Category Archives: Emotions

Sarah’s Gift

Posted on by under Emotions, God, Motherhood, Scripture

Journal 2003

I am an old woman. One hundred twenty to be exact. I’ve lived a long, full life, and it’s time to set my house in order and write my memoirs. To be honest, it’s not just my age that triggered these thoughts. Recently, some foreign traders stopped by to sell us some trinkets, and I recognized a gold bracelet of mine that’s been missing for years. I remember it disappeared the day of the big feast. I assumed a slave girl of mine had stolen it, and I’ve held a grudge against her all these years. I think it’s time to make things right between us. Let me tell you how it happened.

It all began when my husband Abraham bought me a gift—a beautiful 12-year-old girl from Egypt. I remember the first time I saw Hagar. She seemed frightened and shy, but she had a spirit about her, an air of determination that was unusual for slaves. I took her under my wing immediately and taught her how to cook and keep house for me. She was quick and bright and seemed eager to please. As her body began to blossom, I noticed Abraham eyeing her occasionally, but he never touched her. He was too loyal to me to be tempted by her beauty. And I was careful to always meet his needs.

About this time, my husband had another one of those encounters with God. He claimed God told him he was going to have a son whose descendants would grow into a mighty nation. He was ecstatic. I thought him a fool at the time. After all, I was too old to have a baby, and he’d never been with another woman. But he insisted God would keep his promise somehow, and he believed Him.

That got me to thinking. All my life I’d longed to have a baby. Abraham desperately wanted an heir for all his wealth. But me? I just ached to hold an infant in my arms and feel him suckle at my breast. Never mind the embarrassment and shame of not being able to produce a child; I just wanted to know what it was like to feel life inside me. But it seemed that God had shut up my womb forever.

And so I got an idea. If I couldn’t have a baby of my own, perhaps there was another way. What if I persuaded Abraham to sleep with Hagar? A child half mine to cuddle and play with was better than none. When I suggested this possibility to him, he agreed, but only if he married the girl first. Then the child could be a legitimate heir.

What a delight to my soul the day Hagar hinted that she might be pregnant. I was to have my baby at last. But something unexpected happened. Her attitude toward me began to change. I noticed it first in the way she tossed her head, like she was something special. Later she turned surly and haughty, as if she thought herself better than me. I couldn’t understand it. Here I’d given her favored status, with the best tent and food, and even shared my husband with her . . . and this was all the thanks I got?

It must have been Abraham’s fault, and I told him so. Though I was still considered beautiful by any standard, I could not compete with the lithe, young body of my slave girl. Abraham was spending more time with her at night, and I could see him watching her throughout the day. I’m ashamed I started to make life miserable for her. I sent her on long errands and demanded more physical labor to keep her out of the tent.

One day she stayed away longer than usual, and I started to worry. What if something happened to my child? What if she ran away and Abraham blamed me? I was most relieved when she showed up two days later. I could tell she’d been crying, and I was about to open my mouth to scold her for staying away so long, when something in her face stopped me. Something had changed. She had lost her defiance. Maybe she realized now where her bread and cheese came from. “That’s better,” I thought. She returned to work, but she avoided me as much as possible. That was okay with me, though, because I had mixed feelings every time I saw her swelling belly.

At last the day came for the birth. Abraham and I could hardly contain our joy. I took over immediately the oversight of all little Ishmael’s needs. Of course I had to depend on Hagar to feed him for me, but the rest of the time, he was mine to play with and cuddle while she worked.

Abraham doted on him too. He gave him the best of the best. What Ishmael wanted, Ishmael received. But something was wrong. I blamed Hagar for how he turned out—a surly, angry young man. Much to my dismay, he seemed to have an interest in hunting rather than sheep herding, and Abraham indulged him with the finest bow and arrow on his twelfth birthday. As a mom, I disapproved, but at this point I had little to say in the matter. He was a man now.

And then, a year later, the most extraordinary thing happened. Some out-of-town visitors dropped by and told Abraham that he and I would have a son by this time next year. I just laughed. Abraham was no spring chicken! And me? Couldn’t they see my wrinkles? They should have realized I was way past the time for enjoying this pleasure. But they insisted they told the truth, and I was afraid when they challenged me.

Oh, just a minute. See that handsome young man over there by the well? That’s Isaac . . . my son. You see, the men were right! Unbelievable! Not only did I get pregnant, but I got a name change too—from Sarai to Sarah. That’s when I learned that nothing is too hard for the Lord!

But I need to finish my story of Hagar. The day came for Isaac to be weaned. Hagar had remained aloof during my pregnancy and even more distant after Isaac was born. I didn’t mind. I was pretty preoccupied with what was happening in my own life. But on the day of the big feast, something happened that I’ve lived to regret.

I think Hagar was feeling left out of the festivities, and I can only imagine now how she must have felt to see her own son lose his favored status and position. I’m sure she must have said something to Ishmael, because early that morning I came upon the two of them whispering by the woodpile.

Later that afternoon, three-year-old Isaac came running to my tent, bawling like he’d been trampled by a camel. When I finally got him calmed down with the promise of a treat, he pointed toward Ishmael’s tent. It seems Ishmael had lured him into his domicile, then ripped his cloak off and started mocking him for being a cry-baby when he protested. Claimed he was the first-born, and he would make Isaac mind him, or he’d hurt him. A servant nearby heard the commotion and rescued Isaac before any more harm could be done.

I was livid. Nobody, but nobody, was allowed to touch my son, least of all a slave child. I immediately accosted Abraham and demanded he get rid of “that woman and her son.” There was no way I was going to allow him to share in Abraham’s inheritance after God had promised the blessing would come through Isaac.

I’m sorry. Please forgive my tears. I felt something had died in Abraham that day. I know I hurt him deeply with my tirade, for I knew how much he cared for Ishmael. I’ve since begged his forgiveness, and he’s assured me that God has healed the hurt. I’m glad. But it didn’t bring Ishmael back. He and Hagar left the next morning, having missed out on the feast the night before. We’ve never heard from them since.

Life went back to normal after that—if raising a child at age 93 can be considered normal! Isaac was the apple of my eye. We had a very special bond as mother and son—still do. I’m so proud of how he’s turned out. But he needs to know the stories of his childhood before I die. And I need to relieve my conscience and find some peace in my old age.

So here’s what I did. I bought back my bracelet from that trader and asked where he’d gotten it. He said he’d had it for a long time. He was passing by a woman and her son one time on the trade route, when she stopped him and begged him to trade it for some food. She looked pretty desperate, so he did. Even gave her some money for it. He said his wife loved that bracelet, but when she died, he decided to get rid of it.

I know it’s a long shot, but I plan to give it back to Hagar if my servant can find her. I want her to know that I’ve forgiven her, but most of all I want to ask her forgiveness for the way I treated her. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to rest a bit before I tell you my next story.

Hagar – A study in pain and joy

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Scripture

Journal 2003

I have a story to share if you care to listen. It might help you if you find yourself in a jam like I did. You see, I worked one time for a very wealthy man. Actually, I was his wife Sarah’s slave. It was traumatic at first, being separated from my home and family at such a tender age. Memories of Egypt still haunt me daily. It was hard getting used to new food, strange customs, and slavery. I cried aloud for the first week, and in my heart for the first year, but eventually I adjusted to the fact that I’d never see my mother again. After Dad died, we just couldn’t keep food on the table, and I offered to sell myself to some traders rather than become a further burden to my mom. Sometimes I regret the decision. Perhaps I should have stayed and helped take care of her.

Anyway, back to my story. As I was going to say, being a black slave woman to a wealthy family isn’t all bad. My mistress seemed to enjoy my company; I got all the food I could eat and the luxury of a place to lay my head at night in comfort and protection. Abram was a kind man, usually pretty fair, but sometimes I wondered about his relationship with my mistress.

I mean, take the time he claimed she was his sister. A half-truth for sure! But isn’t a half-truth the same as a whole lie? Even my mom taught me that! I’ll admit Sarah was gorgeous, even at her age. No wonder Abram was attracted to her, but sometimes I wonder what he saw in her. Ok, maybe that’s not entirely fair either. She did show me favor—probably because I kept my mouth shut and did what she told me without complaining. It was easier that way. Hmm. Maybe that’s how she felt. No way out, just give in. But I think if I’d been in her position, I would have stood my ground and refused to go along with the lie. But then, maybe that’s why he liked her—she kowtowed to him. On the other hand . . . but here I am getting ahead of myself again. I could tell you a lot about the inside scoop on them, but this is my story, so here’s what happened.

Sarah wanted a baby, and she wanted it BAD, but nothing was happening. By the time I came along, she was too old to have a child. The trouble was, she claimed that Abram had heard from his God that she was supposed to have gotten pregnant, and here she was well into menopause! I kinda felt sorry for her at this point. But then something snapped in her. She decided if SHE couldn’t have a baby, then she’d just have to get one another way. And that’s where I come in.

Now I have to tell you—Sarah may have been beautiful, but I was quite a looker myself! I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve got eyes. I saw the way the young men looked at me while I worked. Anyway, imagine my surprise the day Sarah pulled me aside and told me to wash carefully and put on my best robe. Then she gave me some of her most expensive oils to rub on my body. You should have seen my ebony skin shine! While another servant girl brushed out my long hair to begin the corn rows, Sarah informed me this was my wedding day!

Excuse me?! Now I know that slaves have no say in the matter, but couldn’t she have at least given me some warning? I hoped it was Ami, that handsome hunk of a sheep herder that brought the daily ration of meat to Sarah’s tent every morning. But get this—you’re not going to believe it—she finally informed me my new husband would be Abram himself! I nearly choked!

I’ll skip all the hairy scary details, but you can guess what happened. Before long I was pregnant with his kid. Now what? My mistress kept looking at me like I’d done something wrong. Like it was my fault! Who did she think she was? I didn’t ask for this. I must admit it was kinda neat carrying a child inside me, however, and really Abram had been nothing but gentle with me, albeit a little aloof. But I was still a slave. Not much had changed. I rather had hoped my status would be elevated somehow. I suspect the poor lady was jealous. Sigh. Served her right, I guess.

Anyway, I had to laugh the day Sarah claimed that Abram was “responsible for the wrong she was suffering.” Huh? The nerve of her! Claimed I was despising her. Pretty soon she was making my life so miserable, I decided the only choice was to run away, and so I did.

I slipped out in the night after the two of them were in bed and headed down the road to Shur. I knew if I could just make it to the spring in the desert, I’d be safe. Maybe sell myself to one of the traders there. After all, a pregnant slave is two for the price of one.

But then BLAM! I had this incredible experience! Ever seen an angel? I hadn’t. Can’t even tell you how I knew it was an angel, but this was not the product of an overactive imagination. First, he asked me where I’d come from and where I was going. I told him I was running away from my mistress because she was mistreating me. Blew me away when he said I had to go back and submit to that woman! But somehow it seemed okay after he assured me that God had heard of my misery, and I was to bear a son. He even said to name him Ishmael (“God hears.”) Imagine that! I decided to name the place “Beer Lahai Roi” meaning “You are the God Who sees me.”

He told me some other stuff, too, about how Ishmael would turn out, and surprise surprise, that’s exactly what happened! Wow! That’s another reason I know he was an angel. Anyway, I agreed to go back to Sarah, and when Abram was 86 years old, I gave birth to Ishmael. You should have seen Abram’s face! He was ecstatic. But Sarah? Well, we’d stayed on uneasy terms, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. I just kept remembering the angel’s promise, and it kept me going.

Now I gotta skip a few years to get to the next part. Ishmael was about 14 years old when the miracle happened. Remember I told you about how Abram’s God had promised him a baby? Well, hold onto your hat—it actually happened! Really! It was weird seeing old Sarah getting bigger and bigger carrying that child. And I started to fret. If she carried this baby to full term, that meant my Ishmael could lose his favor with his father. Abram had grown to love Ishmael, and though my son was still a slave, he treated him almost like a son. Well, he WAS his son, but you know what I mean.

Anyway, my fears were soon realized. Isaac was doted on and pampered and made such a huge fuss of, it was nauseating. Things came to a head the day of the big party. Sarah was planning a feast for the day Isaac was weaned. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I opened my big mouth and told her to her face what I thought of her.

That did it. She went bawling to Abram and demanded he “do something about that slave woman and her son.” What could he do? He had to side with his wife and his real son. I knew he didn’t want to do it, and it really did distress him, but early the next morning, he slipped into my tent. He placed on my shoulder some food and a skin of water and sent us on our way.

Now I have to tell you, I hit a new low. First it was the grief of losing my dad; then the sorrow of leaving my mom and my country behind. Next, it was enduring slavery followed by being given in marriage to someone I didn’t love, only to be mistreated by his first wife. Putting up with that woman for 17 years was the biggest trial of my life. But being thrown out on my ear by the man who’d shown me kindness felt like the ultimate betrayal. What was I to do now? I was getting too old to be bought at full price, and if anyone saw Ishmael, we’d be separated for sure. We’d have to stay away from the trade routes.

My thoughts were driving me crazy. I didn’t pay attention to where we were going, but Ishmael didn’t seem too worried. He was free at last, he claimed. We walked and walked and walked in the desert until neither of us could take another step. Pretty soon our food ran out, and then our water. Shall I describe for you what it’s like to run out of water in the desert? It’s not a pretty sight. When I finally woke up to the fact that we couldn’t survive out there, it was too late. We didn’t have any energy left to make our way back. Ishmael had fainted with the heat. I dragged him to the only bush in the area and then crawled away from him so I wouldn’t have to watch him die. Talk about reaching the end of one’s rope!

I lay there panting and sobbing. What had I done to deserve this? How could I have handled myself differently? What had I done wrong? Where was that God that Abram claimed kept talking to him? I covered my ears. I could hear Ishmael sobbing, and I didn’t even have the energy to comfort him. I started to hallucinate. Terrified, I thought I saw an angel standing there. Was it time to die?

Then I heard, “What is the matter, Hagar? Don’t be afraid.” A feeling of strength began to spread through my body. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “God has heard the boy crying as he lies there. Go over and lift the boy up and take him by the hand, because God is going to make him into a great nation.” And then I swear on my father’s grave that this is what happened next. A well appeared right beside me. I quickly lowered my water skin and ran to give Ishmael a drink. He started to revive, sat up and hugged me. And the rest is history.

We made it to the next oasis, and there I found peace at last. Ishmael grew up to become a skilled desert archer. He’s a wild donkey of a man and at odds with everyone. He seems to be carrying a lot of anger in his heart over what happened to us. But me? I spend my days taking care of his little ones. Oh, did I forget to mention? I found a wife for him from guess where? Egypt, where else! My mom had something to do with that, but that’s another story.

And so, you see, when you think you’re done for, when life hands you what you don’t think you deserve, when you’re all alone or angry or sad, there’s a way out. “You are the God Who sees me.” Truly He does!

God’s Job

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Scripture

Journal 2017

I [Paul] planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the increase. So then neither he who plants is anything, nor he who waters, but God who gives the increase. (I Corinthians 3:5-9 NKJV)

Several days a week as a senior in high school, I bicycled through an industrial park to arrive at my first-ever job at an aerosol packaging plant. On the way home, I felt compelled to stop and share my faith with anyone who would listen. It was my duty to obey God’s command to fulfill the Great Commission, and I wanted no one’s blood on my head.

All my life I had heard guilt-grip preaching for not evangelizing, testifying, and making disciples. It was always about me, what I’d done or not done for the kingdom. And more often than not, it was driven by fleshly works—fear, pride, and “shoulds.”

I can plant, but I didn’t make the seed. I can water, but I didn’t make the rain. And I certainly have nothing to do with the plant bursting forth into life and growing.

I can hear the “buts” arising. If I hadn’t planted or watered, would there have been a chance for life to sprout?

I have one job in life and one only: love God with all my heart and love others. My responsibility ends where His command ends. He didn’t tell me personally to plant or to water. He told me to be an agent of healing. I cannot heal. But I can point people to Jesus and introduce them to the Healer.

“Each one will receive his own reward according to his own labor” (v. 8).

A 2024 Update: Questioning what we were taught in childhood is a healthy exercise, especially when life’s experiences don’t match those words. Throwing away every word, however, is not necessarily helpful. Evangelism and discipleship training is important, and we all must be ready to give a testimony for what God has done in our lives. My struggle to shed the shoulds, however, led me to a deeper understanding of how God wired me and what He has called me to do with my time here on earth.

Was Paul Codependent?

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, Scripture

Journal 2017

I call God as my witness . . . that it was in order to spare you that I did not return to Corinth. (2 Corinthians 1:23-2:4 NIV)

If the Apostle Paul had shown up in my counseling office, I wonder what I would have said to him? He says he chose not to return to Corinth “in order to spare them.” But it sounds more like he was protecting his heart. He claims he stayed away from the Corinthians out of love for them, but in the same breath he admits: So I made up my mind that I would not make another painful visit to you. For if I grieve you, who is left to make me glad but you whom I have grieved? In psychological jargon, we’d say this was a codependent statement.

This giant in the faith, who faced torture and rejection and beatings and jail time and hardships and the burden of fulfilling God’s call on his life had triggers a-plenty. Why am I surprised? In other passages, he freely admits his short-comings, inadequacies, struggles, and fears.

I’ve been taught that Paul’s writings were inspired (not doubting that) but I think most of my life I’ve also been taught that, as a result, everything he states is truth. But was Paul being true to his own heart? Was he really staying away because he loved the Corinthians . . . or was he protecting his own pain? We don’t know of course. We only know his words.

Now . . . maybe it was wisdom to stay away—why go where he’d be rejected? But that never stopped Paul before. Why does it bother me to think that Paul MIGHT be triggered? Or does it bother me that I’m questioning his heart?

All Scripture is inspired, but not all Scripture is instruction. Sometimes it’s history. II Corinthians is a letter—it records what Paul wrote to a specific group of believers in a specific time period. It was instruction to THEM.

Here’s where discernment is necessary. How do we know what was divine doctrine vs. a reflection on local culture? Who gets to decide? Some sects of Christianity wear hats or head coverings. They want to obey the Scriptures in all things. But others believe wearing a head covering was a cultural issue and doesn’t make one spiritual.

What about instructions to Timothy? Qualifications for a pastor preclude women being in leadership (or do they?) Is that God-ordained or cultural? Who gets to decide? If we release all outward show or behavior as a non-issue and listen only to the heart, does that answer the question: it’s not whether male or female is in charge but where the heart is? [NOTE: check out Bill Rudd’s book Should Women Be Pastors or Leaders in the Church? Very insightful!]

I’ve been taught the New Testament as law and less about heart. Rules to follow instead of relationship. Does that make everyone a law unto themselves? Where do we draw the line between biblical mandate and godly principle?

Apparently the Corinthians were living in sin, full of factions, and accusatory of Paul being boastful, having no authority, and being a burden to them. Much of this letter is self-defense on Paul’s part. He ranges from sarcasm to humility.

We (or I) have placed Paul on a high pedestal of sainthood, like he could do no wrong after his conversion. He’s earned our respect for his position, perseverance, and persecution. But I’ve never heard anyone preach about his character flaws. Paul’s defensive self is in full battle gear in this letter. You can feel the anger and hurt from the Corinthians’ false accusations. Does my respect for Paul slip just a little as I read this letter? Or should I excuse and defend him for what he says?

Should Paul have defended his position as an Apostle? Did he have a right to confront the Corinthians about their sin? Of course. But Paul was not perfect. His choleric nature is showing. I’m curious if his letter convicted them or shamed them or made them dig their heels in even deeper?

What would this letter have sounded like if Paul had dealt with his hurt before responding? Would it have had the same impact on the Corinthians? Self-defense can be idolatry. It is substituting self for God. But does God forgive us? Of course! Our sin is under the blood. But there is a better way—let God be our defense. God can use my hurts and my defenses to accomplish His perfect will. But if I have a choice (and I do), I’d choose His defense over mine and healing of the hurt over carrying the wound around in my heart.

So, here’s a question: if someone wrongs me, should I confront them? Do I need to? Or can I deal with my hurt and overlook the wrong done? If I’m at peace, my motive for the confrontation changes. Then it becomes not about protecting my pain but about what is best for the other person.

It’s really hard to be reasonable when one is triggered. So how does it look to others when MY triggers show? Do they offer me grace? I hope so. And, in turn, may I be gracious when I see others triggered. I guess I can cut Paul some slack if he’s a little codependent.

Battling Dis-ease

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Peace

Journal 2017

I just read the autobiography of Tig Notaro, a lesbian standup comic who faced several debilitating trials: she got C-diff, her mother died, and then she contracted breast cancer. Her response to each event was extreme fear and despair.

When people face bad news, I expect them to react negatively, to fall apart, lament, battle, and struggle. So, it intrigued me when I listened recently to the testimony of Walter Wangerin, Jr., author of 40 books including The Book of the Dun Cow. He said that when he heard the diagnosis of cancer, surprisingly he had immediate peace and thought, “This is the next grand adventure.” He also said he does not embrace the war metaphor of battling cancer. It’s his own body, not an enemy, and he wants to work with it, not against it.

I know several others who faced mortality with peace. My friend Peggy submitted to brain surgery with great grace, giving God the glory, and lived to share her faith. I watched Holly L’s final public testimony at church as she faced a terminal illness. She admitted to the struggle, but she was victorious.

I watch others melodramatically declare they’re dying when they get a hangnail. What makes the difference in how we handle pain, bad news, or losses in life? Some of that may be temperament or the lies we believe or the depth of past trauma, but I believe a lot has to do with our walk with the Lord. I just know that when my time comes to face a trial, I pray I will embrace it and live with a testimony that God is in control.

Time Management

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal June 7, 2017

There are seasons and rhythms of our lives when things go dead and sometimes when they sprout to new life. Years, months, weeks, and days cycle round and round. What I do this day may seem very insignificant, yet small habits yield big results and can set the course of my history.

I seem to be in a special season right now, however brief, without clients daily clamoring for my time. For three days my husband will be golfing, and I have potential alone time. I think of all the things I could do with this precious gift, and I feel conflicted. I know what my heart wants to do, and that is to write. And so, I indulge myself. It feels like pure joy and delight to organize thoughts, rearrange them, and make them permanent by recording them. I asked the girls about writing a blog, and I got a resounding yes! Is this a priority? Do I have the time . . .?

VISUAL: I’m a disciple in the boat on the Sea of Galilee, and Jesus is about to walk by. I call out to Him, “Will you join me in the boat?”

He is more than willing. He climbs in, sits, and hands me some bread. It’s just the two of us.

“You’re worried,” He comments.

Yes, I suppose I am. I wait for Him to tell me what about, but I know Him well. He will pause to let me figure it out.

“I’m worried that I will not use my time wisely. Time is a finite commodity.”

I find it easier to function with a predetermined schedule, decisions in place, and brain on autopilot. It reminds me of scheduled time at boarding school with bells and sirens that dictated our routine. Decisions were made for us. Summers, on the other hand, were wide open with no expectations, and laziness was sure to follow.

“Go on,” He prompts.

“I don’t want to waste it.”

“Are you wasting it?” He asks.

I don’t think I am. Then what’s the issue? It’s a matter of portioning it out to match the allotted time I have at my disposal.

“You’re feeling rushed—like you want to do what your heart wants to do, but your head is giving you alternative coulds and shoulds.”

Yes! That’s it! So how do I silence those words and voices? I want to write, but my head says, “You need to file and exercise and clean house and visit neighbors.” This issue is about alone time—there are certain things I can do best when I’m uninterrupted.

Jesus leans back, hands behind His head and smiles at me. “You have a problem, then, don’t you?”

I know He’s teasing me. I’m way too serious and stressed over this.

“What do you want to do?” He asks.

“Write!” I exclaim.

“But . . .?”

I feel rising exhilaration . . . and guilt.

I ask Him for a visual. He shows me a row of boxes, some smaller, some larger, each containing one task on my to-do list.

During my time allotted for each box, I have permission to compartmentalize and block out all the other thoughts that belong to other boxes.

And so, just for today, I’ll write, uninterrupted, without guilt or remorse. I’ll seize the precious time that I have and just focus. The dirty dishes can wait.

A 2024 Update. I smile as I read back on this journal entry. I feel no guilt now whatsoever over taking time out of a busy (or not-so-busy) schedule to write. It’s one of my default activities along with sitting at my dining room table arranging jigsaw puzzle pieces. Reading a book in the middle of the day, though—now that feels decadent. Perhaps I need to address any emotion behind that thought!

Do Right!

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Scripture

Journal 2017

How do I respond when someone is furious with me—especially when I know I have made the right decision?

Amaziah, King of Judah (the Southern Kingdom), hired 100,000 soldiers from Israel (the Northern Kingdom), to help him fight a war (II Chronicles 25:6-10).

But a man of God told King Amaziah he needed to let the mercenaries go, for God was not with the Northern Kingdom, and “If they go with you, you’ll lose the battle.”

“But what about the 100 talents I already paid them?” the king asked.

“Not to worry,” said the man of God. “God is able to more than make it up to you.” And so Amaziah dismissed these soldiers.

Surprisingly, the mercenaries “were furious with Judah and went home in a great rage.” They’d be paid whether they fought or not, so what was the big deal? Apparently they’d lose out on the percentages from the spoils. So, in retaliation, they “raided towns belonging to Judah . . . and they killed three thousand people and carried off great quantities of plunder” (v.13).

But Amaziah stood his ground and stayed on God’s side. Good for him! No codependence there! He obeyed God in spite of man’s response.

BUT the story doesn’t end well.

Sadly, Amaziah brought home idols among the spoils of war and began to worship them. And God was furious. (I think I’d rather have man furious at me than God!)

Next, God sent a prophet to Amaziah to tell him to quit it, but Amaziah told him to shut up or he’d kill him. And so, the prophet shut up—after this one last warning: “God will destroy you.”

Now for some reason, Amaziah invited Joash (the Northern king), to join him on the battlefield, but Joash scoffed: “Your victory over the enemy has gone to your head! Stay in your palace!”

Verse 20 (NET) intrigues me: “But Amaziah did not heed the warning [why did he obey God the first time, but not the second?], for God wanted to hand them over to Joash because they followed the gods of Edom.”

God WANTED Amaziah to go to war with the Edomites (enemies) and He WANTED Amaziah to go to war with Israel (fellow Jews), but for different reasons—one to destroy and one to be destroyed. God’s choice versus man’s choice. Check and checkmate.

Sometimes God uses man to accomplish His purposes. He could have simply killed Amaziah on the spot, but He used his bad choice in order to get the job done.

This story is an amazing illustration of Romans 8:28. God will make everything right in the end, somehow weaving in man’s choices for good or for ill to accomplish His purposes. But I’d rather do right, every time!

Guilt-Free Fun

Posted on by under Emotions, Peace

Journal 2017

The Christmas rush is over, the company is gone, and I’ve had several weeks of solitude and down time, and I’ve enjoyed every minute of the slower pace. It feels decadent, however, to recline in my easy chair with a book, start a jigsaw puzzle, or type entries into a blog. Why do I feel guilty for having fun, doing what I enjoy most?

Some part of my heart rises up to protest that I haven’t advanced my goals, completed a check list, accomplished more for the kingdom. This Guardian is the keeper of my lists, my schedule, the shoulds and what-ifs. This one needs some serious Jesus time!

Visual: I grip a silver platter containing a curly leaf of lettuce, a piece of candy, some fruit, some chocolate bars, a mug of coffee, a wooden ruler, and some stinky dog poop tied up in a sachet bag with a bow. (This one certainly doesn’t belong on the tray. How did that get there?) In the bag are all the shoulds and musts and words from other people dumped into a stinky heap. I don’t want to touch it. Jesus doesn’t want it either, so we double bag it and carry it out to the garbage can and spray some fresh scent in the air—light and breezy. We also don’t need the ruler or the dressing-less lettuce.

What’s next? Now the tray begins to overflow with fresh fruits and vegetables, but I can still see the desserts peeking out. Then meats of all kind crowd onto the plate. It’s starting to get overloaded, overwhelming, a mishmash of food that turns into a gloppy mess.

“Jesus, can we start over?” I ask. I liked it better when there was less on the platter: one pretty salad or a juicy slice of watermelon or a single square of chocolate.

Jesus just smiles. “I’ve been giving you just what you need these past weeks to prepare for the next. Enjoy the dessert. Savor it. Remember it. And trust Me to serve you what your body needs next.”

Making Decisions While Triggered

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, Scripture

Journal 2017

I’ve learned the hard way, it’s never wise to do or say something while I’m triggered. Inevitably, the words come out harsher than planned, and I make poor decisions, making matters worse. The consequences for my reactions sometimes lead to further bad choices. What a mess to clean up!

After the 12 Israelite spies returned from the land of Canaan, 10 of the spies were triggered. And in their fearful emotions, they made some foolish statements: Wouldn’t it be better for us to return to Egypt? Let’s appoint a leader and return to Egypt. (Numbers 14:3-4) Are they crazy! Leave the protection of their God? Return to the Pharoah who hates them? They’re out of their minds—literally—with fear.

Upon hearing of their punishment from God (to wander in the desert for 40 years), the 10 spies decided to go out on their own and attack the scary Amalakites. They left camp without the Lord’s direction—and perished. How foolish!

What would have happened if they had worked through their fear before opening their mouths to Moses? No wandering in the desert for 40 years. No trail of decaying bodies. And yet . . . God was able to turn even their triggers into something good. God’s will cannot be thwarted.

You are free to choose; you are not free to choose the consequences of your choices. (Samuel Thomas)

Codependency and the Relationship Pillow

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, Inner Healing, Journaling, Peace

Journal 2019

I read recently where a therapist placed three pillows on the floor and instructed her two clients to each pick a pillow on which to stand. “Your own pillow represents your soul,” she told them. “It belongs to no one else but you.” Next, she explained the middle pillow. “This one is called Relationship. Each of you may choose to go to the center pillow and discuss what you want out of the relationship, but at no time may you step on another person’s pillow. It is creepy and codependent to try to control somebody else’s soul.”

I started to explain this concept to a client one day when she was struggling to let go of some codependent relationships, but the Lord gave her a different visual. Jesus had been meeting with her in a small cabin (representing her soul) that was decorated exactly as she wanted it with warm cozy colors, a fireplace, and a comfy chair. She had also invited her adult children into her cabin and was not willing to send them out into the cold, even if she herself had to sit on the floor. “I’d do anything for my kids,” she declared.

The problem was that she was running out of food to feed those adults while her own soul was starting to shrivel and starve. Jesus explained to her that her children had their own cabins with plenty of food in them, and she was doing them a disservice by insisting they live with her. “Your cabin is unique to you,” He explained, “and you can’t fully grow into who you were meant to be if you share the space with others.”

“If I let them go,” she wondered, “does that mean I never get to see them again?”

“Oh, no,” Jesus replied. “You can always go visit them on their porch or they can come visit you, but you must not move into each other’s cabins to live.”

As I trace the steps of my own story, I can see how often I allowed others to take up residence in my cabin or on my pillow. Unwise and unhealthy choices stunted both of us. Through my processing, I’ve discovered that the more I keep healthy boundaries, the faster their healing occurs. It’s easy to say I wish I’d known all this at the beginning of my life, but in truth, knowing something and acting on it are two different things. I knew these truths on the left side of my brain, but right-side emotions kept jumping in and taking over. It feels like a long, slow process to get where I am today. Some days I wonder if I’ll ever learn the lessons God is trying to teach me. But as I read back over my journals, I discover that what used to trigger me no longer has power over me.

Living in peace is superior to living in pieces!