Journal 2005Visual: We all have a lot of stinky stuff inside our hearts. And we walk about with clothespins on our noses so that we won’t (or can’t) smell ourselves. But others smell us, and they’re repelled. Eventually, the clothespin pinches hard enough that we remove it, or we start to sweat and it slips off, and when we smell ourselves, we don’t like it. I think God sometimes removes the clothespin, and we blame Him or others for the stench, never realizing it comes from or own b.o.! So, we have a choice—keep the clothespin on our nose or allow ourselves to smell and get motivated to clean up with God’s help. Freedom is not having to wear a clothespin on one’s nose because the inner aroma is now sweet.
Lord, in Your sovereign timing, would You remove the clothespins I’ve been keeping on my nose? And once removed, will You help me get rid of the stench and fill me with Your fresh air instead? Lilacs and cinnamon and peppermint and guava nectar and mangos and freshly baked bread, and sweet air after a rain and roast beef and rose petals—but mostly lilacs.Amen.
2022 Update. I’ve changed my mind about the statement “I think God sometimes removes the clothespin.” He never violates our will. It is our choice to leave the clothespin on, and He waits patiently for us to remove it before He can clean up what’s inside.
Journal 2011. People talk about compartmentalizing their thought lives, and I’ve never fully grasped how they can do that. But one day when my to-do list was longer than my available hours, and my mind was too absorbed on one task to complete any others, I asked the Lord for a metaphor.
I mentally placed each of my tasks into a different room. One room is not more important than another, but I can’t be in two rooms at the same time. My brain is not wired to multi-task, so when I’m in one room, that’s all I focus on. People/relationships can walk in and out of each room I’m in, and I can stop and interact with them.
The first challenge for me right now is being in one room physically while I’m in another room mentally. I find I want to hurry up with the tasks in this room so I can get back to the Study or the Library or the Rec Room. The other challenge is deciding which room I need or want to be in and when. (Sadly, I tend to avoid going into the exercise room.)
And God? Thankfully He’s in every room of course. However, I desperately need concentrated, uninterrupted time in the Prayer Room.
Lord, help me to be mentally present with each person who enters my heart-house today. And will You be my Guide for what room(s) to work in and when?
January 2022 Update. This year started out with a large number of compounding stressors, and the jumbled stacks of papers in my office reflected the disorganization in my brain. Though disorienting, I didn’t cave or panic. I kept breathing and focusing on the next trouble-shooting task at hand until I could come to my scheduled Karen Day and hit the reset button.
The more we process our past, the healthier we get emotionally, and the more we can handle in the future.
Journal 2005. Until we entered junior high, our boarding school devotions were conducted nightly in a group setting, led by one of the aunties. But there came a time when they wanted to instill in us the discipline of meeting with the Lord on our own, and they woke us half an hour early with the instructions to read our Bible and pray. I loved this quiet time of reflection that set the tone for my day, and I continued this daily habit long after it was a requirement. Many days, however, it was sheer discipline and will power and perhaps a little self-righteousness that kept me from quitting. Eventually that changed. Duty became delight. When you love someone, it’s not a chore to be in their presence. When I wake, the first thought on my mind is I get to spend some alone time with my Lord.
I’m starting a new journal today that has a prescribed format for a Quiet Time, but I never was one to follow the rules and outlines of a devotional. Some days I only read; other times I only pray; still others I take time to process emotions and memories to renew my mind.
Not everyone has the same upbringing, training, drive, or temperament as I, and I hear many friends lament that they can’t seem to be consistent in their Bible reading and prayer time, even if they desire it. Young mothers in survival mode, especially, struggle with carving time out of a busy, sleep-deprived day to spend extensive time with the Lord. Unlike some teaching from the pulpit, I know God doesn’t punish or berate me if I skip a day. Let’s lay aside once and for all the guilt and shame of not meeting someone else’s standards or spiritual disciplines. Having a daily QT doesn’t make a person holier or more righteous, but it does help to create space for God to speak, and I think that’s a good thing.
God gifts and equips us to serve others, and ideally, this would be in a church setting. But a church we once attended erected a large roadblock in the path of our prayer ministry. Though they wouldn’t support us because of their fears, triggers, and misunderstanding of inner healing prayer, we continued to show up week after week. We loved the church and prayed for the leadership, but they forbade us to use our gifts in their building.
But I ask myself: What’s the point of going to church if I cannot minister to others? To be fed from the pulpit? Internet resources are boundless, and besides, I’m mature enough to feed myself.
To hear a little music performed? There are CDs for that [or live streaming today].
To worship God in a building? Nature would serve me better.
My felt need is fellowship. That, really, is the essence of why I attend church—to be with like-minded people, to worship together in harmony, to minister to others, to love them, encourage and support them. It’s not enough to warm a pew Sunday after Sunday without interacting with people.
Meanwhile, God led us to others outside the church who were hurting. One call even came from someone in Arkansas, who wanted to connect us to a friend in Germany. God’s work would not stop.
A 2021 Update: Two things. We eventually moved to a church where the leadership supports our ministry and encourages us to use our gifts with the body. Refreshing! We have a spiritual covering at last. But second—Covid. I watched in dismay as churches divided themselves along emotional lines of masking/not masking, closing/staying open during the pandemic. The results included people changing churches, people leaving church permanently, and others becoming more tight-knit as they bonded together in unity to minister to each other. I think this year has helped us reexamine why we go to church.
Journal 2010. Practicing the presence of Jesus is a worthy goal, but I don’t believe it means my mind must be focused 100% on Him every second of the day. I begin my day with Jesus, followed by the day’s activities where my awareness and conversation with Him ebbs and flows. Today I came to the end of a project in which I was totally focused and absorbed and then suddenly, abruptly, refocused on God. It made me think about relationships and a playground.
Watch a parent take a child to the playground. Some children let go of the parent’s hand quite readily and run off to play, totally oblivious to any potential danger—because they are keenly aware that the parent is nearby. But often throughout the morning, the child will run back to the parent for a snack, for a drink, with a skinned knee, for comfort, for delight (“Look at me! See what I can do”), for rest, for conversation.
The parent knows there is danger outside the perimeters. The child is aware of boundaries and off limits as instructed by the parent, but he has total freedom within the boundaries to choose which piece of equipment, which child to play with, how often and how long to play with each. Freedom within the boundaries. The child is conscious of the parent’s presence, even if he is not interacting with him every second.
And so I go about my day, resting, working, playing, interacting with others, but always aware of the presence of my Father. I never have to ask permission to play on a certain piece of equipment. It’s all permissible. But if I want to leave the premises, I better get His permission first, and I know He’ll accompany me if I do. My Father will always be there. And if I run away, He’ll pursue me. He loves me!
My boarding school playground in Nigeria, supervised by “Aunties” and “Uncles”
Journal 2010. I learned the conventions of prayer at my daddy’s knee. Family devotions looked like this: 6 a.m. and 6 p.m. Bible reading and prayer, no skipping for any reason. Starting with the youngest, everyone read a daily portion of the Scripture (Genesis to Revelation and back again)—just a verse when we were very young and learning to read; more when we were older. Next, each person in the family took a turn praying, beginning with the youngest (me). If we ever reversed the order from oldest to youngest, I’d have to be prompted on my turn because my mind had long ago checked out.
My parents’ prayers were like droning bees to my young ears—same tone and inflexion every time, same topics. Mom always began, “Our loving, heavenly Father” and ended with the sing-song, all in one breath, “In-Jesus’-name-amen” as if it were one word. Dad mumbled so much we couldn’t hear or understand him too well, and when he read, he skipped words or mispronounced them, but his heart was pure, and that’s what mattered. Our childish prayers always began with “Dear Jesus,” followed by “thank you for–” and “God bless–” or Dad would prompt me to say, “Help me, Lord, not to fight with Paul and Grace Anne . . .” (Not sure God answered that one till after we grew up!)
Last night I met with a group to dedicate a new church building. The prayers were specific but global—e.g. asking God’s direction and safety, peace upon “all those who come into these rooms” or “we pray for all those who are struggling with [whatever].” I left feeling a little dissatisfied. Global prayers don’t have anything to attach to visually. They don’t negate the prayer, but a picture would help me.
Does one prayer at one time cover all the bases from now till the Lord comes or the building collapses? God knows our heart and intent, and if our words don’t come out all polished and smooth, He can figure out what we mean. But choice of words is important.
In regular conversation, we try not to interrupt someone’s conversation until it’s an appropriate moment, but we might jump in on each other’s words to agree, disagree, or question. We wouldn’t do that when someone else is praying. We’re too polite. Group praying, for me, can be distracting, boring, or uplifting. It takes discipline to stay focused and listen. Some people are good conversationalists, and I can stay engaged. Others I check out mentally when they open their mouth. Wonder if others do that when I pray? Another issue I have is doing two things at once. If I’m listening, I can be agreeing, putting my “amen and so be it” onto their words. But when it comes time for me to pray aloud, I have to form my thoughts before I open my mouth, and so I end up not listening to the one praying.
When a woman is in labor, Lamaze teaches her to find a focal point to help her manage the pain. God is my focal point when I’m laboring in prayer. What if last night we’d prayed, “May Your glory fill these rooms; may Your presence here be felt by all who enter”—focusing more on Him than on us. What if I changed the focus and attention of my prayers away from the people and the need and drew my focus and attention onto God instead? What if instead of asking for money, we asked God to receive glory and honor by our godly choices and responses? Or invite Him to display His power. Instead of demanding that He heal every ache and pain, we could ask how He wants to proceed and ask for courage to get in line with His will so the nations will be drawn to Him.
Your thoughts?
2009. My sister Grace and I in front of a church that faithfully supported our parents
Journal 2010. One Sunday at church, I could feel something in my heart jabbing—scornful, critical, and judgmental—toward the man worshipping in front of me. Convicted, I closed my eyes and watched a visual unfold in my mind as I tried to refocus on the singing.
I saw myself walking down the central aisle in a heavenly church, dressed in a spotless bridal gown. As I reached the platform where God sat on His throne, His “train that filled the temple” enveloped me. Then He gently turned me around to face a great throng of worshippers, all dressed in similar white garb. I was no more special than anyone else in the audience. The man I had judged was just as pure, forgiven, and covered by the blood as I was. We were fellow travelers, fellow strugglers.
The lights dimmed low, but a spotlight picked out this man moving toward me. He extended his right hand of fellowship and reconciliation, and then he reached for Jesus, and they exchanged words of intimacy. I realized then that God had used him in a special way—unique to him, and I heard God say, “Let each esteem others better than themselves.” My self-righteous, critical spirit toward this man dissipated.
Why am I so taken aback when someone I hardly know comments, “You are so critical!” What words are coming out of my mouth that are hurtful, analytical, cutting, or nit-picky? Is this how others see me? Really? Ouch! Lord, change me!
I have never taken kindly to criticism. We “perfect,” one-on-the-enneagram people like to think we never do anything wrong. We aren’t rebellious, vindictive, or cruel on purpose. We want to please and placate and follow and do right all the time. “Miss Goody Two Shoes” is our nickname*.
Being a critic, however, can be both a blessing and a curse. The gift is I can quickly discover what’s wrong and try to correct it. Some children throw a party if they get 99% on a test, but not me. I focus on the one I missed and want to know the correct answer, so I can get it right next time. The “curse” is that it leaves no room for grace or for seeing the good in people. Is that behavior temperament-driven or woundedness—something inside that craves attention, achieving goals, or pleasing a professor? I don’t know where the roots are.
Unfortunately, this habit translates into observing character flaws in my loved ones. I was a cheerleader when my girls were learning to walk but became their worst critic when they didn’t perform at school according to my expectations. I hear God’s Spirit gently whispering to me: “Room for growth.” Instead of looking at a person as a complete, finished, having-arrived performer, celebrate how far he or she has come. And instead of seeing how far short they are of the bar of perfection, the paradigm shift is to see how much room they have to grow.
I’m not sure this takes care of every critical thought, but it’s one piece. Perhaps it will give me space to be less than perfect. I have room to grow.
If we could see ourselves as other see us . . .
If we could see others as Jesus sees them . . .
*Being called Miss Goody Two-Shoes was originally a compliment, not a derogatory term. “Goody” was the little girl’s name in the story, not a description of her behavior.
A 2021 Update. I’ve worked diligently over the past few years on curbing my inner critic. I hope and pray I am a kinder, gentler person both toward myself and toward others. And if I am the recipient of criticism, I am quicker to forgive and not put up a shield of defense. I can only hope and pray that those I’ve hurt have found healing for their own souls. I’m truly repentant.
Journal 2010. Sickness is tiring! And somewhat boring. I’m intrigued that I feel a sense of entitlement: Since I’m sick, I shouldn’t have to do dishes, cook supper, or clean house; and I should get to watch what I want on TV. But why should sickness entitle me to selfishness and self-centeredness?
When I don’t feel well, it’s very hard to be cheerful. It takes all my energy just to concentrate on performing simple tasks. I admire hurting friends who just keep on smiling in the midst of their pain. When I hurt, I want the world to know it.
I feel closest to the Lord when I feel the best physically—because I can concentrate on reading the Word and communing with Him. How can I do this with a headache or a stuffed-up nose, or I’m in so much pain I can’t focus?
I hesitate to pray for a deeper walk with God, for I fear it means affliction and trials and even illness. It’s like asking God for more patience when you know trials are what produce patience and endurance. It’s like hugging a warm coat tightly around me. I don’t want to open my coat to expose my skin to the elements just so I can learn to be tough. But God says if I remove the coat, I’ll draw closer to the fireplace of His warmth.
Another thought—what if I’m nowhere near a fire and a blizzard comes (circumstances beyond my control). It doesn’t make sense for me to take off my coat. I’ll wrap it even tighter around me. God says He can provide an extra blanket so I can weather it through.
Is it possible to experience more intimacy with God without going through trials? Can I trust Him to bring into my path that which will bring about my needed growth? I don’t want to stagnate, rot, mold, or wither. I want to grow, blossom, produce fruit and seed, and reproduce.
So . . . I don’t have to dread or fear trials, but I don’t have to ask for them either. God knows exactly what I need to increase my trust and dependence on Him. Just be a Mary, He says, and sit at His feet.
Journal 2010. Charlie was a proud and bitter man. When he was a little boy, his big brother told him God always answers prayer. So one night, Charlie knelt by his bed and asked for some candy—but none appeared. That was the day he lost all faith in a god who would withhold good things from him.
As I studied John 16 this week, I thought about Charlie.
Jesus is explaining to his disciples what is about to happen. He’ll be going away for a while, and then they’ll see Him again after the resurrection. When Jesus senses that they want to ask Him [questions] about this, He explains a little more plainly. And then He says, “In that day [after the resurrection and when the Comforter comes] you will no longer ask Me anything.” (He did not say, “ask Me for anything.” He meant ask Me any questions you have.)
“And besides,” He says, “I won’t be here anymore. Instead, you’ll ask [questions] in My name and the Father will give it to you. Until now you have not asked for [about?] anything in My name.” (Before Jesus ascended, the disciples could ask Him any question face to face, but after His ascension, they could speak directly to the Father, through Jesus.)
“Ask and you’ll receive [answers] and your joy will be complete,” He says. “I’m not saying that I will ask the Father on your behalf. No, the Father Himself loves you” (vv. 25-28).
The disciples respond: “Now we see that You know all things and that You do not need to have anyone ask You [questions]. (The rabbinic method of teaching was to ask questions, and Jesus’ teacher was the Father.) This makes us believe that You came from God.”
Jesus says, “You believe at last!”
Instead of “ask Jesus for anything” (as I’ve always been taught), this passage (context, context) is all about asking Jesus questions. Jesus said, “Ask what you will. . . .” He didn’t say ask for things or prayer requests.
If I’m reading this passage right, it would change a lot of theology, misunderstandings, and disillusionment when we ask Him to do something, and He doesn’t do it. Perhaps Charlie would have grown up a different man had he understood this concept.
Journal 2010. My third grade Sunday school lesson for this week was on David and Saul. I began by asking the children to look at each other’s eyes and tell me their color. We had five children with brown eyes, and three who had blue. Next, I told them that I had a special gift for each of the blue-eyed children: a one-dollar gift certificate to McDonalds. I instructed the brown eyes to clap and applaud for them. And then I paused, observing their response. I asked the brown-eyes how they felt. One said she felt “left out.” Another said, “sad,” and another “unfair.” They all admitted to feeling jealous.
And then it happened. Little blue-eyed Ethan stood up and walked over to brown-eyed Holly (who had made a decision just this week to follow Jesus) and gave her his gift certificate. I praised him and then immediately handed him a replacement.
I then launched into the story of David (handsome shepherd boy, beautiful-eyed, strong, courageous, musically gifted) being anointed king (not because of his outward appearance, but because of his heart for God), his brothers’ jealousy, his slaying of Goliath, and Saul’s subsequent love and admiration for him. And then how the women sang, “Saul has killed his thousands, but David his tens of thousands” and how Saul’s admiration turned to jealousy, to hatred, and then to attempted murder.
We discussed what things made 3rd graders jealous (toys, talents, privileges), and how jealousy can lead to bad things. We talked about how God gives each of us gifts—not for the purpose of self-glory, but to be used for Him and given away.
In conclusion, I instructed the blue-eyes to hand their gifts to the brown-eyes. Not fair? Oh no! Because when we give our gifts away to minister to others, God blesses us in return. And I handed each of the brown eyes a replacement. Now everyone had a gift certificate.
I told the children the gift was theirs to use as they wished. They could spend it on themselves, or they could give it away to bless someone else. It was their choice.
Brown-eyed Chandler said he was going to give his to his brother. Blue-eyed Ethan said, “I wish I could rip mine in half so both my brother and I could use it!” Melina observed that he’d given his away twice, and she tried to hand her coupon to him, but he declined. “It’s okay. You keep it,” he said. And then: “I know! I’ll spend it on ice cream, and I can share it with my brother that way!”
I think the children taught me as much as I tried to teach them that day!
In the Pursuit of Peace 