Do I Give Enough?

At the beginning of each year, our church hands out boxes of 52 envelopes.  These envelopes are a soft blue color and the date of each Sunday of the year is stamped on the front.  And if that's not easy enough, our church has the ability to set up our weekly contributions online!  I love it!  I used to have my weekly contribution set up online....that is, until I had to start using the envelopes.

Let me start here:

Jesus tells us that it's impossible to worship God and money (Luke 16:13).  Jesus says that we will love one and hate the other, or devote ourselves to one and detest the other.

I love God.  Obviously.  And I like to think of myself as a simple girl; don't get me wrong, I love a fancy pair of shoes and a well-made handbag, but you won't find me out there buying either one.  Several years ago you would've seen me in Nordstrom's with my credit card hot to the touch because I was using it so much, but that lead me to a path of destruction.

My husband is a firefighter and works crazy hard to provide an incredible life for me and our children.  He picks up extra shifts so that I can work part-time, we can take the kids to Disneyland (although not anymore because it's so dang expensive), my son can play year-round baseball, and my daughter can take dance classes, or painting classes, or whatever she's in the mood to try.  His job is not easy, despite what some may think.  He comes home after a 24 hour shift physically and mentally tired.  He may occasionally get a full four days off, but he's not himself until day four, and then he has to go back and do it again.

So, he likes to see where his hard earned money is going and what it is being used for - rightfully so.  He knows God, he acknowledges God, but he doesn't love God...yet.  And he definitely doesn't think we should be giving to God, because he views it as giving to the church, not to God.

This has been a crazy topic in our home and has been the source of many, many arguments.  So......I had a brilliant idea < *cough, cough* > that I would give to God....without telling my husband.  How could I be wrong with that?  I mean, I'm doing my biblical duty, I'm honoring God and all that He has given to me, so how could I be wrong?

For a whole year, I gave my weekly contribution to God through the online service our church provides.  For years before that, I was the only one who handled our finances.  For years before that, I vowed to tithe based on my gross income.  I even increased my tithe when I got a raise.  And every Sunday I felt good watching the collection plate pass my hands knowing that the next morning I would see the deduction from my checking account.  For years, I tricked myself into believing I was doing the right thing.

And then one night we sat down with a couple from church who have been our closest friends for many years.  We were discussing finances (the conversation was going decently well; I was being called out on a lot of sin, but my husband was being given pointers as well), and just when I thought the conversation was over because the four of us were laughing and cleaning up dinner, it quickly turned on me when I said, "well, there is one more thing...."  However, I said this statement with such confidence because I believed my church-going, God-loving friends would sign up on Team Jenn right away.

"Tithe.  I give each week to the church.  [My husband] doesn't know about that.  BUT!  I don't base my tithe off the household income, only mine."  I smiled the whole time I said this.  I was so proud of myself for being so sacrificial with my money.  I couldn't wait to hear them applaud me and tell my husband that it's my duty to give back to God.

That's not what happened.

I was sitting next to my best friend and across from her husband.  Nobody laughed.  Nobody smiled.  In fact, it was dead silent.  The next words spoken were from her husband, "what else, Jenn? What else are you hiding?"  Tears instantly sprang to my eyes.  I was confused.  Where was the Team Jenn flag he was supposed to be waving?  I looked to my best friend.  She wouldn't even look at me.  I started to defend myself, defend my actions, justify that I was doing the right thing.

"My husband doesn't want me to give to the church!  But I have to!  What am I supposed to do?"

For the next several, lengthy, torturous minutes (ok, I'm exaggerating, it wasn't exactly torture), it was explained to me why it was wrong.

It's never wrong to give to God.  Ever.  Let's clarify that.

The wrong was in my deceit.  My husband had no idea I was giving to the church.  On the occasional Sundays that he would join me, he never asked me about contribution because he didn't know that we could give our contribution online.  He assumed that I didn't give to the church...and I let him assume that.

Aside from deceit, without realizing it, I was separating our money.  My husband is so generous.  He works so hard and allows that extra money to go towards something we want to do as a family...or, he puts it towards debt I incurred over years and pays off all our debt.  All that money that he earned as he watched a man die in front of him, as he pulled a lifeless child out of a swimming pool, as he cut apart a car to rescue a young girl, as he risked his life on top of a burning building...all that money that was earned through his emotional sacrifice, he allows to be used as our family needs for "extras" in life.

And yet, I was taking my money and doing what I wanted with it.  Without asking him.  Without telling him.  Because I assumed I was doing the right thing.

The day after we spent time with our friends, we sat down and went through all of our bills and set up a brand new, beautiful budget (that's coming up in a future blog).  There was only one thing missing:  he didn't allow for contribution to the church.  Nowhere in our budget were the words "church" or "God."  I didn't say anything, I wanted to let my husband lead this conversation.

A couple hours later I called my best friend: "I don't know what to do, he didn't allow room for a contribution!  I can't do that!  What am I supposed to do??"  She asked me if I was given an "allowance" in the budget (this is the money that I'm given each week to use however I wish - no questions asked).  My husband budgeted for each of us to have a weekly allowance of $40 (sounds like a lot until you realize how many times you eat out, how many coffees you buy or how long it takes to save for a haircut).

My best friend said to me, "perfect!  So tithe off of your allowance each week!"
Me:  "What?  I can't do that!  Only $4 each week?  Are you kidding me?"
Righteous Bestie:  "Absolutely!  That is yours, God knows you can do anything you want with it - so why not tithe off that?"

I felt so much guilt about the idea of giving only $4 each week to God.  There was no way I could ever live with that.  So, the next night at church I pulled aside the minister's wife.  I explained to her what was going on, how I had been deceiving my husband and my plan to repent, but now I didn't know what to do about tithe.  I told her about my bestie's suggestion and asked for her advice.  She laughed, smiled, hugged me so tightly and said, "I think that's a great idea."  I must have looked at her like she was crazy because she laughed again and followed it up with the most beautiful reminder, "God isn't worried about how much you give from your wallet, He's only concerned about how much you give from your heart."  I felt instant relief pouring over my shoulders.

She reminded me that God loves a cheerful giver (2 Corinthians 9:7), not necessarily a rich giver.  She said, "God is more fired up about the fact that your heart is aching to give him more, but you are giving him what you can. You have an allowance that you can use for anything you want, but you want to make sure you give to God.  That's awesome!  That's what He wants!  You can revisit the topic of contribution with your husband later, but for now, I think giving from your allowance is an awesome idea."

That night I church, I went to the table and asked for a box of envelopes.  There was something about the way that box felt in my hands.  Suddenly I realized that it truly was in my heart to give to God.  I didn't think of it as a duty or a bill I had to pay.

I wanted to give to Him because I love Him.  Because I'm grateful for all that He has given to me.  And that was all that mattered.

"As Jesus looked up, he saw the rich putting their gifts into the temple treasury.  He also saw a poor widow put in two very small copper coins.  'Truly I tell you,' he said, 'this poor widow has put in more than all the others.  All these people gave their gifts out of their wealth; but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.' Luke 21:1-4

It's not about the dollar amount.  It's all about the heart.

My husband knows that I give to God each week.

What he doesn't know is that every week, as I write my name on the outside of that envelope, and place four $1 bills inside, I thank him for allowing me the opportunity to give to God with my heart.

My husband, without meaning to, has taught me a lesson about giving to God...he taught me to have the heart of the widow.

xoxo

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Everyday of Her Life

In my last blog post I shared about my grandfather's recent passing and the way in which he inspired me to "get up and go back in" when it came to sharing my faith with others.

His memorial service was a touching experience.  We watched as the Marine Honor Guard presented a flag to my grandmother; we cried, smiled and laughed as photos of him flashed on a screen in front of us, and we beamed with pride as the pastor described my grandfather as being a true man of God.  It was a beautiful day.

That evening my grandmother called me into the hallway near the bedroom of her home.  For several moments, we stood embraced in each other's arms as we cried and talked about my grandfather.  Many things were said, but something that has stayed with me since leaving her that night was when she said, "I knew he loved me every day of my life. And that's what makes it so hard."

Now, I've been known to be somewhat of a romantic, and for those who know me, it is known that "words of affirmation" is my primary love language (by the way, if you haven't read "The 5 Love Languages," by Gary Chapman, please read it - it's amazing), so hearing my grandmother say this spoke so loudly to me.  My grandfather was not a soft, squishy "grandpa" type, but when he and I went on dinner dates together, he would speak so highly of my grandmother and I could see how much he valued her.  And anyone who spent any length of time with them could always catch a glimpse of Grandad giving Grandma a little pat on the tush every now and then, too.  Bottom line, we knew he loved her every day of her life, as well.

My grandmother knew, with confidence, that my grandfather loved her every day of her life.

I got to thinking: could my husband say that about me?  Could my husband confidently say, "I knew she loved me every day of my life?"

My grandparents were married for almost 66 years at the time of his passing.  I know there is not a marriage out there than can span six decades in complete bliss. He didn't write love poems every day, or recite sonnets regularly.  I know they endured hardships, trials and arguments - after all, what marriage doesn't?  But every night, my grandfather fell asleep holding her.  Every day he loaded and unloaded the dishwasher for her.  He took care of their finances.  He provided their lifestyle. He spoke love to her with his actions, and she recognized his love for her.

In order for my grandmother to be able to say that she knew my grandfather loved her, that required two things to happen:

1)  He was diligent about speaking love to her with his actions.
2)  She was able to recognize it.

They both had a part in my grandmother's statement.  My grandfather had to act on his love for her, and she had to be able to see love in his actions.

I once saw a picture on Pinterest (my favorite website ever) that read, "There are a million ways to say I love you...'buckle your seatbelt,' 'watch your step,' 'get some rest,'...you just have to listen."  Isn't that the truth?  I have no problem yelling at my kids (for the millionth time) to put on their helmets, and every time they roll their eyes, which prompts me to say, "why do Daddy and I have rules?" To which they reply in a monotone voice, "to keep us safe."  Bingo!  In other words: because we love you, we want to protect you.

Like our kids, who misinterpret our display of love, we can often misinterpret our husband's love for us.  We may claim to feel that our husbands don't love us because they aren't showing us love the way we think we should receive it.  But the reality is that they love us more than anything in the world, we're just not recognizing their "love language."

Because my primary love language is "words of affirmation," I feel the most loved when someone speaks lovingly to me or about me.  I cherish notes and cards; I even cherish text messages and voicemails! Anything that involves words will speak loudly to me...which is both a good thing and a bad thing.  I can be lifted up or torn down with a simple sentence.

"Words of affirmation" is definitely not my husband's love language.  His love language is "acts of service," which means that he feels the most loved when I do something of service to him (for example, cleaning the house, doing the laundry, etc).  For my husband, when he comes home from work to see his hamper is empty and all his clothes are clean, it's as though I covered his closet with love bubbles and confetti hearts.  But when he has come home to find the clean dishes still in the dishwasher, he translates that as I don't care enough about him to take care of him.

Ok, are you thinking what I first thought when discovering his love language?  "Typical man. Wants things done for him and all I'm asking for is a love note."  Here's the thing:  my husband will spend his days off working around the house, fixing things that need to be done...because he loves me.  I've come home from work and he is beaming with excitement to show me the light he put in my closet.  Because his love language is "acts of service," he shows me love by the things he does for me - as he "serves" me.

But I have to recognize it.

Sure, anybody can look at that and say, "well, yeah! He should be doing things like that! He's a man! He's a provider! That's his nature!"  But not every man is like that.  Some men don't know how to install new light fixtures or electrical boxes, and that's ok. I can promise that they have different love languages.

Clearly you can see that I am wordy person.  I can take 20 pages and tell my husband all the things I love about him.  I can find the most perfect card and write a deeply heartfelt note inside...and even though I know he greatly appreciates it, he is more impacted by knowing I took care of something in the house so he didn't have to do it.

Here's how the translation looks:

"Jennifer took care of the car today = she did that so I wouldn't have to = she loves me and cares about me."

"Ryan sent me a text and used the heart emoji = he's thinking about me = he loves me and cares about me."

I'm speaking words, he's speaking service.  I'm not always going to speak his language, and he is not always going to speak mine.  But we have to be able to recognize when we are translating our love to each other.

Getting back to my grandparents, my grandmother had to do her part to be able to confidently say that she knew she was loved every day, and my grandfather had to do his part in showing his love for her daily.

How about you?  Could your husband confidently say that you loved him every day of his life?  Are you speaking his love language?  And do you recognize when he is showing love to you?

I'm still learning how to recognize our different love languages...it's something that makes me wish I had a pocket translator.

But, if someone were to ask me today, I can confidently say that despite our hard days, I know that my husband has loved me every day of my life...because I can recognize his love.

Your language may be different than your husband's, and most likely it is, but like any foreign language, if you learn to speak it, and learn to listen to it, you will see how very loved you are.

Every day of your life.

xoxo

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Get Up and Go Back In

I've been staring at a blank page for quite some time now.  Tons of thoughts are running through my head but seem impossible to put on paper.  

Just a few days ago, we were forced to say good-bye to my grandfather, the true patriarch of our family.  He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer only a couple months ago, and already we are suffering the loss of this great man.  

I was privileged to grow up with his presence in my life, whether it was flying down the lake in his fishing boat, or trying to encourage me because I was wearing a very unflattering baby doll dress, or shining up his Cadillac to chauffeur my new husband and I to our hotel after our wedding, Grandad has consistently had a presence in my life.  

My Grandad always exuded strength and confidence; he appeared to be a man whose core couldn't be shaken.  His hugs were strong, and his pats on the back felt like gentle spankings. He was a former Marine. He worked his way to the top of a corporation. He was not only well-liked, but he commanded respect without having to ask for it. I knew that when he spoke, he meant business.  As a young girl, I was convinced that my grandfather didn't have a soft spot anywhere in (or on) his body.  

Growing up, it was common knowledge that Grandad and Grandma went to church every Sunday.  My family would join them on Easter Sunday, and occasionally I would tag along if I happened to be staying with them during summer. My parents did not attend church regularly, so the most I knew about church was that I wasn't allowed to talk, nor was I allowed to have some of the crackers and juice that was being passed around.

And then I became an adult.  And then I became a Christian.  And then, my grandfather opened his soft heart to me. 

A few years back, my children and I went to visit my grandparents.  With two small children in tow, it was difficult to find a quiet moment to spend with my grandparents, but somehow, my grandfather and I stumbled upon an afternoon that allowed the two of us to talk privately.  What began as small talk about the church I was attending, slowly grew into a profound discussion about God, faith, and our job to deliver the truth.

There were two things I saw in my grandfather during that conversation: his conviction, and vulnerability.  

He was deeply convicted about the truth of God's word, as well as the urgency to share truth with those whom he loved the most. But in his boldness was also his vulnerability. He handed me one of several printed packets that were sitting on his desk.  He shared with me that he spent hours poring over his words as he prepared to send these packets to those whom he loved. My grandfather asked me to proofread his work for him. He shared with me his fear of pushing loved ones away because he was daring to be so bold. He asked me to read it carefully, not just for another set of eyes to seek correction, but to make sure he didn't sound unloving or harsh.  In his voice I could hear his fear, but behind the quiver in his tone, was the strength of his faith.  

As I began to read the pages of his packet, I could see the heart he placed in every word. Scripture was quoted, Jesus's words were in red, and every truth, every promise, was laid bare for the recipients to read.

After reading the work of my grandfather's heart, I returned the packet to him as he looked at me with eager eyes.  I could tell he was anxious to know what I thought about his work, but more importantly, what I thought about his need to send these packets out into the world.   

As I left to return home, I could feel a difference in my grandfather's hug.  I'm not sure if the hug was tighter because we connected deeper than we ever had before, or because we had this little secret that had not been exposed yet, but whatever the reason, I knew that his hug was the pivoting moment of our relationship.

I'm not sure whatever happened with those packets.  I know he mailed them out, but to this day, I do not know how they were received.  One thing I do know is that for the next few years following that conversation, my grandfather did not stop speaking the truth.  He got back up and kept going.  

The day after he received his diagnosis, I spent a half hour on the phone with him.  I sat in the parking lot of a supermarket as I listened to him cry...but he wasn't crying about his fate.  What brought him to tears was not the fear of death, but the fear of not seeing his loved ones in heaven one day.  He cried to me that he had spoken truthfully to family members about their destiny and he feared that he hurt them in the process.  Many words were shared between us in those thirty minutes, but as he pulled himself together, he said to me, "if we don't tell them, who will?"  And again, he got back up and kept going.

Tonight has been a night filled with reflection about those two profound conversations I shared with my grandfather.  And as I looked back, admiring his boldness, I was reminded of a story about Paul in the book of Acts.  In Acts, chapter 14, Paul and Barnabas are preaching in Jewish synagogues...talk about a rough audience.  

"At Iconium, Paul and Barnabas went as usual into the Jewish synagogue.  There they spoke so effectively that a great number of Jews and Greek believed.  But the Jews who refused to believe stirred up the Gentiles and poisoned their minds against the brothers.  So, Paul and Barnabas spent considerable time there, speaking boldly for the Lord. ... There was a plot afoot among the Gentiles and Jews, together with their leaders, to mistreat them and stone them.  But they found out about it and fled to the Lycaonian cities of Lystra and Derbe and to the surrounding country, where they continued to preach the good news. ... Then some Jews came from Antioch and Iconium and won the crowds over.  They stoned Paul and dragged him outside the city, thinking he was dead. But after the disciples had gathered around him, he got up and went back into the city." Acts 14:1-20 [emphasis added by me]

A few things that strike me when I read this:

1) "as usual..."  - I love this.  It was so common for Paul to place himself in Jewish synagogues that even scripture records it as being his usual behavior.  That's how frequently Paul was putting himself in, what I imagine could've been, uncomfortable situations to spread God's truth.  Have you ever done that?  My grandfather certainly did when he mailed out those packets....and I'm sure what could be heard was, "as usual, here he is talking about church and God again."

2) "So, ...spent considerable time, speaking boldly for the Lord..." - Paul and Barnabas were being challenged!  I know we've all encountered that before.  What do we do when we are challenged?  Do we give up?  Or do we spend considerable time speaking boldly to our challengers?  

3) "...continued to preach the good news...." - ok, Paul and Barnabas are being threatened, so they decide to let the area cool down a bit, but they don't stop preaching.  Have you ever encountered someone like that?  The discussion about God becomes heated, so you have to walk away for a bit and let it cool down.  But does that discourage you from continuing to share? Do you stop preaching? Or do you let that heart cool down while you travel along and continue to share God's word? 

4) "...won the crowds over...stoned Paul and dragged him outside the city, thinking he was dead..." - That heated heart found some friends and is now traveling in packs to take you down.  I've encountered that before; one person says one thing, who tells another, who tells another, and before you know it, people are accusing you of being judgmental, self-righteous and arrogant.  You are verbally "stoned," with sharp comments being thrown at you to hurt you and make you give up.

5) "...got up and went back into the city..." - Paul had every reason to walk away after being stoned and left for dead.  I don't think anybody would've thought negatively about Paul if scripture read that he got up and left the city.  But he did the exact opposite.  He got up - and went back in.  Do you do that when you've been emotionally "stoned?"  Do you get up and walk away, or do you get up, brush off the hurt, and walk back in?

I am so proud of my grandfather because, like Paul, he got up, brushed off the hurt and walked back into the city.  I know that as he poured his heart out into those packets he waited with an anxious heart.  That was many years ago, and I know that as days, months and years passed, he kept waiting.  He could've allowed the lack of response to discourage him from continuing to share, but he didn't.  He continued to preach.  On the day he was given the news of his diagnosis, he could've thrown in the towel and said, "oh well, I tried."  But instead, he spoke words of truth.  He brushed off the hurt and went back into the city.  Paul had an urgency to share God's truth with the citizens in that city, he didn't let the emotional or physical hurt stop him from talking about God.  

My grandfather had an urgency to share God's truth with those whom he loved the most, and he didn't let the emotional, or physical, hurt stop him from talking about God. He got up and went back in.

I am so proud to be his granddaughter. 
I pray that for all the days of my life I find the courage to be bold enough that scripture could record my sharing as being "usual" of my character.  

Thank you, Grandad, for not letting fear trump truth.  Thank you for getting up and going back in to finish what God desired of you.  Thank you for loving all of us enough to speak with a bold heart for our Lord.  And thank you for showing me what it means to "get up and go back in."

I'll see you again, Grandad...save me a seat.  :)

xoxo

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"But My Teacher Said..."

I am one of those moms. The moms who side with the teacher.

My daughter made it all the way through elementary school without any problems.  She is an excellent student and she loves school.  Kindergarten through 5^th grade was a breeze; I became friends with every one of her teachers. We’re sushi buddies, Facebook friends and concert goers.  And then we entered 6^th grade.  Right away my daughter began enjoying her new teacher, and I wasn’t surprised because she’s liked every teacher she’s ever had.  If she was happy, I was happy.

Then one day she came home, looking somewhat confused.

“Mama, my teacher said that the story of Jonah and the whale is impossible.”

I was thankful that she waited until after I swallowed my iced tea because it would’ve come shooting out of my mouth.  I asked how the topic came up in the classroom, and she told me, “we’re learning about mythology.”

“What else did your teacher say about it?”

“Well, he also said that we weren’t created by some God, but that we were made from one molecule and we evolved. He said that God is a part of mythology.”

Whoa whoa whoa….someone get the principal on the phone.  I was so angry at the teacher for saying something like this to his entire classroom of 11 year old kids.

I had two options:

1)     Get angry and let my daughter know I'm angry.

2)     See this an opportunity to discover her own convictions.

Although the first option was the natural and most appealing at the time, I knew it wasn't the right choice. By getting angry I would only be teaching my daughter that we should get angry with anyone who doesn't agree with our beliefs. Talk about setting her up for severe disappointment because the truth is that she will encounter people like her teacher throughout her lifetime.

So I began our conversation with this: "what do you think to be true?" She bravely gave me an honest answer, "well, some of the stuff in the bible does seem to be, uh, a little farfetched." ("Farfetched," huh? That was definitely a new word from my 11 year old's mouth...wonder where it came from?)

I felt myself beginning to pray before I even realized what I was doing. I needed wisdom and I needed God to use His words because I was pretty sure I would mess it up with words of my own. My daughter and I spent the next hour dissecting God's word and talking about her convictions, not mine.

Here's some practicals for when this happens:

1)     don't get angry. All throughout our lives our faith will be challenged. I'm sure you can think of many instances in which you've encountered a similar situation and there you are, left to come up with answers and defend your beliefs. Anger never helps. It merely translates that if the other person disagrees, we are prepared to enter battle. And that is not something we want to teach our children.

2)     Ask for an honest answer, and be loving when you receive it. My daughter was very honest with me as she shared with me some areas of the bible that were difficult for her to grasp. If we're being honest, there's been a time or two when I've read something and thought, "really?" We all know whose whispers those are in our ears. Doubt = the enemy. He wants us to doubt the validity of God's word. But the truth is that when we have questions, it means that our hearts and our minds are trying to understand God's word and that is never a bad thing! Questions create curiosity and curiosity creates seeking answers, which leads us to deeper studies in God's word. So, amen! Bring on the questions!

3)     When have you seen God work? This was my favorite part of our conversation. I asked my daughter about the times she knew that God was working in her life. "How have you seen God?" Oh man, she came up with an astounding list. Even down to the night her hamster escaped from its cage (sneaky little thing); it had been missing all day long - nobody could find this Houdini of rodents. When I tucked her in that night, we prayed that the hamster would make its way home. Wouldn't you know it - not even 2 seconds after praying, that hamster was just sitting out in the middle of the hallway! Just sitting there like, "oh hey, I've been here the whole time." To my daughter, that was proof of God listening to our prayers. When your child comes to you with doubt, have him/her recall all the ways they have seen God work in their lives or the lives of others.

4)     Pray. God's wisdom is incredible. And He will gladly pour it onto you. All we have to do is ask for it. Don't enter into a conversation like this with your child (or any person seeking answers) without first going to God in prayer.

By the end of our conversation, my daughter realized that her convictions about God were hers. Not mine, not our pastor's, not her friends. Hers. And now she is ready to encounter more people like her teacher because she knows that all she needs to do is go back to God.

I ended our conversation with this little bitty for her to think about..."it takes more faith to believe in nothing than to believe in something." She smiled and said, "he doesn't even realize how faithful he really is."

xoxo

(This article was originally written by Jennifer Osler and featured on GirlfriendsPray.org)

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Walking the walk (part 1)

I know you've heard it before:

“You talk the talk, but do you walk the walk?”

In other words, “are you for real?”

 

When we claim to live differently, we have people watching, some waiting, to see if we fail.  To see if we are what we say we are.  To see if we’re the real thing.

 

This is especially true of Christians.  In a world where negativity and pessimism are the standard trains of thought, claiming to live in God’s light immediately makes you thetarget for a skeptical audience.  Suddenly, co-workers, neighbors, friends, relatives and immediate family members are watching you.

 

“Let’s see if she’s just talk.”

 

For some women, like myself, the most skeptical spectator lives in our home and shares our bed: our husband.

 

There is a unique group of women out there who are, what I like to call, “spiritually single.”  We are married women whose husbands have yet to know God on a profoundly personal level.

 

My situation is such:

My husband attends church only when our children are performing during the Easter and Christmas services, he questions God’s love and goodness, and he thinks the church is “after” his money.  Overall, my husband is very skeptical of God.

 

Neither of us were believers before we married.  We were smooth sailing doin’ our own thing.  Then, before we hit our one-year wedding anniversary, I pledged my heart, soul and life to God and I made the decision to get baptized (amen!).  

 

That was 14 years ago.    

 

For many years, I focused on what my husband was doing wrong as a non-believer. I focused on the loneliness I felt, particularly on Sunday mornings or other church events. I focused on my jealousy and envy of the women at church and their spiritually minded husbands. I focused on the lack of Godly leadership in my house.  I focused on my husband’s faults, his shortcomings and his sins.

 

I focused on everything but me.  I was so focused on what my husband wasn’t doing, that I neglected to see what I was doing.

 

I was ignoring my audience.  I wasn’t being righteous, only self-righteous.  I was only talking the talk.  My husband saw the “real” me, and the real me wasn’t the Godly woman I was claiming to be.  

 

Oh sure, at church, in public, around friends or strangers, my halo glistened as bright as the morning sun on a summer day.  But at home, my husband saw that I talked the talk, I didn’t walk the walk.  He saw my ugly jealously manifesting into anger and sharp words.  He saw my loneliness reveal itself in the denial of forgiveness.  He saw my envy present itself as an unloving wife.  

 

What was my example showing him?  Exactly what he assumed: I was a hypocrite.

 

Our actions speak loudly.  While we may think we are tame with our tongues, our behaviors speak for us.  And not just at home; everywhere we travel, the example we set is what translates God’s love to those who don’t know Him yet.

 

It took me a while (and a lot of prayer) to realize that I don’t need to envy anyone. I am not alone.  I have a powerful God who loves me more than any man on earth could ever dare love me.  And He has surrounded me with a family of believers and a sisterhood of faith.

 

That’s when I realized: I can do this.  I can walk this walk.  

 

You can do this.  You can do more than talk the talk.  

You own this walk like Chanel models during fashion week.

Walk on, girl.  Set the example for others to watch and follow.

Xoxo

(This article was originally written by Jennifer Osler and featured as a guest blog post for GirlfriendsPray.org)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Cool Kids

So. We have new next door neighbors. I walked over to their front door to introduce myself.  And there in the doorway stood a young, pretty, fit mom with one kid grabbing at her leg and the other hanging off her hip as she flashed an effortless smile.

I could feel the insecurities pouring over me. I’m a short brunette, far from fit and if I had children dangling from my extremities I’d be in tears. We talked for a few minutes and she was sweet, funny and personable. Great. My new next door neighbor is the ideal woman.

A couple days later, both of our families happened to be outside enjoying a gorgeous evening. I happily said hello to my new neighbor and introduced her to my husband. They quickly find out that they have a common interest in a show that I don’t particularly like to watch. They start talking about characters and plot twists and “what’s going to happen now?” I mention that I’m reading a book based on another television series she’s watching, and she says she doesn’t like to read. She’s making my husband laugh. I feel myself shrinking back because I can’t join in on the conversation. Then her equally attractive husband strides over to the fence that separates our two yards. He’s tall, handsome and personable, and he quickly finds that he has much in common with my husband as they talk about repairing things around the house. I feel lost amongst this forest of legs that surrounds me as their laughter circles around things I know nothing about.

And just like that….I shut down. We head back into our house and I can feel myself curl into a corner of insecurity. My mind starts telling my heart that this woman is going to steal my husband; my husband is going to look forward to talking to her; she’s a stay at home mom and with my husband’s firefighter schedule, there will be days when he is home and I’m at work, they could hang out and I would never know. Before I knew it, I had imagined the kids and I living with my parents as my husband moved on with the blonde peach next door.

Then I find out something even more disheartening. She’s a blogger. A fashion blogger. With a gabillion followers (ok, not a gabillion, but hundreds of thousands). So she’s pretty, funny and has a following. She’s that cool, popular girl in high school. And she’s living next door to me.

I sent one of my closest friends a text, asking her to pray for me because I could feel deep insecurity seeping into my soul. 

This is what I received in return: 

“You are amazing and beautiful in your own right PLUS you have the light of God shining through you. Remember, things may look good from the outside but her heart may be hurting for God. You should share YOUR blog with her. Do you trust God? Because he put the perfect neighbor for you right next door so that you can impact each other’s lives and all draw closer to God.”

Amen for friends who are close to God!

One of the things that fuels my insecurity is not only the world’s perception of beautiful, fun and cool…but it’s also knowing that my husband is of the world. And believing that he won’t think I’m cool or fun because I am not of the world.

I hate to acknowledge it, but the world just doesn't think Christians are cool. Think about it: we're known as boring, prude rule followers. We don't get drunk, we don't cuss, and we don't prance around in bikini tops all day, so of course the world lumps us into the non-cool category. And, like me, you may first deny feeling insecure about this stereotype, but c'mon, there have been times when you've thought, "am I missing out? I don't want them to think I'm a dork."

It's high school all over again, except instead of the popular jock and cheerleader leading the pack, it's the enemy. And he loves to feed off of our insecurities.

Now maybe you're not like me, and that's awesome...I'm trying to be more like you. But for me, my insecurities have always played a major role in everything I've ever done, and everything I have not done. 

Insecurity is much deeper than just a feeling of inferiority or awkwardness. It becomes people-pleasing. It becomes fear. It becomes anger. Resentment. Jealousy. Nervousness. Anxiety.  Repression.

Going back to my blogging next door neighbor, when my close friend suggested I share my blog with my neighbor, my immediate thought was, "no way!" My succeeding thoughts were, "she'll think it's silly. It's nothing compared to her fashion blog. She's gonna think I'm one of those 'bible thumpers.' She's the Ren McCormack and I'm the Reverend Moore of Footloose." The thought of opening up my mouth to talk blog shop with her had my stomach in knots, all while I resented their move into the house next door.

With all those thoughts running through my head, I missed the most important one: "...her heart may be hurting for God." 

You know the funny thing about this? I prayed for my potential neighbors as soon as I learned that the house was being put up for sale. I prayed for neighbors that would be a good fit for my family. I prayed for them. And, boy, did God deliver.

Do you get trapped into overwhelming insecurities? Do you become a people-pleaser? Do you become angry? Jealous? Nervous?

Let's escape the burden of insecurity:

1. God thinks we're cool

Ok. I know that may sound conceited and self-righteous, but it's not. It's the truth. God thinks that you and I are downright fabulous. Jesus says,

"...I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents." Luke 15:10

What exactly does "rejoice" mean? It means, "to feel or show great joy or delight." The synonyms for rejoice are: happiness, pleasure, joy, delight, elation, jubilation, celebration, exuberance and exultation.

When I hear the word "rejoice," it's usually tied into a Christmas song or I'm reminding myself to rejoice during times of trial as told to do in James 1:2.  Rarely do I ever think of the celebration God held for me when I turned from my sinful ways and chose to follow him. Rarely do I remind myself of the happiness, delight and joy God felt and continues to feel for me.

The day that you made the decision to repent and make Jesus the lord of your life, there was a party in heaven like you wouldn't believe. There was so much excitement over you. God was so excited that you chose him because He chose you long before you were a twinkle in your mother's eye. 

The creator of all things. The Alpha and the Omega. The King of Kings. The Lord. He thinks I'm spectacular. He thinks you're spectacular. He thinks we are the epitome of cool. And He rejoices over us. 

2. I have a purpose 

God thinks we're so cool that He gave us a job to do. He gave us a purpose. He says,

"As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth.  It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it." Isaiah 55:10-11

God had a clear purpose for his word. And He does not expect it to return to Him empty. Imagine writing a diary filled with every characteristic of your heart, and your detailed hopes and plans for the future of your children and loved ones. You want to make sure it goes into the hands and hearts of those you trust, and those whom you know will carry out your words. You wouldn't give it to just anybody. Why not? Because you have a purpose for it being shared.

God trusts you with his word. He looked at your heart and said, "I can trust her. I can rely on her. She will fulfill my purpose. She will deliver my message." Have you ever thought about that? God trusts you with His word. I think sometimes we forget the significance of the bible. It's not just some book to collect dust on a shelf. It's not just a family heirloom. It's not just something hotels throw in a nightstand drawer (do they still do that?). It's the word of God. It's the detailed telling of his heart, his hopes and his plans. And He made sure you were a recipient of it. 

We have a job to do. We have a purpose. And if we allow our insecurities to consume our hearts, how can we achieve the purpose for which He sent his word? 

3. There's no prom queen in heaven

Cliques don't end once we leave high school. They continue into college, the workplace, and even the mommy & me play dates at the local parks. But I know with confidence that when we enter heaven, the cliques stop. There are no cliques in heaven. There's no Prom Queen or Most Popular or Best Smile or Best Blogger of all Time. Because we are all the same. All of our sin is the same, and all of the forgiveness we receive is the same. 

The only thing God is concerned about is our hearts. He doesn't see the tall, fit blonde that I see. And He doesn't see the short, unfit brunette that I see in the mirror.  The only thing He sees are two hearts that both need Him. He looks at her and says, "she needs me."  And then he looks at me and says, "she needs me." There's no competition between us when God looks at our hearts. I am the only one who has placed each of us on a ballot for voting.  

"The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." 1 Samuel 16:7

God doesn't see what I see next door to me. And God doesn't see what I see when I look in a mirror. In His mind, we are simply two women. One who knows Him, and one who might want to know Him. And guess which one He is depending on?

To me, my next door neighbor is the equivalent of the high school prom queen. But to God, she's just a heart that He's hoping his daughter will draw out and bring near to Him. 

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My insecurities make me want to shut down and hide in a corner while I make a list of everything that is wrong with me. My insecurities cause me to think about altering my character so that I can fit in with the crowd. My insecurities hold me back from sharing the truth about our incredible God.

My insecurities rob me of my purpose. 

I have a purpose.

You have a purpose.

God made sure that you were a recipient of His word because he knows that you will deliver his message. Our God, the creator of all things, trusts you and relies on you. He thinks you're the cat's meow, the cream of the crop, the bees knees! So tell that little voice in your head (the enemy's whispers) to stop talking. You run with the only clique that is God approved. And you have a job to do.

Drown your insecurities with confidence from God. There's a reason He chose you. Now it's time to show the world why He did.

Xoxo

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