really did was prove that I was as blind as Bartimaeus. I had missed the point: grace. His grace, not my goodness. Glory. His glory, not mine.
What do you want me to do for you?
I've been pondering this question since I studied this passage in my daily Bible study more than a year ago. I wrote down the question, and for more than a year I have left the page blank. Because all this is in my heart:
I want stuff.
I want to be pretty.
I want to be thin.
I want to be happy.
I want to be liked.
I want success.
I want sleep.
I want to be left alone.
I want to hide.
I want joy.
I want love.
I want your kingdom.
I want my kingdom.
What do you want me to do for you?
I think I now know what I want: I want to see. I want to see what God is doing all around me. I want to see where He is waiting, saying, "Get over here." I want to see where He is pointing and saying, "No more of that." I want to see what matters to Him and what doesn't, what He loves so I can love it too. I want to see what is true and what is crap. I want to see what's in my heart, even if it's not pretty. I don't want to miss a thing.
But more than anything, I want to see Him. I want to know His love for me and fall into it. I want to see His goodness and swim in it. I want to know His heart, which is what I guess the psalmist meant when he said, "My heart says seek Your face."
At least that's what I want today.
What do you want me to do for you?
How would you answer that question?
In Mark 10:35-52, we find two encounters in which Jesus asks this question. Somebody stops him on his way, and he turns to them. I imagine he asks it very quietly and kindly.
What do you want me to do for you?
James and John reply, "We want to sit at your right hand."
Bartimaeus, the blind man, replies, "I want to see."
I spent the greater part of my life wanting, like James and John, to be a trophy on Jesus' shelf, the Teacher's pet, a merit badge on God's chest. I wanted Him to point to me and say, "See her? I like her best."
I thought I could get there by being very, very good and very, very busy. But all I really did was prove that I was as blind as Bartimaeus. I had missed the point: grace. His grace, not my goodness. Glory. His glory, not mine.
What do you want me to do for you?
I've been pondering this question since I studied this passage in my daily Bible study more than a year ago. I wrote down the question, and for more than a year I have left the page blank. Because all this is in my heart:
I want stuff.
I want to be pretty.
I want to be thin.
I want to be happy.
I want to be liked.
I want success.
I want sleep.
I want to be left alone.
I want to hide.
I want joy.
I want love.
I want your kingdom.
I want my kingdom.
What do you want me to do for you?
I think I now know what I want: I want to see. I want to see what God is doing all around me. I want to see where He is waiting, saying, "Get over here." I want to see where He is pointing and saying, "No more of that." I want to see what matters to Him and what doesn't, what He loves so I can love it too. I want to see what is true and what is crap. I want to see what's in my heart, even if it's not pretty. I don't want to miss a thing.
But more than anything, I want to see Him. I want to know His love for me and fall into it. I want to see His goodness and swim in it. I want to know His heart, which is what I guess the psalmist meant when he said, "My heart says seek Your face."
At least that's what I want today.
What do you want me to do for you?
How would you answer that question?
Sunday, May 8, 2011
How to be awesome
It's Mother's Day, one of my favorite days of the year because it usually guarantees my whole family will be together - the best gift a mom can get. Over the years Mother's Day gifts from my boys have been some of my most cherished possessions. Photos in popsicle stick frames. Bracelets made of safety pins and beads. Abstract watercolors and clay handprints.
However, Mother's Day, if you're not a mom but wish you were, is right up there with other Great Disappointments like Valentine's Day and New Year's Eve. And prom.
The only thing I ever wanted to be was a wife and mother. I've gotten to do a lot of other wonderful things, but if you took them all away and I never had another opportunity in life, I would point you to Seth, Matt and Ben Worley and tell you I made my significant contribution to the world. I know that's not a politically correct thing to say, but it's true.
Maybe I feel this way because I have the most awesome mom in the world.
Whether you are a mother or not, if you want to be awesome, I am about to school you in the ways of Marjorie Carolyn Hyatt Cox:
1. Be stylish. My mother always has been. Not long ago, we looked through slides of mom, dad and baby me in Tripoli, late 1950s when my dad was in the Air Force. My mom looks like a page from Vogue. And we didn't have a ton of money. For most of my life my mom sewed all my clothes, which was not cool to me at the time. "You don't want to look like everyone else," she said. Sigh. Yes, I so did.
On Friday nights my parents would get all dressed up and go out. They were so glamorous and romantic, as they kissed us good night over our fish sticks.
2. Be smart. One of the things I admire most about my mother is that she is a learner. She reads all the time. My mother worked to put herself through college, and she did not take her education lightly, not has she ever stopped learning She knows all the common and Latin names for plants. She is currently doing exhaustive research in preparation for a trip to Ireland. My mother loves books, and she taught me to love books. She is a stickler for proper spelling and grammar.
I was a Camp Fire Girl growing up. (Like Girl Scouts, only with Indian lore.) Mom was our troup leader. I think she enjoyed mastering all the skills, from babysitting certification to camping to citizenship, maybe more than me.
3. Be interesting. My mother loves the theater. I can still remember the first musical she ever took me to see at age six. It rocked my world. For years mom made all the costumes for school plays and church pageants. Then she became the costume designer for Dallas Repertory Theater. She introduced the "DR Teas", a matinee series of small plays accompanied by high tea. She also played tennis. Currently my mother runs a tearoom at Rippavilla. She is a Master Gardener. She has recently taken up lavender farming.
4. Be a homemaker. My mother's house has always been warm and inviting and full of unique items that she rescued and restored. And good smells. Two smells that comfort me from childhood: the smell of her chocolate cake (my brother's favorite) and the Sunday pot roast waiting for us every week after church - thanks to the excellent invention of the automatic oven timer.
5. Be an advocate. My mother wasn't always easy on me, but she has always been for me. She made sure I had every opportunity to do and learn and grow. She drove me to piano lessons and competitions for 13 years. She encouraged and she disciplined. She told me I was unique (not like "stop eating the paste.") She encouraged me not to compromise. She told me, in the third grade when boys threw dirt clods at me, that they did it because they secretly liked me. (I still doubt that.) She taught me table manners, how to write a thank you note, how to sit like a lady and stand up straight. She told me I was pretty, which helped when boys didn't.
So if you what to be awesome, ask yourself "What would Carolyn do?"
Take a child to the theater or ballet.
Read to someone.
Make family dinner a big deal for the people you love.
Bake a chocolate cake for someone.
Plant some herbs and learn their Latin names.
Look pretty; it inspires little girls. (And guys like it.)
Help a teenager with their homework.
Refinish an old trunk.
Learn to make proper tea.
I'm pretty sure I just listed stuff my non-mom friends are already doing. So here's to the Carolyn in all of you. You don't have to be a mom to be awesome.
But it helps to have or know an awesome mom.
However, Mother's Day, if you're not a mom but wish you were, is right up there with other Great Disappointments like Valentine's Day and New Year's Eve. And prom.
The only thing I ever wanted to be was a wife and mother. I've gotten to do a lot of other wonderful things, but if you took them all away and I never had another opportunity in life, I would point you to Seth, Matt and Ben Worley and tell you I made my significant contribution to the world. I know that's not a politically correct thing to say, but it's true.
Maybe I feel this way because I have the most awesome mom in the world.
Whether you are a mother or not, if you want to be awesome, I am about to school you in the ways of Marjorie Carolyn Hyatt Cox:
1. Be stylish. My mother always has been. Not long ago, we looked through slides of mom, dad and baby me in Tripoli, late 1950s when my dad was in the Air Force. My mom looks like a page from Vogue. And we didn't have a ton of money. For most of my life my mom sewed all my clothes, which was not cool to me at the time. "You don't want to look like everyone else," she said. Sigh. Yes, I so did.
On Friday nights my parents would get all dressed up and go out. They were so glamorous and romantic, as they kissed us good night over our fish sticks.
2. Be smart. One of the things I admire most about my mother is that she is a learner. She reads all the time. My mother worked to put herself through college, and she did not take her education lightly, not has she ever stopped learning She knows all the common and Latin names for plants. She is currently doing exhaustive research in preparation for a trip to Ireland. My mother loves books, and she taught me to love books. She is a stickler for proper spelling and grammar.
I was a Camp Fire Girl growing up. (Like Girl Scouts, only with Indian lore.) Mom was our troup leader. I think she enjoyed mastering all the skills, from babysitting certification to camping to citizenship, maybe more than me.
3. Be interesting. My mother loves the theater. I can still remember the first musical she ever took me to see at age six. It rocked my world. For years mom made all the costumes for school plays and church pageants. Then she became the costume designer for Dallas Repertory Theater. She introduced the "DR Teas", a matinee series of small plays accompanied by high tea. She also played tennis. Currently my mother runs a tearoom at Rippavilla. She is a Master Gardener. She has recently taken up lavender farming.
4. Be a homemaker. My mother's house has always been warm and inviting and full of unique items that she rescued and restored. And good smells. Two smells that comfort me from childhood: the smell of her chocolate cake (my brother's favorite) and the Sunday pot roast waiting for us every week after church - thanks to the excellent invention of the automatic oven timer.
5. Be an advocate. My mother wasn't always easy on me, but she has always been for me. She made sure I had every opportunity to do and learn and grow. She drove me to piano lessons and competitions for 13 years. She encouraged and she disciplined. She told me I was unique (not like "stop eating the paste.") She encouraged me not to compromise. She told me, in the third grade when boys threw dirt clods at me, that they did it because they secretly liked me. (I still doubt that.) She taught me table manners, how to write a thank you note, how to sit like a lady and stand up straight. She told me I was pretty, which helped when boys didn't.
So if you what to be awesome, ask yourself "What would Carolyn do?"
Take a child to the theater or ballet.
Read to someone.
Make family dinner a big deal for the people you love.
Bake a chocolate cake for someone.
Plant some herbs and learn their Latin names.
Look pretty; it inspires little girls. (And guys like it.)
Help a teenager with their homework.
Refinish an old trunk.
Learn to make proper tea.
I'm pretty sure I just listed stuff my non-mom friends are already doing. So here's to the Carolyn in all of you. You don't have to be a mom to be awesome.
But it helps to have or know an awesome mom.
Friday, May 6, 2011
What you can become
Never be afraid to give up what you are for what you can become.
I don't know who said that. When I was a freshman at Baylor University, it was on a poster on the wall of the BSU, along with a butterfly. The day my parents left me on the steps of Collins dorm and drove away, I knew I was giving up everything I was and becoming someone entirely new. I was terrified.
That poster resonated so much with me that I embroidered the quote and a butterfly, framed it and kept it on my dresser for years. Tonight I found it as I was rummaging through a drawer. I put it back out on the dresser.
It's funny, I've lived here in the same place for more than half of my life, but I've constantly given up "who" I was to move on to the next thing placed before me. And right now there is change in the air. Ben is graduating. Matt is moving away to college. I'm about to be a grandmother again. Of a girl! Today I bought a pair of pink baby leggings. It was so strange to stand there in the aisle with those pink baby things.
What will the next part of my life look like? I don't know. But I won't know if I'm not willing to give up this part of my life.
Life is changing on some of my friends, too. I suspect they're afraid. I just want to say with all my heart: Don't be.
I remember when I was pregnant with Ben; my mother-in-law was with me when I went for the sonogram and found out it was another boy. Not the girl I was so sure I was meant to have. Alice Ruth was quiet all the way home. Just as we pulled in the driveway, she asked, "Honey, are you disappointed?"
No, I was hacked. I always got what I wanted, and there was nothing I could do about this.
But look what I got. And all that has become since then.
Eighteen years ago I could not imagine my life today, just as you could not imagine yours. Becoming requires faith and courage and risk. Endings and beginnings. Death and new life. And kindness. And time.
Today I finally bought pink baby clothes. So who knows what could be next?
I don't know who said that. When I was a freshman at Baylor University, it was on a poster on the wall of the BSU, along with a butterfly. The day my parents left me on the steps of Collins dorm and drove away, I knew I was giving up everything I was and becoming someone entirely new. I was terrified.
That poster resonated so much with me that I embroidered the quote and a butterfly, framed it and kept it on my dresser for years. Tonight I found it as I was rummaging through a drawer. I put it back out on the dresser.
It's funny, I've lived here in the same place for more than half of my life, but I've constantly given up "who" I was to move on to the next thing placed before me. And right now there is change in the air. Ben is graduating. Matt is moving away to college. I'm about to be a grandmother again. Of a girl! Today I bought a pair of pink baby leggings. It was so strange to stand there in the aisle with those pink baby things.
What will the next part of my life look like? I don't know. But I won't know if I'm not willing to give up this part of my life.
Life is changing on some of my friends, too. I suspect they're afraid. I just want to say with all my heart: Don't be.
I remember when I was pregnant with Ben; my mother-in-law was with me when I went for the sonogram and found out it was another boy. Not the girl I was so sure I was meant to have. Alice Ruth was quiet all the way home. Just as we pulled in the driveway, she asked, "Honey, are you disappointed?"
No, I was hacked. I always got what I wanted, and there was nothing I could do about this.
But look what I got. And all that has become since then.
Eighteen years ago I could not imagine my life today, just as you could not imagine yours. Becoming requires faith and courage and risk. Endings and beginnings. Death and new life. And kindness. And time.
Today I finally bought pink baby clothes. So who knows what could be next?
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Mean Girls and Satan
When I was in the 5th grade, we moved to Shreveport LA for two years. Two critical years for me. I had been in one school in one house since first grade. I had friends. I had roots. I knew my place in the hierarchy of my peers. Then, in 5th grade, I was the new girl.
The two girls who ruled my grade at Creswell Elementary School in Shreveport LA were named Ginger and Shelly. Ginger lived right behind me; she was obviously the queen bee, but she and Shelly were tight. And I wanted in. I wanted in their circle so badly.
I am not as old as the next part of this story will make me sound, but here it is: In those days, we walked to school. And on the corner right across from the Creswell Elementary School playground was a drugstore with a soda fountain. (No I did not grow up in the 50's.) For a quarter you could buy a cherry Coke in a little Coke glass, and every afternoon after school, we all stopped in to buy our cherry Cokes. And every afternoon in that drugstore, Ginger and Shelly would take me over into the cotton ball aisle where they informed me what uncool thing I had done that day that caused me to fall short of the requirements for being in their circle.
That's right, they were mean girls. They were bullies. Not the kind that punch you in the stomach, although it felt like being punched in the stomach. The kind that yank the rug out from under you right as you're laughing at a joke or drinking your cherry Coke.
You should know this about me: Ever since then, if you say, "I need to talk to you for a minute," or "Could we get together?" without telling me why, my stomach sinks. I am right back in the cotton ball aisle. You have just returned me to elementary school, which is a hard place to be in life.
Why did I take this? Why didn't I say, "Shut up?" Why didn't I just walk away?
I was thinking about that this weekend when I read this poem:
It was like the moment when a bird decides not to eat from your hand,
and flies, just before it flies, the moment the rivers seem to still
and stop because a storm is coming, but there is no storm, as when
a hundred starlings lift and bank together before they wheel and drop,
very much like the moment, driving on bad ice, when it occurs to you
your car could spin, just before it slowly begins to spin, like
the moment just before you forgot what it was you were about to say,
it was like that, and after that, it was still like that, only all the time.
Marie Howe, Part of Eve's Discussion
Aaron talked about Eve this weekend. In his sermon, he took us back to that moment in the garden when the serpent slithered up to Eve and planted his awful lie.
"You could be like God," he said.
Eve should've said, "I am like God. I was made in His image." But she didn't.
She let him pull the rug out from under her. She let him punch her - punch us all - in the gut. She went to the cotton ball aisle.
What if?
What if Eve had put her hand out, not to take the apple, but to hold up her palm and say, "Shut up."
Oh, wouldn't things be so different now?
Well, I ask you the same question. What if?
What if tomorrow when the voice in my/your head says, "You're fat/ You're stupid/ You're irrelevant/ You're going to fail" —what if we put out our hand and said, "Shut up!" What if we walked away from the mean girls, from the bullies? From the source of all bullying?
I'm up for it if you are.
The two girls who ruled my grade at Creswell Elementary School in Shreveport LA were named Ginger and Shelly. Ginger lived right behind me; she was obviously the queen bee, but she and Shelly were tight. And I wanted in. I wanted in their circle so badly.
I am not as old as the next part of this story will make me sound, but here it is: In those days, we walked to school. And on the corner right across from the Creswell Elementary School playground was a drugstore with a soda fountain. (No I did not grow up in the 50's.) For a quarter you could buy a cherry Coke in a little Coke glass, and every afternoon after school, we all stopped in to buy our cherry Cokes. And every afternoon in that drugstore, Ginger and Shelly would take me over into the cotton ball aisle where they informed me what uncool thing I had done that day that caused me to fall short of the requirements for being in their circle.
That's right, they were mean girls. They were bullies. Not the kind that punch you in the stomach, although it felt like being punched in the stomach. The kind that yank the rug out from under you right as you're laughing at a joke or drinking your cherry Coke.
You should know this about me: Ever since then, if you say, "I need to talk to you for a minute," or "Could we get together?" without telling me why, my stomach sinks. I am right back in the cotton ball aisle. You have just returned me to elementary school, which is a hard place to be in life.
Why did I take this? Why didn't I say, "Shut up?" Why didn't I just walk away?
I was thinking about that this weekend when I read this poem:
It was like the moment when a bird decides not to eat from your hand,
and flies, just before it flies, the moment the rivers seem to still
and stop because a storm is coming, but there is no storm, as when
a hundred starlings lift and bank together before they wheel and drop,
very much like the moment, driving on bad ice, when it occurs to you
your car could spin, just before it slowly begins to spin, like
the moment just before you forgot what it was you were about to say,
it was like that, and after that, it was still like that, only all the time.
Marie Howe, Part of Eve's Discussion
Aaron talked about Eve this weekend. In his sermon, he took us back to that moment in the garden when the serpent slithered up to Eve and planted his awful lie.
"You could be like God," he said.
Eve should've said, "I am like God. I was made in His image." But she didn't.
She let him pull the rug out from under her. She let him punch her - punch us all - in the gut. She went to the cotton ball aisle.
What if?
What if Eve had put her hand out, not to take the apple, but to hold up her palm and say, "Shut up."
Oh, wouldn't things be so different now?
Well, I ask you the same question. What if?
What if tomorrow when the voice in my/your head says, "You're fat/ You're stupid/ You're irrelevant/ You're going to fail" —what if we put out our hand and said, "Shut up!" What if we walked away from the mean girls, from the bullies? From the source of all bullying?
I'm up for it if you are.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
A beautiful readiness
Each day is an opportunity to live in agreement with God's choice to make you self-evident in the world, to change the world by dropping you, His living being, into the middle of the action. There is a beautiful readiness in peace and contentment.
Oh what a great friend, follower, and citizen you are if you are at peace just being you. From there, you can go anywhere.
-Charlie Peacock, The Art of Being
Oh what a great friend, follower, and citizen you are if you are at peace just being you. From there, you can go anywhere.
-Charlie Peacock, The Art of Being
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Risen with him?
Christ is risen!
I love these words that the choir sang on Sunday:
But the mightiest part of the conquering power of Jesus
Is how He lifted us
Up from the grave out into the morning light
Rising like eagles with wings to the wind
Down through the dark over death up to new life -
Alleluia! We have risen with him!
In our Thursday Bible study of Acts, we've seen that this is true: not only was Jesus raised through the conquering power of the resurrection, but so were the disciples – as Paul put it in Romans 6:4, "raised to walk in a new way of life." Paul wrote to the believers in Ephesus some of my favorite verses in the Bible, Ephesian 1:18-20, in which he said, "I pray that you may know...the surpassing power available to those of us who believe—the same power that God exerted when He raised Jesus from the dead."
In Acts, we see this power at work in all sorts of ways – healings, prophecies, miraculous escapes from prison, incredible generosity, constant prayer, and most of all, boldness to proclaim the gospel, resulting in thousands coming to faith. But here's the most exciting truth:
That same power is at work in you and me because the Holy Spirit dwells in you and me. We have been raised out of our old clueless, overwhelmed, timid, small-minded, do-it-yourself way of life—raised to be new beings with new hearts and a new spirit, with new minds that can see God at work, that can accomplish things we never dared to believe ourselves capable of. We have been raised out of our me-stories and into the God-story.
Are you living that way? Or are you still slugging life out at "I" level?
I ask you this because I'm asking myself this. Here it is Tuesday, and I'm already sinking back into a me-story made up of laundry, bills, graduation details, dirty dishes and mostly the me-movie that runs in my head at all times. Luke leaves those details out of Acts, so I don't know how the disciples dealt with them. I wish he had told us. All he tells us is that they did go on with daily life, only they did it in a whole new way that was marked by mystery and adventure, danger and prayer, fellowship and joy.
The most dramatic "new way of life" I see displayed in Acts is the new behavior of Peter, James and the other disciples. They are no longer navel-gazing. They aren't always asking, "How?" like they were before. Maybe because the Holy Spirit has made the question "how" irrelevant now. They are quick to see God at work all around them and quick to step into what they see. There is that weird joyfulness which is a sign of being raised with Jesus.
Eugene Peterson, in his book Living the Resurrection, writes:
"Jesus' followers live resurrection-formed lives, not by watching him or imitating him or being influenced by him, but by being raised with him."
I had to go back to Acts today and reread it. Because Acts is not just a story. It is a picture of the way of life that has been opened to all, including us. It is a picture of the way we could be living. So if we are not, why not?
I love these words that the choir sang on Sunday:
But the mightiest part of the conquering power of Jesus
Is how He lifted us
Up from the grave out into the morning light
Rising like eagles with wings to the wind
Down through the dark over death up to new life -
Alleluia! We have risen with him!
In our Thursday Bible study of Acts, we've seen that this is true: not only was Jesus raised through the conquering power of the resurrection, but so were the disciples – as Paul put it in Romans 6:4, "raised to walk in a new way of life." Paul wrote to the believers in Ephesus some of my favorite verses in the Bible, Ephesian 1:18-20, in which he said, "I pray that you may know...the surpassing power available to those of us who believe—the same power that God exerted when He raised Jesus from the dead."
In Acts, we see this power at work in all sorts of ways – healings, prophecies, miraculous escapes from prison, incredible generosity, constant prayer, and most of all, boldness to proclaim the gospel, resulting in thousands coming to faith. But here's the most exciting truth:
That same power is at work in you and me because the Holy Spirit dwells in you and me. We have been raised out of our old clueless, overwhelmed, timid, small-minded, do-it-yourself way of life—raised to be new beings with new hearts and a new spirit, with new minds that can see God at work, that can accomplish things we never dared to believe ourselves capable of. We have been raised out of our me-stories and into the God-story.
Are you living that way? Or are you still slugging life out at "I" level?
I ask you this because I'm asking myself this. Here it is Tuesday, and I'm already sinking back into a me-story made up of laundry, bills, graduation details, dirty dishes and mostly the me-movie that runs in my head at all times. Luke leaves those details out of Acts, so I don't know how the disciples dealt with them. I wish he had told us. All he tells us is that they did go on with daily life, only they did it in a whole new way that was marked by mystery and adventure, danger and prayer, fellowship and joy.
The most dramatic "new way of life" I see displayed in Acts is the new behavior of Peter, James and the other disciples. They are no longer navel-gazing. They aren't always asking, "How?" like they were before. Maybe because the Holy Spirit has made the question "how" irrelevant now. They are quick to see God at work all around them and quick to step into what they see. There is that weird joyfulness which is a sign of being raised with Jesus.
Eugene Peterson, in his book Living the Resurrection, writes:
"Jesus' followers live resurrection-formed lives, not by watching him or imitating him or being influenced by him, but by being raised with him."
I had to go back to Acts today and reread it. Because Acts is not just a story. It is a picture of the way of life that has been opened to all, including us. It is a picture of the way we could be living. So if we are not, why not?
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