Why Hope Exists for Less of Me and More of Him

There is a verse of Scripture jostling around in my spirit today.  A verse that speaks of my Jesus. 

"For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin."  Hebrews 4:15

I love this verse because it removes the "God card" factor.  Jesus didn't just play a God card and exempt himself from the possibility of sin.  No.  He was tempted.  In every way I have been tempted, and then some.  And at levels I have never had to face, for he was tempted by the destroyer himself, face to face.  (Matthew 4)

But, he's been there.  His heart has been tempted the way mine has. 

I sometimes imagine it.

When he saw his cousin beheaded, was he tempted to give in to disappointment and let a seed of bitterness sprout?

When his own hometown, his family and friends, could not see past his "ordinariness" and rejected his claims to be the Messiah, was he tempted to give in to anger and let a root of unforgiveness grow?

When the teachers of the law struck his face and spit on him, crying out that he was blaspheming the very name he shared with His father, was he tempted to give in to hopelessness for their redemption and let the tree of mankind wither and die?

When he was all alone in the garden, knowing the cross was coming the next day, was he tempted to tell God He didn't want to do it His way anymore?

These are real situations Jesus found himself in.  Real people he had to look in the face.  Real heart issues that so easily ensnare.

I find myself there all the time.

When God doesn't do what I thought He would do.

When people aren't as mature as I thought they were.

When someone assumes the worst about my intentions.

When my way looks better...or just easier...or just satisfies my wants more than His does.

And I don't always handle it the way He did.  For He didn't sin.

Oh, my Jesus, how I love you for that.  You could have, and you didn't.  You showed me it can be done.  And then you died for the times I would try to follow in your footsteps and fail. 

And today I have hope.  Because You did it.  Because You're still whispering that I can learn.

Another Christmas Birth Story

At Christmas time, we’re used to reading the story of a birth.  Just maybe not this birth.

"When the time came for her to give birth, there were twin boys in her womb. As she was giving birth, one of them put out his hand; so the midwife took a scarlet thread and tied it on his wrist and said, “This one came out first.” But when he drew back his hand, his brother came out, and she said, “So this is how you have broken out!” And he was named Perez. Then his brother, who had the scarlet thread on his wrist, came out. And he was named Zerah.^”  - Genesis 38:27-30

What a bizarre story found in this tucked away corner of the Scripture.  One son waves hello, gets a scarlet thread tied around his wrist, and then disappears.  The other son somehow intrudes into the process of birth and makes what the text refers to a “breach.”  He pushes his brother back so he can break out into the world.

And the mama?  A woman named Tamar, whose story is not a family friendly tale.  She went through a lot of family disfunction, was sinned against, sinned herself, and ended up unmarried and pregnant by her late husband’s father.

And then comes the birth, with this odd occurrence.  Two sons.  One named Perez, meaning “breach” or “broken out.”  The other named Zerah, meaning “dawning” or “brightness.”

And these twins are a picture of you and your big brother.  Your big brother named Jesus.

This brother Perez – he is everything we are.  A man who will push to get his own way, a man who causes brokeness and breaches.  A man who carries the sin nature.

This brother Zerah – his situation is a foreshadowing, a hint of the redemption that was on the way.  A man who was here before we were, yet came after man to save man.

Jesus lived before the beginning of time.  He is eternal God.  Yet, since sin entered the earth, the whole world had been waiting for Him to arrive in the flesh.

And none of it was a surprise to God.  The fall of man.  The entrance of sin.  The withering of mankind.  He wasn’t shocked or astounded.  He had a plan.  And it was the same plan He had from the beginning.

The plan was Jesus.

From the moment Adam drew breath, the sin of the world was tied to Jesus with a scarlet thread.  God knew His own son would have to come to save us, so we could be grafted into the family.  And He still did it.  Knowing His son would have to die a brutal death to save us, He still created us, mankind. 

And even more amazing.  Jesus said yes.

He said yes to the virgin birth.  He said yes to taking on flesh.  He said yes to coming to earth as a baby, putting the fate of mankind into the hands of a carpenter and his teenage bride.   And in doing so, He said yes to the cross.  To the agony of bearing the sin of the world on His perfect and blameless shoulders.  To the humilation of dying naked on a tree.  He said yes and He came.

He said yes because it meant having you.

And for all the years from the garden to the manger, He waited, with a scarlet thread tied to his wrist.  It was his love for you.

There’s another labor story we don’t think about much at Christmas. 

Jesus’ labor on the cross.

After Jesus had been on the cross for awhile, with every sin of mankind placed upon Him, after every vile act from tiny lies to genocide had been tied around His neck, He was ready to finish what He started in the manger.  He bore those sins to the very end, and then He shouted “IT IS FINISHED!” and He gave up His spirit.

And a soldier came a stuck a spear into His side.  And John the disciple, an eyewitness, tells us in John 19 that when the spear pierced his side, “immediately blood and water came out.”

It was the fulfillment of the scarlet thread, the fulfillment of the promise.  It was the greates birth story ever told.  Because the only time blood and water flow together under natural circumstances is during a birth.

And Jesus was indeed birthing something.  He was bringing into the world a new covenant, a new man.  He was closing a door, and opening a new one.

Paul calls Jesus in 1 Corinthians 15 the “last Adam.”  This means something terribly important for everyone who follows Jesus.

It was the first Adam who brought sin into the world.

It was the last Adam who brought redemption into the world.

The first Adam caused mankind to fall.

The last Adam redeemed it.

The first Adam imparted a curse to all his sons who came after him.

The last Adam made a way for all those sons to come home to the Father.

Paul also says in Colossians that Jesus is the “firstborn of many brothers.”

Jesus…the most amazing big brother ever.

No longer do we have to live under the curse of sin.  Our big brother paid for us to be free.

Our brother who chose to wear the scarlet thread.

 

Bedtime Ritual

I watched a badly made TV movie this week.  My husband was out of town, and I was looking to pass the evening hours after the kids were in bed.  I knew two minutes into the film that is was going to have a predictable story-line and poor acting.  I watched it anyway, strangely intrigued at how badly a movie could be made and still make it to the television.

With an introduction like that, I won't share the name of the film.  All that needs to be known is the predictable plot part. 

The movie was about a woman who relives a day in her life over and over again until she gets it right.  Overdone in Hollywood, for sure.  Yet, I was somehow genuinely happy for her when she finally learned all the lessons she was supposed to learn, the credits rolled, and I was sleepy enough to go to bed.

As I crawled between the covers, I had one loose thought rolling around in my head.

"What would I do differently tomorrow if I was reliving today?"

I closed my eyes and thought back over the details of my day.  A couple of encounters rose to the surface. 

A conversation I wished I had worked harder to infuse with gentleness.

A moment I could have siezed to spend time with my daughter.

A phone call of encouragement I meant to make and didn't.

What if tomorrow I could get a re-do?  How would I change it? 

I don't advocate living in regret.  It makes a terrible life-partner.  But, there's something to be said for evaluation.  For repentance.  For change.  For making different choices next time. 

And I did choose something different next time.  The very next day, I recognized a conversation similar to the one I had wished I could change.  And it arrested me.  I didn't want to be lying in my bed wishing I had done this one differently, too.

So, I stopped.  Slowed down.  Thought about the words.  Took my time to make it what I wanted it to be.

When I  went to bed that evening, I asked myself the same question, "What would I do differently tomorrow if I was reliving today?" And that conversation didn't make the list.

Something else did. 

"The faithful love of the Lord never ends!  His mercies never cease.  Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning." 
                                                                                          - Lamentations 3:22-23

True Maturity

It was a small thing.  Probably only something a mother would care about.  But, I am his mother.  And I do care.  So I waited until the time was right.  And then I spoke.

I was careful to make sure there was only love in my voice.  Only the sounds of caring that runs deep.  No judgement.  No rebuke.  Just a gentle pointing out of the need for change.

The iron that sharpens iron.  Spoken through tender affection.

And I knew it wasn't easy for him to hear.  Receiving correction is never easy, but it may be the most difficult in the teen years.  And I saw the struggle in his face, his eyes reflecting the processing my words were requiring of him.

I prayed as I spoke.  "Lord, please let there be no twisting of the sounds from my mouth to his ears, no chance for him to misunderstand my heart."

He was silent for a moment.  And then he did it.

He reached for me, pulling me into a hug, letting his cheek rest against mine.  And he said the words I hadn't expected, "Thank you, Mom."

I was humbled by his grace, his ability to push past ego and receive the temporary wound to his pride in order to gain the long-term growth in his character.  I hugged him back and whispered, "You're welcome.  I'm proud of who you are."

And then I retreated to my own quiet place to think that over. 

My son had surprised me with his maturity.  Was I capable of the same?  When God comes to me to correct me, do I respond with "thank you," or do I attempt to justify myself, finding someone else to blame?  Am I able to look past the smarting of my pride to see the love in His eyes when He needs to point out the need for change in me?  After His discipline, am I confident that I'm still his kid and He's still proud of me, or do I hunt around anxiously for something else to make Him like me more?

"My son, do not despise the Lord's discipline and do not resent his rebuke, because the Lord disciplines those he loves, as a father the son he delights in."  (Prov 3:11-12)

And I pray that the truth of this verse, illustrated to me by my own son, finds its way to the deep places of my heart the next time God needs to point something out to me. 

In that moment, may I reach for Him, lay my cheek against His, and whisper, "Thank you." 

Stand Firm

I held one of my sons as he wept over his sin this week.  His heart was grieved that he had grieved the heart of God. 

I understood.

And we talked about learning to stand against temptation and refusing to listen to the lies of the enemy.  We spoke of the temporary gain of sin that ultimately ends in loss.  We remembered that God has called us to holiness, because He is holy.

And then I gave him this encouragement....it will get worse before it gets better.

"The enemy thinks he has you now, thinks he knows that you will play into his hand.  He will come again, and soon, and he will whisper for you to agree with him and partner with him in the very act that has made you cry.  And you will need to fight to be free of him.  You will need to stand firm.  And when he comes again, you will need to stand firm again.  And again.  And again.  Until he knows you will not play by his rules.  And do you know what else you can do to beat him?  You can come to me, or to your Daddy, and tell us.  And we will pray with you.  We will pray together that you will be able to stand and fight and win."

Just today, it happened.  He told me immediately when he got in the car after school.  "I was tempted, Mom.  I stood firm, though."

And with that, his sword grew a little steadier in his hand.

"Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you (James 4:7).  Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective (James 5:16)."

Closing The Door

I found myself in that same place again today.  Doing the thing I have told myself I will not do.  Speaking the words that I have promised not to utter.  Wishing I could start over on the conversation and not draw attention to my wounded place.  Regretting that I opened the door to the sin that crouches and watches for the smallest opportunity to storm in.

Paul knew what he was talking about.


 “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good.  As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me.  For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature.  For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.  For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing.  Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it.

So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:15-25)

And I wish I could pull up a chair beside him over a cup of Starbucks and ask how he changed it.  What went through his head right before he succeeded in kicking out the unwanted habits and closing the door to sin that one last time?  What did it practically mean to see that deliverance from slavery in his mind and over his mouth?

But without Paul, and Starbucks being forty-five minutes away, I sit on my couch instead and I read the last sentence over and over again.

“Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

And I give thanks that He is here.

And I give thanks that He knew when I woke up that I would mess up today, and He spoke love to me this morning anyway.

And I give thanks that He knows what it means to be wounded.

And I give thanks that He works on healing me, again.

And I give thanks that I can see what He’s changing in me.

And I give thanks that some day I’ll sit in Starbucks and explain to a hungry heart what went through my head right before I closed the door that one last time.